The Spider

Today I was entranced by a spider. This spider had something unwanted in its web and was struggling so hard to pull it out. The spider would use its legs to detach strands of web, then brace itself against the wall and pull, pull. When it didn’t come loose, it would repeat the process. Over and over, I watched this.

I wanted so badly to help. I could have easily stood up, walked over, and removed the unwanted item. However, doing so would have ruined the web that this spider had worked so hard for. Who was I to do so?

And then I realized that the spider was me and the idiot “helping” was the majority of my relationships.

How many times has this happened? How many times have I struggled so hard, then allowed someone to “help,” only to lose everything I’d worked for? How many times have I had to start over because I let this happen?

Too many.

So I watched the spider work. Determined, the spider repeated the process over and over and over again. The spider did not give up. It did not falter. It knew what it wanted and maybe that wasn’t the fastest way to go about it, but it was the way it wanted.

I had to leave, so I didn’t get to see how long it took. I didn’t get to share in the victory. That’s okay, though, I’m sure it’s all the same to that spider.

I would have liked to be able to communicate and offer assistance in line with the spider’s plans.

And that’s it right there. That’s what I need. I don’t need someone to do things for me. I don’t need judgment. I just need someone to ask, “what can I do to help you?”

Fiction Matters

I’ve been watching a lot of “This is US.”

I never had a father who loved me. I never had a mother who would make sacrifices for me. I never had siblings who were there for me. But though this family had its share of issues, they had each other. And though they may be from the minds of strangers, I’m allowed to bear witness to their lives. I’m allowed to feel part of it, to live vicariously through these people who are not even alive.

But they are.

These are not just characters anymore. They’ve led full lives, we’ve seen them. We’ve laughed with them, cried with them, cheered and hoped and swore with them. They’ve changed our lives. They’ve changed us. We hold them in our hearts.

Where would we be without these characters? Sure, we could learn about non-fictional people, but the thing about that is that we can never really know them. Every story is tinted, secrets are held, lies are told. You can be inspired by someone, then learn that they were not at all as you thought.

Fictional characters, on the other hand, are exactly what we feel them to be. Yes, the creators provide us the foundation, but we build on it. We add our emotions, our experiences, and our dreams. We take this base and make it into something so much bigger and more full.

They become real.

A character I love once said, “Your audience is watching. Be the hero.”

In times of depression, when I cannot find reason to leave my bed,

In times of pain, when my disability holds me down,

In times of confusion, when I can’t find my way

I remember that line. I hold onto it like it was spoken only to me. And I push through.

If we can root for fictional characters, then someone can be out there rooting for me. It may be a long, hard road to get there, but damnit, I’m going to be that hero. I’m going to make them proud.

I Need to Be Better

It’s time to stop the excuses. No more “my disability makes it hard” or “I haven’t been well” or “I’ve just been so busy with…”

No.

This isn’t me. This is not who I want to be. For a while now I have been feeling like people are waiting for me to go back to who I used to be and I’ve told myself, “they need to realize that this is all that’s left.”

NO!

My heart has not weakened. I still have goodness inside me, love and peace that need to be shared. I still have light and color. I have been hiding in darkness and it’s just wrong. This world has enough of that. It needs hope. It needs inspiration. It needs a reason to smile again.

It’s time.

I have to get out of this hole that I’ve fallen in. I have to climb up, raise a fist in the air, and let out a cheer. I have to wear my dirt proudly. I have to be grateful for the fall, because it gives me one more opportunity to overcome and show everyone that there is so much power within me.

Yes, I may have started below the surface. Others may have started miles above. I may always have dirt on my sleeve. They may still be spotless. Let me tell you, though, I can be covered head to toe and still my light will shine through. They can be without a speck, with no glow to be found.

I would take the hard way one million times, and if given the chance, take it one million more. This is how you grow. You cannot be strong without struggle. You cannot be worthy without questioning your worth. You cannot feel peace without a fight. And you cannot know real love without knowing what it’s not.

If you’re here, I love you. Thank you for continuing the fight with me.

My Birthday is in 2 Days

and I don’t want it. Because what’s the point?

What makes me so fucking upset is that I was going to help people. I was going to be great. Lives would have been changed for the better. I was on this path, I was doing well, and then

fuck me.

Because never in my life have I gotten a break. And all I want is to do good, but Life just fucking kicks me. And yeah, I get up, but I never make it far. I never get to be someone. I never get to help people. I never get to inspire. I’m just in the background, struggling to give people a reason to care.

Fibromyalgia. Narcolepsy. Restrictive Lung Disease. Anemia. Vertigo. Kidney issues. I start feeling stronger and plan to do something, anything, and then they hit hard and I can do nothing.

I can’t even save my cat, the one who has been there for me for years, helping me with my illnesses… Now he’s ill, needs surgery, and I’m failing him, because I am not enough.

I would have been great. Now I am nothing.

Happy birthday to me.

Dear Life,

We need to talk. The way things are… it’s just not working out.

I try to take a break to clear my head and you come back with more intensity than ever, which makes me distant again, which makes you intense, and on and on…

I can’t do this anymore.

I’m not saying I want to give up. Despite what I may say in the heat of the moment, I truly love you. I do. I wouldn’t trade you in for all the money and success in the world.

But this is getting way too hard. Something needs to change.

I’m not trying to throw blame. We’re in this together. All I can say is what I need from you, and what I can offer in return.

So here it is.

I need you to lighten my load a bit. I feel overwhelmed as things are, and it’s difficult to want to hold everything together when I can’t take it anywhere. I need to be able to move forward, and I just don’t think I can when everything is so heavy.

In return, I promise to be more present, the way I used to be. I’ll appreciate you more, and the journey we’re on together, even when it’s a bit rocky. I’ll stop looking behind me with a sore heart, and only look back with clear eyes and mind, learning from our traveled path in order to aid in the road ahead.

I will smile more and sing again.

Can we do this? Can we agree to stop making things harder on each other and make our walk a great deal lighter?

I want to continue this journey with you for as long as possible. Please help me make this happen.

With Love,

Ducky.

When I Grow Up

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a singer. After hearing a recording of myself, I realized that was never going to happen. It didn’t feel like a huge loss, though, because I had felt the stirrings of another dream.

I needed to be a teacher.

I vividly remember needing help with homework one night, sometime around third grade. I knew my answer was wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong. I asked my father for help, but had to teach him how to do it. In doing so, I realized my own mistake.

For as long as I can remember, I have been helping kids – with homework, real-life problems, anything I could. Younger, older, even adults. I wasn’t allowed out of the house, but I would sneak out anyway to help the neighborhood kids. I wanted that to be my life. I know that my teachers changed my life, I wanted to be that for others. I wanted kids to know they had someone they could trust. I always had a give for teaching others, usually by showing them a different way to look at the problem. I wanted to use that gift to do good. I knew I could do it.

I was on track for this when my health worsened. I started passing out during my studies. I became absent-minded. I was often in too much pain to concentrate, let alone actually sit in a chair for any length of time. School wasn’t possible anymore.

And even if I had my degree already, how could I be a teacher? I imagine standing in front of a class when my legs give out. Or handing out tests and my arms stop working. Or passing out during a presentation. Or feeling that pins-and-needles burning skin sensation while doing, well, anything. How could I be of any use to students?

So that dream is gone. It hurts. Every day, it hurts. It hurts more when I see kids struggling. When I see adults who never had that teacher who helped shape them. When I hear people talk about how “teachers don’t care anymore.”

I wanted to be there.

But here I am. I’ve been in bed all day, because of heat sickness. I’m writing in a blog that no one reads. I don’t even want people to read it, I just want to pretend I do, because I want them to care, I want my words put out there, but I don’t want anyone to see what is happening here. I don’t want them to see my pain. There’s enough pain in the world, I don’t need to expose anyone to mine.

And I don’t want them to see how much of a failure I really am.

I had so much potential, and the passion to make it work.

Now I am left with only the passion, and all it does is hurt.

…

I just want to find a way to put it all to use again.

Getting Through

What do you do when you’re 32, your body is broken down, and you feel like you’re still waiting for your life to begin?

Don’t get me wrong, these 32 years have not been boring. Pick any subject and I’ll have a related experience to talk about. But I feel like everything that’s happened so far, has happened to me.

When does my life begin?

You know, the one in which I get to make choices. The one in which I get to follow passions, dreams. The one in which I get to be… me. The real me, who I catch glances of here and there, but who gets lost in all the clutter – the clutter of society, and expectations, and rules, and responsibilities, and disability, and anxiety, and AAAAAAAGHH!!!!!

“Do.” “Act.” “Today’s the day.” “Carpe Diem.” “Don’t let things hold you back.”
Fuck these people with their inspirational quotes. Fuck these silver spoon-sucking ignoramuses who pat themselves on the back for “enlightening” those they tread upon. Fuck the outpourings of positivity that comes from never being forced to realize that some things are, in fact, impossible. There are some of us stumbling in the darkness of truth, and this bullshit just creates more infuriating clutter.

But I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. Everything’s fine, just fine. Nothing I can’t handle, nothing I can’t get through.

BUT I DON’T WANT TO JUST “GET THROUGH” ANYMORE.

I

WANT

TO FUCKING

LIVE.

Maybe Someday…

Remembering Life

There is so much to say…

The beauty of words is in their power. Words that flow directly from the heart are felt on the skin. Painful elegance emulating a sudden breeze.

I remember the days…

I felt alone. I felt helpless and unloved and broken and worthless. I felt afraid of my strength and weak in my courage. I sang at the top of my lungs, but only in my mind. Lyrics poured from my eyes as I’d hide.

I felt the cold creep in. Necessary robotics to occupy time. Loss of self, to survive. Spirit exorcised, to keep silence intact. Needs squelched, for they were not to be met. Ice hidden inside an insulated smile.

I felt the passion. A soul soaring in galaxies never to be discovered. Gliding, frolicking in existence. A breath adored with wonder, admiration, and inspiration. Every nerve smoothly swaying, alert and alive.

I think I forget, sometimes. I hold out my mirror and ask others to see me through it. I draw a masterpiece of love, yet forget to include its eternity. I display the heart, without appreciating its history.

And so I stumble, forgetting the burdens that balance me. I cower, forgetting that which once frightened me. I look away, without seeing anything. Then, I try to say, “this is me.”

But I am not today. I am not yesterday, or tomorrow, or the day that I die. I am not this curve of the lips, or the wetness, or the pressure in the chest. I am not the shake of the head, or the sigh, or the slow applause.

I am I.

I am a legend that can never be told. I am a movie that will never be seen. I am pages of so many stories, in so many books, in so many minds. I am a love that will be felt, and lost, and felt again. I remember, today, that while I am and will always be Death,

I am also Life.

And now, it’s time to embrace it.

Feeling It

The majority of people who live with depression feel it amplified during the cold winter months. Abnormal as always, I feel it significantly less. While the depression fades, other feelings come to play. This is when I feel myself again. This is when I remember to love who I am and what my life has become.

This is when I remember why the past is past.

All things in my life, stripped to the barest core, are love. For this reason, it is a subject that comes up often. This post is no exception. I hope that I will read it in my broken, self-deceiving moments, and that it will help me remember truth.

What’s meant to be will be, but there is a reason some things never work out.

I am emotion. I am made up of feelings; my own and those of others. I may panic, I may get lost, I may drown in silence, but it’s all because I feel so intensely. It’s a wonderful thing, in the truest sense of the word. It is beautiful. It is misunderstood, misinterpreted, taken for granted, and outright rejected. It is me.

I love who I am. I love my humor, even when no one gets it (sometimes especially because no one gets it). I love that I get excited about little things and shrug off big things. I love my awkwardness, my quirkiness, my antisocial behavior, and my longing to help everyone. I love that life is extremely hard on me. I love that sometimes I stumble and fall and feel like nothing.

I love my love for others, even when it blinds me. The truth is that I love people so deeply that I forget to distinguish it from Love. This causes me to tell myself that I want, need someone, when I truly do not. This sounds like a terrible thing, but it’s a vital piece of my self, even if I don’t always like to admit it.

If you are in my life, I love you. I want to be close to you. I want the ultimate best for you, and I hope that I am some small part of that. Though I may be in denial about this in the future, I am not in Love with anyone. I was once, only once, and sometimes I tell myself I still am. This is because he is still an incredible person, whom I very much wish to keep as a major part of my life. It is also because I yearn so badly to feel that feeling again. I ache to know that it is still possible for me to Love someone. It makes me a little sad to know that I am not still in Love with him… it would have made an amazing life story.

But so does this. So I have to live honestly.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll feel it again one day.

I Don’t Want the World to See Me…

but I want someone to.

I’m realizing that I don’t know how to be a friend. Maybe it’s because I’m too depressed. Maybe it’s my expectation that they will disappear anyway (they always do). Maybe it’s because I know I care more than they, so it hurts too much. Maybe it’s because I expect too much from people; see their potential and want them to live up to it. Maybe it’s none of these. Maybe it’s all of these and something else.

I don’t know.

I don’t want to be this way. I know it keeps me alone. I’m so tired of feeling alone.

…

So I apologized to a few friends. They told me not to. Friendship hint: If someone apologizes to you, don’t tell them to stop. Tell them “I don’t see it that way,” or “it’s not a problem,” or “I feel like that too, sometimes,” but don’t tell them that they don’t have to apologize. They do. Something inside is telling them that they need to say it, so let them say it, to quiet that urge. It doesn’t hurt anyone and it not only helps them, but may help you to understand them better. It forms a deeper connection between you.

…

I’ve always focused more on my relationship, and when single, on enjoying being alone.

This wouldn’t be such a bad thing if I could find someone whom I connect with enough to allow them to see me.

But I don’t. Ever.

Everyone gets pieces. They love these pieces. But if I can’t wholly be myself, what am I doing? So I leave.

And it’s all my fault, because I cannot love anyone enough.

I care. I love them as people. I am attracted to them. But I don’t Love them. I don’t know how.

All of this would be fine if I didn’t miss it so much, being with someone. The companionship. The kisses. The arguments. Greeting them at the door. Making little surprises. All of it. I could be so good for someone, if I could just bring myself to Love them. Or settle for loving them.

So I think about that one and wonder if I did. I know it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten. My heart still flutters at his smile, his voice, the memories. I gave him all that I could. I couldn’t resist him, maybe I still can’t. Knowing the way he made me feel is why I cannot settle for less. But…

No, he did not see all of me. Close, but I still held back. Was it just because I was young and scared? I don’t know. I don’t think I’m in place to know right now.

So I will go. I will see what I feel. See if i’m over him. If I can be myself and still want him, I’ll know it was real Love. If I hold back, I’ll know it never was. If it was, then I have to believe it is possible with someone again. If not… maybe I’m just broken.