The Man In The Road

Today was one of those days today where I had several appointments and errands to run.  My schedule was tight.  As I pulled onto the road from my first appointment I saw a power chair meandering along the road, zig-zagging toward me.  I slowed down, carefully driving past and noticed that the man had no legs, no coat, and no shirt sleeves.  It was 20 degrees outside.  I could give him my coat, but he was far too big.  I could not invite him into my car-legs or no, he was large and still had arms…

I remembered the emergency blanket I had in my trunk; I could offer him that.  I turned the car around and slowed as I approached and asked if he would like a blanket. His face was covered in abrasions. His speech apraxia was mild but still made it laborious to understand that he wanted to go to 7/11.  There was not a 7/11 in site, which disturbed me.  It could take 10-15 minutes in the cold and cars were flying past him as if he didn’t exist. 

He suddenly turned away and began driving toward the main road, a six-lane road leading to the interstate.  I called 911 and began to follow him, it was a long process.  The dispatcher promised to send somebody right away.  As we approached the red light, he began to barrel ahead in front of the first car of the cross street traffic.  I followed and began to provide short rapid tapping on my horn, trying to warn the six lanes of semi-trucks, cars, and SUV drivers of the situation, terrified that he would be hit anyway, or that I would cause an accident.

We made it across and I followed him to the La Quinta Hotel, where I called 911 to let them know we had moved our location.  He let himself in the door, disappearing behind the sunny corporate logo as it closed behind him.  The police told me they had dealt with him yesterday.  That he was at 7/11 yesterday.  I was baffled by the man’s will power beyond reason, beyond what was in his best interest.  Then I moved through my day-much to do. 

Now that my running is behind me and I have a moment to catch up, I am reduced to tears.  How frightening it must have been for that man to have me following behind him sounding my horn repeatedly as he slowly crossed the 6 lane avenue. But I’m not just crying for that man, I am crying for the cold and barren condition of my own son who is isolated from his family because in trying to protect him from people who were exploiting him, I took his rights away.  Now he is in a guardianship and refuses to speak to me or to his siblings.  How lonely he is.  How that could have been him, if I had not protected him.  How it is still him metaphorically. 

I guess I just move through every day dealing only with what is in front of me and not looking back, because back there is my heart-break.  I have been living this way for so long, I didn’t even realize how I have my blinders on.  It is painful to see reality.  The painful reality that I have turned my thoughts away from my own beloved son.  Tomorrow I will see him in court.  It is just a status.  Nothing much will happen.  But he will not look at me, or worse, he will eye me with a look of scorn.  This is my private hell, which I never talk about because it just doesn’t add anything of value to any conversation.  But today, I am crying and I am sharing it with you.  Because I hope that if you have any opportunity to sound a horn of protection for somebody who needs to get safely across a street you will do it.  It could be my son.  It could be your son. 

And I pray that we can all open our hearts in this great country and become aware that we are all just kicking around here, none of us with a greater right to comfort and peace than the rest. I pray that man from the road today finds himself in a safer situation and that he doesn’t feel demeaned by my efforts today.  I pray that we will all be aware that those who are less fortunate because they are disabled or mentally ill, or both, deserve protection and help.  And I pray that we all will be grateful enough for what we have that we are able share a little bit with those who are in need of a bed, a meal, a warm coat. I pray for that man, my son, and my own intentions, may they always be aligned with God's will.

"Everything Will Be All Right In The End... If It's Not All Right Then It's Not Yet The End" (from the best exotic marigold hotel)

A lot of things have changed since I began this journey. I am still in therapy, currently working on my expectations of my mother. In the background I am working on my expectations of my sexual relations with my husband. The two of which I hope are not related. You know what hope is for me? When the Heart Over-rides Past Experiences. The result is often surprisingly unpleasant. I should know better than to revert to hope. All I have is the here and now. That is all that matters and always the only informative truth. I will try to keep an open mind instead.

So I decided to start another blog and invite only my mother to read it. I am hoping to find out if we can journal back and forth to resolve our conflicts. There is that word again. So my Heart is Over-riding Past Experiences again. Has communication worked in the past? No. Have I ever been able to work out my differences with my mom? No. Have I ever felt resolution when I have talked to my mom? Only if you consider confusion to be a resolution. But this seems different-I have never blogged with my mom before. Yeah right. Dress it up in a different package, and I am still trying to get along with my mom when past experience shows that we don't get along.

I guess I believe that the one obstacle that stands in the way of my feeling whole is the broken-ness of my relations with my mom. What is the worst thing that can happen? I guess I will learn that there is no hope of restoring wholeness to my relationship with her. The hope of restoration befuddles me, because if I really do not think our relationship was ever whole, then how can it possibly be restored? And NO hope? That is probably more promising than actual hope. No Heart Over-riding Past Experiences. That is probably the BEST possible outcome.

At any rate, I am trying something new. One of my friends told me that as long as she is moving, she believes God can steer her. I really like that since I have been having a hard time moving in any direction. So I am moving. I can always tell when God is steering because I feel peace of mind when I am moving and being guided. When I am clinging to an outcome and trying to drive that outcome, I feel crazed and obsessive.

My mom's first response to my blog had me reeling. I wrote several responses for about 3 hours; responses that I would never use because they were defensive, accusatory, defeated, and/or holier than thou. So I ditched them all and just asked her about her. I have to remember my original goal, which was to discover whether we can communicate. It doesn't have to be all about me. It probably has to be all about her if past experience is going to inform me of anything. So, I have asked all about her. I have stopped obsessing. The ball is not in my court right now anyway, so nothing to obsess about. Which brings up a question. Is that my persistent approach to life? Do I live just to return a volley so the ball does not have to be in my court anymore. What if I try to enjoy having the ball in my court? The challenge of catching it before the second bounce; the grace of my swing; the mastery of the exact connection to send the ball back within the boundaries; the acceptance of a failed attempt. The honor of knowing that I tried. The dignity of knowing that failure is only the end result if I do not try again. I love that I am using tennis analogies. Having astigmatism and therefore poor eye-hand coordination; I suck at tennis. And since I suck at it, I hate to play it. But I do believe it provides a useful analogy here, so, thank you tennis, for being useless to me unless I need you for a good analogy.

One thing I have learned for certain. I spent the first third of my life waiting for my mom to value me for who I am. When that did not happen, I married a man with an ego so large, there was no room in it for valuing anything besides himself and his own selfish desires. So then I spent the next third of my life waiting for him to value me for who I am. When that didn't happen and he left me (which really pissed me off at the time because I had clung to him the whole time and then in the end he left-I should have left him! Well at least I let him leave and didn't beg him back as he had expected.) [return from tangent] I began to look at myself. I spent the next third of my life trying to get to know who I am and how I could be happy. I had some success and learned some things. One of which was that I am running out of 18 year long thirds. I am going to have to get a bonus round by next year...    So in the end of the last third I am realizing something. I cannot WAIT AROUND for people to value me. My problem is that I have been looking outside my self for my value. I have to look within. Shit, my chiropractor told me that a year ago. I think I responded by asking if he could see what was in there. He could not...but I took it as a refusal to look on his part.

Wake UP already! Nobody can tell you what you have inside. That is yours to discover. I have to value myself. Okay, so victory! I have NO idea where this victory is going to take me, but I am going to count it as a victory nonetheless. Back to the tennis analogy, once the ball is in the other court, I have no control over how it is gonna get volleyed back to me (I think I have always hated that part of tennis the most) but if I am going to succeed in applying this new discovery, I have to allow it to bring me to the unknown and confront it anyways. So, I have three things to keep in mind that have been told to me and my mind keeps repeating them like mantras:

1. My chiropractor told me to look within.  (which created a lot of difficulty, because I could not see anything in there and it took the longest time for me to begin to achieve)
2. An intuitive told me not to change my own trajectory for anyone else.  (this facilitated the challenge of finding a trajectory-which is when movement began)
3. A friend told me as long as she keeps moving God can steer her.  (this confirmed that I should just keep moving even if I didn't know the outcome)

So now, I add my own revelation to the list  4. Value myself.  (in doing so, I am learning to see me)

Stomach at rest. No knot. Just peace.

Oz is Nowhere

I do not know how to forgive my mother for hating me.  My heart is aching.  I feel defective.  I cannot reconcile my actions with the outcome.  I thought I had loved her well, using all the patience and compassion in my heart.  But in the end, she only resented my efforts and now despises me for them. 

It’s so interesting how perception works.  My motives and intentions may be virtuous, but the person on the receiving end has their perception colored by their own expectations.  So, although well intentioned, because I did not meet my mother’s expectations of me, all of my actions were viewed as an affront.  I am sure this is kindled by the fact that my mother has abused prescription drugs all of her life, now drinks every day, and has a host of seething resentments eating at her spirit.  Yet knowing this, I still take it personally that she hates me.  This is not the first time either.  I have watched for years as she has focused the object of her hatred from one person to another, rotating various family members in and out of the role repeatedly.  Rather than use this information as evidence that it is her thinking that is distorted, instead I focus on the fact that since she has never hated one of my brothers it must mean that I am the defective child.  That something is inherently wrong with me.  This is what holds me back from true happiness in life-this belief that there is something inherently wrong with me. 

So, here I sit, stuck again.  I am a person who loves a good formula.  That is why I bake.  I have a belief that there is a solution for everything, and from that belief commences the search for the one path to bliss.  Just like if you mix sugar, butter, vanilla and eggs with flour and various leavening agents, you will produce a cookie, which of course, leads to bliss; you can mix various actions together and produce the exact result to solve the problem.  Everybody is happy, right? …life does not work that way.  And even though I have reached what I consider to be a mature age (more mature than I care to admit), I still struggle with that sound and true reality.  Some things cannot be rectified.  So my distorted thinking leads me to believe I should keep trying. 

I guess the problem is not whether I can find the right path to repair this broken relationship, but instead, whether I can find the right path to let it go.  And I am willing; trust me.  I am even ready.  I just don’t know how.  I want to forgive, but there is nothing to forgive.  My mother is abusive and she doesn't like me.  I am not the first and will not be the last adult child to face that sad reality.  Truth be told, she is not my favorite either.  But I love her, and I cling to the idea that my wholeness depends on our relationship being whole.  Maybe blogging about it will produce the answer- ha  ha  ha.  (emphasis on the spaces between “ha’s” for sarcastic effect)  Thanks a lot blog, you’re no help….

I just want my peace of mind back.  And my piece of mind.  I don’t want to have it filled with conversations had, hoped for, and imagined.  I know that only I have that answer and that this is just another one of those Dorothy moments, but I DO NOT want to be stuck here in Oz anymore trying to figure it out.  In the end, I just want somebody to say the equivalent to, “Click your heels together and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’”  Where is Glenda when I need her?  

Perhaps I can be content with busy for today.  Too busy to think about it.  For today, I pray for my mother's peace, contentment, and happiness.  For today, I will put this aside and focus on what good I can do.  For today, I will be happy with knowing I have loved to the best of my ability.  It is not within my control that an unexpected and unpleasant surprise is the result.  For today, I let that go.  There is no happy ever after ending; no return to Kansas; no final solution.  Today, there is only love and busywork.  I can either sink or swim, drown or grab a life line, flounder in the darkness or climb out.  Today, I have choices and I choose love.  Imperfect and unpredictable, I choose love again. 

So This is Where it Starts

So, I am starting a blog.  I have exactly 2 people who are encouraging me to do this, but since, in my mind, they are more like nagging, I count this as if I have bunches of people who are dying to see me write a blog.  And this is how I tend to view things in life.  Everything is magnified by the amount of fear and delusion that I feel around that particular event.  So I feel afraid to write and in addition, I fear that I truly have nothing of any relevance to say.  Which may actually be true, but I am exploring that.

I am a quinquagenarian (blatant and shameless attempt to utilize a word that I will never use in common speech).  

I have raised 4 children, and I suffer from a persistent belief that I can re-raise them, however, this would take their cooperation, and they have not asked me to provide this service.  This is where the self-imposed friction enters.  I guess I have spent my entire life feeling unprepared for whatever is before me and as a result, I spend my time preparing rather then living.  When what was before me becomes what is behind me, I am left with the feeling that I wasn't ready and that I have missed out.  I am not sure how to turn this around, but I am open to learning.  I guess I need a new strategy.  Wouldn't it be great if there was a strategy app that you could download and it would remind you of new thoughts to replace the old ones?  It would probably have to include some sort of electronic impulse mechanism in order to be effective, because it is just way to comfortable to proceed in the old familiar way.  

So, I also suffer from the belief that since raising four children has consumed the bulk of my adult life, I have no other life or skills, so now, I just don't know what to do with myself.  Enter the Great Recession.  If only I had started a work life 10 years earlier during the Great Boom, I could have established myself. But, it seems that my skills on a resume don't equate to a job offer.  So that is where an entire world of negative self-talk comes screaming in.  This leads to depression (for those of you who have never strolled down that street).

I also suffer from the belief that I deserve a do-over, better offer, or just a plain ole break in life.  But, I am not alone there either.  And I know that I have to generate the changes, it just seems like my "get up and go make a change" does not have the oomph it had when I was younger and more confident.  Which is another app I would like to download, the confidence app.  

So, I ended up in therapy.  Therapy.  A place I said I would never end up again.  I was in therapy to cope with my childhood, therapy to cope with transition to marriage, therapy for my marriage (which was unsalvageable), therapy for my family, therapy for my self-re-discovery, therapy for my new marriage (which is one of the greatest gifts in my life-that I routinely take for granted), therapy for grief, therapy for career, and now, therapy to find out what the hell I have been doing with, to, and for myself all these years.  

How on earth did I end up in therapy? --Well actually I was practically taken by ambulance one day while trying to find a counselor on the internet on a day when I took a wrong turn on negative self-talk street and couldn't get out of that neighborhood without directions-- See, I believed that I could not afford therapy because I am not employed and I am broke, so I had been avoiding it for quite some time.  After no less than 8 calls to various counselors whose receptionists were cold and uncaring when I asked for a sliding scale, I began to feel desperate.  So, I decided to call the crisis line.  Which seemed like a good idea, it felt like a crisis.  Was I suicidal? Not exactly, I wished I could just step out, but really didn't believe that was the answer. I just figured the crisis line makes referrals and I could get one there. The trouble came when the man on the other line did not understand English.  Of course, I would get the crisis prevention volunteer that can't speak English in the USA.  

Whah eez you zee coh? 

Nine-Zero-Zero-Zero-Two. (I made this zip code up for the sake of concealing my actual zip code from the blogosphere. I am not sure if that is necessary, but that is what I have decided-and I am trying to make decisions and stick with them) 

Oh Nih, Zeo, Zeo, Zeo?  

No, that is only 4 numbers, it is 9-3 zeros and 2. 

Oh, Nih, Thee, Zeo, Two. 

And on that went for endless minutes while the pressure in my head began to expand. 

Can you hoe foe a cupo meenah? 

Sure.  (if you are not going to talk in pigeon English to me for a couple minutes, I will hold)  Back and forth this went, 

No, notheen in that ta-oon, can you theen of anothah ta-oon? 

Four towns later and 15 minutes, and my head was about to blow.  The mixture of crisis, incredulous outrage, and fight or flight took over.  All I could think about was, if I was about to "off myself", I would have done it just to alleviate the pressure of listening to this guy NOT comprehend the pain I was in. So I said, "Never mind, I'm just gonna kill myself."  

This is where regret for the carefully developed sarcasm I had refined for all these years comes into play.  10 minutes later, the police are pounding on my door.  Well, I am not a terribly small woman, but I am 5' 2 3/4", yet now I have grown in stature and confidence, and I am trying to throw 8 police officers and two EMTs out of my house.  I finally negotiated to have one police officer and EMT stay for an interview.  (Really, you want me to answer the question, "Is something bothering you?", while 9 other men in uniform stand and watch?)  I also negotiated to be allowed to dress and say good bye to my deservedly freaked out young adult children.  When I got to the hospital I also negotiated the right to put on the gown that I was refusing to wear, without the assistance of an orderly.  How did I get myself into this mess?  Oh yeah, sarcasm.   I would like to blame my mother for that... (which is a different story)

In the end, the examining doctor agreed this was all a big mistake, I was given a referral, and I began therapy the following Monday.  Don't get me wrong, my therapist is a wonderful woman, and I am sure she is going to help me climb out of this cavern I have been trapped in for way too long.  I just don't want to have to do this again.  I just want to feel the sense of autonomy that comes from navigating life without a therapist.  One more time, I am confronted with the fact, that my perspective in life is impaired and I need help.  One more time, I must admit I have been defeated by my own demons. One more time, I failed to see how grateful I should be for the positives, like there is help available, rather than looking at all the negatives.  So what am I tasked to do? Of course, list the positives.  It's so strange how I can decide to list the positives when I am not in therapy and nothing happens, but somehow, when a therapist tells me to do it, it's going to make all the difference in the world.  We'll see.  

I am currently working on the suggestions from the 3rd visit, which includes, turn my negative thinking to positives.  I can do this for my kids all day long.  Why is it so hard to do that for me? We'll see. 

I am also supposed to get up, start my day by getting dressed, watching the news so I know what is going on in the world, take a walk so I can get out in the world, review my list of things to do, and get to work doing them.  Instead, I have created this blog.  We'll see.