Do You See It?

Do you ever see pictures in the clouds?  Do you ever see shapes in the clouds?

I see it all the time.  Either I am crazy or there are perfectly created pictures in the clouds.  I love it!  I love seeing the pictures and shapes.  I find it fascinating.  If there is a way to a shape in a cloud, I think it’s amazing!

Every time I see a shape I just can’t believe my eyes.  It is so astonshing.  It is a marvelous sight!  I just love it!

I wish I wasn’t so tired all the time.  I am such a need of rest, but I can’t afford to rest.  My mind is hurting from the lack of – not just sleep, but rest.

Still, those clouds are amazing.

Writing, Where Are You?

I wrote a short story about the beginning of caring for my mom.  I looked for it today to reread and republish it here again.  However, like everything else in my life it has gone from me.  I thought I had kept a hard copy of it amongst my papers – it seems no is the answer.

I am heart-broken – again.

I want to scream and yell.  I want to cry myself sick.  I want to go on a bender (not really a bender just drink until I fall asleep).  There are only a few pieces I have written in my life.  The time, the energy, the creativity, the mind sweat, the vulnerability, the emotion of it all – GONE!  Like it never existed.  Like I never existed.  Like who I was before today – never happened.

For nearly five years I have lived in the same place, yet I have less than when I moved in.  I have less clothes, less possessions, less furnishings, less of everything.  It’s not about the things, but that’s what people do when they live somewhere – they make it a home.  They surround themselves with what they enjoy, what calms or excites them, or memories they’ve made.  But, even my memories are gone and missing too.  I have less memories than when I moved here.

Worse than a lack of things and possessions, I feel myself becoming dumber.  My mind is not expanding, becoming more knowledgable, or enlightened even.  My dyslexic mind which I’ve worked so hard all my life to learn things the way my mind works – to anticipate, to try to think faster than the next person just so I could keep up with the conversations and the world around me is simply gone.  As if I’ve been lobotomized.  As if both hemispheres are no longer communicating with each other.  Parts of my brain are gone entirely.

Who lives like this?  No one.  No one can live as if their life before today never happened.

I am just so devastated again.  My writing is not great, my grammar is not the best, I don’t follow or know all the writing/written formulas and so forth, but it was getting somewhere.  And, more than anything I did it for me.  I wrote because I decided to write.

This is what I found in my writing:

Just a note before I go.

It seems we don’t know how to end a day without arguing.  I know now why that is.  The time apart and separated from you cuts to the core of my soul with such an unhappy, unpleasant emptiness I find myself lashing out trying to be nearer to you.  For I do not truly exist when you are not by my side.  If today with grave cruelty came to be my last it is the heart of you I will hold onto for it can never be extinguished.  How grateful I am for every moment shared with you!  For the rest of the world is meaningless and pale while we are apart.

Til the end of time back again until the dawn of time.

I don’t even know who it was written for anymore.  I’m not sure I wrote it for anyone in particular.

I do know I held onto that belief of him, I believed was real.  Yet, these last few years have shown me it was not a shared belief.  Worse they were not real moments.

I would rather have died believing.


Left Of Me

I am just not the same anymore.

Who I used to be, who I wanted to be, the things I wanted to do and be in my life are all gone from me.

I used to be pretty – not in a traditional movie star or cover of a magazine sense – but, I used to be pretty from the inside out.  I see that now in photographs from my past.

I used to be overweight.  When I looked in the mirror I never understood the person who looked back at me because it never matched the image I held in my mind.  I may have been overweight, but I always saw myself – thin.

I used to have a light in my eyes.  My eyes used to be blue – a brilliant, bright Norwegian blue – just like everyone member of my father’s side of my family.  I’ve lost the color in my eyes they’ve turned dull and gray.  Perhaps it’s just health, malnutrition and stress.  Who knows, but my glow and lightness is gone.

It’s been years now.  My face is hard.  I hold my head like an animal defending itself from a never-ending attack.  My eyes hang and droop from an unspoken sadness unable to be shared or shaken from the heavy hurt.

It’s all-consuming.  I look uncomfortable in my own skin.  It feels as though I am wearing someone else’s overcoat so many sizes too large, unable to bend, and move, or breathe easy.

It is an unrecoverable loss.

Worse still, it feels as though the only reason for my existence is so other’s can watch me suffer.

I knew at my very best I have only ever been average, yet I still held a belief that there were things I could do without thinking.  Like breathing.  That belief that I held and could feel is gone.  Like an emotional landslide swept away.

I used to want to go to film school so I could write, direct, produce, and act in my own films because who else would hire me?  I had plans to go to FSU.  I even looked into going to a film school in Bath, England.

I used to dream of racing cars.

Nursing schools, visual merchandiser, buyer, masseuse, physical therapy, speech therapist the list goes on and on of vocations and directions I believed I could do well and should be my life.

The problem is I can no longer see a future, nor can I feel me anymore.

This is not a pity part.  I am not trying to be pathetic.  I am not looking for sympathy.  I guess, I am explaining.  I cannot be or play someone else’s idea of me and who they think I should be.

No one will ever be able to understand what it is like living this life on this side of me.  There is a great moat that surrounds and follows me wherever I go.  The distance it creates has deadend me from the inside.

Do you know that I used to feel a connection to man I used to know in college.  I believed it would always be there.  To my great humiliation it has been turned into something ugly, to something more than it ever was.  It has been used against me.  As if believing in someone you once knew is a crime.  The truth is we could barely speak to each other.  When we did speak it usually turned hostile and violent.  Yet, there were times when we looked at each other and the rest of the world ceased to exist.  There were moments filled with so much that I held onto them.

What I understand now from these last few years, I was merely projecting a want or belief that simply was never true.

Perhaps it is this loss of belief that has caused such decay in my soul.  Unfortunately, there is so much to my life’s story one answer is not all of it.

Perhaps it has been this constant theme of three numbers, of people I do not know and have been forced to choose.  This ongoing contest of men’s ego’s that has torn me to pieces.

I cannot stand ego.  Ego is such a turn off.  Constantly stroking a man’s ego while I’m barely able to live and manage my everyday.

I wish I had never been on the monorail that day.  I wish I had never had a conversation with that stranger.  I wish I had never seen him or talked to him after that day.  I wish I never had to see or hear from him ever again.

No one else has to wear my shame.  No one else feels my hurt.

No one else understands what this feels like.

I don’t know how to plan, or prepare my future when everything I’ve known, understood about myself is gone.  Not the same anymore.

I went to my mother’s funeral more than a year ago.  The truth about her death I still do not know.  Her death was kept a secret from me for years.  This is such an emotionally charged event (I don’t know how else to say it) I’ve gone numb, or perhaps I am still in shock.  More likely, I’m unable to react because the truth is still hidden from me.

Then a month later, I gave my cats to my brother believing he was going to take care of them.  I still remember the hurricane we had last year.  Getting supplies and waiting through the weather in this house, I still had them in my mind’s eye as if they were living it with me because I believed they were going to be returned to me.  Only to learn that my brother mislead me, and he did not take care of them.  The destruction of this news sent me over a sharp cliff.

Loss, and loss, and loss, and loss, after loss, and loss and loss.  Loss of even the smallest things is still a loss.

I don’t know how to end this post.

Day Off

It was one of the rare days in school where you do not have to listen to the teacher lecture, or read, or do work.  It was an afternoon of paints, plain craft paper, colored pencils and brushes.  Perhaps it was Fourth grade, no, it must have been Third grade when the teacher asked the class to create a picture.

I knew at once what picture I wanted to create…the first thing that came to my mind.  We had this great view in our dining room.  Considering it was a split-level tract home – which I’ve never thought split-levels to offer the best floor plan – it had a view for miles from the dining room.  I could see all the way to Mt. Hood from our dining room.  You could see Mt. Hood from nearly everywhere in our town thanks to its elevation.  I loved that mountain and looking at its splendor everyday.  It’s the only mountain in the U.S. that has snow year-round.

I can still see the classroom from that day the way the flourescent lights had to work extra hard on account of the overcast skies outside.  The room was a buzz with energy from us kids working away on our own.

The whole class ooh-ed and awed over one student (I can’t remember her name – how about I call her Sue) drew a most perfectly beautiful picture of a doll.  Sue had drawn a doll wearing a dress that looked just-so everyone including me was admiring her picture.  The teacher I believe, was the most impressed with her drawing.  Standing at her desk proclaiming how marvelous a picture she had drawn.  There was no denying it was a well-drawn picture of a doll.

When the teacher came to me she looked at my picture and asked, What is it a picture of?

I was so astonished it took me a second to respond – It’s Mt. Hood, I said completely deflated.  See the snow-capped mountain peaks and the trees on the mountain?!  The teacher looked at my painting with a blank look.  I imagined she preferred the pretty doll drawing.

That afternoon must have been just before winter break.  I handed in my painting with resignation.  My painting of Mt. Hood and the afternoon gone from my mind as it was made clear to me how unimpressive I was.

“Here you go”, my teacher said indifferently as she handed me back my painting that had now been framed.

It was the last day of school.  I was so surprised to see my painting again, as well as, how much it seemed my teacher did not want to give me my painting.  I think I must have said something along the lines of, What is it?

Well, it’s your picture you painted.  The frame shop choose your painting from the class.  It’s been hanging up in their shop all this time, didn’t you know?!

How could I have possibly known I’ve always wondered.

All these years later I still have my painting hanging on my wall as a reminder that even when your entire class – including yourself –  thinks someone else is better, it was my painting that was chosen.

It was only my painting that was chosen.