on restriction.
i don’t talk nearly enough about the impact that bouts of sobriety from alcohol and other toxins have on my health goals.
i also don’t acknowledge often enough how potentially obnoxious my disdain for capitalization may be to some of y’all.
consider this such acknowledgment.
. . .
how insanely absurd it must be to those of you who only know the feral side of me— the Annie who sporadically shows up at my fave local divebar, unannounced, dressed like a Barbie, + ordering up my pints of draught beer while i smoke a string of pure tobacco cigarettes + catch up with the regulars.
yes, y’all.
‘tis True.
i still behave like that wild party girl that many of you knew in my yesteryears.
it’s just that the distance between appearances has become further spread. i think they call this extraordinary phenomenon, “maturity.” lol.
. . .
for those of you who don’t know this side of me, though— allow me to shed a little Light:
feral Annie is a far cry from the über-disciplined, painfully-dedicated, consistently-striving-for-excellence-in-everything Annie that the other portion of my followers, clients, colleagues, former schoolmates, + friends see hanging out on social media.
feral Annie is, without apology, unbridled + incredibly enamored with said unbridledness.
exact polar opposites, y’all.
+ while i super really dig healthy Annie, who takes her whole Life seriously. who researches + studies + recalibrates + asks herself the hard questions. who is constantly looking for new ways to grow + expand + to be a better Human Being. who wants so hard to be a source of Light + Love + positive energy to the world around her—
that feral Annie is an absolute riot.
+ try as i may. i just don’t have the heart to completely destroy her.
keep her in the cage more often than not? absolutely. especially the more i come to appreciate the benefits attached to prosperity, gainful employment, all of the healths (there are 7 of them— but that’s another blog), + an ever-increasing projection of success.
but y’all.
i’m just here to keep it real.
because sometimes that feral itch is too distracting to avoid. + when i go. Lord Jesus. i go.
. . .
so what’s my point? why give such vulnerable access to this private + imperfect part of my Life? especially when vulnerability often translates as the enemy’s favorite ammunition in the loaded weapon of accusation + shame?
well. it’s ‘cause i Love people.
+ i know we’re all just bumping along through this Life, trying to find our place. we all have junk + demons + tragedy. we all have secrets— things we hope that nobody never, ever, ever finds out about us. we all have a feral alter-ego who chews through the restraints on occasion + lets loose creating mayhem + pain.
i’m just here to bear my soul in the off-chance that ONE person— just one— maybe you?— hears the bits + pieces of my story— of this desperately flawed version of generational curse + prideful nature + beastly ego that sometimes consumes me. of the very, completely, absolutely real parts of me that are embarrassing. humiliating. out of control. + yet also of this innate desire within my Being to try again when i fail. to prove to myself + anyone who has ever seen me struggle — which is now all of y’all, lol– that i am not the sum total of my failures. i am the sum total of how i respond to my failures. to know, when i get to where i’m going, when this Life on earth is done for me + it’s my Time to stare death in its face— that i gave it my all every chance i got. that i didn’t give up. i didn’t give in. i kept going. i kept trying to figure it out.
. . .
the photo attached to this blog is called, “irony.”
reason: most people might look at this photo + see a Woman poised with balance + maybe even Grace. but the irony here, is that the Woman pictured here (ps. that’s me, y’all), doesn’t have a single thing about Life figured except i don’t like being bad. with that being said, i’m even still trying to figure out what bad means. or is. or does. or doesn’t do.
. . .
i am currently on restriction from giving any time, energy, or resources (read: money) to my hedonistic pleasures.
but make no mistake. where restriction ends, feral begins shortly thereafter.
i find it beneficial to set future dates on the calendar. days to count down to. experiences i wanna look + feel amazing + connected for when i get to them. milestones of past successes + failures that i choose to use as fuel for new goals.
it’s officially been about a month since i went unapologetically full-feral for America’s birthday. i mean. i even got bit by a pig named Porkchop whilst imbibing in all of the intoxicating pleasures, wearing a bikini, + partaking in the full spectrum of behaviors linked to full-fledged Patriarchy-Endowed-Liberty—
God Bless the US of A.
+ i’m poised intentionally toward my next major milestone— which will remain between my calendar, a few tribe members, + me for right now— before i will allow myself such unrestricted feasting again.
so in the middle, i’m doing all of the things i know to do that help me meet me be my Shiniest, Prettiest, Happiest (Healthiest) self. leaning into the choices that help me feel lean + focused— like the battle-ready, galactic Princess Warrior my Daddy taught me to always Be.
. . .
just wanted to make sure none of y’all get confused about who i think i am. or who you think i am. or even who we all think i’m trying to be.
because more than anything—
i just wanna be real.
the real things are always so dang good.
. . .
as a sidenote, sometimes i wonder if feral Annie should have her own name.
leave suggestions in the comments.
(famous last words. lol.)
Love you. mean it.♥