Wednesday, August 27, 2014

ground zero

Knowing that the only thing that would bring me freedom
would also throw the two people i love the most
into a lifetime of horrible pain and dysfunction
plus breaking the hearts of countless others
diminishing any last speck of faith or respect they had for me
all of that only doubles my pain..
to the point where i want to end it all...
yet that would double their pain even more
which quadruples my own...there is no escape, no none.
how i wish i could go back to ground zero.
start all over. new choices. new chances.
but i cannot.
so if not ground zero, then six feet under will do.
take me please, Jesus, before i take matters into my own hands.  my desperation is making me bolder every day. please jesus, don't let me do this. please please please please please please please do it for me.
amen.

Saturday, August 23, 2014

Long walk

Think i'll just start walking and never come back.

Monday, August 18, 2014

To be continued ......

And the dark days get darker.
Sometimes i frighten myself. seriously.  is this how i end?
what's it like to die? is it like a giant panic attack, but instead of feeling like it's just invisible ropes that tie me down because i'm afraid of running out in front of all those people, they're real, and i really can not breathe anymore, it's not just in my head, and my racing pulse is speeding up to the point of an explosion, and i'm hearing those voices, those voices, angry voices, screaming at me, telling me what i'm doing wrong, how evil i am, how wicked, those fingers, pointing fingers, my breath is lost, i'm tightening up...when will i feel the release..oh please take me now jesus...i want that peace. that perfect silence. that light. that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. do i see the rush of my days, seconds flashing before my eyes? do i feel the heartbreak i've caused, do i see what could've been, the should'ves, the oughts...

oh what's that you say? my 10-minute break is over? ok. back to work. i'll try this again another time. with a better plan.  time to make the coffee.  maybe just one last time.

goodnight.

Thursday, August 14, 2014

one sentence


Currently reading; The Mermaid Chair
by Sue Monk Kidd

(New York Times Bestselling author of
The Secret Life of Bees)

I typically do not read a lot of fiction, because:

 A, My crazy mind can easily concoct ridiculous fantasies and nightmares on its own, without the help of someone else's ideas, and

B, Anything with even a speck of romance in it is sure make me depressed, as it contrasts so deeply with the lack thereof in my own life.  makes a mockery of me.

However, I am preparing for a beach trip in a couple weeks, so I want to sort through some good beach reading materials, pack them along with the beach towels, boogie boards and sunblock, so on those lazy afternoons of just lying there watching the waves ebb and flow, and when the kids are happily occupied in the sand, i can escape my life for a few minutes and just veg out awhile.  Savor the deliciousness of a good author's excellent choice of fresh words, delicately roasted with just the right amounts of adventure, character development, clever dialogue, and served up hot and spicy with plenty of savory adjectives and thought-provoking sub-plots on the side. yum.

But just as I'm digesting this good read, one simple sentence stops me and threatens to gag me till I throw back all i've read and give up.  just. one. sentence.  this:

"Hugh reached out his arm, and my shoulder slipped into the groove beneath his collarbone while my head glided into the nape of his neck, an oiled, automatic movement as old as our marriage."
(pg. 26, Kidd)

SCREEEEECH, slam on the brakes, stop right there.  Excuse me, will someone please tell me what that is like?   (actually, no, don't..)  To actually have someone who knows how to instantly comfort you with their touch?  Who can hug, cuddle, embrace you in a non-sexual way that speaks volumes of comfort without saying a word?   Really?  There is such a thing? Excuse me, waiter, i don't think this is what i ordered, could you take it back please?

Over the years, I guess I've just trained myself to live without that special gift of friendly touch that one cherishes in any close relationship.  Not that that's a good thing, but I can just brace myself, hold my shoulders strong when I feel like I'm crumbling inside and wishing I had a nesting place to lay my head in a relaxed, nurturing pose... (so I do rely on the Lord for those times I need comfort, but dang it, Lord, i can't feel you sometimes, and besides...just let me complain here a minute, it's my pity party and i'll cry if i want to...)

Instead i aspire to be strong in all aspects of the word.  Even though I may sometimes be treated as if i'm "small" (in a cute but still patronizing, demeaning way..) and my thoughts don't matter, yet I have to keep up an incredibly strong front to avoid collapsing in a heap on the floor, bawling my eyes out.. (yes this happens)...alone yet not alone, as I am observed from above, like a hawk looking down on a mouse on the ground, but not held.  Reasoned with, given practical suggestions as to how to solve the problem... but not...held.  a very lonely place.

so i need to stop reading these *&^&^$%%$^%$& stinkin stupid books.

tbt, rip

      
 
 

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

angel

With the residue of Robin William's death still on my mind, I drove by this old movie theater this morning, the cheap movie place, and it reminded me. A bunch of bunch of years ago, this same theater.  Rainy summer night.  Went to a movie with my suicidal, bipolar friend, as well as a group of others from our church singles group.  It was some kind of action movie with some emotional parts in it.  Apparently something in the movie struck a chord... (and no pun intended, but btw he was also an artist, a bass player, played in a worship band, also loved cranking up smooth jazz and gospel music in his Washington-plated car..) Something broke inside him as we were walking out with the crowds towards the parking lot that rainy night.  He broke into a torrent of sobs, couldn't go on.  We stopped beneath a  tree while the rain poured down, on the trees as well, as his tears drenched my shoulder.  It was the oddest kind of embarrassment, as people awkwardly walked around us, just standing there for what felt like hours, him sobbing like a baby, unabashedly, this grown man, bawling his eyes out.  yet I couldn't pull myself out of his grip, so at a loss for what to do, yet a part of me could understand completely.  no words.


Fast-forward to about a year later.  Our relationship had ended awhile back, when he wisely realized that he was in an unhealthy place and shouldn't be dragging me along, so he let me go.  So we meet again at this worship concert. Between sets he comes right up to me, completely ignoring the person i was with, (which annoyed this person as he doesn't like to go impolitely unnoticed), he skips the small talk and just gazes at me like I'm a ghost.  It's like he's looking right through me, as if he had already left this earth and was looking at me from a spiritual place.  And he keeps telling me that I'm his little angel, I'm his angel.  And it's another horrendously awkward moment as my un-addressed, completely ignored date looks on, frustrated by this guy standing here just gushing about me being an angel, which must not have made any sense, it didn't even register to me until weeks later, after his tragic death. 

 It was then, after his suicide, that I pondered these outpourings and realized that maybe, just maybe, the time I'd spent with him that year ago in the past- those days of just listening to him share his pain while staring at that same wall, those many nights visiting him in the mental hospital, 
those many awkward moments of standing by him when he went into one of his weird emotional breakdowns in public, when I wanted to run and hide...maybe that's why he called me his angel, because I stuck by his side when he needed someone the most.  


Even though I lost him in the end, sometimes I think..that maybe a part of me is up there in heaven already, dancing on high, with that bass down low...


Just a little memoir of a friend, as we mourn the losses of those that go the way of Robin Williams, and as we feel the pain of their families.  

I almost didn't post this, but then as I drove the span of 10 minutes down the road, there were 2 songs on the radio about angels, so it felt like a sign.  One was You're My Angel by Aerosmith...                                                              

                                                              You're my angel
                                                              Come and save me tonight
                                                              You're my angel
                                                              Come and make it all right
                                                              
...and the other was this one by Ed Sheeran:

It's too cold outside
For angels to fly
Angels to fly
To fly, fly
For angels to fly, to fly, to fly
For angels to die






Tuesday, August 12, 2014

fight like a girl

just saving this for future reference...may get back to this later.  (fingers twitching, glancing at my boxing gloves hanging by the door...let's go already!!!!)

1951-2014



People are asking "why" was Robin Williams depressed or what caused him to take his life. Tortured artists are often some of the funniest people you meet. You can be funny and still be fighting some horrendous inner demons. Please remember that for every Robin Williams, there are thousands of regular people on the brink of tragedy. When someone is going through the depths of their inner hell, take time to listen...don't be afraid of walking through the storm with them...don't try to fix them...just be a presence.   ***


Just sharing.  It's such a dichotomy; the people with the funniest side one day can be the darkest, most miserable person the next.  You may want to just pass them off as being weird, because you don't understand them.   That makes sense.  But is it kind or compassionate? Or to ask that infamous question, What Would Jesus Do?  I know there is a flurry of activity on the internet regarding this topic right now, so I won't repeat anymore of what's  being said.  Just adding my "amen" to those who ask us to please be kind, don't judge, and get help if you're one of us.  I want to say "just get Jesus" because I know how my faith in Christ keeps me holding on, but I don't want to sound trite.  Like the priests who shuffled past the beaten man lying on the ground, telling him to "be well", but not going out of their way to help him, not wanting to risk getting dirty, and besides, that person was one of "them".  I don't want to just throw out the name of Jesus for people to paste onto their problems, without my caring enough to enter those dark spaces myself, with them.  I've walked alongside the path of someone who eventually took his life.  I can vaguely attest to knowing their pain, as well as from my own personal experiences of it.  Life goes on around you,  but you feel so alone and already dead.  Please, at least say a real prayer for those who suffer inwardly.  And may you go on with your day in peace.  thanks for listening.

***by Trea Kimball  (copy-pasted from her original post on Facebook)









Monday, August 11, 2014

shmadloids

saw this at the grocery check-out this morning.  article about kim k. (i know, i know, tabloids, shmadloids, rags & paparazzi....but still...)   all i can say is wow.

and, "i know we're nothing alike otherwise, but kim, i feel for you.."

and, why is it that when someone famous reveals this, people believe it because it's on the cover of a magazine, but when some everyday nobody reveals their similar situation, they just get sent to a shrink to try to "fix" them, (which doesn't work and the shrink eventually gives up on them) and all their "frenemies" just tell them to "try this" or "try that" and "just wait, expect a miracle.."

sigh.  but no worries.  it's all good.  i'm learning things the hard way, and hopefully i'll be a stronger person because of it.

In Touch Weekly: Kim Kardashian's Marriage To Kanye West Is All Business






Sunday, August 3, 2014

peacefully honest

no news is good news, right?   i should just stop spilling my thoughts like this. shut the crazy lady up, just smile and everyone will think everything's fine.  smile, just smile. right. oh well.
The good news is, after all i've gone through thus far, i have to say i am much more at peace now. It feels much better being honestly depressed than artificially "happy".  It's a good feeling, in a sad but honest way.  I can "own" this feeling, and i know it's real. i can pluck it out of my body, hold it in front of my eyes, inspect it, sniff it, (pew!) and observe it objectively.  I'm no longer just pretending, and trying to hide my feelings in keeping busy and buying too much stuff. No longer just going along for the ride, bracing myself and forcing affection while shrinking inside, recoiling and cringing with a sinking feeling of disgust and degradation.  I'm free of that. (oh no i've said too much...smiles, everyone, smiles..)  Like a bird, my soul is free, even if i'm not.

now i'll (try to) shut up.