I am still feeling free and happy. Happy isn't a concept I have had a lot of experience with generally. I am content and sometimes peaceful but happy has always been pretty elusive. My mind doesn't even want to analyze why I am happy right now except maybe here on these pages. I feel as though I have been freed from myself. Life doesn't feel like a burden to me anymore just a moment to moment event.
I am busy with work and at home I have been just doing little projects that I have been thinking about a long time but could never get around to them. This is a side effect of depression I think. You are not necessarily sad but the things you do each day just to get through takes it all out of you.
People don't understand that washing dishes can feel like the first steps of a marathon. I have been cooking for the past few months on this diet. Actually going to the store weekly and buying fresh food and cooking for just me. I have never done that before.
I have always been a survivor and a caretaker of other people. The times when I was recovering I didn't think I deserved the same effort I gave to the other people in my life. Everyday was something you just made it through.
To care about yourself is to be selfish. I got that from my mother I think. She died February 15th 1974 after life had taken everything from her. The past few weeks I have been organizing the old family photo and in every picture she has the same fake smile except one. The picture was when she got some award in a high school business club for women.
She was an achiever from the beginning and the life of June Clever did not work for her. She worked until I was five and we moved to a suburb that our preacher built. All the women were full time moms and she conformed and got sick three years later.
We make choices to be what other people want us to be without even know what it is doing to us. We want to fall in line even if everything in our heart go against that. Sometimes people push us but I think it is more about our own view of what a nice or normal person looks like. We hear people say "what kind of person would do something like that to their family?" A desperately unhappy person is what I think.
We get trapped by our own need to belong even if we never feel we do belong. It is a risk to change our lives to better match who we really are and there is no guarantee that we will be happier or that everyone we love will be there with us in the end. No one wants change but we need it to keep the flow going.
My mother did a good job with the time she had with us. From what I remember she ran the family like it was a business. We had a lot of freedom and she taught us how to be self sufficient. She held us to high standards based on the Bible and those never wavered. Everything else was optional.
I wish I had really known her as a person instead of the snippets of memories I hold on to. I don't feel she was happy maybe she was mostly peaceful and content like I have been. I love you mom! If you can hear me.
Saturday, February 16, 2019
Monday, February 11, 2019
Writing -Symbolism - Passion - Spark
I started a new creative writing class at the local college last week. The teacher was just what you might imagine a writing teacher might look like older heavy set and looking like he probably smokes a pipe and hangs out with other writers too many nights a week at the local pub. He spent most of the time name dropping about a local famous writer he knows and what they discuss about writing ending the evening telling us the sacrifices we we would have to make to become a good writer.
During the middle of the evening he gave us examples of terrible writing mistakes his students have made and even one that self published and didn't take his advice and the novel flopped. I felt bad for him because it was clear that maybe life hasn't turned out like he imagined it would or maybe it did.
As an adult and getting a degree at 40 I encountered a lot of unhappy teachers just like when I was in high school some that inspired and some that read the newspaper everyday during class. A good teacher can inspire you like my high school literature teacher Mrs. Myers she taught me about symbolism. Being raised by fundamentalist I had know idea that writers could be using symbolism and the stories could mean a lot of different things. We translated Ray Bradbury's - Something Wicked this Way Comes - it was like solving a puzzle. I still have that same book.
I love that words can make you think and question the truth you have carried in your mind all your life. When I read Scott Pecks - A Road Less Traveled where he talked about the Bible and all the symbolism I decided to take a second look at Christ's teachings. Before that I had abandoned my childhood religion thinking I would never be able to live up to those strict standards.
As far as my teacher goes I am going back tonight with our homework. This is a list of our strengths number 12 - 1 in our ability to write. I of course I do not buy into his idea of suffering for the word or for anything else. You make commitments to things or people you are the most passionate about and sometimes those passions can wane and the excitement just isn't there this is when the commitment keeps you going until something sparks the passion again.
Everything and everyone I love in life started out passionately a feeling that is impossible to maintain. You can abandon it all and begin again losing the time an energy invested to skip off to something or someone more interesting or you can stick with it until a moment when you feel that spark again.
Sometimes you just have to get away from things or even people you love to get a different perspective. The holidays gave me an opportunity to step back from my work. I have to admit I do love it but it has taken over my life. When I had extra time off I decided to try harder to do things outside of work like taking this class. I have also been working on a few other projects around the house. I have been a lot happier and even more inspired at work so it must be working.
I am looking forward to class tonight even though he was a Debbie Downer. I took the class to force me to spend more time writing. Wish me luck.
During the middle of the evening he gave us examples of terrible writing mistakes his students have made and even one that self published and didn't take his advice and the novel flopped. I felt bad for him because it was clear that maybe life hasn't turned out like he imagined it would or maybe it did.
As an adult and getting a degree at 40 I encountered a lot of unhappy teachers just like when I was in high school some that inspired and some that read the newspaper everyday during class. A good teacher can inspire you like my high school literature teacher Mrs. Myers she taught me about symbolism. Being raised by fundamentalist I had know idea that writers could be using symbolism and the stories could mean a lot of different things. We translated Ray Bradbury's - Something Wicked this Way Comes - it was like solving a puzzle. I still have that same book.
I love that words can make you think and question the truth you have carried in your mind all your life. When I read Scott Pecks - A Road Less Traveled where he talked about the Bible and all the symbolism I decided to take a second look at Christ's teachings. Before that I had abandoned my childhood religion thinking I would never be able to live up to those strict standards.
As far as my teacher goes I am going back tonight with our homework. This is a list of our strengths number 12 - 1 in our ability to write. I of course I do not buy into his idea of suffering for the word or for anything else. You make commitments to things or people you are the most passionate about and sometimes those passions can wane and the excitement just isn't there this is when the commitment keeps you going until something sparks the passion again.
Everything and everyone I love in life started out passionately a feeling that is impossible to maintain. You can abandon it all and begin again losing the time an energy invested to skip off to something or someone more interesting or you can stick with it until a moment when you feel that spark again.
Sometimes you just have to get away from things or even people you love to get a different perspective. The holidays gave me an opportunity to step back from my work. I have to admit I do love it but it has taken over my life. When I had extra time off I decided to try harder to do things outside of work like taking this class. I have also been working on a few other projects around the house. I have been a lot happier and even more inspired at work so it must be working.
I am looking forward to class tonight even though he was a Debbie Downer. I took the class to force me to spend more time writing. Wish me luck.
Saturday, February 2, 2019
Denial - Survival - Manipulation
I am happy to be off this weekend. I am still in the purging mode at my house touching everything I own to make sure I still want to own it. I came across the family pictures of mostly dead people now some I know and some I don't. Because I lived in the same city as my Aunt and she was the last surviving sibling on my mother's side I got all the pictures.
In my constant desire for order when I got the pictures originally I separated them by aunts and uncles and thought that I would put them together and send them off to the kids. Now with time I don't really know where the kids are or whether anyone would care at this point.
I also had one file for my grandmother. I have been writing my story and her character is pretty prominent and a character she was. By necessity she was one of the most manipulative people you would ever encounter. Her husband was killed in a sawmill accident when she was 30 leaving her alone with nine kids to support.
Under the circumstances my grandmother became the most resourceful person you can imagine. She never remarried because she said "I don't want another man disciplining my children." She was totally immersed in the the Pentecost even though she was raised Baptist. She never joined the church because they wanted her to be re-baptized and she that the first baptism was in the name of the same Jesus so she refused. Even though the church gave her a piece of land and the materials to build her own house and she did of course.
My grandmother built a very thick wall of denial that rarely was penetrated. She had her own version of everything. She was very opinionated about a lot of things and didn't readily accept new people in her inner circle. She kept most people in that second ring in case she needed something from them. She especially like strangers and they loved her because they were the easiest to maneuver and she hadn't exhausted them the way she did her family.
When my mother was alive grandmother would plan her own birthday party and invite all kinds of people. She had this one lady make her a fancy decorated cake every year as a gift. At my grandmothers funeral the same woman came up to me and said "your grandmother would ask me to do things that even my own mother wouldn't ask me to do." I knew what she meant.
Once my grandmother invited everyone to her party she would call my mother and say "I got 20 people coming for a party at my house tomorrow." knowing my mother would feel like she needed to make that work. I felt for my parents because the wants of my grandmother dominated our household but no one stood up to her. If you said anything she would cry and pout and then quote the Bible about disrespecting your elders. My mother was the youngest and took most of the heat.
I really couldn't understand why she got away with it. Every year we took a trip to visit my aunt in Michigan and up until the last minute she would say she wasn't going. Everyone would beg her to go but she would refuse then at midnight the night before she would call and say she was going. Sometimes when we got to the house at 10 she would still be in bed not packed.
I can see my dad patiently sitting in the car or on my grandmothers porch while my mother helped her pack. This was a regular routine. She did this with her other son in law the day before she was to fly to my wedding and he left her. She manage to get a plane ticket and a neighbor to take her to the airport and got there before my aunt and uncle did.
She loved me almost as much as she loved my mother and after my mothers death and my dad remarried our visits were limited. My dad wouldn't have anything to do with my mother's family after that. Once my uncle stopped by and my dad was cleaning the gutters he never even came down from the ladder. He loved my mother more than life and I think he only tolerated her family for her sake. Once she was gone he was done. I don't think there was malice but he had moved on.
Looking at the pictures of my grandmother mostly on her birthday or Mothers Day always wearing a corsage and usually a hat I see a pretty happy person living a life that only existed in her mind. My mothers death did break denial for a few years. She cried forever until she said God ask her to stop.
When she was afraid or sad she wrote scriptures on random pieces of paper. I have dozens of those writings that I saved. Her faith was unbelievable and kept her going until the end. She died at 85 in 1984 of bone cancer. I can't say I remember too many specifics I was newly married living with active alcoholism and maintaining my own world of denial. My plate was full and couldn't face the loss of the last person who I knew loved me for sure.
It is weird how denial works it protects us from the things we can't bare to see for as long as it takes. Why own up to a life that isn't living up to what we had hoped for? My own life of denial kept me in places far longer than I needed to be there because if I acknowledged the truth I thought it would kill me.
The problem with denial is that no one can reach you and you miss out on real connections. You can avoid immediate grief but it is still there underneath sucking the life of you so you don't feel anything.
I think the research I have been doing on my family has helped me to acknowledge a different reality than the story I have been telling myself. It got too real a couple of times and I to take a break.
I loved my grandmother and I understand the denial that she lived in most of the time. The reality of her many losses was too much for her. She had to survive and take care of her family so in her mind she created her version of reality. She loved me even though I called her out on her manipulating tactics and I can see eyes now behind those glasses with a little grin on her face. She knew that knew.
In my constant desire for order when I got the pictures originally I separated them by aunts and uncles and thought that I would put them together and send them off to the kids. Now with time I don't really know where the kids are or whether anyone would care at this point.
I also had one file for my grandmother. I have been writing my story and her character is pretty prominent and a character she was. By necessity she was one of the most manipulative people you would ever encounter. Her husband was killed in a sawmill accident when she was 30 leaving her alone with nine kids to support.
Under the circumstances my grandmother became the most resourceful person you can imagine. She never remarried because she said "I don't want another man disciplining my children." She was totally immersed in the the Pentecost even though she was raised Baptist. She never joined the church because they wanted her to be re-baptized and she that the first baptism was in the name of the same Jesus so she refused. Even though the church gave her a piece of land and the materials to build her own house and she did of course.
My grandmother built a very thick wall of denial that rarely was penetrated. She had her own version of everything. She was very opinionated about a lot of things and didn't readily accept new people in her inner circle. She kept most people in that second ring in case she needed something from them. She especially like strangers and they loved her because they were the easiest to maneuver and she hadn't exhausted them the way she did her family.
When my mother was alive grandmother would plan her own birthday party and invite all kinds of people. She had this one lady make her a fancy decorated cake every year as a gift. At my grandmothers funeral the same woman came up to me and said "your grandmother would ask me to do things that even my own mother wouldn't ask me to do." I knew what she meant.
Once my grandmother invited everyone to her party she would call my mother and say "I got 20 people coming for a party at my house tomorrow." knowing my mother would feel like she needed to make that work. I felt for my parents because the wants of my grandmother dominated our household but no one stood up to her. If you said anything she would cry and pout and then quote the Bible about disrespecting your elders. My mother was the youngest and took most of the heat.
I really couldn't understand why she got away with it. Every year we took a trip to visit my aunt in Michigan and up until the last minute she would say she wasn't going. Everyone would beg her to go but she would refuse then at midnight the night before she would call and say she was going. Sometimes when we got to the house at 10 she would still be in bed not packed.
I can see my dad patiently sitting in the car or on my grandmothers porch while my mother helped her pack. This was a regular routine. She did this with her other son in law the day before she was to fly to my wedding and he left her. She manage to get a plane ticket and a neighbor to take her to the airport and got there before my aunt and uncle did.
She loved me almost as much as she loved my mother and after my mothers death and my dad remarried our visits were limited. My dad wouldn't have anything to do with my mother's family after that. Once my uncle stopped by and my dad was cleaning the gutters he never even came down from the ladder. He loved my mother more than life and I think he only tolerated her family for her sake. Once she was gone he was done. I don't think there was malice but he had moved on.
Looking at the pictures of my grandmother mostly on her birthday or Mothers Day always wearing a corsage and usually a hat I see a pretty happy person living a life that only existed in her mind. My mothers death did break denial for a few years. She cried forever until she said God ask her to stop.
When she was afraid or sad she wrote scriptures on random pieces of paper. I have dozens of those writings that I saved. Her faith was unbelievable and kept her going until the end. She died at 85 in 1984 of bone cancer. I can't say I remember too many specifics I was newly married living with active alcoholism and maintaining my own world of denial. My plate was full and couldn't face the loss of the last person who I knew loved me for sure.
It is weird how denial works it protects us from the things we can't bare to see for as long as it takes. Why own up to a life that isn't living up to what we had hoped for? My own life of denial kept me in places far longer than I needed to be there because if I acknowledged the truth I thought it would kill me.
The problem with denial is that no one can reach you and you miss out on real connections. You can avoid immediate grief but it is still there underneath sucking the life of you so you don't feel anything.
I think the research I have been doing on my family has helped me to acknowledge a different reality than the story I have been telling myself. It got too real a couple of times and I to take a break.
I loved my grandmother and I understand the denial that she lived in most of the time. The reality of her many losses was too much for her. She had to survive and take care of her family so in her mind she created her version of reality. She loved me even though I called her out on her manipulating tactics and I can see eyes now behind those glasses with a little grin on her face. She knew that knew.
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