I recently read the book, The Lovely Bones, which was both hauntingly tragic and wondrously hopeful—a combination that has been omnipresent in my own life.  I highly recommend this book as it is beautifully written, with a compelling story:  the author, Alice Sebold, takes us through a family journey through the eyes of a dead fourteen-year-old girl named Susie Salmon, who was raped and murdered in the 1970’s.   Although the rape and murder of Susie is a major theme in the book, I would argue that it is less important than other themes:  the most important is both the fragility and strength of the human spirit, which she artistically weaves throughout the book.

One of my favorite aspects of the book was Susie’s version of Heaven, which was not at all what she expected while alive—and one that I am quite sure that most of us would not expect either.  Interestingly enough, while Heaven is a theme—there is not a mention of Hell of any kind—not that you would expect Susie to wind up in Hell—after all, she was an innocent fourteen year old.  However, you would expect that there would be some revelation of Hell of some kind—particularly in relation to the darker elements in the story:  those who do unspeakable deeds, such as rape and murder—particularly to a child.  However, there was no mention of hell, which I appreciated because I always felt that life on earth forces us through our own personal hells—which we must learn to escape while journeying through life.  This was certainly true in my case. 

I don’t really believe in Heaven—although I am hopeful that I will be able to connect on some spiritual level, the people I've loved in this life.  However, it was interesting to read Sebold’s take on Heaven.  In The Lovely Bones, everyone has their own version of Heaven, which makes sense to me.  Why would my Heaven be the same as an NFL player, after all?  While he may enjoy the violent mashing of bodies and brain injuries—well, let’s just say that might actually be my own version of Hell. 

In this Heaven, anything we desire is possible—except of course, becoming alive again.  Therefore, in my own Heaven, I might become that famous actress I once set my sights on.  Alternatively, perhaps I would win a Pulitzer Peace Prize.  Or perhaps I would finally have that happy childhood I always desired.   In the book, if you concentrated hard enough, your personal Heaven would give you those desires. 

The book made me think of death also—which was final but comfortingly, not so final.   In Susie’s Heaven, she met up with her grandfather upon his death and this is something I have always hoped for:  that I would once again meet up with all the lovely people that meant so much to me at one time.  During the 1980’s, when so many of my friends died from AIDS—as well as from overdoses and suicides, the only way I could cope was through the belief that I would one day see them again.  Rationally, I am not sure I ever really believed this would be so—but fantastically, I wished so much that it would be so.  In fact, I talked myself into believing that would be the case because it made letting go so much easier. 

I think for some, that this book would help comfort them in the uncertainty of what lies beyond our life on earth.  For me, I need no comfort here, as I am not afraid of death:  I have been faced with death on too many occasions.    Once, when I overdosed on heroin, I was told that I had stopped breathing and my heart had stopped beating:  I was dead.  In that experience, as soon as the heroin hit my veins, my last thought before lying on the couch was a great sense of peace and warmth.  I expect it to be that way when I finally do leave this earth.  Until then, I plan to wring out all I can out of life and appreciate it for the gift that it is.  Susie’s story can remind all of us that life can be snuffed out so unexpectedly and that all of us should work toward having no regrets when our time does come.

Peace,

Melinda

Played: 6 | Download | Duration: 00:04:22

I think I should have started a ‘Pet Peeves’ category a long time ago.  We all have pet peeves and it always feels good to be able to rant about them.  And what better place to have a rant than your own personal blog?  
Since things have been unusually hectic, stressful and even downright dark here at Melindaville lately, I thought I would cheer things up a bit with some light-hearted banter about some of my biggest pet peeves, which are (in no particular order):

1. Rushing in to use a toilet and finding the roll of toilet paper is empty!  And going along with this is (#2)

2. Toilet paper dispensers that do not allow the roll to move freely, meaning you can only break off one tiny (and insufficient) square at a time.  Most rest stops are guilty of employing this tactic as a toilet tissue cost saving measure.   But this annoys the hell out of me. 

3. Believe it or not, men, you aren’t the only ones who pee while standing up!  A huge segment of the female population does this, leaving their little ‘gift’ of urine drops on the seat for the next unsuspecting toilet user.  This really drives me nuts!  I have scolded women for doing this when I catch them in the act.  I feel so strongly about this one that perhaps this even warrants public service campaign—the slogan can be, "If you sprinkle while you tinkle, please be neat and wipe the seat.”

4. Automated telemarketer calls!  What. The. HELL?  You nearly kill yourself, rushing from the shower, wet, naked, and slipping on the floor to get to the phone in time, only realize it is not even a human being but some automated telemarketer who has put you on hold!  For SHAME!

5. Finding an item you can’t live without and then seeing there is no price tag attached.   

6. Standing in queue behind someone waiting for a price check on items with no price tags.

7. Being called “Ma'am.”  I know I am old.  And yes, probably old enough to be called “Ma’am” but please, humor me and call me “Miss” (for those of you in the service industry—this automatically bumps your tip up (or down) a few dollars).

8. Dressing room mirrors that deliberately make you look thinner.  You find that great dress that makes you look thinner in the dressing room mirror, only to return home to your own (realistic) mirror and find it makes you look as chunky as you really are!  These should possibly be illegal.  Or at least regulated by the government. 

9. Poor Drivers in general—but several offenders actually deserve their own private category and I feel it is my duty to pay homage to each group of annoyers in their own showcase. 

            9a. Drivers that pull out in front of you at the last minute, causing you have to either slow down or hit them.   Most annoying are the ones who watch as you approach, then at the last minute, pull out.  Why?  Do. You. Do. This?  Also, adding to the peeve is the fact that most of these folks usually drive as slow as molasses once they do this, too (are you listening Commonwealth of Massachusetts?).

            9b. Going along with the previous:  Drivers that pass you and then slow way down. 

            9c. People who drive well below the speed limit—in the fast lane. 

10. People who answer their cell phones and then hold long conversations when you are out at dinner with them.    Perhaps the caller is more interesting than I am—but this is just so blatantly rude

11. When smoke  alarms go off when I am cooking  (unfortunately, this happens a lot). 

12. Being selected for extra screening by the TSA.  I particularly loathe the TSA officers who like to pretend they are cops.  It’s gotten even more annoying since they all got new cop-like uniforms.

13. Windows automatic updates.  You come back to your computer to find it has restarted and you lost all the work you were doing when the automatic update kicked in. 

14. People who say, “I know how you feel” when they clearly do not. 

15. Losing work due to computer crashes (that blog post that was lost was my best EVER—and now it’s gone, FOREVER!).

16. People who talk in hyperboles:  “that blog post that was lost was my best EVER—and now it’s gone, FOREVER!”

17. People who talk in the third person:  “Melinda has some pet peeves she’d like to tell you about.”

18. People who tell me how wonderful bats are for our environment after I tell them about my terrible bat phobia.

19. Putting on a new pair of expensive hosiery and seeing an immediate runner appear (I will never buy Spanx sheer stockings again!). 

20. The government’s Emergency Alert System (you know, the “This is only a test” thingy).  It always seems to pre-empt the most important moment in the television show you are watching.   I saw a report on this on 60 minutes—they mentioned that the alert system had never actually been used! Not even during 911!    Our tax dollars at work, folks! 

So, that’s my list (for now).  What annoys the hell out of you?

(This was fun!)

Peace,

Melinda

Played: 12 | Download | Duration: 00:06:03

I think none of us can truly understand how the people of Haiti are feeling.   I have experienced an earthquake—one of the bigger ones in recent history; I was living in San Francisco in 1989 when our little piece of the world shook—and I will never forget it.  

Michael and I had just moved into a brand new apartment, built with the possibility of an upcoming earthquake in mind—the architect placed the building on huge sliders, meant to ‘go with the flow’ of the quake.   These sliders caused the entire apartment to move dramatically back and forth when the quake began; it was so severe that it knocked the television off the stand, shook the glass wear out of hutch, and even blew the pictures off the nails that fastened them.  Michael and I had no idea of how severe the earthquake was—but we thought it might very well be ‘The Big One’ due to the extreme sliding and shaking of that apartment.  Those of us who live In San Francisco know that it is not a matter of if there will be an earthquake—it is a matter of when it comes . . . and how devastating it will be. 

The San Francisco quake was not The Big One—except to the few who lost their lives but it was a stark reminder of nature’s immense power of nature—and how powerless all of us are when forces strike hard. 
Haiti is devastated by this earthquake; however, their world was one filled with distress and hopelessness even before being overcome by this terrible disaster.  Now, in the aftermath, it must be a terrible burden to look to each new day with hope.   None of us—particularly those of us living in relative luxury and security here in technologically advanced countries, can fathom the type of life facing the Haitian people.  At best, their situation was very difficult before, now, it is untenable— and unbearable. 

Seeing the wonderful response to the crisis in Haiti has really restored my faith in humanity.  One of the things I love best about being an American is the generosity and spirit that the American people show—we always respond to our own fellow citizens when in crisis, but we also respond others when their country is in crisis.  It has been heartwarming to see the great response of so many people who care so very much.

I am writing this blog post to remind everyone that it is not only in the first few weeks that we need to respond to the crisis in Haiti—but after the news crews leave, when we will no longer be subjected to viewing the great suffering.  Nevertheless, that great suffering will continue—next week, next month—and likely next year.  Let none of us forget that we are all much more similar than different—that we are all connected by the common blood of humanity that flows through all of us.  When the camera crews have gone and we no longer see the devastation of this terrible earthquake, let  us remember the great words of Jon Donne’s and continue to act with the same great generosity and humanity that separates human beings from all other life forms.

"All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated...As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come: so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness....No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

                                                                                                                                             —Jon Donne

Please continue to help the plight of the poor Haitian people; you can help with the relief effort by visiting and donating to the following:

The American Red Cross

Unicef 

Doctors without Borders

Peace,

Melinda

I took a class in near death experience (NDE) as an undergraduate student, after I had been in recovery for about two years.   I had been looking forward to taking this course since I first discovered it in the University catalogue—the psychology department at Montana State did not offer it often, so as soon as it appeared on an upcoming summer session schedule, I signed up right away.   Dr. Bill Serdahely taught the class; he is a leading researcher in near death experience.  I remember feeling incredibly fortunate to have the opportunity to take such an interesting class taught by such a well-qualified professor.  It was almost as though this class called to me on a deeply psychic level: ever since my attempted three suicides, which precipitated my final successful foray into recovery, I yearned to understand more about what had happened while I was in that coma. 

Therefore, taking this class was part my insatiable thirst for self-understanding and knowledge:  I was hungry to learn as much as I could about so many of my life’s experiences.   Why was I given a second chance at life when so many people close to me, including my first husband, Michael Roberts, had not lived through the drug wars we had all been fighting?  

My need to understand my own psyche drove my interest in psychology—which I am sure is why I decided to go in that direction, academically.  Not only did I want to understand myself, I wanted to figure out why my father had hated me so much and why he had abused me.  I wanted to understand why my mother had failed to recognize his abuse and had not protected me and why my sister had not warned me of what would happen. 

I realize now how unstable I was during those early days of recovery.  Early on, terrifying nightmares interrupted my sleep nearly every night, which was something new for me to deal with.   I had not experienced nightmares since I was a child because drugs camouflaged my emotions—and my pain.  I know now that my primary reason for abusing drugs was to escape those emotions but after recovery removed the drugs, I was vulnerable—naked in the grief of my past.   I was not ready to face all those raging emotions in consciousness; therefore, they came forth in my nightmares.  Almost every night, I would awaken terrified, angry and shaking from a horrifying nightmare.  I was still lost in those early days.

As I sought to understand my father’s abuse of me, I also needed to know why I felt the need to continue his destruction on my own when he no longer had the means or the power to hurt me.  He had passed the abuse torch on to me and sickeningly, I gladly took it—to the extent where it nearly ended my life. 

However, slowly, throughout the miracle of recovery, I was finally ready to look into my life’s mirror and begin to face myself.  I needed to know why things had gone so terribly wrong in my life to drive me to a desperation so severe it led me to three very serious suicide attempts—and why I had believed this was the best solution for my life.  

After surviving that final suicide attempt, I needed to understand what happened to me when I lie in that coma for three long days, caught between life and death—because it was clear to me that when I regained consciousness, I had undergone a true transformation—a change so deep that my life would never again be the same.  I cannot even say how I knew it—I had been a heroin and crack addict when I entered the coma after drinking an entire bottle of furniture polish (and yes folks—you did read that right).  However, after I came out of the coma, I was a changed woman:   somewhere deep inside of me, I knew that I would never be a drug addict again.  On an innate level, I realized I was not supposed to die and since I was not supposed to die, that meant I had to live—and the only way that proposition was bearable would be if I changed—because I could not bear the idea of my life going on as it had, homeless and desperate on the street. 

The course in near death experiences was as amazing as I thought it would be—and it helped me piece together what might have happened in that dark cocoon of a coma, where something spiritual was nurturing my psyche to heal,  just as the doctors were working to save my physical being.  Certainly, I’d had a ‘near death experience’ although it was not the same as you read about.  As I read the stories of those who had the typical NDE we all have heard of,  I felt somewhat cheated: I never walked down a long tunnel toward a light and I never experienced the pain and happiness of every life I had touched along my life’s journey the way you read of others’ doing.  However, there was no doubt that it was a near death experience because certainly, I had almost died that night I drank the furniture polish. 

The psychic change. 

This was what I experienced:  a psychic change.  My transformation was drastic and deep-seated; it   changed the way I viewed the world around me,  how I interpreted my own life’s experience, and most particularly, how I viewed myself as a survivor rather than a victim.  Although it would be many years before that psychic change would crystallize the person I was to become, the blueprint for the ‘new and improved Melinda’ was drawn up somewhere during that three day coma.   I wanted to understand how this happened.  I realize now that I likely never will; moreover, I realize that it is not even important that I do. 

I’ve fantasized that perhaps it was my guardian angels—whose presence had never seemed that outlandish to me—after all, I had survived much more than most people would in my same position.  There was even a spooky experience where I once came extremely close to being hit  by a Muni bus in San Francisco; I literally felt a hand push me down to the ground, away from the bus—but when I  looked around to see the hand, there was no one there.  I even remember thinking at that time:  “Oh!  That was my guardian angel again.” 

Although I am a scientist, I know there are mysteries in life that science can never explain—and my psychic change is one of those.  I don’t understand it but I do believe it—and more importantly, I am so grateful for it.

Peace,

Melinda

p.s.  I apologize once again for not having a podcast; I will be back in MA by the end of the week and will have my recording equipment again then. 

Wow, things have been HAIRY (and harried!) around Melindaville in the past few weeks.  Since the day after New Years, I had to hit the ground running and I have hardly had a chance to catch my breath!  Les and I have spent the better part of the last two months traveling from here to there—and traveling is always stressful.  In the past two weeks, we have been in Boston, San Francisco, Las Vegas, back to San Francisco, and now I am in Anaheim. 

In addition to a busy travel schedule, I have (once again) taken on too many teaching commitments and as a result, I find myself struggling to meet deadlines.  Don’t get me wrong—I am most grateful for the opportunity to work and I really do love teaching—it is a passion of mine—truly a calling.  Nothing is more rewarding than to see students blossom in my courses and grow to love psychology as I do.  I had such wonderful professors when I was an undergraduate student that I feel compelled to pass on that love of learning to my own students.  However, juggling seven classes, keeping up with my blog, flitting around the country, and allowing some time to spend with my beloved husband, I am more stressed out than I would like to be or than what's good for me. 

I am not alone in my battle against stress—nearly everyone I know—heck, our entire society has more stress in their lives than what is good for them.  Stress takes a terrible toll on our both our physical and emotional health:    I know  exactly how stress affects us—in gory and frightening detail—because this stuff was pumped into my brain cells for an entire undergraduate and graduate education!  Physically, it is linked to heart disease, digestive problems, sleep problems, obesity, autoimmune disease and skin conditions such as eczema.  Psychologically, stress is central to anxiety and recently, researchers have learned that stress can play a major role in depression.  Therefore, it benefits all of us to reduce our level of stress. 

So, let’s talk about practical solutions—what we do to reduce the amount of stress in our lives?  How can we relieve stress when it does occur?   I have several suggestions!

One of the things that influence a person’s stress levels is their support network so strengthening your support network is a great protection against stress.  When you have family members or close friends you can count on, the pressures of life will not seem nearly as overwhelming.    If you don’t have a support network close by, then it is a good idea to make it a priority to build relationships you can count on.  Some great ways to meet people to help form a supportive network is in volunteering, having lunch or dinner with a coworker you’d like to know better, call or email friends you haven’t seen for a while, look on Craigslist to find a tennis partner or a workout buddy, or take a class or join a gym. 

While none of us can eliminate stress from our lives altogether, all of us can train ourselves to relax.   Some great relaxation techniques include yoga, meditation, and deep breathing:  all of these will activate the body’s relaxation response—which is the exact opposite of the stress response.  There is an accumulative effect in doing these exercises, also:  overtime, these exercises will become even more effective and you will relax even faster.   Moreover, they help increase your ability to stay calm to avoid the stress response in the first place!

We all need to take responsibility for our emotional health.  Just as it requires time and energy to develop or maintain physical health, it is the same for our emotional well-being.   We can all learn to train ourselves to overturn negative thought patterns.  When I was first in recovery, I didn’t feel sane, happy, or strong—but one of the best pieces of advice my first counselor told me was to ‘fake it until you make it.’  Even if you don’t quite believe it, when you spot a negative thought entering your mind, overturn it!  You have the ability to control your thought patterns:  they can be either positive or negative—it’s up to you!

Finally, take some time each day to enjoy your life.  Life is a gift—so open it up and enjoy it—and life is also too short to spend it all balled up with stress! 

Peace,

Melinda

p.s.  I apologize again for their being no podcast—I still haven’t gotten around to getting new recording equipment on the road.  It’s stressing me out! 

How many times do any of us really ponder the gift of life?  Most of us go through life in a mindless procession of maneuvering about our world, without really considering what it means to wake up each morning to see the miracles that occur.   We all too often fail to appreciate the many wonders of life and we begin taking those gifts for granted.  Therefore, I try to end each night with a profound feeling of gratitude for the many blessings recovery has brought me. 

I am guilty of taking life for granted also!  Too often, I find myself bustling through the daily rigors without pausing to appreciate all the amazing gifts of the past sixteen years has given me.  Saying my gratefuls each night is one way that I know I will pause, if even for a moment, at least once a day.  I have definitely gotten more used to the gift of recovery:  there was a time when each day was awe-inspiring for me.  My addiction caused me to reach such a hard bottom that crawling out of that place gave me so much appreciation. 

My joy at being alive did not occur immediately after entering treatment, though.  I went through several months of feeling more dead than alive due to the intense withdrawal of heroin addiction.  However, once I began feeling better I could not believe how good I felt.  Each morning brought intense feelings of joy, where my first thought was “My God!  I feel so great!”  I never became used to that feeling and there is still wonder in each morning as I gaze expectedly to the day ahead, allowing myself a warm moment to bask in the enjoyment of the promise of a new day  in a life that is finally worth living.  When I had been in the throes of addiction, I never dreamed how wonderful my life would one day be. 

So, here it is—2010—a brand new year!  The New Year also holds special meaning to me because it was in January of 1994 that some stroke of luck and timing brought me recovery.   When I look ahead to 2010, I see 365 days of joyful mornings, each with the promise of unexpected gifts.  What will 2010 bring me?   What lessons will I learn?  What will I give to others?  What adventures will take place?  To me, a new year brings forth renewed optimism and hope.  On January 18, it will be 16 years since I took a shot of heroin or did a hit of cocaine.  Back in the dark days of the early 1990’s, who would have ever believed that my life would be what it is today?   But I am living proof that change can and does happen.  

As I lay in bed on New Year’s morning, I thought about what I wanted to accomplish this year.  I want to make more changes to my life.  My biggest personal goal is to continue to become healthier so I can live a long, long time with my beloved husband, Les.    Les and I both gained a few pounds over the past two months so we are making a commitment to eat a little healthier (and a little less) than we did in November and December! 

My biggest professional goal is to publish my book and I am really hoping that it will be out within this next year.  The editing is taking a lot longer than I imagined it would but we are still plugging away on it. 

I also want to continue my path of professional development in the field of psychology so I can be a better instructor for my students.  I really do love teaching. 

The biggest plan I have for the New Year is that Les and I are going to be visiting Egypt next November.  It has been many, many years since I have been back to Egypt and I am so looking forward to meeting some of my relatives and seeing the place where I was born (Alexandria).  Therefore, this trip brings forth another change I plan to make:  I am going to learn as much Arabic as I can over the next year so that I can perhaps carry on a bit of conversation with my relatives who do not speak English.  I am so excited about this trip—it’s been a lifelong dream to go. 

Being a visual person, I always imagine the New Year wrapped up as a big, shiny present, filled with promise, hope, and optimism for a wonderful and productive year.   What we gain from that big shiny box is completely up to each of us—we all have the power to make 2010 the best year yet!

Here’s to a wonderful 2010, folks! May the New Year bring you all the hope and dreams you deserve!

Peace

Melinda

P.S.  I apologize for not having a podcast—Les and I are traveling again and I (again!) left the recording equipment in Massachusetts! 

Since I began writing this blog, I have heard from so many people who are in pain—of all different varieties.  Some are struggling with addiction, others are overcoming childhoods of abuse, some are in abusive adult relationships, and some are simply overcome with depression or other psychological maladies.  I have been right where they are—in fact, I have been to the extreme measure of psychological fragility, when I spent nearly every day for five solid months considering the various methods by which I should commit suicide.  I was dead serious. 

The last holiday before I went into treatment was a particularly brutal one.  I’d had some nasty Christmas’s in the past 15 years—where I would spend the day in a hazy fog of depression and drugs but it was last Holiday when the real shit finally hit the fan.  I had been homeless for several months, spending my time drifting in and out of temporary places—whoever would have me.   By Christmas, almost everyone I knew had tired of my coming around when I needed help and then disappearing when money was needed. 

Therefore, on Christmas 1993, I spent the day with Lou and his buddy Tinny, who had a rundown storefront, which they converted into a living space.  They were a couple of scraggly street cats; their ‘business’ was going into abandoned homes, ‘liberating’ whatever belongings they came across that they felt were worth money, and then selling them at local flea markets around the city.    What they were doing was stealing others belongings but I did not judge them—after some of the things I had done, who was I to judge? 

Business had been slow for Lou and Tinny and they were almost as broke as I was.  By this time, I was working on the street, which I did do on Christmas Eve, earning enough money for a bag of heroin and a couple rocks of crack cocaine.  I’d vowed the night before to save enough cash so we could all go out to dinner at an inexpensive restaurant on Christmas day—but as usual, as soon as I started doing drugs on Christmas Eve, that plan vanished into a wisp of smoke from the crack pipe.   Therefore, on Christmas day, Lou, Tinny, and I found ourselves at the local soup kitchen, where we at least had a traditional Christmas dinner. 

After, we went back to the ramshackle storefront and drank the last of a bottle of Jack Daniels.  It dawned on me then that my life was no longer worth living.  Even though my belly was full and I did have a warm place to sleep that night—the full reality of the failure of my life hit me hard and fast.  I wanted out of this life.  I knew on that Christmas night that I would end it once and for all—it was just a matter of figuring out how. 

On that Christmas day, I didn’t dream that in less than a month, I would be leaving the streets and entering The Freedom House.  If someone had told me, I would have never believed it.  I was given a gift so spectacular on January 18, 1994—the best gift any person could ever dream of.  Instead of death, I was given a new life and I am truly grateful for that opportunity. 

When life seems most hopeless, remember that change can happen and that it will happen.  Don’t ever give up and don’t ever wish for death.  Life is a gift and where there is life, there is always hope.  I’m living proof.

Happy holidays to all—and may the New Year bring each of you health and happiness.

Peace,

Melinda

Played: 22 | Download | Duration: 00:03:52

I want to apologize to all my readers for how utterly vacant I have been on the Melindaville Blog recently.  Life has been really crazy lately.  I have had a hard time keeping up with my blog for a few reasons.  First, I am teaching way too many classes again right now (I still haven’t learned how to say ‘no!’).  Also, I’ve been going through training to work online at a new university (as if I am not busy enough). 

However, most problematic recently is that I am having terrible computer problems (not good for an online instructor and blogger right?).  My computer has been having some major problems for a while now.  In fact, I have reinstalled the operating system a few times to try to figure out what software was causing the conflict but after reinstalling it twice this last week and Les installing it another time for good measure, we finally called Lenovo and came to the conclusion that there is actually something wrong with the laptop itself.  One thing I do want to mention is how impressed I was with Lenovo’s support.  They sent me a box on Monday to ship the computer back to them, I sent the computer back on Tuesday and they had it returned to me yesterday with a brand new hard drive.  That’s customer service, folks!

I’m getting ready for the Holidays!  As usual, my good friend Eddie will be here to share the Holidays with us and I am looking forward to that.  Eddie is my gay boyfriend and one of the lights of my life.  We met when I was an undergraduate student at Montana State and he was living in Bozeman working on his illustrations.  We became roommates for a while and he truly kept me laughing for the four years I was in school there.  After I moved to Pennsylvania to start graduate school, he moved to New York to attend grad school himself at the School of Visual Arts.    One of the most wonderfully serendipitous experiences I have ever had occurred with Eddie when we were having coffee after we first met.  I was talking about a friend I’d lost touch with during my years of heroin addiction and I mentioned her name.  Eddie got the strangest look on his face and said to me, “I know a Lori Ayers in New York.”  And of course, it was the same one—which confirmed to me what a really small world it is—and also that our meeting was meant to be.  He’s been one of my best buds ever since.    I am so happy to see him and spend time with him this Holiday.

I also want to give an update on my memoir—a few of you have asked me about it recently.  It is currently being edited, which is a very slow process along with my busy schedule recently.  My hope is that it will be published within this next year.  After the Holidays, Les and I will be doing quite a bit of traveling again, which we have done a lot of this fall.  I don’t always travel with Les but I like to when I can.  As hard as travel can be on me, it is harder in most ways to be away from my beloved husband—so I am looking forward to adventuring on with him in the New Year. 

Anyway, that’s a few new updates from Melindaville!  I hope your week has been less stressful than mine!

Peace,

Melinda

P.S. I don't like the sound quality of the podcast—I think I might have to get new recording equipment.  I apologize if the sound is irritating to any of you (it was to me). 

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Today, on December 1, 2009, a call goes out to the blogosphere so that we can all join as one voice to support the cause, Bloggers Unite for World AIDS Day.  This is the second year I have had the honor of participating in this particular cause for Bloggers Unite.

HIV/AIDS has been on the increase in the last decade or so, despite the efforts of many activists.  After the devastation AIDS left during the 1980’s, people became much more careful because AIDS was death sentence in those days. Thanks to wonderful treatments, AIDS is no longer a death sentence but a treatable condition.  In fact, I spent this past weekend celebrating my good friend Lori’s Birthday; she has had full blown AIDS since the late 1980’s—she was lucky to have been able to hang on long enough to benefit from the effective cocktails that came to fruition during the early 1990’s. 

Not all my friends were so lucky—I lost close to twenty friends to AIDS during the worst of the epidemic.  During the 1980’s, it almost felt as though we were in a war—a war with a mysterious plague that struck down some of the most talented, creative and altogether special people I have ever known.  Every week, it seemed, I would learn a friend had acquired the disease.  In those days, most people died quickly after diagnosis—usually within a few months or a year at the longest.  Today, people are so much more fortunate because there are very effective treatments available that are optimal when the virus is discovered early.

Because AIDS is now a treatable condition—no longer considered the life sentence it once was, people are not as careful as they were in the early to mid 1990’s.  Particularly at risk are young people, who believe they are invincible and heterosexual women who sleep with men who are not as scrupulous as they should be.  Moreover, people are not tested as much as they should  be; therefore, today, I give a call out to everyone to be tested.  Testing is important—it is crucial for the safety of others and essential for one’s own peace of mind—and perhaps most importantly, if a person learns that she/he is positive early on, treatments are far more successful. 

Testing is scary business.  I personally know what it means to be afraid of this process.  Although I had seen so many of my friends die from AIDS in the 1980’s—I, myself, was never tested until I entered recovery.   However, ignorance was not bliss—far from it.  I lived in total fear I was going to become ill like my friends: with each cold that lingered a bit longer—with each infection that didn’t clear up as quickly as I felt it should—and with each rash or skin sore that cropped up—the excruciating question remained:  is this it? 

After I had been in recovery for nearly six months, about to begin college at Montana State University, I finally summoned up the courage to go to the university clinic and to be tested.  Sitting there in the waiting area with my palms sweating and heart pounding, I was convinced I was HIV positive.  After all, how could I escape it?  Not only had I been a prostitute—I was a former addict—six hard long years of addiction and had shared many needles before anyone knew we should not.  I also felt that I deserved to have AIDS—after all the terrible things I had done while I was addicted; it would be a fitting end to my life, would it not?

I was lucky—and I don’t know how I got so lucky.  Believe me, I have friends, including my good friend Lori, who never used a needle, let alone shared one, who became infected with HIV.  One thing I do know, is that the testing was so important for me as a person; I  finally grew up, taking responsibility for my life and my health did the right thing.  And being tested  for HIV is doing the right thing. 

Peace,

Melinda

(I apologize for having no podcast today—I just flew into MA and left my recording equipment on the W. Coast!)

 

I love Thanksgiving—in fact, I love everything about it.  It is a wonderful American Holiday—perhaps it is even my very favorite of all Holidays. 

First, I love the idea of having an entire day devoted to thanks.  Even though we all should be grateful every day and I believe most of us are—having one particular day devoted to thanks seems a marvelous idea.  Even if we are not as appreciative as we should be every day, having a specific time to reflect on all that we have to be grateful for seems like a perfect reason for a Holiday. 

I also love that Thanksgiving is relatively less commercial than most other holidays—particularly Christmas.  True enough, retail stores do their best to promote ‘Black Friday’ each year but at least no one expects us to buy gifts in order to express our thanks.  I love gift giving—meaningful gift giving—but rushing out feeling pressured to buy that perfect gift seems to be the opposite of what thoughtful giving should be. 

I also love good food and enjoy spending time with my husband cooking that good food.  Thanksgiving is a wonderful excuse to cook to the hilt and share that good food with people you love. 

Although I have a steadfast habit of saying my ‘gratefuls’ every night, it is on Thanksgiving Day that I take the opportunity to really reflect on those gratefuls—and their meaning.  Normally, I curl up in a favorite chair, wrapped in my favorite soft throw, while I staring pensively out the window to reflect on those special people who made my life what it is today.  I go back to the very first day of my recovery—seeing the face of nurse Moses just above me when I awoke from my coma.  Then meeting Tim Callahan and his amazing offer of placing me in a comprehensive treatment center, one that would finally give me the depth of recovery I needed to escape the hell that had become my life.  As I sit and reflect on my amazing journey, I can see the faces of each person who touched my life; I hear the words that helped me along, and feel the strength they gave to me.  As I mentally pass each one of those people, I give a heartfelt grateful for their influence in my life.  Truly, without those people, I would not have become the person I am today.

I am grateful every day—and particularly this time of year, it seems, I remember that last holiday season before recovery—when life was so bleak and I didn’t think I would live another year—nor did I want to.  I will never forget that last holiday and each Thanksgiving, while going through my gratefuls that is no different from any other night of my life; I do spend a little more time reflecting on how wonderful it is to be warm, safe, and loved.

Peace to all!  May your Thanksgiving be full of love and happiness.

Melinda

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