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Drums, Pa, United States
My heart is on my sleeve and my soul is on paper. Please be kind to those around you, we are all glass.

The richness of sybolism

The richness of sybolism
Telling my story with no words

Monday, June 20, 2011

man down episode #2..the one where she's reminded to see things differently

Phew, it only went totally dark for a few days.  No flashlights just black, hopeless darkness.  All those who know and love me stand outside doing what makes them feel better thinking it makes me feel better and occasionally they are right.  It's not their fault just as much as it's not mine that they can't get it or fix it; that I can't feel my soul or even anything besides an empty shell of Kat...the cardboard cut out version.  
Kind of interesting to watch how they stand outside trying to raise me up.  Some yell and wave their arms, get frustrated  that they don't have the special mix to put me back together, some stand by quietly awkwardly shuffling feet and hands trying to think of something funny to say but not sure if it will make things worse.."will I make her crawl further into the darkness?"  Some insist on busyness, or eating or being "around", routine, getting out of bed, showering, making the bed, some live on the prayer of constant stroking...."way to go honey, you are still choosing to breath!!" and some rely on my promise to stay in the game, to fight, to stay here, to be me...for you.  
Any way they do it, they are always outside and their voices are always muted sounds coming out of exaggerated, cartoon like, open, slow mo mouths.  They feel bad they can't find the glue, i always have the glue...people should have glue for each other but there is no glue for me....there is time and sheer will.   Typing that sounds like a load of crap bc in the middle i feel i have no will but coming out the other side i see the dirt under my broken, bloodied fingernails from crawling out, that's the will i never give myself credit for.
So, I feel alive but muted and sort of slow and withdrawn but there is life inside.  
You want to know when I can really tell, THE actual moment??  When I'm on the toilet.  Just think about it, when you are in the BR on the toilet and it's just you (pretend you all don't take books or ipods in with you) and i evaluate if i feel alive yet, if i feel real yet, if I'm still cardboard, if there's still just emptiness.  
I was happy, no i was proud of my family and friends.  They are getting this now, they are really learning if they want to keep it real they are going to have roles and they are settling into this.  This is 1 reason I refuse to feel ashamed or keep quiet about this, this has to help someone else feel less alone.  I have my soldiers and they all stand in position when this man is down and I could not live without them...literally.  They are the reason i make it back.  My gratefulness brings me to a place of a small soap box.  Stop looking at the world like everything hates you or owes you something, stop being so damn angry, stop yelling, stop trying to outdo your neighbors hardships, successes or front gardens.  Use every opportunity to stop and i mean STOP, shut the efff up until you work it out in your mind and can spin it to a lesson or a blessin.  if you cant just shut up and try harder next time.
Back to actual happenings; I may, bc somehow i have mad tenacity, still have a shot with $$$ for school so...cool, whatever bc i adapt!  Also my first baby-girl Madison would have been 5 this week and I just watched "rabbit hole" with nicole kidman and it's about the aftermath of a couple whose son dies.  It was not a good choice for this time of me crawling out of my own blackness but i sobbed and imagined her watching me.  I wonder what she looks like and have an urge to turn this into creativity so i will write.
I am thankful for a soft couch, hot water, nice smelling soap and a family that truly loves me and a heart too big to fit in my chest.
Thanks to those who made it to the end of this, you are very caring :)

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