The eclipse brought the hurricanes, one after another. Each one standing out in it’s own way – fastest, largest, most destructive. And with them – a storm rolled in that threatens to swallow us. I believe in seasons of change. I have lived through many and am not in awe of their ability but am in fear. But what really shatters my hopes is the days I see above the clouds of it only to be reprimanded in the truth that it is not yet over.
I have called out all the things I have done wrong. Lined them up in deep humility like glass bottles on a shelf. Pushing them together so that I can fit more and more as they wobble and threaten to fall. The light shines through the window and against their edges giving them a false personality of beauty but I know the truth. They cannot redeem me in this storm. They alone cannot humble the lion that rattles our cage.
So much pain. Drowning out my soul. Waiting for the panic attack that never comes. Hopeful for it in a way so that my body finally justifies my hearts explosion. Surely then I will have some sort of relief. Crippled. All I want to do is run but there’s no place waiting. I’ve been here before.
~Heartache floats over her as if an animal in pain. Quiet & steadfast, it’s strength outweighs it’s scream. The ancient battle of wisdom vs. emotion rages a war inside her head. The bottom of it’s cloud hangs down in soft, fog like streams as it rests gently on her shoulders. Nothing about her reveals it’s truth, or it’s presence. Except her eyes. As if she was the animal itself with a will so strong she is able to hide all other symptoms from the ones that love her. Striking, wise, crystal like, blue eyes that reveal the battle she faces above. ~
The curvy road ahead bent back and forth as if in silent warnings. As her car climbed the mountain side it struggled in protest. Her captivating eyes clung to the road ahead but her mind was left behind. And her heart… it laid in ruins somewhere beneath her rib cage. She heard her mothers voice inside the quiet sedan, heard her pained pleas to come home. But they didn’t register. She could concentrate on nothing but the beating of her betrayed heart.
She passed the overlook she was supposed to wait at. Willingly yet unwillingly at the same time. And she knew her parents were beginning their climb somewhere down below. But her body betrayed her mind and she didn’t even slow down as it came into view. The trees overgrew the road ahead, limbs hanging heavily down as if the leaves that benefited them also suffocated their strength to stand. Exactly how she felt. And weaving back and forth through their beckoning path she felt a small comfort in their embrace.
~ I see you baby girl. I see through the armor you mask yourself with. I hurt with you when the world is too much to take. I hold your hand tightly when you feel an empty palm. And my heart moves into yours when the hurt becomes too much to bear. ~
If perspective was something that we could easily choose to navigate & utilize
then imagine how much our world would change. Without ignorantly simplifying the
things in life that are just by default harder to grasp - what if we could in fact
control our perspective enough - just enough - to make a huge difference? How
would it change everything as we knew it? And how much easier would the hardest
Recently I have been learning that fear drives more of my decisions than I ever knew. In fact, it is something that shuffles along beside me with it’s counter part – anxiety – so quietly at times I don’t notice it’s footprints.
I have faint memories of a pit in my stomach. Of feeling worried/ill/scared. It took me years to realize as I drop in and out of these memories that anxiety lived inside me long before I knew it’s name. And then I realized – the small pathways my thoughts took to get to that place of meeting fear. Fear doesn’t appear all on it’s own. It isn’t a separate entity that decides to join you on your walk of life. It is a consequence. An after-the-fact(s) energy that begins to stir in contemplation and confusion. From there it either sizzles out as you process the struggle, or – for me often – it feeds/grows/evolves into a strength that quite often outweighs my rationality.
Anxiety. Fear. I don’t understand enough to know if there are one and the same. What I do know is that they are partners that take turns leading the dance. And all the same, to me – they are one.
Lately my thoughts turn to the opposite of this enemy that lives inside of me. Courage. And I find myself wondering if courage is the same as fear and needs to build over time inside of your thoughts & intentions. I pray for it. I talk myself into it. Mostly I hope for it to arrive like a blessing out of heaven and suddenly be overwhelmed with it. But I am finding the process of finding it, learning it, creating it – has been slow. So in turn I pray for patience.
Courage is something I don’t easily come by. I can talk a good talk in my intentional thoughts. I can hope with a swelling heart so hard that it will appear for me. I can set my intentions so high that I think ‘this is the day it arrives’. But in truth, I am finding it to be something I have to work towards. For me anyway it isn’t easily attained.
~She rattles the cage as the roaring grows louder. Speak, she begs. Show your face so I no longer have to walk alone. I will free you, she cries. If only, you promise to show me the way home~
I try to remind myself not to measure myself against all the things I’ve done wrong. Not to forget that every thought coming into my brain, into my focus, is not from God. Where along the way did I decide that I had to accept and listen to every thought that crossed my path? If I knew the point of entry, could I even derail these thoughts not from God into another direction? I like to think so.
Just because I think it doesn’t mean I should accept it. This is something I must remember to remind myself of, especially being someone that lives with OCD. I must keep in my focus that to really focus on what is right I must be willing to let go of what is not. I must be willing to break my own cycle and let go of what is not serving me. Just because a thought or habit became part of the cycle of my thinking doesn’t mean it belongs there.
OCD is all about repetition. In more ways that one. It is about containing and controlling things in a world that is out of control, in a world that is full of anxieties and uncertainties. It is a tool of sorts. And I need to remind myself to let it be the impending hammer to what is wrong and a tool of acceptance to what is right. No matter how hard it is. No matter how afraid I am.
Fear. It drives me. It envelops me. It shames me. Time and time again I find this happening, I see it enter my focus and I standby as if without a choice as it takes over everything I have fought so hard to resist.
I try to remind myself not to measure myself against all the things I’ve done wrong.
Yesterday, my little girl, found herself pushing her small body into my side for comfort. Absent mindedly I reach down to hold a short blonde pony tail in my hand, palm resting on her parted hair I instinctively comfort her fears as I re-clip the pink butterfly barrette. It’s these moments I remember so well, these small collective moments of my fondest memories, because my heart was so attached to them.
Emotions attach us to memories. Memories then reach back and remind us of those emotions. I grew up with a father that always said ‘don’t let your emotions get the best of you’ or ‘that is just your emotions talking’. Like they didn’t matter. Like they weren’t something just as powerful as fact. Like I should ignore them. Perhaps he felt that way just because his own emotions were too strong to handle…. his guilt of his family falling apart. His regret. His fears of losing what he had left. His strong love and desire for my mother that he never quite got right in her eyes.
But for me, I learned another truth. I learned that emotions are indeed something to feel, to allow validity, to sometimes fear – yes – but more often they are something to embrace, to appreciate, and to give thanks to God for. Because they indeed are a part of our soul and the miracle of our existence.
Yesterday, my little girl, came running towards me with a skinned knee, shoelaces flapping in the wind behind her, tears rolling down and wiping the dirt from her face. She came running at me, for comfort, however small. And I remember reaching out to her, embracing her, attaching myself to her emotionally.
Yesterday you were just tall enough to grab my hand as it reached down toward you. I remember the pressure of your fingers wrap inside mine as you glanced ahead. We stared at the ocean, wave after wave, as you held tight while you tried to bury your little toes in the sand. You looked at me and your face was as bright as the setting sun. And we watched as our feet sunk down together, wave after wave until we were ankle deep in sand. You giggled and jumped up to free yourself. Letting go of my hand you found your own strength and splashed around as the clumps of sand washed away from the tops of your feet. I left my arm reaching down, just in case, you needed stability from me…..
Here we are again, yet you are as tall as a woman and your hands are the same size as mine. And today, you are letting go again, washing yourself free of your childhood and finding the strength you need in yourself to jump out of the sand. And i will watch you smile, and listen as you giggle, and my hand will stay reaching towards you – just in case – you need the stability again…..
i dont remember where it led to, but the path lifts out of the fog covered glasses in my dreams. i take down it, even knowing, nothing is rarely as it seems.
There are two extremes, one on each side, swinging in one fluent motion although they are completely an opposite of each other. Like a teeter totter. Do you see the resemblance among the difference? Total opposite ends of each other, yet, completely moving in unison.
There are extremists on each side of view. Each can go so far towards an end – just to prove in all it’s dramatics how different they feel – that they lose sight of the balance between. It’s sad really, the lack of critical thinking skills they must possess. To become so different often one has to act so generically the same.
There is this great vast ocean called the middle. Equilibrium. Balance. The thinking pot. It’s where you meet others to discuss, critically think, and make each other brighter, smarter. It’s when you try so hard to be different that you lose out on being a part of all the differences.
When you find yourself closing your mind, despite what it has been closing itself to, remember that God has put us all together in hopes that we swim inside that vast ocean called compassion. Seek truth, despite your personal opinions of the world, stay simple. Be kind, be compassionate, try to understand things you cannot, and pray. For it is not up to us to judge but to God. We need to remember not to shut down the miracle of the soul we were given. For if we cannot keep it alive – who will?
~Sadly she sang until the voice had expired. Waves of air moved from her mouth as nothing was heard. It was as if the ocean swallowed up her desire. And she forgot everything it had learned.~
I am here again. In this place I never want to be. Writing out of pain. But this pain – this time – is the worst I have seen.
Everything before just doesn’t matter, everything before had never tore my heart walls such as this.
I will never forgive myself. I will never ever stop hurting. I will never ever stop loving one of the greatest sweetest souls I have ever met.
Some things in life are inevitable. Denial being one of those things. But also truth. It may take longer than it should at times, but the truth comes into focus whether or not you are ready to believe it, eventually.
I have spent so long angry and placing blame entirely on one person for tragedies that tempted to destroy a truly wonderful family. In part because I didn’t want to see the blame I should have also been blaming on someone very dear to my heart. And suddenly, when you can deny no longer, when you let the true hurt and disappointment in, you have no choice. You have no choice but to see what you wish not to. You have no choice but to step back and accept that pain, lift the shades, and be angry at her. So incredibly angry that it becomes a heartbreak.
It isn’t just the attempts at destroying the family that is so dear to me. We shall survive in a new way, a new normal. It is the aftermath in it’s wake that still sickens us, still affects us, still burns. And she lets it continue. We have suffered losses – some so deep they were offensive – some so raw that despite our efforts we cannot reconnect in a close way with her children. And it is that – missing her children – that I will never get over.
There comes a time when you need to let go of the denial that is protecting the shred of love left for someone. There comes a time when you allow yourself to see the truth, to see the other blame you so wished didn’t exist. And there comes a time when inevitability washes over you like a tsunami full of rage. You have no choice now, you must ride out the wave in all of it’s fresh pain and accept what you cannot contain……………………………
Sometimes you have to turn things around. No one else may understand it, know you are doing it, or figure out why. It’s just something you do for yourself. And often, you need to ask God for help in doing so. Because only he can carry you through the storms.
Yesterday, I logged on to my blog after months of staying away. Why did I stay away? Because I tend to only write when I am very down. And sometimes the thought of opening my blog up to type means only 1 thing. I am having a bad day. So what does a good old OCD stricken girl do? She stays away of course. After all, if I open the blog I have to admit just how bad my day or situation is going. I mean, doesn’t everyone think this way? It’s all about routine and good luck/bad luck is it not?
If you say no to that answer, you are of the lucky. Embrace it, enjoy your carefree mind and energy. I am in awe of you, not resentment. I wish OCD upon no one. It certainly can be used as a positive thing in my life though. But in raw honesty most of the time I forget that and I let it wear me down until I can’t stand hearing myself think anymore.
One of my greatest joys is writing. And it is also something I punish myself with, a groundation if you will, and often I don’t let myself write. Because one day, and I don’t know when this happened exactly, it became more of a need for bad times and turned from thoughtful insightful words into depressing and deep emotion. I hate that change. I want to turn that around. No one can understand that, no one knows how much I need that or why.
Sometimes you have to turn things around. It’s just something you do for yourself. And often, if not always, you need to ask God for his help. You need to hand up your problems and trust his hands and only then can you move forward.
~I wait in silence. The hope lifts my feet until I can almost, just almost, reach the clouds with it. It’s an amazing thing letting go and trusting. There is nothing else like the peace that it brings. And so I wait, in silence.~
I think sometimes sadness has a root, and sometimes it’s a genetic physical wire inside of us, and sometimes – maybe most of the time – it’s a little of both. I will never believe that emotions are anything but physical. So then, doesn’t it make sense, if this were true – that emotions can intertwine with our bodies to cause physical pains? Can they be physical to such a point that in fact they are the most experienced pains of all? Joys of all?
Timing is everything. Or is it? Maybe so. Maybe it isn’t always on our timing, but on Gods. I am going to be writing a lot more. Taking the crazy withdrawal train away from this smoking that is hurting my health. My mom suggests to write. My husband suggests cold turkey. So I am taking her advice and hoping that it not only clears my angry withdrawing anxiety/ocd driven mind, but also keeps my jittering hands busy. Freedom from 2 evils I suppose. I won’t lie. I enjoy smoking. I enjoy the small tucked away peaceful moments I retain for myself while doing it, I enjoy the anxiety and ocd levels depleting with each breath. I enjoy the habit, the routine (I have ocd – of course I do) and the quiet time alone outside with my dogs. I am not sure what exactly will happen to this creature of habit when I enter the cold turkey withdrawal world. But you see, today, I don’t really have a choice. Today, I find myself googling things that bring tears to my eyes, things that scare the bottom of my soul, and I realize – it’s time to grow up already. Time to grow up and make sure that I am still here someday so that I can still be a mom, still be a wife, still hold my dogs at night.
What I haven’t really figure out yet though is what to write. Will I be all over the place? Random thoughts and stories? Will I start a writing project? Time will tell. It might be nice to have a plan that I can obsess over, jump into every change I get (or every chance I physically NEED as a distraction) and get it all done on computer paper….
I’m sick. Nothing life threatening, at least in the near future, but maybe sooner than I planned – time will tell soon enough my diagnosis. So i can either stress and smoke twice as much as normal for the next two weeks while I fear my tests. Or I can quit. Now. What if every single day until then improves my condition – if even just a tiny bit more. Am I willing to give up that option? Absolutely not.
You can dance in the rain until your feet run dry, spinning in circles as it falls from the sky,
Hovering over the tear stung puddle beneath your gaze, eyes down as the fires blaze,
You can dance in the rain until the song goes still, and the crickets start to whine,
Or you can keep dancing – despite it all – and realize, of everything, the most precious – is time………………………