Love Beads and Chronic Depression

A small parcel arrived today, addressed to me.  Opening it up, I saw I'd received a glass bead necklace...colorful, pretty, and happy-looking. "Love beads". I immediately put it on.  It's a "bright spot" in this day.  I need it.  When I chance to catch my reflection, I see the beads, and they remind me that there are still some good people left in the world.  It makes me thankful... and appreciative.  Such a small thing, in a world so unlike it used to be.  These beads could not have arrived on a better day.  

I'm having one of 'those' days.  A day that I struggle just to look up.  The sun didn't even shine today, and that was just fine with me.  I stayed in bed too long.  Woke up (finally) with a bad stress headache, took some Excedrin and poured some tea...and admired my new beads.  They're pretty.  Colorful.  All shapes and sizes.  Whomever made these, made them with joy.  And it's evident as I hold them..  The gal who makes these and sends them around the world, does so to "spread love".  I don't think she realizes she has a love ministry. :)  She does though.  A "random act of kindness" just to brighten someones day.  She is herself, a jewel.  And I've never even met her.

Waking up to have my old nemesis 'depression' slap me hard upside the head..   So what brings this all on?  Sometimes something.  Sometimes nothing.  We all have our own problems, our own issues.  Depression is a medical problem... not a personality flaw.  It took me years to finally get that, and not be ashamed.

Life can seriously stink.  My mom is having chemo today.  Saying that 'depresses' me to no end, is a huge understatement.  I don't even want to think about it...  but there it is.

This morning I didn't even want to get up out of bed, but forced myself to.  I have kids, so it's not like I have much of a choice.  No matter how crappy I feel, I have to care for my family.  There are days, if it were not for my kids, I wouldn't even bother to get up at all.  But I do.  And I get up.  No matter how I hurt inside, I love my kids, and I am going to do what I need to do.  They don't deserve a screwed up, dysfunctional depressed mom.  They deserve a mom who is there for them.  A hot meal, clean laundry, and someone to hug and kiss them and let them know how much they are truly loved.  So I washed clothes.  Steamed Japanese pumpkin, washed dishes, and cared for my family.  A mom does what she must.  What she should.  Family before self... always.  That's how God made us.

Checking out local news...The news station reported that the scumbag who murdered poor little Somer Thompson went to the state prison. GOOD. However, I can't help but wonder if he will befriend murderer Joshua Phillips, who killed little Maddie Clifton. Both these creeps were local. Neither of these two will ever see the light of day again, God willing.  I have trouble with the thought that these two murderers, like many others, are given 'life', (at tax payer expense), while their innocent victims received death. I know revenge is the Lords, not ours.  But sometimes that's not so easy to feel that way, especially when the mothers of these murdered little girls are crying on tv.  As a mom myself, I can't imagine the hell these moms went through, and go through every day for the rest of their lives.  It's just not right!!!

Next to murderers.. pedophiles. I have a problem with the fact that our 'egg man' who we were buying our eggs from is a registered predator/offender.  One, whom I might add, was quite interested in my 11 yr old daughter.  Obviously we stopped buying eggs from him the moment I found out.  But what if I hadn't found out?  What if I'd continued going there, and he hurt my daughter?  The thought just turns my stomach...

Reading too much, seeing too much.. thinking too much.  Between child murderers, and child predators, leads me to an unholy place in my mind that I don't like to visit.  These heinous crimes and sickos unfortunately remind of an evil, SICK person who strategically planned and plotted, and successfully hurt someone that I love, and this piece of trash is walking around freely, unpunished.  It angers me that I have no proof... or I'd have him arrested in a New York minute. No, I have no proof.. but I KNOW what he did.  It makes me sick.  SICK!!  I want him punished.  He'll screw up eventually, I hope, and this time be jailed.. and I hope when they do they will throw away the key... and hope too that another inmate does to him the same as he has done to his victim(s).

I know it's wrong to hate anyone.  But this person I do hate.  I hate him with every ounce of my being.  I need to go to confession about this...  I've had this brewing and stewing inside me for about a month now.. and no matter how much I suppress it, it manages to come back to mind... It is a torment, make no mistake.   

Calling the cops is a joke when you have no proof.  Heck, reporting something when you DO have proof is even a joke.  Four months ago an incident occurred in which I lost any remaining faith I had in the local police.  They are just thugs with guns, in my humble opinion.  I am sure there are still some good cops out there.. but I believe they are far outnumbered by the bad ones.  No one cares anymore.  

When I was a little girl, "Officer Friendly" came to our elementary school and talked to us children about safety and how the nice policeman was always your friend and would always help you.  I believed that baloney, well into my adulthood.  Was even dumb enough to teach it to my own girls.  My youngest daughter, at age 9, saw for herself that cops didn't care when we were in Tampa a couple of years ago.  How is it that a nine-year-old gets something, and I don't?  Am I that thick headed?  Apparently so. 

Mental struggle... angst.. whatever you want to call it... I hate it.  I remember once I had a therapist... and I paid him for me just to sit there while he told me about his stupid hobby...telescopes.  Then there are the "shrinks" who just want to give you pills and send you on your way.  Why do I want to pay anyone for help when I know they are seeing a shrink themselves, taking my money, and helping mask serious problems instead of fixing things?  

Maybe I say too much in my blog.  Maybe I don't say enough.  Maybe someone is reading this and thinking I am a pathetic whine-bag who needs to put on my big girl pants and get a grip.   

Maybe they're right. 

Fear, Grief, and Shoelaces Tied

My mom has Non Hodgkins Lymphoma.  She's had it for 14 years. She had chemo today.  The future is scary.  She is scared.  I am scared for her.  She's already done over and beyond better than they ever hoped... but how long can this go on?  Her health is bad.  I am scared for my mom.

Today my 11 yr old daughter learned to tie her shoes finally.  She is globally delayed, and visually impaired.  Motor skills have never been her strong point.  But by golly, she can tie her shoes now. It's interesting to me that when she was five years old she could correctly use the word 'facetious', and knew exactly what it meant, and has a bigger vocabulary than many adults, but the child just learned to tie her shoes.  How crazy is that?!  

I have been reading my friend's story of her son's short life... one day.. and his death.  It's hard to read.  It makes me think.  Makes me thankful for my children.  I have never lost a child.  But I do grieve the children I might have had... had I known what I was doing... and very well could have literally flushed away a baby of mine and never even known about it.  That 'what if' is something I have to live with every single day.  My penance for not trusting God enough.. and for going the way of the world instead of the Cross.

I've lost my grandpop, and I lost my best friend Stephanie.   Grandpop died the day before my 40th birthday.  Funny.  I was so 'worried' about turning 40... and then as it turned out, it didn't matter.  He was 40 when I was born.  I was hours shy of 40 when he died.  I didn't want my birthday to come.  I convinced myself that if I could just NOT turn 40, then grandpop would live.  It didn't work out that way.  Momma says that she thinks I should consider it an honor that Grandpop died at my birthday.  I can't though.  It hurts too much.

When Stephanie died, it was the week before my birthday.  November 18th.  I still cry sometimes when I think of her.  I still talk to her... I think she can hear me.  I can feel her.. and I can feel grandpop.  I have felt two of my grandmothers too, in the past.  One came to me once in a very vivid dream, just two days before she died, to tell me goodbye.  Stephanie has come to me twice since her death.  Once telling me she was in Heaven, and she was okay.  The other time to help me move past a bad point I was at....  she was literally an answer to a prayer.  People may think I'm nuts.  No... I'm not.  Our loved ones are still our loved ones.  Grandpop has never come to me.  Perhaps because as painful as his death was for me, I was able to accept it better.  After all, he'd lived a long, full, and happy life.  He was loved, and absolutely LOVED all of us.  He loved Jesus, and I know that Grandpop is happy in Heaven...  maybe that's why his was easier.  Because I had no doubts with Grandpop, and knew he was okay.  He literally went to his reward.  Stephanie was too young, and there were, for me, too many questions and fears and doubts and anger and profound grief.  Maybe that's why her death was so difficult for me.

So why all this today?  I had to take a class this morning... Protecting God's Children... They showed a film I can only describe as 'icky'.  About perverts.  About how they prey on kids, and even vulnerable adults.  I felt sick after seeing the film.  It brought back memories for me... ones I'd forgotten about.  It also brought back suspicions of people I've known...afterward there was a long discussion.. but it was... opening of a can of worms.  I can't get it out of my head now.  It angers me to know that we do so much to protect our families and our loved ones... but these predators watch, and wait, and plan.  To do their worst.  Sickos.  And what do I do?  Come home and pick up the grief book about my friend's precious little son.  

My highlight of the day... my Robyn tying her shoes.  Wow.  LOL  That sounds so bad!!

I've done a lot of crying today... trying to hide it from my hubby who can't understand why I'm so sensitive and all these tears for "just a class" I took.  I don't think he knows about the book I'm reading, or where my brain is at while I'm reading.  He knows I talked to momma, but I doubt he knows how worried I am.  It's not that I don't think that men worry and grieve... that's silly.. of course I know that they do.  I just don't think that they do it the same way women do... and as far as that goes... we are all individuals... so is our grief.  

The day and time is going to come... I will have more heartache and grief.  I know that... it is part of life.  Part of living and dying.  I wonder how I will handle it.  I didn't handle it good at all when Steph died.  I sobbed every day literally for months. I had never been so grief stricken in all my life.  I loved her like a sister.  God... I still miss her so much.  I think of her still, and sometimes still cry.  The pain is still there, but eased.  

My mom always warned me about "borrowing trouble".  I wonder if that's exactly what I am doing this evening.  Borrowing trouble.  But today has been full of reminders of people whom I've loved, and their passings... of horrible memories and revelations that set inside me hurt and disgust and anger... too much... and I'm spending tonight trying to process it all.

Therapy is sounding pretty darn good to me at this point.

My bright spot of the day... tied shoes.  Messily  and awkwardly tied, but tied nonetheless.  

I wish I could talk to my priest.. like.. NOW.  I wish I could spend the night in the Adoration chapel at St Paul's.  But instead I will weep silently tonight, next to my husband, and pray.  I just don't what else I can do right now... so all I can do.. is to 'be'.  And give it all to God.  He can handle any mess I give him.  And it's a good thing..  because this one's a doozie.