Thursday, August 27, 2015

Hold your breath and jump.

My last several posts have been far too dark and depressing and pessimistic.  I wrote them one after the other, when I was in the luteal phase, which at least exacerbates my Major Depressive Disorder, if it isn't PMDD.  

You see, I stopped feeling... better...  See, I should feel relief once the follicular phase starts.  I started just feeling low all the time.   And it's not as bad as it is when I'm in Hormonal-Hell-Well, (I'm copyrighting that), but I don't feel alright.  I don't feel okay.  I feel sad a lot of the time.  There is some relief, but it's not
drastically noticeable.  And there are luteal days I feel not totally crazy.  

So my writing reflected, and reflects the darkness and sadness I can't shake.  

I've considered the drastic treatments for PMDD and depression:  I thought of refilling my Yasmin prescription and trying it again for a full three months.  I'm considering the idea of getting the Hysterectomy and Oophorectomy.  If this is for sure hormonal depression, and the rest is situational and just bearing down on me harder than I expected, it might help me.  I can't believe I'm doubting if I have PMDD, when it was so clear to me, and it's so obvious... but not feeling better...  Not having a baseline of happiness is how they diagnose these things, and they would now say my baseline sucks, so it's Major Depressive Disorder with a side of hormonal heck.  That would mean, since I have tried so very many medications, that I could try ECT.  I've heard wonders.  It affects memory.  I worry about that, but it also comforts me.  There are things I want to forget.  If ECT helped me be Joanna again, I would do it in a second.  It doesn't scare me.  I am ready to try anything.

But, here's the thing.  I--just moi, no Sam--went out on a boat with Sam's parents, and the kids on the river and we swam and fished and then met up with Sam after 5:00, and we went tubing.  Watching the kids tube was so sweet.  Their smiles... their beautiful smiles.  I have beautiful children.  And before tubing, I swam with my kids and their grandparents, and jumped off a dock, and off the back of the boat, and it felt good.  I felt "normal," and we ate snacks, and the sun was shining, and the water was warm, and the kids were thrilled... and I was PMDD at that point.  I couldn't find my Klonopin, to take an evening dose, but I didn't need it.  Actually, there was no anxiety and complete relaxation until 5:00ish. 

 It's not Sam's fault.  He has spent the day at work and is just getting to join the fun.  Yet, Sam's interactions with the kids are sometimes stressful for me...  He doesn't hear them and they say his name 10 times before he responds... and that makes me feel a little crazy.  He is in his own head, and I'm always in the kids heads, or trying to be, even when I'm in the worst state of depression.  I hear them.  I hear them and if I can respond, I do that.  

So, I have to understand myself, analyze myself, and try to figure out if this is hormonal, or major depression that is getting worse, or if it's just me... and my place in the world.  I've got to figure all that out on my own.  No one can tell me the answer.  I have to not only know it, but commit to it.  I fear I'll commit to a treatment for the wrong reasons, or...  No...  I'm smart.  I'll do what is best for my children.  I'll do what is going to work, and make me feel better.  I'll choose that.  I have to.  

Sunday, August 23, 2015

Baby Blue.

You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last
But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast
Yonder stands your orphan with his gun
Crying like a fire in the sun
Look out the saints are comin' through
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense
Take what you have gathered from coincidence
The empty handed painter from your streets
Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets
This sky, too, is folding under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

All your seasick sailors, they are rowing home
Your empty handed armies, are all going home
Your lover who just walked out the door
Has taken all his blankets from the floor
The carpet, too, is moving under you
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

Leave your stepping stones behind, something calls for you
Forget the dead you've left, they will not follow you
The vagabond who's rapping at your door
Is standing in the clothes that you once wore
Strike another match, go start a new
And it's all over now, Baby Blue.

A 15 year old girl jumped to her death a few weeks ago...  Her father had been shot and killed by a drug dealer a few months before, in this crazy town, because he threatened to call the cops if they kept dealing in his neighborhood.  She was 16.  She jumped, or let herself fall from the dam bridge.  It's so high you can barely see the rocks below.  85 feet.  It is not above water.  It is above rocks and concrete in one area and a marshy bit mixed with rocks that led to the river in another spot.  I asked Sam to remind me how horrible that was, and how I cried for the young girl, and for her family, and for the first emergency responders who had to find her body.

He not busy being born is busy dying. -It's Alright Ma, (I'm Only Bleeding).
And he reminds me of that often lately, when I say I want to die, and it would be okay, and not to worry, it would not be as bad as he thinks, because they all deserve better, and...  He tells me, "NO.   Stop."  And I think of that girl.  Her name was Casey Wing.

And I think about how wrong it is to want to not be alive...  And it's not normal.  And then I wonder how I can feel that way so often, and not be able to combat it, or just "make it go away."  I am fine!  I am okay!  I am not going to traumatize the people who love me, or even people who don't love me, but might have to do stuff to try and make me be alive.  Nope.  I won't.

I have a perfectly happy life, with all that I could need.  I have children who surpass the qualities of all children whom anyone could possibly dream of being their very own.  I'm lucky.  I'm fucking lucky and should feel it. I should feel grateful and happy and undeserving of all the good things in my life.

But the outside, and the things I have and love and know, and can see, don't always matter, when the inside is all twisty and disgusting.  And what's crazy, (Okay, just one of the crazy things about this lady right here), is that I can see the disgusting showing on the outside of me too.  I looked in the mirror last night, and my reflection was grotesque and frightening.  I wanted to get away from myself.  I understood why people would want to get away from me. 

Was that skin on my face, or rotted, worm eaten wood?  Were those my eyes, or were they hollow, empty glass marbles, that you could see right into if you looked close enough... see that putrid brain, or what was left of it.  My lip was bleeding because I've been biting it so often.  

Will this just get worse?  Should I spare everyone the sight?!  I'm getting older, and will only decay further.  Is it because I can't stand that I'm exposing the people around me to this sight?  Or is it because I'm so conceited and self-absorbed, I don't want that for myself?

I'm crazy.  I'll never deny that.  And I don't want to die, but I don't want to be alive.  I took all the pills for a few days in my pill counter, and some extra Abilify, and Klonopin, and Prozac...  I take a lot of pills each day.  It's ridiculous.  Why?  Because why not?  Then I took a bath and washed my hair and shaved my legs and made sure I was clean.

Maybe I'll sleep so soundly and wake up feeling super great.  Maybe not.   Right now I have a headache.  But Sam keeps asking me why I am smiling.  I guess there was a lot of uppers in those little containers.  I won't die.  I'm just impulsive and it feels like I'm helping myself in some way by doing the most unhealthy things.  And I'm smart enough to know that.  But in split seconds I dump them into my palm and toss them back like they're nothing at all.

                                                 Don't Think Twice It's All Right
Well, it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
Even you don't know by now
And it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It'll never do somehow

When your rooster crows at the break of dawn
Look out your window, and I'll be gone
You're the reason I'm a-traveling on
But don't think twice, it's all right.

And It ain't no use in turning on your light, babe
The light I never knowed
And it ain't no use in turning on your light, babe
I'm on the dark side of the road

But I wish there was somethin' you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
But we never did too much talking anyway
But don't think twice, it's all right.

So It ain't no use in calling out my name, gal
Like you never done before
And It ain't no use in calling out my name, gal
I can't hear you any more

I'm a-thinking and a-wonderin' walking down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I am told
I gave her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don't think twice, it's all right.

So long honey, baby
Where I'm bound, I can't tell
Goodbye's too good a word, babe
So I'll just say fare thee well

I ain't a-saying you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don't think twice, it's all right.

Thursday, August 20, 2015

Joy and Light.

Sometimes I wonder if I will laugh so hard I cry, again.  I wonder if I will feel so much joy that it flushes my up from my heart to my face. I wonder if I will stand on my tiptoes, reaching for more.  I don't know if I'll ever feel my pulse race with adrenaline and happiness--Look at life in the eyes, and not be able to stop smiling.

Penetrate these murky corners where we hide our memories and tendencies on which we do not care to look, but which we will not yield freely up to you, that you may purify and transmute them. The persistent buried grudge, the half-acknowledged enmity which is still smouldering, the bitterness of that loss we have not turned into sacrifice, the private comfort we cling to, the secret fear of failure which saps our initiative and is really inverted pride, the pessimism which is an insult to your joy. Lord, we bring all these to you, and we review them with shame and penitence in your steadfast light. Amen.

It's better to have felt all of that, than to have never felt it at all, right? Yeah? And, I was lucky to have had such a joyful life as a child. I was lucky to be surrounded by family, through my entire childhood. My youth was spent in the company of those who believed in these words, which were sung with joy at a funeral, as a promise and a memory, that this was truth:

Let peace begin with me
Let this be the moment now.
With every step I take
Let this be my solemn vow.
To take each moment
And live each moment
With peace eternally.
Let there be peace on earth,
And let it begin with me."

Can we feel joy if we aren't at peace with ourselves? How do we find that peace? Some people have that inner peace and hope without trying, or searching. Some people have it and lose it. I lost it. I have beautiful children, and they were my joy, and hope, and light from the moment I met them. And I had my students. They inspired me.

God, my babies break my heart. They are wonderful human beings--the best kind--yet, I am numb? I am sad. I pray every day that I can feel that surge of warmth and hope, watching them be their little selves.

We were out boating on the Connecticut River Wednesday, and both kids were pulled in the tube, alone; and they weren't scared. It's a long yellow rope, that connects to the tube.

They seemed so darn far away from us.

Stella went out twice. As the sun was lowering in the late afternoon sky, the light was behind her. She glowed. She smiled. I said to Sam, "Look.Look. That's our baby," as she threw up her arms like she was flying. Sam simply nodded and said, "I know."

Their happiness and joy continues to slap me over and over, "WAKE UP MOMMY!"

My grandmother radiates peace and faith. She once showed me one of her favorite prayers, she reads daily:
(The final third portion of T.S. Elliot’s Choruses from the Rock)

O Light Invisible, we praise Thee!
Too bright for mortal vision.
O Greater Light, we praise Thee for the less;
The eastern light our spires touch at morning,
The light that slants upon our western doors at evening,
The twilight over stagnant pools at batflight,
Moon light and star light, owl and moth light,
Glow-worm glowlight on a grassblade.
O Light Invisible, we worship Thee!
We thank Thee for the light that we have kindled,
The light of altar and of sanctuary;
Small lights of those who meditate at midnight
And lights directed through the coloured panes of windows
And light reflected from the polished stone,
The gilded carven wood, the coloured fresco.
Our gaze is submarine, our eyes look upward
And see the light that fractures through unquiet water.
We see the light but see not whence it comes.
O Light Invisible, we glorify Thee.

In our rhythm of earthly life we tire of light. We are glad when the day ends, when the play ends; and ecstasy is too much pain.  We are children quickly tired: children who are up in the night and fall asleep as the rocket is fired; and the day is long for work or play.  We tire of distraction or concentration, we sleep and are glad to sleep, Controlled by the rhythm of blood and the day and the night and the seasons.  And we must extinguish the candle, put out the light and relight it;  Forever must quench, forever relight the flame. Therefore we thank Thee for our little light, that is dappled with shadow.  We thank Thee who hast moved us to building, to finding, to forming at the ends of our fingers and beams of our eyes.  And when we have built an altar to the Invisible Light, we may set thereon the little lights for which our bodily vision is made.
             And we thank Thee that darkness reminds us of light.
             O Light Invisible, we give Thee thanks for Thy great glory!

Did I once confuse joy with something that wasn't Heavenly light?

Did I not appreciate the beauty of God, which shown through my grandparents, and surrounded me in their home?  


I knew what it was. I felt it, and I cherished it. And I want to feel it again.  And I hope it is not a forever search.  I hope it I find it inside myself, so I can share it. When that peace and light becomes a part of me again, all will be good, and right.

Monday, August 17, 2015

Time only adds to the blame.

I'm a circle girl.  I stay on my carousel horse, and don't try to reach for the gold rings, or get off.  I'm not healthy.  I don't want anyone to be like me.  I don't want my children to see me and think how I am handling my depression and life situations as okay.  I'm not okay.  I'm not fine.  I wouldn't let them do what I have done...

Yet, I want to think I wouldn't let anyone I love sink as low, and fall apart as scattered and splintered as I have... but I watched it happen to my mother... and my little sister... and I couldn't help them.  

No, I don't know if I did enough.  I don't know if I did all I could. I don't know if I did anything at all. 

They didn't want my help.  But that's no excuse.  No excuse.  When you love someone, there are no excuses.  You take care of them and try to hold them up when they can't stand on their own.  

I rationalize to myself, the twins were so little, and they needed me, and I tried to find the right priorities, while not forgetting anyone... but I did forget everyone, except my babies, and everyone else... they are so far gone...  

Addictions and relapse from addictions are not uncommon in those who are in an intensely blissful but conflicted relationship, or in those who are attempting to recover from one. Longing, grief, anger, shame, or guilt represent emotions that may be activated in the aftermath of a relationship that was colorfully painted by bliss. Addictions mask the pain of an ambivalent relationship or from the loss of bliss, and they hide the longing to experience the blissful state again. In her research on the neurological effects of withdrawing from a romantic (blissful) relationship, Helen Fisher (2004) demonstrated that such experiences ignite regions of the brain that are similar to withdrawal from a cocaine addiction.

“Love does not obey our expectations; it obeys our intentions.” ~Lloyd Strom

Saturday, August 15, 2015

After The Storm.

My children hold two very distinct views about storms and any kind of inclimate weather.  

At a ridiculously young age, Michael proved to enjoy having us read him history and science books, often over a colorful storybook.  He preferred to hear about things that had happened, could happen in real life.  I think it was a Modern Marvels episode, called "Nature Tech," which talked about tornados and the science behind tracking them, and things like that.  Both children started watching the history channel before they began pre-school, yet Michael would develop fascinations with things he saw on the shows, and want to know more.  Stella is terrified of storms of any kind.  She hears the word storm and she begins imagining tornados or hurricanes blowing our house to pieces, or a lightning bolt hitting us. 

So, Michael wanted to learn more about everything.  We bought him weather books, and when he got a bit older he began watching "Storm Chasers."  He knows how to categorize each level of storm by wind speed and damage, he knows which states have had the most devastating storms, and why.  He knows where there are likely to hit, and when.  He knows what causes them, and how scientists continue to learn more about how to keep people safe with ample warning, whenever possible, from a twister.  He knows each type of storm--there are different kinds of twisters:  Dust devils, waterspouts, "firenados", tornados...  and when I called to him to ask him what kinds of twisters there are, he ran in to rattle them off, and he just asked me if I needed him to list the levels of tornados too.  I told him he didn't need to at the moment, and he could go play.  If I needed more weather facts I would let him know.

Oh!  Did I jinx us?  It was just sunny and lovely, and Stella just ran in yelling, "Thunder," and Sam said, "No you didn't, it was the ladder I was moving."  Then he went outside and there was thunder and a storm came on fast.  Thunder, rain, wind.  Stella is now talking a mile a minute about how she's just a little nervous and why she's a little bit scared, and how it's kind of scary.  The thunder and rain didn't last very long.  We didn't see any lightening.  She said talking helped her through her fears, and so we talked.

Stella has always been a bit scared of any weather that wasn't especially pleasant.  She used to like to dance in the rain, but any sign of thunder or a bit of wind and she runs inside and feels it's not a safe situation we are in.  After the storm, she always says how it wasn't so bad, and she wasn't really and truly very scared, at all.  It just seems scary at the time, then she realizes afterward that it is just fine.

What about life's storms?  Have you heard of "The Cube"?  Oh, gosh, I shouldn't give it away.  I can tell you it's a psychological type of activity where you are asked to imagine certain images and how they interact with each other.  One is "the storm."  I saw the storm as dark clouds, and I saw them in the distance.  And I never knew if they were coming towards "me" or moving away.  Maybe it was always both.  

Okay, here it is, but don't look at what each thing means, until you're ready.  You can never do it again, and never have that first experience of seeing the images and explaining them to the people you are with at the time and... if you are just alone, it would be very lonely.  Don't do it alone:  

I want you to imagine a desert, stretching out as far as your eyes can see. In this desert is a cube.
Your first task is to describe the cube. What does it look like? How large is it? What is it made of? Where exactly is it?

There are no right answers here, only your answers.  Take a moment before you continue – the detail is important.

As you look at the desert and your cube, you notice there is also a ladder.  Describe the ladder, or imagine it clearly.  Think about this. What is it made of? How big is it? Where is it, in relation to the cube?

Now imagine that in the scene there is a horse.  Describe the horse. What kind of horse it it. Most importantly: where is the horse, and what is it doing? Where, if anywhere, is it going?

We’re nearly there now. In the scene before you are flowers:  Describe the flowers. How many are there? What do they look like? Where are they, in relation to the horse, cube, ladder and sand?

In the desert there is a storm. Describe the storm. What type of storm is it? Is it near, or far? What direction is it headed? How does it affect the horse, flowers, cube or ladder?

Now, don't look up "The Cube" and try to figure it all out, if you're alone.  If you find a site that explains it, it ruins your ability to play this game ever again.  If you won’t want to ruin it forever, go back now. Trust me.

Ready? There’s no going back.

I won't tell you the next part, of course.  You have to wait and not be reading a stupid blog and truly be with a person you trust.  Then look up "The Cube: The Game" online and it will tell you what it all means.

My storm was always in the distance, but not too far.  I always saw the horse was always dark, and turned away from the cube...  Sometimes tethered to something else, but just fucking standing there. The cube was always transparent, made of placid water, and inside were lots of pink and blue flowers, with two at the center.  The ladder--wood with round rungs, like you'd find in an apple orchard--always leaned against the cube, even though water, (in real life) could never hold up a wooden ladder.  My water could.  I could.  And I could hold all the flowers and keep them safe.  Sun came in, and they were never parched, and flourished.  That's what I have seen since the very first time I "played the game."  

I think I always am just ahead of the storm or just behind it, if that's possible.  The storm never settles overhead for too long, and it leaves me quickly...  maybe to come back, maybe to stay away for awhile.  Am I always so healthy, to know that I have beat it, or that I'm bracing myself for it to hit me again, or am I just stuck in place and waiting and letting it happen?  I don't know.  I do know the flowers are always safe.  I know the cube ripple in wind and spatters with rain, but it doesn't collapse or change.  It's there.  It's there.  

After the Storm 
Mumford and Sons

After The Storm I run and run as the rains come.
And I look up, I look up,on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.
Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay

But I won't rot, I won't rot
Not this mind and not this heart, I won't rot.
And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we lived for.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.

Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
And now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.

That's why I hold,
That's why I hold with all I have.
That's why I hold.
And I won't die alone and be left there.
Well I guess I'll just go home,
Oh God knows where.
Because death is just so full and man so small.
Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.

Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.

Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.
And after the storm...

Sunday, August 9, 2015


“It’s saying what the catechism of the church already says,” Cardinal Wuerl said, “that every person has a dignity all of their own; a worth, a value, a God-given dignity."

I’m just now understanding that my value doesn’t have to come from the estimation and opinions of other people. Yes, we should never stop up our ears, and ignore our loved ones completely, thinking we always know better. Humans take care of humans, yeah? Yet, even the people closest to our hearts can not know our hearts very well at all.  No one can tell us who we are.  I believed I suffer my deepest disturbances and struggles when I have forgotten who I am, or I lose sight of who I am, but no, that's not right. That comes when I let others tell me who I am, and what I am, and I stop listening to myself.  

I stopped listening to myself, when I felt like I had made very bad choices.
I thought, "Holy cow, you are losing your mind, don't do anything anymore!
Stop, acting and doing and wait for someone to tell you how and why!
Wait until someone who has it all together tells you what the fuck is going on and what you should do. Don't move! Wait for an adult. A sane person. Someone who isn't you."

And I think about my existence.
 I’ve wondered why I exist, but then it occurred to me that I’m wondering why I exist, only when I feel like I am failing the people around me, or useless to them.  
When I am useless to others, I am useless, right?  
If I read all day, and don’t interact with anyone, did I exist at all that day?
Do I have to touch others, to be alive?  
Do I have to prove I’m alive, every day?  
Are we all here for the sole purpose of serving others?
 Should we give ourselves to others completely?  
What else are we good for?  What am I good for?

I do know the quote from the Catholic Cardinal seemed revolutionary to me. I mean, I don't know if I truly believed in my own dignity all the time. I actually know I didn't.

I know I lost self-worth when I stopped teaching...
And then when depression became more and more opaque and blinding, I wondered if I could ever think about anyone else.
Or if I ever had... was I ever a worthy person?
I don't know when I'm this dark and scared and empty.

“The purpose of life is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach out eagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience.”
― Eleanor Roosevelt

“A purpose of human life, no matter who is controlling it, is to love whoever is around to be loved.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan

“To see the world, things dangerous to come to, to see behind walls, draw closer, to find each other, and to feel. That is the purpose of life.”
― The Secret Life Of Walter Mitty

“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Thursday, August 6, 2015


Beauty from fire.

There aren't any:  Phoenixes are fictional beings.  They are mystical, magical, but fictional creatures.  Someone called me a unicorn, once.  Those aren't real either, are they?  It's all pretend.  

I don't believe anyone rises from the flames.  I think they maybe come out charred and burned, and scarred, and have reminders of their past, but they don't become more beautiful and strong after something so destructive as a fire... a fire that consumes.  

You can take a swing at my ego,
you can make a run for my crown.Even with an army of peopleyou ain't gonna take us down.
You can aim your evil right at us,you can drop your bombs on the ground.Even if your stand makes me nervous,you ain't gonna take us down.

There'll be no need for cryingif darkness fills the skies.We'll go on forever like the phoenixwe will rise up from the ashes.

This world is ours tonightWe'll go on forever like the phoenixWe will rise. We will rise.

You can take a swing at my ego,you can make a run for my crown.Even with an army of peopleyou ain't gonna take us down. No!

You can aim your evil right at us,you can drop your bombs on the ground.Even if your stand makes me nervous,you ain't gonna take us down.

There'll be no need for cryingif darkness fills the skies.We'll go on forever like the phoenixwe will rise up from the ashes.This world is ours tonightWe'll go on forever like the phoenixwe will rise. We will rise. -Skylar Grey

I'm a phoenix in the water
A fish that's learnt to fly
 I've always been a daughter
But feathers are meant for the sky
So I'm wishing, wishing further
For the excitement to arrive
It's just I'd rather be causing the chaos
Than laying at the sharp end of this knife

With every small disaster I'll let the waters still
Take me away to some place real
'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone
Is where you go when you're alone
Is where you go to rest your bones
It's not just where you lay your head
It's not just where you make your bed
As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?

Home home home home

So when I'm ready to be bolder
And my cuts have healed with time
Comfort will rest on my shoulder

And I'll bury my future behind I'll always keep you with me
You'll be always on my mind
But there's a shining in the shadows I'll never know unless I try
With every small disaster I'll let the waters still
Take me away to some place real

'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone
Is where you go when you're alone
Is where you go to rest your bones
It's not just where you lay your head
It's not just where you make your bed
As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?
Home home home home home home home

'Cause they say home is where your heart is set in stone
Is where you go when you're alone
Is where you go to rest your bones
It's not just where you lay your head
It's not just where you make your bed
As long as we're together, does it matter where we go?
Home home home home - Jasmine Thompson

Under the Table
It already started
I tried to stop it but I already know
You are something I should do without
But I won't

I'm under the table
Just keep wishing I'll come out but I don't
You are something I should do without
But I won't

Please tell me that this could be easy
I'm tired of waiting for permission to love
Heartbreak is your game, but I'm learning
My heart could be yours, won't you make it your home

I'm already falling
I couldn't help it, didn't think of the risks
I got a problem, problem when I look in your eyes
You're mine and you know it
I'd still do it even if we were cursed
Won't you be my problem it's okay with me if it hurts

Please tell me that this could be easy
I'm tired of waiting for permission to love
Heartbreak is your game, but I'm learning

My heart could be yours, won't you make it your home (x3) - Banks

And I believe home is where you are.  That's another illusion... to believe anything else.  It's not burying your face in her hair, or his neck.  It's not inside her, or in his arms.  It's not love.  Home is not a person.  Home can't be a person.  It's not a physical place, either.  It's inside you.  You just can't rely on someone else to make it for you.  Don't do that.  If they belong to you and if you gave birth to them: they are part of you, and they are part of your home.  But people really aren't your home.  

You can't make a person your home.  If you rely on that ideal, than you will end up homeless. What if they aren't there anymore?  Then you're just floating in space, hiding under a table, not knowing where the fuck you are, or where you're supposed to go.  Some music makes you feel less alone...  Some tells you that you'll end up feeling alone for the rest of your life, if you believe in illusions and pretend.  You have to be home in your own skin, I guess.  I think you have to find home in what you have and who you are, and not what you want to pretend or what could be.  You can't believe in what could be, because it's never what is.  You aren't what you could be, you are who you are.  

There is one red bird I believe in:  The Cardinal.  My grandparents loved cardinals and always told me to make a wish when I saw one.  A few days ago, I was sitting in a swinging chair, outside on the deck with the sun on my face. A male cardinal flew above me, and landed on the beam over my head.  I said, "Hi grampy.  Tell me."  I know what he would say.  I know.  And I know he's not a cardinal.  My grandmother thinks it's funny when people in the family say such things, like a cardinal is a sign.  I told her, No, it's just a reminder... maybe a moment when we need to think of grampy and of you, and it helps us focus on good.

Lord, I acknowledge my sinfulness. I ask you to empower me with your Holy Spirit, that I may resist temptation and “choose life rather than death” - good rather than evil - in the ordinary circumstances of my daily life. Amen.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

White Blank Page.

Why are songs written of feelings, if they aren't felt?  Music has to help us know that we're not the only ones who feel what we are emotionally, or psychologically, or physically experiencing.  Sometimes I think:  I'm the only one who feels these things?  I feel this and no one else?  I'm crazy?!

But, I hear it sung by other voices, and I know I am not alone.  And maybe no one is alone?  Is anyone alone?  Even if we feel that way?  Are we?  Does music give us a companion when we feel so... alone?

Can you lie next to her
And give her your heart, your heart
As well as your body
And can you lie next to her
And confess your love, your love
As well as your folly
And can you kneel before the king
And say I'm clean, I'm clean
But tell me now, where was my fault
In loving you with my whole heart
Oh, tell me now, where was my fault
In loving you with my whole heart

A white blank page and a swelling rage, rage
You did not think when you sent me to the brink, to the brink
You desired my attention but denied my affections, my affections

So tell me now, where was my fault
In loving you with my whole heart
Oh tell me now, where was my fault
In loving you with my whole heart

Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life
Oh, lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life  -Mumford and Sons

I want to be disappear.  I feel that way almost every single day.  I wanted to write that to someone, so it didn't explode in my head.