Reinvention … Tits on Toast

Tits on Toast.

Now just hang on a minute. This I isn’t a post about breast cancer or anything like that. I am in a much better humor than I was for the last three days.

I was thinking about reinvention. Madonna style. I don’t recall exactly what she did with one of her reinventions, but it had to do with pointy tits, and since I couldn’t recall, exactly what it was, I thought I would just say tits on toast.

Now I will begin.

Reinvention

Let’s just broaden that to some other meanings that aim in that same direction. I use words like evolve, morph, regroup, change, transform, change energy, etc.

I have done all of the above. I have not done tits on toast. Actually, I don’t care for the work ‘tits’, but breasts on toast doesn’t do the trick.

I have a visual history of some of my physical transformations. They include some majestically awesome hairstyles. When I see photos of moi with those hairstyles, I think, Susan, what were you thinking?

My physical morphing have been seen by the people in my little world. None have made the front page of a newspaper, like the “Catwoman” inNew York. I haven’ blown up my non-existent lips like Lisa Rinna.

My physical changes usually involve gaining weight, losing weight, getting taller, getting shorter, shoulders back, shoulders stooped, plump filled skin or crepey skin. Dark eyebrows or eyebrows streaked with Santa hair. Firm arms or pendulum arms that could knock someone out if they got too close and my arms were in motion.

Even my feet, that have looked nice, are now getting tough skin and nails that want to dig their way into a circle.

Most of that is the stuff I have dealt with, not just on the outside, but mentally. Which takes me to where I really see my morphs, evolutions and ta-da- reinventions.

My mind.

I am pretty delighted with my mind.

That wasn’t always the case.

It has taken a long time to have the mind that I have wanted. Granted, there are still some human parts of my thinking that still need a reinvention.

This is where things get tricky and jumbled to explain.

It took me years to learn how to think. Yessirreebob.

I wasn’t brought up to think. I was taught to memorize, believe what my parents wanted me to believe, follow the straight and narrow and do what I was told.

Ugh.

My first step toward my reinvention, well, it was really the beginning of the invention of myself, was when I was 34 and my mind was a mess. I had 4 kids and after the birth of my 4th one, I was a mess. I didn’t know who I was, but I wasn’t happy. Oh, that word, happy. It wasn’t that I wasn’t happy, it was that I was depressed. I didn’t have a clue how to move forward.

I went to a couple of doctors and one prescribed Xanax. I could take one a day. I couldn’t wait until evening when I got to take my one pill. But it was just a mask.

It wasn’t until I went to the bookstore, to the self-help section, and found a book whose title was, “Overcoming Emotional Distress.”

Bingo. I read that book with more reverence than I had tried to read the Bible. What it said, was the beginning of me changing my life. I was only responsible for my thoughts … no one else’s.

You see, when I was in high school, my father became an alcoholic and my mother was so depressed that she was hospitalized, had shock treatments and wanted to die.

Put that in your oatmeal and take a big bite.

I was caught in their world of dysfunction and the code of silence.

Shit..

Enough said.

So, I worked on my head and threw the Xanax away and tried antidepressant. It took many tries to find one that helped. Mostly, it was my work on myself that change me.

Fast forward.

The couple of years when I lost six family members took its toll. Add that to working full-time and raising 4 kids and realizing that my job was a pretend job, (I pretended to like it), and something shifted.

I started writing for a local paper. And I went to a writer’s workshop and then … Ireland.

Ireland was step two.

In a way, it was step one, but as I said, this gets complicated.

Ireland and going to the writer’s retreat there and being free and on my own, not being a daughter, wife, mother, sister, friend … just me … opened my eyes to possibilities. And I acted and was open unlike anytime I had ever been at home.

There was a stone reader along the way, and a shepherd and the alcoholic man who fell in love with my brown eyes and ‘my soul’.

And for the first time, I felt like I have the goods. Fat or thin, big butt or not, I could make people laugh, think, cry, by connecting with them.

I brought that home with me. I was changed. And that was the beginning to who I am, now, as a writer and a person.

I continued working at my writing, taking leaps with where my work was published. I wrote a poetry chapbook and had short stories published and a novel, all of which were lovely.

But what really made me grow to the next level of thinking and connecting, was writing directly to people, about life.

Step 3

The Move

I had always wanted to move, change places and REALLY reinvent myself.

I wanted to start over where no one new me. I had always wanted to do that. I wanted to see if I could start from scratch.

And that is what I have done for the lat three years.

I now, am who I was meant to be … flaws and all.

I still live for change. My mind and growth have to continue to go forward or else I wilt. And I do NOT like wilting.

Periodically, I have to shake up my writing, what my focus is, my title, whatever. I am in the throes of that now. Where it will lead, I don’t know and that is the wickedness and delight of it.

Through all of my physical changes, (not health, but appearance), they never really changed me. They were false changes. They were for appearances.

But I am not about appearances. I am about the inside. What makes us tick? What makes one person wear tits on toast and how did we get from point A to point B in our lives?

Yesterday, I had a person comment that I seemed sad and they thought I was in despair, like that was weakness. They say, “stay strong” and I fear they are missing the point of who I am about and why I write that type of thing, along with the ridiculous.

Life is tough. Thoughts and prayers and stay strong, although well-intended, are veils.I pull off that veil and expose life for what it is. It can be wonderful, fabulous and thrilling, And it can also suck, be a shit-storm and make you wonder why on earth do I want to go on when the world is such a place.

We need to try to understand the awful, or at least acknowledge it. Sometimes, people’s situations get so awful that they want to pack up their tent and leave … forever. To be the writer and human I want to go there. Readers might opt out when I do that, but the truth is, at this time of my life, I write for myself.

That is my greatest reinvention.

Susan

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