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To Live and not Just Exist

Choosing life, happiness, peace and joy. Oh and weight loss too

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Ponder

The joy of the dance

I got to thinking the other day about the music of our lives. How some songs stick with us through the years and remind us of better, or worse, times.

How the music of our parents reminds us of a war maybe, or a hardship, we did not personally live through.

How the music of our peers reminds us of a person, or a place long forgotten.

How the music that reaches down into our very substance and speaks to us can truly defines us. It is not necessarily good music, or well written. Or even popular. It is a chance meeting sometimes, lyrical beauty and depth hiding in the places you least expect to find them.

It is the songs of our innocence Pink Toothbrush by Max Bygraves. Of the times when dance and imagination and bravery and joy and solitude were the things that made us whole. When drama and performing were an option Yellow Submarine by the Beatles. Where Jeremiah was a Bullfrog by Three Dog Night was the best thing you ever heard, innocent and silly.

It is the songs of loss Amazing Grace by Celtic Woman sung at the funeral of a father you never really knew. And the song your mother used to heal herself We will meet again by Vera Lynn.

It is the songs of growing up where The Locomotion by Kyle Minogue was on everyone’s lips and we weren’t ashamed of it. Where the difference between a singing and speaking voice was endlessly debated Never gonna give you up by Rick Astley.

It is trying to find a place that accepts you, and liking what you think will find peace, and learning to love it for what it is –

Satan bites the dust by Carmen

The Champion by Carmen

It is the beginning of the formulation of your own musical identity –

Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen

Bed Of Roses by Bon Jovi

Losing My Religion by REM

Maria by Blondie

Bitter Sweet Symphony by The Verve

Take On Me by a-ha

Johnny Come Home by Fine Young Cannibals

“Welcome to the Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance

The list is too long to put here…

It is to this day the memory of some of the most beautiful music you remember hearing. The kind that they rarely make anymore –

The Rose by Bette Midler

Power Of Love by Jennifer Rush

It is falling in love with the songs that tell a story –

The River by Garth Brooks

The Thunder Rolls by Garth Brooks

The songs you love because you have to –

Jessie by Joshua Kadison

It is my God song –

Nothing Is Written by Mumford and Sons

And it is the song you identify most with –

I Lived by OneRepublic

There will be more. Songs that remind me of people, places, times and events. Some will be joyous, some traumatic and some sad.

Songs of love, loss, joy, triumph.

The songs that resonate with my soul.

Isolation

So my world crashed. I caught a cold. Big whoop I hear you say?

Sunday morning 2 weeks ago I had a thought of a thought that I may be getting perhaps a tad ill.

Sunday night I was vrot (in South African vernacular that means rotten).

Monday morning I went to the GP. Repeat Tuesday. Repeat Wednesday. Wednesday I was admitted to hospital. Fast forward 8 days and the Multi Drug Resistant Bronchospasm and asthma I have finally started letting up enough for me to be discharged.

Fast forward a further 6 days and I still feel vrot. Only difference is that now I have a nice doctors bill to pay off.

Add a touch of depressed, a sprinkling of steroid induced irritation and a boatload of I’m just so tired of this shit and you have something that approximates how I feel right now.

Then my sister, the only real family I have left that matters (apart from my mom that is elderly) mentions that for job security they may have to emigrate to New Zealand.

Last night was a blur of tears and sleep and tears.

I don’t quite know how I got to this place of isolation. This place of if my sister leaves I have no one to really lean on or rely on. This place of financial strain and physical ridiculousness.

This place of sadness.

Growing up I don’t remember having dreams of a family and kids and what what.

But surely I did?

And now I am here.

No family. No kids. Isolated perhaps, alone definitely. Not necessarily lonely. Just very alone.

How do you change a reality?

I wouldn’t even know where to start.

Enough

This blog is the place where I am fully able to be who I am – warts, freckles, fat rolls and all.

It is the place where truth needs to live, if I am to have any recourse from the lies I tell myself in my harshest moments.

Today is a harsh moment.

I woke up this morning and my brain chose to have a judgment day. And I was left wanting.

It is so difficult when you suffer from low self-esteem and you live alone. There is no gentle bolstering. No offhand kindness. There is just you and your brain in overdrive telling you what you are not.

Not thin.

Not fit.

Not in a relationship.

Not missed.

Not adored.

Not enough.

That last one echoes. Not enough. Never enough.

What is enough?

So as I sit here, I have my well-worn and well-rehearsed mantra running through my head on auto play. All of them truth or versions of my truth.

You are thinner than you were.

You are fitter than you were.

You are too independent to be in a relationship.

Your family loves you and would miss you.

Who needs to be adored?

You are enough.

But still the thought and the echo linger. Not enough. Never enough.

I am enough.

I am.

The Death of Friendship

I have a friend who believes that every person in our life, past and present, is there to fulfill a very specific purpose. She also believes that friends, while not only fulfilling a purpose, also cater to a very specific facet of our personality.

Say I have a silly side (so do), I have friends that compliment, elevate and sometimes even exaggerate that facet of who I am.

It follows then that when we go through dark periods, while we do indeed have friends full of light and love, we also draw to us the darker, the hidden agenda and the not always so good for us.

Sometimes we even survive them.

Life is ever changing though. Darkness becomes light, we grow and we hopefully find our joy again.

So what then becomes of these dark period friends? Not everyone is capable of change, of finding peace or hope or joy. And not everyone wants to.

In the face of obvious negativity or overwhelming bitterness, the choice and decision is easy to make.

Not so much when it is just an ‘unpresent’ friend. You know the kind. Always too busy. Never answer anything. When you do meet, usually by chance, they are the one who asks if you have put on weight. They are the gossips. The ones you have a sneaky feeling revel in the misery of others. But they never do anything obvious. And they have their good sides too.

I guess I am wondering when you call it quits? At the first veiled insult? At the tenth? Or is it much like a scale, with the good and bad balancing it out?

I’d like to think I am a good friend. The sad thought though is that I am probably someone’s ‘unpresent’ friend.

 

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