The Big Picture

My father asked me a question … “Have you thought about what the big picture for your life is going to be?”.  He wasn’t being pushy. He’s just gently trying to coax me along on this weird journey.  He and I are very much alike.  We want ourselves and things in our lives to be orderly, secure, sensible, logical, and dependable.  He knows this “limbo” I am currently in is driving me crazy.  Although he hasn’t experienced widowhood before, he definitely understands how difficult it is for me to be living in such an insecure situation.

I don’t have any idea what the big picture is now.

I used to be so driven to be independent and responsible and to do the right thing.  I always felt like I was on a race track and galloping towards a finish line in the far, far distant future.  A finish line to what?  When I was in my 30’s, the finish line and the big picture was to be married, have a family, have a job, own a home, and be successfully independent.  I achieved those things.  And one day I asked myself, “Why are you always looking so far forward and focusing on getting to a finish line when you’re missing the joy of what is happening right now?”  So I started making an effort to just enjoy each day.

I tried to focus on appreciating what I had in my life:  house, husband, family, a job.   And I started to relax and feel less “driven”.  It was nice.  And then my husband was diagnosed with cancer.  And I was back to being “driven” again.

Now I am left with the house and the job.  My husband is gone and his family that instantly came into my life when we were married has just as instantly exited from my life.  I am somewhat independent unless God decides I need to endure something else and then I fear I will collapse.  I am realizing that my entire life has been changed.  I have been changed.  My world is undergoing some transformation for which I did not ask.

The big picture?

The Comfort of Orange

For some odd reason, I seem to find comfort in Orange things.

I actually dislike the color orange, red, yellow … things in that “earth tone” category.  I’m more of a “jewel tone” kind of person.  So I don’t seek orange for the actual color.  And not everything that is orange tastes like oranges.  An example of that is carrots.  See what I mean?

When I was little, I loved Orange Crush.  If given the choice, I picked that every time.  I grew up referring to all carbonated beverages as “coke”.  I like Coke.  If I wound up with a Coke, that was fine.  But what I really wanted was Orange Crush.

Whenever I was with Daddy and we stopped at a convenience store, he would ask if I wanted something to drink and I would reply “Coke, please”.  And he would always bring me Orange Crush.  I didn’t even realize what was happening … I was saying one thing but he knew what I meant … until I have gotten older and remembered this.  Recently I asked him about it.  He just laughed and said, “I brought you Orange Crush because I knew that was what you really wanted.”  How about that?!  He was reading my mind and paying attention to what I liked.  He is a good Daddy.

I have always loved the flavor of orange in juice and sodas.  So they’re definitely on my list of comfort items (although I buy sugar-free/diet wherever possible).  But I also seem to gravitate to other orange drinks/foods that seem to be comforting for me.  When I feel bad and sickly and tired I seem to choose: orange crush, orange juice, cheese toast, cheddar cheese, cheese & peanut butter crackers, yellow grits with cheese in them, spaghetti-Os with cheese, orange yogurt, orange sherbet, carrots, Cheetos, Kraft Mac & Cheese, nectarines and peaches, etc.  There’s more but I don’t need to create a complete list for you.

This is so weird.

When my husband was in Hospice, I was guzzling any diet orange sodas I could find and I ate so many Cheetos that my fingers were stained orange.  My stomach was so upset those last few weeks before he died, the only thing I could keep down was Spaghetti-Os.  My Momma was staying with me and she was so dismayed that I couldn’t eat anything “healthy” even though she was cooking good food for us all.  But I would look at that food and feel so sick I would have to leave the kitchen.  Then she would relent and make me Spaghetti-Os.  Bless her heart.

I wonder what this orange-thing is all about.  I wonder why, and when, it was that I associated “comfort” with “orange”.  But I’m too tired and brain-weary to do anything about it or to investigate it thoroughly.  I’m so zoned out right now in this zombie-widow-existence that I am just instinctively doing what works … buying Cheetos, cheese, and orange soda. 

It takes what it takes.

Holy Cow!

Today I had an “Ah-Ha” moment.

I have been putting a great deal of pressure on myself to get moving and living a life for myself and all I’ve been able to do is sit on the couch and watch TV, go to work, take care of the absolute basics, and attempt to sleep.  I can’t focus on anything.  I can’t remember anything.  I can’t figure out what the hell I’m supposed to be doing.  For God’s sake – I used to be a highly functioning, responsible adult and now I feel like I am an idiot.  And instead of any of this getting better, it seems to be getting worse.

Everyone keeps telling me to relax, to take my time, and to give myself a chance to rest and recover from the ordeal I’ve been through.  That’s been good advice.  Now I understand why so many organizations advise us to not make any major decisions until at least 6 months to a year after an ordeal such as this.  I’m almost 8 months into this widow-thing and I still can’t seem to figure out how to live a life for myself.  WTF?  My thoughts and ideas have bounced around like a rubber ball.  Nothing has seemed to make much sense.

Two weeks ago I finally broke down and saw a Psychiatrist to get some help with the fact that I have not been sleeping.  The idea was that if I could get some sleep then maybe some of these other issues might start taking care of themselves.  I got some meds.  I’ve remembered to take them.  And I am now sleeping at least 6 hours a night, uninterrupted (the uninterrupted part is key).

For the past week or so I’ve been waking up in the morning and feeling cheerful.  Of course, that doesn’t last very long … until I start getting tired again … around lunch … or even within ten minutes of waking up … depends on what demon thought runs through my mind.  But despite my mood, I am beginning to feel rested when I wake up.  What a relief!

So today I was, yet again, puzzling over my inability to get a grip on myself and my life and wondering why I just can’t seem to figure out what to do with, and for, myself.

And then it hit me!  DUH!

I have spent the past TWO years focused on caretaking my dying husband and taking care of everything and everyone BUT MYSELF.  I was married for 7 yrs and 7 months during which time I had to focus on meeting the high-maintenance, demanding needs of a selfish husband, his train-wreck older daughters, and his sociopath of a son.  No wonder I don’t know what the hell to do with myself – I haven’t been able to really focus on MYSELF for 9+ yrs.

Well, shit.

I started dating my husband when I was 32.  I was an independent and whole person when I met him.  I used to have a life.  Then I got married.  I used to know what to do with myself.  Now I just need to figure out how to kick-start it back into gear again.

So, today, I figured I would start small with a “daily schedule”.  It’s been over 2 years since I had a “routine”.  Up to this point everything revolved around whatever my husband, the cancer, and my step-son needed.  Now all I need to worry about is myself and my doggies.  And we need a routine.

I need time to sleep, time to work on “projects”, time to do chores, time to pay bills, time to eat, time to meditate/read/pray/write, etc.  I don’t need to train for a marathon.  But I can fit one hour into my routine to walk the doggies.  I don’t need to write a novel, but I can fit an hour into my life to write in my blog(s).  And here’s the crazy part – I need to write this shit down and make myself a schedule or I’ll never remember what I am attempting to do or be able to figure out how to make it happen.  Used to be, I could keep all this shit in my head and just do it.  That’s just a pisser.  But it takes what it takes.

So this evening I am starting my “new routine” and I created a schedule of what a good, rewarding day may be for me.  And starting tomorrow, I’m going to do my best to follow it.  Progress – not perfection.  It will probably need some tweaking.  But if I’m going to re-gain a routine, I need to start practicing.

Wow.

Sloppy, Wet, and Kinda Scared

I used to have everything managed quite well.  I knew what was going on.  I knew when things needed to be done.  I had my finger on the pulse of everything going on around me and my little group.

When my husband developed cancer, I thanked God that I was as organized and methodical as I was.  Finally, being borderline OCD was a plus!  And I maintained a heightened awareness of everything throughout his illness and never missed a thing despite how complicated it got or if I was tired or even if I was sick, myself.  I hauled everything around in a fantastic boat with seemingly effortless skill and consistency.  I was like a high-powered ski-boat, zipping along atop the water and managing to keep everything dry inside the boat.

And then my husband died.  He fell out of the boat.  And it was like my engine started down-shifting.  And my ability to maintain control of the boat and it’s contents was compromised.  I was managing to go to work and keep up with my 18 yr old Step-son who was just months away from graduating high-school.  But I was struggling with details like trying to make a grocery list and being able to focus on things.  I was still motoring along, but my engine was definitely sputtering.

And then my Step-Son moved out – he decided there was no reason to stay with the Wicked Step-Mother if he could, instead, go live with one of his sisters.  And without the requirement of having to maintain control and management over him, my boat engine seemed to sputter to a halt.  I could hear it’s last gasps of trying to run.  I could feel it shuddering and struggling.  And I looked at the shore line, so very far away where my family and friends were waving at me, and felt fear that I was going to be stranded out in the middle of the water.

And as the law of physics took over, the fact that my boat engine stopped did not hold back the massive tidal wave that had been created in the wake of my boat.  And I was swamped.  My boat started filling with water and is desperately in danger of sinking.  I have been left in confusion as to my inability to get myself moving again.

I keep waking up each morning and slowly bailing the water out of my boat.  Somehow it stays afloat.  But I am more tired now than I ever was – in spirit and in the ability to gather the gumption to give a shit and really get the water bailed out of my boat so I can work towards re-building it.  I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing.  I show up for appointments on the wrong day.  I can’t remember if I ate lunch or when I watered the plants last.  Weeks have passed since I vacuumed and dusted.  I don’t know how many rolls of toilet paper I have.

I am living a sloppy life.

I used to feel disdain for people who lived sloppy lives.

Now I feel empathy for them, whether they created their own sloppiness or whether it was handed to them in a package of crap they never asked for.

Living sloppy is not comforting and doesn’t feel safe.  Everyone on the shoreline is waving at me and shouting out their support.  But I am alone in this boat out here in the middle of the water.  I continue to bail out the water.  I don’t know the answer yet.  I don’t know how to fix the motor or how to get rid of all the water.  I seem stuck and in danger of sinking.

I am sloppy, wet, and kinda scared.

The Art of Surrender

I am new to this widowhood thing.  I never planned to be here.  Who does?  It never occurred to me that this was an option.  It’s another example of how my plan is so totally different from God’s plan.  My daily devotion today reminded me that I’m not really supposed to have any plans.  I’m supposed to be open and willing to follow God’s plan.  I’m supposed to surrender in the face of adversity – not lay down like a weak or cowardly ninny – but surrender to the fact that I am not in control and I am not in charge of the rules of the game, and I am not making the final decisions.

Surrender.

I hate that word.  It’s so hard to do.

Surrender carries negative connotations and implies weakness.  Surrender equals failure, in my mind.  Surrender means that I am probably not going to get what I want.  Surrender means that I am going to have to accept something that I probably don’t want to accept.  Surrender means that I’m going to have to bend in a different direction.  Surrender means that my plans and ideas are absolutely not going to work out.  Surrender means that I am going to have to swallow the fact that I lost whatever challenge I was attempting to achieve or overcome.  Surrender means that I am weak and useless, in my mind.  Surrender just damn sucks and is embarrassing, shameful, and means I am being a sissy, in my mind.  And surrendering makes me furious.

I hate having to surrender.  Damn it.  Shit shit shit to hell and back!

When my husband was diagnosed with Stage 3 Esophageal Cancer, we didn’t really understand what we were facing.  We went home and talked about what the DR had said.  We held hands.  We discussed the possibilities of what this diagnosis meant.  He promptly buried his head in the sand whereas I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and prepared for battle.  Eight months later I came to my own conclusion that this was not something we were going to be able to “beat”.  This was not a battle to “win”.  This was going to be an epic attempt to “cope”.  And right then I realized that I had a choice in what I was going to do.  I could either continue to “fight” and go down with the ship; or I could surrender to whatever fate God had planned for both of us.

To be honest with you, surrender was the only choice at the time because I was so exhausted, worn out, drained, and tied in a knot trying to take care of EVERYTHING that I just didn’t even have a moment to contemplate what I was going to do.  In my mind I yelled at God:

Yooo-Hooo.  Dude!  Well shit.  What the hell.  This just damn sucks.  What the hell am I supposed to do now?  Just how in the hell am I supposed to cope with this?  I have no fucking idea what is going on and I sure as hell have no fucking idea why YOU are putting this into our lives.  This is too big for me to fix or manage.  This is too big for me.  Well shit.  Ok.  YOU created this mess.  YOU can manage this mess.  I am laying this at YOUR feet.  YOU just show me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.  And if it means that he’s got to die, well then that just fucking sucks and I really don’t fucking want that to happen – but I will obey and do what YOU want.  And right now, YOU suck too, by the way.  Amen.

And in that rebellious moment, with anger and fear in my heart and shaking my fist at God, I surrendered.  I had no other choice.  The whole thing was just too big for me to figure out, manage, control, etc.  And I didn’t have the luxury to go down with the ship fighting this turn of events because my husband needed me to help walk him to his death.  So I couldn’t be pre-occupied with “winning” a losing battle – I had to set what I wanted aside and provide what my husband needed.

Surprise.  I chose to surrender BEFORE I was at the end of my rope (I was close, but not at the actual end at that point).  This was a new strategy I had never used before.  Letting go BEFORE I completely ran out of options.  Giving in, accepting, bending, letting go of what I wanted, and willing to suffer whatever shame, failure, or seeming uselessness that surrender might bring.  When the Lord calls you to serve, He damn means for you to SERVE.

This turning point of surrender brought me smack to the threshold of self-less service … to everyone involved.  I jumped in with both feet.  Suddenly my mind opened to include a wider circumference that contained not only my husband but his kids and his family and his friends.  My mind cleared of all the cancer confusion and became laser-fixed on providing SERVICE to all of us affected by this pending disaster.  In surrendering I found service … a discovery of what God wanted and expected of me in this event … not to accomplish His Will … but to be of Service while HE performed His Will (whether I liked it or not).

Surrender brought me strength.  I did things and said things that were not of my own self.  I have no doubt but that God provided me with the resources I needed in every moment, whether they were mental, physical, emotional, financial, or spiritual.  I gave everything over to God.  I stopped worrying about whether I was going to get fired from my job, whether we were going to have enough money to sustain ourselves, whether we were going to have enough food for the week, whether the clothes were going to get washed or the kitchen floor mopped.  I completely handed the reins of my life over to God.  And I concentrated on serving to the best of my ability.

God is still holding the reins of my life.  I have not been able to take them back.  I haven’t been strong enough.  I don’t know if I will ever be strong enough to live the way I did before all this happened.  Now I have learned that there is relief in surrender.  There is strength in surrender.  There is peace in surrender.  Life is not about winning or losing.  Life is about living.  And surrendering has brought me peace and relief.  I have absolutely no regret, no doubt, no “what-ifs”, no would haves, no should haves, etc. in anything I did during that horrid event.  I am at peace.  I have a clear conscience.  And I am proud of myself.

Now my conversation with God goes something like this:

Hey.  It’s me.  You know how exhausted and empty I am.  Please give me the strength to have a decent day so that I can be of service to You.  The welfare of my life is at Your feet.  I trust You to take care of me.  I could really use a break.  Please don’t send me some kind of crazy ass project.  I need peace and rest right now if at all possible.  But I am listening for You.  Show me what You want me to do.  I will do it, whether I like it or not.  Thank You for carrying me.  Amen.

Attempting Progress – Not Perfection

Two steps forward, one step back … so hard to make progress at this pace. I’m trying to find an acceptable middle-ground between the happiness and unhappiness of my marriage prior to husband’s death. Good memories, bad memories, nightmare memories … all pooled together. Reminds me of when a wave has already lapped upon the sand and is drawing backwards just as another wave is lapping over it and pushing forward … the two … meeting in the middle … both being pushed/pulled in opposite directions at the same time. How am I to balance the grief and relief his death brought me?

And I had this sudden awakening that my marriage really didn’t have much to do with me … it was about ME providing service to HIM … by raising his son to the best of my ability, providing a stable and safe environment where he was unable to do so, and by helping him find the Lord – helping him embrace faith in the Lord – helping him be Baptized before he died (and helping his son be batptized along with his father so they BOTH were saved in the eyes of the Lord).

If you look at my life from beginning to end over the past 12 yrs, I have traveled back to the same place where I started … living in my little house I love, alone (but not lonely), and being independent and free like I was before meeting him. I am right back where I started. The past 12 yrs wasn’t about ME. It was about HIM and HIS KIDS … and me providing service … financial, mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual service. It was a high price to pay for companionship that never really met the one thing I needed most from him … emotional support. He was a selfish and self-serving man who put himself above everyone, including his kids. Only God knows why I loved him so self-less-ly. But I did, no matter what.

I can’t begin to fathom God’s plan and why this has happened and what it may have to do with me. But what I do know is that I have an opportunity to start over .. to have a new beginning … to have a new future full of possibilities … (if only I could get enough damn sleep grumble grumble). Sometimes I feel so crazy.

Turning a Corner

Being a widow is not the same as being “single”. When I was “single” I was walking on a known path, living in a socially acceptable fashion, doing what all single people do as they take care of themselves and head towards finding a life-long relationship and having a family (if that is their goal). When I was single I was sometimes confident/sometimes not confident that I would be able to work my way towards a satisfying life. When I was single I still had dreamy expectations and a desire to explore new adventures in life that I had never experienced before, no matter how small and boring they might seem to others.

But being a widow is not the same as being single. When I was single I didn’t have this entire wheel-barrow load of grief to carry around with me. In the wheel-barrow are the lost dreams of a future with my dead husband, the lost hopes of sharing adventures and achievements/failures with him, the unbearable loneliness of having to take every breath without him, the fears of being fated to be alone for the rest of my life, and the knowledge that something/someone I wanted so badly in my life was not meant to be.

The event of being widowed is not the same as being divorced or single. It carries a darker burden. It carries a level of anxiety, depression, and fear like no other state of being. I, for one, am unable to look into this dark abyss on a regular basis. I have to breathe. I have to lift my face to the sun. I have to shake off the clinging shreds of the nightmare and try to turn my mind towards the possibilities for the future. If I don’t make an effort to look away from the abyss, I am doomed to fall down into it and stay there. It is a hard place to escape and so very often I find myself teetering on the edge of it.

How do I get away from the abyss? How do I dump all this crap out of this wheel-barrow? How do I survive this new state of being – living as a widow?

God has a plan for me, whether I like it or not. He did not consult me when devising this plan. He didn’t check to see if I’d rather do something else. He created me for exactly the path He needs and wants me to take. At some point during the 19 months of my husband’s cancer treatment, I accepted that God’s plan for me was that my husband was going to die and that I was going to be called upon to take care of him and shepherd him to death’s door step. I accepted that. And that’s about as far forward as I could think it through. I didn’t have the capacity to think about myself and what was going to happen to me or how I was going to deal with the aftermath and the abyss that I didn’t know was awaiting my arrival.

God’s greatest desire is for us to live happy, joyous, and free lives through Him, for which He provided a direct tool for our use in achieving that goal through His son, Jesus Christ. When I was experiencing the worst nightmare of my life and all the worldly help and support I was being given from family and friends was not enough to prevent the world around me from crumbling out from under me, there was only one thing left for me to cling to … God has a plan, whether I like it or not, and I must be faithful and obey.

Developing us into human beings who are able to fully embrace happy, joyous, and free lives is God’s mission. He allows us to freely choose what we want and desire. He allows us to freely pursue what we think will make us happy or get us where we think we should be here on earth. And, sadly, He knows that many of us will be satisfied with that. But He also knows that there are some of us who seek more than to just “be happy”. We seek spiritual fulfillment. And that is hard to achieve unless you are willing to put some hard work into it. Spiritual fulfillment comes from God. And we can only achieve it by following God and pursuing the path He has determined for us.

I will never understand why my husband had to die and why I had to become a widow. God’s divine plan is too big for me to comprehend. And God doesn’t expect me to be able to understand it. That’s why His only expectation is that I be FAITHFUL – trust that He is doing what is best for me whether I like it or not – and that I OBEY Him – walk forward on my path no matter how scared, sad, mad, or overwhelmed I might feel.

I knew that there was nothing I could humanly do to save my husband or prevent him from developing cancer. I was not in a position to change whether he lived or died. I realized early on that God’s divine purpose for me in this situation was to be of SERVICE. God had put me there to take care of this man (and his family) while he was in the process of being called home to the Lord. I did more than I ever thought I could do and I endured more than I ever thought I could endure and I provided more than I ever thought I could provide (emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually). But it wasn’t all my doing. As God put me on this path, so too did He provide for everything I was going to need … money, insurance, resources, support, understanding,
patience, endurance, stamina, intelligence, faith, etc. And I was faithful and I obeyed and I was of service to God and to my husband and to his family.

And then it was over. My husband died. Three months later my step-son moved out. And I was left alone … widowed. Is this my reward for being faithful and obeying? Widowhood?? The abyss??

Nope. It is just a transitional place along the path that God has set for me. God has parked me. I don’t know what in the world He has set up for me next. But obviously He considers that it was necessary for me to experience what I have gone through so that I will be prepared for where He is taking me, for His glory and for my good.

I sit still and am quiet. I pray and listen for His answer. I ask, “What am I supposed to do now?” and “Please show me what You want me to do”. And I hear silence. My heart is not moved in any particular direction. My answer is that there is no answer at present. This can mean 2 things … NO – you’re going the wrong way, turn back to Me … or WAIT – get ready for something fabulous I am getting ready for you.

Sometimes His answer is “NO” because we have not done what is needed to make us ready for the next step on our path and we need to receive more lessons/experiences before we move forward. Sometimes the answer is “WAIT” because He has not yet set all events in motion to be ready for us to take the next step on our path. Regardless of which answer it might be, I am sitting still. And then I realized that just because I am sitting still doesn’t mean there’s not also a purpose in doing that.

While sitting still I can rest and allow my body, mind, spirit, and heart to heal from this nightmare ordeal. While sitting still I can focus on taking care of my own health and restoring/healing myself from what was drained from me. While sitting still I can focus on improving my financial situation, re-connect with friends/family I lost track of during my nightmare, begin attending church, reach out to help others where possible, and demonstrate my FAITH and OBEDIENCE to God. I can Walk the Talk. I don’t have to stare down into the abyss. I have other things to do while God has me parked and is allowing me this downtime.

And I have the opportunity to start finding joy, happiness, and freedom … wherever I can … in whatever ways that I can … to live my life to the fullest and not waste my time in the darkness of the abyss. I feel like I am supposed to be getting ready for something. I am very hopeful that it is not because I need to be of service for more death and sadness. But if it is, I know I will be doing what God has prepared for me and I am not afraid (I have learned never to say “never” and never to say “no” to God).

Yes, it is hard to turn away from the abyss. To me, the abyss represents the darkness we experience when we live our lives away from God. Falling into the abyss means falling into an indulgence of self-pity, self-recrimination, self-loathing, and selfish behaviors. Falling into the abyss means falling into Self. And we never find happiness, joy, and fulfillment when we indulge in obsessing about ourselves/our worries/our difficulties/our sadness/our losses/etc.

Yes, it is ok to be sad. Jesus felt sadness. It is ok to feel scared, alone, and depressed. Jesus felt all these things. Yes, it is ok to feel desolate and despairing. Jesus felt abandoned and forsaken, too. But in the end, Jesus turned away from the abyss and was faithful and obeyed. And Jesus fulfilled God’s mission for him by being crucified. At least following through with God’s plans of service for me did not include being nailed to a cross. So why would I intentionally try to put myself into the misery, depression, sadness, and desolation of being nailed to one in the abyss?

Although I have these feelings (and so many more), I try not to dwell upon them and get lost in them. Rather, I burst out in pleas and prayers and ask for God’s help in relieving me of the sadness, of lifting my spirits, and of helping me turn away from the lure of the abyss. Some days are better than others. Sometimes I am strong and sometimes I am not. But I am trying. And in trying, I am being faithful and obeying. God doesn’t expect us to be perfect. All He wants is to see that we are choosing to try and that, in our hearts, we desire to follow Him, whether we like it or not.

I would never have chosen to be a widow and I have no idea why God set me upon this path and I have absolutely no clue as to where He is taking me. The one thing I will say is that the experience I have just completed that led me to this place did much to reinforce my rock-solid faith that God loves me and will take care of me, no matter what.

I’m starting to get a little excited to find out where I am going. I’m starting to feel a tiny twinkle of hope. And I’m beginning to understand that being a Widow just means I am a single person who has a butt-load more experience under her belt than most.

You Won’t Believe This …

Not 2 minutes from the time I published my last post, “WTF”, a guy walks into the office to deliver flowers to me!  ME!  I can’t believe it.  They’re from the janitor company at work that has been screwing up quite a bit and it’s their way of saying they are sorry.  But hell, it’s FLOWERS … for ME!

LOL

I don’t believe it.

God always surprises me.

I am left smiling and shaking my head ….

WTF?

Why can’t I sleep through the night?  Why can’t I fall asleep at a normal time?  Why can’t I stay asleep?

If I could answer those questions, then I would be able to answer …

Why am I so exhausted all the time?  Why don’t I have any energy?  Why can’t I seem to get rested?

If I could answer those questions, then I would be able to answer …

Why can’t I seem to get anything done?  Why am I having so much trouble concentrating?  Why am I falling asleep at my desk at work?

And if I could answer those questions, then I would be able to answer …

Why am I crying all the time?  Why can’t I catch a good mood and hold onto it?  Why do I feel so despondent?

I am now praying for a time-out.  I need God to give me a time-out.  I need everything to stop moving so I can step off and take a break.  I cannot continue to function with little things popping up left and right.  I feel as if I will fall down if just one more wrinkle in the scheme of things shows up.

I can’t take any more stress.  I can’t give any more strength.  I can’t offer anyone anything else.  I am empty … I am unable to give back.  In my heart, I want to give and do and be whatever possible.  But in reality, I am unable to offer shit.

Sometimes my dogs … jumping into my lap and begging for attention, love, petting, treats, etc. … sometimes that is just too much and I have to go into my bedroom and shut the door.  Being unable to give love to the dogs – not because I don’t love them but because I just don’t have the energy to be paying proper attention to them – is just downright pitiful.

This is ridiculous.

WTF is the matter with me?!

Another Holiday to Endure

It is Memorial Day Weekend.  Another holiday I will spend without my husband.  Back to square one, so to speak.  My family has always used any excuse to have a get-together where we all pile in on someone’s house and have a cookout.  Grandparents, Aunts/Uncles, Cousins, Spouses, grandkids, etc. – everyone comes if at all possible.  For a long time, I went to these gatherings and had a blast and didn’t think twice about it.  But then all my cousins (who are all YOUNGER) than me, started getting married and having kids and I was the only single one showing up for the party.

For a while I just ignored my empty feelings.  And I would ignore all the well-meaning questions about when I was going to get married and start a family of my own.  But when I was in my early 30’s, those comments started to hurt and being with all these family members who had spouses and kids highlighted the fact that I was single, and driving home from these gatherings became misery because I was going home alone and they were all going home with their own families.

Being with my own family group became a very painful and lonesome activity.  But I still went because I was supposed to go and I was expected to go.  So I went.  And I would cry to myself in the car on my way home, feeling miserable and lonely and despairing of ever finding a boyfriend, much less getting married.

And then, suddenly, while at my lowest and having just surrendered to what I suspected was God’s Plan – that I be alone for my whole life – Bob shows up.  And we start a relationship.  And eventually I take him to one of the family gatherings.  And he fit in!  They liked him!  And he liked them!  And he was welcomed and embraced.  And for the first time, in a long time, I wasn’t alone and I didn’t have to drive home alone and I enjoyed being with everyone again.  My boyfriend/husband made all the difference.  Marrying him finally brought me to an equal level with everybody else – I had a group of my own, too!  And that’s what I had wanted so much – my OWN group.

But my group didn’t turn out to be what I expected.  It was a disappointment.  And after being married and realizing that I was powerless to change/improve/help my group – mostly because they didn’t want to change, were incapable of improving, and really didn’t want my help in the first place – I sucked on a bitter pill of feeling incomplete even within my own group.  I felt like the odd-ball.  I was the “step-mother” – always the third wheel.  When Bob and his kids/cousins/sisters/etc. would get together, of course they reminisced about the past.  That’s what families do.  But I never felt included.  I always felt like an audience member.  And there was never any reminiscing about recent memories that may have included me unless I brought it up.  That’s when the room would sound like it was full of crickets and they’d all look at me, give me a fake smile, and then return to talking about people/places/things I would never know about or understand.

Worst was Bob’s habit of permissive parenting.  I was always the disciplinarian.  He never chastised or punished his kids for anything.  And I never felt like he sincerely backed me up in what I was trying to accomplish.  It always felt like their team versus me.  It always felt like, behind my back he was telling them, “Just go along with her to keep her happy.”  He was always the arm-chair-quarterback … so pleased to point out my mistakes and how terrible a job he thought I was doing … but never willing to pick up the ball and do anything to help me or even to do it himself.

I never felt any sincere emotions from his children except disrespect, hatred, and insincerity.   All three, at some point during our relationship, told me out loud, “I hate you!”  One of them went so far as to say, “I hate you to the core of my being!”

What they really hated was that I held them all, including Bob, accountable for being decent, honest, and responsible people.  And they just were either not able to be like that or didn’t want to be like that.  It takes hard work to be decent, honest, and responsible.  It’s not easy and sometimes you have to do things you’d rather not do in order to accomplish it.  And in their opinion, anything that didn’t promote their opportunity to get what they wanted wasn’t worth their time.  Sadly, Bob felt this way, too.

Oh well.  Anyway.  Suffice to say, I am going to walk through another holiday alone … again … and I’m going to have to watch all the other folks in my family with their spouses and kids.  But this time, in addition to feeling like a lonely loser, I get to endure something new … their pity.