So Hard for Me

It is hard for me; to allow the emotions to surface

accepting, acknowledging, reveling in the pain

I am not that person, I stand on my own;

I do not need you to care.

Sobriety, so hard earned and yet tossed aside

not in a minute, a day or even a month;

but within a second.

When the reality of your life becomes too much

when the feelings, the truth is just so there, in the forefront,

that is when I duck and hide, I remove myself

because I cannot stand to feel the pain that is my history.

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

March 30/17

Advertisements

It is a Conspiracy

M and me we text each other a lot. One full day of messages cannot be stored and I have the capacity to store 500 messages before they start to delete. Maybe we are a little excessive but our shifts are all over the place and some weeks we can go without laying eyes on one another at all. Despite the fact that we live right next door to one another.

Last week M was having issues with her phone. Not that she doesn’t always have issues with her phone but last week it seemed that her phone was really out to get her. Not receiving messages until hours later. And than just for the hell of it my phone decided to jump in on the fun of screwing with M.

My original text was at 8:03 a.m. M responded at 8:49

‘Stupid phone! I am just getting your messages and you sent them hours ago!’

‘I sent that message at 21st.’

‘What? The 21st today is the 23rd!’

Now I am starting to giggle. Sitting in my car in the parking lot at work.

‘No, I sent it at 8:03 this morning. My phone is just ducking with you!’

‘Wait I mean fucking lmao.’

‘What the hell is going on here? Our conversations never make any sense!’

‘Not to anyone else but they do to us.’

By this time, I am weeping I was laughing so hard. And that was when I posed the question: Do you think that it is an electronic conspiracy between our phones to ensure that we look as dumb as possible?

Believe me, my phone has it in for me. When my keyboard use to be set for english/french spelling, I would often send out half english and half french messages that made absolutely no sense. One friend I text, my text read that I had give our boss a disease. Obviously so untrue. Another time, M got a text about gold and cats. So I am certain that my phone loves to embarrass me. I discovered that I could turn off the french on the keyboard and just have english but that has not solved the problem of random corrections or anticipation of what I am writing.

Last night it all came home for me that my phone may have a warped sense of humor like I do. I was typing in ‘we were’ to M and it changed the whole sentence to ‘We are evil’. We are evil, that is what my phone thinks. After that, I decided that my phone was just being mean, and put it to bed.

There is nothing better than autocorrect/auto fill in when you are in a hurry. Unless your phone has its own personality and likes to screw with you. Like mine and M’s do. However this is okay, because it means that our days are filled with a lot of huh? what was that? and laughter which everyone needs anyways. The laughter part, not the evil intents of the phone to make us look like the village idiots that we are.

Who I am

“You haven’t seen the raving me. The belligerent me that pushes the limits. The dark and despairing me that can’t stop crying. I don’t share those facets with people because look what happens when I do.”

I have been doing a lot of thinking and redefining myself this week. I am not only my illness, I am a wonderful vibrant woman with a lot to offer. But what exactly is that?

I do not know who I am. Who at the very core of me, is me. I have always been somebody;  child, daughter, sister, friend, wife and mother. Co-worker. Boss. Those are all designations that describe a being but they do not describe me.

The first time I should have been diagnosed with depression, in looking back with my great wisdom and knowledge of behavior, was in my early teen years. Oh the rage that I exhibited, the anger, the hatred, the words that streamed from my mouth ripping into the souls and hearts of those nearest to me. I indulged in self-destructive behavior, attempted suicide, not successfully nor even whole heartedly once my imagination kicked in. For in one moment I lay in a coffin looking up at the haggard and weeping features of my mom and my brother, and knew that I could never inflict that pain on them.

The demons that I fought throughout this time, while not the same demons others faced, were still just that. Demons that had some how found their way into my brain and their words were chillingly accurate with regards to how I felt. A failure, unworthy of love, so stupid, the ruiner of all that is good. I did not know than that it was a tape on a loop. Words spoken to me as a child that buried deep in my psyche would reappear when things got tough and I was unsure of my ability to handle the situations around me.

The second time was when I lost my daughter. I was five months pregnant. She was still born. I remember a lot of drugs, a doctor who wanted me to carry my child to term or rather until my body went into labor on its own. Despite the drugs I was coherent enough to tell that doctor that there was no way I was going to carry my dead child in my body awaiting nature’s course. No one knew what I was going through. I pulled into myself, slept twelve to thirteen hours a day, stayed up at night reading until my eyes burned. I was afraid to live, to be alive. I could not move forward nor was I willing to accept the help that others offered to me.

I wrapped myself in pain and misery. I refused to speak of her. I cried a myriad of tears for her and pushed my than companion away as he tried to comfort me. Again the words that cut flew from my mouth, darts finding the target and puncturing, tearing away the love and relationship we had.

My early twenties forward becomes a blur. I self-medicated, alcohol, drugs, men, anything that would fill the void that yawned within me. I looked everywhere for satisfaction, for fulfillment that can only be found when you look within. When you accept that those warts and funny bumps are all you, good, bad, facets of your being that become melded into the core essential being of self.

My thirties are a longer story. Marriage, a child, the first diagnosis of depression. Counselling and a better understanding of what was going on within my head. But even with medication it was not getting better. I was still seeking, still yearning for that elusive something.

Three years ago this summer I crashed. A variety of external circumstances colluded with my growing despair and belief that I could not do anything right, lead to a deep depression. I awoke one Saturday afternoon after a night of drinking and the blackness was there gathering around. I despised myself. I sat on the toilet, wrapped in a towel, shuddering sobs wracking my body and chanted over and over how I hated myself.

Monday I saw the doctor and was immediately placed on medication and sent off. Tuesday saw me unable to function. I had consumed muscle relaxants with my ativan and I could not even remember my name. How I got home I have no idea. Wednesday I was on leave. My than boss exacerbating the feelings of ruin and unworthiness.

It took two weeks for me to stop crying and sleeping all the time. My son worried nonstop about me. Trying desperately to make me feel better, to cheer me up. I would fall asleep on the couch at 7 p.m. and not awaken until 9 or 10 a.m. the next morning. I had no desire to eat. I took my pills, I counted the days and I began counselling. Slowly but surely, I began the road to recovery.

I faced some of those demons who had been getting a free ride all these years. I forgave and released the hold my father had on me. Even in death he was still whispering his vile words into my ears. I allowed myself the freedom, the ability to be angry with my mom for things that occurred and we did not speak for months. I needed time to grieve and heal. I began to realize that I was a good and decent person. That the looped tape and those others who tried so hard to put me in a box of their devising, it was alright to ignore them, to move forward and leave them behind.

So well was I doing that I stopped taking my medication in October of 2015, and for awhile there it was good. I was doing well. And than began that slow and inevitable dive into the waters of pain, fear, self medicating, the disbelief in self and worth drilling through the facade I had erected. And I fell. But that is okay. I had a safety net this time. I became aware of what I was doing, how I was sabotaging myself and I needed to stop. A visit to the doctor and the conclusion that this was to be the last time. No matter how great I feel, no matter how well the world connects around me, I must remain on my medication. I do not want to fall further, I do not want my son to feel as though he needs to be my caretaker.

This continues to be a journey of wonder and exploration. To finally see who I am. To see once the layers of all the characters that I am are peeled away; who I am at the core of my being. A writer, a dreamer, a prankster. A reader, a designer, a mother of one. The facets of me are varying and bright, dark and dangerous, and I look forward to seeing how they will all merge, becoming me. I await me, with hope and bated breath.

 

 

 

 

 

Unsheathe the Sword.

Am feeling rather out of sorts this weekend. Spent the majority of the day yesterday wallowing in my misery. One day I gave myself and than I must return to ‘normal’ for T’s sake. So I reached deep down inside me and pulled up the stability and ability that T needed from me. A few times I caught myself tearing up and T would say ‘but mom you promised that you would just be sad for one day.’ and that gave me the strength to keep moving forward from where I was.

Today was also the birthday party for K. His ninth and at the swimming pool. I thought that was a fantastic idea once I knew what was going on. And don’t think that M hadn’t text me with information about the party but I didn’t remember. So off we went and I left the cake for K at my place. M had no room in her freezer and as it was an ice cream cake, I kept it. I ran home to get the cake and returned.  Everything was perfectly fine.

And than we went into the pool area. And it was packed there; had to be a thousand people there. Not really but it felt like that. Eventually we found a table and sat down. I could not see T at all. So it began. Aside: I have an absolutely deep rooted fear of drowning. It makes no sense and I am an excellent swimmer.

At first I did not notice. But than I was bobbing up and down and weaving back and forth in a frantic need to see T. My heart began to race, I began shaking a little and than my lips began to pulsate. I could feel the blood pounding through them. One of my co-workers and M both noticed and they both helped me through.

M’s advice was to just stop it!

L helped talk me through it. And with  wryness I said  ‘and given all the people that are in this pool, I do not think that that would be an issue.’

I was able to keep an eye out and always find him. Than I could not find him and my eyes traveled over to the stairs to the water slide and there he is. Another absolute irrational fear is that I am afraid of heights and do not believe the railing is sufficient to keep T from leaping over. Never has he ever tried to do this and he is eight years old. But I am not rational and my emotions are on high alert. So I peeped from under eyelashes squinting so as not to freak myself out until he went down the slide and emerged unscathed and unaware of his mother’s fears.

We had all decided that 2:30 pm. was the pull out time for getting the boys out of the pool. So I stood up and began waving at T. And weaving back and forth trying to get his attention. I know that he looked at me like three times and chose to ignore me. Finally exasperated I joked that I should put on my mom voice and holler for T’s attention. M and L both laughed and responded with ‘Not only will the boys get out but you would be the cause of a mass exodus from the pool.’ Eventually one of the boys saw me and mentioned it to T. He got out of the pool and argued at first but like the good kid he is he went and got his buddies.

I’ve learned something from today’s episodes. I can see the humor in them even as I am having them. I have learned that others do want to know and understand so they can be helpful. I have learned that sometimes I just need M to give me her mom’s voice and the command to stop it. And I survived. All of it. And with each step forward, I understand more about myself and learn new techniques to cope.

I could let it control me but I chose to fight back. To wrest control back into my hands, my life. And I will. I know it has teeth and claws but I shall unsheathe the sword.

Tears

Razor thin lacerations caused by silver shards of rage

black and bleak, thunderstorms boil overhead.

Lightening pierces the evening sky, wordless pain and triumph

yet still I lay here, unable to care.

Bruised and battered is my soul;

broken and shattered is my heart;

If only you had beaten me;

the words you spewed would not reach me.

A thrashing I could have taken.

Bruises and blood fade to remembrance

broken bones can be set and healed

Angry words spoken

leave a chink in the armor I wear.

I cried tears of anger and despair

I cried tears of blood and mayham

I cried tears…..I cried tears…..tears

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

March 19/17

On Display

You tell me that you love me. You tell me that you care. And yet, you stand back a little unnerved by the person that I am.

I state to you that I am in a mood; a mood you ask what does that mean? It means that I am going to be irreverent, flip and with casual disregard, I will ignore you. My sarcasm will have sharp edges, and there are no soft spots to cushion you, only small places you might hide.

I may not be the person that you met, nor the person that you have precieved me to be. I am not all lightness and flowers. There is a dark side to me that you must be willing to embrace.There is a nasty twisted bitch that resides within my soul. She is the blackness that does creep when I start to follow the crazy path to hell.

There are so many facets of me, and not all are defined by the illness I carry. And carry it I do for it is a burden; a yoke around my neck. There is no telling when it will hit. And as I have come to realize, I cannot even count on my own internal diagnosis to counteract the crazy that I become.

And oh hell no is no one going to tell me that I don’t get crazy. Those platitudes do not fly. I look back with clear eyes, mind and heart, and I wonder how do I have a job still? How do my friends still love me? How is it that my brother and mom have not kissed me goodbye? I am so psycho, so unbalanced that I cannot see the sunrise from the sunset.

So as I begin to mend, the medication leveling out my brain, I tease and I taunt. I whiplash you with my tongue to ensure that you can take. And I may find you lacking, I may find that you just to do not stand up to par…..The Crazy, The Me, The Sadness, The Anger, The Regret and all the pain…..they are a part of me here on display.

 

Making me Yours

You draw a finger along the shape of my cheek,

cupping my face with tender hands

Breathing deeply the scent that I wear

your lips barely touching mine.

I desire, I want, I need.

You back me to the wall, using your presence as a barrier

and I groan with desire.

You capture my mouth in yours, possessing me

claiming what you want, what you desire, what you have earned.

Knees shake unable to support me

as I collapse into your arms.

You carry me forward and drop me on the bed

as I watch from lidded eyes.

There is no explanation required;

as you drop down next to me.

All we have is this time, this now

take me and make me yours.

 

©Jay-lyn Doerksen

March 16/17