The hell that I’m in…

Hell. A place different for every person, and yet the same for all.

Willing yourself out of a hell-hole is fruitless. You can no more decide to get up, toss the cot depression has forced a deep slumber in, than the ocean can decide to leave it’s bed. Those who reside on sunny beaches do not understand. Lying on a sandy towel is far different than drowning in the sea’s bed.

I’ve not been able to write. For a writer to not be able to write, it is a very specific kind of hell. The way I keep the world from running me over like a Mac truck is to restrain it and contain it with words. Forcing life to conform to a page; insisting that it take up residence within letters, words, and sentences; it takes the helplessness away.

I’ve never written like other people do. I’m kinda an odd bird. Most people have a vague idea what they want to express, feel a burning desire, and then grab a pen and paper or the keyboard to sketch out what they want to say. It maybe only be an outline or a cluster of words or quotes, but they have a clue.

I’m not really sure how to do that. Writing possesses me, not me it. Authorship dictates what I have time for; what priority my time and obligations get to number in rank, deciding what I will do, in which specific order, to secure my release. Sometimes it can be freeing and heavenly. Sometimes it can be an impatient beast, moody and demanding. Regardless, I live within the parameters that it calls upon my soul in order to keep this life thing rolling along.

keyboard-1176257_960_720Usually I sit down, place my fingers at the keyboard, and I relax. I don’t look at my screen. I stare out the window, maybe watch a bird or a squirrel do their thing. I let my senses loose; let them carry me away while slowing my heart rate slows to a crawl, and, like a burst of life giving breaths, words spring forth and I begin to write.

Now is not the “usually” time in my life, not by a longshot. Now is hell.

Mother’s crave quiet. Mother’s crave the beauty of stillness.

Authors fear the stillness of fingers on a keyboard and the quietness of their minds.

The ability to not be able to write has not just squashed my voice, it’s murdering my wandering soul. I am no longer able to think. I can’t breathe. My lungs have a mountain of hopelessness sitting atop them.

Exhaling. All I can do is exhale. Panic rises with each bit of air that leaks out.

What happens when there’s no more air to release? Tears, sweat, then blood.

Blood begins to take the air’s place. Life giving blood pours out every crevice. Every drop empties me of the will to even try.

There was a time that words were like grains of sand. They flowed from my fingers, escaping regardless of whether I wanted them to or not. Now? What once was life giving, the act of putting words to the page, has turned on me, and, for every word that goes untyped, it punishes me.

I’ve become hollow, empty, depressed. I fell into a hole and I cant climb out.

I’m in a bottomless, wordless, hellish pit that light refuses to enter. The entrance is  sealed with nothing but a password and I can hear the mocking laugher, mocking the fact I have no words to offer.

I must escape. Much longer in this wordless hell and this damned place will become lethal. the last words that will be written will be, “The end.”


If the shoe fits – then you gotta claim the crazy prize

I am not at the keyboard much these days.  I pretend it is because I am far too busy to have time to sit and pound out mundane notions for you to read here.  And by that very statement, it is assumed there are readers acutally out there who have a mind to hear what I have to say.  It’s always random postings, and most certianly about some recent self absorbed finding that I feel the need to shout out to all the world.

Truthfully and honestly, I’ll do you a favor in warning you, now, that this is most certainly going to be one of those “skippable” blogs this time around.  Feel free to click on out at any time, as I am rambling already.  You’ll miss nothing spectacular.  I promise.  To be truthful yet again, this post may not even make sense… I’m a tad foggy and just free-writing here.

You’re still reading?  Well, you were warned.

When it comes right down to it these days… I’m not feeling witty, interesting, or even crazy enough to attempt to say sophisticated things that may lead other’s to believe I have my act together.  I am frustratingly confused about a lot of things, up to my neck in papers that need tied up with fancy signatures and others that want my last drop of blood as a bonded oath to give them my last dime or substitute a living child that may pass collateral…  it’s possible.

But I digress,

I found a drawing laying on the desk the other day after my son had gone off to school.  What drew me in was that the image truly had caught my “in the moment” moment of insanity. I was feeling more than crazy, yet it was drawn long before I began to feel so desperate and overwehlmed.  His drawing drew me back and made me stop and just think.  It brought me back to today’s adjenda and I oddly felt ready for the day after seeing his comical rendition.

Crazy Mom - any day of the week

What I loved about this was that I truly felt like I was frazzled, had given in to the pull of 3 kids all repeating what happened in their day at school in a rapid fire retell and my mind was spinning with who had said what, who’s turn to talk was next, and if I was retaining any of it at all…  I knew they’d say soon, “but I DID tell you about such and such, just an hour ago when I got home.”

There are so many time I feel like I am watching my life play out vs participating in it.  I am not sure if that is because I am just so overwhelmed, or because of the crazy number of new trial vs error medicines they are jumping onto and off of, or just ditching altogether now. Every month I am either weaning onto something new, gradually weaning off of something that didn’t cut the mustard, and messing around with the timings of the ones that seem to be “keeper’ meds.  In other words , they are the ones that haven’t yet caused any problems, so they just keep those going for now. By now I am as confused about what I take or don’t take on any given weekday I want to just give up and throw them all out the window.  It’s complicated and my brain only does remedial math…   Again, I digress…

While I am nutty, the kids find me silly and laughable.  That is good in the short term, as long as I don’t embarrass them in front of friends, mind you.  But in the long term, the thing is, I don’t want to be silly.  I want to be sincere and quietly participating in life.  I long to make sense in everything I say and do… for the first impression of me to be a good one, where things are about what I’m up to, not how I am doing or feeling… and If it’s really ME talking or if I will remember anything said or done tomorrow.

Does anyone remember a day when Christi was loopy, high on giggles and life, and more worried about where the next chocolate and girls-night-out splurge was going to happen?  Now, I move in a pathetic slow step, cringing as i look into the next day to see if it will be normal, or filled with untold headaches, migraines, and stupid ass issues that strip me of who I am – once was – will I ever be again?

So give me my drawing  back.  It’s posted on my fridge proudly, and reminds me to choose daily to let it all just slip away… from the insanity of reality… and  to act as my pass to the other side of the coin.  I will choose to flip it till it comes up heads, so I can get my silly self on with giggling and laughing, and sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by my kids.

I cant fix it all – but I can allow myself to be surrounded by what matters – those said kids, tight hugs, sloppy kisses (from the dog), tickle fights, laying in bed long after lights out… hearing the hearts of my girls as they grow into young women, and of my son as he learns to be a warrior after God’s own Heart.

The next time you are in a boring rut – make sure you look around you and maybe have someone draw you the most insane portrait of you they can… dont be offended by it, but instead be freed by it’s inspiration.  Be free to be you!  No one does YOU better than you do!

Giggle a little when it’s least appropriate – and let the rise it get’s you a head start on the underdog style push needed to accomplish your goals.

Common – you got unconventional and witty in you somewhere!  I know it!