The Deepest Love

There are times in our lives that some of us unfortunately experience that take our breath away. Not in a good way. No romance here, enlightenment or euphoria. I’m talking about those times that punch your chest; and instead of reminding you that you’re alive, you barely feel alive. 

You wake up each day dreading the feeling of the floor under your feet. The aches and pains set in from your restless night of worry. 

Have no fear that I am tore asunder. I am a woman, a wife and most importantly, a mother. I am a person of strength; yet strength shall see weakness from time to time.  Those that I carry on my shoulders may at times carry me. We may find ourselves at times entangled together. When we do, have faith that we shall find a way to once again stand.

I will never let you fall. 

I love you

Good morning, morning.

I started counseling. I’m on my third counselor. The first woman sent me to another counselor she felt best suited for me. That’s okay, she had a mullet and I can’t take that seriously. 

The man counselor always sat with his back arched in his extendable office chair with his hands interwoven behind his head. He grunted a lot. I think he used to be a linebacker. I need a softer touch.

My new counselor has a huge office. All the furniture is Mid Century modern in the softest shades of grays and blues. The Kleenex box is inside another fancy box and I actually think she uses the real deal-Kleenex with lotion. Ahhh. 

She asked me to practice gratefulness. 

Okay-I have to admit to something. Yesterday I was in the yard pulling up weeds and just piddling around. I had this idea to be grateful for finding a four leaf clover, only I never did. 

Then I realized I was doing it again… I was trying to control. I was even controlling  my own gratitude based on what I specifically thought I should be thankful for. What a power struggle inside my mind. 

I took a moment to readjust my brain and lay on the grass for a moment in the sunshine. I said silently to myself over and over, “I am thankful for this peaceful moment and for having my own yard to have this moment in.”

I’m getting there.

Feeling the Wind

My last writing on here was pretty negative and for that, I apologize. I almost came back and deleted the entire thing. I decided that life is full of ups and downs and there’s no reason to be perfect all the time. Besides, that so damn tiring. 

My father is on the upswing. He’s let go of some anger and he’s becoming more enjoyable. That’s the goal. The entire point of him living with our family. Due to his debilitating ailments, he’s really never been too involved as a grandfather. That changed for him yesterday.  He sat silently through most of the household chaos yesterday as my son and daughter got ready for prom. Even though he didn’t say much, he smiled and he smiled a lot.

Seth, my son, struggles with social anxiety a lot. However a Junior in High School has taken a liking to his sense of humor and charm and asked him to be her date. When he said yes, I almost fell over. 

Rowan, my daughter is a Senior. This was to be her last dance and she was on court. My father at first didn’t want to go, but as my mother and step-father were on their way up with a three hour drive to come watch the festivities, he had a change of heart.

I’m so happy he did, and the proof was in his smiles that he was happy as well. Seth marched right down the line during procession and even looked up! He was so handsome and I knew inside my heart he was fighting with all his might to make each leg move towards the arch that ends to face the crowd. 

Rowan was stunning and when they announced her as Prom Queen, my heart burst open at what a wonderful moment in each of my children’s lives we were a part of that evening. Somehow I managed to get Rowan and Seth together for a photo and I’m so proud to show it off.

Life goes up and down and it twists and it turns, but somehow I’ve found myself wonderfully elated where my feet always land.

What’s in a Bowl?

  Something inside me continues to question why. Why is that our brains have to make us suffer? Why is it that our hearts have to make us suffer? 
  Suffering at times can be a very beautiful thing, for knowledge is gained. Some truths come from pain. There are moments that trickle into life that are completely unexpected pain, perhaps the pain that others cause.
  I walked into the ward this evening and passed by a room with a girl inside. She was alone, it was visiting hours. She was on her bed rocking herself back and forth and uttering words full of anguish. She was shaming herself for not being strong. I can’t step into her room. It’s against the rules, for I do not even know this young girl. I wanted to go inside. 
  My father. I step into his room and suddenly he turns to me to say hello. This my friends, is progress. He’s eating a tiny bit more. He’s observing others. He told me a story about the girl across from him and how her intellect was impressing him today. I didn’t tell him she was in her room beating herself into a bloody self shame now as he speaks so highly of her. 
  My father. He told me that he is beginning to feel like he’s awake. He described himself as a goldfish bowl. A bowl that others throw food into. The food comes at him so quickly and it looks so appetizing, but once it hits the bowl, it’s gone. The food is no longer in existence.
I sat there wondering why he wasn’t a fish. Why is it that he proclaimed to be the bowl? 
  When I left, the young girl was telling herself that she’s made so many mistakes. She was still absorbed in her own dark bowl. Her bowl has murky water. It seems to me, she was eating…Soaking every last bite up with a fine piece of bread. 

It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood¬†

Do you ever walk away from a situation thinking to yourself that you’re not perfect? Wondering why is it that the Jones family down the street have it all and you don’t? How is it that Mary and Bob can still swoon over one another after 20 years of marriage? Why is your family dysfunctional and their family is not?
Trust me, we all live tiny white lies. Can’t you feel fake? I can. 
There was a time in my life however that I lived a perfect life. In my mind I had to have it all and no one would have ever realized that on the inside I was dying. I lived this way for years. It’s exhausting. This fake little existence. Facade. 
When my life and it’s perfect little package opened with shreds of pain, I realized how alone I was. I had not let those that loved me in. I had not allowed myself to show others how vulnerable I was. So I found myself with this constant lump in my throat. This annoying little frog stuck in there. How do you utter the words, I am not perfect? Once I did, I was set free.
When you can’t sweep all the pain and disgust under the rug anymore. When all the dirt blows into your face and on all your belongings. Who will be there for you? Who will already know that the current is shifting? Who will hold you up and support you through the shadows of darkness? Can you answer this question? If you can’t, then it’s time to shed that facade and start realizing you aren’t alone. No one lives a perfect life and if anyone ever told you that you have to be perfect, then they are probably psychotic. I’m being serious. 
I’m open now because I’ve realized that the more open I am, the less work I have to do. The less fake I have to muster up. I’m open. There is no reason to wrap this package of my life back up and seal it tight. I’m not perfect and I don’t want to be. 
I am not one to have a thousand friends. I have few friends, in fact. I have friends that I talk to every day and friends that I haven’t spoken to in a year. However, each one of them I have chosen because I know that in a time of need, I can pick up my phone and call them. Without a doubt, I know my chosen few would drop everything and come to me. These are men and women who I know would tell me their life struggles. Who would admit that behind the scenes they suck at life sometimes. 
I beg you, if you’re perfect, rethink this. When your white lies become white noise, you may find yourself needing to be heard.

5.3 ft. Pre-Lit Female in a Box

I woke up this morning crying. I cried through coffee. I cried through texting a friend. I cried through cooking breakfast. I cried while sitting in my living room alone. Our Christmas tree is still just sitting in its box on the floor and I must have read the label a billion times to try and stop crying. All that happened instead was I started imaging that I was inside there. I certainly could fit in there. Don’t worry, there are holes for breathing.

Pre-Lit. I think that’s what I am. I don’t mean lit as in drunk or lit as in I’m so happy I feel lit. I’m destine to be who I am. I’m pre-lit to have emotional days. I’m pre-lit to have my feelings hurt easily. Pre-lit for empathy. Pre-lit for caring too much. Pre-Lit. If I were in that box, I’m sure my pre-lit feature would come with confusing directions on how to make me blink off and on as well as how to make me continuously the same.

My father’s Bipolar disorder has come with consequences to myself here and there and that’s okay. If this were an easy box to fit in, everyone would be trying to fit inside it. I have good days and I have bad days. I have guilt free days and then some days I feel so guilty for not being able to keep my father from his current depressed state; that I would like to lie down in bed all day and unplug myself.

At least I can step in the box and step out of the box. I can’t very well change my pre-lit feature, but that is okay. If you don’t like that feature about me, there are other boxes to make a choice from.

This situation I am in is not a situation that is too hard on me. It’s not something I’m crying over because I wish I hadn’t have made this choice to care for my father. I cry sometimes because I need to. Remember, I told you I’m just pre-lit this way. I’m not unplugged. This is how I am supposed to work. Don’t try to read my directions.