Neglectful Blogger

Dear Blog, Sorry I have been neglecting you. I’ve been busy. However I have had month’s worth of blog ideas that I have been working on away from the internet. Hopefully I will finish and post them soon. In the mean time please turn up your computer volume and enjoy these montages of just a few of the reasons for my busy-ness. :D

Letters From Rajesh: An Assignment

Hi Rajesh,
I am just checking in with you, I hope you are still doing well in India.You left here just in time, we have had a major snow/ice storm just about every 3 days here-- and it has been SO cold (like 0-20F, with below 0 wind-chill). I hope you are staying warm and well fed, I bet you are much happier back in India with family.

As you can see I am in a writing mood. And I know you are a busy person, so I will cut it short. I wanted to invite you to see my new blog, (I think its pretty), it is at www.aradiapaganus.blogspot.com I wrote an entry with you in it on Dec. 18th-- I haven't figured out how to direct link to specificblog posts.

AND finally, I want to wish you a happy birthday, I know it's coming up next Saturday. :D

All the best to you and your family,
Aradia

_____________________________________________
i got back to bombay last night and was going thru your blog. it is too many words. not that i have anything to do. im on vacation but i'm not going to spend time reading the whole thing.

how you can find time to write all this i wonder. you know why you write so much? because you are constantly trying to define yourself. you write about you. you write about your life situations, likes, dislikes, but you are not getting to the real you. once you get there you will stop and all your restlessness will be gone.

i have this simple assignment for you. write to me who you really are. dont tell me your name or your associations or where you live or what you think or anything like that. dont tell me about you. tell me who you are.

another thing. my guru has initiated me to be a healer. the healing is perfect for mind related conditions. if you are interested i can do some healing sessions on you whenever i get back. also guruji has given me a new name based on the nature of my being. Premaatman Anand (Blissful Loving soul) you can start remembering Prem insted of Raju. enjoy.

-Premaatman Anand
_____________________________________________

Did it ever occur to you that I write because I am trying to tease out of all my experiences and thoughts who I actually am?

I have had a very difficult life- whether my own fault or not. I realize I didn't tell you that much about my experiences from before you met me- I didn't think you would understand. Apparently I was right. I only offered you the blog link so you could read how I really feel about us, about you. I needed to get that out, unlike you I have not had the privilege to learn trust, affection, and intimacy. I have not had the ability to talk to someone genuinely about my thoughts and feelings, I have not found someone who will listen and not judge until recently. I have begun the healing process, I am seeing a psychologist and she has listened to some of the worse of my experiences. She encourages me to write, and as I write more my thoughts become more logical and simplified. I make sense of the experiences and understand the lessons within them.

I don't want a lecture, although I will try the assignment you gave me-- however can you pls clarify what I am suppose to write? Perhaps I really don't know myself at all (which is my suspicion)... I don't think I know who I am beyond my associations and experiences. I do believe that through those I can find some reflection of myself. Dr. Datson thinks that in order to survive both my childhood and my early adulthood I split up the different aspects of myself, and part of the goal of my writing is to help me identify these different parts of my personality and bring them together in a balanced whole. The first step is recognition of my different parts within myself, and recognition of my own strength and power (to overcome fear). Basically the key to my healing and spiritual enlightenment are all inside me, but I need to shine the light in on the dark places (abuse, rape, neglect, depression, being kicked out, courts, shelter, homelessness, seeing ghosts, visions, etc)-- and the only way I feel comfortable shining the light is through my words, my writing.

I am sorry if this is just more words that you don't want to read. I really do not understand what you want from me. Though I will meditate on your assignment. I have started doing yoga and meditating again, it is proving to be much more difficult for me than when I was a teenager-- but already I am starting to see my psychic abilities improving. :)

~Aradia Paganus~
------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------

Who Am I?

if not Aradia then who? a pagan? a witch? a perfectionist-slob? a college student? a cynic? a girl with low-self-esteem? a babysitter? a CA? someone who loves to play homemaker? implusive shopper? victim of child-abuse, sexual assualt, juvenile court system? successful? delussional? superficial? narcasistic? a fool? spiritually enlightened? an alien soul trapped in a human incarnation? a being of light? a faerie? a book-lover? travel-show obsessed, travel-phobe? weak? strong? opinionated? extremist? fatalist? dreamer? psychic? co-depedent? artistic? genius? blessed? bi-polar?

Do these describe the real me or are they just 'more words' describing my associations and experiences? Is the 'real me' my present personality or part of a higher plane of my spiritual body? Is the real me what travels from incarnation to incarnation or is it something that I have developed in this lifetime? It the real me broken into fragments that need repair to become one whole self?

Clearly I have many ideas, but no understanding of who I really am, and that is why I continue to write.

Emotional RollerCoaster: ADHD, GAD, Depression and Life on Meds

I just want to exist in side of myself… I don’t have any interest in leaving my apartment—have things to do outside my apartment. I have a book to ship, and I have two blue-ray new releases over due to the video rental store. I just don’t seem to care about it anymore. I will probably get Kyle to take care of it on his way out of town this afternoon- if the impending blizzard doesn’t prevent him from going. He is still sleeping; it’s around noon on a Saturday so it’s not at all unusual. I am pretty convinced that Kyle could sleep on average 12-14 hours a day everyday with no problem. I get too restless, unless I am in one of my sleepy-depressive moods. I find it strange that he is able to sleep so long without having or remembering his dreams. I don’t know if he’s really sleeping, as in unconscious, I have noticed that its more of a meditative state most mornings. He will be in between unconsciousness and being awake, but still lay there in bed under a mass of blankets, quilts and comforters. I don’t know what he thinks during this time, but he seems to wake up very slowly- as if he’s a cold blooded creature that must sun for 3-4 hours before being able to function. He is capable of getting up early and getting out of the house in record breaking time—but only if he must.

I have tried to learn something from him in this matter. The lesson of just allowing myself to relax and not feel guilty or pressured to get something else done; I actively try to relax (which is something of an oxymoron) in the mornings while still in bed. I remind myself of what the bare minimum is that I must accomplish during the day. Typically this is work or appointments; I ignore the rest and try to just exist in a calm relaxed state all warm and cozy under the covers. My mind gets in the way nearly every time, especially if I have nothing to do that day (for example, no reason that I must leave the apartment). I just imagine all the things I could do or want to do inside the universe of my apartment. Typically the things I get excited about doing are about chaos control—organizing, cleaning, planning, making lists, or writing. Sometimes I get excited about crafting but recently I have not been able to find enjoyment in knitting or making collages.


In the past couple weeks I have been on this emotional rollercoaster, and I am not sure if I can blame my meds or if this is part of the healing process. Every day I wake up, take my adderall xr (at 7am), go back to sleep for what seems like hours (but typically is only 45mins-1 hour) then I wake up and my mind starts racing, but I try to take some time to get up. Some days I am filled with love, so much so that I am nearly overwhelmed by it. I am so thankful to the universe for Kyle, for my creatures, my friends, my home, my things, my job, my experiences in life. I get very excited to show my gratitude, I think up ways to thank them. Yesterday I ended up sending flowers and treats to both my apartment managers and to my nurse practioner’s office. Anyway, this feeling of wanting to express my gratitude usually moves me to get out of bed throw on clothes and get online to see what can be done. Sometimes the loved feeling remains, I cuddle my cats and talk to my bird, feed and admire my beautiful fish. Other times my mood just drops as soon as I am out of bed; I think I have identified a few triggers. One trigger is simply seeing myself in the mirror, messy hair, no makeup, tired eyes, too much fat here, too many break outs there, there-- and oh yeah, there too. I will suddenly give up… I decide that I just don’t care anymore. I know that I can fool people into thinking I am attractive with some time and effort with my make-up and hot-rollers, but it bothers me that I have to put in so much effort just to be attractive. I also look like my mother when I am tired and depressed; nothing is more horrifying to me than the prospect of me following in my mother’s example. For some time I made a rule for myself to stave off depressive episodes by simply forcing myself to take a shower, style hair, do full make-up and get dressed completely before doing anything else in the morning. This worked for a while, until I withdrew from classes and didn’t have to leave the house as often. Some days I don’t leave the apt at all and it seems a waste of (rather expensive) makeup to make an effort. I feel bad for Kyle for having to deal not only with a depressive girlfriend, but with an ugly one on top of that.


On other days after waking up with so much optimism I will tell myself that primping will wait because I want to go write about this or that asap. I will throw on some thermal pg’s and go to the living room, where my cats want to have their bowls topped off –now-, then they demand cuddles. The bird starts complaining about water dishes, and the fish line themselves up in the front left corner of the tank to let me know they want food from the sky. I don’t mind their dependence on me, after all I choose to adopt them and because of this they are not capable of caring for themselves. But I do get distracted… I will forget what had me so happy to start the day. I knew I wanted to get on the computer, so I do- check my email, then inevitably check facebook. Trigger #2: no one seems to be interested in me, no comments, no notifications, nothing. Emails are automated or from places I bought stuff from, nothing new anywhere for me. I start to wonder how insignificant I really am, then I feel bad for thinking that, then I wonder if the meds are working at all. Then I remember that I can’t remember what I wanted to do on the internet in the first place. I start to feel stupid, ugly and begin loosing motivation. I look around and see a less-than-pristine apartment and just feel like dying. I end up at the bottom of this dark pit of self-loathing and wanting to disappear. (I stress the difference between wanting to disappear and being suicidal… I lack motivation for the effort of suicide.) I tell myself to finish the 3 or four blog topics I have started, but I have no interested in them, or I can’t remember what I wanted to say- or what the point was in the first place.


Another trigger is my own exhaustion, and lack of focus—all this business with getting distracted and forgetting what I wanted to do. I will make a point of making a list of things to do- usually on notepad on my computer. By the time I have created my list I am exhausted, but my mind is just flying so I can’t get to sleep. The exhaustion is understandable given the fact that most nights I don’t get to sleep until 4 am… my mind is still ticking away into the early hours of the morning. I have no sense of an internal clock anymore. At any point of any day a person could tell me that its 2am and I would probably agree if I didn’t know what time it actually was.


I am never really ‘sleepy’ but I am never really physically awake—though my mind is going 90 mph. The adderall that I take is for adhd… which I was diagnosed with a few months ago (we had concerns about manic-depressive disorder, which my mother may have had), but my dr’s think it is more likely adhd. However the adderall make it so that I am never really hungry—and at times I am repulsed by food. Last night I refused my favorite ‘chocolate obsession’ soy ice-cream, it just tasted off to me. I actually have put ‘eat something’ on my list of to-do’s or I will forget if left alone all day. Yesterday Kyle was gone all day (having been stranded in different town the night before) and having to work from 8am until very late in the evening, and then hanging out with his guy friends until 2am (they typically game on Fridays or Saturdays—and last night was the last time Kyle will get to see them for 4 months since he’s off to Chicago soon.) Anyhoo, he came home and I was in a really bad place— and I was trying to minimize it so I wouldn’t keep thinking about it. We decided to watch a movie that makes me laugh ( ‘Keeping Mum’). Suddenly sleepiness hit me—very unusual, I started nodding off on the sofa. Kyle noticed I was shaking and asked me what I ate the whole day. I had to think about it. I had eaten a small bowl of cereal (with my depression/anxiety meds) and later had a single-serving bag of popcorn…I hadn’t eaten the night before. Today I am forcing myself to eat some more cereal, I have the box of cereal propped against the sofa so I can reach in and eat some… but I really am not hungry. I have to say the weight loss is helping relieve some of the depression—but my logical brain knows it can’t be healthy to forget to eat, and only have 300-500 calories a day.


I do feel better, in terms of concentration, because of the adderall. I don’t feel crazy in public anymore, I can focus on one thing, or person and maintain a conversation without getting distracted. But my mind still races all the time, and when I am alone it will jump from one thing to another. I never considered that I would have adhd, I just thought it was my Gemini nature to constantly be thinking five things at once. Before the adderall I would never been able to write ‘stream-of-conscious’ like this… I don’t have enough hands or key boards. I am having some trouble now because of the other streams of thought in the background of mind. They are all still there, but now I can almost put a spot light on the one I want to focus on, however sometimes one of the background thoughts looks interesting and tries to upstage the lead. Part of my psychological testing involved intelligence testing, and they took special note of it because part of my breakdown was about being completely overwhelmed in school. I was somewhat taken aback by the results—99.9% percentile for my age/education. WTF? So why do I feel like a jack-ass in a class full of 20 year olds? Standard Score, (IQ) 159. When I questioned this my (very witty) dr said, “You may be a genius, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily have any common sense.” She cracks me up sometimes… (it’s funny cause its true). So basically the adderall’s job is to stimulate the weaker parts of my brain so that I can focus on fewer things at a time, which will make my SS (IQ) score go up- and I will feel less overwhelmed in my classes. I will be less impulsive about how many classes I take, the amount of research I commit to, the number of hours I take at work, and most importantly how much money I spend.


My biggest concern presently is how much my moods fluctuate; awareness of my triggers doesn’t seem to prevent them from effecting my emotions. Yesterday I was on a rollercoaster, with my biggest high involving me being brave enough to call my dr(physical) for a note for work, and ordering gift flower delivery for people. My lowest low I was trying to delete myself from the internet because I couldn’t figure out how to disappear in real life. Thankfully some rational aspect of my psyche stepped in and simply made it nigh impossible to find me on-line other than thru this blog. I wanted to build up this giant wall around myself so I could hide, no one could hurt me or get close to me. I could just exist here in my apartment, safe, undisturbed. Then I ended the night (4-5am) feeling nothing but perfect love for Kyle, and safe in his arms. My heart still hurt from hitting the rubble on my way down into the depressive episode. This morning I woke up so excited and happy again—knowing full well I wanted to get up take a shower right away and put makeup on and clean the apt and be wonderful. I gave the sleeping kyle a hug and a kiss and left the room. The moment I pickup up my computer after feeding the cats the feeling of well-being evaporated.


I am resisting the pull of that dark pit of despair. I wanted to record my feelings as well as I could, so that I can re-examine them later. Perhaps I can gleam some more self-knowledge when I am in a better state of mind. I am pulling my strength about me to work up motivation to do the things I know make me feel good about myself: taking a shower, putting on makeup, getting dressed, and cleaning the apt. Then I will not have a guilty feeling about relaxing later, and I will feel less of a barrier to the outside world because I will have makeup on and be dressed. I know it sounds so trivial, but through previous self-reflection I know that those simple activities will improve my mood, so long as I can muster the will power and motivation to get up and do them.


That is all for now, I can feel the roller coast climbing back towards the top and I want to take advantage of the view from up there and get as much done as possible before it comes down again.

Time For My First Rant: Craig the Cockbite, of Campbell Steele Gallery in Marion, IA

My beloved boyfriend, Kyle, is a theater junkie. He is in pretty high demand as a technical director, designer, and as a performer in local and regional theatre-- especially given the fact that he is just out of college, and its a financial recession. In fact he was just hired by a growing theatre company based in Chicago, with venues in NYC.

Well, an old friend of ours from his college just came back from touring to do a Christmas show. She asked Kyle weeks, if not months, ago to do the lighting for her show. She has seen Kyle's work before in the college's theatre dept, and Kyle has rave reviews and references from everyone who has seen his work.

Well the opening of our friends Christmas show is tonight. The venue she rented (meaning that she is paying to use the space) is none other than the Campbell Steele Gallery as mentioned in the title. The owner: Craig the Cockbite. I have heard many dark tales about Craig’s underhanded business practices, unfortunately we had a pretty major flood this past summer and just about every other theatre venue in town—in the area was damaged, and are still in repair. So now Monsieur Cockbite has a monopoly on the performers and artist in the area. Our friend needed a venue, as her annual Christmas show is a big deal—and a large chunk of revenue for her, and her band and backup singers. So she was stuck with Craig’s venue, but she made damn sure to get someone with knowledge to work her lights and technical direction.

Kyle of course was the lighting director, and he always takes his work very seriously. He feels that whatever he does should reflect his best work, because he hopes to use all his work in his resumes and in theatre word gets around quickly if you suck, and if you excel. Being mediocre is not an option, and Kyle doesn’t understand the meaning of ‘suck’ when it comes to the theater. With Kyle you will only get the best if he has any control over the situation—whether he’s sweeping the stage or directing the show.

He was in communication with our friend while she was on her tour, and we both saw her show last year- so he understands her style, and what look and feel she would like this year. Yesterday he worked his ass off, they had one day to prepare (our friend got home from tour and immediately went into prepare this show). Her biggest concern was to not look yellow—it had been a problem in the past at that venue, and she didn’t want to look like she had jaundice. Kyle got the music, the cues, the lighting gel colors, learned the venues switchboard and hung and focused all the lights—after of course creating a lighting diagram for each part of the show. He did all this work while at the venue, with Craig there- watching. Kyle, having just gotten out of college is more than appreciative of creative criticism, tips, and ideas, whatever. In fact he was hoping that Craig would offer some input on the lighting—Craig said nothing the entire time, he just stalked around. Our friend made it very clear to Craig that she was simply renting the space for her shows- and that she expressly did not need or want any help from Craig (and he bills for those hours on top of the rent). She was after all, paying Kyle for his time and work.

Well, Kyle had done his work and everyone seems very pleased with it—of course adding to this little drama is this huge fucking winter storm bearing down on the area just as they are doing rehearsals that night. Kyle actually got stranded in town (50 miles from home) just so that he could stay late and perfect the lighting for the show. After everyone decided to wrap up for the night, Kyle stayed with a friend nearby and worked until 2 in the morning on the cue charts, so that he would have everything memorized for the show—and it would flow smoothly.

This morning Kyle had to go to his other job- his dad’s construction company, at 7 in the morning, after the massive storm covered everything in an ice/sleet/snow lasagna six inches thick. He worked until 4pm or so and then started heading to the city where the show was that night. He planned to stop and get something to eat before the show, but our friend called him in a panic. She was clearly pissed off, and anxious—she had just received an email from Craig, about an hour from until the opening night show. He took it upon himself to move, refocus, take out or add in random lights, and changing all the gels (colors) to a deep yellow color. (Is this ironic or sadistic… I can’t tell.) Craig didn’t ask anyone—he just did it. Well our friend was utterly annoyed because she didn’t want to look like crap, and Kyle decided to skip supper in order to get to the venue asap to see if there was any chance at correcting the lights.

Craig is such a jerk. He intimidated our friend to the point that she is afraid to call him out on the lighting sabotage—because she is afraid he will not let her perform there (and yes, she already paid him for the space!) He has in the past decided to simply lock out people who have prepaid for their spaces, simply because he doesn’t like them or doesn’t get along with them. And typically people don’t like him because he does stupid shit like changing the entire freaking lighting scheme WITHOUT asking anyone involved in the show!

So here we are, my boyfriend—who’s responsible for our friends lighting, whose name is on the program is going to look like fuck-up because Craig the Cockbite decided to dick around with the lights. Craig changed them so much so that for one cue, which Kyle had set up to bring up blue over the whole band section with one button (gradual fade in/out), is now 7 different buttons, all nicotine yellow. And that is just one cue out of at least a hundred… and because Kyle has no idea which buttons are controlling which lights (cause Craig the Cockbite has NO experience in theatrical lighting, and didn’t consider making a lighting chart!) he doesn’t even know which buttons to flip when. They are all over the place; and there was no time to re-hang and refocus the lights, or to change out the gels (colors)—Kyle will probably spend what little time he does have before the house opens to figure out which buttons will control which lights.

Kyle is so pissed, I am pissed for him, and our friend is pissed. But Kyle is in a very precarious position—he is going to get bad press for this abomination of a lighting scheme, but he can’t really go off on Craig because of Craig’s history of kicking out performers and barring performances (and keeping the money). He tried to be professional with Craig and try to find some middle ground—but Craig didn’t care. In fact when Kyle tried to ask him for a lighting chart in order to figure out what the hell Craig had done to the lights, Craig didn’t even know what that was- and when Kyle showed him his own lighting chart Craig crumpled it up and tossed it on the floor.

If I know Kyle, and I am pretty confident that I do—Craig is going to rue the day he crossed Kyle. Seriously. Kyle will either destroy his soul with words, or destroy his business by simply telling people interested in art and theater to avoid him. I am doing my part to expose him through blogging. I know, I know—what an impotent way to go.

I still have all the yellow pages, angie’s list, MySpace, facebook, job sites, theatre forums, art forums, university forums, BBB, thespian society, and so on. Yeah, so there *sticks tongue out*…. Don’t mess with my Kyle-- I will F#%@ you up-- with my pen, man!

(really it’s a keyboard these days… but you understand the sentiment)

Name Changes, Psychotic Parents, and a Witch Trial

It has recently been brought to my attention that a few people who are aware of my name change cannot understand why I would choose to change my name. I wanted to explore that a little deeper. First of all the people who do not approve of my name change have not discussed their feelings with me, and secondly they do not know about my past in any depth. So I cannot really be upset by their disapproval-- on the same token however, they have no place to judge me. For the most part the main issue they have with a person changing their name is the idea that it disrespects a person's parents.

Let's begin with respecting one’s parents, shall we?? Parents are there to share genetic material and/or care for their children until they are able to care for themselves within their society. In our society this typically involves authoritative discipline, (as opposed to authoritarian or permissive discipline), in which parents teach their child(ren) how to behave, in addition to explaining why it is important to behave as such. Corporal punishment is, for the most part, illegal and generally agreed to do more harm than good. People who grew up in healthy family environments most likely love, trust and respect their parents-- and they should. These lucky few most likely enjoy healthy relationships, self-confidence and get emotional and financial support from their families throughout their lives. Unfortunately these people tend to be willfully ignorant of the fact that many people grew up in abusive and or dysfunctional families.

Well I grew up in an abusive and dysfunctional family. My father allegedly left my mother after four years of marriage upon hearing that she was pregnant with mwah. When I was four years old my mother remarried, and I was adopted by my step-father. (My half brother is about 4 or 5 years younger than me, go figure.) I never knew what to expect from my mother or my step-father, in terms of their actions towards me. Was I going to get hit, whipped, spanked, choked, burned, yelled at, forced out of the house, or put in the corner, or just ignored? What did I do wrong this time? What would they use to punish me- a belt, a wooden spoon, a hairbrush, a spatula, or just their hands? Would it be both of them or just one of them? Are they mad, tired, or just fine? Rules were made up and enforced on the spot and often the opposite rules were created within hours or days. Needless to say it was traumatic and decidedly the cause of my multiple stomach ulcers by the time I reached the 6th grade.

I learned to distrust my parents, and all things associated with family, and I developed severe anxiety and depression problems. However, I had dreams for my education which I hoped would take me away from my family. I participated in nearly every extra-curricular that I could at school just to avoid having to go home. I was involved with the neighborhood centers, tutored for the after-school program, was president of the women’s group and the high school ‘youth group’. I was in theatre, choir, band, color guard, jazz band, cheerleading, soccer, and I helped the school with fundraising by working in the ‘food booth’ for local events-- plus I babysat for a couple of families. My parents as far as I knew cared nothing about my activities, except when they decided to create an arbitrary rule about extracurricular or social activities (usually after the fact).

When I was sixteen and getting ready to graduate from high school early and go to college I was given the opportunity to become a live-in nanny with one of the families I babysat for, and to be a model--both of which would help with college expenses, and be flexible jobs. After a discussion with my mother over a number of weeks it seemed to be agreed that I would move in with the family for my last semester of high school (as my parents were hoping to sell their house and move away from my school district).

Well one cold day in January my mother flipped and to make a long story short she told me to, “Get Out.” And I obliged…

After six months living in a youth shelter (intended for a thirty-day maximum stay), a year of court, and countless social workers, mental health reports and being utterly cut off from all of my friends-- I was free. My parent’s rights were stripped, and I was considered under the law to be an adult when I was 17 years old. Not exactly groundbreaking, but I was happy to have my freedom—to not have to be afraid of my parents all the time. I finished my high school diploma at night-school, albeit a semester later than planned. I worked full time at two jobs- daycare and as a nanny which equaled almost 90 hrs a week. I was taking care of myself the best way I could, and for the most part I was happy.

However my mother was still a threat to me—she was mentally unstable to say the least. Even while at court my mother flew at my 60-year-old social worker, trying to hit her and she had to be forcibly removed from the courthouse. She called my work* and harassed my coworkers, my boss—to the point at which my boss was going to file a restraining order against my mother. Later My mother and step-father came to my apartment house at one point and physically assaulted two of my neighbors while trying to get to me.

*My mother found out that I worked at a day-care so she called every single day care in the city asking for me until she found the one I worked at.


Every time I saw my name I was reminded of them, of what I came from. This name which no longer reflected who I am, it was a name which belonged to a powerless, frightened, naïve child. And my parents used it as a way to hunt me down, to try to control me, frighten me and those that I cared about.

That sums up the parental portion of the name change—comparatively less to do with my name change than my spiritual reasons. If you still feel that my parents are the ‘respectable’ type then I honestly have nothing left to say to you.

Now let’s backtrack a bit. I had been quietly studying Paganism/Witchcraft for about 4 years by the time I was involved in court. (I will discuss my introduction to Paganism in a different entry.) As far as I was concerned there was no one else practicing Paganism in my school; I had one friend who had a superficial interest but still preferred to avoid ‘labeling’ her beliefs. So I didn’t discuss my beliefs with anyone, however I was willing to should the subject come up. I was in love with nature, I felt the divine, I loved to meditate and do yoga. I was a very inwardly contented person- though many negative influences and experiences raged on around me. I could always find my center through yoga.

When I was first brought into the court system I was to be considered the victim of my parents abuse and neglect- (kicking a minor out is against the law here). My parents were the ones on trial. After many members of the school district called into DHS to offer positive character witness or reference for me, I was told by my temporary case manager that my parents ‘didn’t have a leg to stand on’. After the first court date it became very clear to me that it was going to get ugly. My parents put forward the information that I was practicing witchcraft, and they had found my books. I was so naïve that I believed there was separation of church and state and that because Wicca and Neo-paganism was a federally recognized (therefore eligible for tax-exempt status) religions that there was no chance that my parents accusations of witchcraft would make any difference whatsoever.

Well, it did.

It made a world of difference. Suddenly my parents were no longer on trial, in fact they began sitting at the back of the court room for sessions. Now the state was putting me on trial, and I was so flabbergasted, and so was my attorney. The judge ordered psychological personality assessments on me—she took it upon herself to keep me locked in shelter, and cherry-picked the few Christian based independent living programs from which I was to choose. I refused them all and I knew my rights—and so did my attorney. After a number of months rotting away in shelter my attorney had the court get rid of the judge and thing suddenly sped up for me—I didn’t hear another mention of my choice in spirituality again. My parents were court ordered into psychological testing, and to parenting courses (I had a younger brother), and as mentioned before their rights were stripped.

Once I had proved myself a responsible, capable adult I realized I was in survival mode. I was totally preoccupied with the superficial, everything must appear in good order, no matter what is happening underneath. That is how it works for those of us in the independent living programs—it you are clever enough to look put together you can easily avoid having to do any real growth as a person—or having any challenges to reach one’s potential. I learned to consciously hide my religion. I tucked away my pentacle- if I even dared to wear it. I shelved the few books I had, and I avoided all pagan groups and people associated with it (not that I knew any in real life).

Years went by with me living in the ‘broom closet’…. With the door opened a bit. A person could see the closet, know what it was about and if they made the effort they could look in and see me standing there. But I wouldn’t come out unless I already knew they understood.

I felt like a hypocrite. I had just experienced a witch-hunt trial because the fucking DHS and court system viewed me, simply based on my religion, as a criminal- when I was the victim. I had promised myself while in the situation to advocate for pagans, especially those in the system. But instead I hid that part of me and forgot so much of the wisdom and technique I knew. Yoga didn’t create that sense of balance and calm, meditation did nothing but put me to sleep, and I had an overall sense of numbness.

In 2004 it was time for a spiritual rebirth, I wanted to reclaim myself—to reflect who I am and what I hope to become. I finally got a tattoo that I had designed years before, and started to seek a new name. Many suggestions were raised, but none called to me. When I had nearly given up looking for a name it found me in an old mythology book. ‘Aradia’, the daughter of the Goddess Diana-- a feminist and hunter goddess of the moon, shown holding a bow and arrow. Aradia was her human daughter sent to earth as a teacher—she taught the world witchcraft. I wanted to be a teacher—not a school-teacher but a spiritual teacher of sorts. I understood that choosing a name with attribute you admire will, in time, bring out those attributes in yourself.

The sound, ‘Ah’ is a very powerful sound of rebirth, appropriate for me at the time, and still now as I learn and grow. Many spiritual teachers and mystics have the ‘ah’ sound in them. For easy reference, ‘Alah’, ‘God’ (say it like you are English), “Yahweh”, “Buddha”, “Ganesh”, “Diana”, “Aradia”. If you study the mudras at all you probably understand this more thoroughly than I do—basically the vibrations of many specific sounds move in sync with energy vibrations of the body’s energy fields and chakras, as well as energy fields in the Universe at large. So every time my name, Aradia, is said the sounds of “ah” is put into the Universe to help energize rebirth.

I choose four names to reflect the various aspects of myself that I wanted enhance, and to represent my own attributes. Aradia was the teacher; Morgana is a militant feminist; Rhiannon reflects my love of music and beauty, and of course Paganus is a hint at my spirituality; and a sign of my unwillingness to passively accept mass culture as good, just as those who defied the Roman conversion to Christianity.

Now, should I have had healthy, respectable, supportive parents—I most likely still would have changed my name. I don’t believe that changing one’s name is a sign of disrespect, in fact I see it as a sign of growth and enlightenment— traits for which parents should be proud of in their children. Many cultures have name changes for young adults to acknowledge their birth into adulthood. Additionally many cultures do not name infants for some time, until they have grasped the personality of the child. When the child’s personality changes so too does the name—or when the child’s lifestyle changes the name will change too.

As an example, if you have read or watched “The Memoirs of a Geisha” then you will note that as the lead character ages and her circumstances change there is always a name change involved--from her parents hut on the coast, to the servant child, to the Geisha trainee, to the ‘little sister’ and finally as a full Geisha.

My name change signified for myself a spiritual rebirth, a new start, and means of getting rid of a great deal of emotional baggage. My present name feels more a part of who I am than my old name ever did. Besides, I think it sounds beautiful!

Mending A Broken Heart

In the morning, after my alarm for my medicine has gone off I often can’t fall back asleep. Perhaps it’s the amphetamines… anyway there are days when I am so restless that I want to cry. It’s as it my heart is breaking—but in such a way as for it to heal; like breaking a bone that healed incorrectly in order to set it. It seems that a heart is harder to break and reset than bone, perhaps the material is too hard-- too much scar tissue-- that it must be broken in stages to maintain its structural integrity. (Just now I believe Josiah helped me with the words I was looking for ‘structural integrity’, thanks Josiah.)

I am overwhelmed at times by the love around me-- from Kyle and his family, from Jessica and Krista, Amanda, Aiyanna, from my cats (Kosmo especially), and from those not always as near to me as they used to be but still offering a sense of love and support for my well-being. There is more to this feeling than individual personalities consciously sending and receiving love—it’s an omnipresent unconscious, organic love. I want to say that I feel it from the earth, but its more than that- it’s from the universe, both physical and metaphysical. I suppose it would be defined as the love of the divine, some would personify the divine as God(s) or Goddess(es). There is duality there, whatever the semantics.

I both love and feel overwhelmed by this feeling, and I don’t believe that it is simply my medications- although, as much as I prefer not to give pharmaceuticals the credit, I do believe that they have helped me get through the numbness of depression so that I could feel this love. Of course there is no free lunch, it has also allowed me to feel very real pain that I have tried for years to bury. Some mornings the overwhelming love I feel seems to cradle me in such a safe place that I can simply cry. I am reminded of the James Blunt song, “Cry”:

I have seen peace. I have seen pain,
Resting on the shoulders of your name.
Do you see the truth through all their lies?
Do you see the world through troubled eyes?
And if you want to talk about it anymore,
Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,
I'm a friend.
I have seen birth. I have seen death.
Lived to see a lover's final breath.
Do you see my guilt? Should I feel a fright?
Is the fire of hesitation burning bright?
And if you want to talk about it once again,
On you I depend. I'll cry on your shoulder.
You're a friend.
You and I have lived through many things.
I'll hold on to your heart.
I wouldn't cry for anything,
But don't go tearing your life apart.
I have seen fear. I have seen faith.
Seen the look of anger on your face.
And if you want to talk about what will be,
Come and sit with me, and cry on my shoulder,
I'm a friend.
And if you want to talk about it anymore,
Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,
Once again.
Cry on my shoulder,
I'm a friend.

It is all a little overwhelming, but this is so much better than the alternative of living a half-life depressed and frightened. I am beginning to understand that I am safe now, that I have power and that I am in control of my own choices. This realization is both wonderful and unnerving at the same time. I am in control of my own choices. This implies that I am responsible for my own choices. No longer can I blame my family, my childhood, or anyone or anything else; of course I am fully aware that those factors my influence my range of options—but in the end I am the one who chooses. I have always been pro-choice and now I choose to own the power and responsibility that comes with that freedom.

With this new self actualization I am looking back to my ‘inner-child’, that part of myself who will always be a child, that part of myself that was damaged and never able to heal because she lacked guidance and nurturance. That part of me will never heal unless I take the time and energy to get to know her, accept her flaws and her uniqueness, her talents and dreams. When the concept of even acknowledging my inner-child was introduced to me I was surprised at my reaction. I was immediately and visibly anxious. My inner-child preferred to go hide, her nerves still painfully raw and unable to withstand critical scrutiny. My adult-self not willing to humble herself to her own inner-child’s level and accept her for her weaknesses, and unaware of her strengths; I realized that all the distain I typically have for older children is really a distain for myself at that age. It was the distain my mother and step-father had for me and either consciously or unconsciously programmed into me. This new awareness the my own self-loathing was causing my generalized negative bias toward older children has allowed me to reexamine how I express myself around them. What I needed as a child was an adult or authority figure to just talk to me in an honest way (with the understanding of my age and intellectual level). I cannot recall one genuine person in my life as a child; everyone was pretending to be someone they weren’t. I believe this has made it hard for me in the past to trust people who were genuinely nice, caring people. I always searched for signs of dissent in everything a person said, every look, the body language—I am sure this personality trait has saved me from many people who were dishonest or cruel, however I know that it has made it difficult for me to get close to some truly wonderful people who would have created healthy relationships with me.

I am aware that this may sound utterly selfish to many people, but it is important for me to spend time in self-reflection. I was, (and likely still am to some degree) a co-dependent. I didn’t realize that the co-dependent behaviors I had were classified and shared by others, I didn’t know that many people involved with addicts have co-dependent tendencies. It is not inherently bad to be co-dependent; the author of the book I read reminded the reader often that co-dependency is a normal reaction to unhealthy people. I do not know why or when my co-dependency began; but I do know when it was at its worst. Simply by understanding what co-dependency is I am now able to recognize when I get into a co-dependent line of thought or behavior and I can stop it.

To give credit where credit is due I have to mention Rajesh. I don’t know why he was led into my life or vise-versa, but I honestly believe it was of more benefit to me that it was to him. He was the force in my life that pulled me out of the cycle of co-dependent relationships, it is as if he pulled me from one side of a invisible wall that held me back from my goals, to the other where I can reconnect with myself, my dreams, my education. After he pulled me through I felt like a whole person—which wasn’t an entirely comfortable process. For sometime after my metamorphosis I was lost and confused; was I ‘middle-class’ now? I don’t need to worry about how to pay the bills? I don’t need to work for minimum wage for the rest of my life? I can not only finish my two year degree, I can pursue my BA and beyond! The doors swung open because Rajesh was there to point me in the right direction. I did stumble a few times but he was infinitely patient with me, helping me to my feet again and again-- even if he couldn’t understand the past experiences that caused me to be off balance.

Rajesh was the first person in my life that genuinely loved me for who I was—even though he saw the worst in me, he was able to forgive me even for those things which I am still unable to forgive myself for. I wish there was some way I could thank him for literally and figuratively—emotionally and spiritually-- saving my life. Though we aren’t together anymore (though still technically married), I do feel a profound sense of love (platonic), respect, and gratitude for him; everyone that loves and cares for me now should also be thankful for the effect that Rajesh had on my life. I was falling through the cracks of society, headed for a permanent full-time job at Starbucks and the status of a community college drop-out when he walked in for a soy chai latte and ended up taking me around the world and back. He opened my eyes to reality—both the physical and spiritual, he jump started my process of healing simply by supporting me and through his amazing capacity for patience and forgiveness. I can never thank him enough, and I hope that the universe repays him for all the wonderful things he has done for me and for those around him. I know that it is painful to help someone become a better person and then not have the opportunity to experience them healthy and happy, and I am sorry that I was not the right one for him. If I had been healthier before we met I would have been honest about my feelings for Kyle—in fact I probably would have already been with Kyle. Ironically I needed Rajesh in my life to help me find myself, in order for me to be mentally and emotionally capable of having a relationship with Kyle—(who I was in love with for years before meeting Rajesh, but incapable of committing to or being intimate with).

It does not seem fair to me that I gained so much from my relationship with Rajesh and for him to have only learned about heartbreak, betrayal, greed, distrust, anger, jealousy, and all the other vices I had- or introduced to his emotional palette. At one point he said to me that he wondered what horrible thing(s) he must have done in his past life to deserve to have met me. *ouch* But knowing Rajesh I most definitely deserved it; and he has since accepted my apologies for being a terrible friend, companion and wife. I was not emotionally mature enough to know what it meant to be in real relationship, let alone a marriage. His parents were right about me, they were right about the cultural differences affecting our relationship. The fact that I was ignorant or out-right opposed to aspects of my own culture compounded my sense of lacking control in India, and my sense of distrust of the people I met through Rajesh—I couldn’t understand the language, so I based my irrational suspicions of emotional treachery on body language—which I didn’t understand because of the cultural differences.

A person requires a stable foundation in order to build upon—I had all these experiences (mostly negative) piled up on a weak, unstable foundation. The experiences I had in India and through married life with Rajesh was the last straw and the whole thing came tumbling down. I lived with the rubble for a time, cataloguing what I had to build with, and what should be discarded. I was unable to do it alone; no one had taught me how to build a solid foundation, so each attempt I made at rebuilding collapsed with each breeze. The flood was the point at which I knew I would need professional help. I want a foundation that will withstand the strongest of storms, and thankfully I have found a wonderful helper in my psychologist. She is helping me sort the rubble, identify those pieces I really don’t need- the distractions; to create the pieces that were missing, and to design a foundation that takes into account all the aspects of who I am—all the roles I play, my values, goals, useful experiences and abilities—my past, present and future all accounted for and accessible for me to gain from. She has helped me create room for my spirit guides, and there is a tree house for my inner child to play in.

I am so thankful to the people (and creatures) in my life, to the universe and my spirit guides. I am thankful for myself, and proud (is that the word I am looking for?) of who am, who I was, and optimistic for the sparkling possibilities of who I will be- they are all part of me at all times. I think that will conclude this entry, I just feel so full of experiences that I want to record and share. I don’t believe that they are more profound than anyone else’s-- simply that they are my experiences and I love sharing myself through writing. I imagine that there are other people out there who can understand what I have experienced, or am experiencing. Perhaps my words will help them in some way, perhaps they have wisdom or an experience that they wish to share with me. If this is the case, please do not hesitate to leave a comment. I always enjoy getting comments—bearing one’s soul through writing is a generous act, and I am always appreciative when I get feedback, even simply ‘hi, read your blog.’

Annoyed by Premature Luddite Status

I have always been able to figure out HTML... to do a little fix here and a little cut and paste there and viola! The page is exactly how I want it to look. But now... now I just don't know. I am unable to figure out blogger. xHTML ?? CCS? WTF?

And something is up with photobucket. I couldn't get my above graphic to show up for my header. I had to add a html widget to my blog and put it up there instead. *sigh* and the colors, the fonts, the backround... its not exactly what I want. Not yet. Oh well. I am not sure who will read this, or how often I will post, or what I will post about.

For now however, I need to get off my tush and clean my apartment... maybe do some laundry. I am snowed in today and its been a very very lazy day. I just feel like curling up on the sofa with a warm cozy blanket and watching a good costume drama (preferably something ala BBC).

Okay. Here I go. *procrastinating* I will make a list, then I will visualize, then I will take action. Yeah. That is a good plan. *chuckling at self* Ohhh! Then I will give myself a manicure as a reward. Nothing as satisfying as a relaxing in the evening do nails surrounded by clean apartment. :D

Maybe later, since I am in a bloggy-mood I will elaborate some goals for the next year. :) Once my nails are dry of course.

My god, I wish I had the Food Network or Travel Channel. *sigh* I love PBS but sometimes I want to revel in cable-based corporately funded tv.