Friday Fictioneers-Crickets and the Chill of Fall

It’s where I thought we’d sit at night, to hear the crickets till they were silenced by the chill of fall. We’d sit together fireside, while your fingertip traced lazy circles in my palm.

I’m not an outdoorsy girl, but the fire sounded nice, while seated on a bench fashioned from a felled oak in the backyard. All that’s left of us now are the stump and a few fleeting memories of the plans we had.

With my coat buttoned against the cold, I head out to meet the handyman that will finish the work that your leaving left behind.

Genre: Romance, I think

Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. The stories don’t come too often for me, but when they do they come quickly and I just have to grab them! Please feel free to critique my work as I’m always open to suggestions for writing better stories.

The Fourth Day is the Charm… Maybe

Yesterday started with a lemon meringue protein bar, hard tack, and assorted pieces of melon. You have no idea how good it felt to chew that dry cracker, wash it down with hot coffee and chase it with sweet and cold melon. I ate a hard boiled egg too, but that’s not so exciting as that will be part of my daily diet for at least the next 26 weeks.

I made ground turkey with some Mrs. Dash multi blend sans salt and weighed out exactly 5.5 oz. for lunch. I have this groovy air fryer and roasted cauliflower, broccoli, and shredded carrots. I threw a little olive oil on them and air fried those bitches. They melted in my mouth when I ate them for lunch. I still felt queasy and shaky, but as the day progressed, I found I wasn’t craving sugar and some of my energy was returning.

At home last night, I air fried three chicken breasts while I made dinner for myself and quickly gulped my meal down before heading out to an AA meeting. I was going to see the ladies from my home group for the first time in two months and though I was excited to see them all, I was also quite nervous.

My AA sponsor checked in with me to make sure I’d be there and I promised her I would. I had placed my Big Book from the Brighton Center for Recovery in my purse, chatted with my daughter for two minutes about her day, then headed out the door into the cold winter night. I hadn’t cleaned the steps from the last snowfall so I did my best to tread carefully.

A half hour later I was sitting in the church parking lot, rocking out to old school beats on 105.1. My anxiety was still there but I felt pretty good so I walked in and I’ll be damned if the meeting hadn’t already started. My sponsor pointed to a chair next to her and she hugged me after I sat down. One of my other sober sisters gave me a hug and whispered Happy New Year in my ear. I tell you, I almost cried.

We rolled through the readings of the meeting, we said our memorized parts with ease and then we began the Big Book study. I was the first to read, but before I did anything, I said, my name is Renee, and I’m an alcoholic. My sister’s responses to me were, hello Renee. I read my part and then said, pass. My sponsor rubbed my back and said, I love you girl, then we turned our attention back to our individual books.

I absorbed every word or Bill W.’s story as if it were mine. I shook my head when it echoed my story, and I shook my head when my sisters told their stories. I shared my feelings of having missed my home group meetings for the last two months. I shared the tumultuous health issues that landed me in the hospital, the now ex-boyfriend, the fear of losing my job, the buying of a house and the subsequent move. The shittiness I always feel at the holidays, and finally the saving grace of the job and the boss I love.

I left the meeting last night feeling spiritually full, and somewhat hopeful. My stomach was full too, and I was grateful to be on a healthy eating plan that I know is going to make me feel better.

That is until I woke up at 3:30 this morning and knew that the cleanse I had been on was finally working. God always seems to say ha in the middle of the night doesn’t He?

Today is a new day and though I’m tired and shaky, I’ll eat my healthy food, and continue on this path, knowing that I’m finally heading in the right direction.

And so it Begins… Again

As you can see, I changed the name of my fearless little blog to Renee Writes Here. With the change to the New Year, I decided it was time to start over again. It seems that my whole life is a work in progress, and I continue to struggle with the good and bad of it. I look at the last five years of my life and wonder how the hell I got here.

I’m almost 50. I had a boyfriend for about five minutes till he became a disaster and tried to take me down with him. I bought a house with my daughter and live with her and my toddler grandson. I’m morbidly obese and feel like shit most of the time. I went to rehab for alcohol addiction, relapsed and then went back into recovery, all in the span of 16 months. I shut out the world, only to become so lonely I had to let it back in again. I watched a total fucking moronic asshole become president of my precious country. I gave up social media so that I could curtail the depression that seeped into my soul every time I glimpsed my timeline and saw the shininess of everyone else’s perfect life. Good God, I could go on and on!

A week ago, I decided I was done with the self-loathing and went back to the Medical Weight Loss Clinic that helped me lose 150 lbs more than five years ago. I’m on the second day of the Three Day Cleanse Diet and I feel like absolute hell. Have you ever gone on one of those low carbohydrate diets and you feel yourself crashing because of the lack of sugar? Well, that’s how I feel, but my stomach is also in turmoil, because all I’ve eaten for two days is two eggs, and two oranges a day, and all the red meat and raw green veggies I can stomach. The first day was great because dammit, I love beef. But now I’m tired as fuck and I’m cranky as hell, and I swear to GOD that my skin smells like meat.

I told Sheri in a text this morning that I think I need to journal how I’m feeling on the second, 25th, 100th, hell, even 300th day of this diet to remind myself why I don’t ever want to feel this way I again. I’m sure I’ll write about other things while trying to deal with this process yet again, but I can’t give up. I’m tired of being tired, and I’m tired of feeling like crap.

A colleague of mine that is not a food addict said she dieted one time back when she was in college. She said she hated that food was always on her mind, and that she was constantly hungry. She vowed that she would never feel that way again, and has made very conscious decisions about food and dieting all of her adult life. I wanted to call her a bitch, and tell her to fuck off, but I didn’t. I meditated on what she told me and really digested it. I realized, she’s right! You can’t make a decision to change and not be mindful of it for the rest of your life. It’s like any other addiction, you have to keep working at fighting the demon that’s chasing you.

And so it begins… Again. In 2018, less than three months until I turn 50, I’ll begin this process of change again. I’ll write my words here. I’ll write about my anger here. I’ll write about my sadness here. And I’ll write about my triumphs here too.

I hope you’ll come back and read my words, even if the Sparkly Girl you knew is gone…

To Remember touch More than Thought

“I remember that feeling of skin. It’s strange to remember touch more than thought. But my fingers still tingle with it.”-Lucy Christopher

My pulse quickened as Matt enclosed his left hand around my right. The intimacy of his actions brought a blush to my cheeks. Confused, I wanted to pull away but I craved the contact. Instead of retreating, I allowed his hand to engulf mine. My mouth went dry, as his thumb repeatedly caressed the palm of my hand.

I yielded to his touch, my heart slowed its thready beat, and I allowed myself to enjoy the closeness of my dear friend. He asked for nothing but my hand. He told me he loved me and how glad he was I came into his life. We grew silent, as his thumb continued to make lazy circles on my palm.

His was the first intimate touch I’d felt since I’d become sober. It wasn’t a sexual touch. I wasn’t sure how to label it, and honestly, I didn’t care to. In that five minutes, I felt more protected and loved than I had in a long time.

With our hands clasped, my friend silently asked nothing of me, but to love every broken, raw and damaged part of him. And in return, I asked him to do the same for me.

The Day the Music Came Alive

I am 32 Flavors and then some
I’m nobody, but I am someone

The last year of my addiction to alcohol had killed my love of music. Every time I listened to any song I would feel it so deeply that I would be left sobbing. If I couldn’t listen to music, I damn sure couldn’t write either. So in the last six months I fed my need for words by listening to NPR and the great Dave and Chuck the Freak morning show on 101.1 The WRIF in Detroit.

During detox and rehab we weren’t allowed to have our phones, so I was starved for information, morning radio shows, and finally, music. The few songs I did get to hear during that time made me cry, but there was no longer any deep seeded pain connected to it. The pain I felt was the itch and burn of healing to my tattered and war torn soul.

On the day I walked out of the Brighton Center of Recovery, the sun of early fall was shining. It lit my hair and my spirit on fire and I knew I was on the path to rebirth. I threw my suitcase in the backseat, and placed my ID and insurance card back into my wallet. I slid the keys into the ignition, turned the engine over, and rolled the windows down. As I drove out of the parking lot, I turned the radio up to 11, the wind caught my hair and I sang the words to whatever song that was playing on the radio.

I  finally felt at home in the music, no matter if it was upbeat or a ballad. The words helpd incredible power! Not to hurt me, but to help me heal. Everyday I get closer to fine with the help of my IOP group, my AA community, my other Brighton alums, my friends and family and my music. Oh my fucking God, I am so incredibly blessed!

May you find peace and serenity today, and may you find joy in the little things in life.

 

 

A Letter of Forgiveness

‘Let us be willing to release old hurts.’- Martha Smock

Dear Renee,

The last three years have been especially harrowing, yet you’ve persevered. I always knew you were  a strong woman.

I want you to forgive yourself for the last ten years of drinking. I want you to love and accept yourself and know that you are a beautiful spirit.

You are not your past, and it does not need to define you. Your future and your community are the sober people, the perfectly broken.

Your children love you. The longer you are sober, the more their trust will return.

Do not look for love until you can find it within yourself.

Go to meetings.Work with a sponsor. Keep busy. Dive into work and become a stellar employee again.

Be kind to yourself and know that you alone are enough.

Let go of your past. Let go of love that is not evenly returned and move forward.

Find peace.

Find joy.

Find love from within, and the brilliance of it will flow to everyone you encounter.

Forgive yourself, and put your trust in the future.

Love, Renee

(This is a letter I wrote to myself the last night of my stay at the Brighton Center for Recovery. My addiction counselor told me to save doing this section of my homework after everything else was done. I read it to my community the day I ventured out of the Brighton Bubble into the sunlight of new future. I’ll  share of my journey when the time is right. For now, I have another story brewing about a wheat farmer and his wife. I hope to post it soon. This girl is getting her sparkle back for sure. Thanks for following me on this journey.)

There but for the grace of God go I

I saw her this morning and I know she saw me. She was holding a Speedway Pizza and 44 oz. soda, but it was only 9:45 in the morning. I tried not to pity her, this pasty white young woman with a horrible diet. I could tell by her unlined skin that she was in her 20’s, but the weight made her look older. She wore Capri jeans and a bulky t-shirt and was sweating at the effort it took her to walk to her vehicle. She set the items down on the hood of her powder blue mini-van coated thickly with dust from what I presumed was the dirt road she lived on.

I could tell she wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. To blend in with the pavement and her powder blue mini-van. Just unlock the door, take her food and make her getaway to consume her poison in peace. I didn’t make eye contact with her, but I wanted to. I wanted to hug her and tell her I knew how she felt. That I hated food because the shittier it was for me the better it tasted. I wanted to tell her that I too was an addict that wanted to lie in bed and consume all the best and worst foods and die in a caloric avalanche. Instead, I said nothing, because she probably wouldn’t have listened anyway.

I walked into Speedway and purchased an unsweetened iced tea with lots of ice. I shared pleasantries with the cashier while I made my purchase and tried not to loathe the way I looked in my tight yoga pants and tank top. All 265 lbs. of me turned and walked out of the store and to Eddie the Wonder Dog waiting in my car. As I walked, I felt the constant pain of what felt like a pebble grinding into my left heel. Another pain I have to deal with because of obesity. I swear to you every pain I feel, both physically and mentally is because of this fat boundary that I’ve built around me.

Once in my vehicle, I glanced through my side window at the mini-van woman. There she was downing a soda, and eating her first slice of pizza. My heart hurt for her, well, for both of us really. Why was it that women like she and I struggled so, while other didn’t seem to? I reached down and started my car, turned to hug my Eddie Dog and then put the car in reverse. It was time to go home and measure out the portions of my morning meal, a hard-boiled egg, 1 cup of skim milk, 3/4 cup of protein cereal, and piece of fruit.

I’m determined this time, not only to make the diet stick, but to remain healthy. That’s the ultimate goal really, to wake in the morning with less physical and mental pain. To look forward to picking out healthy food and fun clothes to wear. To be able to run again, if I want to. Or swim, bike, or maybe even date. Who knows what the future holds for me? All I know is I don’t want my weight deciding my future for me, I want to be the master of my own fate.

Thoughtful Thursday-J.R.R. Tolkien

“I sit beside the fire and think
Of all that I have seen
Of meadow flowers and butterflies
In summers that have been

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
In autumns that there were
With morning mist and silver sun
And wind upon my hair

I sit beside the fire and think
Of how the world will be
When winter comes without a spring
That I shall ever see

For still there are so many things
That I have never seen
In every wood in every spring
There is a different green

I sit beside the fire and think
Of people long ago
And people that will see a world
That I shall never know

But all the while I sit and think
Of times there were before
I listen for returning feet
And voices at the door”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

Dance With Me in Springtime

I’d wake from a nap at the start of an early Spring shower

Shoes off I’d run for the screen door

Just to stand out in the middle of it

You’d scratch your head and wonder how you could have waited so long to live with me

You’d realize that even though I needed you

You needed me even more

The dog and I would continue dancing and singing to our own tune

Out in the rain

Splashing in the mud

There I’d be

The city girl bathed in springtime

Breathless and full of spirit

Yes you’d again wonder why you waited so long to live with me

As I swayed and sang I’d wonder the same thing

But then I’d look at you standing on the back porch

And my apprehension would dissolve

I’d crook my finger to tell you to come to me

And you would

Without reservation

And with all of your heart

To dance with me in Springtime

The Little Prince and Chronic Pain

As I held my newborn grandson, I smelled the top of his head and mouth. My fingertip lazily traced the outline of his ears and chin. Then dipped into the velvety curve of his neck. I released him from his swaddling blanket and  listened to him coo while he stretched. I counted his fingers and touched his newborn hand to my aging face. I was a grandma and I was reveling in the excitement of it. I kept undressing him so I could look at his little toes. They were still bright red and I had to be gentle with them because of the needle sticks he was receiving to check on his blood sugar levels.

Meggie kept giving me grief for taking off his clothes. She even said he didn’t smell like anything, but I disagreed. I couldn’t put into words what I was feeling, or what I could smell. There was a freshness to the top of his head, and the faint smell of Enfamil formula on his cheeks. He smelled new and his little hand clutching my fingers gave me the promise of better times ahead.

I visited my new grandson and his parents while they were still in the hospital. I had just been released myself after having a third reconstructive surgery on my right ankle. I was kind of hoping that the baby would make his appearance before my discharge, but this being my daughter’s first birth, he decided to take his sweet time. I had just settled into my private room at a physical rehab center when my son and his girl picked me up to meet our new family member.

While I was holding him, I thought about the last year and what I’d been through. The accident, the surgeries that didn’t work, and the chronic pain that had been plaguing me. There was so much depression that I had experienced. I cried every single day, but on the days that Meg needed me, I stayed as focused as I could on her, and her needs. It helped me want to stick around. There were so many times I wanted to give up and die.

I can hear you asking why? It’s only some ankle pain, how can you not live with it?

I want you to understand something, everyone with chronic pain has their own experience to deal with.

If someone in your life is dealing with it and they say they’re okay, they are not telling you the complete truth. They don’t want you to know how badly it hurts. And how tired they are from dealing with it.

Every. Single. Damn. Day. Of. Their. Lives.

The depression I’ve felt in the last year has been suffocating. You can not even fathom what I’ve felt, nor do I want you to even try. I wouldn’t wish this pain on my worst enemy. I pray for normalcy every damn day that I wake up breathing. I’m not there yet, but I’m hoping this latest surgery brings me closer to it.

I wanted to go to sleep at night and not wake up wondering what my pain number would be when I stood up to walk to the bathroom. Most nights I wanted to go to sleep and not wake up at all. A crucial bone in my right ankle was dying, but I felt like the woman I was before the accident had already died. Unbeknownst to me, there was a little prince that was going to be born just after my third surgery that would totally change my mind.

I held him in my arms on May 15, and realized that yes, he was the reason I was still here. And he was the reason I couldn’t give up. I needed to be in his life, so I could smell the top of his head, and trace his perfect little ears with my fingertip. I also needed to be there for my daughter when she was struggling with sleep and new motherhood. I couldn’t have done any of those things had I given up.

The Little Prince is home with his parents now and they are all settling into their new normal. This Queen is back home in her second floor apartment and healing nicely. I’m so thankful that I didn’t give in to the sadness that came from the pain. Who knows, maybe my grandson and I will teach each other to walk.