Changing the Channel

I have been struggling with my weight loss for quite some time. Even during pre-Covid era. I lost around 70 pounds a few years ago and gained it back. It’s always the same cycle. I eat right, exercise and get into a healthy regimen with my eating. I lose weight and then during that time of month I gain it back by overeating during that week and also the week before. I’m tired of it. I lost my determination and self control. I used to be a gym rat. I worked out all the time. I did 5ks. I would do anything and everything to stay in shape. Then something broke. I don’t even know what or how it happened. I became complacent. Dormant.

Now I am changing the channel. I have a renewed vigor and determination to get in the best mindset and physical shape. I am giving up soda(not for forever), limiting my portions and exercising. I refuse to be that woman before who obsessed over calories and carbs. I have become more mindful in what I eat. I walk with my dog and try to jog while doing it even though it’s difficult. (Try jogging while walking a dog and then tell me how easy it is.) I started doing my Xbox workouts. I would document this via Youtube but I’m not doing it to prove to anyone else that I can beat this once and for all. I’m proving it to myself first.

The old mindset of : “I can’t do this.” “It’s too hard.” “It shouldn’t matter what I eat.” “I’ll start after. It can wait.” “I love food too much.” “I don’t have the time” is something I have been listening for too long. It’s time to change the channel. I’m sick and tired of not living up to my potential. My jog today was exciting. It was freeing. Liberating.

I can’t wait to do more. Be more. Live more.

8 to 38

It is 8 days until my 38th birthday. It is somewhat surreal. 40 feels closer and closer. It is usually the time where a woman fully emerges into her own. Similar to the stages of a butterfly. The metamorphosis of my freedom began when I stopped caring what other people think. I feel sorry for women who deal with insecurity, let it eat away at them and devour others with it. I’m thankful I didn’t let my insecurities get the best of me. As of now, public opinion has no effect on me. But it doesn’t mean that I would put myself on a platform or soapbox where I would be ridiculed. I did consider doing YouTube. However I don’t like the catch 22 that comes with notoriety. I digress. Back to my metamorphosis. There are things that I am doing that I’ve done before.

For instance I’ve been starting to read books. Before I had never read a book in my life. Unless you count magazines. I read my first novel last month “Have You Seen Me?”. I enjoyed it. Then since I delved into reading I thought I would try another genre of the romantic persuasion. ” The Viscount Who Loved Me.” (One of the “Bridgerton” books) Not my favorite. I didn’t care for this genre at all. I’m a person who would rather watch “Chicago PD” or some cop/crime solving show than”The Bachelorette”. I also love a comedy like “Schitts Creek.” But I don’t care for romance, whether it’s in a movie or tv show. That being said, I might start writing again. Maybe a novel this time. (I did write a sitcom for my own entertainment at one time.) I also write songs. As far as fitness I’ve been doing well. I started walking again. Working up to jogging. I’m leery because of my recent vertigo incident. But I’m going to conquer this. I love running.

This year NO FEAR. I don’t want to be afraid of running. I don’t want to be afraid the scale. I don’t want to be afraid of getting older. I don’t want to be afraid I’ll have vertigo. Not afraid of food. Especially carbs. I just want to move forward with these wings and fly like a butterfly would. I know this is a short post but it condenses everything I’m feeling before my birthday takes place.

dizzy up the girl

I don’t know why I chose that for the title of this blog post. It was a lighthearted way of putting what the last 3 days have been like for me. I experienced a severe attack of vertigo the last 2 days. It was the worst, most excruciating moment of my life. I was so dizzy I couldn’t walk. I had dry heaves, nausea and projectiled vomit. It was so unbearable my parents had to call 911 and have the paramedics take me to the hospital. The anxiety was like a mental rush as the paramedic wheeled me into the lobby. I was in a much fragile state more than I had ever been.

I sat and waited with a vomit bag I held closer to me than a child would hold it’s teddy bear. Ugh. The horrible pressure of answering questions when I could barely speak. After I filled the cup of urine I vomited again. I thought to myself “When will this hell end? ” They drew my blood. But with my luck so far they couldn’t find a vein. So they poked me more than once. I was wheeled back into the lobby waiting for a room. By the grace of God it only took 5 minutes. Before that they weighed me. That dreadful number was enough to make me hope I could vomit pounds that would disappear. Wishful thinking. I went into the room and I moved onto the bed. Sidenote: Hospital beds aren’t the ideal comfort you hope for. The only way I felt better when I was laying down. Sitting up would have been the equivalent of riding a rollercoaster upside down. (Because of my motion sickness I have never ridden a rollercoaster.)

They checked my vitals. I talked to the Emergency room doctor. He asked me questions. They decided to give me fluids via an IV bag. It actually took 2 to make me feel just okay. The nausea went away after they switched my medication. But it didn’t go away completely. After 6 hrs of physical and emotional drainage I was able to go home.

However the nausea medicine came back up riding home. I had never felt such turmoil. I couldn’t wait to take a pill to make me feel better. They didn’t let me eat or drink the whole time there. I had also been rid of any food the day before. So I was hungry. But scared to eat.

Scared to eat is also a very eerie feeling. The next day my dad gave me some toast and what he calls flavored water. Turned out to be grape Powerade. It didn’t take that long for me it to leave my body. The next day was better. I am recovering. Now after I wake up and get out of bed I thank God and I do my vertigo exercises so I can prevent this from happening again. But I can say this. I will do whatever it takes to heal my body and treat it with such care. I love my body. And I love prayer. I also love medication that helps you get there.

SERVICE

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

When you see the fireworks light up tonight ( I won’t because my dogs go crazy when they hear them) think of the men and women who have sacrificed for this country. Those who have paid that service should be thanked whenever and wherever they can. People do not realize that when we get up on our own soapboxes we have the right to that freedom because of them. Every time our flag has been raised it has been given life to those who have given their lives. Their wives sacrifice. Their children. Heck even their dogs and pets.

Don’t do a disservice to them by not using your voice. Your voice in whatever you wish to say. Your freedom of beliefs. I am guilty of doing this. Being a major introvert I shut my mouth whenever I can. My only way of expressing myself is through my own avenues of creativity. I am not afraid of people. The more older I get the less I care about what everyone thinks. In that sense, I feel the freedom that was fought for me. I have the highest respect for those who did what I never wished to do. I once had an army recruit come to my house in my late teens. I respectfully declined. It’s not something I believe I was cut out for. That being said, one that puts on a uniform feels a sense of pride I will never feel to the extent they feel. I feel pride for them. I pride myself in honoring them.

Living where I live, I am surrounded by an army of amazing men , women and their familles. Just knowing they live near me I feel a sense of peace and safety. I appreciate them and admire them to the highest degree. I kneel with appreciation. Honor. Admiration. To all those who have served and who are still serving my hat is off to all of you. I pray peace for you. I pray hope. I pray you find joy in dark places. I pray you find safety. I pray you find your way home. Not only to your real homes. But also to your place of eternal happiness. Let freedom ring in your hearts, minds, bodies and souls. And God bless America where we are STILL land of the free and home of the brave.

Assemble

I write with pride on this post because for the first time I assembled something with no help whatsoever. It was a platform bed frame I ordered from Amazon. It didn’t have any written instructions. Just a diagram. Usually I have my Dad, a machinist of 40+ years, put it together for me. This time I wanted to see if I could be self sufficient and assemble it myself. I did. I am shocked that I finished it on my own. Not only that. I carried it upstairs with some help. It was heavy. I impressed myself.

I can’t help but think I will be like the finished product someday. Put together from many pieces. I’m not comparing myself to furniture. But in a way I am. Like all of us, we are pieces. Sometimes broken pieces of our heart. Pieces that don’t look like they’ll find their other half. Pieces from our past. We don’t see the finished product and maybe never will. When we concentrate on the smaller picture we don’t see completion. I personally feel like a bunch of missing pieces. I have moved around my whole life. I have parts of myself that I feel were left. Living in 5 different states can do something to a person. Moving around 30 times can also give one a feeling of instability. It’s something I’m still trying to figure out. I wish I had the pieces of my past connect. When I was a child I didn’t have social media like we do now. I never did the pen pal thing.

I miss people I knew from my childhood. I miss memories of being a tomboy in Texas. Climbing trees, collecting bugs and playing outside in 100 degree weather and thinking nothing of it. I miss the simplicity of childhood. Living a nomadic lifestyle and always having to adapt made me a well rounded person. I embraced people of different ethnicities and cultures and still do. Even though it did make me a well rounded person, it also changed my personality. I was always the new kid and not well received. I became a chameleon. I conformed. I blended into whomever I was around. I caved into peer pressure. As I get older I get more withdrawn and a loner. Perhaps it stems from my childhood or the fact that I’m an introvert more than an extrovert. I consider myself an ambivert.

I’m hoping to discover the link to these pieces that lay in my memory and my present. I feel this is the time to come into my own person. Not what people perceive me to be or conform to who people want me to be. To just be me and be ok with that. I am an introvert who enjoys delving into creativity and art whatever form that may be. I love art. I love writing music. I love playing music. I love singing. Sidenote: The more I watch “Nashville” the more it inspires me to delve back into music. I am a songstress after all. However, looking the way I look and feeling awful about it keeps me from pursuing it. I lack the confidence. This is why I need to make my health a priority. Perhaps this is the missing link. I’m not in denial. I just need to move forward.

Restart

The thing I’ve been telling myself lately is just because you ended up here doesn’t mean you can’t start over. “Here” meaning in a rut. I have gained weight. I am not working. I used to write music and play it. I have not touched my guitar in God knows how long. I have not worked out in months. I used to be a gym rat. I went from “was” to a different “now.” I have always been the creative type. I paint. I write. I love photography. I make jewelry. I sing. I stopped doing it all. What with dealing with stress and frustration from my mother’s situation. But this even started before that. I think I have been depressed for awhile. I repressed my feelings or any feeling for that matter.

I look in the mirror and I only see a fraction of what I am. Or see the girl I used to be. She’s still there. But she’s been hiding in a shell for so long. The caged bird who put herself in that cage to begin with. I find that baring my soul here has been a solace. I don’t know if anyone reads it will understand. I understand it all though. It has taken a lack of sleep to feel fully awake right now. I am aware that I can start over. I am waking up. I feel the sunrise. I am a butterfly waiting to get out of it’s cocoon. I have wings that can still fly. I want to know what it likes to feel truly happy again. I will do whatever it takes and chase that feeling as long as I can. I am fully awake.

Taking a Pause

Helllo WordPress family,

Look..I’d love to say that things are going ok. But it has been a rollercoaster of a month. Last week, my mother had a mental episode/breakdown. She had one previously in a span of 3 days. Her symptoms were more extreme than last time. The paramedics/Fire Department had to forcefully take her to a hospital. They had to sedate her and also use restraints. I’ve never heard screaming like that before. It broke my heart. It started because my Dad went to get her prescription for her UTI and she had a panic attack. I thought she was having a heart attack. I called 911 and they came immediately. I, a blubbering mess, could barely contain my emotions. I was at a loss for words. I felt I had betrayed her by calling them. I had no idea what to do though. I sobbed the whole day worried to death about her. This was not my mother. My mother is the sweetest most compassionate woman. My mother is my best friend in the entire world. Something tainted her. Physically and then mentally.

Previously in the last month, my mother had symptoms. She showed symptoms of psychosis. Severe psychosis. I talked to my brother about it and he told me that the same thing happened to my grandmother one day. It was a UTI. This also happened to my aunt as well. We tried to take her to Urgent Care once we guessed it might be a UTI but she wouldn’t go. She tried to jump out of the car and get away. She wouldn’t go to the doctor so we called 911. They came, checked her vitals, asked her questions and left. 3 or 4 days later, I had to call them again. The time she refused them to take her vitals, would not take her meds and they took her by no choice to the hospital. She was there for 5 days. She’s back home. She’s doing better. Eating, sleeping and taking her meds. But she is not really the same. I’m still worried.

That being said…not only am I dealing with this. I am moving in a week with my family. I need some time and will pause blogging for awhile. I can’t post regularly like I used to.

Til then,

-M

She In A Funk

I hate coming up with blog post titles. This one is pretty self explanatory. Emotionally, physically and spiritually I am drained. My mother’s Mental condition seems to be getting worse. She’s not sleeping. She’s lost weight. She talks to herself. She hyperventilate when she stresses out. Me and My Dad finally told my brother what is going on. It doesn’t help to hide the situation.

As for me..I wish I had a run in me. I started running because it was good for my mental health. I gave my treadmill away to my neighbor. We are moving in 2 weeks. I should be excited. But my joy has been robbed from me. It’s also that time of the month or…fun week (never said by any woman). All I’ve been doing the past few weeks is watching movies. Violent movies. I get some sick gratification when someone gets revenge for their family. I’ve become desensitized at this point. Television can do that. It’s the only outlet I’ve used.

I never used to be like this. I was the happy baby. Full of laughter. Promise. Hope. Now I don’t feel as hopeful. The negative effect on the world is affecting me. I keep trying to shake this off. But I can’t. I need an overhaul for my life. I don’t want to fall into the pit of depression. Once you fall in the out it’s hard to get out.

Stay strong, friends

The “What Ifs”

A lot of self reflection this week. Watching alot of actors in their craft has me reminiscing about my old acting days. I was never a paid actress but I didn’t care. I loved the craft. I loved the play I was in. Growing up I admired so many actors and actresses. I devoured tons of movies. People called it an obsession. I called it research. 😉 At times when my parents friends would come over to our house I would reenact scenes from my favorite movies. (What About Bob? Nutty Professor (Eddie Murphy version) Tommy Boy, Audrey Hepburn movies, etc. I still do it to this day.

I would mimic the mimic-ers. Especially Meryl Streep. I would study accents. People that know me know I can go from one accent to another. I love English, Australian and Latin. When I first saw the movie Selena I would sing the songs. My Cuban and Hispanic friends thought it was entertaining. I’ve always been fascinated by the movie industry. I lived near L.A. and never went to one audition. By then the dream had died even though I still had intentions. I think I was so insecure I wouldnt have been able to handle the rejection. Actors develop a thick skin over time. But mine was so thin it would have shattered me to hear any criticism.

Now I just live through watching other actors. At one time I thought about being a television writer or author. I love painting. Any creative outlet. It’s sad because I’ll always have that “what if” hanging over my head. ….

“What if I went to auditions?”

“What if I got to experience the craft with other admired actors/actresses?”

I always wanted to be in a movie with Jack Lemmon or Paul Newman. Sadly they passed years ago. They were my favorites. Every time I watch an Al Pacino or Robert deNiro film I always picture if I were in the film I would have been a mob boss wife. (Haha)

I digress.

Just part of a self reflection as I get older. I tend to have more of them.

Now that I’ve shared my thoughts, what are some of your self reflections? Or..what are your favorite actors/actresses? Favorite movies or movie scenes?

Mental Health and Movies…

I didn’t know how to start this blog post. Do I start with mental health or movies? I guess I’ll start with mental health.

My mother’s mental health is deteriorating. I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster because of this. I mentioned in another post that my mother fell and hurt her hip. For the last 6 weeks my father and I have been taking care of her. Making meals, helping her walk, giving her showers, etc. Just seeing her like this tests my own mental health. I’ve had breakdowns more frequently. She doesnt want to socialize. Wants to stay in bed. Has a hard time communicating. Doesn’t want to eat much. Yesterday she told us she had a secret she was ashamed of. She said that she had lied to us and did not fall. My dad said “But when I found you in the kitchen you were on the floor.” She said she has been faking it. Since then her problem has progressed. I’m ready to call the doctor and have her evaluated. I don’t know what to think or believe. I think she’s convinced she lied. Her mother (my grandmother) had Alzheimer’s years before she passed. She did show some improvement somewhat before . But I am convinced that my mother is in the beginning stages of dementia. I’ve never seen her like this. It’s frustrating because this not the same woman who raised me. I signed and begged her not to leave us. I’m devastated. It’s been hard to cope with.

Now onto movies. This is my only escape at the moment besides my infrequent jogs on the treadmill. I’ve fully immersed myself in Benicio del Toro’s film career. I had never fully crushed on him until now. (The last movie I remembered watching him was Excess Baggage, 90’s rom com with Alicia Silverstone.) I have a slightly unhealthy obsession with him as of now. I call it a temporary escape from my gloomy dreary situation. He was brilliant in Sicario and also Sicario: Day of Soldado. His acting is beyond how own years. He reminds me of Al Pacino and James Dean rolled into one person. I love his personality. His Puerto Rican Heritage is 80% of his sex appeal. Those eyes. I can’t even. I’ve also been watching Charlie Chaplin movies. That man is also legendary. Both men (Benicio and Charlie) can communicate simply with a look of artistic expression. I’ve always wanted to be an actress. I admire the craft and wish I had pursued it. Movies have been my vice as of now. Even more so. And I’ve also embraced a comedy called Schitt’s Creek.

So that’s it. Mental Health and Movies. I know those topics do not go hand in hand all the time. But right now to me they do.

Stauy strong, friends