Pick a Pocket Full of Sorrow

I am a part of a group that promotes unity.

That promotes inclusivity.

That promotes openness.

You know, all the buzzwords.

And yet, despite all of the warm fuzzies I should be feeling, I feel further away than I ever did before, a sailor lost at sea.

I have no idea where I’m going. I have no idea when I’ll return. I pick up one foot and hurl it forward, not taking the time to catch my breath before doing the same with the other one. Onward and beyond, forever marching and never being fulfilled.

Pledge Drive

Sometimes I have not stood for the pledge, and it's not because of apathy or alienation. It's because we, as a nation, will trot out the Pledge of Allegiance for the most trivial of events. It's similar to me not always standing to give a "standing ovation." Have you noticed how commonplace they are now?

Secondly, I believe that my patriotism and allegiance are not defined by standing and mouthing words toward a flag. The flag is a symbolic representation - that's it. 

Don't you remember Jesus saying, "Those who have ears should hear?" This is part of what he was talking about. If we need to recite the pledge again and again, every day, to remind ourselves that we are loyal to our country, what does that say about us? I'd say it means it went in one ear and out the other. Churches recognize the importance of symbols, just as we recognize the need to have a flag and a pledge, but when we see past these symbols to the truth, I'd say those people have been touched spiritually indeed.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, I created a LiveJournal. While I wasn’t a beta-tester, my member number was pretty low. I “met” many, many wonderful people. Authors, aspiring authors — we would chat and comment and fill out silly quizzes and talk about Harry Potter. HP was quite the subject. I had a full journal, filled with thoughts, plots, ramblings. It’s still there, but much of it has been scrubbed; little has been left for posterity in this case.

Then I started a journal on Blogspot, before it became Blogger’s little tentacle. Again, there were people, posts, interactions, etc. I was becoming a new person, but the I decided to change my ways and become a new person, and I needed something new. No more gloominess or hopelessness; option only. So, I just stopped writing. And everything disappeared. Everyone disappeared. Again.

Now I write here knowing that they are words to myself. It appears that this is the person I’ve become. Tightly bound in a nutshell which I am trying to convince myself that it has infinite space.

It’s not working.

Why Not Me?

Several years ago, I became ill. Migraines, vertigo, falls. My neurologist did multiple scans  to ensure that I did not have a brain tumor, as well as a lumbar puncture. Luckily, that was not in my stars, though I do have a permanent illness.

A few years ago, my white cell counts were off, as were other counts. My hematologist drew vial upon vi of blood, and then ordered a bone marrow biopsy to ensure that I did not have leukemia. Luckily, that was not in my stars either, though I do have a permanent blood disorder.

During that time, I also tore my ACL. Both xrays and an MRI were done, and I was cleared for surgery. Unfortunately, that too was not in my stars.

I have lost jobs, I have had my school close, I have traveled down dark roads. All of it occurring throughout the times when I was ill. At several points in time I wept, I despaired. I wondered why it was all happening to me. I had a child to raise! I was young! My career!

One day, as I was once again crying out, “Why me? What have I done wrong with my life to be afflicted so?”a voice inside finally me shouted back:

“Why you, you ask, you plead? Why NOT you?”

Oh. 

I didn’t even try to argue that point; it was a show-stopper. And I was glad of it, for my voice gave good counsel.

Am I an optimist? No, not at all. But I grew up that day and ceased looking through the glass darkly. Bad things befall most people in the world.

Why not me?

Inconceivable

Today I was looking at a short story, the story from which I drew the name of this blog, and was surprised to find that my blog still existed. I thought I had deleted it years ago, in a pique of despair and self-loathing. I believed that I had deleted everything, much as I had done before. But there it sat, patiently waiting for me.

Even more surprising was how my last entry was more than three years ago. Three years that seem like a lifetime. Oh, how the world has changed since then.

Some believe that the world has evolved. And it has - in certain ways.

Some believe that the world has devolved. And it has - in certain ways.

My personal world has been a mixture of the two.

Damn Lies

It's near the end of the weekend, and I've made my daughter cry - again. Today was a special day and I have marred it with my actions. The offense? A lie about something that should have been done hours ago, followed by another lie about why she was still up and out of bed. 

My response was to yell at her, because I cannot stand lying, even over trivial things.  What I really wanted to do? Slap her hard across the face for trying to do it again and again and again.

That is what makes me feel truly guilty. That is the reason I had to walk away.

Everything Changes, Everything Stays the Same

I have an appointment this week and this is what I want to say:  


The migraines and headaches will not go away.  I will adapt.  

The elevated WBC will remain elevated.  It does not mean necessarily mean I will have cancer.

The overwhelming feelings and urges will remain.  I will deal with it.

My professional life is difficult.  It's all I have right now and I will suck it up.

 I do not have hope.  I also do not have a loss of hope.



Everything just is and ever shall be, world without end.

Bun-bun

Reposted from an old journal, in honor of Valentine's Day . . .


It is a beautiful sight, my daughter cuddling with her Bun-bun.

When she was small, I often worried about her because she hadn't formed an attachment with any of her stuffed animals "friends." She loved them all, but none exclusively above the others. Then, one day, she chose her bunny as her favorite.

She dragged him by the ears back and forth across the house and just when I thought all of the stuffing would come out of him if she didn't stop, she would suddenly clutch him tightly to her chest and squeeze him. I knew it was true love.

"Bun-bun," she would call out in anguish when she couldn't find him, "Where are yooooou?" And she would search the house until she would either find him, or be forced to conclude the search because she was crying too much to continue. 
 
Years later she still carries her Bun-bun with her and still cries when she cannot find him. "Mama," she asked me this evening right before bed, "If you find him tonight while I am sleeping, will you still give him to me? Because he is real, you know. Really real." And then she whispered, "And he is not as good as Fuzzy or my other stuffed animals." 

And to think that I was once concerned about her.

- - - - -

This was written six years ago, and though she no longer sobs when she loses her Bun-bun, the concern is evident.