I've learned over the years that sometimes silence is the best answer to whatever is bothering me. It doesn't always work, and it sometimes even backfires, but sometimes it is the best thing. I've put things out there too many times and have had my heart stomped on too many times to reveal too much to any one person. The only person I've ever told all of my secrets to went crazy. How is that suppose to make me feel? I tend to keep things to myself.
I can't tell my sister what's bothering me because she's too wrapped up in herself right now to listen to anything. I don't blame her for being focused on herself because she's got a lot on her plate. I certainly wouldn't want to be in her shoes. Really, I'm not sure that I'd ever be in her shoes. I am so different from her. I live in a different world than she does. Sometimes I try to venture into her reality, but I wouldn't last long there. I think I'd be eaten alive.
It's not that my world is so easy. I honestly believe that I live more in reality than she does, but we see things so differently. The main difference is that I believe in something (she calls it faith and equates faith with religion and equates religion with church and relates church with Catholic.) She claims that she believes in science and that if I believe in science I can't (or shouldn't) believe in God. She also believes that if I believe that Jesus is the Son of God that I am a Christian. I believe that Jesus is God, but I am not a Christian. I understand Christianity, but do not claim it as mine. I can't set limits on God; that is not my right. I accept God and truly believe. I do not disregard anyone's beliefs; I just don't want anyone to put limits on mine.
Hmm...I have tried to explain my views on religion, God, faith, belief many times before. I think this is the closest I've come so far...
Monday, September 27, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
S is for Sorrow
I remember when my dog was old and dying. She had been my companion, best friend, from the beginning. I couldn't remember her not being there. She was with me everywhere and slept with me every night. I knew she understood me in a way noone else did; I told her everything. But when she was dying, when her time was ending, I couldn't be around her. I made my mom take her to bed with her. I couldn't watch her die. I gave them the blanket they wrapped her in to bury her, but I wouldn't see her. She's with me still, in my dreams. My God, that's over 30 years ago and it feels like yesterday.
Death isn't easy for me to deal with. I have finally accepted it as a part of living, that it's there. I've dealt with many deaths: Grandparents, friends. I've avoided many deaths, too. My best friend lost her brother and neice, but I couldn't be there for her. I'm lost with things like that. It hit too close to home. My father is dying, he has alzheimer's, and I fear my mother won't be far behind. When I was living in the same town as them I was the care taker. I was living a morbid life; putting everything on hold waiting for them to die. I couldn't do that anymore, because of my son. He needs to be able to live, and there we were just waiting. So we moved. Not far away, but far enough for it to be a journey to get there.
Now I feel like it's my dog all over again. I don't want to see them. It's so hard to go back because everytime I do they've changed so much. I feel so guilty because this is my Mom, my father; but it hurts so much to see them old. I have friends who have lost their parents; how do they go on? I am lost.
Death isn't easy for me to deal with. I have finally accepted it as a part of living, that it's there. I've dealt with many deaths: Grandparents, friends. I've avoided many deaths, too. My best friend lost her brother and neice, but I couldn't be there for her. I'm lost with things like that. It hit too close to home. My father is dying, he has alzheimer's, and I fear my mother won't be far behind. When I was living in the same town as them I was the care taker. I was living a morbid life; putting everything on hold waiting for them to die. I couldn't do that anymore, because of my son. He needs to be able to live, and there we were just waiting. So we moved. Not far away, but far enough for it to be a journey to get there.
Now I feel like it's my dog all over again. I don't want to see them. It's so hard to go back because everytime I do they've changed so much. I feel so guilty because this is my Mom, my father; but it hurts so much to see them old. I have friends who have lost their parents; how do they go on? I am lost.
Saturday, September 25, 2010
S is for Sucks
I am sitting at home, alone, as usual. Thinking... Feeling sorry for myself mostly. I have been thinking how much my life sucks! I am living in a house, not my own, that is in foreclosure. I have nothing to speak of... Actually, that's not true. I have my son who is 14 and in his first year of high school. He's who I've been thinking of mostly...
...Almost 15 years ago I was living with his father. A great man, really, with a very lost soul. In the beginning he was my saviour, my hero. He stayed by my side during one of the worst times in my life. He kept me safe when everyone I loved and trusted turned their backs on me; gave up on me. My own family and my church, my friends would have nothing to do with me. But there he was. Even when his family told him to stay away from me, he didn't. I loved him and he loved me. A beautiful man, a good man. I honestly believe that when you truly love someone that love never goes away. I mourn for him, and grieve for him even to this day.
He and I were together for 5 years. I was young and he was my first love. I was nervous and jealous and neurotic. How could this man love me? And how long will this last? I was everything that I had seen in other women that I hated. I couldn't stop myself; I kept waiting for the other boot to fall. And it did.
About 2, 2 and a half years after we'd been together the voices started. He'd gone to his home town for some festival and came back convinced that people were talking about him. I thought it was just something that would pass, some phase he'd get over. But it didn't, and he didn't. Pretty soon the television had to be covered because they were watching him and talking about him. They had bugged our house and were talking about him on the streets. Cryptic messages appeared on the walls and slowly my belongings were being destroyed. I was afraid to go home, but afraid to stay away. My counselor said something about schizophrenia and psychotic break. I didn't want to believe her, but in my heart I knew she was right.
I called his brother and asked him to help. He called his parents and they took him to a hospital. They kept him for a 72 hour hold, but had to release him because he wasn't a danger to himself or others. I remember commenting to the doctor, "So he either has to try to off himself or off me before he can get help." He replied, "Yes." His parents have asked me many times how could I have stayed with him for so long? I've asked myself that, too. I loved him. He stayed with me when things were the darkest; how could I leave?
I stayed for as long as I could. I lived with the t.v. covered and a sheet on the wall to disguise the messages he'd written and my Christmas decorations impaled in the wall. I had gotten rid of his gun but still slept with one eye opened. The day I decided to leave was the worst. We'd been arguing and I thought it was over. I was using the bathroom and he came in and spit on me. I knew then that I was no longer safe and he couldn't control himself any more. I called my Aunt and told her I needed to get out. She came and got me. He cried.
15 years later and I still feel guilty for that.
It was just before Thanksgiving when I left. My story has always been that I was pregnant before I left. I lied. I went back to see him after Christmas to see how he was. I was worried. I brought him some things, food and stuff. He was having a good day; the voices were quiet. I thought the man I loved was gone, but that day there he was. I made the decision then to be with him one last time. I knew I would never have him again and I wanted, needed something to hold on to. I know it sounds strange, but I knew I would get pregnant. I had only been off the pill for a couple of weeks, but I knew.
I took 3 pregnancy tests. All were positive. My doctor said there was no way I could know so soon, but when she took the test in her office there it was, positive. It wasn't until she confirmed it that the doubts entered my mind. At first I was happy, relieved even. But when it was officially confirmed I started doubting my decision. Questions started popping into my head. What right do I have to bring a child into this world with so many strikes against her? (I was having a girl because I wouldn't know how to raise a boy.) Her father was mentally ill, every other person on both sides of her family were alcoholics. Those doubts were there, but what right did I have to end someone else's life.
...Almost 15 years ago I was living with his father. A great man, really, with a very lost soul. In the beginning he was my saviour, my hero. He stayed by my side during one of the worst times in my life. He kept me safe when everyone I loved and trusted turned their backs on me; gave up on me. My own family and my church, my friends would have nothing to do with me. But there he was. Even when his family told him to stay away from me, he didn't. I loved him and he loved me. A beautiful man, a good man. I honestly believe that when you truly love someone that love never goes away. I mourn for him, and grieve for him even to this day.
He and I were together for 5 years. I was young and he was my first love. I was nervous and jealous and neurotic. How could this man love me? And how long will this last? I was everything that I had seen in other women that I hated. I couldn't stop myself; I kept waiting for the other boot to fall. And it did.
About 2, 2 and a half years after we'd been together the voices started. He'd gone to his home town for some festival and came back convinced that people were talking about him. I thought it was just something that would pass, some phase he'd get over. But it didn't, and he didn't. Pretty soon the television had to be covered because they were watching him and talking about him. They had bugged our house and were talking about him on the streets. Cryptic messages appeared on the walls and slowly my belongings were being destroyed. I was afraid to go home, but afraid to stay away. My counselor said something about schizophrenia and psychotic break. I didn't want to believe her, but in my heart I knew she was right.
I called his brother and asked him to help. He called his parents and they took him to a hospital. They kept him for a 72 hour hold, but had to release him because he wasn't a danger to himself or others. I remember commenting to the doctor, "So he either has to try to off himself or off me before he can get help." He replied, "Yes." His parents have asked me many times how could I have stayed with him for so long? I've asked myself that, too. I loved him. He stayed with me when things were the darkest; how could I leave?
I stayed for as long as I could. I lived with the t.v. covered and a sheet on the wall to disguise the messages he'd written and my Christmas decorations impaled in the wall. I had gotten rid of his gun but still slept with one eye opened. The day I decided to leave was the worst. We'd been arguing and I thought it was over. I was using the bathroom and he came in and spit on me. I knew then that I was no longer safe and he couldn't control himself any more. I called my Aunt and told her I needed to get out. She came and got me. He cried.
15 years later and I still feel guilty for that.
It was just before Thanksgiving when I left. My story has always been that I was pregnant before I left. I lied. I went back to see him after Christmas to see how he was. I was worried. I brought him some things, food and stuff. He was having a good day; the voices were quiet. I thought the man I loved was gone, but that day there he was. I made the decision then to be with him one last time. I knew I would never have him again and I wanted, needed something to hold on to. I know it sounds strange, but I knew I would get pregnant. I had only been off the pill for a couple of weeks, but I knew.
I took 3 pregnancy tests. All were positive. My doctor said there was no way I could know so soon, but when she took the test in her office there it was, positive. It wasn't until she confirmed it that the doubts entered my mind. At first I was happy, relieved even. But when it was officially confirmed I started doubting my decision. Questions started popping into my head. What right do I have to bring a child into this world with so many strikes against her? (I was having a girl because I wouldn't know how to raise a boy.) Her father was mentally ill, every other person on both sides of her family were alcoholics. Those doubts were there, but what right did I have to end someone else's life.
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