Every jingle, every joyful song…salt to an open wound
stinging…burning…searing pain
Is this the point? Is this the purpose? No…not really
Just go with it! Just enjoy it! ~~~ easy for you to say
How do I convince my mind to think differently?
How do I tell my heart not to feel?
How do I “go with it” without falling apart?
Am I the only one feeling this?
Does everyone “really” enjoy this?
Is this, too, a Masquerade?
~⊗~Beautiful morning walk with the family. Brisk pace, chatting away. All is good in the neighborhood. The trail is between two streets, but it’s not that busy, so it’s a quiet morning. The feeling of being “normal”, until a siren blares – short circuit:
>all goes blank. ears ring. blasting noise. head spins. legs become as noodles. I need to sit down. I need to run. escape. what happened? somehow I’m sitting. nauseated. breathe. put head between legs. rock…rock. get grounded. I can’t. scream. nothing comes out. cold sweat. I can’t breathe. breathe. what happened? it’s so loud. I can’t hear. wasn’t I walking? how did I sit down? what happened? b-r-e-a-t-h-e!
~⊗~Headed to church. Something feels “off”, but lately, everything feels off. Do some of my breathing exercises. We park. Here we go, let’s do this. Walking toward the building holding my hubby’s hand. Keep telling myself, “I can do this.” Wait?!?! There’s lots of people by the entrance. I hear a “loud” laugh – short circuit:
>in a bubble. disconnected. I need to run. escape. hide. why is it so noisy? this crowd. books in hand. what do I do. more crowds. someone hugged me. I’m talking. what am I saying? are you ok? no! escape. run. I’m suffocating. my husband. grab. I can’t. shut up! why are they laughing? in the car. at home. b-r-e-a-t-h-e!
Just two incidents of this horrible disconnect that happens out of nowhere, with no rhyme or reason. It frustrates me, aggravates me an makes me feel so out of control. How do I plan for the unpredictable? How do I explain the unexplainable?
When I come back “into orbit”, I’m spacey and out of sorts. What happens to my body? What happens to my mind? Will this ever get better or will it get worse?
AND so I continue to learn. I continue to shed the mask of “everything is good”, and am learning to ask for help. I am learning to communicate with my safe-people, even when I know I’m repeating myself. By the way, my safe people are AMAZING!!! And, I am learning that NOT everybody will understand, and…that…is…ok!
A scream – a roar – stuck in my throat…deafening silent…threatening to burst forth
A cry…silent…loud…muffled…a whimper
A fog surrounds me…suffocating…and protecting
A foot stuck in my gut…at least I feel something
A life is gone…a life remains…holding on by a thread
Present…Absent…Unaware
Floundering…floating, like the Goodyear blimp
Sidelined, benched…NO, not even in the game
Grounded? How?
Safety? Where?
Hold me down…cradle me in your arms
NO! Don’t touch me! Get away!
Not of this world…I know…
How do I survive where I don’t belong?
Sorrowful journey, joy mingled with pain💔😢
#sixwordstory #hemingway
Fog so think…walking, sometimes crawling
Jingle bells, the sounds of holiday cheer
buh – hum – bug
Tinsel, glitter…momentary pleasures
Family gatherings…always missing that beautiful face
Joy to the world, my heart is crushed
Holiday festivities while enveloped in grief and sorrow
param – pum – pum – drum
December is here! Holiday cheer at its best…so that’s what I hear. However, for those suffering from depression, well, for so many reasons, the “sadness” gets even deeper and gloomier. Maybe it’s the “postcard” images ingrained in our minds. Maybe it’s the filtered social media images that constantly assault us and make us think that “everyone is happy” except us. Or maybe it is just LIFE 
That Porcelain Doll has been shattered. The Plastic Faces have melted. And, even though the pain is excruciating, I can breath. I can walk in the freedom of who I am. The fitting in, the pretending was suffocating and oh, so, tiring.
My December won’t have fake tinsel and glitter. I will, however, be real and present for those that desire to have me around. AND, that, my friends is a gift worth giving; and the memories made are priceless treasures to cherish for years on end.
I am not sure where this “December” finds you. I hope and pray that “it” won’t bring you to despair. I’d love to pray for you, if you are inclined to share your need with me. We never walk alone!
THANK YOU to all who visit, follow, comment and like.
I am grateful for each and every one of you.
~~~Walking together, on this journey called life~~~
Is everything business? Is nothing sacred? That proverbial “used-sales-man” pitch. They sell you a Lamborghini while you drive off in a lemon. My stomach turns, I get angry, my heart aches even more.
Just a thought: Maybe, just maybe…NO SERIOUSLY…”sales-people” at funeral homes and cemeteries need to be better trained on how to handle grieving loved ones (material for another post).
The cemetery – when one is being taken on a “tour” to pick out the “best-spot” for your loved ones resting place (this is just wrong!), it almost seems like it’s a tour of a resort with lots of sales pitches. Gosh-darnit, I HATE IT! It was the day after my daughter took her last breath. All I remember is a buzzing sound in my head and just having to get this done…IT had to get done. Could it had been handled better? I think so!
The cemetery’s website showcases beautiful manicured grounds, while the reality is far, far from it. Was this Photoshop or taken somewhere else? Fake advertising!
I have been “assaulted” with sights that hurt me deeply! Tractor tracts so deep that I wondered if they did wheelies on my daughters site. A deep, deep hole as her site was sinking (which I reported and reported and was told it would be fixed. However, they took so long we ended up fixing it ourselves because I could not stand the site of this anymore). Flowers and decorations thrown away. And, yesterday, her stone was completely covered with mud and her decorations where cast aside.
Am I petty? Am I overly sensitive? I say NOT!
I’ve been so upset that I’ve thought of taking a shovel, digging her out and bringing her home. YES!!!!!!!! Kinda, like when you take your kid home cause that’s the only way to protect them. Yes, I sound like a lunatic! At times, I scare myself. But this is my reality. This is what I live with. I believe her remains don’t feel any of this BS, but this Momma’s whole being trembles at such horrific sights. The grave is horrid enough without all this muck!
Venting…Vomiting…BEING REAL…grrrrrrrrrrr!
The stigma and shame behind “labels” can create enormous havoc in an already broken and fragile state of mind. The struggle to cope and understand is greatly affected by once upbringing and the prevailing mindset of those around you.
I grew up in an environment where the mindset was that you fended for yourself and vigilantly hid any sign of weakness. Talking about “it” was a resounding NO…not an option. Going to the doctor was not an option, either, let alone a mental health specialist. Finances were slim to nothing. Any monies had would go to feeding the many mouths that begged for a piece of tortilla to appease their growling stomachs.
Any reference to a psychiatrist or psychologist was in disgust or disdain saying, “that person must be totally crazy to go to that! That’s not needed. They are good for nothing.”
There was an auntie who dared to venture into that forbidden territory. Oh, the things that were whispered about her. Those words cut to the heart. No one else dare venture out. They did not want to be part of those cutting conversations and side glances.
Do to extreme circumstances, another family member saw herself in need of venturing out. She did, however, in the strictest most hidden way. No one must know. Eventually, she stopped going. Maybe it was too difficult to keep up the front…we will never know. In her ultimate darkest moment, the “help” needed was denied and with no power to keep fighting, she ultimately succumbed to it all.
Many months have ensued, the memory of accepting my medical doctor’s advice comes to mind. The initial phone call. The first appointment. All the voices within and without. The fight to not get up from that chair. The fight to not flee that office…to run out. Each session, a struggle to accept.
I think I’m starting to accept…I think I’m starting to give my therapist a chance…I think this is NOT weakness, but strength…I think this is not shameful, but a necessity.
~ ~ ~ AND…it is…OK ~ ~ ~
“…A short optimistic quote isn’t cheap. It can be forged in pain and have the strength of survival. It can reframe your whole perspective…”
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