photographer. artist. author. singer. songwriter. musician. teacher. student. humanitarian. visionary.

Posts tagged “sadness

Today is Cancelled

I have nothing I want to share with the world today; no mounting proclamations- not a whisper or thought. There are no pressing deadlines, no stressors upon me. Only the familiar urge to write, simply because I’m a writer. Not a paid one, mind you- nor professional. (As proof of my misused hyphen will attest.) Alas, I abuse hyphens liberally, and probably always will-

…I want to write a memoir. (Doesn’t everybody though?) I’m sure we all feel like we’ve lived through unspeakable atrocities that nobody would or could believe. We’ve all gleaned the golden nuggets of wisdom from the trenches of life that we’re compelled to share.  (There’s old Charlie, hacking and wheezing across the street. He lives with his father and smokes pot incessantly. He doesn’t let old age stop him from having a good spliff now and again. I call him old Charlie because he’s in his late 60’s or so, and his Dad is even older- maybe late 80’s or early 90’s. At all hours of the day and night, we can hear old Charlie out there, a mumble here or there followed by a short pause of silence- and then the hacking begins again.)

Please do feel free to go meander off and watch Spongebob while I ramble on about a memoir that I’ll probably never write. But do want to. There’s just so much work involved. I have the goods- I’ve already lived the story, and am still, but I think the hardest part is actually starting. Writing that first word and knowing how you want to tell the tale. So many times I’ve written blog posts- completely- whole blog posts written out and then deleted them, simply because I felt as if I had nothing worthwhile to say. But that’s the blogger’s curse. But there’s a difference between me and  the stereotypical modern day blogger. Most bloggers collectively know that content is king. For me though, this isn’t a typical “blog”- it’s my diary. My very public, online diary. As I’ve stated before, I want to leave more than a few pictures of me behind. More than a fingerprint. I want to leave an archive. A life in pictures and posts. I never thought I’d still be writing in this thing almost 10 year later! I can look back and read about small walks I took with my kids, or cooking in the kitchen on certain days- what we ate, what we said. LIFE.

And so, back to the memoir. I have an incredible story to tell. How I went from living in an uninhabitable, dilapidated house- wetting the bed and living quite literally like a wild animal. I really don’t care what member of the family reads this stuff and might get offended. Where was anyone at all when I needed help? Where was anyone when I cried at night, alone and afraid, (and very wet and smelly)? Where was anyone when I was molested as a young girl, at age of 9- right in my own house? So no. I don’t want to hear how my life story “offends” anyone. It’s what I had to live through. Everybody else was safe, except me.

From that hell, to growing up seriously disadvantaged. All the cards stacked against me. I should have been a statistic, I really should’ve. Women who’ve suffered less have been. God spared me though. I came through so much hell and hurt and trauma and shame and rage. I was shown grace, and given another chance. God pulled me from the pit and set me on solid ground again.

I look back at it all in amazement that I was able to trudge through the trenches and reach the other side of the river. I stand now in the green, fertile soil; life has come to me again.

I have only one more year to go and I’ll be graduating with my Master’s degree in Psychology and Addiction Counseling. And still, I have no idea what I want to do with my life. For now, Im taking the necessary time off to try and absorb the fact the I no longer have my baby brother with me. For now, I’ll simply exist, and try to make it through each day. I’m giving myself the liberty to not have to do, think, feel, process, or anything else that takes emotional work. For now, I’m in a state of emotional cryogenics. Frozen inside- too numb to feel.

Until another crashing wave comes and drags me under. But then it’s quiet again, and I’ll know that I’ve made it through another rogue wave. There are no smiles within me. No solace. Today hurts. Tomorrow may too, but for now, I’ll distract myself with another adventure game. It hurts too much to think. I know that all of my training is going down the drain in these moments, but it’s o.k. I told myself that I could be in total denial for now and I’m taking my advice!

There will be warmer, better days ahead. As for now though, today is cancelled.

springmill2


White Noise: The Blistering Silence

And lots and lots of rain. Taken today through my window: Carl Zeiss Jena Flektogon (film) 35/2.4
RaininginmyHeart


My Old Friend, PAIN

Despite my courageous front, there’s no getting around the gut-wrenching pain that goes with a break-up. My heart feels like it’s being eaten out by wild rabbits. Raw raw pain.

When Josh and I split up a year ago, it was fairly easy. I just froze everything. I put myself into an emotional cryogenic chamber to protect myself. It worked. I cried only once through the entire winter and shoved him clean out of my mind (and heart) when a memory tried to come creeping in. But not this time. This time I’m in the fire. And, as I foolishly told him in an email, my heart is burning with a million degrees of love for him. This SUCKS.

I thought Joan Crawford would do the trick- Mildred Pierce is like- the best thing ever when you’re breaking up. And when that didn’t work, I jacked it up a notch. Fatal Attraction didn’t help much either! Haha…

I’m scared to think of what I might try next for comfort. Nothing’s “working”, and I know- of all people- that I have to walk through the pain. Feel the damage. Bleed with it.

It’s just too recent still. Not enough time has passed to stitch up the wounds. We mourn people when they die; why is a breakup any different? I’m mourning the death of what we once had. 😦

No, only time can ease this pain. We always knew that someday, we’d have to let each other go. He’s 27, and his biological clock is ticking. He wants to start a family and do all of that good stuff- and by all means- he should. And he has every right to do that and be happy in doing so. It just sucks to “not be needed” suddenly. He’s been “my guy” for 8 years now. It confuses my brain to think “He’s off to find Ms. Right. I wish him well!”

This is hard. Any ole way you slice it. But all breakups are. This time I don’t have my anger to protect me. I’m just all mushy and made of oatmeal and crying 10 times per day. There’s no other place to go than through the fire.

I guess it’s just my turn.

Goodbye


Farewell Old Friend

Image

I walked into the living room this morning to make coffee, and noticed that our long time cat, Carl, wasn’t breathing. He was diagnosed with feline AIDS last summer. Many times when a creature dies, if it’s in pain, it will draw its knees in to its chest in the fetal position. Carl was outstretched and looked as if he were merely sleeping, so I know he hadn’t suffered. He ate dinner last night with as much excitement as he always does. Rigor mortis had already set in and his paws were cold, so I know that he died sometime in the night.

I said a quick prayer earlier and thanked God for allowing Carl to be with us for as long as he had been. Still, there’s just no shaking this sadness. Brianna laid him to rest just past these frozen leaves.

Frozen like our hearts.


Stress Level: Blowing Gaskets

Today has been an unusually stressful day. I’ve been working on my new art site, which I won’t reveal until it’s completely finished. It’s definitely in its embryonic stages. I have so much school work to catch up on and we’re financially strapped, as usual. Some of my photography art acquaintances have Donate to PayPal tabs up on their sites and many are actually receiving donations. I can’t bring myself to do that. I will work hard to sell my art work instead; that means pounding the virtual pavement and hobnobbing with the elite in the art world. Nothing to complain about, I assure you. But work is work, and I’m so limited on time these days. To put it simply, school is eating me up alive. Research, essays, and reports: my head feels like it’s in a pressure cooker, or an olive that is being slowly squeezed of its precious substances. The arachnoid cyst on my brain stem is acting up again and the pain is relentless and intense, but it doesn’t slow me down- it should.

It’s snowing outside- March snow. I should be taking a Psychology exam but I’m going to pop an Ambien and call it a night. It’s 1:00 a.m.

I just needed to write something.
I should cry.

Image