The Salt From Tears

THE SALT IN TEARS

Tears are important, too.

When I travel down a deep dark tunnel into a fathomless black hole of despair, I rely on my tears to remind me
I’m still a soul,
sitting in a body,
feeling sad right now.

Tears anchor and tether me; both are equally salvationary.

BATTLE SCARS: GBD, Cold Entree

No dessert today; too much time sweating in a hot kitchen.

BATTLE SCARS

I’ve fought in many wars
And I’m deeply scarred;
I’m always decked and hurt
And don’t possess Night Vision
Sharp enough to see nighttime stars.

Yet I Won’t Go Down
Without a Fght;
I’ll be carted off dead
Or walk away with my life.

But should I die and You decide
To take MY Life into YOUR Hands,
Just to later hand It back to Me
(Generous YOU, but Ownership ME),

Should I be Grateful?
Or should I be Hateful?
YOU tell ME what I should be.

I am Both,
Wholly and Equally.
My battle’s were hard,
And so are my scars,
But it’s Magic versus Tragic
When Scars turn to Stars.

CRY, BABY

CRY, BABY

Anyone who says
“You shouldn’t Cry for Yourself”
Is a big fat liar.

You should cry for all ages of Yourself if you need to.
I know it sounds hokey, but it’s actually very freeing once you get past the embarrassment of it.

The thing is: there’s nothing to be embarrassed about!

Welled-but-unshed tears are painful energy with no place to go.

If you don’t allow your body it’s natural response,

Your Body will cry for YOU!
Your soul will weep for you,
People will gnash their teeth at you,
And ultimately,
Your heart won’t beat for you.

I should know;
First-hand experience,
Multiple times,
All counts.

RACING THOUGHTS & New Disclaimers ♨️

I’ve just lived a Month of Hell I don’t understand and for the first time recently, haven’t had the words to describe. But I want to try.

The last 3-6 weeks (I can’t remember) have been a Giant, Extended, Protracted Clusterfuck of Epic Proportions. On a Daily Basic. Comprised of the following Ingredients:

1. The Daily Trifecta of Physical Mental, and Emotional Anguish.
2. That Damn Oral Surgery: the additional pain, the inconvenience, the EXPENSE, CVS and other Mosquitoes, the recovery period, the healing period, the waiting for the next phase, the fact there IS a Next Phase,
3. Going from February to July, at least where I live, brought my favorite Wardrobe Season, Mild Winter, to a screeching halt with As-Yet-Unworn-But-Recently-Purchased clothing Making Eyes from my closet; who knows if they’ll Wink at me next year? Also, the abrupt and drastic change in temperature has been hell on ONE of my pains: an exceptionally rare and therefore un-researched disorder, Erythromelalgia, or “Man-on-Fire Disease.” Let’s leave it that for now; I don’t want to burn you.
4. THE COMPANY: Profound Loneliness, Static Aloneness, A Despairing Sense of Pointlessness, Pissed-Off Self Loathing, Absence of Invitations, Unwillingness to Extend Invitations, Inability to Accept or Extend Invitations, Unfounded but CONVINCED Ugliness, Too Much Time But Nothing To Do, Wouldn’t Do It Anyway, Profound Sorrow, Regret!, Ghosts from the Past, Abject Misery, Fear of My Future, Inability to Cope with the Present, Paralysis,, Growing Emptiness, Social Anxiety, Agoraphobia (home both caste and prison of my own making), and therefore:

ZERO KARAOKE.

I NEED a weekly fix of Karaoke to handle the Slings and Arrows of my Outraged Fortune.

The good news is I FINALLY sought self-care by Undergoing Transformation of both Upper AND Lower Nails on Wednesday. All 20 are now Bulleted and Shellacked in Deluxe, Upgraded Red Glitter and Reflecting in Top Coat. How’s THAT for “Spring Color?“

I’m still not feeling great. But at least the Racing Thoughts in My Head are
Lovingly Whispering:

Karaoke Tonight?

(Gracias for the photo, @thenixcreative)

♨️ Is My New Disclaimer for Very Foul Language and/or Sexually Explicit Talk

There is Virtue in Suffering

There is Virtue in Suffering

Pain Resides in Us and we can’t escape ourselves despite our noble and ignoble institutions, substances, activities, behaviors, distractions, and sundry other coping behaviors to help us do so.

All immersion in suffering-displacing techniques TEMPORARILY displaces Pain, but by displacing Pain, we’re also displacing Self-Acceptance, which I believe is the seed which grows into the Giant Redwood of Joyful Wholeness. I’m not OFFICIALLY sure because I’m not there yet!

I do want to clarify: when I talk about Pain I’m talking about Feeling Pain vs. Painful Events Occurring in a person’s life. If we survive both of them, we come out Overcomers or Victims, respectively.

I think I decided to allow Pain to have its way with me when I got sick and tired of being victimized by what felt like was Everybody, Everyone, and Everything. I was living my entire life in the Adult Biped Version or the Human Fetal Position. I don’t know that I’m NOT now.

But at least I KNOW IT, HAVE PROCESSED IT, AM WORKING ON IT, AM WRITING ABOUT IT, and AM SHARING IT.

By doing all of these things, I am bursting my bubbles, dashing my hopes, tarnishing my image, shattering my ego, losing my dreams, disappointing others instead of myself, burning my bridges, clearing my slates, starting at zero (zero is delicious), beginning again, growing into, becoming, expanding my options, opening doors, breaking ceilings, running deep, running low, running high, running new, and STARTING OVER.

At MY age!! And with all of my wretched disgusting awful brokenness, I STILL can’t believe how wonderful the person I’m turning into is becoming! I know it sounds corny, but when you’re not running away from yourself, you realize you’re not so bad. Maybe you’re even pretty amazing.

Thanks to Everyone [SO much] for going on this journey with me❣️ I honestly think it’s very brave of you.

Though Grace 🌞 has always been here, and she’s still alive to tell about it!! ♥️

ALSO: I know I’ve mentioned it before, BUT IN CASE ANYBODY MISSED IT, Everyone DOES realize I’ve written the ENTIRETY of this blog with my Right Thumb on the WordPress App on my IPhone 12 Mini, Right? I’m blind, dead, and dumb because of it [yes, I said “desd”], so hopefully you’ll excuse any typos.

PLUMB YOUR DEPTHS

When I plumb depths, they terrify.
I’ve glimpsed into the Hells I Hide.
Secrets lurk so Dark Inside,
Monsters, Pain, and Anguish, too;
The Empty Void Awaiting You

Won’t be avoided; Screams,
“Reflection!”,
Can’t escape a Soul’s Infection
Eating from Your Sharpest Place.
This Yawing, Grasping, Clutching Space
Demands Bestowal with a Name.
You call it “Evil”; That’s in Vain

Because you’re not that Bad!
Mistakes Aplenty Lives should have;
They reinforce a Search Within,
A Search, well-sought, yields Many Gifts.

Confrontation is the only Glue,
Beams the Shine and Lights the View
And makes the Search less scary, too.

(Thanks to DDP for the photo)

A TASTE OF IT

I may be smart but really dumb
At MY age to sign up to Run
And Chase You and other Sons-of-Guns
Who want to house me Under Thumb.

It’s time I find Myself a Clue,
And Get the Hell AWAY from You!

I’ll hold Myself both Tall and Free.
Newly Freed, I’m Free Indeed,
Bursting with the Fully Free
Freedom Only Found in Me.


(Thanks to @nicholasampson for the photo)

WHAT?

What are you gonna DO to me that hasn’t already been DONE to me?

What are you gonna take AWAY from me that hasn’t already been taken away from me?

Don’t ever underestimate people with nothing left to lose.

They’ve been known to surprise on the Final Act.

Which we can change to “The Last Half” if it sounds too ominous the other way.

I wasn’t aiming for dark overtones – I was thinking more “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.”

It says a lot about my mental exhaustion at the moment that I’d rather explain this than just clarify my writing,

LOVE LETTER TO MY ONLINE FRIENDS


I don’t often find myself contemplating the virtues of Cyberspace, but today I’d like to extoll one of its underreported virtues: LOVE.

Yes, Love. There IS Love to be found here❣️

Yesterday, all day, I felt emotionally fragile. I’ve learned, since beginning this blog last September, that the Internet can grant succor and relief through the Catharsis of “Writing-For-Sharing.”

Sometimes the public attention makes me crafty and prancy with my words, even making up new ones like “prancy.” Other times, I feel like I’m vomiting poison. Or losing what’s left of my beauty.

There are Certain Memories I hold close and parting is such sweet sorrow! But I believe Vulnerability is the Magic Ingredient for Good Writing of Any Kind [sorry much caps, all needed].

Last night I sobbed for hours while writing about my non-baby-but-still-child, Ethan (one of 3 unborn siblings, but the only one officially named).

I’m still crying.

The public-ness and Exposure feel threatening, and I can’t withstand threat right now.

What I need to feel – and needed to feel – is Love. And I did. When I saw this morning that four of my most Devoted Devoteds and Favorite Favorites had read and “liked” my Memorial to Ethan, I felt a rush of love.

Why? The Likes meant these people endured the discomfort and read all the way down to the Like button. And by Liking, they agreed to my request to hold Ethan’s memory for a moment, so I could regain my breath.

Breath is life, friends. As the unwounded soldier helps the wounded, so your kindly presence returned air to my lungs.

By letting me SPREAD MY PAIN, you saved me. You earned the 💜, and I’ll be the one pinning it on you at the ceremony.

Grace, Bogdan, DirtySciFiBuddhah, and Andrea:

Thank you. You’re Everything.

VOX

I must have felt silenced for too long because

I can’t seem to stop my heart from speaking

Even though it isn’t saying Anything.

I Tried

I was here!
I lived.
I loved.
I thought Big Thoughts.
I thought petty thoughts.
I pondered.
I tried.
I gave up.
I dreamt.
I awoke.
I hid.
I resurfaced.
I laughed.
I sobbed.
I fevered.
I iced.
I sewed my soul into the fabric of my clothes
And wore them proudly.
I painted myself,
So carefully,
and I gave it My Best Shot.

I take comfort in knowing that I tried.
I really tried.

Is it Greener?

There was a green hydrant named Fred
Who found Himself lost in his bed.
He searched and he sought,
Reasons were bought,
But a thought always stuck in his head:
“If THIS is my life, I choose death.”

‘Twer me, I’d choose Fried Love instead.
Because…
Their grass isn’t greener;
Their houses aren’t cleaner.
What’s green is the Envy
Converting your Longing to Dread.

So stop feeling sorry,
Eject all this worry.
Freedom’s sole home is your Head.

(Thanks @lakegrass for the use of your photo)

Bullies & Heroes

The Intimidated Intimidate.
The Tormented Torment.
The Bullied Bully.
The Beaten Beat.
The Hurting Hurt.

The Constantly Criticized Criticize.

And though this isn’t popular: those who abuse have usually been abused.

Garbage In, Garbage Out, FIFO, LIFO, and the Pythagorean Theorem.

It’s called Learned Behavior.

Yet everyone knows a dog who’s been hideously hurt by human hands and chosen (somehow?) to trust again.

If these courageous canines can overcome our hate when their survival depends on it, surely we can treat each other (and them) a little better?

The Freedom of Divorce

My burning “like” [it was never love] for you has frozen over; misery my only companion in the awfulness that Life by Your Side has become.

How and why did we make this colossal mistake?
I don’t think I’ll ever know, and I’m not sure that I want to.

I ONLY know I’m ready to trade:
Your “love” and “partnership” for aloneness.
Certainty for uncertainty.
Shouting for silence.
Constant conflict for calm.
Walking on eggshells for mental relaxation.
Being a disappointment for being enough.
The prison this marriage has always been for the freedom a divorce might provide.

Yes, I will fail after you.
After “us.”
I will fall and fail until I die.

But…
Should I be blessed to have another 20 years,
I won’t be wasting them on you.

Journal, 6/20; The Greatest Estrangement

I transcribed this verbatim from a journal I just discovered. I wrote these two entries a little over a year before I started my blog here. I think this older writing proves I’ve gained much ground in the areas of freedom, peace, and joy. I’m still confused, but believe all will be revealed…

6/27/20

Dear God:

I have to admit I don’t understand you anymore. I used to think I did, but I totally don’t anymore. What I can’t wrap myself around is why – when I loved you so much – you’d allow me to get so broken, ruined, and hopeless.

Where WERE you? And why didn’t you step in when everything in my life fell apart [over and over and over again]?

I know I have disappointed you. That I’m stuck in a prison I partially made. But I didn’t make it entirely on my own. If anyone knows this, it’s you. But now that I’m here, you’re going to judge me when I die and say I gave up on You and didn’t use the gifts you gave me?

Let me point out: I think it was you that left me first. I’m telling you how I really feel because you can take it and I obviously can’t. I can’t “take” much of anything anymore. The only thing I feel is pain. Just pain and only pain. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

I am the walking dead. No joy, no laughter, no hope, no faith, no anything. Certainly no charismatic “fruits of the spirit.” I’m dry and hollow from the inside out.

So does this mean I’m not a “real” Christian? Because it doesn’t feel like I’m one of your Chosen. Chosen by the devil for torture and suffering, maybe. But surely not chosen for “life and life abundant!”

6/30/20

I can’t get through more than 3 sentences of my letter from Saturday without feeling cowed. I’m hanging my head in shame. You are holy and sacred and righteous and true and you don’t deserve my accusations.

I guess I just really need to FEEL your love – and it seems I only feel pain. I realize I was the one who turned away [because you say it was me], but it’s getting hard to turn back. And I miss you! So very much! But I need to know the TRUE YOU and not someone’s interpretation of you. I know you say your word is all we need, but it can be vexing to read. It makes me feel that if I don’t understand parts of it, I’m not really yours.

These reformed theologians have me doubting my salvation every moment of every day. Do you still love me? Did you ever? Will you not choose me if I’m not written in your book of life? Even though you’ve always known me, would you abandon me over a technicality?

It doesn’t matter much because I can’t imagine a hell much worse than my life as it now is. I’m sure if I’m to spend eternity tortured by demons, it will be much worse, though. I’m sure I’ll be screaming in agony for all of eternity future.

The thing is: I don’t understand why you’d let anyone do that to me.

I know I’m selfish and ugly and evil, but I thought you saw my beauty? Was I wrong all this time? Or did you un-see it one day?

I’ve served you, repressed myself, lived in fear, and felt like a disappointment to you my whole life, and in response? Are you really going to allow my already-shredded soul to be ripped to shreds all over again, every day for forever?

I Was Wrong (Once)!

I need to apologize to my father because I thought there were no photos of just the two of us. There are many, but my ex-husband had them for the last 13 years.

It turns out he has had, in his possession, the only set of our wedding photos (that I paid for at the time!) for the last 13 years.

Why didn’t I badger him about them? I was just trying to get by, brothers and sisters. Those were “one foot in front of the other” days. Surely you’ve experienced those?

Also, to be fair, I somehow forgot about them. Forgot about the complete and utter existence of these photos. Or possibly even thought I had forgotten them. It happens. A 9-year-marriage full of heartache followed by a 250-mile move, 13 years of silence between us, and a bunch of new heartache will leave gaps in a person’s memory (thank goodness).

Anyway, said ex-husband was decent enough to scan and copy a set of the photos for me. I could make lots of snarky little comments here, but honestly, I’m so grateful for the photos, my “higher self” is taking over.

It makes me tear up a little to see the images of my father and me, smiling and happy that day. They actually make me miss him and the way he almost used to be.

You can’t deny he was handsome. I can’t say “he was so nice,” “he loved me so much,” or “we shared such great times.” But I can definitively say “he was a nice-looking man!”

So, maybe that’s where I got it? Only partially, if I’m honest. The photos of my Mom prove it was definitely a team effort.

I think these images also demonstrate what a “normal”, outwardly-together, seemingly-privileged person I used to be.

I don’t know whether to celebrate or not, but those days have definitely passed.

My Dad & Me
DNA all over my face
My mother and father
Bride and siblings, stepmother
The bride and her Grandaddy

Actually, I’m thankful. Now is better than Then, even though it doesn’t always feel like it. Now has to be better than Then, or else how would we keep going?

It Makes Me Mad my Bride Price has Dropped…

I get mad when people mistake self-deprecating humor and vulnerability for weakness instead strength.

What kind of insecurity places a bullseye on itself? Projection is the preferred ego defense of the “unexamined mind.”

When I make fun of myself or “tell on myself” (as some say in the South), I’m usually doing it to put my companion[s] at ease. It comes out of a desire to magnify the other; to make them feel confident about themselves. I’m an empath, and I pick up on a lot of what others are saying and showing, even if I don’t directly mention it.

Instead, I try to take what stressors I perceive they’re feeling and try to make them “un feel” them by communicating my understanding of their suffering.

I confess that I used to have to be the smartest person in the room. I wouldn’t stop until everybody knew it (or, one time at a business conference in Switzerland, until one fellow British VP thought I was a complete asshole!).

This behavior is from my striving, highly “successful” period – when my “bride price” was probably much higher than it is now.

I think I’ve finally learned, grown, and realized I prefer underpromising and overdelivering to showing off.

Sadly, despite all the work (mental, interpersonal, emotional) I had to do to get to this, my wisest and strongest place in life, I sense I’m perceived as the Chauncey Gardner/Peter Sellers character in Being There. Without the incorrect recognition of “his genius.”

So my question is this:

Am I full of bullshit, still desperately needing to be the smartest person in the room by complaining I feel misunderstood since no one realizes I’m the smartest person in the room anymore (even though I know I still clearly am)?

#isthisnarcissism?

🤦🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️

Cresting Clouds

CRESTING CLOUDS

You kept me on a heavy, tight leash my entire life.

I bear the deep scars around my neck to prove it.

Of course they healed over after I gave up,

no longer bucking against your imprisonment.

By confining me early, you confined me for life;

or at least long after you broke me.

You didn’t break me, though, did you?

I learned to venture out and live again.

I still bear the scars, but I finally escaped when you turned away.

Now I’m bouncing back high, higher, highest…

weightless to the point of cresting Heaven itself.

Any second now; I’m so close,

I can almost feel it…

For My Next Love

Is there room in my life for you?
Is there room in your life for me?
You know I don't come to you pristine, newly minted, or shiny and new.
I have felt hurt and caused hurt,
I have been broken by the random and the cruel - and by my own choices.
My body has been ravaged, charting atrocities visited on it by plague and progress.
Yet you love it - even desire it - all the same.
You don't love what I once was; you love me now, scars and all.
Of this much I am certain: where our lives intersect
There's a special space; a pocket of air, a sea of calm, a place of rest
That quickens the war-torn and restores its vigor.
You've fixed your circle on me:
Rounding out my sharp angles and smoothing the rough edges,
Like a balm against chafing.
Like sand against glass.
All without any intention of "fixing" me.
In answer to this gift, I will fight my baser self to love you back, with honor and devotion. I know myself; know this will surely be a struggle.
But I am committed to it.
And in the giving and receiving, I will be transformed into the beauty visible to your heart's eye.
Thank you. Bless you. I love you.

http://deeporshallowthoughts.blogspot.com/2014/07/for-my-new-husband.html

2014