Sunday’s Song

“Love is what we’re born with. Fear is what we learn.”

I realized over this past week that everybody I know seems to be letting someone/something get the best of them. It’s usually someone who has hurt them or something that is going to (i.e. addiction). Why do we do that? Why don’t we just let sleeping dogs lie? Why do we let us stop us from moving forward? People are desperate for connection at our most “connected” point in the human species. Perhaps, in our desperation, we don’t realize that we make self-fulfilling prophecies that let these people/things continually hurt us, alter us, our relationships, our decisions; the connections we desire and all of it needs to stop.

The one thing we can do to improve the value of our relationships: Vulnerability.

Let me ask: Is someone getting the best of you?

Is it time to let it go?

As Rafiki said: It Is Time

Sometimes, maybe destiny just slaps you right in the face.

I’ve been up all night with painsomnia and stomach junk. I was feeling depleted enough at sunrise to doze off. Then my alarm woke me up (1hr and 23mins of sleep according to my FitBit. This little electronic, sin against fashion that I wear in a rose gold color upon my wrist.) I awake to not being able to see out of my right eye. This is a fun, new-ish symptom from pseudo tumor cerebri. That’s right, folks. It is literally, all in my head. My body and brain believe that there is a tumor in my body (my cerebral area; see also spinal cord) that isn’t there. This means that I have all the symptoms of a brain or spinal cord tumor however, I do not. It is as much fun as it sounds to be. To be clear that would be none for anyone who might have missed it. And also; excruciating abdominal pain that left me in the fetal position. Clearly, an awesome way to start the day.

Luckily, my trusty productively distracting iPhone was within reach and I was able to silence the alarm and also message Ms. Teenager Diva to get up for school to no avail. I call out for Tessa to go audibly, or physically, wake her up. I text my Momma and ask if she can transport today. Normally, Tessa would be the one I would ask for this, but yesterday her truck broke down in process and it was a WHOLE thing. Momma stepped in this morning.

Continuing the juggle flow I have going, I dial my psychiatrist, Dr. Loris, to painstakingly explain the current predicament which will require me to cancel, last minute, an appointment I requested ASAP less than a week ago. Frankly everything I just said is self-explanatory. There are way too many things being juggled and I cannot keep up. If my medical history has taught me anything it is: the one thing I can consistently expect is that my physical body will break down under tremendous mental stress. I obviously am a glutton for punishment because I decided to soothe my soul by self-talking shit to myself.

Loser. Burden. Shameful. Worthless.

Again, the smartphone saves me. I open the Instagram application to access a folder of saved affirmations. Before I can even get to it, one of my favorite authors has sent this brief message out to our souls:

There it was again. Another tickle in my brain making my hair stand on end. It rings the bell of one of my first and purest passions: writing. The signs point and illuminate this path again; and I cannot resist the luster.

I shall start with editing current website content. After that I will finish the drafts I have. There may be an influx of notifications, all apologies; and also it is time.

Onward.

Just a dream?

A few minutes ago, I was falling into sleep when a flashback assaulted me. The visceral screaming of my mother. I am a teenager. Im at her bedroom door. This was a pain I was naive to until this moment. Whatever it was, I was certain there was no coming back. My mother would never be the same. I’m very familiar with the scene. 

What followed was the echo of my own wailing. A flash of a vision of myself crumbled to the floor. Desperation flooding my senses as I shield the life in my belly from the fury of fists. 

Then, a scene of myself clinging to my knees and Im rocking …crying…wailing while my own small children wonder about their mothers prognosis. Twenty something, three children and devastated by a failed marriage. 

Yet another scene flashes. A few months back…my husband and I are discussing with my son and father how we are going to move forward as co-parents as we “work on ourselves” and “take a break”. I lash out at my husband, my father lashes out a me. I feel the abandonment is imminent. I try to flee. My Dad physically restrains me. Husband walks out while Im at my father’s hands. My daughter pulls him off of me. I walk outside. I watch my husband leave. I watch my son climb into the car with my Dad. They both leave as well. I return inside and crumble. That visceral cry rises. Again. 

I hate myself for allowing my children to be witnesses to this suffering. How do I forgive myself for scarring them for life?

I was broken … so convinced I was over. 

Yet here I am. 

Sitting on the cold pavement on my patio trying to ground myself in this present time and place. Im demanding my brain be convicted by logic and leave the past there. 

It’s not happening. Not now. Not again. 

It’s just a dream, Stephanie. 

You are not alone. 

Go back to bed.