I need a manual. I need the step-by-step, layman, spark notes version of how to let anything go. I hear it all the time, understand the benefit, and yet cling to injustice as if a life vest keeping me afloat in the waters of woe-is-me and self-pity.
The waters are perpetually turbulent here. Good thing I can tread water. Or perhaps, it is my treading in this water that creates the aforementioned turbulence. Operating on this premise, I still haven’t a clue how to exit these waters of doom.
I am forever critical and quick to catch faults which others may overlook. As that is my lense and not my preference, I would like new glasses, please. Lenses unscathed by the weathered days of the past.
Where, might I then, go about purchasing such a tool? Lense Crafters? Barnes and Nobles? Is this much-needed paperback in print? A secondhand whore of the library shelves to be used and abused freely by the county public? Did I miss the memo? Lose my library card?
I can CBT the life out of my ruminations. Identify the troubling thoughts, evaluate their logic, and replace them with more accurate representations of a reality in which I do not live or think. I long for that reality, unjaded by the cruelty of the world. Perplexed as to why a seemingly well-functioning individual may harbor such resentment and caution. I long to let down my guard and trust that the good in all will endlessly surface to the benefit of myself and my loved ones. However, I have seen all too often, how injustice wreaks havoc upon the innocent and simply cannot shake the image of the crippled girl inside me. That girl with the golden blond hair, scabbed knees tucked to her chest, chin down, cheeks streaming with tears. That girl with the dirty, torn clothes and missing shoes. She knows little good in this world. She needs a hug. Despite ferocious efforts to hug myself, I can never reach beyond the skin to touch that little girl.
Perhaps, she is the voice of my Bipolar. Or the pain of the Fibromyalgia, clawing her way to the surface. Perhaps, it’s psychosomatic. Again, I extend open arms to this manual that will even remotely scratch the surface of my scars.
When the scars of injustice are printed upon your soul and skin, how do you rid yourself of such an awful residue?
Feel the spark dim and mind slow. Feel the lucidity burrow for a long winters sleep. Feel the reflexes numb. Shrill whine loses intensity.
The words deplete my stockpile. A trickle. No longer glistening articulation. Pulled toward the corners, where the dust collects and dimness hides. Swept beyond the brilliance of another day. Listless. Lifeless. Dull. Monotonous. Hold on to tomorrow. Another promise in the sunrise.
I love kids. Really, I do. I have seriously considered becoming an Elementary School teacher, and have worked with kids my entire life. I thought parenting would be easier than this…
My husband and I have transformed from a unified couple to a tag team in our efforts to parent our three-year-old daughter. When one parent becomes frustrated, unsuccessful and/or overwhelmed, the other swoops in to save the day. Unfortunately, that leaves very little time for our marriage. As it stands, my husband began nap time rituals today, I took over, and after unsuccessful attempts to get our incredibly cranky child to sleep, he’s back in there for round two. Fingers crossed he’s successful!
In the rare instance that we do get her down for a nap or early bedtime, we find we are so far behind on housework or other responsibilities, that we scramble to accomplish those tasks while we may. Quite frequently, those tasks are not unified, nor all that accommodating of quality together time.
Due to the sheer chaos implicated by way of raising a toddler, I have become viciously protective of my alone time. At this point in my life, I could fully enjoy a vacation on my own… Mind you, I have not been free of the shackles of dependency for long. Before my daughter made her grand appearance, I did not much care for alone time, nor did I prefer tackling many issues by myself. The more the merrier, I figured. Ha! What a joke?!?!
As my desperation for alone time grew postpartum, I withdrew more and more from the world. I had no need for a phone or car or cable. I completed my last MS degree entirely online and was quite content in my solitude. My general contentedness is another story… As I was quite depressed at the time and had been for about 2 1/2 years when the fog finally lifted.
Anyway, I did finally re-emerge from my isolation and can effectively socialize and independently accomplish tasks today, fibro-forgiving. Yet, after socializing or being with my daughter for an entire day, I want nothing more than silence and a hiding spot. I thank my lucky stars that my husband understands my needs and frequently makes them a possibility, though find myself longing for school to start again so that I will not feel so endlessly guilty about my desire to be alone.
We have a date-night this evening and our daughter will spend the night at Gramma’s house. I have very much looked forward to this evening, yet find myself in such lousy shape that the idea of an early bedtime sounds just as appealing as the date itself.
So while I understand that parenting can and will be done by single parents, I do not wish to even imagine the havoc reeked upon that parents’ sanity, nor would I wish it upon anyone. I have the upmost respect for those who can raise a child on their own and produce happy, healthy children… But cannot fathom how they manage.
In the end, I do contest that it does in deed take a village to raise a child. Group parenting all the way, baby!
Why is it that we tell someone to get over emotional scars in an instant, but physical scars are a different story?
If a woman has experienced physical abuse at the hand of a loved one, (obviously not an exact parallel), we would understand if she shrank back fearfully if she were to encounter someone in an enraged state. However, if the situation were to remind her of past emotional pain, we say to get over it.
This is yet another example of how society is reluctant to embrace mental disorders and emotional trauma as actual issues.
We are invalidated endlessly. Get over it. Suck it up. You’re crazy. As if we never tried to make those invisible scars disappear. As if we enjoy being irrationally haunted by the past. Just because I cannot see gravity at work, does not mean I deny its’ existence.
Jump on the science wagon, folks! Kudos to those of you that recognize that emotional scars cut just as deep as physical scars.
Heavy snow falls.
Slush smells of rain-
Grass pokes through
A fresh blanket-
or screeching tires-
Quiet all around.
Have yet to bend-
Bunnies trace paths
Through the snow-
Into the bush.
Distant trees muddled
clouds of ice.
Window panes etched
Come to call-
The world awakes.
Depression is an unwelcome surprise party. A guest crouched down in the darkest corner of a presumably safe place. Waiting. Patiently. Silently. Ready to spring out of the blackness and scare unsuspecting souls. The lights illuminate the the surroundings… Surprise! It rejoices in the reaction. Sheer terror. Shock. A face gone pale… Color and warmth flee internally. Hidden from the surface. Shaking. Clammy hands. Cold sweat. Wide eyes. Pinpoint pupils. Frenzied attempts to escape the clutches of the empty shadow about to pounce. Black balloons drift to the ceiling, instantly exploding into rubber shrapnel. The lights flicker off. The intruder captures the prey while cloaked in darkness.
The rules for the nominee are as follows:
1. Thank the person who nominated you, and post a link to their blog on your blog. x
Thank you to Gentlekindness for nominating my blog. I am thrilled to be at a modest 40 followers. To be sharing my life with a few souls who find interest in my insights and strife.
I nominate the following blogs:
Gentlekindness writes regularly and updates her blog accordingly with intriguing musings and poetry. Check out her blog!
2. Display the award on your blog — by including it in your post and/or displaying it using a “widget” or a “gadget”. (Note that the best way to do this is to save the image to your own computer and then upload it to your blog post.) x
3. Answer 11 questions about yourself, which will be provided to you by the person who nominated you. x
4. Provide 11 random facts about yourself. x
5. Nominate 5 –11 blogs that you feel deserve the award, who have less than 1000 followers. (Note that you can always ask the blog owner this since not all blogs display a widget that lets the readers know this information!)
6. Create a new list of questions for the bloggers to answer.
7. List these rules in your post (You can copy and paste from here.) Once you have written and published it, you then have to:
8. Inform the people/blogs that you nominated that they have been nominated for the Liebster award and provide a link for them to your post so that they can learn about it (they might not have ever heard of it!).
11 Random Facts
1. I spend a good amount of time writing on the balcony. I use my gigantic iPhone 6+, so I can read the screen with ease and often write entire posts while contentedly enjoying nature and the quiet of the outdoors.
2. I began therapy at 3 years old.
3. Despite my struggles, I earned a 4.0 gpa for my previous Master’s degree and currently have maintained my track record while perusing a second MA.
4. I have tried nearly every pain and psychiatric medication available, and currently take 5 pills in the am, 8 with dinner and 5 at bedtime. 18 different pills. Every. Day.
5. I am in the process of writing a children’s book about mood disorders and parenting.
6. I was quite an athlete in my day. I miss it.
7. I would not give up on my goal of becoming a counselor even if the pay was obsolete.
8. While I seem distant to strangers and new acquaintances, I am really an open and loving person.
9. During my last depression, I would only leave the house once/week at best.
10. I love art projects. I draw, attempt to sew, take pics obsessively, craft, paint and create. Love!
11. When I was an adolescent, I wanted to be an architect.
Questions via Gentlekindness
1. If you could make one person live for a week in your body and your life, who would it be? And why?
While I do not wish my struggles upon anyone, if I were to choose, I’d have to share my experience with my husband. No one can fully understand my head without living inside it. Similarly, no one can understand my Fibro pain without hobbling in my shoes. Maybe then he would understand that just because I cannot conceivably whine 24/7 about my pain, it is there every second of every day. That’s not to say my husband is not utterly supportive and understanding… Merely an enlightening glimpse into my world.
2. Name something in nature that you feel connected to and why?
One thing?!?! I love nature. I could spend days on end collecting seashells, rocks, leaves, and flowers. And attempting to befriend bunnies and the like. If I were to choose, I must say water. Lake Tahoe, in particular, is so peaceful and beautiful. I could live on a houseboat, perfectly content, and hope my ashes will be spread there when I have left this body.
3. What type of person do you have the most trouble getting along with?
Fraudulent individuals. Those who pretend to be someone other than who they really are to win the affection of those around them.
4. What time of the day do you prefer to write your blogs?
5. If you had a clone of yourself, what would you delegate for them to do?
My clone could do my homework and housework while I wrote and explored my hobbies in greater depth.
6. Do you prefer writing about ” facts” or ” ideas and possibilities?”
Yes, please! I like to integrate both in my writing, though APA style is not my best friend.
7. What is it that causes you to continue writing your blog?
Hoping I can share my message and touch another soul in distress. I hope that I can offer some hope to others suffering from similar illnesses.
8. What is your idea of “quality time?”
Alone time. Working on something I am passionate about.
9. Do you have any phobias?
I fear that my daughter will inherit my struggles with Bipolar Disorder and/or Fibromyalgia.
10. If you could choose 3 charities to donate money to, what would they be?
Three homeless people. I don’t care why they’re asking for money. Do they need a drink? Of course! Who wouldn’t want a drink in such a state?!?! A fix? Understandable as well. Is it a hoax? Who cares?!?! They are begging for help. Regardless of the motivation, if I have the cash, I’ll offer it.
11. *Write your own question here* and answer it 🙂
If I could choose to publish one story, what would it be?
I would write a memoir about my life. Creative non-fiction all the way baby!
is a place
inside our heads.
The infinite universe
unscathed by the
trials of instinct.
free of the
those basic instincts,
the frontal cortex