As I began to love myself I found that anguish and emotional suffering are only warning signs that I was living against my own truth. Today, I know, this is AUTHENTICITY.
As I began to love myself I understood how much it can offend somebody as I try to force my desires on this person, even though I knew the time was not right and the person was not ready for it, and even though this person was me. Today I call it RESPECT.
As I began to love myself I stopped craving for a different life, and I could see that everything that surrounded me was inviting me to grow. Today I call it MATURITY.
As I began to love myself I understood that at any circumstance, I am in the right place at the right time, and everything happens at the exactly right moment, so I could be calm. Today I call it SELF-CONFIDENCE.
As I began to love myself I quit stealing my own time, and I stopped designing huge projects for the future. Today, I only do what brings me joy and happiness, things I love to do and that make my heart cheer, and I do them in my own way and in my own rhythm. Today I call it SIMPLICITY.
As I began to love myself I freed myself of anything that is no good for my health – food, people, things, situations, and everything that drew me down and away from myself. At first I called this attitude a healthy egoism. Today I know it is LOVE OF ONESELF.
As I began to love myself I quit trying to always be right, and ever since, I was wrong less of the time. Today I discovered that is MODESTY.
As I began to love myself I refused to go on living in the past and worry about the future. Now, I only live for the moment, where EVERYTHING is happening. Today I live each day, day by day, and I call it FULFILLMENT.
As I began to love myself I recognized that my mind can disturb me and it can make me sick. But As I connected it to my heart, my mind became a valuable ally. Today I call this connection WISDOM OF THE HEART.
We no longer need to fear arguments, confrontations or any kind of problems with ourselves or others. Even stars collide, and out of their crashing new worlds are born. Today I know THAT IS LIFE!
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Monday, October 21, 2013
weekend convo.
"Everyone experiences heartbreak," she reassured me. "Everyone gets their heart broken. Do you think I wasn't a mess after my divorce?" She barely avoided hitting her ankle against the curb as she swayed past me.
"I never thought you ever felt that way," I said slowly. "You always seem too tough for that." I watched the bottle in her hand and started to worry about her dropping it and wasting its contents.
"I am too tough for that. So are you. We are tough bitches," she stated. I was envious of her unslurred speech. Her steps were unsteady but somehow I knew she really had it under control. She always does. She never gets one bit drunker or higher or made up or angry or tired or anything more than she means to.
"I'm tired of being tough. I want to be rescued." I sat down on the curb a little heavier than I intended and pouted into my knees. "I want to be taken care of."
"The hell you do. You'd hate being beholden to anyone, and you would feel very beholden and obligated to someone who 'rescued' you. And then you would resent him." She noticed my eyes following the bottle and handed it to me. I impressed myself with the size of the drink I took out of it. She sat down next to me on the curb and in a softer tone unexpectedly said, "I know you miss him."
I daresay neither one of us were prepared for the force of the tears that burst from my face at that. The combo of late night emotional conversation and vodka straight up broke the damn and I was instantly a blubbering wet mess. I pulled a tissue out of my purse and attempted to teach it how to swim by wiping it across my face.
"Oh my god," I wailed. "I miss him so much I can't breathe," Hysterics! Why can't we achieve full hysterics at 3am on a city sidewalk? It would be liberating.
She put her arm around me and whispered, "I know," into my hair and kissed me on the top of my head. It was an action he would have done and it was a couple minutes until I could breathe normally again.
"I'm so sorry," I whimpered. "I hate getting like this. I try really hard to keep it together. Nobody wants to hang around people like this. And everyone thinks I'm so strong. I feel like nobody understands what I'm going through."
"Yes, I know." She stood up and looked down at me. I took a drink from the bottle and handed it back to her.
"I've never seen you cry." I said.
"No, I don't expect you 'ave, luv," she replied in her fake Cockney accent. "Because I don't."
I blinked. "Ever? Are you one of those people without tear ducts or something?" I sniffled but straightened up. I wanted to hear something mundane and trivial to stop thinking about things that make me cry when I think about them.
"No, its not like that," she took a drink and handed it back. I drank twice. "I mean, I cry, its possible, and I have cried a lot, before, in my life. I mean I don't do it anymore. Not because of some self righteous declaration on my part or anything like that. I just rarely come across things that affect me to tears."
I processed this for a couple minutes while I nursed the bottle a little more. That would be pretty handy, I thought. Then I thought, no, its kind of sad. It would be nice to not hurt this much, though.
She sat down next to me on the curb again and took the bottle from me. "Ahhhh!!!!" She exaggerated the noise after taking a swig. "Refreshing!" She touched the tattoo on my ankle and said, "Do you remember that anklet I had in college that said 'No mud, no lotus'?"
I looked at her. "Oh my goodness, yes. I had forgotten about it but I remember now. I loved that."
"Yeah... its a life lesson." She seemed distracted for a minute while she took another drink and handed it back. She fell silent and stared at the sky.
"Because... lily pads, and lotuses, only grow in shallow muddy water..." I prompted her.
"Right," She came back to Earth and looked at me. "Buddha teaches us that basically its all temporary, you have to take the good with the bad, the wheel will always turn all the way around again, everything balances out, right?"
"Um, yeah," I sniffed at her interpretation. "He's a snib more eloquent than that but yes, that's a basic understanding." I sniffed again and decided this bottle is mine now.
"Well," she looked at the bottle but didn't motion for it. I was relieved. "Its like this. Do you remember the time you said there were times you 'literally cried with glee' in his company? I'm quoting you."
"Of course I fucking remember that." Wow that was a big drink, my tongue feels numb. Why can't this stuff numb the lump growing in my throat? "Its very true. We had a lot of... a lot of laughs and really funny and fun times." I hiccuped and more tears arrived. How can I stand to lose so much moisture? I better have another drink.
"I know. And the reason it burns and hurts so much now is because those times were so wonderful and magical and full of love and that's what makes the absence of those things so dry and dreary and cold and sad." She squatted in front of me and looked me in the eyes. "Lisa. Don't you see? You have to be miserable and heartbroken now because The Universe let you have that magic then. Everything has to balance. Yeah it sucks balls now but try to remember how awesome the Awesome was."
"Okay," I burbled out of the wet mess of my face.
"You are tough. Its okay to be human and tough at the same time. Please stop acting like you can't ask for help just because you're too damn tough." I scowled at her. Sometimes I love that she knows me, sometimes I hate it. I wish I could find a man that understood me half as well. She gave me a dry tissue from her purse. "Its too tough being tough, honey. It's like full time theater. We don't leave the house without our full body armor and that's what keeps us safe but it also keeps us soft and tender underneath. When that armor is breached its so painful because we're too vulnerable under the protection. That's why you hurt so much now."
"I'll never have your gift for words," I blubbered.
"C'mon, let's get our drunk asses home," she grabbed my hands and stood me up. She started walking ahead. I stopped to pick up the vodka bottle.
"I drank all the vodka," I confessed. I watched her walking away, much steadier than she was not two minutes ago.
"If I had a nickel for every time you've told me that," she called back.
"I never thought you ever felt that way," I said slowly. "You always seem too tough for that." I watched the bottle in her hand and started to worry about her dropping it and wasting its contents.
"I am too tough for that. So are you. We are tough bitches," she stated. I was envious of her unslurred speech. Her steps were unsteady but somehow I knew she really had it under control. She always does. She never gets one bit drunker or higher or made up or angry or tired or anything more than she means to.
"I'm tired of being tough. I want to be rescued." I sat down on the curb a little heavier than I intended and pouted into my knees. "I want to be taken care of."
"The hell you do. You'd hate being beholden to anyone, and you would feel very beholden and obligated to someone who 'rescued' you. And then you would resent him." She noticed my eyes following the bottle and handed it to me. I impressed myself with the size of the drink I took out of it. She sat down next to me on the curb and in a softer tone unexpectedly said, "I know you miss him."
I daresay neither one of us were prepared for the force of the tears that burst from my face at that. The combo of late night emotional conversation and vodka straight up broke the damn and I was instantly a blubbering wet mess. I pulled a tissue out of my purse and attempted to teach it how to swim by wiping it across my face.
"Oh my god," I wailed. "I miss him so much I can't breathe," Hysterics! Why can't we achieve full hysterics at 3am on a city sidewalk? It would be liberating.
She put her arm around me and whispered, "I know," into my hair and kissed me on the top of my head. It was an action he would have done and it was a couple minutes until I could breathe normally again.
"I'm so sorry," I whimpered. "I hate getting like this. I try really hard to keep it together. Nobody wants to hang around people like this. And everyone thinks I'm so strong. I feel like nobody understands what I'm going through."
"Yes, I know." She stood up and looked down at me. I took a drink from the bottle and handed it back to her.
"I've never seen you cry." I said.
"No, I don't expect you 'ave, luv," she replied in her fake Cockney accent. "Because I don't."
I blinked. "Ever? Are you one of those people without tear ducts or something?" I sniffled but straightened up. I wanted to hear something mundane and trivial to stop thinking about things that make me cry when I think about them.
"No, its not like that," she took a drink and handed it back. I drank twice. "I mean, I cry, its possible, and I have cried a lot, before, in my life. I mean I don't do it anymore. Not because of some self righteous declaration on my part or anything like that. I just rarely come across things that affect me to tears."
I processed this for a couple minutes while I nursed the bottle a little more. That would be pretty handy, I thought. Then I thought, no, its kind of sad. It would be nice to not hurt this much, though.
She sat down next to me on the curb again and took the bottle from me. "Ahhhh!!!!" She exaggerated the noise after taking a swig. "Refreshing!" She touched the tattoo on my ankle and said, "Do you remember that anklet I had in college that said 'No mud, no lotus'?"
I looked at her. "Oh my goodness, yes. I had forgotten about it but I remember now. I loved that."
"Yeah... its a life lesson." She seemed distracted for a minute while she took another drink and handed it back. She fell silent and stared at the sky.
"Because... lily pads, and lotuses, only grow in shallow muddy water..." I prompted her.
"Right," She came back to Earth and looked at me. "Buddha teaches us that basically its all temporary, you have to take the good with the bad, the wheel will always turn all the way around again, everything balances out, right?"
"Um, yeah," I sniffed at her interpretation. "He's a snib more eloquent than that but yes, that's a basic understanding." I sniffed again and decided this bottle is mine now.
"Well," she looked at the bottle but didn't motion for it. I was relieved. "Its like this. Do you remember the time you said there were times you 'literally cried with glee' in his company? I'm quoting you."
"Of course I fucking remember that." Wow that was a big drink, my tongue feels numb. Why can't this stuff numb the lump growing in my throat? "Its very true. We had a lot of... a lot of laughs and really funny and fun times." I hiccuped and more tears arrived. How can I stand to lose so much moisture? I better have another drink.
"I know. And the reason it burns and hurts so much now is because those times were so wonderful and magical and full of love and that's what makes the absence of those things so dry and dreary and cold and sad." She squatted in front of me and looked me in the eyes. "Lisa. Don't you see? You have to be miserable and heartbroken now because The Universe let you have that magic then. Everything has to balance. Yeah it sucks balls now but try to remember how awesome the Awesome was."
"Okay," I burbled out of the wet mess of my face.
"You are tough. Its okay to be human and tough at the same time. Please stop acting like you can't ask for help just because you're too damn tough." I scowled at her. Sometimes I love that she knows me, sometimes I hate it. I wish I could find a man that understood me half as well. She gave me a dry tissue from her purse. "Its too tough being tough, honey. It's like full time theater. We don't leave the house without our full body armor and that's what keeps us safe but it also keeps us soft and tender underneath. When that armor is breached its so painful because we're too vulnerable under the protection. That's why you hurt so much now."
"I'll never have your gift for words," I blubbered.
"C'mon, let's get our drunk asses home," she grabbed my hands and stood me up. She started walking ahead. I stopped to pick up the vodka bottle.
"I drank all the vodka," I confessed. I watched her walking away, much steadier than she was not two minutes ago.
"If I had a nickel for every time you've told me that," she called back.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Now what?
I go about my business every day; that’s what They tell you to do. They are people who think they are in a position to tell you how to deal with depression; They are mentally well; They aren’t depressed. They have read books and written papers and taken tests and They spew pithy advice full of words like “mindfulness” and “positivism”.
They like to say things like, “you have ___ to live for.” No, clearly I don’t have that to live for, if I don’t want to live for it. They don’t understand; They are not really listening. They are not depressed.
I’m at the store, the library, the gas station, and all I can think is “Why can’t anyone see? Why can’t they see the despair on my face and in my actions. Why can’t they see the cracks in my soul?”
The answer is that I have become such a pro at hiding it that it doesn’t show through. I have more years of pretending everything is okay than I have years of everything being okay. They say you can’t do it alone and yet They are not there when you finally break down and admit you need help. There isn’t help. They think saying things like “pull yourself up” and “snap out of it” are helping. Wow, ‘snap out of it’? Why didn’t I think of that on my own?? What excellent advice!
I am so skilled at hiding it that even after being hospitalized for depression I get no more than “you feel better now, right?” from Them. And so I continue to hide it. I’m told “you can’t do this alone”, followed by “you have to figure this out for yourself”. I’m told its not my fault I’m sick followed by “you have to choose not to be sick”. That’s why its impossible to ask Them for help.
Yes it gets better. It always gets better. Then it gets worse again. Every bout is worse than the bout before, and the last one nearly killed me. Tell me why I don’t just let this one finish the job? Their reasons aren’t resonating with me. They aren’t depressed. They don’t understand.
They like to say things like, “you have ___ to live for.” No, clearly I don’t have that to live for, if I don’t want to live for it. They don’t understand; They are not really listening. They are not depressed.
I’m at the store, the library, the gas station, and all I can think is “Why can’t anyone see? Why can’t they see the despair on my face and in my actions. Why can’t they see the cracks in my soul?”
The answer is that I have become such a pro at hiding it that it doesn’t show through. I have more years of pretending everything is okay than I have years of everything being okay. They say you can’t do it alone and yet They are not there when you finally break down and admit you need help. There isn’t help. They think saying things like “pull yourself up” and “snap out of it” are helping. Wow, ‘snap out of it’? Why didn’t I think of that on my own?? What excellent advice!
I am so skilled at hiding it that even after being hospitalized for depression I get no more than “you feel better now, right?” from Them. And so I continue to hide it. I’m told “you can’t do this alone”, followed by “you have to figure this out for yourself”. I’m told its not my fault I’m sick followed by “you have to choose not to be sick”. That’s why its impossible to ask Them for help.
Yes it gets better. It always gets better. Then it gets worse again. Every bout is worse than the bout before, and the last one nearly killed me. Tell me why I don’t just let this one finish the job? Their reasons aren’t resonating with me. They aren’t depressed. They don’t understand.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Remember
The time I was trying to tell you about Honore de Balzac and you kept saying "ballsack, ballsack" and giggling like a maniac and I was so annoyed with you.
I miss you, you asshole.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Friday, October 11, 2013
Dreams
I don’t sleep much, or well, and when I do, I dream. I dream a lot. And even the good dreams are sad.
I dream about my demons. I dream about running away from this giant cloud/monster/villian of Depression; or at least trying to. Its too big. Its faster than me because its the size of a city block. Its like trying to outrun the weather. When it catches me I scream my head off at it and defiantly yell out why it can’t have me but it just grins its huge toothy scary grin and pins my arms to my sides. Nobody can hear me scream when I’m stuck like that. Nobody can see me struggling like Fay Wray. What’s more, nobody is concerned.
I dream about perpetually being on the verge of drowning. The water is always just above chin level and I can’t swim. There’s no escape from this room that slowly and noisily continues to fill with water. I panic a lot in my dreams.
I dream about being normal. I dream about eating a donut without fear. I dream I CAN run - my arms and legs and knees function correctly, and there’s no falling down for no reason, and my back doesn’t scream at me, and I can run across a field for no reason other than to be free. I dream about spending a whole day out and about without having any bathroom emergencies or “I need to hide before I freak out” episodes. I dream about loving and being loved and having relationships that don’t hinge upon how much of my illnesses the other person can handle. I dream about not being lonely. I dream about getting some sleep, and getting a hug, and smiling. I dream about not crying. I dream about not being alone.
I dream about the sweet oblivion relief of death.
But to be honest, I live with these dreams when I’m awake. They don’t really wait for me to sleep. I don't sleep much.
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