…confessions of a wayward soul part two…..


This is the post where I fill in the blanks……..

A long time ago (thirty years to be exact)  a very young and very naive virgin Ivonne met a very charming and charismatic entertainer who would sweep her of her feet.  Her mother being the old-fashioned Latina mother that she was objected to her daughter dating and being involved with this young man, who was an up and coming junior magician of the world-famous Hollywood Magic Caste.

 

 

To continue reading go to, The Illusionist by Ivonne Montijo on amazon.com

 

World Wide amazon links here.

bookcover-kindle-70-percent-jan-223-4-pm

 

 

Zombieland….


I want to be Fifty and fabulous on my Birthday this Dec but I feel like a zombie, the walking dead.  I have modified my diet and I have lost 3-4 lbs but I am not yet motivated to work out.

I have discovered Zumba classes and have been to three but my work this past couple of weeks has prevented me from going to class.  I have even thought that I would like to get certified as a Zumba instructor–but who wants to take a class from an unfit lady?

As some of you already know I have stopped taking the little blue pills so I now have to deal with the anxieties of my mind and life organically without the use of drugs.

Lately I just want to stay in bed and not get up.  I think that if I only do that for one day maybe I can get out of my rut, but I have yet to have a day where I can do that and not get behind in my work.

It’s like I am living in this vicious cycle right now.  I had that same age-old argument with my mother in which she tells me I need to get a corporate job.  When this occurs I feel like I am the whack-a-mole game at Chuck-e Cheese and my mother is the whacker.  Today I told her she had to stop this behavior.  That these arguments drive me into a depression in which I can not accomplish anything.  My mother claims that I don’t hear her and if I would only just listen one time she would feel okay.

Of course she has not changed her story for the past 20 years in which she claims I would be happier if I gave up the arts for the security of a corporate job.  I really don’t think she is aware of the economic crisis facing the US and that the idea of her almost 50-year-old daughter competing in the corporate world with a liberal arts degree is really fantasy on her part.

You see she thinks I would be happy if I would just make the choices that she would make for herself.  But we are not the same person.  Where my mother needs financial security and routine in order to feel safe I am the opposite.  Routine stifles me.  I need adventure and change.  She does not like to drive because she is afraid of where she will wind up.  I, on the other hand thrive on finding new places and things to see.

peacefulness and serenity are the markers of my happiness.  Quietness and stillness are what I crave in my home, which is the opposite of my childhood which was replete with noise and at times violence.

But the bottom line is that I feel like a zombie and being whacked over the head with that invisible hammer that my mother uses on me does not help.

I want to write inspiring posts that move and motivate others to somehow help to make their lives better.

I don’t just want to write about what is going wrong in my life.

I know my mother is concerned about my future but I really wish she would just stop and accept my life as it is.

I am one of 99% in this country without health insurance so I am trying to deal with my health issues organically through diet and vitamins.  I am not quite 50 but my body has been acting as if I am older.  I am amazed that I am even writing this post but it has been on my mind for a while to post an update on my journey towards self discovery and fulfillment.

I don’t buy into you are getting older and everything starts to fall apart but at this moment that feels like a battle that my mind is losing and my body is winning…..I need to dig deep into my soul and call upon my higher self to pull me out of this one………

Pandora’s Box …Part Five


 

Yesterday my mother told me that she hated her life and did not want to be alive. She said she didn’t have the guts to do it so she asked her husband to shoot her in the head while she slept.  (She must be off of her meds.)

I told her he couldn’t do that because he would go to jail.  She said, “that’s what he said”.

My mother continued to tell me that she told my aunt to tell us (my sister and I) that if she was suddenly to tell us that she was happier.

I told her I already thought that.  I don’t know how I am going to feel when my mother passes away but I do know that I will think,” Well, I hope she is finally happy and at peace”.

I grew up under my mother’s black cloud.  As a little girl all I ever heard was how my mother felt like an 80-year-old woman and how she did not want to be alive.

What do you do with that?  I have often wondered what my life would be like if I had a happy, joyful mother.  Three weeks ago I told my sister that I thought our mother should be committed to a hospital, that she needs to be severely medicated and in therapy.  A friend told me that she can’t be committed unless she becomes a harm to herself or others.

She is a harm to me right now.  I am fighting for my emotional sanity.  I am fighting to complete my thesis.  I am fighting to rebuild my life.  I am fighting not to sink into a depression that will take me to the edge of suicide.  And I don’t know how I can be around my mother and do all of that.

I feel like I am 16 years old again, laying in bed, under the covers pretending to be asleep until it was safe to get up, until the yelling and screaming subsided.

I found a place to move my business out of my mother’s garage and she thinks it’s an awful place. It isn’t. It is a great place but she has never had a word of encouragement to say to me, ever.

I can not do this anymore.  I can no longer be that 16-year-old teenager who is tiptoeing around her mother’s emotional outbursts.

After she said that she had told her husband to shoot her she started ranting and raving about the internet and people exposing their lives for everyone to see.  She was talking about facebook and the fact that my sister allows her kids to be on facebook.  OMG, if she knew about this blog I would never hear the end of it.

She thinks she knows me, but how can she know me when I can not reveal to her how I really feel or think about anything?

She has always treated me differently than my sister.  My sister got off really easy.  I always seemed to be the scape goat.  I think part of the problem is that I look just like my mother.  I am a mini-me of my mom. She says things like, ” I don’t want you to make the same mistakes that I did”, to which my reply is usually, “They are ‘MY’ mistakes and not yours”.

My mother has always lived her life in fear of everything.  I made a conscious decision as a teenager never to live life like that.

No one makes good choices based on fear.

I think my mother should get into therapy for herself so that she can face her demons and try to be happy. But I don’t think that is possible.

My mother has made choices based on what she thought is morally right and correct.  The thing is there is only one way to do things, my mother’s way.  Any other way is just wrong.  She says she does not have a problem.  The problem is with the people that she is around.  If she could be alone she would not have problems.

So, in order for therapy to be effective my mother would have to admit that she has been wrong on the occasion.  And she can not do that.  I think she would rather be right and miserable than wrong and happy.

I have to get off this emotional rollercoaster before I feel compelled to shoot myself in the head…………

Pro-Life or Pro-Choice….Part Two


 

PART  TWO

Women were having abortions left and right that day.  One woman was on her 7th–abortion is not a form of birth control.  It felt like I was being part of a meat market that day.  There was no physical pain because I was put under….but the emotional scars I carry with me to this day.

I remember going to a restaurant with my then boyfriend and there was a baby in a high chair…I started crying I could not control myself.  For a long time every time I saw a baby or a pregnant woman I would start to cry. 

When my first nephew was born I went t the hospital but after my sister went home with her baby I could not bring myself to visit her.  I avoided her for at least a month.  This is the same sister who called me a murderer when I had my abortion. 

My mother of course, was upset that I had not seen my sister or nephew since the birth.  I just couldn’t.  I could not face her or the baby. But the day came when I could not avoid it any longer.  I told her that I was sorry that I had not been around and she said, “I know”.  She understood why I could not come around.  I did not think it was fair.  Why did she get to have her baby when I couldn’t?  This was my reasoning at the time, however illogical it may have been.

My child would have been twenty-eight years old.  It is hard to imagine being the mother of a twenty-eight year old or a twenty-six year old right now…..to be continued

Pro Life or Pro Choice……


PART ONE

Our country seems to be divided on this issue. But, Is it possible to be both pro-life and pro-choice?  I think so.   In order to explain that paradoxical statement I will have to tell you a story…my story….few people know this story.  It is something that is not easily shared with the world.

You see most people seem to think that when a woman makes a choice to have an abortion that it is done candidly and light-hearted.  And that once the act is committed you never think about it again…but that is not true.

My very first T.V acting job was in a CBS Afterschool Special called,” I think I’m Having a Baby”.  Jennifer Jason Leigh played the lead and I was one of the classmates along with Ally Sheedy.  One of my lines was, “Abortion is just another word for murder”.  And at the age of 17 I really believed that. 

And then I was 19 and found out I was pregnant.  My boyfriend said to me that if I had the baby I would never see him again—nice huh?  We had only been dating 3 months but it was long enough for me to get pregnant.  In those days I used the diaphragm–not the most effective birth control as you can see.

I went to the doctor office on a Friday—I was 8 weeks pregnant . If I wanted an abortion it had to be on Monday or I could not have it.  I was in shock and my actions were pretty robotic. I made an appointment for Monday.

What did my mother say?  She said nothing. She was with me at the doctor’s office and she said absolutely nothing one way or the other.

I was alone…emotionally alone.  My mother had moved out and took my younger sister to live with her and her boyfriend and had left me with my aunt and my aunt’s nephew.  My Catholic grandmother lived next door, and my uncle lived next door to her and my other uncle lived in the house next door.  No one had known that I had a boyfriend, let alone that I was pregnant.

And so my mother said nothing.  Monday came my boyfriend picked me up and we went to the hospital. That was over 28 years ago and to this day I can picture the lobby, the waiting room—sitting there waiting for my name to be called as if I was waiting for the executioner and I was. 

I did not want to be there.  I did not want to have the abortion.  I just wanted to run away but instead I asked my boyfriend if he was sure about this? He, of course said yes.  I would have been so happy if he had so no, let’s go but that was not the case.  And my name was called—and off to the gallows I went……TO BE CONTINUED

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