This world feels so fragile, and quite frequently. Its getting scarcer by the ticking of the clock. Most times the weeds of fear and hatred feel so large and strong as to smother even the most adventurous flower of hope. While fear is my constant companion, in many shapes and forms -too many even to list- I've not fallen so far as to embrace hate. Disgust and contempt are more likely. But, dammit, I will keep smiling until my face cracks.
My family is its own breathing anacronym. No one knows why they are there, there is no memory for what we stand for.
( Expansion on family derangementCollapse )
I love my family because they are mine. And I am disgusted by them because they remind me of me...and the disease they too have and have shared. Here comes the fear...the Great Fear...that I too will pass along this disease to my own children. My husband, my kindred, has twice the burden of mine, for he has two children, both of his blood-while I have squeezed out only one. He is the best part of my life; yet he repulses me at times, since he is my familiar, my doppleganger; the mirror in which I see my own cracks. Our children are our saving, our absolution. I will do everything in my power to protect them from my pain. Things like mood/mental disorders may be genetic, but I know how to keep them at bay. If this life is privisionary to that end, then so be it. I will be happy and smile...they're my only future.
Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though its breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, youll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
Youll see the sun come shining through for you
Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
Thats the time you must keep on trying
Smile, whats the use of crying?
Youll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile
Strangeness abounds, as per usual, and my garden is lovely. Flowers are everywhere--poppies with their heavy brightbobbing heads, Nasturtiums content to preen in the cool shade, grapes on the vine, and the jasmine in the back is enough to make you faint.
Erotic dreams of last night are ways of my body telling me to up the coitus, it wants a baby. Well screw that noise. No more babies. Thank you Jesus, for vasectomies. I will take the horizontal hokey pokey though.
See my doctor tomorrow...lots to talk about. Haven't seen my therapist in weeks so poor Doc will get an earful this time. Feel quite good some days, but mouth pulling downwards and the subsequent conscious pushing mouth back up is constant. Absent mindedness getting worse. Find myself in a room with no idea how I got there. Zone out while driving. Reading a lot, despairing more. Thoughts crowd in and I despise my head. "Sunflower" by Simon Wiesenthal helps in learning about when and why to forgive. And perhaps why not. If you had a chance to forgive a horrendous crime against humankind, by a real penitent, would you? would you be able to forgive yourself? I ask myself that all the time. Where is the answer? And where to start? There is so much regret in my soul, even the dust settling over it is full of a pain so intense as to be numbing.
But in a way, am content for this 'negative happiness' I have, an idea by Viktor Frankl. He writes that when you are at a stage in life where you are grateful you can get through the day without any horrific and traumatizing occurances, whether psychological or physical, you have achieved an alluring nonexistence. The missing Hell is far more appealing than contemplation of the Angels. In my case, the Hell of the mind. Carry one of his books with me to have anytime a spiritual lift is needed. And in this world, it is needed more often than not.
Alone in a house with 6 living inhabitants.
Alone in a world of 6 billion.
Alone in a universe full of countless stars.
Alone in my head.
Thanks to my dears who replied, Repercussionist, Jadecat, and Twistedcelt...I have missed you all too! and I am alive, most days, and so is my brain...most days. At the moment, however, I seem to be experiencing psychological gymcrackery for I cannot figure out how to unscreen comments to comment to my own comments. What Bunk.
Its the Ambien's fault. Should be in bed. Am going. But before I go, will leave you with some choice morsels aforesaid brain came up with after reading session tonight. Wrote them out and rather liked them. Rather depressing, but definitely food for thought.
'Is it better to live in the dark...lost...than to run blindly into a positive or a negative Ending, knowing naught of the impending Heaven or Hell which verily awaits you?'
'My face is as a mask, alternately laughing and crying, but always cracking.'
'I'd tear my heart open if it would stop the incessant beatings-such loud bruises-
every raw nerve singed with fire. I would eat my own heart if eating meant the abuse
would be swallowed whole, never to be seen again, except, to go by haps, in the end.'
I should have lived in the olden times, back when words like 'verily' and 'naught' were commonly used. I still use them now as if I were Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte and garner strange looks from passerby. Oy Vey as if I'm the only meshugga mamzer left in the world, I think not.
Not sure how long its been, but since Time seems to not have much meaning lately I'll just run with it. Its been a while. Wanted to do something different though, since nothing else I'm doing is really worth doing. Online that is. Then I remembered this. And how so very long ago it was for a short time the rise and fall of things. Now, it is a Lark, and I shall fly with it.
Offline, out in the fresh green world, I am not the me I am on here. I am barefoot and have a humongous straw hat on my head, leaning in the heat of the day to pick weeds and water beloved plantlings. I have a Japanese Maple in back, and a pear tree. Hanging baskets adorn the eaves of this Old House. I play piano every day, melancholy stuff that always helps me to feel better. Won't hold a tune so not only is it painful literally, in music theory as well. But I have hopes for a better one, someday.
Also offline I write in paper journals. Have about 7 of them for different sizes, moods, and emotional attachment. Ack. So why not try this again. Just because it didn't help once, 7 years ago, doesn't mean Times and People don't evolve. Words will always be the same, no matter the context. Perhaps that is why I love them. Especially in the form of a new favorite by Viktor E. Frankl, a famous existentialist and psychoanalyst. Happened upon him in my latest obsession by anything and everything about the Holocaust and Nazi Germany.
A lot of my interests still do interest me. Some, however, must go, and must needs be replaced by new, adult interests. If any of you out in LJ Land still abound and would like a chat, throw me a line. When I'm not working, playing mommy to my 2 kids, or playing World of Warcraft with my ubergeek of a husband, I may actually have time for some intre-journal sharing.
If any of my old cronies still exist in this world, spirit hugs go out to you.
Anyone else, you are free to hear and see what ever fancies you. Its a good feeling to let yourself go, to walk with your head in the clouds and still see the sharp rocks below your toes. Just remember to wear a sunhat and have good pruners.
Just an idea of what is going on in my life atm.
Have moved from Maryland, am now firmly ensconced back in California, not 3 miles away from where I grew up, actually. My family lives 15 miles away (immediate), and 45 miles(extended), and 300(inlaws) respectively. Which is nice. Not too far away, but just far enough. As Darcy says, "it is possible for a woman to live TOO close to her family".
Am in therapy, obviously, which I hope is helping. Nerves are so bad that I find myself going through all types of memory loss (coping mechanism?) My Depression is the reason we have moved back here. Something about support structure.
Am obsessed with The Tudors, and World of Warcraft. The latter is completely my husband's fault. It is his doing that I mine silver veins in my sleep. And American Idol. If anyone else but David Cook wins I am never watching again.
My son is well. He will be 5 in July. I worry about him constantly, but keep a pleasant expression on my face and a calm tone in my voice. I don't want to ruin him the way my mother's psychological pain ruined me. I watch, and wait. And take medication that may or may not be working.
Everything else just swirls around me, the minutiae spinning and floating like so many dust motes that just happen to stick to me. I find myself wondering how I got here. And contemplate ways of making my self want to stay.
So, what am I doing on this blustery Thursday mid-morning on the 1st of May? Well, I'll tell you. I'm reading over my old stuff while waiting to go see my therapist. This stuff is so bad its actually giving me chills. I am seriously considering deleting it all and maybe starting over. Good-bye, old Young Self, hello new Old Self? I don't know. There is so much that I cared about in here, people I knew...just kicking around, bouncing off the walls of my delirious mind. But I'll think about it. That can click gears with everything else grinding around in my brain now. Who knows, maybe I'll find the right one and it will be a smooth transition from airhead to egghead. Or maybe I'll find I've been laboring under the delusion all these years that I actually have something important, nay meaningful, to say. Tough call. One thing I will say about my old Young Self was that she definitely came up with dizzyingly fruity new ways to skirt actual problems, to make light of what was hurting in her light head. She even came up with new phrases and crazy metaphors only she understood. How am I going to top that and still be creative? Truth is never all that exciting, but it saves time...and who knows maybe it will bring me a useful epiphany.
I've actually been toying with the idea of writing the story of my life, in novella form, like so many practical memoirs. You know, a pamphlet of sorts to give each new therapist so I don't have to waste my breath and their time going over the same old things that have burned holes in my being. Then maybe I could finally be rid of that crazy Old Self. She is driving me insane.
Something (else) to think about.
On a side note, I need to stop grinding my teeth while I sleep. It really hurts.
So I'm supposed to write this poem, on a recommendation from my psychologist. There is so much going on in my brain these days that my thoughts are all over the place. For the first time, I find it difficult to sit and write. Let me rephrase...I find it difficult to sit and write something that is actually GOOD. I read back over all the fluff I've written in the past and I am actually ashamed for that old young self. She was so misguided and self-centered. But at least that old young self could sit and think of her being and un-wise thoughts for hours on end, and come up with strange, neurotic stuff that seemed good at the time. Not so easy these years, for this new old self. This newly made old self grinds her teeth in sleep and her feet into the ground. The old young self had lots of space, space between her legs and wide open mouth and crazy free head. Now my self grinds her hands in mute misery, grinds coffee for her husband, grinds lime into their drinks every night. The long ago young self had thoughts that floated easily and without reserve, verily bouncing off walls with ease from too much medication and a weightless body. Now old self, you are weighted down too much to move, too much of a yoke over the neck and in the arms. movement clicks painfully as you try to find the right gear of action. As you realize that you will never again be that old young self, that silly, carefree horrible writer. No...the worst, most painful grind is on the nerve that you know...you know now, new old self that nothing is changed except that you are no longer care free. Well, that and the aching bones.
3 months. where does the time go. well, for me, that is easy to answer. the days follow, one after the other, monotony and responsibility. finding every scrap and shred of energy available to pick myself up out of bed, body all a-tremor and trying not to fall over from dizziness; follow my little boy down the stairs like a dark cloud listening to his chipper chatter with a heavy heart. yet by the time I reach the bottom I have rearranged my face and heightened my voice to the correct pitch. I get him cereal and some for myself, and while he watches Blues Clues I take one of my two daily doses of Lithium, Prozac and Effexor (trying to wean myself on one and off the other) and whatever daily cold remedy I happen to be suffering from. Tussin tablets to open my lungs, Flonase so I can breathe through my nose, O it is a long tiresome list. But no worries...if I get to where I can't breathe anyway and want to run into traffic there is always Xanax to lock me up tight. Or when I find myself constantly awake at 2,3, and 4 am there is Rozerem to put stars on my eyes. All these pills to keep me quiet and keep me here, and yet for all that....nothing to make me want to stay.
I have a wonderful Life.
what is wrong that I cannot feel it anymore...I know it is there. I could not tell you why brushing my teeth is like climbing a mountain. I have my wonderful son, my husband, my love, my Life, willing to do whatever it takes to make me well, and I know I am hurting them both with my inability to cope with the minutieae of everyday, every second. I have even been having trouble reading, concentrating, remembering 5 minutes ago. It has happened so slowly and steadily over the past few months and now ALL OF A SUDDEN. and I cannot stop it. Well really it has been happening over the past 23 odd years or so. and I swallow these pills, all these god-damned pills that make me shiver and shake so I cannot hold a pencil; pills that make me bloated and thirsty all the time and I can't even make out words from my beloved books. (but does it really matter when all I am drawn to lately are philosophy/psychiatric books) Pills that have side-effects and more pills to get rid of those.
I am searching so hard for the happiness.
I search my son's face and smile what my husband calls the fake smile and hope he can't tell, not yet, that his beloved mommy has one foot in the cuckoo's nest. I hold my husband's hand so tight because at one point I know we held eachother, not merely my cold shaky hand clinging to his warm solid one. And I will wash my hair before they start to grimace at me, for their sake. I will start to feel something again, I have to. Get down on my hands and knees so I can be a pony for my son. Force myself to laugh and joke even though it zaps me of energy. I will do this because I have to, because I do not even have the energy or motivation to do any alternative. So I swallow these pills, one salmon, one pink and gray, one green and white. As they swirl down my insides I wait for ...something. Swish. ...anything.
I can't believe the time that has been sucked by Lord of the Rings Online. I mean, I know I am addicted but still. Damn. I have missed you all and being on here. Lets see what have I been up to...(besides playing my game)...
*read a Tree Grows in Brooklyn--now competing with Anne of Green Gables for my favorite book. I <3 that book.
*have made a new friend of my neighbor and get'n new baby time in (she just had a baby girl 2 weeks ago)
*Kelsey was here for the summer and we had an awesome summer :)
*went to 2 concerts--one was Virgin Festival in Baltimore where we saw Smashing Pumpkins, Regina Spector, Panic at the Disco, the Yeah Yeah Yeah's and much more.
Second concert I went to with Cyndi and we saw Live, Collective Soul and Counting Crows. Great time was had by all.
*Getting Bailey all prepared for pre-school...he turned 4 this summer
*Trying not to think about my husband going to Iraq in late November
Otherwise, my game is awesome. Have a lifetime membership. :) Good times, good times. Hope you all have been well and good. If you feel like it, zip me a line tell'n me what I've missed. Because I have....I've missed. :)
Have been feeling better this last week. Might have something to do with giving up alcohol. Turns out I was self-medicating because my meds weren't working, so my shrink gave me a sheet to write how much I was drinking and up'd my meds. Tis not so much fun to drink when you know someone will be keeping track. Too, anti-depressants do not do all that great when weighted down with depressants. Suppose something is doing it's job, because I can actually enjoy the trees, wind and air today, and sunshine (YaY) ribboning throughout. Still that vague feeling that there is a deep pain below the surface, and sometimes I strum it as one might rub lightly over a large purple bruise, even partially enjoying the pain after a morbid fashion. But that won't do anyone any good...so I smile and act happy, and go to playdates, and answer my phone and get out of bed. Yay. Flippity Dooo!