I was watching some mindless show the other day with an interview between a pseudo-celebrity entertainment journalist and a pseudo-celebrity reality star. (Actually, the pseudo-celebrity entertainment journalist is also a pseudo-celebrity reality star herself. Oh, Hollywood...what a tangled web...) They were discussing the reality star's earlier courtship break-up with her now husband and what a tough time that was in their relationship. The journalist said to the reality star, "Did you go 'radio silence' on him?"
I honestly don't remember what the reality star's reply was, but I couldn't stop thinking about the idea of "radio silence." Of just...disappearing.
I need to disappear.
I want to disappear.
I don't want the life I'm living. No matter how much I try to keep my head in the game and stay on top of my life, my thoughts have become consumed with running away. I keep trying to shove these thoughts away because I have too many people counting on me right now, but they creep back in almost nonstop.
And it makes me feel guilty to think this way - about my marriage, about my daughter, about the rest of my family and friends. How hurtful would that be for me to just pick up and leave?
But it's all I want to do.
I want to live in a tiny house and create. That's all I want. I don't want to see anyone. I don't want to talk to anyone. I don't want anyone in my life.
I know this sounds absolutely ridiculous. And over the top. And over dramatic. And selfish. And mean.
And I could psychoanalyze the shit out of all of this because I'm really good at psychoanalyzing the shit out of things: I know that I've been hurt by the deaths of so many people I love and the rejection of so many others that are living. I know that part of my wanting to disappear is a way of protecting myself against more loss and rejection. I know that I'm facing a time of huge transition (empty nest, marital shifts, more losses from that bitch that is cancer, a probably move, huge career decisions). I know that it's mentally unhealthy to want to shun other human beings in your life. I know that I need to hold on. I know that I just need to get up each morning and put one foot in front of the other and breathe in and out and GET ON WITH IT. I know this. I know all of this. But knowing all of this doesn't make it possible to do. Doesn't make the unending, paralyzing, gut-wrenching, grip-my-heart-and-tear-it-out-of-my-chest pain, go away. The weight of that pain is getting heavier and heavier - and I'm buckling.
I want relief. I need relief. I want freedom. Freedom from the grip of pain that has owned my heart and mind for so long and is only getting worse. The pain is stealing more and more of me and it's threatening to consume me completely. The fight I've fought against it for nearly thirty years is a losing battle it seems and my knees are giving out. Feels like it's time to surrender. To escape. To go silent. To just go.
Radio silence.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Notsomuchste
Emma cracks me up. She doesn't usually have much to say, but when she finally does say something it's usually funny or clever or interesting or wise. I admire that about her. She doesn't have a need a fill the air with too many words like so many people do. She's content in her silence and confident enough to not babble away unnecessarily.
Emma and I often go to yoga class together. (If you knew me at all that last sentence would have made you laugh. I'm not athletic or flexible or physically strong. I am a bit of a spaz and am never quite sure how to coordinate these long limbs of mine.) We've been going fairly regularly as a way to get out of the house, do something physical and spend some time together - but mostly to escape from our broken hearts for an hour.
The teacher is just what you'd think a yoga instructor would be. She fits all the stereotypes you might have about someone who spends a great deal of her time trying to "find her center" and "achieve inner peace" while she "connects with her true self." Petite, fit, soft-spoken, meditative, very little make-up, bare feet.
I struggle with the movements and poses because of my bum hip, twice-broken foot and old age. But I get out there and I give it a go, which I'm proud of. Emma is much better at all of it since she is young and a dancer.
At the end of class the teacher always says, in a very soft-spoken manner, "Honor others. Honor yourselves. Honor your teacher. Namaste." And it always makes us giggle. It just seems SOOO new age-ish and I'm afraid we're too sarcastic and cynical to take it all that seriously.
The other night, we were in class and the lights were dimmed and the room was quiet as we followed the teacher's instructions...Warrior's Pose, Tree pose, and then Downward Dog. I struggle with Downward Dog because my arms are not strong and my hip always wants to give out. Oh, and I struggle with vertigo too, so having my head down lower than my torso always creates dizziness. It takes a lot of focus for me and I work hard at it. Towards the end of class, we were in our Downward Dog pose while we all listened to some very bizarre, obscure, new age musical number with a lute playing and I believe what was the slow beat of a bongo in the background. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Emma loud-whispers to me, "Mom!" I didn't answer - I was too busy focusing on my arms not giving out as my face turned beet red and sweat formed on my upper lip with the effort. So she said again, in an even louder-whisper, "MOM!" Annoyed, I loud-whispered back, "WHAT?!" Then she said, "This is my favorite song."
Hahahahahahaha!!! I collapsed into a Laying Down Dog Flat On My Mat pose in a fit of giggles. Soon to follow were glares from my fellow yoga-mates and the teacher, oh the teacher did not look pleased at all. Emma just shook her head at me as if she were just an innocent bystander and all like, "It wasn't THAT funny, Mom."
LOVE her!
Emma and I often go to yoga class together. (If you knew me at all that last sentence would have made you laugh. I'm not athletic or flexible or physically strong. I am a bit of a spaz and am never quite sure how to coordinate these long limbs of mine.) We've been going fairly regularly as a way to get out of the house, do something physical and spend some time together - but mostly to escape from our broken hearts for an hour.
The teacher is just what you'd think a yoga instructor would be. She fits all the stereotypes you might have about someone who spends a great deal of her time trying to "find her center" and "achieve inner peace" while she "connects with her true self." Petite, fit, soft-spoken, meditative, very little make-up, bare feet.
I struggle with the movements and poses because of my bum hip, twice-broken foot and old age. But I get out there and I give it a go, which I'm proud of. Emma is much better at all of it since she is young and a dancer.
At the end of class the teacher always says, in a very soft-spoken manner, "Honor others. Honor yourselves. Honor your teacher. Namaste." And it always makes us giggle. It just seems SOOO new age-ish and I'm afraid we're too sarcastic and cynical to take it all that seriously.
The other night, we were in class and the lights were dimmed and the room was quiet as we followed the teacher's instructions...Warrior's Pose, Tree pose, and then Downward Dog. I struggle with Downward Dog because my arms are not strong and my hip always wants to give out. Oh, and I struggle with vertigo too, so having my head down lower than my torso always creates dizziness. It takes a lot of focus for me and I work hard at it. Towards the end of class, we were in our Downward Dog pose while we all listened to some very bizarre, obscure, new age musical number with a lute playing and I believe what was the slow beat of a bongo in the background. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Emma loud-whispers to me, "Mom!" I didn't answer - I was too busy focusing on my arms not giving out as my face turned beet red and sweat formed on my upper lip with the effort. So she said again, in an even louder-whisper, "MOM!" Annoyed, I loud-whispered back, "WHAT?!" Then she said, "This is my favorite song."
Hahahahahahaha!!! I collapsed into a Laying Down Dog Flat On My Mat pose in a fit of giggles. Soon to follow were glares from my fellow yoga-mates and the teacher, oh the teacher did not look pleased at all. Emma just shook her head at me as if she were just an innocent bystander and all like, "It wasn't THAT funny, Mom."
LOVE her!
Monday, March 11, 2013
Bigger Than A Train Wreck
I had an upsetting dream last night. Typically when I have dreams, whatever happens in them can be traced back to some concrete reality from the previous days before I had it - just with a bizarre twist to it. Like, say, I drink a can of soda in real life (unusual for me) and then I'll have a dream about drinking a can of soda and blowing up like a balloon and floating off into the sunset. Or, I'll watch a documentary about Kennedy's assassination and I'll have a dream about jump-roaping on a grassy knoll - in Thailand. Totally bizarre.
But last night I had one that I can't seem to trace back to anything concrete from the past few days, but that I know for sure is symbolic of how my life is going lately. In it, a space shuttle had just launched and I was watching it from a high floor in a high rise building. People were cheering and in awe as they craned their heads skyward to watch it disappear into the atmosphere. As it got further into the sky, but still quite close to earth, there were suddenly orange flames flashing out from the bulbous nose of the spacecraft that quickly made their way on down the rest of the body of the shuttle, swallowing it until it was engulfed and coming apart. The separate pieces were falling to the earth onto the busy street below the building I was in and crashing into cars and greedily swallowing those up in flames as well. I looked up and the largest shuttle piece remaining was hurtling towards earth and I watched as it crashed into a building across the street and exploding causing utter and total devastation. I knew that in that second and the ones before, many people - innocent, good people - were killed, or maimed or burned. That their lives were destroyed or forever altered.
It seemed so real in my dream, so vivid, that I woke up from it thinking that I should turn on CNN to get more information about what was happening. Then, as I became more awake, I realized that it was just a dream but then I instantly realized somehow that that space shuttle bursting into flames and destroying so much around it was a clear symbol of my life at the moment. I started crying. That space shuttle was me and it fell apart and by falling apart it hurt what surrounded it - it hurt people's lives by not holding up and doing what it was supposed to do. By not being stronger. Something inside, deep within its being - a faulty wire, a weak bolt, a crack in the metal innards - gave way, and tipped the shuttle over the edge of what it should have been able to accomplish and manage until it just exploded and fell apart, taking down many others with it.
I, and my life, are way beyond a train wreck. We're an exploding space shuttle.
But last night I had one that I can't seem to trace back to anything concrete from the past few days, but that I know for sure is symbolic of how my life is going lately. In it, a space shuttle had just launched and I was watching it from a high floor in a high rise building. People were cheering and in awe as they craned their heads skyward to watch it disappear into the atmosphere. As it got further into the sky, but still quite close to earth, there were suddenly orange flames flashing out from the bulbous nose of the spacecraft that quickly made their way on down the rest of the body of the shuttle, swallowing it until it was engulfed and coming apart. The separate pieces were falling to the earth onto the busy street below the building I was in and crashing into cars and greedily swallowing those up in flames as well. I looked up and the largest shuttle piece remaining was hurtling towards earth and I watched as it crashed into a building across the street and exploding causing utter and total devastation. I knew that in that second and the ones before, many people - innocent, good people - were killed, or maimed or burned. That their lives were destroyed or forever altered.
It seemed so real in my dream, so vivid, that I woke up from it thinking that I should turn on CNN to get more information about what was happening. Then, as I became more awake, I realized that it was just a dream but then I instantly realized somehow that that space shuttle bursting into flames and destroying so much around it was a clear symbol of my life at the moment. I started crying. That space shuttle was me and it fell apart and by falling apart it hurt what surrounded it - it hurt people's lives by not holding up and doing what it was supposed to do. By not being stronger. Something inside, deep within its being - a faulty wire, a weak bolt, a crack in the metal innards - gave way, and tipped the shuttle over the edge of what it should have been able to accomplish and manage until it just exploded and fell apart, taking down many others with it.
I, and my life, are way beyond a train wreck. We're an exploding space shuttle.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
New Lows
I found myself on the bathroom floor tonight, crying my eyes out. That was after crying my eyes out this morning on a bench on a public mountain trail. I am being brought to my knees and I keep trying to figure it out. I keep trying to make sense out of things that will never make sense. I sat on that bench and stared at the magnificent morning sunrise with things swimming around in my head grasping, reaching, praying for answers. For ways to fix or heal or answer or DO ANYTHING about any of it.
Then tonight I lost it in front of my daughter. I found some things out from her that just...buckled me. Like a bat to the back of my knees, I was emotionally down - surrendered against my will to the reality that is my life. I have no answers. I can't fix any of it. I'm not sure if I'll ever heal.
I'm scared and I'm sad and I feel hopeless.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
!
I've noticed something! Something kind of funny! Something that would be a pretty cool trick if it all weren't so sad! When I am texting or e-mailing someone in response to their questions about how I'm doing, and end sentences with an exclamation point, they believe I'm okay when I say I'm okay! They suddenly move on and ask no more questions about how I'm doing!
Isn't that the oddest thing? And pretty shady of me if I'm being totally honest. But, it wasn't something that I did with purpose at first. I didn't even realize I was doing it at all for a long time. But in the last few weeks, I started noticing it and decided to test it. Someone would ask me how I'm doing (crappy) or how my sister is doing (crappy) and I would talk honestly about how (crappy) we were were doing and I could tell the other person would begin to feel stressed that we're doing so crappy. OR! I would evade their questions and they would notice that I'm evading and call me out on it. Then I would send a response with an exclamation point on the end and they would immediately believe me that I was fine and I could tell their stress level would diminish significantly.
For example:
Them: "How is your sister doing, Rachel?"
Me (option 1 - no exclamation point): "She is struggling quite a bit, but managed to be able to take a shower today."
Me (option 2 - using exclamation point): "She is struggling quite a bit but managed to be able to take a shower today!"
See the difference? In option 2, the reader would take it as good news and be able to move on to talking about other things when, in actuality, it kind of sucks that the standard of what my sister can manage in a day has become so low that being able to take a shower is newsworthy. But, frankly, it is often a relief for me to move on to another topic, and here is why...people just want me to be okay. That's all they want. They care about me and my family and want to help but know they can't and that's stressful for them. They want to fix, but they can't. They want to solve, but they can't. They want me not to hurt, but I can't stop hurting just because they want it so much for me. Intellectually, everyone involved knows this, but human nature dictates that they at least try. My exclamation points let them off they hook. They asked, I answered with enthusiasm, we can all move on to the next topic. I can pretend to be okay and this is comforting to the other person.
I learned years ago that my not being okay is a real hardship for the people who care about me. When Joanne was killed I was SO NOT okay and I walked around obviously not okay. It was hard for people to be around me. Not because they didn't love me or care about me - but because they did. I soon realized that the more "okay" I was, the more people were comfortable with my situation and with being around me. I needed people around me. Grief is such an isolating journey and I was desperate for friendship and companionship so...I adjusted. I smiled and laughed and pretended to be okay.
The problem with this, of course, is that it'll come back to bite you. All of that pretending will eventually catch up with you and suddenly you feel like your going to have a nervous breakdown out of pure exhaustion with all of that Oscar-winning acting you're doing. I've learned this the hard way. So much so, that I was eventually diagnosed with PTSD and suffered a severe depression.
But, here I am, pretending again. It's taken on a new format with technology creating even another layer of removal from others - texting and e-mail give you a safe cushion from your tone of voice or facial expressions giving you away. A simple exclamation point is all that is needed and your scott free.
I know in my gut that all of this exclaiming might be a big mistake, but I honestly don't know any other way of handling it. They want me to be okay, I will be okay, and it doesn't really matter that I'm not okay. Give the people what they want and the truth won't matter.
Except...it does. I'm NOT okay. I am hurting and I am scared and I am desperately sad. And I am alone with it because that is what's necessary to be able to get on with your life day-in and day-out. And to have people in your life. And to just get the hell on with it. There doesn't seem to be many options here.
Smile. Nod. Evade. And if all else fails, exclaim.
Isn't that the oddest thing? And pretty shady of me if I'm being totally honest. But, it wasn't something that I did with purpose at first. I didn't even realize I was doing it at all for a long time. But in the last few weeks, I started noticing it and decided to test it. Someone would ask me how I'm doing (crappy) or how my sister is doing (crappy) and I would talk honestly about how (crappy) we were were doing and I could tell the other person would begin to feel stressed that we're doing so crappy. OR! I would evade their questions and they would notice that I'm evading and call me out on it. Then I would send a response with an exclamation point on the end and they would immediately believe me that I was fine and I could tell their stress level would diminish significantly.
For example:
Them: "How is your sister doing, Rachel?"
Me (option 1 - no exclamation point): "She is struggling quite a bit, but managed to be able to take a shower today."
Me (option 2 - using exclamation point): "She is struggling quite a bit but managed to be able to take a shower today!"
See the difference? In option 2, the reader would take it as good news and be able to move on to talking about other things when, in actuality, it kind of sucks that the standard of what my sister can manage in a day has become so low that being able to take a shower is newsworthy. But, frankly, it is often a relief for me to move on to another topic, and here is why...people just want me to be okay. That's all they want. They care about me and my family and want to help but know they can't and that's stressful for them. They want to fix, but they can't. They want to solve, but they can't. They want me not to hurt, but I can't stop hurting just because they want it so much for me. Intellectually, everyone involved knows this, but human nature dictates that they at least try. My exclamation points let them off they hook. They asked, I answered with enthusiasm, we can all move on to the next topic. I can pretend to be okay and this is comforting to the other person.
I learned years ago that my not being okay is a real hardship for the people who care about me. When Joanne was killed I was SO NOT okay and I walked around obviously not okay. It was hard for people to be around me. Not because they didn't love me or care about me - but because they did. I soon realized that the more "okay" I was, the more people were comfortable with my situation and with being around me. I needed people around me. Grief is such an isolating journey and I was desperate for friendship and companionship so...I adjusted. I smiled and laughed and pretended to be okay.
The problem with this, of course, is that it'll come back to bite you. All of that pretending will eventually catch up with you and suddenly you feel like your going to have a nervous breakdown out of pure exhaustion with all of that Oscar-winning acting you're doing. I've learned this the hard way. So much so, that I was eventually diagnosed with PTSD and suffered a severe depression.
But, here I am, pretending again. It's taken on a new format with technology creating even another layer of removal from others - texting and e-mail give you a safe cushion from your tone of voice or facial expressions giving you away. A simple exclamation point is all that is needed and your scott free.
I know in my gut that all of this exclaiming might be a big mistake, but I honestly don't know any other way of handling it. They want me to be okay, I will be okay, and it doesn't really matter that I'm not okay. Give the people what they want and the truth won't matter.
Except...it does. I'm NOT okay. I am hurting and I am scared and I am desperately sad. And I am alone with it because that is what's necessary to be able to get on with your life day-in and day-out. And to have people in your life. And to just get the hell on with it. There doesn't seem to be many options here.
Smile. Nod. Evade. And if all else fails, exclaim.
Monday, February 25, 2013
The One Left Behind
Long hiatus, folks! It's been a while since I've been writing on here. I don't know why I do that. I know I hate it when other bloggers do that - just disappear. I'm at an advantage though because I don't have any readers (At least I don't think I do. Please let me know if I'm wrong.) so I imagine that my absence has offended no one.
I'm going through some things. Some hard things. I'm used to hard things but that somehow doesn't make hard things any easier. This is unfortunate. What good is all of that "hard stuff" life experience if it doesn't make the next hard thing any easier to go through? It makes one feel rather foolish and ripped off for all of that endurance displayed, grit proven and lip stiffened.
In a nutshell, I have a very ill sister, an ill father, an anxious daughter, no money, no job, a 24-year marriage, a messy house and, well, a pretty messy life. I've had the urge to write about these things and hope that, by doing so, I'll remember what all of this felt like. I'm hoping that this time, I will not shove all of my thoughts, feelings and emotions so deep into the caverns of my heart and mind that they serve no purpose but to eat me alive, body and soul.
You see, I've already lost a sister, two brothers and my mother. And I've shoved and I've swallowed and I've endured and I've forged on. But I have not come out unscathed. I am damaged. More than most I would guess. And with all of that shoving and swallowing I am not able to help others as much as I'd like. I want to help others. It's the only thing that helps make all that my family has gone through make any sense. It seems selfish and wasteful not to serve others during their hard times.
My goal is to "go there." To let myself feel it all through writing about it. And hopefully, by letting myself feel it all, I can learn and pass on what I've learned better than I have in the past.
I'm going through some things. Some hard things. I'm used to hard things but that somehow doesn't make hard things any easier. This is unfortunate. What good is all of that "hard stuff" life experience if it doesn't make the next hard thing any easier to go through? It makes one feel rather foolish and ripped off for all of that endurance displayed, grit proven and lip stiffened.
In a nutshell, I have a very ill sister, an ill father, an anxious daughter, no money, no job, a 24-year marriage, a messy house and, well, a pretty messy life. I've had the urge to write about these things and hope that, by doing so, I'll remember what all of this felt like. I'm hoping that this time, I will not shove all of my thoughts, feelings and emotions so deep into the caverns of my heart and mind that they serve no purpose but to eat me alive, body and soul.
You see, I've already lost a sister, two brothers and my mother. And I've shoved and I've swallowed and I've endured and I've forged on. But I have not come out unscathed. I am damaged. More than most I would guess. And with all of that shoving and swallowing I am not able to help others as much as I'd like. I want to help others. It's the only thing that helps make all that my family has gone through make any sense. It seems selfish and wasteful not to serve others during their hard times.
My goal is to "go there." To let myself feel it all through writing about it. And hopefully, by letting myself feel it all, I can learn and pass on what I've learned better than I have in the past.
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