Pieces

It's difficult to want to start again

After each time of working diligently to build up what you find beautiful 

Only to watch it get torn down

You gather the salvageable pieces

Some are damaged beyond repair, and some are no longer necessary to you

So, you hope the next build will be fortified and true

Only to find, years down the road, it's not sturdy, and it gets knocked down, yet again 

So, you gather the remnants of what once was and head on to a new site, hopeful, again because joy comes from the inside 

But now, after so many builds and so many wreckage, you find it more difficult to even begin a new foundation 

Pieces are harder to find, and now they're more costly

So, this will take time, and you know good things take time

So, take your time. Build slowly but surely, and hope this last build will last

Safety Blanket SSRI's

Ever since I was eight-years-old, when my world was destroyed by a terribly toxic tyrant, I have battled major depressive episodes. 

I never knew I was depressed until a health teacher recognized the signs I'd been presenting. Not knowing anything was "wrong," I never tried to hide what I went through. 

I hid the terrors of my home life, but I've never presented myself other than who I truly am. 

I struggled with addictions, and I advocated for myself. Eventually, I figured out there just wasn't something right deep down in me. I sought treatment. I got counseling. I was prescribed anti-anxiety meds to help with my panic attacks. I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, and I did deep work in dialectical behavioral skills. My disorder is self sabotaging.

I've always struggled with self esteem, self worth, and self acceptance, since the twats raising me made me believe I was never good enough, and I'd never amount to much.

I am currently stepping down from another round of SSRI. Every so many years, this time, it was 10 years, I find myself in a major depression where I'm stuck, and I can't find joy anymore. I realize it after a month, and I seek help from a doctor. 

I appreciate SSRI's as a security blanket to wrap in and bring me up to a good baseline out of that deep pit I found myself in. 

I have also learned I don't NEED them for longer than three months. My "normal" is a swinging pendulum, and I love feeling all the feels. I love being able to allow myself to feel emotions and go through the journey and coming through whatever it is. 

Currently, I am wanting to get back to my healthier life choices and get more creative, but I've realized on the SSRI, my entire system is suppressed. Instead of feeling like a sparking highlighter, I feel like a muted pastel crayon that gives out more wax than color, and I'm not ok with that. 

I spoke with my doctor, and they approved my step-down of taking it every-other-day for a week. 

I'm so ready to be my crazy, bouncy self, again. ♡

Bounce Back

A hush fell over the crowd

Hearts fell to the ground

Hopes were crushed

And emptiness came

Life is precious 

Not a game

They looked around to see

They weren't alone

I looked at you, and you looked at me

We, all came together

And formed a new home

We listened 

We cared

We hugged 

We shared

Together we laughed

Together we grew

All together we brought back

The love we once knew

May, My Longest Month

For two years, now, May has become a challenging month, for me. It is the rainy month, the tail-end of school, a time of celebration of my daughter's birth and motherhood. It is also a time of mourning and rememberance.

Two years ago, I lost my dad, one of the greatest influences in my life, one of my guides, balancers and comforters. He was my first hero. He was a strong supporter of my quirkiness. He loved me unconditionally, and he's gone. Just gone. This hurts.

So, we're finally into the last week in May, and I just want it to end. I know time will move along as it should, and no matter what we try, it just goes at its own pace, as do I.

As I linger in remembrance of my Dad and loved ones who have passed on before me, I am grateful for the love and impact they had on my life. I am grateful for all the people who have gone before all of us to try to make our world a better place.

This inspires me to keep going, keep doing good, because in the end, the goodness and kindness and love will be my legacy. My God is Love. I am a peacemaker, peace keeper and peace seeker. Love is the way to peace, and that is my ultimate motivation.

I know I may not be able to change the world, but I can make a difference in my own world, where I go and what I do.

I hope that all my efforts and all my energy projects the love that dwells inside of me. I want and hope to be a light of love that leads others to show love, mercy, kindness and compassion. 

God, I Just Want My Dad Back!

I never knew the pain of losing my Dad would cut so deeply. I go for stretches in my busy life working through upsets and all kinds of situations. There's just always something missing; my monthly phonecalls to Dad. 
Father's Day just past, and it was a good day. The tears fall hard when I try to vocalize, "Happy Father's Day, Dad. I miss you!"
I remember you, Dad. Your eyes look back at me in the mirror, daily. Thanks for my pretty eyes. Your hat hangs on my wall above a picture of you on one of your last working days. I smile at the thought of you rolling your eyes and blowing a "pff" of air out at my dorkiness. And that's what I miss about you, most. You got me. I may have gotten on your nerves enough for you to say my first and middle name, but you loved me just the same.
You never tried to change me. You didn't force me to try to be someone I'm not. You loved me as I was.
I really miss your long, bear hugs and hearing you say, "I love you, Barbara."
Every day I miss you. Everyday seems so much farther away from you.
Nothing makes this pain any easier. There's no medicine for it, and the only thing I can seem to do is cry hard until I stop.
The tears are stinging my cheeks, and my eyes are puffy.
I tried to continue the monthly calls to your widow, but it feels like I'm a nuisance.
I didn't realize the hurt, the devastation of loss until you stopped living.
This kind of pain doesn't end.

Go Without Fear

Go Without Fear

Be brave. Be courageous. Be strong.

Take heart. Take precautions. Take lessons.

Go forth, and forge a way.

Go out, and begin. Go on, and never stop.

Lead by example. Lead by loving. Lead by learning.

If you must quit or give up, do it quietly.

Then, once renewed, rise.

Rise from the depths with a fire in your heart,
with a fire in your eyes, with a fire in your belly,
with a fire in your soul.

Show the world. Show your friends and family. Show yourself.

You are not afraid. You are strong. You are worthy.

And Go!

Go without fear.

My Mind: Where Nightmares Abound

 I have a very vivid imagination, so every dream I have is super realistic, and that's not always a good thing.

I usually do a lot of stressful work in my dreams, and in dream land, people aren't as helpful or even as prominent as in the real world. 

It's generally a dark atmosphere, and weather isn't a factor, often. The stress level I feel during my waking days gets translated into my dreams. 

I have died quite a few times in my dreams, and last night brought yet another death of myself I'd never experienced before. 

I have worked at a few AFC (Adult Foster Care) homes in the past. These are houses set up with several rooms for anyone over the age of 18 with mental or physical disabilities that require assistance during the day. They are people who just need extra care their families can't provide during an undetermined time frame. Some eventually move out and get a place of their own. Some find new people to care for them, while others are longer term care. 

Anyway, in March I had to resign from my latest AFC position. I was an overnight worker. I had to bake desserts, breads and prep some meals for the next days in the week. I also deep cleaned the house while everyone "slept". 

In my nightmare last night, I returned to work there. Everyone was very happy to see me, again. My manager greeted me with open arms, and we, both took a nap in the living room before we had to start the daily routines. 

After waking, she passed meds, and I just buddied up with clients assisting them with getting their mornings going. Everyone had to use the two bathrooms, it seemed, at the same time. I stood with a blind lady to make sure she got her turn to use the bathroom second in line, so she wouldn't have an accident. In my dream she spoke telepathically to me, but I had no clue how to respond, so I moved her hands and spoke to try to convey my thoughts. It was neat to be able to hear her in my head, because in reality, she can't form words.

I had taken a walk outside with one male client listening to his story. We rounded the corner to come back to the house when we saw two burglars run out of a house and rummage through a car. They spotted us, and one raised a rifle to my forehead. There was a bench behind me. I tapped the barrel of the gun away from my head, because I noticed the gunman was shaky, and I didn't believe he'd fire. The client and I sat down on the bench, because we were scared to run. The end of the gun was down at waist level between us. It was smoking, so I thought there was a problem with the ammo. I looked at the gunman, and he was tearing up. I thought he felt worried that his gun didn't work. I told the client we needed to get back home. We hurried inside. My manager was taking a shower, and soup was being made on the stove. I finished cooking it, and dinner was served family style.

Everyone was complimenting the food and talking to me as they either took care of their dishes or got seconds. One client wouldn't look at me, and had a hard time speaking to me. I asked him, "Why won't you look at me?" He told me, "You're broken."

I felt my forehead, but I couldn't find the break. I realized he was telling me I'd been shot. I quickly left the house, because I didn't want to disturb anyone else. My old cat, Clifford was outside, and he was taller than real life. He came up to me and let me pet him. Then, he helped another cat hunt birds in a bush. 

As I walked slowly around to digest the new knowledge, I kept clearing my throat and coughing up mucus. I thought if I was dead, maybe that was the feeling of being incubated. So, I tried screaming my own name to try waking myself up. Nothing happened. I started crying, because I was scared to get trapped in this realm of limbo. 

I screamed my manager's name in case I was still on the fateful bench. Finally, I awoke in my actual bed. The power had gone out, and I was hot under a sleeping bag. I was still scared it wasn't real until I pushed my covers off and heard birds chirping and everything that reminded me of reality. 

This brain of mine is such a scary place.