Time

I Still Have a Story to Tell

This is the first time I have written in my blog in quite a while. It seems that over the past few years, I have been learning how to live and how to implement everything I have learned from time in treatment. I was so focused on learning how to live, that I made little time for writing.

As I am writing this, a pandemic is spreading across the world. It is taking even medically advanced countries to their knees. Many are in fear and desperation. In some countries, dead bodies are piling up faster than they can be buried.

A little about me, I have a lot of both mental and physical health diagnoses. I have asthma, and a chronic version of the Epstein-Barr virus (the virus responsible for mononucleosis), which leaves me immunocompromised. I have learned that last bit just this year, when the illness left me sick twice, after training for big races. I am a runner. I lost 115 pounds in 2016, and started running after. I started small and have since run 4 half marathons (13.1 miles) and 1 ultramarathon (50k-31 miles). I learned over the past year that running these distances was a trigger for the illness, and had to make the decision to stop. Although my distances now top out at 6 miles, I do continue to run, despite the illness. And I am doing everything I can not to allow the illness to take running from me entirely. I do a lot daily to ensure that my body is in peak physical health, including a wealth of supplements, drinking both 67 oz of water and including electrolytes, and getting all of my fruits and veggies and also whole grains, as well as meditating to reduce stress. I do all I can so as to best equip my body to fight something that periodically attacks my system for no particular reason.

This new pandemic is especially tough on the elderly and the immunocompromised, or those with underlying heart and lung conditions. I am all of these, except elderly. I started paying attention to what was going on with the virus when it first began, and I have followed the developments closely, until the virus arrived at our doorstep. We, the United States, are amongst the last to be inundated with this horrible virus. And unfortunately, our government and our health care system are ill-equipped to deal with any of it. Our people are, regrettably, also obstinate and definitely not the brightest crayons in the box.

I started warning people early on, and no one listened. I was laughed at and ridiculed, called negative and alarmist. But I knew I was right, and it wouldn’t take long for them to know that. I also knew they would learn most tragically.

Right now, the population is split between people heeding the warning, and those ignoring it. We are all waiting to get sick, basically. Some won’t believe it until we do.

I made my regular Friday trip to my favorite grocery store, and the scene was insane. I’d never seen anything like it. By the time I was done, I was certain that while I had not been exposed to the virus prior to that trip, I most certainly had in the grocery store. I cried for my 45 minute trip home, thinking I was probably about to start the last of only two healthy weeks I had left in my life. Even now, the thought brings me to tears. I thought a lot of things. “How do I want to spend it?” “How do I make the most of it?” “Do I loaf around and eat whatever I want? Or work hard to equip my body for this fight?” “I want to make sure I run as much as I can.” “I want to find the beauty in all I can. All the little things we take for granted everyday.”

But of all the things that crossed my mind, one stood out the most. “I wish I had written more” The thoughts that followed were, “I still have so much I want to say. I have to say everything I can while I still have time. I have to write.”

That last realization struck me the hardest. Of all the time I wasted, when I could’ve been telling my story, and all that I’ve learned. What if I don’t have enough time now to say everything I want to say? I told my sister that if I do survive this virus, that moment will be my greatest gift. I had not even realized that was how I felt until I truly believed my life was about to end.

So, that is why I am here. I am starting now. I made a daily schedule for quarantine, and this is a part of it. Thank you for joining the journey.

The Poem I Did Not Write

I’ve been going back and reading old posts, which I never do. My mind has been revisiting the things I used to feel, and I happened to be led there. It might not be a good idea, but it is a good reminder from where I came. I’ve been reading a lot of my posts about suicide, and my attempts. One, which I wrote on the anniversary of one of my attempts, I intended on adding another poem to, but it seems I did not. So, I want to add it now.

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The Poem I Did Not Write

I see my life in seasons

unfolding behind me

like landscapes:

rolling hills with greenery,

the brilliant colors of trees in fall,

unexpected snow,

or sunsets over water

in my rearview mirror as I drive away,

and it is gone.

I revisit these places

that once were home.

Each previous address.

The walls, they do speak.

The men that came and went;

The labor it takes to remove the smell

of vomit-drenched carpet;

The ghosts that waved good-bye

when it wasn’t my time.

The echoing of sobs.

 

I am making this journey in solitude,

but aren’t we all?

At the end of the day,

it is only ourselves

and God.

And those who drop in for a visit

once in a while.

 

I’ve spent years wondering

if my wails will rattle these walls

long after I am gone.

Will I haunt this place

like it still haunts me?

 

When I was 12, I wrote a poem

in which I stated

“I was meant to die by my own hand.”

I have not forgotten the line,

it rings loudly in my mind

like a catchy tune

that you cannot shake.

And the only way to ease the urge

is to listen to it

one more time.

 

When I was 31,

a medium told me

that I would not wed,

and those words too,

they will not leave me,

though everyone else has.

 

I never realized until now

That each morning is the clean slate

I was searching for

for years.

That each sunrise is my chance to try again.

Each face I meet, I memorize

inside my heart,

appreciating its beauty,

savoring its presence

before it is gone.

Though I am not sure

whether the recalling

either harms or heals.

 

And this is where I’ve found myself

stopped along the road.

The joy, my God,

is warmth

and light.

It is infectious.

Vibrant and healing!

And I come alive.

It soothes me in the waiting.

It holds me in the dark.

My loveliest companion.

 

And even so,

I still have times

when I can hear the darkness whisper,

calling me back.

And despite my knowing

how deeply it aches

I find myself tempted

to revisit it as well.

 

 

 

Resentment, Roll Away!

I know the holidays can be this expectation-filled, anxiety-ridden ball of stressful days in rapid succession.  Let’s be honest, once Halloween hits, you know it will be the new year before you know.  At least, that’s how it goes for me.  I know the year is over with pumpkins and costumes.  The rest of it turns into a blur of get-togethers, sugar overloads, and family reunions.

I know a few people who were dreading the days they would have to spend with family.  There’s a huge expectation of presentation and performance with holidays.  We have to put on like we’re happy, and we love our dysfunctional relatives.  We have to catch up, and cherish time spent together.  We have to make a perfect turkey, ham, sweet potato casserole, pumpkin pie, or other goodies.  We have to spend money and give presents we can’t afford to make someone think we can.  We have to try our damnedest not to micromanage, helicopter parent, or argue.

Heck, I’m visiting my sister, and I have already argued with my dad who happens to be 3 states away.  It is a stressful time.  We have a performance to nail, and dealing with traveling doesn’t make it any easier.

happy-holidays

I’ve learned something in the process of working the twelve steps that helps me in these situations.  See, a big part of why we [drink, use, overeat, under-eat, self-harm, gamble, shop, or ___(fill in blank)___ ] is because we carry around resentments.  It is a big part of step four, to work through those resentments–to realize that the people who have hurt you are sick, and need your compassion and sympathy; and also, to see your part in things and remedy the situation as best you can.

A lot of people go back to their addiction(s) of choice because they get a resentment, and it takes them back into sickness.  This is why, as in step 10, we continue to take a personal inventory and when wrong, admit it.  Resentments will kill us.  Resentments keep us firmly rooted in the problem.

This is why, I tread lightly on the grounds of my anger.  I do not want to become rooted there.  I have noticed that when I become angry, I can step away from the situation to let my feelings work themselves out.  It is easy, after having a little time, to realize where you too might have overreacted.  This is very helpful, not only in recovery, but in dealing with people or situations that can overwhelm you, such as holidays.

Always remind yourself of how precious your time is.  October to January just flew past your very eyes.  Keep that in mind.  Years and lives fly in much the same way.  Your in-laws or family may rub you the wrong way, but your time with them is short.   This may either be a blessing, or a reminder to enjoy them while they are here.  Either way, it is a good thing to keep in mind.

“How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?”~ Dr. Seuss