I Hear Banjos

Has the whole fucking world gone mad?!?

Racism, Sexism, Sadism, Homophobia, mass murders, genocide, Necrophilia……the political mud slinging has turned into politicians slinging their own shit….we are fighting other countries, we are fighting amongst ourselves!! Has EVERYONE forgotten that we are but one race??? The HUMAN fucking race! Climate change, an errant asteroid strike or Alien life is not going to destroy us. We are doing a mighty fine job of that shit ourselves!! Much more quickly than any of the above ever could.

I’ve studied many, many different religions and ethnicities and at the very core of each and EVERY belief system, they are the same. Love your God, whomever that may be and be kind, generous and do right by your “neighbor”! None of these religions say only do so if your neighbor looks, acts or worships the exact same way as you. WTF is the matter with most of society?!? Try a little love instead of hate. Empathy instead of judgement. Acceptance instead of fear. I’m no great mind or brilliant philosopher, yet I understand this with crystal clarity. If others can not do the same, I suggest we start paddling faster….I hear banjos!

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Accountability Is Now An Obscenity

Today it just dawned on me that during this generation of Black, White, Brown, Yellow, Red, Gay and Straight Lives Matter, that the above mentioned racial and sexual undertone of such slogans are absolutely not the problem at all. As ALL lives matter. Period. EVEN the lives of unborn babies who did not start as eggs and ask to be fertilized by sperm in the womb. It was the (in most not all cases) choice of two consenting adults to have sex and forego any necessary precautions as to not create a life that either could not be afforded or just basically not wanted. Therein lies the realization that I’ve come to. Whether it’s being “harassed” by the police WHILE perpetuating a crime, deciding one does not want the baby that they’ve been carrying inside their bodies for six to even nine months (late term abortions) or extremists and radicals of every race, gender, faith, ethnicity or sexual orientation: the way society views things has far less to do with any of the above mentioned things and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that NO ONE seems to understand the absolute NEED and RESPONSIBILITY to take accountability for their actions. Above and beyond all of these things, including political affiliations or whether one is pro-life or pro-choice lies the fact that finger pointing and deflection of responsibility is the common denominator and root of most all of the problems facing humanity today. The BIGGEST problem of all is the lack of HUMANITY. We all bleed red. We all lay side by side in the nursery when we are born and lie side by side in the grave once this life’s journey is over. It is the kind of person you are and what you do in between the two that define whether mankind is going to succeed or descend into utter and total chaos. Between the maternity ward and the grave try being a good example, a kind neighbor a generous soul to those less fortunate. Be an asset to humanity not a problem. Stop putting fucking hashtags on everything and sit back and watch how much better our nation and our world can truly be.

When Borderline Personality Disorder Is a Game of Tug of War

Push and pull. It’s like the children’s game tug of war. A rope being pulled in both directions and at any time it could go one way or another. Unfortunately it’s not a game, it’s my illness. BPD.

The words themselves fill your mind with uncertainty. Visualize standing at a border somewhere with one foot on either side, knowing that at the drop of a dime you could be pulled either way.

Attachment. The need to have it, incessant. The need to keep it afar, innate. Something that seems to come so naturally to others yet feels unattainable. There are no 50 shades of grey. It is black and white. You either form an attachment or you don’t. You are either behind our walls or on the outside. There is no middle ground.

Abandonment. The fear of it as intense as being set on fire. Whether consciously or not, we pull people in because we don’t want to be alone and with the next breath we  push you away. We try to leave you before you can leave us. It is the only control we feel we have, and somehow we’ve convinced ourselves it will hurt less this way. We so desperately need to feel attached to someone who loves and cares for us, yet the fear of losing them, in itself, is the thing that stops us from obtaining it.

Triggers. They range from sights and scents to noises and words. Subconsciously or otherwise, they pull us back to a place where we feel unsafe. Those emotions flood us like a tidal wave, our minds full of anxiety and fear, our bodies suddenly tense. Rationally we know at that exact moment we are safe, but our mind is no longer in the present moment. It has regressed to a time of trauma, hurt and pain. Our reactions can be extreme and inappropriate, sometimes echoing our destructive patterns of the past.

Relationships. I have difficulty maintaining them, whether you are family, friends or one time co-workers. I love you, I need you, I pull you close and hold on tight, and with the snap of the fingers, I don’t need you and I push you away. I might delete your emails and texts. We react in a way you can not comprehend, simply because you do not have this illness. The fingers snap again and we are back to loving you and needing you.

BPD is an invisible illness. We do not choose this any more than someone chooses to become physically ill. I lash out when I shouldn’t. I react unsuitably to situations or comments that would not affect you. Sometimes I know why, other times the reason is still trapped in the darkness of my mind, not yet ready to come into the light. I’ll pull you in like I’m reeling in a fish from the river, and in an instant I’ll push you away, casting an empty line back into the water. I walk on eggshells. I’m so eager to please you and earn your acceptance because that is what my childhood taught me.

My illness did not come out of the blue. I did not just wake up one day suddenly full of anxiety, pain and emptiness. This has built up over years or perhaps decades, and is a result of one or numerous traumatic incidents that occurred throughout my childhood and my entire life. I cope the best I know how. Whether there is a physical scar or not, the emotional wounds that were inflicted during my developmental years have left me with a battle to fight. I struggle to quiet the voice in my head that replays the negative thoughts that were ingrained in me.

The best thing you can do for me is to remain. Simply put, don’t leave. We hope you will at least be at the same park, while we are riding the roller coaster that is BPD.

Teenagers: Living In The Wild

I used to think that animals eating their young soon after birth was icky and awful. In recent months I’ve totally reversed my opinion on such matters. As my husband and I went from happily peaceful empty nesters to having our 21 year old son, his pregnant fiancé and his sixteen year old daughter plopping down roots in our nest. Please don’t mistake what I’m saying, I adore ALL of our combined six children and their significant others but Jesus Christ on a Segway, these have got to be the 3 messiest people on the god damn planet. My being EXTREMELY OCD when it comes to order, cleanliness and germs does not help matters as I am currently hovering on the cusp of a complete nervous breakdown at any given moment. Some days they make such a mess as I run myself ragged constantly cleaning up after 3 grown ass kids, every once in a while I just wish we would have just eaten them at birth!!!

Oh and the noise, having Borderline Personality Disorder and being hypersensitive to the noise, activity and chaos keeps me in a nervous frenzy. Half the time I’m shaking so hard I look like I have a palsy of some sort.

Big brother yells at teenage sister (he’s 6’4, wears a size 13 shoe, is like having a bull in a china shop) with a big giant voice to match. Sixteen year old sister gets pissed off and ding, ding, ding Round 1!! Within no more than 45 seconds she’s shrieking like a cacophony of fucking tea kettles in Buckingham Palace at tea time and I’m headed for the Xanax. Good Times!!

Some may call this fucked up or cruel. Those same people have never raised teenagers😂

I love my bigs and littles more than a fat kid loves cake and they KNOW it♥️

Just Saying❣️

Deb, The Long Goodbye

This is a photo of myself and my BFF, Deb, taken a little over five years ago.

That night as we sat sipping our beers, listening to some great music and shaking our tail feathers and laughing until we cried because we are both people watchers and HUGE smart asses and boy did we have a plethora of drunk assholes and desperate whores to make fun of that particular evening.

Who would have EVER fathomed just a few short years later, I would be watching her die.

As Deb becomes sicker and sicker with her terminal cancer, I always pull out this picture to remind myself how quickly your entire life can change. Practically in the blink of an eye.

My dearest Debbie,

I’ll be by your side until we kick this cancers ass, or I will gently hold you as you transition into another journey, but make no mistake, I’ll be there until the sweet bitter end if it comes to that. I’ll never let go!! I love you Deb♥️

I’ve Been Told I Need To Be A Lot Less ME

I’m not ladylike enough. I swear to much. I act like I have a penis because I make the whack off motion far to often to not literally have one. I’m rude, crude and obnoxious. I am not a lady in any sense of the word. I turn some that are closest to me, stomachs. Being “too much” me does not sit well with some members of my family to the point that they are ready to disassociate with me.

You win, family. Like you’ve always won. Like you always will win.

I’ll tone it down to be ” a better daughter, mother, wife and grandmother,” since being myself is so horrifically awful.

Gee, I wasn’t aware I was THAT bad. I mean I knew that I had a tiny bit of feces with me but, “Boom, Pow,” I have a BPD meltdown because I ran out of meds, my phone has been off since I overspent a bit on the family fish fry that I wanted to be PERFECT and well, “I must learn somehow that there are consequences and repercussions for my actions.”

Soooooo my kind, encouraging followers, your children may now read my blog if they so choose because to keep the peace from now forward my blog will be G-rated so I can learn to be more of a lady.

Thank you to my peeps in spite of my uncouth, unladylike ways.

Fuck You Cancer!!

My oldest, dearest friend, Debbie is fighting Stage IV Urothelial Cancer. I’m so fucking angry. Like DEFCON-5 enraged that someone as amazing, gentle, sweet, hilarious, generous and beautiful could be struck down with this God awful piece of shit disease. I have lost family members to the big C, and it was excruciating to watch Cancer sucks the very soul out of their pain ravaged, frail bodies. By the time that they were mercifully called HOME to much deserved Glory, I was literally on my knees praying and begging for their for suffering to end. My bestie and I are the same age, both with precious brand new grandbabies whom I naively assumed that we’d watch grow up as we grew older. Fucking TOGETHER. I think part of the reason I’m so angry is because her illness is making me face my own immortality and that scares the fuck out of me and makes me want to put my psychiatrist on speed dial because the mere notion of watching someone I’ve loved as a sister since we were thirteen years old suffer so unrelentingly has my BPD on red alert as it endlessly screeches “DISASSOCIATE,” in my mind, but I will not. No matter what. I will have her back exactly as I have had it for the past 29 years.

The worthless, self serving, dog and pony show of a god damn government and literal American hating Congress needs to stop worrying about what Melania wears, what President Cheeto Tan says or what AOC and her nutjob “posse” thinks and fund the FDA with an enormous budget so that diseases like cancer, cystic fibrosis, ALS, Alzheimers, Autism, MS, Lupus, Diabetes, Heart Disease, COPD, Fibro, PTSD, Schizophrenia, Bi-Polar and Manic Depression can be eradicated. I wish this with every fiber of my being. It won’t EVER happen though because Big Pharma has Washington in its very wealthy, very deep pockets.

FDA Person #1: Hey I know tens of millions of people are dying of above mentioned diseases every single day. That’s so tragic.

FDA Person #2: Yes, it really is sad. Hey, how far along are you on that new medicine that gives 95 year old men powerful erections?!?!

What in the fucking fuck?

The following is a text conversation between my heart, Debbie, and myself.

FUCK YOU CANCER!!

Vietnam Veterans: America’s Unappreciated Heroes

I’ve recently been advised by a couple of my dearest followers in my blogging family to write more things that are controversial or things that I’m passionate about. Mainly because I have strong opinions and because of that I write with raw, genuine emotion. One controversial thing that I am passionate about is the Vietnam War and it’s impact on veterans like my father. Who has by Gods grace reached what should be his golden years. My father is a disabled veteran with severe undiagnosed PTSD. Men of that generation tended to be macho men who seldom went to a doctor for anything much less something of a psychological nature.

The first time I realized that my Dad “wasn’t right” I was eleven years old and was awoke by my fathers bloodcurdling screams of “Get down, get down goddamn it!” As I sat up in my bed terrified and half awake I was unsure of whether I was still sleeping and having a nightmare or if this particular nightmare was one of a more literal sense. I soon realized that this nightmare was all too real as I heard my mother say, “Wade, get off of me honey, it was just a bad dream. We are at home in our bedroom. Safe,” then her voice faded off to just soft soothing words and sounds. Many years later as an adult my mother confided in me that Daddy had thrown her on the floor and covered her body with his many times in his first decade home from Vietnam. She said the first year or two were the worst when this same scenario happened at least every couple of days due to my fathers night terrors of still being in combat under enemy fire.

The United States government failed to make good on its promises to those who served in this War. It failed them in every way imaginable. Available GI benefits for those returning home from Vietnam were nearly nonexistent. As if having your government send you off to a war that wasn’t ours then cruelly turn it’s back on the lucky ones who came home outside of a body bag was not enough of a slap in the face to the soldiers who fought and died for our country. More insult was heaped onto injury by prospective employers, as the time came for said veterans to integrate back into society by obtaining civilian employment and were met with thinly veiled disgust.

These young returning soldiers were not looking for a ticker tape parade or a hand out. They were only looking for basic human support and help in readjusting to civilian life after this extremely brutal and long war.

The Vietnam War claimed the lives of more than 58,000 American service members and wounded more than 150,000 more.

My dad upon his return was spit on, jumped by a mob of angry anti-war protesters and was the object of ridicule and disdain. Why? Because he loved his country unconditionally and would have done anything to keep her safe and free. That included taking extra classes in high school so that he could graduate a year early. At barely seventeen years old and having to have his mothers consent enlisted to go to a foreign land to fight the good fight for a cause that wasn’t America’s fight to begin with.

It is now almost fifty years later. My once strapping, strong manly father is a shell of his former self. He is VA determined 100% disabled because he has gone blind. There are thousands more veterans of this particular war with the exact same issues as my father. The government is finally, just recently admitting that his blindness and a multitude of other health related problems of he and his fellow veterans were due to American forces spraying the dense jungles of Cambodia with Agent Orange to kill the vegetation with no thought to all of the troops on the ground being covered with it. If you don’t know what Agent Orange is, look it up. Today’s equivalent would be spraying yourself from head to toe with Round-Up weed killer on a regular basis for an extended period of time.

I can not even imagine in my worst nightmares, and I’ve had some doozies, what these soldiers endured, not only abroad but also the atrocities that they suffered at the actions and the hateful words of ungrateful, ignorant, piece of shit human beings upon their return.

Today I see far too many parallels between the anti-war hippies of that era and the far left, radical millennials of today. We have raised yet another generation of violent, ungrateful, self centered assholes. I say we, because it is mainly my generation that raised them. Although my two children are of millennial age, neither of them have a millennial bone in their bodies. I’d like to think it was because they were raised with discipline, integrity and being able to realize when they were wrong or perhaps wronged another in any way to take accountability for their actions. Children like mine, through fate who were born into this shitty generation are the exception. I am extremely lucky and certainly blessed that I was able to raise such empathetic, loving, independent thinking, young adults as my beautiful daughter and son are.

To all of our remaining Vietnam Veterans and their families, although words seem completely insignificant in relation to what each of you endured, from the bottom of my heart thank you.

I’d also like to apologize on behalf of a nation that did not give a shit about you. I’m so very sorry for your treatment by the same fucked up government that sent you there and the citizens who did not appreciate your many sacrifices. Ones that the United States Federal Government wrote the check out for and made all of you pay for it with your sanity, limbs and 58,000 service members who paid the ultimate price with their lives. Lady Liberty weeps for you, and so do I.

My Son: Future Dr. Superstar M.D.

Student leaders at Louisiana Tech are making sure no-hazing policies and attitudes are enforced.

During my sons undergraduate studies, hazing became a national problem seen on University campuses across the nation. It seemed for a while that every time we turned on the news at night we would hear about another fraternity hazing event that would ultimately cost a young person their life, before it had ever begun.

My son, Payton, during his time at Louisiana Tech University was President of his fraternity, Delta Chi, and during that same time frame was also elected President of the entire Greek Council which oversaw all fraternity and sorority activities on campus.

This is a local news report dedicated to the ongoing hazing crisis and what local campus Greek leaders are saying and doing about it.

This mamma considers her baby boy an absolute celebrity due to his appearance and opinions.

www.knoe.com/content/news/Louisiana-Tech-is-cracking-down-on-hazing-447826083.html

The following is my brilliant sons (no I’m not biased😊) acceptance letter into medical school at Louisiana State University Shreveport. He has wanted to be a cardiac surgeon since he could utter that phrase. He maintained a 4.2 or above throughout elementary, middle and high school then went on to college on a full academic scholarship. There he was on the Presidents list all four years, was Mr. Louisiana Tech, a member of the Homecoming Court, volunteered every summer for four weeks with MedCamps (a special camp for children and adolescents with severe disabilities), held down not one, not two but three jobs and stayed on top of his many extracurricular activities all while keeping his grades up. He graduated with his degree in Pre-Med, Summa Cum Laude, in May 2018. Since then he has been working as a medical intern at TIRR Memorial Hermann hospital in Houston. Needless to say, I am one blessed Mom!

My son will only be twenty three years old on Valentines Day of this year. He has accomplished so very much in those 23 short years that I am absolutely in awe of his dedication, determination and work ethic.

I could not be any prouder if I tried!

Congratulations, my handsome son! Keep your feet on the ground but never keep reaching for the stars!

Misfits

Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The troublemakers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. We’re not fond of rules and we have no respect for the status quo. You can quote us, disagree with us, glorify or vilify us. About the only thing you can’t do is ignore us, because we change things. We push the human race forward, while some may see us as the crazy ones, we see genius. The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do!!!

I love my tribe of misfits to the moon and stars!