mothers

youngest son
(grown man)
sends his most recent IM's
with smiling faces
shedding tears
& i think
"what is he trying to tell me?"
- i love you so much it hurts
- i'm broken inside, but still faking a smile
- please ask me what's wrong, i don't know where to begin . . .
finally
i can take it no longer
hunt down the giant scratched up magnifying glass
peer at the message on the pc screen
desperately trying to decipher this madness.
comparing emojis
i wisely conclude
that hands are white,
& tears are blue.
hands are white
& tears are blue.
those tiny white tears
are mini 'thumbs up'  
combined with a smile ~ 
a positive thing!
silly mother
misreading
a common cartoon
simply because 
he said
he missed 
me.

Left Field

Dr. Minimizer

he's there to help me -
but often,
he doesn't.

when i tell him where it hurts,

he tells me why it shouldn't.                        

apparently, 

i've been doing my whole life

wrong.

hell -

I could have told him that.

(& kept my $80. bucks!)

but 

he holds

the magic wand

that writes the scripts

that help me keep my 

balance.

this is an illness

of which he has no understanding -

his lack of compassion

has made that crystal clear.

in winter

when i feel my worst, 

he tells me i'm wasting those 3 months of my life,

like it's some kind of goddamn choice.

he has no idea                                                                                             

how difficult this is;

judgement slides down his nose & lives

in his meticulously groomed goatee.

again,                                                                               

i'm not cut out for this world.

if it were up to me,

i'd waste the remaining months as well.

58 & Counting

so . . . i'm having trouble functioning.  i know what i think i want to do at night before i go to bed, but at some point the following morning i change my mind, lose motivation . . . whatevs.  today i'm feeling cold in here, altho the sun is representing nicely.  i'm struggling to make me go outside - even for a few moments.  i'm not afraid, i just don't want to.  i feel that, once again, winter's going to be quite the challenge.

& . . . i'm combating these symptoms w/a 2nd cup of coffee.  i'm not certain that's the answer, but it's definitely worth a try.  my steps are tentative but purposeful; i did make it outside briefly, the sun was warm & felt good on my face.  plus the hens gave me 3 eggs!  sometimes the best thing i can do for myself is accept where i'm at, but something inside drives me to thinking i'm lazy, faking it, or some such nonsense.  i think it's my prior parent who's doing that; i've had plenty of practice listening to her, & still she chimes on, though long gone.

the area rugs i've considered washing the past 2 or 3 days are finally in the washer, as the weather predicts the sun will be out long enough for them to dry on the line.  i'm trying to see even small things as accomplishments, since that's the best way i know of to re-establish a sense of competence in myself.  but the repetition of all this is monotonous.

the 2nd cup has begun to take effect, but i'm not sure it's the one desired.  feeling a little revved up but not motivated, i decide 1/2 way through i might do well to leave off here.  still i don't pour the sucker out, for before reason & clarity comes addiction, & coffee is the only one left i can afford to dabble in.

the dogs are seeking out sun spots on the rug & tucking their noses under their tails, so i know i'm not the only one in here feeling the chill.  

my spelling of even the simplest words is questionable & this disturbs me greatly as it has always been an area of confidence since i was a young girl.  now my mind plays tricks on me, convincing me a certain spelling is correct, when in fact, it is not.  (e.g. 'tales/tails' in the previous paragraph.  originally i spelled it incorrectly.)  the other day i wanted to use 'conniving' in a sentence, & my first mental attempts started w/ 'ka'.  seriously, i couldn't even begin to remember how to spell it, & was slightly appalled when i realized i wasn't even in the ball park.  thankfully i was able to remember of my own accord, & didn't have to look it up.  but how long before it comes to that?  yike, this getting older stuff is for the birds.  & only an older person would use that phrase.  yuck, &, double-yuck.

i am walking around w/my fists clenched & my thumbs tucked in, which catches me thinking i'm getting sicker.  (not by the moment, but over recent time.)  the additional coffee has given me a slightly uncomfortable buzz, but strangely enough this is a welcome change from the doldrums.  i take another swig.  what a good thing it is i no longer drink or smoke pot.  i feel like i will be lucky to make it though this day however, catering to my flair for the dramatic.

one of the damning things about these illnesses is the fact they live in the mind.  the likelihood of them having been there since youth is not uncommon; quite possibly your thinking has been skewed to some degree since you were a child.  combined with unhealthy external influences which most of us are subjected to, our thought processes feel normal to us, though they may not be at all.  i am often beleaguered by the notion that somehow the responsibility for feeling depressed & anxious lies w/me; that i am at fault for not pressing through, trying harder, sucking it up.  while there may be some merit to warring w/the enemy dwelling in our heads it can also be defeating, leading to greater stress & disappointment.

i remember somewhere around 6th or 7th grade feeling nauseous when i'd wake up & prepare to go to school.  in short, i felt sick.  of course i wasn't (physically), & even recall my mom & i having an appt. w/the guidance counselor to enforce the fact that regardless of how i felt, i would be attending unless genuinely ill.  add this to my 4th(?) grade goal of becoming 'stoic' - a word i learned while touring Plymouth Plantation on a grade school field trip - & you have the recipe for disaster during the formative years of a highly sensitive individual.

i've done my time trying harder.  i've pushed myself through trials & tribulations, marriages & mishaps, & am tired of playing games.  i have an illness.  it's NOT my fault, i CAN'T control it, & i most DEFINITELY am not FAKING!  ah, but the undercurrent of that voice, that disapproving authority/parental figure, rises above my own amid the silence of my mind, scoffing at my resolve to accept myself just as i am.  "DO BETTER, PUSH HARDER, TRY! DON'T CRY!"  & even the kinder words spoken in later years do little to heal the damages done early in life.

.     .     .

this day has not been wasted, then.  aside from the menial tasks i performed, i wrote words that likely no-one will read.  still, i feel better having written.  this is my life.

10.12.15