Lifting Me Up: What Do I Have To Live For

I’m writing a very serious post today. No wisecracks, no sarcasm, no jokes. I felt I needed to address this topic. A few months ago, something happened that destroyed my life as I knew it.  I had an incident occur that pretty much ripped the floor out from underneath me and left me hanging onto shredded floor boards for dear life, on the brink of the abyss. I knew that the betrayal and evil that had caused all of this was only the beginning and that the worst was yet to come. I didn’t know what to do. I felt at such a loss for proper thinking. I already had so many other problems going on. I felt so alone. I felt like this was going to destroy not only me, but my kids, my parents, brothers and my husband. I felt like if I disappeared, so would this. I went home and downed well over 30 something very heavy pills and slit my wrists. I got so sick that I tripped and bumped my stomach into a kitchen counter and threw up. Still nearly unconscious, I laid down. My husband, call it intuition, figured out what I was doing, and called 911 and broke down my door. He and the EMTs saved my life, against my will. But they did. I spent a few days hospitalized before the hell I dreaded broke loose.  Down into the abyss I went.  It was four days before I was able to go home. My little boys were so happy to see me.  Hugs, kisses and super clingy. God, I had missed them. My angels. I was a wreck thinking about how at least I was seeing them. A few days earlier I thought I’d never see them again. My parents moved in for a few weeks to help out and take care of me. My husband was very protective.  Between the three of them, everywhere I went, I tripped on a human shadow making sure I wasn’t going to do anything stupid. I felt so guilty about making them worry so much. I had hurt my family more than I ever dreamed. It took a long time but little by little I started feeling more at peace with the catastrophe we were going through. All of the nightmares I thought were going to come of the situation came about but we were banding together and surviving. I started to feel less bitter about being alive and more grateful to have more time with my family. I was diagnosed as chronically depressed. Depression that would always be around, therefore probably requiring medication the rest of my life. Yes, exercise, diet and proper sleep would help, but medication would be necessary. I learned a lot about depression. It’s not a mood or a state of mind  – it’s not a decision or a feeling – it’s a medical condition. A real condition beyond just “Snap out of it” and “Be positive.” You can’t just smile and be happy. No one can yell, scream or demand you un-depressed. It doesn’t work that way. It requires patience, love, understanding, compassion, counseling and medicine. To my friends and family, please don’t think I’m suicidal again. I’m not. I’m not writing this for that reason. I’m just feeling like I needed to get this out, in case any of my readers are. I want them to know it’s not the right answer.  The guilt, shame, sadness and eternal pain you will leave on your loved ones is like nothing you can imagine. Even if you feel like you have no one, turn to me. If I could I would grab everyone that ever thinks about it and convince them not to. Please know that I love you, even if I’ve never met you. One of my best friends in the whole wide world once said to me, and I quote: “It’s like when a hurricane hits.  Everything is topsy-turvy for the moment and it seems like all will be destroyed.  But a little time passes and soon the sun comes back out, flowers begin growing again, rebuilding takes place and before you know it, it truly is a new day.    You just have to have faith in yourself, know who you are, and refuse to let today’s hurricane steal tomorrow’s sunshine from you.” Isn’t that amazing?  I re-read his note all the time. It’s true. So please, if I can survive my nonsense, you can, too. HUGS… and know you have a friend in me. Love, AB yahooBuzzArticleHeadline = “Lifting Me Up: What Do I Have To Live For”; yahooBuzzArticleSummary = “”; yahooBuzzArticleCategory = “Faith & Religion”; yahooBuzzArticleType = “text”; yahooBuzzArticleId = window.location.href;

Lifting Me Up: Realization

I think I was a fairly typical kid.  I adored my parents, I knew they adored me. As a teenager, I had my obnoxious times in life. I was always (and still might be a little) known to be forward and opinionated… but generally I was very well-behaved.  Just outspoken.  I always loved my parents, though. I knew they loved us. When I was pregnant with my first son, I was so excited, like most pregnant moms. I couldn’t wait to get the little bugger out and hold him tight.  I was ecstatic to be a mama and couldn’t wait to carry the baby around in my arms all day. I would rub my belly and hug it all the time. I was in love… or so I thought. And then, he was born. OH MY GOODNESS. I had never understood the term “head over heels in love” until that first cry.  Nothing could have prepared me for that feeling of intense, utter, absolute, complete and total LOVE LOVE LOVE that I felt for that tiny little being. For how my heart pitter-pattered like a wild bat in my chest at his teeny tiny finger wrapped around mine.  For how glimpses of his eyes made me catch my breath. For how the nurse wanting to do anything to him made me want to fly out of my bed like a raging mama bear, despite the c-section. I was knocked out of the ballpark by this little soul. This smallest of people who commanded every ounce of my heart with every delicate breath… And then it hit me like a giant truckload of bricks dumped on my head. My parents loved us this much. No matter how much obnoxious we were, how disobedient, how rebellious, how non-communicative, how combative, how bratty, how quiet we were… my mother and father loved my brothers and I the way I now adored my son. The way he was EVERYTHING in the universe to me, we were to them. And suddenly, I realized I owed my parents a lot more gratitude than I had ever given them. And in that one fell swoop, I was not only madly in love with my son, but with my parents as well.  Like I always was but never understood to admit to myself.  I’ve always kind of sucked at admitting my feelings. :-/ Now as a grown woman, with my children well past the newborn stage, I still catch my breath at every little thing they do. My heart still skips beats every time they spontaneously hug and kiss me.  And subsequently, mama bear still resides within me and my heart breaks with every tear. I never want to see them sad or angry or hurt. I want to protect them from everything. I want to make everything better. When I see them make mistakes or I think they’re not doing their best, I want to scold them and teach them the right way and spare them the heartache of learning the hard way. The way my parents wanted to for us. Realistically, neither I nor my parents could make everything better, nor will we ever be able to. But we are able to be there for our kids. Whether it’s in person for hugs and kisses, for a trip to the mall or the zoo, or just knowing we love each other dearly. Sometimes we have to let our kids grow on their own and let go when they need us to. We can’t make everything right for them. I’m still a pig-headed opinionated strong-willed pain in the neck that talks too much sometimes. It’s true. And for that I apologize to my Mom and Dad. But you have no idea how much I love you and love everything you do for me and my brothers and my family.  I could never ask for better parents than mine. That’s more than true. I have the best parents in the universe and I only hope I can be one tenth as good to my children as they are to me. Mom and Dad, I love you… thank you for loving me… and for being my biggest support system.  <3 Many hugs and kisses to you. May you all remember to call your parents today. yahooBuzzArticleHeadline = “Lifting Me Up: Realization”; yahooBuzzArticleSummary = “”; yahooBuzzArticleCategory = “Faith & Religion”; yahooBuzzArticleType = “text”; yahooBuzzArticleId = window.location.href;

Lifting Me Up: Woodenheadedness

I was once asked to define the term “woodenheadedness.” Is it even a word? I thought.  Wooden head. Gosh, that could mean so many things. I looked down at my desk and tapped it gently. Knock on wood, I thought. For good luck, right? I never understood that. What would that do?  Wood seemed more like a road block to me. Like something blocking the truth. Like a way to say I don’t see you. Woodenheadedness… If my head were made of wood…Would I be able to process life and thoughts and actions properly? I think I would not be able to see that there is anything past my nose. It is just me. It is just what’s in front of me when I look in the mirror. There are no problems bigger than mine. No sadness worth more than mine. No troubles more troubling than mine. I wouldn’t want to acknowledge that people around me can suffer as much as me, let alone more than me. I’d be like a big block of wood – porous to the fact that nothing is so big it won’t fade away. In my world. In my branch of the world. In my small wooden little world. My small little wooden head. My problems are huge. Woodenheadedness seems to me to be the ability to be stubborn. To be negatively willful. To be set in your ways despite the best intention of others. The mighty oak that’s so sturdy it ain’t changing for anyone. Woodenheadedness seems like a bad thing to me. If I can’t see past my own nose… What would the world be like? It would be me callously walking past the homeless woman on the street, not even acknowledging her existence. Not feeling a hint of sadness or guilt or shame at my prosperity – not realizing the fortunes and blessings I have in being able to be with a home as opposed to without – but to have a block of wood for the center of my head not allowing me to feel an ounce of compassion. It would be me thinking “WHY ME?” when I have to suffer the consequences of any mistakes I have  made. When I spent too much money and my credit card bills are sky high, when I didn’t take care of my health and now have to make tough life decisions, when I didn’t give it my all at work and got passed up for a promotion. I would be channeling my inner wood by bemoaning my ills when poor countries are joyously thanking that they’ve survived calamities and tragedies far greater than mine. The woodenheaded would be the person who says to the depressed person “I can’t deal with your problems” and walks away from a friend when they need that friend the most.  The woodenheaded says “I am better than you and cannot approve of your lifestyle” to the person who has trusted them with their truths and feels justified in their supposed morals.  The woodenheaded says “I am saved and you are not.”  The wooden headed is not a friend.  Wood cannot survive fire. Wood rots when faced with mold. Wood cannot handle extreme conditions of all kinds. The woodenheaded has no room for soul in their head. No room for anything but a big block of self. They cannot see past that damned wooden nose. That is what I think when I wonder about the word woodenheadedness.  The propensity to deny that the world we live in is greater than one’s own  tiny little branch of a mind on the giant universal tree.  Such a big, hard word to say,  and  it just about breaks your heart, doesn’t it? **** ALL WORKS COPYRIGHTED. DO NOT COPY WITHOUT EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM AUTHOR. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA. yahooBuzzArticleHeadline = “Lifting Me Up: Woodenheadedness”; yahooBuzzArticleSummary = “”; yahooBuzzArticleCategory = “Fiction”; yahooBuzzArticleType = “text”; yahooBuzzArticleId = window.location.href;

Lifting Me Up: A Knock on the Door

So I was sitting here the other day, by myself… doing nothing but napping when I hear a knock on my door.  Now, I’m normally not the most receptive person in the world to a random visitor. These days, I’m especially not.  For whatever reason, I was so out of it and so tired that instead of becoming extra quiet and waiting for the visitor to walk away, I cautiously peered through the curtain to see a friendly face smile at me. “Hello.” “Uh… can I help you?” “Well, I’m here to help you.” “Excuse me? What do you mean? We’re not looking to buy anything.” “And I’m not looking to sell anything. I’m just looking to lift you up. You seem like you could use some lifting up.” Somewhat thrown off and yet feeling safe, I unlocked the door. I didn’t know why I was acting so out of character. The stranger nodded toward my living room. “May I?” he smiled. “Uh… yeah… sure… want some… uh… tea? Water? Something.”  At least I was with it enough to leave the front door wide open in case I needed to scream out for help. “No, just want to chat. Thanks, though.” So there we sat. On my couch. In my living room. On a Wednesday afternoon. Completely strange to each other. “What’s your name?” he asked me, with the inviting smile still on his face. “I’m Daniel.” “Hi Daniel. I’m Denise. Please don’t take this rudely – but I don’t get why you’re here.” “Denise, I was strolling through the neighborhood when I felt this strong sense of urgency calling me from your house.” “But I was just laying here, resting.” “Yes, but something in me told me you needed so much more. I don’t know. Do you need to talk about anything?” I chuckled. What could I possibly need to discuss with a stranger?! Who is this clown? I thought. “Daniel, no. I think I’m good. Thanks, though. Anything else.” “Denise, listen.  There is this sadness in your eyes that pierces out.  It almost breathes out of your pores. I don’t know what you’re going through but I can’t imagine you going through it alone. I never see you with visitors or friends and you are almost always home. It can’t be good for you.” “How do you know –?” “You are a wonderful, beautiful, intelligent woman. You have a family that loves you and values you. You would be missed if you died. You would be missed if you were gone.  Please know that.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about — what are you talking about?” “Denise, please. Stay with me. Stay long enough to wait. Don’t go.” I felt so woozy. I felt so dizzy. “Hold my hand, Denise. Please.” “I can’t do this anymore, Daniel. It hurts too much.” “It’s just a storm. A bad storm, Denise. Bad, bad one. But it will stop. It has to. It will stop. The rain will lead to sun. The sun will lead to green grass, plants, flowers, life… all will come back.  It will all regrow and rebuild. But you have to give it time, Denise. Just hold my hand and hold on. Please wait for them to get here.” “I think it’s too late.” And then all of a sudden Daniel was gone. Like he’d never been there. There was a very heavy banging knock on the door. A loud booming voice called out my name but I couldn’t answer.  The doorbell rang.  Suddenly, the door was knocked down.  The paramedics burst in and they began to work on me.  I could hear them. They gave me air, IV, saline, medications, cpr… they searched my apartment, found my empty pill bottles… When I came to, they asked me why I did it.  I said “I didn’t want to hurt anymore.” They reminded me that I’d make a lot of people hurt so much if I died that way. I asked them where Daniel went. “Who is Daniel?” the EMT asked. “Daniel, he was sitting here with me, holding my hand.” “Miss Denise, your door was locked and no one was with you.  We received an anonymous tip that someone was worried about a suicide risk with you from a male.” “He was here. Holding my hand.” “I don’t know, miss. We’re going to take you over to the hospital, ok? We have to ask you what you took and take care of you, ok? We found you in the nick of time. Be grateful someone called and saved you.” I was… I couldn’t believe I went through with the pills… but I could’ve sworn Daniel was there.  He knocked on the door to buy time. To tell me about the storm and the sun and the flowers and regrowth… Thank you, God, for the guardian angel, and for the second chance. ALL WORKS COPYRIGHTED. DO NOT COPY WITHOUT EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM AUTHOR. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA. yahooBuzzArticleHeadline = “Lifting Me Up: A Knock on the Door”; yahooBuzzArticleSummary = “”; yahooBuzzArticleCategory = “Fiction”; yahooBuzzArticleType = “text”; yahooBuzzArticleId = window.location.href;

Lifting Me Up: The Good, The Bad & The Truth

I’m no saint. I get mad. I think angry things. I get frustrated. Especially with my husband. I know in the heat of the moment I can say mean things to him. But I don’t mean them. And generally I don’t say mean things to others when I’m mad. I feel awful when I do and am a very apologetic person if I do think something mean. Lately I’ve been going through some heavy tests. I mean HE-E-E-EAVY! It’s one of the first times in my life I can truly say I’m not doing very well. There’s no passing with flying colors. In fact, I’ve had to do a few over, failed some, retook some, got some doors closed in other places. I’m not saying this to inspire pity. I’m saying it to remind myself to be grateful that I have had chances to do try again. I am no saint, like I said. But I do consider myself a relatively kind person. I think sometimes because of that I attract people that take advantage of that. I’ve had people tell me that the “ugly truth” is I need to stop being so “good” so I stop attracting the “bad.” Dude… One thing’s for certain… That’s an ugly statement. I disagree with that entirely. The fact that some bad apples are drawn to me because I tend to be nice is just not a good enough reason for me to stop being nice. I know my friends that advise this mean well and are only looking out for my best interests. But it’s not me. I’ve certainly gotten burned by being nothing but nice to the wrong person. But it is what it is. I don’t hope it hurts them. I don’t hope it comes back to hurt them. In fact, I hope they one day realize that despite it all I keep them in my prayers and hope more than anything for their growth and peace. I don’t think I’m this great person for it. I just think it’s what we’re supposed to do as humans. It’s what I would hope people would do for me. I believe you get what you give… Not necessarily in this world… Or maybe yes… Right now I’m being blessed with tests drawing me nearer to God and prayer and reminding me to pray for so many others… And to me… That’s all I know… The good, the bad and the truth. yahooBuzzArticleHeadline = “Lifting Me Up: The Good, The Bad & The Truth”; yahooBuzzArticleSummary = “”; yahooBuzzArticleCategory = “Faith & Religion”; yahooBuzzArticleType = “text”; yahooBuzzArticleId = window.location.href;

Lifting Me Up: Spirit

Spirit In the dark rain In the stormy room In the back of my mind There you are Alone Tinier than pride Quieter than silence Obviously insignificant Obvious Waiting for me to realize You shine brighter than my despair ALL WORKS COPYRIGHTED. DO NOT COPY WITHOUT EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM AUTHOR. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA. yahooBuzzArticleHeadline = “Lifting Me Up: Spirit”; yahooBuzzArticleSummary = “”; yahooBuzzArticleCategory = “Faith & Religion”; yahooBuzzArticleType = “text”; yahooBuzzArticleId = window.location.href;

Lifting Me Up: The Purple Elephant

The little girl clapped her hands in delight and jumped excitedly in place. She scouted around the arcade for her mother. When she found her by the tables, talking on her cell phone, she started running over, anxious to share her news. “Mommy!” “No, I said, do NOT accept that offer. We can get a higher offer from them!” “Mommy…” “I am on the PHONE. Are you blind?” snapped the mother. The little girl’s eyebrows raised, a little hurt. “No…” she trailed off. “I hate this stupid kid place. It’s noisy and my kid’s driving me nuts. Just tell them to quit fooling around. If they want to do business, then they need to get real with their offer!” The mother angrily clicked her phone to end the conversation. She quickly shoved the phone back into her waist holster, then took a deep breath. She smoothed her hair and her skirt, then turned to face her daughter. She looked her over calculatingly, a thing she always did right before she was going to scold her daughter. The little girl knew better than to look down. Nothing irritated her mother more than her looking down. But she couldn’t help it. “Why are you putting your head down?” asked the mother, very quietly and coldly. “Uh, I… I-” stammered the little girl. “Oh, and stuttering, too, my other favorite habit.” The mother smiled but the little girl knew it wasn’t as much a warm smile but a smile that meant her mother didn’t think she understood anything. “Mommy, I just wanted to show you the purple elephant that I won.” The little girl held up her prized elephant. The mother said “Oh. Cute.” The little girl nodded happily. “I got him from the claw machine. I saw him and I wanted him and I got him. He’s wonderful. I’m going to name him -” “Very cute, honey, very cute. Let’s go. This place gives me a migraine and we have to pick up your brother from his friend’s house. Come on.”  The mother marched off toward the exit, leaving the little girl wide-eyed and with her jaw slightly open. No, no, no. No tears. I am NOT a baby. I am NOT going to cry. She hugged her purple elephant tightly to her chest and angrily wiped away the hot tears that were spilling over. He was only about 6 inches tall, more lavender than purple, with a soft fuzzy belly and white satin ears. He had big eyes, just like the little girl. She had fallen in love at first sight. You’re the only friend I need, she whispered to her elephant, then followed her mother to the parking lot, remembering to hold her head up. “Yes, ma’am… Coming!” *      *      *      * Dear _________, A long time ago, I won this elephant at an arcade. I don’t know why, but this little thing meant the world to me. I know our relationship has been a roller coaster, at best. It took two of us to make it that way so, believe me, I don’t just blame you. I know people are the way they are sometimes because of their upbringing, sometimes through their own decisions, sometimes just through fate. I do know we all make our own decisions.  Sometimes the outcomes are good, sometimes they kind of stink. You’ve been such a big help in so many ways. Because of you, I’ve grown a lot as a person and will always be thankful.  It is because of you that I no longer feel I need the purple elephant. I feel like the friendship we’ve had has made me a stronger person. It’s made me realize my worth and that I don’t need vindication from you or anyone else to feel like a valuable asset to the world. Thank you for making me a more confident person. I want you to have this elephant. Think of it as a gift for a much greater gift you’ve given me. Regardless of where you and I end up someday. Love, ___________ *      *      *      * “Well, how was the date last night? asked the mother, in her usual no-nonsense business tone. The woman sighed internally as she signed the lunch receipt. “It was good, mom.” “Good? Just good? At your age, you can’t be happy with simply good. Were you confident? Were you boring? You know you need to have your game face on for these sorts of things.”  The mother smiled but the little girl knew it wasn’t as much a warm smile but a smile that meant her mother didn’t think she understood anything.  It wasn’t a mean smile by any means, though. With time, the woman had grown to love her mother’s well-intentioned quirks. She knew the snippy comments were really more her mother looking out for her than insulting her. “I was a fabulous date, mom. You should’ve seen me! I would’ve charmed you right out of your seat!” the woman grinned. The mother let out a surprised laugh, but the twinkle in her eye let the daughter know her mom liked her response. “Well, I hope so. I can’t have you be an old maid, you know.” Never one for letting a possibly tender moment linger, the mother stood up and said “Let’s go. We still need to get the gift for your aunt.” The woman laughed. Business first, always. Her mother was already ten feet ahead of her, when the woman looked down at her key chain. There was a picture of herself and her mother, from twenty years ago, with the purple elephant on her lap. She smiled at the purple elephant that she had given away over 5 years ago. “What are you waiting for? And keep your head up when you walk!” The woman laughed. “Yes, ma’am… Coming!” ALL WORKS COPYRIGHTED. DO NOT COPY WITHOUT EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM AUTHOR. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States [...Read More...]