Posts Tagged ‘Sad’

More of the same

Sunday, November 25th, 2012

More silence (it has now been two weeks since the “I can’t talk to you yet. I’m not ready.” text message).

More sadness.

More sorrow.

Sorry about all the downer posts. Here are the Cliff Notes to say “this is the last of the sad stuff until I have something useful to say.”

I am trying to implement my friend and teacher’s advice to “try not to suffer my suffering, but rather witness my suffering and try not to stop it or interfere with it. Suffering resisted becomes agony, so don’t try to control.”

Similarly, I have been reading some stuff written by Pema Chodron from her book “When Things Fall Apart.” I actually saw her speak about three years ago with my friend that died of the brain tumor. It was one of the last things we did together when she was well enough to leave the house and whatnot.

Anyway, some of passages that have spoken to me are below:

“People get into a heavy-duty sin and guilt trip, feeling that if things are going wrong, that means that they did something bad and they are being punished. That’s not the idea at all. The idea of karma is that you continually get the teachings that you need to open your heart. To the degree that you didn’t understand in the past how to stop protecting your soft spot, how to stop armoring your heart, you’re given this gift of teachings in the form of your life, to give you everything you need to open further.”

“I used to have a sign pinned up on my wall that read: Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us…It was all about letting go of everything.”

“Most of us do not take these situations as teachings. We automatically hate them. We run like crazy. We use all kinds of ways to escape — all addictions stem from this moment when we meet our edge and we just can’t stand it. We feel we have to soften it, pad it with something, and we become addicted to whatever it is that seems to ease the pain.”

““To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man’s-land, to experience each moment as completely new and fresh. To live is to be willing to die over and over again. ”

Who hoo! I’m fully alive…by dying over and over again. Kind of like “life’s a bitch and then you die…and then she’s nice for a little while just long enough to suck you in…and then she turns bitchy and you die again.”

That stated, new precedents for the upcoming days/weeks/months:

1) Unless I update otherwise, the deafening silence continues and could possibly go on for the rest of my life. In that case, it will hopefully start to hurt less eventually. Maybe in the new year?

2) Let’s not talk about this anymore. I might start an anonymous blog and drag myself through the whole thing there, but for now – and for the sake of my poor dad who is vicariously heartbroken for me – there’s no real need to discuss this further. It’s completely out of my hands, and I just have to accept that.

Although it may be nothing more than a weak attempt at justification, I’m going to stick with the old Desiderata wisdom “and whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.”

In other news….how did your “Black Friday” go? Get involved in any interesting stampedes or fist fights at a Wal-mart?

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I’d Say I’m Fine…But I’d Be Lying

Thursday, November 15th, 2012

What is it with me and November?
Or maybe just: what is it with November?

This makes me laugh every time.

Life, once again, has gone to sh*t.

This time it involves someone I love very, very deeply – the same someone as last time, actually. What is it with THEM and November? – and their struggle with (what seems to be) addiction…or insanity…but probably addiction. I don’t know. They haven’t spoken to me or answered a text or email in eight days, even though they bought me a ticket to be with them on Thanksgiving. The plane leaves Tuesday, but I have no idea if I should even get on it.

To say I am confused would be the understatement of the century.

To say I am in agony doesn’t begin to capture this extraordinary anguish.

There are no words for this experience. Just tears and insomnia and punctuations of anger and loneliness and grace.

To be fair, it all started in October, maybe even September. When you back into a mystery still unfolding, it is nearly impossible to “know” what you knew or when or where or what or why or if what your mind is remembering is even relevant.

Still, some sort of dark snow fell on everything a few months ago. I felt it. I was afraid. I simply didn’t know what was happening at the time or how to stop it.

I commented to a friend the other day that this must be a small slice of what it’s like for parents whose children have been abducted: you just don’t know. You don’t know if they’re dead or alive, you are trapped between hope and grief. You can never really begin to mourn. You wake up in a foreign country filled with pain and despair, with no map or any sense of where you are, what has happened to your life or your love, or why.

It’s so tempting to blame myself. To try to find some way to take ownership or control of a situation that is clearly so insane, so beyond normal understanding. I can’t – may never – comprehend what is happening because there is no logic. Still, this is not my fault.

This also makes me laugh every time.

My teacher tells me that there is a lesson here for my soul. Something it has chosen to learn.

I personally think my soul needs a black eye and a serious talking to.

And my soul is not the only one I’m pissed off at. If it wasn’t a broke down jalopy these days, I’d hijack the Space Shuttle and go give God a punch as well. I’m not much of a boxer, but after I pulled his hair and screamed at him awhile, he might realize I was there.

Then there is the fear.

Is this person okay?

If it is drugs – meth probably, as they struggled with addiction to it in their past – will it suck them into its little hell? Will they lose their job, their home, their teeth, their health, their sanity, their life?

Will I have to bear some sort of witness or do I have the strength to walk away?

Is that strength?

Seeking guidance from my friends who are recovered addicts, there is no clear answer. If he had cancer, would I abandon him? Never. Anyone who’s ever read this blog from November(see!? There’s November again) to January 2009-10 know the faithful friend I am.

Do you walk away from someone you love when they are struggling – even if they won’t admit it – unless you give it your best shot to help them wake up and ask for help first?

I don’t know.

But then again, how do you help them wake up if they won’t even speak to you? If you are the one person they’ve cut off simply for knowing them too well?

I am the only one he has exposed this crisis to…even if his method of exposure has been suddenly and inexplicably avoiding me, but I don’t know that he wants my help. Everything I’ve read says they have to want it for themselves, and so far he is showing no signs of that.

Then there is my own loss. My plans, my future, so many hopes and dreams wrapped up in this person and who they were, who we were or might have been. All that is lost now, irretrievably broken.

There are these little moments that take me by surprise in their awfulness. This vague sense that something is missing, something just a little to my left. Something that was always there before yet somehow invisible like my glasses or a background noise. I pause, wondering what it could be and realize…him. It’s an emptiness as big as the room.

And all explanations – insanity, drugs, revelation that this is simply the cruelest, coldest, and most heartless human being in the world – totally suck.

I’m doing what I always do: crying, talking myself blue trying to “understand” what is happening, putting one foot in front of the other.

Still, as I mentioned, there is grace. There are the friends who have come forward simply to ask if I was all right and the “inner circle” who have listened to me spin and spin and retell every detail and clue in my own sober mania. Those who have called or picked up the phone at truly unreasonable hours or checked in if they haven’t heard anything from me for a while.

I am so grateful I am not an addict or plagued with mental illness or even just cruelty. Life is hard enough without these extra burdens, and I do know – no matter what – I will be just fine.

My “Matrix red pill” moment came on Saturday morning: the realization that my life had suddenly, inexplicably changed and would never quite be the same.

Then the sadness, the despair, the “how could you do this to me?”, the fear, the “why!?” The whole avalanche of every crappy feeling in the book.

I am grateful to have good guidance through this darkness; my beloved teacher I have spoken of many times before.

She adopted and raised 17 fetal drug and alcohol children (and fostered many more) and her advice to me is not only loving and kind, but rich with wisdom and experience. She knew her kids’ birth parents, let them come around, suffered terribly at some of their hands…and then watched as they remembered none of it.

Thanks to her patience and love, I came to my own decision somehow on Tuesday afternoon.

I decided to put away my disappointment and anger and outrage and taking this personally, and only send pure, unconditional love. I think about him every few hours and just imagine him bathed in it and hope somewhere in there, wherever he is, he can feel it and it might ignite his own knowing of his value and importance in this world.

I was sitting on a lawn chair when I made this decision, and I emailed my teacher to tell her what I had decided.

As I hit “send” on my phone, I saw something come toward me from the left. It was a Hawaiian Peace Dove, which proceeded to land on my knee.
Those babies are as big as a pigeon and its claws kind of hurt my skin, so I screamed bloody murder and it flew off. That detail makes the story a lot less magical, however, so let’s just stick with the omen and wonder if maybe I don’t need that Space Shuttle after all.



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Mercy me

Sunday, November 20th, 2011

To answer the question posed as the subject line of my last post: Yes. Oh Lord, yes. It can get a lot worse.

I never talk about my private life because then I don’t have to talk about it when it’s going badly, but allow me to say that although they claim it’s April, and I would normally argue the case for February, this year November is the hands-down biggest bitch in sight.

It’s been a hard month, and I’m a bit worse for the wear.

Things are more messed up than I would have guessed.

I’m still alive, so there’s that.

And I have an approach to life that says: when bummed out, focus on what you can control. There is a lot of work I’ve been neglecting, so guess what’s getting its ass kicked in the next week?  Yep. The book, advertising my hypnotherapy practice, planting my growth-challenged seedlings and building a lovely water system the snails will probably enjoy as they chow down on said seedlings (as they really are about salad-sized to a snail. They have dwarfism or something. I can’t figure it out.)


It’s funny, but last night Fu got out. Okay, that’s not funny at all actually. It was harrowing and terrifying, and I kept checking the highway for his remains and feeling like the worst mother ever, but once I found him meowing out front by my Jeep and order was restored in that part of the universe, I thought of this quote: “Just imagine how happy you’d be if you lost everything you have right now… and then got it all back.”

~ Bertrand Russell


lamb and beef curry

This is one of the images you get when you do a Google image search on "mercy." Lord knows if I ate this, my colon would be screaming "mercy!" and then "open the gates and release the hounds!" but that's probably more detail than you want or need.

This was a sobering thought considering how much energy I’ve been wasting on worry and disappointment and nitpicking on things that aren’t that important. It’s a life affliction, really, and one I hope I can purge myself of.

With respect to the quote, it’s not ALL back – my sanity, my peace of mind, the one thing in my life that gave me some bouts of wild hope are still AWOL. I had a hand in my own current, semi-depressing situation, so I’m not whining: just sad. I guess what I’m saying is that I’m trying to focus on what IS right; what is perfect in this moment.

Fu is sleeping in the hallway. Dozer is in the kitchen. I can hear the wind and the ocean outside. There is food in the fridge and I have things to wear. There are brains in my head that can be used to work out some of this money stuff that worries me lately. Tomorrow is a new day.

Tomorrow is always a new day.

And whether or not it is clear to me, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

So I’ve got going for me, and I’m going to work on being super freaking grateful for it. Until then, I’ll try to cheer my sorry ass up, because nobody likes whining vague posts about cats and other disappointments.

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No guard dog? No problem.

Thursday, July 29th, 2010

Dogs are so much work.

They have to be housebroken, trained, fed, played with, and – depending upon breed – they can poop as much as a horse.

At the same time, let’s say you have a ramshackle shed and broken-down car situation that needs to be fenced in and posted as dangerous? It would be so convenient to have a guard dog when those circumstances crop up, wouldn’t it? But again, all that work…

Enter your local watch dog artiste, who can paint for you any number of Rottweilers, Pit Bulls, German Shepherds, and Doberman Pinschers in a variety of aggressive postures! It’s all the upside of a guard dog, and none of the hassle!

Keep Out!

Personally, I found the orange low-rider more intimidating than the painted-on Rottie.

No Tresspassing

Rottweilers don't frighten you? How about heavily peeling-off-the-fence Pit Bulls?

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