I’m sitting here scanning a box of poetry from high school. It’s been under my bed for years, now next to the couch for months. Today is the 17th anniversary of when suicide became real to me. I wish it’d never happened. And the impact of this writing I only read a few lines here or there of gives me ultra goosebumps, makes me extremely nauseous, and if I was standing I’m sure I’d collapse. (and the tears…) (“If You Want Me To” by Ginny Owens)
I want to be right in the middle of the pain. I feel SO guilty. I LEFT her there. But she was me. And I can’t get her now. And she just screams and screams and screams. I can’t imagine having been my teachers when I wrote or spoke emotional truth. (stare…)
The music is very loud and I’m not sure what to do. Supposed to give a friend a ride to a group I’m leading tonight, at which I anticipate there to be some problems. I can’t be this person, or get into this person, and then do that. But not doing it validates that she doesn’t matter and never has. (head in hands…) (“Stronger” by Mandisa)
I wish I could see David today. I need to write too. Something specific. This is really best done somewhere with a garden. ;) I have to be strong enough to stand with her. I have to be strong enough for her, strong enough for me. Strong enough to let go.
It was the coolest thing. Usually I have trouble feeling connected, like I could be pressed hand to hand with you but not feel you – like there was a glass wall between us. But it wasn’t so at this yoga event I went to last Sunday. I knew the teacher and brought a few friends. It was literally us (the yoga people) and then the waves. And in between I lost the glass for awhile. I don’t know how and don’t care, but I found that girl from the other side wearing pink and saying, “PLEASE Don’t Leave Me.” This is her hand.
(Art from 9/12/17)
I really hate humans. I’ve been in need of a neurologist for a very long time. I ignore it mostly but my ECT doc recommended I see one back in May and found one for me. She saw me in July but doesn’t take my insurance yet said I should do Botox, which he agrees with. I haven’t had it in me to do the research but I finally did. Narrowed the field, cross-checked networks and affiliations, read reviews. And today I called the office of the one I picked, who happened to be recommended to me years ago. And his office staff was a BITCH. I asked to make an appointment and she said she didn’t have my referral. I said I don’t need a referral since I have original Medicare and she said that ALL of HER doctors require a referral. When I asked for details she said I’d need a written referral from another doctor with my diagnoses and all of the treatment history and records pertaining to the referral. I told her that was not possible since I have been seen for this by many doctors over many years at MANY places and asked what EXACTLY it is that she needs. She just repeated herself. I said I’d really appreciate if this was listed on their website. She said that every specialty is different. I said that’s why each doctor has a separate page. I asked what would happen if I sent her this unattainable information. She said the doctors would look over it and decide IF it is severe enough for them to evaluate and IF I’ve tried and failed other treatments and IF they decide I’m good/bad/whatever enough THEN she would call me to make an appointment.
Really? FUCK! I’ve been trying to take a shower for 4 hours now. It’s been 3 months of trying to get to a point of finding the damn neurologist, of accepting what the last one said and just saying FUCK IT. I DON’T CARE. (close my eyes) She may feel lovely in her rudeness behind a phone and made up rules, but she has no idea what she’s doing. WORDS MATTER. I want to give up now. But I can’t. I hate humans.
God has been all around me lately and on Tuesday He spoke this prayer. I was trying to think of a name for a Facebook group of my friends and words wafted through as I walked to the car. Then BITS came in. I wondered if it stood for something. I got “Blessed in the Struggle.” I like that. As I drove down the rather steep hill from my therapist’s office this prayer came to me, in lines and different colors. I finally pulled over to let it come through. I AM BITS.
I am BITS. I AM Blessed in the Struggle. I welcome His purifying pain. I release my need to understand. I submit my life to the Lord. Every piece I’m angry about, every care I hold, like each stone in the lake, I let go of. My pain was never mine to begin with. Jesus is mine. Please Lord, show me your way. Teach me how to read. Teach me how to be, free. BITS.