As I lay here, in my darkened room I realized I'm in a very difficult moment in my life. I have ran out of my pain medication again and find myself waiting on the pharmacy, again. The relentless pain drilling into a blurry throb I am tearing up and relying on God. I had, in the past relied on Him unknowingly. That is, I lived in chaos. I was lost in my depression; fueling it with alcohol, endless nights, self inflicting torment and inward rage. Never calling on my Heavenly Father to protect me and save me. My soul had called out for God and relied on Him.
This is vastly different. Every step I take I am praying and actively urging myself to rely on Gods strength and wisdom. From buying a home to dealing with my hated arm and everything in-between.
Perhaps one can live their life without relying wholly or even partially on God. However, as I live in a siege of pain, uncertainty and depression; I would be a fool if I didn't run to God.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
A Mild Disclaimer
As a comment to my Blog link on Facebook, I wrote:
I feel as though it is necessary to publish it here as well, just to qualify my previous blog entry. You know, "just in case".
The thing about Depression that I'm afraid of the most is it's secrecy. Secrecy implies shame and shame implies wrong doing. At first I hesitated publishing this blog post because I was afraid of what others might think, if I'd scare them or usher them to action in calling CPS. But the thing is, I have done nothing wrong and despite the workings of my brain, I am a good mommy. For years I had longed for someone to tell me that's it's ok, & I'm not alone. Living under a shroud of secrecy is so binding and isolating. I hope someone benefits from my post. Recognize they need to talk openly, candidly and get the help that's out there so they no longer fell like I had. So when the Bible says that we have been set free, they can fully understand it and fully feel their freedom.
I feel as though it is necessary to publish it here as well, just to qualify my previous blog entry. You know, "just in case".
Sunday, June 19, 2011
And It Never Stops.
It's just too hard and exhausting. As if my body wasn't heavy enough, weighed down with lead and my mind a deepening grey fog I just can't see past. I have to hold it all together, pretend everything is good. And for as much as it looks like I'm not holding things together, there's a cracking dam with the weight of fifty monsoons held behind it that you don't see.
But I'm desperate to hide what's going on and it takes more energy than I have. With two sweet babies to care for, every action and emotion I live is nothing more than ammunition against me. And with everything able to trigger an outburst of anger and tears, I try to let little things brush off. But most of the time, I'm unsuccessful. It's those little things that some how carry more than they ought to. I've lost it, breaking down over too many boxes of cereal or anticipating a treat which never comes and even missing a green light when I had nowhere important to be. But, it's the uncontrollable sobbing I hate and it lingers for days.
When I was first married, I tried to hide my tears. Locking myself in our bathroom I would turn on the faucet and shower. I tried so hard to keep my tears and the deep sadness that can only be vocalized in aching moans muffled under the sound of steady water. He knew. And he didn't quit understand. After three years of marriage he still doesn't understand and to be honest, I'm not sure I do either. I've tried so hard to recall a moment from my childhood where I was completely, fully happy. The kind of unabashed happiness that only a child could feel. And I came up empty handed for so long, I stopped trying.
Depression is something I've lived with for almost my whole life. It was normal, my normal and I thought that was how everyone felt. Many afternoons were spent laying on the fresh grass, feeling the leaves under my body, sliding thru my fingertips and watching the perfect soft white clouds float by while I fantasized about killing myself. Just to finally be done, to see past the iron fog and be free. My fantasies gave me comfort.
It wasn't until Junior High when I was finally given the label of depression. And it was that label which caused many people to tell me that I have this illness because of a secret, un-repented sin. It was when a family member told me that all I had to do was repent to God and my illness would go away, I listened. I repented for everything I could think of and even things I hadn't done but I possibly would do. I begged God but God hadn't taken this thing away, so I hid. I spent too many years closed off, living shackled to an illness I did not want.
My husband asks me if I've taken my pills, usually when I have a normal response to something he's done or said, or didn't do. That's when I reassess my response, just in case and yes, it's what a "normal" wife would do, I angrily yell, YES! Because what he's really saying to me is he's perfect in his behavior and I'm just the crazy wife. Then I quietly think, did I? I think I took them when I gave Ava her Tinker Medicines. I must be taking them, my thirty day supply is steadily decreasing...
But I'm desperate to hide what's going on and it takes more energy than I have. With two sweet babies to care for, every action and emotion I live is nothing more than ammunition against me. And with everything able to trigger an outburst of anger and tears, I try to let little things brush off. But most of the time, I'm unsuccessful. It's those little things that some how carry more than they ought to. I've lost it, breaking down over too many boxes of cereal or anticipating a treat which never comes and even missing a green light when I had nowhere important to be. But, it's the uncontrollable sobbing I hate and it lingers for days.
When I was first married, I tried to hide my tears. Locking myself in our bathroom I would turn on the faucet and shower. I tried so hard to keep my tears and the deep sadness that can only be vocalized in aching moans muffled under the sound of steady water. He knew. And he didn't quit understand. After three years of marriage he still doesn't understand and to be honest, I'm not sure I do either. I've tried so hard to recall a moment from my childhood where I was completely, fully happy. The kind of unabashed happiness that only a child could feel. And I came up empty handed for so long, I stopped trying.
Depression is something I've lived with for almost my whole life. It was normal, my normal and I thought that was how everyone felt. Many afternoons were spent laying on the fresh grass, feeling the leaves under my body, sliding thru my fingertips and watching the perfect soft white clouds float by while I fantasized about killing myself. Just to finally be done, to see past the iron fog and be free. My fantasies gave me comfort.
It wasn't until Junior High when I was finally given the label of depression. And it was that label which caused many people to tell me that I have this illness because of a secret, un-repented sin. It was when a family member told me that all I had to do was repent to God and my illness would go away, I listened. I repented for everything I could think of and even things I hadn't done but I possibly would do. I begged God but God hadn't taken this thing away, so I hid. I spent too many years closed off, living shackled to an illness I did not want.
I spent my early adult years going on and off my medication and drinking. Drinking so much I never remembered what happened those nights. Each night before going out I knew, I knew I wanted to drink until I forgot. I wanted to forget me.
It was the grace of God that delivered me from those circumstances and gave my life accountability. When I was twenty-eight I married the man I had always dreamed of. I met him at church years ago and I knew that night, that Halloween night he was the man God made me for. He didn't even know I was alive. When we both finally grew up we met again and a little over three months after our first date we were married.
It wasn't until after I was married and had my children that I saw a mental health professional. She explained that I had moderate to sever depression. This was nothing new to me. I even have a family history of mental illness. She adjusted my medication and what she said next was the most comforting thing I have ever heard. She told me that I am not "broken" or "defective" as I spent my life believing. She looked me in the eye and said: your fantasies of suicide are just symptoms of your illness. They are there to tell you something is wrong and your medication needs to be checked. She adjusted my medication, added a booster which is not in generic form and thus costing a little over a hundred dollars a month. Yes, those pills are worth it but the guilt is what is more costly. That money is being taken away from my kids, the household finances and is squandered solely on me. As if I did not feel selfish enough, with my many illnesses, physical problems and destructive emotional baggage. I feel it's as if Aaron would spend over a hundred dollars on allergy medicine every month just because he has a runny nose. Somehow, the booster just doesn't seem so worth it anymore. Not when there's diapers needed and fresh fruits and vegetables and clothes for my children because they just grow too fast.
It wasn't until after I was married and had my children that I saw a mental health professional. She explained that I had moderate to sever depression. This was nothing new to me. I even have a family history of mental illness. She adjusted my medication and what she said next was the most comforting thing I have ever heard. She told me that I am not "broken" or "defective" as I spent my life believing. She looked me in the eye and said: your fantasies of suicide are just symptoms of your illness. They are there to tell you something is wrong and your medication needs to be checked. She adjusted my medication, added a booster which is not in generic form and thus costing a little over a hundred dollars a month. Yes, those pills are worth it but the guilt is what is more costly. That money is being taken away from my kids, the household finances and is squandered solely on me. As if I did not feel selfish enough, with my many illnesses, physical problems and destructive emotional baggage. I feel it's as if Aaron would spend over a hundred dollars on allergy medicine every month just because he has a runny nose. Somehow, the booster just doesn't seem so worth it anymore. Not when there's diapers needed and fresh fruits and vegetables and clothes for my children because they just grow too fast.
My children, my babies. I never thought I would have these two incredible kids. And it was 'my babies' I answered when the Doctor asked me what stops me. The answer seemed obvious, a truth buried so deep in my heart and mind I didn't even need to think about it. Looking at me closely, she asked: When you think about killing yourself, what stops you from doing it.
I didn't expect my throat to close up, to spasm as I replied, Who would take care of my babies?I'm their mommy.
Out of the suffocating life of a disassembled, in-cohesive mind, that one clear truth is solid. The depressed mind is different. We process things in away that makes no sense to us. My mind is weak and unsteady. It seems as though everything is defined differently for me. My bad days do not stand for having a bad hair day or a series of inconvenient incidents. My bad days are marked by me being numbed, laying in bed and staring at the same spot on the wall for hours. Being drained of everything to the point when the tears trickle down my face on their own accord and not caring enough to stop them, not being able to stop them. My bad days are marked by me longing to die. And my good days, I'm dressed and able to smile, even if its for a moment.
Since my mind processes things differently, when I read "The Yellow Wallpaper", I honestly couldn't see that where she was, was a mental institution. I just didn't see it as everyone else did. And because of this, I am constantly assessing my responses and behaviors. I have a mental script of how normal people would react and I follow that to a large extent.
My husband asks me if I've taken my pills, usually when I have a normal response to something he's done or said, or didn't do. That's when I reassess my response, just in case and yes, it's what a "normal" wife would do, I angrily yell, YES! Because what he's really saying to me is he's perfect in his behavior and I'm just the crazy wife. Then I quietly think, did I? I think I took them when I gave Ava her Tinker Medicines. I must be taking them, my thirty day supply is steadily decreasing...
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
My Little Lost Boy
I was more than uncomfortable, I was miserable. Every few minutes I'd squirm and re-adjust my fat butt and even fatter belly. Nothing helped. Trying to focus on the finale of 'Lost' did not help either. I continued to push the excitement and fear out of my mind. Taking slow, deep silent breathes I tried to mentally prepare myself. We were scheduled to meet our son, Baxter in the morning. In my mind, I played the birth of our daughter over and over, taking mental notes of what I needed to do differently. Her birth was fast, a little painful but terrifying. By time I was moved out of triage, into a delivery bed and my neubane shot administered, she came. Ava came so fast I was not able to center myself, breath, focus and my pain medicine hadn't even had a chance to kick in. But this time would be different. It HAD to be different.
I took a deep breath, cuddled a little closer to my husband. Listening to the comforting thump of his heartbeat, I watched the last few minutes of the show with security. The security only a husband could give. Well, that and the knowledge that I was just several hours away from my inducement. I was relieved, knowing I would be in that hospital bed with my pain medicine and a chance to prepare during labor.
The show ended. Looking at the blank screen we were somewhat bewildered. Shaking my head I stood up. "Is that it? THAT'S how they wanted to end it? Whatever."
Laying in bed, waiting for Aaron to lock up I was feeling so lonely without Ava in the house. I also felt like I could not empty my bladder. As he nestled in bed next to me I contemplated making yet one more trip to the bathroom before surrendering to sleep. With a sound of frustration I flung back the covers, grabbed onto the bed post and hoisted myself up.
As I walked out of the bathroom I peeked inside the kids' room. I stood looking at Ava's empty crib. Soon, there would be another baby in that room. Turning to our bedroom, the strongest, loudest contraction overwhelmed my body. Grabbing onto the wall I braced myself. I breathed, closed my eyes and as soon as the contraction ended my body tried to push the baby out. I had missed the sign my water had broken. Perhaps I expected it to be like in the movies or on the television. Getting down the stairs and into the car was harder than I thought it to be. It was a dark, cold clear night and I struggled to keep myself from succumbing to what my body needed to do.
Possibly the worst experience of my life to date, but it was worth every F-bomb. Especially the one F-bomb which lasted five whole minutes. Baxter decided he did not want to wait six hours. Apparently, I had the look of a woman laboring as we made our way through the emergency room. Various strangers in various stages of emergency watched, stared as we headed straight to the Security stand which blocked our path to the Maternity Ward. The guard looked slightly stunned as he asked if I needed a wheelchair. Trying to smile the question off I mumbled the baby would come before he got us the chair. And waddled as fast as I could down the hall and thru the double doors.
At the desk I told her my name and it seemed they had lost my previously dropped off Admit paperwork. Standing there legs crossed I preceded to fill out the forms for the second time. Glancing at the triage waiting area I noticed a quiet, very pregnant young girl. Her face betrayed the fear she was holding in as she watched me. Trying to smile as not to scare her I looked at the nurse behind the desk and calmly stated that this baby was coming, RIGHT NOW. skipping me past triage they placed me in the delivery room they continued to call the on-call Doctor.
Being reassured he was on the way, I continued to stress the fact I wanted my neubane shot. NOW. I was and still am in shock at the unprofessional attitude of the nurses. More then once I was on the receiving end of snarky comments. They liked to point out that I was taking them away from their patients. Patients who were in labor before me, and thus ahead of me on their list.
Meanwhile, Baxter was on his way out and I was ordered to hold him in, breathe like I was blowing out a candle and wait for the Doctor. I remember pleading with the nurses to just let me push him out, all they had to do was stand there and catch him. When the on-call Doctor came, I felt relieved. However, that was short lived. I asked if I could PLEASE start pushing NOW, his reply: whenever. whenever, what kind of answer was that? So I pushed. I looked to the Doctor for guidance, he just sat there, waiting to catch the baby. Looking to Aaron, I asked how Schwabe did it. Was it three pushes and a rest? I think that was right. After flailing around, cussing and hurting a nurse I met my son in less than an hour.
He hurt, more than I thought he would. I actually was mad at the little big-headed boy. Soon Ava arrived and was able to meet her new little brother. She didn't know exactly how to react, but she did want to pick him up, hold him and kiss him, we let her. Since it was after one am, we had to let Ava go back to Grandma's and get to sleep. They gave me my after birth pills and sent me off to my private room. It was there where I was able to have our quiet, intimate bonding time. The sweet moments where I felt the deepest love for my son since he was born.
I could go on and on with more complaints of the hospital staff, but this blog post is in celebration of the birth of my sweet Baxter Isaac.
The hospital was quiet, lights in my room dimmed, and Aaron asleep on the pull-out. I laid Baxter on my chest, gently unwrapped him. Counting his toes on his chubby little feet, studying every sweet curve and dimple. Kissing his soft skin, trying not to wake him, but secretly hoping he would. Marveling at his blonde hair and dimpled chin, I held him to my heart, feeling his small heart beating, hearing it's rhythm, I fell asleep.
Born at 1:21am
7 lb 4oz 19in
I took a deep breath, cuddled a little closer to my husband. Listening to the comforting thump of his heartbeat, I watched the last few minutes of the show with security. The security only a husband could give. Well, that and the knowledge that I was just several hours away from my inducement. I was relieved, knowing I would be in that hospital bed with my pain medicine and a chance to prepare during labor.
The show ended. Looking at the blank screen we were somewhat bewildered. Shaking my head I stood up. "Is that it? THAT'S how they wanted to end it? Whatever."
Laying in bed, waiting for Aaron to lock up I was feeling so lonely without Ava in the house. I also felt like I could not empty my bladder. As he nestled in bed next to me I contemplated making yet one more trip to the bathroom before surrendering to sleep. With a sound of frustration I flung back the covers, grabbed onto the bed post and hoisted myself up.
As I walked out of the bathroom I peeked inside the kids' room. I stood looking at Ava's empty crib. Soon, there would be another baby in that room. Turning to our bedroom, the strongest, loudest contraction overwhelmed my body. Grabbing onto the wall I braced myself. I breathed, closed my eyes and as soon as the contraction ended my body tried to push the baby out. I had missed the sign my water had broken. Perhaps I expected it to be like in the movies or on the television. Getting down the stairs and into the car was harder than I thought it to be. It was a dark, cold clear night and I struggled to keep myself from succumbing to what my body needed to do.
Possibly the worst experience of my life to date, but it was worth every F-bomb. Especially the one F-bomb which lasted five whole minutes. Baxter decided he did not want to wait six hours. Apparently, I had the look of a woman laboring as we made our way through the emergency room. Various strangers in various stages of emergency watched, stared as we headed straight to the Security stand which blocked our path to the Maternity Ward. The guard looked slightly stunned as he asked if I needed a wheelchair. Trying to smile the question off I mumbled the baby would come before he got us the chair. And waddled as fast as I could down the hall and thru the double doors.
At the desk I told her my name and it seemed they had lost my previously dropped off Admit paperwork. Standing there legs crossed I preceded to fill out the forms for the second time. Glancing at the triage waiting area I noticed a quiet, very pregnant young girl. Her face betrayed the fear she was holding in as she watched me. Trying to smile as not to scare her I looked at the nurse behind the desk and calmly stated that this baby was coming, RIGHT NOW. skipping me past triage they placed me in the delivery room they continued to call the on-call Doctor.
Being reassured he was on the way, I continued to stress the fact I wanted my neubane shot. NOW. I was and still am in shock at the unprofessional attitude of the nurses. More then once I was on the receiving end of snarky comments. They liked to point out that I was taking them away from their patients. Patients who were in labor before me, and thus ahead of me on their list.
Meanwhile, Baxter was on his way out and I was ordered to hold him in, breathe like I was blowing out a candle and wait for the Doctor. I remember pleading with the nurses to just let me push him out, all they had to do was stand there and catch him. When the on-call Doctor came, I felt relieved. However, that was short lived. I asked if I could PLEASE start pushing NOW, his reply: whenever. whenever, what kind of answer was that? So I pushed. I looked to the Doctor for guidance, he just sat there, waiting to catch the baby. Looking to Aaron, I asked how Schwabe did it. Was it three pushes and a rest? I think that was right. After flailing around, cussing and hurting a nurse I met my son in less than an hour.
He hurt, more than I thought he would. I actually was mad at the little big-headed boy. Soon Ava arrived and was able to meet her new little brother. She didn't know exactly how to react, but she did want to pick him up, hold him and kiss him, we let her. Since it was after one am, we had to let Ava go back to Grandma's and get to sleep. They gave me my after birth pills and sent me off to my private room. It was there where I was able to have our quiet, intimate bonding time. The sweet moments where I felt the deepest love for my son since he was born.
I could go on and on with more complaints of the hospital staff, but this blog post is in celebration of the birth of my sweet Baxter Isaac.
The hospital was quiet, lights in my room dimmed, and Aaron asleep on the pull-out. I laid Baxter on my chest, gently unwrapped him. Counting his toes on his chubby little feet, studying every sweet curve and dimple. Kissing his soft skin, trying not to wake him, but secretly hoping he would. Marveling at his blonde hair and dimpled chin, I held him to my heart, feeling his small heart beating, hearing it's rhythm, I fell asleep.
Born at 1:21am
7 lb 4oz 19in
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
I Know You Will Not Read This
But there are things I need to say to you. It took me so long to finally breakdown the wall which stood between our friendship. You were the only Dad I had. I don't remember my birth father all that much. Although I am thankful for the blocked memories of my childhood, I have carried around the pain my whole life. Because of what we lived through before you, it made it so hard for me to let you into my heart.
When I first met you, I was nervous and terrified. There were so many thoughts and questions flooding my mind, making it hard to focus. I hid. I didn't want to meet you because I was afraid I would grow to love you and then you'd leave. Do you remember that day? I close my eyes and I am instantly brought back to that moment. You brought us ice cream. You drove from Sacramento to meet us and take our mom on a date. I was on edge the whole afternoon, picking out the solid chunks of cookie dough, leaving the vanilla ice cream till the end. Waiting for your date to be over, waiting to see how my mom truly felt for you. But mostly, waiting to see how I felt for you.
My heart yearned to be close to you but as a defense, I withdrew and made life hard. For that I apologize. I don't believe you will ever fully understand how much you accepting us meant. You chose to love my sister and I, not out of obligation to our mother but because you grew to love us as if we were your children. When you called me Baby Girl, I knew to the core of who I was that I truly belonged.
My favorite part of the day was dinner time. You'd come home, turn on music and pull my mom away from making dinner to dance with you. You held her tight, twirled her around and both laugh so genuinely your eyes sparkled. I watched. I saw you love. And I watched you slowly fade away. You stopped dancing, you stopped laughing. It happened seemingly so gradually that our normal consisted of you coming home from work, shutting yourself away in your office only to be bothered by one of us bringing you dinner.
You stood with me at my wedding, so nervous I shook and words could not find their way. My Dad looked at me. You looked at me and asked if I was alright. Perhaps I should have asked that of you.
I know now you weren't alright, you haven't been for years. That my life as I knew it was pretend. You showed up for my wedding, the birth of my children but you weren't fully there. We only had the shell of you while the real you was in Sacramento.
It shouldn't be hard for you to understand that you did not only betray my mom, you betrayed all of us. The life you have chosen broke so many little hearts. Hearts that believed you were their world. So many tears have been shed. So many words have been yelled and you are not here to see them, to feel their sting, to look me in the eye and tell me what is going on.
The last phone call I made to you ended with me sobbing in a voicemail. Pleading with you, telling you that I needed my Daddy. My heart was crushed and I needed my Daddy. You never called. Is this the last thing you want me to remember of you?
Already I feel those good memories fading away. Becoming overshadowed by the bad and, and I am okay with that. At the first mention of separation I struggled with how we could be a family but not. I struggled with how I would be your Baby Girl while you were not with my mom. How often would we see you? How would Birthdays and Holidays work? Now I understand. The disgusting choices you have made helped make my decision. With every lie you told, with every moment you and she took from my family, you determined the outcome. You are a person of no integrity and I do not want that kind of person in my life. I do not want a person with such twisted, deceitful morals to be in my children's life.
I do not grieve the loss of a father, I do not cry pointless tears for you. I hurt because the people I love have been hurt by you and your actions. I regret you. I regret loving you. My adoration has been wasted on a figment and I will not allow my children's love and adoration be wasted on something worthless.
I am not as gracious as my sister.
When I first met you, I was nervous and terrified. There were so many thoughts and questions flooding my mind, making it hard to focus. I hid. I didn't want to meet you because I was afraid I would grow to love you and then you'd leave. Do you remember that day? I close my eyes and I am instantly brought back to that moment. You brought us ice cream. You drove from Sacramento to meet us and take our mom on a date. I was on edge the whole afternoon, picking out the solid chunks of cookie dough, leaving the vanilla ice cream till the end. Waiting for your date to be over, waiting to see how my mom truly felt for you. But mostly, waiting to see how I felt for you.
My heart yearned to be close to you but as a defense, I withdrew and made life hard. For that I apologize. I don't believe you will ever fully understand how much you accepting us meant. You chose to love my sister and I, not out of obligation to our mother but because you grew to love us as if we were your children. When you called me Baby Girl, I knew to the core of who I was that I truly belonged.
My favorite part of the day was dinner time. You'd come home, turn on music and pull my mom away from making dinner to dance with you. You held her tight, twirled her around and both laugh so genuinely your eyes sparkled. I watched. I saw you love. And I watched you slowly fade away. You stopped dancing, you stopped laughing. It happened seemingly so gradually that our normal consisted of you coming home from work, shutting yourself away in your office only to be bothered by one of us bringing you dinner.
You stood with me at my wedding, so nervous I shook and words could not find their way. My Dad looked at me. You looked at me and asked if I was alright. Perhaps I should have asked that of you.
I know now you weren't alright, you haven't been for years. That my life as I knew it was pretend. You showed up for my wedding, the birth of my children but you weren't fully there. We only had the shell of you while the real you was in Sacramento.
It shouldn't be hard for you to understand that you did not only betray my mom, you betrayed all of us. The life you have chosen broke so many little hearts. Hearts that believed you were their world. So many tears have been shed. So many words have been yelled and you are not here to see them, to feel their sting, to look me in the eye and tell me what is going on.
The last phone call I made to you ended with me sobbing in a voicemail. Pleading with you, telling you that I needed my Daddy. My heart was crushed and I needed my Daddy. You never called. Is this the last thing you want me to remember of you?
Already I feel those good memories fading away. Becoming overshadowed by the bad and, and I am okay with that. At the first mention of separation I struggled with how we could be a family but not. I struggled with how I would be your Baby Girl while you were not with my mom. How often would we see you? How would Birthdays and Holidays work? Now I understand. The disgusting choices you have made helped make my decision. With every lie you told, with every moment you and she took from my family, you determined the outcome. You are a person of no integrity and I do not want that kind of person in my life. I do not want a person with such twisted, deceitful morals to be in my children's life.
I do not grieve the loss of a father, I do not cry pointless tears for you. I hurt because the people I love have been hurt by you and your actions. I regret you. I regret loving you. My adoration has been wasted on a figment and I will not allow my children's love and adoration be wasted on something worthless.
I am not as gracious as my sister.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
It's Not My Fight
But it feels like it is. As a mother, my heart breaks when my children hurt. As a daughter, my heart aches when my mother's heart breaks. For so long, I have seen my mom through a stoic lens. But, as I have grown and become a woman and mother, I have slowly loosened the veil and am now seeing my mother for who she is, a woman. A person with her own identity separate from myself. This enlightenment has come from a tremendous betrayal in which I have tried to be removed from. My breath has been ripped from my lungs and I find it all too easy to hide in bed, hoping this nightmare is just that, a nightmare. One which dissipates when the soft glow of morning rises...but I know it won't. And we are left with vestiges honoring someone who is all too human.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
I have always seen Divorce as a good thing.
Perhaps that's why I struggled so hard the first year of my marriage. While my older sister married at eighteen. I was twenty eight.
I try so hard at times, closing my eyes and lifting boulders off all my repressed memories. But I can't. I see instead old, worn snapshots I had spent hours staring at in the album. Memorizing each smiling face, each simple gesture caught, praying that I could be in that moment. I try and recall the smell of the spring air. The warm sun on my face as a gentle breeze blows my blonde curls across my forehead. But I'm not there. I studied his face the most. Searching for any resemblance. My sister is the one who looks like him, I am a replica of our mother. We were so young then.
Our mom always tried to protect us. She was a weak, beaten down young mother with a monster as her husband. The strength she lacked for herself, she made up in her love for us. She left him. We left him.
The one constant in my adolescence were nights huddled together in bed. Mom holding us tight and through the darkness she would whisper, "It's ok. We are together. The three of us." It was the three of us for so long. Boyfriends came and went, none fitting the task of husband and father.
I was born to be a daddy's girl. But when she did re-marry, I was terrified. I felt at any moment, he would leave. They were married when I was finishing Junior High, it was a time in my life when I desperately needed a dad. Daily I evaluated our family. 'If he left now, it would be okay. He's just Mike.' As years carried out, my evaluations turned from daily to weekly and slowly just once a year. Somewhere the distinction was lost. I grew to love and trust him. I could no longer bring myself to call him Mike. He was my Daddy and in my thirties, I still called him Daddy.
Now my evaluation is real and it is more involved than I ever could have imagined.
I try so hard at times, closing my eyes and lifting boulders off all my repressed memories. But I can't. I see instead old, worn snapshots I had spent hours staring at in the album. Memorizing each smiling face, each simple gesture caught, praying that I could be in that moment. I try and recall the smell of the spring air. The warm sun on my face as a gentle breeze blows my blonde curls across my forehead. But I'm not there. I studied his face the most. Searching for any resemblance. My sister is the one who looks like him, I am a replica of our mother. We were so young then.
Our mom always tried to protect us. She was a weak, beaten down young mother with a monster as her husband. The strength she lacked for herself, she made up in her love for us. She left him. We left him.
The one constant in my adolescence were nights huddled together in bed. Mom holding us tight and through the darkness she would whisper, "It's ok. We are together. The three of us." It was the three of us for so long. Boyfriends came and went, none fitting the task of husband and father.
I was born to be a daddy's girl. But when she did re-marry, I was terrified. I felt at any moment, he would leave. They were married when I was finishing Junior High, it was a time in my life when I desperately needed a dad. Daily I evaluated our family. 'If he left now, it would be okay. He's just Mike.' As years carried out, my evaluations turned from daily to weekly and slowly just once a year. Somewhere the distinction was lost. I grew to love and trust him. I could no longer bring myself to call him Mike. He was my Daddy and in my thirties, I still called him Daddy.
Now my evaluation is real and it is more involved than I ever could have imagined.
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