It feels like a long time since I last wrote, but in reality it was only a couple weeks.
It's weird how we measure time in a mathematical way. I wrote a new post on March 16 and today is March 31.
31-16 = 15
15 days. 360 hours. 21,600 minutes.
I don't really enjoy math. There's no human element in it; just numbers. I am unsure of how to explain things in time.
In the past 15 days there have been great changes in my life, great changes in myself. If the past 15 days were measured in importance rather than hours or minutes, they would carry with them more meaning than whole years of my life.
My grandfather passed away and was buried the day before my birthday. He died in his home, in the room that he and my grandmother had shared when she was still alive. His family was able to forgive him for wrongs in the past, and love him for the things he did right. Two of his children were with him, and his grandchildren and brother were at the house shortly after.
I learned more about my grandfather the day he died than I had ever known before. His life growing up in West Virginia was hard, but my grandfather showed a good heart. He was protective of his younger brother.
My favorite story was about his nickname, Dewy (I hope I have remembered that right.) It seems that there was a man in town with that name who had a large growth on the side of his head, and all the children picked on him; all except my grandfather. Grandpa was kind to this man. He fought those who put him down and showed the man kindness. I am proud to know this. I am proud to know that dispite my grandfather's shortcomings, he was a good man.
Grandpa died not remembering a lot. His brain had shrunk, leaving him helpless in his last days. Yet before this happened, he bacame more involved in his church. I feel that my grandfather is now outside of time. His soul is with his Savior, and he is now in a place with no more tears.
The grief I have felt has been hard. I spent another seven days in the hospital for inpatient psychiatric care. I had suicidal thoughts, and had come up with a plan. I did not want to be on earth where there was pain. I wanted to be where there were no more tears. Yet now I am glad that I did not follow through with my plan, that I sought help instead. I am meant to live my life until it is meant to end, and the choice to end it will not be mine.
After all of this, I want to change the name of this blog. I do not feel that I am functioning in a broken way, but functioning in a human way. I am not having a fresh start, but restarting with the hope of reaching a better place. I don't know what this will look like, and it is someone scary. It's a fear that I will have to face.
I don't know what will happen when I experience less depression, but I know that it will be better. I don't know how I will feel when I lose weight, but I hope I can stay away from bitterness if men find me more attractive. I don't know what being more responsible will bring, but I can look on it as an adventure.
So now...we will see where things go from here.
*The title of this post is a line from a Mumford and Sons song.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Waiting for Death
For the first time in my life, I feel what C.S. Lewis meant when he said,"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." He wrote this during a circumstance in his life that was quite different from my current position, but my feeling is rather similar. The only difference I would note is that currently my grief feels like panic.
Grandpa P. was put on hospice care on Monday night. He is in his home being watched over by his family, while morphine and anti-anxiety medications have replaced the medications that were keeping his dimensia at bay. He is not eating, he cannot talk, and the noise he is making is referred to as a death rattle. We have been told that he will pass away anywhere from 5-15 days after he stops eating and drinking. Due to his illness most, if not all, of the family has made it clear to him for a couple years that we love him. Shortly after he was diagnosed with dimensia he made his peace with those around him. My more recent memories of him, before he took a turn for the worse after my grandmother's death last year, were of making him laugh and knowing that I was able to bring him joy. They are good memories, and I am very thankful to have them.
Even though we've known this was coming and are now just making Grandpa comfortable, I find that I still feel somwhat unprepared for all of this. It is like something dark is hanging over my head just waiting to descend. Now that I have a definate time period for when I am to expect Grandpa to die...it's just waiting. It's as if I know the date of the end of the world and there is a panic mixed with a want to give up on everything. Everything seems as if it is in a suspended state of animation.
Also, I feel angry; then I feel guilty for feeling angry. I was having a wonderful day yesterday until the news came. I was actually happy, genuinely happy. Now I feel as if I have taken massive steps back and I'm right back into the cycle of depression and panic. And I'm lonely. I want, selfishly, to be held and comforted by someone who is not in the same situation I am in. I want something good to battle the sadness that is threatening to overwhelm me. Thankfully three of my good friends have been able to at least provide an ear, and a little beer as well, which has helped to keep me somewhat level in my emotions.
At the end of all these thoughts has come the decision to sit with my grandpa for a while tomorrow, and a little every day until he goes. After that, who knows; yet I feel some comfort in the unknown right now.
Grandpa P. was put on hospice care on Monday night. He is in his home being watched over by his family, while morphine and anti-anxiety medications have replaced the medications that were keeping his dimensia at bay. He is not eating, he cannot talk, and the noise he is making is referred to as a death rattle. We have been told that he will pass away anywhere from 5-15 days after he stops eating and drinking. Due to his illness most, if not all, of the family has made it clear to him for a couple years that we love him. Shortly after he was diagnosed with dimensia he made his peace with those around him. My more recent memories of him, before he took a turn for the worse after my grandmother's death last year, were of making him laugh and knowing that I was able to bring him joy. They are good memories, and I am very thankful to have them.
Even though we've known this was coming and are now just making Grandpa comfortable, I find that I still feel somwhat unprepared for all of this. It is like something dark is hanging over my head just waiting to descend. Now that I have a definate time period for when I am to expect Grandpa to die...it's just waiting. It's as if I know the date of the end of the world and there is a panic mixed with a want to give up on everything. Everything seems as if it is in a suspended state of animation.
Also, I feel angry; then I feel guilty for feeling angry. I was having a wonderful day yesterday until the news came. I was actually happy, genuinely happy. Now I feel as if I have taken massive steps back and I'm right back into the cycle of depression and panic. And I'm lonely. I want, selfishly, to be held and comforted by someone who is not in the same situation I am in. I want something good to battle the sadness that is threatening to overwhelm me. Thankfully three of my good friends have been able to at least provide an ear, and a little beer as well, which has helped to keep me somewhat level in my emotions.
At the end of all these thoughts has come the decision to sit with my grandpa for a while tomorrow, and a little every day until he goes. After that, who knows; yet I feel some comfort in the unknown right now.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Fear
It's been a day full of anxiety. It usually doesn't take anything big to trigger my panic; something as small as a fleeting comment is enough to get my heart racing and my head spinning. Usually I try to pretend that nothing is happening and take my thoughts to a different area, but today it was hard. What tipped the scales today was something small indeed; a seconds long commercial letting me know that a cable channel would be showing something called Nostradamus 2012 this evening.
You see, even though I am a Christian who believes that God is everything good, I am terribly afraid of the end times. It isn't something new. I've been scared of this since I was young. I don't like to think of the pain and suffering of some, and the biggest fear is that God will say that He never knew me because I didn't believe or do enough.
The earliest memories I have of feeling this fear involve trying to avoid looking at any magazine covers when at the grocery store with my parents. One look at a Weekly World News cover was enough to make my stomach turn. The first legitimate panic attack I can remember was when I was in my early teens and saw some news special covering a woman who had psychic premonitions of catastrophic world events happening in 1996. Then there were the ridiculous talks that certain relatives had about stockpiling goods in preparation for the year 2000. I was afraid of that one despite the fact that I knew it to be a ridiculous conspiracy theory type thing, but it didn't make my fear go away. The most recent one, before the 2012 hubub, was talking with ignorant people sharing with me an email they had received revealing that Obama would be the antichrist if elected. I knew this to be the product of racism and ignorance, but still had fear.
Now, with this newest fear of the end, I am well aware that it is based on faulty history at best. I've talked with my dad about it, seeing as he knows more about both history and the bible than I do, and he assures me that I shouldn't be afraid of any certain day. I myself know that the bible says no one will know the day or hour. Even with all this knowledge, my irrational fear is no less real. It seems as though I cannot avoid the references to this year, this date.
There's a part of me that doesn't want to miss out on anything. I feel like there is a lot of life that I have yet to experience. I want to finish something, to succeed, to realize dreams. It sort of fits in with the idea that I would not be good enough for God to take in the end. It's something I had recently discussed in therapy, and know to be an insecurity based on falsehoods, but the thoughts still come on certain days...like today. I would like it to be enough to motivate me into doing the things I want or need to do, but fear has never been a great motivator for me.
I think that what I need to fight fear with is love. I need to get back to church, back into a feeling of community. I don't know why it seems so hard to do, but I've been away for much too long. Now I just need to decide whether to stay with the church my sisters attend, with all the emotional pain it reminds me of, or go church shopping. I think I'll type through that one tomorrow.
You see, even though I am a Christian who believes that God is everything good, I am terribly afraid of the end times. It isn't something new. I've been scared of this since I was young. I don't like to think of the pain and suffering of some, and the biggest fear is that God will say that He never knew me because I didn't believe or do enough.
The earliest memories I have of feeling this fear involve trying to avoid looking at any magazine covers when at the grocery store with my parents. One look at a Weekly World News cover was enough to make my stomach turn. The first legitimate panic attack I can remember was when I was in my early teens and saw some news special covering a woman who had psychic premonitions of catastrophic world events happening in 1996. Then there were the ridiculous talks that certain relatives had about stockpiling goods in preparation for the year 2000. I was afraid of that one despite the fact that I knew it to be a ridiculous conspiracy theory type thing, but it didn't make my fear go away. The most recent one, before the 2012 hubub, was talking with ignorant people sharing with me an email they had received revealing that Obama would be the antichrist if elected. I knew this to be the product of racism and ignorance, but still had fear.
Now, with this newest fear of the end, I am well aware that it is based on faulty history at best. I've talked with my dad about it, seeing as he knows more about both history and the bible than I do, and he assures me that I shouldn't be afraid of any certain day. I myself know that the bible says no one will know the day or hour. Even with all this knowledge, my irrational fear is no less real. It seems as though I cannot avoid the references to this year, this date.
There's a part of me that doesn't want to miss out on anything. I feel like there is a lot of life that I have yet to experience. I want to finish something, to succeed, to realize dreams. It sort of fits in with the idea that I would not be good enough for God to take in the end. It's something I had recently discussed in therapy, and know to be an insecurity based on falsehoods, but the thoughts still come on certain days...like today. I would like it to be enough to motivate me into doing the things I want or need to do, but fear has never been a great motivator for me.
I think that what I need to fight fear with is love. I need to get back to church, back into a feeling of community. I don't know why it seems so hard to do, but I've been away for much too long. Now I just need to decide whether to stay with the church my sisters attend, with all the emotional pain it reminds me of, or go church shopping. I think I'll type through that one tomorrow.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Single annoyances
I am convinced that there is nothing more annoying than waiting for the person you are pining after to contact you in some way. It's like a form of torture. I've never had to deal with anything that is actually defined as torture, but I'm fairly sure that if you want to get information from an enemy all you need to do is let them contact a crush a few times, then sit back and watch them lose their mind while waiting a week or more for the other person to contact them. They'd crack like an egg in a beater.
It's not even about seeing the object of your affection; you just want them to seek you out in some way. A phone call, email, anything on facebook, it doesn't matter how they communicate or what they say - you just need some indication that they think of you at all.
I think it would be easier if I knew anything about how flirtation and interest works. I am completely unable to tell on my own if a man is interested in me, and will therefore ask my friends what they think. Being my friends, they often tell me that the man is probably interested...which hasn't been the case for more years than I care to admit in a public venue. The best friendly advice I probably ever had was to sit back and just let happen what will, which would work if I were patient. As it is, I have declared my infatuation, "strong feelings", and even love to men who had absolutely no romantic interest in me whatsoever. A person can only do that so many times until you get so gun shy that you become a vegan pacifist who wants guns outlawed.
Though it has only been a little over a week, I am teetering on the edge of once more laying my pride on the line, taking the initiative, and letting the man know how I feel. My plan is to say something along the lines of, "If you ever wanted to ask me out on a date, I wouldn't be opposed to it. I'm cool if you don't though, because I like to be your friend and would most of all like that to continue." It would probably come out very awkward and with about a hundred words added to it, but I would definately get my point across in a somewhat acceptable manner. The thing keeping me in check is the hope that I can get over it on my own so that I don't hurt the friendship, but it doesn't seem to be working very well. Maybe his lack of seeking me out is a passive way of showing he isn't interested. Maybe he's just not interested. It's just so fucking annoying to not know for certain.
Please, someone, let me know that you find this annoying as well; I need some empathy for what is eerily close to teenage angst.
It's not even about seeing the object of your affection; you just want them to seek you out in some way. A phone call, email, anything on facebook, it doesn't matter how they communicate or what they say - you just need some indication that they think of you at all.
I think it would be easier if I knew anything about how flirtation and interest works. I am completely unable to tell on my own if a man is interested in me, and will therefore ask my friends what they think. Being my friends, they often tell me that the man is probably interested...which hasn't been the case for more years than I care to admit in a public venue. The best friendly advice I probably ever had was to sit back and just let happen what will, which would work if I were patient. As it is, I have declared my infatuation, "strong feelings", and even love to men who had absolutely no romantic interest in me whatsoever. A person can only do that so many times until you get so gun shy that you become a vegan pacifist who wants guns outlawed.
Though it has only been a little over a week, I am teetering on the edge of once more laying my pride on the line, taking the initiative, and letting the man know how I feel. My plan is to say something along the lines of, "If you ever wanted to ask me out on a date, I wouldn't be opposed to it. I'm cool if you don't though, because I like to be your friend and would most of all like that to continue." It would probably come out very awkward and with about a hundred words added to it, but I would definately get my point across in a somewhat acceptable manner. The thing keeping me in check is the hope that I can get over it on my own so that I don't hurt the friendship, but it doesn't seem to be working very well. Maybe his lack of seeking me out is a passive way of showing he isn't interested. Maybe he's just not interested. It's just so fucking annoying to not know for certain.
Please, someone, let me know that you find this annoying as well; I need some empathy for what is eerily close to teenage angst.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The lure of the hermit
I haven't been feeling well over the past couple of weeks, and my mind hasn't been in the right state for writing. It has been in the right state for thinking though, and lately my thoughts have been centered around what it would be like to become a hermit.
I've always liked the hermit characters in movies and books. They have a mystery and a strength to them that seems to come from their ability to live with no one but themselves and God. I often am jealous that I do not have the ingenuity to live off small odd jobs and the land, away from society and the difficulty of relationships with humans. I imagine there would be a wonderful freedom that came with not having to keep a steady job and maintain society's views on what "normal" or "acceptable" are.
Coming in second to life as a hermit is live as a nun. Nuns get to help people without worrying that they don't have enough money to cover their rent or car payment; they simply make their living by serving God, the church, and their community. And who looks down on a nun for not being married or having children? No one.
It is usually at this point when I encounter a few problems. First off, I am not Catholic, so the nun thing is completely out of the question. I've been to some Catholic services, and I just can't agree that the Pope is infallible...he's just a man. This always makes me try to come up with a way to start an organization of Protestants and Evangelicals who would like to begin some convents and monk houses (or whatever the right term is). The plan begins to form in my mind, but ends when I realize how much time it would take, and I remember that I need to pay more attention to a career that will help me pay my rent.
So it comes back to hermit-ville. I spent a few minutes looking up the word hermit on Google and Wikipedia, and it turns out that modern hermits do not fit in with my rustic, dirty, animal skin wearing hermit ideal. It would appear that modern hermits live in country and city, and are often connected to others both online and in person. It was not a pleasant thing for me to realize.
See, my romantacized view of the hermit's life had men and women becoming hermits because life had given them a raw deal; someone had hurt my hermits, their families had all died and left them alone, or their manners and behaviors were against the norm and they and to flee from the people around them. My sweet misunderstood hermits learned to live close with nature, kill animals humanely, and have a wize view of the world God made. Sadly, todays hermits are simply people who choose a life of solitude for "spiritual reasons." They even connect through a newsletter. Hermits with a newsletter...what is this world coming to! And they have regular jobs as well. Boo.
If being a hermit no longer involves learning how to skin and cook a squirrel I just don't want to be a part of it. So despite practicing for the long haul by isolating myself as best I could while living with two sisters, having friends and family that still contact me despite my selfish ignoring of them, and sleeping for very long hours, I have realized that the hermit's life is not for me. I will never have long, curly hair that is terribly tangled and kept out of my face by a rope made from weeds while I prepare a deer for drying before winter. Maybe I'll take up fishing instead.
In the meantime, my familial relationships are getting a lot better, and it seems that people are wanting to help me despite my efforts at being a loveless and lazy slob. I am realizing that though I am incapable of taking care of myself, I am not a waste of time; I am just human.
I've always liked the hermit characters in movies and books. They have a mystery and a strength to them that seems to come from their ability to live with no one but themselves and God. I often am jealous that I do not have the ingenuity to live off small odd jobs and the land, away from society and the difficulty of relationships with humans. I imagine there would be a wonderful freedom that came with not having to keep a steady job and maintain society's views on what "normal" or "acceptable" are.
Coming in second to life as a hermit is live as a nun. Nuns get to help people without worrying that they don't have enough money to cover their rent or car payment; they simply make their living by serving God, the church, and their community. And who looks down on a nun for not being married or having children? No one.
It is usually at this point when I encounter a few problems. First off, I am not Catholic, so the nun thing is completely out of the question. I've been to some Catholic services, and I just can't agree that the Pope is infallible...he's just a man. This always makes me try to come up with a way to start an organization of Protestants and Evangelicals who would like to begin some convents and monk houses (or whatever the right term is). The plan begins to form in my mind, but ends when I realize how much time it would take, and I remember that I need to pay more attention to a career that will help me pay my rent.
So it comes back to hermit-ville. I spent a few minutes looking up the word hermit on Google and Wikipedia, and it turns out that modern hermits do not fit in with my rustic, dirty, animal skin wearing hermit ideal. It would appear that modern hermits live in country and city, and are often connected to others both online and in person. It was not a pleasant thing for me to realize.
See, my romantacized view of the hermit's life had men and women becoming hermits because life had given them a raw deal; someone had hurt my hermits, their families had all died and left them alone, or their manners and behaviors were against the norm and they and to flee from the people around them. My sweet misunderstood hermits learned to live close with nature, kill animals humanely, and have a wize view of the world God made. Sadly, todays hermits are simply people who choose a life of solitude for "spiritual reasons." They even connect through a newsletter. Hermits with a newsletter...what is this world coming to! And they have regular jobs as well. Boo.
If being a hermit no longer involves learning how to skin and cook a squirrel I just don't want to be a part of it. So despite practicing for the long haul by isolating myself as best I could while living with two sisters, having friends and family that still contact me despite my selfish ignoring of them, and sleeping for very long hours, I have realized that the hermit's life is not for me. I will never have long, curly hair that is terribly tangled and kept out of my face by a rope made from weeds while I prepare a deer for drying before winter. Maybe I'll take up fishing instead.
In the meantime, my familial relationships are getting a lot better, and it seems that people are wanting to help me despite my efforts at being a loveless and lazy slob. I am realizing that though I am incapable of taking care of myself, I am not a waste of time; I am just human.
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