Saturday, November 16, 2013


I'm rewinding all the way to July 28th.  If I'm going to rewind and replay over and over again,  I think I should get to choose which spot to start back on.  I choose July 28th.  On July 27th I wrote about laundry.  I wrote about folding laundry until 3:00 AM.  Yet, on July 17th, I had written that my very next post would be about "Real bravery, and how Sam saved a man's life"... He really did...  He did save a man's life, while we were in Maine, in July.

But I didn't.  I never wrote down that story.  Ten days later I was back in LP, and  I wrote about laundry and sadness and maybe me being saved.  Help me.  I could have written just two words on the blank white "Post" page.  Help me.  I didn't need to write about dreams deferred or Tilly Olsen...  (Would you still bother to read it, if I only wrote a handful of words per post?  Would that actually be easier?  I could still add fun pictures...)

In fact, maybe instead of just writing two words, and therefore removing the point of having a blog, I I could create a quick bullet list of my main points, or have me underline a clear thesis, right at the top.  I realize some people could use these things.  They don't hear what I am saying... Not at all.  Why don't I do that...  I can probably go over the prevalent themes covered in this blog over the last three years, right now, without refreshing my memory.  I'll do this in no particular order :
"Help Me."
"I'm Sad."
"Help Us:  We Are Stuck on Some Rocks."
"I don't like PMDD."
"I'm Sadder."
"Why Am I Not Teaching?"
"What is PMDD, And Why Is It Up In My Business?"
"I Think I Suck."
"I Think Lots of People Suck."
"BTW, Sam...  WYGACTRT,  I'm Kind Of Sad."
"Please...  Help... Me."
"I Love My Children."


But July...  When we were in Maine, and for a week afterward, I had one picture of "how things were," that was very clear and bright.  My sister-in-law had visited us in Maine with a man she said she loved, hoped to marry, and whom we really liked.  He played checkers with Michael.  The four of us stayed up late talking about everything you can think of on the first night.  We actually stayed an extra night because we were having so much fun.  We were on the beach: Four adults, two kids, and an idea of a future with "family" for Sam--A connection with a healthy sister who was in a healthy relationship with a good man.

When we left for Maine, Sarah was just moving into the Coleman family house (the Crap House). This is the house we had wanted to tear down, yet instead we had remodeled.  She and I talked about painting, and decorating, and making the little old house even more special.  Lauren, her daughter, moved in too.  Sarah seemed to love this idea of living in her beloved grandmother's home.  We were having fun with her down there.  We were sad to leave her behind for our trip--after only one day of cleaning, celebrating, and moving her in--but happy to know she would be there when we got back.  We had made it a home again.  It had been neglected for a very long time.  We felt secure knowing she was there.  We were helping her, but she was helping us.  We needed family.  We needed friends.  She visited at the end of our week in Maine. It was a week full of happiness.
Yet, life did not proceed in the proper direction, dictated by that week in Maine, and all the promise it held.  Inevitably, Sarah came undone.  She always does. My body phased into depression, and I had a hard time handling her problems on top of mine.  I could not.  But I tried.  Because I try to help everyone.

It seemed like all Hell broke loose on the 28th.  And, on July 28th, I spoke with someone whom Sarah apparently also loved, "hoped to marry..."  He was the first to notice she wasn't communicating with "the outside world."  In his attempts to help Sarah, and understand what was going on up here in Vermont with his "girlfriend," I became the most reliable source of factual information.  I had no idea she was in multiple "serious" type relationships.  No matter how many times people lie to me, or about me, I still do not expect dishonesty.  I don't expect people to believe lies, either.  I don't expect people to lie. I don't expect any of that.  That knocks me down.

So, If anyone wanted to help us help her, (because I sure as Hell could not...not then, not when I was already so low and dark), I was ready accept this help wholeheartedly. We talked.  We talked all day.
Isn't it remarkable and strange when we meet a kindred spirit?  It is beautiful.  I've rarely felt that way.  It was a feeling of fulfillment; my spirit was happy.  I met someone who didn't need the bullet points or the thesis to be underlined, even when I was full of nonsense...  I was so low and dark, yet he made me laugh...  He called my warnings of "stay away, I become toxic," poppycock.  It was beautiful.  But, no matter how much I don't want this to be my truth, I know...  He could have listened.  I know I make people leave. And that knocked me down.

Things didn't turn out so well with Sam's sister.  She moved out.  And now it's November, and...  What is the point of this blog post?  What few words could take the place of all of these paragraphs?
Well, I don't know.  I don't really know.  I changed the title of this post, though, (just now), from "July" to "Ju-Lie."

And, finally, why would I want to go back to a seemingly terrible day, and start from that point?  I didn't know the answer to this when I began writing, but I think I do now:  Because it's nice to feel happy, when happiness seems impossible.  It's beautiful.  (That's not my thesis; figure that one out yourself).

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