In this exhausting, cathartic, havoc-wreaking, daily-self-inventory-and-renovation I’ve been undertaking since I actively started working on recovery a few years ago (I might’ve mentioned it here… a few times…) I’ve had to dig out a lot of personal muck (usually of the self-induced variety), filter it, clean it and then put it back in my foundation where it belongs. It’s been pretty taxing and has lead to what seems to be an unending series of epiphanies about me as a person but, for the most part, I’ve been able to look at it all, deal with it accordingly and then move on when the time is right.

As it should be, I think.

But in the last couple years, it has become more and more obvious that I wasn’t just a terrible person when I was drinking or in my throes of depression or even when I started adolescence, as I’d first suspected when coming out of my drink-driven stupor. In fact, in the last six or so months, I slowly became aware that there might not’ve been a time in my life before a few years ago when I wasn’t completely self-involved, malicious, spiteful, wrathful, jealous, insecure and pathologically dishonest. And that stings way worse than the thought that I had an illness or even an addiction to hide behind.

I’ve discussed this ad nauseum (so if you’ve read anything on this blog before now, feel free to skip this paragraph because you’ve probably heard me talk about this ten times minimum) but, basically, I sobered up and started trying to figure out this whole mental illness-cum-self loathing lifestyle I’d clung to for the better part of a decade because I realized that I sucked to be around to everyone, especially myself. And I kinda went about all the follow-up work (making amends, identifying my flaws, addressing my insecurities, avoiding the catalysts/antagonists) in hopes that, eventually, it would chip away at this character my addiction and illness had created and reveal the bright, polished, pure person I used to be way back in the life I could no longer remember, mentally or emotionally. That was kind of the end goal- I wash away all the muck so I could get back down to basics and start rebuilding from there.

But what really happened was that I started making amends and looking at my flaws objectively and doing the really embarrassing/humbling work of raking myself over the coals to find out what the hell I was doing and try to fix it all, only to realize that my original foundation was made of crap to begin with.

I know that sounds really harsh because, for Christ’s sake, I was just a kid when the depression really started setting in. (I can remember my first episodes at 11, which is still “childhood” for me, I guess.) But even before that, I was never a nurturing, compassionate child. I was bossy and domineering and totally self-centered and brutal and meeeaaaan. Good Lord, I was mean.

Don’t think this is me just feeling sorry for myself or blowing typical childhood cruelty out of proportion; when I had this epiphany, I spent a good while going “No, that can’t be right. You’ve had friends since you were a kid; surely you didn’t suck that much. You’re just in a funk. Go walk it off and come back and look at this more objectively.” And, after a ton of deliberation it seems that this isn’t just a fluke.

I was manipulative and dishonest for as far back as I can remember. I can remember bullying other kids and enjoying taunting people who made me feel weak and imperfect as early as preschool. I can remember saying horrible things to and about other people at every age. I can’t remember doing selfless or unprompted kind things for those around me at all… not even once. And what’s worse is that I can’t remember doing anything really kind or selfless for my siblings at any time during my childhood, which is something that really tears me up to think about, to be honest. I could go on but, truthfully it hurts a bit too much. The point is that the evidence is present and clear. These are the things that were only magnified once the hormones and disease kicked in later on.

And, yes, okay, I’ve realized and explained where all my chronic meanness came from before now. I totally get it. I was so insecure and was so certain that someone was going to jump out and mentally assault me (which, incidentally, happened a number of times) that I preemptively did it to as many people as I could in hopes that… ::sigh:: it would make me feel better? I could beat everyone to the punch? Who even fucking knows? It’s all very textbook. It’s all very pathetic. I know. I get it.  And, as aforementioned, the worst part was that I honestly thought I was so insignificant that the awful things I said and did to people couldn’t possibly have any sort of repercussions because who the hell cared what I had to say? I didn’t. And, as blathered about for a few years now via this blog, this is what I’ve had the privilege of wading through and sorting out in my search for sanity and a better, cleaner, lighter soul. So far, it’s been working.

But now, at the bottom of all of it, when I make deliberate actions and I’m fully accountable and responsible for everysinglething that I do or say or think and I don’t do anything or say anything I don’t mean, I find that there’s not anything else that’s left for me to work with. There’s no real memory of anything likeable about me from before I was some sort of monster and I feel like I’m sort of grappling at straws while having to deal with this awful realization that the reason I was so eager to escape my reality to begin with was that I’d always just sucked to be around since I was like, 3.

Ouch. Didn’t see that coming.

Now my personal recovery is not just about knocking down all the rubble and shaking it off my limbs but it’s also trying to figure out likable aspects of myself as a base skeleton.

Shit. I don’t have the energy for all this. Wouldn’t it be easier just to do an Etch-A-Sketch restart where we shake it clear, pretend it never happened and start over?

And, of course, more than half of my problem with this realization is the utter grief and remorse I have for being that person and not realizing it up until now. Naturally, this is the part that I’m honestly trying not to assault myself with the hardest but it’s proving to be nearly impossible - seriously, who wants to think that they were never a genuinely nice person at any point in their youth? I just have to keep reminding myself that rolling around in the muck isn’t going to help me get clean. (I love cliches. Thanks, Aldous Huxley!)

But still, there’s a level of defeat and frustration to this huge realization that I’ve been working to fend off in order to keep moving forward. I guess I had always figured that, if nothing else, I had a real pure Self under there that I was hoping to recover and reconnect with once I got my Demon Era properly handled and filed away. Problem is, it looks like this going to be more of a discovery/construction mission than a reconnaissance one and I’m not sure I packed the right tools.

Liz Pardue-Schultz

NOTE: I was going to do one on a monthly “Unhappy Hour” in which I rant and complain about everything that’s bugging me about my life but really? I’m feeling too good to bring down my mood by focusing on the small things that are going wrong. I’m saving that one for a rainy day, but it made me feel good that I didn’t even want to complain about anything today. I’d say that’s a small victory.

ANOTHER NOTE: I’m so glad I didn’t commit to doing one of these daily or I’d be looking pretty weak right now. There seems to be plenty of intent and not as much time. Maybe I’ll make this The Pronoiac Months.

Dream Pronoia Therapy pg. 34:
Write your own “I have a Dream” poem, story, essay or manifesto here:

I have a dream that one day women and men will no longer be susceptible to loathing their bodies, characters, minds, ideals or selves in the wake of others’ hatred.

I have a dream that one day every man and woman will give everything he or she can to help improve others’ quality of life without desiring something in return.

I have a dream that someone will invent a luxurious chocolate with no calories.

I have a dream that no person will be persecuted, ostracized or ridiculed for his or her beliefs, creed, gender, race, nationality, family history, intellect, financial status, marital status, sexuality or lifestyle.

I have a dream that our society will accept mental illness as a legitimate disease and will discuss symptoms, prevention, understanding and treatment within every school’s curriculum.

I have a dream that the cast of “Sesame Street” makes as much per episode as those morons from “Jersey Shore”.

I have a dream that children will no longer have to work in sweat shops for American companies to feed their families on pennies a day.

I have a dream that we will return to nature, learn how to fertilize the earth and reap the benefits of it’s fruits and joys.

I have a dream we will peel ourselves from our televisions and computers and create revolutions.

I have a dream that people stop keeping secrets from each other and learn to communicate their hopes, fears, vulnerabilities and hardships openly and frankly. I have a dream that this will allow us to see each other as united equals.

I have a dream that every woman will be allowed and encouraged to explore her sexuality without fear of external stigma or abuse.

I have a dream that religions will stop convincing people to hate and judge themselves and each other.

I have a dream that no human settles on a life less than ideal and continues to make changes to improve his or her personal well-being.

I have a dream in which we televise chemical (of the acid variety) castrations of rapists and sex offenders on Pay Per View and use the money earned to pay for our nation’s education.

I have a dream that teachers are considered to be of the highest profession and are paid comparable salaries to doctors and lawyers.

I have a dream that we use the taxes from legalized marijuana to help fund our national education system.

I have a dream that every person gets to visit every country in the world, in some massive Citizen Exchange Program.

I have a dream that the mentally ill receive just as many cards, prayers and flowers as a cancer patient when they are hospitalized for their disease.

I have a dream that every town will engage in one childhood game every month, like Red Rover or Duck, Duck Goose.

I have a dream that every American will learn how to be self-sustaining and survive off the land.

I have a dream that we will revert to a barter system that will include deeds as well as goods.

I have a dream that there were no dress codes.

I have a dream in which prostitution is legalized to protect and screen the sex workers who otherwise will be beaten, raped, murdered and subject to STDs and drug addiction.

I have a dream in which people see the horror of surgically altering one’s body instead of finding inner peace and acceptance.

I have a dream in which two people of different races or of the same sex can hold hands or kiss in public without anyone around them feeling or expressing disgust or disapproval.

I have a dream that everyone has the option to have a public voice that will be recognized, respected and considered.

I have a dream that nudity doesn’t terrify anyone anymore.

I have a dream that we can write letters to friends and family who have passed away and can receive them in turn.

I have a dream that people never stopped asking questions.

I have a dream in which nobody has to bury their children.

I have a dream that cars could run on baby giggles…

Okay now I’m just getting ridiculous. I mean, they’re all true, but there are only about 15 in here that I really honestly would die to have become a reality.

Liz Pardue-Schultz

Recently I’ve gotten a little gross and self-pitying and borderline obsessive about the things I don’t have or can’t do or whathaveyou instead of my usual focusing-on-all-the-good-things-going-on-and-that-I’m-lucky-to-have mode that I’ve learned to rely on. With frustrations of money and time and having a sick child at home for 3/4 of January, it’s been easy to get a little wrapped up in the “poor me”s and general martyrdom that always seems to set in during this time of year. (And ALWAYS makes me feel worse and even stupider for subscribing to it in the first place.)

Something has to change [or I'll keep doing it until March and, by then, it will have become more of a lifestyle than a habit and we all know what that's a gateway for.]

So I thought I’d spend this month revisiting Rob Breszny’s Pronoia, as it always gives me incredible insight into my current realities and it challenges me to push myself creatively and spiritually. Don’t hold me to this [because we all know how well I do with long-term commitments] but I’d like to do one of the exercises recommended in the book for every day in February… or at least 4 times every week. I think it’ll help me flush some things out and help with this whole rewiring-of-my-brain thing I’m in the throes of.

So here’s #1:

Pg. 194, Exercise #9 “I was never the class clown. I am not a troubled but devilishly handsome wastrel living on a trust fund. I’ve never beaten up anyone, have steadfastly not aspired to write like Raymond Carver, and have never played strip Scrabble with a junkie violinist on a leaky waterbed in a Key West penthouse. There are so many things I am not and will never be and I’m glad I know about them. It helps me stay focused on exactly who I am.

What about you? Who aren’t you? Fantasize about all the things you never were and all the paths you will never take. Put it in writing.”

I never aspired to be a mathematician, a paleontologist or an orthopedic surgeon. I’ve never hustled anyone at billiards. I’ve never deliberately killed an animal. I’ve never made out with anyone (male or female) at a frat party. I was never given limitless money to spend on name brand clothing/vehicles/cosmetics/etc and I was never left home alone for the weekend in high school. I was never a coke whore living on the streets. I will never be a teenage bride or teenage mother. I was never a bigot and have never hated someone based on their creed, sexuality, race, nationality or general demographic. I will never be a prom queen. I will never be a sweater-set-and-pearls-wearing soccer mom. I have never knocked anyone unconscious. I’ve never attended a professional wrestling match and will never attend a professional boxing match. I have never had the desire to climb Mt. Everest. I’ve never been in a bitch-fight with anyone’s ex-spouse. I’ll never burn a cross while wearing a white hood in a field with a bunch of other dudes. I’ve never been a cartoonist for an animated series. I’ve never taught an aerobics class to senior citizens. I’ve never wanted to drive a pick-up truck. I’ve never apologized for saying things that I genuinely meant. I’ve never built a house of cards. I’ve never been valedictorian, student body president or spelling bee champion. I’ve never and will never made/make a solemn pledge to marry Jesus and live in a nunnery. I have never and will never stop overanalyzing the meaning of life, the meaning of my life, my purpose and the basis of reality. I’ll never be a workaholic. I’ll never pay to attend a NASCAR event. I have never been the subject of tabloid ridicule. I have never plowed a field only using an ox and a homemade plow. I’ll never have Tweety bird tattooed to my body. I’ll never attend a Motley Crue concert. I was never on a boat with a band of pirates. I’ll never and have never obsessed about my wedding day. I will never have any form of plastic surgery unless it is imperative to my health to do so (post-wreck/fire reconstruction, mammography, etc.) I will never allow my family to keep me on life-support longer than two weeks. I will never settle for mediocrity. I have never had a perm. I have never won a DDR tournament. I will never take fertility drugs. I will never play WoW. I have never tasted toe fungus. I will never work as a greeter at Wal-Mart. I will never major in philosophy and I will never listen to and believe anyone who believes he or she knows the absolute Truth. I will never be trendy enough to be incessantly angry/offended/argumentative. I have never had the desire to buzz-and-bleach my hair. I will never get a tattoo in a language that isn’t my native tongue. I will never refuse to learn from anyone, no matter how much I hate their personal beliefs or lifestyle. I have never worked as an indentured servant. I was never drafted. I was never a guest on the “Jerry Springer Show”. I’ve never been launched out of a catapult. I wasn’t conceived at a ren faire, a music festival, a car wash, a demolition derby, a public bathroom or while either partner was on the clock. I have never attended a dog fight or a dog race. I will never join a police force, a military service, or the SWAT team. I will never convert to any religion for the societal benefit of someone else. I never attended the Royal Academy of Ballet. I never hunted wild boar. I’ve never amputated someone’s arm after sedating them with brandy. I never installed a gunrack in my car. I’ve never dated a quarterback (nor have I ever had the inclination to.) I never smeared fireflies all over myself to make me glow in the dark. I’ve never had an illicit affair with a college professor. I’ve never watched an episode of any daytime soap opera. I will never be a contestant on a reality TV show. I’ve never thrown a Molotov cocktail. I’ll never voluntarily get a tongue, back, bellybutton or nether-regions piercing. I’ve never had the desire to board a submarine. I’ll never get cornrows. I never smoked a cigarette in the bathroom at school. I never travelled to Mexico to get a sketchy medical procedure from a doctor I found on the internet. I never collected farts in a jar. I’ve never played an electric banjo solo with Carlos Santana. I’ve never been attracted to “a man in uniform.” I’ll never stay in an unhappy/unhealthy relationship again. I’ve never painted the outside of my house yellow or pink. I’ve never worn khaki capri pants in public. I never dropped anything off a skyscraper. I’ll never serve as Prime Minister of anywhere. I’ve never swallowed a sword or breathed fire. I’ve never attended an execution. I’ve never mined for coal. I’ve never cleaned a septic tank. I’ve never hurled myself off a national landmark. I’ve never mauled a grizzly bear. I’ve never been to a sperm bank. I’ve never spoken in rhyme for a day. I’ll never have my own ventriloquist act. I’ve never owned a pair of clear heels. I’m never going to be a pop superstar.

I feel like these could go on forever and I’m starting to get to menial, obvious things. Maybe I’ll revisit it later. For now, this is what I’m not.

Liz Pardue-Schultz

Ms. Prejean,

Stop. Stop talking. For just a few minutes. Seriously, I don’t know why nobody has told you this before now but all you’re doing is making it worse. I would say that your publicist should have the sense to tell you to can it but, truthfully, that guy’s pretty smart if he’s letting you ramble, make an ass of yourself, lie to the mass media and prolong this side show you seem oblivious to be emceeing.

Look, ordinarily, I really don’t care about beauty pageants. Frankly, I got over being judged in middle school so I don’t understand why people would volunteer to do it on the off chance they may win some cash and 12 months of recognition. (And, yes, I happen to be a decently attractive human being, so this isn’t just an angry ugly chick rambling at you here.) But, because you have made such grandeur public statements on behalf of “young Christian women”, you’re now suddenly dragging me and some of my good friends into the fray, which we really don’t appreciate.

Believe it or not, the rest of the world kind of doesn’t like Americans right now. (I know we’re big into screaming about how awesome we are all the time but, really, that just makes everyone like us even less.) They’re all pretty sure that we’re all a bunch of vapid, surgically-enhanced, superficial, Bible-beating hypocrites. And the real problem with that belief is that there are people like you WHO ARE LIKE THAT who are making international headlines and perpetuating these godawful stereotypes.

Since you seem a little clueless when it comes to abstract thought, I’ll make a list of grievances so you can clearly understand what I’m addressing here.

The Stereotypes You Are Perpetuating That We Wish You Wouldn’t Are:

1) All Americans Have a Victim Mentality, Especially the Young Ones.
No matter how much you publicly whine about somehow being “wronged”, it’s painfully obvious that you weren’t. And by continuing to whine about it, you’re just making yourself look like an idiot. Here’s what happened: You won Miss California. Good for you. The folks that run that particular organization forked out a lot of money to have your body surgically altered if you’d sign an agreement to jump through their hoops and live by their standards. And then you didn’t. And then you lied about it. And then you tried to sue them for holding you accountable for your actions. (Also another American trait that’s cringe-worthy.) Sure, the gays that chair Miss California Inc. were devastated at the ignorant, bigoted answer you gave but even if that wasn’t a factor, you were still flaking out on the boat shows where you were scheduled to appear and the Family Dollar grand openings where you were due to cut the ribbon. So say what you will about the Gay Mafia coming to get you because you “love Jesus” and are just trying to spread “His Word”, you were wrong. And, as an adult, people expect you to be accountable for your actions. Oh, and FYI: because you’re not, you’re just making yourself look even less credible.

2) Christians Hate Gay People and Jesus Did Too
I could literally spend all day rambling about how inaccurate this is but I’m sure that would be fruitless. However, let’s talk like two people who were raised in Sunday School. The cool thing about Jesus that made him so healing and appealing to everyone is that he loved and accepted everyone for what they were. In case you’ve forgotten, he hung out with drunks and murderers and hookers and all sorts of really gross people and he’d probably even hang out with you, too. His message was ENTIRELY about love. And he offered love and forgiveness for any type of sin, including lying or stealing or drinking to excess or adultery or murdering or - if you think love is somehow a sin - having sex with someone who has matching genitalia to yours.

So, running around telling everyone that Jesus has a problem with gay people and that you’re just this soldier standing up for your beliefs is not only incredibly hypocritical but just innacurate. You’re not a martyr for spreading hatred and intolerance. You’re not doing Jesus’s bidding by campaigning against people being in love. I mean, if we’re going to try to stop supposed “sinners” from getting married, are you going to try to stop drunks from getting married? How about non-Christians? I mean, technically, if you really believe this, you could spend the rest of your life limiting marriage to just Christian heteros.

I’m not so much a “Christian” as I am someone who recognizes God in all forms and respects the teachings of the people who spoke of Love (like Christ.) And, unfortunately, when you misrepresent someone who represents and initiated ideas that I believe in, you offend me personally, because I really don’t appreciate looking like a moron along with you.

3) Beauty Pageant Contestants Are Just a Bunch of Mindless Whores

I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure there are a couple thousand beauty queens who want to punch your face in. (And, no, not because they’re totally jealous of your rockin’ bod.) Some of these girls are actually intelligent, with ambition and talent and would kill for a media platform in which to share their beliefs and spread awareness about noble causes. There are girls who could actually be talented actors/singers/models or who want to make extra money for grad school or who want to do something important with their lives other than be a beauty queen for a year if they could just get that big break. But, instead, we have you, yet another oversexed, greedy twentysomething hottie, wildly flailing around, contradicting yourself by yelling about morals and then having nude photos and a sex tape (God, how cliche can we be, here?) magically leak and then going out and writing a book about how all of this that has made you famous has destroyed you as a person.

AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN WIN THE DAMNED THING.

::Sigh::

You see where this is going? Even the poor girl who spent just as much time as you in the gym and rehearsed her interview questions just as hard as you did and invested just as much time and money into the Miss USA pageant as you did and actually won the “coveted” title isn’t getting as much press as you. What was her name again? And her mission was what? I’m pretty sure she’s talked to a couple hitmen.

Meanwhile, you’re showing the world that yes! You proudly let an organization purchase breasts for you! And yes! You have the obligatory spray tan and bleached hair and overwhitened teeth! And yes! You believe in Jesus but have no idea what he was actually about! And yes! You proudly argue like a 7th grade girl who’s being made fun of for being flat-chested! And yes! You do all this loudly and publicly with no idea how stupid this is making you look and no desire to step back and try to salvage some dignity or self-respect! Hooray for America!

I’m surprised your co-contestants haven’t tried to kill you already.

So, let’s recap: You’re making a lying, idiotic fool of yourself and your parents and your friends, of course. And you’re doing the same for those people who share a religious title with you. And you’re doing the same for beauty pageant contestants. And you’re doing all this in epic, international proportions, completely oblivious to the fact that in a couple years nobody’s going to care what you have to say and honestly don’t care now but we can’t peel ourselves away because we haven’t seen such a personal Hindenberg incident since Britney shaved her head and beat up a car.

Stop trying to be heard; you’ve made your statements, backed them up with your contradicting actions and the damage is done. Stop trying to make money. Stop trying to stay relevant. Stop telling everyone that you’re some sort of hero. Stop letting your publicist sell you out while you’re making money and getting attention for him. Stop lying to everyone about everything because we know and you’re just making it worse. Stop talking on behalf of people who are absolutely nothing like you. If not for us, then do it for yourself. Have a little dignity and just go away.

Because the blatant truth is that you’re not the Victim here; you’re the Lost, Self-Destructing, Dollfaced Moron. And haven’t we seen enough of that in pop culture?

Most sincerely,

Liz Pardue-Schultz