Gone Girly!

This might be a somewhat bizarre or temporary side effect of cognitive behavior therapy, but I’ve plum out gone girly. I was out shopping on Wednesday and caught myself looking at mascara!

No, I did not buy any… but I did wonder if the major difference between types was more or less the shape of the brush. I was in the makeup aisle to select another pink lipstick, my little reward for good behavior. (I’m trying different “low end” brands because I got tired of the lid falling off the Elizabeth Arden inside my purse.) This week, I picked Revlon’s “Gentlemen Prefer Pink” and I really like this lipstick, although the name is amusing. What gentleman prefers pink? Are they selling lipsticks or illusions?

I did buy Revlon’s BB Cream and a couple other girly things, then stopped to get my hair cut. I was going to walk down to the shoe store in the same plaza to see if they had any sweet boots on sale, but it was just too gosh darn cold.

This sudden interest in girly stuff has me baffled. Then it hit me, as I was washing my face like an old lady with cold cream, that I wasn’t even tempted to buy any of my old favorite binge foods. I walked right passed things without a thought, must less another silent internal battle of what has been a forty year war. Well, it wasn’t alway silent as I did cuss out that Little Debbie a few years back. Yes, out loud. People probably thought I was frikkin nuts but I had banned that bitch from my house. How dare she try to whisper at me?

The thing is… I had absolutely no interest, no temptation, no desire to even give a second glance. Oh, such sweet freedom and I didn’t even realize it until hours had passed. It still amazes me.

Thanks for reading!

Pink Shrinks

I haven’t mentioned recovery for awhile so perhaps I should talk about that. I want to fire my shrink. Yes, I was supposed to go to my third cbt session ye around the first, but I called a week in advance and rescheduled for the end of the month.

If I don’t go back, he will think that I quit on myself and then he will write some bogus “professional opinion” in my permanent medical records. It is only five sessions, two down, three to go.

Even if I go, it looks like I’m going to have to shrink my own damn self. I’m not going to get into all that today. Let’s just say that my recovery is in the pink.

That’s pink as in pink lips and pink bingo dabbers and fun pink whatevers.

Pinks are my treats for good behavior, at least until I find the most perfect “signature shade” of pink lipstick for my everyday look and then I will move on to something else.

Yes, I like pink… it brings out my rosy, lol.

Today’s art was created from a lip print. Thanks for reading! And oh, btw… Happy Valentine’s Day!

Cognitive Dreams

Drifting in and out of dreams, I became aware of cognitive therapy occurring as I sleep. An oh, I should try to remember this, write it down when fully awake, this is great… and of course, it all fades away after my feet hit the floor and all I am left with is dream fragments. That’s okay. It tickles me that my mind is sifting and sorting its own way, wrapping itself around new ideas, and positively reinforcing my efforts of recovery with supportive dreams.

For example, one of several dreams last night was about shooting the sky. I blasted the hell out of a veil of limitations, watched it shatter into a shower of pink and gray and white confetti, then felt the warmth of the sun under a pretty blue sky while filled with a knowing that some of my perceived limitations are only illusions.

Another example? This one didn’t have a voice over, no awareness of the meaning inside the dream, but thinking about it after I woke up makes me think that it had a meaning. It was a dream about a dress.

Okay, it was a strange dream that I had a couple nights ago about taking a little vacation to meet up with a friend and not having enough time to pack a bag so I arrived with no clothes. Then, as dreams flip, I am in this mall but it is not really a mall, and I’m saying, “help me, I have no clothes.” And these two guys take me in and doll me up, head to toe, dress me in this gold brocade, a heavy woven little dress adorned with beads and glitter, kind of cut like the mini dress that came on a doll I got for Christmas when I was ten years old, but with short sleeves. It was cute. They did my hair and makeup, strapped sexy shoes on my feet, and spun me to the mirror. The hair dresser admired his own work and said, “Darling, you look fabulous!” And I did. Then I am with my friend, that sweet beautiful man (so rare to dream of him) and no, it was not a sexual dream (drats!), more like a post-sexual dream as I am there trying to put this dress back on and he is just watching me with a contained smile, as if my effort somewhat amuses him. He doesn’t say a word. I’m like fighting with this dress. I can’t put it on. There is no stretch in the dress so I can’t wiggle into it or twist it around to reach the zipper that runs the whole length of the back, like a jacket zipper from neck to hem. I can’t put it on by myself, can’t zip it by myself, so I panic. What am I going to do? I have absolutely nothing else to wear and I can’t walk out wearing the dress unzipped, like a gapped open hospital gown. I’m doing all these things trying to get this dress on and woke up from this bizarre dream thinking duh, why didn’t I ask for help? Hey, zip me please?

So, maybe I will learn something from my dreams, like it is okay to ask for help, we can’t always do everything on our own, and sometimes our limitations are only illusions.