I went out to the cabin Friday night to unload 1,000 pounds of feed and to check feeders. I also checked the Game Camera at the water trough, and as usual, I always get some great shots of the wildlife.
Kinda pretty, huh?
I spent the night out there behind a locked gate. The thing is, when I go out there to be alone, I want to be ALONE! I stayed up until after midnight, reading my book drafts and listening to the rain fall on the tin roof, and I only had to talk to my husband when I had to report in. I slept pretty good, but woke up right at daylight to watch a few deer and a jackrabbit, then I went back to bed. Sometimes it's lonely out there...But, I like lonely just fine. Talking & listening wear me out! Sometimes I'd rather hear these foxes all night long that have to listen to or talk to a single person!
I checked the Game Camera this morning.The
only creepy part was that less
than 30 minutes before I checked
the
camera Saturday morning, the javelina
was there. I've heard lots of
people say
that javelina aren't anything to worry
about...I call
Bullshit on that!!! Other
people can be fascinated by them, just
like
some people are fascinated by bear
and snakes, but I'll stick to safety
first
and leave those mean bastards alone!
My entire life, I have been a dreamer, a planner, a thinker, a hoper.
I dream of big things. I plan out how things will be if those dreams come true. I think of what I will do with those plans and those dreams, and I hope that someday they materialize.
Many times I've seriously considered giving up. Just stopping...stop dreaming, stop planning, stop thinking, stop hoping, just stop living. But from somewhere deep inside, a little voice whispers, "Don't give up. Hope is still here."
So, off I go again, creating dreams in my head and chasing them.
Yet, I've reached a point in my life where I catch myself thinking, "Am I too old to dream anymore? Am I healthy enough? Do I have enough time left to chase after a dream, plan for it, think about it, even hope for it?"
Still, the dreams beckon me...They almost shout out my name at times, or so it seems. They say, "We're not done yet! Don't give up on us just yet."
This afternoon as I took my walk I looked up at the sky and I asked God, "Do I dare? Do I dare to pursue another dream? Even if you give me many years, am I strong enough to handle another disappointment? The heartbreak of another unfulfilled dream, another "No!" from you? Do I dare to take another chance?"
My body tires so easily these days and I just fear that I will lack the physical energy to see this new dream through.
My mind screams, "GO FOR IT!", but my body says, "I'm tired. I just don't know if I can take even the possibility of another disappointment."
I sure wish things were easy.
Do I dare to take a risk, or do I play it safe and take a nap?
Growing up, I was the oldest of four children, and the only girl.
Two and a half years after I was born, my first brother came along the day before Christmas. I was always an observant child and so when Momma brought him home from the hospital and he begin to cry, I told her to take him back to the hospital and get her money back. I mean, he seemed kind of faulty to me at the time with all of that fussing and crying. But before long, he became my best friend and I watched over him like a hawk. I helped him learn how to walk, as any good sister would, and when he would start peeling all of his clothes off in the front yard, I would undo the diaper pins for him so that he wouldn't poke himself. I never did understand why mother would get so upset and take a switch to me. After all, how many four year old children can change or remove a diaper without poking themselves or their brothers? Later, we would sit side by side for hours building sand fences and corralling pill bugs, or raiding the goose's nest under the house and breaking the eggs open as we played like we were cooking breakfast. Of course, we never told mother and she just assumed that snakes were getting her geese eggs. As we grew older, Daddy would have a load of dirt brought in to fill a low place in the yard, and my brother and I would build roads, lakes, dams and even subdivisions using the Tonka toys he always got for Christmas, as well as the garden hoe. (Daddy was a smart man...He gave us kids dirt to play in and we eventually got that dirt pile leveled and then he would get another load brought in.) Some of our biggest fights were over land lines, land grabs and construction equipment theft, and we would do battle that would have made William Wallace proud as we whopped each other with clubs and screamed obscenities from our mud smeared faces. (Our Wallace gene ran strong, even before we knew we possessed it!) Sometimes, we would join forces and attack our younger brother who joined the clan in 1968. But mostly, if 2nd brother made us mad, we would just hold him down and tickle him until he peed his pants. He would come up swinging and we would run away from him together, laughing our heads off. As we grew older, we did chores together; feeding chickens, gathering eggs, milking the cow, gardening, yard work, whatever. It was usually us two oldest...as 2nd brother spent more time getting out of work than we did doing work. 2nd brother was a charmer, a clown and a comedian. He was momma's favorite and he could get by with saying and doing things that momma would have truly killed us over. And if you think this made us mad, you'd be correct. There were a few times where momma did not give him the spanking he deserved, but we would! Much later the fourth child joined us and we all had a hand in spoiling him rotten because he was 'our baby'. To this day he is rotten, and we have only ourselves to blame.
While I love all of my brothers...warts and all...Number one brother will always be the one I feel most at home with. Even as children, he was steady and unchanging, dependable and constant. I, on the other hand, was either like the wind: flighty, changing, floating around with my head in the clouds, or a forest fire: hot tempered and destroying everything in my path.
Last night I spoke to him over the telephone and when I got off an hour later I smiled. In this world where everything and everyone changes, where nothing seems dependable and people's emotions are like the waves on a stormy, unpredictable ocean, my brother remains steady, unchanging, dependable and constant.
I am so glad that momma didn't return him when he was a baby. There's no amount of money that could ever replace my brother, Jimmy.
There are certain realities in life that I tend to avoid if at all possible and I'll make all kinds of petty excuses that will enable me to stick to my guns of avoidance.
Illness, death & funerals are just three of these things.
If someone is sick and terminally ill, I am the worst friend in the world because I stay away...not from the person, but because I can not contain or restrain my emotions around someone who I know is about to leave this world forever and I'll never get to see or hear them again. It's entirely selfish. I know this and I apologize for it, but I can't change my screwed up reactions, anxieties and emotions.
Funerals are pretty much an extension of this.
I don't 'do' funerals anymore. At least not if I can avoid them. I get totally freaked out saying 'goodbye' to people I love and I end up making a 'scene', which embarrasses the hell out of me and just about everyone else in attendance. I swear...Nothing fake about it. I just turn into a snot-slinging, sobbing, sometimes wailing mess! Not only do I have social anxiety disorder, I also have illness, death and funeral anxiety disorders!
But yesterday, a beloved family member called to tell me that they have named me as their beneficiary on a small life insurance policy and this policy is to be used to cremate them and dispose of their ashes. This person even said that they needed to bring me their 'box', the 'box' that will hold their ashes.
I was both honored and then, totally freaked out.
Most of the time I do my best to avoid the unpleasnant realities of life such as illness, death and funerals. But I guess God has other ideas for me because within the past month I've found out that I've had a heart attack, I have heart damage, and someday I will have to tend to the remains of someone I have loved my entire life by having their body cremated and then having a service after.
I just hope and pray that my body holds up for many years to come and that this other person lives a long, long life because I'm just not I'm ready to die or cremate anyone just yet.
Bi-Polar aka Manic-Depressive Disorder, is a painful and hard way to live one's life. I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not ever. I can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't suffering at least a degree of internal pain. No words can explain it, nor did there have to be a reason. The pain was just there, eating away at my heart like a slow, but destructive cancer. To those who do not suffer from this disorder, this disease, it is not something easily understood, if it is even ever understood. How do you explain, when things are going well, that you are just unhappy, just sad, just hurt deep inside? You can't and eventually you just stop trying.
People will call you crazy, mentally unstable, insane...Yet you are not any of these. You know what you are going through, the hell you are unintentionally putting others through. You know it all, the highs and the lows, the joys and the sadness, the feelings of euphoria and the feelings of utter and complete despair; the elated feelings of goodness and good will and then the frustration, the irritability and even the rage...and yet, you can do nothing about any of those feelings. They are just there; they are just a part of you that you can not control.
The doctors and the shrinks prescribe a cocktail of mind and mood altering drugs that actually do some of us more harm than good. You are either so zombied out that you can't feel anything except the drug, or you fall farther and deeper into the darkness until everything goes out, even your very life.
I've been to both places and it scared the hell out of me! I'm smart enough to know that I'm not crazy and I've been evaluated enough times by professionals that they would agree. Yet the medications did alter my thought processes to the point that I truly thought I was losing my mind. Getting off those drugs was harder than the months and months it took to try and get me regulated, despite my body and brain screaming, "FORGET IT! WE'LL NEVER SURRENDER WITHOUT A FIGHT!" The last time I finally got off the meds, I swore, "Never again!" And, I meant it. It's not been easy, but I'd rather have my sanity as I struggle through the disorder than be so medicated I am uncertain who I even am.
Most days, most weeks, sometimes I can even go months, I'm good. I can keep the sadness and the depression at bay. I like being able to feel, even if the feelings aren't always good. I like being in control of myself, at least to some degree, and making decisions based upon who I am without meds as opposed to who I didn't recognize while taking them. But sometimes, the stresses of life sort of sneak up on me and before I realize what is happening, I have a 'flare' and down I go.
So, I crawl into my shell and keep everyone at arm's length because what no one seems to understand is that a simple word or act can be a trigger for me. Something that seems 100% benign to you may be the catalyst that brings on severe depression for me. For this reason, I learn to stay away from just about everyone except my immediate family.
You see, I don't have to worry about whether they love me or not. I don't have to worry if they find me good enough, if they find me smart enough, if they find me worth a dime. I know that they do and I am safe with them. But it's not so with many others out there. Not so at all.
Yeah, I'm super sensitive...to words, to deeds, to nuances, to the looks that people give. I'm super sensitive to criticism as well because, you see, I am already my own worst critic.
Truth is, it's easier for me to write words and never know if anyone disagrees with them. It's easier for me to hide behind a computer keyboard and screen than have to deal with people face to face because I fear that I won't be good enough face to face.
Truth is, I'm not.
If I were then why is it that I have not had a single close friend for any length of time in the past 20 something years; a friend that would drop in for coffee and sit and visit for hours, or a friend that I could go shopping or 'do' lunch with, just a friend to hang out with? (Not including my husband and my kids, that is.)
If I was worth a damn, there would be someone out there that I could seriously call my best friend.
And so, this life and this disorder makes for a very lonely life. Very lonely, indeed.
Yesterday I had to go online and search for a swimsuit. We're hoping to go to the beach at the end of summer, plus the ladies get together a few times a week and swim at the local pool, so I needed a swimsuit.
I found this...
But then I remembered my size and realized if I actually bought it and wore it, I would look like this...
And that was NO good!
So, after three hours of searching the web, I finally found and bought this one...
Kind of cute, I think, and maybe enough material there to cover up a multitude of bad eating choices and my aversion to exercise!
