And then God got my attention. . .

Sometimes we are blind to that which we are called to do. And sometimes God has to smack us upside the head to get our attention. Sometimes it takes falling down time and time again before we finally find our "right" path and start putting one foot in front of the other to first walk and then run full speed ahead towards our calling, our purpose, what we were put here on earth to do. Over the past week or so, God has revealed something HUGE to me. He has revealed my purpose - my path - the one I'm supposed to walk. Now I have to figure out how to get on the path and start walking. For many years, I dreamed of losing tons of weight and then opening a wellness center for women. A place where struggling women could come to better themselves with the help of other women. Exercise classes, nutrition classes, massage therapy, pedicures, manicures, facials, a wonderful - magical - zen like - space where women could come and hang out with one another and get not only their body/mind nurtured, but also their spirit. This was what I dreamed. This was what I wanted. This was my goal. For years! I couldn't open such a spa because I was never good enough. I was never thin enough. I was never pretty enough. How could someone like me - fat, old, broken down, lethargic, blah - inspire others to find their inner beauty - their inner goddess? As I am, I foolishly thought, would make for some really bad advertising for my business. And the last thing I need in life is more failure! So I put it on hold. I put my dream on hold. Waiting. Waiting to be thin enough, good enough, pretty enough. Now I'm 51. If I wait much longer, I'll be dead! And then it happened. God showed me over and over and over again this past week that this spa idea of mine is NOT my earthly purpose. It's not why I'm here. It's close, but it's not 100% in line with God's plan. And that, I believe, is the reason I've been so torn these past 40 years. I haven't been living in accordance with God's plan - God's will. I've been fighting against Him and what He wants for my life. . . and I've been miserable. Because I've been miserable, I've created a miserable life for myself. Gambling and drugs and food and anything and everything I could think of to drive people away from me. Alienation. I created a life of alienation for myself. And it sucks! This life I've designed absolutely sucks! And now. . . I know. I know what I am to do. I am to share my pain - my misery - with other women. I am to rip off the mask - get real with myself and others - tell others about my pain - and just be me. As I am. By letting others know - by speaking the unspeakable - by saying my truth - I will make it safe for others to do the same. When they do that - they will free themselves making it possible to love self. When we love self, we accept self. When we accept self, we can love and accept others. And when we can do that, we can live. . . really live. . .an authentic life. . . the one we were meant to live.

On Wanting to be Stephenie Meyer

It's Saturday morning. I went to bed last night with the idea that I want to be Stephenie Meyer and I woke up this morning with the same idea consuming my mind. See, I heard yesterday that "Twilight", the book, came about because Stephenie Meyer, the author, dreamed it. Ok, ok, she didn't dream the entire book exactly; rather, she dreamed of a field where forbidden love existed in the hearts of two young people. When she woke from her dream, she decided to explore this idea further. Why was their love forbidden? Under what circumstances could love exist yet not be realized or acted upon? And "Twilight" was soon born. Wow! All of that (the four book series) from nothing more than a 30 second dream. Or maybe it was 60 seconds. Who knows. However long the dream lasted, it was but a fleeting thought or idea in the mind of a very creative woman who wouldn't let it go. So I went to bed last night and woke this morning wanting to "be" SM. As I think through what that means, I realize that I don't really want to "BE" her. . . I just want to live her experience. I want to dream. I want to write. I want millions to read my first novel and have millions more standing in line to get their hands on a copy of my second novel. I want to be caught up in the crazy wonderfulness of it all. Makes me wonder if it's possible. Are we all wired in such a way that any experience is possible for any of us at any given time? Or are we all so different - so unique - that "Twilight" was possible only through and by Stephenie Meyer? Free Will? Destiny? I think there's some philosophical question lurking in my mind. Too bad I suck at philosophy. Makes my head spin! At times, I like to think that free will is possible. . . for each and every one of us. I like to believe that we can all choose, create, make decisions that will bring about authentic living. I like to believe - sometimes - that this life of mine can be anything I want it to be. But! There's a whole lotta responsibility in that kinda thinking! So. . . there are an equal number of times that I find myself thinking just the opposite. I am not in control of anything. I have no say. Regardless of what decisions and choices I make for myself, my life - my being - is pre-destined, pre-planned and nothing I say or do will change it. Actually, there's some comfort in thinking that way. No matter how bad life gets, I can always choose to believe there's nothing I can do about it. I can blame it all on someone else. God! Heaven! The Universe! The Devil! Someone - something - bigger than myself. When life sucks, I can just kick back - take no responsibility - point the finger and say. . . "he did it." Ah. Yes. A way out. I leave myself a way out. When the going gets tough, I'm all over the pre-destined kinda thinking. But! On days like today, when I wake up wanting something more, I find myself standing - feet firmly planted - in the camp of free will thinkers. I wonder. I wonder if it's possible that life can be a little bit of both? Maybe some things are pre-destined. Like the day we are born or the day we die or the way in which we die or the number of children we have or who our mates shall be. Things like that. Big, big issues are decided for us. Out of our control. No choice. And maybe just maybe everything else - all the details in between - are left to us. While I clearly can't BE Stephenie Meyer because I'm Karen Kay Karnes Quinn, perhaps I can be like her. Perhaps I can write a book. Perhaps I can sell a million copies. Perhaps. Will I? Or will I just sit here waiting for God or the Universe or someone or something else to show me the path I am to travel.

I fly

She said, "you're good". She said, "if you don't take care of yourself, nobody will". She said, "you haven't given yourself time to grieve the loss of a love affair". She said, "you are not in control and you also are not responsible for other people". She said, "you have to let go. . . you have to say good-bye. . . you have to close the door". She said. . . Such a very smart lady. Well educated. Well lived. Well experienced. Oh, how I wish I could remember all her words of wisdom. . . "in the moment" when it counts - when it matters most. I have this very long "want" list. What I want my life to look like - how I want it to "be". I have another list - a list of what "is". These lists are polar opposites. I'm ready to burn list number one and implement list number two. Can I? Will I? How long will I lug this heavy - burdensome bag of crap. . . guilt. . .around with me? When can I finally put it down for good? Is the time now? Am I there? She thinks so. And! She is smart. So now I fly. In the face of fear. I fly.

Therapy. . .Again

Therapy tomorrow. Gees, where to begin. Get about an hour before the therapist will say, "well our time is up for today. . .can you come back this same time next week?" I've done this therapy thing before and I'm not sure it helped much. I don't know. Maybe it did - some - on some level. But it sure didn't fix things long term. I think I'm more fucked up today then I've ever been before. And I don't know why. Isn't that stupid? To be this fucked up and not know why. Senseless! If one is going to spend life - wasting away - amounting to nothing - contributing nothing - one ought to at least know why, don't ya think? But I don't. I'm clueless. Maybe that's an issue for therapy. Why am I so damned clueless? How on earth can one be fixed if they don't know what's wrong in the first place? I know all the symptoms to my fuckeduptiveness, but I don't know the root cause of it. Isn't there someone I can blame for all of this? Surely to God I can point to someone in my past and lay it all on them. Right? Isn't that the way to go? The blame game? Doesn't that give one a pass? Or some entitlement? You get to be this way or that way "because" someone else did this or that. OR. It's not your fault you are so fucked up. . .after all, look at what so and so did or didn't do. Yeah! That's the ticket! Blame it on someone else. Wait. Nope. I don't think that will work. I WANT to be WELL. How can I be well if I don't accept that I am who I am because of me? Because of my choices and decisions? Yeah, no, I think I gotta accept responsibility here. If I do that, then maybe, just maybe, wellness will be within reach. After all, if I made the mess, then I can fix the mess, right? Current existence amounts to this: Wake up in so much (physical) pain that I can barely put one foot on the floor - while knowing that every new day will bring more pain than the day before. Hobble over to my desk knowing full well that the day is coming where I won't be able to hobble. . .I'll have to roll or wheel my way over to the desk. Ugh! at the thought of that! Take my magical prescription medication - the shit that's causing all the pain in the first place - wait 30 minutes - then feel all good. All good in my head anyway. Turn off the pain receptors in the brain and the body forgets - momentarily anyway - that it's in pain. Step two. . . shower, shave and shine (sort of). Take on my day, which always includes eating copious amount of sugar! I don't know why - but there is definitely a connection between pain medication and sugar cravings. Anyway, eat and eat and eat and eat - anything where sugar is the first ingredient on the ingredient's list. Battle the sugar/pain medication crash all day by ingesting more of each as needed to remain awake and keep my body in an upright position - until bed time. Oh, and smoke like a freight train. Let's not forget that! About 2 cartons a week. How is that even possible??? I don't know, but since that's my current nicotine consumption, it is. That's all I know. It is. Sleep. Wake up. . . repeat. Sucks! That's it! That's my current existence. What the fuck? How did this happen? Jesus, this ain't living! This ain't life! This bullshit sucks! Have I already died? Am I already in hell? Maybe. If I'm in hell and I pinch myself, will I magically transport myself somewhere else? I doubt it. That's probably how hell works. You suspect you are there, you very much want to be somewhere else, you pinch yourself hoping against hope, and nothing. Notta! Zip, zero, zilch, nothing! Still in hell! There has just got to be a better way. I just gotta find it. Maybe this time therapy will be just the vehicle that will get me there. Maybe. Have hope. I have hope. Not sure where it came from really, but it's there just the same. Now for the life I want. . . Wake up, no pain, pleasant thoughts about the day and all that it might bring. Shower, shave and shine (for real!). Go through the day with a smile on my face and kind words for all who cross my path. Fully engaged. Fully alive! No sugar cravings. No nicotine cravings. Spending the $100 a week I now spend on cigarettes investing in a new hobby or new cause - anything that is positive and near and dear to my heart. Something that I can get excited about. Something that I can be proud to tell friends and family about. Something that sets me apart - makes me unique - in a positive way. I want to BE the person that others seek out - want to be with - want to talk with - want to share life with. I want to BE the person others look forward to seeing and miss when I'm gone. I do. I really, really do. I don't want to stand outside the circle anymore resenting those that make up the circle or are in the middle of the circle. I want to be an inspiration to others. I want to inspire. I want to fly. I want to live on life's high. All natural like John Denver used to sing about. Yeah. That's what I want. I want to go to sleep at night exhausted because of energy spent throughout the day living an authentic, positive, creative, fully-engaged life. Is it possible? Can I do it? Can I MAKE this my life? My reality? Hmm. Maybe I'll ask the therapist tomorrow. Who knows. Maybe she's got the roadmap. Maybe she knows how to get there. So maybe I'll just ask.

It's Raining Inside

So much anger. Where does it come from? Emotions wore out my sleeve. It’s now wrinkled and crinkled and tattered and torn. So easily offended. So easily I cry. So easily hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt. What do I do? With all of this shit? Where do I put it? I can’t stuff it down. I can’t eat it all, not anymore. I can’t gamble it away. Not anymore. I can’t cover it up with a pill or some booze. Not anymore. Not anymore. I can’t, I can’t. Not anymore. So what do I do? Where does it go? The shelves are all full; there’s no place to go. I am confused. So lost. So unknown. I used to know. There once was a place for my heartache to go. But not anymore. I’m not sure what happened. I really don’t know. I woke up one day to a . . . life? I don’t know. I was lost. I was strange. I looked in the mirror, but I wasn’t me anymore. Scared I was. Scared I stayed. Feeling so lost. I felt raw and betrayed. But who had done this? Who was to blame? Just that girl in the mirror, the one without name. Bitch I dared call her and bitch she remained. Till I just couldn’t take it, not another day. So I covered it up, this monster inside. I ate and I ate and I gambled in shame. When that didn’t work, I took pills. All in vain. Bitch wouldn’t leave, she only remained. Actually, she grew and she grew until she owned even my name. Now here I sit - worse off then before. The monster inside owns all that I am. Is that really so bad? All that’s left is the mad. Maybe through madness, through all of the pain, I can fight my way out and reclaim my soulless name. I guess I will try. Nothing else to do. I’m all out of pills and food doesn’t taste like it used to. God, if you’re there, if you’re listenin’ to me, please give me strength. Without it, I’m doomed.

Today My Heart Sang and it was Lovely

This evening marks my second full day on Suboxone. Wow! I never knew normal could be so good - feel so good. Plenty of energy. Good mental attitude. No depression. No apathy. No sadness. No fatigue other than the physically induced kind. Was up at 6:30 a.m. Cleaned house for a bit, did the laundry, went antiquing with Shannon, shopped at Wal-Mart a bit, came home and made dinner, cleaned the kitchen and finished washing the bedding so we can climb into a clean bed tonight. So nice to be engaged - doing all the day-to-day things I wouldn't be able to do "normally". Shannon and I are getting along marvelously, which makes my heart sing. His too. He's told me several times what a nice weekend he's had. Me too. I just feel so good. Hope it lasts.

Me. . . Normal?

This is it. Day One. I started Suboxone this morning for treatment of my opioid addiction or dependence or whatever it might be. What is it anyway? Why do I love opioids? Why do I have to have them? Do I really have to have them or do I just want them? Hmm. There's the million dollar question. I need, or believe I need, opioids because they allow me to be someone I'm not without them. They ARE the perfect mask to the muck that lies beneath. Happy, engaged, interested in the world around me, content, funny, caring, energetic (yeah, ok, mornings only - but still - energetic at SOME point in the day), loving and kind = Karen ON opioids. Off opioids? I'm none of that. I'm depressed and sad and dull and apathetic (that's a biggie!), unmotivated, lethargic most of the time, loathsome, fearful, anxiety ridden and, at times, even suicidal. No, I have never attempted suicide, but I sure do think about it - a lot! Undoped, I desire drugged out Karen's existence - I long for it - I want it so badly, but I can't get it. Without opioids I simply cannot BE that person. And it sucks. It sucks so much. I sit and think about it - over and over and over again. It's on my mind every waking moment. The obsessive thinking snowballs. Then I find myself sitting around thinking. . . well, if you live so well ON dope, why not go get yourself some? Why not just live life every day fully drugged? If I have to live - which apparently I do because I'm not dead yet - why not live happy? I use that line of thinking. . . every single time. . . to relapse. I give myself permission to "go there" once again. Initially, it is wonderful. The euphoria I experience with the ingestion of that first little pill. . . oh my. . . it's like nothing I can explain. It's 1000% better than the best of orgasms! Really, it IS that good. Sadly, it doesn't last. After that first little pill, it's game over. And because all I want is to feel that good all the time, I start ingesting larger and larger quantities trying to get "it" - the feeling - back. It never works. I could eat 50 Vicodin and even that wouldn't create the high, happy feeling I experience after taking just 1 Vicodin after a 3-4-5-6 month hiatus. Because I've been on this roller coaster for years, my body/mind has built a tolerance to the shit and I just can't get high or high enough. And it is sooooooo frustrating! The more I take, the more my body rebels, which leads to thoughts of needing to get clean. So here I am. Getting clean. Or trying. Unlike the 100 times before, this time I'm doing it under the care of a doctor and a therapist. This time I'm taking Suboxone. And today is day one. I took my first dose at 6:15 a.m. Before taking it, I was in indescribable agony. The pain was so severe that I feared I wouldn't be able to roll out of my bed. I wanted to die. I did not want to face what awaited me emotionally because it's just too painful. I know from past experience. . .emotional pain is far worse than physical pain. I did not believe the Suboxone would treat that side of this hell. I thought. . . take some Suboxone. . . it will ease the pain. . . and then, in time, I'll see the therapist and maybe she'll have some magic potion or therapeutic exercise she can prescribe to kill my mental anguish. I'm happy to report, I was wrong. Within minutes, the Suboxone filled the opioid receptors in my brain and I felt. . . normal. Not high. Not depressed. Not apathetic. Not like drugged out Karen. Not like undrugged Karen. Something in between. I believe it's called normal. God, can this be true? Really? I have longed for this moment and now, here it is or so it would appear. Please Dear God, show me Grace. Let this be. Let normal be my new existence forever.