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Missing my bro

I miss him. That’s the long & the short of it. It’s a better place than I’ve been. I’ve been angry. Sad. Resentful. In denial. Regretful.

I’m still angry at church & God. I finally made it through an entire service last Sunday and that was only because my sons were holding me up, along with the Spirit. I had my phone completely silenced on that day almost four months ago because I was at church. I didn’t see the text till about an hour later. I’m making myself leave my phone in the dining room. That’s where I always put it at night. But, confession, I’ve taken to leaving it on vibrate now at church. I know, closing the barn door too late.

And it wouldn’t have changed anything. Only would have added an hour of grief. But still. And the Spirit is patient. Will hold me up till I’m ready.

There were so many things my bro & I talked about doing, making up for lost time. There are so many familial wounds this has opened that sometimes I just sit and cry. And when I stop crying, I just sit, numb, unable to form a thought because I don’t know how to sort this much pain out. So I bury it down, get through my day.

I focus on my sons. I focus on my dog. I focus on the cats, when they let me. I lean heavily on Hubby, who is so patient and understanding. He knew from the get-go what he was signing up for and I haven’t disappointed yet.

I laughed, really laughed, for the first time last week or so. The dress scene in Bridesmaids, which I finally watched. Of course that same week, one of my supervisors walked by during one of those crying situations, the one when I can’t even form a word. I get paid for working with words. Not a good thing for your boss to witness, being completely incapacitated from forming a sentence.

This is one of the sentences I recently managed to form about my grief.

While it is not all through death, I have no one from my late childhood/teenage family left. In the span of eighteen months.

I know I have gained so much family back and I am blessed with that. I love them all so much. 

But there is still a lot of loss to work through. I wish I could be glib. Just say screw it, at least about some of it. Not my bro. Not Bearpaw. But to be glib would lessen what I have gained. That would demonstrate a major change in who I am. Then I wouldn’t deserve the future happiness with the family I’ve reconnected with. It would not mean the same.

I also want to learn from all of this. I want to be a strong, compassionate mother who loves her sons unconditionally. I want to love true & unconditionally in all of my relationships. So there are lessons to be learned.

But right now, as I pretend to sleep until I finally pass out for a few hours, as I have every night for almost four months, I simply miss my bro. I still had his message from last year’s Mother’s Day on my cell. I listened to it last week. Clearly never erasing that. It was nice to hear his voice, filled with love.

I miss my bro.

Stigma

I met this elephant trainer not too long ago. Only spoke with him for a brief time, but he was very polite and we shared an intense series of sentences about mental health (illness, disease) and stigma. He said I should be proud of what I live with, not ashamed. I think generally I am proud of balancing my existence with a mental illness. But yes, there are times I am ashamed, afraid, to mention it because of the stigma attached to it.

So many people live with a mental illness and the weight of the stigma is overwhelming. The weight of keeping up appearances is daunting. Think of any other illness. Really, right now, think of any other illness. Now imagine a person saying, “I just can’t do stuff today because of the ____________. ” Every single person would give that person a pass and probably some sympathy, maybe offer some help. Make a meal and drop it off.

Now fill in that blank with a mental illness.

Oh, chin up, it’s just work. You can get through it. Cheer up, it can’t be that bad. Oh, I didn’t know, sorry. Well, the weekend is coming.

Or nothing at all.

Not everyone will respond this way. The folks who respond with the same compassion as the “any other illness” scenario probably know or live with someone who has a mental illness.

The ones who respond any other way don’t know what it’s like to live with it and don’t know much about it. Why would they? It’s easy and acceptable to not know about mental illness because of the stigma. Because of the outlandish Hollywood portrayals that make a mockery of the day to day life with mental illness. Those portrayals set things back every time. You want to see a good portrayal, a understated, realistic one? Watch Love and Mercy.

Back to the example above. “I just can’t do stuff today.” But instead the person living with a mental illness will pick themselves, put on the socially acceptable happy face, the persona we assume each day to hide what makes others uncomfortable. Well, we get tired. Some get really tired. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of being ashamed. I’m tired of keeping it out of the way because folks would either have to educate themselves a bit or simply be sympathetic on faith, even if they don’t understand it.

I’ve written it before. Everyone knows someone who is living with mental illness, you just might not know it. But if you know me, in real life or just because you miraculously stumbled onto my humble blog, you know someone who lives (and quite well, thank you very much) with schizophrenia every freakin’ day. Ask me questions if you don’t understand something. Educate yourself and spread it around. Help to get rid of the shame, the stigma, the misconceptions. Read a pamphlet. Read a website (vett your sources, please!).

Remember, you know someone.

Grief…complicated

My pastor gave me a book about grieving. I like the approach so far. It said in very plain language that when you suffer loss, it brings back to light previous losses attached to the recent loss.

That was a mouthful.

In losing my brother, it brought to light, in a bright glaring, white spotlight, so many losses over the past three decades. Some are very tiny, others are huge. They have impacted my entire adult life, the way I approach and work on my marriage, the way I raise my sons, the way I try to be the person I want to be.

Sometimes I’m tired of trying to be the person I think I should be. I see so many who just seem to glide through life, or others who really don’t seem, from my perspective, to be giving their all, or doing things as honestly or as ethically as could be done, and I sit and throw myself a little pity party. Then I pick myself up and remind myself that I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I did things any other way in my life.

Of course, I’m not sleeping well at the moment anyway, so I guess now would be the time to not follow the straight and narrow. I wonder how others do it. Make choices, knowing the bad ramifications it will have on others, and yet they still make those choices. Everyone knows someone like this. Every family has at least one person who is a bull in a china shop, not caring what damage is created as long as things go the way they want.

But the problem there is that damage is done. The person who suffers the damage may take years to recover from it, whether it be emotional, physical, or financial damage. And the person who caused it often seems to be living a glorious life, with minimal worry, or in some cases there is worry, but truly it was created by their own actions. That to me is just melodramatic worrying and they are reaping what they sowed. Sleeping in the bed they made. All those other clichés.

So since I try to bury so much during the day so coworkers don’t think I’m a total freak, it bubbles to the surface at night. Actually, on the commute to and from work. It just rises up to the front of my brain, and the emotions overwhelm me and I cry. Ugly cry. I was ugly crying in my cube today. Just this overwhelming sensation of what have I done? What is causing this shit-storm in my life? When will something go a little bit better? Some sign of the winds of change, and not another nor’easter. I’ve had enough emotional nor’easters this year. And losing my brother has stirred up so many squalls I don’t know what to do with them.

I’m journaling. Part of the reason the posts have been so lax. There has been shit going down since November. Then losing him two months ago just intensified the existing situations. In one sense, it gave perspective. I do not care nor do I have time to play those bullshit drama games, but in grieving him, I grieve the loss of others who are still living, but have stated how my choices will cause me to burn in hell.

It’s odd. The ones who are still living, I don’t miss them. Perhaps because they always want to remind me that I’m going to burn.

Tea

“Instead of just having tea with him, I’m going to kick his butt.”  Youngest son talking to the video game.

It breaks my heart sometimes that fairy tales aren’t taught as frequently in schools anymore. These amazing stories survived oral storytelling to eventually be culled and catalogued within so many countries, each putting their own spin on them. It seems though that here in America, we have no time for them unless they have been Disneyfied. There’s nothing overtly wrong with the Disney versions, but children, even adult children in college, don’t always realize that the stories are much older than the Ears would have you think. They didn’t make them up, and they usually change them to suit their needs, image, and marketing goals. What could be more American than that?

Without learning the old versions of the fairy tales, children miss out on learning about story telling, classic characters, and in some cases, a good fright. But I digress.

I did grow up reading fairy tales. I’ve read them to my sons, and not the watered down versions. I read the Zipes translations to my boys. I’ve taught the Zipes versions in one of the courses I taught for several years. I love fairy tales, particularly the Grimm versions. And as I have been trying to work through some pretty heavy shit in my life, I finally happened upon something that is helping me start to sort it all out. It is based in the archetypes and symbolism that run rampant in fairy tales, and while I’m no Bettelheim, it’s working for me.

HanselandGretel

Imagine if you will Hansel and Gretel. They are brought into the forest by their father and mother. They are poor, and the mother’s plan is to abandon the children in the forest. Not nice, I know. But we’re moving past that to another point in the story. The first try, the children outwit their mother and drop pebbles so they can find their way home in the moonlight. But the second time they drop breadcrumbs which get eaten by sweet woodland critters. No way to get home. Wander, wander, wander until a house made of candy, gingerbread, and delectable delights. The little old lady seems harmless enough. Plus, she wants to feed poor Hansel and Gretel and help them in their time of need.

Now imagine that H&G get trapped in the moment of being helped for years, decades. They know only the reality of what is told to them by the old lady, who is really a witch (and who some scholars theorize is also the mother). They completely buy into what she says because they know no “other”. It seems pretty cool, good food, light chores, she’s occasionally crabby, but still lots of sugar. They see snapshots of her in her true form, a witch, over the years, but they aren’t completely sure. They are also wrapped up in their own lives, as children tend to be. But she’s generally kind so they trust what she says to be truth.

Well, Hansel gets out. Not in the best way, but still he’s out. Over the years, he returns for a visit or two, but now the old lady/witch knows he knows “other” stuff, “other” truths. In her head, he can’t be trusted. He might tell Gretel that the old lady’s true plan is to eventually cook and eat Gretel. A plan that he escaped.

Now imagine decades later, Gretel escapes. She starts learning “other” stuff, “other” truths. Imagine the shock, imagine discovering that the old lady/witch was feeding her lies along with the candy for all those many years. Imagine her reconnecting with her brother, her family, and discovering the “other” life she could have had. How long would it take each of them to resolve all this new information? How long would it take to quell the “what if” questions and move forward from bitterness, anger, and regret for what could have been?

Hansel and Gretel would have two completely distinct realities that they had lived in. The one reality, the one of the old lady/witch, would be a false reality within the true reality. The strength of which was only ever as strong as the gingerbread house. Once they got out of there, the false reality starts to crumble, disintegrate. But so much damage was already done. Their sense of being and sense of value would be totally skewed. It would shape their perspectives for the rest of their lives. Each would have to work very hard to remember that not everyone is like the old lady. They can trust, they can love. They can celebrate their successes, learn from their mistakes, and lean on the rest of their family for support. Family who never gave up hope, always prayed to see them again, and always held love in their hearts for Hansel and Gretel.

I can Trump that

Okay, first, it automatically capitalized Trump.

Second, this isn’t about politics. It’s about how easily I’ve been avoiding the vile, nasty behavior people have been exhibiting since the election.

On Facebook, I only check my notifications, wish folks happy birthday as needed, and then hop off again. 

Avoid Twitter completely, which I discovered is really freakin’ easy to do.

Technically I have an Instagram thing, but if you follow me, you know how well I took to that form of social waste my time media.

I read articles from BBC and Japan Times, use Messenger a lot, and find I have a lot more time on my hands. Yes, this blog is social media, but since comments are so freakin’ rare, it’s really more of a one-sided social media for me. As one of my friends from college would say, it’s between me and my voices.

It’s my journal nowadays, I suppose. Although I still journal on paper too. I post shit I don’t mind sharing with my five faithful readers.

Updates on some topics…

Wally is sadly still here. PB still hates him, and we all know I’m not fond of him. I did recently realize that although I love bread, the feeling is not mutual. Now, I won’t give that up, but I am going to curb it a bit. And I let myself have chocolate regularly again because when I stopped eating it, I gained ten pounds. Even my doctor was in favor of me taking that back. He realized I was more likely to keep exercising if I still eat chocolate.

Me & the fam have been playing games practically every night. Board games, card games, and sometimes just games on our devices, all in the same room. A little solitary, non-thinking time, but not alone. Together.

Banging my head against the wall at times about my teenage sons, but I know how blessed I am. I have two unique, bright, talented, funny, loving sons who are traveling their life paths to the march of their own drummers. And the time is passing very quickly, so I focus on them. And with how uncool I am now, I have more time for real conversation with Hubby or time to do hobbies that I forgot I enjoyed.

I like living mostly unplugged. It makes it easier to see the good that’s all around.

A Princess with a Plan

While Carrie Fisher and I did not share the same diagnosis, we shared the same approach to mental health. While my reach is clearly not as far and wide (I don’t have access to the Millennium Falcon), I do my best to advocate and destigmatize mental illness to change the conversation to mental health. Ms. Fisher, much like Patty Duke, helped me to see my strength. I could do anything I wanted to with my life in spite of schizophrenia. It did not have to define me. Did it shape me in many ways? Of course. But it doesn’t define me.

Take a few moments to read this:

carrie fisher mental health quotes BuzzFeed
Think about how many people you know that live with some type of mental illness. Think about what would be missing in your life if treatments had not advanced, if those family members and friends were not strong enough to do life every day while managing mental illness. Be inspired and then help destigmatize mental illness. 

We need this to be a conversation about mental health, and not be fearful of illnesses that are still so misunderstood. Educate yourself. Read articles (no, just reading the title or headline doesn’t count, in this and all forms of becoming less ignorant). Talk to people about it. If you have questions, ask someone you know with mental illness to share about what a day is like for her.

Carrie Fisher’s mother, Debbie Reynolds, died today. A day after her fierce daughter. In memory of both of them, educate yourself about mental health. And watch Postcards from the Edge. Freakin’ hysterical.

Rest in peace, ladies. And Carrie, others will keep up the good fight. We’ll use the Force.

Division

It plagued me in math, but more so in life. What I am already tired of is people telling me that we need to stop dividing the country but BOTH sides keep pointing out the differences. Please focus on our shared human experiences or I’ll start ignoring your asses.

If you don’t like something, fine. Share your opinion. But remember it is your opinion, and we all know the saying about opinions and assholes. Also remember that your opinion will be the opposite of someone else’s opinion and there is no need to be rude. If you’re rude, ignorant, and condescending, there will not be the possibility of a conversation to reach a balanced understanding, because I will ignore you.

I foresee a lot of time ignoring people in my future. I have begun avoiding Facebook and other social media as much as possible. With this free time, I will do my part to help people and society. I will listen and converse with those who want to actually hold a conversation, not simply tell me I’m wrong and tell me we’re divided. Because I promise you, we’re a lot more together than you realize.

To start with we’re all human. And I hope we all know kindness. Love. Love one another. No matter all those things pointed out to divide us, just start with love and kindness.

Greatest Generation

As we remember those souls lost on this day at Pearl Harbor, I wonder what the Greatest Generation would say about life in 2016.

My guess is they would say quit whining, work hard and work together, and take care of each other. I’m sure they sat around to shoot the breeze, but not like we do.

I am tired of talking. I am tired of worrying about what someone else might think if it will make accomplishing simple tasks take forever. I don’t want to spend anymore time wondering if this or that will please everyone because it won’t.

I can simply be nice, do my best, take care of my family, contribute to my community, and love others. And leave behind spending time around memes, social media, and gossip.

But I will binge watch shit on Netflix when I need a break. 

Rex’s Spa Day

So Rex doesn’t like having his nails trimmed. When I try to do it, I can get one. Then the next day, Hubby holds him again and I get another. This process takes about two weeks. Stress for him and I get so nervous that I’ll hurt him. But his nails really needed a trim so off to PetSmart for a Pawdicure. But no bandana because of his neck issues.
Rex is so good in the car. He looks out the windows (closed because of the wind phobia) and seems so happy. We get to the parking lot and I open the door, grab the leash, and he doesn’t move. I coax him out. We start to walk toward the store. At each car he stops, tail tucked between the legs, and then bursts by the car. Full stop at the next car, repeat all the way to the end. He stops on the little island, does some business on the little shrub, and then sits down. 

I applaud his bravery thus far and try to cross the road to the sidewalk in front of the stores. We get four or five feet, with cars waiting, and he sits again. I sort of half carry him back to the little island (it was closer). We pause for a few minutes, I pet his belly, tell him how sweet his is, and we try again. 

Two or three minutes later, we’re on the sidewalk. About 30 feet to the doors of PetSmart. Wind is blowing the leaves around, keeping the fear fresh for every step. An employee happens to come out, sees the scaredy dog, and starts encouraging Rex. Between the two of us, we make it to the door. He has a little accident, but the sidewalk can handle a little tinkle.

Next we face the automatic doors. Then we work our way to the grooming area and there seems to be a LONG line. Happily it’s a bunch of dogs at an adoption event. No line at the grooming area! First-timer mom didn’t know she needed the rabies certificate, but the nice lady called the vet. 

It takes a few minutes to coax Rex to the table, and then his spa day begins. They suggest I wait outside, I readily agree.

I won’t take you step by step through the Pawdicure. Suffice it say five groomers earned their pay today. And they didn’t charge for the full Pawdicure since they could only complete two of the eight or nine features. But his nails are trimmed and pads shaved. The groomers were amazing and were so sweet, patient, and gentle with my sweet Rex.

He’s resting now. We’ll go again in January during the secret quiet time the groomers told me about. Rex is the best dog.