Difficult times can bring out the best in people but in cases like myself, it brings out the worse. I’m full of anger and resentment. I would like to be in a demolition derby. I would like to crash and destroy anything and everything that comes into my path. I thought it would be best it I release that energy here. My vehicle is the keyboard, my weapons only words.
According to my muse, Caroline Myss, words are powerful. I shall pay heed and not search and destroy. I shall try not to burn all the bridges behind me. This is my crossing the Rubicon moment. I breathe, raise my sword and tap, tap, tap on the keyboard. “Alea iacta est”! The die is cast. What is said cannot be unsaid. What is done cannot be undone. What has lived cannot be unlived. But regrets and disappointments I have many. My soul cries in agony over them.
But what is suffering without a voice? Whoever made that rule that we must do it in silence? And how do we know we will be rewarded in heaven for doing so? Who will know and give us comfort if we don’t show and tell? The world is amuck, wouldn’t you agree. We are all in lockdown. We did it to ourselves. We are behaving like the animals that we are – panicing and hoarding toilet paper over the coronavirus pandemic. Then we need politicians to warn us not to take advantage of vulnerable and senior citizens in these times. Then there’s the opposite side where people are not taking the coronavirus thing seriously. They are still gathering in large groups. I guess they haven’t heard of what happened in Wuhan, Italy or Spain. How do we really know it’s for real? Maybe it’s just a movie on TV. Maybe we’re all on Netflix in the movie Contagion.
I think I’m suffering what is called depression. I’m sounding like Alex Trebek on Jeopardy. No,I’m not depressed. I’m really just stressed and mad as hell. I’m venting my anger in a place where it will cause the least damage. And I’m as sad as can be. The tears are dammed behind my throat. I’m letting things hang out now. I’m not trying to be positive. I’m not sugar coating myself. I am not myself. I cannot pretend to be Wonder Woman anymore with her golden lasso. I cannot fix anything.
Do not worry over the state of my mental health. I am venting, releasing steam. I do not want to blow a gasket. This is my safety valve. I know we are now all in this space together. This is just the beginning and not the end. I am not in fear or distress over the COVID -19 pandemic at this moment. Rather I am in my own private fear and anxiety over my mother’s ordeal with shingles – her pain, vision and enduring the side effects of her medications. It is as if we are still connected by the umbilical cord. I feel all her sufferings.
Things started innocent enough on Feb. 8th. You get the diagnosis. You get the treatment. But it is not that simple. One thing leads to another. Pain persists through out relieved somewhat by meds. Now it is March 26th and eye complication. Another week of her antivirals 3times/day to endure before she can cut down to smaller dose once/day for another month. The good news is she has recovered most of her vision in her eye.
I’m calling out for prayers to help her endure and tolerate another week of her medications. I’m asking for prayers for myself to be strong and endure to help her through this. Maybe after this, I can afford to panic over the pandemic. Praying for all of us. May we be safe. May we be strong. May we have compassion and love for each other.
10 days have passed since my last post – the longest lapse in this year of doing different. I have, at least, marked the days through my Instagram snapshots. The doing/thinking different have not been forgotten and laid wasted on life’s roadside. I’m still trudging on the path during these cloudy December days. I’m showing up here on the last day of the year.
That is how I’ve embarked on this year of doing different. Each day, I try to do/think a little different, not stepping into the same pothole down the same road. It’s led me to a challenge of painting on the same canvas for 30 days. The challenge travelled the same path I was already on. Making little brush stroke changes each day over 22 days can change the whole picture in the end. The ‘mistakes’ guide me to make better. What a beautiful picture/life we can create over time with willingness and a little effort. I am satisfied with my Grace (I have named her) in 22 days.
Today I have started another canvas. I am not pleased with it at all. So dark and gloomy! I will have to perform magic to make it beautiful. But it does have the beginning look of a cherub, though a grumpy and pouty one. I shall be patient with my brush strokes and give it 30 days. She shall make Grace a delightful companion for 2017. We could all use a companion to make our treads on this earth a little lighter and brighter. Happy New Year everyone!
They led me toward discovering my abilities, skills and forgotten loves. They drew me to participate in the Judy Wise Challenge of 
onethousandandtwo 