Tag Archives: love

Battling the blahs and weights of depression

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The past couple days have been very good for me.  I think I’m rounded a hard corner, as I’ve been fighting off (or attempting to in any way i know possible) depression.   I hate going to bed at night because it takes an act of congress for me to find the motivation to get up.   I laughed a lot yesterday and today, worked on a variety of projects, and had time with a girlfriend who had me laughing, snorting actually today.  Man it felt good.

This week I need to incorporate walking into my daily life.  I need exercise.  I think it’s the only thing that’s going to get me over the hump.  It’s been bad.  My depressions aren’t situational or sporadic.   I have had four major depressive disorders, all requiring hospitalization at one point or another.   The last one which was about five years ago now, hit me the hardest and stayed with me the longest.    So I’m very frightful of what this “new one” will be like.    I cannot let this take me down, and I will not.

Daily I listen to music, daily I spend time practicing gratitude, I have to come up with three things per day I’m grateful for, three times a day.    Sometimes I’m grateful it’s bed time and I don’t have to think up three things.     But the past couple days it’s come very easily, so what I am doing is helping.  Honestly, I feel like I’m in a fight for my life.    Having been through cancer, I can say that it feels a bit like that.  I knew I had to act fast, choose drastic treatment options or I could lose my life.  Same now.  I lost three years to the last one, which was my fourth major depression.

So many things going on in my life.  For an average person I’m sure they can cope and deal well with these things.  For me, not so much.  I’ve been inundated with problems at my house, flooding, squirrels, mice, and now moths, not to mention I have been struggling to get out of my own way.   I’ve felt like giving up, and often.   Add to that a fall on the ice, and a fall in my home that has left me with a wrist brace that helps with the pain.   It’s been 3 weeks , I really need to get it x-rayed.   Maybe this week???

My patience has run short, and my desire, even less.    So tonight when I picked up the paint brush and started painting a mallard from a picture, it was the first time this year I’ve picked up the brush.   And as usual, when I take a couple months off, it’s awkward.  Having to find all my tools, get situated.  But it was so worth the effort.    I worked in three different mediums today, and it felt really good!   And tomorrow I can look forward to getting out of bed (I hope) and get back to work on finishing the painting.

I had fun, peaceful days today, got back in touch with myself, the things that I love, and the things that I enjoy doing.    Perhaps i’m on the way up and out of this depression.  I pray so.

Watching Frasier and getting ready to call it a night.     Hope you have had a great day, experienced some joy and peace, and have been blessed with restful, healing sleep.

 

 

 

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So… the groundhog saw his shadow?

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The past year has brought a problem with mice.   I mean, I’ve killed dozens, my cat caught a few, as did my dog.   Neighbors are complaining also.   The thing is, they’re quite cute little critters.  If you look at them, they have such fine little detailing.  I’m not afraid of them, and I really hate to kill them but if you don’t, they can wreak havoc with much. What a mess they make, totally destructive.   And the squirrel that keeps coming into my basement, bringing nuts from the tree outside???  My biggest fear is wiring.    I set traps, and still the bastard lives.  I caught mice with my squirrel traps!   Ugh.  Okay, so this will probably freak some out, but I saw a mouse running across my kitchen and then it stopped.  It just stopped.  Strangest thing.  I walked over to it, picked it up and it died in my hands.    Yes, I cried.   I did.   I think it’s the same mouse that had been visiting me and my cat late at night in my living room for several weeks.  I don’t know what it died of, and I didn’t provide a funeral.  He went out with the trash.

I’ve always been an insanely sensitive person.   (You wouldn’t have known it by the last sentence in last paragraph!) . Most of my life (that I recall) I was branded “overly sensitive”.   The most recent years have brought interesting, validating reading on “overly emphatic, or EmPaths….”    I’ve actually found tremendous help in reading on it, skills that they suggest to try to dub out some of the things that ‘hooks’ ya, is helpful.   And I have practiced for a couple years, deleting messages and things that I may have or probably would have obsessed with years prior.    Being an artist goes hand in hand with sensitivity, but sometimes I just wish I was a cold hearted bitch who really didn’t care about others.

In the past couple of months I’ve recognized a couple people closest to me who were taking full advantage of me.   Gotta tell you, it hurts.    I kind of give a blanket trust with love, and to learn that I was being used, particularly by blood relatives, has cut me to my core.    I’m working through it, have no idea when or if I will ever get beyond it, but I do know right now I am distancing those who have caused injury to me.    For me, it’s easier to just stay away from them.  I’m far from stupid, and I read and feel peoples energies, which isn’t always fun.    I realize now, what I was feeling a couple months ago was right on target.  I make myself sick thinking about it.    Further complicated by a shifting of loyalty, etc, I’ve been an emotional Reactor.   But today?  Today I finally see that I am powerless over others, and trying to “prove” my righteousness only gets me into a world of discord with myself.  I will no longer defend myself here.  I don’t need to.  I just need to take care of myself, and that includes making decisions and spending time with others who love and accept me, and know who I am.  Basically people, friends, who don’t look to me to gain, monetary or other.

Today for the first time in a couple months I’m feeling like myself again.   Clear on the direction I want to go, stopped listening to outside influences who were telling me I was something that I’m not.   And I’ve just about had it with people taking advantage of me.  So the list of people I spend time with is dwindling.  And that is okay.   I’m finally over whatever bug thing I had, and the only remaining pain from the fall on ice is my wrist.    Progress!

But I want to talk about that little mouse again that died.     Have been feeling pretty raw, vulnerable.   Accepting ugly truth doesn’t come easy for me, or without MORE fucking emotions! ha!     But I digress.     So feeling this discord and discomfort, combined with the cold temps of winter, when this little mouse would come out at night, I welcomed it.   Why?  Even my cat welcomed it.  One night the mouse was about a foot from Chloe, my aging and failing 18 year old cat.  If I can find the video I’ll attach it.  The cat watched the mouse, but wasn’t interested in hunting it.   It was funny but also sobering for me to realize that she just didn’t have the energy to play, so coexisting with the mouse was fine by her.    This little mouse offered coexistence, unity, in what has seemed like a very cold and calculating world to me.   So when it died, I cried, because I would miss it’s visits, and observing it run around like it had won the lottery.

So now, I’m refusing to REact to things, others, or their behavior.    And by doing this, my OWN behavior is back in check.    I’m back in tune with who I am, what I want in my life, and I’m okay with where my life is.  I’m good with myself.   I know my truth.   I’m a good person, an honest person, and I’m deserving of good.  But most of us know that doesn’t always happen!    Thinking of the song “only the good die young!” .      Life just ain’t fair, but I still believe that good is around the corner for me!  After all, today I have peace.  No small feat!

So I’m off to finish up a couple household chores, and then I’m crawling into bed early to watch a movie I’ve wanted to.   Things aren’t perfect, far from it.  In fact, not much has changed in my life over the past couple months, but my insight has!  It’s like putting new lenses in your glasses and seeing the world for all that’s beautiful, not ignoring or denying the ugly, but choosing to keep myself and my life separate from it, as best I can.

Hope you’re having a nice day!     Will I be the only one not watching the super bowl?  Couldn’t care less!   Wishing you peace, love….  Wishing all peace and love.  Tonight I’m embracing gratitude in my attitude !

Sump Pumps and intimacy

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The majority of today I spent with my 84 year old father and his girlfriend.  They helped me install a new sump pump in my cellar.  It has been damp, and then flooded, and it’s a nightmare down there right now, but I digress.

What I wanted to share is about my feelings for my dad.     He is now having memory problems, and he went after this project to HELP ME.   He wasn’t taking no for an answer.   So today I rearranged my schedule and as mentioned above, the majority of today was spent in mud, and trying to block out challenging parts that I will not get into here.    I think my dad would do most anything to help me or my siblings.    My dad is a good man, a kind man.  He worked hard to provide for his family, and today he worked hard to help his daughter with a mess she was in.

I was trying to stay in my humor mode, and trying to stay above the button pushing behavior that was happening as we were working.   Many times I came upstairs, sat on a towel with my filthy muddy smelly jeans, just to get away from it, to try to maintain my cool.  To put into perspective just exactly what they were doing, and that was they were trying to help me.

There was a few times when he and I were alone downstairs.   Now, my dad can do anything, I mean that.  He’s very resourceful and talented, but age is slowing him down and wreaking havoc on him.  It saddens me to see this.    At times when I look at him I have to look away so he doesn’t see the tears that run down my cheeks when I see him struggle, when I think about a time that I may not have him.    My father is a man to be missed.  And my fathers love for me, and cheering squad has helped me through many painful times.   A man of very little words, but an observer, doesn’t miss much, just doesn’t acknowledge what he’s seen or thinks.

One moment later this afternoon, I put my hand on his to steady his hand that was trying to put a screwdriver into a screw that I couldn’t see either.   I looked at my father this afternoon differently.  I looked at his hands, working man hands.    When I saw him struggle, I saw his father in him, with expression and looks, but his mother, who was one of the kindest women I’ve ever met, and who treated me with tremendous love and support, came through.    My father is more like his mother than his father was.  And though he had to have help getting down the stairs, and i held my breath every time he came up them, he was determined to do this for me.   And he succeeded.

I’m more of a writer than a face to face person.  Some have accused me of hiding behind the pen or keyboard.   I don’t believe that to be true.  I just can quickly and clearly say in words via paper or keyboard what is in my heart.   I’m not afraid to love, I’m just afraid I will never find a man who will love me like my dad does.  Who will want for me all that my dad does?

At 56 I know how fortunate I am to still have both of my parents.   And tonight as I was listening to music, making a new playlist for myself, I listened to the John Mayor song “Say what you need to say”.   I hope tomorrow I will be able to tell my dad, face to face, just how much he means to me and how grateful I am for his help.     But if I can’t do that, or don’t get to, I will certainly pen it out in a letter and send it to him.  He’s received many of these from me, and I hope we have time for many more.

Very grateful to have the new pump installed.  Have a lot of work to do in my cellar, but I will get to it, and I will do what needs to be done.   And tonight I’m very grateful to have spent this day with my dad.    I am, afterall, his favorite!  ha!

 

If you could do it over again…. what would you change?

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If you were given one point in your life that you could return to, and could change the direction you were going, what would it be?   Do you see this as a regret?  As growth?  Or the ole “hindsight is 20/20”.      I’ve been asked on numerous occasions, if you had to go back and do it all over again would you want to?    My stock and honest answer is always “If I could go back with the knowledge that I have now!”

So let’s look at that.   At what age would you be again?  What decision would you make differently?  And more importantly, what changes, and what outcome would you be looking for?

When I was a teen “artex” was big.   And I did this wall hanging for my grandparents “Today is the first day of the rest of your life”.      Recollecting difficult times when a loved ones future was counted in “days”, what would you want to do for the “rest of your life?”

I have never been a materialistic person, except when it comes to my art supplies.  I have spent a lifetime trying to make a difference in someone else’s life.  And I’ve learned that this is one area that I cannot or will not “skimp”.   Why?  Because it grounds me, my creativity defines a large portion of me, but most importantly, it brings me peace, something that I strive for on a daily basis.    If granted one wish, what would it be?  Some would say “win the lottery”, others would say “one more day”, and my answer would say “peace”.   I would like whatever days I have remaining to be at peace with myself regardless of others and their actions.

I look around my studio and I see the multitude of mediums that bring me joy.   And there are days, like the last couple of days, where I cannot accomplish that which I want to, and I cannot find the peace I long and strive for.  Sleep becomes my best friend, and even then, when that which isn’t settled starts to rear its ugly head in dreams, then I know, it’s time to look at something, and probably something that I don’t want to.  Gulps.

“If this world makes you crazy and you’ve taken all you can bear”…    When you stop telling yourself, or allowing others to tell you what you should or shouldn’t feel, what you should or shouldn’t do, what you want or don’t want in your life;  When you quiet all outside feedback, and self defense, or the like, then you are sitting with your truth.    This can be a fairly lonely place to be, but getting back to peace, I’ve learned in my life that if I cannot find peace, then chances are very good that there is something in my life that I’m not accepting, that I’m not looking at, or allowing myself to look at, feel, then find acceptance in.     In short, acceptance for me equals peace, no matter the topic, the rights, the wrongs.

When was the last time you shut out the world, and all of it’s influences, including people, belongings, actions, and just sat quietly with yourself.  Have you ever done this?   What “truth” did you come to?  Was it good?  Was it bad?  Indifferent?  Colorful?  Black?  White?  Have you ever really been alone?  Have you allowed yourself the freedom or being alone?  Or do you see that as scary?  Unthinkable?  Frightening?  Lonely?

I’ve known loneliness in my life, and I’ve known and experienced great love.   I’ve also spent the majority of the last 12 or so years alone, and once getting over the initial shock, and realizing after many black and blues and heartache, that I don’t need someone beside me to “validate” me, or my worth, and likewise, someone whose selfish goals are to somehow gain from your reaps, (but worse?) tragedies.

I find much more peace now in solitude.   I am good company for myself, and my interests and desires to learn and create keep me chugging away along the road that is sometimes paved and other times, barely visible, but I set my sights on what I want, and when I do that, when I focus on that (again, without “static” from others), it becomes attainable and the finish line may be the focus, but it isn’t the prize.  The prize is the growth and experiences that happen while getting there.

These days solitude means peace for me.     My home is my haven, and I only invite those in who understand this, who want what is best for me, who come to visit me with all my bling or scars with desire to know where I am, what I’m doing, where I’m going, without judgement or hidden agendas.   And if I am only inviting these types of creatures, or people into my home, then why would I also allow my own behavior to squelch my day?   Self sabotage needs to go, yesterday.

 

Peeking in

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The moon lit up a path for my dog (Lilly) and I to walk tonight, our last walk before we retire from a challenging day, at best.

I stopped to peek in and look into my front windows.  What do I see?  What if I did not know me, what would I see?   Would I see the person I want to see?   Would I see a home that I would want to live in?  To welcome family and friends in?

Am I looking into the home of an honest person?  A kind person?  A caring person?   Or would I see an old, angered, manipulative soul?

Would I see the past scars of hardships?  Did the hardships shape or mold me in any way?  For the good?  Or the bad?   Would I see a person whose experiences brought her wisdom, does she share that with others?   Or would I see a woman whose outward and inward look feels beaten from life?    Or would I see the boldness and hardness or an embittered woman?    Would I see a happy, peaceful, gentle home filled with love, welcoming friends and family, or would I see a perfectly placed home, with name brands and picturesque shots from a magazine on Style?

Though the outside of this house is in need of scraping and love, is the inside, the core, the womb warm?  Does it hold true to the things and people I love?   Does it hold true to me?   To the people I have loved and lost?   Or am I living in a shrine to the departed?

Do I see artwork that is beautiful, and brings a smile to my face?  Or do I hear the poisoned tongue of self criticism, judgement, sadness?

Are there pets?  Are they happy?  Are they sad?   Are they fed?

Does it look like a home with a grateful soul?
Or want lists posted everywhere? Does it feel like the person who lives here has ‘enough’ or too much?

As I walked away, I smiled.     This home is far from perfect, and most of the belongings that fill it have been previously loved.   I see a warm glow that comes through the curtains, and a cat that’s probably purring while she lays sleeping on a chair cushion.  I see artwork that was painted with bright, beautiful, happy palettes, pictures of loved ones loved in their prime, smiling, happy, and just enough dog and cat hair on the floor to say, yup, those animals have a nice life, and so does the woman who lives here.   She has made a lovely home for herself, pleasing to the eye, and yet comfortable, welcoming.  Swags that were given to her by someone she loves, belongings that have little monetary value and much sentimental.    Colors that offer soothing feelings, and a studio that is occupied and utilized daily.

In short, I see my “true colors” shining through.   And that?  Makes me a happy woman tonight.    Happy and very grateful for who I am, where I’ve been, and where I’m going.

So now I’m closing the shades and shutting out the world, it’s time for my girls and I to cuddle and snuggle, and enjoy the plush comforter that will soon touching my skin, echoing my body.    I am a very fortunate woman, indeed.

 

 

Experience…

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“I remember standing on the corner at midnight, trying to get my courage up.  There was this long lovely dancer in this club downtown, I loved to watch her do her stuff.  Through the long lonely nights she filled my sleep, her body softly swaying to that smokey beat, down on Main Street…”

In 1980 I was at a Bob Seger concert at Boston Garden.  When it was announced that they were recording this concert for a new LP (yes, I’m that old), I was standing on the chair, screaming, jumping up and down!    It was a great concert.

In 1980 I was almost 20 years old.   At the concert with a guy that died a young death in a snowmobile accident.   He was 27 years old, with a wife and two kids.  We were long gone as a couple, but we both loved music.   We went to many concerts in the short time we were together.   He had big blue eyes, curly blonde hair, and was a big guy, someone who I felt protected with when we went to a “Black Sabbath and Blue Oyster Colt” concert in Boston.      My god, there were more people tripping than straight.  But I digress.

I often relate music to times in my life.  More so than not.   The memories can be very vivid, and can raise me up or drop me to my knees.  It wasn’t until later in life that I learned what real hardship and heartache was.  And don’t get me wrong, as a young person, love is a hard thing, especially lost love, but now, I think back and smile, grateful for the memories.    Some things weren’t meant to be.   And as true with most things, as I lived out portions of my life, I would understand why things didn’t work out the way I wanted them to, or had hoped they would.   I see young people and I think “My God, was I really ever that young?  That innocent?”   Hell YES!

It’s been many years since I stood on that chair screaming and singing my lungs out.   And when people say “he or she has changed”, I smile and listen, but my thoughts are “Have they?”  Have I?     Yes, life has a way of smartening you up, experiences have a way of defining moments that change the course of your life.   But are we the same?

Best as my experience tells me, when you knew someone in your youth, if they were good, kind people, then chances are they still are.   And if they were an asshole?  They may still be!      Life dishes out suntans AND wet towels!   Sometimes the wet towels are so heavy it takes everything you’ve got to keep moving.   But experience has taught me it helps to toss the wet towels, grab from it all that you have learned, both good and bad, then drop it in its path, and continue on.

Maturity is a beautiful thing.   In life we learn all kinds of things about people, ourselves.   I learned at the age above in my life this relationship was not meant to be.  While there was pain, it passed.   And I’m very grateful that I wasn’t his widow at 27.

The kind of people that draw my attention are the people who have walked through hell and kept walking.    Because NO ONE’s life is perfect, and some of us have learned the value in being honest about it.   That doesn’t mean you stay sitting in the sand, with the wet towel around your neck.  It means you learn to be kinder to yourself, to accept change, and you learn the type of people who are deserving of your time, your heart.

Real people, with real issues.    I like people who have survived major shit.  Why?  Because they know who they are, they know what they don’t want, and what they do, and they value the smaller things in life, like the values of a person, not their mistakes.  And when we can finally accept that about ourselves, those of us who are blessed to live long enough to figure that out, there is comfort and peace in knowing, everything is as it should be, even if we don’t like it.

Very grateful for my life, and where I am today.  Is it perfect?  Not even close, but it’s mine, and I plan to make the most of it!

On love

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It seems much of my life I have spent questioning my decisions.   I’m sometimes afraid to make decisions for fear that I’ll regret them, rarely has anything to do with the consequences.   I guess, in short, I lack self confidence, in some things, and then in others, I stand strong, tall, stoic to criticism with the ability to see clearly and fully that my decisions are just, sound, right.     Why the variance?

I had some crap dreams last night.   I will include that Trump was in one of them.  Rolling my eyes.    I don’t normally dream about our 45th President!   So why now?

When I access the parts of my life that include pain, disappointment (and we all have it), I weaken and have a tendency to “feel it” emotionally.

I’m reminded of a poem I came across at the young, ripe age of 15 that finds its way back in my life on occasion, and when I need it most.   The woman who wrote it was young at the time, and I remember reading something she had written on it saying she has never understood the depth of interest and popularity of it.     I found that interesting, because for me, this poem helped me stand up after assaults to my being or character.   I’ve shared this poem with many people during challenging parts of their life.   So why would it mean so little to her and so much to those of us who used to it carry us through difficulties?

She wrote about specific things that I have experienced, and I suppose, love and youth, or youth and love.   Earlier times in my life when love was defined differently than it is today (Thank God!).    “Kisses aren’t contracts”, we all “get this” when we experience the end of relationship, of death or loved one and we find ourselves alone.    The most important part for me was and still is ” So we begin to bring ourselves flowers”.    Hence, what I still continue to learn, to love and take care of myself versus others.

Of course I still lend a hand and my heart to others, but I’ve learned to first make sure I’ve filled my own needs.    I’ve also learned that it’s okay to have needs, it’s not selfish to take care of yourself, or put yourself first.    So perhaps, the answer to the author of the poem not understanding how or why her early poem was so popular is because, she learned with only one lesson to give to herself, or to love without losing herself.  And then there are many people like myself, who only after heartache and discord, learn, and even after that, continue the cycle until we finally “get it”.    Our hearts want one they want, but what if our idea of love is whacked?    I’m reminded that the “definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over hoping for different results”.

For whatever the reasons, I still love this poem, and while I no longer cling to it like I did as an innocent 15 year old girl, as a 55 year old woman, I reminisce and bathe in the memories of “love”, and how over the years I’ve learned to accept self love!

Here is the poem by Veronica Shoffstall

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Walking through grief

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The past couple days have been rough, with migraines and frustrating bitchiness.   This morning I was allowing myself to get really bent out of shape over nothing, when I sat down and jumped on facebook.      I hope the migraine(s) are behind me, I think it’s related to barometric pressure, my head feels like it isn’t attached to my body.  Strange, and adding to the Bitch of the Year award!

As I surveyed my facebook feed, I read a post from a friend who is really a very lovely woman, a woman of faith, ridiculously talented, and kind to the core.     She posted about two children who touched her deeply today, and made her smile while she was gassing up her car.    It lightened up my mood, until close to the end where she spoke about telling the kids mother how much their kindness and friendliness meant to her, and today or all days, as her sister died early this morning of cancer.   Tears flowed down my face then.

I immediately sent her a message, offering condolences, and thanking her for her share.   My mind swept back to the very days my sisters succumbed to cancer.    I was broken, and I was angry at God for allowing this to happen.  And so began a war between he and me, for months on end.   I defied my morning praises, and no longer prayed at all.   How could he allow this to happen?

In time, I learned and accepted that death is a part of our life, and that fairness doesn’t really play a role here.  But my friend, who had just said goodbye to her sister, was talking about how good God is, and how much this experience helped her, and made her smile.   I cried as I reread her beautiful, lovely, words.    How amazing that she was at peace, or I should say, more peace than I had when my sisters took their last breaths.

I sat in silence, trying to compose myself, get my emotions into check, and while I would like to say the bitchiness melted away, it did not, but I was so moved by her share, and her eloquence, awestruck with her compassion and faith.     When she replied to my message she spoke words I understand too well, about not knowing how she will do this without her sister, her first best friend.    Her words lent clarity to me of how I felt, too.

I remember thinking how cruel it was that the birds still chirped, that life still went on, even though my sisters lives were over.   I remember people telling me “time will heal”.  I also remember being firmly (and probably belligerently) adamant that NO ONE would tell me how to grief, how to walk through this atrocity which had been handed down to my family.   Grief is a journey, a necessary journey that is so individualized.   There is no right or wrong way to grieve, though I hope I handled it with even a small portion of the grace that my friend did this morning.

At this time another friend texts me that she knew and was related to the pedestrian who was hit in Brattleboro yesterday and who died later from her injuries.    Many eyewitnesses have shared that she walked right out in front of the car, the driver was not at fault.  But that driver?  Is devastated.    I saw pics of him with his head in his hands, crying.  Of course he was.  What person wouldn’t be?    And then she shared that this person had also just lost two siblings to cancer.    I was relaying all this to my mom, and we shared how grief is an alternate existence, if you will.   You’re not in your right mind, your preoccupied, sad, emotional, and that may be a part of why she aimlessly walked into traffic.  How incredibly sad.

So, tonight, as I write this, I’m thinking about all that transpired this morning and how it changed and altered my piss poor thinking.   I am still working through some crap, but for the most part, I’ll be crawling into bed very grateful that my day may be frustrating, and my head may ache, but I had a fairly uneventful day given two other peoples lives that changed drastically in a moments time.

I wish you a restful nights sleep, and an uneventful (almost boring) day tomorrow.  Life can change on a dime, and it does.  We find ourselves walking through life without those we love most in the world, and I have since learned that the birds still chirping as we walk through grief is really a gift, because life does go on for some.    How easily, how naturally we take things for granted, at least I do.   And I think I’m a pretty grateful person, but obviously imperfect and still learning about life.   Aren’t we all?

 

Acknowledgement

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For those of you who have experienced the loss of someone close to you, you will understand what I am writing about.     It never goes away, at least not for me.

Fourteen years ago today my kid sister died at the young age of 38.   She had been diagnosed just ten months before with Ovarian Cancer.   I’m not sure what hurts the most.   The journey through it, where we did our best to comfort her and bring her to any treatment allowed, or the endless missing.  I think it’s the missing.

Fourteen years and I still cry when I acknowledge this.  But if I don’t, it makes its way through illness or pain, so it’s best to nod to the memory than deny it, at least for me.

At 37 she and her partner had just bought a house and had moved in just two weeks prior to the emergency surgery that was previously scheduled a week or two later.   I remember it all so well, and I’m trying hard to not go there today.  To just honor her, and tell you what a great person she was.

I can tell you that she worked very hard and knew how to play.  She had a boat, snowmobiles, a toy for every season.   She loved to fish, to play sports, and was a natural athlete.   She had an old soul, I think about this often, wondering if this played a part in her short life.  A natural observer, she was always warning me when to shut my big trap, or when I had gone past “obnoxious” she called it.   Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.  It’s one that I experience a lot when I think about her.

One would think that after fourteen years you wouldn’t on occasion say to yourself “I have to call her, and tell her this!”    It happens less each passing year, but it still happens.

She was my dads bud.  I mean that with every part of my being.  She loved hockey, she loved fishing and shared these things with our dad.   We all share memories of this with her.   It was rather comical last year when my father admitted one day “Okay, Darlene was my favorite”.   The three of us laughed until tears came out of our eyes.  “What?”  “I’m sorry” he said.   “Um dad, we have known this FOREVER!”    I think he really believed it would shock us.   NOT.   I was sitting beside her on her couch the day she learned she was not going to recovery from this, and she called dad to tell him.  “I’m sorry, dad, I’m so sorry”.

So it was on this day that my, our lives changed.  For years I described things as “happened before she died, or happened after she died”.   I didn’t mean to.  It was just a game changer.    My life changed.  I changed.

I remember asking my cousin Marie, who came down to sit with me just hours after I learned she had died “How am I supposed to stop loving her?”   “You never will, Donna” she said.   How did she know?    It was through my sisters death and living life without her that I learned, love doesn’t stop just because someone you love died.   Nor does life stop, as cruel and vulgar as it seems at the time.   “How can the birds still sing?  How can people laugh, how can anything go on when my life has just come to a screaching halt?”   But it does.  But I have learned something beautiful within all the sadness and that is that love doesn’t ever stop, for me it continued and miraculously grew and still does, all these years later.

So on this day, I acknowledge that hope changes.   At first you pray for a cure, you pray for treatment to work, and then when that stops working, you pray for strength and a new doctor, another treatment, and more.   That is until you realize the suffering is going on too long, and you start to pray for God to be merciful with her, with them.  Please, take her soon.   Yes, hope changes.

I miss you every day.  There hasn’t been a day in fourteen years you’ve been gone that I don’t think of you.  You are part of me, you always will be.    I can still close my eyes and see your face, the little tiny mole above your eyebrow, and see that beautiful smile that radiated wherever it was shown.

Time does teach us how to coexist with such loss, but it doesn’t heal the broken heart.  I think because even when you pray for an end to the pain, and there is relief when that happens, the missing?  It never stops.

 

(end note:  I wrote this and posted it on 4/8 but for some reason it’s showing the 9th which I find interesting, because I actually found out about it just minutes after midnight on the 9th)

 

 

Reviewing processes

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The past few weeks I’ve been reflecting and dissecting what I would like to do with the rest of my life.  What do I like?  What don’t I like?  What are my dreams?  Are they feasible?  What are my needs?   I’ve also been writing up a business plan for myself, which in itself has been a very interesting journey.  I’ve changed it three times.

I’ve also participated for two days (another four to go) in an art challenge to post pics of my art on my facebook page for six days.  This, too, has been an interesting process.   I’m reviewing photos that I have, which aren’t exactly organized like someone dominantly left brained would do, but I’m only 25% there, so I’m giving myself a break!

4-5 years ago my life came to a crashing halt.  I couldn’t get out of bed, I didn’t want to paint, write, and was incapable of making any decisions for myself.   Fortunately my strong mother jumped in and helped, and after hospitalization for two weeks, I was diagnosed with Major Clinical Depression.  This was not the first time, but the fourth.  I must say to you, it’s been hell trying to come back from it.

Why do I mention such a personal thing?  Because I’m an idiot!   🙂   Most people do not confess such, because of the stigma attached to mental illness.  I want others to know who are suffering with such, it’s okay, you’re not a freak, you aren’t crazy, you are sick, and encourage you to get help.  For me it meant some serious psychological drugs, many therapy sessions, a lot of writing, a lot more of praying.  It is still a monkey on my back, but I am learning, everyday to replace the negative talk in my head.  Some days I’m successful with this, some days not.

Back to the art challenge, as I’m surfing through pages of photos of my artwork, which also have pics of other aspects of my life, love, marriage, breast cancer, family, friends, pets, artwork, gardens, etc… I must say, I feel good about things that I have accomplished in my life.  In spite of the crap that came rolling into it, I’m still standing, and there are days, still, too many, that it’s very hard for me to get out of bed and face the day.   But it was nice to see things I’ve done, the magazines my artwork and needlecraft designs were in, interviews with me as a visual artist, and a fiber artist.  I even had artwork on the cover of magazines I think twice.  How quickly these accomplishments fall by the way side when you’re looking at it through the dark eyes of depression.

So, I’m feeling a bit chipper tonight, painted a little bit today.  Plan to spend a few hours tomorrow doing the same.   We are supposedly having an arctic cold blast this weekend.  I’ve stocked up on the necessities, my mom is here visiting for the weekend.  If I don’t kill her, by the time Monday comes around I should be in good shape! 🙂

The message today is… Hang on.   Hang strong.   Celebrate the good days, and do all you can to survive the bad.   It may be worth your while to dive into some pictures yourself.

Sending you peace and love