I’m reading a great book right now (one I’m not editing)—Becoming Bulletproof by Evy Poumpouras.
The intention was to do a review, but as I was strolling along pre-dawn streets this morning, it came to me to do a two-parter. One: how the book came into my possession. Two: the review itself.
This year has been one of sharing, of communicating things about my personal situation, and what a challenge life has become over the years. I never had the inclination to be transparent [that much] in past, but somehow, these days, this year, it seems a cathartic thing to do.
I’ve been sad/depressed off and on for a long time; sometimes, I can handle it, sometimes I slip deep within and/or spit razorblades. Lately, it’s been the latter. I’ve walked away from people (the very, very few friends I have, all three of them).
One friend, however, was sweet enough to give me a feel-better bag filled with lovely pick-you-up pressies. Scented candles (I couldn’t peel my nose from those heady fragrances). Sweet treats (how nummy). A soft blanket (so ni-ice at night). And the book . . . Becoming Bulletproof (Life Lessons from a Secret Service Agent). Thank you, Krystyna.
“The one person you should be able to fully rely upon to save you is you. You are the hero you’ve been waiting for . . .” is how the back jacket reads. Love it. Ultimately, it’s true; the only person(s) we can rely on are ourselves.
The book revolves around how to deal with and overcome fear. I’m all for that; who doesn’t want to take charge of her/his life?
My fear? There’s really only one: never being free of mom-care. I’ve devoted most of my life to taking care of a woman who could care less what the toll is on me, nor is she thankful for the multitude of things I do every day. That’s okay. Some people simply can’t say thank-you. And I don’t criticize or condemn her for that; that’s just who she is.
I’m often feeling like one of the walking dead because I am exhausted beyond exhausted. And hope and faith are merely memories. But real [uninterrupted] sleep will come one day. Maybe not tomorrow or next month. But it will come. Hope may return and I hope (he-he) it does. Faith I’m not so sure about, but maybe I take the Wayne Dyer approach to life. Faith is found in many forms and it doesn’t have to be “religious”.
I must learn to go with the flow better than I have been doing. Pull up the socks. Keep a stiff upper lip. Let things happen/unfold. Allow the cards to fall where they may. How are those for overused—but appropriate—sayings?
I must also apply what I’ve learned from the book. It’s merely a matter of putting advice into practice . . . and practice does make perfect (one last familiar saying, he-he).
And, with time, yours truly will become bulletproof.
