Thursday, July 21, 2016

Arms.

Truth or dreams.  Truth or dreams?
That isn't a question, is it?  We have to have truth, behind our dreams.  We can't have dreams, or hopes, based on something that is irrational and empty of substance.  We can't live for a dream, based on memories from the past.  No one should live that way.  It rips people apart.  It drives them mad.

Truth makes dreams come true.  Truth fills dreams up with color and happiness and beauty.  Hope has to be based on some truth, yeah?

I'm not sure if it's just the depression and craziness that runs in my family, or if it's PMDD, but I tried to sustain myself on memories.  I tried to sustain myself on feelings, and safety I felt in the past. Those safe places aren't there anymore.  I didn't find new ones.  I just kept clutching the comfort of the past in my hands, not bothering to open them up... and see they were empty... I was holding onto nothing.

Haven't you ever done that?  Held on for too long, and subsequently you didn't let yourself move on, and accept truth?

I can still feel the safety of my grandparents' house, when they were loving and living.  I can still smell it--Grampy's aftershave, and dinner cooking, and warmth and love.  I can feel the beautiful, ornate handle of the old wooden door in my hand (replaced by a crappy, cheap, generic, and ugly door by my brother and his wife when they lived in the house after Grampy died).  I can see my grampy in his chair, visible from the door, just as I walked in.  I can see his smile.  I would know nanny was in the kitchen making dinner, or she would be on the couch, closest to him.  

I remember even further back.  I remember figuring out how to open the door with two newborn baby car seats balanced on my wrists.  

I remember so long ago--charging through the door, without knocking, when I was a kid, and finding my nanny and grampy bustling about in their house.  They never looked surprised to see a grandchild suddenly appear in their kitchen.  They always said, "Joanna!" and hugged me.  

I want that to be the truth of now, not just the past.  I am so blessed, and happy that I even experienced all that love and joy.  That was my truth for most of my life, so far.

I guess the more damaged I felt with depression and PMDD, the more I wanted all the safety and happiness I had ever experienced in my life, to surround me and hold me tight all at once.
I want my mommy.  I'm so scared.  I'm so lost.
I told her that, a week or so ago.  She didn't know what to do. She told me about the medications that could work for me.  She told me about medicine and that she had to go.

But, see, I have accepted that fact: that my mommy is gone, somehow.  Somehow, I accepted it, and stopped hoping a long time ago... but, when I'm really scared, I can't help but cry for the mother I knew, and the mother I really need so desperately right now.

I miss my dad.  He farms all summer.  We have had spinach from the farm.  They are in corn season now.  Michael loves cucumbers.  Stella loves corn.  I love summer squash, and cucumbers, and fresh tomatoes and...  We'd have to go to the stand and get vegetables.  Not pay for them, obviously, but collect them like customers.  My parents live around the corner.  My father drives home from the farm every day.  I don't understand, sometimes, except that people do what they can to survive and sometimes that's all they've got.  I still feel sad.

I'm scared of how quickly time slips by, and the people we love slip away.  They aren't around the corner, or through a door, or talking to you daily over email, or chatting.  They are just gone.

I don't want to have to keep accepting the loss and the grieving, that seems to last so long, when someone leaves.  I think after my grampy died, I stopped having the ability to let go completely.
I'm realizing that, now.
I stopped letting go, and started pulling harder and saying, "No, no!"
Oh, Gosh, even when there was no way to stop someone from leaving.  And even when I should have let them go.

You think I don't know I can't control other people?  I can't control life and death?  I can't control anything but my own self?  I'm a smart woman.  I know.  I know.
But that doesn't mean I always feel like I can live with it in a healthy way, or accept any of that truth, when I am feeling so fucking sad, I think it will kill me.

I needed people to stay.  I needed people to not disappear.
I needed a truth to believe in.  And, I am trying to not need anyone.  I'm trying to ever let myself sink into the loveliness of someone listening, or caring about me.  I'm trying not to let myself get comfortable in the happiness of finding safety in world that doesn't exist--not for long-- or in arms that will only temporarily wrap around me.  I don't want to relax into those arms, folded in half, listening to whispers of love and assurance, ever again.  I don't want to feel someone else making me feel safe.  I will stay rigid in any arms, and keep myself safe.

I was told I became I "side hugger" at some point. I didn't allow hugs to comfort me.  I didn't hug people. I know I was scared.

And then I did.  I sank so deeply into them, I fell over.  Silly me.  I'm scared again.

Here's the truth:  I will forever be the safe arms wrapped around my children.  I will feel them snuggle against me, and fall asleep, breathing steadily, syncopated with my own breath and heartbeat.
I will be their truth.
I will keep them safe.
I will love them.
I won't disappear.
I won't let that happen.
They will never feel what I feel.  They will never be this sad.






Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Corrections.

I will admit: I often write posts when I'm in a... certain mood--a particular emotional state, if you will...

And gosh darn it, when I go back and read anything I wrote, and see typos, or glaring mistakes, I just want to punch myself in the face.  It's unacceptable.

I do go back and make corrections, and rework the writing, from past posts quite often.

Friday, July 15, 2016

Push.

I've been far too negative in my writing, lately.  Gosh darn it.  Stop complaining, right?

I was in crisis mode.  I guess I still am.  Life just seemed to pummel me.  I guess it does that to everyone.

Stupid medical stuff, that honestly feels like it will never end... Never.  End.  Blood tests are all over the place.  More tests.  No relief.  It feels like nothing has changed.

Nothing has changed, really, with my health care.  New doctors, no solution.  Not in the past year or so.

But, then... I haven't changed, mentally, either...  I mean, not just medically speaking, I haven't changed how I think or how I feel.  I haven't changed my life to any great extent.  I haven't tried so very hard.  I let myself stay.

Stay.

Stagnant.

And I know that is the worst thing anyone can do.  It's terrible to be sick, have depression, experience really difficult or painful events in life, but I can handle things differently.  I can try to think differently and stop letting myself stall out... stuck.  I resign myself to being stuck, and I feel like I don't have the energy to get unstuck.

I've been sitting at the bottom of that dark well for a very long time.  I haven't even looked up.  I haven't looked up.

I have to, now.  I have to stand up, and look up to the circle of light, and see something more than darkness inside myself.  I know that.  I know I have to push the darkness away, and look up, even if I'm seeing the sunlight through tears.  I'm allowed to be sad.  I'm allowed to be angry, even.  But, I'm not allowed to give up.  That's not how life works.

Life.

Live.

I got that tattooed on my foot for the love of all things Holy.  Live.  To Live.  Because I knew and know how easy it is to stop.  Stop living.  And just float, and fade...

I've put myself in this hamster wheel.  I climbed right in it, and I just keep going... But going nowhere.
I'm going to try and stop that nonsense.  I'm going to try.
Because I can't tell you how many people have given up on me, because I gave up on myself.  They left. They couldn't help fill someone up with life, who had the cap screwed on so tightly, protecting emptiness.

I don't want people to give up on me.  I'm so damn sad that I pushed them away.
I'm sad.
I don't feel better.
I feel horrible.
But I am looking up.  I can see.

I can see.

(Or...  I might be lying).