Thursday, October 22, 2009
Some of us.
Heard you today, that isn`t my name, you were fast asleep,
Forget what he did, can I be the kid for your soul to keep.
Some of us laugh, some of us cry,
Some of us smoke, some of us lie,
But it`s all just the way that we cope with our lives.
I`ve grown to see the philosophy of my own mistrust,
We all have our faults, mine come in waves that you turn to rust,
Some of us laugh, some of us cry,
Some of us smoke, some of us lie,
But it`s all just the way that we cope with our lives.
I`ve been hanging onto something,
You keep laughing awe-inspiring.
Some of us laugh, some of us cry,
Some of us smoke, some of us lie,
But it`s all just the way that we cope with our lives.
Some of us laugh, some of us cry,
Some of us smoke, some of us lie,
But it`s all just the way that we cope with our lives.
My wandering soul found solace at last,
I wanted to know how long it would last.
She`s losing control, she`s coming down fast,
The heart that I stole, I`m not giving back, never giving back.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Some days? I am not really here at all.
For you
I have set aside everything I love
I have saved everything else for you
I cannot decide what this doubt's made of
Though I thought over it through and through
In a book in a box high upon a shelf
In a locked and guarded vault
Are the things I keep only for myself
It's your fate but it's not your fault
And for every useless reason I know
There's a reason not to care
If I hide myself wherever I go
Am I ever really there?
There is nowhere else I would rather be,
but I can't just be right here
An enigma wrapped in a mystery,
or a fool consumed by fear
And for every useless reason I know
There's a reason not to care
If I hide myself wherever I go
Am I ever really there?
I will give you all I could ever give
Though it's less than you will need
Could you just forget, if you can't forgive
All the things I cannot concede
And for every useless reason I know
There's a reason not to care
If I hide myself wherever I go
Am I ever really there?
I have set aside everything I love
I have saved everything else for you
I cannot decide what this doubt's made of
Though I thought over it through and through
In a book in a box high upon a shelf
In a locked and guarded vault
Are the things I keep only for myself
It's your fate but it's not your fault
And for every useless reason I know
There's a reason not to care
If I hide myself wherever I go
Am I ever really there?
There is nowhere else I would rather be,
but I can't just be right here
An enigma wrapped in a mystery,
or a fool consumed by fear
And for every useless reason I know
There's a reason not to care
If I hide myself wherever I go
Am I ever really there?
I will give you all I could ever give
Though it's less than you will need
Could you just forget, if you can't forgive
All the things I cannot concede
And for every useless reason I know
There's a reason not to care
If I hide myself wherever I go
Am I ever really there?
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Like a fine wine, I am getting better with age.
Yesterday I turned 32. While I know a few people who really struggled with hitting their 30's and leaving the 20's behind, I had no issue with it. Age is just a number and it's not something I often think about. Of course, like many I am sure, some days I feel older than I actually am. And others? I feel like a kid again.
Age is all in your head anyway.
Crazy thing is, my head is full of holes.
Although I am only two years into this decade, and within those two years, I was diagnosed with an incurable brain-eating disease (disclaimer: MS does not really "eat" your brain, I think we all know I tend to exagerate), I am still enjoying my 30's far more than my 20's.
Not that anything was that terrible about my 20's, but, as an individual, I was still growing. Still sorting things out. Still searching for my place. I just didn't know it.
I think, as a child, I had in my head that at some point, one just becomes an "adult". Seemed to me, that getting married, buying a house, starting a business - all these things were very "adult" things to do. Clearly I had crossed that line from childhood to adulthood and was on my way.
But the thing was, I never felt much like an adult. I felt like I was simply playing dress-up - pretending to be that adult person I was expected to be - and that person? Didn't know what the fuck she was doing. And I was simply waiting for someone to out me.
It wasn't until that entire "adult" life fell apart that I had to start rethinking what being an adult was. And in the midst of sorting all that out - which was many years in the making - I got pregnant. Found out the night before my 29th birthday actually. And I knew my 30's were going to be nothing like my 20's. I was right, I just didn't realize why I was right.
I expected that being a parent would mean new responsibilities. Diapers. Clothes. Food. Day care. Sleepless nights. And it is all those things. But what I didn't expect was how it would change me. The new perspective it would give me on my life, my growth, and really, my place in this world. Suddenly I was someone's mother. But I was also still someone's daughter. And I realized, it's all just a continum. My place on that continum hadn't changed, but I was now aware I was on it.
I don't mean to wax all philosophical here, but it really opened my eyes to what was actually taking place. No one actually just becomes an "adult" - or becomes anything really. We simply continue to grow and evolve along the entire lifespan. Which seems rather elementary and obvious, but it wasn't to me. Not until I had my daughter and watched her grow and evolve that I realized I was too. And if I was, then likely, so was everyone else. None of us are ever done with that process until we're done with life.
So I guess Steven Tyler was right; life's a journey, not a destination.
(God bless Aerosmith.)
Getting my MS diagnosis was just another step in that evolution. I know this disease will have a lot to teach me. How to be strong. And how to be weak. And how to keep moving forward in this process. Certainly, a disease like this? Does not allow you to be stagnant. There's no time when you're constantly trying to accomodate and assimilate new symptoms. It constantly challenges your paradigm and makes you look at yourself and your relationships with others. That's not such a bad thing. It's led to greater growth for me. And in these two years? I have accepted that growth with far more awareness than any growth I experienced in my 20's. In my 20's, I was blindly fighting that growth. I thought I had it all figured out.
Ha. Just... ha.
Now? Despite the bad days - which sometimes seem to outnumber the good days - I realize all the more how blessed my life is. I am aware of more now than I ever was before. Aware of the good and the bad.
It's awakened in me the realization that some of my relationships are not nurturing and fulfilling for me in the way I need them to be. And others are stronger than I would have given them credit for.
It's actually helped me learn how to be needy - which is not the bad thing I once thought it was.
It's made me re-realize how wonderful my family is. They truly love me unconditionally - even when they might not agree with me. And I them.
It's made me aware of how flawed I am. But that's okay because it's also made me realize how flawed everyone is. I am surely not alone in that.
And I am aware that there are many more lessons to be learned - both good and bad - and if I accept those lessons, allow that growth to happen, and embrace the journey, the road will be - if not easier - surely more rich.
I look forward to the next 8 years. I look forward to my 40's. (besides, 40 is the new 20 you know.) And I look forward to whatever lies ahead. I realize it won't all be easy, but it will all be worthwhile.
Age is all in your head anyway.
Crazy thing is, my head is full of holes.
Although I am only two years into this decade, and within those two years, I was diagnosed with an incurable brain-eating disease (disclaimer: MS does not really "eat" your brain, I think we all know I tend to exagerate), I am still enjoying my 30's far more than my 20's.
Not that anything was that terrible about my 20's, but, as an individual, I was still growing. Still sorting things out. Still searching for my place. I just didn't know it.
I think, as a child, I had in my head that at some point, one just becomes an "adult". Seemed to me, that getting married, buying a house, starting a business - all these things were very "adult" things to do. Clearly I had crossed that line from childhood to adulthood and was on my way.
But the thing was, I never felt much like an adult. I felt like I was simply playing dress-up - pretending to be that adult person I was expected to be - and that person? Didn't know what the fuck she was doing. And I was simply waiting for someone to out me.
It wasn't until that entire "adult" life fell apart that I had to start rethinking what being an adult was. And in the midst of sorting all that out - which was many years in the making - I got pregnant. Found out the night before my 29th birthday actually. And I knew my 30's were going to be nothing like my 20's. I was right, I just didn't realize why I was right.
I expected that being a parent would mean new responsibilities. Diapers. Clothes. Food. Day care. Sleepless nights. And it is all those things. But what I didn't expect was how it would change me. The new perspective it would give me on my life, my growth, and really, my place in this world. Suddenly I was someone's mother. But I was also still someone's daughter. And I realized, it's all just a continum. My place on that continum hadn't changed, but I was now aware I was on it.
I don't mean to wax all philosophical here, but it really opened my eyes to what was actually taking place. No one actually just becomes an "adult" - or becomes anything really. We simply continue to grow and evolve along the entire lifespan. Which seems rather elementary and obvious, but it wasn't to me. Not until I had my daughter and watched her grow and evolve that I realized I was too. And if I was, then likely, so was everyone else. None of us are ever done with that process until we're done with life.
So I guess Steven Tyler was right; life's a journey, not a destination.
(God bless Aerosmith.)
Getting my MS diagnosis was just another step in that evolution. I know this disease will have a lot to teach me. How to be strong. And how to be weak. And how to keep moving forward in this process. Certainly, a disease like this? Does not allow you to be stagnant. There's no time when you're constantly trying to accomodate and assimilate new symptoms. It constantly challenges your paradigm and makes you look at yourself and your relationships with others. That's not such a bad thing. It's led to greater growth for me. And in these two years? I have accepted that growth with far more awareness than any growth I experienced in my 20's. In my 20's, I was blindly fighting that growth. I thought I had it all figured out.
Ha. Just... ha.
Now? Despite the bad days - which sometimes seem to outnumber the good days - I realize all the more how blessed my life is. I am aware of more now than I ever was before. Aware of the good and the bad.
It's awakened in me the realization that some of my relationships are not nurturing and fulfilling for me in the way I need them to be. And others are stronger than I would have given them credit for.
It's actually helped me learn how to be needy - which is not the bad thing I once thought it was.
It's made me re-realize how wonderful my family is. They truly love me unconditionally - even when they might not agree with me. And I them.
It's made me aware of how flawed I am. But that's okay because it's also made me realize how flawed everyone is. I am surely not alone in that.
And I am aware that there are many more lessons to be learned - both good and bad - and if I accept those lessons, allow that growth to happen, and embrace the journey, the road will be - if not easier - surely more rich.
I look forward to the next 8 years. I look forward to my 40's. (besides, 40 is the new 20 you know.) And I look forward to whatever lies ahead. I realize it won't all be easy, but it will all be worthwhile.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Music is my life.
Really, it's not though.
I can't sing.
(I like to think I can in my car though, and I do so loudly.)
But when I was little, I apparently told my mom - in a super serious way - that "music is my life"... and she has never let me forget it. The irony is, I suck at all things musical.
However, anytime I hear a song, it throws me right back to the time in my life when that song was popular. I can often figure out when a song came out by remembering what was going on in my life at that time. Significant songs linked to significant people and times.... but also non-significant songs linked to people and times that were ordinary and everyday.... they still linger in my memory.... attached to those songs. Those songs are the soundtrack of my life.
Maybe that would have been a better title for this entry.
I'm losing my train of thought... sorry...
I heard this song on my way home the other day and it sent me right back to being in college. The scene: dark basement of a rented townhouse, the floor wet from the melted snow that came in on the soles of everyone's shoes, packed with people, keg of cheap beer on ice, and music blaring. Me: dancing next to a washing machine, that I think I had been sitting on moments before, with a guy who danced way better than me and WAY better than any white boy has the right to.
This was the song:
Needless to say, I had the radio in my car blaring and was dancing (in my seat) and singing (loudly and badly) all the way down 422.
And for anyone who knows 422 at rush hour? I was doing 10 mph while everyone around me wondered what sort of fit I was having.
Clearly, I didn't care.
Music is my life.
And I like to move it.
I can't sing.
(I like to think I can in my car though, and I do so loudly.)
But when I was little, I apparently told my mom - in a super serious way - that "music is my life"... and she has never let me forget it. The irony is, I suck at all things musical.
However, anytime I hear a song, it throws me right back to the time in my life when that song was popular. I can often figure out when a song came out by remembering what was going on in my life at that time. Significant songs linked to significant people and times.... but also non-significant songs linked to people and times that were ordinary and everyday.... they still linger in my memory.... attached to those songs. Those songs are the soundtrack of my life.
Maybe that would have been a better title for this entry.
I'm losing my train of thought... sorry...
I heard this song on my way home the other day and it sent me right back to being in college. The scene: dark basement of a rented townhouse, the floor wet from the melted snow that came in on the soles of everyone's shoes, packed with people, keg of cheap beer on ice, and music blaring. Me: dancing next to a washing machine, that I think I had been sitting on moments before, with a guy who danced way better than me and WAY better than any white boy has the right to.
This was the song:
Needless to say, I had the radio in my car blaring and was dancing (in my seat) and singing (loudly and badly) all the way down 422.
And for anyone who knows 422 at rush hour? I was doing 10 mph while everyone around me wondered what sort of fit I was having.
Clearly, I didn't care.
Music is my life.
And I like to move it.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
It's like vomitting.
(As in, maybe once it's all out, I'll feel better.)
Another thing I hate about MS? There are oh-so-many, including the fact that my thoughts and emotions no longer seem to be under my own control, but one particularly galling aspect? I look like I am fine.
Most days, I manage to drag myself out bed, get dressed in something reasonably well put together, make it to work, and then work on making it through work. I'm weak, but most days still have enough energy to function. I'm dazed and confused, but usually able to string a few coherent thoughts together. I'm achey and tired, but I just keep pushing through it. I twitch, but it usually goes unnoticed.
Sometimes though, I can't maintain that front of being fine all the time.
Today was one of those days.
I am really starting to resent those days.
Today, at lunch with my coworkers, I was withdrawn and, unfortuantely, short when spoken to. I was just trying to keep my shit together, so I was sort of lost in my own world. But instead of concern, sympathy, or understanding, I was misunderstood.
"Are you pissed off?"
I hate that. Yes, some days I am angry. Somedays I'm angry about work and somedays I am angry about MS. But somedays I am sad. Or tired. Or confused. Or twitchy.
(there seem to be a lot of those days recently.)
And somedays, I just want a little sympathy. Or a hug. Or an understanding pat on the back. Or even just a look that says "hang in there".
But even when I explain that, no, I'm not mad, I'm just not feeling well and have a lot on my mind, it doesn't really make up for my behavior, does it? In the social/working world, it doesn't fix things. It doesn't excuse it. The misunderstanding is already out there. And I don't have the energy to fix it.
So what's a girl to do?
I'll tell you what this girl is going to do. I'm going to withdraw. Find a safe harbor. Wait for the storm to pass. And if I wait alone, then so be it. It's just a job anyway. I'll continue to put myself together, make it to work, and work on making it through.
Everyday.
Even on the days I look fine. Which are most.
But I will have to avoid any sort of interaction that would reveal otherwise. Because people prefer to not have to deal with sick people. Or sad people. Or people that twitch.
(and can you blame them really?)
Because I don't walk with a limp, or have a sign that says, "be nice to me, I have MS and today's not a good day", I will have to add "working to avoid misunderstanding" to my list of things to work on each day. Which likely just means I am just going to have to avoid being around people somedays. Because I don't have energy to fake it all the time. This is why I told my coworkers about my diagnosis in the first place. I hoped for a little understanding on bad days - without having to constantly explain myself.
Guess I will have to anyway.
Or make a sign.
Fuck.
This sucks.
Another thing I hate about MS? There are oh-so-many, including the fact that my thoughts and emotions no longer seem to be under my own control, but one particularly galling aspect? I look like I am fine.
Most days, I manage to drag myself out bed, get dressed in something reasonably well put together, make it to work, and then work on making it through work. I'm weak, but most days still have enough energy to function. I'm dazed and confused, but usually able to string a few coherent thoughts together. I'm achey and tired, but I just keep pushing through it. I twitch, but it usually goes unnoticed.
Sometimes though, I can't maintain that front of being fine all the time.
Today was one of those days.
I am really starting to resent those days.
Today, at lunch with my coworkers, I was withdrawn and, unfortuantely, short when spoken to. I was just trying to keep my shit together, so I was sort of lost in my own world. But instead of concern, sympathy, or understanding, I was misunderstood.
"Are you pissed off?"
I hate that. Yes, some days I am angry. Somedays I'm angry about work and somedays I am angry about MS. But somedays I am sad. Or tired. Or confused. Or twitchy.
(there seem to be a lot of those days recently.)
And somedays, I just want a little sympathy. Or a hug. Or an understanding pat on the back. Or even just a look that says "hang in there".
But even when I explain that, no, I'm not mad, I'm just not feeling well and have a lot on my mind, it doesn't really make up for my behavior, does it? In the social/working world, it doesn't fix things. It doesn't excuse it. The misunderstanding is already out there. And I don't have the energy to fix it.
So what's a girl to do?
I'll tell you what this girl is going to do. I'm going to withdraw. Find a safe harbor. Wait for the storm to pass. And if I wait alone, then so be it. It's just a job anyway. I'll continue to put myself together, make it to work, and work on making it through.
Everyday.
Even on the days I look fine. Which are most.
But I will have to avoid any sort of interaction that would reveal otherwise. Because people prefer to not have to deal with sick people. Or sad people. Or people that twitch.
(and can you blame them really?)
Because I don't walk with a limp, or have a sign that says, "be nice to me, I have MS and today's not a good day", I will have to add "working to avoid misunderstanding" to my list of things to work on each day. Which likely just means I am just going to have to avoid being around people somedays. Because I don't have energy to fake it all the time. This is why I told my coworkers about my diagnosis in the first place. I hoped for a little understanding on bad days - without having to constantly explain myself.
Guess I will have to anyway.
Or make a sign.
Fuck.
This sucks.
I am sick!
So the doctor's office called back this afternoon. He's going to need to see me before he can consider adjusting my meds.
Fine.
The earliest they can schedule me is in two weeks.
Um, seriously?
Two weeks?? You might as well tell me two months. Or two years.
Two weeks is too long.
Do you have any idea how much damage I can do in two weeks? Damage to my reputation at work? Damage to my relationships? Damage to my own well being?
Answer: Way. Too. Much.
(as an aside to anyone who may be worrying too much right now - I don't mean any actual physical damage to myself... well, short of what damage I might do to my liver by drinking too heavily and the pounds I would gain from eating too much.... but I don't mean any actual physical harm. If I did, I would be checking myself in somewhere, not calling my PCP. I know enough to know that. But don't think I haven't thought of it... checking myself in that is, not harming myself. The idea of a padded room seems great some days.)
((I'm only half kidding.))
(((about the padded room, that is.)))
So no, two weeks will not work. Try again.
One week.
(Ugh!!!!)
Again, seriously? Do you think I can't do ample damage in one week? Don't try me, cause I know I can.
With a sigh, the receptionist says to me, "well, I shouldn't do this, but, I can put it in as a sick visit and he will see you this friday morning."
It's all I can do to not scream at her: "I am sick! I can't stop crying. I can't sleep. I can't think straight. I can't function at work. I can hardly get out of bed! I ache all over. I HAVE FREAKING MS! And right now? Right now MS is making me it's bitch. It's toying with my brain in a way I am NOT equipped to deal with. So if it makes you feel any better? I will fake a cough and lie about having a fever, but for the love of god, I am sick! What more do I need to say?!?!?"
But instead, I say, "Thank you, I appreciate you doing that."
So now instead of two weeks, it will be two days.
Two. Long. Days.
Someone wake me when this is over, okay?
Fine.
The earliest they can schedule me is in two weeks.
Um, seriously?
Two weeks?? You might as well tell me two months. Or two years.
Two weeks is too long.
Do you have any idea how much damage I can do in two weeks? Damage to my reputation at work? Damage to my relationships? Damage to my own well being?
Answer: Way. Too. Much.
(as an aside to anyone who may be worrying too much right now - I don't mean any actual physical damage to myself... well, short of what damage I might do to my liver by drinking too heavily and the pounds I would gain from eating too much.... but I don't mean any actual physical harm. If I did, I would be checking myself in somewhere, not calling my PCP. I know enough to know that. But don't think I haven't thought of it... checking myself in that is, not harming myself. The idea of a padded room seems great some days.)
((I'm only half kidding.))
(((about the padded room, that is.)))
So no, two weeks will not work. Try again.
One week.
(Ugh!!!!)
Again, seriously? Do you think I can't do ample damage in one week? Don't try me, cause I know I can.
With a sigh, the receptionist says to me, "well, I shouldn't do this, but, I can put it in as a sick visit and he will see you this friday morning."
It's all I can do to not scream at her: "I am sick! I can't stop crying. I can't sleep. I can't think straight. I can't function at work. I can hardly get out of bed! I ache all over. I HAVE FREAKING MS! And right now? Right now MS is making me it's bitch. It's toying with my brain in a way I am NOT equipped to deal with. So if it makes you feel any better? I will fake a cough and lie about having a fever, but for the love of god, I am sick! What more do I need to say?!?!?"
But instead, I say, "Thank you, I appreciate you doing that."
So now instead of two weeks, it will be two days.
Two. Long. Days.
Someone wake me when this is over, okay?
God grant me the apathy I need to not hurt these people.
Some days I wish for apathy. Let’s be honest, serenity is a lot harder to come by - I would be content with the peace of apathy.
How does one define apathy? A quick google definition search turned up numerous results.
(god bless those people at google.)
The one I liked the best was this: Void of feeling; not susceptible of deep emotion; passionless; indifferent.
One I liked, but didn’t like, was this: Complete lack of emotion or motivation about a person, activity, or object; depression; lack of interest or enthusiasm; disinterest.
One I took offense to: A symptom of several mental illnesses, apathy is a lack of emotion or interest in things one would ordinarily consider important.
(mental illness you say? screw you google-search-people.)
One that made me smile: Who gives a shit?
I would argue that being apathetic and being depressed are two different things. I am depressed. It generally makes me sad, sometimes angry, and prone to inopportune fits of crying. None of those states is a lack of emotion, by far. I want to be apathetic. What I am after is a little less emotion. Like, a few moments of none at all would be fine to offset the months of over-the-top emotions I have been feeling.
It would be bliss at this point.
None of my over-the-top emotions ever swing to the end of the spectrum where rainbows and butterflies reside.
In separate, but clearly related news, I have a call in to my doctor to reevaluate my current medications.
I hope he calls soon.
How does one define apathy? A quick google definition search turned up numerous results.
(god bless those people at google.)
The one I liked the best was this: Void of feeling; not susceptible of deep emotion; passionless; indifferent.
One I liked, but didn’t like, was this: Complete lack of emotion or motivation about a person, activity, or object; depression; lack of interest or enthusiasm; disinterest.
One I took offense to: A symptom of several mental illnesses, apathy is a lack of emotion or interest in things one would ordinarily consider important.
(mental illness you say? screw you google-search-people.)
One that made me smile: Who gives a shit?
I would argue that being apathetic and being depressed are two different things. I am depressed. It generally makes me sad, sometimes angry, and prone to inopportune fits of crying. None of those states is a lack of emotion, by far. I want to be apathetic. What I am after is a little less emotion. Like, a few moments of none at all would be fine to offset the months of over-the-top emotions I have been feeling.
It would be bliss at this point.
None of my over-the-top emotions ever swing to the end of the spectrum where rainbows and butterflies reside.
In separate, but clearly related news, I have a call in to my doctor to reevaluate my current medications.
I hope he calls soon.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Things that matter.... and things that don't.
Finding out you’re ill puts many things in perspective. Or, I should say, it changes your perspective. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Other times it’s not.
For me, finding out I am sick - and I had to stop myself from using the phrase “something’s wrong with me” because the connotation there isn’t as nice, is it? - really threw many things into black and white for me. And I am a grey person. I live in the grey. I thrive on the grey. But now? Some things are very black and white to me.
Some things matter. And some do not.
I am surprised and saddened to find that some things that I would have considered important to me at one time now, largely, are not. In light of larger issues... larger concerns... and, quite frankly, extremely larger stressors, some things just do not matter.
Let me be clear.
I really do not give a fuck.
I have a very low tolerance for bullshit. Pointless small talk is no longer welcome around here. Put up or shut up, as it were. And then please, get the fuck out of my way.
Because of what I do for a living, I am required to be very giving of myself - very nurturing, empathetic, and kind. I have it within me to be all those things - and enjoy doing so. But because I spend so much of my energy on that process, it leaves me less energy to apply those same qualities to those around me. And the people who are going to get what I have left? Are those who are giving it back to me.
Those who don’t? They no longer matter either.
I had never considered myself a “needy” person. Not in affirmation, support, or assistance. I have never really thought about it much, it just seemed to be my nature.
That has changed for me now too. For better or for worse - and I am nowhere near clear on which it is - this is who I am now.
I need help. I need support. I need some encouragement. I need relationships that nurture me.
For all the people I have nurtured, helped, supported, encouraged, I am sad to see how few were actually giving it back. Not that it was ever a requirement - clearly I chose to surround myself with these people - but seriously? Is this the best they’ve got to give?
Well it’s not enough.
And though it hurts, it also doesn’t matter. I clearly do not have the energy to effect change here. Nor do I want to, quite frankly. The payout has not proven to be worth the effort.
I am tired. All. The. Time.
And I am done.
As an aside to this? I love and appreciate my family and friends and coworkers that have been there for me. Those that have been nurturing and caring and supportive of me. I know it’s not easy. I know I’m not always easy. It’s not always easy to know what I may want or need at any given moment - but thank you for continuing to try.
I don’t say thank you enough.
But please know, what little energy I have left at the end of the day? It’s yours when you need it.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
The storm is always on the horizon.
One tear silently rolls down my still dry cheek. It is almost a thing of beauty - that single tear. My face is a blank slate, devoid of any emotion. The tear is more like a leak in the waterworks than an expression of emotion.
But the sobbing has not begun yet. The tear is just the beginning.
Quietly, others follow the first, establishing a course down the no longer dry cheek; the no longer emotionless face. The leak can’t be contained. The sobbing begins.
It’s only then that the thoughts start to swirl and muddle together; some rational, but mostly irrational and absurd. One small part of me demands that this stop - that there is no reason for the meltdown. But the storm of emotion thunders throughout and that small part is swallowed up and drowned out by the noise. I cannot hear what it says to the contrary.
It will carry on like this for a few hours - until the tears run out and dry up or I fall into a fitful sleep. Sometimes the next day is better and I am granted a reprieve. Other days that first tear is still there, waiting to make its appearance.
Most people don’t grieve like this. The thoughts, the sorrow, should precipitate the crying. It should explain the crying. For me, it’s the opposite. My eyes leak, my addled brain responds, and gives into the sorrow. It’s like getting caught up in a current I can’t see, can’t anticipate, and can’t control.
I fucking hate it.
But the sobbing has not begun yet. The tear is just the beginning.
Quietly, others follow the first, establishing a course down the no longer dry cheek; the no longer emotionless face. The leak can’t be contained. The sobbing begins.
It’s only then that the thoughts start to swirl and muddle together; some rational, but mostly irrational and absurd. One small part of me demands that this stop - that there is no reason for the meltdown. But the storm of emotion thunders throughout and that small part is swallowed up and drowned out by the noise. I cannot hear what it says to the contrary.
It will carry on like this for a few hours - until the tears run out and dry up or I fall into a fitful sleep. Sometimes the next day is better and I am granted a reprieve. Other days that first tear is still there, waiting to make its appearance.
Most people don’t grieve like this. The thoughts, the sorrow, should precipitate the crying. It should explain the crying. For me, it’s the opposite. My eyes leak, my addled brain responds, and gives into the sorrow. It’s like getting caught up in a current I can’t see, can’t anticipate, and can’t control.
I fucking hate it.
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