Barking Mad

Leaving on a Jet Plane...Part III - And She Takes to the Air!

Here we are...there she is.

We made it through Meg's departure for BMT (Basic Military Training) with the USAF.  The past couple of days have been more hectic than anything I can recall in recent months.  Even more so than last year when she left for college.

There was so much that went into this moment for her, but I'll start with the last 12-24 hours leading up to her getting on the airplane and flying off into the wild blue yonder.

Monday afternoon Meg had to report to her NCO's office for her last DEP (Delayed Entry Program, which she was part of) check in.  Sgt. Lebreck prepared her for the hell that the first few days of BMT were going to be like.  He also spoke directly to us and warned us to just sit tight because we wouldn't hear from her for the first week to 10 days.  She was going to have to earn the privilege to call home and with that phone call would come her address, where we could write to her.  

Sgt. Lebreck also told Meg that her first day there would be one in a string of about three weeks of solid hell, but would probably be the longest. 

 

From Sgt. Lebreck's office we had to take Meg to the hotel she was required to check into the night before her final processing and swearing in, at the Portland MEPS office.   We spent the evening with Meg, Matt, Meg's boyfriend Tyler and her best friend Chris.  She had to be back at the hotel by curfew, so after dinner we dropped her off and told her we'd meet her at the MEPS station early the next morning.

We texted for a while until she fell asleep. I didn't think she'd get too much sleep and either did she but she ended up being able to sleep from about 11PM until the MEPS guys came and woke her up at 4AM.  I got up at 4AM as well because I couldn't sleep for thinking about everything she was going through.

All of us (Gareth, me, Gaby, Matt, Tyler and Chris) showed up at the MEPS station around 8AM and were waiting for her to finish security processing and for her name to be called for her "official"  Oath of Enlistment.  It differed from when she swore in back in May because this time because back then, she was simply swearing into the DEP (Delayed Entry Program) and not signing her name in blood so to speak.  Technically, anytime between then and now she could have walked away from the USAF with no issues, however yesterday once she signed her final contract and then took her Oath, that was it.  She is now technically and literally property of the United States Government.

All through the day I would watch Meg's best friend's face, off and on.  He's next to go into the USAF.  His ship date is January 19th.  Chris is a very unique and special young man.  He's become like an older brother to Meg, although they are the same age.  Where one is, you'll often find the other.  He's been a constant around our house over the last few months.  Gaby refers to Chris as "My bruver from anuver muvver!"  He's got a younger sister who's just a year shy of Gaby and I really love listening to him talk about his little sister, Abigail, and watching his eyes light up as he talks about this or that - that she's done lately.  I can imagine how hard it's going to be for him to say goodbye to her, as it was for Meg to hug  Gaby goodbye...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

The earlier part of yesterday at the MEPS station was pretty much nothing more than "hurry up and wait" as Meg's flight time got bumped back from 1:10PM to 4:10PM.  

Tyler and Meg, just hanging out and waiting at the MEPS visitor area...

 

They finally called Meg's name and asked for her and her guests to go to the Oath room where we were able to watch her be sworn in...

 

 

  

 

 

Once she was sworn in they let the parents of those who were shipping out take our airmen outside of the MEPS center to get some breakfast and just spend some time with them before they were due to go through their travel briefing at 11:45AM.  We took the kids down to the wharf along the Portland waterfront and had breakfast.  I'm so grateful for those extra few hours with our girl.  I know that her flight being pushed back made her day even longer, but for those of us who were there with her, we will always cherish those last few silly and precious hours before she took to the air.

After breakfast we dropped the kids off at the MEPS center and told them we'd meet them at the airport.  Meg forgot to pack a towel with her stuff and it was one of the items she was told to bring with her to BMT.  So we ran back to the house and grabbed a towel and by the time we were done she was already at the airport.

One of the benefits of having a child who is now referred to as on "Active Duty" (I will admit that just saying those words takes a little getting used to), is that we were given security passes at the airport to wait at the gate with Meg.

It was a little surreal, sitting up there with the families of other kids getting ready to ship out.  All of us were pretty subdued.  I sat back as Gaby played with her posse of Polly Pockets and watched the other families talk quietly with their own airmen, or new Naval trainees (I don't know what the rest of the branches of the military call their new recruits), Marines and Army recruits.  One Navy recruit in particular had about 10 family members with her.  I watched as she'd scoot in close to a family member and snap a picture with them on her Blackberry.  I'd watch the grandparents of another new recruit quietly tell stories of their own time during service to our wonderful country.  I sat and intently watched the father of one of Meg's fellow airmen, dab his eyes as he looked on with pride at his son as he followed in his footsteps.

I watched Meg closely.  I followed her gaze as she'd look at her twin brother, or I'd catch her eyes well up as she watched Gaby play with her toys.  She'd look up from time to time and catch Tyler watching her every move.  I watched Tyler try to reign in his emotions and be strong for his girl...this woman he loves with all this heart.  I scanned Matt's face and watched the tears flow anew as he'd look at his twin sister.  This has been particularly hard on Matt.  He's so proud of his sister but yet misses her with an intensity that's hard to describe. 

I captured a few moments of the "waiting" as we all sat and counted the minutes until her flight number was called to board. 

 

Most of us were on our cell phones, updating Facebook, or Twitter, or texting one another.  I was trying to write down some of the feelings I had as I watched this young woman before me morph from the little girl with long pony tails who loved to chase her brothers with frogs and bugs, into the headstrong teenager who claimed to be a tomboy but whose love of makeup and perfume and body lotion is legendary, to this young woman who now sat before me - this butterfly about to spread her wings for the first time and prepare to show the world her beautiful colors.  I found words hard to come by.  So I just captured moments here and here of these jewels in my crown...my children.

 

 

 

 

Then it happened.  Her flight was called and it was time for hugs, kisses, promises to write, wishes of good luck, and final words or encouragement and support.  And tears.  Oh how the tears flowed and flowed.

I hugged her close and told her how proud I was to call myself her mother and that for every moment of struggle we'd had, those were eclipsed by the moments where I could burst at the seams with pride for my gorgeous girl. I kissed her cheek and told her to go and show the world who she was.

I cried as I watched Gareth's eyes fill with tears as he told Meg to g'on, make herself proud and do her best and he embraced her.  Despite being her step-father, he considers Meg his daughter.  He loves her as if she were his own and as I watched him hug her, I filled with an ever-deepening love for this man. Step-parenting is hard.  It's oh-so-very difficult at times.  He's done a keen job of perfecting the art of parent and friend to her at the times she's needed it the most.

Watching Meg say goodbye to Tyler was hard, but probably not as hard as it was for them to experience it. 

 

And then before I knew it, Meg was standing in line, ready to board the plane.  So many thoughts and emotions swirled around in my head. The tears flowed freely as I'd given up containing them and trying to hold them back.  I could hear Gaby softly crying behind me and calling out Meg's name.  I watched Tyler stick his hands in his pocket and pull his chin up...being strong for his girl. 

 

Meg turned around one last time, waved at us and then she was gone, down the jetway.

Matt held Gaby as they watched the plane through the window.  I could see his shoulders shake as he cried.  He pulled Gaby close and together they watched their sister prepare to head off into the blue skies overhead for adventures unknown.

 

Gaby stood up and walked towards the window and watched as her sister's plane pulled away and prepared for take off...

 

...And when she turned around, my heart broke for her, into a million tiny pieces...

 

I pulled Gaby close to me and told her that very soon, we'd see Meg again and we'd be so proud as she marched in front of us, at graduation from BMT in January. 

We stood and watched as Meg's plane ascended into the clouds until we couldn't see it any longer and then I hugged Chris and Tyler and told them to come by for dinner soon and then they left, with Matt in tow, to go and play some pool.

Gareth and I each took one of Gaby's hands, and left the airport. 

We came home, went about our evening, put Gaby to bed, talked to Matt when he came home, and then tucked in for the night.  The last thing we were expecting was to be awoken out of a dead sleep at 4:30AM by a call from  Meg.  Gareth picked up the call and the first thing I heard was Meg's voice as she said, "Hi Dad..." followed by an intense amount of yelling in the background by the TI (Training Instructor). 

For some reason she was allowed a phone call home, something that's not always the precedent on a new trainees first day of BMT, to give us her address.  We could scarcely hear her for the yelling by her TI in the background.  I wanted to reach through the phone and slap that woman and tell her to shut the hell up so I could hear my daughter.  Gareth got most of the address, or at least tried, amidst the non-stop yelling, and then that was it.  She was gone.  I doubt she'd been to sleep since landing in San Antonio, at Lackland Air Force Base. 

I miss her.  Oh how I miss my girl.  Despite the ache in my heart at her not being here, there is this swell of pride and love for her and for the woman she is going to become.  And for as much as I miss her, I love her so much more.

 

Leaving on a Jet Plane...Part I

 

image credit  

In a little less than 48 hours, this beautiful girl of mine will be winging her way to San Antonio, TX for 9 weeks of basic training with the United States Airforce.  I've mentioned before what the impetus was for her decision to join the USAF so I won't go into that again.   

 

Over the course of the next couple of days, if the posts are light, or little more than fluff, just know it's because this "letting go" thing is hard.  It's damned hard! My therapist warned me that this was going to be pretty hard, but I didn't listen.  She told me that the harder Meg tried to disentangle herself from the binds that tie (and sometimes gag!), the more fervently I'd try to reign her back in.  It's been so hard recently that the air of tension around here has been palpable.  She has been pushing away - unfurling her wings and testing them out and I have been pulling her back even harder.  Thursday night, we both sat down on her bathroom floor and hugged and cried and just got everything out.  

I think the hardest thing for her has not only been dealing with the incredible leap out of her comfort zone this is going to be, but the unfortunate fact that her paternal family on the west coast has not reached out once in the last several months to wish her well, or even say goodbye.  I can't imagine the ache in her heart.  I do know that this ache will only cause her determination to do her best to burn brighter and harder than anything.  It will only fuel the intensity with which she goes after everything she wants and proves to the world, and most importantly - herself - just who she is!

I'm so excited for her and nervous and anxious...but most of all, I am so intensely proud of this gorgeous girl of mine.

My dearest Meg, Meggo, Meggawatt, Mimi (remember that one?) Maggot, Beautiful Girl, Meaghan...

I remember when I found out that one of the twins I was carrying was going to be a girl, almost as if it were yesterday.  Your big brother Josh was such a rough and tumble kid and totally ALL BOY.  I was overjoyed that I'd get to overdose on pink and have a little girl to share all of the wonderful and sometimes painful things about being a woman, with.  I used to daydream about how you'd have this awesome big brother in Josh to pal around with, and he and Matt would be your protectors and that you'd date Josh's friends and how he'd threaten to kick their butts if they hurt you.   I'd envision scenes of you guys tossing a football around in the back garden, just the three of you, and then you primping for dates whilst your brothers gave whoever the poor boy was, a hard time. 

I'd spend hours writing in my journal as I would sit and feel the first few flutters of movement from you and your brother (and seriously, looking back, I'm really suprised you guys didn't come out with bruises when you were born, especially with your head at his feet and vice versa!  You two certainly were not "calm" in utero!), I'd think about sharing secrets with you, spending days having tea parties, watching you play dress up, letting you brush my hair (even when you took the round brush and um, tangled my hair so completely in that your dad had to cut it out of my hair...oh well, I was due for a trim anyhow!), and giggling as we talked about boys. 

I'm so sorry that your older brother's death took a lot of that away from you and turned me into someone unable to cope with life. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure out how to be able to live life again, and deal with the gaping wound in my heart and soul.   

However, I'm grateful for these last two years and the bridges that have been rebuilt.  It hasn't always been easy, but we've made it.  I've been able to watch you grow into this amazing young woman who is so alike me at times, that it's frustrating.  Gareth is beyond proud at the strides you've made, despite the incredible hurt you suffered prior to coming to live with us. Being a step-parent is one of the hardest things in the world but I think you'd agree with me that he's done an outstanding job, even when he's had to referree some pretty intense arguments between you and I.

You and I...we don't always agree and I think that's a good thing.  It shows me that despite the years you spent away from me in the care of people who are so narrow-minded, that you can think for yourself and come to your own conclusions about life and the things around you and that there is more than one way to do something.  You have forged your own path in this world and you are determined to do things by your own terms, everyone else be damned!  I wish I had more of that sort of strength and determination when I was your age.

Over the past few years you've often asked me if I ever regretted the poor decisions I made when I was your age especially after Joshua's death.  I don't regret anything...especially when it comes to my children. I don't know the rhyme or reason behind Joshua's death, or if everything happens for a reason or if his death served a purpose...I know you've asked me these things because you wonder if my life wouldn't have turned out differently had I not hooked up with your dad.  I can't say.  No one can.  But I don't regret a minute of it.  You are all such amazing children....well young adults really.  Sure, I made some really poor choices when it came to how I acted which lead to getting pregnant and not wanting to get married but doing it anyhow.  I can't change any of that.  If I hadn't of had any of you, I wouldn't have experienced the boundless joy that you've each brought into my life and the countless memories - beautiful memories - you've each gifted me with.  So no, I don't regret a minute.

Thank you for being my constant cheerleader for the past two years, especially when things went really bad and I just wanted to die.  I know that you know how close it came.  What you don't know, was that as I sat in that tub of ice cold water, and sat there with the razor blades in my hands, that it was the thought of my kids being the ones to find me that ultimately shook me up enough to call my doctor and make him get me off the merry-go-round that was causing this.  After all was said and done, I sat in Dr. DCK's office and sobbed when I thought about you being the one to find me, especially after everything you'd already been through on the west coast, and how our home has been your safe place...I thought about what that would do to you emotionally and to this day it kills me that I was thinking about doing something which really is the very ultimate in selfish acts.  I know the medication had a lot to do with it, but it still doesn't negate the fact that in the end, I would have been the one making the decision and that I would have ruined several lives, including yours, had I actually gone through with it.

Pulling my huge body out of the tub that afternoon was one of the most difficult things I've ever done, but I did so with you, and your sister and your brothers in mind.  I didn't want to leave any of you with that sort of legacy.

I made you a few promises recently...I won't send Matt back to Seattle, regardless.  He stays with us.  We'll get through the recent turn of events, and we'll do it, intact, as a family.   I won't break that promise.  I also promised you that I'd work harder toward getting healthy and surviving.  If you can survive basic (which you can!) then I can deal with the shit that's been eating away at me and chewing away my core, slowly, for decades.  I promised you that you'd be every bit as proud of me as I am of you...I don't intend on breaking that promise or any of the others.

My beautiful girl, know that we'll be cheering you on, and waiting, oh how I'll be waiting, for that first phone call home.  I'm so damned excited for you.  And nervous.  And scared. And anxious...and maybe just a wee bit envious of all the adventures that lay before you. 

Know that above all else, we love and cherish the woman you are.

You are an American Airman

and

You are my daughter!

I love you!

Mom
  

The Gift of Gratitude

  

image credit - me

I'm not too sure where I'm going with this, so just roll with me, OK?

Today has been bad.  Really bad.  However, as I sit here in a comfortable chair, surrounded by a husband who loves me and would do anything for me, children who are gifts beyond measure and their laughter like a symphony from heaven - laughter that drifts down around my ears like the softest of downy feathers, I am reminded that all is not lost.  This is a great comfort to me as I slog through my valley of shadows...shadows that today have loomed dark and frightening.

In order to beat back the shadows and stave off the abyss that beckons me from the muddy hole below, I will count my blessings.

I will remind myself and be grateful for...

...The two other toilets in my home which aren't currently blocked by a  Polly Pocket, small bottle of body spray or something less appealing and a husband with nerves of steel, willing to stick his hand down the loo in order to see if he couldn't fish out whatever was blocking the pipe.  No need for hands when there are coat hangers.  Despite the superficial inconvenience, the toilet can wait until we can afford to have a plumber come to the house to repair it so that we don't make matters worse by trying to DIY it. 

...My husband who pulls me up when I refuse to get off the floor and reminds me that it's just a house and there will be others and that the important things are my health and our family's well being.

...My daughter Meaghan who will be leaving in 26 days and heading to Texas for boot camp with the United States Air Force.  She has been and continues to be a powerful force in my life which moves me and touches me like no other.  This beautiful child is excitedly and proudly about to take on a roll, serving her country so that we might all sleep better at night.   She's postponed the rest of her college education in order to take on this new adventure, and in doing so may very well be called to do things, in the name of not only our country, but of our children and grandchildren, that most young women of 19 never dream of doing.  Meaghan, despite our mighty tussles from time to time, you amaze me.  I don't know how I am going to get through the holidays without you, but I will because you wouldn't have it any other way.

...The wind and the rain which wash away the sorrows of yesterday and usher in the promises of tomorrow. 

...The vibrant orange and yellow trees outside my window; such a contradiction to the dark purplish-gray clouds overhead.  They remind me that color and light can still be found in even the darkest of places.

...The company that keeps my husband employed despite the bleak economic outlook, especially here in Maine. I'm grateful for their continued faith in him and for the help of the people who coordinate the health care benefits who have bent over backwards for me - trying to find a way to relieve some of the sting of our medical bills.

...The fact that I live in country where I have the right to voice my opinion and my beliefs and not be jailed for them, regardless of those who might disagree with me, or cry foul.

...Finally standing up for myself and taking some of my own power back and standing my ground.  I did the right thing for my family and for me and refuse to be bullied or swayed by the words of anyone else.

...The little hands that find my heart and without fail every night, cling tight to me and remind me that I might be just one person in this big huge world, but to one person I am the big huge world...Gaby's world.

...Curly hair. It is, in a word, perfect.  And so is the bearer of the curly hair!

...My son Matthew who never fails to ask if there is anything he can to help me out and never hesitates when I say, "Yes Matthew, there is."  He is becoming a wonderful man and I am glad he is here with us.

...This community.  Yes, this one right here, the same one that brought me to you, or you to me. I often tell myself that I everyone out there would never notice if I stopped contributing to this community and it wouldn't make that much of a difference and that you don't need my continued presence to make a difference in your lives.  But...I need you and you all make a difference in my life.  You matter to me and I am grateful for you.  I know I don't hardly come around and comment any more, but please know that I'm there, reading and absorbing your words.  Whether they are profound, humorous, melancholy, or said in the throws of frustration...I am there and listening and so very thankful for your voices.  Through your voices I am able to feel along in the darkness for my own. 

...My voice and the power it gives me when I choose to use it, when I give myself permission to use it. I promise to remind myself each and every day, no matter how hard or impossible it seems, to be grateful for the gift of my voice and to use it...to stand up for myself and use my voice to reclaim the power that was taken from me in the most foul and repugnant manner and to use my voice to regain my footing amongst the rest of humanity. 

...Every day that I open my eyes because it's a day that I haven't let the darkness steal from me.  I won that day and I am blessed with the gift of another day.

  

Don't forget, during the entire month of October, to support the fight against breast cancer, Barking Mad is in the pink!  For every comment left on each post, we'll donate a certain amount to Susan G. Komen for the Cure®.  Read more about it here!

Feeling Good, Despite Feeling Like I Have ADD

Photo by me

"Birds flying high
You know how I feel
Sun in the sky
You know how I feel
Breeze driftin' on by
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me..
And I'm feeling good....

There are so many things that I have been wanting to post about but so far they remain as half-written posts in a burgeoning draft folder that more resembles a bird cage, packed with hundreds of brightly colored birds - some a little darker than others whilst some so bright that they are almost blinding.  Vivid violet parakeets and navy blue nightingales all beating their wings at the bars of the cage with nary a single space left between them.   That's a little how it feels to be in my head right now too. 

...Fish in the sea
You know how I feel
River running free
You know how I feel
Blossom in the trees
You know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me...
And I'm feeling good....

So much going on and I can't slow it all down long enough to sort it out and just let it flow into cohesive words that form sentences and paragraphs. 

The thing is, I feel like I'm starting to see shreds of light at the end of the tunnel.  It's far into the distance but it is there.  I have to squint to see it sometimes, but it's there dammit!  I feel it deep inside my soul.  For the first time in a long time, I feel it.  Despite other people in my line of sight trying to blot it out, I see it.  Despite nagging fears and feelings of self-loathing, I see it.  I am fighting hard to not let go of it. 

...Dragonfly out in the sun
You know what I mean, don't you know
Butterflies all out having fun
You know what I mean
Sleep in peace
When, the this day is done
And this old world
Is a new world
And a bold world
For me...

On that note, can I ask a favor of you? 

Please be patient with me whilst I begin the process of sorting out all of this and start dealing with..., well - me.   My posts might be dense with substance and emotion or light and airy - sort of like my brain sometimes.  The point is, I'm just beginning to feel again and it's an overwhelming process.  But to begin the hard work of healing, I must feel these things.  I have to allow myself to feel them.  Some of them aren't pretty and are from the foul bowel of the hell I've been living in.

I have a lot of work ahead of me.  If I want to survive, and please believe me when I say I do, if I want to spend the next years living that dream I had, rather than spending it wondering how long until I actually sit in that icy cold bathtub full of water and do what I very nearly did last year, or continue to stick my finger down my throat until my heart and my body simply can not keep pace with the destruction, then this hard work of putting myself back together, must be done.

This "feeling good" thing is very new to me.  Some days it's not there, but some it is and I  am just barely in the embryonic stages of it.  I still have to give myself permission to feel good, to feel positive and to feel this fleeting sense of hope; hope that I will survive and come out of this - whole, and well and healthy. 

Even on the days recently when I haven't been completely "feelin' it" there is still that glimmering strand of light that I see in the distance.  I just have to keep reaching it and believing that I deserve my place in the light.

...Stars when you shine
You know how I feel
Scent of the pine
You know how I feel
yeah, freedom is my lie
When you know how I feel
It's a new dawn
It's a new day
It's a new life
For me..."

The below video is Muse performing one of my favorite songs, "Feeling Good" (the lyrics above) live at Wembley Stadium in the UK.  It's a cover, and I can't recall who originally wrote and sang the song, but this is by far my favorite version.  I plan on heading out today for a little bit to do something for Jan and I am going to blast this song, police be damned.  And for those of you who follow me on Twitter and Facebook, you'll know what I'm talking about.

This is my anthem!

Catching the Blush

I took this photo of one of the hydrangeas on the lone hydrangea bush that survived my prune-a-thon when we first bought our home back in July of '07.  I had no idea that I was whacking away at one of my favorite flowering plants.  I think I might adore hydrangeas even more than my oft beloved tulips. 

As we were walking back into the house from collecting Geronimo after our first [failed] attempt at walking him, I happened to notice that the plump hydrangea blooms were blushing.  Yes, they really were beginning to blush. The most amazing pale and hot pinks were just beginning to spread over the hundreds of tiny petals.

We had two tiny blooms in September of '07 and they were both solid white.  There were only scarcely more blooms last year and not nearly as healthy as this year's.  Like the blooms from the late summer of '07, all of them were white. 

This year, my hydrangea plant, despite being hacked to death by a mad woman with a black thumb, has a few more blooms yet, and they are beautiful.  Lush, heavy with petals and starting to blush and turn into something so beautiful I can not find the words to give weight to the heaviness of how truly gorgeous they are.  The above and below pictures barely do them justice.

In many ways, these flowers are symbolic of so many things in my life right now.

It's hard to believe that they survived very nearly being pruned to death by someone who didn't have a clue in hell as to what the plant was, or what she was doing to it.  I've no doubt that it was healthy and thick with a bounty of blossoms to offer in the years before I discovered it.  Now, here it is, on the rebound, healthy and lovely.  I look at it and see the same things I want to see in myself.

The hydrangea has survived a lot.  It survives a lot.  It goes through winters when it's buried under mounds of frozen white snow and crystal clear ice.  It's pounded by the angry winds of winter Nor'easters and then pelted by the relentless rain of early spring storms only to have to suffer through the heat and humidity of New England summers.  Most importantly, it survived my abuse.  OK, so it wasn't intentional, but I almost killed it.  Yet here it stands, in all it's amazing glory, blessing me with it's most exquisite presence, like some sort of beacon in having faith that what once was, can be again.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and am instantly repulsed by what I see...by what I've become, what I've let myself become.  If I don't cover the mirror, I end up sticking my finger down my throat and trying to bring up some of the ugliness from inside. 

In the end, it doesn't work.  It just makes the ugliness even worse.  In the end I should look back at my hydrangeas and realize it takes time, but eventually the beauty that's always there resurfaces.  It isn't forced or hastened.  With time it comes.

When I noticed the blush I thought to myself how nice it would be to walk by a mirror one day and catch the same sort of beautiful blush...something I wasn't expecting but was amazed and happy to see.

I really hope it's still in there and that I haven't damaged myself so badly that it's impossible to resurrect myself and catch my own beautiful blush. 

The Retreat

A sunny day beckons me toward the water…a day spent picking my way through emerald strands of seaweed and retrieving mollusk shells washed up along the shore, enchants my senses.  

The sea breeze, tinged with the scent of saltwater and fish, tousles my hair.  I inhale deeply and fill my lungs with the comforting perfume of the ocean.  As I wander along the coastline, my bare feet leave fragile footprints in the sand, only to be washed away moments later by the tide.

I walk further down the shore to a spot tucked just under rocks worn smooth with the passage of time and the crash of waves against their granite faces.  Right there, deep within the cliff side is a little nook, just large enough to sit comfortably in and listen to the wind sing her song to the sea.  The sea answers back with claps against the shore.

I sit back against the cool rock, watching a sailboat pass by; its tall mast billowing in the breeze.  I spot seals bobbing their glistening black heads in time with the hungry cry of sea gulls.  It’s as if the two are dancing in concert to the waves and the wind. Brightly colored buoys dip up and down announcing the presence of lobster pots below.  A seal surfaces with a fish in its mouth and a greedy gull dives for it; but not quickly enough.  The seal has submerged once more beneath the briny waters with its feast. 

My senses are enveloped by everything around me; the salty smell of the sea air, the feel of the cooling spray off the waves crashing against the jetty, and the booming call of the cormorants as they jostle amongst themselves for the best vantage point. I close my eyes and am lulled into contentment by the water as it rushes into and then back out of the alcoves below me.

The sun shines high in the sky, warming my face and arms and casting diamond-like reflections upon the indigo waters of the Atlantic Ocean.  The constant motion of the tide reaching out to the shore is reminiscent of sea lore filled with mermaids frolicking in the surf, beckoning men into her inky depths below.  Poseidon himself could not have created a more magical setting.

My legs stretch out below me and inadvertently loosen a few stones.  I pick one up and turn the grayish-brown rock over in my hands.  I notice several specs of quartz that catch the sunlight and seem almost gem-like.  I marvel at how many millennia the rock has stood the test of time against raging storms, wind, snow, erosion, and the footfalls of humans treading upon it.  

I am tempted to take the rock home and place it in a jar, alongside the numerous other glass jars of varying sizes, filled with sand from every beach I’ve ever been to. Among my jars of sand and rocks are nestled pieces of blue, green, white and amber sea glass, shells, sand dollars, and small pieces of driftwood I’ve gathered over a time span of more than two decades.   I look down at the rock hesitate for a moment then decide against placing the rock in my pocket.  Instead, I pull my arm back and cast the ancient piece of granite into the sea.  It’s caught by the foamy whitecap of a wave and sinks below to rest on sandy bottom of the sea floor. 

Reaching into my knapsack I withdraw the familiar black and white composition book and slide the pen out from between the crisp white pages.  I secretly wish I could sketch the panorama before me; the gently rolling ocean, waves capped in white, sea gulls that dip into the water hoping to catch a meal, the funny-faced seals that taunt the angry gulls, the craggy rocks that jut out from the coastline into the water and the cerulean sky that borders this scene.  I will have to make do with words as I am unable to translate what lies before me into something visual through strokes of an artist’s pencil.

Hours, how many I can not say, elapse, as pen passes over paper, capturing every movement of the ocean and nuance of the swells, the silky breeze against my skin, and the feel of the rocks pressing against my back and legs.  The sun begins its descent into the western horizon.  Only then do I look up to see the presence of dark bluish-purple clouds looming overhead which threaten my peaceful retreat with furious bellows of thunder.  

I slide out from my niche among the rocks as the first cool splashes of rain slide down my forehead. Crystal clear droplets dot my eyelashes and dance along my lips.  Thunder explodes overhead and is joined by tendrils of lightening which illuminate the clouds in an almost eerie and ethereal manner. The wind joins the cacophony with howls of rage and whips the sea into angry froth.  The lightening reaches out, almost serpent-like, to the water below and goads it on with a heated kiss.

I make a hasty departure across the dunes toward my home where I sit and observe this remarkable ballet of nature and its orchestra of the elements from within the safe walls of my study.  I settle back against the soft leather of my chair, surrounded by vestiges of other walks along the shore; row upon row of glass jars filled with bits of the shore, and listen as the rain pelts the windows and the thunder beckons to the wind.

The Dream

Joshua:  Mommy wake up!  Come on mommy, turn over and wake up.

Me:  No, I'm tired.  I want to sleep, that's what I want.

Joshua:  No mommy, come on, get up. C'mon, that's right.  Roll over and turn on the light. 

Me: What the hell?  I thought Gaby had gotten out of bed.  Wait a minute, you're not Gaby, you're my Joshy. Joshua?  Baby, is that you? 

Joshua:  Yep mommy, it's me. 

Me:  I miss you so much.  I don't ever dream about you.  Maybe only a handful of times since you've been gone.  Is this really a dream or are you here?  Am I dead?

Joshua:  No mommy, it's just a dream.  Mommy, you need to get your dream journal and write this down, OK? Can you do that for me?

Me: No, I don't want to move.  If I move you'll be gone.  You'll vanish into thin air like smoke rising from a camp fire. 

Joshua:  No I won't.  Just tell yourself that I'm here and I'll stay.

Me: Oh that's right.  This is my dream after all, and deep down inside, isn't it my subconscious that's doing all of this?

Joshua:  Maybe technically, but for now, I'm here with you. 

Me: OK, well, just promise me you won't go anywhere.  It will just take me a minute to get a my journal and something to write with.

Joshua:  Don't worry mommy, I'm not going anywhere. 

Me: Can I look at you for just a minute?  Can I just inhale your presence?

Joshua:  You can do whatever you want to mommy. 

Me: I don't even know what to say.  So many thoughts are racing through my head right now.  It's overwhelming how much I've missed you.  Do you miss me?  Where did you go after you left me?  I want to run my hands through your curls and kiss your face and hold you close.  I still remember how you used to smell of sunshine, sunscreen, laundry detergent and dirt, in the summer time.  

Joshua:  Mommy, I'm always near you.  I watch over you all the time. I'm here.  always.  Close by.

Me:  You were there the night after Gaby Rose was born, weren't you?  You sat on her shoulders while the doctors worked to keep her alive.  I know you were there.

Joshua: Yes, I was there. I was there when you gave birth to her and touched your cheek when you cried as they whisked her away to the NICU.  I was watching you touch her tiny hands and sing "Edelweiss" to her as she lay there with lots of tubes and machines keeping her alive.  I sat near her shoulder when you read Little House on the Prairie to her and I watched the glow spread across your face as she pulled through the forest of darkness and was placed in your arms.

Me: Sometimes, and I don't know how, but I always know you're there.   But why are you here now?  I mean, I don't ever dream about you.  I always hope I will.  But its so rare.  The times I do dream of you it's very short dreams, but I never interact with you.  Or it's that awful dream, on the dock, with the alligator, but I don't want to talk about that.

You know kiddo, it just occurred to me that you don't sound like a two year old.  I mean, you look just like my Joshy but you kinda sound like Ben Affleck.  How come?

Joshua:  It's your dream mommy.   I bet I do look kind of funny with a big guy voice coming from my face, huh?  In your head I've aged, but physically in your realistic memory, I am still as I was when you last saw me, alive.

Me: Yeah, you do sound like a big guy.   But I don't mind.  Say kiddo, um, this is kind of a silly question, but do you have wings?

Joshua:  Do you want me to have wings? 

Me: Well, if they're anything like John Travolta's wings in "Michael", then naww, it's cool.  That would kind of freak me out, I think.  Plus you might knock over the lamp and wake Gareth up.  Wings or no wings, I'm just glad you're here.

Joshua: Mommy, I'm glad you're glad.  I like to see you happy, and you aren't happy that often any more.  That's mostly why I'm here.  I want you to be happy again Mommy.  

Me: But I am happy right now.  You're here.  I get to talk to you. Joshy, do you remember the first snowfall in that little house in the mountains.  Do you remember me waking you up in the middle of the night to show you the softly falling crystalline flakes.  Do you remember opening the front door, oh so quietly so we wouldn't wake your daddy and putting your hands outside to catch the snowflakes as they fell to earth?  Do you remember coming back inside and snuggling next to me near the fireplace?  We fell asleep there, just you and I, bundled together and cuddled close as it snowed outside.  I'd like nothing more than to go back to that time and forever sleep in that moment.

Joshua: Mommy, you can't stay asleep forever.  I love being here with you like this, but you have to wake up sometime. 

Me:  Some days I don't want to get out of bed.  It's easier to just sleep and forget everything.

Joshua:  But you can't do that.  It's not healthy.  Mommy, you can't do this anymore.  I love you and you won't last long if you keep this up. So many people depend on you.

Me: But I am broken inside Joshua.  I have failed in so many things.   It's just easier to give in and slide under the indigo waters of this deep ocean I'm treading water in.  I want to be with you instead.

Joshua:  NO MOMMY, NO!  Gaby Rose needs you, Meaghan and Matt, and even Zack still needs you, even if he says he doesn't, he does!  And Gareth needs you.  You are his mate, his best friend and the love of his life.   Other people need you too.  Don't you see that?

Me: No, I see other people who make fun of me, hurt me, belittle me.  Sometimes I feel like everyone close to me would be better off without me. 

Joshua:  Mommy, take my hand.  Hold fast to my hand.  That's right, hold tight.  Now tell me, what you do you see?

Me:  I see a bright sunny day along the coast.  I see a golden sandy beach with white caps gently lapping at the shore.  I see a family on a blanket - underneath a bright yellow and orange beach umbrella.  They're laughing and giggling.  Look at that little girl...she looks just like Gaby Rose.  Same blonde curls and big expressive brown eyes.  It looks like Matt and Meaghan are jumping through the waves and there's a lady standing there, a beautiful lady, with a camera.  She's taking picture after picture of the older kids and she's laughing and telling them not to splash her or they're going to buy her a new camera.  She's really beautiful.  And coming up behind her...wait a minute, that's Gareth.  He's beaming at the woman with the camera.  He's chiding Gaby as she tries to pull a crab from beneath it's shell.  

Joshy, I don't understand.  Who is that woman?  They all seem so happy and she seems to be the center of attention.

Joshua:  Mommy, take another look at the beautiful lady standing there.  Do you notice her twinkling greenish-hazel eyes and her strong cheekbones and lilting laugh?

Me: No, I don't want to look at her.  It's like she's replaced me.

Joshua:  Mommy, please please just look at her.

Me: Alright Joshy, for you. 

Oh my God.  That's me.  How can it be though?  This woman is thin and she's laughing and she's carefree.  She's....she's happy.

Joshua:  She is.  Mommy, you can be happy.  I want you to be happy.   Mommy, reach out and touch her.

Me: I can't.  She's too far away.

Joshua:  No mommy, trust me.  She's right there.  Reach.  That's right.  Stretch your hand out and touch her hair.  Touch her face.  Run your fingers along her smile and touch her throat and feel the happy vibrations as she laughs. 

Me:  It's all so real.  So close. 

Joshua:  That's right mommy.  It is real.  And it's so very close.  You just have to keep reaching for her.  She's right there, under the surface.

Me:  But sometimes kiddo, that woman seems to far away.  I feel like Tantalus sometimes.  Happiness is so close, yet when I bend over to drink from the river that beckons me, it slips away...dips underneath me to where I can't reach it.  It's far too hard sometimes to keep trying.

Joshua: But you must keep trying mommy.  For everyone...but mostly for you.  You have to fight.  Fight hard and get angry.  Get thirsty!  

Me:  I know.  You are the saying words I've heard a million times over in the last 18 months.  You're very smart for a two year old...ya know?

Joshua:  I've had time to learn.  Floating around all the time gets boring sometimes.  I like to read when I'm not pestering St. Peter, or putting fake cockroaches in Mother Teresa's tea. 

Me: You're incorrigible dear boy.  Some things never change, do they? 

Joshua:  Sometimes, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Me: I know.  I'm glad you came to visit me the way I remembered you.  I think if you ended up looking like you sound, kind of like Ben Affleck, I might have had a heart attack.

Joshua: Mommy, promise me you'll try and get thirsty, so that you don't have a real heart attack. You can't keep doing this.  You won't last very long living the way you are.   Try just a little bit each day to get angry and get the bad stuff out.  Please mommy, promise me. Don't let the bad people, and the hurts and owwies inside destroy you.  Fight hard to be the pretty lady on the beach...to be the beautiful lady you are.  My mommy is a beautiful lady.   If I could mommy, I'd beat up all the bad people who have made you hurt.   But I can't.  So you have to fight. Fight hard mommy!

Me: Littlest love, do you remember when I use to call you that?  Littlest Love, for you I will try. I promise.  Will you promise me that you'll come and see me again?

Joshua:  But mommy, I'm already here.  I'm always with you.

Me:  Yes Littlest Love, you are.

Joshua:  Sleep mommy.  And don't forget your promise.

 

***************

When I woke at 3:45AM this morning my dream journal was perched on the nightstand on my side of the bed.  An ink pen was resting between the crisp white pages upon which black ink had been hastily scribbled at some point in the middle of the night.

I rarely dream of Joshua.   I have discovered through reading various books on grief and loss over the years, and speaking with other parents that have lost children, that dreams of their dead child are few and far between.   When I do have lovely dreams of Joshua I cherish them.  I tuck them into the corner of my mind where other buried treasure exists; treasure that I run the tendrils of memory through like fingers running through mounds of gold and jewels.  And I always, always write them down.

I don't have a keen understanding of how our minds work, but I do recall hearing somewhere that dreams are byproducts of our subconscious.   The theories seem to be that dreams are things suppressed, or the result of stress, irritants or emotions; both good and bad.   I don't know how accurate that is but I do have a feeling that this time, with this dream, I need to listen and heed Joshua's message. 

I understand that I can't keep living like this and that something has to change.  A lot of people say that you have to hit rock bottom before you pull yourself back up.  Well, I can't get any lower than I am now.  If there is something below "rock bottom" I've been mucking around in it for more than a year.   Sometimes I do try and pull myself up, but I slip on the slime that lines my abyss and fall back down again.  All I need is something to hang onto...something to reach for.  

I think that beautiful lady on the beach is what I need to be reaching for.  

Pressed and Stressed but Still Incredibly Blessed!

I seem to lack any and all genuine focus these days.  Perhaps it's because I feel so pressed for time with the imminent arrival of my oldest son, Matthew - Meg's twin brother.  He arrives next Monday and I've done next to nothing to prepare for him.   The guest bedroom that used to be Zack's (my youngest son) is now more of a "I don't know what to do with it, so just throw it in there with the rest of the shit and we'll go through it later" room.  Well, "later" is here and I find myself not having a clue in hell as to what to do with all that shit!

Truth be told, our entire house looks like the room described above and that has me stressed beyond belief.  It's gotten to the point where I don't even know where to begin sorting through all this stuff.  I get overwhelmed just thinking about it, and then end up not even tackling it.  I know that once I start sorting and clearing and organizing that the momentum will build and it will get done. It's just getting to that point that is difficult. 

There are other, emotional and mental issues I'm stressing over which have me running for the medicine cabinet and grabbing the Xanax bottle.  I've covered the bathroom mirror with a towel because I hate to look at myself every time I take a Xanax for fear that the woman starring back at me will be unrecognizable and then "tsk tsk tsk" me that I'm relying on pharmaceutical friends rather than the real, flesh and blood kind to get me through this.  Sometimes though when my heart starts racing and I can't seem to control the thoughts running through my head, or I wake, drenched in sweat and in tears from yet another nightmare, the Xanax takes me back down to a level that slows everything down and lets me catch my breath. Of course I wouldn't be me if I didn't worry about how much Xanax I'm taking and questioning whether or not I'm developing a dependency on it.  Perhaps my bulimia was getting lonely and needed a buddy?  No?  I know...it's not anything to joke about.

I haven't seen Matthew in two years and I'm extremely apprehensive about his reaction once he sees me.  I am a very different woman than the one who dropped him off at the airport at three o'clock in the morning in July of '07.  I'm 100lbs heavier (Oh my God, just reading that last sentence feels like a punch in the chest!), the dark circles under my eyes are much more apparent, and I move at a snails pace compared to the mom who hugged him, with tears in her eyes and told him to hurry back.  I'm pretty much a shell, albeit a hugely inflated shell, of the mom he left behind.  I am dreading having to see the repulsion in his eyes.   Matthew doesn't know the details of the "very bad thing" and it's better that way because he doesn't process trauma like that, very well.  He knows only the barest of basics and as a family, we've decided that's for the best.  I hope in time I can make him understand that I'm trying to claw my way back to the surface and to be patient with me.  

Will he like living in Maine?  Just something else I worry about, especially with our hit and miss summer which has been more "miss" lately than anything else.

You don't even want to know how badly I'm stressing about our house, money, and generally hating living where we are, but yet I'm the one who insisted on the huge house with a monstrous yard and here we are, and again, I hate it.   We seem to be surrounded by "For Sale" signs, some of which are foreclosures and it's bringing our own property value down.  I imagine this is an identical scenario that's playing itself out all over the country right now.  The thing about our little town?  No one goes out of their way for anyone else.  No one extends themselves in friendship or neighborliness.  Everyone lives in their own cocoon and doesn't want to burst the protective shield they've built up around their lives.  In short, it sucks.  

We came from the most wonderful little neighborhood and when we first moved into this house and tried meeting our neighbors and talked about hosting a huge BBQ to get to know everyone, no one was interested.  To this day I couldn't tell you the names of any of our neighbors, with the exception of the family who lives directly across the street and that's due to the simple fact that Meg rode to school with their eldest daughter for the first part of her senior year. 

I'm trying to be happy with what I have and make the best of this home...our first as homeowners.  The hubby has bent over backwards making sure I have a kitchen I'm proud of and he's got an endless supply of ideas for other things we can do to make the house feel more like a home.  Yet I know, deep down inside, he wants to go back to Cape Elizabeth almost as much as I do.  I feel guilty that I'm unable to 'like' living here or feel comfortable amongst people I harbor so much animosity towards. I have too many bad memories of things that have happened to me in this town and every time I leave my front door I'm reminded of those things, or see people who were part of it.

In the end, all the time-related pressure and stress I'm under boils down to me not being happy in my own skin or where I am in life right now. I have a feeling the hurdles in the marathon to "find me" aren't over yet. I just pray that I don't run out of steam, or the willpower to continue the race. 

Despite knowing all the challenges this period in my life is presenting me with, I still have much to be grateful for.  Healthy, happy children. A husband who loves me and holds me up when I can no longer stand up on my own and provides for his family despite having a wife that could stand to do a little bit better with the family budget,  and a home, a home that is comfortable, safe and secure and a place in which the people here gather as a family -  to laugh, cheer,  support, encourage, cry, yell and scream, and to just be.

I am blessed; so very very blessed and don't think I don't know it! No matter how dark my abyss gets, I can always see through enough of the darkness and not be blind to the blessings in my life.

In light of how much everyone does for me, I thought I'd try to distract myself and de-stress a bit by making a pie...a raspberry/blueberry pie (my first time ever making ANY kind of berry pie!) with berries from a local organic farm the the hubby and Little Imp picked for me.  It's not much, and granted, I'm not the greatest baker, but it does something for me, and provided it ends up edible, it puts a smile on my family's faces.

Of course, these three could care less.  They came into the kitchen when I started futzing around with the pie...

 

 

...and here they remain, trying to get out into the back garden to capture a chipmunk or two, long after the pie is done and sits cooling on the counter...

 

 

Of Sailboats and Sighs

One of the Little Imp's favorite things to do is draw, be it with pen or markers, crayons or pencils; she loves to sit at the table whilst her mumma pounds away on the keyboard, and draw.

I was completely wrapped up in angst, anger, frustration and was venting like a mad woman, in a post that will probably never see the light of day, when I felt a little tap on my arm and heard the insistent, "Mumma, look, look Mumma, it's a sailboat!"  I was in the middle of a sentence full of expletives and was more than just a tad irritated that I was being pulled away from my rant to look at what probably resembled not so much a sailboat as a bunch of interconnected lines and squiggles.

Much to my surprise, when I looked up, this is what I saw...

 

It might be a little rough, but it is indeed a sailboat!

 

I asked her who taught her to draw a sailboat as I myself flunked Stick Figures 101 and she answered, "No one. I just did it by myself!"  She was very proud of herself and frankly, she should be.   I was swollen with momma-pride and beaming at my daughter's art work when all thoughts of anger and frustration just evaporated.  I pulled Imp into my arms, buried my face in her curls and silently shed tears of remorse over my irritation that she had interrupted the war of words  I was waging.  Here she sat, the entire time,  creating something that would wash away all that anger like a summer storm bathes the soul after a long arid drought.

I ran my fingers through her curls, raised my head and sighed.  Standing right in front of me with her big brown eyes, wild blonde curls, impish dimple and radiant smile, is the most important thing in the world. She's  a reminder that despite the things that inflame and rile me, here before me - the one thing that deserves my full and immediate attention...not some useless person that's upset with me that I made some mistakes on a stupid blog contest of all things that subsequently caused a little confusion,  for which I later  profusely apologized.

I'm human and as such, am imperfect. I have failings and shortcomings.  I struggle with these things on a daily basis and have come to realize that in the long run, as long as I'm doing the best I can and try and make things right that I have unintentionally screwed up, then little else matters.   

What does matter though is this child who stands before me.  She's really an incredible little girl who prompts me on a daily basis to focus on the things that are important.  Like sailboats.

 

Capsize

I'm having one of those days.   The kind where I would have gladly stayed in bed, sunk down under the covers and drifted in and out of sleep while the world passed me by.

The "high" from last weekend's BlogFest is all but gone.  I was writing my last post about my time spent in what I can only describe as a magical place amongst people I felt were kin rather and not just random people who "lived in my computer"  and was struck by the awful realization that  the warm feelings of love and acceptance are gone now and have been replaced by doubt and fear and panic that I merely imagined all of those feelings and let myself be lulled into a false sense of security.

Then I remembered that I haven't been taking my teeny tiny little "Happy Pill" that helps keep me on an even keel and rights my ship when it's listing horribly to the side and about to capsize.  I was then struck by another epiphany that the reason I had forgotten to include my pharmaceutical friend was that while I was down south, in the bosom of genuine friendship, I wasn't busy thinking about what an awful person I was for letting my life spin so horribly out of control, and hating myself for being the obese monster that I am. 

Now I'm back here, under the gloom of dark gray New England skies and the deluge that's pouring down outside, is almost the same as the one that's happening inside my mind and heart.

I suppose part of this could be due the weather itself, or maybe it is the fact that it's getting close to the anniversary of Joshua's death.  I can scarcely believe that it's almost been 19 years since he died.  Some days the ache is little more than a smoldering ember of a forgotten bonfire, others it's a full fledged forest fire threatening to engulf every cell of my being.   I wonder if there will ever be a year when the anniversary of his death passes me by with little notice but I also fear that if that ever were to happen, that I'd be betraying part of Joshua.  

_________________

It's been a few hours since I began this post.  That brief span of time has dulled a bit of the earlier pain I was feeling but in doing so it's uncovered a very real chasm in my life.

Since the "very bad thing" happened I have all but pushed everyone out of my life, including the friends I used to surround myself with.  People will only take so much animosity before they disappear for good, as is my case.  Of course in my troubled brain I've taken it to mean that I'm such a horrid monster that I'm not worthy of close friends.   Maybe in part that's true, but the bottom line is still the same.  There just aren't many here.  I suppose part of this is all of my own doing.  I no longer trust what people tell me to be true.  For instance, if someone says my hair looks nice or that I have beautiful eyes, I tell myself they say that because they're a.) related to me (this is usually the case), or b.) so afraid that I am so fragile that anything said that's the least little bit negative will cause me to crumble and slit my wrists.  It's amazing that my marriage is still intact because I often wonder what would possess a man as wonderful, giving, compassionate and loving as my husband is, to stay with someone like me?  He has to be growing weary of me questioning his feelings for me. 

The ironic thing about all of this is not the fact that I've realized, in a poor-pathetic-me way, that I have no best friend(s) and that there is a total and complete lack of real friends in my life, but that on Friday morning of the weekend I was in Mathews, VA I had called my psychiatrist to check in and told her that I was having the time of my life and that finally I was starting to get angry - the kind of "angry" that she told me would come...sooner or later.  The kind of anger that would be good for me and allow me to purge all the bullshit (and maybe help me get past my nasty little habit of binging and purging) from the "very bad thing" and the other deeper inner anger I've been holding onto for a very long time.  

I had finally started to allow myself to feel accepted for me - the woman who stood in front of them...to let people in and like me for me.  Opening that door ignited the spark of anger at all the power I'd given the people who have hurt me in the most foul and demeaning ways.  I was finally beginning to see, in the form of the beautiful people that surrounded me, that maybe I was worthy of friends rather than letting the blackness control how I felt and lived my life.

This was a huge step for me on so many levels.  Especially being that these were women I'd met via the blogosphere.  I'd had a nasty experience out here, earlier in the year where things were said and accusations made and I came to find out that I'd allowed myself to grow close to a woman who was in fact behind a lot of what was being said and was funneling my emails and our conversations to others.   I'd almost decided for good after that, that my own judgment couldn't be trusted, let alone the things others told me.  I was a little frightened, going into BlogFest that I'd be made fun of, or talked about or laughed at.  Silly, I know.  But those fears were very real in my mind, influenced by earlier bad experiences.  As it turns out, once I'd walked through the doors and into Chesapeake Bay Woman's home and into the arms of the wonderful women I'd been reading and getting to know, that those feelings of fear and apprehension literally melted away.

I wish I knew how to hang onto the feeling that I came home from BlogFest with and let it carry me through and help set my sails straight.  In the end, this is all pretty damned exhausting.  And today?  Today the anger that I'd felt - that I am supposed to be feeling... is gone.  I let it slip away from me and exchanged it for the ocean of despair that my ship is about to capsize into.  Maybe it's less tiring to just let it take over than to keep fighting to get myself back. I'm tired of having to depend on a little pill to keep me afloat.  I want to be normal again...on my own terms.

Sometimes though, sinking is the best feeling there is.  

 

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