My Hurting Heart Doesn't Want That

Depression is an illness that there is no intervention for. How does one intervene in unexpressed pain? What ultimatums do you give a broken heart?

As someone who has long struggled with depression, I don't have any answers for how to make things better, but I do know of things that have never helped me. People offer suggestions and advice out of love and concern, but most of what they suggest and advise means nothing to a person in the middle of their darkness. And depression is its own galaxy of very little light, filled with fear, doubt, hopelessness, despair, and self-loathing. All those things rotate in the tortured mind of the depressed.  Every now and then, a little bit of light gets in and allows the person to get through to another moment alive. But that light never stays on. That's the cycle: me and it, suiting up against each other, fighting it out, retreating, and then doing the whole thing all over again.


I've had well-meaning people tell me what they think will help me. I love that they care but I hate their advice. To quote one of my favorite writers, "You got to go there to know there." No one else can navigate the dark places my mind has taken me. Often the advice I get is only frustrating.

"Exercise" is what a lot of people will tell a depressed person. "Get up and get out in some fresh air and take a walk." I am sure that that works for some people, but not for me. When I am in the worst of my depression, I can't even move to wipe tears from my face. I have sat immobile on the couch or the floor because I didn't have the energy or will to move. I have sometimes just kept still because of a feeling that I would shatter from grief if I moved. I have lain in bed unable to even push the covers off when I got too warm. So exercise only works for me before the deepest of the darkness settles in.

Another suggestion is to "count your blessings". This is one that really hurts. My faith means so much to me that it's the thing I wrestle most with when I am feeling at my lowest. I pray long conversations with God at this point, but it's very hard to count blessings while you are in a fight for your life. I am always thankful to God because I have never been forsaken, but that doesn't help the pain when I am drowning in it.

I've also been told to just "buck up" -  as if I'm an animal who only needs to remember how to move correctly! And what the hell does it even mean to "buck up"? Whatever it means, I wish getting from under the grip of depression was so easy as just doing something other than being depressed. Maybe the next time I'm taking care of a household bill, instead of sending in a payment, I can just command the bill to "be paid!"

There was a period in my life when I almost couldn't deal with attending church because I would just weep through the entire service. One time a woman sitting beside me in the pew hugged me and whispered that I should just "pray that sadness away". I didn't go back to church for a month. My tears in the church weren't from the sadness, they were from feeling so completely grateful. No matter how low I have ever been, I have never felt abandoned by God. I've felt mad at Him but I've never felt separated from Him. I never forget Romans 8:38-39.

So what am I trying to say? I'm not trying to speak for everyone who suffers from depression. I can only speak for myself because I only know what my hurting heart doesn't want. First of all, you can't 'fix' me with advice. My doctors are trying different types of medicines. I don't even know if I can be fixed. I'm just trying to survive and your words - as nice as they sound - don't help. What helps is knowing that you love me. Please know that I am more than my depression. Know that my depression comes and goes, ebbs and flows. Try to love me when I'm in the middle of the darkness as much - or maybe more - as you love me any other time.

Sometimes, the best thing that a friend or other loved one can do for me is to just let me know that you are there but give me space. I'm familiar with all the voices in my head and I know how to cry them, pray them, and battle them away. I just need to know that you're still going to love me when I come out of the fight.

Peace
--Free

All That We Are

So, I was in one of my moods the other night after taking my injection. Since the most I can do on those days in lay down and try not to be nauseous and achy (think of the mild flu), I tend to do a lot of thinking. For some reason on this day, I went way deeper than I usually do when I don't feel well.

What I started out thinking was that we as humans don't often realize just how much more we are than flesh and blood. (And I have no idea how that sentence sounds because I'm foggy today so bear with me.) We tend to our flesh - with food and drink and sex and drugs and all the emotions we can muster up - but do we pay enough attention to the rest of what we are?

By the way, when I was looking for an image to post here, this perfectly suitable one popped up on Pinterest:

I personally think of my body as being only maybe ten percent of who and what I am. The body is what you see, but my mind and soul and thoughts and inner mystery is the most significant part. The body is just a vessel - convenient but overrated. The body is really the part of us that causes our sorrows - or most of them. It's the keeper of our health and our sins and our weapon of negative actions.

A quote that I always loved - though I misunderstood and wrongly attributed to C.S. Lewis - goes something like this:

You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.

While I get that the theology of the statement is a little crooked, I still like the core of what it means to me. I realize that I am a body imbued with a soul and, thankfully also the Spirit indwelling. What the quotation means to my train of thought though is that we don't think as much as we should about our souls. Our neglect of the soul is the root of so many troubles.

I think that when people say that they can "sense" something good or bad about a person, what they are feeling is the character of that person's soul. Often, when I meet someone, I will feel something really positive or really negative vibing between us. They can be a completely decent person who I just get a bad feeling about or a seemingly horrible person who I feel safe with. I've been wrong at times of course, but a lot of the time, I'm proved right. Also, I can meet someone and just know that I want them in my life. That's how I met my best friend.

The world - or rather, society and its norms - have trained us to be more aware of and to react more to people based on having (or lacking) so-called good looks, success, charisma, or the 'It' factor. I believe this is how we made bad choices in friends, relationships, and safety. There are murderers who have charm and looks. There are great-looking people who will ruin your life if they get a chance. Some psycho- and/or sociopathic people thrive because of the shallow nature of the rest of us.

People who look deeper and feel deeper and think deeper are so often thought of as 'strange' or odd. I had a hard time when I was younger because I just didn't care as much about the same things as most of my peers did. I was never the person who felt comfortable at parties or other common social situations. I would find myself trying to have a good time but getting distracted or lost in my thoughts about what was going on around me. Thank God I had wonderful parents. They let me know that it was okay not to fit in everywhere. They would tell me not to worry about have a lot of friends and just to try having good friends. Plus, I come from a large extended family so I had cousins and such. Being a military kid was a blessing and a curse since I was never going to be around the same crowd of kids for long.

Once again, because of brain fog, I've kind of forgotten where the hell I was traveling on this train of thought! Mainly though, I just wanted to talk about how we don't get to know other people - or even ourselves - as well as we should because we never look deep enough.

I will give up trying to pull my thoughts back together and just update this post if I can on another day. Of course, I'm pretty sure my brain will wake up all ready to cooperate just when I get good and sleep tonight...

Peace
--Free

GRIOT: Big Mama, Big Food, Big Love

Originally posted on Tuesday, April 05, 2016

I'm taking a couple days' break from reviews. I've received so many EOs for cleansing and moisturizing, I need to let my body (and skin, and hair) rest! I've washed my hair so much that I've rid myself of future dirt.
Today, I want to talk about memories. I've been in that mood. I was telling my niece the other night about the times I used to spend around Big Mama. My memory sucks so I probably tossed in memories that were handed down from my older brothers and sister.

We talked about how Big Mama would fix these huge and amazing breakfasts. When I say that breakfast at Big Mama's was an experience, I mean that even my mother (the Texan) was impressed. There were no simple, egg-and-bacon deals at Big Mama's. There's not a fast food chain around that could emulate these meals without adding a buffet line.

The first time I had a Big Mama breakfast, I thought I'd migrated in my sleep and woken up in the planet of No Freaking Way.

First, there was the food: slices of ham, fried pork chops, pan-fried potatoes, thick slabs of bacon, grits with salt and pepper, and biscuits that so huge and buttery-good that I think they are what the Israelites called manna. There were also eggs - scrambled eggs, sunny-side up, boiled and sliced - but who the heck could think about eggs with all that other food? One of my brothers used to joke that just two of those biscuits could feed half of a small continent.

When I say there was a lot of food, I mean, there wasn't just a dib of this and a dab of that. I mean, there was a lot of food. That was the first amazement.

Then there was the fact that there were so many people at the table. Family that lived two and three blocks away showed up for breakfast at Big Mama's. Talk about getting a start to the day, right? It was like a daily family reunion before folks went off to school or work or back to their own homes for the day.
The most impressive thing to me about those breakfasts - the thing that I never got over, even after I was used to all the food and family - was that they happened while dawn hadn't even thought about breaking. Seriously.

For a time, when my father moved our family there while he went overseas, we had to look for temporary housing. In the meantime, my mother, my siblings and I stayed in Big Mama's house. I'd feel like I'd just gone into REM sleep when I'd hear Big Mama walking around doing her morning wake-up calls.

"Rise and shine, everybody. The Lord has blessed us all to see another day!"

I'd just be wishing that the Lord would bless us to sleep another couple of hours. But, in Big Mama's house, no one was allowed to lay around in bed unless they were sick. Big Mama believed in that early-to-bed and early-to-rise thing. Super early. Crazy early. Early to bed like a narcoleptic wino, and early to rise like a rooster with anxiety issues.

Still, I loved being around my Big Mama - Miz Minnie Lee to a lot of people, but always Big Mama to me. She had her ways though...

Big Mama had a lot in common with most people of her generation when it came to how you raised and treated children. I always think of this image when I think of my Big Mama:

After she fed us all to stuffing before the crack of dawn, Big Mama made us face the day with prowess. During the school year, Big Mama could get 30 kids out of the house - on time, nourished, clean, looking good and feeling like there was nothing they couldn't do. She was like a fierce wind that pushed you out that door and into the world like all your dreams were just waiting for you to collect them. Even with all that freaking food in you.

Side note here about my aunties: I have the best aunties in this world. One of my aunties was a lunch lady at the elementary school. Who always got a fresh cinnamon roll for school breakfast? And who never had to worry that all the chocolate milk was gone? Me, that's who! (And I want to find that lost cinnamon roll recipe because I have never had one like those since childhood.)

One of my other aunties was our lioness. She'd run off bullies with a broom (true story), chaperon teen socials, carpool kids all over the neighborhood after the weekend get-togethers, and make sure that any stray kid was looked after.

Big Mama raised those aunties of mine. No surprise that they are all women to be reckoned with.
I guess I'm just glad that I have so many good memories of my Big Mama. I wish that many of the younger people I know could have experienced that kind of love.

Today, people like to call my Big Mama's kind of love "tough love". It wasn't tough love, it was just big love.

Peace
--Free


NOTE: I did make a couple of needed corrections that I only noticed when re-posting this. 

Re-posting a Funny

I've been laid up for several days and letting a bunch of scheduled posts take care of the blog. However, I was looking over some old posts and wanted to share this. This is a paste/copy of a post from June 2006 of something so hilarious that my sisters-in-law and I still laugh about it. I wish I knew where it originated. Please enjoy.


For My Lady Blogger Buddies

Okay - and the guys too. Anyone who wants to laugh. No post today, so enjoy this. It was given to me yesterday when I went to lunch with my office family. I'm surprised we weren't kicked out of the place. I'm not sure who wrote it, but YOU WILL LAUGH. (It's a little long...)

CAUTION: Be prepared to laugh out loud!

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.

It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.

(YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip, I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my "honey pot" and stretching down to the inside of my ass cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself...RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!.... OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. OH NO! What have I done???!!! Another deep breath and RRIIP! P!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax. WHAT?! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, my "man magnet". Which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.

Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down. My

LIFE FLASHES BEFORE ME!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Kooter? Sealed shut! Ass?? Sealed shut! Both sealed tighter than

Fort Knox!!!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to Shit! My head may, quite frankly, just pop off!"

What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!!

I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.

Now, the only thing worse than having your ass and nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.

So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!!

God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!

I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter -

"So girlfriend, my ass and "kitty" are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"

There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking your ass and crotch?" She must be reveling in humor and wants me to repeat it for her enjoyment.

She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.

While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better than to have your "man-hole" girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on my cooch, and

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.

It's sooo painful, but I really don't care.

"IT WORKS!! It works!!"

I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up. I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair...THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!! Looking like an Osama Bin Laden goatee!

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color.....

Now that's funny ........ Notttttttttt.


Send this on to other ladies who need a good laugh!

Peace
--Free

P.S.: I had to come back and edit at least 3 times. It's an OLD post and the formatting was awful..

GRIOT: The Family Griot

When my sister died, she took with her a lot of our oral family history. My mother used to talk to us all the time about her life as a young woman back in Texas. I didn't appreciate her stories until I got older and there are so many times I wished I had tape-recorded her telling them. Being ten years older than me, my sister knew and remembered more of the people and things my mother talked about. Now, there are only a few members of the extended family who have this knowledge. But I do remember some things.

Can't remember where I found the image a while back

Some of my favorite stories are of the times my mother and her cousins would have "play church". There were a lot of cousins to make up the congregation, but it was Vera Lee who usually played the part of the pastor. She could stomp, preach, and hold her ear and yowl like the best of the Southern 'negro' preachers.

One time during one of these 'church' services, the cousins decided to hold a funeral. They also decided that the funeral needed a body. Cousin Bunky was the snitch of the group and she had recently gotten some of the other kids in trouble with her tattling. And that is how Vera Lee decided that Bunky should be the body. Bunky had forgotten all about the recent whoopings she had caused for the other kids so she was fine with playing the corpse at the funeral. Until the other kids got to the part where they actually tried burying her.

There were so many of these stories from my mother. I'm glad that I have old notebooks and blog posts with some of the tales recorded. I thought that I would share (or re-share) some of them here. So, every now and then, I will do those post filed under "Griot" and hope that other people will be encouraged to enjoy their own family histories.

Peace
--Free

Ride or Die?

Recently, I saw a post on Instagram that made me laugh hard just before it made me think even harder.

Liking my pic is not the problem here!

I was once  a true "ride or die" chick. The ride was pretty rough and it did almost kill me.

The ex you have heard about before was my personal Jim Jones. I loved him blindly and drank so much of his Koolaid that I'm still getting the poison out of my system. In the early days of our relationship, he told me that he didn't think that he had enough to offer me in the way of material things. I told him I didn't care and that I would live in a shack or on the streets with him. It was only after we had burned through all of my money and were really close to living on the streets that I had a couple of revelations. For one thing, there was no reason for us to be in such a bad situation. If he had at least tried to help and love me the way I did him, we'd have been just fine. For another thing, well, he didn't love me the way I loved him. I know because he eventually told me so.

It was that relationship - and all the drama and fear and anger and abuse - that helped make me sick. If you think that emotional and psychological stress can't kill you, ask a doctor.

My bad relationship helped me to realize that the love I need is the love I have to give.

Or maybe there will be no more hurt

A  few short years of being "ride or die" for someone who didn't deserve that kind of loyalty cost me so much. I damaged other relationships, I wrecked my mental and physical health, and I crucified my finances. Believe this or not though, I gained so much more than I lost. Humiliation taught me things that pride never could have. I know what being loved and valued means now that I've been through the opposite. Most of all, I learned something my mother always tried to teach me. Hope is worth more than 'happy'. Being happy can very quickly be replaced with sorrow and depression and defeat. Being hopeful helps you persevere when you think about giving up and giving in. I survive on hope every single day.

So, I sometimes joke about being burned and learned when it comes to love. Truth is, I'm still a believer. I believe that the other half of my celestial self is out there somewhere, remaining hopeful.

And that, I truly, hope, is the truth.

Peace
--Free

**UPDATE** I Tried Mitragyna Speciosa

NOTE: Kratom is not legal in all places & I am not encouraging the use of the herb.

This post is about my personal experience using Kratom

 and anyone considering using it should consult their medical team.

*****UPDATE*****

I've used Kratom every day for 6 days. Here are the highlights.

PROS:

• I felt that it did help my focus somewhat. The brain fog never completely went away, but I felt I had an easier time working through it.
• The energy boost is undeniable. There were no jitters, just a steady level of energy.
• My appetite decreased. 
• I slept better than I have in a very long time. I found that I was sleeping through the night and waking up without the hangover effects of prescription sleeping pills.
• It was easy to work around the nasty taste of the powder by mixing into beverages. I think it's best masked by mixing into some O.J.
• A 25g bag of the powder could last a couple of months if I only use it on an as-needed basis. If I had to choose, I would use it only for sleep.

The biggest benefit has been the effect on my sleep. I haven't felt so rested in a very long time. My fatigue is not completely gone, but I wonder if it would be in another few months. The appetite suppressing effect is nice but I was already losing weight on my own. That's called not eating your emotions.

CONS:

• Getting the dosage right is very tricky. What seems to work one day is too much or too little the next.
• Even though it helped me sleep better, I slept less. Not sure if this is a downside or not.
• I would have to test a lot of strains to find one that works best for me. There are a LOT of different strains and variations of strains.
• Kratom gave me headaches.

That last one - the headaches - is the biggest negative for me. No matter how much or how little I used, I would develop a headache within half an hour. The headache lasts longer than the other effects of the powder. To make sure that Kratom was the cause, I skipped an evening dose and the next morning's dose. Headache went away about noon of that second day. I took a dose for nighttime and the headache crept back in. I checked my blood pressure (which has been excellent for over a year now) and it was normal. 

I am not sure whether I will try a different strain or not, but I really love how much my sleep has improved. That feels a little bit like a miracle after all the months of fighting insomnia. I am going to think about whether to continue my search for a strain that works best for me. In the meantime, my friend bought me some CBD oil and I will review that at a later date. I didn't want to use both the Kratom and the CBD at the same time until after seeing the effects of the Kratom. 

 Mitragyna speciosa or, as it is more commonly known as Kratom is something I heard about when through an online support group for people with chronic depression and anxiety. I have been considering trying it for a long while because prescription medications have not been working well for me. 

I hesitated with posting about my experience with Kratom because I don't want to be a cheerleader for anything like this herb. Making the decision to try Kratom was like marriage and not to be entered into lightly. I didn't pay attention to that suggestion when I was at the altar but I did take it seriously about Kratom.

There were a lot of reasons I wanted to try this herb. The possible relief from anxiety and depression was a top reason. When some people told me that it also helped alleviate their extreme fatigue, I got more interested. 

I spent a lot of time looking around for reputable vendors, then I had to decide which strain of Kratom I wanted to try. There are so many choices and the information out there is so convoluted that deciding where to start is tiring. What I finally ended up doing was getting one strain that is supposed to be best for relieving fatigue (this was a white veined strain) and another strain to help with depression and anxiety (red veined).

One very concerning thing is that there are no standard dosing instructions for this stuff. All I learned was to start small and move up incrementally until you discover your best dose.  I ended up being extremely cautious about doing this.

The first time I used the white veined powder, I took it in increments of 1/8 teaspoon at a time until I realized that a teaspoon and a half is a dose that works for me. By the way, this stuff is crazy bitter. I mixed mine in with a little bit of my coffee and just slammed it back. Cranberry juice also helps mask the nasty taste.

 Both powders look the same

I got some relief from my fatigue after using that 1 1/2 teaspoon. There was no feeling of being 'high'. There's no discernible feeling at all. I simply realized, after about 10 minutes of the full dose, that I was not as weighted down by the fatigue as I had been. Thankfully, there is no 'buzz' or sense of being revved up like there can be with some prescription meds. The downside is that, for me, the effect lasts only a few hours. Still, it was great to be able to get things done for a while. I didn't notice a big difference in my cognitive function but I didn't seem to be as brain-fogged as I can often be.

I made sure to use the red-veined powder only when I was completely ready to be down for the night. I went ahead and used the same 1.5 teaspoon dose as I did for the white strain. I expected it to be more noticeable but, just like with the other powder, the effects were subtle. I forget how long it was before I did notice being more relaxed and calm. I do know that, had I shut my brain off, I could have gone to sleep about a half hour after I was in bed. Of course, I didn't shut down because I wanted to listen to a news podcast like I do every night. When I did fall asleep, I was out and I was out for the night.

The red strain worked so well for helping me to sleep that I am amazed. After struggling with both fatigue and insomnia for so long, it was wonderful to be able to get a complete night of sleep. I didn't wake up not even once through the night. I know for a fact that I didn't toss and turn. I had my writing notebook and an open bottle of water on a bedtable next to me when I went to sleep and didn't knock anything over during the night. Also, I felt incredibly rested when I got up. When I have used sleeping pills - prescription or OTC - I always wake up feeling groggy, slightly hungover and kind of dehydrated.

Day Two, I decided to take the white strain on an empty stomach and I did the full 1.5 teaspoon dose all at once instead of incrementally. That seems to work better for me. I felt as though I had had a significant caffeine boost without getting the jitters. I'm not sure if my mind was sharper but I really think that I had less trouble focusing for longer periods of time. Usually, when I am writing or blogging, it's easy for me to lose track

The one benefit that I was not expecting was that this suppressed my appetite. I didn't realize this until about 6 hours into my day. I start my morning with coffee and creamer instead of food. By lunchtime, I am usually already snacking when I prep something substantial. My meals are almost always homecooked and fairly healthy but my snacking is out of control. There are some days when I replace meals with junk and, despite all my wishes and prayers, homemade junk is just as fattening and as storebought junk. It may be slightly healthier to eat my homemade brown sugar bread with walnuts, but my bathroom scale doesn't care if it home prepped or straight from the Twinkies factory. So, score another point for the Kratom.

So far, I do like using the powder. I do know that I will need to be careful to watch for any negative side effects, but that's the same as for prescription meds. Also, like I said, this is something that is all kinds of experimental and it effects most like vary wildly depending on the individual's other medications and overall health.

Finally, this was just a rundown of my personal experience. If anyone decides to try the herb, know that you will have to do your own research and accept the responsibility. Also. this stuff is not legal everywhere. It is currently legal here in Iowa, but you can check online for the latest maps of states where it is and is not allowed.

I may update this post at some point.

Peace
--Free


P.S.: I was undecided until the last minute as to whether I would say where I bought the Kratom. I have decided to link to the site where I bought mine. I liked the item I got from Coastline Kratom. I found the prices fair and after a month of use, I am very happy with the results I am getting. Make sure that you look for any first-time buyer coupon codes. However, I do not get paid for any sales. Use your own judgment when making purchases of anything you intend to you as I am not responsible for that. This next time I am trying the white strain of Maeng Da. Again, purchase and use under your own guidance.

The Kitchen in the Bathroom

Something happened that reminded me of this video:

I first saw that video at least three years ago and to this day I don't know if the lady was kidding or not. But I do know that some people are still mystified by "the butters" and other stuff some women can't live without...

One morning, my neighbor popped over bringing donuts to share with me. I had just gotten out of the shower from washing my hair. I told her to go ahead and brew us some coffee and I went on into the bedroom to get dressed. I heard her going in to use the loo at some point and hoped she didn't mind the after-shower mess.

She didn't even greet me when I came out to sit with her. She just asked me what the hell I had going on in my bathroom. I thought she meant I'd left water on the floor or something but she was talking about all the stuff I'd left out on the counter.

It's not a huge secret that some of us women use fridge and pantry items in our skin and hair care routines. It's also not a huge secret that this is kind of an... "ethnic" thing to do. Back in Anchorage, it was just a thing. Almost everybody was into it. A lot of diversity in Anchorage and my sisters of all races were in on the moisture thing. Because Alaska. And winter. Sometimes 8 months of winter.

I now live in a tiny town in Iowa where there are about 15 black people (I'm not kidding about being able to count how many) and 3 of those are my family members. My neighbor is white and has admitted that I am her second black friend. Ever. She is in her mid-60's.

Now, if you ever go into my bathroom right after I've showered or done anything to my hair involving water, you will see some odd things on the counters. There's my coconut oil for my skin and hair; flaxseed gel if I am using it to condition my hair; yogurt and honey if I am doing a face or hair mask; and you might see a tiny jar of coconut oil and sugar that I use as a lip scrub. All that has nothing to do with the sunscreen, glycerin, castor oils and lotion that I mix for moisturizing my skin. And please don't look into the shower where I have regular shampoo, conditioner, and body oil. Oh, and 3 different kinds of soaps - USA, Greece, and Africa are represented. There's barely room for my body to be in there.

I explained all this to my neighbor and she just shook her head. She was probably thinking that this explains why my hair can sometimes smell like a tropical salad. She was most fascinated though with the oils. And I am fascinated with the number of people who don't moisturize. By the way, this reminds me of Bill Burr being hilarious:

The first time I saw that standup show, I laugh-cried all the moisturizer off my face.

Anyway, my neighbor left that day with some of my coconut oil and directions on how to use it to remove makeup or to heat-condition damaged hair. Next time I will mix her up some of my Jamaican Black Castor Oil and Palmer's lotion as a treatment for extra-dry skin.

Peace
--Free

RANT: Keeping It Real

Let me start by saying that this post might "trigger" some folk. I'm sorry but I have to do this. I just finished trying to shop online for some makeup and hair products and I somehow ended up water-sliding down a rabbit hole of madness.

Ladies, when did we get so extreme about trying to be beautiful? Is it because of the selfie mentality brought on by Facebook and Instagram? I think that must be it. I can do a whole pre-rant rant on how sick I am of seeing people pooching up their lips and squinching their eyes to look "sexy" in their photos. I admit that I am jealous of photogenic people but that has nothing to do with how much I hate the way we have perverted the simple act of posing for photos. In my opinion 'posing' for a photo means making sure you don't have food in your teeth, your nose is not shining to light a room. and you are sucking in the belly pooch. I don't know when it because such a thing to make "duck lips" (how f**king stupid does that even sound?) and squinch-eyes. Only Marilyn Monroe could get away with that and she's gone now so stop it. Just stand there and try to look like you are glad to be alive and smile. That's it. Simple. And even if you want to cute it up by pretending to be a lingerie model, that's cutest when it's an every-now-and-then thing. I don't even know some people anymore when I see them in person because they are so impossibly glamorous in every single photo. (I can swear that I am not lying when I say there are people I met online through the family that I did not recognize the first time I saw them in person. I'm dead serious.)

And I get it. We all want to look our best - in photos and in person. Why the hell do you think I was shopping for makeup and hair products? I want to look my nicest. Usually. Most of the time though, I am a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of gal. If I'm not being stubborn, I will put on some foundation and lipstick and reacquaint my body with something other than jeans and a t-shirt. At my finest, I will even try to wear hose and heels. (The heels part is a little tricky with my balance these days, but...)

I once watched a makeup tutorial video that reminded me of something my mother used to say about people just running out of sh*it to do. What I wanted was to understand what "contouring" is since I had heard so much about it. Have you seen this kind of thing before? It's like trick makeup. If you are skilled enough at this contouring stuff, you can abracadabra a person into a whole other entity.

When I was writing this I got so tickled because I remembered something from an old movie. The best part starts at the 3:40 mark.

That clip reminded me of one from the Fresh Prince:

I no longer find Will Smith, sexy or charming these last few years but this clip still cracks me up.

Some women are going to hate me for saying this but... I think it's a little unfair when ladies paint themselves into another face, Spanx up a whole other body, and go all weave-a-go-go. A guy has no idea what a woman really looks like. Sooner or later, all the special effects are going to have to be washed off. And I totally get wanting to look good your best for your man, but reality is still the name of the game. If you are jazzing yourself up in online pics to maybe meet a mate, remember one thing: you eventually have to show up in person. I just think honesty is too important in a relationship (said the woman who, when younger, got up before her husband, apply full makeup, get back in bed and "wake up" again looking lovely) and going too far with the makeup and everything is basically a lie. There's a reason my first marriage failed.

 Another reason I don't understand the obsession with makeup is how messy it can be. I wear a little bit of foundation and am lucky when I make it through the day without it transferring onto everything. When I clean my face at night - and this is just for a tiny bit of foundation mixed into some sunscreen - that baby wipe comes away looking like I used it to stain furniture. That's not sexy.

Maybe I'm just being so critical because I no longer wear much makeup. Even when I was younger, I was no good at using anything beyond the basics. I'm always kind of amazed at the talent some people have at changing their whole look with makeup.

I was talking to a guy in line at the store not long ago. He complimented me on my eyes, saying they were pretty. Before I could even thank him, he asked if my contacts were colored. They are not. I have a strange genetic thing going on that gives my eyes a blue tinge. But I can't blame the guy for asking (but I kind of can) since, these days, you never know what's real or purchased. ~shrug~

I don't know. I'm bitching and criticizing but I am probably a little bit of a hypocrite. I have been known to wear braided extensions and I am not above slathering on makeup for formal photos. One time, I tried wearing some Spanx-like undergarment to work. Two hours into my day, I had to go into the bathroom and completely disrobe to peel myself out of that contraption. I was so constricted I felt like I was about to stroke out...

So, okay then. I guess we all can be a bit vain at times. I just wish we could be more accepting of each other straight, no chaser, no coverup.

One reason I try to never doctor online photos of myself is that I'd rather you be pleasantly surprised when you meet me instead of thinking of me as a photo-shopping genius of a cheat. Oh, wait - was that vain of me?

Peace
--Free

Crime (on my mind) & Time (on my hands)

It's almost time for my weekly injection. I've been playing fast and loose with my health and skipping shots. That's not good so I'm going to stay on schedule for a while. One of the reasons I hate my injections is that, even when they don't have me feeling sick and nasty, they zap every bit of energy from my body. I usually just spend time on the couch watching TV. Sometimes I just plug in the earphones and catch up on the podcasts I bookmark. And, of course, because I am a big scaredy cat with an overactive imagination, true crime is my favorite genre of podcasts. This is why I boobytrap the windows when I leave them open at night. This is why I almost had a heart attack when I woke up in the middle of the night for a potty run and saw this:

Of course, I had to Instagram my scare

I thought for sure a tiny serial-killer goblin had come to get me. (By the way, I also listen to eerie, weirdy, and slightly paranormal podcasts.) Mainly though, I listen to crime-focused stuff. People gone missing without a trace, spouse-killers, monsters who masquerade as the nicest persons ever.

What does it say about me as a human being that I enjoy hearing about the unspeakable things that happen to some other people? Thankfully, I can say that I don't get off on this kind of thing. Mainly, I'm just nosey and interested in the details of crazy crimes. When I say that I'm nosey, I don't mean that I openly get all up into people's business. I'm shame-facedly, sneakily, and pathetically nosey. Like a Gladys Kravitz, peeking through blinds when I hear a commotion on the street or suctioning my ear to the walls if I hear an argument. So, yeah, I think I like being able to belatedly rubberneck at the scenes of horrific or mysterious happenings.

Anyway, the last time I was listening to or watching a crime show, I noticed how often the victims are so deeply loved and venerated. (I have to pause and tell you how good it feels that I didn't have to stop and think of how to properly use the word 'venerated'. My sarc is in time-out for real today!)

No matter how human and flawed a victim is, you mostly hear from their friends and family about how sweet they were or how they always just lit up any room. That's great but I know that if I ever end up on a milk carton (if that is still a thing), my family is going to say all of that too - but they will be thinking of a few other descriptions they won't be able to say out loud.

I'm such a hermit crab that, if not for my best friend who I talk with all the time, I could go missing for a good two weeks before anyone else noticed. This is no one's fault but my own. I have a clear view of any visitors about to enter this building and I have sat right here and not answered when my door. Depends on how I am feeling. I've been like this for so long that most people who know me would not be surprised to know that I ignored them. I just have to be in the mood for company...

My best friend and I have talked about the whole missing person scenario. She's decided that if she came up missing, her family would assume she was just on a really long shopping excursion. (It's true. She has fabulous taste and loves hunting down new "pretties".) Her family and I would probably tell the world about her generosity and warmth. I might have to tell though about the time she spent 3 months trying to find just the right lamp to go with her living room furniture and ended up just having one made. 

I'm sure that at my memorial, people will stand in front of everyone to say al they right things about my love of the children in our family. They might even be able to tell some really funny stories about my phobias. Then, when they go home for the private family-only memorial... Oh boy. If my sister were here, she would talk about the time I got drunk and danced so hard at the club that I was sore for the next week. Or she might talk about how when I was young, I got mad at her and razored some of her favorite clothes right down the seams. Yeah, that really happened.

My oldest brother, if he were still here, would likely talk about what a horrible cook I was up until after I turned fifty. At one of our family dinners, he was really enjoying a dish made with pinto beans and ground beef. He kept talking about how he'd be damned if it didn't taste just like Mama's had. When someone told him that I had made that dish, he looked them dead in the face and swore they were lying.

What I am trying to say is that I wouldn't want anyone broadcasting what my family might say in private about the Trudy they had known and loved.

Public memorials are not the place to criticize anyone. Just like with flowers, they should only be given to the living when they could have made a difference. My mother used to say that flowers to the dead are usually just guilt offerings for the living.

I suppose that everyone has public vs private remembrances of loved ones who had tragic endings. Maybe the families and friends of those people keep the true - and funniest, real-ist, and bestest - delicate memories to themselves. Maybe that's the way it should be. Someone, please remind my family of this if I ever go missing.

Peace
--Free