Rainey Daze and Crazy Nights

Poetry, Paintings, and Ponderings: Through My Eyes

Different Doesn’t Mean Wrong August 12, 2013

Why is there so much hatred in the world for anyone or anything “different” from the norm? Do we really want a world filled with carbon copies of bland sameness? I think fear plays a role; many fear what they don’t understand. But it goes so much deeper than that. The old “Survival of the fittest” instinct kicks in, even in this day and time. For some reason, things that make us “different” are viewed as weaknesses. In reality, it is often those differences that make a person a survivor. These differences bring us, as humans, forward as a race. Without these wonderful differences and the unique qualities of people, we would not have the scientific genius of Einstein, the artistic genius of Van Gogh, or the mental genius of Aristotle.

I remain hopeful that the internet, yes, the great World Wide Web, will help erase the stigma of different. The web allows humans to connect in ways we never imagined. It is doubtful that I could ever afford to travel to Uganda and share ideas, but here, on the ‘net, I can do that with a few strokes of my fingers. I can get the opinion of  a sassy Colombian lady who lives in Canada, or check in on life in the United Kingdom. Do these online friends have different opinions than mine? Yes, sometimes they do. Do they have different experiences, heartaches, triumphs? Certainly. I learn so much from their thoughts and adventures! I see the uniqueness of each of them and I feel blessed that they share that uniqueness with me and the rest of the world. Perhaps, one day, we can learn to celebrate those qualities that make us each uniquely human.

 

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Different June 22, 2013

I am different. Yes, I know, we all are. I guess I should say I am VERY different from others. By “others”, I mean people my age. I don’t have a problem with it, though. It is just a fact.

But then, I’ve always been different. As a very young child, I lived more in my imaginary world than I did in the real world. I didn’t have any friends who lived nearby, and I grew up in a time before play dates and “Mommy and Me” outings. My two best friends were my imagination and my dog. I had friends in school, but no one I even remember well.

Fast forward: teen years. I suffered typical teenage angst, along with the shameful taste of molestation. I was rebellious; hell, that’s putting it mildly. I was sexually promiscuous and without limits. If there was a way to get high, I did it. I “tried on” various groups; you know, the jocks, the nerds, etc. as I searched for a way to be accepted. Truthfully, the only group who came close to feeling right was a group of misfit druggies. They weren’t the  hip stoners I thought were so cool in their total disregard for authority, but just a motley crew of kids from bad homes, or kids who struggled in school and turned to drugs to make it hurt less. They were a sad lot, but they accepted me. But even then, they knew, and I knew, I didn’t fit in. For one thing, I was too smart. I could easily make A’s without trying, so I failed on purpose. Another problem was I came from a good home. By this time, my dad worked his way up and brought our little family out of hovering above poverty to solid middle class. I had both parents and a nice house in a good neighborhood.

Fast forward: meeting my husband. When I met my husband, I left behind my old group of friends and hung out with his friends. The sad thing is, none of my old friends missed me and I didn’t miss them. My new friends liked me and accepted me into the group. Well, the men did. I was still reckless and a tomboy, willing to try new things. I played ball, went fishing, rode motorcycles, and would do almost anything on a dare. The girls of the group took a while to like me and accept me, but they did eventually. My husband loved the wild side of me, but he ignored anything he didn’t like. The molestation?  The gang rape? I told him about it and he pretended it didn’t happen. I mentioned it years later, and he seemed shocked. We all bury our heads in the sand, I suppose. Anyway, they accepted me, but I still felt different, like an outsider allowed to come inside for a bit.

So, you see, being different is no big deal to me. At this stage in my life, I am comfortable being me (most of the time). I no longer try to conform to what society or, even forbid, the neighbors. I have friends, but most of them are much younger than me. (Does that make me immature? Probably. Do I care if I am immature? Of course not…haven’t you been paying attention??) The only people I really spend time with are my two daughters and my husband.

It is at times like this, when I my heart is breaking, that I wish I had the type of friends who would come and get me to shake me out of my misery. When I suffer inside because of J’s bipolar/addictions, or when bad things happen in my life, I really have no one to turn to. Sometimes the price I pay for being different is steep.

 

Right Now April 7, 2013

Filed under: all,friend,friends,grief,Poems,poetry,random — rainey46 @ 8:45 am
Tags: , , , , ,

Right now,

I know you feel alone,

lost, and without hope

But I want you to know

Right now,

I am here for you

to comfort you

to show you

that you are not alone

right now,

as always

I am your friend.

 

Feeling Better, Anti-Weepies, and Good Friends March 25, 2013

I’m getting there. Despite the chaos around me (or maybe BECAUSE of it) I feel…lighter. The heaviness in my head and chest is a little better today; the haze is lessening. I still have a certain sadness, a melancholy, if you will, but it is not crippling. I am able to think of tomorrow, and that there is a reason to see another tomorrow. That’s progress, my friends!

My dear friend Hannah (and she is a friend, even if I have never met her in “real life”) made a comment on my last post. She said I was bat-shit crazy and why didn’t I go take some damn anti-lunatic pills and stop pissing around already.

No, she didn’t really say that. 😉 But I wouldn’t be offended if she had! (See, I’m feeling better because my sense of humor is back.) This is what she actually wrote:

Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you considered medication? You are a wonderful, loving, giving person, and if you need some help getting through this period in your life, then you should have it. I’ve been on medication, and yes, it’s absolutely a crutch, but you know, sometimes you break your leg and it’s ok to use a crutch for a time. Not forever, maybe, but to get through the worst of it. So, all I’m saying is, if you don’t need it, then ok… but if you do, that’s alright, too.

My friend, I agree. Here is the sad thing: This is me on drugs. I AM ON MEDICINE!! And, here is the kicker…..they have changed it and increased it multiple times. Most of the time, I sail along with the usual ups and downs. But in recent years, the lows take me way, way down. Some may be situational…  after all, my life is the kind they write books about (and you would think it was all made up; no one could REALLY have a  life like that!). Some may be the residual effects of the abuse I suffered at a younger age. But I know some of these feelings are not based on current or past situations. Those mornings when I open my eyes only to see the darkness has descended; those days when nothing interests me; those nights when I beg my dreams to take me away, but all they do is mock me….that is depression in the purest form.

The pills do work. I stopped taking them once. Within days, all I could do was weep. Yes, weep. I’m not a woman to use that word lightly, but when the shoe fits…there is no other way to describe it. I. Could. Not. Function. I went back on the medicine, and felt like myself a few days later. That is NOT an experience I ever want to repeat. Don’t get me wrong; I like an occasional good cry: it is a powerful release that leaves me feeling cleansed and emotionally stable again. But WEEPING, however, is NOT FUN. You make no sense, the tears flow without any feeling of release, your nose gets all snotty and gross, and YOU CANNOT STOP! There is no end to weeping. It just gets quieter, but it doesn’t stop. It is a pathetic kind of crying with no purpose other than to make you look weak and stupid, and, yes, CRAZY. So I have no plans to stop taking my beautiful little “no-weepies” pills each day.

Do I need to go back and try a new kind of pill? Maybe. Okay, yes, I do. But that will have to wait until this summer, because I cannot afford to dive into the weepies at work. They kinda don’t know how unstable I really am, and I hope to keep fooling them for another day week year or two, if possible. So I will continue, the best that I can.

As for you, my dear friends, thank you. Thank you for your kind, encouraging words when things get tough for me. I’m not able to reply when things are bad, but I want you to know I am reading and it does matter. I know my bouts with depression are not fun to read about, but it is healing and helpful to me to get it out. I cannot say what I feel, and I hide it from those around me, but for some reason I can write about it straight from the heart. When I write, I don’t censor. So you are seeing me naked, down to the very center of my humanist. I am honored that any of you stick around to read. The fact that so many of  you actually care enough to comment and wish me well…it blows me away. It gives me hope for the human race. And yes, if I hadn’t taken my pills, I might even be a little weepy right now…

 

It’s Coming March 14, 2013

It’s coming. I can feel it, breathing down my neck. It’s not here yet, but it is close. When I gaze in the mirror, I can feel it hovering just out of view. When I walk down a long hall and turn the corner, I can almost catch a glimpse. As I stare into my own eyes, I feel it staring back, right there behind the dark brown flecks of my irises. Just the thought is wearing me down.

There is nothing I can do. It will come, it will stay as long as it wants, and it will leave just as abruptly as it came. It will tear me apart if it wants, and leave me in tiny little pieces that I can never, ever make fit perfectly again. I will fake it for as long as I can so that no one else can see the turmoil it brings. I will fake normal so no one will know my secret. But I know, and IT knows.

How long is my uninvited and unwanted guest going to stay?  Will I make it? Will my life be so interrupted that nothing is ever the same again? Only it knows.

I hate depression.

 

 

Simple, Sweet, Pure and Clean January 15, 2013

Once…

life was simple, sweet,

pure and clean.

seemingly infinite days of summer brought

sun-burnt noses, pony-tailed hair,

skinned knees and rosy freckles

sprinkled on tan faces.

Friendships

born and cementedMoonlight

over grilled cheese sandwiches,

soda pop on back steps,

energetic backyard baseball,

and rainy day marathons

of Monopoly and Clue.

Glowing flashes of yellow fireflies,

streetlights illuminating the dusk,

and hide-n-go-seek

brought the golden days to an end

when

life was simple, sweet,

pure and clean.

 

 

Baby Steps to Change January 10, 2013

I’ve been home from work for two days, sick to my stomach. I don’t know if I have a virus or if it is just my nerves and anxiety. Either way, I feel like total poo. I’ve done nothing but sleep. I just took a shower (at noon on day 2) and I feel shaky and worn out. I tried to do a little house cleaning (because no one else in this house ever picks up the slack when I am sick) but I’m too shaky for that right now. Maybe later I will feel like it.

So here I am, back to writing. My dogs curled up against me just as they always are when they sense I am down. Other than the dogs, I am home alone. The weather is gentle today and I have the blinds open so I can see the world. Pandora (radio) is off, as is the television, so it is quiet. I’m trying to give myself a little peace so that I can get my thoughts together.

I’ve thought, in between dreaming, of the comments from my post yesterday. You are all such great people to give a complete stranger (one who is bonkers on top of that :D) such thoughtful responses. It is so easy to get lost in the everydayness of my life. When I put my bald thoughts (I call them bald because I write straight from my heart, no holding back, no editing) down for you to see, you respond with kindness, and love, and empathy. I am showing you, people I don’t even know, the darkest corners of my blackest heart, and you are NICE to me. That is the most incredible gift.

And you give me much to think about. There are parts of my heart that feel wholesome and good. I can see that part of me at times and it feels…right. Other times I cannot see through the murky darkness and it is as if my very soul is black. I watch the nightly news and it bothers me when I see the damage that humans are capable of doing to one another…I am afraid that in my blackest corner I am capable of those same horrors. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t ever think of hurting others, but I am a damaged human and so are those who commit the horrors, therefore….you see where I am going. And I know, I know, I can hear my logic professor (and many of you) screaming “Faulty logic!!”. It’s just how my mind works. I see these people who murder or steal or hurt others and I know they are making bad choices just as I am. Mine are not THAT bad, of course, but that is just shades of grey (not the book). My choices are still hurtful to some, but mostly to myself because I am so aware of it. I am very aware of my faults and shortcomings but have trouble seeing the good in me. When I look in the mirror, I see the ugliness inside.

I am a constant work in progress. I am becoming who I am. This I know.  Now it is time to take those baby steps to change. This is the next part of my journey.