tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63933025344430527642024-02-08T12:48:33.043-06:00Fab Laura ~ The Patron Saint of CrazyLaura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-38266490402361371832018-01-28T14:30:00.001-06:002018-01-28T14:31:59.849-06:00 A little insight<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">So, what is the difference between Mania and Depression in bipolar disorder? I’m glad you asked (even though you didn’t) because I want to educate you on this. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">1. Energy levels. When someone is depressed they literally sleep more because they are TIRED. Not mentally, but PHYSICALLY SLEEPY. This is a PHYSICAL issue, not a method of hiding from depression. When depressed I cannot drag myself out of bed until I’ve had at LEAST 10 hours of sleep. My movements are physically slower, and that alone is a sure sign that I am heading into depression. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Conversely, when manic a person has seemingly LIMITLESS energy. We can’t get to sleep. We can’t stay asleep. When I’m manic I sleep five hours per night MAX. My movements are quick and decisive. I need to expend physical energy. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">2. Concentration and brain function is strongly affected. When I am depressed I am easily confused. I have to work extremely hard at grasping simple concepts. Nothing makes sense, and I feel like I am in a fog. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Mania allows me to understand EVERYTHING with lightning speed and clarity. I come up with novel ideas and solutions to problems that no one else has considered. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">3. Decision making is strongly affected. My mood dictates my core feeling about any given decision. When I am depressed I feel completely incapable of being decisive. When weighing options, no single option seems preferable to any others. I see only the worst case scenario in every option, and I am prone to making those decisions based on external factors. I’m far more likely to make a decision based on the needs of the other person in the situation. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When I am manic I am decisive, but my judgement is poor. I make my decisions based on idealism, foreseeing the best case scenario every time. I am keenly aware of my own needs and desires and am more likely to consider them in the equation. I also take more risks. I’m naturally a more cautious person, but when I’m manic I consider consequences less seriously. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">4. When I’m depressed, EVERYTHING MAKES ME CRY. Commercials, posts about homeless people, and the sadness of people that I love all make me even more depressed. I consider everyone else’s feelings over my own and to try to avoid that just makes me even more depressed. My empathy is on overdrive. Also, something that is exceptionally annoying to everyone around me happens. Everything that has ever made me sad comes to mind and makes me cry. To others, it seems like I’m actively LOOKING for things to be sad about. In reality my brain literally inundates me with things that make me sad. It is beyond my control, and no amount of positive thinking will change it. When I am depressed I am also prone to self pity, which is extraordinarily unattractive. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When I am manic, the feelings of others are less relevant. I try to consider them, but my words and actions come so much more quickly that I don’t have the time to weigh them and their effects on others. I don’t even foresee or UNDERSTAND the responses to my words and actions. When people are upset by the things that I say and do I am very confused. I have far less empathy than I do when I am depressed or even “level”. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">5. Confidence. When I am depressed I am convinced that I am worthless; That my family and friends would be far better off without me in their lives, and they are just too nice to tell me how much of a burden I am. I am very vulnerable to suicidal ideation. That part is rare, but it happens. Fortunately I have this very vocal secondary voice that has always warned me that THIS IS A RED FLAG!!!!! I have always gotten help immediately when this happens. Not everyone has that voice though, and I think that it is mainly a result of growing up with my mother’s frequent struggles with suicidal thoughts. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When I am manic I feel like I actually enhance the lives of those around me. That I am strong and capable, an asset to society, and that I am helpful to the people that I care about. Unfortunately this is ALSO on overdrive. I get cocky. I feel superior. It is EXTREMELY unattractive. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then there is the “Mixed State”, which I’ve touched on before, but this post is already a virtual book, so I’ll talk about that in depth another day. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">This is all very exhausting and, in spite of struggling with it all for literally 28 years now, I still don’t always recognize the symptoms at the onset of a mood change. I’ve gotten better at it, but it’s a constant struggle. Also, because I am “rapid cycling” (as opposed to those whose moods last for months at a time) my moods, along with aaaalll of these symptoms, can make the complete cycle from depression to mania and then to “level” several times in one day. USUALLY the change will happen once every 24 hours, but sometimes it’s several times in one day and sometimes a mood will last for a week before it “flips” to the other. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Level” is the “goal”, although I don’t really think that it technically qualifies as a goal because (other than finding the proper medication/s) there is very little effort that can change these things. Some things that help include getting the proper amount of sleep (I sleep exactly 8 hours EVERY night), maintaining a tight schedule for taking my medications, tracking my moods, and being very self aware in terms of subtle mood shifts. Hyper-analytical, really. But NONE of these things, even when all executed perfectly, guarantees “level”. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">How does this all affect me when I AM “level”? The answer is: A LOT. I wonder which of these people is the real “me”. Am I empathetic and compassionate, or is the REAL me callous? Am I strong and capable, or am I a fraud who plays strong and capable on TV? Do I cry easily, or am I emotionless and cold? My answer, when I can see clearly (but not TOO clearly haha) is that I am an amalgam of these things. I am more prone to tears than the average person. I am kind and compassionate, with a tendency to put the needs of others ahead of my own. I still shortchange myself in terms of confidence, but I’m improving. I am strong, capable, and resilient. I am interesting, intelligent, and worthy of love and attention. I do not have all of the answers to life’s problems, but I give good advice (although I rarely see how my OWN life would benefit from the same advice). I am a good problem solver, and thinking outside of the box is my specialty. I also struggle with confidence in my decision making skills, because I know that any decision that I make when level is likely to be changed when my mood plummets or elevates. I have to continually remind myself of the decisions that I’ve made and that I was level when I made them. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Level” has been coming more frequently in the past couple of years, thanks to an excellent doctor who truly listens to me and my symptoms (literally a first for me) and he is extremely intuitive in the tweaking of my medications (truly, he has an incredible gift). I also attribute my level periods to my diet. Cutting sugar out of my life has given me clarity that I have never had in my life. It was hard at first, but I don’t miss it often believe it or not. Drinking more water helps, which makes sense when you consider how much of the human brain is comprised of water and how much the proper electrical impulses in your brain rely on. Keeping a journal (in addition to my mood tracking app) helps me to see my thought processes more clearly at each stage as well. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></p>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-55891336491786753212017-10-27T19:47:00.001-05:002017-10-27T19:47:44.221-05:00Stigma Doesn’t Die In The Dark<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I want to talk about my recent medication issues, for anyone who cares. I hear a lot from people who tell me to stop taking meds because they are “poison”. Bipolar disorder is a genuine illness with physical AND emotional symptoms that OFTEN requires medication (depending on their severity). I would never tell someone with epilepsy that they should stop taking their meds, so why would anyone tell me to? </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Anyway, I’ve been working with my doctor to stop taking my antidepressant. I’ve been taking it for ten years and it has started making my moods unstable. Before I lost any weight I was taking 120mg of Cymbalta per day. As my weight decreased my dosage had to as well. That was the case with all of my meds. I was down to 40mg/day, when we decided to take me off completely. It’s a slow process of stepping down incrementally. At 10mg/day I began having dramatically increased irritability. Losing my patience over every little thing. Overwhelmed to the point of crying in the bathroom at work, several times per day, only to be absolutely fine ten minutes later. This went on for a week, and I tried deep breathing, meditation, calming music, CBD oil, and aromatherapy to manage the symptoms. Three days ago I decided to return to 20mg/day. This small tweak has made all of the difference. My moods have stabilized, and I can function again. </span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I realize that there are reasons that people choose not to take medication for mental illness. When the symptoms are less severe, a person can choose to manage them themselves. I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. I envy those who have the choice, because I do not. I have spent time in a mental hospital due to being inadequately medicated. I do not want to ever have to do that again. I was raised by a woman who was unmedicated for most of my childhood, and I never want my son to be exposed to that. Back then, bipolar meds were experimental and she had few options. Had she had the medications available to her that I do now, my childhood would have been far different. She did the best she could because she loves me with all of her heart. I do the same for my son. I take my meds for the people who love and depend on me, and I refuse to apologize for that. </span></p>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-53051355167571491902017-10-12T08:39:00.001-05:002017-10-12T08:45:38.115-05:00On Being a “Good” person<div style="color: rgb(69 , 69 , 69); font-family: ".sf ui text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: ".sfuitext"; font-size: 17pt;">You know, being a “good” person is subjective, but I think that I’m a pretty good person. I want to talk about that. People tell me that I’m a “good” person a lot. When they say it, they SEEM to be thinking that it is just my natural state. That I am inherently good, and always have been. This makes me think that many people don’t feel that it’s possible to be better than they are. This is flawed thinking. I often have to remind myself to do good things. I often have to take a moment and ask myself what action the person that I strive to be would take in any situation. I am so imperfect, as are we all. The ONLY thing that makes me a “good” person is the effort that I put forth to be one. Effort = everything. Do I fail? Hell yes I do. Over, and over, and fucking over. But keep trying. The more effort that you put into reminding yourself to do the right thing, the more easily it will come. Ask yourself who you want to be, and then do what that person would do. It is hard, although I make it sound simple. But try it. My mama always told me that the hardest thing is always the right thing to do, and she was pretty much right about that. </span></div>
Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-2777723280865641442017-08-27T22:40:00.001-05:002017-08-27T22:41:24.575-05:00 A Mother's Love<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When I was a teenager I saw the movie Stella. It is a movie in which Bette Midler plays a single mother who, having raised her daughter to her early teens, realizes that the girl would be better off with the opportunities that her father could provide. In a gut wrenching scene she basically tells her daughter that she doesn't want her around so that she will stay with her father, because that is what she knows in her heart is best for her.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I didn't understand that movie at all when I saw it. I cried, but I didn't UNDERSTAND it. Not like I do now. There is truly nothing like being a parent. I'm not one of those people who thinks that everyone should have a child or that a person's life is incomplete without the experience. But it is a brain-altering thing, being a parent. And sometimes I am felled by the awe of it. The knowledge that, without hesitation, I would do ANYTHING for my son. I would lie, cheat, steal, kill, and/or die for him without question. The knowledge that although my happiness matters, it is directly tied to his. I couldn't choose my own happiness over his if the choice were given. </span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica; min-height: 13.8px;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"></span><br></p>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-31234125143266568342017-07-19T18:52:00.001-05:002017-07-19T19:42:07.846-05:00Chasing Normal<p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It's exhausting. Sometimes it's excruciating. It feels like fire in an enclosed room. The pressure builds, and eventually the air runs out and the fire extinguishes. The windows didn't break this time, but the interior is unsalvageable. The heat subsides and I can focus on things besides the pressure and the pain, but then comes the let-down. Despondency, followed by increasing dissatisfaction with everything about myself and my life. The things that feel so incredibly unjust in my world are suddenly at the forefront of my mind, and I am overtaken by the futility of railing against them. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal; font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">Some days I wake up and I feel cautiously optimistic. Like "Hey, I feel good. But not TOO good, because you know what THAT means... No, this is just good. Whew!" But then my mood improves, and it happens slooooowly but steadily. I laugh harder at things than I "should". I make impulse purchases. I want to DO things. I feel PRESSURE to DO things. I have to clean. I'm hit with a barrage of ideas and plans, along with the delusional belief that I CAN and WILL accomplish them. I have boundless hope for the future. SO MUCH self esteem. Everything is going to be OK. I'm going to be happy. But I'm not, because at this point I realize that I'm manic. The realization does nothing to change it though. Nothing does. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">It lasts until I sleep again, usually. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">In the morning I will be a wreck. I can't handle even the smallest problem. It's like a "mania-hangover". Sometimes finding an external problem to solve, one that does not affect me directly, helps me to take the focus off of the self pity. And there is a TON of self pity wrapped in a mania-hangover. I am watching myself from a distance, deconstructing in slow motion. I want to help me, this person who is failing so miserably at life. But I am a failure in that as well. </span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">It's a shitty game of chutes and ladders, and if I'm lucky I'll land on "level" for a while. A day, maybe an hour. Every now and then it will last a week, but that hasn't happened in years. I can't figure out the steps to the routine though, and that is what causes me the most trouble. It's like I'm in a synchronized swimming class where the moves change every time I feel like I'm catching on.</span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"> </span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">"Left arm, right leg, breathe. Just like last time!" </span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">"Wait...but last time we did left leg, right arm... no, that's not right." </span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">"Breathe! You aren't breathing! Everyone else is doing left foot, right armpit...just like last time! Why can't you do this?"</span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><br></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">And now, well, I'm tired. I'm tired of writing and I'm tired of feeling. SO tired of micro-monitoring and micro-managing my moods when it seems to have very little effect on the outcome. The only thing that it really does is give me the chance to avoid situations in which I will make an idiot of myself. Knowing that I'm emotionally fragile helps me to avoid freak crying spells in public. Knowing that I'm heading toward mania helps me to avoid getting into situations where I could spend impulsively. Things like that. </span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">But here's the kicker. I CAN'T always tell. AND the moods have no definitive length. Ten minutes, two hours, a day, a week... and anything (or nothing at all) can flip the switch. And right now I just need the switch to flip to "off".</span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; line-height: normal;"><font face="Helvetica"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></font></p>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-34796188853946273002017-07-18T09:26:00.001-05:002017-07-18T19:00:22.910-05:00Red Pill/Blue PillI've been messing with...er..."tweaking" my meds. The more that I do this, the more clarity I acheive. The more clarity I acheive, the more that I realize just what a detriment psychiatric meds can be. What a sham the whole psychiatric and pharmaceutical industries have perpatrated, although (at least on the part of psychiatry) unintentionally, I believe.<br />
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I do not believe that I can function without meds entirely. Not within the society that I am foced to operate. But what if instead of developing psychiatric meds, which we give to every person who realizes that the reality of life is becoming increasingly awful, we developed and used therapuetic methods for dealing with that reality AND real outlets for changing that reality? What if the artists and the progressively minded folks weren't medicated to the gills and were given affordable access to therapy that helped them to DEAL with the shitty things that meds lull them into thinking they cannot change and instead allowed them TO change these things?Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-79970798825597980622017-05-08T20:52:00.001-05:002017-05-08T22:29:31.839-05:00What Is So Bad About Feeling Good?I read something recently in which someone wrote that he could comfortably talk all day about his bipolar depression, but that it was difficult to talk about mania. Suddenly I realized that because people with bipolar disorder DON'T talk about it as often (most likely because it is less understood by those without the disorder) most people wouldn't know a person experiencing mania if she/he were right in front of them. So I am going to break down mania for you in a way that you can, hopefully, relate to and understand. <div><br></div><div>Imagine yourself, age 7, on Christmas morning. Take that feeling that you get when you see the piles of gifts beneath the branches of that gorgeous, twinkling tree. That feeling of infinite possibility for all things that are good. Now hold on to that, and add to it the feeling that you get when you look at the sky, out in the country where the light pollution is absent, and are in complete awe of the immensity of the universe. That feeling in your chest, that joy. Now put those two feelings on, and wear them (as an adult) for a while. A couple of hours, if you're lucky. Days, or weeks, straight if you aren't. </div><div><br></div><div>Everything is amazing. Everything feels 1000% better than it usually does. Chocolate? Omg it is the best taste and feeling on the planet. Sex? HOLY SHIT you can't get enough. Orgasms are more intense, and your inhibition is practically nonexistent. You feel SO GOOD. You feel intelligent. Sexy, even. Your self esteem is through the roof. Money is no object, and the moment is meant to be lived in! God forbid you meet someone, for the first time, when you are manic, because they will instantly be impressed and think you have it 100% together. (Pro tip: Interviewing for a job when you are slightly manic works well for this reason.) </div><div><br></div><div>Wait, what? Slightly manic? Oh yeah, there are varying degrees and various TYPES of mania. The mania that I just described is mine. 90% of my mania is euphoria and elevated self esteem, with very little danger to myself or others. I can overspend, and the quality of my driving suffers, but otherwise I'm mostly giddy and fun. You are, no doubt, wondering "what's so bad about feeling good?" Well, here's the thing: what goes up must come down. Also: an object in motion tends to stay in motion until acted upon by an outside force. And who knows what, or from where, that outside force will be. So one minute you are flying high, and certain that depression is behind you. Everything is infintely possible. The next minute you can't get out of bed. And I don't mean you don't feel like getting out of bed. I mean that your body aches, you can't talk to anyone without crying, and you feel like you haven't slept in days. DAYS. Doesn't matter if you slept 8 hours the night before, or 12, or 3. You're exhausted. You hit snooze 10 times before getting up for work, and you may not even know that you did. This is the crash, and it hits hard and fast. It doesn't give a crap whether you are at home cooking dinner, at work in an important meeting, grocery shopping alone or hanging out on vacation. You are suddenly and inexplicably incapable of blending in as a functioning member of society. </div><div><br></div><div>For some people, mania is anxiety and extreme irritability. Anger, brought on in an instant. I think this type is less common, but that's just from talking to people that I know who experience mania. When it comes to bipolar episodes, more often than not, there is no discernible trigger. We each have our own mental list of the things that will DEFINTELY bring on our mania or depression, but there are far more unexpected episodes. And those lists? Carefully compiled over years of introspection and self-analyzation. People who function well in spite of bipolar disorder spend YEARS working, with and without therapists, to understand our own behaviors and triggers. We work very hard for the same things that the average person takes for granted. The average person doesn't have to wonder if what they are feeling today is genuine happiness or the beginning of a full blown manic episode. The average person doesn't have to monitor their every mood change in order to be aware, as quickly as possible, of things spiraling out of control. </div><div><br></div><div>As hard as I feel I work to understand myself, my moods and my motives in life, I could not function without the medications that my psychiatrist prescribes. An antidepressant, a mood stabilizer, and an antipsychotic. They are not "magic" pills, but they ARE tools that enable me to live a relatively stable life. In that way they DO sometimes feel like a bit of magic. </div><div><br></div><div>One more thing: Bipolar disorder is a preexisting condition. Before the Affordable Care Act (aka Obamacare) I was ineligible for insurance unless I obtained it through an employer who offered group insurance thst I could afford. If I lost my job I had a set amount of time by which I had to find new coverage through another employer offering group coverage that I could afford. If I lost access to affordable healthcare that covered my mental illness, my quality of life would decline dramatically. More devastatingly, so would Davis'. I can tell you now that I would not be the patient, loving, and egaged parent that I am now without my medication. </div><div><br></div><div>By denying affordable insurance to people with preexisting conditions, insurers and our current administration will cause irreparable damage to the families of people who are struggling just to survive as it is. Please think about that before you support any changes to our health care laws that would limit coverage for preexisting conditions. </div>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-11929429933573575672016-09-11T10:43:00.001-05:002016-09-11T10:43:22.561-05:0015 years<div>Every year on 9/11 I struggle with my ability to express the feelings that I have on this day. Every year I think about what happened in the days following that godawful morning. I can't believe that it has been 15 years. And I cannot believe what we, as a nation, have become in that time. In the weeks that followed 9/11/2001 I was so proud of the love and unity that we all felt and shared. It was breathtaking. </div><div><br></div><div>In the span of 15 years, our society has changed dramatically. And that was foreseeable. When I spoke with my mother on the phone that morning, she told me that our lives would never be the same again. I knew that she was right, but I didn't see the path that we would traverse. I didn't see that our unity would turn into something so deeply ugly; So full of suspicion and hate for people who merely resemble the ones who did this to us. I didn't foresee the division that would occur amongst our citizens, who had so thoroughly come together and loved one another in their grief in the aftermath. I should have, and I'm sure that some did. I'm sure that many knew that our leaders would gain advantage from the situation. That it would be twisted for their own purposes, and that so many of us would fall in line with their rhetoric and do their dirty jobs for them. I had no idea that these terrorists would win so spectacularly. And they have. They have won. Like a playground bully who has egged you on until you lose your cool and just start beating the crap out of him. You may win the fight, but you're never the same. We are never going to be the same. For better AND for worse. </div><div><br></div><div>So on the 15th anniversary of this unfathomable tragedy, I encourage you to join me in extending love to those with whom you disagree. Let them know that their politics or religion do not define them for you. That, deep down, we are all human. I really believe that the future of our country and our children depends on this small, yet very important concept. </div>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-34581204522548396772016-08-03T20:10:00.001-05:002017-07-18T18:58:19.453-05:00UnfulfilledI want to inscribe an image onto your mind.<br />
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Placing the words, with a #2's precision,</div>
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On the surface of your psyche. </div>
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Witness it's slow absorption into your consciousness. </div>
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I'd like to breathe words into the emptiness of the hard morning air </div>
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before the sun burns the chill from the streets and millions begin the day across the city. </div>
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I want to hum a melody to entrance you. </div>
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One that will slide it's way into the crevices of your mind, </div>
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hovering, </div>
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on a string of repeating notes and syllables. </div>
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But I am paralyzed by the threat of failure<br />
And sleep overtakes me far too easily instead. </div>
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Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-16256143849240832042016-08-01T19:28:00.001-05:002016-08-01T19:28:41.853-05:00I Am A Mother<div>I am a mother. </div><div><br></div><div>That really eclipses most everything else about me. Should it? No, not necessarily. It does, nonetheless. </div><div><br></div><div>What else am I?</div><div><br></div><div>I am an artist. </div><div>I am a writer. </div><div>I am a lover of theater. </div><div>I am a pacifist. </div><div>I am a music lover. </div><div>I am a reader. </div><div>I am a communicator. </div><div><br></div><div>Davis begins the first grade of school on August 17th. I am going to miss his shenanigans. I am going to miss his love of cuddling. I am going to miss his bright morning smile, which will slowly be replaced by a reluctance to rise and get on with the work of being a student. </div><div><br></div><div>I am looking forward to renewing my relationship with myself. It HAS been 6 years. Let's see what kind of trouble I can get into...</div>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-91671377222666999202016-07-20T20:06:00.001-05:002016-07-20T20:06:24.668-05:00"Good Christians" and the assumption that I must be one as wellSo, this has bothered me for quite some time. It happens most frequently with older people, and I'm always hesitant to challenge an older person. Grandma and grandpa types will talk, in passing (but with obvious passion and pride), about their faith in god. They do it in a way that makes it clear that they assume that I am ALSO a "Good Christian". I'm often tempted to say "I'm a "Good Agnostic Person", but I'm not one to debate elderly strangers. I'm just not clear on the reason behind the assumptions. It FEELS like they believe that a good person must, obviously, be Christian. I don't know if that is what they are thinking, but it is how I feel when the assumption is made. I also feel like, when someone says "God bless you" because I do something kind, I SHOULD speak up. They SHOULD know that just because a person doesn't share their faith doesn't mean that they are not capable of being a good person who does good things. Is that crazy?<br />
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Just as "Christian" does not equal "Good", "Good" does not equal "Christian". <br />
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While I'm on the subject, why is it that religious people would rather that you believe ANY religion so long as you believe in SOME religion. Why is disbelief so difficult for them to accept? I'm actually seeking genuine answers here, so feel free to comment.<br />
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So this is short and poorly written. Sorry folks, it's all I've got for tonight. Have a good one :)<br />
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FLLaura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-54178123482825644052016-06-26T22:00:00.001-05:002016-06-26T22:00:13.284-05:00Coming Out<div>This time last year "gay marriage" took one BIG step toward becoming just plain old marriage. This year the Orlando massacre has inspired some people to "come out", and it has started me thinking about some things. Things that I've never spoken to anyone about. Not my best friends, not my husband, not my family. </div><div><br></div><div>I truly view sexuality on a spectrum. Let's say that "preference for men" is red, "preference for women" is blue, and there is a beautiful, wide band of varying shades of purple in between. </div><div><br></div><div>My first crush was a girl. Kindergarten. Her name was Mindy, but that is one of the only things that I remember about her. She had long, dark hair. She was petite, and wore dresses a lot. I was crazy about her. I wanted to be around her all of the time. It wasn't sexual in any way, but it was different than I felt about anyone else. She made me feel shy, awkward, and clumsy. </div><div><br></div><div>I knew that I loved girls when I was 13. It worried me. A lot. I knew that I also loved boys though, so I pushed the confusing thoughts aside and focused on the feelings that made sense to our society. The feelings that reassured me that I was "normal". </div><div><br></div><div>Throughout my life I have had, roughly, half as many "crushes" on women as I have on men. And as vocal as I am about LGBT rights for OTHER people, I never pursued any of those feelings for those women. They were "cans of worms" best left unopened. To be clear, I am happy with the way that things turned out for me in terms of the man that I chose to marry. If I'm honest though, I shortchanged myself by allowing society to dictate the people with whom it was acceptable to explore a relationship. </div><div><br></div><div>Believe it or not, this has been VERY difficult to write. Because in order to write it, I've been forced to admit it fully and (semi) openly (let's face it, I don't have or want a huge following lol). My immediate family will not stop speaking to me over this. I won't say they wouldn't judge me, but the ones who don't necessarily support equality will just ignore it. My point is this: I am not being "brave" by sharing this with you. I have little to nothing to lose in doing so. At the MOST I will find out which of my friends (any who actually read this lol) have closed minds. </div><div><br></div><div>Every day, there are millions of people out there who come out to their friends and family members. People whose families WON'T support them or, worse, will outright condemn them (ask me again why organized religion is a bad thing in my eyes). People who literally risk their safety and their lives to just BE who they are around other people. So try your best to support them. Try your best to understand them. Most importantly, treat them with the same respect that you would give your best friend if he or she confided in you. </div>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-63849504600282377512016-06-14T21:57:00.002-05:002016-06-14T21:58:30.474-05:00The "F" Word<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7thep" data-offset-key="6i6jp-0-0" style="color: #4b4f56; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="6i6jp-0-0"> After picking my little guy up from camp today we stopped at Aldi to buy Half & Half. We are heading to the checkout and pass a VERY large woman. I would estimate that she weighed 500 lbs. Davis says (and believe me when I say that I have been fearful of this moment since the day of his birth) "Mama, that lady is FAT!"</span><br />
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Now, I have serious body image issues. I grew up listening to my mother degrade her appearance and her weight. I learned a lot. I learned that she was "disgusting", that FAT was "disgusting", that her face was round and THAT was unappealing. I also learned that her value was based on these things. Every time someone said "You look so much like your mother" I cringed. I hated it. I didn't want to be "disgusting", but I must be. As a result of this upbringing I have been determined to not even USE the word Fat around Davis. I do not want to give it any sort of negative connotation. I talk about losing weight to be HEALTHIER, not smaller. I have been EXTREMELY careful to avoid painting myself as damaged just because I weigh more than I should in order to be healthy.</div>
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At first I was unsure about whether or not this woman heard him. I couldn't very well make him apologize if she hadn't heard him. Then I heard her say to the 6 or 7 year old girl with her that "Some people choose to use their manners and some do not". I brought him over to apologize to her. I said that I hadn't known whether or not she heard him, and she said that she did. She said that she wasn't criticizing my parenting, only letting her daughter know that it is up to the individual whether or not they use manners. This actually upset me, because what she was missing was the fact that six year olds, at least mine, comment on things that they see that are unfamiliar to them. If she had been seven feet tall he would have said "Mama, that lady is TALL!". If she had been a dwarf he would have said "That lady is SHORT!" and so on. <br />
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I tried to explain (I am forever an explainer) that because I used to weigh nearly 100 lbs more than I do now, I am very sensitive about the usage of the word "fat" and that we do not use it in our home. That he should apologize because it hurt her feelings, but that he really has no negative connotation associated with the word "fat". She wouldn't look me in the eye, and she didn't really seem to be listening. It made me incredibly sad. Because after we left I realized that by addressing the situation I probably made it worse for her. It likely sounded like I was making excuses for my son, which is NOT what I intended. It likely attracted attention, as I demanded that he apologize to her. I realized that forcing him to apologize was actually a selfish act. One performed to make me feel better and to teach Davis a lesson. I VERY much wanted her to feel better. I VERY much wanted to somehow repair the situation, and to show her that my son was NOT being rude. He had no IDEA that what he said could hurt her feelings. I didn't even think of how she would react. How it would feel to be confronted, publicly, with the mother of the child who had just hurt her feelings. None of that occurred to me. I wish that it had. I wish that I had let her think that my son was rude, because I think that would have been easier for her.<br />
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On the way home I explained to my innocent, confused child that it really isn't a good idea to talk about ANYONE'S appearance in public. Tall, short, pretty, ugly, big, or small... not everyone likes the things that make them different. Pointing them out can hurt their feelings, and that's not a good thing to do. I hope that he understood.</div>
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Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-90270640719607360102016-06-13T06:27:00.002-05:002016-06-13T06:49:53.552-05:00You are being "sensitive". Overreacting.<div data-contents="true">
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<span data-offset-key="5l22f-0-0"><span data-text="true">Many men do not understand this. They cannot comprehend that many women do not appreciate the attention because THEY wouldn't mind the attention, providing that it came from another woman. But, men, what would you think if it came from another man? Would it freak you out? Would it make you uncomfortable? Would it flatter you, as so many men say that they are doing when they whistle at a woman, or cat call, brush up against us or grab our asses? Somehow I don't think so. </span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="dtq21-0-0"><span data-text="true">When I was in the 8th grade, a football player laughed when he pulled my tube top (which was beneath an unbuttoned, and tied, button-up shirt) down to expose my breasts while we stood in line. I was horrified. I felt violated. I WAS violated. I reported it to a teacher. My mother reported it to the principal. She had to fight for the guy to be given one day of suspension. It left me feeling like I was less of a person than he was. </span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="5uf33-0-0"><span data-text="true">In my twenties I had a doctor, an older gentleman, who was very empathetic of my back pain due to my... over-endowment. At every visit he would pull the table out from the wall, stand behind me, and adjust my back. Well, the first time. Looking back, each time he came a little closer. Lingered a little longer with his hands. It became less of an "adjustment" and more of a back rub. He was such a kind man that even when I became uncomfortable with it I didn't say anything because I wasn't certain that I wasn't just being "sensitive" and overreacting. Then one day (and mind you this all took place over the course of a couple of years) I realized that he was leaning against me, from behind. So many women, SO MANY of us, are afraid of offending a man. Afraid of appearing "sensitive", of overreacting, of falsely accusing. Knowing that if we confront you on your behavior we will be accused of making it up, or of "flattering ourselves". So we are silent. I was silent. I struggled with the problem. How could I get out of the situation? How could I say "no, I don't want you to "adjust" my back, which actually so desperately needs it." Instead I convinced myself that I was overreacting. He was a doctor, I told myself. I was "flattering" myself. I actually heard my inner voice tell me that. Then, abruptly, I received a letter in the mail. His practice was closing. I was sad, as he was a great doctor, but also relieved. </span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="2lp03-0-0"><span data-text="true">Now, why didn't I simply change doctors? Good question. A question that I have asked myself repeatedly. The answer is interesting. Because I couldn't convince myself that I wasn't just overreacting. Women have been told, for as long as we each remember, that we are "sensitive", "emotional", and that we "overreact". Sexual misconduct, as any man will tell you (with shock in his voice) is a "serious accusation". How many times have we all heard that, spoken in a tone that says "You better be 100% certain that you are a) right and b) able to prove it. I know that most men who read this won't get that. I also know that many women will. </span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="f5ani-0-0"><span data-text="true">Many years later I began to wonder about his </span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="eh2k7-0-0"><span data-text="true">Years later I looked him up on a physician rating site. I needed to know if other women had similar experiences. He lost his license due to sexual misconduct. Many women, braver than I, had come together and told their stories (which were shockingly similar to mine, and sometimes far WORSE than mine) and fought so that no other women would go through it again. I was relieved to know that I hadn't overreacted, but I was also disappointed in myself for not having had the ability to do it myself. </span></span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-86891553256431636662016-05-27T23:23:00.001-05:002016-05-28T18:25:17.903-05:00The "down" side to dramatic weight loss (that no one talks about). So far, I have lost 87 lbs. people say that I should be "proud". I've worked hard, so yes. I am proud of myself for continuing to put one foot in front of the other on this journey to reclaim myself. This relatively new way of eating (8 months down, the rest of my life to go) has been far easier than anything else that I've tried. Cutting calories left me hungry ALL OF THE TIME. I suck at routines, so any exercise routines that I've ever tried to maintain have always fallen to the wayside fairly early in the game. Replacing carbs with healthy fats though, for some reason my body really responded to that (after two weeks of hell...er..."adjustment"). So I'm left feeling like it has been easy, even though I KNOW that it hasn't. The cravings are pretty much non-existent, but the fear of falling face-first into a vat of Hagen Daz is ever present. I literally have nightmares about it. Old habits die hard, and this is going to be a lifelong struggle for me in every sense of the term. But I'm supposed to be talking about the big negative of weight loss. Sorry. Ok, here we go. <div><br></div><div>Self image. The image of yourself that you carry around with you, 24/7. Once you've been obese for so long, fat becomes part of your identity. People will tell you that your weight isn't who you are. These people are only partly correct. Although it is not ALL that you are, it is PART of who you are. "What does she look like?" "Oh, she has brown hair, big boobs, glasses. She's a big girl." Or "she's overweight". Or "she's fat", depending upon your commitment to politically correct terminology. It is part of your image. More deeply, though, it is part of your SELF image. </div><div><br></div><div>Other people's image of you can change fairly easily. When someone sees you every day, a dramatic weight loss may be shocking at first but no one literally doesn't believe that you've lost the weight. They can see it with their own eyes, and they have no reason to disbelieve it. What a person who goes through a dramatic weight loss is faced with, in contrast, is a disconnect between their internal image of themselves and reality. </div><div><br></div><div>In reality, I am 87 lbs lighter. In reality I have decreased my "dress" size by five sizes (or ten, depending on how you count women's dress sizes. I'm not sure). When I see a photo of myself, though, I see a stranger. My features do not look like my own. They are too...comical, almost. Exaggerated. Without the padding, my mouth looks too big. My nose, my eyes, every one of my features looks foreign to me. My breasts, although still enormous by standard measure, are no longer my breasts. They are shaped differently, and they require considerably more support, if ya know what I mean. </div><div><br></div><div>Do I like my new image? I think so. More than that, I love that I can move more easily; That I don't get winded chasing after my son or taking a flight of stairs; That my knees aren't at risk of giving out on those stairs. </div><div><br></div><div>What I DON'T like is the disconnect. It's disconcerting to see a photo of yourself and have to take a moment to recognize the person staring back. It's weird to see clothing on a rack and not be able to tell whether or not they will fit you because you are completely out of touch with the size of your body. </div><div><br></div><div>It's worth getting to know myself again. Losing weight has been like getting a new toy, winning the lottery, and Christmas all rolled into one. But there is a lot of emotional baggage that takes the place of that physical baggage. Stuff to work through. I was obese for seven years; Overweight for nearly 20. I don't know how long it will take before my self image syncs up with reality. Maybe it won't. I guess I'll find out. </div><div><br></div><div>~FL</div>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-14753073036399391572016-05-26T12:51:00.001-05:002016-05-26T12:51:06.748-05:00Opinions are like...well, you know. But I've got a bunch. Unlike assholes. Let me be clear: I do NOT have a bunch of assholes. Just the one. Two, if you count my dog, Rupert 😂. <div><br></div><div>So I keep hearing about how I should write a blog. I don't know that people will read it, but I guess I'll give it a go. So this is my official "yeah yeah, I'll write some stuff down for you to read" post. Question is, about what should I blog? Current events? Personal stories? Mental illness? Autism? Weight loss? All of these things are within my personal sphere right now, so I guess you'll get a bit of everything. </div><div><br></div><div>So if you find yourself enjoying what you read, say so in a comment. If you hate it, also say so. I'll either tell you that you are right and that my writing is shoddy and unfit for consumption, or I'll tell you where to go (and it ain't gonna be Dairy Queen). </div><div><br></div><div>Be good to one another, and for crap's sake don't vote Trump. </div><div><br></div><div>FL~</div>Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6393302534443052764.post-9864623309873020412012-11-22T09:40:00.002-06:002012-11-22T09:43:11.024-06:00My Thoughts on Turkey DayWhen I think of Thanksgiving, I think of two things. #1 My Papaw, in his recliner watching football after dinner. There have been many thanksgivings since his passing, and none of them truly celebrated without him. I like to think of him there, enjoying the game while the women cleaned up. It was his place. #2 is more difficult. I can't help but think of the near eradication of the Native American race when thanksgiving comes around. What a downer, I know. Well, call me Debbie because in my eyes thanksgiving is a bittersweet holiday. A non-holiday, really. We celebrate by being thankful, which we should be every day anyway, and by killing hundreds of thousands of turkeys. The Native Americans would have thanked the turkey for it's sacrifice, but I'm betting few of us do that. I guess, for me, I'd like to take thanksgiving as a day to say "I'm sorry". Sorry for the thousands of people and animals that we stepped on (often literally) to get where we are today. America the beautiful would have been just as beautiful had we shared the land rather than stealing it.<br />
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That's just me though. I was raised to feel guilty for everything lol. I'll eat turkey and dressing today just like everyone else, I'll just feel badly about doing it. Laura Flowershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04057012001451377374noreply@blogger.com0