Squashed

**Picture is one of mine. Although it does not really fit my post I wanted to use it because it fills me with peace.**
I am on day 113 of not taking pills. And (gentlemen you may want to turn away here) I am pms’ing. Previously when I pms’d I would go out to get pills to silence the ever critical voice that I heard. That voice has become really silent. It made a brief appearance on Wednesday, a skittering across my brain and than gone.
Right before I woke up this morning I was dreaming. It has been a long while since I have had dreams that I remember and in the last several weeks they have returned. With a vengence and I am loving it. Some are goofy and make no sense. Like the man running around with no pants on. Or The Kardashians making an appearance when I do not even watch their show. (I do not have real tv) But this morning’s dream was a little more realistic. More in line with things I am going through.
It took place at the house I grew up in. My ex was in it and I was furious with him because he left wet laundry in the washing machine. (Dreaming about laundry when I have to do laundry)  And suddenly I was taking a handful of pills. In the dream it turned out that this was the second handful I was taking. I broke down. Sobbing and unable to believe that I had taken the pills.
So when I woke up I was a bit perturbed.  The only pills in my house are my medication for my depression and my vitamins. I live in a city that does not have Sunday shopping and truthfully it was not even an urge. But it did make me weepy.
I was talking with friends about this. And grousing because damn it this is not me. I do not want to take any pills. I do not want to go and get a bottle of wine and drink it all in one sitting. Things are going really well. Even at work. So why on earth did this pop up?
Part of it I believe is due to the fact that I am pms’ing. And I know that I am going to have a customer complaint against me. The woman asked me if my name was Jay-lyn as she was staring at my name tag and than entering into her phone. I admit she got under my skin. And I was not as mindful as I should have been. As I was cleaning the shower I gave myself a stern talking to as well, reminding myself that it happened yesterday and there was no way of going back and changing it. I will accept responsibility although truthfully I don’t think that I could have done anything to make this woman happy.
When I take these two things and combine them, they were two triggers for using the pills to numb myself. To make it easier to handle.
I made a comment to DD that I had 7 days to go and I had better not be a whiny bitch for the whole 7 days or I was going to be sick of myself. And as for the customer, well I know what I did wrong and I know what I have to do to correct it.
In the dream as I was crying and throwing out the rest of the pills, a character from the show I am watching (Rescue Me) appeared. And he reminded me that I had done these 113 days without any problem. This was a small slip and I could recover from it.
As I write this now, I know that I am not going to have any small slips in real life because I do not want to. I am done with hiding from my feelings and emotions. I accept that I am imperfect and occasionally a little whiny. I am stronger now than before and with each day that I step further and further away, I become even stronger. The voices are like mosquitos buzzing around my ear. A nuisance for but a moment until I squash them.

Not in her Shadow

***Originally I was going to write about gratitude. But as usual what I assume/think I am going to write about ends up changing.***
I am my very own worst enemy. Forever I am telling myself why I cannot do things. I have an idea. I want to write about my journey through depression. It will be filled with my own brand of quirky writing and some of my blog posts and poetry. I have gotten as far as writing the introduction to myself. I have ideas but I am not sure how to implement them. Little bits and pieces float around in my brain and yet I am unable to bring myself to actually begin to write. Why? Because I keep stopping myself.
Both Grateful Single Moms and Claire S. had posts this morning that basically kicked me in the ass. Once more the universe is telling me to get my shit together. And if I don’t do it, I am going to miss my opportunity. So why am I so scared to begin? What do I have to lose? If I do not do this I am going to spend the rest of my life regretting it. If I do, an entire world will open before me. Yet I am still hesitant.
Today DD and me were talking about kids and how they can feel like they are in the shadows of their siblings. That they feel they will never come out from there, finding their own niche. My response was that I never had to contend with that, baby bro is 7 years younger than me and male. I mean he has payed me the biggest compliments twice in my life. Once when in junior high he found my atroctious first novel, changed the cover page and tried to hand the work in as his own. It was over 200 pages long of the worst drivel imaginable. Although he was looking for an easy out on an english assignment he still chose my work. And than this year, he told me I was talented. I don’t think he realized how much that meant to me. (I am crying as I write this.)
Than I thought about it and I do have a shadow that I have always felt I have been in. My mom is an amazing woman. I know I have written that like a thousand times and I will write it a thousand more. I can never be as kind, helpful, nonjudgemental and wonderful as she is. She coped with being divorced in the 1980’s. She coped with two children who as teenagers were selfish little snots who caused her so much hurt and pain. She found her dream and went for it. 1999 she retired and moved down to Mexico. For a couple of years she sort of floated around not sure what to do. The original plan was to open a beachside clinic as she is a trained nurse. Yet the more she looked around mom realized that the need was to help the families that lived in poverty around her.
Mom decided that she needed to give back to the community that had welcomed her. She set out to and created a foodbank. Mom travels to meet families in need to determine if they are eligible for assistance. She began a prenatal program for pregnant women. She developed programs within the school and has psychology students going in and working with the kids for free. (I maybe a little off on some of this in regards to the programs developed) She plans and co-ordinates the fund raising.
Clothing is donated for men, women and children. There are cruise ships that stop there and there are so many people who have been in touch with her and bring down school supplies and toiletries. Many people who visit her bring down a suitcase full of humanitarian aid. My mom is an amazing and selfless woman. And I know that I am not in her shadow nor do I need to fill her shoes. Yet subconsciously I think that I am not able to live up to her. An interview done on her several years ago called her the St. Sharon of Chixchulub. She will be the first to dispute this title. I am so proud that she is my mom and all the things that she has accompllished. And I am afraid that I am going to fall short.
Please do not think that in any way shape or form, has mom done anything to deter me. Not once has she insisted that I do things her way. Well she really wanted me to attend University but that was not in the cards for me. I did not have the desire to attend more classes. Maybe if I had been smart and gone into a writing program I would have perservered. Or not. Maybe the life that I have lead has brought me to this point. I know that she is proud of me and wants me to live the best life that I can for me. And I need to believe that. I need to believe in myself.
I have written that before . Goodness but my post is a lot of repetition today.
I do not know why I still doubt myself. Why I can talk to others and help them with their problems or issues and yet am unable to deal as effectively with my own. Every time that I start to talk about belief, all I can hear is Eminem singing ‘Believe’ in my head. Not the enitre song but just when he says ‘Believe’ in the chorus. As though even he is telling me to believe in myself.
I began this post saying it would be about what I am grateful for and yet it has turned into another one of my wandering stories. Covering everything and nothing. Yet I learned something within these words. I am going to end this post with one thing that I am grateful for.
I am grateful for my mom. She has shown me the discipline to reach for my dreams. She has shown me that anything I want is possible. She is my mom. And I love her so.
P.S. Mom is going to be horrified by all of this. Most likely will feel an inkling of guilt. I will get a letter or call later in which she will tell me that I am not in her shadow and I do not need to compare myself to her. That I am a wonderful woman in my own right. And she is right. But she is the woman that I look up to the most so inevitably I am going to compare myself to her. I love you mom.
P.P.S. This is the link to the article about mom written in 2012 if you would like to learn more.

Desperate Reverie

With desperate reverie
I swim the seas of my life
hoping I will reach the buoy in the distance
before drowning in sorrow.
Nightmares and fears
bleak and barren
they follow me across this land
where am I going?
When will I find the sunrise
that claims my soul
that clears my mind
that eases the pain that clings
like sticky strands of webbing
holding me in place.
I crave peace
I crave happiness
I crave a life that can be lead
with assurance and confidence.
I stand upon the mountain top
staring at the expanse before me
snow covered tops
green valleys beneath.
Here at last I can take a deep breath
I can finally believe
that the best is before me
and the past has been laid to rest.
©Jay-lyn Doerksen

T: My Dream

There comes a time in every woman’s life when she falls in love.
Not with her husband
not with her boyfriend
but with her child.
When they come from within
and are laid on her tummy mewling
she welcomes them to the world.
Once I thought it would not happen
once I thought my time had passed
that a child would not
could not
be born of me.
Yet he came
tiny and fragile
delicate yet
and fierce to the end.
They told me not to worry
if he did not cry or scream.
I braced myself for fear
yet when they laid him upon me
he grabbed my finger and held on tight
proclaiming his appearance.
My little warrior,
the fighter that I was meant to be.
Six years later
he astounds me.
He robs me of my breath.
I watch him grow
and learn.
And damn don’t I know
that the best of me is in front of me.
My son.
My child.
My life.
My moon and stars.
The dream I thought I had missed.
Originally written August 7/14 (T’s birthday)
revised March 20/18

I Jumped

The other day my brother sent me a video of Steve Harvey talking about talent and jumping.

A friend of mine who is a writer sent me an open call for submissions for New Reader Magazine. I have been going back and forth about submitting with them. I read and reread the submission requirement. And than read again. It did not say in what format they would accept the submission.

I hemmed and hawed over sending an email. Checked with a couple of friends who have done submissions as to what the standard was. I use Evernote and Google Docs. I sat here last evening and once more went to the site to again reread the requirements.

I did it though. I sent off an email and text my brother that I had done it. He wanted to know how it felt to jump. I laughed and had to explain I had only done a small jump. Now I needed to wait for the response. Figured that I would not hear from them until today. My email notification went off a few times but I ignored it. Than I didn’t and I looked.

They had responded! Although they preferred MS Word or PDF they would accept Google Docs. (Turns out that I could send as an email attachment and it converts to PDF.)

One of the requirements is that the work be unpublished any where else. And I wrote a poem yesterday that is different again from what I usually write. Mind you I don’t really have a category. I chewed on my thumb as I hemmed and hawed again. You can sense a theme here can you not?

T was here for the night so I asked him if I could read him the poem. He said sure mom. And listened to me. Than asked me if I had indeed made that up. I said yes I had written it. Oh, well it sounds like something from the 1700, 1800’s you know when they had like dragons and things.

First off yes I wrote the poem. Secondly dragons were not real. Do I wish that they were you bet that I do. However they are not. And it sounds nothing like the poetry of the 17 or 1800’s.

Still uncertain I asked him what he thought of it besides the above items. And he assured me that it was good.

The second requirement. A 50-150 word author biography. So I wrote one. And agonized over it because I don’t know what to say about myself. So after I wrote it I again went to my sounding board. T. And he assured me that it was perfect.

I wrote the email. I was very short and to the point. Not because I had nothing to say but  because I either over say things or present them in a flowery manner. Got it all ready and sat here looking at the send button.

Finally I looked over at T and asked if he wanted to come and watch me push the send button. He looked at me as though I might be a little weird but came and sat next to me. And I pressed the send button.

I am putting myself out there. This is not the norm for me. And now I wait.

I jumped. And my brother is the one who gave me the courage to do so.

****Brother of mine if you read this the above statement does not entitle you to any bouts of the ‘I told you so’ crowing that I just know I will hear.  Thank you Bro.