Writing can be therapy, insanity or both. Here is my mind, my dreams, my fears, my thoughts, my life laid bare to share with you. Enjoy the journey into what is at once my blog, diary and world, and don't forget to tip your guide.
I am in the grocery store doing my regular shopping when it happens. I can feel it coming. There is no large fanfare or noise or even a whoosh. It is a slow build. It starts small most of the time. A little catch in my breath that makes my lungs contract quickly. Then it feels as if they forget how to work even though I can feel that they are just fine. Fine enough that is. A full, deep breath isn’t going to happen anytime soon without a lot of concentration and effort. Then the tingles start. They are spotty at first. A finger twitches then maybe a shoulder. Small enough that no one around me notices. They don’t always happen but they feel as if they may explode all over my body and throw me to the ground in convulsing heap. So, I move. I walk, but it isn’t my normal walk because at this point that is nearly impossible. I need to concentrate on this too. Move my foot. Good. Now the other one. Doing fine. No, the feet are supposed to come up off the ground. No looking like Frankenstein’s monster. No dragging the feet or shuffling. Oh, wait, stop walking. Am I still breathing? Yes? Good. Okay back to walking. What is my wrist doing? Why is it twitching my hand? Ok, the hands are under control. Back to the walking. Slow careful steps and look normal. Oh no. The next phase is here. Close the mouth. Close the mouth! Don’t let what is in your head get out. Keep the scream in! Bite the lips. That will work. Bite the lips but remember to breathe. The screams are in my head wanting to get out. I won’t let them so they send a noise to my ears instead. Now I feel distant from everything around me because I don’t hear any of it. I need to focus. Frozen foods. Good choice. Read labels. Walk slowly. Remember to breathe. Reading labels is a good thing. Make my mind concentrate on something other than the massive desire to scream. Doing good. Oh no. No not that. Please not that. Stop. Close eyes for a second and force myself to take a deep slow breath. Exhale out of the mouth in a slow steady even exhale. Good that stopped them. The tears try to sneak out all the time. They steal the breath and hide in the screams and attempt to sneak past when I am concentrating on the body. Sometimes I let them run free. But that is in the car or at home. Never in public. I can let the screams out when I am alone as well. And the twitches. I can shudder and shake and throw my hands around as much as I please in my own home. I can cry till my eyes are red and scream into pillows or while standing in the shower. But in public none of that is allowed. I won’t allow it. There are the looks. The stares. The sidelong glances. The mothers hurrying their children away from the lady who is acting odd. Now I am in the checkout line. I shift my feet and act impatient but it really is just keeping me from throwing my hands up in the air and running up and down the aisles. The idea of running wildly about waving my arms and screaming at the top of my lungs sounds so appealing that It makes me smile. Then there is that part of my brain that reminds me I cannot do that. So, I shift to the other foot and take a slow deep breath. I am standing in one place so I must do something to keep calm. Focus on something other than what I am feeling. No labels to read here. Good to know frozen food labels work. I have used the soup aisle in the past as well. The numbers game! That will do. Counting backwards from one hundred by threes. Ok, begin. Darn, I can’t do that yet. It is my turn to check out. Smile, nod an don’t throw the food. Place it smoothly and steadily on the conveyor belt. Can’t make eye contact or I may lose my concentration. Pay, smile and thank the cashier. Pick up my groceries. Got ahold of the bags? Yes, good. Now make it to the exit. Don’t run. Slow even steps but not too slow. Don’t swing the bags. Good. Out of the store. Begin the numbers game again. Walk to the car. Made it pretty far through the countdown. I may need to come up with another trick. Groceries in car. Close door, start car. OK, one indulgence. A major shudder is released and my shoulders shake and a noise comes out of my mouth. Not sure what to call the noise. Somewhere between a moan and a scream. That’s better. Safe to drive. I can concentrate to get home. It’s beginning to ease up now anyway. I think I will be ok shortly after I get home. Then I will be fine. Fine until the next one. Fine until I feel it coming on again. Fine until the next anxiety attack.
Hope and a Purpose
When a parent dies your world is turned upside down. That is what happened to me when my dad passed. He had been sick for a while and I helped him with his final arrangements. We cleared out the furniture and the belongings. It was a trying time for him, my sisters and myself. At the same time, we had to place my mother in a care facility to help with her Alzheimer’s.
I Dated Sam Heughan
It started when I saw the posts from Sam Heughan addressing bullying. I felt bad for him and could empathize. So, I took to Instagram and sent him a brief note of support. Then I got bored. What follows is me in my boredom. (All is in fun and meant solely for entertainment. I hope you enjoy this because I know he will never see it).
We Have All Time Traveled
You know that feeling of déjà vu? When something feels so familiar, you must have experienced it before? We have all felt it at some time or another. Sometimes it is a little thing like a place you have never been to seeming familiar. Other times it is a big thing where you hear someone speaking and you know what they will say and how you will answer because it is like watching a scene from a movie for a second time. We have all felt it and passed it off as just an odd occurrence. But what if it is something more happening? What if that sense of déjà vu is actually a sign of how the whole space time continuum works?
The Time Is Now
The ground is stained red with gallons of blood spilled daily. There is a stench of death lurking in the air. With giant blades men tear flesh from bone in an animalistic manner, slicing each piece into long strips of hide and blubber. This is the world of the whaling factory. The carcass of a sperm whale lies on its side as men tear away the blubber to use for oil. The mouth hangs open as if in a last heartfelt scream of agony before death consumed it. On this cold morning, the men are warmed by the heat rising from the carcass as they slice into it. When the cutting is over, the remains are hauled away to be used for such things as dog food.
The Waste of All I Have Created
It was early morning in that time between late winter and early spring. The time when there is a chill in the air in the morning and the small hint of new buds on trees in the late afternoon. When it feels like time has paused for a moment to catch its breath before venturing on and creating new life. New expectations and new hope. This was the time that the man arrived in the city. He had traveled from a faraway place because he had heard great stories of how this place had once been. He came to see if any of that beauty was left. And if it had gone, where had it gone and was there hope for its return?