Sad and worried old woman (Photo credit: SalFalko)
Sitting on my bed, logy, tired but I can’t sleep, nauseous but I can’t eat, I force myself to drink ice water. I make attempts to go out just to leave the house for a few minutes but all it does is make me appreciate my air conditioning at home. I don’t do anything worthwhile at home, I’m certainly not baking, cooking, turning on the oven or otherwise doing anything useful. I have done my laundry but it is cool in the basement and that is my incentive.
I don’t care about anything, am I depressed? Sure, a little. The other side is am I happy? Heck, no. Still, there are no strong feelings anywhere inside me, good or bad, I lack affect and interest. I can’t even blame my Fibromyalgia or my auto-immune illness (Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis) on this, sure they make me tired but I don’t think they make me blue. The fact that my husband has been down, lacking energy, and very tired has not helped, I am worried about him. I’m sure we feed off each other but I know I will feel a little better if he is alright physically. Men have a hard time admitting their feelings, trust me, he is no different. I just think I am more persistent and as my children call me a “touchy- feely person.”
Books, my passion, pile up and remain unread. This is unheard of for me. I am not afraid, I am not anxious, I am not in a deep depression or a feeling high. I’m just sitting, on my bed, pecking at the computers keys, like a woodpecker on a tree or a house, repetitive, sometimes annoying, it’s just a thing they do, over and over again in the background, like me.
Cottage in the Woods with Bluebonnets (Photo credit: Bill Gracey)
I want to slap people, well, not really. I’m disappointed in people: in general and specifically and now there is nobody I want to be around except my auburn colored dog, Lexi. It’s not as if anyone has done something horrendous but it seems a lot of people (okay, women my age) are going through a lot of “something-something” (as my friend Barbara would say) at the same time. Kind of a later mid-life crisis for women, different from when we turned 30 or even 40. This is worse, this is mid-life crisis on steroids or acid, maybe both.
Yup, I said it. First I just felt cranky and after a bit, I felt lonely. All along I thought those words were antonyms when in fact, they feel like synonyms today, they are definitely connected. I could blame these moods on a lot of things, certainly the beastly weather. This unbearable heat and humidity for the last week has everybody miserable but I think I would be doing myself a disservice. I’m not sure that answer would be entirely honest. It definitely has an impact on how I feel physically, Fibromyalgia Flare-Ups, IBS, not sleeping well, feeling out of sorts, all are true, but there’s definitely an emotional component as well.
I want to crawl and hide someplace where no one can find me. I want to be on a path, in the woods where I can find my peace, in Nature where nobody will hurt me, I trust animals, I don’t trust people; not anyone. Everyone’s history has its secrets, its shame, hurt, heartbreak. In nature there is innocence, love, and peacefulness. I want to move to a little red cottage in the woods somewhere where nobody can hurt me. Again.
Today is July 4th and here is one time where I want to be social and go to a barbecue. The one family who intimated they wanted us to come over apparently forgot, changed their minds or life got in their way. We’re not invited to anyone’s barbecue basically because every year my husband and I host the barbecue ( Thanksgiving, parties etc). I’m tired of being taken advantage of and being the one that hosts the numerous meals for friends and my family. I’m right here, I’m not invisible, look at me. It doesn’t have to be fancy, it could be a pizza on paper plates, it’s the effort and the manners and the feeling of being wanted. I’m both cranky and and lonely, it’s a tough combination.
I told everyone at the last big gathering that “I’m now on strike.” So while I am fantasizing about a Hebrew National hot dog, sizzling on the grill, plumped to perfection and lying in a soft bun covered with mustard, I will be here trying to forget other people’s broken promises and talking myself down from being way too sensitive. Everything is alright, I have to make it alright, I have no choice.
There is only one thing that is a guaranteed fix. Works every time. (No, NOT drugs or alcohol ) The one movie I love more than life itself: The Sound Of Music. It fixes me, I can’t resist singing every song (knowing every word to every song) and relaxing while watching it. So, today while you are eating S’mores and drinking beer, sweating in the horrendous heat and humidity, I’ll be here, on my bed, in air-conditioned splendor singing along with Maria and the Von Trapp Family Singers with my dog Lexi, on my lap.
the stars around us
long ago i sat under the stars now seems like ive been sittin here under this tree for all my life. all my life 
and nothin’s changed. i sit here in the morning, at night, don’t matter. someone asked me if i was happy, what the hell she mean by happy. i don’t know what happy means no more, can’t feel it, can’t remember it,cant taste it. but not sure i remember real sad neither. i sit in my chair under my tree, yes in deed that is my tree just watching and listening to the Lord to see if the Lord wants me to come Home or not or if i should just stay on here. im not surprised by nothing, no more.
why should I be? seen too much destruction in my home, too much sadness and pain, you know nothing about me so dont judge me, little boy. what do you think you know, something better? well you dont. i had it all too once, yup, me and my friends who used to live down the street, we all had us some good jobs and on friday nights we would take us out with our gals and we would have us a fine night, eatin dinner out, dancin under the stars and smokey playing the guitar, me on the haermonica. everyone else laughing and drummin, the beer and wine flowed an we didnt care that we was drinkin from paper cups, why that was like china crystal for us, we didnt know better and we didnt care neitther. nothing was more important to us than doing an honest days work, being with family, eating all together with friends and looking at the stars around us. why that was the most beautiful picture of them all.
you dont need a lot of money for beauty, thats what i’m trying to tell u but a little money, yeah, that does help. I got none now, none, not for lack of trying, but sooner or later you just bury those dreams and give up cuz no one care about you anymore and you feel the same way. i dont care about me no more, i eat whats other peoples leftovers are, i crawl around at night, i cant walk quick no more, but i can get around with the cane i made myself so i get scraps here an there, i share them sometimes. i dont care about eating, no more tho i used to, have my pots and pans still, little stove. i don’t use them much.
i just sit, waiting, just in case someone visits, i even got an extra chair beside me but i know, it stays empty, and thats just alright, juz fine by me. i had that love once, i dont get entitled to a second round mized up my life with the wrong people and too much drinkin. so now i sit alone, i know no one is coming round to see me, i know that chair besides mine is gonna be empty till the day they carry me out from here, stone cold dead.
English: The Circle of Life. Ceiling fresco in the main hall of the Natural History Museum, Vienna. Deutsch: Der Kreislauf des Lebens. Deckenfresko im Hauptgebäude des Naturhistorischen Museums Wien. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Age doesn’t matter, they are the sons and daughters of people whose names I know. They live in my town, three of these precious children have died in the last year. As I have said many times before, no parent should have to bury their child. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair, it’s unnatural. Worst of all when they choose to end their lives on purpose, how can you deal with that, how to go on?
The parents have all tried to do the right thing. Their children have gone to numerous programs, counseling, tough love, nurturing love, medication, psychiatrists, psychologists, special programs, rehab, AA, etc. but they have fallen again and again from some unknown evil and ill part inside them that they cannot control.
Who is to blame? No one, I imagine. I’m sure that most parents will do whatever it takes to help them. I have a friend, however, who has done so much for so long, he cannot do anything anymore for his eighteen year old son. Sometimes there is a limit for the parents too. This boy has been through every program imaginable and yet he still wants to destroy things, set houses on fire, do dangerous drugs, put his own life at risk. He too, will be a statistic one day, he does not want anyone to stop him, he has made that clear. It’s like watching a black and white movie in slow motion, backwards. Violence will be involved in some way, I fear. It will not have a happy ending.
Are the adolescents to blame? They are almost adults, around the ages of seventeen to eighteen. Do we blame them for going back to lives filled with “the wrong crowd” drugs, alcohol, mischief? Yes, but we blame ourselves too…We should have done this or that but truly we did everything, heard everything that they allowed us to see. They have crossed the line many times before, how do you know which will be the last phone call, the last time you see them?
The last call you get from the police, the one that makes you bend forward and grasp your knees and fall to the floor, sobbing hysterically. Yes, that kind of crying. That kind of misery, pain, sadness that saws your limbs in half one by one, slowly. You only know how it feels if you have been through it. A friend of mine committed suicide in junior high, I heard about it on the school bus. I remember it vividly.
Don’t you see? The best is yet to come. Any other day will be better than this one. Take my hand, take anybody’s hand and hold on, one finger touching lightly like a butterfly’s kiss or a strong handshake whose strength will never let you get away. Let’s start like that. You will always have one friend that is on your side.
If you are even considering taking your life step back. Step back now. We stand here as broken people, parents, family, friends who will never be whole again because others before you gave up or thought they couldn’t do better or thought falsely that nobody cared. It’s a lie, all of it. We ALL care, even if we don’t know you, even if we have not met, we care enough to think about you and your family we know that your life is worth living. The best is yet to be, there is promise in the world, there is hope that tomorrow will be better. It couldn’t be worse, right? Please don’t quit today, call a friend, hug your dog, take a walk, tell your mom you’re scared, I’m sure she is twice as scared as you are. Try to hang on, NO, promise. Just do that much. To me, it would mean the world.
alone (Photo credit: dragonflaiii)
Not having a good thyroid-fibromyalgia-hashimoto’s thyroiditis day. That’s the thing with these stupid chronic, auto-immune, thyroid diseases, you can feel great one day and like crappy crackers the next. I knew it, I jinxed myself with that Pollyanna positive post a few days ago. I am aching all over, and for once, I even made an effort to go outside to do an errand instead of surrendering to my soft pink fleece blanket and baby blue down comforter that were inviting me to stay in bed. I’m back in there now, its night-time and I just pulled on my old mint green night-shirt, from Victoria’s Secret, (so huge and not sexy) that has snowflakes on it and I’m cranky. I posted a comment on a website before where other people were moaning and groaning about how they felt and I just joined in with them because sometimes you need a break. They understood how I was feeling and that is exactly what I wanted.
Did it cure my aches and pains? No. Did it make my sluggishness disappear? Of course not. Will it banish my throbbing headache? No. But, it gave me an outlet just like this, to vent because sometimes that’s all you have left. I am here with a spouse who is watching football downstairs and who does NOT HEAR me, our kids are in college drinking beer and cheap vodka, old friends have deserted us, and we are getting older by the minute.
I’m feeling lonely or alone, maybe both and the only things keeping me company now are the tears welling up in my eyes and my dog. I’m tired but I know, feeling this way, I couldn’t fall asleep and it’s too damn early anyway, it’s not even 9:00 PM. I’d be up cruising my little cottage at 2:00AM if I went to bed now. I’m just in a funk, maybe I’m having a pity party, that’s alright too. I don’t know and I don’t care. It will, most probably, only last a few hours so I will soothe myself with music, darn, I wish I liked wine but I hate it, beer too. I don’t want to go on a food binge, that got me into deep trouble the other night, it was not pretty. All I can say is: Baked Lays (sour cream and onion) Jarlsberg cheese and crackers, toast with butter and honey, a Ring Ding, canned pears in heavy syrup and that’s all after dinner. It was not a pretty sight.
No more eating, no more eyes tearing, still have a headache and my face feels like a sledgehammer has taken up residence in my brain. Things don’t stay the same, it will get better or it will get worse. I really don’t know which way it will go. 50/50 at best. Hey, we all have these days and nights, we have no choice. If we didn’t have the bad, I guess we wouldn’t appreciate the good, at least that’s what I’ve heard.
Accident on an Icy Road (Photo credit: born1945)
Frozen breath, standing
ice, painful, purple digits
Drill me from the car.
*
Crying, storms, blackness
hidden away, my heart bleeds
Waiting for your soul.
*
Tumble, tenderly
Alone, huddled with children
Until you found me.
English: Women with Broken Heart (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I am not just a sad woman, I am a bereft child who is sobbing in the shower,
clinging to the metallic shower handle so I don’t collapse.
I thought I knew myself,
I’m surprised, ashamed, disappointed
pompous me, I was fine, I said.
I had received “messages” from my dad from the other side and they did comfort me.
That was then, this is now. It’s the night of THE DAY. He died, eleven years ago at 10:20pm.
It surprises me every year when I think I have everything under control,
Ugh, Rubbish.
These raw emotions find me, sneak up on me, reopening bloody, sore wounds
as if I was being stabbed right through the heart, anew.
The hairy monsters that used to hide in my closets when I was young
don’t have a daddy to tell me all is well. Never again, is hard to take.
I want to curl up in the fetal position and cover myself with soft, blue blankets and blankets reaching to the sky.
I want to see no one
but I have my own family now and I want them to have their own happiness.
We will go together for an early dinner, the kids will move on to their parties,
and I will come back home, begging for tomorrow to come.
Volkswagen Beetle (Photo credit: stephenhanafin)
On the way to Target by pure instinct alone, I call out “Punch Buggy” when I see a Volkswagon Beetle. I KNOW it’s stupid, I KNOW no one else is in the car but still, I do it. While I get a teeny tiny bit of pleasure, it isn’t as much fun as when my husband is there and we both call it and then childishly say “but we are not playing.” You have to like us if not love us, it’s the little things that matter; we’ve been married almost 24 years, so we must be doing something right. You have to reinvent yourselves with silly, childish games and you know what, it seems to work.
While at Target, I still go to the first two discount aisles where they have little kids things on sale for a dollar each. My children are eighteen years old and twenty. Come on, don’t I know that by now? I am certainly not buying beer magnets or obnoxious T-shits (okay, I did that once) but generally I have good judgment. However, according to my kids I am ridiculously old-fashioned and the fact that I dislike every type of alcohol known to humanity (except for the occasional mimosa when my in-laws are in town) is beyond uncool, it’s just plain wrong. Why am I still looking at the dollar aisle, do I think they need little presents for their “goodie bags?” My children are allowed to vote. Move on, mom.
I still go to the teen boy aisle where they have the obnoxious boy T-shirts that my son used to live for, when he was about ten. Why do I still go there? HE wouldn’t be could dead wearing something stupid now. He has even passed the entire T-shirt phase altogether. He wears button downed shirts, with his sleeves rolled up, maybe a plain, white T-shirt underneath. He likes to look nicer now. Where happened to my son? Who did he learn his new style from or for whom did he learn his new style?
My daughter has had her own sense of style since she was just about born. As soon as she was old enough to dress herself, she did. What I put out for her was replaced by whatever color/ stripe combination or completely purple outfit that she wanted. I never fought with her, except for one school picture and after that traumatic experience and glum expression I let her choose what she wanted to wear any and every day. I lovingly remember her wearing her sky blue, long, Cinderella dress to her nursery school graduation, with my parents and husband in attendance. She felt like a princess (always) and dressed accordingly. To this day, she gives me advice and when she asks me my opinion on something I feel honored. A friend of the family went over to our daughter, when she was 3 or 3 1/2 and said “You look so pretty in that dress” and our daughter’s response was “I know dat.” Meet our girl.
There were times when both kids were living at home and my husband was here all the time that I would long for a day of alone time, peace and harmony. Today was that day. My husband was visiting his parents and both kids are now in college. I could do whatever I wanted to do and you know what? For the first time, I missed my husband. I hate to admit it but I didn’t like eating my crummy slice of tasteless pizza by myself. It was a chore and it wasn’t relaxing. The entire day seemed lonely when before I craved the quiet like a crystal meth addict craves her drug. Times change, people change, be open to it, new things will always happen and surprise you. In time, you will always adjust. You have no other choice.
Yellow tulips Deutsch: Gelbe Tulpen (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Mother’s Day, like Father’s Day is not necessarily a happy holiday. Either holiday is miserable and sad for MANY people. My dad passed away nine years ago and I still head to the card section in June every single year. I miss him, it’s hard not to have a living or nice parent or a child on either of these holidays and people are often insensitive. So when I say Happy Mother’s Day, I include pet owners, aunts and uncles and women who love others.
For my Mother’s Day my daughter gave me a bunch of yellow tulips, a very sweet card and the stomach flu. I know she didn’t give me the flu on purpose but yesterday as I kept running for paper towels and bringing her buckets I figured I had a good shot at getting something. So far, my husband is safe. Our son is still in college and will be back this week, he sent a very loving card.
I took my mother to brunch this morning even though I felt horrible and could barely eat a bite. It’s not in me to cancel and I wasn’t feeling that bad in the morning. Mothers know, of course, and she asked me what was wrong, I just wasn’t hungry as I excused myself to the bathroom a couple of times. I didn’t want my mother to be alone on Mother’s day and the setting we had picked was beautiful. The food? So-so. The scrambled eggs were stone cold, (I admit it, I complained) and there were various breads, muffins, slices of turkey, pasta salad, fruit and chocolate and vanilla cake. I could eat none of it.
I dragged myself home in my car, not wasting time to get gas, which I sorely needed, headed quickly for the highway. I longed to put on my soft green v-neck tee-shirt and crawl into bed. I e-mailed my husband to cancel the reservations (that I had made) at a local restaurant for my own Mother’s Day celebration. The truth of the matter was I felt so sick I didn’t want to go, my son was not yet home from college and there was no reason to force ourselves to go out because of the name of a day.
I’ve been in bed all day, my dinner consisted of an American cheese sandwich and a can of Diet Vanilla Coke. Mother’s Day can wait until I feel better and together. That’s the thing about Mother’s Day, it is a commercial holiday that I buy into every year for my mom because I want to acknowledge her, she deserves it and I don’t know how many more years we will have together.
Apparently, after I left, she was home alone when a mutual friend called her and she was sobbing and feeling “very sorry for herself.” You can’t make people happy all the time, no matter what; Mom missed my dad, she felt very alone and she is getting older. She made a remark about “how many more years would she still be my mother?” which concerned me but it’s natural too; she’s a young 85. For that reason alone, I wanted to be with her today.
I can’t solve all her problems, like she can’t solve all of mine. I could just attempt to make her morning a bit nicer, a little less lonely, even when I wanted to stay in bed. I’m saying good-night to Mother’s Day by sitting on the couch with my hubby, sipping on flat Coke with crushed ice and munching quite happily on ginger snaps watching the Survivor Finale.
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