Facebook Posts to My Husband...

Facebook Posts to My Husband...

Wednesday, September 23, 2015

A Good Heart

So I was thinking...

I had a conversation with my son Eric the other day.  He was telling me that he had driven by Grammy & Grampa's mailbox and noticed that Grammy had repainted it and it looked really beautiful.  He had wanted to stop in and tell her but he was in the middle of a 4-wheeler ride with a large group of people from church, so he couldn't, but he would for sure call her and tell her later.  Sweet kid.

After hanging up the phone I thought to myself what a beautiful heart this child has.  I mean really, how many 14 year old boys do you know would pay attention to a design on a mailbox?  Unless of course it was painted like an X-Box controller or something.  HA!  He paid enough attention to be able to bring it up hours later in a conversation.  I can't really even recall what the mailbox looked like before it's new paint job and I was just out there for 2 months. Really sweet kid.

A few nights later we talked again.  He told me all about how school was going and life in general.  His best friend, his dog Sammy, got sprayed by a skunk.  Oh No!!!  Eeeeew.  He said he had opened the front door and Sam just casually walked out and over to inspect this dark spot in the yard and that's when it happened...Blam...lethal doses of yuck filled the air and wrapped itself around poor curious Sam.  UGH  And then the chore to un-stink the stink began.  So so glad I was not there for this part of his life's adventure. 

As conversation was winding down I asked him, as I always do, "Is there anything else you want to talk about, anything else going on?"

Not really he says, then quickly adds, "well there is one kind of bad thing." My gut immediately twists...

"okay, lay it on me" I say.  

He says, "remember when I went on that 4-wheeler ride and I saw Grammy painted her mailbox?"  Yes.  "Well, I forgot to call her and tell her I like it.  I really wanted to tell her because how would she ever know someone liked it, who else will even see it, and who would call and say it's pretty to her?  I feel bad I forgot to call her.  I wanted to make her happy."

I don't say anything.  I can't. My heart has swelled so huge that it cuts off my airway and my words can't make their way out.  Who is this child of mine, this love of my life.  God he is such a good good boy.

Get a grip Kristen, say something.  "Oh honey, that's okay.  Only you know you didn't call, she won't be hurt because she didn't know.  And anyways, after 4 hours riding 4-wheelers in the blistering heat and dust, it's no wonder you didn't remember.  Don't give it another thought.  You are so kind to think of it though."

"Yeah", he says.  Dad's driving me over as soon as we hang up here.  I cut her a big bunch of our Sunflower's and I'm gonna run in real quick and give them to her and tell her the mailbox is beautiful."

"You are?  Right now?" 

"Yup, we're headed into town but I wanted to do this first before I forget again."

I'm stunned.  All I can say is "I love you so very much Eric, you have a really good heart. You are such a nice boy, you are thoughtful and kind and caring of others.  I'm so lucky God gave you to me.  You are about to make Grammy very happy today. Please tell them I say hello and hug them for me, okay?"

"I will mumma, well I need to go so we can get over there and into town before it gets too late."  "Okay handsome, love you and I'll call in a few days.  Be safe! Bye babe." "By mumma."  I hear kissing sounds and then a dial tone.  He always kisses me through the phone. I am so in love with this boy!

I sit thinking about his heart, the one that is planted inside the vehicle that is his body. I know, strange, but since I lost my husband I tend to think things on a much deeper level. I am always saying/thinking my son has a really good heart. But...isn't a heart just an organ?  It pumps blood, and that is all?

It can't be a heart that is good. Right?  Oh, I know, it is good, in the sense of the job it has of keeping the vehicle alive.  Kind of like the roots of a tree. Without them the tree would die.  So if this is true then do we not attach too much emotional significance to the heart? Is it really not just an organ?  No one says "you have a good liver", or kidney or spleen.  Right? Are they not kind of the same thing...all organs that help run the machine that is our body?

What happens then when the heart dies?  If the heart is all that was good in a person, as we so often attribute it, then when that vehicle stops being alive all is lost?  It can't be. That goes against everything we have ever been taught. Right? It does. Whether you agree or not.

It's the soul that is good then, not the heart, right? It is the soul that is the light of our being.  It is the soul that drives the vehicle that is our physical body.  Not the heart. So why do we all say things like...bless his/her heart, he/she has such a good heart, when what we really should do is replace the word heart with soul. Am I right?

And who is it that decided love is the shape of a Valentine's heart?  Is it because to picture love as the venous muscle that it really is would be gross? Is this muscle even really where all emotions live?  No.  I think it's the soul. It has to be. I can't bear to think that when the love of my life died all his feelings and emotions stopped when his heart did.  That would mean...that would mean...no, I can't think it and I can't say it.  It is the soul then.  The soul makes someone good and kind and loving, the soul is where all emotions dwell.  It is the soul that is energy and light which carries on once the heart stops beating so then the heart really is just a muscle. Got it!

We have all just been saying it wrong all our lives.  Bless his heart...he has such a good heart. Maybe so...but the soul is the thing.  The soul is the real deal.

The soul is where it's at.





Saturday, September 19, 2015

Mary Jane

These past several weeks have been bad, really bad.  Not in the sense of being embroiled with visions and memories of the accident or long crying jags for missing my husband, not that that doesn't happen from time to time still, but something has it's grips on me. I don't know what it is.  I've been calling it anxiety but I don't know if it is.  Someone on WWS mentioned depression but I don't know if it is. It's bad though, really bad.

If I'm being honest there has been a slight touch of this in me for about a year, a slight touch.  Now, huh, now I am ALL this new thing with a slight touch of me quivering in the darkest corner of my soul hoping the evil monster doesn't realize I'm still there hiding, trying to gain strength to fight. Praying I can conquer this unwanted entity and reign queen of my mind once again.

It started small, but seemed big at the time.

The phone would ring and immediately I would tense and think "Oh my God, someone wants something from me, I've got nothing left," and with fear in my eyes I would answer the damn phone. Wait! What? Seriously...what is that all about?  It's the phone dumb ass, just answer it, it even tells you who is calling...no surprises there!

See, small but big.Then it morphed into something else.

About six months ago I noticed I would look at my To Do list...call so and so, go to such and such store, make such and such appointment etc., easy right?!  WRONG!  I would immediately tense up, and my mind would race like wildfire.  Here we go...Okay Kristen, let's start with item one shall we?  Call so and so. Um, yeah, I can't. Why? Well, I'm really not sure, I just can't. Sure you can...just pick up the phone and dial. Oh, is that all?  Just pick up the phone and dial?  If it was that simple would I be having this ridiculous conversation with myself? Don't you think I know JUST PICK UP THE PHONE AND DIAL?  I know how to do this...I just CAN'T. 

For an hour this would go on, me mentally kicking and screaming and begging for the ease of it. The ease that I so did/do not feel. An hour of beating myself up, holding my head in my hands, rocking back and forth crying "why can't I do this".  And then I would...I would pick up the phone and dial, and wait and listen.  "Hello?" "Hi Mom...how are you?" 

I did it...cross item one off my list.  What's next? Go to such and such store...okay, let's do this. Grab phone, purse, keys and let's go.  Easy Peasy!  Start the car, open sunroof, turn on tunes...sing and bop to the music.  Life is good!  Um...hold up.  I can't go in there.  What?  Why? Don't know, by mind and body is screaming I can't go inside there.  Huh...I wonder why?  Is there a madman inside do you think?  No, of course not...I'm the damn madman you idiot.  Clearly.  I just spent an hour fighting with my brain and my arm to pick up the damn phone and call my mother.  Madness?  Yup, I think so.  Now I'm sitting in front of the store where I buy food for my daughter and I.  And I can't go in.  Madness?  Oh shit yeah.  I am so fucked it's not even funny.

What in God's name is happening to me? Seriously? Have I not been through enough? Is God just up there thinking "Oh there she is, looks as though she can take just a little bit more...blam...now she's a semi functioning idiot." Well thank you very much! 

NOT!!!!

Some days I just pace in circles fighting an internal battle with my brain.  That tiny little me hiding in the corner is waging a war with the evil that is holding me hostage to myself.  All I want is to be normal but this thing won't allow that.  It wants all of my soul and is pissed off that there is still the tiniest piece in MY control.  I'm not sure I can win this but I will not give up, I'm still trying.

Yesterday was bad.  I have a 'gathering' with friends to attend today and I offered to bring a salad and roasted potatoes. Do I have that in the house?  Nope. Do I need to go to the market? Yup.  Craap! For an hour and a half I fought and cried and paced and begged for help.  I pleaded with David, Evelyn, my Grandmother...anyone up there who gives a crap about me to please help me get over this nonsense, to please help me get out of this house.  I had made it in to my room to change out of 'hang around the house' clothes and looked in the mirror. Oh God, I look HORRIBLE!  Just change and go to the store Kristen...this isn't a beauty contest. I can't! What should I put on? OH. MY. GOD. You have freaking got to be kidding me. Just grab those shorts there and a baseball cap and run to the damn store. Um...I can't. Holy shit!  Grab my head crying, PLEASE HELP ME!!! I started to leave my room, clearly unable to change right now. Wait? What? Did I just hear the word pot? Oh my God.  Yes! Why have I not thought of this until now.  Why have I been fighting this horrible demon for all this time and not even considered it. Thank you David!

Okay, here goes.  Where is that stash I confiscated from my child 4 years ago? Is it still even good? Should I really do this? What if the house smells? What if I smell? Oh no...paranoia is creeping in and I haven't even found the bag yet. Seriously, I am such a mess, will this even help? I've heard there are beneficial aspects to it...medically speaking. But in this house it is a big no no. I'm all about teaching my child the dangers of it and the damage it will cause her brain.  Yadda yadda yadda. Should I really do this?  AH HA!!! Found it! Okay, good, let's see if this really can help.

Where should I smoke it?  Can't do it in my room it will stink and my kid will know. In the kitchen?  Pft...no. Bathroom! No, neighbors might smell it. They aren't even home stupid, you've got the house to yourself so to speak.  Ok, I will start in the kitchen, take it out of the bag and see what all I've got. Open one zip lock...take out bag, open that zip lock, take out another bag...open third (or 4th, I lost count) zip lock, take out THE bag. Rolling papers, lighter, smokeless pipe, roach clip, film canister with pot in it, and a half smoked joint.  WOW Look at all this stuff I laugh, paranoia floating all around me.  I don't care, I'm doing this! But where? Bathroom it is. Out the window...no neighbors might see me. Near the window, I'll do it near the window in the bathroom so the smoke can go outside.  I attach the roach clip to the half smoked joint, grab the lighter and head to the bathroom, look outside to see if anyone is around.  Nope, I'm good.  Click (that's the lighter) and suck, did it light? Don't think so, oh yeah, the edge of the paper lit...suck some more. Did I get anything. Doesn't taste like it.  Watch in the mirror dummy!  Ok, light it again and suck, just a small suck, got it! Now I am coughing all over the place and the room STINKS.  Shit.  Put it out, spray Glade Balsam Fir room spray.  Awesome!  Now it smells like burning pine needles in here.  Oh yeah, my kid will know instantly.  I'm screwed.  And all for nothing, I didn't even really get a hit. Will it still smell at 2am when she gets home?  I sure hope not. Run to the kitchen to wrap, wrap, wrap, and wrap it all up again to hide it once more. I laugh, what a paranoid fool I am.  HA

Wait!  Heeeey, guess what?  My mind is clear, it worked. Holy shit, it worked.  Unbelievable.  I hardly even got a hit, so now I know...the smallest possible amount helped tremendously.  I figure this all out as I'm changing.  Yup, changing...and I didn't even realize I was doing it.  HA!  Damn this stuff is great!  Off to the store I go, got what I needed, load the car and look up.  Oh, I've needed to go there since May.  Lock the car and head over.  March myself through the door. 

Wow, just...wow! 

Relief.



PS...Don't judge me! ;-)



Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Grief is isolating

I just read that somewhere. 

Grief is isolating.

It so is to! Damn. I have worked so freaking hard from the very beginning of this crazy mixed up journey to 'get out there', 'do', 'live'. Well, ya know what?  It ain't working!!!

Two years and 4 damn months into this shit storm and I'm screaming UNCLE...I'm tapping out. Let me out of this ring now...don't want to be here and I definitely don't want to play this stupid game anymore. I feel like I am the definition of isolated.  Look in the dictionary and there I am pretty as a picture wrapped inside the meaning of the word.  God, could I be any more pathetic?

Where am I?  Where did I go?  Am I coming back? Will I know me when I see me?  Will you?  Ugh!  What the hell man.  Not only do we have to come to terms, whatever that means, with the fact that our spouse has left the building but now we have to figure out where the hell we went? Craap!

All these many many months clawing my way through the muck that my life is and this is where I end up?  Isolated.  Alone.  Again...what the hell man.  Why can I no longer find the words to carry on a conversation, why do I cringe when asked to do something or go somewhere?  Why? 

Is it always going to be like this? Will I ever be able to feel joy again?  Will I laugh again with more than just my voice? Will I be able to do what needs to get done without thinking it to death and making myself crazy.  God, the questions.  The boat loads of questions and not one single answer.

Stick a fork in me because I am done!

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

Losing the will...

It's been an interesting time. All these months, two years worth of months, and I think I am finally losing my mind...and my will.

I'm not sure what is happening to me, my anxiety level has reached epic heights. I am paralyzed. I am turning inward. I'm losing my words.  My brain won't ever stop running.  I cry all the time.  I can no longer put one foot in front of the other...and I'm scared.  All. The. Damn. Time. 

I spend all day, every day, alone.  Well, except for weekends.  Weekends I still manage to drag myself to visit with friends.  I don't want to half the time, I have nothing to say. I just can't carry on a conversation with anyone anymore.  My friends, they don't know, they wouldn't get it, and why would they? This hasn't happened to them and they have families and jobs and lives.  I do not.  They know nothing of how I feel, how I am.  They don't ask and I don't tell.  I am a friend who once had everything they do and now has nothing.  I don't talk because they won't understand, can't understand. I just don't fit in this puzzle anymore.

To say that I am lonely is laughable because what I am is a prisoner inside my head and no one can hear me scream.  I thought my life had been spared because I was needed here but that was just a stupid lie.  The kids don't need me anymore, they are too busy building their own lives, as they should be.

I don't want to play this game anymore.