tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3548874215978336592024-02-07T04:59:10.754-08:00The Duchess SpeaksThe Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-38067134049145057542018-08-21T19:06:00.002-07:002020-10-04T23:51:56.751-07:00<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">This week in August is always a tough one for me. I want to sleep more and when I'm awake, I'm shaky and uncomfortable. It doesn't hit me until I look at a calendar and realize it's “that” week. In the past, the dread would creep up weeks before and I would indulge in inappropriate behavior….partying, drinking, revolving door of lovers….anything that would numb my mind from the memory. Once I reached my 30s and sought appropriate therapy, I've been able to redirect my feelings to healthy behaviors, one of which is writing. </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: bold;">This story contains explicit details of physical abuse that may trigger some people. Please do not read on if you will be affected negatively. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Many years ago, I was a wildling. I drank and danced with abandon, dated a flurry of pretty people and never really stayed in one place more than a few seconds. I lived in a very small coastal town in Oregon, which was also host to small Coast Guard base. If I'm going to follow the recipe of full disclosure when writing about my pain, I have to admit I chased “Coasties” as my friends and I called them. I'm cringing now, but at the time I was completely besotted with the uniform. I dated cops for the same reason, but I was much more interested in Coasties as their time in our town was brief and a constant supply of new blood was available for my voracious appetite. As a result, I was pretty popular with the permanent staff at the base. They would tell me when new blood was coming, so I had first pick of new crews. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">It so happened that a ship on its way to Alaska had to dock in our town due to mechanical problems. It was serious enough that the boat would be dry docked for several months, adding a crew of 60-70 new Coasties to our base. I was ecstatic….so much new blood!</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">When their housing was figured out, the new crew slowly started filtering into the social scene. I met the majority of them at a local nightclub that I frequented even though I was underage. This particular club had a card room where there were serious poker tournaments (obviously illegal, but overlooked since plenty of law enforcement hung out there as well). I saw him from the back at first….he had almost white blonde hair, carefully styled in a pompadour like a blonde Elvis. He was obviously tall even though he was sitting down, and was noticeably overdressed for a crappy club in a small town. Where the other men wore tshirts and jeans, he wore a turtleneck and jacket and shiny wingtips. He looked so out of place that it was almost comical. When I finally saw him standing, he was walking my way. He was easily 6’3”-6’4” with a chiseled jaw and glacial blue-green eyes. I was so overwhelmed by his attractiveness that I didn't even hear him offer me a drink. My mind was spinning….guys like this usually chose the twiggy girls with straight, flowing blonde hair, not me with unfashionable curves and big, curly hair, no matter how I flirted. As we walked to the bar, his hand touched the small of my back and for once in my life, I wasn't awkwardly the same height or taller than the man next to me. In fact, he made me feel tiny! I could feel the hateful glares from the twiggy girls….they knew as well as I did that I was out of my element. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">The rest of the night, Ben (not his real name) gave me his undivided attention. My usual boisterous personality slid away with him….he made me feel like I could really be myself. We sat in a corner and talked the night away. At closing, he drove me home and left me with a kiss on the hand….and woooo did I fall hard. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">The next few weeks were a blur of exploring local beaches and showing him the good restaurants in town. He always dressed much fancier than the guys in our town, which drew some criticism from them….i stepped between many a drunken local boy and my fashion model date before it could escalate. Soon, far too soon it seemed, I was staying with him in his room and he was staying at my apartment. It all felt so wonderful that I never questioned it. The sex was phenomenal….i still have yet to find a comparable partner. We just fit together in so many ways….my friends loved him, my family especially loved him, and it all felt so right. He had even mentioned me moving to Alaska with him, which had my head spinning. He was my own personal Adonis, and I worshipped him with all the fervor of the newly enlightened. He could do no wrong in my eyes. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">The day in question started like any other. It was a weekend, so we had slept late that day and were just lounging around his room. His roommate (a permanent local) had found a girl to spend time with but had left his Toyota 4x4 truck for us as we planned to spend the evening on the sand dunes with my friends having a bonfire. I don't even remember what we were talking about; it was trivial to me. I remember jokingly calling him a “lazy bum” because he had dishes in his sink (extremely unusual as he was a major neat freak). After I said it, he became unnaturally quiet so I turned around to see if he was behind me and I caught his fist square in my jaw. He was so much bigger and stronger than me that it knocked me off my feet. I'm not a weak little girl, and of course my temper got the best of me. I leapt to my feet and threw a right hook that likely didn't hurt him but I would later find broke 4 bones in my hand. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I've never seen eyes change the way his did. The sweet, loving guy who had held me in his arms while he slept the night before disappeared and was replaced with an evil monster. He grabbed me by my hair and started dragging me towards the door. I was wearing a button down shirt of his and underwear but nothing else, so I fought like crazy. Another punch to the face broke my nose and snapped me into reality….i knew something bad was about to happen so I began fighting for my life. I will never, ever forget the sound of his gun cocking or the steel of the barrel touching my face. Every ounce of fight I had left me and I slumped to the floor. He picked me up like I weighed nothing and wrestled me out the door and down to his roommates truck. Once there, he told me in a deadly voice to get in or he would kill me right there. Knowing I shouldn't keep fighting, I climbed in. He threw himself in the drivers side and started driving towards the sand dunes. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">(If you are unfamiliar with the Oregon Dunes, it's a large recreational area open for off-roading enthusiasts. It covers several miles of central Oregon coast and you can easily get lost out there and never found.)</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I clung to the door of the truck and assessed my injuries. My nose was definitely broken and streaming blood down my face. My right eye was rapidly swelling closed and my head felt like he had ripped a bunch of my hair out, but otherwise I was still intact. He had opened a cut above my left eyebrow, and the blood was pooling in my left eye. I was too scared to try to wipe it away, so I just let the tears come to try to flush it out. This earned me another smack and an order to “stop sniveling,” so I swallowed my tears and stayed as silent as possible. In the meantime, he was driving like a maniac, weaving in and out of traffic and speeding. I prayed that we would get pulled over but we arrived at the turnoff to the sand dunes far too soon. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">When we reached the staging area (where the road ends and the sand begins), he put the gun under my chin and told me to stay silent in the truck while he manually turned the hubs so we could drive on the sand. It's a pretty crowded place a lot of the time but since it had just gotten dark, the staging area was deserted. Every bone in my body was screaming “RUN!!!” but I was sure he would kill me if I did, so I laid still and gathered my wits. Once out on the dunes, maybe I could calm him down. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">He threw himself back in the driver’s seat and immediately we were speeding across the staging bumps, making my broken body scream. Unable to hold it back, I screamed out loud from the pain which earned me an open handed slap to the face that rung like a bell and knocked the air out of me. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I tried speaking to him soothingly at first, then begged him for my life. I know I told him more than once to just let me out and I wouldn't turn him in, to which he sneered and called me pathetic. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">When I saw where he was going, hysteria rose in me like a hot air balloon. We were going to the romantic area we went on a date to just a few weeks ago; a place I held special and knew how secluded it was. I gained my second wind and attacked him, screaming like a banshee. I was not going to let him get there as deep down I knew I would probably die there tonight. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I might as well have been hitting a statue; he was totally unfazed. When the truck stopped I leapt out of the door, running as fast as I could. Being barefoot on soft sand gave me an advantage and I nearly got away but he tackled me hard to the ground. Tearing off the shirt I was wearing, he again grabbed me by the hair and dragged me to the exact spot we had sat and kissed tenderly only a few short weeks before. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">He dropped me and stalked off, gun in one hand and his head in the other. I saw the punch I had managed to land had cut his perfect cheek and I was both glad and horrified. He seemed to be fighting an internal struggle with himself….i kept seeing the sweet side of him slide onto his face only to be immediately replaced by the demon that had taken over back in his room. He was crying, so I knew he was still in there under the rage. I made myself as tiny as possible, rolling into a ball and tucking my face into my knees. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">He sat down in the sand, his gun dangling from one hand and his face in another. I began telling him again to just leave me there, promising I wouldn't go to the police if he just let me go. I said it over and over, hoping he would snap out of it. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">After what seemed like an eternity, he rose and walked back to the truck. I didn't dare move; I hoped he would just drive off and I could walk out to find help. I knew enough of the dunes that if I walked east long enough I would hit a well-used trail. I allowed hope to build, but unconsciously sniffed when the blood flowing from my nose streamed into my mouth. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">He stopped at the door of the truck, not facing me. I heard the gun hit the seat, and his footsteps came back to my prone body. I laid as still as possible, hoping he would just go away. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I heard a noise and realized he was sobbing. I couldn't bear the sound; it was the keening a small child makes when it's frightened. I looked up at him and saw his beautiful face crumpled and sad. I did the only thing I knew….i soothed him. I told the man who had just hurt me worse than I had ever been hurt in my life that it was okay and we were going to work this out. He dropped to his knees and laid his head in my lap, tears trailing down my thighs. I touched his beautiful hair and cried with him. I touched his back and his arms circled me tightly, his head now in my chest. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I try to be as transparent as possible while writing this, but what happened next is still a very raw pain. I feel like my body betrayed me and that's hard to accept. We had sex for the final time right there on the sand and it was confusingly soft and tender. He kissed my wounds and apologized over and over. Every cell in my body was SCREAMING how wrong it was, but I ignored it and let it happen. I think subconsciously if I acted like nothing had happened, he would be my Ben again. I was horribly, horribly wrong. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">When he finished, he grew disgusted with himself. I can't remember all of what he said, but a lot of it had to do with his own self loathing. I had no idea this beautiful man hated himself so much, and it was too much for me to bear. I wept for the loss of my own innocence but also his….it was clear he had major self image issues. His disgust grew until his anger had returned, and the evil slid back into his eyes. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I ran. I have no idea where the strength came from but I ran faster than I've run in my entire life. I'm only 5’9” to his 6’3”-6’4” and he caught me easily. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">He threw me to the ground and sat on my legs, then began punching my face so hard I saw stars with each blow. I don't remember feeling pain so much as I felt my soft body give in to his hard one while he punched my face and chest. When he rose to his feet, he kicked me unmercifully in the stomach and back. I felt and heard ribs giving way and breaking, and one kick to my spine caused my legs to go numb. I laid with my face buried in the sand, the salty air stinging the open cuts. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">When he finally stopped, I was afraid of what would happen next. After standing over me for what felt like hours, he got in the truck and drove away from the place we had only recently shared the most beautiful intimate moment of my life. I laid still until I couldn't hear the engine anymore, then let the tears come. I cried and cried, wiping away as much sand and blood as I could. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I couldn't stand up, but kneeling on my knees I checked myself over. I had huge red marks on my belly and thighs from his heavy work boots, and several cuts on my chest where his fists had torn my skin. My hair was matted with blood but it appeared to be still connected to my head. I felt my face and it was an alien landscape of swelling and blood. Both eyes were now starting to swell, and I feared I wouldn't be able to see soon. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">That realization was enough to push me to move, to crawl, to do ANYTHING but lie there and let myself die. I found the shirt he had ripped off lying a few feet away and pulled it around my badly beaten body. I knew I would have to find some unsuspecting pleasure riders and get help from them and I didn't want to be naked. The shirt fell to my knees and smelled like him, which brought fresh tears. I willed my body to move and pulled and pushed myself up the face of the big dune between me and a popular riding trail. I'm still thankful for a low, full moon that night - I wouldn't have been able to find my bearings otherwise. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I kept this crawl up as long as I could and finally made it to the trail. It was then that I collapsed and blacked out for a while; when I came to I could hear the whine of 4-wheelers coming my way. I weakly rose to my knees and waved my arms, pushing whatever sound I could get out of my lungs. Thankfully the shirt I was wearing was still white enough that it glowed in the path of the wheeler’s lights. Two men came riding up to me and I panicked again, trying to crawl away. I was terrified that it was Ben returning to finish me off, but it was two strangers. They took one look at my mangled body and assumed I had been in a wreck which isn't uncommon out there. I tried my best to explain what happened, but ended up just sobbing on one man’s shoulder. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I thank the universe for sending those men my way….they were extremely gentle with me and wrapped me in the clothes they stripped off. One raced back to the staging area to call for help (this was pre-cell days) while the other waited with me. The one who stayed held me and soothed me and I blacked out again. When I came to this time, I was surrounded by police and fire personnel and I was being loaded onto a rigid board. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Even strapped down, the ride back to the staging area was excruciating; every bump jarred me to the bone and drew hoarse screams from my mouth. They ended up having to hand carry me across the bumps at the staging area and finally into an ambulance. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">All I could see once inside was the horror on everyone's faces - they worked fast and quietly….it was so quiet I could hear my ragged breath. I knew it had to be bad when the ambulance raced off running lights and sirens. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">The young EMT who assessed me and cleaned me up as much as he could was actually someone I knew, at least in passing. He kept telling me it was going to be okay but his face told a different story. I closed my eyes and let the blackness come again, this time from the medicine he put in the IV. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I didn't regain consciousness again until three days later. I woke to my roommate asleep in the chair next to my hospital bed and layers of thick bandaging covering most of my body. She jerked awake when I called her name and she burst into tears. I asked for a mirror, and when I saw myself I wish I hadn't. My face was horribly swollen and pure black over most of it. I had burst blood vessels in my eyes and I could only open them 1/4 of the way. The areas of my body not swaddled in bandages were black and purple and hurt terribly. I didn't even look human. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I spent over a week in the hospital, and more than 3 months recovering. I had 4 broken ribs, a punctured lung, both collarbones were broken, a bruised spleen and liver, broken nose, broken right arm and hand, and a huge fracture in my right cheek. The physical damage healed, but the psychological damage did not. I spent the next few months utterly terrified of men….i would panic when I was in a close space with them and refused to see any of my male friends alone. I didn't get over that for many, many years and I still panic when I'm alone with a man that I feel is threatening (based purely on his size, not demeanor). I moved out of my apartment and back in with family while I healed. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I did tell my story to the police. Because he held a decent rank in the CG, his superiors talked me out of filing charges with the local police….they told me he would get worse punishment from them and I believed them. It turns out he was stripped of rank and had to attend intense therapy, which resulted in him sending me letters. I sent back every one and finally warned his superiors that I would file stalking charges against him if he didn't leave me alone. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I never heard from him again. I do, however, keep track of his whereabouts and found he was living up here of all places (he was originally from a wealthy suburb of Chicago and spoke often of going back). He is no longer enlisted on the military and has a family. I hope with all my heart his wife has never seen that side of him. He's a shell of the guy I fell in love with; he's fat, his beautiful face is weathered with time and those glacial eyes have dulled. It should make me happy but it doesn't. I just find it incredibly sad. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I went on to marry my now ex-husband barely a year after it happened. If I'm being honest, I can say I married him because he wasn't handsome (a factor I felt hid Ben’s true personality) and he had made it clear that he would never hurt me. When he broke that promise years later, I'm proud to say I was able to stand up for myself and I knocked the crap out of him. It was the very last time a man put his hands on me in anger and I made him regret every second. When I divorced him, I left behind that hurt little girl I had been. I moved 3 hours away and restarted my life in my old hometown as a single parent dedicated to my child. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">Writing this every year drains me, but it allows me to find some peace with the pain and remind myself that I'm not helpless. Not only can I defend myself, I can defend my child and I will die fighting. I will never allow anyone, male or female, to put their hands on me in anger again. The unfortunate thing is this memory continues to haunt me 20-some years later….i haven't found a way to make that easier but I diligently write it out and leave the pain in these words. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">I would love to say that I made it to my current relationship without any more bumps but that would be a lie. I ended up in a 5 1/2 year relationship with a textbook narcissist who was, in many ways, a carbon copy of my Ben - he was attractive, the sex was out of this world, and he put me on a pedestal. Unfortunately he needed validation from many women and I finally got out of that one. You would think I would want nothing more to do with relationships and you'd be 100% correct. My fiancé came into my life exactly when I needed him and I've finally found someone who isn't hiding behind a facade. He is loving and encourages me to be myself, no matter how messy that is sometimes. It's taken us almost 7 years to get to this point, but he's thankfully patient and understanding. I still have moments of panic when we disagree but I know he will never, ever hurt me and I can move past the panic. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-size: 11pt;">If you've made it this far, thank you for reading. Please don't feel you are obligated to comment; I don't write this for validation. I write it because a very kind therapist encouraged me to put it on paper when the feeling overwhelms me, as it did this weekend. I purposely set my wedding on the anniversary of the day in hopes that it would replace the bad memories with good ones….as you can see it didn't work. Our marriage only lasted 4 years, and I've not been able to let it go. For now, I'm satisfied that I can at least get it out.</span></div>
The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-74580111761308046062016-02-02T19:57:00.002-08:002016-02-02T20:03:51.045-08:00Peggi's Chicken Tikka MasalaChicken Tikka Masala is a beautiful, creamy, spicy, comforting dish, don't you think? It's honestly not that complicated to make! This is my own recipe, tweaked and perfected over the years. It's actually more of a combo of butter chicken and chicken tikka masala, so don't be surprised if it tastes different than what you've tried before. I hope you enjoy it!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
First, you need to marinate your chicken. It needs at least 2 hours to absorb the flavors, but I shoot for 5-6. Overnight is great too!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
MARINADE:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts, sliced lengthwise into 3 long strips</div>
<div>
1 cup Plain Greek yogurt</div>
<div>
2 heaping tbsp Garam Masala</div>
<div>
1 tbsp Turmeric</div>
<div>
2 cloves of garlic, minced</div>
<div>
1/2 inch of fresh ginger root, grated</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>(Here's the thing - I don't really measure, so I'm giving you estimates. I also use <a href="http://www.gourmetgarden.com/en/herb/201/garlic" target="_blank">Gourmet Garden</a> garlic and ginger as it's no muss-no fuss)</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In a large plastic or glass dish, stir together yogurt, garam masala, turmeric, garlic, and ginger. The mixture should be well-flecked with the spices, so add more if you think you need to. add the chicken, pressing it well into the mixture so each piece is covered. Let set in fridge for desired time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once you've marinated the chicken, there are a couple of ways to cook it. Ideally, grilling is best. I just take the chicken out, wipe the excess marinade off with my fingers (yes, it's messy, but it's thick so hands work best), and lay the meat on the grill. You can also heat 1/4 cup of butter in a large pan and brown the chicken (my usual method since we don't have a grill). I warm the butter over medium heat and allow it to clarify, thus making ghee (usually called for in Indian cooking). Use the same wiping method and brown each side. A little char is ideal! The turmeric will turn the meat yellow, so don't let that turn you off. Once cooked through, put the meat on a plate to cool. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Time for the lovely sauce!</div>
<div>
<br />
SAUCE:<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
1/2 cup butter (1 stick)</div>
<div>
Large sweet onion, finely chopped</div>
<div>
3-4 cloves of garlic, minced</div>
<div>
1/2 inch of fresh ginger root, grated</div>
<div>
1-2 jalapeño peppers, minced*</div>
<div>
2-3 heaping tbsp Garam Masala</div>
<div>
1 can crushed tomatoes</div>
<div>
3/4 to 1 cup heavy cream</div>
<div>
Salt and pepper, to taste</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In a deep pan (I use a dutch oven), melt butter over medium heat and allow to clarify. Add onion and jalapeño, stirring constantly. After a couple of minutes, add garlic and ginger, continue to stir until onion is translucent. We're not browning the onion, we're just sweating it! Add Garam Masala, stir for a minute or two until fragrant (this step is golden - it really brings up the flavor in the spice!). Pour in tomatoes, stir to combine. Reduce heat to medium low and cover so the tomatoes don't splatter everywhere. Chop up cooled chicken, add to pot. Stir to combine and simmer 5 minutes. Now is a good time to taste and add more spice, salt and pepper. Don't overdo the Garam Masala! It can be overwhelming. Finally, add the heavy cream. The color should be a lovely, creamy orange, so adjust the cream accordingly. Also, taste, taste, taste! You'll likely need to adjust the spices to your liking. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's it! I serve mine over steamed jasmine rice, but traditionally it's served over steamed basmati rice with peas. It's good with quinoa, brown rice, or even over fresh spinach! It tastes best the second day, in my opinion. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>*a note about heat - I'm kind of a wimp, so I use 1 jalapeño with 1/2 the seeds and membrane removed. Adjust for your own taste, but keep in mind that the heavy cream will temper the spice quite a bit. I also use red pepper flakes in a pinch!</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-57125624457586525862014-06-19T15:41:00.000-07:002014-06-19T15:41:43.550-07:00My pink pixie girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigD6gPRmH2b7VP7hnDG8ZqOjJFE_YzpPhjkzxsM9rdbm86ruZpJ2lvoBus9l-ez9MBO7EA0zrcKcHMU1iqkLhmZGDCbfk1O5yeHJDOea3qT2FC3W9MCqbFnQGJsnnWDekeN0N98pVxbj-O/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigD6gPRmH2b7VP7hnDG8ZqOjJFE_YzpPhjkzxsM9rdbm86ruZpJ2lvoBus9l-ez9MBO7EA0zrcKcHMU1iqkLhmZGDCbfk1O5yeHJDOea3qT2FC3W9MCqbFnQGJsnnWDekeN0N98pVxbj-O/s1600/image.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-33939826591783926612014-03-19T23:46:00.000-07:002014-03-20T00:09:08.460-07:00Racing the Moon<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; text-align: start;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIEyeXTYpv-31wiBE2BA297w9i6zVaSZ5xuZ44Z9H9XaTU1AdVcqV-b4m2Olh4ziANXiiAGGCBQza1QjyeOBKGF53y7_u4ifr-Raq2lh4Ytsa6bJ5fhFRoOQZZGpLuRE1HcFEbIxXMC-q/s3200/hellgate.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIEyeXTYpv-31wiBE2BA297w9i6zVaSZ5xuZ44Z9H9XaTU1AdVcqV-b4m2Olh4ziANXiiAGGCBQza1QjyeOBKGF53y7_u4ifr-Raq2lh4Ytsa6bJ5fhFRoOQZZGpLuRE1HcFEbIxXMC-q/s3200/hellgate.JPG" height="298" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">It was a blistering hot day that day, the kind that only air conditioning can keep you from sweltering. As night fell, the heat released from the ground and a gentle breeze cooled the valley. A huge, full moon hung low in the sky, daring me to follow it. The siren call of a night drive along my river was too tempting to ignore.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I drive through town, my hair blowing in the open windows and my favorite music blasting on the stereo. The breeze feels delicious on my bare arms - still warm from the day's brutal scorching, but as it streams through the car it feels like a cool caress. </span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Soon, I'm on the back road that will lead to my river. The moon is somehow even larger, and I race against it to see if I can catch it. "Alone" by QED shuffles onto my stereo, a fitting song for this race. Even though deer frequently cross the road, I find myself pushing the speed to 65 the 70 as the wind whips my hair into a frenzy. I sing along and laugh at the freedom and adrenaline coursing through my body. The canyon that marks the appearance of my river to the left looms ahead, and my heart starts racing. Then she appears, a glossy ribbon sliding in the moonlight far below. Having beaten me there, the moon hides behind a mountain as I drop out of canyon; the mossy, green smell that is my lady river's perfume fills the car. The bridge that puts the river on my right looms ahead; my favorite sight. A short ways away from the big campsite that hugs the banks of my river, I smell the incense of campfires. Here, the smell isn't annoying; it smells like pure cedar and spice. I pass happy families around their fires, my music raising a few heads. It's time to turn it down as the song of my lady river is nearing.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I enter a densely forested part of the road the smells even deeper of moss and loamy earth. I inhale deeply; the smell is as intoxicating as any perfume I've smelled. I can hear the river roaring gently over the rocks in her path, creating the rapids that draw hoards of adventurers during the summer.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Too soon, the road rises into another canyon and I drive with urgency to get my river back. Navigating the dangerous curves and high banks that hug my path is as familiar as sliding into my favorite pair of jeans. Flattening out, I can smell the river again, but it's hidden from sight deep in the river scrub trees. Relaxing, I know the excitingly dangerous part of my drive is over and I slow my pace. Brushing my wind-swept hair from my face, I lay my left arm on the open windowsill, the now-cooler air raising goosebumps on my flesh. There are high mountains on both sides, with only the road and the river between them. </span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My lady river slides closer to the road and back into view as I round a sharp corner; the moonlight rippling on her surface looks like glossy black ribbons of silk. With every turn of the wheel, my spirit feels lighter until it seems I have no cares in the world.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A few minutes later, I pass through Galice and climb back up into canyon walls again. This time I'm climbing impossibly high, on a single-lane chip seal road that had been carved out of the cliff walls years ago. I hear each hidden waterfall I've visited splashing as I pass them, smiling to know the summer heat hadn't dried them out just yet.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">A few more narrow twists and turns and the moon peeks out, lighting up the high bridge that marks my turn-around point; at least for tonight. Barely slowing after I cross the bridge, I guide my way down a ridiculously steep path barely the width of the car that leads to the banks of my river. It's fitting that it is also the boat ramp that marks beginnings and endings - ending a long day of rafting the upper river for pleasure seekers; beginning the journey for hard-core rafters on their multi-day trips through the wilder water ahead of them. I get out and find my favorite rock, which has finally risen from the water as the winter run-off has diminished. This rock is my old friend; I sat here as a wild river rat when I was a child, but most recently as a place to give my stress and anxiety to the river and let it float away.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sliding my sandals from my feet, I dip my toes in the water, feeling the minnows nibbling them gently. I smile at the tickle, remembering hours of childhood bliss chasing the tiny fish through the shallows. I stay long enough to see several large fish jump for their dinner, to fill my senses with the heady smell of my river, and to bathe in the moonlight. Once my mind is finally empty of all the noise of the day and I'm tired of waving the gnats away, I'm ready to go.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Begrudgingly, I walk slowly back to the car, pausing to give my river one last glance. She's so ancient, so serene. I envy the fact that nothing has forced her from her path - flood, drought, fires, mining....she's survived them all and still finds her way to the ocean triumphantly.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">The drive back home is just never the same. Usually, I would continue on and spend an hour gazing at the stars in my secret spot, but a full moon makes for poor stargazing.</span></div>
<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;" /></span>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-touch-callout: none;">
<span style="-webkit-touch-callout: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My favorite part of going home is passing the incense-like campfires at the campsite. It reminds me of days gone by of being free, being young. I still glimpse that wild, dirt-covered child when I'm here....it's as if the happy parts of my childhood are being lovingly held by my lady river, just waiting for me to come back and play.</span></div>
The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-90911647626248364882013-03-20T12:40:00.002-07:002013-03-20T12:44:15.043-07:00Ink - an addictionEveryone who knows me personally knows how "normal" I look - I dress nicely, have a love of beautiful purses, wear expensive makeup, and take pride in keeping my hair stylish.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Beneath the nice dress and stylish hair lurks a secret. I have a love of ink. My first tattoo, done in 2002, is a tribal heart I designed for my mom. I decided on a tribal because of our native heritage; had I done better research I might have come up with a better design. It was poorly done because I didn't know how to choose an artist; in fact, a few months after he did my tattoo his meth lab was raided and he was shut down. I've always wanted it fixed, but the price to do so (about $400 was my latest quote) has kept me from doing so.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My second came not long after moving to Alaska. Well, if you count them individually, my 2nd-11th. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgII1nWcNQY0w-IXz6nSt6PfJJFxiGQZqzRi4grl3cD6Mf93K82l-DFNIY9HNZNKOx_58f8Qyk-x_-9M2MVqF7sI8WpapKnMha_clPOFnhzmMp55oLOOZWb7QRjYuhkVoqm8beNoKGGfrGV/s1600/foothearts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgII1nWcNQY0w-IXz6nSt6PfJJFxiGQZqzRi4grl3cD6Mf93K82l-DFNIY9HNZNKOx_58f8Qyk-x_-9M2MVqF7sI8WpapKnMha_clPOFnhzmMp55oLOOZWb7QRjYuhkVoqm8beNoKGGfrGV/s320/foothearts.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As I see this as a form of art, I plan my tattoos around a theme. Obviously, my theme is hearts and the message each one holds. In this case, my heart is soaring free. I've found the love of my life, moved away from an abusive situation, and found peace. I would like to add tiny hearts until the number reaches 20, my lucky number. The foot hurts like hell to tattoo though, so it might be a while :).</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My most recent addition is a unique heart on the back of my neck. It is made from arrows - one forming the bow pointing up, one forming the bow pointing down. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKiAD4AFUTu041F87aE-9ZfNECBnxtx6axolJJcfRg0px6PW-PPYC4PT6F_TE18b9iYgZFguJF16yrx4a3zZRaj4aw-9rIO04rIO4DjwQzJr-bFad4CNSWdmk6ftMn9PixN4nYcr0QY7K/s1600/neckheart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKiAD4AFUTu041F87aE-9ZfNECBnxtx6axolJJcfRg0px6PW-PPYC4PT6F_TE18b9iYgZFguJF16yrx4a3zZRaj4aw-9rIO04rIO4DjwQzJr-bFad4CNSWdmk6ftMn9PixN4nYcr0QY7K/s320/neckheart.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>This was taken right after it was done, so there is still swelling and ink smeared around it</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This I chose especially for someone very close to my heart. We met in early 2000, and clicked in a way only soul sisters can. We share a love of many things, and have experienced similar heartbreaking losses. The arrows represent the distance between us - The teal is me in Alaska, the fuschia is my Kristen in Florida. Although we are a nation apart, our souls will always be combined :). Love you, my rebel rebel!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I have plans for a few more - I'd like to cover the ugly scars from my shoulder surgery with two heart-shaped "bandaids;" I have plans for a steampunk heart just for Faith....the list goes on. The importance for me is that they stay fairly hidden.....so people are really surprised when they see them :)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-32848212226158420912013-01-26T00:40:00.000-08:002013-01-26T00:40:45.206-08:00A Child's Sanctuary<br />
Many of you know me as a reserved, manicured, always well-dressed person. It's something of an illusion since at home I'm all about no-makeup, yoga pants and t-shirts. What will really shock you is that once upon a time, I was a true wild child. Not a hard-partying teen, but a constantly dirty, disheveled, head-in-the-clouds child.<br />
<br />
I was raised in a small town for most of my very young childhood, until my family moved into the actual country (10 miles from a town of 100, on 10 acres of mostly forest) when I was 8. I had already been something of a tomboy, but living in close proximity to neighbors made it hard to be truly free. Our property in the country was vast, as was the land around it. Nobody seemed to mind a tangle-headed, eager little girl roaming across their property, so roam I did. <br />
<br />
At first, I was timid to leave our land. There was plenty there to stimulate my imagination - a large creek with a swimming hole for cooling off in the summer; small streams to explore when they were dried up. Even when the rains filled them and they ran below the handmade bridge over our driveway, my imagination made them into mighty rivers where I sailed acorns, boats made of bark, and scads of leaves. In the winter, they became frozen landscapes of pebbles and moss. The trees on our property made perfect grounds to fight imaginary foes, with pretend bows and arrows I made from twigs and string. I even built a cave of dead underbrush and ferns, and used it to protect myself from dinosaurs, indians, and spies who were chasing me.<br />
<br />
As I got older, I became bolder and ventured out onto the neighbor's lands. In particular, the land directly across from ours was always alluring. It had a huge tree in the middle of a field; I have no idea what kind but it had tons of branches that sometimes hid the sun. Try as I might, I never conquered tree climbing - even though I gave that tree quite a run. I was, in my heart, actually afraid of it - it's branches were gnarled with age and the entire tree was sinister-looking.<br />
<br />
One day, I was particularly in need of getting as far from our home as I could, and I ventured past the guardian tree. It was mid-spring and we had been having heavy rains, so the small stream I followed was bubbling happily. Beyond the field was a dense wood; one that carried a damp chill and seemed dark no matter how hard the sun tried to get in. Reluctant as I was to enter, I forged ahead and followed the small stream to keep my bearings. Everything around me became mossy and large ferns grew thickly around the trees. The ground was soft and loamy, and I kept losing my footing on the mossy rocks. I climbed higher and higher for what seemed like hours, watching the small stream grow wider and deeper. Finally, I reached a point on the side I was on where I could go no further, so I had to wade across the water. I took off my shoes and rolled up my jeans, and stepped in. The water was shockingly cold, and the current surprisingly swift. Thankfully, I made it across and continued my quest. A path seemed to appear, making wading through the deep moss and ferns much easier. The stream disappeared around a corner, where I heard a faint splashing. As I turned the corner, I was astonished at what I saw. A giant boulder and fallen trees had created a beautiful small waterfall, feeding a seemingly bottomless pool of crystal clear water. Chilled as I was, I stripped to my skivvies and dove into the pool. The water was cold, but felt lovely as it swirled around me. I dove deeply, trying to touch the bottom of the pool, but it was too deep. In the center, there was a large, flat rock, which I pulled myself onto after floating around the pool for a while. As if on key, the sun peeked through the tree canopy and shone right on that rock. I lay there, my long hair eddying in the water, my fingers trailing in the current while the sun warmed my skin. I felt like I had found nirvana itself. The sun moved away from the rock, and I felt the cold return. I swam back to shore and dressed, my magic time in the pool fading. I hiked above the waterfall and found a few more tiers of falls above it. At the top, the trees parted and revealed a small meadow. The cool dampness of the dense forest around it had kept the grass vividly green, and the ground was dotted with wildflowers I had never seen in the area. Bright purple wild irises, orange tigerlilies, bachelor buttons, honeysuckle, indian paintbrush, tiny forget-me-nots....so many colors. I was so awestruck by the beautiful flower-dotted meadow that I didn't see the crumbling structure until I was nearly standing before it. <br />
<br />
It had once been a house, it seemed....or at least a cabin of some kind. The roof still stood, although there were holes everywhere. The floor was wooden planks, warped with time and moisture. In one corner, crude cabinets stood next to a rusting wood-fired stove. In the other, a wooden bedframe stood, its mattress long gone. The rest of the cabin seemed to be living space, with two chairs tipped over and shelves built into the wall. The main wall held an immense fireplace, which seemed to be holding up fairly well. An inspection of the chimney outside showed it had crumbled, though....so the fireplace was for show only. Miraculously, only one window was broken, and the door still hung by one hinge. I was elated....this could be my own hideaway! What kid wouldn't love a real-sized playhouse?<br />
<br />
I returned home before it got dark, excited by my plans for the cabin. I hadn't been missed, as I had figured....nor was it noticed that I spend most of the night in my grandfather's wood shop. I found new hinges, a hand drill, screwdrivers, hammers, nails, and wood to cover the holes in the roof. I even packed a small broom and some old curtains my mom had tossed in the scrap pile.<br />
<br />
The next day, I returned to my secret cabin and began fixing it up. Despite my inability to climb trees, I found climbing the cross-sections of the log cabin easy. Once the roof was sound, I drilled new holes for the door hinges and re-hung the door. It wasn't perfect, but it opened and closed. Over the broken windowpane, I glued a stained glass (well, stained plastic anyway) panel I had made in art class. It fit perfectly, and the little cabin was now waterproof. I swept every cobweb off the ceiling, walls, cabinets, and counters - then swept it all out with the dirt on the floor. I hung the old curtains over the windows, proud that they looked nice despite being nailed to the wood frame rather than hung on a rail.<br />
<br />
Over the next few weeks, I brought treasures to the cabin - several castoff quilts and blankets to make the bedframe comfortable; favorite books and trinkets forgotten in closets for the shelves; even a rocking chair that had been forgotten in our fruit house for years. The final touch was a hanging mobile of ceramic suns, stars, and moons I had made in art class during the school year. It had been highly praised by everyone, but once home my mom had stuck it in a drawer, forgotten. I hung it at the peak of the roof, so it dangled above the door. The weather was getting warmer, but with the door and windows open, the cabin was always cool....and if I got warm enough, I could always go for a swim in the magic pool.<br />
<br />
I spent many happy weeks at that lovely cabin, reading or swimming or just exploring the woods around it. It wasn't until that awful day just before school started that I lost my cabin forever.<br />
<br />
I had come home later that usual, just beating the sundown. When I reached the house, no one was there. While not completely odd, my mom usually went to the store during the day and was home before sundown. I waited an hour, listening for the car up the driveway or for the phone to ring. When a car finally did come, it wasn't my mother. It was my grandfather, and his face was grim. "There's been an accident." he said.<br />
<br />
My heart plummeted. Mom had already been in two car accidents that had nearly taken her life; was this the one that succeeded? I steeled myself for the worst. "Your mother crossed the line and hit the Messengers (our neighbors) head on. She nearly killed old man Messenger. She's being held in jail right now." he said, his face pained and drawn.<br />
<br />
"Why is she in jail?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Her blood alcohol was three times the legal limit. At 10 am. They are charging her with several crimes; I'm not sure when she'll be able to come home. For now, you need to come with me."<br />
<br />
"NO!" I screamed, running past him and blindly toward my magic cabin. It was almost completely dark by the time I reached it, but it didn't matter....I had candles and an oil lamp that I had pinched from the pantry. Once the candles were lit, I buried myself in the blankets and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. When I was hungry, I ate some crackers and nuts while huddled in the rocking chair, moving it oh-so-gently with my own sad rocking. I fell asleep there, my heart broken and my soul clenched in fear of the future.<br />
<br />
I woke early the next morning and decided I should go back to the house. I couldn't hide from this forever....besides, I didn't have enough food for more than a few days and no way to get more. I closed up my little cabin and laid my head against the door, willing myself the strength for the walk back to the house.<br />
<br />
Once there, I realized I had some explaining to do. There were cop cars, plus other cars belonging to my aunt and grandfather....and my dad was home. My feet found their strength and I raced through the door, blindly finding my dad's arms and sobbing. His strong hands held me to him, his own tears adding to mine. He admonished me for running away, but the fear and raw emotion in his own voice were what made me realize how much I had scared everyone. "I'm sorry," I kept sobbing over and over.<br />
<br />
Once everyone was up to date (I told everyone I had slept in an abandoned barn nearby, so as not to give away my secret), they all left, save my dad. It was bad, he told me....mom was not going to be coming home until after her trial, and that was if she didn't get jail time. I had never seen him look so distraught. We wandered around the big house aimlessly until evening, when I made a simple dinner of Macaroni and Cheese with peas and hot dogs. We both turned in early as dad needed to be in court early to see if the judge would grant mom bail that we could afford.<br />
<br />
I awoke after he left....the morning was already hot and breezeless. I decided to spend the day at the cabin, swimming and trying to forget about the nightmare my life had become. I left a vague note about going to a friend's house and hiked to my little compound As I reached the top waterfall, I was astonished to find my cabin was completely gone. Not destroyed, not knocked over - simply gone, as though it had never been there. Panicked, I ran through the woods, up and down and around where it had been. There was nothing - no footprints, no signs of anything having been drug away. It was as though my beautiful hideaway had never existed. I sat where it had been and cried my heart out. How could something exist one day and vanish the next? It was impossible. I kicked the leaf-covered ground in frustration, and heard a small tinkling. There, beneath the dry leaves, was my mobile. It looked old; as though it had been made back when the cabin had originally been built. I hugged it to me tightly, wishing I could will it to tell me what had happened.<br />
<br />
I spent the rest of the afternoon floating in the magical pool, hoping it would wash away the horrible feelings of loss and anguish I was feeling. All I felt was a deep sadness. Finally, when it was time to go, I said goodbye to my sanctuary, and walked away without looking back.<br />
<br />
I never returned in my childhood. A few short weeks after the accident, my mother was convicted and jailed for a year, leading to my parent's divorce and me being sent away to live with family in another town. <br />
<br />
When I moved back to the area in 2000, I went back and tried to find the magic pool. I knew exactly where it was, but when I reached the area where the pool was and the tiered waterfalls, there was nothing but a gently sloping hill. There was no pool, no flat rock. Nothing but a small, dry creekbed. Predictably, the cabin was also still gone. Had it ever existed, or had my vivid imagination made it up so I could escape? I want, with all my heart, to believe the magic I felt there was real.<br />
<br />
I've come to realize that the most valuable thing I have from this time is the memory, whether it existed or not. It was real to me at the time - the water cold and clear, the sun warm on my body, the cabin my sanctuary. What good does it do to keep wondering if it was real? It was, in one sense or another. That is all that matters.<br />
The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-89766778690580451362012-11-11T22:10:00.002-08:002012-11-11T22:10:38.871-08:00CommentsDue to rude people leaving illiterate, insulting messages on my blogs, I've closed the comment section to to only people who subscribe to the blog. In fact, I would much rather you leave comments om Facebook since most of my readers are from there. Sorry that a few jerks have ruined it for the rest of you.The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-46231777203522228962012-10-04T18:35:00.002-07:002012-10-04T18:35:26.152-07:00Alright, Winter - Bring It On!I'm ready. Well, not 100% ready, but I've accepted that winter is coming, and I've begun planning for it.<br />
<br />
I need a new pair of jeans, and I'm thinking of a semi-skinny so I can boots that tuck into them. I know, me in skinnies! I haven't worn anything but trouser fit for the last decade. I want a good tall boot, and maybe a pair of Uggs. I don't slog through the snow so much, so I think Uggs would work for me. If they are waterproofed, they should stay dry. I need a few more tops, maybe sweaters - those I had in my winter storage are too big! I also need a well-fitting winter coat. I really want a Lands End coat, but I think I might get a peacoat from Old Navy. I want to be colorful, and they have a great yellow one :). With my bogs from last winter, I should have a good selection of snow footwear.<br />
<br />
One thing I am definitely looking forward to is seeing the evolution of the snow. There was a foot+ on the ground when we got here last year, so I didn't get to see it develop. I am looking forward to that first morning that we wake up to a good blanket of snow, and see it build rather than melt. I'm NOT looking forward to driving in it for the first few weeks - I've been warned by EVERYBODY I meet that people seem to forget how to drive on the snow and ice at first and drive like crazy people. We have a nice, new SUV with lovely traction control, so I'm not worried about myself as much as the other people. Watching the progression of the snow building up will be interesting. In Oregon, it almost always happened overnight (the only time temps dipped below freezing), so we wouldn't watch it build. A lot of people are worried we will have another harsh winter given the cool, wet summer and early snowfall. We'll see - I'm kind of excited now that I've accepted it!The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-51197034856544449282012-09-10T16:56:00.001-07:002012-09-10T17:05:20.859-07:00Winter's a coming....I've always loved winter....cold weather, early nights, the occasional promise of snow....the clean, fresh air.<br />
<br />
And then I came to Alaska, during one of the harshest winters in history. Seriously! The snowfall broke the record. I was scared of driving in it, scared of walking in it (for good reason, since I fell pretty hard on the ice), scared when it fell in practically blizzard-like conditions. The summer though, the summer was unbelievable. It almost made me forget the harshness of winter.<br />
<br />
The temperature has dipped below freezing the last few nights, and of course we had that awful windstorm a few nights ago that STILL has some Anchorage residents without power. Winter is coming like a freight train, and I've decided we're going to do something to prepare for it.<br />
<br />
Richard showed me a company called <a href="http://www.mvmeat.com/" target="_blank">Mat-Valley Meats</a> (I think he heard about it first from our friend Bonnie). A budget-size box includes:<br />
<ul>
<li>5 lbs. chuck roast (yum, stew!)</li>
<li>5 lbs. ground beef</li>
<li>5 lbs. round steak</li>
<li>5 lbs. pork chops</li>
<li>5 lbs. pork country style ribs</li>
<li>2 lbs. pork sausage</li>
<li>3 lbs. bacon</li>
<li>5 lbs. chicken breast</li>
<li>5 lbs. chicken thighs</li>
<li>5 lbs. chicken drumsticks</li>
</ul>
That's 45 lbs. of meat for $149, packaged and frozen. About $3.30/lb, which is a bargain for organic meat up here. I'm not crazy about all the red meat, but it's too good a deal to pass up.<br />
<br />
In addition to the meat, I'm considering <a href="http://www.fullcircle.com/#s.abmojd5vqayaa" target="_blank">Full Circle</a> vegetable delivery. If we were to try it, we would buy the mini box, since we are not sure how much we would use. The cost is $28.95 per week, not including shipping. On average, a weekly box contains:<br />
<ul>
<li>1 bunch carrots</li>
<li>1 bunch red chard</li>
<li>Mixed sweet peppers</li>
<li>Apples</li>
<li>Black Plums</li>
<li>Berries</li>
</ul>
I'm not sure about this one, as it doesn't really give us enough that we won't have to supplement it with grocery store items. It is organic though, so that's a consideration. <br />
<br />
Honestly, I think the meat pack will be the most successful, and I can plan meals around what we have leaving trips to the store for veggies and such. I plan to stock up on canned goods as much as possible. The point is to keep from having to go to the store more than once a week if possible. We are clearing out a spot for a pantry, so I can have more food storage. And as the Alaskans say, if you run out of freezer space, you can always pack it in the snow! :DThe Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-36256384109384932512012-07-24T23:42:00.000-07:002012-07-24T23:55:23.400-07:00Tattoos - Art You WearI know there are many varying opinions about tattoos. I've actually lost a friend because she found out about the one on my back. She was quite religious, and told me that the marking of my skin is a sin.<br />
<br />
That is her opinion, and I am fine with that. I do not believe in her religion. I have my own very strong beliefs in God and we will leave it at that. What really amazed me, though, is that this woman sneered at the meaning behind my tattoo.<br />
<br />
My mom died December 21, 1998. It was a very difficult time in my life, but even more difficult when I realized her things had been picked over before I could choose a keepsake to have of hers. There was a very specific box with an intricate, tribal design heart laser etched into it. Of course, it was gone, and I was heartbroken as I knew the meaning behind it. I realized later that she had left me a gift that would keep giving on a quarterly basis, and I can't thank her more for it. It's gotten me of some tight spots before, but none more so than when I came here - a large part of that gift was also from my friend Sledge, but mom's gift paid for the rest and more.<br />
<br />
So, back to 2000. I had worked for many months from memory to redesign it for a tattoo*. When I finally had the design where I thought it would work, I set out to find a parlor. I cannot stress how important it is to do your research on these places!!! In most states, you can<a href="https://elite.hlo.state.or.us/elitepublic/LPRBrowser.aspx" target="_blank"> look to see</a> if they are registered and if there have been any complaints against them registered with the board.I was young and new to town, so I picked one I drove by a lot. It looked somewhat clean, but when I learned the guy's name who did my tattoo was "Chief," I should have run. I gave him the pic I had designed, he didn't seem too pleased by it but he transferred it to my back and started going. It really didn't hurt that much, except when he crossed my spine, it burned. He showed me at the shop when he was finished, but the lighting was bad and my skin was pretty swollen, so to me it looked ok.<br />
<br />
The next morning, I cried. He had messed up my design so badly that it looks like a kindergartner did it. I've been wanting to get it fixed forever, but haven't known where to go. It will be my next project after tomorrow's. I also want to add the wings I had purposely left off the original design for when I finally felt her soul fly free. Now that I am here in Alaska, I've felt her move on and so it's time to add her wings.<br />
<br />
I did my research on this next tattoo pretty thoroughly. The computer age has made information much easier to find, and I soon found myself at <a href="http://www.theholelook.com/" target="_blank">The Hole Look</a>, as they were the highest recommended from Yelp, Yahoo, and word of mouth. Unfortunately, they are SO good that they are booked out until the end of August for new appointments. What I found really impressive is that the owner was more than willing to refer me to two other shops that were just as good and well-respected. I chose <a href="http://primalinstincttattooak.com/tattoo/?lid=1391996817&keyphrase=tattoo+anchorage&c=1391996761&provider=msn" target="_blank">Primal Instinct</a> based on the awards they had won and some of the examples they had posted. I usually prefer to keep these things a secret until after they are done and I can post a pic, but the tattoo will be of various-sized small-medium hearts that start at my big toe, wind up the side of my foot, and end at my ankle. They start out pink, turn to aqua, and then purple. They also won't have a black border, they will just have color. What that means to me is that my heart is finally lifting. I'm finding happiness and love in my life, so this is a way to show it. There's no limit to how high I can go, but financially I'm choosing my ankle :).<br />
<br />
After getting mom's tattoo fixed, I will be getting two more, but I won't give them away yet. They have very strong significance and are both for the loves of my life. I can't wait to share them with you alll! Pics of tomorrow's will go up on Facebook tomorrow night as I'm having it done in the late afternoon.<br />
<br />
By the way? Every one of my tattoos (current and future) are hearts, and I design all of them. I love having a theme and I love hearts!<br />
<br />
<i>*here's the kicker - mom hated tattoos :). I know how much she loved irony, so I knew the tattoo would give her a big laugh in heaven :)</i>The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-36431854244956632592012-07-18T20:53:00.000-07:002012-07-18T21:48:45.601-07:00Spring/Summer 2012 in Alaska; Part 1I have to say I've never been quite so happy in my life. There are some things that are troublesome - Faith has had a bit of a hard time adjusting; my agoraphobia has gotten worse over the last few weeks, and the damn sun never goes down =/. I could totally handle the darkness. Constant daylight (even with blackout shades)? Hell. My sleep patterns were bad before, but now I'm all kinds of confused! <br />
<br />
As the snow melted slowly around May-ish, I began to question the people who said spring and summer in Alaska are amazing. Everywhere there was mud and muck and bare trees, and the roads were like going 4x4ing in the woods. Then, seemingly overnight, the grass greened, the leaves magically appeared on the trees, and everything was clean again. It is so beautiful here that I don't have words to describe it, even in Anchorage. The temperature doesn't get much about 60-70 (above 65 and people start complaining about the heat - love it!), and at night it rarely falls below 50. I am in heaven with the temperatures and feel comfortable pretty much all the time. Well, there was that weekend in Talkeetna, but that's coming up in a minute.<br />
<br />
Richard has shown us so much of the state already. In May we went to Homer, where we rented an amazing cabin with a stunning view of the inlet and the mountains across the way. Unfortunately, I was so in awe of everything that I managed one whole picture, and it's quite sad looking:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPmdUPlNumsTjVgcjbfxW3mwegnoq-RNo7el32bB_8-Y-ul7tt1acBC0BF9A4CiLo7NEMnwT-UV_l5JuWiFzMMwkzEEUBLJgAfIZii2UkUHm0-gGDixzoFIhyKHKPH0DeAIm8JQ0BM659/s1600/homer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWPmdUPlNumsTjVgcjbfxW3mwegnoq-RNo7el32bB_8-Y-ul7tt1acBC0BF9A4CiLo7NEMnwT-UV_l5JuWiFzMMwkzEEUBLJgAfIZii2UkUHm0-gGDixzoFIhyKHKPH0DeAIm8JQ0BM659/s320/homer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
But you can see the mountains at least. They are MUCH closer from the actual cabin, I hate how pictures make things so minuscule. In any case, here is the cabin's website with better pics :) - <a href="http://www.alaskancottages.com/">http://www.alaskancottages.com/</a>. I was disappointed that the only land-bound animal I saw was a snowshoe hare. I saw lots of seal and otter though on the spit. We enjoyed our time there immensely :).<br />
<br />
In June, we made a quick trip to Talkeetna and Denali Park. We once again rented a cute cabin in the woods that I loved, but the mosquitoes were fighting for ownership of it, so we spent our time indoors. Here are my pics:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyehrlTTQAuXqfM4W7nJSk64NFD62_y75gViW5e674KpmaacCiweg5pF08E6hNLMc2nuIMJSr2yGl4qZnVQybObf2GQtp4wv2yoAa2YMKpofroCxwC1b1LK4Vovq-x4U5xJqSYjnZ28Zn/s1600/cabin2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyehrlTTQAuXqfM4W7nJSk64NFD62_y75gViW5e674KpmaacCiweg5pF08E6hNLMc2nuIMJSr2yGl4qZnVQybObf2GQtp4wv2yoAa2YMKpofroCxwC1b1LK4Vovq-x4U5xJqSYjnZ28Zn/s320/cabin2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Well, this is Richard's actually. He braved the swarms of giant killer mosquitoes for this shot....</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBtBgIA12CUz0fWq5gvlRdajuNFlPqcw7b2ngCogqKq_mrMSG94yXpoP512JYrNTTmc08y3M0WTdbexrp6QoWeRqvY5CkuDWAtJTngWBB73ph0B6rQTMvTVOkEnL2KJNHNt1WhhfYUCrx/s1600/cabin1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBtBgIA12CUz0fWq5gvlRdajuNFlPqcw7b2ngCogqKq_mrMSG94yXpoP512JYrNTTmc08y3M0WTdbexrp6QoWeRqvY5CkuDWAtJTngWBB73ph0B6rQTMvTVOkEnL2KJNHNt1WhhfYUCrx/s320/cabin1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<i>And this is the inside, Faith's bed/couch. Upstairs was our bed.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
It had a very hippy, groovy vibe and I LOVED it. It was called the "<a href="http://talkeetnacottages.com/moonflower.html">Moonflower Cabin</a>." <br />
<br />
We ventured into Talkeetna and I was totally unprepared for the hoards and hoards of cruise line tourists that had invaded. It's a lovely little town, very historic as it was the original starting point for climbing Mt. McKinley. Most of the original buildings still stand, and are cute, kitschy little shops now. Another thing I wasn't expecting was the 77 degree temperature and 1000% humidity. I had dressed for typical Alaska summer days (jeans, tank top, and light top over it), and I was drenched in sweat immediately, It felt like 100 degrees did back in Grants Pass, but with ridiculous humidity. We had lunch at a neat old restaurant/inn and browsed a few shops, but the heat got to us and we went back to the cabin. I immediately took a shower to cool down. We hung out at the cabin, had sammiches for dinner, and just enjoyed the light breeze through the (screened) windows. Upon arriving in our bedroom, we realized only one window had a screen....meaning there would be no moving air. I swear, it was 90+ in that room all night. We slept with wet washcloths behind our necks and wet towels in front of the open window to try to cool the air, but we were miserable most of the night.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
We left rather early the next day for Denali, which was a 3-ish hour drive from Talkeetna. We passed some beautiful tundra, and mountains so high that you couldn't see the tops through the clouds. Unfortunately, the little "town" (more of a hotel with shops built around it than an actual town) was also stuffed with cruiseline passengers, but we had a mission. We were going on a 3-hour 4x4 adventure, driving our own jeep! There were only two other groups coming with us, so we had a 3 jeep caravan following our guide. Ironically, the road we were on was the one Christopher McCandless (<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0758758/">Into the Wild</a>) took to reach the bus he lived and died in. No, we didn't go to the bus - it's about 18 miles from the main road, and crosses a medium and very large river. We did, however, go "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mud_bogging" target="_blank">muddin</a>," as the road was rutted and we went through several streams. I felt like I was back in my redneck days, working at the mill and spending the weekends in the hills! We went into one scary area called "the bobblehead" where you drop into a hole literally the size and depth of your jeep and climb back out, only to be jounced through deep ruts for quite a few yards. We giggled and screamed and had a grand time :). We met a guide who was very knowledgeable about Chris McCandless (or Alexander Supertramp as he renamed himself) and had himself hiked out and camped in the bus. It was a nice stop, then we turned around and did it all again! By the time we got home that night, we were all feeling sore and stiff, but it was a blast and totally worth it. Here is the company we went with - <a href="http://www.bestofalaskatravel.com/alaska_day_tours/pages/denali_jeep_safari.htm">http://www.bestofalaskatravel.com/alaska_day_tours/pages/denali_jeep_safari.htm</a>.<br />
<br />
Some of the very few pics I got from Denali:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpSilWvnmpWA7SB1QVNAJTAtuGKnSeWu29yu2X7ziq7CzA7kHBUD2WXhofQr4HwomeHI1xtYbng1s50UtxbyQVuZnp85LZB-6YdHY2GkEIWKjrOsbfALB3YDzlGJg-nEhmVomiMxHdD93/s1600/20120624_131009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpSilWvnmpWA7SB1QVNAJTAtuGKnSeWu29yu2X7ziq7CzA7kHBUD2WXhofQr4HwomeHI1xtYbng1s50UtxbyQVuZnp85LZB-6YdHY2GkEIWKjrOsbfALB3YDzlGJg-nEhmVomiMxHdD93/s320/20120624_131009.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Richard at the wheel, keeping us in safe hands :) </i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5KJkPz-h59dk2cCFZ6Xcxn0Q0DSg86KpngYrin8mQ_MMmR2TxAMsgpV7r2jNb6QNLqAFXzz0ZtQR4-me8UxyU9kq7Qdbsp1r9oEutT7HQ0bSrAHYmI4v5t7LlASAdoN9M429ihvn66tZh/s1600/20120624_134829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5KJkPz-h59dk2cCFZ6Xcxn0Q0DSg86KpngYrin8mQ_MMmR2TxAMsgpV7r2jNb6QNLqAFXzz0ZtQR4-me8UxyU9kq7Qdbsp1r9oEutT7HQ0bSrAHYmI4v5t7LlASAdoN9M429ihvn66tZh/s320/20120624_134829.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The guide telling us about Chris McCandless</i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmZphwawSgEakfwwc26v7ClmMcpqjMHRSMulYAwawSxMZFAccK8g6je9XsxCpVfU9vxPkDaFHhox_cre_-kaS_06gaynIq6CXSgBz39xFbKJFLwcOucILVkx7X_Zf2Str5afF8aaEnFJTD/s1600/20120624_140417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmZphwawSgEakfwwc26v7ClmMcpqjMHRSMulYAwawSxMZFAccK8g6je9XsxCpVfU9vxPkDaFHhox_cre_-kaS_06gaynIq6CXSgBz39xFbKJFLwcOucILVkx7X_Zf2Str5afF8aaEnFJTD/s320/20120624_140417.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This was a fun one!</i></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Since then, we've been enjoying the cool Alaska summer, going to movies and exploring excellent restaurants (my favorite is the <a href="http://spenardroadhouse.com/" target="_blank">Spenard Roadhouse</a>!). I'm not sure what trips we have ahead, but I know winter is creeping up soon. I'm ready! I love every season here :).</div>The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-38681173189218093022012-06-17T15:39:00.001-07:002012-06-17T15:41:56.473-07:00A Day in the Life of a WriterActually, that should read "a day in my life as a writer." Although, I imagine most writers have a process very similar :).<br />
<br />
<b>9:30-10:30 am</b> - Wake up. Put on yoga pants and a t-shirt, throw hair in a sloppy ponytail. Spend the next 20 minutes making yourself at least presentable so you won't scare the boogers out of the UPS man (who brings all your purchases since you never get out to shop).<br />
<br />
<b>11 am</b> - contemplate eating breakfast. Figure yogurt and a bite of cheese must be healthy. Eat in front of the TV watching either the Food Channel or Travel Channel.<br />
<br />
<b>1 pm</b> - realize you've been comatose watching food shows and you're starving. Wander in the kitchen, stare inside the fridge for 5 minutes, realize it's too much work to make lunch so you eat a handful of peanuts.<br />
<br />
<b>1:30 pm</b> - open laptop, spend next 45 minutes catching up on Facebook. Read favorite blogs, search random sites for things like "cats wearing hats" and "how to cook as little as possible and survive."<br />
<br />
<b>2:30 pm</b> - inspiration to write surfaces, spend next 20 minutes fiddling with wording in last chapter. Realize it needs re-writing, so mark it in red in frustration and move on. Realize the last chapter is bugging you too much to continue, so re-write it with angry keystrokes.<br />
<br />
<b>4:00 pm</b> - wonder if boyfriend and daughter will protest having take-out, delivery, or drive through dinner once again. Grilled cheese and tomato soup for a third night?<br />
<br />
<b>6:00 pm</b> - find yourself playing puzzle games on phone or the latest Hidden Object Puzzle game from Big Fish. See your novel writing software's icon at the bottom of your screen and feel guilty.<br />
<br />
<b>8:00 pm</b> - inspiration reappears, but now you're torn between night-time tv with the family or writing. Guess what wins?<br />
<br />
<b>10:00 pm</b> - final bid for writing....manage a chapter or two and give up. Realize tomorrow will be better.<br />
<br />
Right?The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-30258040026881304432012-06-09T17:28:00.001-07:002012-06-09T17:28:58.735-07:00Catching UpWow, I can't believe I haven't blogged in this long. I'll catch you up.<br />
<br />
At the beginning of May, I contracted a pretty bad chest cold. Lots of congestion, coughing....etc. It got worse and worse until it sounded like popcorn in my chest and each cough felt like my ribs were cracking. My first doctor appt. was no help - bad cold, rest and take Mucinex and it will work itself out. By the weekend, it was so bad that I ended up in the Saturday clinic, begging for relief. This time, I got an antibiotic (Z-pack) and an inhaler. Within a few days, I was hospitalized for severe pneumonia and so sick that I have very little recollection of much of the days before, during, and after. What I do know is info from the dr and my family. <br />
<br />
I was in the hospital for 3 days, doped to the gills (strong pain meds and IV ativan) for the chest pain and on strong antibiotics. The renal specialist was extremely concerned that my liver and/or kidneys were being damaged by the pneumonia, as I was spilling large amounts of protein into my urine. I recovered enough for them to send me home, but I've been incredibly busy with follow-up appts. There's my primary, internal med, psychiatrist, therapist, and radiologist. I spend 2-3 days a week at the native hospital. I'm so ready to feel "good" again.<br />
<br />
Since leaving the hospital, my agoraphobia has gotten so bad that most days I just don't leave the house. I'm working with my psychiatrist and therapist to beat it, but that means weekly therapy sessions and herculean doses of klonopin. I hope it works soon - I want my life back!The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-74446826055354557342012-04-23T17:37:00.001-07:002012-04-23T17:37:58.102-07:00From Puffy Feet to Heart Beats - or How My Doctor Scared Me This MorningFor those who don't know, I went through a major health scare a few weeks ago. I went from just a bit of stomach upset to full-blown fever with hallucinations and a nearly 20 POUND water weight gain (yes, POUNDS. It was embarrassing and painful) overnight. Obviously knowing something was very wrong, I saw my dr. the next day, who went into a panic thinking I was possibly in some sort of cardiac distress due to a viral infection. In fact, she said she was utterly shocked at how bad I looked when she came into the exam room, and the state of my feet and legs (I had such bad swelling that I could barely bend my ankles and toes). A few doses of Lasix later, and I did a 180....most of the water weight fell off, and I felt a lot better just in 3 days. <br />
<br />
Not wanting to miss anything important, she sent me for an echocardiogram, or a heart ultrasound. The tech couldn't see anything significant during the initial exam, but the cardiologist had to read the results and send a report to my doc. <br />
<br />
When I didn't hear anything urgent from her office, I thought everything was fine and figured we would catch up today, when I had my regular monthly appt. They did notify me that all my blood work came back fine, so I wasn't too worried.<br />
<br />
The good news is, I lost all the water weight AND 3 more pounds (huzzah!). Most of the echo was fine...my heart is pumping as it should, and my blood pressure has always been 120/80 except during especially anxious times. What is of MINOR concern (I wish she had phrased it that way from the beginning) is the ventricular diastole, or the process of the heart relaxing after it pumps. The echo showed it was somewhat delayed in relaxing fully, which can impact my blood pressure. She consulted the cardiologist while I was there, and he was not greatly concerned considering my blood pressure history. I was filled with dread when she first started discussing it, but that calmed me down. I will have to monitor my blood pressure and go for another echo in 6 months. I'm so glad the swelling was not anything to do with my heart (they believe it was just my body's defense against the fever - it must have been higher than I realized), but hearing that there's already concerns is disappointing. I'm not sure of the history of heart problems on either side of my family - while my mom died of cardiovascular disease, hers was most likely linked to her smoking habit. My dad's side of the family has high cholesterol, which I have tested every 6 months and it's always in a normal range. <br />
<br />
This was a real wakeup call for me. It made me realize that I needed to be more informed and more proactive about my heart's function, as should anyone at my age (38). No matter if you're a health freak or completely inactive - just a quick check with your primary provider or a cardiologist (for more in-depth testing) could prevent a heart attack.The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-13544529451600118612012-04-18T14:56:00.000-07:002012-04-18T14:56:56.128-07:00Strength"Everyone has an angel. A guardian who watches over us. We can't know what form they'll take. One day, old man - next day, little girl. But don't let appearances fool you, They can be as fierce as any dragon. Yet they're not here to fight our battles, but to whisper from our hearts. Reminding that it's us....it's everyone of us who holds power over the world we create. <br /><br />You can deny angels exist....convince yourselves they can't be real. But they show up anyway, at strange places and at strange times. They can speak through any character we can imagine. They'll shout through demons if they have to. Daring us, challenging us to fight. <br /><br />Who honors those we love with the very life we live? Who sends monsters to kill us, and at the same time sings that we'll never die? Who teaches us what's real, and how to laugh at lies? Who decides why we live, and what we'll die to defend? Who chains us, and who holds the key to set us free? <br /><br />It's you. <br /><br />You have all the weapons you need. <br /><br />Now fight!"The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-50627585696804279372012-04-17T15:32:00.001-07:002012-04-17T15:47:54.608-07:00The Reclusive AgoraphobicPerhaps that is what I should rename this blog. Or the Reclusive Agoraphobic Duchess. Maybe throw something in about bi-polar disorder, just to make it clear where I stand.<br />
<br />
*sigh*<br />
<br />
I am very much in need of restarting therapy. I'm waiting, waiting, waiting....trying to be patient as I know Native Behavioral Health is overwhelmed with patients; in the meantime I'm zonked out on Klonopin all day that takes most of the anxiety away, but does nothing for the dread and frustration. It's like having a limb that is broken to the point that going outside your home is incredibly difficult. I feel like I walk around on emotional crutches when I'm outside my home....one step at a time, breathe....the mantras all circle in my head as the sweat grows on my brow from the internal effort to stay "normal" on the outside. I look pleasant and friendly and like I'm having a great time, but most often I'm terrified inside. <br />
<br />
I wish people really understood more about this illness. Once upon a time, I was ignorant to its limitations and made jokes about it - I had watched a TV program back in the 90s, and the woman they were featuring could literally not leave her home. I thought all along that is what the illness was - someone just not being about to go outside their home. How very wrong could I be? I go outside my home often. Likely more often if I had a job, but that's another story. I go to the grocery store, shop for clothes, go to restaurants and movies. It's the feeling, inside, that defines the illness - the logistics. There may well be many extreme agoraphobes that can do little more than leave a ROOM in their homes, but that is extreme. The most common manifestation of agoraphobia is the fear itself of new situations and places. I have not been back to Fred Meyers since a <a href="http://duchessspeaks.blogspot.com/2012/02/how-not-to-approach-agoraphobic.html" target="_blank">man grabbed me from behind and tried to hug/kiss me</a>. He was drunk and trying to compliment me, but of course, it made my agoraphobia worse. Same with Target - a sweet native lady thought I was a relative and hugged me before I had a chance to tell her I was not that person. Even though that was not a negative experience (she was so sweet), it was still an event that my agoraphobic mind identifies as a threat.<br />
<br />
I hope there is a time that I can beat this thing. Leaving therapy so abruptly in Oregon without any guidance or expectations of waiting so long may have been a really bad idea. I feel I have regressed quite a bit and I'm having to fight so hard to hang on to "normal." <br />
<br />
In the meantime, I hope those I meet and have met understand why I'm so reclusive. It has nothing to do with how I feel about them, it's an internal struggle to be "me" every day. I envy those who can just go through the day without feeling fear and doubt so constantly. <br />
<br />
Back to being the fighting Duchess. I have a date tonight and I have to push my mind into the right place, because I'll be damned if I let my illness ruin a night of fun with my Richard and my friends. I feel like a lion tamer, whip and chair in hand - back, agoraphobia, back!The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-37369113192662078922012-03-22T16:14:00.000-07:002012-03-22T16:15:07.153-07:00Super-quick - More observations of AlaskaShhhh....I'm supposed to be writing, but I just remembered the weird things I had been collecting to share with non-Alaskans.<br />
<br />
First - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/52399599@N03/5132574207/in/photostream/" target="_blank">completely enclosed carwashes</a>. They look like oil change places, with slide-down doors front and back. Obviously, in weather below freezing, an exposed automated car wash would become an ice-laden nightmare. But the totally enclosed concept cracks me up for some reason. They always have huge columns of steam rising from them, and I can't help but wonder how much a wash costs....<br />
<br />
Second - the fact these car washes exist. Because nearly EVERY car here is dirty as heck. Why? The road is always dirty, but in most climates, it's regularly washed clean by rain or dew. Here, the snow collects the dirt and holds it, until the glorious days when it melts a bit, creating a dirty, dirty slush that of course coats every car in a fine layer of dirt. As the winter goes on and this plays over and over, cars become a bit unrecognizable. The thing is, if you want a shiny car, you would have to wash it pretty much once a week (or more) to keep it that way. And I can't imagine how annoying it would be to drive out of the (enclosed) car wash only to splash dirty slush all over it. So, I would say 95% of the cars on the road are in some form of dirtiness.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_m7gJZ0vchQzjXTNZkoJSKDzKNrQbNlPUyPDRNTF6XFSoL8KUOQIX-Yj7iaWb6XAY3Pjw48d8vMpdPsDEEoU4D42w7VV5uXGNqoHtTD5Q5WF_EPznvuwYpr4PpyVTYkVSfBV4mY0xUFJ/s1600/snowbike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_m7gJZ0vchQzjXTNZkoJSKDzKNrQbNlPUyPDRNTF6XFSoL8KUOQIX-Yj7iaWb6XAY3Pjw48d8vMpdPsDEEoU4D42w7VV5uXGNqoHtTD5Q5WF_EPznvuwYpr4PpyVTYkVSfBV4mY0xUFJ/s200/snowbike.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Third - fat-tired bicycles. Maybe this is how <a href="http://beeradvocate.com/beer/profile/192/607" target="_blank">Fat Tire beer</a> was named? The tires are made for riding in the snow, obviously. Before I talk about the tires, kudos to the badasses who ride bikes around here. Not only is it effing cold, the roads are icy and there aren't a lot of clear paths along the roads for bikers to ride. Anyway, the tires can be equipped with studs just like car tires, and chains. The first time I saw one, I nearly laughed myself silly at how odd the fat tires looked. Once you think about it though, it makes a lot of sense. I can't imagine that it would be easy to ride with tires that size though (as far as muscle exertion goes, not balance and such).<br />
<br />
Hats off to you, badass Alaskan bikers. Stay out of my way, okay? You scare the poop out of me when you get too close. I don't need vehicular manslaughter on my driving record!The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-34527622144857794762012-03-15T15:13:00.001-07:002012-03-15T15:13:55.912-07:00More observations on life in Alaska<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJd0RakCxDox4aCav0BYgP6mpiz8spdKD8CcongzmlO8R39SVSTFvtmPNgPqXcKfwqGs2XocRH_zTMGAeI7YSbDXKebdCVSsR7YzrsOoSzq_W5qaZTRLLKWjZONDV4hcfFoHrmQvT8P3N/s1600/grader.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJd0RakCxDox4aCav0BYgP6mpiz8spdKD8CcongzmlO8R39SVSTFvtmPNgPqXcKfwqGs2XocRH_zTMGAeI7YSbDXKebdCVSsR7YzrsOoSzq_W5qaZTRLLKWjZONDV4hcfFoHrmQvT8P3N/s200/grader.jpg" width="200" /></a>As you all know, I finally started driving on my own. Nothing has changed in that respect, I'm still terrified 90% of the time and have to contain a scream every time I feel the car slip. Yes, it's an SUV with traction control, so the car takes over when it feels the driver <strike>can't handle</strike> is too inexperienced to control the slide. Otherwise I probably would have wrecked at least one car by now.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlJnsVuhvil3vHD2qt5Pp6vFTcaBcQV0UVtDkL_WQFkPYKThxcMnfabg7nqrmGD2Lh8p6r7jAyM-OeVX6y8ddsYbMUR8TSeRzZRnDjB7MdYgqXDFEr0n0juv8T4bVKcTA8o0D_t8YNlU4/s1600/snow_blower2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqlJnsVuhvil3vHD2qt5Pp6vFTcaBcQV0UVtDkL_WQFkPYKThxcMnfabg7nqrmGD2Lh8p6r7jAyM-OeVX6y8ddsYbMUR8TSeRzZRnDjB7MdYgqXDFEr0n0juv8T4bVKcTA8o0D_t8YNlU4/s200/snow_blower2.jpg" width="200" /></a>When we've had enough snow that it needs removal from the road, these odd machines called "graders" come out. To me, they look like giant preying mantises (manti?). See above pic of the yellow thing. Their job is to scrape the snow off the road, widening it and pushing the snow over to the right. Following the giant preying mantis is a snowblower, who then blows the newly scraped snow onto the side of the road. God forbid you are trying to walk there (although the berms on the side of the road are 3+ feet, so I doubt you would be). This is not your average snowblower though, it's an industrial one, just like our lovely scraper. See the picture to the left - it's a big truck with what reminds of a <a href="http://i01.i.aliimg.com/photo/v0/426162643/Farm_Harrow_in_agriculture.jpg">harrow</a> on farm equipment. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZtW2bJsdkDviNkDrgSY3TQZFwpspnqd8c-dWgflgx1RXGEVk078sFLs_l3a3rTj3Swyblk7p1MdlcWDkmtx7XsI94lIAqrlZn-g08KNvNTv7H3rB6zWyA5M0KQMSDwNAfD9qNZeC0L2F5/s1600/sidewalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZtW2bJsdkDviNkDrgSY3TQZFwpspnqd8c-dWgflgx1RXGEVk078sFLs_l3a3rTj3Swyblk7p1MdlcWDkmtx7XsI94lIAqrlZn-g08KNvNTv7H3rB6zWyA5M0KQMSDwNAfD9qNZeC0L2F5/s200/sidewalk.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
The cutest thing of all, though, are the sidewalk plows/blowers. They're like mini versions of the orange one above. I find them so cute that I giggle every time I see one. The only problem is they have blinking blue and red lights behind them, so I always worry it's a police car at an accident or something. And yes, accidents are prevalent here. Ice+idiots=accidents. Most people drive fairly decently here - either speed limit or below depending on the conditions and several car lengths between each other to eliminate sliding into each other during stops. Notice I said "most." I've encountered my share of assholes cutting me off or tailgating when I'm driving, just like in Oregon. Thankfully, they are rare. <br />
<br />
I was terrified of driving on my own for so long that it took 2 months to get me past my fear. Considering I'm at the medical center at least once a week, it was really inconvenient for Richard to try to drive me. Now I'm happily independent :). Well, as happy as I can be driving on snow and ice!The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-28021073906031159572012-03-05T17:22:00.001-08:002012-03-05T17:28:06.933-08:00What I've Learned After Two Months in AlaskaHey guess what? It's cold here! You may be one of those people (such as myself) who THINK they can handle the cold and are "always warm" but you have no idea what you are in for. Single digit temperatures are just a test. Below zero? Is mother nature's way of laughing at you. It's effing cold. <br />
<br />
No matter where you move from, even if it's a snow state, you will not have appropriate shoes or clothes. Street shoes are like wearing skates on the ice (I have a lovely bruise on my butt/thigh area to prove it). Regular coats are useless. You should buy your clothes from places that have temperature resistant information on them. Seriously. Land's End, REI, etc. all print what temperature their clothing can protect you from. Alaska weather is not kidding around!<br />
<br />
Let's go back to shoes. These are a huge consideration. I thought, "hey - I'll just find some cute and fuzzy boots and wear them all winter, tee hee!" And then mother nature scoffed. The first few steps in the snow and moisture flooded into the cute suede since it was not water-resistant. Then I did the lovely "oh crap, please don't let me fall" dance in the parking lot because the soles weren't made for ice. They currently reside in my room as decor. Oddly, I didn't learn my lesson though. I continued to wear my "Oregon shoes" (aka shoes with no sole and a lot of exposed foot flesh since I refuse to wear socks), hence the fall. The funny part of that is I had already bought my new Alaska shoes, but they had given me a blister (I know, wah) and I wore my comfy shoes so the blister could heal. Stupid blister.<br />
<br />
Now girls - there are plenty of cute shoe/boot options that are still Alaska appropriate. I chose <a href="http://www.zappos.com/bogs-rue-violet">Bogs shoes</a>, because I prefer a shoe to a boot since I wear trouser-fit jeans and the boot outline underneath looks weird. They are water-tight, comfy (once the damn blister healed), and the soles are grippy on the ice. They are quite popular here, actually. There's the every present Uggs, although they aren't waterproof and I would hate to ruin them. Sorels are pretty hardcore, but they do make cute styles. I've seen a lot of Danskos, but I've heard mixed reviews about their ability to handle the ice. Zappos delivers here (huzzah), so you can order easily. Just make sure you ask a local to see what they recommend!<br />
<br />
Jackets. I still don't have a decent one. I ordered a parka when I first got here and immediately hated it. It was far too large, the hood could cover 3 heads, and it was just bulky. I alternate between my wool dress coat and hoodies. Next winter I'll buy a North Face or Land's End jacket so I can be warm without feeling odd.<br />
<br />
Anchorage is a really laid back city. I love that! Although there seems to be some debate as to whether it's ACTUALLY a city. Uh, I came from a small town. THIS IS A CITY TO ME, ok? So stop debating.<br />
<br />
Driving on the snow and ice is scary as hell. Everyone here drives like they are on dry pavement in perfect conditions. I have to practically pry my hands off the steering wheel when I get to my destination. I screamed like a little girl the first time I slid on the ice (in my defense, we were about a foot from rear-ending someone). Sliding around corners is considered perfectly natural. I may need to start dying my hair every two weeks instead of every six with the stress of driving on Alaska roads.<br />
<br />
Other than that, I've come to love my new home. Richard and I are excitedly immersing ourselves into plans to remodel the condo and I'm fervently applying for jobs. Aside from missing my friends and my lady river, I really love it here. Every time I see the mountains, I'm breathless. That's the best part of living here :).The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-40208904632313322612012-02-04T21:35:00.000-08:002012-02-04T21:35:43.675-08:00How NOT to Approach an AgoraphobicI know I've been pretty lazy about updating the blog. Lots has gone on here, lots of it good and some of it bad. The good is pretty fantastic - I'm in love, happy with my new home, Faith is settling in well. The bad - well, depression has taken hold a bit and my agoraphobia is twice as bad as it was in Oregon.<br />
<br />
On to what the title pertains to....I was walking into Fred Meyer with Richard the other day, and since I had stopped to grab a cart, he went inside as it was cold and wet in the cart area. Out of nowhere, a man grabs me by the shoulders, reeking of alcohol and uncleanliness. I couldn't quite decipher what he was saying (something about pretty), and then he pulled me into a hug and kissed my ear (over my hair, thankfully). Richard was facing forward, and by the time he looked back he only saw the man let me go. We both wisely realized that confronting the man would cause a scene, so we let him go on his way. I was so upset that I could hardly walk through the store - I was shaking and near tears. When we got home, I had a pretty bad breakdown.... touching me against my will is NOT okay and it brought back some horrific memories. I've had nightmares off and on since then, and am hardly sleeping (again). I will see my counseling support person and my doctor Monday, but between now and then I'm really sketchy about leaving the house.<br />
<br />
Why is this event such a setback? Well, agoraphobia means more than just not being about to leave the "safe zone." As per <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agoraphobia">Wikipedia</a>, "Agoraphobia is characterized by anxiety in situations where it is perceived to be difficult or embarrassing to escape." It manifests in me as places with a lot of unfamiliar people. I have been working really hard to put myself out there, going to dinner and movies with Richard (and Faith on occasion) when I don't feel comfortable in a strange place in a strange town. All that great progress....I want to think it's not gone, but for right now I'm back to not wanting to go among people. <br />
<br />
Richard took me on a drive this morning, which helped. I saw some of the posh neighborhoods I had been stalking in the real estate postings before I moved here, and we grabbed some Starbucks. I missed my drives back in Oregon, so it was a great pleasure. <br />
<br />
So, where do I go from here? I won't be trying anything major until I see my counseling support person on Monday. I am angry and sad that I am back in this position, as I feel I'm letting everyone down with my disability. It is very frustrating to be so out of control of your own well-being.The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-43785656806647307642012-01-04T13:45:00.000-08:002012-01-04T13:45:24.744-08:00Confessions of an AgoraphobicI've posted before that I am a diagnosed Agoraphobic. Actually, the official diagnosis is "Agoraphobia with Panic Disorder." Subsequently, I am also diagnosed with Cyclothymic Disorder, which is a low-cycling, less severe form of Bi-Polar Disorder. I take several medications to keep the symptoms of both disorders in check....since I also have a seizure disorder, the seizure medication I take also treats the Cyclothymic disorder. Otherwise, I would be taking 8-9 different medications instead of 6. Six is enough, believe me.<br />
<br />
My agoraphobic manifested in about 2006, when my grandmother's dementia became so severe that she need daily care. It was also concurrent with the beginning of the "mystery" ailment that wasn't actually diagnosed until 2009 (I don't like to discuss that in depth, but it is what my seizure disorder stems from). Grandma's care only became more intense, and the treatment I received once my illness was diagnosed made me so sick that I hardly left the house at all. Now....there are a lot of misconceptions that agoraphobia means people cannot leave their homes. That may be true for some sufferers, but really the problem is entering situations/places that cause panic - in my case, new/foreign places, and being around people I don't know. My home became my "safe zone," so I came to a point where I avoided the situations that triggered panic, and soothed myself in my safe zone. This continued until I was afraid to even enter grocery stores. I felt horrible about myself and my lack of control over the panic.<br />
<br />
Through a series of positive opportunities, I entered therapy in June of 2011. Through my therapist's guidance and adjustment of the medications, I found myself less and less panicked by new situations and new people. I got out more, and even ventured into new places. I was encouraged by the progress, and found myself looking forward to my therapy sessions every week.<br />
<br />
Thanksgiving 2011 was a turning point. Grandma cut me out of her life, so I decided to move on with mine and made the plans to move to Alaska to be with Richard. While the change was scary, I handled it fairly well - I even let go of all my possessions fairly easily. With the teenager, 4 suitcases, 2 duffel bags, 2 laptop bags, and 3 boxes, I boarded a plane and left everything and everyone behind. <br />
<br />
I did okay the first few days in Alaska. I met my love's family, ventured into stores and businesses, and adapted to my new life fairly easily. The difference, though, is that Richard was always with me.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, Richard dropped me off at Faith's school to register her as a new student. The first trigger hit - he wasn't sure where to go, so he spotted a door and let us out there so he could get to work. Alone (although with Faith, I still felt alone), unsure of my surroundings, and with streams of teenagers moving around me, I had a major anxiety attack. Once we finally found the office I stabilized, but the damage was done. I was scared and unable to reason with myself that I was okay. Faith wasn't able to start school without an extra immunization (not required in the state of Oregon, apparently), so we left. Not driving meant I had to call a cab, and thankfully the driver knew our address and was able to take us back without me having to help.<br />
<br />
At lunch, Richard picked us up and we headed to the native medical center for my doctor's appointment. This time, I directed him to a familiar door, and I was able to find the office okay. When the doctor came in, though, I was having such a bad anxiety attack that she called a counselor in to talk to me (and gave me a strong valium). After the appointment, I had to register Faith as a patient so she could get her shot, and that was another mess....they had a rush of new patients after the new year, so they couldn't get her entered right away. We ate lunch so I could calm down a bit more and let the valium do its job, and then called another cab to go home. This driver, unfortunately, did not know how to get to our address, so we had to try to help him. I was nearly in tears by the time we finally found the condo, and it was all I could do to get inside and close the door. I made it through dinner (albeit Chinese delivery, rather than home-cooked), but ended up shutting down and napping for 2 hours. Between being sick and being so panicked all day, I had to shut down and regroup.<br />
<br />
I'm working on getting back into therapy here, but it can take a while. In the meantime, I'm going to have to find a way to manage the panic so it doesn't affect me so profoundly. I'm trying to convince myself that yesterday was just a minor setback, but it doesn't feel so minor. My mantra is "tomorrow is another day." So, with that in mind, I will approach tomorrow with a new attitude. Today is for healing. And writing a very long-winded blog about being agoraphobic.The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-12911633168393619322011-12-27T12:55:00.000-08:002011-12-27T12:55:48.030-08:00Life AlteringSo much has changed since my last entry.<br />
<br />
I am now residing in Anchorage, Alaska. Fate stepped in and made it happen....there are a lot of circumstances surrounding the move, but it is all for the best and I am happy.<br />
<br />
Most of you know that I've filled the role of my grandma's caretaker for quite a while. For the last 20 years, I've cared for her in some capacity....moral support, seeing her through many medical issues, taking care of her home, etc. Yes, she's helped me out immensely too, mostly financially....but her help came with a huge cost. She became mostly incapacitated around 2006, and since then I did all her cleaning, bill paying, doctor's appointments, pharmacy dealings, and grocery shopping. As dementia took more of a toll on her mental health, she became extremely emotionally abusive. The last two years have been absolute hell. She has said things to me and told family secrets that hurt desperately. I'm convinced that if I hadn't had to endure that abuse, I could have handled my own mental health issues much better.<br />
<br />
When I met Richard, we fell in love very quickly. I knew from the first few times we spoke that I wanted to spend my life with him. He asked me to move to Alaska within a month. Originally, we planned for quite a few months in the future....but that changed when grandma basically flipped her wig.<br />
<br />
Unbeknownst to me, a distant cousin had been communicating with grandma on the sly and planting ideas in her head that I was taking advantage of her and not caring for her well enough. In her demented state, grandma believed her and the two of them planned to remove me from grandma's care and as executor of her estate. Thanksgiving day, she broke the news that she would no longer be helping me financially, and that this cousin would be moving there to care for her. This was all I needed to decide to move to Alaska and be with Richard. Faith backed up the decision....she was also tired of the abuse at grandma's hands.<br />
<br />
So....we left. She has no idea where we are, and that is for the best....When I moved away in 2000 to try to get away from her, she followed me within a year. Now that she has a caretaker and cut me off so rudely, I see no reason to let her know where we are. We need to move on with our lives, and I want my relationship with Richard to be successful. He is an amazing man, and I love him more than I've ever loved anyone (besides Faith, of course). <br />
<br />
As I sit here and type, a soft snow is falling, adding to the foot+ that is already on the ground. I am safe and warm and comfortable in a beautiful condo, with everything I need provided for me. You all know how independent I am, but it's nice to know I can rebuild our lives without having to suffer as before. My life is so full of happiness right now that it almost feels surreal.The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-29690120860326538512011-12-03T13:46:00.001-08:002011-12-03T16:02:07.652-08:00Cost Splitting<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6k2FX1tI94QQp2IIUkZ1UYpBQiM9LsjPhDuslHCTXROUdutMbTgnRPE_Iqg1oV5XmBwqkWY5YNkEmq9hz9wx5m8gJ0Korh98847fGHyLKm9w90eK2VlB5DETKKJBTVOjmCDI3kZUNufBs/s1600/cutpills.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6k2FX1tI94QQp2IIUkZ1UYpBQiM9LsjPhDuslHCTXROUdutMbTgnRPE_Iqg1oV5XmBwqkWY5YNkEmq9hz9wx5m8gJ0Korh98847fGHyLKm9w90eK2VlB5DETKKJBTVOjmCDI3kZUNufBs/s200/cutpills.jpg" width="200" /></a>Every month, I get a prescription for Lexapro; one of the higher-priced SSRI antidepressants. My doctor prescribes 20 mg tablets, and I'm to take 1/2 a tablet daily. Puzzling, right? Why not one whole 10 mg tablet once daily?<br />
<br />
Well, here's the thing. A 30-count bottle of 10 mg Lexapro retails for roughly $125. A 30-count bottle of 20 mg Lexapro is the same price, but lasts 60 days instead of 30. So, obviously the larger dose prescribed at 1/2 the strength makes more sense, right?<br />
<br />
Sure, if you're thinking from a financial standpoint only. It is impossible for the manufacturer to distribute the medication equally between two halves of a tablet. So, cutting a pill in half means your dose will be unstable. In a medication like Lexapro, that means I will receive inconsistent relief from my symptoms of anxiety and depression. In a medication that helps regulate your heart rate or blood pressure, it could be much more serious. <br />
<br />
I've tried several types of cutters with very little success. They either crumble the pill, or cut them in uneven pieces. The best option I've found so far is a plain razorblade - I set it exactly on the cutting line and rock the blade back and forth while exerting more and more pressure until it breaks through. It still creates powdery residue, and there's still the potential for uneven sizes. I just cut this month's supply, and several came out with broken pieces. It's very frustrating.<br />
<br />
I'm going to request that my doctor prescribe the 10 mg tablets from now on and deal with the cost. Inconsistent doses and frustration over cutting the pills isn't worth the money saved, IMHO.The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-85834197311950500782011-11-25T00:42:00.001-08:002011-11-25T01:42:27.874-08:00What is Tradition?For the first time in 19 years, I didn't do "the big dinner" on Thanksgiving. I don't intend to do the big Christmas dinner, either. I just don't have it in me to do them right now. We had a Thanksgiving-style dinner, but it wasn't *my* cooking. It's not just that I'm a good cook (which I am)....it's that the tradition wasn't there.<br />
<br />
As a child, we didn't have many family events. Mom and I were pretty solitary before she met my stepdad; even then his family was fairly small. We still had "the big dinner" though, and the ritual was always so soothing.<br />
<br />
Thanksgiving morning began with a fairly early breakfast; usually pancakes and sausage or something similar. Then, the women would start cooking. Turkey, stuffing, ham, potatoes, several veggies, salads, deviled eggs, trays of olives and pickles, rolls, and pies. Our dining room held a table that seated 10, a buffet, and a sideboard. Every surface that could hold food did, plus some left in the kitchen. The table was meticulously set with china and silver, cloth napkins, and all the good serving pieces. The big coffee urn was filled, sodas set out, pitchers of iced tea, milk, and juice joined them on the sideboard. Then, everyone gathered and found their seats. The children were seated at a small table in the kitchen, while the adults sat around the table. Then began the prayer of thanks, followed by the ritual of carving the turkey and passing dish after dish around the table. Plates were loaded for us kids and brought to our table. The food itself really has no memory for me (except the creamed onions - oh how I love them), but the spirit of the meal does. <br />
<br />
After everyone had eaten their share, the kids were sent to the family room while the grown ups cleaned up. This was before every household had TV with a million channels, so we likely watched a Christmas movie on one of the few channels we received, or we laid on the floor in a stuffed stupor. Once the kitchen was clean and the dining room re-assembled, we would play fun games together like Charades and such. There was such a feeling of joy and togetherness that I relished the holidays.<br />
<br />
I've tried over the years to preserve that tradition. I've done what I could to make each year's holiday as festive as those I remembered from the past. I've spent as much as 8 hours in the kitchen at a time, toiling over pots and pans and fretting about how I would keep everything hot at once.<br />
<br />
With the stress of grandma's issues and the tight budget we are living on, I had no desire to put the effort into the tradition this year. My therapist challenged me when I told her I had decided not to do it and asked if I thought I was depriving Faith of a memorable experience. Honestly, with what we have gone through recently, I don't think I am. I know in my heart that next year will be amazing and new traditions will be started....but this year, my heart isn't in it.The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-354887421597833659.post-63098436982818499712011-11-21T14:18:00.001-08:002011-11-21T15:29:04.030-08:00Just What Is Wrong With You Anyway?I have new readers here on the blog, and a few new Facebook friends who have expressed interest in knowing why I'm in therapy and what my medical problems are. Usually I'm not so open about these things, but it's best to lay everything out on the table, right?<br />
<br />
I'll address the medical first since it's easiest. About two years ago, I started having seizures and massive memory loss. I was unable to even go to work for weeks at a time because I could hardly function. The seizures (grand mal) became more and more frequent and my doctors frantically scrabbled for a reason. I had CAT scans, blood panels, MRIs....with no resolution. It wasn't until the MRI company accidentally scanned the wrong area of my brain that they found the reason for the issues...they discovered AVM lesions in a deep area of my brain. Thankfully, they were small, but surgery would have had a poor outcome and carried a large risk of death. The neurologist thought chemotherapy would be successful, so I underwent a short course in Medford. Thankfully, it was mild enough that I only lost a small bit of my hair; but the mouth sores, constant vomiting, fatigue, and serious dehydration took a huge toll on me. It was about six months before I felt better again, and my memory improved greatly. The seizures got somewhat better, but I was still experiencing grand mals. As a result, I went through several different seizure drugs, and I'm still on a trial with my current medication. While controlled, I still have absence seizures and occasional eyelid seizures. My body is on the road to recovery from the illness and the chemo, however slowly. Unfortunately, I lost a lot during my battle....my job, many friends, and my longtime relationship. I came to realize that they weren't worth keeping if they were that easy to lose.<br />
<br />
As far as the mental issues, well....they are more complicated. My actual diagnosis is:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://www.webmd.com/bipolar-disorder/guide/cyclothymia-cyclothymic-disorder">Cyclothymic Disorder</a></li>
<li>Severe Anxiety</li>
<li>Agoraphobia with Panic Disorder</li>
</ul>
<br />
All three are treatable, and I take medication in addition to the therapy I participate in weekly (well, when I get the scheduling down anyway). So far, the agoraphobia has been the easiest to treat, although I still have issues in crowded situations. By no means am I unable to leave my house, I want that to be clear....however, my home is my "safe" zone and it's nearly impossible to allow people inside. I hope to have overcome that with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/EMDR">EMDR</a> when I'm finished with that therapy. The other two issues are controlled with medication and can be cured with EMDR as well. <br />
<br />
I have been in therapy before, but never found resolution. The therapy I participate in now is much more aggressive and targeted to an actual diagnosis. My hopes are high for success.<br />
<br />
What does this mean? What kind of person am I? Easy to answer. I'm a person with a life-long illness that can eventually become more serious. I have a treatment plan in place, and intend to fight with everything I have to stay healthy and well. I am also a person who has mental illness that is managed and being treated. <br />
<br />
Most importantly, I am a loving mother to my daughter. I am a person who is blessed with friends who love her, despite experiencing issues with my disorders. I am a woman who loves the man in her life completely and will do everything in her power to ensure he will be happy. I strive to protect those I love from experiencing the negative side effects of the above issues. I am caring, nurturing, and loving. My joy in life is giving others happiness. I am not a whole person, obviously, but eventually I will be. <br />
<br />
I hope that gives you all some perspective. Life is worth living, no matter what obstacles we encounter. My life from this point on will be spent finding happiness. I'm so lucky to have it within my grasp.The Duchesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07988972822706391240noreply@blogger.com0