Coming up for air

 

The last few days has been an exercise in pretending that everything is fine on the outside, while housing an inner storm on the inside. I really don't want to make those around me uncomfortable, but I have actively avoided my usual amount of social interaction considerably since the death of my mother.

I get the "grieving process" can be lengthy and I'm totally not here for it... I liken the last 7 days to "being held under for 3." 

For those that are unfamiliar, that is a surf term. Being held under for 3 means being held under the ocean water for 3 sets of waves. If you have ever experienced that, you know what true panic feels like.

Just when you think it's safe or you are able to surface, BAM! Another wave hits you and pushes you back under. Depending where you surf, and how far out you go for waves, kind of determines how good of a swimmer you are and your lung capacity.

Last night, I had none. I would liken the experience to what I would imagine surfing Maverick's would be like. *I DO surf, but I'm not good enough to surf there. Like, ever*

A breaking wave can apply a pressure of between 250-6,000 pounds per square foot (1,220-29,294 kilograms per square meter), depending on its height. Maverick's average's 30 ft. waves... that is A LOT of pressure slamming down on you. And keeping you underwater.

Yes, people have died surfing there. Some being the world's BEST surfers. 

That is what this grief is feeling like to me. Wiping out off a 30ft wave and getting held under for 3.

At times I struggled to breathe, struggled just to make it through the day. Even though I have a professional to talk to twice a week, it doesn't prevent the sadness that comes in waves, just like the ocean. 

I'm happy that I recognize and have a really good support group consisting of friends and the few family members I have left, or I don't think I would have made it out of this alive. My dog also helps keep me focused on the future as she is all I have, as I, hers.

Sleep has been a scarce commodity as I am almost guaranteed a nightmare each time I close my eyes. None of them make any sense to me, and I certainly don't want to remember them, so I won't write about them. Unless they are significant to me. The only common theme they have is: Loss. 

I can't handle any more of that and I know that life in general is full of it. But I also have to remember that it is full of gains as well. 

I return to work tomorrow for the first time in months, and it's a mixed bag of emotions on that one. My only focus and concern is to make sure I don't fall apart and I do my job as I've always have. 

I know there are many folks that are excited to have me back at work that genuinely miss me, and that makes my heart feel full. I am grateful for that and those people. Grateful that I still have a job (even though it would be illegal to be fired for taking FMLA). Grateful that I didn't take the road that some of my family took that are no longer here. 

Today I didn't feel great about much of anything, but tomorrow is a new day with A LOT to get through that will not involve (I hope) continuing the grieving process. "Duck Diving" my emotions as it were.

Maybe tomorrow I'll get to catch my breath and "come up for air." 

Stigmas

  It was shared with me the other day by a total stranger that not only did this blog serve as a source of "validation", but also that of comfort to them as they too have and are still going through some intense devastation in their own life. That they weren't alone. 

I was a tad shocked that anyone would want to read my ramblings, much less reach out to me about them. I'm glad they did.

I'm glad that they found some solace in my words and as a result, have found the strength to seek professional help for themselves. Their hesitancy and I guess with my own in the past, was the stigma of getting help. 

I think my generation and those that preceded it were expected to just tough things out. Life is hard, suck it up, move tf on already. Not realizing the dysfunctional behaviors, thought patterns, and expectations of ourselves and others, are just that indeed: Dysfunctional.

For me personally, I just ripped the band aid off and openly admit to anyone now that I am getting help for myself. I had to. I was facing and going through some major life events that I was not prepared for physically and emotionally. I was sincerely afraid that as a result of losing both of my folks within a very short time of one another, I didn't know how I was going to handle it all. 

I was afraid of losing everything I worked so hard for by losing myself. By potentially allowing myself to hide myself away from the world and internalizing everything to the point of insanity.

I have for decades, kept most things to myself. I was punished verbally and emotionally for expressing what I was going through, how it was making me feel, and how I needed some sort of support. I grew up thinking this kind of treatment or retaliation was NORMAL. No, it was abusive. It was my parents way of dealing with situations they too could not deal with. Dismissing my pain and chastising me for it was their way of doing that. 

In return, this is what I have done to myself and to others. For that I am truly sorry. I can't take things back, I can only move forward knowing better. I have beat myself up pretty badly trying to serve some internal karma which doesn't work. 

I've had bosses over the years tell me that they wouldn't give me any constructive criticism as they have never seen someone so hard on themselves as I was. Basically I "scared them into submission."

I didn't know how to take that then... I do now. I'm grateful for the feedback and for their grace in knowing that I was fragile, not like a flower. Like a bomb. Honestly, looking back at all of that I can say I am a tad embarrassed at myself, but it was all I knew at the time. 

What isn't talked about enough is how freakin HARD it is to forgive oneself.

I still hold myself to these ridiculous standards that practically no human can live up to (this is a generational behavior brought on by my grandfather and passed down to his own kids; 2 of which took their own lives because they could not live up to his expectations, and 2 ran away from home constantly as a result as well). 

As I have stated before somewhere in this blog, it is therapeutic for me to be able to write out all my thoughts, frustrations, failures, as well as victories. I knew that it being out on the internet, people were going to read it. I didn't set out for it to be a "Self Help guide" or "How To", I wanted to get what I have been holding in for so long, OUT. I didn't care in what format that came in.

I sincerely hope that people find the strength to seek help if they need it and not give into societal stigmas to avoid ridicule. You have no idea of the disservice you are doing to yourself or someone that is struggling. 

Personally I believe every single one of us here on earth needs therapy. 

If you don't, I have 3 requests of you:

1) Walk on water without getting your feet wet

2) Turn water into wine

3) Perform 3 miracles spontaneously in front of me on the spot. 

Maybe then I will give you a "hall pass" on this. Until then, I said what I said.

Once again, I'm glad and grateful to have been a source of validation for the stranger that contacted me online. 

I'm glad I could help.

Hope Floats

 

"Hope Floats" happened to be on tv today, and it was one of the movies that my mom and I both really enjoyed watching. 

I didn't realize at how much my own life has drawn some parallels with it. Oddly enough.

My husband, while he didn't leave me, did cheat on me which forced my hand in filing for divorce. I was filing for one before that information was known to me anyway, this just tipped the scale. That was a relationship that should have never been. Again, more on that later. 

When this movie came out on DVD, I remember watching it with my mom and there is this scene that I will never forget her telling me, that it reminded her of me when my birth father would come around.

 I don't remember much of "the donor" in my life, but I guess when he did come around, I was beyond excited and evidently wanting to either spend as much time with him as I could, or maybe I wanted to go live with him. I'm not sure. But when my mom shared with me that there would be times where he would call and promise to pick me up from my mom's house and take me for the weekend, I would have my little suitcase packed and would be sitting by the window waiting for him to come get me.

I just knew that any minute he would be pulling up into the driveway. Any minute.

My mom knew better. Apparently, this was a consistent pattern for him to make promises and not keep them. For him to make plans and then ghost; before "ghosting" was defined. Such a trailblazer 👎

I guess when "the donor" would actually show up, he was met by a very angry & frustrated mother (mine) and she would unleash an all-out verbal assault on him citing how much of a "dead beat dad" he was and how much damage he was doing to me.

As this is all happening, I am in my room crying and carrying on. I evidently was very upset at my mom for yelling at "the donor" because that would inevitably cause him to go away, not to come back once again. 

My mom told me that when he heard me screaming and crying in my bedroom, that he told her that he would have no problem disciplining me to get me to stop and shut up.

THAT right there put my mom into a tailspin, and she booted him out of our house and pretty much out of our lives. Until my 19th birthday. Again, this will be covered later on. 

The simple act of him leaving, caused a scene similar to the one in the movie. 

Hearing that broke my heart and at the same time made so much sense to me as an adult.

Both parents did a number on me; trying to overcome and heal from this later in life is another special challenge. One I wouldn't mind skipping out on actually.

Then the scene where "Birdie" is visiting her dad in the nursing home just got to me. It somewhat reminded me of 2 different things all at once. One that I didn't think would cross my mind this soon, much less affect me like it did right now... That was the scene where she starts dancing with him in his room.

In that moment my heart broke for the fact that I never had or will ever have that Father/Daughter dance with my dad (Carl) when I get married again (yes, I hope to again one day). He and my mom did attend my wedding, but it was anything but "traditional." AGAIN... all that in a later post.

I miss my dad something fierce. He was the best father I've ever known, and I am so very grateful for his presence in my life. I cried for a few moments mourning the loss of him and the loss of that opportunity.

And of course, the nursing home itself. The fact that my mom was in one for the last 3 months of her life, not wanting to be there, asking me daily when she could come home. It broke my heart. She needed 24 hour in home hospice care for that to happen, and I didn't have the $21,000.00 a month needed to make that a reality. I will cover this in another post. Even after a month since she's been gone, I still have a hard time talking about it. But I will. Eventually.

The scene where she loses her mom. I don't need to elaborate about that. Hits too close to home.

As sad as this sounds, I got "jealous" of the fact that "Birdie" had something of her mother's that still smelled like her. I do not have anything left behind like that. Maybe that is a good thing. It probably would make being able to move on, that much harder for me. 

The relationship between "Birdie" and her mom certainly did not mirror that of the one my mother and I had with each other, but the pain of the loss is the same.

The Soundtrack is something that could narrate my life pretty closely. 

I would like to think that this was something "divine from above," and maybe it just might be. I just wish I could stop getting so emotional over every little thing that feels familiar to me. 

I guess this is the part of healing I have been avoiding for so long. 

Can't run forever. 

I miss you Mom & Dad. I love you both.

True Story