Frozen

 In a world that rushes past, and expects you to move fast and all the time, it can be hard for someone with ice in their veins. There are days, the sun shining and warm winds blowing, the ice thaws it is easy to move and do what the world demands. But when the ice takes over. Fingers freeze, brain trudging along, how do you explain that to those in sweaters? 

My body doesn't do that, doesn't fake a warmth until movement is possible. I will freeze until the sun comes back, the world moving around me and wondering why I stand still. How do I explain that it's not a choice, it is a state I live in and wait to exit. How to explain? How to make them see I don't choose to be frozen.

Thank You for Your Patience

 Whoops, I got off track. But that's okay because I am back and I didn't beat myself up about it, I just knew I could continue again tomorrow - which is today. 

This idea has been a big part of my growth these last few months. I have always been an all-or-nothing type of person, which is not a great way to reach any goals. I will try my hardest to be 100% all the time, which by the way, is not feasible. But I believed I could do it. Because if anyone could, it would be me. My whole life I have had to run 100% or higher at all times. I would go to school and be my best, then I would go to work and be my best, go to play practice or speech and perform my best, and then go home and do homework, take care of my mom, and be my best. When you have no choice but to be 100% you believe that should be possible all the time. 

It's not, and the people who praised me, how dare you. I am learning that trying is good enough and if I don't have the energy to try, then rest is also okay. Big steps to learn at 28. Thank goodness I'm not fully formed yet.

All to say, I am here and am writing, back in the saddle. Thank you for your patience!

Left with Nothing, Given Everything

  

“When you die, do I get all your stuff?” she asked seriously.

She was five years old and had just left her third funeral within the last six months. After watching her parents pack boxes and distribute belongings, it hit her. Mom and dad had siblings, people they shared with throughout their whole lives, but it was just her. She was the only child and there was a lot of stuff in that house, would she put it in boxes one day?

“Honey, you get everything.”

“Oh.”

That wasn’t okay, there was too much stuff for a five-year-old, what would she do with it all? Where would she put it? She was going to have ten golden retrievers when she grew up, these were not small dogs, what was she going to do?

 

When I was a child, my biggest concern was what would I do with all the stuff my parents would leave me with when they died. They owned a lot of items that I didn’t care for and frankly didn’t want. I would inherit the fancy dishes, family heirlooms, furniture, and boxes full of junk that we hadn’t looked for in years, I was terrified. As I grew older, this fear dissipated a bit. My mom moved into a smaller house, which allowed me to be straightforward and tell her what I would and would not keep, and they were going to live a long time. I had years to slowly throw things away.

Then my mom died. I inherited the stuff. Going through the different boxes, documents, and the boxes we still hadn’t opened, I thought back to five-year-old me. She was so concerned about being left with everything, that she didn’t consider what it would feel like to have nothing.

I didn’t realize then that one day I would be alone. I would be surrounded by boxes but would no longer be surrounded by her arms. I would have pictures and videos, but I wouldn’t have her. I was five, how was I supposed to have thought this far, now I am here wishing for more.

I want more time, more memories, and more laughter. I want to go through those boxes with her and learn all of the family details I ignored before. I thought I would be left with everything. I am learning what you aren’t given is worse.

I was not given more years. I don’t have phone calls on birthdays or Christmas presents or reassurance as I wander through life without her. I am left here with boxes when the one thing I want is gone. I was not prepared to be left with nothing, I was waiting for everything.

Overthink with Me

I have been asked for a writing sample. I went through my previous posts, and all I can find are half-baked thoughts or dead mom stories - is that what they want? Should I give them an academic paper with citations and complex musings? Should I tell them how anime can be integrated into lesson plans:

    In the show, "The Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime," we are presented with Rimuru, a man who has been reincarnated as a slime. Despite the stereotype that slime are weak creatures who could never be powerful, Rimuru creates a monster township, develops a trading system, and saves the forest many times. What this teaches us as a society is appearances cannot tell us what someone is capable of, nor can preconceived notions about race, gender, sex, etc. As the anime continues we often see Rimuru going above and beyond what a slime has thought to have been capable of, and he uses the stereotypes to build his power and reputation.

Is this what they would like? Or should there be a creative writing element? A poetic, thoughtful metaphor that brings all of my experiences and thoughts alive?

        Purple.

I tried pretty hard to come up with an example for that writing type, but I am blocked. Honestly, I am overthinking. I'll find email templates I've created, and maybe a short blog post and send those. How's that corporate America?

Journal Entry

 I didn't write this weekend, but I think that's okay. I was pretty busy and emotionally exhausted. Just about blamed not having access to a computer, I was on a computer most of yesterday - Netflix doesn't have a word docs feature. Also, realized there is a thing called a notebook, I could write on paper. Though if you've seen my handwriting you know what that's not the best idea.

This weekend was tiring. I woke up early on Saturday to attend the Walk to End Alzheimer's. This was my first time doing it. It has been almost two years since my mom passed, and I thought maybe now it was time to start doing something. I also assumed that because I haven't been crying as often or as easily I would be able to get through this without crying, after all, it was a walk, what is emotional about a walk? Apparently everything.

Only a few people asked who I was walking for, that was great. But here's the thing. This is a group activity. People will be there with their family members and friends, having a nice time, and fighting dementia. The only thing worse than being alone in a crowd of people is thinking about the one person who should be there but isn't when surrounded by a crowd of people. Imagine going to Disney world, alone, on your birthday, knowing you had promised your best friend you would go when they were gone, and then you're surrounded by the crowds of smiling, happy, joyful people. This was about ten times worse.  

The crying happened all day. Thank goodness for swag tables with sunglasses and my ability to be invisible. 

The walk itself was lovely. Minneapolis is truly one of the best-looking cities, with tall buildings and great weather, what more could I ask for? Oh, I know, my mom, but that's cool, whatever, I am glad I did it.

Hopefully, this all leads somewhere good, hopefully, we start to figure something out, but until then, like our demented friends, we are wandering around lost and confused, hoping someone can tell us something good.

So I am still exhausted. And I am still pretending to be fine. It's a little easier now that I'm at home where I can close a door and lose myself in everything but my thoughts, but I can feel it. I feel the exhaustion and sadness in my bones, pulling me into a heavy embrace. I am pretending, I am not doing a great job.

Asking Myself for Sympathy

 If my thoughts could run track, I'd be an olympian.

Running circles at an astounding speed, why doesn't overthinking count as exercise?

If my brain could pace, I'd be walking on magma.

The earth wore down to the core as I worry the same thought.

Over and over and over again.

Around and around and around, can't get dizzy when the circling is internal.

Put my dreams on the big screen for this year's best horror.

Looking for a romance that ends in heartbreak? 

A death that haunts you from a rotting corpse? 

Or maybe strangers acting ridiculous as you watch in shame? 

Look no further than the movie theater in my head.

With all of this inside, it is no wonder I am exhausted.

It is no surprise that I cannot care - that I care too much.

Do not be shocked when my brain is foggy, or my fingers tap. 

My cup overfloweth internally and leaks into the physical.

Be patient, be kind, be forgiving.

Anxiety as a Metaphor

 Worry flows through my body, 

a hidden river, underneath a confident skin.

Every movement, change, step leads to an increase of fear.

I am unstable, I wiggle and wobble,

unbalanced on two legs.

My head floats an inch above my neck, too heavy to rest.

Consistent electricity lights my blood, and radiates through my hopeful eyes,

alerting the world to my facade.

I try. 

I try to pull the switch, damn the river, and tie myself to the moment.

But I am shocked, knocked out, and thrown to the ground.

A pattern, a habit, a consent to the world that has hurt me and I continue to fall.

Catching myself, I try again, but the world shifts, my body floods and I am no longer grounded.

I am a conductor, fear a train running me flat.

Can I jump?

Can I pull the lever and change the path?