Tag Archives: health

Acceptance

Bitter, rasping, grieving, raw
Pain drips, seeps, crawls
Enters every orifice
Building in complex patterns
So severe, so horrific
Chains I have anchored about me
Ensnaring me in a choking, godless bankruptcy
I cannot breathe through it
I am drowning in it
There is no me anymore
Just obligations, duties, responsibilities,
Contrived relationships
Confusion, my brain is seeping away
So I’ll be no more then the man downstairs
Constantly singing his toothless songs,
His cells are in me, so is the dominatrix’s,
Mine? Mine are gone –
There is no me anymore –
I having been missing the memory of her
The one who was so smart, but in the end no more than
A sack of liabilities dumped on the doorstep of a woman who shows love
By beating it out of you
For the good it will bring
Oh, I am drowning
In a reflection of me
There is no me anymore –
I traded her up for this shell
With no respect for the casing
for the heart
for the mind
when others didn’t respect me
I believed them
Soaking it all up like wine
Becoming drunk on deceit
These are crone fingers, brittle, grasping,
Seeking to hold onto what long ago went away
In bitter disgust
At the wretch shivered and hovering in the corner
Trying the hold onto the dust
Left in their footprints
Alone
And self-created
Effervescent ________________________________________
My daughter’s laugh is effervescent
Bubbling out of her wellspring
From a source I don’t know
She took the best and seized it
Grasped it in her precious fingers and held on for dear life
Until she found the right people to share it with
She has her own Zen iridescence,
Sparkling in the sun, soaking up all life-giving rays
She is this generation’s Job,
She has ground to cover
And making it fast
Not time for bonding now . . .
I turned away, thinking she was at my feet,
turned back and she was gone
the door open, the dog left out

A Summer’s Bloom

The bloom of summer is upon us –
Lush, verdant, foliage spilling out of every crevice,
Eagerly seeking their moments of glory
Before winter’s chill sends them in retreat.
Children cascade in movement –
A ballet of motion gracefully brimming with enthusiasm,
Ready for each new adventure,
Clamoring for attention and activity.
From my window I watch –
The rustling of the curtains not caused by breeze but by hand,
The air is too dense with heat and humidity
For my fragile lungs to take in –
Each inhalation is like breathing water.
My windows are frames for the seasons,
My vision to a world I can’t participate in.
My life without is confined to certain temperatures,
Low humidity, some seasons but not others.
An air conditioner and oxygen tank regulate the conditions in which I exist.
The ache of joints and spasm of muscles necessitate heat therapy
When it’s broiling outside –
There is irony in the wearing of warm clothes in air conditioning,
In the dense, slumberous heat of August in New England.
A family birthday bash – seventy odd people –
Festive tents, music, coach rides, and the joy of friendship shared –
Everyone outside, saturating themselves in the moment –
While I hold court with the infirm within . . .
Thirty or forty years younger but just as decrepit, maybe more,
I’ve forgotten what it means to enjoy
As my oxygen tank puts back the oxygen
We stripped from the planet via pollution and overcrowding
I regulate my days –
Quietly, pensively,
Searching for meaning and validity
In the rustling curtains of my windowsill.

A Worthy Life

What then is a worthy life?
A life that justifies the energy
needed to sustain it.
In my diminishment my essence feels shriveled,
parched, depleted
while within rages a torrential battle
against the walls of this confining body.
Suicide can’t be justified –
(that would be unworthy) –
my battles are not meant to scar others.
But the endless exhaustion and pain
that governs my days
may be no more than the last vestiges of inner warfare
– and yet – the wellspring of pain is mute,
steadfastly locked in my throat,
begging for release – but afraid,
oh so very afraid –
that should inner ravings be released
they would be viewed as obtuse, chaotic, crazy . . .
the erratic mumblings of a crone
whose tottering footsteps wore down paths
best left untrod
and whose actions spoke
not of integrity and honor
but as hollow offerings to a vacant God –
words as leaves dried and blown from trees,
spiraling down, to be whipped away in winter’s winds,
leaving no trace they had left their imprint
on the gracious and beautiful landscape
we are given the opportunity
to make a difference . . . a meaning . . . on.

 

Pieces of Me

Each time they demanded, I caved,
Giving just a little more, just a bit more,
Always emptying, never replenishing . . .
I’ve given so much of myself
I have forgotten who I was to begin with.
I cannot fit the pieces together –
Too many are frayed, jagged,
Others imperfect recreations of faulty memory.
Whole sections gone, vanished,
Black holes where vital life force flowed.
I look in the mirror, expecting a missing nose,
A hole in my throat,
My heart gone for sure,
Feathered away in fragments.
As a child I lay in night’s grass staring at the Milky Way –
So very many stars, eons of them,
A wide, white swath cut through the dark,
Carrying hope in silver rays.
The stars have faded now –
There are fewer, none so bright . . .
There is so much more night in my life.
Try as I might, I can’t find the light –
My body carries bruises and scars from bumping the unseen.
I should have been selfish,
Holding onto the pieces of me
Because one woman’s treasures
Are another person’s garbage.
My heart is a cast-off in some musty attic,
Caught in the dark,
With all the night’s lost stars.

As the year ends. . . .

As the year ends . . . how many articles and writings are beginning with this right now?  Just this morning I saw a few.  Really its just one day inexorably moving into another one, a simple feat done as it’s been accomplished since our world began in its present form.  Still, the need to change one number when you write out a check does give me a certain pause.  (Not the least because my brain needs to catch up to the revolving times).

When I think of the things I envisioned would happen this past year just a scant 365 days ago, the reality has proved so much different.  I try really hard to differentiate between projecting and planning.  For instance, I am planning to go to California to hold my first grandchild and spend time with the family I love most in the world.  But Life has a way of tilting even the most solid plans and shake them into razor whipped ribbons.

This past year I moved and then began plans to move again, to California.  The California plans didn’t work out for now.  I am planning for a move in a couple of years, eons from now.  But within my current home, I am making friends with wonderful people, am safe and secure, and even have had people offer to walk my cat (on his leash) when I didn’t feel up to it.  That wouldn’t have happened if I had moved.

By all rights, I shouldn’t be alive right now.  I nearly died a few years back, was given up for dead if not for my son’s tenacity and insistence.  Afterward, I had dementia for a year due to a drug reaction. I had to wear a colostomy bag for a year.  All these prepared me for the work I do now and the compassion I feel for those in similar circumstances.  I’ve learned acceptance and rational hope.  I’ve watched people die and I’ve seen people fight their way back from the edge.  How can you plan those things in the beginning of a new year?

So this year I am scattering my expectations to the four winds.  As the icy chill of the air blows outside, I will bury my preconceptions under the snow so when Springtime comes, as it tends to do, I can laugh at the fantasies I built my life on and cherish the realities I have been given.  For even if I don’t understand why they are happening, or don’t see them as fair, I Do know I will always learn from the realities that grace my path and grow stronger (hopefully) as a result.

May all your expectations bring fruit to bear that is fragrant, luscious and life-giving. And may changes shatter your preconceptions and awaken untravelled realms within and without you.  Happy New Year.

 

 

Ending 2

She lies in bed
her life leaking out –
so fragile now.
Medicated for calmness,
slips in measured increments,
easier to move, manipulate,
a rag doll . . .
her life ticking away
moment by moment
as I sit and watch and wait
for the end of
a remarkable woman
who did  so much,
rose to such high levels,
and now a hollow vessel –
life measured
by the sound of her breath.

Combatting Bipolar Disease on a daily basis

Do you know that old time hymn “I’ve got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy Down in my Heart . . . I’ve got the Peace of God, Peace of God Down in my Heart”? Well for me, and I suspect, most BiPolar people, that just doesn’t track. The cynic, and the disease, tug me away from those feelings.

For me, a wellspring of sadness and despair coat my linings, much like that Pepto Bismol commercial. Anxiety flavors the mix. My heart is treacly coated with the stuff. I can be laughing, giggling, joyful even, and still can touch that pain and despair, still feel the anxiety. There isn’t any distraction from it. Even with a stable medication regimen, anxiety pervades my consciousness and dreams. I am haunted by Depression.

Amnesty International’s latest annual report speaks to a paradigm shift worldwide into Depression and Despair writes Mark Kerstan on May 27, 2017. I suspect much of that is normal despair, not the kind of thing BiPolars’ experience, but still, it’s a frightening fact.

Moreover, we need to continually monitor our frustration and anger levels as they are two heads on the same coin. Our emotions can escalate and drop at alarming rates and anger is a seductive release from the pent-up pain we carry within.

Coping strategies that work for some, may not work for others. Know them, read up on the latest research and articles, but ultimately you may need to pick and choose among them to find out what works best for you. Millions globally find much relief in Mindfulness Meditation and even though I practiced it for a year, I just can’t slow down the chatter my mind offers up. I have found reading and writing work for me. So does housework. Repetitive activities comfort others – coloring, sewing, cooking. Music therapy is wonderful. Some swear by Affirmations – put a poster of them up on your wall for you to tap into.

I do try to observe negative coping strategies and reduce or eliminate them. Some practices simply serve to agitate me further. I look for something that works better. For instance, when the sorrow and anxiety grow too uncomfortable, I look for someone I trust to unburden myself upon. It sounds crappy, using someone like that, but I try to respect their decision to not listen when they choose or need to. If they accept that role, unburden away, get that pain out of you.

Ask yourself, Do I want to be in control? Is that what is making me squirrely? Antsy unrest, obsessive thinking, and nervous irritability are symptoms of Bipolar depression or mania, with possibly a co-existing anxiety disorder. Everything feels hopeless. The mountain is too hard to climb and I’ve run out of power bars and water. Or my body is too handicapped to even begin the walk, even on a flat surface I am limited. For me, its a sure reason for anxiety and depression. I hate my limitations. Fear builds because I see the never endingness of my life situation.

And don’t even get me started on Money, maintaining friendships, or dreamed of escaping, having sustainable, or any, social life. Seeing and being all those things I dreamed of escaping – sands through the hourglass – fear builds. Just the daily stress of life can prove too anxiety producing.

What it boils down to is relatively simple. Find coping strategies that work for you. Keep seeing a therapist. Talk to others about your feelings, keep on the right medication regimen for yourself. Practice Humility – give up the need to be in control. “Let Go and Let God”. Radical acceptance – forcing yourself to see things as they really are (although I sometimes prefer living in my fantasy world), and not as they should be, is a trending treatment. Pray – turn your burdens to a Higher Power. When I do that I experience a measure of peace for a while – and then have to start all over again.

Even with all the helpfulness available to us, we BiPolars have to realize that we have a Disease that is not going to magically disappear. There will be good times and bad. We just need to find our way through the morass and use the tools that work for us.

The Other Woman

Every night I pray for her.
In my mind’s eye
I so clearly see her.
My platitudes ill advised,
meaningless . . .

How can I justify our God’s plan?
Why should I be free of need
and she have anything but?

I know it’s stereotyping
but her swollen belly children
deserve an accounting.

Soon she will be gone –
disease stealing her strength away.
They will be orphans -alone –
under a tattered canopy,
thrust into begging to survive.

Just one more parent gone,
one more family destroyed
one more ten year old
parenting a large brood
under the blazing sun.

Why she – why me –
I who have nothing to give,
intimately knows every wrinkle
worn of care . . .

But I am here
babbling words to our Father
as she dies bit by bit
under the African sun
in a refugee camp
alone . . .

Platitudes and Analogies

There are times I feel so alone with these diseases and conditions.  It’s usually when I’ve been around “normal” people for too much time.  They just don’t get me and I’ve ceased to try to make anyone understand.  Sometimes I’m in a good space, sometimes not – but it is good to know I’m not the only one going through these issues.  I can get too wrapped up in my symptoms, people  tend to say things that don’t ring true for me.  I’m searching for some good analogies that get me through the tough times. See if they ring any bells for you.

When the going get tough – the tough get going. Don’t shrug your shoulders at that.  We are a tough lot.  We have t be.  Nobody can wave a wand and make the symptoms of our lives of our lives go away.  Medical Science has a way to go.  We suffer in silence or not, but WE are not the ones who have to go through this.  All the platitudes “normies” give us will not sufficiently calm us when we are in a rough place.  God bless them for trying, they just don’t understand what’s going on beneath our skin.

You can do it one step at a time. This is true. We can’t get out of bed and negotiate our days without moving exactly one step at a time.  Nevertheless, when our insides are racing and we can’t think a rational thought, when all we see before us is struggle, racing thoughts, nightmares and silent screams, you might want to backtrack, not move forward.  It is hard to bring ourselves to center.  We can do it, but not without skills and understanding.  And as much as we can, utilize the support people in our lives.  These are the people who understand where we are coming from.  Things will get better one step at a time.

You are the only one who can heal yourself. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?  However, we know we need help . . . even when we can’t reach out and get it.  I think it’s a phrase people say to absolve themselves of responsibility for ourselves.  We want to be self-sufficient, that is where frustration builds.  But sometimes we need outside intervention.  And though we are the ones who have to do the work inside ourselves, sometimes we need direction.   On the other hand, we are the conductors of the symphony of our thoughts, feelings, and actions that make up our lives.

Practice Joy.  When I am in the midst of adversity, joy is just three letters with no meaning.  I can struggle through the morass which can surround my life, but joy is something I rarely experience.  BUT, when I do, I rejoice in it and don’t take it for granted.  I don’t know how to practice it.  There is an artificiality in the word Practice.  I either wake up in a good place or I don’t.  Restarting the day sometimes helps, like when I look out the window and feel sunlight caressing my face on an otherwise gloomy day, its heat tickling my skin. Joy is a blessing always to be appreciated.

Nevertheless, there is always HOPE.  Nothing lasts forever.  Another Platitude but one of Truth.  We can put one foot in front of the other and each footstep gives us a new opportunity to step out of bad spaces and, at the very least, come to center.  With help, spiritual guidance, and the support of those who understand, we can change our circumstances. One Day At A Time.

 

Muttered Musings

Another day
God, help me make it through
have no one hit me today
let there be a cease fire between
relatives, families, friends,
countries . . .
I can’t keep living with
this hole in my heart.

Let this day be about blessings
make the whole world stop
and pray an hour, a day, for
refugees, Aleppo, child brides ,
untouchables.
the battered and beaten,
defeated and aching
sick -mentally, physically,
emotionally, especially spiritually.

In the busyness of the day
let all peoples remember
this is not just about them
there is something greater –
feel awe, revel in gloriousness,

Not gonna happen anyway
World’s too crazy for Peace
Too many BAD people –
in homes, communities,
We deserve better
Tired of waking with chest pains
second guessing God
being scared . . .
why are so many people
so Stupid!!
My prayers go unanswered,
God looking down and shaking her head