Identity

I always say this.  I always say how I haven't been on here in nearly a year.  Yes, I know, that gets old.  Being a working mother and putting Breck through physical therapy...it isn't easy.  I look at myself in the mirror and don't recognize myself.  The tired eyes and beginning fine lines, the fuller cheeks and jaw.  I never lost all of the baby weight, though I walked two-three miles a night at one point.  At least I only gained 30 lbs last time.  And right now, I have lost all the pregnancy weight from Ace.  But I'm not Kaylea Brooks.  I am Mom.

I remember when I had the epiphany that my mother was once her own person.  It shocked me that she had a personality, and to me seeing photos of her in her youth and reading what she wrote back then made me feel like I was experiencing some mythical creature akin to a unicorn.  Yes, I was that self-absorbed.  I believe most children believe their mom is just this thing that provides and makes things better...and that's all she is until they stumble upon her past.

My personality got lost in the babies and exhaustion.  There is a constant tumult around us, so the piano, writing, and running took a back seat.  So did the makeup and nice clothes.  Now I see that my selfishness is withering away, though slowly.  But the identity, well it's not so much there.

I think they call that depression, but I call it children.  I used to think my mom was terrible for not remembering all of the parts of our childhood, but now I get it.  Survival is the default mode.  Days and night meld together, and relationships fall to the wayside, as do pleasantries and societal norms I used to follow religiously.  Why?  Because I don't have time to care about anyone but my children, and on occasions when my husband is home, him too.  I don't have time for myself, let alone too many others.  Time is a precious commodity that I spend on few, but those I invest in, I try and give the best of me.  Not that there is much of me left.  And I have a few friends who understand this.  They're the golden ones.  One specifically who is just as busy, and when we finally get together we don't feel too guilty, because we know the other understands.  Life is a raging river, and you're always trying to grab on to something solid and stay there.   Why was I in such a hurry to grow up?  They were right.

So, these days, I want to write.  Some have said I have a talent.  Maybe I do.  I just write all my feelings when they well up.  I think brutal honesty is the key to being a great writer.  There is not much else to it.

Just Three Times Within Three Years

No big deal.

Sadness fills me lately.   I thought for just a moment I was good enough.  Or that maybe I could grow a job past the one year mark--a feat not done since college, by the way.  "Tired" is not accurate.  "Depressed" is too cold and concise.  Black, grey, cold, banished, abandoned, starving, weary, blue, bored, invisible, hellish...what words?  Can they explain anything I feel?  Not so.  If the earth swallowed me, I would be content.  Bury me under piles of earth, fold me and tuck me in.  Hide me from the light that burns and sears.  It cuts off what is inside, sealing it in until pressure mounts.  An implosion of the soul is a strangely beautiful thing, and I wonder what keeps my heart from doing so.

I do know that I am blessed.  I need not be reminded of my husband and child.  These blessings speak nothing of my failures, and they haunt me.  The lack of confidence must be off-putting to others.  Is there a mark on my forehead, like Ash Wednesday?  Do my eyes scream to you?  Do they say what I do not dare whisper?  Even when I'm alone, to whisper the devastation in my life is like feeding the Beast of Babylon from Revelations.  It's like sacrificing my own soul and welcoming an apocalyptic end.  I don't want to speak of it for fear of the floodgates that might open.  I suppose that my pride has grown to that point, and maybe I'm tired of admitting that every part of me is broken.  There are no longer shards of glass, or visible pieces of me.  These days, putting myself back together is like finding grains of sand blasted into oblivion in infinite space.  I don't even know where most of me is, and I was pretty sure I knew at one point.  Seconds and minutes change things.   So many things.  This is growth, the mass destruction of my soul.  Tear away, build back up, tear some more, build more.  Rip the suture, cut the flesh, over and over again just when new flesh was visible, albeit scarred.  When I enter into glory, I will be a scarred pathetic mess.  This is no different than most of the saints.

Am I a saint?  Surely not, but I wonder how they felt.  Were they this tired?  I doubt they were riddled with my selfish weaknesses.  I doubt they wallowed in self pity.  I get it.  Self pity is unattractive on many levels.  Right now though, I'm trying my best just to get up in the morning and breathe.  I know I am weak.  I see it when I let the despair shine through my eyes...I see how people look away or pat my shoulder.  Depression really makes people uncomfortable.  They just don't know what to say, so it's easier to hide in my house, under a blanket.  That way, I don't garner the small amount of pity that lasts just a minute.  This hole?  It's going to take more than surface words to mend.  This hole is a hole only God can close up.  Maybe He will leave it open for all my lifetime, and I will forever be condemned to the various salts in the wound.  But I don't want others to feel sorry for me.  I just want to be sorry for myself for little while.  Yeah, that's wrong, I know.  I am such a baby--I know I should be happy.  I should be.  Maybe if I smile long enough it will be true.  Just maybe.

Crying in My Hands

I didn't go to church yesterday morning.  The alarm went off and I felt like death.  Literally.  The windiness that brought the cold front also blew about allergens that kept me up sneezing and coughing all night.  It was worse than usual.  I think to myself that I don't want to spend the rest of my life being as miserable as my allergy-ridden father.  He had to take a shot every day, or every week--I don't remember exactly because I hate shots and wouldn't watch.  He is constantly congested and doesn't sleep well either.  We always joke that we can tell where he is in a crowd by the sound of him clearing his throat, which he does every minute or so.  My mother says that sound is comforting.  To me, it's the sound of misery.

I don't function well without sleep.  I have nightmares, so sleep doesn't come easily to me.  My allergies make it 20 times worse.  From early February's tree pollen to late November's weed pollen, I'm miserable 10 months out of the year.  If it's a warm winter like it was last year, then I'm miserable ALL year long.  Allergies can't compare to cancer, but they contribute to bronchitis (a sickness I struggled with when I was young), asthma, acid re-flux, and a poor immune system in general.  I drink eight to ten glasses of water a day. This keeps my mucus from being super thick, and it makes it a little easier.  I avoid ice cream and milk products, since they do the opposite of water.

Back in high school, I ran four to five miles during ragweed season.  How did I do that again?!  I ran this past weekend, and with the wind blowing everything around, I couldn't breathe.  My legs weren't hurting.  Heck, I wasn't even tired.  I just couldn't breathe.

How did I run two miles in 13 minutes?  With asthma?  I hate getting older.  It's becoming increasingly obvious how hard it is to keep up with things that used to be so easy.

After waking up at noon, I walked into the bathroom and looked at my red eyes.  I started picking at my face, messing with my eye brows--you know--doing all my little ticks.  Then I started crying.  Breck tried to understand why.  For a second I realized everything that I was struggling with--I would be dealing with it the rest of my life.  My OCD, the asthma, allergies, mania and excessive spending.  The weight crushed me.

I always thought I could conquer the things that ruled me in high school--but here I am, still dealing with them.  In fact, the emotional side of me is even more screwed up now then it was then.  I'm working on it--and I guess from what people tell me, I'm better, but I just don't believe it.  You know what I mean?  I feel like I am fooling everyone, and I really am just as bad as I always was.

With my health always in a limbo, my sleep pattern so jacked up...the physical exhaustion just piles on to my emotional mess.  I want to be more than this.  I want to be the girl my husband thinks I am.  I want to be that amazing and carefree--that beautiful.  Casting away all these problems and cares and throwing my  head back in a smile would be wonderful.  It's never that easy.

I hate the cyclic feelings.  I hate that I always end up here.  Tired.  

Keep on Smiling

I hate when weekends end.  Yes, that puts me in the 99th percentile of the entire earth, but I felt like saying it anyway.  I love lounging with Breck on the couch, watching TV shows all afternoon. I wanted to be unproductive this weekend.  I was in better spirits yesterday, but I'm depressed today.   I know, I know.  I am depressed everyday.

I hate feeling like a failure. Did I mention that I am the worst about hiding my emotions?

If you know me, you already know that.  I have to remind myself that I am not a slave to them.  It's easy to feel like a caged bird, so suffocated and starved of life.  It's days like this that I keep telling myself to be thankful for my life.  They say count your blessings.  Oh, and smile.

So here's to all my blessings.  I'm shaking off this grim feeling.  It's stupid.  I am independent, so I refuse to let my chemical imbalances control my life.  I refuse to let my circumstances break me.  Strength comes from the hard times and rough patches.  Strength comes from persevering.  My strength comes from knowing that God blesses me, even in my darkest days.  He keeps me pushing.  He doesn't let me sit here and mope, though I really wish I could.  The Invisible Hand pulls me up.

"Why are you down?"

"Well, God, you know I'm tired.  You know I'm a constant failure.  Sometimes I just want to give up.  I can barely keep my eyes open."

"Why are you tired?  What have you been doing that makes you tired?   You know, if you would rely on me then you wouldn't be so worn down."

"I don't know what I'm doing.  I think I'm doing what you want, but I'm not entirely sure."

"Stop thinking you can fix things.  You constantly push yourself to do what you're not made to do.  You're only exhausting yourself.  Try all you want, but you DO know that you're not going anywhere unless I want you to, right?"

"Yes...but where am I supposed to go?  What am I supposed to do?  What if I do too little?  I feel like I'm not doing enough, or I feel like I'm doing something wrong.  There's this constant guilt."

"I died to set you free from guilt.  Why are you letting it run your life?  I'm pretty sure that's my job."

"Yeah, I know...how do I get rid of that?"

"By actually believing I have this entire situation under control.  By seeing that this is my world--my galaxy.  I control your destiny.  Not you."

"Even when I fail?  Even when I'm everything I'm not supposed to be?  What if I'm unprepared?  What happens when I fall?"

"Stop worrying about it.  I'll guide you and help you.  I'll give you everything you need.  Nothing more, nothing less."

So, there's no clue about where this life is heading.  Only God knows.  So, I'm going to keep counting my blessings, in no particular order:

1.  God has given me a wonderful husband who knows all the bad parts of me, but loves me regardless.
2.  My parents and grandparents are men and women of God.  They are still married, despite hardships.
3.  My family is, for the majority, healthy.  I haven't had to deal with the loss of a family member yet.
4.  I have a job that pays well.
5.  This job has given me experience in computer programs like Adobe Creative Suite.  Awesome and relevant.
6.  I am able to connect with people on a deeper level with this job.
7.  I have siblings, and we are close.
8.  I'm not hungry.
9.  I have an abundance of clothing and material wealth.
10.  I am not sick nor do I have a disease.
11.  I have good friends who are there for me.
12.  I live in the US.
13.  I am allowed to practice my religion and speak about it freely.
14.  I belong to a church that preaches the Word of God faithfully.
15.  I have a group of people my age that go to my church, and they are awesome.
16.  I have a college education.
17.  I have a car.
18.  My car is paid off.
19.  I'm paying off my college loans ahead of time.
20.  I have two precious puppies.
21.  I am given enough money to bless and sponsor a child in Uganda.
22.  He reminds me that I have it pretty easy.
23.  No matter what has happened, I have survived it up to today, because of the grace of God.
24.  I am able to pay the bills.
25.  I know how to play the piano, and can write songs of my own...even if no one will ever hear them.
26.  I have access to the internet and countless amounts of information.
27.  I am able to vote for who I want to lead my country.
28.  I am blessed in about a million other ways, too.

 I'm tired today, but I'm going to smile.  Obviously, I have much to smile about.

Do You Keep Getting Up When You're Kicked Down?

I'm tired tonight.  Breck has tickets to see The Flaming Lips, but I'm too tired and the thought of the freezing cold wind that will be blowing at the outside arena isn't helping either.  I don't want to go anywhere.  In the face of inevitable uncertainty, I just want to hide under a rock.

So my employment situation isn't as secure as I thought.  I have a month to get my sales up.  Despite the fact we don't advertise at all, I have been trying to drum up business.  It's hard to do when you are on your own. I can tell people think I have a cushy job in a nice chair, just sitting here.  But it's not that easy trying to force people to buy into your product.  Voice mails, telephone calls, failed projects, passing out fliers at colleges...this is getting exhausting.  Add to that calling public schools and business associations--I'm just tired of getting turned down, or being forwarded to someone who doesn't answer.  Maybe it wasn't the greatest business idea for Oklahoma, or maybe it's just not in the right part of town.  I resent the fact that it's all on my shoulders.  If I knew that pushing for sales was going to be this hard, then I wouldn't have applied.  I wanted a job that didn't require sales/marketing.  I love formatting and designing books--don't get me wrong.  I love that part.  But it's very discouraging to see how this is all turning out, when I'm not sure where to go next or how to make it work.

We're supposed to go to some Halloween party later tonight too.  I don't really want to see anyone.  I just want to disappear for a while in the solitude of a warm blanket on a couch and watch The Office.  Is that awful of me?  

The Quiet Peace

I haven't written in quite a while.  For once,  busyness isn't the only reason.  I am also more at peace than I have been in my whole entire life; it's the kind of peace that drowns me and swallows me up whole.  I'm glad to have such a wonderful husband, and I'm happy with my job.  I'm happy with life, generally.  Every once in a while, I have a bout of depression, but it's been good lately.

I don't really know how to deal with the feeling of peace.  It's strange, yet pleasant.  I sit at home on the couch next to my husband, with my head on his shoulder.  I think in anger and stress I was missing out on life and so many other great things.  Breck's childish humor, cooking food without freaking out about how it looks or tastes, taking care of our crazy dogs... no matter what is going on, lately I can feel God's grace.  I don't have to plan everything.  I don't have to have the strength to make it through everyday.  That would be just me trying to do it all myself.  In the fight to be independent and handle my own problems, I forfeited marvelous grace.  I crumbled under the weight of all my problems and life itself.  I became so weak.  But there's something wonderful about knowing how weak I am, and that has taken the burden off of my shoulders.  It's such a wondrous feeling.

I love my life.  I love that I can trust Someone to handle my life for me.  I'm nothing but a conduit, and I need to stop letting myself get in the way of God's grace.  His grace heals everything I can't.  It carries me through things that I can't change, and yet in His power, it all changes.  I think mountains are moving now.

Fighting the Dog Days

I'm tired today.  Well, I'm tired every day, actually.  I started some new medication that's supposed to even out my newly diagnosed bipolar, but I don't think I'm bipolar.  Besides, the guy diagnosed me after only 30 minutes.  How could he know that after only 30 minutes?

I went to bed at 11 p.m. last night, woke up at 9 a.m.  I'm still dragging.  Ugh.  I hate this cloudy feeling.  I'm sooooo tired.

The heat here is thick.  It makes me not sleep very well.  I went and saw my grandparents this past weekend.  My grandfather has chest pains.  My grandmother's memory is slipping.  It's so strange watching them grow older, frailer.  Time keeps running on, and as I sat in their living room with them, I was trying so hard to hold on.  You might as well try grasping the air or holding the wind...it just flows right on through your fingers with little regard to anyone.  Time isn't biased, and it doesn't have an agenda.

Time is the only absolute thing in this world.  It's the only thing that doesn't change.   The seconds, the minutes, the hours, they all rush along in a perfectly straight line.  They move, never jolting out of place, flowing linearly outward toward the great beyond.  Only memories remain in our finite minds.  I keep grasping for the invisible.  I'm not ready for this part yet, can we please wait?  Time, please wait for me, just a few minutes.  Let me catch my breath.  Quit taking people from me.  I see your claws in them, and yes, it's only a matter of time...how ironic.  We never know when our day will come.  For some people, the end is more expected, but I don't think that makes death any easier.  And it isn't just a matter of death, it's a matter of losing innocence, losing health, losing friends to miles and spaces in between.  That's what time does; it takes away.  It doesn't give anything back, it just keeps on taking.

It's like an equation.  People all have their sums of days, more like their sums of life.  Certain sums are larger than others.  For some reason, I always feel like mine will be short.  No, I'm not talking about suicide.  I'm talking about my health, physically and mentally.  I feel like my days will be cut short,  but it's not a frightening thing.  All these pluses and minuses--there just seems to be more deductions than I think there should be.  When will I arrive at zero when there's nothing left?