sueeeus

He’s moving out. Packing his things.  Hurting.  Angry. He wants me to fight for us if I believe in us.  He wants me to ask him to stay. And I don’t. 

I tell him I’m sorry. 

I let him down.  I wish I had been stronger from the beginning.  He says I used him and that he wishes we’d never met. It’s my fault.  I told him he could believe in me and trust in me.  And I let him down.  Father, I’m sorry.  He doesn’t believe that I love him and that I’ve always loved him.  But he says these things from his hurting place. 

I don’t want him to crumble and I dont want  him to fall.  I want him to rise up and shine, glorious and victorious.  To find himself, to find his peace, to find his joy.  All these things I want for him, and he doesn’t know or understand.  Only that I’ve just pulled the plug on his life.

I don’t have the means to tell him this, other than send it out in a prayer.  Dear Lord, bless him and keep him, make him healthy and safe.  Hold him tightly, tightly, tightly in your embrace and warm him with your love and fulness, through and through.  Heal him, Father, I pray.  Take the pain from his body and from his heart and shine in him and through him so that he can see and know and feel and understand that he is and always has been loved and precious.  Bless him, Lord.

These things I pray.  And forgive me for the sorrow I’ve caused by my own wrecklessness in thinking that I could be more than who I am.  I am sorry.

Nobody truly knows our hearts but you, God.  He doesn’t know my heart and intentions from the beginning were pure and full of hope.  Just as I don’t know his heart and intentions –my perception is so far off, and  maybe his is too.  We’ve not understood each other for so long.  

I’ve tried.  I feel as though I’ve tried.

I’m sorry that I failed.

I feel good today.  I’m on the other side of a 4-day jaunt in the land of SSRIs.  I gave up, and went on them.  I gave up, and went off them. 

I give up.  I give up.  I give up.

Uncle.

I just couldn’t take the side effects, and if I took them for much longer, there would be the trauma of withdrawal to face as well.  As is, I was willing to accept any withdrawal symptoms, because I figured they couldn’t be worse than the symptoms I’ve already been enduring.

I was feeling as though I was losing track of myself.  I need some time to myself once in a while, and I just don’t seem to be able to carve any out.

I’ve decided that I will learn other ways to cope.  I will have to make time for myself.  Somehow.  I don’t need much, but I need something.

This weekend was good for me.  I had several hours to clean and tidy my house.  It feels so good to have tidy surroundings.  It makes me smile.  The simple things.  I also got to spend a little time visiting a friend who has several children, so our children entertained each other while we had some grown up visiting time.  Very nice.

9/19 Back on Celexa.  Starting to wonder if/what my cycle is.  About two years ago I quit zoloft cold turkey.  Seems like about a year ago I quit Celexa.  I can’t remember when I went on the Celexa, but I remember tolerating it very well.  Wish I could remember how/what causes me to draw the line and decide I need something.  But here I am again.

I took it last night.  This morning is Day 1. I feel tightness in my jaw, and I’m very tired.  My quads ache.  My morning blood sugar was 124, the highest it’s been in ages.  I’m fairly certain the jaw tightness is a side effect.  I hardly slept last night for other reasons, so I’m not counting that as a side effect.  The aching legs?  Dunno what’s causing that.  Blood sugar?  It’s usually higher when I have a bad night, but not that high.  I also have low appetite and low grade nausea, which are definitely side effects.  And the libido?  Obliterated.

Browsing through my archives looking for dates for my adventures with anti-depressants and I see I’ve blogged so very little in the last year.  It’s kind of sad.  I used to love to write.

Mostly I have no time.  No time.  No time.  No time.

Maybe I’m thinking that the Celexa will help me normalize again so that I don’t feel so much like my life is out of control and that I  have no time.

Here’s hoping.

—–

9/20 Day 2.  Morning blood sugar 104.  Sleep quality – good enough.  Aching quads and  hips.  Low appetite, low grade nausea and headache, blurry vision.  Noticeable irritability, but feeling less internalized if that makes sense.  I can feel the effects already, the way the med buffers things.  I’m more apt to say how I feel, even if it’s irritable.  I’m not used to being irritable.  More used to being hurt or upset, but not crabby.  Contrary appetite – craving carbs – would love to dive into coffee cake or something  horrible like that, but am not willing to pay the price.  God bless the hyper- inflated cafeteria for saving me from myself.  Scrambled eggs again.  I don’t really want them, but they seem to be the lesser of all evils.

About the buffer.  I’m not as affected by things that are said.  I hear them and have the time in my brain to process the thoughts, “That sounded crappy.  Do I care?  I don’t.”  Dismissed.  I feel better that way.  So I can tell that the meds are making this difference.  Otherwise my thoughts would be, “That sounded crappy.  Why would he say that? Why would he say it that way?  Why would he use that tone of voice?  What does he mean by that?  What does he really mean?  What is he really saying?”  See?  The meds make a difference.

9/21  Morning blood sugar 126. Lordy. Terrible headache, terrible back pain, radiating through the hip joints and the upper quads.  Low appetite.  High thirst.  I’m not used to being thirsty.  Prone to tears.

9/22 Morning blood sugar 105.  Can’t take this any longer.  Not going to take the next dose tonight.  I’d rather be depressed than go through these side effects.  My body is in so much pain.  It’s so strange that this medication has such a drastic physical effect when last time the only symptoms I felt were low grade headache and low appetite and slight dizziness.  This time around, Lordy Lordy.  I have a very high pain threshold, too.  I give  up.  I actually took a vicodin to help, and it did keep things slightly at bay for a few hours.  How crazy is that, though, to take a narcotic to offset the pain caused by an SSRI.  Craziness begets craziness.

All around me, the people I love are struggling.  I see my niece and nephew, teenagers without a dad.  I had a dad, but he wasn’t there for me, and when I was a teenager, I especially needed the love, support, affirmation, and validation of a dad.  My niece and nephew don’t have a dad, because their dad was my brother, and my brother is gone.  Who do they have in their season of need?  Who do they have to help them navigate these teenage years?

I get so caught up in my own world that I don’t even notice this struggle they have, yet, if I take a moment to be there for them, to be with them, I see their need.  My heart weeps for the gaping void that is the absence of my brother, their father, their dad.  They need a dad.

And what of my own children?  Their dad is not present, and is lost in his own reality that I simply cannot comprehend.  My love is there to be a dad for them.  My beautiful man.  We are a heavy load, and stepping into a broken family, trying to pull the pieces together amidst the insanity that is our situation is overwhelming.  Navigating the emotions and perceptions and differences in opinion is so very difficult.  Sometimes it seems like it’s too hard and too painful to try to continue, but if we can step back and take a deep breath for a moment, we might see the rainbow and the sunshine and realize that we are strong enough to prevail, and that love will find a way.

All around me, the people I love are struggling.  I see families in which the parents are exhausted and consumed by the demands of very young children coupled with the demands of making a living and staying afloat, simply trying to make ends meet.  Thresholds are short, emotions flare.  The love is there, somewhere, but it’s nigh on impossible to carve out together time in which to nourish and replenish and edify one another.  Who do they have besides each other in their season of need?  Where can they draw strength to navigate these toddler years?

I get so caught up in my own world that I overlook this struggle they have, yet, if I take a moment to step out of my own chaos, I see their need.  My heart weeps for the growing void in their marriage.  They need rest.

We gather together, each of us holding our own expectations for this family time, each of us hoping we will be nourished and that this time will help draw us out of the dark places where we find ourselves stuck.  And if we don’t get out of our own heads to see the struggles all around us, we are quickly overwhelmed and nearly crushed with despair.  But if we do find a way to look beyond our own suffering, to see that we aren’t alone, we can put our own troubles into perspective, and suddenly they don’t loom so large.

When we do this, and talk with each other, we reminisce about the good times when we’d gather.  We were younger, the collective stress seemed smaller, or at least different.  We laughed and sang and played and ate and painted and played and sang and laughed and ate.  We had so much fun.  Life for all of us is different now, but we try to step away for at least a moment, and stay up late to play board games, allowing the kids to mill around us, trying to recapture at least a glimpse of the way things used to be.

These are my people.  They are a part of me.  I am a part of them.  Uncle walked through the door and I saw my dad – they could have been one and the same.  I couldn’t hold back the tears.  We embraced.  We spoke of life.  Uncle tells me how very proud of us my dad was, and how much he loved us, his children.  He explains an unfortunate nuance of Korean culture in which the fathers have burning love in their hearts for their children, but their sense of aristocratic decencies prohibit them from expressing this love.  He speaks in response to my surprise at learning that my dad was proud of us, and especially proud of me.  I never knew.  It’s a tragic cultural chasm, for parents to be unable to show or assure their children of their love.

my people

My aunt is so beautiful.  Her smile radiates.  Her love for everyone emanates.  Her name is fitting – it means Powerful Love.  Auntie’s cooking is the best Korean cooking in all the land.  All the Korean ladies want to learn her ways.  She prepared a glorious feast for her family, our family.

When the siblings and I were alone, they remarked at how talkative Daddy was – they’d seldom seen him so.  I shared with them the things  he’d told me about a Korean father’s love and pride for his children, and his reticence to express it and I realize that they have grown up much the same as my siblings and I, in the shadow of fierce love.  We have all made strides to ensure that our children, the next generation, are secure in their knowledge of the love we have for them.  This is our gift to our children.

I gaze upon my cousins – I can’t stop looking at them.  I see my own brothers and sisters, I see myself.  The pieces of the puzzle have fallen into place and I see who we are.  I see who I am.  I know where I’m from.

first cousins first meet - part I

first cousins first meet - part II

What a gift these days have been.

It’s a wondrous thing, how music can capture and convey so much heart.  I hear music, and I want to be a part of it.  I want it in me.  I want to be in it.  I want it to come out from me.  I want to be it.  Barry Manilow (laugh if you will) said it.  “I am music…”

Sometimes I feel as though I nearly am.  I feel that way with language and other things too.  Somebody once told me that is called intuition.  But I don’t know.  I just know that it feels as though I’m standing at a doorway.  I know what’s beyond that door; I can see it as clear as day.  And if only I could or would walk through that door, it would all become a part of me, and I’d be in it, and it would be in me.  I would speak forth in foreign languages.  I would play any sound on any instrument.  I would be one with music and language.

Alas.  What keeps me from stepping through that doorway?  I wish I knew.  Is it fear? Fear of failure?  Maybe.  Probably.  I don’t know.  I just continue on in my mediocrity.

There is a song that has been touching my heart lately.  It’s called “Rise“, by Shawn McDonald.

In a way, it captures some of the essence of me, and the things I’ve been going through for the past couple of years.  Me, Phoenix Rising.  I love the melody and the octave changes.

“Rise”
[Chorus]
Yes I will rise
Out of these ashes rise
From this trouble I have found
And this rubble on the ground
I will rise
Cause He Who is in me
Is greater than I will ever be
And I will rise

Sometimes my heart is on the ground
And hope is nowhere to be found
Love is a figment I once knew
And yet I hold on to what I know is true

[Chorus]
Yes I will rise
Out of these ashes rise
From this trouble I have found
And this rubble on the ground
I will rise
Cause He Who is in me
Is greater than I will ever be
And I will rise

Well I keep on coming to this place
That I don’t know quite how to face
So I lay down my life in hopes to die
That somehow I might rise

[Chorus]
Yes I will rise
Out of these ashes rise
From this trouble I have found
And this rubble on the ground
I will rise
Cause He Who is in me
Is greater than I will ever be
And I will rise

I have few answers. There isn’t much that I really know. I’m not necessarily that smart. I’m a little bit book smart, but life-smart? Not so much. I just live every day trying to be my best. One thing I do know. I know who I am. I am kind. I am gentle. I am good. I am patient. I am steady. I am faithful. I am peaceful. I am loving. I am upright. I seek to do no harm. I am [mostly] responsible. I avoid conflict. I am compassionate. I love everyone.

Am I a doormat? Maybe. I don’t know. I’m hyper-sensitive, yes.   It’s a character flaw, and I’m working on it.  I saw a bumper sticker today that said, “Jesus was a pacifist.” I’m a pacifist. For sure.

And all I want, which is all I’ve ever wanted, which is pretty much the same thing that almost anybody ever wants or has ever wanted from the dawn of time, is to love and be loved. Simply put.

I have children. They are my life’s dream come true. They need to come first, so I don’t even know what ‘me time’ is any more. I have to be strong and steady and firm and loving for them. I have to be everything they need. Because I don’t want them to ever feel, for even a moment, that they don’t belong or that they don’t matter or that they’re not important, or that they’re not wanted. I want them to be secure in who they are and how they fit into this big, chaotic world in which we live. It’s so hard, being a parent.

What can I do, besides what I’m doing?  I just go on loving.  I go on breathing.  I go on trying.  I go on being.  I go on praying.  I go on.

A recap for 2011.  So many emotions.  So many things.  So much drama.  So much stress. So. Much. Stress.

My dad died in May.

The pursuit of happily ever after.

Too much Gadget drama.

Off and on and on and off of various anti-depressants/anti-anxiety meds.

Falling in LOVE!  Oh!  So amazing!  Sadly that heady wave was quickly quashed or tarnished by all manner of things –  judgments, misunderstandings, misconceptions…  So. Many. Things.

The test of time will show all things.  I have that knowledge for comfort and peace.

Going back to church.  Getting back into more focused and formal prayer and worship.  My heart welcomes that kind of fellowship with a warm yearning.

Establishing structure with my kids.

So much work.

So little time.

No time for me.  No. Time. For. Me.

It seems that all I can do is go full steam ahead, just to stay alive and hold things together, but no time to breathe.  For the most part, I appear calm and together on the outside.  But I’m just going, going, going.

This year my defining word was “Be”.  I hardly feel as though I’ve lived that at all.  Instead, all it seems I’ve done is just survive.  Just kept breathing.  Just kept moving.  Just kept going.  No time to think of much of anything at all.  Just holding it all together.

I’m not on anti-depressants or anti-anxiety meds.  I’ve normalized and decided that I really don’t need them.  Sometimes I feel like I’m hanging by a thread.  What kind of mother am I being?  Do they see me strong and together, or do they see me hanging by that thread?

So sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of those around me.  Oh how I need to guard myself better, so that I don’t react, but remain clear and calm and unhurt.  Oh. Lord.  The hurt.  I’ve cried gallons of tears. Ached to the depths of my heart, been tried to the very limits of my abilities and strength.

How am I doing?  Am I being a good mother?  Am I being a good friend?  Am I being a good partner?  Am I being a good sister?  Am I being a good daughter?  Am. I. Being. A. Good. Christian?

Every day my prayer is this:  I beg of the Lord to give me ears to hear, eyes to see, a heart to know and a mind to understand as GOD hears, sees, knows, and understands.  Sometimes I have no strength, but can only say, “Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God.”  All the strength I have,mustered into those two words, “Oh God.”

And I keep going.  One more breath. One more day.  One more step.

I’m nearly 47 years old.  It’s time to embrace life and live to live.  Live to love.  Joy and rejoice.  Where is the joy in the midst of all this stress?  Oh how I want to laugh and feel light hearted.  Why so heavy a burden on me?  Do I bring it upon myself?  Surely I do. I must.  All I want is to be my best and do my best.  Am I selfish or selfless?  Who am I?  What am I?

Do I have a defining word for 2012?

My first thought is to choose “Live”, but I think I shall focus on “Gratitude”.  Gratitude is focused outward, not inward.  There is more healing and soul-filling to be had when focused outward over inward. Or I could choose ‘Humility.”  It’s a constant and worthy endeavor, to embrace humility.  Maybe I’ll choose a phrase.  Live graciously.  It takes gratitude and humility to do so.  Yes.  For 2012, I will make a conscious effort to live graciously.

Lost
On a painted sky
Where the clouds are hung
For the poet’s eye
You may find him
If you may find him

There
On a distant shore
By the wings of dreams
Through an open door
You may know him
If you may

Be
As a page that aches for a word
Which speaks on a theme that is timeless
While the sun God will make for your day

Sing
As a song in search of a voice that is silent
And the one God will make for your way

And we dance
To a whispered voice
Overheard by the soul
Undertook by the heart
And you may know it
If you may know it

While the sand
Would become the stone
Which begat the spark
Turned to living bone
Holy, holy
Sanctus, sanctus

Be…

(Neil Diamond, from the Jonathan Livingston Seagull soundtrack)

~*~*~

Be.  It was my defining word for this year, and this year is nearly over.  I’m finding myself struggling again.  I’m over-extended and overwhelmed.  It takes all the strength that I can muster to hold it all together.  I’m suffering from the people pleasing blues.  And it’s not all that easy to be a full time working single mom. Blah blah blah. I know, I’m preaching to the choir (just let me have my pity party, please?)

People think that I am smarter than I am.  I can’t seem to fathom why people don’t just choose to be open and trusting and kind and loving.  How foolish is that?  It’s my default state and it leaves me wide open for all manner of attack.  The thing is, I don’t expect attack, and very seldom do I experience attack.  It seems ironic that the attack I perceive is not from those without, but from those within.  My own people.

“Only in his hometown, among his relatives and in his own house is a prophet without honor.”

That would be Mark 6:4.  Yep.  There’s nothing new under the sun.

I exhaust myself.  This reactionary emotional hair trigger is a beast that I have yet to master.  I’m looking for that quiet, calm place where I can have some clarity.

Sueeeus Maximus.  What does she want?  What are the desires of her heart?  What is she all about?

Guess what?  It’s so simple, really. She just wants to live joyfully.  To love and be loved.  To laugh, to smile.  To understand and be understood.  To listen and to hear.  To give and to serve.  So why all the scrutiny and judgement?

I just want to be.

And to be free to love the one I love.

Good grief.

What is it they say?  If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen?

Things of late are resolving, bit by bit.

Sometimes when you belong to a big, strong, loving family, and you want to bring someone into that family fold, the family will guard the fortress and bar the gate until it’s understood what it means to enter that gate.  It can be formidable to an outsider; it’s basically running the gauntlet, and not one bit of fun.  Once in, though, it’s a pretty great place to be.

If you survive, that is.

Oy.

~*~*~*~

Separating the men from the boys…   …I found this circulating on the internet…

Boys play house, Men build homes.  Boys shack up, Men get married. Boys make babies, Men raise children.  A boy won’t raise his own children, a man will raise his and someone else’s.  Boys invent excuses for failure, Men produce strategies for success.  Boys look for somebody to take care of them, Men look for someone to take care of.  Boys seek popularity, Men demand respect and know how to give it.  Boys will like you for a month, Men will love you forever.

…It makes me think of this (which comes from the love standard)…

1 Cor 13:11

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But, when I became a man, I put away the things of a child.

~*~*~*~

I’m still shouting from the mountaintops!  I’m in love!  I am saying this carefully, and considering it deeply, measuring it against snippets of wisdom such as these:

Love is NOT…
1. Something you “fall into” – a black hole.
2. Infatuation. Emotional loss of control. “Flipped out..” “Couldn’t help myself.”Romanticism and sentimentalism. “Puppy love.” Boy-crazy; girl-crazy.
3. Evaluating another by external criteria. “She’s a #10”
4. Selfish. Interested in “getting” to satisfy my needs.
5. Taking advantage of another (age, height, weight, looks, intellect, emotional maturity,
spiritual maturity, social standings, social skills, psychological understanding, place of
authority, financial superiority, etc.)
6. Improper need fulfillment. Need for love, acceptance, relating, bonding, belonging, to be
valued, affirmed, excitement, identity, etc.
7. Lust. Hormones. Lasciviousness, sensuality.
8. Sex.
9. Idolatry. “……….is my life.” Totally preoccupied in attention and time.

Love is…
1. Respectful of the other person’s values, standards and opinions.
2. Unselfish and unconditional.
3. A decision to relate to the other person at every level – spiritual, psychological and physical.
4. Giving of oneself to the other.
5. Responsible to seek the highest good of the other person “for better or for worse.”
6. God in action. (Rom. 5:5; I John 4:8,16)

~*~*~*~

The bottom line?  My heart is at peace and it is well with my soul.

I stand in condemnation and read the words on the page that summarize conclusions about my personality, my issues, my mental state.  People who love me have taken it upon themselves to make conclusions about me, and speak authoritatively, as if they know.  As. If. They. Know.

If I rise up in indignation, does that mean there is credence in the accusations?  If I were innocent, I wouldn’t have anything to be angry about, and why would I care what anybody says or thinks?  That’s a bunch of bullshit, though.  I care what people say and think, whether it has credence or not.  THAT is one of my personality flaws.  Whether or not it matters, whether or not it’s true.  I only want goodness for everyone and for myself.  From the time I was a child, I was hyper sensitive to these things.  Always wanting to do the right thing.  To please everyone.  Not to let anyone down.  It’s the core of me.  Do I need therapy to correct that?  I don’t know.  Maybe.  What is wrong with trying to be good?

I actually HAVE had counseling for that very thing.  The bottom line:  if the manifestation of my people pleasing tendencies serve me well, amen.  If they don’t serve me well, then pay attention and be aware.  Case in point.  I kick ass in my professional life.  Kick. Ass.  People pleasing has served me well.  I’m an over-achiever.  I get things done single handedly that take entire departments to do.   Cradle to grave.  Me.  Just me.  Requirements. Design.  Architecture.  Business model.  Business case. Construction. Test. Debug. Release. Communication.  Training. Process definition.  Project management.  Change management.  Documentation.  The business. Analysis.  Diagnosis.  Troubleshooting.  Corrective  action.  Tracking.  Statistics.  Marketing. Support.  Administration. Business focal. Technical focal.  Information Technology focal.  ALL OF IT.  And my reward?  I’m respected in my field, by my peers and my management.  I’ve been promoted as high as I can go.  I’m recognized and esteemed.  It serves me well.

And what of my mental instability?  I’ve blogged ad nauseum for years.  I work through my stuff here.  Openly.

“What you’ve been through since your divorce is kind of making it seem like your marriage to Gadget wasn’t that bad after all.  At least you had some stability.  I envisioned you crusading forth like other single moms, but that’s not the path you’ve taken.”

Now that’s a kicker. The suffocating abyss in which I lived was preferable to the life I live now.  I’ve met a lot of men in the last two years, but I haven’t paraded them through my kids’ lives.  Met, not dated.  Yes, two men have come and gone in that time.  Does that make me unstable?  Of course I would rather have met the right one and stayed with him.  But I didn’t.  How the hell does anyone know whether someone fits unless they try?  So I’ve tried.  God bless me for picking myself back up, brushing off the dust, and starting over again.  So why the condemnation? Mama ain’t no ho. I’m not going to put myself or my children in harm’s way.   And even if I were drunken and delirious and high and completely blind in the moment, it would become evident in very short course, and I would snap out of it and that would be that.  So why drag someone through the dirt and invoke unnecessary pain?

I’m not trying to fill a hole in my life with somebody or some thing.  I stand strong as a complete human being.  I am good.  I am whole.  I am not broken.  I DON’T NEED ANY BODY OR ANY THING.

I want somebody though.  Want!  Not need.  I want to spend the rest of my life with one and only one man.  The rest of my life.  Every breathing moment.  I want to be a devoted and loving wife to a devoted and loving  husband.  I want my kids to grow up with a positive male influence.  I want them to have a step-dad.

Who the hell has the right to tell me I shouldn’t want these things?  It’s MY life.  My decision.