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Drowning

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I go to the river often to center myself. It works amazingly well when I can’t make it to the ocean. Recently, I was going through some stuff. I hit a rough patch, and was trying to find my way out. I sat on a bench and prayed: Please God, show me the path you want me to be on, help me get on it. Show me the way.

The water was running rapidly in the distance. Maybe not white water rafting rough, but rough enough. The river is higher than I’ve ever seen it, thanks to the wet winter we finally had.

And here I am praying. Not knowing what to do. Light starts burning through my eyelids and I opened my eyes…. to see the picture above. My first thought was “Not that path, Lord, I can’t swim.”

No, I did not get into the water. I was too scared. And pretty sure that wasn’t my path. In the morning, I was telling the story to Dad, thinking it was just a cute story. He had another answer. “It’s not the water, Wyndie, it’s the light. You’re meant to bring the light to people.”

I wasn’t expecting that. Especially since it makes so much sense. When I write my cards, I call it “sending out my ray’s of sunshine.” People seem to like them as much as I enjoy sending them out.

But the whole situation made me start to wonder: how many times have I felt like I was drowning, with no help in sight…. only to learn later it had been there all along? Sometimes its a matter of interpretation, sometimes we just need a little time.

It was comforting to sit on the river’s edge and talk to God. Even when I thought his answer was something I wasn’t sure I could do. Just sitting and talking with Him helped me sort myself out.

Keep on keeping on, my lovelies.

I’m trying to be back on a more consistent basis. We shall see how it goes 🙂

 

Little Boys, Elderly Parents & Friends with Depression

The Poetry Edition

I recently had a phone call, where I was told that I am a natural “mothering” type of person. I like to take care of everyone, nurture them, all that good stuff. But I also need to learn to let go, to remember that not every battle is mine to fight, and sometimes people need to grow on their own. Mother and Smother are very close.

Last weekend, I broke a glass. I told the Princeling to stay out. Except, he didn’t. He calmly put on his shoes, gave me mine, then went to get the big dust pan. I swept up, and he picked up the larger pieces of glass and placed them carefully in the dust pan. The entire time, I was biting my tongue trying to keep the words behind my teeth.

Don’t do that! You’ll cut yourself! I don’t care if I bleed, but I can’t stand it when you do! What actually came out of my mouth was Be Careful.

He took the dust pan out, emptied it in the garbage can, and we went on. Except, you know… It hit me. My son is growing up. Helping. Taking care of me, even when it’s not all roses and sunshine.

Roses have thorns, and sunshine can burn, so I guess there really is no safe way to allow him to grow and never get hurt.

It was a broken glass. No drama, no life coming to an end. But something happened, and he came and helped his mom. Even if my neck muscles tightened as he helped me.

Then there’s my dad. I love my dad. He’s my hero, and one of my best friends. He’s still regaining what he lost, but he’s home. He’s walking with the help of a walker, and starting out with a cane. He does his exercises regularly, and enjoys going out. Nothing’s going to stop him.

Especially not a paranoid daughter.

He went out to the garage to wait for my son’s bus (which was late). Ok, fine. Except… When he first came home, I was trying to get someone to make a dump run for all the crap in there that has to go. His old recliner (replaced with mine), and old toilet (I know, I KNOW!), some wood and a broken lawn chair.

And dad went out into that mess to wait for my son.

You know, the mess that I’m afraid will kill me, let alone my father?

I can deal with him walking out to the mail box. He’s doing more and more and more every day. But that garage scares me. Now, I know my dad is a tough old war bird. He’s 89 and of sound mind. I need to let go, and let him be. I also called and rescheduled that dump run. I’m done waiting for it.

Done!

So that takes care of the two closest to me. But then, then… there’s my friends. I’ve touched before on the fact that I have had situational depression. It is nothing compared to what they go through, their struggles. I have no idea what they go through every day, one still in the midst of it and one keeping the delicate balance of not sliding back in.

There really is only one way to try and express my feelings about it. As a person who loves someone living with mental illness.

It took three tries.

Three.

A magical number.

Poem 1:

Tell the demons I’m here to stay,
There is no playground
For them to frolic
I locked the gate-
Threw away the key.
I smiled at each
And every
single
one
as my blade
shaped by love
Conviction
Strength
Love
Friendship

Pierced them
One
by
bloody
one

Until all heed
My battle cry
Be gone!

Yah, I loved that poem. Kick ass, it is. It’s also patently false. I cannot see, feel or fight their demons for them. It’s what I’d love to do. But I can’t fight their battles. They have to fight them on their own. No matter how much it kills those of us that love them.

Poem#2

I will hold the sword
as you ready for battle
I will hold the line
as tightly as I can
while you don your
armour piece by piece
Don’t forget the heart
Never forget the heart

I will walk with you by your side,

step
by
bloody
step
through the garden of your demons.
Although~
I feel helpless
and afraid
for this is a battle
you must fight

Why can’t I slay
               them for you?

I will stand beside you offering what I may.

This second one feels truer than the first, but it is also a pretty lie. We can’t walk with them, can’t help in so many ways. I can’t make the fear and depression go away even if I’m right there with them. It feels like there is no way at all to  do anything to help our loved ones. We want the battle to be fought and won, but that’s not how it works.
But there is something we can do. Even though it kills us. We, the nurturers, the mothers, made by God to help…. It feels so often as if we are failing them, failing ourselves.  But we’re not…

Poem #3 Sojourn

I cannot wield the sword
To destroy your demons
I cannot walk this mile
In your shoes…

Nor any other.

The tangled leaves blowing
Through your depression
Are a mystery to me.

So I sit here,
Quietly,
Holding a candle
That it might…

Maybe…

Possibly…

Send a glow of warmth
On your cold sojourn back.

I love you, my friends. I’ll try to keep lighting that candle: whether it’s with notes or phone calls or visits. I will always have a candle going for you.

© 2015 Wynelda Ann Deaver All Rights Reserved

Hello Darkness, my old friend

I have in the past suffered from what I call situational depression. In the past, it has reared it’s ugly head when I was unemployed. All the classic signs of depression– excessive tiredness, not wanting to do anything. Every day, being overwhelmed with the feeling of hopelessness. The stoppage of writing.

Something has been bothering me for a while.

The symptoms were there.

I chose not to see them.

Because I’m working. It can’t be the same situational depression if I’m working, can it? Well…. apparently, yes, it can. So I sat down with my dad on Saturday morning and had a long heart to heart with him about what’s going on. He didn’t offer advice— by this point I knew what was going on.

I started making the changes that I need to make to feel better. One of them was admitting and recognizing what the problem is. It’s not something that will go away over night, but it is something I can work on. I have to work through the feelings of inadequacy to do that… But hey.

I can do that.

One of the nice upswings of this edition of my old friend D. is that I am still writing. I am still getting up and moving. I go to work every day, make it through the day. Even though I get home and collapse, I still get back up and do dinner and homework with the prince. I’ve also been working on other projects that help push it away bit by bit.

This time is different. I am going to break this cycle.

I am more than this.

If i keep telling myself that, and taking the steps I need to…. Maybe I’ll be able to step back out into the light. Nope, I take it back. I’ll be able to step back into the light more quickly.

Tomorrow, I’ll be back at the writing posts with a guest post from my fellow pirate, Steven! He was nice enough to do an author interview of moi, which you can find here.

Talk to you soon, my lovelies! Be kind to one another