Well, That Happened.

Demons.

Funny, part of the reason I started this blog about demons is because I've always liked the misunderstood. I believe there's good in everything, even the Tea Party, even Evanescence, even demons. The way I see it, they're all just doing their jobs. (Like the Tea Party's job is to keep me fighting for universal health care, equal rights, freedom of choice, and all my other liberal beliefs, and Evanescence's job is to make me stop listening to work-place radio.)

Demons simply do what they do, whether its torturing humans or just acting ugly. They don't mean to be "evil", its just our perception of the effect they have on our lives- if you even believe in demons, because you can't get hurt by something you don't believe in... right?

Sigh. Let me tell a personal story and see if I can answer my own question.

The truly observant may have noticed I've been off the radar lately- particularly where this blog is concerned. It's a long boring story to everyone but my mom, but the bullet points are:
- I got my heart broken.
- Had a nervous breakdown.
- Haven't written a word.
- Am still recovering.

Because these bullet points are reading far more dramatic than I anticipated, I'll flesh each out a little.

Heartbreak: It's happened before, it'll happen again, but this one was the nastiest motherfucker to date. Not because of what any guy or girl did to me, but because of what I did to myself. I can't attribute this heartbreak to anyone but me. I broke my own heart. I'm my own bad boy.

Breakdown: I use the word flippantly. I didn't get a diagnosis from a doctor. But I did need help. Lots and lots and lots of help, and I found it with my spiritual practitioner. What I call "breakdown", she calls "spiritual transformation." Spiritual transformation sounds groovy, spacious, and smooth. To me "breakdown" more reflects the choking, desperate, writhing place I found myself in. I do like the movement and hope embodied in the word "transformation" rather than the dead-end that "breakdown" invokes... okay, fine, spiritual transformation.

Haven't written: I really haven't done much of anything beside reflect. And listen to endless TED Talks. For the first few weeks, being upright was a major accomplishment. My Type-A Barbie is doing her best not to whine and judge and remind me that writing is what we do! And if we don't do what we do all the time, how do we ever expect to get paid to do what we do?! ...she's trying.

Recovering: Sometimes I feel awesome, sometimes I feel stupid, sometimes I feel like I can conquer the world, sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough to eat. The point is I'm feeling. And feeling means I'm living. And living means I'm not still curled up in a tight little ball in my comfy chair.

...What was my point? "If you don't believe in something, can it hurt you?" was my question.

I hurt myself, I broke my own heart, because somewhere deep inside I believed I wasn't good enough. This belief was so deep and ingrained, I thought it was a fact of life, like my heart beat or my brown eyes. This belief was my default.

Over the course of the last two months I've begun to re-program my thinking. Contrary to what I would prefer, it takes longer than a weekend in bed to exorcise a demon I've had for a lifetime, but at least I'm aware now. For the most part. Enough to know "I'm not good enough" is total bullshit. And awareness is a wonderful gateway drug to healing, acceptance, and love.

So can something I no longer believe in hurt me anymore?

No. It fucking can't.

It feels good to be back. (Barbie just died from yessing too hard.)

The Me In The Mirror

I had a moment of clarity today. I spend lots of time avoiding moments like these because of how I feel now. Which is kinda sick, sorta crappy, and altogether terrified. What blows is this is coming on the heels of a great weekend.

I had the kind of weekend you wish you had every day: friends, dancing, laughing, even some precious me time thrown in for good measure. Then Monday came, and life came, and a few things I was expecting to happen didn’t happen, and I blamed myself because I control the world, don’t I? Well, I try to anyway.

This is all preamble to the real story that happens here: My day screwed up in five – yes, I counted FIVE – different ways that landed me at my grocery store at the same time as an ex. 

Mr. X haunts me- I see him around the city all the time. We've never spoken or even made eye contact because he’s in his car and I’m in mine. Yes, its always those weirdly random street pass-bys that I would have totally missed if I wasn’t looking up at the perfect moment. But I’m not talking about this when I use the word “haunting.”

Mr. X haunts me because he represents everything that’s wrong- er, challenging about me. All of my fears, my limitations, the ways I’m ugly are embodied in this dude. I think it’s obvious why I had to stop dating him.

So anyway, I drive into the lot, see his car, freak, and park. I consider sitting in my car and sweating my balls off until I see him drive away for a moment... then two.. then…

I check the mirror. I look like crap. It doesn’t matter. I’m going in to buy the damn honey I need to make the damn bread I need. I decided: I REFUSE TO LET MY LIFE BE DEFINED BY THE THINGS THAT ARE WRONG WITH ME– sorry, the things I think are wrong with me – ANYMORE.

I walk in with the determination and speed of a racehorse. I’m shaking. Honey, honey, where’s the fucking honey… I try to sneak glances around my blinders. The point wasn’t to run into him and have the awkward, “hey, how are you, feel like hooking up sometime?” conversation. The point was I was in control. I was in charge. Not my fears, insecurities, shame, limitations, unworthiness, doubts, etc.

I found the honey. I stopped by the fresh flowers and picked some out for my kitchen. I remembered I needed yogurt. As I walked to the checkout I saw him leaving and I almost threw up with relief-

He turned!

It wasn’t him. I almost threw up again. My hands were still shaking as I paid for my groceries and shoved them into my leopard print grocery bag. I was paces away from the exit. If I was every going to run into Mr. X, now was the time. I swallowed against the lump in my throat and kept my eyes open as I walked out into the hot sunshine.

I did it.

His car was still there. He was still inside. I walked past the car and let out a sigh of relief- my breath caught.

It wasn’t his car. Yes, it was a dirty piece of crap, but it was a newer model and had an entirely different nose- Whatever, it definitely wasn’t his car.

I slid into my hot car. I was okay. I was never in any danger. Of course, I was never in any danger, the whole damn episode was a figment of my imagination. And yet the feeling of gratitude and accomplishment washed over me.

I had just faced my biggest demon: ME. All the not-perfect things balled up into one person who I thought was buying groceries.

I got fired up. Fuck my imperfections, my ego, my shame, my selfishness, my fear… None of it matters if I can stand up to it and risk staring it in the eye. I mentally high-fived myself with a “fuck yeah!” and drove home.

I wish the story ended here. But it doesn't.

When I got home I began the recipe I needed the damn honey for and listened to a Ted Talk I found on vulnerability. The speaker talked about knowing you are enough. And I cried.

Because 10 minutes after my biggest win to date, my mind still drifted to what I didn’t have and why I didn’t have it. The things I wanted so badly to happen that hadn’t happened yet, and why it was all my fault. I realized that I couldn’t even ride the wave of being enough for 10 minutes before I returned to beating myself up for things that were beyond my control.

So how do you do it? How do you know you’re enough? And how do you keep knowing it over and over in the face of everything you’ve been taught since you were born that suggests the opposite?

I don’t know. I’m just going to keep trying to remember and know I'm enough, because its all I can think of. But I promise, when I figure it out, I’m going to tell you and my friends and strangers and the world until everyone knows what it feels like to win all the time, not just for a 10-minute drive.

Intimacy Issues

That's me. I love you or I don't care- there is no middle ground, no delicate dance of compromise and finesse. Tall, thick walls compartmentalize the different arenas of my life: love, family, work, expression...

Even my baby-blogs. Uptempo Plum is where I post my mushy personal musings; Demon Sauce, is where I work it like a school project. Or so it started anyway...

Lately, I've found life getting kinda blurry as my demons blast through the heart-shaped wall I so fervently bricked and cemented, spraying pink mist and mush over my perfectly pressed outfits and ruining my make-up. It's a good thing, people tell me, to explore your yin and yang and lose your mind and put yourself out there and let people in and all that crap. Therefore, in an effort to be a more fully realized person I'm taking a HUGE step and...

I'M MERGING MY BLOGS...
...crickets...

I said, I am merging my blogs. Together. Intimate-like. Like the Brady Bunch.

Still nothing...? Huh.

It's kind of a big deal. Walls are coming down, guys! Songs are written about unions like this! My Type-A Over-Achiever Barbie is letting my sensitive, brooding Emo Ken move in to the Barbie Mansion with all his knats and baggage and- stop rolling your eyes!

Well, I think is a big fucking deal and I'm pretty puffy about the whole thing. Uptempo Plum is on hiatus, past Plum posts are now integrated into Demon Sauce, and Demon Sauce will serve as my only blog until further notice. I'm choosing to go with hiatus rather than straight retirement because I'd have babies with the name "Uptempo Plum" if I could, but also in case Barbie and Ken don't work out.

Baby steps, y'all...

Katanikotael

I've got the Mondays. I'm doing everything in my power to lighten up, distract myself, but I can't get away from a particular uuuuggggggghhhhhhhh feeling. So I turn to KATANIKOTAEL.

Katanikotael (Let's shorten that to Kat, hmm?) is a spiteful bitch. He gets you in your home- strife, unrest, flaring tempers, and unease. He's a zodiac demon, lounging somewhere in the declans of the zodiac. While most zodiac demons have a specific angel assigned to them to drive them away (My head flashes to Ron Artest guarding Paul Pierce. Bad analogy for 32 reasons.), this doesn't apply to Kat. Instead, to drive Kat from your home you need a cure of laurel leaves, holy water, and meticulousness. I interpret this as the difference between having a reinforced termite-proof house foundation and having to call an exterminator to tent your termite-weakened home as it falls down around your head. Both ways deal with your pests, just one results in far less cost and destruction.

Of course I recognize as I keep trying to pre-empt my own personal uneasiness with diverting blog posts and plans to redo my bathroom, I am trying to cohabitate with my case of the Mondays instead of starting to holy some water for a damn cure. Oh, you effing Mondays...

The Mondays are the silliest and stupidest of the modern demons. They are a glorified hangover. They are only effective on Monday, unless Monday was a holiday. In that case, Mondays double their strength and descend on Tuesday. They make you eat lousy food to fill the yearning-shaped hole in your soul. The antidote to the Mondays is a good night's sleep. They are innocuous and nothing worse than kinda bratty. The only actual danger of the Mondays is their ability to mask a real problem.

I had an office job once, and the Mondays sucked the life from me so much I could barely keep upright at my desk. It's just Monday, I would reason. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow wasn't better. My Mondays grew to stretch from Sunday night to Friday at about 3pm. I realized the week-long Mondays were hiding a very real depression. I never had an office job again.

My challenge today is to determine: Do I really have a case of the Mondays or am I dealing with a Kat-sized demon? I guess I'll know for sure tomorrow morning. Meanwhile, where do you get laurel leaves?

*Thanks to "Dictionary of Demons: Names of the Damned" by Michelle Belanger. Llewellyn Publications, 2010