The Good Good

I'm trying to post regularly. I've not been very good at it the past year. I've still been working on myself and I finally had to break down and have my medicine dosage increased. I was worried about doing so because I was afraid that it would make me even sleepier or just completely take away my ability to feel..... anything. I've also been holding out the hope that one day I won't have to take anything because my brain will just get better. There's a stigma when you mention that you're on medication for depression and anxiety and it took me longer to get over that than anything. Months went by and I still was lacking motivation and every time I had a break through I would have a break down about a week later. I finally went and got the dosage increased and was a little disappointed when it didn't work right away. Funny how we think it should work like that. I knew that it would take a few weeks of the increased dosage to notice a difference, but for some reason I thought it would work instantly by the next day and became disheartened, so much so that I stopped taking it for a few days. Big mistake. Whenever I forget to take my medicine I will usually notice by the next day. The irritability kicks in and I get downright snappy. If I continue to not take it then the days following will get progressively worse. This has happened ever since I had my son. It also gets really bad a few weeks before the visitation of Aunt Flo, but the day she arrives I'm happy and right as rain. About a week later the build up starts again. After the week of not taking my medicine I had a particularly bad day and called my mom. It ended with me crying and telling her how I felt sometimes it would be better for my kids if I weren't here to drag them down. I meant in the way of leaving and going somewhere else, not killing myself. I had given up thoughts of killing myself after I had that scare where I was going to. The next day I woke up, was greeted by Aunt Flo and realized that I might have killed myself for no damn good reason at all and the thought of my kids having to deal with a parent's death........ well we all know already how I feel about that. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. That was the day I decided to ask for medication and even though I haven't though about harming myself since, I don't rule out the possibility that it will never happen in the future and I try to stay on guard. Obviously so does my mom because she came down the next day. It really was a big help to have her there. Just knowing that she would drop everything and come because I needed her made me want to hug the world. She is no stranger to depression herself. When you have an auto immune disease it seems to be one of the side effects. It messes with your brain chemistry and makes an already messed up situation a total cluster f*@k. I remember when she called me a few years ago asking if I wanted anything of hers. After we got off the phone I spent the next few hours trying to get ahold of my Aunt. When I finally did I found that she had already taken her to the doctor. My Aunt also battles with depression. Here we are, a little circle of women, looking out for each other. Now that I've upped my dosage I'm wondering why I didn't do it sooner. I'm starting to get some motivation back and I'm not having anymore bad days, but I still have days when I just want to sleep. I'm even thinking about going up another 50 mg to see what happens. Lately I've been busy making lots of things so that I can get a business up and running. There may still be bumps in the road, but for now I'm gonna ride this good good until then.

Why 72nd St.?

This blog is my escape. My place to unleash the pain and the glory of my life. When I was 18 my mom was getting better and I had little to no direction in my life. Everything felt chaotic and the dreams that I had for so long were being rewritten. My best friend at the time was Amber and I spent more time hanging out with her and trying to figure myself out. I made many bad decisions, but compared to some sowing their wild oats I was pretty tame. We used to go to a country /western club on ladies night and sometimes after hours of dancing and flirting with cowboy wannabes we would drive down to the beach. We had a special place that we would sometimes go to during the day, but more often found ourselves there at night. It was 72nd St. There were only houses down that way. Locals in their expensive (to us anyways) houses with a public beach mostly to themselves. This is why we chose it. It was private and far from the strip where all the tourists and local barhops were. Two, three, four in the morning we would find ourselves there and we would go for a swim. I never recall being scared of a shark getting us while we were out there in the dark, I just remember the coolness of the water on a summer evening and the soft blue glow of the water when you moved it with your hands. I knew they were tiny bioluminescent beings and I was fascinated by them. Unconsciously I think I picked them and my time on 72nd St as a metaphor for my life. Those were happy times. Peaceful times. Those tiny phytoplankton were what I wanted to be. In the darkness of the night, floating in the cool water, shining brightest when disturbed, pushed or stressed. The shining of the moon and the silent blue glowing shimmer of those creatures. I cherish those memories because of the beauty of the light in the dark. It became an example that the darkness didn't always have to be so scary and imposing because in it sometimes we find something beautiful and see something that few others ever get to see.

Darkness

This is a piece I wrote during a particularly dark time in my life. My depression was really kicking my butt and when it gets that bad I find that art or words can help relieve the pressure building inside. I was very saddened by the passing of Robin Williams. He was, for me, a relief in times of darkness. A little bit of happy life, an escape from the darkness, and I'm saddened that he got to a point where he had no more light left in his own mind and heart to keep moving on. I've had friends and family that have committed or have tried to commit suicide and many more that have contemplated and had to be taken in for help. Every time it is a jarring reminder and I hope that I never ever feel like there is no light left in this world for me ever again, but if I do, I will remember them all and remember this bit of writing and remember that it can and will get better. Darkness. The darkness of life, the darkness of other people, the darkness in yourself, the darkness that closes in around you when you're alone. In the dark there is loneliness. Fights in the night. Anxiety gripping your guts until you want to vomit. A little girl now doomed to live in the dark as everything changes before they think she's old enough to understand the difference. Alone in the dark until stinging fingers wake you from your peaceful sleep. Leave me alone. But his perversion's too strong for him to stop. Too strong to have mercy for a little girl in the dark. That little girl now doomed to live in the dark. There's no getting away from it now. Alone in the dark. Woken by soft words “I'm dying”. Funny. It seems something like that should be more violent. More alarming. More...... something. Alone as she sits on the couch waiting for the ambulance, not knowing if it's actually coming. Mom said she called Dad and she hopes he won't leave her there alone, but she's lived through enough to wonder. The quiet is strange. The darkness closes in on her mind. Not ready for the change that might come with the morning. Not older than seven and already the world is so dark. Keep going. Keep living. Keep smiling in the daylight. Keep moving on. Survival is strong, but this won't be the last time death comes asking for her only anchor. One more time. Two more times. Three more times. Four....... she stops counting. The darkness gets a little darker making it hard to keep track. Made it this far. Going to make it. Almost an adult. Going to make it. Then she can keep care of them because she'll be an adult. Summer before last year of high school. Almost there. Exciting prospects fill her head and maybe she'll be able to leave the darkness behind. But the darkness is always waiting. Black holes do exist and you can't escape the gravity trying to suck you back in. Visit the hospital and it's waiting. Emergency. Had to do surgery again. Wait in the waiting room. So full of people yet so lonely. Do they all feel as alone? Do they feel the dark crowding in their mind. Waiting. Waiting. Feels like forever in the dark. No sense of time. Waiting. ICU. And doctors. One doctor talking, and talking, and talking. She hears the words and understands, but her eyes are stuck on the bed they wheel in. Talking and she's waiting, wanting to be rude and just leave him there to talk to himself. Finally. Trying to smile as she sees her to give some hope, but she's failing. The smile never fully forms, fighting against the scream inside her head trying to get out. Eyes open and a mouth forms the words “Go home”. She's jarred by the ripping sensation in her heart. Two words, simple, but carrying more meaning. The one in the bed doesn't want her to watch her die. She can't help it and her feet have carried her from the room and to her car before she can stop to really think about it. Darkness closing in. Darkness clouding what happened next. How did she get home? Would they call when she was gone? Would she make it through the night? Sitting alone in the darkness. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting for a call that'll change everything so suddenly. It never comes. She should be grateful, but the darkness is here to stay and she knows it. She becomes a nurse while others are celebrating the transition into adulthood. Blood and bile and vomit and holes oozing fecal matter. Medicines in syringes. A tube to replace eating. Pain medicine and more medicines that change personalities. Hateful words when she's trying to help. All she's ever done is try to help. All she's ever done is to love. Don't be a victim. Move forward. One foot in front of another into the deepening darkness. Years of rebuilding herself. Years of rebuilding relationships because all she's ever done is love. It's better to have every moment of happiness that you can have regardless of the past. They are fireflies in the darkness. The only light she can ever have. This darkness will never leave, but she'll catch the fireflies and hold them close in her hand and find a way to the other people lost in the darkness.

Life Does go On

This was supposed to be my place for words. I guess that I haven't had much to say lately. Finishing up for school kept me quite busy with little time to write or even think about writing. I came home from visiting family today. Stuck on flights all day kept me from the news but on arrival back in NC I learned that Maya Angelou passed away. I exclaimed "Noooo, awwww!" as I came down the escalator in the airport where the monitors had the story posted and my daughter asked what was wrong. I pointed it out to her and she asked if the woman was famous. I almost fell off the escalator at the bottom. How have I gone this long in my child's life, my FEMALE child's life, without telling her all about Maya Angelou?!!? My daughter loves to read. How did this slip through my fingers. The woman has so much wisdom and beautiful words to impart on everyone, how could I have been so irresponsible and not have introduced her to my daughter. Having had a hard life growing up I found comfort and strength in her words. She is a driving force in the sisterhood of women as well as the family of humanity. I will miss hearing new words, but I will continue to cherish the old ones. I will never forget what you said or how it made me feel and I will pass on that love and hope and strength to my loved ones. "I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow." Maya Angelou

Some Art

Here are a few things that I've been working on in school (one of the big reasons I haven't posted of late). These two pieces are just practice. I didn't use any guidelines on these, but will pencil in what I'm going to draw before I do the final. First up is the line drawing.

And here is a pointillism portrait of the good Doctor. Doctor Who? Exactly. The 10th to be exact (and one of my faves). The actual piece will have the TARDIS behind him and I'll fix his eyes. They're wonky, but I used pen (the old nib kind) only and was just testing to see if I could get something viable. Last time I did pointillism was in 3rd grade and it looked nothing like...... well anything. I'm glad I've improved.

That's it for now and may be it for awhile except for the occasional short story. I don't think we're slotted to do any other art work besides making a color wheel. Exciting, I know. Have to go shoo a cat off my counter now.

Deep is the Night

Pain. Emotional pain. The kind that makes the air thick until it's hard to breathe, all the while your chest is squeezing in on itself in order to keep your heart from exploding. My soul. Is it still in there? Or did it die so many years ago there on the floor as tears flowed like a waterfall, sobs bursting forth as my throat constricted to forcibly hold them in, body wracked with shaking and pain....... pain so bad I'm sure I died. It must still be there or would I feel any emotion? If anything I'm more emotional than I was in my childhood. A part of me broken and unable to keep the tears from flowing when they threaten. Broken. I feel broken. Must be my soul. First there was the numbing blackness. When I was alone I would think about everything and the numbing blackness would take over my mind. At least that's all I can remember. No emotion, only the numbing backness. My body trying to protect itself from the pain. I would tell them I was fine and hide it behind a smile and sense of humor. Thank God I have a sense of humor because nothing about any of it was really funny. Thick air creeping in on me. Throat clamping down. Trying to stop the emotion. Stop the cries. I want to scream. I want everyone to know what I'm feeling and what I've been through. My mind thinks of all the other people and how they have their own problems to deal with. Some of which are much, much worse. I have no right to complain. No right to hurt as much as I do. Suck it up and keep going. Most are not able to understand. No one can help. Alone. Just as alone as that little girl on the couch waiting for an ambulance. Waiting for death to come. Waiting for change that she's not ready for. Scared and alone as if in outer space and there's a malfunction. No one's coming to help. No one can come and help. They can't hear her scream. She never opens her mouth. She sits silently and waits in the dark. Too young to know how to help. Too scared to think beyond the moment. It's dark, but quiet. Peaceful yet chaotic. In the silence of the night there is no sound to indicate she's even aware on the outside. Darkness is the worst. Must stay awake and alert. Won't catch me off guard.

The Funeral

Numb. I can't feel anything. Or I don't know how I feel. Or I feel too much. I don't know. I just can't tell anymore. I want to scream and cry, but I find myself sitting in the back of the church calmer than anyone else. At the front there are two containers, two pictures, one parent. I can't bring myself to join him at the front. Can't bring myself to believe........ He's standing now to say his last words. Last words to my children..... our children. They were so young. My hands are shaking and my chest hurts. It's crawling up into my throat and my vision is beginning to blur. They were everything to me. I remember bringing her home from the hospital. My first child. My daughter. So headstrong even at birth. She wasn't going to wait for her due date and because of that Daddy wasn't there. It was just my mom and myself, breathing through contractions, waiting for her arrival. The first week was cloud nine. I had never been so happy, had never felt so peaceful. We ate, we slept, we stared at each other. I did nothing else. At one and a half she wanted to do everything her self, so I let her. She loved experiencing life and people. She taught herself to write at three and was reading fluently soon after. She spent most of her time in her room reading or learning all that she could. And a temper! Ohhhh what a temper at times. She would try to argue us into the ground. She wanted to travel and help people. I remember his face. His smile. He took his time coming to us and was a week late. After Daddy left for the night I held him in the dark room with only one small light to see his face by. I said his name and he smiled at me as if he suddenly realized I was the face that went with the voice he had been hearing all that time and it made him happy. He cried all the time and never seemed full. He had trouble sleeping and would only sleep for about 20 minutes at a time. I thought I would never sleep again. He had trouble gaining weight and the doctor blamed me for not feeding him enough even though he ate all the time. A second opinion said he looked just fine. His sleep problems continued into his childhood. Night terrors and hospital stays because of asthma and pneumonia. But he was so full of life. When he wasn't sick he would jump all over the place, saving the world everyday, always with a smile. He would sit with me and hug his blankie...... hug me. He was shy when people would first meet him, but once he warmed up to you he was the sweetest boy. He defended his friends, protected those smaller than him even though he was so small himself. He wanted to be a Jedi. There was a car accident. An SUV hit us broad side. I saw it coming as I went through the intersection. Our light was green, but there it was steaming towards us as if lights didn't matter. It was too late to floor it, too late to stop, too late for anything. It was like it chose us. They said I was flung from the car, but I was wearing my seatbelt. The car caught fire. There were people standing around and no one pulled them from the car. They just let them burn. They said there was no one inside that they could see, just me on the ground unconscious but unhurt. I think I remember seeing the car on fire. I feel like I'm forgetting something whenever I try to remember it properly. People look back at me as he walks to the pulpit. I see blame in several eyes. They blame me. It was late and they blame me for being out that late. The driver of the SUV ran off leaving us there and there weren't many other people out and it was my fault because I was such a night owl and I had them out that late. He's breaking inside. Everyone is. Why can I not feel anything? Why can I not believe they are gone? Wouldn't I know if they were really gone? Wouldn't I have felt them leave this earth just as I felt it when they came to be in it. I always knew I was pregnant before the tests could show it. I knew she would be a girl and that he would be a boy. Shouldn't I know that they were gone? It doesn't feel like they are gone. They are not here with me, but I feel as if someone has taken them and I need to get them back. I had a dream two nights ago of my son. He was screaming for me and I couldn't get to him, but I told him I was coming for him, that I would find him. They keep telling me they're gone and that they're not coming back. They've gone to be with the Lord. Then why was he scared? They tell me I'm in shock and that it's the first stage of grief. Everyone has moved into the other stages while I'm stuck in shock. A therapist said it was survivor's guilt and next week he'll try to get me to move past it. Finally I feel it. A tear falls and slides down my cheek. They're not here with me and I need to get them back, but everyone says they're not coming back. No one will help me. I'm shaking more and more tears fall and then a sob rips my throat. They were everything to me. My mind breaks open and it's screaming their names, searching the blackness for them, willing them to answer. I can't sit there anymore and I'm running out of the church, through the double doors, into the parking lot, mind screaming. I want to run that way, but a hand grabs my shoulder before I can move. My mom asking me if I'm okay. ' Mom' my mind says, but it's not my voice. I hear her calling me. My daughter is calling me. My eyes go wide. My mom says nothing, but her eyes seem to know. She hugs me and I begin to cry because she knows.