The Geese

The geese honk 24 hours a day. I can say so with certainty. I sleep as little as they do. They spend nights at the rec park. Honking and squawking. "Get ready! We leave at first light." Sure enough, as the suns stretches and yawns so do snow geese.
"Come on now. It is fall. It is time to move."
My feet twitch. My palms itch. Indeed it is time to move - to sing, to dance. It is fall.
"Go without me." I whisper. Don't reckon they hear me.
It is difficult this staying put. My mind looks for challenges. Or perhaps distractions. Yes, it is distractions. Challenging is going to Wal-Mart. (Really, what is with the lighting in that store? It is some artificial light compelling me to spend at least $110.00 on stuff I don't need)
Everything is different, except me. I am still the same. Still a teacher, still a poet, still a heart too big, and hope even bigger. Still holding on, seeking a touch of wisdom. (they don't sell that at Wal-Mart)
Ya' know I have consistently refused the concept that depression caused my physical maladies. I understand the research. It is compelling. I also understand the numbers - People, men and women, from this area are 7 times greater than the national average for autoimmune diagnosis.
So, if my autoimmune issues are due solely to depression, we going to need a bigger "crazy" boat!
I am still funny, right?
Of course I know, I know, I know. A lot of trauma during those dang forming years. Sucks, yada yada yada! I get it. Yes, I know darkness. But gosh golly I know light.
As hard and as dark as times could get; I saw light. Even if meant twisting myself into a pretzel to see it, I looked for light.
Being a revisionist historian is not a bad thing. Forgetting struggles and remembering celebrations; what is wrong with that? Really, who does that hurt? No, don't say me. It does not hurt me. I am not complete because of what is missing. I am complete because of what I have!
Do not tell me that my life is a fraud because I am so damaged. WRONG! I could have damage, yup. Find me someone who doesn't. Find me someone who has roamed this Earth for 50 years who does not have cuts, scrapes, bumps and bruises.
My faith in humanity, it is shaken. That is alright. This time of chosen solitude. These nights to come; dark, long, cold. They will pass. Those snow geese I hear as I write; they will come back. Spring will follow winter.
My resistance, for all these years, against going to a therapist is this - you cannot change the past. What is the point of rehashing things? Let them go already.
What happened when I was a child is not why I fell down and could not get up. If you could explain to me that! That would be helpful. I don't fail. I get up! I move on! I don't survive...I thrive.
It is foolish I know. It is the poet in me. Having felt depths of pain unlike anything Stephen King could dream of - I got up!
Now, though, see now - goodness they made me doubt myself. Then I remember...I remember why I resisted therapy and psychiatrist. Why I would not cast a net of blame. I remember! Nope, where I am now. Living large in Malone's finest housing projects. The property manager believes if one tenant is scum we are all scum. Her letters are rude, over the top mean spirited, disrespectful - she is something.
"Dogs must be on a leash at all times. At all times. All the time."
Heard you the first time. I am disabled but not due to deafness.
Here, no don't reckon this was such a good idea. In theory it is the right decision. On paper, as they say...that is why we play the games.
Wish it were but a game. It isn't. I am not a child. But yes, there are too many triggers here in Malone. In the summer when leaves are blooming, flowers flowering, sky rich blue as far as you can see. Then it is easy to keep your eyes averted. So much beauty to inhale. Ah, but it is this fall season. Tricky little thing old fall is. Last week we had the nicest day since I've been back. Next night it was spitting snow. Look out your window this morning. WOW! Sun is bright, sky blue, geese sending a shout out to all their peeps on the street. Put your hand on the window. Oh shucks, it is cold. It will warm up and it is going to be a lovely fall day. Lots of sun, temps in the 60's. Nice day. Mr. Sunshine only works part time in fall and winter. He must have a great union. Have not been through winter in a long time. I might be a little worried. Nothing to worry about. I am lucky. I don't have to go out. Winter is hard when you have to get up, shovel, clean off the car, start the car, let it warm up, shovel again and then you can leave for work. Shoot, just getting to work is a job. I know I am lucky. I have a room with a view and no place I have to go.
Makes me feel guilty. I do. Nope, I did not ask for this. Not on my to do list...fall down, don't get up so you can go on disability move back to Malone, spending winter laughing as everyone else your age goes to work.
Giving me too much credit. My mind does not bend spoons. Nor does it alter the path of an unseen student hurling into my leg. This time I could not stay up.
That is all I am searching for. Why was it that this incident, I have been through worse, so why couldn't I get up and stay up? I had everything to lose.
Keeping an open mind. Now with nothing so I have nothing to lose I went to talk therapy lady. She can't help me. Why? Because I am "just a drug seeker" whose learned coping skills stack the odds against me 9-1. If it were easy it wouldn't be me. Right!??
Sure I can still go every week to sit in her office for 45 minutes. She will "encourage" me and there will be "no judgement." Yeah, I think if you say "no judgement" you might have already made up your mind.
But angry - Ooh Talk Lady did get angry when I said this is not how my life should be.
Snapped her chair around, rolled it closer to me, and gave me a discourse of "What should be." Turns out my Talk Lady (who I genuinely like)she was hob knobbing with rich and famous folk down there in NYC - Broadway was her canvas. Impressive! Something happened. She was hurt badly, (3 surgeries and a plate in her neck), I don't know how she incurred these injuries. Must have been awful. From Broadway's warm glow to stark white in Peru, NY. She wins!
I didn't get up. My inability to get up cost me my family, my career, my athletics, my home, my state, and yes, some sanity. But seriously she wins.
OK, Talk Lady is not going to help. Psychiatrist is not going to help. Mental Health? Isn't that about helping people...No, see and this is what I forgot but now remember - Mental Health is about judging, labeling, blaming. I don't do judging - we all do the best we can with the tools we have. Who am I to judge anyone? Exactly! Labeling; No can do. Spent over 20 years erasing labels other people slapped on children. Confining them to low expectations and giving them excuses to fail instead of reasons to succeed. Nope, labels are not my thing. Blaming, sorry I do not play the blame game. Yes, I am hard on myself. I have high expectations. And why is that a bad thing? I don't get that either. Why is setting goals, having dreams - then working to achieve your goals and dreams, Ya know; never giving up or giving in. Never losing HOPE! This is a bad means of coping - because why? I understand, I am hard on myself. Somebody had to be. It would have been much easier to give up a long time ago. No one would have blamed me. 
"Poor child" they would say.
"Poor child look at what she has endured, no wonder she can't walk."
No, it sucks yup! Yup, triggers suck! It happens. Breathe through it, do something else, go for a walk, keep busy, write...I know.
I only want to understand why I could not get up this time. Not a lifetime, just this time.
Alas, no. There are no answers. So symbolically and literally - they both did.  Turn their chairs around, their backs to me;
"Your just a drug-seeker." and
"I will encourage you, no judgement." I must add these to my all time favorite dis's. No not dishes, Ya' know from our days back in hood - Dis's. I have been dis'ed!
How silly of me, thinking mental health professionals might offer me a path to a truth I have not found on my own. Or given me a little guidance of how I might get there. Gosh Lisa, you really are quite simple minded. Silly girl.
Yes well, Mommie always said I had too much faith in the goodness of others, it was my greatest quality and my eternal curse. And you know me; If Mommie said it, it is right!
Don't give up on me. With or without the assistance of mental health professionals, I will keep digging, and writing - sharing with you my deepest fears, wants, needs along with my inch by inch crawl as I learn to walk again. Not yet, don't give up on me...not yet. I have not given up on you. Why I keep writing. Even when what I am writing is difficult subject material.
Should I put a warning in the title box: WARNING: The Following Material May Be Too Disturbing For All READERS. Proceed With Caution!What do you think?
Thanks for listening.

Learning to Walk

     That is what I am doing...literally and figuratively. I am learning to walk without a limp. The left side of my body is breaking apart. Having carried the load for five years, it is toast. I have to concentrate - push past pain - learn to walk, head up, stomach in, straight back; one foot in front of the other.
     Emotionally I am attempting the same feat. Learning to walk without crutches. I am not sure exactly what that means. Back and forth I go. Goodness I long for the tightly wound Lisa who controlled her life - this version of me sucks. Feeling I have so little control. Then a burst of hope - then reality. I am so far from where I expected. Ours is not to question why; all we can do is try try try! (that little dude in Star Wars, "There is no try, there is do or do not." OK, Yoshi, or whatever your name is)
     What can I bring from "in-control" Lisa with us as we search for "Lisa - version 5.0?" At my core I know I am still me. My belief system, my faith, my humanity - though shaken, I still believe there is a reason for all this. Oh, yes, I yell sometimes at my God. Begging for a morsel of insight.
     My personality has not changed. I am intelligent, funny, shy at first(which is a good thing-if I unleashed my sarcastic martini dry sarcasm before people knew me somewhat-well it might not be pretty.) I am a dichotomous human being. Aren't we all? Who amongst can say I am always the same. I always feel the same way. No one who is honest. We all crash and burn. We all soar amongst cotton soft clouds. This is what makes us human - essentially, makes us us.
     What is the old adage? Judge a person when the chips are down, not when they are on a winning streak.
     When an animal is hunted its instinct for survival clicks in. Suffering a wound it may fall, it does get up, falls again. I got up, just could not stay up.
     Dr. Solsky, who treated me for 19 years, knows me pretty well I think. Well she believes I lost my
"over-achieving coping strategies" thus, standing naked in front of the classroom, I withered under white hot burn of constant pain.
     I ask though, can a person over-achieve? If you achieve something was it out of reach? It is an oxymoron, is that the word? Like "jumbo-shrimp"?
What a person achieves cannot be deemed over-achieving. Reckon it fits with that darn chicken or egg analogy she gave me, or the Monday morning quarterback - she knows me.
     Accepting myself, learning to walk, develop new patterns of thought - NO NO NO! It is just not suppose to be this way. 50 years of life have brought me to Malone's finest housing projects. NO NO NO!
     Every muscle in my body tells me to move. My feet stain my calves for want of motion. It is getting colder. Leaves are turning. It is fall. It is time for me to move to warmth. Head West to hot sun and cool nights. I can't run anymore. I am just learning to walk.
     Ya' know I am sorry for worrying y'all. My faithful 6 readers, and whomever else happens upon my nervous breakdown. It so helps me when I write. Knowing there are 6 of you who will probably read this sooner or later, I do try to consider your reaction. Goodness knows I am not attempting to worry you - don't be worried.
     Writing is how I set that darn brain hamster free. Thoughts, once on this screen, and published leave me. A new set of thoughts will not take long to fill the void. Until I write something down, I just masticate (a word actually in a scripted reading program I had to teach HS aged boys, fun), yup, that is what I do. Chew and chew and chew until I can't swallow. Better to release than choke.
     It is a roller coaster isn't it? I don't know, truly don't know. As Eileen says; "Your here now." So I am, so I am.
     Do you remember the last time you laughed so hard you cried, rolled on the floor, got the hiccups - laughed so hard your stomach hurt, couldn't breathe? Masticate on that. Until next time with all love and respect - me.

OLTL

     Have you ever seen the paint commercial; it starts with a gigantic white wall. The camera then pans to a man, paint cans all around him, with his brush he begins one stroke, one color - then another brush another color. His pace quickens. Now the brush is a weapon. He dips it in red, orange, green, purple - hurling paint onto this canvas. The music beats faster. You are inhaled by the drops of paint. The man climbs a ladder. He hurls the entire bucket onto the wall! There is texture now! Your hands ache for want of touch-on and on - buckets of paint everywhere. The rivers of paint make the wall appear alive. You can see it breathing. Holding your own breath; anticipating the next color. Willing him to move faster!  What will it be? Covered in paint, moving without thought, an amazing spectacle. So drawn are you to this now, living, breathing, palpable painting you feel a turning of your stomach. 
   Oh, for the release. The cathartic metamorphosis from white, from flat, from sameness, you are extraordinary, this is what you seek - tiny fires burning up and down your arms, deep into your skin. Oblivious to all else. Can after can until every can is empty...
   He falls to the ground, spent from fury, passion - this is his life's work. There on his knees, awash with color, he looks into his painting - into his soul - burned into his eyes images of passion, possibility, madness, joy, hunger! By comparison, the Sistine Chapel is mere child's play.
     The camera then shows his face, his breathing labored, sweat and paint mix together over his skin. And you look at this man, directly into his eyes - his passion. His acute want, no need, his acute need for more color, more cans of paint - fade to black.
     It is an amazing commercial. Truly moves you. Makes you want to do that. You know just dance without thinking. Jump without looking. Believe without fear. You might feel both glorious release and tender taking in. Possibility appears abundant.
     You could almost stay there. At such a heightened awareness. Awash in color and light. It is glorious! Falling in love feels that way.
    Ah, but such promises to keep. Promises are like kites; depending on which way the wind blows they may take flight or they may remain grounded.
     And with your tethered soul lusting for want of release, with a bag of stones - safely build a wall. Odd isn't it how we seek solitude just when we most need others. OH, for such a price - would you paint that wall again? Could you?
     What would be a fair asking price for a second chance? Sure you would pay any price. This is what we learned. Always give hope a chance. We are greater for the letting in.
     Maybe I will get another tattoo. This one with colors. Be safe. Be well. Be happy. Amen!

I just need to talk -

     In the last seven days I have slept maybe 20 hours. It is driving Zuko crazy. I am not doing anything, well I am doing something, I am thinking. Thinking and looking - examining and dissecting trying to find how I lost everything. Haven't spent seven days like this before. I live minute by minute. Constant in my mind; just kill yourself and get it over with or you can't kill yourself it is a sin. It is a real active battle.
     I cannot figure out what happened. How I went from an intelligent, successful, outgoing person to this thing I am now. I am not even human. I am insane, clinically insane. I don't know why? Was I always insane? Was the insanity lying dormant until a fuse was lit? How could I have done so much being so crazy?
     I took a months worth of Percocet in 2 weeks. That is like 10 pills a day. I don't remember doing it. I remember one day I took three - I think about and think about it and I can't remember anytime I took more than 2, except that one day I took three.
     I lose time. Do something and have no memory of doing it. I cook in the middle of the night and I am not aware of it. I am off balance again. Fell in Price Chopper, Then that day I was pulled over by the police. I am afraid to drive. I am afraid to answer the phone. I am afraid to leave my house.
     How did this happen? Seriously, I am typing and it appears I am logical and articulate - so there are some things not broken. Yet, so much of who I was is gone. Where did I go? Where is the funny class clown? I have done some reading on nervous breakdowns and such. Psychiatric disorders lying dormant until an event triggers them. But seriously - this is me. I am strong, resilient, ever hopeful, I revise history so it is all about what was good and fun. People depended on me. People came to talk to me. Text message is about all I can do now.
     Aldona Mae and I have not spoken since father's day. Nothing, not a word. She sent me a beautiful card, a gift - she sent some things to Eileen to give me. If anyone told me day would come when Aldona Mae and I would not talk to one another I would have said you were crazy - turns out I am crazy.
     This is no way to live. A few nights ago I sat in the kitchen, smoked two packs of cigarettes, drank a 6 pack of Mt. Dew, watched the sun rise. I do not know why - I do not know what is wrong with me or how it became so wrong.
     I sure took the wrong turn somewhere. I search, look, think - I examine, contemplate, meditate, pray - Spent 400 dollars in Walmart. Drove home, brought the stuff inside - and at some point later on looked at all the Walmart bags and wondered how they got in the house.
     What is wrong with me? What is this craziness? I am confused, scared, holding on by a thin thread - one minute at a time. One day your holding life by the tail. The next day you don't even know what day it is. Sometimes I go to the bathroom at night and I walk real quiet so I don't wake up Liz and Em. One day I looked at the clock it was 7:20, Liz and Em were not up yet, I ran upstairs to wake them up - then stood there trying to figure out where I was.
     When I do go out I see people who look like people from CA. I consciously have to tell myself I am in Malone, NY. When I do sleep, waking up I have to look around, I have to think about where I am - literally think about it because I have no idea. I don't know. I am seeing a head shrinker. Meds haven't worked obviously! I go to the talk lady - No one can tell me what is wrong. PTSD, social anxiety, agoraphobia - What does this mean? Is this it? Is this the rest of my life? All the physical ailments I have can't one of them do their thing and kill me? They were suppose to. I wasn't suppose to live to see 50.
     Gotta tell ya' boys and girls I am a little bit scared. The unknown is always scary. Doing things you don't remember doing - that is scary. I have had my share of bruises, nothing like this. Even after Mommie died and I sat without speaking for a few days - I got up, moved back to CA - that was 23 years ago. For me nothing could be worse than taking care of your Mom as she is dying before your eyes. Seeing her fade away just a little at a time. Knowing the look in her eyes telling me she was going - and I look at those three years as the best in my life. Being able to give back to a woman who loved me like her own, gave me a home, a family - what would have happened if Mommie and Daddy Pat hadn't taken us - It was awful. It is the best thing I have ever done in my life.
     Well at least my craziness matches my crazy cat lady hair. I finally grew into this untamed mess. See I am still here -
     Thanks for listening. Sometimes if I write down all the hamster thoughts it gets them out of my head and I can rest maybe even sleep. Night.

E

  Running on Empty, Running Blind, Don't Know What To Do, I Am Running Behind - Jackson Browne...Those were the days.
     In a world of complete chaos a little girl learned how to remain completely in control. Children are amazing. With her painted on face, crooked tooth smile, and her eyes - now blue, or gray, or green - twinkling as if she knew a secret no one else knew. In mere seconds she could take a room's temperature -- adjust, adapt. She wore whatever hat was needed. In her go bag she kept a first aid kit, a fire extinguisher, a pair of strong shoulders, a quick wit, an abundance of love.
     Where did she learn to do so many things? Where did she learn to hope? Where did she learn to love? I miss her.
     Flexible, my goodness she could be any shape you needed. Any size you wanted. Any color you desired. If you sought quiet she gave you that. How did she learn so much at such a young age?
     It is a question society often asks - how two people exposed to the same environment develop opposing coping skills? Darwinism? Survival of the fittest. God - giving each skills to get through.
     You can lay no blame for what any of us do to survive or to grieve. There is no right or wrong here. We do the best with what skills we have. We use tools from our toolbox.
     That little girl with dirty Blondie hair, fair chubby cheeks, and a heart so large - inside she felt dirty, rotten, broken. She did not let it show. Covering cracks with cracks of humor. Look at her tapestry - so many rips, tears, missed stitches yet so deep and rich in hue, torn but not torn apart. It gives you a sense of hope. Oh, can you see it? The torn parts, the missing parts if you don't look at them, if you look at its entirety you can see a butterfly. It is beautiful. I miss her. I admire her.
     Fast as that river was running she was faster. Come on you had to love her - the her she let you see. So young yet so capable. Kept hidden the dirty, rotten girl inside.
     Today I write to you from an empty place. Over the past 12 days I have purged, cleaned, touched, scoured, examined - without sleep or peace I have looked at it all. This is not a bad thing. I believe I could sleep for a few days.
     I know who loves me for my character, my heart and those who loved me only for my service to them. I learned who judged my behavior, not my intentions. I learned we are all broken in some way. On our common journey we have all taken our share of bumps and bruises, stumbled, been fallible.
     I have apologized. Now I must learn to forgive myself. Cleaned, ironed and folded - still incomplete - my young woman tapestry is put away. Yes, set aside before completion - I have to adapt and adjust. Certainly it makes me sad. I hoped it would be more grand. There it is with its tears, missed stitches, smaller than it should be. Yet the colors, depth, richness - they are also visible. Look at what is there not what is missing. You will see a little girl with her painted on face, an impish grin, twinkle in her eyes, heart open wide. Sleep well my child. I miss you.
     Oh, goodness we cannot be sad. This is life. It cannot always be perfect or pretty. Muscles only develop when they are used. Your brain, your heart they are muscles - they need use.
     I begin my third, and final tapestry. I don't know, when finished, what we will have. I am hopeful it will be full of color, diversity, stitched closely and tightly, big as the moon!
     I do pray, when the day comes, as it is ironed and put away - when you look at it - you will see an impish grin, twinkling eyes, and a heart open wide.
     

Our Common Journey

     I wish I had uttered this phrase - the credit goes to Michelle - I have been thinking on it for a whole day; digging away,  attempting to find truth.
     The phrase itself conjures up a picture of moving sidewalks. Stand to the right. Walk to the left. All of humanity is on the moving sidewalks. The millionaire and the teacher. The police and the criminal. The fulfilled and the searching. There are forks in the sidewalk, ups and downs - you choose which way you go - however we ultimately end the same way.
     From our birth until our death, all of humanity is on this common journey. No matter what you do with your time here, day will come when your time here ends. It is just a fact. Not a sad fact or a dramatic fact, just a fact.
      Lord knows I think too much. I would give anything to shut my mind off. Reckon going on disability, moving to Malone, living with constant fuxxing pain. It can wear a girl out. The dramatic poetess in me writes boring diatribes. They are all just words. Writing them helps get the hamster to slow down.
     Yes, in the past couple of weeks I have examined ending my journey. As I said, I scream at God; "What more do you want from me." I promise I would not take my life.
     I believe in heaven. When God calls me home I get to be with Mommie and Little Gram again. That idea is what keeps me here. For I know that ending my life would end my chances of seeing Mommmie and Little Gram again.
     Most folks believe in something bigger than moving sidewalks. We believe when the time comes and we go out that heavy plastic door there is something, or maybe not. Maybe the end is just the end. We don't know. Nobody knows. Scholars can write books. College students can have grand debates. Children can go to religious schools - No one knows.
     This makes our journey all the more common. Everyone of us are on the moving sidewalk. Closer and Closer to the heavy plastic end. Yet, not one of us knows what is behind those heavy plastic dividers. Not one of us gets to peek. Yeah, folks talk of seeing the light - I myself hovered over myself - We have human experiences. We have no idea what the end is. This fact makes us all the same. We are all the same. No matter what we believe waits for us; we are all going to pass through those sheets of plastic - and that is that.
     Eileen and I both agree we would rather believe in heaven, do what we need to so we can get there - than to be wrong when the end comes.
     Think of it though - the man living under the 101 freeway is exactly the same as the man living in a 50 room mansion. The quilt of humanity has many different pieces of fabric but they are all the same - they are all pieces of fabric. From the moment we are born until we die - we share Our Common Journey. After that who knows.
     Yes, I am struggling right now. I don't even know the person inhabiting my body. I don't know where Lisa is. I know I am loved. I know I am respected. I know I am needed. I know I don't have to be alone - I know I need to get myself back. I am trying. I just don't know where I have gone. There may be yet another level on this moving sidewalk. Perhaps the next fork will bring me back.
     I won't quit. I won't give up. Though my eyes appear dead, remember they are not Lisa's eyes. Lisa's eyes are twinkling with laughter. I am trying best I can. I live minute by minute. This, this existence is excruciatingly painful. No longer can I tell where one piece starts and another ends. I won't stop working and searching and praying until I find me. The person who exits through that heavy plastic "end", will be called home by God. I believe in heaven.

Never Gave Up

     Though my life has led me down many a rocky road I never gave up.  Though I know all to intimately death and loss, I never gave up. When times were tough - I became stronger. I am proud of that. There are many whose suffering is far worse than mine. I pray for them. My vocation, teaching special education; they once referred to them as the throw away children - I am proud of what I did. I have been a good daughter, sister, friend, citizen - My resume will show as many failures as success', I am proud of that. I never gave up. When my health began to fail I fought. 20 years I taught, played, laughed, loved, lived - in spite of the pain. There is nothing extraordinary about me or my life. I can honestly say I did my best and I don't have big regrets - a few little ones.
     Don't linger in the past. My revisionist history is filled with happy memories, all those who have loved me, cared for me, been with me - for a girl who lost her mother at birth I have many mothers. A girl whose biological sister hasn't spoken to her in 25 years or so - I have many sisters. The guidance counselor, Sister Grace, she told me to get a job at McDonald's because I would never make it through college. A bit late, but yo' sista, I have a Masters Degree!
     Today I sit here with you - putting the raw truth of my life right out there - I have cried almost non stop for a week. Smile for the camera though! I pray God to take me home. I beg him. I scream at him - "What more do you want from me?" Faith, spirituality,  my duct tape. Believing always there was a right and a wrong. Knowing the difference and making a choice. Believing, one day, God would take me from this Earth and I would sit with those who are waiting there for me.
     I have tried to kill myself. Though in comparison I now see those attempts as attention seeking; needing something and not knowing how to ask.
     At 8:03 am, on September 17, 2008 I died. An industrial accident took me away from everything I believed. While I was finally where I knew God would lead me - In love, being a mother, great school, beautiful colleagues - The place I was at 8:02 am, on that day...that was the place my years of faith, hope and prayer led me. The place I knew I could get to if I kept trying. It was my belief in God's kindness, in his goodness, in his power - I was living proof a person can overcome if they hang on to hope. If you keep trying, if you keep your heart open - I was evidence of the power of love.
     After 8:03 drop by drop I bled. Paper pushers, and uncaring number crunchers, people just too damn lazy to do their jobs - drop by drop - piece of broken glass one after another. I have held on a long time. My hands are raw. Piece by piece, drop by drop - I sit here this morning regretting that I woke up. Having prayed God would have mercy and take me home.
     There is a reason for this - I have to believe that. God has not forsaken me - I must believe that. I would end my life - but I don't want to hurt anyone more than I already have. People would mourn. Some folks would lament they should have done this or done that - suicide has nothing to do with anyone else. It really is between an individual and whomever their higher being is. There truly is nothing anyone can do -
     I am so tired. I smiled through my tears. I stood up every time life knocked me down. Now, 50 years old. My body ravaged with physical pain - my mind so worn - my soul so sad. I know I am loved. I know I could call any of 100 people and they would do anything they could to help me. I am so tired! I did the "right" thing my whole life - I am an addict, alcoholic - I am also a teacher, friend, daughter, sister, human - And I am lost.
     What do we do now? With the 20 0r 30 years left? What are you suppose to do? I wasn't suppose to live this long. "You'll be lucky to see 50." I lived just to prove arrogant doctors wrong!
     My legs are weary from climbing so many mountains. I still scream; "What else do you want from me?"
     I love Shel Silverstein - The Giving Tree, Where The Side Walk ends, Trina Paulus Hope For The Butterflies.  I believed, and I did the work, I did not miss any of the workouts - I want to do the right thing. Even now, crying my stupid eyes out like a fool - My body hurts, my mind hurts, it is physical, it is emotional - It is a thousand pounds of feathers - one by itself seems like nothing, it is just a feather - brush it aside. If it were only one?
Piece by piece, drop by drop - I never gave up, I guess until I do. I am trying. I am sorry. Who this person I have become - who is she? How did this happen? Piece by piece, drop by drop.