Won't You Be My Neighbor?

The upside to living in apartment style condos that share common walls is that your neighbors can hear a lot.  The downside to living in apartment style condos that share common walls is that your neighbors can hear a lot.

On one hand, one might find comfort in knowing if something happened and help was desperately needed, shouting for help would elicit responses from those nearby.  Or if there was an overflowing toilet or a broken pipe or something, neighbors would notice the noise, and get in touch ASAP, with either you or someone who could help.  On the other hand, privacy?

Babysat the peanut the other night, getting home at 9:30.  Chilled for a bit, crawling into bed around 10:00, and snuggling in for some reading with the Pup before drifting off to dreamland.  I had just fallen asleep, so comfy in my bed, when I heard the buzzer of a door.  A glance at the clock said that it was 11:24.  I figured it was in my dream, so I stayed put.  But the door buzzer kept buzzing.  And it was definitely mine, based on the loudness.

My heart stopped for a moment, I'm sure, as I started panicking.  I mean, who on earth would be ringing my door buzzer at that late hour?!  Everyone knows I'm an early-to-bed kind of girl!  My heart continued racing as I got out of bed to peek out the window and see if there was anything out of the norm in the parking lot.  Nope.  More panic.

More panic followed by loud footsteps thundering up the stairs.  And the the knocks came.  On my door.  Inside the building.

Mind you, part of why I like my condo is because the exterior door is there.  It means anyone getting into the building has one safety feature before getting into individual units.  So as I stood in the hallway in my pajamas, clutching the Pup, I desperately wished I had fastened the chain lock before I went to bed.  I've gotten lax on doing so since the scary neighbor moved away.

After the knocks grew more persistent, I held my finger poised over the "emergency" dial on my phone.  I had to do something.  The knocking wasn't going to stop.  I was frozen in panic.  And then to make things worse, a flashlight started shining in through the crack by the door handle.

My mind was racing with every single bad thought possible.  Literally.  From the cereal rapist to the drunk neighbor to the pissed off parent and everything in between.  I can't begin to explain how freaked out I was.  So I was kinda shocked when I called out and asked who was there without screaming or crying or vomiting.

Turns out, calling 911 wouldn't have made a difference.  Cause they were at my door.

Guess one of my neighbors heard my water running, and was worried because it had been running for over an hour.  So apparently she called the police to come and check.  Ironically, (or not) I had been in bed for well over an hour when she called, meaning she only *thought* she heard my water running.  It wasn't.

Maybe I should feel grateful that she was looking out for me.  That would probably be an easier feeling to stomach than the fear and anxiety I've been swallowing instead.  Being woken up like that completely freaked me out.  I didn't get much sleep afterward.  I was flooded by fears - imagined and real - that kept playing over and over and over again.

Why did this warrant a post?  Cause my therapist and I have been working very, very hard at helping me find safety in my world, a world that I find to be far too unsafe for me.  I have found safety in teaching, in my classroom at my old school and now in my building at my new school.  I've always felt safest in my teaching world.  The rest of the world, my house included, doesn't always feel so safe.  It's going to take a lot of effort to not let this incident derail the progress.  (And maybe because I'm still feeling *that* unsettled and needed to share.  Either way.)

Lots o Lasts

I got a new job.

And I am SO excited!

I'll still be working in education, but instead of one classroom of kids, I get to work with an entire building of kids. It's going to be a different kind of work, but I think it's going to be equally as fulfilling and fun (once I get over the initial shock, of course!)

The downside of this new position is that I'm leaving my district.

My district.

I've worked there for 14+ years.

Same building the whole time.

And I have to say farewell.

As this new opportunity sinks in, I'm realizing that I'm hitting a lot of "lasts" right now.

Last field trips with the district.  Last round of parent-teacher conferences (I won't miss this a lot, but I will miss the connection!) Last time for the Art show. Last time for Science night. Knowing this past fall was the last time I set up my classroom. The last time I decorated it for class parties. Last time for the end of year celebrations. Last year for the school traditions.

Lots and lots of lasts.

That makes me anxious and nervous and really, really sad.

I know that with lasts, comes firsts.

And firsts can give me something to look forward to.

First time meeting my new team. First time experience a first day of school in a different place. First school fair. First day in a cafeteria. First school with a fireplace! First time playing in the Innovation Hub. First step into the world of leadership.

Lots of firsts.

And while they make me nervous and anxious and sick-to-my-stomach, they make me excited, too.

New adventures always mean you leave something behind.

With new opportunities come farewells.

Every "last" means you're heading into a new "first."

I guess it's good that I've been working on holding conflicting feelings without melting into a puddle of emotion, cause without that practice, I think this opportunity would have ended before it began.

Maybe It's True

Maybe it's really true.  Good things happen to those who wait.  Karma.  You only get what you give.  What goes around comes around.  You know all those cliches. 

I'm starting to believe they really are true.

I mean, I've lived my life by the "everything is meant to be" and "everything happens for a reason" rules.  I firmly believe in them, too.

I just didn't really think that the "good" of all this would find me.  I haven't earned it.

I guess I was wrong.

Because my life changed today.  I got news that will inexplicably change my whole world.  And if everything works out the way I wish it to, then things are about to get really, really, different.  And really, really good.

It feels too good to be true.  Like I don't deserve something of this amount of "goodness."  But it's true.  And it's real.  And...... well...... it's going to be good.  It's going to be really, really good.

Tomorrow

Something weird has been happening.  

I am considering making two major life adjustments in the coming months.

I transitioned (fairly smoothly) from my dietitian of 3.5 years to my new one, 

who, like my therapist, is now stuck with me for the duration of her career.

I'm cooking real food at least twice a week.

I'm eating more veggies than I ever before.

(Yes, I know, I've been a vegetarian who doesn't like veggies.)

My career is blossoming at a rate with which I can hardly keep up.

And this week has been one of the busiest, most chaotic weeks of the year.  

Yet.  

Here it is.

Sunday.

A much needed one, as I finally have a day where I can stay 

in my jammies all day and snuggle with the Pup. 

And I'm sitting on the couch watching my favorite team play spring ball.

And I am thinking of the errands I want need to run.

Sunday afternoon.  In my jammies.

And yet I'm readying to go grocery shopping - my least favorite shopping behind clothes.

This is all positive, good, growth.  

At least that's what my therapist said.

So why do I feel like a stranger in my own world right now?

Positive movement = massive tears?

I know it's not gonna be instantaneous.

But when am I gonna be able to enjoy the positive?

When is it gonna stop feeding the depression?

Melancholy may make a good friend,

but I don't know how much more of it I can take.

Transitions

I've been seeing my dietitian for three and a half years, and it's safe to say that I've become rather attached to her.  She's seen me in the lowest lows of anorexia, and has slowly guided me back to what she says is a healthy weight (I still think I'm overweight.)  She's been patient while I threw tantrums (yes, tantrums at age 30ish) because I wouldn't eat another bite and helped me broaden my food choices.

My therapist and I have been discussing the progress I've made over the past three and a half years.  I went from someone on the verge of hospitalization to fully weight restored (I think it has been restored a little too much!)  It's been a drama filled, sinkhole riddled path, complicated by surgery, food limitations at school, and more allergies.  Progress, though, is progress, and I am grateful for the growth thus far.

This week, I will meet a new dietitian.  When I started with my dietitian, the goal was to learn how to eat healthy while handling food allergies.  Little did my consciousness know that I was hiding an eating disorder.  I was terrified that first visit, thanks to a previous dietitian I saw once, who scared me away from any and all dietitians.  Needless to say, our focus became weight restoration and maintenance.

This time, I'm nervous, but in a different way.  My dietitian said that sometimes people take you as far as they can, then it's time to move on.  I don't want to believe her.  I don't want to start over.  Even though...... I know she's sort of right.  I have to keep going without her.

I want to make sure to keep moving.  To keep growing.  To keep learning.  All the same principles I live by in my classroom.  And while my therapist and I have been working on this for a while - expanding the safety of my classroom to the rest of the world - I am afraid to put it into play everywhere else.

Most importantly, I want to give this new dietitian a chance.  I know she's not going to be the same at all, and that's ok.  She's going to come with her own perspective and ideas, and that's ok too.  And while my dietitian played quite the parental role for me, I know my new one won't.  Because I don't need that anymore.  Which, when I think about it, is a good thing.

What I do need is to learn how to eat balanced, how to manage my food intolerances while eating healthy...... and how to not let the anorexia return.  Ever. And maybe, just maybe, she'll help me learn how to like food? 

I hope she's up for the challenge...........

Acceptance

Seasons change, right?  We all accept that without question (though often with complaint!)

Our tastes change.  We crave cheese sandwiches for a week and then don't eat them again for months.  Maybe it's caeser salad that you can't get enough of, and then you can't get far enough away from. 

Our style may change - from casual to classic, from preppy to poised, from grunge to grand, from school-girl to sophisticated.

Our addresses change, or phone numbers change, our budgets change, we paint the walls new colors, we buy new coats, we plant different flowers, we vacation in different locations.......

Change is normal.  We accept that whether we like it or not.

Or, I think I've accepted change, even though I don't like it.

But to accept something that hasn't changed, and won't change?  Something that's been there my whole life, though I didn't realize it until just recently? 

That is hard to accept.  It's almost harder to accept than change, this "non-change" realization is.

To finally unearth what has been buried deeper than anything, to finally let it bob to the surface, to finally put words to a secret you didn't even know you were carrying..... and to accept it all?

If someone were to tell me that for the rest of my life, I'd have to live with bright blue skin, I think that would be an easier thing to accept.

Except.
Except that this is me.
I think I've always known, too.
I just refused to accept it.
But.......

Now it's time.

No. More. Negative. News.

With so much happening in the world these days, the "news" (and I use that term lightly) has been extremely loaded.  So loaded, in fact, that I have not once regretted my decision to stop watching the news, and stop reading the papers.  It probably sounds like I live with my head buried in the sand, but believe me, I hear news I need to hear, and even more frequently, I hear news I never wanted to hear.

For example, why do I need to be bogged down by so many political commercials right now?  The news reporters talk about it enough, so why ruin the few TV shows that I watch by filling the commercials with political propaganda?

Moreso than that, why, why, WHY does the media need to sensationalize all the negative news out there?  Do they think it helps?  From what I've read recently (and in light of yet another deadly school shooting this week) there's been a total of 87 school shootings since Newton, Connecticut.  How scary is that?!?  I have a bit of advice for those looking for your 15 minutes of fame - DON'T SHOOT.  There are other ways to get your moment on the camera, despite what the media makes it look like.  The media seems to show that the only way to become news is to do something extremely dangerous, often potentially endangering others' lives.

I don't buy it.

Try doing something nice, instead.  I mean, I much prefer to spend my time that used to be spent watching the news or reading the paper reading a book, looking things up online (lately my time has been committed to KickStarter and Pinterest,) playing games, or doing the much neglected things around my house that I've needed to do.  Putting positive, or at least neutral energy out there feels a lot better to me than adding any more negativity.....

And I beg, beg, BEG of you news people, can we PLEASE stop focusing on the negative, and find some time for the Smile Stories?  Might make the world feel a little brighter, and a little less scary.

Rant over.

Running

I run a lot even though I don't use my feet.
I realize that now.
I run when things are uncomfortable.
I run from change.
I run out of fear.
I run from sadness.
I run from anger.
I run from hurt and pain and discomfort.

And I run from my head.
My own thoughts.
And that's the hardest running of all.

Therapy.
In my mind, major disaster session,
though my therapist said all was fine.
The time to talk will come when the words are ready.
No time limits.
No pressure.

Except all of this pressure from me.

I tried to talk I really did try I came close too.
At one point I had wandered off into silence for a bit.
She asked if we were done for the day.
I couldn't answer in words,
but I did un-bury my face and uncurl myself from ball on the chair that I had become.

Then the tears came.
Lots of them.
So uncomfortable.
I tried.
The words were on my tongue but they couldn't escape.
It just wasn't happening, no matter how much I wanted to speak them.
I told Her I wish she had was a mind reader.
She laughed. Not that easy she said.

She's right.

Maybe next time.

I can't hold this secret for much longer.

Maybe next time........
Maybe next time.........

Trust

Trust.
Five letters.
Just five little letters.
Four consonants, one vowel.
A loaded word if I ever saw one.

I trust few people in this world.  Very few.  I attribute that to the fact that I have been hurt so many times by people I was supposed to be able to trust....... people who took advantage of me, who hurt me, who deceived me....... who "earned" my trust by building me up, only to abuse that trust, until I finally broke.

Now, I deal with the intense fear that the world is an unkind, unsafe place, full of untrustworthy people.  At least that's the reality I created for myself, based on my past experiences.

But it's time to change that.  It's time to start giving people the benefit of the doubt.  Now, we're not talking trusting complete strangers here.  We're talking members of my treatment team, my two BFFs, and a few colleagues here and there.... people that are deemed "safe" in my world.

Except I'm SO freaking afraid to trust.

My therapist said something that really stuck in my head.  She said that telling me not to be afraid wouldn't be helpful.  Instead, she told me that even though I'm scared, she thinks it will be worth it to push through that fear and trust this person, the newest member of my treatment team.  Trust that this person, who has given me no reason not to trust her, is trustworthy.  My therapist trusts this team member.  I trust my therapist.  I totally and completely trust my therapist.

So I guess it's time for me to try and trust this team member, too......

What do you think?

 

I completely concur.

Cautiously Optimistic

This is a term my therapist has used in the past, and I think I'm finally starting to understand it.  To me, it feels like cautiously optimistic is the balance that I lack - the balance between fear and possibility.  And boy, do I lack that balance for sure!  I live in the fear district, and occasionally visit the possibility district.  I rarely, if ever, visit the balanced district though, which is ultimately where I'd like to reside.

Fear.  It's a strange thing for me.  I know it's got to be part of how I was raised - the oldest kid, a girl, very, very sheltered and overly protected (read: controlled) by my parents.  I was raised to be scared of the world.  Something as simple as trick-or-treating with friends was a no-no, cause what if something happened?  My parents wouldn't be there to "help" me.  When I got my license and was driving, I wasn't allowed to go anywhere after dark.  It wasn't safe for a girl to be out and about at night.

Hello?  Seriously?!?  I grew up in a suburban mecca of safety - streetlights, super security, friendly neighbors and stores....... yet, I was trained to be scared of what could happen.  Funny thing is, my siblings were not gifted with this curse.  They traveled freely wherever and whenever.  That meant they could head out after dark- heck, they could head out after midnight, and often did!  They are literally world travelers, and have been since high school.  Me?  I'm a nice, predictable, homebody.  To a fault.  To the point where I'm still afraid to go out at night sometimes, cause those old tracks start playing, and they trigger my fears, sending me right back inside with The Pup.

So where does cautiously optimistic come into play?  It means that fear is healthy, to a degree.  It keeps me cautious, and therefore safe.  Optimism is the key balance though, as it's time to try and let go of the old fear that the world is unsafe, and instead trust that there is more good than bad out there........ Balance.  Always looking for that balance........

30 Day Recovery Challenge: Days 19 + 20

19. What scares you most about recovery?

20. What scares you most about your eating disorder?

Lumping these two together because ironically, they are reflective of each other.  I know.  Seems kind of bass-ackward to be fearful of recovery AND fearful of the eating disorder.  But I am, which fits, as I've always been a little bass-ackward.

The thing that scares me the most about both of these issues is the loneliness factor.  My eating disorder kept me protected, safe, and numb, which meant that being alone didn't bug me.  I actually liked it.  Or at least the eating disorder liked it.  Now that recovery is in the picture, the loneliness factor hasn't lifted, instead it's shifted - now I can see how alone I am, without the eating disorder to fill my world, and that feels lousy.

So the scariest thing about recovery has been learning to be with my feelings as they arise, and do so, most of the time, alone.  (Can't exactly schedule an emotional meltdown for when I'm with my therapist now can I?)  The scariest thing about my eating disorder is how it kept me isolated and emotionless.

Truth is, that as alone as I feel, both in recovery and when I was actively engaging in disordered behavior, it's been my choice to be alone, isolated, apart...... It's a pain in the @$$ learning how to change such behavior, as it's so ingrained.  But I'm trying.  By golly am I trying..........

30 Day Recovery Challenge: Day 10

10. Did you have a turning point or a certain moment that made you decide to recover? Or was it a decision that happened over a long period of time?

I think that turning point was when my therapist told me she had gotten a call from my doctor.  They've been working together for 15+ years, and this was only the second time my therapist ever received a call from the doctor.  That's how serious things had gotten.  That's how worried my doctor was.  I had hit what I thought was rock bottom.  It was time to commit or be committed.  And I was not willing to be hospitalized.  That was out of the question in my mind.

Unfortunately, just a short week later, I landed in the hospital from passing out at work.  I had never been so appreciative of being pushed as I was at that moment.  Had I not spent the previous week working my @$$ off to bring my intake up, I'd likely have been checked in right then and there.

I think that was the time when I decided to really commit to recovery.  From there, though, it has been quite a process.  That was just over a year ago.  And here I am today.  Still working hard every day.  But stable for going on nearly five months.

Deja What?

Have you ever had a deja vu experience?  I used to think I had them a lot and, oh, how I hated them!  I always felt like I was punched in the stomach when the moment passed.  Not to mention, the memories were never pleasant ones!  Seriously, who wants to go back and re-live painful memories?  I don't know about you, but I sure don't!  It always amazed me when people spoke of "fun" deja vu experiences.

From the time I was ten (maybe eleven, but I'm pretty sure they began around my tenth birthday) I have experienced these sort of "flashbacks" at often the most unwelcome times.  Like when I was at a friends house.  Or in the middle of a baseball game.  Or getting ready for school.  They always arrived unannounced, and always left me feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me.

I now know that these moments have been PTSD flashbacks. 

Funny thing is, though two prior therapists have told me that I have PTSD, I never believed them.  Somehow, though, my therapist explained it in a way that made sense to me.  She helped me understand what PTSD is, and how it "works," per say.  And after all these years, I now know what these moments are, and why they are not in the least bit fun.  It's not deja vu that I have experienced, it's PTSD episodes.

And this week has been full of them.

I was always very afraid of the idea of PTSD, or any sort of trauma, often cringing when the word was connected to me and my life.  It scared me to think that my history contained any traumatic experiences.  I worked hard to keep them hidden from my memory.  At least I know what is going on, and why I feel so discombobulated after each episode.  Though they last only a few moments, the effects linger for hours. 

The good news is that since we now know what is happening, we can look better at how to treat it, and to help me work through these moments.  After all, knowledge really is power!

You Can Say That Again

You can say that again.

No, really.  You can.

I don't know about you, but I do NOT want to re-experience what I've already lived through.  Not again.  Once was painful enough.

Waiting

Ugh.  My therapist said something very similar to me this last week.  She brought up the whole idea of "fake it till ya make it" which is a very popular and much-used slogan in the 12-step world.

And let me tell you it's exhausting.  It takes so much effort for me to "fake it" that by the time I get home, all I want to do is sleep.  It seems like it shouldn't be this much work!  I know, I know, change is NOT easy.

Especially when you despise change the way I seem to.  I do like to hang back and say things like, "I'll try that when I feel better."  Or, "I'm not ready to try that yet."

You know what I'm talking about.  So does my therapist.

Avoidance.

If nothing changes, then nothing changes.  

And something's gotta change.

As if.....

A lot has happened in the last seven days.  A LOT.  I love my job, I love where I work, but this year has been a real roller coaster in terms of expectation shifts.  And in terms of good old basic respect of one another.  Recent news has required me to act as if what has been said is no bother, has no impact, and does not even enter my zone of concern.  On the inside, though, with every bit of news, a part of me feels like it's dying. 

Part of recovery has meant trying things that I am not comfortable with.  It's meant stretching out of my comfort zone on so many occasions.  It's meant doing what feels impossible.  It's meant doctor's appointments and therapy appointments and dietitian appointments that are painful as painful gets.

But nothing hurts as much as having to pretend everything is fine, even though everyone around you knows it's not.  Pretending that the announcement that was just made isn't going to cause a major recovery setback.  Pretending that you're going to be just fine, when inside, you're ready to give up, and everyone around you is watching for your reaction. 

I've gotten quite good at acting over the years, it's part of my job, and it's usually useful.  I am so appreciative that today all that practice acting paid off.

Insecurities

I am who I am.  Lots of people, surprisingly, seem to like me, too.  Unfortunately, I'm not one of them.  I am not my biggest fan.  In fact, I'm not even in line to become a fan at all.  People in my field see me as knowledgeable, compassionate, innovative, outgoing.... The list could go on for a while, but then I'd be too ill to finish this post.

Because I struggle to see past my insecurities, most of which are body image related.  Yep, I said it.  Body image.  Something I generally try very hard to avoid talking about.  In fact, I haven't broached the subject in more than six months.  It's that hard for me to think about.

But it's time to open that door up a little bit, and peek inside the darkness of the room in which all my body fears reside.  It is not going to be fun.  But I'm told it's a necessity.  I have found myself stuck in the painful place of wanting to listen to what others say about my abilities, but being pulled down by my self-perceptions instead.  Unable to accept compliments about my skills because after all, how could someone as [gulp] ugly as me be good at anything?

The truth is (and I'm quoting from others here) that I am quite good at what I do.  I am "knowledgeable and compassionate and innovative when it comes to education.  The things [my] students are doing and learning is pretty spectacular."  It makes me ill to hear that, even though a part of me knows it's true.  I chalk it all up to the fact that while most people were out and about, developing social skills and building relationships, I was hiding inside, escaping from the world.  The benefit from the time I spent alone is the fact that during that time was/is when I explore new tools that eventually become the norm.

That's the thing.  I feel like what I do with my class is the norm, and it's always shocking to hear that it isn't.  I am stuck behind the fact that I don't think it's possible for someone like me (read: ugly, insecure, self-conscious, socially awkward, highly sensitive, easily distracted, and so annoying) to be innovative.  To be excellent at anything.

So here I am......  Trying to accept that I may have admirable traits and skills. Trying to swallow the fact that others seem to be able to see past my appearance, and see the whole picture.  Trying to pull out the knife that I plunged into my own heart so long ago.... and trying to let myself be seen, just a little, just for a few minutes, so that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to hear what my team (and a lot of others) is telling me, instead of listening to my vicious inner voice.

Professionally Developed

I work with some amazing people.  Professional, put together, masters of their craft.  People that I look at and think "wow, I kinda wish I could have their lives for a little while, and see how the other half lives......"  I often feel less than, just because they are all married (or engaged) and have families (or are just starting their families) and have very rich and wonderful lives outside of work.  In other words, their highlight reels are pretty spectacular.

And mine isn't.

Except for one area.  I found it quite shocking that my "highlight reel" actually brought out the behind-the-scenes struggle in my colleagues.  See, my highlight reel is very limited.  It actually only encompasses one skill area.  That's it.  I don't have the family.  I don't have the relationship.  I don't have the outside-of-work-amazing-life.  But I do have one talent, that I now know brings out insecurities in others.  Which is something I hate to do, make someone feel insecure.  And today, more than ever, that was made clear to me.

Which is why this quote came to mind.  I know I need to really work hard to stop looking at the highlight reel, the "public persona" of my colleagues.  Because when I do that, I feel like an ant surrounded by elephants - the smallest, most insignificant creature of the bunch.  Hopefully this new-found information will help me balance out a little bit more, and be less insecure about what they have that I don't, and instead, focus on sharing what I can......  After all, we all have something to offer, whether we're behind the camera or running the show.

When Are You Due?

I bet many expectant parents hear this question a lot.  It makes sense, right?  They're pregnant, and people looking to strike up a conversation will ask the obvious.  And I bet many expectant parents are more than happy to answer the question.

Well I'm not.  Because I'm not an expectant parent.

I am recovering from an eating disorder.  There, I said it.  I've danced around the topic a lot on the blog, but I don't know that I've come outright and said that before.

In the not-so-distant past, a complete stranger came up to me, attempted to put her hand on my extremely bloated belly as she asked the dreaded question.  I was shocked.  I mean, I know by evening I am bloated.  I hate it.  But pregnant?  Really?  That is SO not something to say to me.

That comment, as innocent as it may have been (the woman needs to be smacked upside the head as lesson one in learning tact) it flipped my world upside down and sent me into a dangerous spiral.

See, my recovery has only been strong for about two months.  That's not long enough to let a comment like this not rock the boat.  I do not want to throw the last year and a half's worth of work away.  My team has worked too hard to get me to where I am, stable for two months.  But I am so, so, so, discouraged right now.  All that work, all that effort, all that pain......... I mean, my body image has been really bad for years, and while recovery has stabilized my weight and my physical health, I still struggle with the body image blues.  Big time.  And for the last few weeks, it's been exceptionally miserable in the mirror.  This didn't help.

This time around, it wasn't a number that set me off.  It was a stupid stranger.  An inconsiderate, thoughtless, possibly-well-meaning, stranger.  And my former best bud Ed is  holding the door wide open, inviting me back into the relationship that I worked so hard to leave behind.