Tag Archives: loss

Dropping Tears of Rage to the Floor


My dream starts off in a dim cafeteria that only has small windows towards the top of the double story ceiling to provide any light; I’m volunteering through hannaford by servicing people in need when I hear a familiar voice “I wanna see carol, I miss her so much.” I’d recognize that pouty voice anywhere since I served her for almost 3 years as her team leader. I come rushing around the corner and give becky a huge hug and begin cry my eyes out with her on her shoulder, saying I’m sorry over and over again. Danielle, my supervisor at hannafords, looks on fondly.

Later I run into my former boss Sarah, and ask her how I can help out. She hands me a box of gift cards to be stocked from local stores and restaurants, mostly from outback steak house. I dropped the box as I’m walking away and they all spread across the floor; the box is no longer usable. I organize the cards in piles and pick them back up, and drop them again, but they remain mostly in the piles I put them in. I put them away and look to the back of the room… That’s when I see her… Gina. She now drops something and I go over to help her pick it up. She doesnt know I’m here and doesn’t make eye contact, so in my generosity there’s a spiteful “fuck you I’m nice” element. “Kill them with kindness” comes to mind.

“Oh im so glad you guys are here. The work you all do is wonderful; you guys should come work for us” she says with a faux simper.

“Sorry, but I already did that once before, and I’ll never do it again.”

She finally looks at me and I’m beaming at her. She’s stunned, and I continue on holding on to my power and a slow simmering rage towards her to exert my dominance, tell her how much I love my job now, and how much it’s a shame that I’ll never work for such a terrible employer again. Gina struggles to find a snarky comment, and I leave before she gets the chance.

This time I’ve given a clothing donation to take care of,  but to my horror my dirty shirt and 2 pairs of underwear are among them! I’m trying desperately to conceal them by wrapping them up in a bundle, but they keep falling out and the stack gets bigger and heavier. Gina walks by and snarks “you should be more careful next time” with a smirk on her face. I ignore her and make it sound as if I can’t hear her. I brush it off and pick myself back up, not wanting to be phased.

In the next row I hear someone say “oh look, it’s carol Simpson! Oh, never mind, you’re too tall! Ha ha ha” when I look I see Ellen had said that to Bee in gest as a way of making fun of me. “Oh fuck you” I scream at the top of my lungs, but no one hears me or cares in a room crawling with people. I storm off and try to center myself.

I’m outside and near a body of water I think, but before me buried in sand is a bunch of stones – onyx, hemetite, jasper, sun stone, moon stone… And these are all mine! They’re from my bedroom! My brother Jim is nearby, and where he’s stolen from me before I furiously storm up and confront him. “DID YOU TAKE MY STONES” I screm at full force. Jim can’t take ownership of what he’s done, and mom and big Jim are now standing to my left. “Just tell her you did it” mom says, since jims face is now twisted with embarrassment and guilt. He says he did, and I launch into a speech asking him why he feels it’s okay to treat me like shit and disrespecting me through my belongings, but most importantly those are healing stones, and he tried to sabotage my ability to heal in stealing them.

Just then my mother snarks “ironic isn’t it; now you know how I feel.” She was referring to when I was 14 I had stolen from her, but when I tried to explain to her that was different cause little jim is now an adult, big Jim (his dad) steps in and says something, but I don’t remember what it was. I know I threw my hand up in a “stop” gesture, and told him I didn’t give a shit what someone as abusive and negligent as him has to say; what I do know is that I was seething with rage.

Suddenly there’s a restaurant dining room connected too the home kitchen I’m standing in, and I’m screaming at mom and Jim, but they don’t care and disregard me as crazy and irrational with a whole restaurant of people judging me silently and taking my moms side. I felt like telling people off in that moment and defending myself as not crazy, but I chose to ignore them instead, pretending the kitchen is a barrier that keeps me safe from the crowd of diners. Little Jim never apologized, and I don’t recover all my stones from the beach; there was one in particular that has gone missing and I start contemplating making Jim pay me back or just buy me a new one.

On Spirituality & Self

I suppose the need for control comes from the inability to forgive… If I could forgive, I wouldn’t need to have so many walls up…

What would it look like to forgive? What would it look like to forgive myself? Forgiveness and “letting go” go hand-in-hand… I don’t know what I’m doing or how to do it.


In my pro Christian days I don’t think I had it figured out then either… I mean when it felt like God had forgiven me, I was allowed to forgive myself, and in forgiveness there was a commitment to do better, die of the old ways of sin, and accept a new me… But that wasn’t really accepting me; it was flawed because I was rejecting parts of myself to be healed when healing requires taking the parts of ourselves we’ve rejected and integrating it back into ourselves. It seems like everything I had done on that journey was a journey of suppression and self-condemnation to earn the forgiveness of a meninist white-American dictator we know as a Christian “God” who presents himself as having borderline personality disorder.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt genuinely happy… It’s hard to appreciate what is good in my life, and that’s a chronic problem.


I read more of the love yourself heal your life book, and it talked about anger and what a pointless problem it is… Something happens and we get angry, then something happens and we get angry, and then something happens and we’re angry; it’s cyclical.

Ben didn’t come home last night and still hasn’t come home. I found out through Kylie he’s at Exeter hospital. He was there because of severe dehydration and malnourishment due to his CRPS, GERD, and something else… His bones were also starting to shrink because of everything, so they did surgery and put a permanent feeding tube in. It’s funny what we manifest for ourselves… Between facticious disorder and him being anorexic years ago, plus talk of a permanent pump that dispenses a slow and steady opioid-based painkiller for his nerve damage (oh, and the walking canes he now uses), it seems as if everything he’s told me he feared or use to wrestle with as a diagnosis is now manifesting all at once, and It’s baffling to watch. Additionally I find it funny that last week Kylie was all “yeah, I’m not gonna get involved in people’s medical stuff”, but yet she knew what was going on the whole time and has been – grrr. I can’t stand hypocrisy. 😡 that or she’s deliberately trying to push me away from him the same way she tried to prevent us from becoming friends… Good old times. >.>’

*sigh* I went from feeling deeply to pissed in 1 thought. Fucking hell… I do hope Ben is okay. He’s been enjoying all the attention he’s been getting online lately through all his support groups telling him what a hero he is for his struggle. I really hope this isn’t some deep manifestation of self-sabotage on his end… It’s just all so… Ironic.

In the end it’s not my journey, but I still fear for him because I care; I just try to keep my distance because I don’t think he wants me involved cause if he did, he’d just openly tell me.

I hate myself again… 😓 I went looking for a spell for forgiveness and there was nothing for self-forgiveness or anything that seemed relevant. I could create my own, but I’d have to know the emotion to tap into and the vision of what it would look like, but I don’t have that at all.

I’m lost… So very lost. On a side note I talked about how since I was a kid whenever I would pray or engage in spiritual/energy work, I yawn a ton although I’m not tired. Turns out I’m releasing a ton of higher energy all at once; grounding myself and taking in energy from other sources (such as the earth) could help with that. As irony would have it, I can open the crown chakra way too easily but have the worst time opening the root chakra. Visual techniques for chakra work never work for me.

Update: finally found a spell, and it reminds me of a Buddhist mantra. Original post can be found on justwicca.com

Forgive self spell:

As I work on myself and work on changing my life for the better, I realize how hurt I am and how fragile I am as a person and human being. I have a lot of emotion pent up inside of me. A lot of issues, a lot of darkness, a lot of anger. I wanted to write a forgiveness spell to help aid in the release of those emotions from your life.

Wiccan Forgiveness Spell

1. Cast your circle

2. Light a candle (this should be decided by you. Have a look at spell candles: colors and meanings for more information)

3. Close your eyes.

4. Chant the following : I love you. I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank You.

5. Chant the sentences, in that order – for 9 minutes.

6. Do this often.

This chant is a very ancient tradition and it helps tremendously to clear negative energies and karma. You can enhance this forgiveness spell by writing a letter of self-forgiveness and piercing a needle through the lemon with the letter attached.

A lot of of my spells lately have included lemon. Check out my new lemon love spell. I see that lemon represents; love, success and healing – all of which apply here.

Take the lemon and bury it in a place that you do have to see often. This symbolizes the release of this energy away from you – the distance and also renewal. The earth will change the lemon and the negative energies attached to them. It will wither and fade -just like your pain – and transform into something more.

This was my forgiveness spell MAINLY for self-forgiveness. This spell should be used as you see fit. You are co-creating your universe and you do have a say in how you want your life to turn out. I am working on being patient, kind and generous because those things weren’t shown to me as a child and I would like to be healthy of mind and spirit before utilizing my full mother Goddess energy.

I am working on creating a YouTube to upload pagan meditations. I have one spell enhancement video up – but cannot wait to create more for you guys!

Thank you for joining the forum! Thank you for liking and sharing this post. Hey – a powerful woman told me you were awesome! –  Thanks for being awesome!

Woot!

 

 

You’re Not Being Abandoned


To My Younger Self,

The one whose wounded…

The one whose scarred…

The one who’s afraid you’re going to be unloved the whole of your life…

It’s okay. I’m working on us. They aren’t your parents, they aren’t your family, and it’s my job to heal your wounds and let you know that. 

I’m sorry you hurt every time they walk out. I’m sorry it feels like they’re sneaking around you – I promise you they’re not.

Things are getting better, one day at a time, one step at a time. You don’t need to hate yourself for feeling wounded. It’s not your fault you were abandoned and abused. It’s not your fault. It never was and it never will be. 

It’s okay to feel this. You need too. You feel left out because I locked you out, and it hurts every time you see that door… Afraid you’re being locked out, afraid they’re gonna walk out… But you know what? Let them. They have their own lives, and we have our own to work on. We can have fun too. We can talk too. We can be meaningful and do meaningful things. You don’t need their light because it’s only going to mislead you; we need to find our own light and let it shine. 

It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m not a child anymore, and you’re now a grown-up… So to my inner child, the one who feels stung, bruised, slapped, kicked, and abandoned… Please… You’re okay. It’s okay. We’re okay. 

Just grieve…

Be that lighthouse. 

Become one within me. 

Breathe. 

Controlling others won’t heal your loss, but grieving will. 

Breathe…. Just breathe. 

From the Edge of the Cliff

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Yesterday morning I was riding on the bus and ready to cry….

Then I got to the coffee shop ready to cry…

Then I got into work ready to cry…

I just don’t get it. How is it when I make space for myself to cry it doesn’t happen, but right when I don’t need it too and am forced to stuff it down it comes.

The thoughts…. what was I connecting too. I know it was real, and based on the past, not some conjured up vision of something that will never come to pass based on the hypnosis of music and time. It’s much easier to cry by finding the backdoor to connect with the emotion than it is to connect with on my own; I’m sure something profound and damnable can be said for this. Music, anime, reading something sad… all of them help me to connect with the emotion but it’s still outside myself… still…. thoughts… what was I thinking.

Statements such as “what happened to you was not okay” have suddenly taken on a new depth and meaning; no longer do I just silently agree and thank them for their kindness… there’s something to be internalized now. The hardest chapter for me to go through in my recovery work – the precious child in a healthy family, it details what good parenting looks like and suddenly…. images of my childhood resurrect from the grave.

My dad pulling the silent treatment on me when I had a question for him… then I would beg and he’d get angry…. then I’d ask once, wait by his side for a minute or two, and repeat the question again in case he didn’t hear me…. then wait a little longer and say “I love you” to see if he was in fact able to hear me or was ignoring me…. he’d say nothing, and I would leave upset.

My mom…. so many injustices. In a healthy family the parents pay attention to both children to understand their behavioral patterns; she however played favorites based on who the father of the child was, and their sex. I, being the oldest and female, would be shamed for my emotions. I was labeled crazy, unstable, a bitch, and told it’s my fault for being 10, being 12, being 13, and so on.

I remember sitting at the dinner table at my Nana’s house in Orlando – to my left was my brother, to my right and at the head of the table was my dad, and across from me, to my dad’s right was my Nana. I’m *trying to eat her food and I had my elbows on the table… I was uncomfortable sitting there and needed to lean forward, and because of my discomfort I kept forgetting her command and kept putting my elbow on the table. To remedy this situation, Nana stabbed my arm with a fork… and it hurt… a lot. My father who was supposed to protect me and stand up against this injustice instead goes “Well, you should have listened to her – maybe next time you’ll learn.”

Maybe next time I’ll learn…

Maybe next time I’ll know better…

Punishment was swift, brutal, didn’t match the consequences of my actions, and inappropriate for a young child… but eventually I learned…

I learned that every time I was punished, it hurt, and I was a failure. I was a terrible child, and it was all my fault.

I learned every time that love is determined by my ability to obey… there was no repair work, there was no “lets sit down and talk this out” with affection and reinforcing value and self-worth after, only more restrictions.

I’ll never forget the day I got into that fist fight with my step-father when I was 10… his trigger was slammed doors. If you slam it, he will storm in screaming in your face at the top of his lungs, face as red as blood with spit coming out of his mouth… my mother supported it. I punched him so hard they claim I fractured his rib…As awful as it sounds, because it is, I hope I did. They didn’t bother going to the doctors to check it out so who knows if they were telling the truth; manipulation has always been my mothers fondest tactic.

*Note: Syrus is my autistic son, whom I love to death*

Mom: “A friend of mine has 2 boys with autism and works in homeopathic/natropathic medicine; she was telling me about her kids behaviors and how she managed to cure her children of their autism through supplements that they take to remove the excess metals from their brain. Their personality was still the same, but the behaviors were gone.”

Me: *panic coursing through my veins at the rights violations they have committed, threatening my sense of safety and my sons.* “What behaviors exactly are we referring too?”

Mom: “You know, the autistic ones”

Me: “Why would I wan’t to change that?!? Don’t you know how awful this sounds? You’re suggesting I change my son when I love him for who he is, as he is, autism and all, and you still haven’t told me what behaviors you’re referring too. Don’t you know how unethical this sounds?” (I knew she was full of shit at this point and was lying – she has no friends, and she certainly doesn’t have any that match the perfect packages she’s trying to project)

(mom’s boyfriend steps in)

Randy: “Why does it have to be about ethics? This is about medicine, not ethics. We’re not changing him, we’re just trying to make his life better. Do you know how many documentaries I’ve watched of autistic people who were never able to communicate, and then one day they managed to use a computer and finally expressed how much they hated it – don’t you think you’re actually harming your son by not doing this?” (referring to the bullshit videos they asked me to watch on curing autism, which includes, but is not limited too, swallowing ocean water which would kill anyone).

Me: “No, those individuals do not make up the whole of the autism community, especially concerning those who take pride in their autism/aspergers; it’s part of who they are and they take pride in themselves, advocate for one another, and were even outraged when they changed the aspergers diagnosis to autism spectrum disorder because it erased a part of their identity, their community, their culture as a whole – yes, I’ve seen the videos of autistic people able to communicate for the first time through technology, and I work as a DSP advocating for adults with disabilities. They’re an amazing group of people, and so is my son. Please stop shaming me by suggesting I’m harming my child by not “curing” him because I refuse to take up your cause when that’s not my decision to make – thats his to make as an adult, and again, you haven’t told me what behaviors you’re guys are talking about, and it is all about ethics because how you treat people is everything in this world.” (I hope my son never looks at himself as worthless because of his diagnosis, he’s so much more than sensory differences and delayed learning)

At this point my mother precedes to attack my intelligence, and I retort by telling her I’ll talk to her “facebook friend” and asked for her name so I can reach out to her about her experiences “curing” her children (because it either serves to humor my mother or trap her in a corner to prove shes lying – it happened to be the latter of the two).

Mom: “Well, she very hard to get a hold of. I usually just leave a facebook message but it can take upwards of two months until she gets back to me.”

Me: “Thats okay, I’ll do that then. Whats her name so I can leave a message; I mean you told me she found out about Syrus and his autism by going through my facebook and confronting you about it, so if shes so interested in me and my son then you should have no problem with me talking to her. Whats her info”?

She never could give me any information… in the end it was a giant lie. She didn’t have a friend with autistic children who worked in holistic medicine, she was referring to herself digging thorough bull-shit bogus medical videos and crap and wanted to experiment on my son to make herself feel better about being a grandmother. Shes told me more than once she feels uncomfortable being around him because of his disability, and wont take any time to spend with him alone… you know, what grandparents are supposed to do. 😦

No family support. I spent my life raising her kids… Jamie crying his eyes out because he missed her, cognoscenti enough as children to blame my dad and say it was his fault we were taken from her (kidnapped), but not old enough to know she threw us away in exchange for dating her high school bully who eventually beat the shit out of her…

I still haven’t explored much of my relationship with my dad at all in therapy. Trying to keep the codependent/love addict modal in place, knowing full well how the cycle goes, I’m a love addict, my mom is a love avoidant, and the #1 complaint I’d hear about my dad from women is how needy and clingy he is… and he is. He’s a love addict too. At 13 I’m sitting in his car watching him ball his eyes out wailing out loud 2 years later over my uncles suicide… my dad found him. He’s banging on the steering wheel mourning the loss of his brother and I felt so powerless… so hopeless… I’m so sorry for your loss daddy…. I’m sorry you had to be the one to find him…. but I’m so proud of you in your recovery work too. It’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to cry… if only I had the ability and know-how to say that too him, but I was 13… theres no way I could have…

But I digress… none of this is meant to blame, but connect with pain… thoughts that bring me to the cliff where I can cry; the emotional precipice where I can connect with my inner child that I rejected.

I remember lying in my bed for ages when I was in 5th grade… so about 10. I hated everyone and everything, and was when I attempted my only suicide attempt.

I look at my son… he’s 7… I was just a baby… a baby who wanted to die. What could I know of life, other than shame, blame, and no healing to be found.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself”

I’m not… I’m a child in grieving. I lost my mother as a child, and then I found out she didn’t want me. I was kidnapped as a child by a man who’s supposed to be my father, but I had no real relationship with him… and it was nothing but dominance and control. My sense of self-worth and value based on my ability to follow commands.

I’m terrified I do this to my son, but it’s so hard to raise an autistic child… the parental handbook goes out the door.I’m thankful I’m not the mother my mom is, but I’m terrified I’m an awful mother… it’s so hard to find the balance. I dont want my son to hate me the way I hate my mother… nor do I want him to chronically live with the feeling that he’ll never be good enough as I do with my dad.

This. These are the tears I needed. They’re not heavy… the dams not broken… but the seed has been planed.

I guess it’s time to start working out of that breaking free workbook…. I need a more guided measure to connect with this pain and find the injustice. It’s one thing to be told what happened to me as a child was not okay and then rationalize it with the strengths I developed as a result of pain…. it’s another thing to feel it for myself… the very thing I stuffed away as a child. The very reason I grew up hating everyone… this is it… no one was there to comfort me or mourn my loss, to feel my pain or contextualize it and put it in it’s proper place to allow for healthy grieving. I carried blackness in my soul to protect me; if I didn’t feel the pain then I can mechanically get through my life until I turn 18 and leave this shit hole. Everyday was a countdown to when I could move out. Every. Damn. Day.

I wish I could apologize to the people I pushed away with my problems… I was a child looking for healing putting too much on others because there were no adults to help lead me through this…. especially him. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to apologize to profusely to him for the baggage I dumped on him…

No one taught me healthy boundaries…. but then again, looking at everything that’s unfolded in his world… there’s a journey of healing that awaits him, and I wish him the best of luck. If only I understood what was really going on…

Dear Jason,

ごめんなさい…

ごめんなさい…

ごめんなさい…

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Once I realize what was not okay in my upbringing, I’ll be able to establish whats not okay in how I’m treated as an adult…. this is the root of self-respect.

 

Numb for Words

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I am so tired… Drained. Exhausted. Beside myself in weariness and weakness. The journey inward is exhausting. Self-care is exhausting. Emotions are exhausting. Everything is just… So… I can’t put it into words. This is one of those moments I wish I was more familiar with languages beyond my own, since the English language is both confusing and left in wanting for depth in its meaning.

I’m hungry for meaning.. I’m drained by meaning.

Somehow I still don’t grieve… It’s like a tidal wave that threatens to break but never does, leaving surfers everywhere bummed out and disappointed.

Disappointed… This word resonates with me somehow… Is that why I’m so tired inside? Am I disappointed in myself; disappointed that I’ve suddenly stalled on the emotional front of healing but immersed in literature that keeps me moving forward? It’s possible, but it’s not everything I’m connecting with.

Feeling sad somehow would be better in this moment for at least the source would be more discernalble without all this stagnancy…. Am I being impatient with myself, and my psyche won’t allow me to break anymore than I’ve conquered? Ugh… I’m tired… So tired…

There’s so much I should be happy about too; got home from a doctors visit where I stepped on a scale for the first time in 6 months and found out I lost 25 pounds without trying, I hung out with Alex today and discovered the most gorgeous wooded area in Newmarket with trails and dams and richness from all angles. I got money in the bank account and am able to afford ubers for the next few days. My laptop was finally fixed and I can pick it up tomorrow… There’s so much to rejoice… It can’t be the new SSRI’s I’m taking, which I have to say, I’m pretty impressed with. After 6 months of use the neuro receptors for seretonin should have created more openings to allow for emotional regulatity, so I won’t be on them forever (which is always my fear). I have no problem with other people taking anti-anxiety meds or anti-depressants and respect everyone who does, but the moment I take them I fear I’m crazy and condemned…. And Ben…

Ben.

His damn tone of voice when it comes to me taking medications bothers the fuck out of me sounding arrogant and conceited; it was becaus of our fight I was brought so low to this point and now… I have next to nothing in terms of trust for him. There’s so much anger and hurt and feelings of deception around him… But I don’t want to think on that now; between stressed and being tired, I’ll take tired any day.

i miss me. I don’t know why I feel compelled to say this but I do… I miss me but yet I’m right here… Why does something feel so wrong?

What have I done…

Beauty Towards the Bottom of the Well

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After my coffee shop venture this morning I swing by wild mind meditation shop to see if they had anything available I could use to connect with my grief… Found out about this amazing meditation app that you can use and see who’s meditating anywhere in the world – beautiful. Still, I didn’t get what I was after…

i knew I wanted to grieve, but I know I didn’t want to be home… For whatever reason it just didn’t feel safe enough; most likely anxiety triggers in the home, or too many things to distract myself with, I don’t know. I was so ready for tears this morning but then I tried my best and couldn’t do it. I went to a cemetery in town where the river runs right up against it.. It was stunning, and the concept of mirroring came into play for just a while.

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I sat by the water and cracked open the book I immediately felt drawn too from the library called “Healing Through the Shadow of Loss.” It was perfect because it was a general sense of the ways we grieve and the the wisdom contained therein, versus the “someone has just died” grieving; I so needed this. I needed to read this book. It’s small enough that I finished it in one day, but sooooo many pieces of my life I was able to connect with towards my journey of growth and healing.

We grieve only that which we have loved, and the transient nature of life makes love and loss intimate companions.

This.. This made me connect to myself in a way I hadn’t done in years… The logic follows that if I need to grieve on behalf of so much pain and loss I’ve endured, then I must have loved myself at some point in time… Which means I’m worth the struggle. That’s a huge breakthrough for me.. It brings me closer to the edge of tears, but not enough to throw myself from the edge of the precipice towards the ocean below… But at least I’m more prepared.

When we have other losses in our life that we haven’t addressed, our grieving process can be contaminated; become an observer of your experiences without judgement – this is known as witnessing your state of concsiousness

I always referred to it as being a 3rd party observer, but it’s something I’ve been in touch with lately. This clarifies so much in terms of how I’m supposed to grieve with boundaries for myself to protect myself from falling too far down the rabbit hole.

When we are overwhelmed, it is difficult to think clearly or hear what is being said to us. We are lost and at the mercy of our environment. Healing asks us to be present, concsious, and aware. By paying attention to the little losses inherent in each day, we come to be more in tune with our responses to life’s bigger losses. As Gloria Vanderbilt said – each loss somehow echoes that first loss, the one we know so well. Something falls into place, so familiar it’s almost a relief.

When I read this I came to understand my panic attacks that surround change; when change arises I’m unable initially to handle it because I don’t know how to handle grief… I’ve been severed from it. Looking back I remember people telling me “just get over it” and “stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself, I was a child in mourning who didn’t know how to handle the complexity of emotions I was facing – thrust from the innocence of childhood into the world of adulthood with no guide to show me how, and only the rouse of religion to create a false anchor of stability within me. It was another moment where a piece of the puzzle in my life fell into place – something I’d never connected with before. I’m proud of my insight.

Healing is spiritual, curing is medical. Healing is an active process; we must participate in our own healing process. Healing is a gift we give ourselves in the moment we decide to stay open to that which has broken us. “To heal” comes from the words “to be whole”, a etymological root derived from the belief that when we become sick, we loose our wholeness; healing includes integrating the brokenness back into ourselves to be whole.

Gried has become something so beautiful to me… We are born with grief from birth the moment we leave the safety of our mothers womb, a place what was nothing but safe and secure, and we were thrust out of it. Children it seems cry when they are born because the first thing they come to experience is loss… No wonder the first thing we do is hold them and nurture them. We are promoting healing as the first step towards our journey in life…

This too makes me sad. My mother would tell me how she felt robbed with me when I was born because she wasn’t properly medicated and felt the blade of the c-section as I was born, and fainted from the pain, losing the first few hours I was born.

Speaking of my mother, I sat with the concept of “ghosting” – when you block off all communication with someone and walk away… It’s amazing how I never feel grief in those situations… Except for when I was the victim of it; don’t get me wrong, my dad was known to pull the silent treatment when I was a child (which I now know is a wall that’s used as a defense mechanism and not a healthy coping skill), but the silent treatment and ghosting aren’t exactly the same… No, there’s only 1 man that ever left me so devastated with that move, and I learned it from him. We use it as a way of separating ourselves from an emotion we find painful and threatening – remove the person and you cut off the danger from the emotions that are trying to surface. I never grieve when I cut someone out and it feels like I should… That’s basically my moms family right there. :-/ I don’t know how to even approach it because my fear is that I’ll want to run back to them but I can’t… I just can’t do that anymore. I can’t change them, and I’m not strong enough to deal with their dysfunction, nor do I want my son exposed to it; hell, she’s such a bitch she wants to change my son by “curing his Autisim” through bullshit homeopathic remedies like swallowing ocean water (which will kill you) and tons of pills to “remove the toxic metals from his brain that the vaccinations caused.” She is by no means a safe person to be near my son, and I’m glad she can’t call herself “grandma” – on her end it shows she’s not identified herself as a grandmother, and on my end it means there’s no real connection to feel guilty over severing. What kind of grandmother seeks to change her grandson to feel better about herself? More importantly, in what ways did my mother change me to do the same… Shit. I never even thought to ask myself that question till just now. This makes me sad… But sadness is good. This means I’m taking another step forward in the right direction.

I was drawn to think of grief in the context of culture, and as pro-Christian-male-dominate-white-America, we have no culture of grieving. We don’t honor the dead by welcoming the pain as part of our lives and working through it – we cast it aside and tell people after 2 weeks to go back to work and get over it. Being the creative type that I am, I want to make an urn.. A grieving urn, and every time I grieve I write about it, and keep it in the urn until I’m able to burn the pages through my own ritual that I create… And I want the urn to have holes in the side that represent how we can’t keep it all perfectly jarred up; tears, like water, needs to flow from a vessel. If grief is the container, then that container holds loss and all its experiences. If only we weren’t conditioned to shame grief as a bad thing…

The sufi poet Rumi said: Be the thirst searching for water. What would it take to be loss searching for grief

I left the cemetery after connecting with the tombs that bare my last name, and noticed how they had become lost and forgotten to time… No one leaves them offerings every year. I fear that’ll be me someday… A tombstone that says Simpson with no one to care about me enough to pay their respects.

I went home and tried again to cry… Read some more, put on the moving art series from Netflix, and tried to connect within myself… Whenever I tell myself “it’s okay. I need to grieve. I want to grieve.” I get so close to the edge of tears but don’t make the leap… I need to though. In the end I trust the process I’m on, and know I’m doing what’s best for me. I’m getting there. I’m growing. I’m learning to love… I have faith it’s going to be okay.

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I hate my life

Please forgive the stero-typical teenage drama-feasting title, but I have been plagued by anxiety, stress, depression, and tears, and I was hoping it was PMS but it’s not. It’s life. I can’t stand it.

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1) I hate being a single mother

Let me make it known that I don’t hate being a mom. I love my son, and he means the world to me; what I hate is raising an autistic child by myself. Every time something comes up that even remotely looks like enjoying life comes up, I have to deny it because I have to place needs before wants. My ex on the other hand, even though he has many solid good points about him, is a selfish a-hole. I get jealous every time I hear that he got to go out and have fun with friends at late night concerts or go hiking up a mountain… I don’t get to do any of that. I hate being jealous. It’s not fair that I should have to take the full load of raising our son and he gets off scott free. There’s a new job I want to apply for thats $50k a year, more than enough to get me off the food stamps and live, but my ability to accept it hangs in the balance thanks to the time I have to spend driving to daycare in time to pick up my son before paying a late fee, picking up the babysitter, dropping them off at my house, and then drive an hour to concord to do my masters degree. As it stands I wouldn’t need to pay for a second babysitter if my ex would step up to the plate and help when I’m in school. His excuse is work hours, but he can adjust his schedule to make it work, but he doesn’t want too because he wants to spend time with his friends at their houses having fun when I can’t do the same. Shit, I cant even invite them over because of my crazy next door neighbor I keep calling the police on. All I wan’t is a little support for school, and a little freedom in order to take better care of myself. Is this so unrealistic? Is this too much to ask for? That reminds me…

2) The pressure from school is weighing on me

It turns out that in order for financial aid to bill my course with federal loans, I have no choice but to maintain at minimum a B- average or else I pay the term out of pocket, and can’t move forward until that bill is paid. I am literally fucked if I don’t do well. 😦 How am I supposed to do that if I accept a job that’s full time? By the same token…

3) I can’t afford to live right now

I received my notice saying my lease wont be renewed after 8 years of being here, thanks to a check bouncing in June and late payments…. of course they’re late, I don’t make enough money; but don’t tell the state that. Apparently I make enough to be able to lose food stamps by $20 if I go back to working a 30 hour work week. I work 24 now and can only put food on the table for 2 weeks out of the month…. in exchange I live disconnect notice to disconnect notice between the electric and my phone bill. I have to be sure I don’t go anywhere beyond work or else I don’t have enough gas to last me the week, and now Concord for schooling is another $30 a week on top of that. I’m lucky I didn’t have a late fee for my sons daycare expenses since I was short $20 and payed it last second. I’m always $200 a month behind bills in general, and if I work extra hours then my son looses social security and I lose state help, which puts me in an even worse situation. The guidelines for poverty are so outdated! I have to keep myself low income just to survive because my income is just barely on the standard line of income, but just enough to cripple us if I don’t!

Bills scare the shit out of me now. I get an anxiety attack just looking at my bank statement. Shit, I’m supposed to move Nov. 30th, and I can’t come up with a security deposit, just first months rent. What am I supposed to do? If I get an eviction notice, I can get help from the town with security deposit, but my credit score gets fucked, and I get sued for skipping one months rent just to save up for it, and then my chances of my doctorate get fucked and my interest goes up! That and they don’t want to give me my security deposit for the place I live now….

I hate it! I hate my life! I’m so ready to give up and I’m so sick of crying. I want something that resembles a life…. fun…. peace…. happiness… love that isn’t one sided…. This shouldn’t be too much to ask for.

Run

I was on a well paved road in Maine against the coastline. It was a beautiful & rich suburban area on top of a mountainside. To my right were houses nestled within a thicket of woods that contrasted the bright green leaves; to the left were a few darker evergreen trees against the edge of the road, but behind that was a cliff that was barred off which overlooked the seaside. It was beautiful. The endless blue above me lifted my spirits and sent me soaring against the salty breeze that refreshed me as I went for some exercise. I’m jogging in this serene state and really wanted to sweat this sense of purification that comes from the inside out. As I progress forward, two guys are also jogging. We meet at this 3-way intersection. I was coming from the right, and they were coming from the left – nothing was on the third path except the “camera angle” momentarily. To my surprise the two guys were Jay and Peter. The moment we all saw each other we stopped for a moment to say hi. Jason was in a really good mood, and I was happy to see them both, but I wanted to keep the momentum up and start running again. Jason decided to run with me instead since Peter was close to where he needed to be, so he was good to go home. Jason and I are running together and talking about everything random under the sun; video games, movies, college, siblings – it felt like the good old days. I don’t remember all the details since I’ve been hesitant to share this dream. It took place a day or two ago.

I must confess I miss my best friend – I don’t know how else to interpret it.

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Prayers for the Lost: Connecticut Shooting

I have been closely following the tragedy unfolding in Connecticut. Today. I must have cried at least 3 times putting myself in their shoes – especially as a parent.

Words cannot express the level of grief I feel for these children, and the loved ones who wont see their kids ever again. Gone are the opportunities to watch as their kids learn to drive, fall in love, head on to college, or create a family of their own. Friends of the children who were murdered now face the coldest and harshest wake-up call into the real world, breaking the innocence of their youth.

What I wouldn’t give to be down their with everyone else to help them in their suffering – but there is a way to help.

I know at least 1 SDA church who will be holding a prayer service at 6pm this evening in honor of those who’s lives were cut short. While I may not be able to join them physically – I can at least meet them in spirit as I pray for those who have fallen as well. My hope is that you will do the same.

Support for these families is critical at this time, and many will move on:

http://www.cnn.com/2012/12/14/health/school-shooting-trauma/index.html?hpt=hp_t1

For the parents however – if I were in them, I wouldn’t want to smile anymore. Its a brief moment of joy spent without the one I love. I hope they don’t feel the same way.

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