There are times, quite often in fact, when we let our experiences dictate the path of our lives. Usually, the bad ones, or the self-destructive ones…it’s surprisingly harder to stand up than it is to fall down. I’m sharing Kyle’s post DEMON for the very reason that I struggle daily with my own demons and it’s always comforting to know I am not alone. Equally so, to have a friend who can bear the naked truth of the dark side of some of our choices yet show there is light to be found…IF we are willing to look. Thank you Kyle.
they’re a bunch of fucking natives, and they spout all this hippie shit about self-discovery and journeys into my soul and what-not. i nod politely and agree, but just so as to be polite. i don’t want to offend them, but its all a load of crap as far as i’m concerned. i’m here for the trip of my life. i’ve heard about these mushrooms, ever since i started taking drugs. the most powerful hallucinogenic on the planet. the trip of a lifetime. they are legendary and until now, i wasn’t even sure they existed at all. i look at the pile of goo the old woman spits onto the plate. i understand why she has to chew the mushrooms first. she has been doing this for years, and there are enzymes in her saliva that will break down the mushrooms and prevent me from vomiting too much. novices have…
A day that requires a strength I’m not positive I have.
Yet I’m committed to faking that strength if I have to.
A day to speak-up, speak-out, and step-up.
To use the tools I have; tearing down old walls, kicking open locked doors, and shattering the stained and grime covered glass windows that have kept the dark in and the light out for too long.
Then, I can put the sledgehammer down, pick up my paint brush, and add my own colors to the palette of those brave souls already building a sanctuary from the prisons of abuse.
If aiding those who have already begun fabricating the framework; the architects like Andrea Bredbeck, and the carpenters, masons, and painters who swing their hammers, glide their trowels, and stroke their brushes of truth; if that is all I can do, then it’s what I will do.
Support is the – KEY – to this sanctuary. Without it, the door will remain locked.
Let your loved ones know, BEFORE they need it, that you’ll always be there.
Don’t assume they know…hammer it home it you have to.
That’s YOUR tool…use it. With love, but use it.
♥ And to those I love and to those that love me…thank you. ♥
The third and final post in the RAPE: Rise Against Punishable Eccentricity challenge to join the movement to raise our voices in the fight again Rape and Sexual Assault, as well as lift our voices in unison toward helping women feel empowered to take charge and take action.
I particularly love this one because it’s quintessential Susan (the Green Thumb Goddess). She can always pack a wallop in her poetry but I think she especially nailed this one. The seed planted here is powerful, visual, and easy to relate to.
I would also like to thank my daughter-in-law Lindsay for allowing me to use her beautiful face in this image. While she’s not a victim of sexual abuse…she absolutely ‘gets’ it!
A side note:
Women do not have to be victims of abuse to feel like and see that ‘stranger’ in the mirror…sometimes lost, sometimes less than, too often unrecognizable. Because I know that feeling all too well, not just as a survivor, but as a woman in general, there’s an added incentive to lead by example; to show that we must not be silent; we must not become part of the backdrop of someone else’s life; we must not lose sight of who and what we are…special, unique, and empowered to change the world by virtue of our voices, our minds, and not the least, raising our children.
We must step up and out of the supporting role and take the lead when we need to; show our sons and daughters that just because we plant and tend the garden, it does NOT make us gardeners.
And our choice to be housewives, does NOT mean we are ignorant of the world outside our four walls.
If our choice is to be stay-at-home mothers, it is just that – a choice. NOT an open door to disrespect, condescension, or a sign that we feel ourselves unworthy. If anything…it’s the complete opposite.
I have NEVER taken love lightly – Any kind of love – Nor have I ever taken it for granted
But I find I have always needed the kind of love of which I speak and know too that I can’t settle for less
Nor would I want a partner who would either
And it’s there, still, with the man I married
It had gotten tangled in the weeds, but it’s there
My garden is all but free of the weeds now
Mostly clear, and clean, and ready for next year’s bounty
What’s left to be done is this…and it is with love for this someone who has become, if not what I thought, at least what I needed at the time, and what I’ll always need at all times…
A true friend and A beloved one
It’s rarely pretty, this finding love and losing love
It’s not always complimentary, exposing ourselves the way we do
But I love my friend, as much now as ever
And I hope he understands, as I now do, that the truth, given OR received, is never wasted on ones we love:
♥
Rode hard, put away wet Know the term? You do I bet But here’s the thing…well, more than one We all have dreams, or at least want some
We read the words from men like you Meant to shock, arouse, and lube Don’t get me wrong, they do all that But there’s more to see here than that
If you’ll allow, I will explain In rhyming time and sweet refrain That which delineates the sexes It’s more than just muscle reflexes
The matter of perspective arises Far above your “cash and prizes” As women go, I’m plain at best At least the shell, the crust, the vest
But underneath, (not just for me) There is a fire, so plain to see But only plain to those who dare To look beyond the graying hair
The less than fit, the age defined The stretch-marked bellies, the Swiss cheese minds Women of certain elegant ages Have printed upon their bodies’ pages
Their stories of love and pain and laughter Their tales of lives that we’re all after But when we fall for men who seek The more fit, the young, the more sleek
We feel pity more than other For negate they do, that once their mothers Were beautiful in the eyes of one The one they trusted, who gave them sons
But you close your hearts to love and trust The only thing left is shallow lust Which produces naught but sweat and cum May be fine, enough for some
When the end is near in our lives’ journeys We’ll lie upon our final gurneys Does one suppose he’s surrounded by The lithe, the fit, the candy eye?
I fear, my love, that won’t be so Fear even more there will be no One at all, regardless of.. The state of fitness..nor of love
For if you set your sites so low As to allow for only those That please the eye, the prick, the glands Forever you’ll dwell in Never Land
Even Peter Pan learned the trick To not just grow, but teach his dick That though the fit and the buff Will feast the eye, it’s not enough
To satisfy a life long need To touch a heart, to plant a seed In love and trust, eternal gladness To have that one to share the madness
Of every day life in every days ways Of every day love and yes, the haze Of lust and fear and pain and sorrows Of knowing they’re there through our tomorrows
My wish, my hope, my fear, my joy All rolled in one for you my boy Is that the day you meet the end You know you’ve done as you intended
For to wait upon the reaper’s time With naught but wishes to fill your time Is no way to greet the earth The final rest, the final dirt
To know you’ve lived and loved and tried With all your heart despite your pride To give out more than you’ve received No more we’d ask, no more we’d need
To face your death with lightened heart Evolved from apes, from apes apart Our choices bring us far above What evolution thinks of love
For apes we are and apes we’ll stay But apes are not all the same, I say Some just fuck but some will love Some for life, some far above
If it were not so, I would bow To Darwin here, and Darwin now But for myself, to this I say Close your heart to love, you will pay
In the end, it’s all we’ve got That makes us different, far apart From just biology and lust That fades, with time, and so does trust
I was working on a post this morning, having to do with the tons of fun in the sun trying to sell a house in today’s market (yeah, right), when as often happens, a short sidestep away from the center line resulted in being led down another dirt road. But that’s life, especially my life, as I live for the treks down the less traveled dirt.
This particular step off the line was a conversation with a friend that began with small talk about the Gawd awful heat wave and remedies for sun burns, meandered to the pros and cons of having your home and all its contents spread all over the air waves for any ol’ burglar to scope out, tip-toed into current affairs generally and recent events in the Florida courts specifically, then naturally (!?!) morphed into what it must be like for a child to be raised in a Muslim household that forbids TV, radio, music, internet, and playing with children not of their own religion.
Don’t you just LOVE these conversations that sprout tentacles like a giant squid? I do…I love the random nature of them almost as much as the feeling of comfort I get knowing we can talk about anything…all at once! Very stimulating to say the least.
Anyway, post Muslim life discussion, from which we both came away thinking we’d like to try our hand at reading the Koran, the conversation jumped the broom to religion in general. While one of use believes and the other does not, one thing is certainly true: Where we find intolerance, bigotry, segregationist thinking, there is usually a religious aspect fueling it. If we are ever to see the day when our planet’s caretakers can live in true peace and brotherhood…religious fanaticism or extremists, of any kind, must see the end of days.
This of course ‘evolved’ into, well, evolution. Which as a non-believer in religion of any kind, is in fact, the religion of choice. Past the talk of apes and chimps, we discussed how humans are shown to have an innate ability to share. Yup. Share. Which of course led to whether being kind and empathetic is genetics or learned, and whether lesser traits, like competing in all respects, is too, learned or innate. Survival of the fittest after all, with no moral force guiding it? For the non-believer, the take is that we are just naturally a ‘nice’ animal. For me, the believer, I tended to agree, but still harbor some doubt. I do think, that while certain characteristics of humans are innate, most are learned behaviors. Basically, nature vs. nurture. An old and forever on-going topic of discussion that has its own, very long, dirt path. We discussed why certain behaviors occur in some animals and not in others.
For instance, the beaten dog. How can a dog who knows mostly pain from the hand of its human, still find it within itself to lick that very hand the few times it might be extended in what one could only marginally be described as love? It’s insane. Yet, it happens all the time. However, for a child to be reared in the same way, the risk is far, far greater, that the result could just as easily be a non-empathetic psychopath as it could be a loving, thriving, kind, and generous, human being. Is that a choice? Nature vs. nurture again? I used myself as an example, and even so, I still have doubts about it…or maybe doubt is too strong a word.
I have questions.
Being a victim of childhood sexual abuse (The year that broke the dam) from the ages of 5 to 14 and a victim of rape at the age of 19, one could imagine that I could have become a bitter, angry, mean-spirited, non-trusting, love-hating person. But I didn’t (Back on the Road). I’m like the beaten dog…and I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic here…it’s more a visual aide. I live a life filled with as much love as there is hate; as much beauty as there is ugliness; as much need for love, both to give and to receive, as distrust of it. So, it begs the question…was this my choice? Or was I bound by genetics to grow into a woman with a heart and huge capacity for empathy? I don’t know.
But here’s the rub, and ultimately, the reason for our long stroll down these particular paths…in speaking with this friend, it was pointed out ardently, that I do, in fact, have a wonderful heart, a good and strong personality, a huge capacity for love, and that (this is the key) I’m beautiful on the inside.
Ah yes…the beauty within vs. the beauty without (is that the term? doesn’t sound right, but you know what I mean). I, for one, actually HATE that phrase. I love that I am, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a double-edged sword for me. I fell into the trap long, long ago, that it’s more important, at least initially, to be more beautiful on the outside. It has been my experience, and I just may have to take the responsibility for it (Delusional Illusions), that people who could not see beyond the surface passed me by without a second glance and without having the pleasure of getting to know me. I’m not alone. I’m certainly not unique in my thinking this is the way of things. I say honestly, if it was a choice to be the way I am, it was not an easy one, but for me, the only one. Why? Genetics? Nurture? (shrugging shoulders still)
So while I do still struggle with this question, the conversation, for all its meandering, did help me see that hard or not, choice or not, I am on the right path. My path. And if Joe Blow from Kokomo chooses to walk by me because I don’t look like a Playboy centerfold…I say one thing (well, I say it behind his back ’cause I’m nice)…
Growing up as I did, I had to become a master of delusion.
And a master I was.
I managed to convince myself I was happy, normal, thriving, even exceptional at times.
But, as with everything in life, it ends.
That day came when the delusion hit me square in the face and I found myself staring at a naked stranger in the mirror.
So what’s to be done?
Face my naked self?
See life as it is for the first time…stare the ugly in the face and see beyond it?
Reach into that mirrored heart and grab that frightened, yearning, amazingly loving, little girl and give her a chance?
That would be a most difficult, utterly terrifying path. Yet a fine one indeed. A healing thing, a healthy thing, a loving thing to do.
Or…how about exchanging the delusion; that umbrella of fantasy under which life was so real as to be believed; for one of illusion.
I know it won’t be entirely real; just enough to convince me that I can be happy. No longer deluded, yet not quite ready to face the ugliness in the mirror. Not quite strong enough to bring her out into the open to face the fact that life is not fair; life is not pretty; life is not forgiving…it’s just life.
So illusion it was…for a time anyway.
But…as all things in life do, this too did end.
An even more painful death than the delusion.
The delusion took my face and smashed it into my mirror.
The illusion died slowly, with tiny little blows that wounded me a piece at a time.
With it’s whispered ‘I love you but…”
And it’s well intended, but still misguided “You’re too good for me…”
The true shield behind which the illusions spew forth “It’s not you, it’s me…”
And the fatal blows to the heart “I’ll always love you…”
a & f
The delusion?
That my damaged soul and wounded heart could find love and peace, inside or out, anywhere but in my own heart.
It’s not possible without facing the naked truth that no matter how much I love another, it won’t last until I love myself enough to see beyond the mirror.
a & f
The Illusion?
That my damaged soul could tell the difference between what’s whole, what’s honest, what’s without fear, and what’s my illusion.
To realize true happiness and true love I must stand naked and fearless in front of that mirror.
And besides my own, the eyes of the one I love are the truest mirror I’ll ever face.
If I’m willing to see it, the reflection will be one of truth. My truth and his.
Stark naked, no illusion.
I’ll see trust, kindness, inner beauty, desire, love without qualification, and acceptance of who and what we both are…in all that naked glory…or I’ll see nothing.
If I see doubt, fear, unease, tempered or guarded emotions, and conditional love…from either of us….I’ll run.
Every day, we choose the road we set our feet upon. Each inch we travel is a minute step in the right direction as long as that direction is forward. Don’t stand still, don’t hesitate, don’t stop moving.
Others will make inroads against us…don’t let them. Do not allow anyone to take from us what we are not willing to give freely. Don’t let them sneak up on you.
Do our hard thinking along the way so when we reach your crossroads you’ll know the direction you are meant to take. This will never be easy and we will likely be here more than once. If you take the wrong turn the first time, remember it well…and do better the next.
The dirt roads are mere side trips; chances to meet new people, try new things, gain new insight, or just look for a place to breathe. These are the paths that make the journey worthwhile.
There will always be bumps in the road ahead…there has never been a completely flat road and there never will be. Some are visible, some clouded in the fog of our mind’s eye…but there, they are. We must use caution on the way to planting our flag of accomplishment on the top, and always leave a word or two of encouragement there for the ones that follow. And remember, we are gaining strength with each step up and over to the other side. The next one will be a little easier and the one after that and the one after that.
Don’t fear the detours, they are a necessary part of our journey. As long as our destination is clear, how we get there matters little and there’s nothing wrong with a change of scenery. Sights to be enjoyed, experiences to be treasured, lessons to be learned…Life recalculated.
The road blocks are meant to test us. They will stop some in their tracks; end the journey because it just got too hard. Don’t let this happen. We must use them as tools to hone our skills of adjusting, ingenuity, imagination, and self-reliance. Don’t give in and don’t give up…give ’em hell.
There may be times we find ourselves on the outside, what I call the out roads. This is not a place to be. This is a place of indecision, self-doubt, fear of the unknown, and even fear of the known. The kind of fear that lives in the dark places, leaves us afraid to step forward, or afraid to move at all. Lost. If we find ourselves here…we must stop, open our minds, hearts, and eyes…for this is the time to ask for help.
We can see them; the people in our lives we love and respect; lining the shoulder of the roads we’ve walked…reaching out. They are waiting, they are willing, they are there to help you back on your path. But they cannot do it for you…admit you are lost, take the hands that are offered, and begin again. One step at a time.
Today’s post is the anniversary post I had planned for yesterday. As is often the case, life intervened. And in retrospect, I’m glad it did. Terrified, but glad.
You see, I was prepared to reflect on this last year alone. Lord knows it’s been a year like no other for me. But over the course of the last couple of days, I’ve realized that’s not enough. Not even close. It must go beyond that. It must be shared how a photograph of an eagle…
To have missed this would have changed it all. To have been witness to this, did change it all. Change is life.
Light through the dark. All you need do is look. And believe…it’s for you.
…a kind word of encouragement from a friend, and a blog can change the world. My world. And I hope, in some way, someone else’s.
I must talk of how my past blew a hole in my present and almost destroyed my future, yet didn’t. And I hope, somewhere in here, before I’m done, I will show too, just how much I’ve gained this last year; in love, friendship, self-esteem, self-reliance, …hell, let’s just say self. That’s the biggie.
The mirror I’m looking in today is one that goes beyond my image. Beyond the face that shows subtle signs of age in the soft wrinkles in the corners of my eyes and mouth, and the 50 shades of gray. This mirror mirror on the wall…tells the secrets, tells them all.
Yes, and it’s been a long time coming. And I’m not alone in my many dimensional mirror. I see image, beyond image, beyond image times a thousand, of half woman/half girl, half man/half boy faces that all have the same haunted eyes, looking back at me, silently screaming.
The screams have been heard. The faces have been seen and are known. The old, the young, the gone, the living…mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews, friends and strangers; all once children, young adults, adults, of abuse. They are with me, in front, behind, and beside me. They are me. They are you. But since I’m the one on this side of the mirror, I’ll speak; for them; for me.
All things in their time The time is now Open the flood gates
Why a dam? It’s built to withstand years of stress and pressure. To give that which is needed when it’s needed, and not before. It’s there to hold back that which is as deadly as it is life-giving. It has a built-in relief system…its flood gates.
We are very like this dam, we human beings. Our bodies and our minds are built to withstand years of stress and pressure. We can take a life as quickly as we can give it. We cater to those with needs, giving what is needed, when it’s needed, and not before. And we too have built-in relief systems. Plural. For we have many. Not all good, not all healthy, and certainly not all lasting. But we each do what we have to do to survive. It’s in our nature. To survive. Or try to. Some do. Sadly, a great many don’t. Some do their best to just survive. Some go beyond, make a difference, help others with faulty or stuck relief systems.
This last year of blogging; specifically, the meeting of a surprising number of kindred souls in this community, has shown me that whatever forces are at work, led me here for a reason. This is no accident. Not even a happy one. It is just as it has to be.
Things happen for a reason? All things in their own time? I’m no expert on the human condition, nor am I a philosopher. But yes, these things I believe. At least, I believe them now. There was a time not so long ago, my belief system was quite different. Why? Because there is no reason in this world or any other I could ever imagine a right reason or right time for abuse. Of any kind. Of any one. Most especially though, child abuse, and God forbid, sexual abuse.
It is of that I speak. Here. Today. Openly and for the first time, terrifyingly public; beyond the false walls I built around myself at a very young age. In this last year, the walls have begun to crumble, and I’ve found that the hands I reached out to others in empathy and compassion, have been taken and touched in kind, and placed safely into a human chain of compassion and support I’d not known until now. Not because it wasn’t there; because I’d never reached before. I was busy keeping my fortress secure. To say blogging helped change my life would be an understatement…it, an eagle, and a beam of light, saved it.
This is the sledgehammer that’s going to take down what’s left. Not just to set myself free, but to reach the one, or the ten, or the hundred, who need to know they are not alone and they are not broken. Bruised, battered, scarred, hurting beyond hurt, and isolated, yes. But not broken, and not alone, and not AT FAULT.
I used to think remembering and reminding myself of the details were important. It’s not. It’s toxic. The devil’s in the details? You’re damn right he is. I kept each detail locked in my fortress, either framed and hanging on the wall like a treasured photograph, hanging on a hook in my closet ready to be taken out and worn like a cloak, or hiding under the bed enmeshed in those evil wind dancing, webs that have been catching and holding years and years worth of dirt; years of details wrapped in a cocoon and saved for later…
Oh the tangled webs we weave In our minds Just to survive
…Enough! Walls down. Light in. Broom in hand.
Time.
Now.
There’s no more room.
I have always wondered, and I know other survivors do also, who I would have been had things been different. Who I was supposed to be. I shall answer the first here…the second, at the end.
Would I still feel the need for approval or validation for everything I do?
This is a hard one. And at this moment, all I can say is definitely/maybe not. I’m not there yet, but the more I learn of myself, the more I know that I am quite capable of deciding if what I’m doing is right, or good, and the only one I need approval from, or validation for my deeds or actions, is me. Same goes for consequences. Mine. As with the devil’s details…blaming the past or hanging onto past hurts only keeps me in the dark and they too need to see the fat end of the broom.
Would I still agree to do things I don’t want to do to make someone else’s life easier or happier at the expense of my own?
I’m hoping I would have been able to find a balance here. I don’t want to cause hurt or pain to others, but over the years this trait has been detrimental to my own sense of self-worth. I do believe this trait will be going out the door with the webs, with a more healthy one in its stead. Not born of conceit or over indulged self importance…one born of kindness and compassion yet with the awareness that I am worthy of the same consideration. This is a big one.
Would I still be empathetic to the point of physical discomfort?
Yes, unequivocally, yes. This will not change. And I don’t want it to. Or it won’t change because I don’t want it to. Either way, it stays.
Would I still be 100% confrontational within my own family circle, yet 100% against/afraid of confrontation outside of it?
I think I already proven to myself that this is history. (right service manager Denise?)
As for the family confrontational dynamic…well part of that is genetic (yes it is..we French love to argue).
Kidding aside, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel here. A big part of this trait that can appear akin to someone with a chip on their shoulder; a (disguised) resentment born out of my sense of not being protected. But maybe even more, not being recognized.
For me of course, it was obvious. I knew the taint was visible, I saw it every day. But I know that’s not the way of it. And I will say something about that in a moment…but I do know, without question, it was not from lack of love. Still, I did harbor that resentment and anger for a very long time. Its departure is another recent event, and frankly, one I’m glad to see out the door.
What I wanted…needed…to say about the ‘not being recognized’ is this, and I’m coming at this from both perspectives, my own perspectives; as an adult survivor of childhood sexual abuse, date rape, and as a parent.
Parents work. Yes
Now more than ever. Yes
One, both, inside the home, outside the home…work. Yes
We have no choice if we are to provide what we need to care for, and make better lives for, our families, if we chose to have children. Yes
Children require work. Yes
Now more than ever. Yes
Day care, pre-kindergarten, kindergarten, primary school, elementary school, middle school, high school…sports, jobs, cars, dating, college. It’s never-ending. Yes
What do we need more of? Time? Patience? Energy? Help? Yes to all the above.
What do we do if we are out of/never had any/can’t get any of the all the aboves?
we see a child crying or having a tantrum and tell her to please, please stop or go to her room – we see a shy little boy and make him go outside and play with the kids next door – we see a shy, chubby adolescent and enroll him/her into an activity or put them a diet because no one wants to have their child picked on for being fat – we are at our wits end with the surly teenager who never smiles and can’t wait for him/her to outgrow this phase – we see a young man or young woman making self-destructive life decisions and lecture them about the dangers of sex, drugs, and rock -n- roll (or rap, or heavy metal, or country…makes no difference).
These are all normal, everyday scenarios in the lives of most families. And will continue as long as we have children. So what’s the problem. This…
what if hers is a cry for help without the words to express it – what if his shyness is fear of being away from home or out of your sight because he’s been molested and told he will be punished if he tells – what if the chubby little darling is substituting food for the right kind of attention and hiding their perfect little selves in fat from the wrong kind of attention – what if that surly teenager has a dark secret and thinks no one will understand but knows if you really, really looked, you’d see it without them saying a word, please don’t make me say it – and what if those self-destructive decisions are just that…an attempt at self-destruction for fear of someone knowing, the pain of someone not knowing, and the shame with having said nothing.
We need to stop looking through our children. Stop making assumptions based on our own lack of time, energy, patience, or help. Things are not always what they seem. Sometimes they are just what they appear to be…but the time it takes to really look at your children, talk to them, is worth more than any paycheck.
We talk a lot about bullying. It is rampant these days. But is it really ‘these days’? Or have we just been too busy to notice it before. Bullies are not born. They are made. It’s not a stretch to imagine an abused child becoming a bully is it? Can one who is bullied, beaten, molested by an adult not just as likely to turn his/her anger toward someone weaker or smaller? We don’t always turn inwards. Some cope another way. There is never an excuse for bullying. But I’d be more inclined to ask my son or daughter the hard questions if I ever saw or heard of them bullying others.
And finally, to answer the second of the questions…Who was I supposed to be?
Well, that one is becoming more clear. Me. Right here, right now. Me. And that’s just fine.
empty empty empty (such a strange word when looked at so closely)
I have decided this word is creeping into my everyday life way, way, too often. And it’s pissing me off.
Is it the winter? The, oh so cliché but oh so real, cabin fever? I don’t know.
But, today the sun broke through, so I ventured outside. With no plan other than soaking up that which has been missing for too long. The light, the warmth, the overall feeling of hope that things will be okay.
As a winter lover, I hesitate to blame these empty days on lack of sunshine and warmth. But as a woman in transition, I’m more hesitant to blame it on something else. That would mean taking responsibility for my own feelings, right?
Like those feelings of self-pity? Depression? Lack of self-confidence? Oh woe the fuck is me? Can it be I’m allowing these dark, snowy days I used to look forward to, give me an excuse to stay inside and hide from the world I don’t always feel ready to face?
Yes. Yes, yes, and yes. That is exactly what I was doing. And it took two people, my Yin and my Yang, to get me up and out into that light. One is the left, the other the right. The past and the future. Opposite ends of my journey. But they managed to meet in the middle…me…I am the middle ground.
The left says…”Get up and get moving; no one can fix you but you; I’m here but I can’t fix this; fix you. You have to. I’ve told you I love you, but frankly I’m sick of your whining.”
The right says…”I love you and am always here for you. I wish I could make things better, but you must choose to be happy. There are things you can do, support is out there, use it.”
Okay, I paraphrased, but that’s the gist. Love on the left; love on the right; me in the middle, feeling empty for NO good reason.
What is WRONG with this picture?
ME…that’s what.
So…why did I title this post “The More Things Change…?”
Because this is a pattern for me. A pattern I need to change. The more things have changed in my life, the more I’ve fought the changes. And NOT the changes themselves. No, it’s the roller coaster of ‘it’s the right thing, it’s the wrong thing, it’s exciting, it’s scaring the shit out of me, I’m worth it, who are you kidding’, emotional roller coaster. Not the obvious ones, like divorcing after 31 years. THAT deserves a roller coaster ride…and what a ride it has been. But, for the most part, I can say that ride is over. The extremes anyway. Figuring out where we go from here is the next ride, but it’s not a roller coaster, it’s more akin to the Tea Cup…up, down, and all around, sometimes sickening, sometime exhilarating, but always an end in sight.
This is not it.
It’s the bi-polar, manic-depressive (as a way of explanation only, she tells herself) emotions that I’ve allowed myself to fall victim to when things in my life don’t go the way I want them to. I allow myself to lash out at those that love me for no other reason than the dog just doesn’t understand. Seriously…if the damned dog would just say ‘I get ya Ma, I feel for ya Ma, now can I have a treat?’ I’d be better off.
Instead, I lash out, cry, feel empty, look at my life as a black hole instead of realizing I have a tremendous amount of love and support to be thankful for. From the left and from the right and from everywhere in between.
That it took a short sojourn out into the sun to put things back in perspective is a little strange maybe. But I am not questioning it. If a bit of bright light and vitamin D turn my empty thoughts into ones filled with hope and remembrances of the love I have in my life; past, present, and future; then I say bring on the sun.
You are my sunshine…my only sunshine…you make me happy…when skies are gray.
I’ve experienced my share of loss. Most of a certain age have, and some not of such an age. It is an inevitable part of life.
I’ve mourned the loss of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends much too soon, neighbors, and four-legged buddies too.
Grief is a process. It’s as important a process as learning to walk or speak. It’s something we all must do in stages…there is no other way. We can deny it, run from it, gloss over it, or ignore it…makes no difference to grief. It says…
“Deal with me now or deal with me later…face me today or sit back and let me take over your life…I can and will, offer you the tools but you have to choose how or if to use them. For if you leave it to me, I’ll build walls with no windows and doorways to nowhere. I’ve got your heart in my hands and I can keep it in the dark and squeeze the life out of it. Or, you can help me release it back into the light. The choice is yours.”
Mourning has a natural path it must follow; a beginning, a middle, and in time, an end. We must allow ourselves to follow it to its natural end. And I say natural because we are all different. We didn’t all learn to walk and talk at the same point in our lives. We each learn as and when we are meant to. With help or without…we have but one choice if we are to become who we are meant to be. I don’t believe anyone is meant to be broken by grief. It’s a choice. A sad one, but still a choice.
In the past several months, I’ve been one of those denying, running, glossing over, ignoring souls. And not from the grief of losing ones I loved to dying. No. For me, that is the allowed grief, the necessary grief, the natural mourning after saying goodbye to their souls grief.
No, it’s the mourning the loss of life that still breathes; the blood’s still flowing but the heart’s not beating, life; the everyday life staring back at me in that shattered mirror life that I had to choose to either pour a new foundation, pick up the hammer, and start building a new frame for; or choose to let grief build me and my tender heart into box kind of grief that I ran from.
I didn’t understand. No one had died. Neither of us was ill. Grief? Mourning? I just didn’t get it.
A poem of love lost, dreams gone, futures altered:
I close my eyes, see a life once shared I close my eyes, sweet memories there I close my eyes, our future’s gone as is the past Eyes now open and shed of tears No longer sorrow, pain, and fear Open eyes to a new journey Toward lives of love for you and for me My open eyes see friendship strong and will ever last Our years of love and care mean wishing That each will find what we were missing But one things sure and I hope you do see You’re my best friend and always will be
This poem woke my giant who was not only sleeping but hiding under the Hoover Dam. It helped me acknowledge my need to mourn the loss of a once treasured and thought unbreakable bond of a decades long marriage. I was lost in sadness; mired in a self-pity; feeling guilty for wanting more; needing more; yet never admitting I needed to grieve what was gone, mourn that loss of the life we’d made and shared.
Yet, in those few words of a sleepless night’s reflection and melancholy remembrance of a life’s love shattered, there was hope. For each other. To find love and true happiness. For building a stronger bond of friendship beyond those days of “I don’t anymore” on through to these days of “I do and always will, and cannot imagine a life without you in it, somehow.”
To Hugh. The man I grew up with, fell in love with, married, bore children to, and said goodbye to as my husband…I say this:
the past does visit still when sleeping the day will come for no more weeping but, this mourning must travel its natural path this grief we share of days gone past of love and life and joys and sorrows for lost dreams, hopes, tomorrows and in its wake, will dawn a new day together and separate we’ll each find our way to fulfilled lives complete with laughter to each grab hold of what we’re after but this remains a constant truth… life would not could not be… without you, my best friend
50 Shades of Gray Hair 
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