I honestly forgot this ‘Prose’ account existed until today. I saw 2 posts on my Facebook feed that inspired the following rant (which I thought would be more appropriate posted here than to that account):

It’s crazy, I saw the 1st photo on someone else’s post and it stuck out. All I could think of, was my Dad repeating himself for 27 years:

“What’s ‘The Golden Rule’, babygirl..?” We would always answer together, “Treat others how YOU want to be treated!”

(The 2nd post LITERALLY appeared right beneath the 1st. I was like hmmm..)

I love that my dad taught me that. I love that I took it so literally. This has been my go-to many, many, MANY times in life

If I was ever confused about how to respond to anyone I found myself remembering this message and acting on it.

I wish, though, that he or someone would have elaborated. I am a very literal person. I am intelligent, but I strugglewith these kinds of abstract ideas. The majority of my perspectives have certainly been black and white. It’s only in the past 2-3 years that I’ve discovered many grey shades on an infinite spectrum. I wish he could have anticipated that.

Maybe he couldn’t see the potential harm I’d receive as a result, maybe he had no idea how closely I did listen and apply anything he said mattered. If he had, I know he would warn me that some people don’t know the rule--that there are going to be times that I treat someone how I’d hope to be, and that is a beautiful act of humanity and love, but even so, I will be met with resistence, indifference, no reaction, or something worse.. Some people will take this as an invitation to drain me and that isn’t something to give in to. That they may or may not realize their response; doesn’t really matter because I am ultimately I’m charge of my energy and my love.

I wish he had explained without discernment, I would be taking good parts of myself away from the people who do respect/follow the rule. It would be just as bad as not following the rule if I nnecessarily wasted energy on people who won’t return it. Maybe, that initially I should always react as I would hope to be reacted to; but if there wasn’t kindness or goodwill reciprocated then or very shortly after, to refuse additional interaction.

To have had all of that explained would have allowed me to live out the standard my father wanted for me, without senselessly losing so much of my identity. Maybe, today I would have seen the first post without feeling it as applicable toward my story, moved on to the second photo and only held warm memories.

Thank goodness for insight and progress.

      The video hoe-ness is pretty irrelevant actually... I just happen to be finding solace in lots of hip hop and the videos which always include scan-dally clad women.. Their lives seem pretty fun and I'd like to try it out... So that's my nod toward my title. In case it deserved one (probably not).

     The painful part.... yeah. There's quite a bit tied up into it actually. I was hoping 27 was going to be the way my mother described it to me. Then again, most things have not panned out the way that women described them to me; so at this point I am on the verge of childish expectations... Not my style. Maybe expectations in general are something worth avoiding.

     Enough pussy footing around. The reason I am writing and am in pain is because of the way I am handling the slow, untimely, agonizing death of my extremely unconventional father. He taught me everything I know. The problem with that, is my painful awareness of how little I know in comparison with what I could know. I just ASSUMED I HAD TIME. He's always warned me about that. 

      You get bitter though, as a 10 year old female who cleans up after her alcoholic father when he goes on and on about the elusive deception of time. And a female's bitterness is inevitably her worst enemy... Therefore, I (as my sweet father would so lovingly state it,) "bit myself in the ass" by ignoring his warnings. 

     Now I scramble around during times when I perceive him to be coherent enough to give me something decent. Whether it's for the Will he expects me to compose (I'm a student of Psychology... not law... but that's another matter, and that I think horrifies him), or for a story to pass on to one of my beloved nephews or niece... I want all of the good, and to organize the negative neatly and properly... like the daughter of a good man would. 

       Like the daughter of a good man would. Chew that up and digest it. That's my reality. That's my goal. I just want to do what she would. I mean, daughter of a Harvard Alumni... Who would have dutifully followed his footsteps without question if certain complications (addiction, debt, race, etc.) hadn't threatened his carefully constructed reputation. 

      I, at birth, was everything that contradicted his legacy. White, freckled, red headed, light eyes, with an intelligence to match (if not challenge) his. I was not what he had hoped for or needed. The one after me was a boy who did terribly at school and excelled at art and baseball. My youngest sibling, she looked the part, dark and round; but her academics were not what he had in mind. So at about 11 years old I went from being his biggest mistake to his only hope. I did not understand how any of these things worked... especially  not the human ego. I stopped having rules and this confused me because they kind of mandated the way I balanced my academics and my nerdy social time which was theater and music and art. 

      Within 3 years.... Lots had happened. Add 15 more... I'm taking care of him just like always... but this time ushering him into death. without a single golden nugget from his supposed vast source of royalties. I'm not angry, I'm not sad, or feeling shorted. I just wonder if had been healthy what he would have taught me. 

     Would he have wanted me to forgive him as many times as I have? Would he continue to treat me like someone who made a mistake but made amends? Would he have given me more knowledge or support?

      I hope not. I hope if anything that man would have given me tougher more distant love. Showing me his sadness and anger when nobody could handle him. That's what I needed. Because him and my mother made another addict when they made me.. and the greatest kindness my father bestowed on me was letting me be without while piling emotional wreckage all over me everytime we interacted. It gave me a rea idea of what addict life could be. 

      I love that man to the end of this world. Anything he needs now or ever, is done as far as I am concerned. Can I say I am a positive product of all this?? no. I'm not. 

but i'm thinking and trying to figure out how to be. 

     I found an image on Pinterest with prompts for 30 days worth of gratitude. I am a firm believer in mindfulness and the power it has on the human psyche. So I'm going to use these prompts for the next 30 days to inspire a bit of writing, as I have been neglecting my Prose account lately. 

     #1- What smell are you grateful for today?

     Today I am grateful for the smell of my boyfriend's him-ness. He doesn't wear cologne except for on special occasions, so that isn't what I mean. Although he's yummy and lovable out of the shower, that's not quite the scent either. 

     It's when I roll over in the middle of the night and bury my face in the hair on his chest. When we're making love and my face fits perfectly between his broad shoulder blade and sturdy neck. It's long hugs when he comes home from working out of town and my face is buried in his crew t-shirt. It's a less potent version of when he comes inside from a long sweaty run.  

     A mix of musk with a very sweet undertone, hints of cigarette smoke and his soap. Aside from his hands that are callused from hard work, his skin is firm and smooth. Something about the way his big muscles stretch beneath the surface holds the smell in a very pleasing way. Just below his ear where his jawline and beard are bordered it's strong and wonderful. I kiss him there as much as I can. 

     He's absolutely delicious and I am addicted to most everything about him. I'm thankful for the way his pillows hold that scent and comfort me when he's off working hard. I'm thankful to know and love him, and that he and his beautiful smell are a perfect part of this very imperfect world. 

When you feel super energized and inspired to write, but your brain is so on point with that task that the topics, and details, and wordplay, are being generated at a rate too fast to organize or compose....

Time to bust out that creepy ass coloring book.

     Memories of my very early girlhood consist mainly of running around nude or playing dress-up. Those were the only two modes I can recall. As I grew older, the opinions of others and my perception of their opinions governed too much of my life. Thank goodness that is no longer the case. My Pre-K self was experiencing a precious and short-lived phase of life where no fucks were given.  

     I grew up in AZ so the diaper was probably hot and itchy. A 4 year old getting her dress-up on solo is a very brutish version of womankind's most prized past time. I wasn't prepping for a kiss with Prince Charming (COOTIES!!!). I also wasn't showing up any other ratchet peasant wannabe princess bitches. I hadn't experienced that sort of competitive stimulus yet (and my baby sis was still an infant, incapable of the game and emotionally unequipped for that sort of domination). All of this in mind, and understanding that I have always, by nature, been an eccentric, curious, artsy type of freakazoid. It's a safe bet I was pretending to be someone else. Most likely someone I saw on a movie or read about. I was doing it because I was enjoying it. There was no thought given to my body or how not looked or whether anyone liked looking. I just was.

     Fast forward one short year and that sweet liberty I had so childishly squandered was no more. It was my first time going shopping for 'School Clothes'. Initially I was excited at the prospect. The clothes weren't the selling point, I was just ecstatic to be starting school. Not many milestones have topped that enthusiasm, but I'm a nerd. My usual cheerful optimism didn't make it with me very far past the dressing room.

     I was a cute kid. I was never obese or even overweight. I was the miniature of an hourglass figure in the making (the final product making a pretty LEAN hourglass with all the right fluff in all the right spots). But kids are awkward; growth spurts, mullets(my mother's sabotage), lost teeth, Etc. I had a kindergarten-level ghetto bootie and a little fat storage in the Tum. I was actually right on the verge off growth spurt so I am calling the temporary muffin top a win.

     Until the day in the fitting room, I'd never considered myself ugly. I never considered myself pretty either. I was just Andi. Adults pinched my cheeks and called me a cutie but I figured that was standard adult-child interaction.

     I did as I was told and picked out some outfits that I would want to wear to school. The responsibility of that task went to my head a little. I found stuff that was probably ridiculously colorful and sparkly because:

     1. I had just seen Selena

     2. It was NOT just a phase 

     My mom became very frustrated after trying on 2 or 3 outfits because the butt was an issue. She proceeded to unload 34 years worth of self-hating delusional body image bullshit on me. Didn't even hand me the next pair of shorts. It was me and my big girl- no- my super unprepared little girl pants around my ankles soaking in all her toxicity as if it were fucking gospel.

     She apologized because she, "Really thought clothes shopping could be fun for us. Well, I just want you to accept the facts Andi. You've got a fat ass just like your mother. You'll be in the stores and see cute little tops or dresses that you'd love to wear, but you won't be able to. You are not one of those fucking stick figure heroine super models. You aren't now and you never will be! You won't grow any taller than me (she's 5'4) so the legs will be too long and your ass won't fit. It just gets worse as you age. I pray you at least get some tits as a consolation. (Mom was rockin a 36 DD at that time, and I did continue the legacy. My contribution being just a tad improved of course at a 32 DD) And don't get me STARTED on losing the baby weight." 

     I was in tears. I couldn't understand what I had done to upset my mother so badly. In my eyes, she was the most beautiful lady in the world(She's no Cindy Crawford but she IS and WAS gorgeous, 5 lbs. if any, overweight at that time). I was sad she didn't see her beauty. I was sad she had successfully rated me somewhere in the vicinity of hagsville with herself and doomed me to remain at that level of undesirability for forever.

     From then on it was something I was hyper aware of. How bad was my tummy poking out? How skinny or fat were all the other girls in my vicinity? How skinny or fat were they compared to me? It was an obsession by 4th grade.

     By 6th grade I began 'dieting'. It meant I only ate granola bars and drank diet soda. I'm sure that was great nourishment during my growth spurts. I was at a normal weight. In fact, I was gorgeous. The hourglass was really starting to come about, and at this point it was very NOT awkward. Could I see that? Did I enjoy indulging in a little adolescent vanity? No and no. My moms word trumped reason and sanity at that point. At this point her meltdowns became more often, more severe, and less predictable. Apparently I was her favorite audience to show for.

     By 8th grade I was just getting my cycle and put on about 10 lbs. during that big life change. My life was over. I had to do something and make it happen fast because this was just inexcusable of me. I couldn't face my friends. I stayed home as much as I could get away with. I was afraid to turn anorexic because of the ridicule I'd get from my family. So I decided to let them see me eat and sneak away to purge. Bulimia accompanied me into my early 20's.

     In 9th grade I drank alcohol because my parents allowed it. I smoked pot because they forbade it. I vowed against anything harder because I still had the goal of earning my way into college via my grades. By homecoming my best friend was begging me to try this new thing with her. I was shutting her down before she could try. She promised me it's almost just like pot but you're a little more active. I told her, "I never want to do meth. It has torn holes in my family and made my life difficult". But this wasn't meth, it's newer than that. Something called 'G'. And her sister had lost 10 pounds after being on it for two weeks.

     DING DING DING! Oh I tried the G-Meth in all it's white trash glory. I lost weight, and I was hooked on that shit for 5 years, the better part of my teen years. And when I got clean I was also facing a possession charge. I was offered a diversion program for a lesser charge. I accepted it in an instant. Somehow my mind was still on school and I believed I could get that going once I cleaned this up.

     The only catch about that program, it averaged about $2500/month for 18 months. I was completely on my own financially and in every other way. I was barely surviving. I wanted to do more than just survive. I wanted an opportunity to pursue my goals and build a better life than I was born to. I was not going to let one of my final acts as a junkie ruin my reputation forever. I had to make it work. I did some research about the strip clubs in PHX and got myself hired on the spot at my first audition at one of the top 3 clubs. I also held myself to very strict rules concerning working sober, NEVER working outside the club or escorting, keeping a schedule, income goal, etc.

     I thought I had a fool proof plan to make this hustle painless. I remained disciplined, professional, that was all great. I still hadn't faced my demons regarding my opinions on myself though. That's one of those skeleton's in the closet who won't stay put. These internal battles where you are your enemy, and you know the score; those are the fights you can't cheat. These are the ones that have potential to improve a person on a deep level and see how much will they're made of.  

 I didn't believe I was beautiful. I was further from believing it than ever. I got paid to be sexy, and I couldn't handle my reflection. I just considered myself the token dork girl who got lucky. Looking back I try to understand that delusion I was under. Countless events and relationships would never have occurred if my perception were valid.

     If I had a Psychological Evaluation done back then, I honestly believe I could have qualified as someone with Body Dysmorphia Disorder. I still made it to work 5 days a week, every week for 4 and a half years. I didn't run in blindly. I had some little bullshit I fed myself. I consciously thought of my breasts and my bootie as some object that I rented out a 4 hour shift at a time. I relied heavily on my music to get through my stages. When I gave lap dances, I had a set of motions I would go through and repeat (nobody noticed in 4.5 years), I didn't make eye contact or look at mirrors during lap dances. The chatting part of the hustle? I was born for that, one thing I do have is the gift of gab and that got me far. Sadly, I valued my body 0% that's a shame because I could have enjoyed those years in the clubs so much more had I realized I was one of the hottest girls every time I went into a club. 

      It was like being an insecure school girl again, but heightened x1000. How many skinny girls? How many fat girls? How many girls with bigger boobs than mine? Bigger boobs but smaller waist?..... It was incessant. I made good money during those years, but imagine if my focus had been on the customers instead of the dancers. I guarantee you I eyeballed those females more than any of the guys at the bar. Imagine if I walked up to those guys knowing what I know now about myself. I got paid to dance but I could have been getting paid to have a good time and feel comfortable in my skin.

     A lot happened after that. A combination of putting boundaries up with my family, going to counseling, learning how to eat for nourishment. Then there were some hard lessons, balanced out by some awesome happy things. Now I know without a doubt, I am smart and talented and drew a lucky hand on the DNA gamble so I look alright too ;) . 

     Inner peace is something that won't be taken from me unless I relinquish it and that's powerful. Right about the same time I was advancing heavily into my self-work, my life started improving in strange unexpected ways. I am the same girl I always have been inside and outside, but I love that girl now. People can feel that, whether its conscious or not. If I had known the change in people I'd be drawing to myself by giving myself love, I would have done this long ago. They like that you love yourself and want that for you. They probably have or are working to have something similar, so those friends/ lovers bring a lot of positive and joy around. 

     Think back to your sweet, young, happy, self and tell me, are you nurturing him/her? Or are you piling on top of the mountain of garbage the world already feeds us? BE GOOD TO THAT KID!!! And be a positive influence on the other children in your world. Let's take what we were given and leave these kids something better. 

     Oh, and as for my mother; she looks 15 years younger than she is and I find her adorable(as do most people who know her). She is at a different point with her self-acceptance, but she is treating herself more kindly and living more happily. I love her, and while I've been on my journey she's been on hers. That woman has brought herself back to life again. It's different than my journey and I accept that and thank God he granted me and my mother our lessons in the best ways we could understand and grow into as individuals.

Rob; you sweet, perfect being,

Your eyes are what my dreams are made of,

The way you walk when ya don't see me watching,

You are a gentle sensitive soul who lives with conviction and strength,

I see you taking action to keep your life improving,

Still making time for those you love and their path and their needs.

If I observed you without ever interacting,

I'd know a rare treasure was standing in front of me,

You have strong  passion,

Keep an open mind to new things,

Anywhere you go, you become a part of someone's day,

Your beautiful spirit flows out of you-genuine,

Into every conversation,

Curiosity fuels your interests,

I love your level of commitment.

I'd be fired as a guardian angel,

There'd be no way to hide me falling in love with you,

You'd know a pure love from my heart,

Because I saw someone live and laugh and love so hard.

I couldn't stand knowing about you from afar,

Fortunately we are how we are,

There's something else about you,

It catches my attention and it's obviously active,

That quality that makes you very much a man,

You're rugged and brave,

And not much bullshit you tolerate,

When you act and speak with authority,

I bite my lip- submissive to your virility.

You're not just strong and smart and sweet,

When you  let loose it makes me feel free,

You're kind of a bully and you got mad jokes,

I used to try to play mad but my character broke,

And usually at some point in the night,

When I don't expect it you grab me tight,

You tickle me, kiss me, say 'Let's look at the Stars',

I love you always,

Baby this world is ours.

     Sitting on the back patio watching you, watch the storm. There's silence between us, and the night is full of sound. Crickets are chirping, the breeze is rustling the trees, and stray cats' claws scratch the chain link. Lightning flashes sporadically; a prefix for the distant thunder's resound to fill the night.

     Your hands are usually busy, but I find you sitting with them folded in your lap. You usually work on the yard when you're out here, water the garden at least. I see you deep in thought tonight, drinking in the desert and her monsoon. You aren't interested in conversation. The lack of interest is not a result of some animosity as I may usually deduce. Your mind is somewhere else and it's clear that's where you ought to be.

     I want to warn you that you don't possess the answers you are seeking. I'm inclined to advise you to focus your energy on distraction instead of the deep contemplation that's consuming you. This is a process with many steps and grey areas. You find yourself more apprehensive than you have ever been. Patience and diversions will serve you well during this process. Resist the hasty urges to know everything at once. The wisdom I intend for you is not spoken, it is willed in my action and written here. I'll do my best to avoid any discord.

     I have never experienced the symptoms and ailments that bombard you randomly. I don't know how you feel, or how to soothe you. Altruism is my objective. I will focus on benefiting you instead of mourning the inability to cure you. I'll focus on staying objective. I can make close observations and communicate them. I promise to love you on the good days and the bad days, until you're well and forever after.

     You lose your memory at random times and experience some other miscellaneous physical symptoms. That must be frightening, and I wish I could make it stop. In March and before, situations like these did not exist in our lives; there weren't even instances that could allude to such a reality. But April came, and so did this strange affair. 

     I need to remind you of something so that you realize we are on the same team. We have more in common than you may think. When I was 23, I was healthy. Another day when I was 23, I was blindsided by illness that looked one way and behaved another. Initially it was migraines. I was told migraines, but as soon as those were maintained more symptoms began.

     A year and a half later I was agreeing to an emergency laparoscopy with an OBGYN who I'd met the same evening. What do migraines have to do with my sex organs? How desperate was I, to elect for an emergency surgery as a means of diagnosis? (it was a frantic last resort to finding a diagnosis, my first surgery and I was terrified) IF the diagnosis was there, then maybe he could treat the issue at hand during surgery. The good doctor was able to diagnose me, I had something called endometriosis.  

     I was relieved to have answers after a dozen ER visits in 2 years. I'd been told I was having burst ovarian cysts, tubal pregnancies, miscarriages, or the favorite: un-diagnosed abdominal pain. Now I knew what was causing the hemorrhaging and pain; but the surgery didn't do much for my symptoms. Doc had another response in the form of an injectable hormone therapy called Lupron. Low-dose birth control pills had given me severe depression and anxiety in the past, so this drug sounded scary but I was determined to get out of pain.  

     The fifth month of my Lupron treatment I went to a scheduled appointment feeling very odd. When the doctor came into the room, I broke down and explained to him that the physical side effects and rapid weight gain were all bearable. The empty depression and lack of purpose inside me along with the raging anxiety were unbearable. I told him that I was afraid I may end up doing something to hurt myself if I find myself alone in a weak state of mind. I clarified that this is not normally an issue and that the hormone is the only variable factor that could be influencing me so strongly. He apologized and explained I was having an extremely rare reaction. His apology went deeper when he informed me that it was his obligation to have me admitted to a behavioral health facility for psychiatric evaluation. I had to stay in a psychiatric hospital for a week because of my medicine. There, they prescribed me another medicine, with side effects of hyperthyroidism and vertigo that took effect after taking it for 14 days. This wasn't the scenario where I could just discontinue my doses of the medicine. I also had to seek out a neurologist and see him every month for 8 months to obtain Valium as a combatant to the vertigo. Another necessity was remaining under an endocrinologist's observation for 12 months to monitor my thyroid and ensure it returned to acceptable levels.

      At the time I was certain that had to be the end of the issues. It wasn't fair, I had always maintained a pretty healthy life, and I just knew that if anything else happened I would lose my sanity. More things did happen. Completely unrelated, obscure symptoms that were more painful than any I had encountered so far. I didn't pursue anymore medical care until the pain in my joints was so severe that it kept me up most nights. 

     Denial and I held steadfast in the beginning; but eventually rationality had me questioning if I had inherited an illness. The nice part about pursuing this diagnosis was that there were no ER visits, no surgeries. I simply had to request a blood test. So when the results came back with astronomically high indications of a positive result I found another doctor. She repeated the test along with some others and this time my rheumatoid factor was even higher.

     At the age of 26, I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid arthritis. I am told there is no cure, only maintenance. Arthritis is a natural deterioration of bone and tendon with injury and wear of aging. Rheumatoid arthritis is an Autoimmune disorder. RA patients' immune systems attack the patient's joints as if they were a foreign body or illness. The immune system is slowly paralyzing the patient's ability to move.

     You tell me that you are losing your mind and that you almost made it 40 years. We do not know anything except that doctors in the ER ruled out tumors with an MRI. These symptoms are just starting and if we stay proactive who knows what diagnosis and treatments we will discover. My fate is sealed, every part of my journey toward quality health the past 5 years all ties together with the autoimmune disorder. fMy body IS eating itself. I can barely regulate hot and cold anymore, and I used to be such an active outdoor girl. Even though I do have these diagnoses, I will continue to fight for treatment in pursuit of a quality life because I deserve that.

     I remember the hopeless terror that is not knowing; I began to think I wasn't sick at all and that I was imagining the pain. The worst part is looking for the answer to: 'what?'. What is it that I have and what does that mean? Once you have that information, accepting and building a plan is tangible. We are close, and I am here for you, so please stay strong.

     If you need more nights like tonight where you spend quality time reflecting, I understand. If you want me to distract you, we can do that too. Illness is a cruel part of this life that we can't prepare ourselves for. If we have to go through it, at least we are together. I am here for every chapter and I extend all of my unwavering strength, courage, and serenity for you always. 

The calm before the storm,

It's what they warn me about,

The storm is what I crave,

A reprieve from this sweltering reality.

These days grow long,

And as the sun gains height in it's sky,

It shines hot and loud on my imperfections,

Heavy air gives no promise of relief,

And I am weary.

Clouds gather in the distance causing a rise in atmospheric pressure,

It wakes me from a restless nap,

My arthritic skeleton bows under the invisible weight,

The cigarette I light is almost painful in the heavy heat.

Across the valley I see my maker's latest work,

Watercolor on his favorite canvas- desert sky,

I enviously anticipate a taste of that masterpiece,

A few moments of the kind of shower that can wash away pain and sin.

The air goes from heavy to still as the afternoon quickly darkens,

It is a peaceful blanket and soothing in every way,

A compassionate breeze delivers strange electricity,

The raw beauty of dangerous lightening flash across the darkness,

Illuminates a captivating contrast on the ever changing canvas,

This artwork comes with sound,

Each flash causes a majestic thunderous roar.

The climax of the storm,

This is what I've waited for,

Suddenly cool showers of water fall on and all around me,

Quenching everything I love,

The smell of wet desert is a sweet rare thing,

I stand in it and smile because I made it through the pain another day.