April 2nd, 2010

My niece Elizabeth is deadly afraid of me and I don't know why. You'd think that being her godmother would automatically put me on her good side, but apparently not. I never saw her cling to Caroline with more fear for her life- she was looking death in the face. I finally managed to carry her down into the basement where the Wiggles were dancing across the TV screen. Caroline plopped down in the little Cabbage Patch Kid's bean bag chair I gave Emma for Christmas a few years ago and Elizabeth managed to curl up in her older sister's lap, afraid to take her eyes off of me in case I made a sudden move. She fell asleep as the Australian quartet danced a waltz and I attempted to pick her up and carry her upstairs. I failed; she woke up and screamed her lungs out. She fell asleep a second time and woke up screaming when I touched her again. Finally, when they both fell asleep, I managed to carry the youngest up both flights of stairs, careful not to breathe too heavily. She woke up briefly when I lowered her body onto the mattress, but she fell back to sleep after I wound up her snow globe/ music player a couple of times. Caroline was much easier to handle, limp as a sack of flour as I carried her up the steps and lowered her onto her bed. I went on Facebook for a bit before I heard Elizabeth squeaking. I tried the snow globe technique again, but she wouldn't have it. She climbed out of bed and walked to the top of the stairs, where she stood transfixed although she continued to wail away. I tried talking to her and noticed that her hair was askew. Since you can always count on Marnee to have things lying around her house, I found a pack of hair clips on the top steps and selected a blue one to put in Elizabeth's hair. She actually let me touch her head, which was the big turning-point of the night. I kept putting those clips in her hair until I ran out, and, being a year old with only so much hair on her head, she looked kind of ridiculous. I started to pull some out, but she kept pointing to them. I put them back in her hair and when she started crying again, I found more. They were everywhere. I carried her downstairs and she started to cry again, but we couldn't stay up there forever. I found at least three more clips or barrettes to put in her hair and they seemed to magically materialize whenever she started to bawl. When Marnee walked in, I had to explain her daughter's new do.

January 10th, 2010

I went to sleep last night feeling wonderful. Not a wonderful like "I just did something totally marvelous that no one on Earth could surpass it in excellence if they tried to do it with the most powerful political, cultural, and spiritual figures on their side," but wonderful because I just discovered that I am not special and no one is. This information might come across as pessimistic and contrary to what we've been taught by public television and child psychologists, but there is no doubt in my mind that it's the truth. "Special" is a term that never agreed with me since before I knew the real meaning as defined by Marianne Williamson- "different". I once thought of myself as someone special because I let other people inadvertently convince me of this. But now I realize that I am not better or worse than anyone else- we are all equal with equal worth and equal potential.

"Remember that you are unique just like everyone else!"- plaque

March 11th, 2010

  The SPOTS troop performed two skits for the Comfrey junior high today, and the responses were very reserved. I knew that seventh and eighth graders wouldn't raise their hands to ask questions about anorexia and depression even if we bribed them with Tootsie Rolls. They're at that age where they know all the routes to becoming the subjects of condemnation. Saying anything, either reluctantly or with confidence, is like asking for attention. The goal of so many 13 or 14-year-old is to let no one else know that they need love. They think that by being quiet, they are strong. That's how I lied to myself during those years. I convinced myself that I could fight my own battles when all I did was hide in a hole.
  Depression is a hard thing to classify, a hard thing to talk about, and a hard cross to bear. It's hard to admit it, and people tend to find things that make them more comfortable with the problem. Instead of breaking free, they decorate the cages.
  There are three levels to every person: there is the light, the darkness that shuts out the light, and the pictures they draw on the dark canvas to cover it up because they think that that's what they're supposed to do. Cover it up. Don't look at the dark tunnel because there's no end. It just gets deeper and deeper, and then you lose yourself completely and you might actually get to the point where you abide in this darkness because a small part of you knows that the light is coming and it scares you. Light can blind you. It can burn you. But it can also help you see what was lost in the darkness. It can warm you, guide you, and show you everything real. In the darkness, you're stuck imagining what's around you. You fall asleep, you're caged, and you don't know who you are or what you're doing. And then there's the surface. The false smiles, the defense mechanisms, the medications, the psychologists. Your facade falls to pieces and that's when darkness comes into play. The common mistake people make is that a person needs to cope with the darkness by painting over it. What people don't realize is that the pitch black room one might abide in is a cover itself. There is light, which can't cover anything. It can only enhance everything real. I wish everyone knew this; I wish I could show this to people in a way that will make them suddenly wake up and find this light that leads to God.

August 1st, 2010

I had a thought last night that went like this: think less and do more. I've decided that no thought is real until you do something with it- say it out loud, write it down, use it for inspiration of some sort. Make sure no thought is left behind. So here I am, about to present my thoughts on paper. I love my life. I love my friends, I love summer, and I love myself enough that I can surely say that I am stable. I am at peace with the past and recognize that only the present is relevant because the future doesn't exist and never will exist because once it's here, it's not the future but the present. Also, the more you live in the present, the more you accomplish because you're not in a hurry to get on to something else. I should have known this my whole life, for a poster hangs on my wall that heralds the message:

"Enjoying. Paying attention. No hurry to get on to something more important. Whatever we are doing is important, experiencing each moment along the way. Time is a gift."

Who would have thought that the answer was right in front of me all along?

I just simply must express how wonderful my life is no matter where I look as long as beauty is in my eye and my mind is wide open. It's too the point where it's too much and I'm left with no choice but to take everything in pieces. I wish I'd seen the value of people so much more in high school; I wish I'd dared to laugh louder and harder and taken more risks, befriended people who I wanted to befriend without caring about what people thought. But God kept giving me more and more chances and just look at all He's given me! I am so grateful that it almost moves me to tears if I dare to think about how much my life has improved. I am at peace.