Stumbling through the undergrowth.

I wandered away from the central hub (a.k.a. the living room) and into my home away from home, the office. It's not really an office, but it houses my computer, bill paying materials, school supplies, and piano. I'm in here a lot.

I was contemplating where I am, emotionally/mentally. It's a bit of a train wreck, honestly. I was wondering what the darkness inside of me would say if given a voice. [Thank you, latest Dr. Who episode.] And then it struck me, the darkness has a voice. I hear it when I close my eyes, late at night, and the weight of my failures sit on top of my chest so that I can't breathe.

Into the midst of this, music came forth from the hub. I'm not sure what's playing, or why it was chosen, but it draws me out of my head and into someplace a bit more tangible. Like the safety rope that just snapped taut - and I am grateful.



Safely

There's a beat in my soul, a voice in my head, and they spin
Out of control, driving towards the cliff.
I don't jump; I merely fall, and bloody my hands attempting to arrest the descent.
The plants are shallowly rooted, the rocks loosely packed, the fear mind-numbing.
In the moment I embrace humbleness and resignation I find myself lying on solid ground and wonder
Which part was the dream
So that I can hold on forever.


There's an Over the Rhine song "When I Go" that comes to me often in these times. It says more than I can, which is why OtR is living and breathing their poetry instead of trying to forget it ever existed. The song is hauntingly beautiful and I could cry every time I hear it. And today, like so many days, I think of the line "I'm not letting go of God, I'm just losing my grip" I'll let you take your own thing from that, not mine.

Words are the essence of the thoughts floating through my head (and right now they feel like destruction).

Sometimes, I sit down and reread things I've written. Rambling blog posts, bits of poetry, things I've jotted down here and there. I've been rereading the last few days. In this foggy crazed life I feel like I'm losing touch. Reviewing the words from before helps remind me who I am. A word-album of memories.

Today, the word-album makes me sad.

How long will this go on? How many times will I walk this road? Where and when will it end?

And the quiet, whispered voice in the deep part of my soul wonders: Will it ever end?

I'm on the downward swing of mental health, again. My days seem to disappear in a rush of things that must be done and I feel guilty for the time I take for myself, again. I look in the mirror and wonder where I went, again. In the middle of the night my weaknesses grow into paralyzing attacks, again. I'm pretty sure the pieces have scattered everywhere with no reason or rhythm, again.

Right now, I'm sure that I am so broken it will never be fixed. Not by me, anyone, or God. Not because He can't, but because I won't let Him. Or that this brokenness is part of my time here.

All the jagged edges of me are showing, and I feel like they're attacking my life, my friends, my relationships, my peace.

Lately, I've been thinking again about some fairly significant things that happened - so long ago - that changed my course so subtly, amazingly, frighteningly, horribly. Choices I made, choices others made. And I find myself wanting to say it all out loud. The need to say it all is so very loud in my head I can hardly hear myself think anything else. But I can't say it. If I let all these words out, I'm sure that they will destroy this life I've built around me.

For the record, I know this isn't reality. I know that the words begging for release are only words. And those words wouldn't hurt the people I love or destroy my relationships with them. But the sheer explosiveness behind them might shatter me. And so I refuse to say them, because I refuse to be shattered.

I'm thinking therapy might be in order again. It's a safe place where the words can just disperse. And if they do destroy me, I can hide the destruction inside the structure of my therapy appointment and still walk around in my everyday life.

I'm so sorry. To do this again, again, again....

Things change and then smack you in the head violently.

We finally got around to yanking the disgusting cream colored carpet in our living room and dining room. It's been on the project list for years. We replaced it with this beautiful carbonized stranded bamboo flooring. While we were at it, we painted the rooms a nice bright white. We hauled out the large area rug we had in storage and unrolled it. There still a few bits that need finishing, but finally (!) the carpet is gone and the floors are beautiful to behold.

The missing carpet has created a slight echo in the dining room. It feels cold, lonely, and sad. That could just be a reflection of my mood.

For some reason, this mother's day left me more negative feeling than usual. The day coincided with a big rush to get the floors finished and Ari's seventh birthday. I've been missing my mom lately, so that's probably it.

In truth, I'm at a point in life where I can't really miss mom anymore. I miss having a mom. It's different. My life is so far from when she knew me, I wonder if she'd recognize me at all. This leaves me sad. In my mind, she'd know that it was her granddaughter's birthday. And what was going on in my life on a personal level, not just generally. Maybe I'm giving her too much credit.

For Ari's birthday, her paternal grandmother took her to Dairy Queen and let her pick an ice cream cake. Not one of those weird things with layers of cake, but a concoction made of ice cream shaped into a cake like round. The last time I'd had one of those was when my mom arranged for me to get one on my 18th birthday. It was my first birthday away from home (I was in the midst of an ill-conceived plan to attend college). It was the last birthday I celebrated while she was alive.

On my daughter's birthday, I ate ice cream cake and did my best not to cry.

I think the darkness is growing and I hate myself for it.