Cambria and Cambria

Blog September 6, 2009

I am in Cambria, a beautiful seaside town. Tranquil, small, quaint. Everything LA is not. Nature is accessible and real. Not man-made or a façade. LA is trees and water brought in from somewhere else. Nothing is indigenous to the area but the Mexicans begging for work outside of Home Depot.
But here in this small, sleepy town of Cambria, I feel as if transported to some other REAL place. I am proud, yet sometimes ashamed, of my city girl core. I know that a small part of me yearns for this slow life. Last night, Dakota and I went to the happenin’ place in Cambria for some beers. The place had a saloon feel called Mozzi’s, pronounce “mosey.” We walk in and heads turn as we bee line it to the bathroom. The metropolitan side of my brain immediately sizes up the joint and its inhabitants. Scruffy looking men drinking domestic beer, wearing Carhart work pants and boots, dirt in their finger nails, emanating the smell of 100 ashtrays. Their skin is leathery and worn, evidence of outside manual labor. The women looked as if they were “rode hard and put away wet.” All between 30 and 45, they, too, looked weather beaten and dehydrated. They wore outfits that could be found in decades past and wore copious amounts of makeup. Everyone was WHITE, as in Caucasian. Not that I’m uncomfortable with that, but I felt they were uncomfortable with me being NOT white.
Dakota and I probably exuded the aura of “not bein’ from around these parts.” Our goal was to have a drink and be merry, maybe shake a tale feather or two. I’ll spare you all the details, but there wasn’t a man who didn’t try to talk to us. I think every older gent shot me a wink that I thought maybe for a second this town was afflicted with some eye disease. We survived a couple of bar brawls that made me have to seek refuge by standing on my booth and table to avoid the massive swaying of man bodies. I did get to shake my tale with a nice younger man.
As fate would have it, on our way home from the bar, we notice 2 of the young vying for our attentions earlier walking down a dark road (there is only one main drag in this Podunk town). Dakota and her charitable heart decide to stop and offer them a ride. Uh, oh, here come the adventures. One of the men had the biggest shiner on his left eye and the other was the man I danced with and kept having to avoid his advances of trying to kiss me that entire evening. Coincidentally, the home they are renting is just 4 blocks from where were staying….
Fast forward: We got home all safe and sound and went skinny dipping in the hot tub, which was magnificent at 2 in the morning.

Day 1 down on my weekend getaway....

A state of being

suffering

Definition: misery resulting from affliction

I'm trying the best i can.

Time is moving really slow. I swear I got home at 6PM, and it is 9:36PM, yet it has felt like I've been here for full day.

Today is full of ups and downs. Sometimes I feel good and confident. At other times I feel as if in the depths of despair.

Breath in, breath out... I pray for peace in my heart. I want to be healed. Please, Lord, heal me. Please, Lord, heal me.

today i ate

1 cup red grapes
1 slice of whole wheat toast w/ creamy soy butter
1 bottle of Green Machine
2 cups green salad w/ balsamic vinaigrette
8oz. vegetarian asparagus soup
6 ginger chicken potstickers
1 banana
half an apple

I wonder how many calories that is....

no title

Why do I keep denying it? I love to sing. I really do. It really brings me joy. I need to do it more often. But I want to hone it, my voice, too. Not just sing in my car. I don't want to be famous, I just want to sing and stir in people emotions with the song I sing.

Step 1- Singing lessons, maybe?
Step 2- Karaoke nights?
Step 3- Open mic nights?

Sleeping pill kicking in....

One more thing

I made the most delicious Peach Crisp and hand whipped cream. I even surprised myself.
Perfect marriage of peach, buttery crumble top and chantilly cream.
Let's have the pictures do all the justice:

Meanderings

My sleeping pill is kicking in and I'll probably read this tomorrow and not even remember writing this.

Of late, I have been craving to get high on pills. It's more of a feeling: It's the feeling I would get when I was laid up in the hospital and the nurse would pull up to the door of my room, check my vitals, then ask me what my pain level is. I would lie and say a level 9. The filipina nurse would then turn on her reebok'd heel back to her cart built like an armored truck. Inside is the entire floors supply of medication that can only be administered by the RN. The key to unlock the "safe" is hooked by one of those retractable belt thingies around her small waist. In the hallway, she would pull out a glass vial from a concrete case. Inserting the needle into the bottle top she pulls back the plunger to a desired cc. After returning the vial in the "safe" the nurse breaks off the needle, leaving only the syringe that is now a perfect male fit to my female IV.

Then she would walk towards me with a nice motherly smile. At this point, my brain is firing off a million miles per hour anticipating getting my fix. On the outside, I have grimaced face to simulate level 9 pain that doesn't exist. Filipina nurse says, "Don't worry, this will help with all the pain." She then pull a small blue square out her pocket, rips it open to reveal an alcohol swab that she use to clean the insertion site on my IV line. Then she attaches the syringe full of dilaudid/morphine by a simple quarter turn, and slowly starts to push on the plunger. She goes slow since my vein is small and weak and does not want to "bust" the vein. She also goes slow because the opioids themselves burn inside the vein and can be very painful. The entire process is completely pleasurable to me, the anticipation of getting my fix up to the time the drugs actually reach my brain and I can barely keep my eyes open. I love it. I really really love it.

Its the same feeling I get when I have to use anesthesia for any procedure, like when had my wisdom tooth taken out. They gave me a cocktail called "Twilight" of a Benzodiazapine, a Barbituate, and an Opioid, like demerol, morphine or stadol. I love love love love love love Twilight. I would love to just take at home to chill the fuck out.

Man, my desires for these illicit things are still strong, that I don't really care about the consequences when i'm craving.

right now, i have 3-80mg Oxycontin. but I have no desire to take them, because I don't think I'm not going to like what how it will make me feel.

Time to pass out.

Good morning, it's wednesday!

Here's a typical thing. I haul ass to get to the farmers market by 7:30am. I arrive to get a text from my chef that he can't make it. A little perturbed, I am determined to be grateful of the change of plans. I buy a bag o'cherries and walk to the beach to bask in the morning light.

I need to change my paradigm.

This I know for sure

I'm chemically imbalanced. It's a constant battle between my body and my own desires to have mental peace and clarity. I'm hardwired differently because of my drug use of the past, at least that's what I've convinced myself. I'm pretty sure I would be able to "deal" with things better if I were on a consistent medication to elevate my mood, to "balance the imbalance". I choose not to medicate; instead, I "manage" it the best I can by keeping busy to create a sense of fulfillment, never allowing myself to just be still because I have myself convinced that if I just be still the negative thoughts will take over. So I mask them with busyness. Of course, the things I occupy myself with are never truly satisfying, but only wear me thin... Soon enough I'm ready to give up, tired, dissatisfied, hopeless and mildly depressed. My lethargy kicks in, my drive is non-existent, and I'm chastising myself for letting it get this far.

At my lowest point, I stay in bed, don't eat, surf the internet for another job and start considering ways to cut my cost of living (like moving to another apt or downgrading my cell phone plan). I'm filled with self doubt and impending doom. My biggest fear is that I'll be found out... that someone is going to figure out that I don't have my shit together, the shame that accompanies that, then the guilt of knowing that my life isn't bad at all and my feelings of inadequacy are forms of weakness and I need to remedy myself of personal defects and MAN UP!

So it begins all over again, the cycle of disparagement, until I'm completely brow-beaten--- a meek, insecure shell of my true self.
I think I've been in denial about the truth of my chemical makeup. I've always been afraid to ask for help or need someone; it's the stubborn in me Matigas ang ulo.

A year and half ago I started having these "dark spells," it coincided with a break up. A few month later I noticed that it paralleled my menstrual cycle. My pMS was a deep depression. I was diagnosed with PMDD, Pre-menstrual dysphoric disorder, and was prescribed Yaz. Within 3 months my PMS was "normal," but other side effects were weight gain. When I started to feel better mentally I decided to take stop taking Yaz. Immediately I started having extreme mood swings, mostly anger and rage. I had to be put back on Yaz. I'm wondering if the efficacy is wearing off on my PMDD...

So the cat is out of the bag: I'm nothing but flesh and bone.

I think you should know

I dropped out of school.