Since my daughter and her dog are allegedly leaving here and moving into their own apartment on Friday of this week, I have eased up on some rules. For instance, the dog was not allowed into this room, it’s door remained closed to him. On Thursday, I thought “why not cover the bed with a blanket and let him sit on that bed and look out the window?” So, I did, and he is happy to sit on that bed, looking out the window. I also let my daughter’s ex-husband stay here last night. I have never let one of her men stay here – including the father of her two children. This man I disliked without ever meeting him for years. He was her partner in crime when she was using. They were running and gunning together until he went to prison. He got sober in prison and remains so. I actually like him. That did not come naturally to me.
It came pretty naturally to me to leave this blog last week. I was tired of writing on it, I was tired of writing to the ether, with very little evidence that anyone was reading. Apparently there are a few more readers that I was aware. Another blogger gave me some perspective: we aren’t just anonymous anymore. We probably never were. But now it is clear that we leave an electronic trail, and it might be too scary to leave a comment. I have had some fantasies in the middle of the night that I’d be involved in an accident or some such thing and my entire life would be dredged up. I have produced enough electronic material to keep folks interested in me for a long dang time. It is probably risky behavior.
But I have been doing it for a long time. It has become part of my life, of who I am. The grind of posting daily is probably too much, but I don’t like not “having a blog.” And that is not exactly precise either, I probably don’t mind posting daily, I would just like someone to acknowledge that I am not posting into the ether. And I don’t take the time to write anything really “worthy” except on the weekends, and then I usually don’t feel like doing it.
Increasingly, I realize that what comes naturally to me is usually selfish. I write about “I,I,I,I,I, me,me,me,me,me….” I wish I didn’t think this way. I WORK to think differently, one would think it would become a habit, but it is not.
This morning, I sat and watched CNN for the first time in a long time. When I saw the extent of the typhoon damage in the Philippines, I began to worry about an old woman I sponsor there. Through a Catholic organization, I send a paltry sum of money every month, and she sends me letters thanking me for rice, vitamins, and medications. That little bit of money makes a major difference in her life. Frankly, I don’t even notice it because it is automatically deducted from my bank account monthly. She lives in a little hut with a dirt floor, and does laundry for her living (at the age of 75). I wouldn’t imagine a structure like that would have much of a chance against that storm. I think I found on their website that her little area has been destroyed, but all of the people are safe, to their knowledge.
I wish when I heard of a disaster in the Philippines I had thought of her first, but I didn’t. It didn’t come naturally.
I heard a story at a meeting yesterday from a young man who went from a Salvation Army guy – he spent a year there getting sober – to a man who is now 12 years sober and is a nurse practitioner. He was working in the trauma center. A man showed up, blue, not breathing. The whole team were there, my friend was on his chest, doing compressions, etc. The gurney was quickly wheeled through the waiting room, and a drunk woman who was waiting yelled “hey! how come he gets to go first?!?!” That might be the most perfect illustration of how an alcoholic’s brain works. And sometimes that doesn’t really get much better when we get sober, we just get better at not looking like such jackasses.
I went back through the blog to see what was happening a year ago. I was seriously fighting the urge to commit suicide. I was at the literal end of my rope. I hung on in the hope of getting back to work at the hospital. I should have been hospitalized, but I knew that would screw up my future chances at any job. Having spent most of my career at a psychiatric hospital, I know what to say or not to say when the decisions about hospitalization are being made. If I had it to do over, I think I would have let go of the rope and gotten the intensive help I needed. But then again, I would probably be sitting here writing about depression today from the perspective of being still in it if I had done that. Oh, who knows.
I know that I am glad that I wrote about it. I know that I adore the people who hung in there with me and left me comments. The comments are so kind. There was one exception, but he doesn’t even count. I was so isolated, this blog was like a lifeline to me.
So, that’s it. I’m back. I don’t know how often I will write, it could very well be daily, if you don’t mind reading about what I had for supper and the knitting I am doing. Can you indulge me in that?