Question:
Skip to bottom for my comments Pharmacol Biochem Behav 2001 Jul-Aug;69(3-4):535-42 Blockade of drug-induced deficits in prepulse inhibition of acoustic startle by ziprasidone. Mansbach RS, Carver J, Zorn SH. Department of Neuroscience, Pfizer Global Research and Development, Eastern Point Road, 06340, Groton, CT, USA Ziprasidone, an antipsychotic with efficacy against core symptoms of schizophrenia and schizoaffective disorder, has a low incidence of extrapyramidal syndrome (EPS). Because of its high 5-HT(2A)/D(2) binding-affinity ratio and low EPS liability, ziprasidone is considered to belong to the newer class of "novel" antipsychotics typified by clozapine. Its unique pharmacological profile, however, distinguishes it from other novel agents. We evaluated ziprasidone in the prepulse inhibition (PPI) model, which is sensitive to clinically active antipsychotics. Male Wistar rats were tested in acoustic startle sessions in which some startle-eliciting stimuli were presented alone, and others were preceded by a weak prepulse. Administration of the dopamine agonist apomorphine (1 mg/kg) or the N-methyl-D-aspartate (NMDA) antagonist ketamine (10 mg/kg) significantly disrupted PPI. When coadministered with either of these compounds, clozapine (1-5.6 mg/kg sc) and ziprasidone (5.6-17.8 mg/kg po) significantly attenuated the declines in PPI. Haloperidol (0.03-0.56 mg/kg) also attenuated drug-induced deficits in PPI but to a lesser extent (and at higher doses) with ketamine than with apomorphine. Together, these data confirm that ziprasidone shares common effects in PPI models with other novel antipsychotics. Ziprasidone’s affinity for non-D(2) receptors in the central nervous system may partly account for its attenuation of ketamine’s effect. ===== Uhhh. I think this one may also knock you on your keaster. I’m not so sure dopamine is not the one you want to block. NMDA antagonism doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But serotonin? You know what’s funny is that they like to give antidepressants along with antipsychotics. SSRI block the reuptake of serotonin so you don’t have a serotonin deficit, while APs block serotonin receptors. What they hell. They want to block everything. For sure you won’t be miserable then, Ain’t nothing will be happening in your head. Maybe I’m missing something, Maybe polymorphs of serotonin, they are selectively blocking the reupake of, and the binding of. Okay, so what’s with ketamine? Oh, it’s an anesthetic. UUuggghhh. <<< Nevermind This drug, Zip, doesn’t cause you to gain weight and also lowers blood lipid levels, which is a danger in Schizophrenic patients. So I thought this drug would be a "block"buster for that industry <so to speak If anyone knows what I am talking about please let me know. I think Itchy hit the nail on the head. There *are* morphological brain changes in PTSD, and whatever makes you comfortable… The fact is, and NIMH knows this and wants to study it– they don’t know what drugs would have efficacy for PTSD relief. AND as someone else said, I think it was Melissa or … Michele, who knows if this retraumatizing business is best for the patient? Sometimes when I think of what may be ahead of me, I’m like *NO WAY*. I think I’d rather be drugged. And I’d want to be drugged ONLY to not ever have to go thru that again. Sometimes I wonder how much of therapy is structured for the entertainment of the therapist. Kathleen
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<snip AND as someone else said, I think it was Melissa or … Michele, who knows if this retraumatizing business is best for the patient?
it’s something abt where the memories are stored in the brain. regular memories are stored in one spot, traumatic ones in another. the theory goes that reexperiencing the traumatic ones *in a safe environment* and working thru it moves the memory from the traumatic storage area to the normal one, where it doesn’t cause impairment of functioning (I think). Sometimes when I think of what may be ahead of me, I’m like *NO WAY*. I think I’d rather be drugged. And I’d want to be drugged ONLY to not ever have to go thru that again.
I recently went thru a hard time where I desperately needed to see my T, had an appt scheduled for the next day and decided I could last that long. But I really kinda needed help that night. Even my dr*g of choice – sleeping – failed me. I felt the urge to get dr*nk, which is something extremely rare for me, but I just wanted to stop feeling for a little while…it was ok that my problems would come back the next day – i just needed to get *to* the next day so I could see my T. I don’t really remember what I did to get thru the time until I could sleep again – and that’s my point. My system is structured the way it is to make living with, dealing with, my problems, and the "bad stuff" – bearable. (red alert! red alert! sentence structural integrity failing! Sound general quarters, and *bring me Luc*!!!) <um…Luc’s not awake yet. That’s why the sentence didn’t make sense in the first place. … Oh, ok…stuffyshirt’s coming online now…*sigh* [ed. note: fwiw, the sentence in question reduces to this: "My system is structured this way in order to make the bad stuff bearable." Anything else is superfluous. Ahh...yes, superfluous in more ways than one - both "other life goals" and "other parts of that sentence" are superfluous. Your servant, milady. *bows*] Dissociation, splitting, separating emotions from thoughts from memories, and the phenomenon of "losing time" are all useful defense mechanisms that we may choose to employ deliberately at times to ease some situations, but mainly are features beyond our control. The whole goal is to make life bearable somehow. The reason we do thpy is cuz these defense mech’s are the only ones that were available to me as a child, and as such I still cope with some things inefficiently. As I become more efficient, life gets easier. It’s gotten a *lot* easier over time, btw. But I know – I trust – that if I *need* a particular defense mechanism (and I’m not the one who gets to choose whether I need it or just want it), it will be there for me. The only time dissoid defense mechanisms have "failed" me have been during times when somebody inside knew I was safe. So I guess this is a long winded way <hey, you’re the one who wanted me to wake up Luc!(hush, child) of saying: your system will continue to protect you to the best of its ability as you find your way thru working on this stuff. It’s not gonna access those memories until you’re in a healthy place for dealing with ‘em – even if it doesn’t seem like it when it happens. I can also tell you this: there have been kids inside of me who were frozen in time when the bad stuff happened. They’ve still been living the bad stuff. Whether or not I access the part of my consciousness where they live is h0rror, the terr0r. They’re still looking straight at something they can’t comprehend, can’t deal with, can’t move beyond. They’re stuck there, having done the only thing they could when the bad stuff happened: split, so the rest of me could keep functioning. If I listen closely enough inside my head, I can still *right now* hear little voices fact that I’m still *living* it *to this day*. Those kids did the best they could for me. To say that I owe it to them to end their torment is to grossly understate my responsibility. You’ve mentioned not wanting to revisit those memories. You don’t have to. You’re still living them. triggered a flashback in myself. spoilered for talking thru a brief snippet of flashback, of physical abse. well-splatted. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . *eyes closed, the time tunnel draws me backwards, back to a time when I was less than 6, based on the house we lived in. Without context, without sight, nearly without sound, I feel again my fthr’s open hand smashing into the side of my head. I’m small enough that just his palm catches my cheek, my ear, my temple. Without sight accompanying the memory, it’s hard to tell, but I probably fell to the floor – it wasn’t until later that I withstood dozens of p*nches(u) without flinching. In the present day, I put my hand to my cheek. The shock of my cold fingers on flesh that remembers being so hot brings me back just a bit, just enough that the child is aware she’s not alone inside the body. "Make it stop, m*m! Make it stop!" She screams in my inner ears, wracked between the memory, when the m0m she depends on then screams herself, hysterically: "Paul, stop!" – and the present, when the m0m she can reach now is a big in the system. The big, Mary, anchors her to the now, embraces her with love and acceptance, surrounds her with soft safe arms, cries with her. My tears change from the panicked blackness of hysterical memory to the dim grey of grief. Even after typing this, after all the tears have ceased, with Mary gently rocking the child to her breast, my cheek still feels hot. I did not experience the full pain of the blow, nor the full h0rror of the experience. Just a piece of what it is that froze me then. Just a bit of it, and a return to the present, to safety, to Mary holding me and telling me I did a good job, that my work is done for now. My cheek hurts…* Sometimes I wonder how much of therapy is structured for the entertainment of the therapist. Kathleen
None of it. I’ve come out of the midst of a flashback to see my T’s face when he thought I was lost to the present-day world and couldn’t see him. It was grey with suppressed emotion as he looked out the window. I’ve seen his honest frustration with my continued insistence upon associating with my ‘rents, at times when I’ve explained yet more of the almost unending misery they made of my childhood. I’ve heard him say "Hmm..can we get your folks in here for a joint session? black and blue, but never once h!t your wife?’" I responded "You’re kidding, right?" and seen his sheepish grin as he admitted "Acting out?" I can’t tell how I’m supposed to feel abt things that happened to me. I can’t judge the severity. I’m incapable of knowing when I’m minimizing what happened to me, because minimizing is the main way I survived. I can relate facts to my T unemotionally, and see in his face the shock and distress I might feel, hearing someone else relate the same facts to me. That’s the only way I’ve been able to get a glimmer of understanding of how bad things really were for me. I’m quite certain my T could sit there and not let my words, or any of his clients’ words, affect him in the least. But I would not be helped by that. So he lets my words hurt him so that I can see that I *was* hurt. He doesn’t enjoy this at all. It makes me glad that we *do* make time to joke with each other, to spar verbally, to chat abt inconsequentials. Neither one of us could handle thpy being serious work all the time. Ok, I’m done. You can come out now…;) it’s safe. I have a bad habit of typing whatever comes into my mind at the time. The fact that the stuff I wrote is ostensibly in reply to your post doesn’t mean that I’m responding to what you said…so don’t take it personally? This wasn’t intended as a rant, though I could see that it has potential to be seen thus. This is just what came to mind when I read your post. mmmm……it’s raining…….August thunderstorms in Buffalo….must go outside! bye! 
dyenths
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realized after I sent this that I broke one of my rules. I try very hard not to tell someone something’s happening for them solely because it happens for me that way….wasn’t really wide awake when I replied, and I’ve been struggling with bronchitis for over a week. Lemme cut to the part I’d like to amend, if I may…
<snip You’ve mentioned not wanting to revisit those memories. You don’t have to. You’re still living them.
Please ignore this part. I was on a roll. It sounded good. I shouldn’t have written this. I have no idea whatsoever whether this is true for you or not. My apologies. dyenths
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- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – realized after I sent this that I broke one of my rules. I try very hard not to tell someone something’s happening for them solely because it happens for me that way….wasn’t really wide awake when I replied, and I’ve been struggling with bronchitis for over a week. Lemme cut to the part I’d like to amend, if I may… <snip You’ve mentioned not wanting to revisit those memories. You don’t have to. You’re still living them. Please ignore this part. I was on a roll. It sounded good. I shouldn’t have written this. I have no idea whatsoever whether this is true for you or not. My apologies. dyenths
No, what you said the first time may have some merit. You’ve enlightened me considerably even tho it cost you. I’m sorry. I knew what was happening. I remember what they did. And the lies. And the lights. And the faces. And the begging them to stop. I thought it was going to kill me if they didn’t stop. And they didn’t stop until they wanted to stop. Feeling ancient at 6. Wondering who replaced my parents. Why did they think I should play the piano now? Or play anything? LOL. Seems so funny to me. HeLOOoo? Play? Are ya kidding??? Then they did it again… And they did more interesting stuff. Pretty endlessly interesting. LOL. I feel nothing because it didn’t happen to me. I *think* I am still not living this. But you’re right and I’m wrong. It’s quite like being a mental paraplegic. It’s a pretty damned clever idea when you think about it. Aren’t we all so brilliant. Imagine what we could have been? I can’t help but think adaptation to these kinds of atrocities to human dignity are Absolute Mercy. We can only hope that kids that didn’t make it were similarly spared. Kathleen
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– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – realized after I sent this that I broke one of my rules. I try very hard not to tell someone something’s happening for them solely because it happens for me that way….wasn’t really wide awake when I replied, and I’ve been struggling with bronchitis for over a week. Lemme cut to the part I’d like to amend, if I may… <snip You’ve mentioned not wanting to revisit those memories. You don’t have to. You’re still living them. Please ignore this part. I was on a roll. It sounded good. I shouldn’t have written this. I have no idea whatsoever whether this is true for you or not. My apologies. dyenths No, what you said the first time may have some merit. You’ve enlightened me considerably even tho it cost you. I’m sorry. I knew what was happening. I remember what they did. And the lies. And the lights. And the faces. And the begging them to stop. I thought it was going to kill me if they didn’t stop. And they didn’t stop until they wanted to stop. Feeling ancient at 6. Wondering who replaced my parents. Why did they think I should play the piano now? Or play anything? LOL. Seems so funny to me. HeLOOoo? Play? Are ya kidding??? Then they did it again… And they did more interesting stuff. Pretty endlessly interesting. LOL. I feel nothing because it didn’t happen to me. I *think* I am still not living this. But you’re right and I’m wrong. It’s quite like being a mental paraplegic. It’s a pretty damned clever idea when you think about it. Aren’t we all so brilliant. Imagine what we could have been? I can’t help but think adaptation to these kinds of atrocities to human dignity are Absolute Mercy. We can only hope that kids that didn’t make it were similarly spared. Kathleen
I hear in your words the bitterness that dogs me intermittantly. At the same time I have tears running down my cheeks for the innocent little child you were, and the horrors you suffered. Meanwhile someone in the background is quietly cheering your courage, and thanking the g*d I believe in that you (and I, too) can heal. *sigh* now my hubby’s gonna need to know why I’m crying…..*frustrated sigh* {ok, if I insta-switch to Gloriana and get *bubbly*, think it’ll distract him??} (that’s odd…Gloriana is standing over a picture of a little girl – the glass of the frame has shattered – she’s stroking the edge of the frame sadly…) <who did you think was crying, m0m? "I could laugh, oh, but you could cry And I never knew just how high I was flying, oh, with you Right above me…" Oh, if by "…even though it cost you…" you mean the little flashback I triggered…that’s nothing to be sorry for. That’s where I am right now: triggering the bad stuff and working through it. I like being triggered, to a certain extent. I got too good at hiding everything from myself, and spent most of my 17 years in thpy successfully avoiding doing any memory work (bits and pieces came up here and there thru the years…but most of the time I’ve spent in thpy was unemotional). Plus, because I’m too good at it, I have the choice about whether to go into a flashback or not. The pressure’s off, to a certain extent. I’m not feeling driven quite so hard by my inner dmns anymore (figure of speech!!). So I had a flashback because I wanted to. That child is currently sitting at Mary’s feet – contentedly playing with a toy train set. I’m much happier having her there than still having her eyes squeezed shut, watching stars explode behind them. But it took a long, long time to get to the point where I could do any of this (the internal world-stuff, the controlled flashbacks, heck – crying in general!) I’m glad you’ve joined the group. I hope we can help. I think maybe we can, if only to understand. BTW: sometimes when I’m feeling bitter, I’m actually trying to keep somebody young from yelling "it’s not fair!!!". I’d try to prevent that because I know that life isn’t fair, sh!t happens, better get used to it…etc. But that doesn’t keep me from needing to yell that it’s not fair, sometimes. Gloriana wants to do something for you, but she’s not sure what. She doesn’t hug ppl, or touch much…she thought abt letting you borrow our teddy bear, but that thought made her a bit panicky. She is, however, willing to let you use our comforter – have had it since I was a little girl – was hand-made by someone who loved us. It’s soft and warm – H0lly H0bby pattern – and you can wrap yourself up in it really tight and it feels safe. And she says you can hang out in our inner world if you want to. It’s safe there, too. And pretty. M0ther Mary, of course, offers hugs and l0ve and comfort, warm soft arms to hold you close when you’re scared and little, patient understanding and acceptance…all that good stuff, but she’s not on first right now, so that doesn’t feel right either. I guess Jen’s on first. Not a real demonstrative sort – insecure in many ways. Has had a very hard time accepting that it’s ok for us to have different parts. Ahh. Jen’s out because you mentioned that it just kept going on and on and on. Jen knows about that, and knows about going away to get away from it. Jen extends both hands towards you, to clasp yours wordlessly, in understanding and shared pain. She’s more than willing to let a few silent tears slide down our cheeks <hey! Jen used the royal "we"!! Woo!!! (well, Gloriana feels better…) <wll, yeah… we’re doing something! duh!. be well, Kathleen. you are strongly in my thoughts. dyenths
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Hello, and hoping it’s okay to sort of squish in here because this topic is one that bothers me all the time. I wonder often and cry over it and think and wonder some more, what my life would have been had I had a "normal" one. Even hen I am assuring the T that I did. This is something that makes me cry and never gets resolved because try as I may, I can’t go back and fix it. It doesn’t matter how often my kind T reminds me of the things that I have done with the life, teaching kids, especially the hurt ones, understanding those like they were myself, although I didn’t know why I understood them. Raising four kids, all the things I have done and do. They don’t somehow matter. They were not my life, if you can understand what I mean. I was to be a veterinarian. For years that was my dream. Or a doctor like the one next door who let me practically live there and whose wife taught me what I know about caring for babies, kids. And the one who was the father of my friend, who actually liked me, respected me!,ME!!!, which I didn’t really understand,but allowed and warily liked. I wanted to be those things. They were the right things. What I did was become a teacher, because i had enough money to go to school for the required year to be one. I didn’t have to ask for money. I could be done and gone in one year. I could get out of there. It isn’t that I wasn’t a good teacher. I was. I hated it. But I did it well and conscientiously and all of that.I was a teacher who was in demand for kids who had difficulties in school. I was a beyond good teacher. I loved the kids. I know that I have done that, but it somehow doesn’t count. It isn’t me. It wasn’t right. Does anyone know what I mean? Now I am studying pottery, and it feels right for now. BUt I still want to do those other things, be a doctor, be a vet. Will I ever not want that? Will it ever not make me cry? jane – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – just a thing…(was rereading my response, cuz i couldn’t remember what i wrote, and just wanted to comment on something…;) <snip Aren’t we all so brilliant. Imagine what we could have been? yeah. that one keeps me up nights. truest form of grief i experience. I’m a coloratura soprano, classically trained. I can sing 4 octaves. I’ve been given multiple awards for best musicianship, and excellence in the performing arts. I’m good. I’m also past the age when I can hope to become a professional opera singer. And I weigh 365 lbs. The parts my voice was made for are for the skinny little 18-y/o characters. A voice teacher (whom I probably should have written up or something for size discrimination) once told me that my voice type with my body type was a farce. Yup. A farce. I read something that said that women who were abused as children show a higher level of stress hormones released versus women who hadn’t been abused, given the same stressors. And stress hormones can cause weight gain, particularly in the abdomen. That’s where the majority of my weight is. So, yeah. I think about what I could have been. If I hadn’t gotten fking broken as a kid. fwiw, I did discover that I can’t stand opera, and the lifestyle of an opera singer isn’t something I’d particularly enjoy – but who’s to say those aren’t based on other aspects of the abse? also, fwiw, I’m content with my life: have a loving hubby (who’s getting me chocolate ice cream as we speak. Gloriana volunteed a dollar…crisp and new…pointed out that it was george on the dollar…folded it a bit right across his mouth, put it between my lips and intoned "dyenths need ice cream…the fate of the country depends on it! … I would not tell a lie….."); ok, ok…I have Gloriana, too – and I wouldn’t trade her for anything *g*; I have found my vocation in teaching voice lessons & piano lessons; a ch*rch family (I get paid to sing in the choir) who loves me, and whom I love – I can’t shut down emotions there, because somebody inside knows I’m safe there. it’s alarming, but wonderful. I also have a decent regular job that seems perfectly suited to my needs and skills – and my boss is fantastic; heck, i even have a great T; great friends; i’m smart, moderately witty <I’m *really* witty!!! 
, modest, um…;); and have this great ng that I post to regularly. I’m happy. But I coulda been a contendah, howard…;) dyenths
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just a thing…(was rereading my response, cuz i couldn’t remember what i wrote, and just wanted to comment on something…;)
<snip Aren’t we all so brilliant. Imagine what we could have been?
yeah. that one keeps me up nights. truest form of grief i experience. I’m a coloratura soprano, classically trained. I can sing 4 octaves. I’ve been given multiple awards for best musicianship, and excellence in the performing arts. I’m good. I’m also past the age when I can hope to become a professional opera singer. And I weigh 365 lbs. The parts my voice was made for are for the skinny little 18-y/o characters. A voice teacher (whom I probably should have written up or something for size discrimination) once told me that my voice type with my body type was a farce. Yup. A farce. I read something that said that women who were abused as children show a higher level of stress hormones released versus women who hadn’t been abused, given the same stressors. And stress hormones can cause weight gain, particularly in the abdomen. That’s where the majority of my weight is. So, yeah. I think about what I could have been. If I hadn’t gotten fking broken as a kid. fwiw, I did discover that I can’t stand opera, and the lifestyle of an opera singer isn’t something I’d particularly enjoy – but who’s to say those aren’t based on other aspects of the abse? also, fwiw, I’m content with my life: have a loving hubby (who’s getting me chocolate ice cream as we speak. Gloriana volunteed a dollar…crisp and new…pointed out that it was george on the dollar…folded it a bit right across his mouth, put it between my lips and intoned "dyenths need ice cream…the fate of the country depends on it! … I would not tell a lie….."); ok, ok…I have Gloriana, too – and I wouldn’t trade her for anything *g*; I have found my vocation in teaching voice lessons & piano lessons; a ch*rch family (I get paid to sing in the choir) who loves me, and whom I love – I can’t shut down emotions there, because somebody inside knows I’m safe there. it’s alarming, but wonderful. I also have a decent regular job that seems perfectly suited to my needs and skills – and my boss is fantastic; heck, i even have a great T; great friends; i’m smart, moderately witty <I’m *really* witty!!! , modest, um…;); and have this great ng that I post to regularly. I’m happy. But I coulda been a contendah, howard…;) dyenths
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I want to thank you for your kind words to me. Don’t know what to say. Kathleen
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- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – just a thing…(was rereading my response, cuz i couldn’t remember what i wrote, and just wanted to comment on something…;) <snip Aren’t we all so brilliant. Imagine what we could have been? yeah. that one keeps me up nights. truest form of grief i experience. I’m a coloratura soprano, classically trained. I can sing 4 octaves. I’ve been given multiple awards for best musicianship, and excellence in the performing arts. I’m good. I’m also past the age when I can hope to become a professional opera singer. And I weigh 365 lbs. The parts my voice was made for are for the skinny little 18-y/o characters. A voice teacher (whom I probably should have written up or something for size discrimination) once told me that my voice type with my body type was a farce.
Nice. And what was *their emotional disorder? Yup. A farce. I read something that said that women who were abused as children show a higher level of stress hormones released versus women who hadn’t been abused, given the same stressors.
That’s true. And the chronic headache that is severe but no one takes seriously because you look nervous besides… And stress hormones can cause weight gain, particularly in the abdomen. That’s where the majority of my weight is. So, yeah. I think about what I could have been. If I hadn’t gotten fking broken as a kid.
I always say that. It’s so weird to see everyone using the same weird vocabulary that I usu keep to myself. I was broken. Broken. Yep. LOL Too funny. – Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – fwiw, I did discover that I can’t stand opera, and the lifestyle of an opera singer isn’t something I’d particularly enjoy – but who’s to say those aren’t based on other aspects of the abse? also, fwiw, I’m content with my life: have a loving hubby (who’s getting me chocolate ice cream as we speak. Gloriana volunteed a dollar…crisp and new…pointed out that it was george on the dollar…folded it a bit right across his mouth, put it between my lips and intoned "dyenths need ice cream…the fate of the country depends on it! … I would not tell a lie….."); ok, ok…I have Gloriana, too – and I wouldn’t trade her for anything *g*; I have found my vocation in teaching voice lessons & piano lessons; a ch*rch family (I get paid to sing in the choir) who loves me, and whom I love – I can’t shut down emotions there, because somebody inside knows I’m safe there. it’s alarming, but wonderful. I also have a decent regular job that seems perfectly suited to my needs and skills – and my boss is fantastic; heck, i even have a great T; great friends; i’m smart, moderately witty <I’m *really* witty!!! ,
LOL modest, um…;); and have this great ng that I post to regularly. I’m happy. But I coulda been a contendah, howard…;) dyenths
You’re an angel, No wonder you can sing. Kathleen
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i wish i knew how to answer you…i mean, other than "of course you can contribute to this thread!" about 8 different parts of me are clamboring to answer you first, and there’s no consensus yet who gets to be first. i have a kid who’s crying, saying "i wanna be famous. i wanna be the singer at the front of the stage" (cuz i’ve sung lots of chorus stuff from the back of the stage) – and this is probably on a par with what you might feel. every once in awhile I have the thought that i’m in pretty serious denial abt how important this dream is/was to me. and sometimes it feels like if i stop denying and dive into the pain, it will engulf me, and my life will be devoid of purpose. but i figured out a few years ago in thpy that when that issue comes up for me, it actually means something different. There’s a different issue driving that emotion. It’s hard for me to remember (isn’t that, like, a given on this ng??), but i *think* the issue is wanting to be loved and accepted – wanting not to be flawed in whatever way I’ve believed I’m flawed that made the bad stuff happen. that yearning feeling, combined with utter hopelessness…is devastating to me. another part of me says that life is lived moment by moment – a difficult concept for ppl like me who’ve lived so much in the past. The only moments that matter are this one, then the next one, then the one after that. *right this moment*, other than wishing I had a maid or the energy to clean my house, I am content with my life. My only interest in being in thpy is to make it easier for me to be content moment to moment. Therefore, although life would certainly have been different for me had the bad stuff not happened, or had my ‘rents had more money, or had the US not dropped the b0mb, or had Napoleon never left his island (or whatever), as long as more of my "moments" are positive than negative by the time I quit this mortal existance, I win. I used to feel guilty when I’d spend time cuddling w/my hubby instead of doing homework or cleaning house, or practicing, or doing any of a zillion things I thought I *should* be doing to make my life better. Then one day I realized that *nothing* is more important than being happy in the moment. Working to ensure that future moments may also be happy – sowing content, rather than sowing discontent – is *as* important. But nothing’s more important. That’s the theory behind stopping and smelling the flowers – enjoying each moment. I went to a gaming convention in June, and had a great time. One thing I noticed that was different from anything I’d ever experienced is that I didn’t feel an inner core of anxiety urging me to figure out what the "rules" were that I needed to follow to be seen as acceptable. I was freed from fears connected with the bad stuff, and able to see what was *actually* going on – which was that I was surrounded by intelligent people interested in playing games with other intelligent people. And that’s it. No popularity contests. No one sitting in judgement of me. No risk of public hum!liation, provided I acted as I normally do. These people were just like me (well, not really, but…;) ) and I was as easy for them to accept as they were for me. I was *there* – not living in the past. I was seeing *in the moment*, not through translucent scenes of bad stuff playing right behind my eyes. It was wonderful. When I was a teen, I developed a sense of "throwing it into the future" – which is a difficult concept to explain. Basically, anytime I had to choose how to react to something, or ended up doing something, feeling something, whatever, that I knew to be not the healthiest course of action for me, but that I also knew was my only choice (like giving up any hope of ever being "popular" or "accepted" by my peers) at that time, I’d make a mental note of what I was doing, what choice I made, and threw the entire issue into the future. "I’ll deal with this in thpy when I’m an adult." was the basic idea. "Maybe it would be nice if I could fix whatever’s wrong so I can keep from hurting myself more in the short term, but I can’t. So I’ll throw it into the future and deal with it then." One thing that I sorta did this with is singing. I had a "martyr fantasy" that would run through my head at times of great depression or whatever, where someday when I’m rich and famous, I’d look back at my humble origins, and see that the trials and tribulations I endured forged me into the person who was capable of becoming rich and famous. Have I hit enough points of the american dream yet? Should I elaborate more on the rags-to-riches theme? Does anyone else see every movie that was ever made in the 70s and 80s reflected here??? *sigh* Oh, oh…better yet: "I’ve taken my bows, and my curtain calls. You’ve brought me fame and fortune and everything that goes with it. I thank you all. But it’s been no bed of roses. No pleasure cruise. I consider it a challenge before the whole human race, and I ain’t gonna lose! We are the champions, my friend. And we’ll keep on fighting til the end…" etc. ad nauseum. Everyone needs a theme song, right? (My new themesong is also by Qu een: "Don’t stop me now! I’m having such a good time! Having a ball. don’t stop me now! If you wanna have a good time Just give me a call! Don’t stop me now…Don’t stop me cuz I’m having a good time, Don’t wanna stop at all!!" In any event, this fantasy made it possible for me to deal with whatever life could throw at me, cuz it was just gonna make for a better autobiography in the long run, right? So at different points thru my 20s (I’m 30 now) I revisited the fantasy, and got despondent when I couldn’t see it coming true. But one day I figured out that I had *needed* the fantasy, but that didn’t mean I still did need it. It was after that that I could look into the reality of what it would mean to be an opera singer, and I decided that if I really wanted to give it a try, I would. And I chose not to. In reality, I’ve stopped feeling the desperate need for attention that drove me to sing solos and receive adulation from the crowds. I enjoy the feeling of finishing a song and knowing that I did a good job. I enjoy knowing that I have a rare talent, well honed. I enjoy knowing that I can sing some really tough music, and sing it well. But really, when I *teach* voice lessons, when I get to pit all of my knowledge of people (2 counseling degrees) & all of my knowledge of music and singing *&* all of me creativity and intellect against the problem of "Why does this person’s voice sound like this, and how can I explain how to change it so that they’ll understand me and be able to make the changes" – *THAT* *really* fires up my brain. When a student shows improvement, week after week, month after month…when I get to tell someone who started out completely tone deaf that we’re now working on advanced singing techniques, that she’s almost past the point of being "intermediate" (as opposed to rank beginner) – *that* makes me happy. Fills my soul with sunshine. I love it. I love everything about it. No matter what kind of mood I’m in when I start teaching a lesson, I’m revved and excited by the end of it. It truly feels like a perfect blend of everything I enjoy most in life: people, singing, teaching. I get to challenge myself constantly. And I don’t know if I would ever have discovered how much *more* satisfying this is than just singing if I had become an opera singer. Wouldn’t give it up for the world. The life I have *right this moment* is too good for me to bemoan the bad parts about it. I’m too busy being grateful for what I have. It’s nice. Sux that I had to go thru so much crap to be who and what I am. But every experience I had made me who and what I am. My hubby tells me I’m a very strong person. I wouldn’t be if the bad stuff hadn’t happened. That’s not to say that the person I’d be wouldn’t be worthwhile. Just different. Not as strong. I happen to like being strong. I like having the understanding that I have of human behavior and thought and emotion. I like being able to figure out someone’s motive, to pick up nuances in conversations that most people would miss. It really sux that the only reason I *can* do those things is because I had to learn how in order to avoid being b**ten as a kid. But that was then. And I’m starting to learn how to leave it then. Ok, off of soapbox. This is a very emotional issue for me. Probably got on the soapbox to avoid feeling again like I’m just fooling myself thinking that this isn’t a major grief issue. *sigh* Well, hope you can glean something useful from this. It really is true that for me the grief about what I could have been like is tied to an issue with believing it was my fault. Hey, i just recognized that those issues don’t have to be tied anymore. I got a glimpse inside of uncomplicated grief at not having had more opportunities to be all that I could be…huh…have to think abt that some more……. be well, friend. dyenths
– Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – Hello, and hoping it’s okay to sort of squish in here because this topic is one that bothers me all the time. I wonder often and cry over it and think and wonder some more, what my life would have been had I had a "normal" one. Even hen I am assuring the T that I did. This is something that makes me cry and never gets resolved because try as I may, I can’t go back and fix it. It doesn’t matter how often my kind T reminds me of the things that I have done with the life, teaching kids, especially the hurt ones, understanding those like they were myself, although I didn’t know why I understood them. Raising four kids, all the things I have done and do. They don’t somehow matter. They were not my life, if you can understand what I mean. I was to be a veterinarian. For years that was
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Response:
- Hide quoted text — Show quoted text – <snip You’re an angel, No wonder you can sing. Kathleen oh, l0rdy-l0rd…Gloriana now is prancing about in my mind wearing a little angel’s outfit, with wings she can somehow make wiggle – oh, now she’s wrinkling up her nose like tabitha from "bwtched", complete with sound effect, to make the wings wiggle – and…*sigh* Deary me…now she’s got like a gold glittery wand with a star at the end (a la tinkerbel) and she’s bonking blue on the head with it (she is, of course, flying by now…<la la laaaaa!!!) The funniest part is that Gloriana sings like a dr*nken sailor (yes, each part has a different singing style. heck", though it’s terrible for my voice). If it helps you to imagine what she sounds like, she *always* ends up grinning unrepentantly up at me after she belts out whatever’s on her mind, and usually says "what? I sing good!! " Yes, dear…*pats on head* *sigh* ;) When asked how he’d describe her singing style, hubby says "boisterous". I think he’s being kind. fwiw, I’ve oft been told I sing like an angel. Then again, one’s always supposed to compliment the soloist, right? However, to be honest, I must confess that I "auditioned" to sing at a wedding in September, and it took the bride fully 5 minutes to stop crying after I finished singing. And I hadn’t warmed up first. *smug grin* So I guess I have to accept that *some* of the times I’ve been told I sing like an angel, the sentiment was honest. 
ok, lemme go let realjkbx crash again…;) l8r, allig8r! dyenths
)))
Response:
<snip You’re an angel, No wonder you can sing. Kathleen
oh, l0rdy-l0rd…Gloriana now is prancing about in my mind wearing a little angel’s outfit, with wings she can somehow make wiggle – oh, now she’s wrinkling up her nose like tabitha from "bwtched", complete with sound effect, to make the wings wiggle – and…*sigh* Deary me…now she’s got like a gold glittery wand with a star at the end (a la tinkerbel) and she’s bonking blue on the head with it (she is, of course, flying by now…<la la laaaaa!!!) The funniest part is that Gloriana sings like a dr*nken sailor (yes, each part has a different singing style. heck", though it’s terrible for my voice). If it helps you to imagine what she sounds like, she *always* ends up grinning unrepentantly up at me after she belts out whatever’s on her mind, and usually says "what? I sing good!! " Yes, dear…*pats on head* *sigh* ;) When asked how he’d describe her singing style, hubby says "boisterous". I think he’s being kind. fwiw, I’ve oft been told I sing like an angel. Then again, one’s always supposed to compliment the soloist, right? However, to be honest, I must confess that I "auditioned" to sing at a wedding in September, and it took the bride fully 5 minutes to stop crying after I finished singing. And I hadn’t warmed up first. *smug grin* So I guess I have to accept that *some* of the times I’ve been told I sing like an angel, the sentiment was honest. ok, lemme go let realjkbx crash again…;) l8r, allig8r! dyenths
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