If I Could

If I could place an ear bud into my ears, the kind that would silence them both, I would give it a try, I would even try one's from the inside out. I swear, I would. These sounds and noises are roaring with absolute obnoxious disregard and are a hurtful process to know that it is my own body to drive me mad with these sounds and noises of Meniere's. In my right hard of hearing ear there is a loud roar of cicadas and crickets. So loud that it sounds as if there is a competition between them and the frogs. I listened to the voice of a woman earlier today, clear and sweet, just not loud enough for me to understand what was being said and there also is a peculiar, screech-screeching that has happened on and off. My left deaf ear screams and insists that I recognize and reply to the news from Gorky Park. These are rapid signals that sound like Maoris Code, very clear, loud and interrupted. I understand that at this time, the ear buds of an ipod do nothing for me but place me in harm's way. With an ipod ear bud in my one-good-bad hard of hearing ear, I am rendered totally cut off from my environment, which in my case is a dangerous situation. I have been a victim too many times to have a disability expose me to an all together different world of manipulation, intimidation, perpetration, and really, I simply don't have time for any of this in my life right now.

If I could turn back time, like, right now, I would say no. Really.

If I might communicate that I am at wits end on several aspects of my life and this dear path of mine, I would say, my guests and readers expect truth and a state of knowledge that the writer will communicate openly. Sometimes, maybe so too many times I have been totally in the raw. Walking as if transparent, with my agenda being love, peace and more peace, as it is that I shall travel on with this welcomed continuation of recovery. The words are read and the knowledge I am reminded of comes quickly while reading my 12 Steps, saying the Serenity Prayer, and my Hail Mary's and Our Father's.

If I had learned to mourn, then perhaps the hurt within would know how to deal with this process of mourning. I have never learned how to mourn. Even though my Kinfolk and Kindred die yearly, and I attend memorials and services and funerals every damned year, I have this inner not knowing about death and dieing. My Mom, my Dad, my kid brother, David, so too many. I think I have learned to let some things go, I don't know. But, for me, I wait. In my life and on My Path, every day is a good day to die. My sweet Grandmother recently crossed over and very recently, an extraordinary, very loving, and undiscriminating Tia, has passed along. My dear Tia. I have always loved you. I share with you, now in Spirit, that every time I told you that you were so beautiful, I meant it from my heart, Tia. Because you are.  And, Tia, it was only from you, my dear, that I felt the love when you would tell me that I reminded you of my dad. God Bless You Tia. God has gained an awesome Angel.

If I had a vacuum cleaner that I could insert into my belly button to suck out all of this excess fat and innards about my stomach, I would use it. If I could have teeth implants to replace those lost and these gone bad by the years of Bulimia, I would get them with no questions asked. I share so seriously, that the results of what eating disorders do to one's health, body, mind, and spirit, may not show up for years along. I was Anorexic in the Eighty's and Bulimic in the 1980's and 1990's. And, yes, I have revisited the expelling of the contents from my stomach too many times over these years, it's just that now, it is the symptoms of Meniere's Disease and nausea that empties my gut. Here I am in the year 2013, am only fifty three, and what can I say? I am not ashamed or embarrassed by the opening up of the eating disorders, I have spoken of these before. I contemplate this to be some results of coping with issues that remain and or them that resurface. Them that resume, like the memories, the knowing. My body memories, the smell memories that create havoc when we are out and about. The nightmares, the night terror's, and the damned flashbacks, that to this day continue to harass and horrify me and all of I. Seen.

If I could call my Mom right now at area code 305.625.6051, I would. God, I miss you Ma!