Living In a Dream State

Today I am thankful for the positive changes in my life 

and understanding that what hasn't been positive was just a lesson. 

I love my job.  

The only issue is finding myself fighting imposter syndrome. I have spent the past two and a half years working as a milieu counselor who was constantly told to be quiet, speak little, counsel but do no counseling.  In the end, I was chided constantly because rumor had it that whenever I spoke to people, I covertly hypnotized them. 

I did a bi-weekly meditation. This was possibly the closest thing to hypnosis I've done working in a drug and alcohol counseling hospital. 

I made sure to eradicate any usage of NLP or Ericksonian Language Patterns during my employment at this facility. 

It all started when my former boss found out I was getting licensed as a counselor.  I think she had a couple of former colleagues run around to dig up dirt on me.  Getting called into her office with gossip on a daily basis got old, so I left.  The gossip didn't end after I left so I finally just wound up blocking the old boss's phone number and the numbers of her cronies because it stressed me out too much to see her accusations via text. 

Sure, that's not professional behavior but it is life-affirming.  

It's strange how long it takes negativity to leave one's aura.  I still hate to check my phone.  I still doubt my capabilities as a counselor (even though I've been doing it far longer than my former boss). 

I doubt myself too much.  I find myself overthinking and messing up.  When asked to hypnotize someone, I took to heart the words of a nurse telling me it would piss off the CEO of the company. 

Well, I learned today that this is not the case.  I was hired because of my background. 

Now, it's time for me to hypnotize myself to get over the negative lessons of the past.  Maybe I'll contact a hypnotherapy trainer licensed in addiction counseling and ask for some clinical supervision. 

The beautiful part of this is that a couple of the patients at the former facility are patients at the facility I work at now.  The former patients will visit with me in the waiting room.  They've come so far! 

I'm excited for them.  It would seem that they, too, had to get away from the old facility. 

*****

It's been a while since I last wrote.  

It probably should go without saying that I have nightmares about a man from my past.  In many of the dreams he's injured or worse.  I literally cringe whenever I learn about someone dying while hiking or camping in the mountains. 

The last time someone showed me a story in which a man died hiking, I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized it wasn't the star of my nightmares. 

Sadly, it turned out to be another nurse/musician that I used to work with.  This guy was super funny.  He was silly but I think it was because the drugs he used to do fried away any of his inhibitions.  

Once he gave a woman pregnant with her first child a medical textbook on high-risk deliveries.  She was traumatized after looking at the pictures.  Fortunately, she agreed to trade the book for a copy of 'What to Expect When You're Expecting." 

Our last conversation was about his dogs.  He was hiking with them and sent around pictures of his doggies enjoying the trail. 

He breathed his last on a hiking trail. 

If my heart gets any heavier, that sucker is going to fall into one of my feet. 

****

So - 

I'm not freaking out any more.  I'm sad.  I'm possibly over eating. 

I'm in a cast and unable to exercise. 

I've gained 18 of those 30 pounds back (some of that weight could be the cast). 

I'm not feeling sexy at all. 

It's incredibly bizarre when hot men flirt with me. 

This happened today. 

I'm in a grocery store and this beautiful black man comes up behind me complaining that I'm in his way.  

I must have looked aghast because at this point, he grabs my hand softly and says he is just messing with me.  

It's not a shocking thing for anyone to say to me anymore.  I move so slowly with this lead foot and ankle, I feel like I'm always in the way. 

He tells me I'm beautiful 

(possibly a man's greatest get out of trouble card). 

Then he puts his hand on my should and .tells me that if I run off, he'll chase me. 

I smile and go about my business wondering why men always flirt with me when I'm 30 pounds overweight, my make-up has melted off my face, my clothes are dirty from a long day at work and my auburn curls are pulled into a scrunchie.  

I start my days at 4:30 a.m. now.  By the time 5:00 p.m. comes around, I'm exhausted.  

After a while, I finish up my shopping and head out to the car. 

I stop at the soda machine, wondering if caffeine could help me feel better. 

Then I hear it.....

a beautiful male voice singing - 

sounding like Al Jarreau singing the chorus of 'After All.' 

Someone hypnotized me!! 

Whoa....

I turn around as quick as I can in my cast 

and spy the beautiful flirtatious man looking at me and singing from the driver's seat of his pristine vintage 60's era T-bird. 

It was time to break the spell - 

I shook my head. 

I went back into the store and waited for him to drive off. 

It's still June, isn't it? 

Maybe there is an Asexual Pride Festival somewhere that can march some sense back into me. 

To tell the truth, 

my first thought was to actually chase after the car - 

not because the guy was flirtatious, gorgeous and sexy 

but because if I were to ever start an R & B band, he'd be the perfect lead singer. 

****

It dawned on me that the extra 30 pounds is useful.....

it keeps me away from men. 

The less I'm around men, 

the less likely I will be to get hurt.

Of course, then I have to remember that the weight strategy is a poor one.  All I have to do is listen to the Godfather of Soul, he'll explain it.   

Some people don't mind getting squished.   

The extra weight is just so damn hard on my knees and ankles. 

I realized, too, that I forgot to wear one of my fake wedding rings today. 

Sigh.....

I'll find a way to work out despite the cast. 

Or I could slap Charlie around more.  

It's not as bad as it sounds. 

Charlie is one of my bass guitars. 

Truth is, if I've got a beloved bass guitar in my hands, I'm less likely to have food in them.  Yeah, I gave up on that Bootsy Collin's fried chicken advice from a magazine a long ago.  The rose oil I use on my hands also gets the strings; it's just as greasy as fried chicken but is less fattening and smells better, too.  

*****

Hopefully, you've found the bullshit reasoning which causes my life to suck. 

Don't be like me, please live your life without fear.  It hurts less that way (even though I'll be the first person to lie to you and say that this universal truism doesn't apply to me). 

Know the truth of yourself. 

You're beautiful 

You're alive. 

So live as much as you can! 

Love ya, 

S. 

.