All I kept thinking today was this phrase: find me. find me. I guess I feel lost, in a very unfamiliar territory. That filter I've written about is fading away. Today I struggled out of bed. The worst thing to do when you are sad, is stay in bed, isolated, controlled by sadness. I got up and out with my son and we talked about how we both felt it a herculean task to get out and in the world today.
I bought a barber chair at a second hand store. Perfect chair for writing at computer. Kids thought I had lost my mind, but, once they sat in it, changed their minds. Helped daughter with research paper. I am sick of school dragging heels on getting her tested. What is the hold up? She is lost! Find her!!!!!
Feeling lost is a strange sensation. I remember as a little kid, truly believing I was an alien.... felt like the world around our family belonged, but we didn't. And, most especially, me. Being a stranger does have advantages. I spent most of my time observing things, but not participating. I examined interaction, 'seeing' what worked and what didn't. At least the appearance of what worked. Being disconnected in that way, saved me from feeling things. But, at some point, I joined the human race and started feeling everything. Today I feel as if I am again an alien, watching and studying. I've felt enough feelings for many lifetimes. In fact, I felt feelings for Gordon and I. And, on top of that, felt his feelings, sharing his feelings as his were so heavy, too much for him to manage alone. But, don't have to do that anymore.
So, lying in bed, paralyzed by HIS feelings is lethal for me. I can claim sadness as my own feeling, too, but, my sadness gets up, showers, cries, walks out into the sunlight and feels the breeze. My sadness' tears are dried by the healing light of day and the company of my kids. My sadness, ends.
I heard a line in a movie that was on today that made sense. I so hate fantasy movies. Hate make believe! But, this line stuck: those who have no hope are easily controlled.
I am far from easy to control. I'm a wild woman on the prairie, unwilling to wait for things to get done. I will hunt my own food, plant my own crops, feed my own chickens. I will make my own bed, bake my own bread and build my own home. I will raise my children. And most importantly, I will live my own life, and won't be waiting for someone else to get out of bed and into the sunshine.
I was lost and then, today, I was found.
3 comments:
PLEASE WRITE MORE!
Are you still out there? I came upon your blog this evening, and it touched me. I, too, am a suicide survivor. Additionally, my father committed suicide almost 13 years ago, on my mother's birthday. I was going on 17 at the time, and it still stings my core, every day.
I do find your entries somewhat inspiring -- knowing there are people with similiar experiences, trials, and tribulations is such a comfort to me, and other I'm sure, as I found you on a "favorites" blog list.
Please continue on!!
Hi kmc. So sorry you are a survivor, too. Have you made it since the suicide of your dad? I mean, can a person resume life and live, or, will we always be dragged down by this massive load?
I didn't realize that there were responses to my comments until this evening, so that is why I'm only now responding.
My dad died in 1992, and to this day, I can't talk about it without tearing up and sometimes, completely breaking down. I think a lot of it for me, and probably for a lot of "suicide survivors", is the guilt: what could I have done differently, if *I* was "better," would that have saved him, what did I do, what I said the night before, why wasn't I, the kids, etc. important enough to stick around for, etc.
I don't know everything about your situation, but for me, I have questions that will never really be answered. Sometimes I feel like it's a tragic story and that I've been waiting to hear the ending for so long, but am just figuring out that there is no ending - there are no reasons or answers that will make me say "oh, I see, I get it," then forgive, forget and move on.
I still think that I see him on occasions. And I still think about him every day. And on the 22nd of this month, it will have been 13 years.
It's still a struggle. It may always be.
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