Today is November 26, 2014. I am alive and well.

Excerpt from my book Mind Without a Home: A Memoir of Schizophrenia…..

September 1993. I am 29 years old. At eleven years of sobriety, a heavy cloud drops on my head. Voices from other realities plague me like a gaggle of hurt geese who can’t find their way home. Men and women in black suits appear in my home and at my front door and in the grocery store aisles where cans neatly line the shelves, and boxes of cereal promise to make me an Olympian. Their presence is a plague. In three months’ time, I overdose seven times. The intensive care attendants get sick and tired of bringing me back. They refuse me cups of soda and stop washing my forehead with soft cloths in the ICU.

I move three times within these three months. People don’t want to rent me a room. Taylor comes to my rescue, as she has done many times before. She converts her living room into a bedroom.

There are three of us living in a small two bedroom apartment along with Taylor’s two large dogs. No one complains while I’m there. And no one kicks me out after I get drunk.

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not an excerpt. present day…

Life is so unlike the above today. I have 21 years of sobriety, live in my own condo, have not attempted suicide for I don’t know how many years. And I have learned to manage my symptoms well enough to have a good and full life. My past seems weird to me because I am so removed from it. I don’t live yesterdays. Today I am content with life, with who I am, wishing good cheer for all..corny, yes. But corny lights days and massages nights. I am wealthy without a dime. But I can always come up with enough to buy coffee other than Folger’s. Loving is the best thing I do in a day.

Today is November 23, 2014. I am alive and well.

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If you’ve been following my blog, you know I lost a husband to a woman in Florida. You know I still love Guy despite the betrayal. Guy opened his heart to me and my heart answered back. I credit him with teaching me how to totally love someone with all I have to give. I discovered I have a lot to give.

Enter Mark. We dated for two months. Then I got the call this past Friday, “this relationship is not working for me.” I am no longer his “little Egyptian Princess.” I am a Queen in my own castle with no king to answer to. I am a vessel of love that radiates at the windows to my castle, and skips out the front door when a stranger calls. I embrace strangers with my stare and welcome them because they have no preconceived ideas of who I am. Love can be love for five minutes.

One of the best things I have done as of late is to not have had sex with Mark. I am so relieved and thrilled about this. Had we had sex, I would have felt violated. Two months is not a great deal of time, and if you know you’re going to end something, end it. End it cleanly.

I think I’ll remain a Kingless Queen for a while. It is good to be doting on Grams and Annie. Although they’re cats, the still cuddle up next to me for naps. And Grams likes to sit in my lap as I write.

I don’t feel alone in my castle. I conjure up people that I love who have died. I believe I am of them just as they are of me. I have silent conversations with them. I bask in the attention they give me. I tie my shoelaces and leave my castle as they wish for me to do. There is a large world out there. I am to miss nothing. The glitter on the pavement shines. I won’t get lost; I will arrive.

Today is November 17, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I’m going to try a couple of poems again. I haven’t had much luck with poems. These two are short simple ones. The back slash identifies the line break. Hope they’re at least fun. Thank you for your readership.

One Man

He left his table and chair./The cushion jumped back to its swell/the table stood at attention on iron legs./ He looked back before gathering the steering wheel of his red car/as if he could see everything over the dash./He could see the people inside/laughing over lattes./ He was certain they were laughing at him/although he had dressed carefully/choosing colors that dimmed him./ His hair was combed flat./ He knew they still caught his fear/which he took with him/leaving his seat/empty.

Elevators are Somber Places

Three inches from my left hand/hangs the beeper off the belt/of the man with the silver tie./His boldness rivals the cameo chocker/of the skinny woman with large breasts/whose shirt dips in a V and knots at her waist./The beeper bursts into song./The six of us plus the seeing eye dog/continue to stare/straight ahead with vacant looks./The door opens on the third floor./The blind man leaves us/to study our reflections on the metal door as it closes./Our faces are grim; stamped portraits of people unconvinced that speaking/would be a move toward friendliness.

Today is November 7, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I pray. Not at an alter, but at my bedside, in my car, in the restaurant restroom, in the employee bathroom. All good places for prayer. The one place I can think of that I don’t pray is underwater in the pool. Prayer is breath for me. To run out of breath as I pray doesn’t appeal to me. I confess, though, as a kid underwater, I use to pray to become a mermaid. I would have full breath underwater.

Prayer to me is like an open envelope. I can fill it with glitter and then seal it. When I need the creative spark of glitter, I can open the envelope, throw it into the air, and marvel at the sight. Of course, I am then responsible for vacuuming the carpet.

Prayer is an action word. Simple prayer, “God please help me.” Then I get up from my knees, and do what God would have me do. How do I know if I’m aligned with God? By how I feel. By the ease with which I participate in the day. I am a crayon coloring between the lines. I am a blank piece of paper allowing colors to splash me awake. I am a little beetle surfing the neighborhood on a green leaf.

The possibilities for prayer are endless. It is best when I pray for someone else; someone who’s ailing, someone who I am upset with, wishing for her to receive all the good things that come from a life well lived. And my favorite prayer is “God please rid me of self.” When offered this, I have vision. I can see the cacti from my bedroom window and know they cannot hurt me as long as I don’t touch them. I can listen to a person in pain and have compassion, with no need to tell her it will get better because both of us know it won’t; different yes, better no. I can smell life; it is buttered toast and a cup of coffee. I can taste life; it is shampoo I use in my hair. Prayers quiet my mind. It is good to put on my glasses.

Today is October 31, 2014. I am alive and well.

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Does a broken heart ever heal? Or do we simply move on, glass at our feet, ever reminded to wear shoes? How long before we can actually go barefoot? I know “how long” is different for everybody. I am still wearing shoes, although I have found new love. One man doesn’t replace the other; it is more a continuum. Things moving forward in an upward spiral is much better than things moving backward with one stone being heaped in a pile of other stones. The stones are the weight that brought death to VIrginia Woolfe, an amazing writer, who walked into the water never to arise again.

I had a pile of stones, and then borrowed a power drill from God, and turned the stones to dust. This dust, although bagged by me, sometimes shows up on my skin right before a shower. I have a continuos love for Guy, my ex, but have climbed into that upward spiral. This doesn’t mean I have left Guy behind. Quite the contrary. Guy taught me I could love. My forgiveness of him, my love for him, continues to fuel my life. I know I have love for Mark because I have love for Guy. I’m really at a loss as to how to make sense of this.

My love doesn’t compartmentalize itself. It is free flowing energy that is increased by loving many. However, Mark is the prime beneficiary of my love. I don’t wish to return to a pile of stones. Life continues to surprise me. I glow in the shadow of elms. At night, when all the shadows have been eaten away by the dark, I thank God for both Guy and Mark. Having love twice doesn’t fatten me. I feel light. My spindly arms are not frail and reach for…well, I don’t know exactly what. But it’s ablaze, I do know that.

Today is October 28, 2014. I am alive and well.

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excerpt from my memoir in progress

My character in the story “A Meditation on Panty Hose” speaks to perceptions being not what they are. Perceptions shape our experience of things. My perception camera was broken for many years.

My broken camera accelerated my alcoholism. I believed when drunk, I was really sure footed although I was falling all over myself. I believed when drunk, that I was artistically brilliant even though I could not decipher my scribbling from the afternoon or evening before. When drunk, I was more social. When drunk, people tried to avoid me because I was stumbling all over myself with words that made no sense. When drunk, the world was right even when I came to on the bathroom floor of a bar having passed out and puked all over myself. I was beautiful; just misunderstood.

When sober without a 12 step program, I was terrified of everything. I knew people were talking about me behind my back, even strangers. I knew snot was hanging from my nose. I knew the government would come knocking on my door. I was important; I was a nobody. It was impossible for me to differentiate the false from the truth. Both my alcoholism and my schizophrenia kept me from seeing the truth for years.

Today, truth matters to me. If I have a problem standing in the truth, I reach out to friends who provide me with strong legs and broad shoulders. I have no need to be sheltered from the truth today. The truth will always set me soaring.

Today is October 24, 2014. I am alive and well.

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Excerpt from my work in progress. I have not come up with a title yet.

I believe I experience meditation when I write or make art. These two things take me out of myself, which is a good place to be to meditate. I refer to it as active meditation, as getting into the zone. When writing, all that exists are letters weaved to gather to create something that wasn’t there five minutes ago. Words become the wings of God, paragraphs, the feet, the page the mind, and the chapter the heart. I have given God a human persona. I believe God can take any form. God can be a mass of electrons at rest. God can exist in a handshake.

The soul of God shows up if I write authentically. I feel like a vessel of something I don’t understand, but care to know.

“I pray for knowledge of His will for me and the power to carry it out.” I know when I’m on track because there is a certain peace that washes through me. A calm that I can’t manifest on my own.

Today is October 23, 2014. I am alive and well.

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A Wave in the Wind

She is not any bigger than a minute and is as flamboyant as a nun. Two ton Ricky waved her down from the bridge. It’s a long fall off the Golden Gate to the bay. He was afraid she would stop breathing on the way down. There were no branches to catch her skirt. The day was peach colored and keen. Breakfast at Lulu’s was a good idea. They crack the eggs right in front of you. She pressed her ear to Ricky’s ear and heard the same sounds as him. Who was to know he listened to grandma say “don’t you rot in the road.” A sidewalk is a powerful thing. It bends destiny enough that you don’t have to fall into the pothole but can stand with your elephant on a leash, opting to detour at the grocery store where all the nuts hang out in salt. Rally for the beautiful day that exists.

Today is October 20, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I have four cookbooks from the library that I keep renewing with the hope that I will indeed prepare something. Cooking with Avocados, Sensational Salads, The Naked Veggie Burger, and The Skinny Slow Cooker.

I read them like I do poems, a few at a time. Poems impassion me. Cookbooks cause me to salivate. I think to write the ingredients down so I can shop. It’s like thinking to bring a dollar bill with me to work so I have something to put into the candy machine. How can I justify spending fifteen dollars on a particular spice that I will only use for this one recipe? That’s fifteen candy bars. It seems a much better pay off than actually making something to bring to work. If the recipe calls for thirty dollars worth of ingredients, isn’t Subway the better option?

Mostly, I think I don’t want to spend the time cooking. I’d rather linger over the keyboard, type the word “the” and wonder what the “the” proceeds. The goat coughed up the golf ball on the green, allowing it to roll for a hole in one. That is more interesting than tossing a salad for five minutes, later commenting “I ate the mushrooms, pushing the croutons to the side.

The library books are checked out for three weeks and can be renewed six times. They become something I have to dust when dusting the house. The intention is to cook. The intention is to not waste time. Maybe I’ll start with eggs in the morning. No recipe required and it takes one minute to fry. But then I need to consider the dishes I’ll have to wash. Time. Probably, I will stick with my bagel smeared with butter and orange marmalade. The only thing to wash would be a butter knife.

Today is October 17, 2014. I am alive and well.

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I have been working on my second book. Still no title for it. I am 260 pages in. It feels good to be writing agin. After my break with Guy, I found myself unable to concentrate. What does it mean to find oneself, able or not able? Is it like finding oneself in the dark, trying to count change? My height at six feet allows me to see over a crowd. I find it freeing to have my head raised and visibility good. I am finding myself with sight and my ass in the chair, ready to write.

Loosing Guy was devastating. 14 years is a long time to be with someone, at least a long time for me. A quote from Marianne Williamson speaks to how I involve myself with Guy today; “Dear God, I place my past in Your hands. Please purify my thoughts about it. May I only remember the love I gave and the love that I received. May all else burn away in the alchemy of forgiveness.”

I have forgiven Guy because it was necessary for my spiritual development and relationship to God. I have also forgiven Guy because, much to the chagrin of many of my friends, I continue to want Guy in my life. We are friends. I believe our connection is something other worldly. Truly.

Having Guy in my life brings me peace. It’s like having an extra towel when stepping out of the bath. The smell of fresh soap clings to my skin in a good way. An unobtrusive way. I will see Mark later today. I know my love for Mark is possible because I learned to love Guy with absolutely all of me. Cliche to say. But cliches are good for some things, aren’t they? I remain blessed by love. I am like my kitten on the windowsill looking out at the world, knowing there is a place for everything. And as Grams does, I feel alive in my own skin, ready to walk a new path I imagine. The imaginings are good, are strong, are freeing.