Her pen went dormant for many years as life seemed to pummel her from her passion in the world. She vowed now to rise from the embers of a harsh life and refused to allow herself to be written in past terms of existence. She would face the challenges of her dilemma and write because that was her pillar of strength, the God given talent she would hone again to achieve the life she desired as life could tear one down, but only if one allowed it to.
I don't want life to happen to me, I want to happen in my own life, she thought. As difficult as that may be, she knew her very survival, that which gave meaning to her life; writing, would once again be her salvation. So without further adieu she lifted the very pen that had been a dead weight in her hand and slowly methodically began her life story, my story.
As a young girl, I was raised by a Catholic order of nuns, known as the Daughters of Charity. Their influence on me would last a lifetime. I strayed from the Church based on my adult life, but somehow Catholicism still had a lasting influence on my guilt ridden existence. It seemed my very life would be that of contradiction. Perhaps if I lived in black and white my life would have been easier, but I live in color. How to reconcile this belief with who I am remained foremost in my mind as the very influence of the Church was my surrogate Mother, my aunt the very embodiment of the childhood faith. She is ninety years old and I, 53, so how would I ever reconcile my life with my faith or the influence of that faith without completely losing my mind.
Perhaps upon her, my aunt's death, would settle this dilemma, but then there are my three brothers who remain steadfast in the Catholic Church. I now find myself living in an apartment with a man, whom I love, not married to, with very little money, no car and terrible health problems, but he is the pendulum of balance for me or what I think provides me strength.
We do everything together: laundry, cooking, cleaning, appointments and so much more. Public transportation has an advocate in us. He is my safety net, but I feel compelled to try to be on my own because his health is questionable. He is a man who knows how to tackle problems, he faces things head on. Nothing seems impossible with him. His go to it attitude whether cooking or challenging the difficulties ahead provides me strength. We are able to accomplish everything because he never sees challenges as obstacles we can't overcome. Writing remains necessary to my survival to reconcile myself by with my former life. I have fears, but I try not to voice them.
I am starting to go to the grocery store by myself, but getting lost in Seattle last year on the buses put a pretty good scare into me. Even though my son wasn't well last year, he did his best to take care of me. When I think about what happened in Seattle, I realize how confused I was. I missed my flight home and that was a very bad adventure. Being bi-polar puts my life in a state of disbelief to what I thought was possible as a child. My medications were reduced and that contributed to my entering mania. I was only supposed to be in Seattle one week, but I had an extended stay of about four weeks. I left the airport despite having a flight for two days later. My funds were low and I could not go back to the hotel where I had been staying and sleeping in the airport when my mind was in mania was not a possibility. I left in a determined trance to make it across a major highway on foot. It was crazy and a taxi cab driver who was Arabic saved my life when he darted in front of another cab and slammed on the brakes shouting, "are you crazy" and actually I was. I didn't really even acknowledge him. I made it into the city. I spent three days at the YWCA after having taken a bus to Othello and walking and then taking a bus back to Seattle.
It has been a while since I first began this post. I am happy to report I am now on the road to recovery as my sleepless nights seem to be improving. I bought a car this week and have very little debt. Just having the ability to get out is lifting my spirits. My boyfriend has been excellent in being able to help me. Sometimes I can get disorganized, but he helps me put things back in order. I am trying to be positive about things since I first started this reflective blog. More to be shared later.
I don't want life to happen to me, I want to happen in my own life, she thought. As difficult as that may be, she knew her very survival, that which gave meaning to her life; writing, would once again be her salvation. So without further adieu she lifted the very pen that had been a dead weight in her hand and slowly methodically began her life story, my story.
As a young girl, I was raised by a Catholic order of nuns, known as the Daughters of Charity. Their influence on me would last a lifetime. I strayed from the Church based on my adult life, but somehow Catholicism still had a lasting influence on my guilt ridden existence. It seemed my very life would be that of contradiction. Perhaps if I lived in black and white my life would have been easier, but I live in color. How to reconcile this belief with who I am remained foremost in my mind as the very influence of the Church was my surrogate Mother, my aunt the very embodiment of the childhood faith. She is ninety years old and I, 53, so how would I ever reconcile my life with my faith or the influence of that faith without completely losing my mind.
Perhaps upon her, my aunt's death, would settle this dilemma, but then there are my three brothers who remain steadfast in the Catholic Church. I now find myself living in an apartment with a man, whom I love, not married to, with very little money, no car and terrible health problems, but he is the pendulum of balance for me or what I think provides me strength.
We do everything together: laundry, cooking, cleaning, appointments and so much more. Public transportation has an advocate in us. He is my safety net, but I feel compelled to try to be on my own because his health is questionable. He is a man who knows how to tackle problems, he faces things head on. Nothing seems impossible with him. His go to it attitude whether cooking or challenging the difficulties ahead provides me strength. We are able to accomplish everything because he never sees challenges as obstacles we can't overcome. Writing remains necessary to my survival to reconcile myself by with my former life. I have fears, but I try not to voice them.
I am starting to go to the grocery store by myself, but getting lost in Seattle last year on the buses put a pretty good scare into me. Even though my son wasn't well last year, he did his best to take care of me. When I think about what happened in Seattle, I realize how confused I was. I missed my flight home and that was a very bad adventure. Being bi-polar puts my life in a state of disbelief to what I thought was possible as a child. My medications were reduced and that contributed to my entering mania. I was only supposed to be in Seattle one week, but I had an extended stay of about four weeks. I left the airport despite having a flight for two days later. My funds were low and I could not go back to the hotel where I had been staying and sleeping in the airport when my mind was in mania was not a possibility. I left in a determined trance to make it across a major highway on foot. It was crazy and a taxi cab driver who was Arabic saved my life when he darted in front of another cab and slammed on the brakes shouting, "are you crazy" and actually I was. I didn't really even acknowledge him. I made it into the city. I spent three days at the YWCA after having taken a bus to Othello and walking and then taking a bus back to Seattle.
It has been a while since I first began this post. I am happy to report I am now on the road to recovery as my sleepless nights seem to be improving. I bought a car this week and have very little debt. Just having the ability to get out is lifting my spirits. My boyfriend has been excellent in being able to help me. Sometimes I can get disorganized, but he helps me put things back in order. I am trying to be positive about things since I first started this reflective blog. More to be shared later.
No comments:
Post a Comment