Sunday, May 2, 2010

An Amen Post (For Lack Of A Better Title)

Sunday morning and here we are again. It got hot yesterday and humid- more our normal weather than what we have been having. There was supposedly a vote at the party on whether or not to turn on the air conditioning and finally, it did get turned on. Didn't matter much to me during the party but it surely felt wonderful for sleeping. We are wussies about the heat and humidity.

It's funny how that first turning-on of the AC changes everything about the smell and feel of where we live. And sound, too, of course. The beast of a unit makes its own bass growl and grind and when we sleep with the windows shut, I don't hear the sounds of the night birds, the crickets, the frogs. Just the hum of the fans I have trained on me for the inevitable hot flashes.
I always wonder how in the world the people who lived here before electricity managed to exist through the summers. They had no choice, I suppose, but I think of women my age who cooked with wood and who gardened in long skirts and sleeves, who had no bug spray or screens even, who had no running water!- how did they do it? I can barely contain myself and my misery as it is sometimes and I can wear shorts and tank tops, I have air conditioning and a refrigerator and a stove and running water. Oh, praise all that be for running water!
And I have medication.

This anxiety thing is a force to be reckoned with, I tell you. I have had my moments in the past few days of relief but they are more than balanced out with the moments and hours of this horrendous feeling of doom. I think I could honestly call it crushing and for those of you who have experienced it, I think you would agree and for those of you who have not, I doubt you could understand. I certainly couldn't until I became ill in this particular way. All around you can be the most perfect, wonderful day filled with so much love and so much joy and yet, here you are, walking around in this dark shadow place, unable to feel it, unable to participate. Well, you do participate, you hone your acting skills, you smile and you laugh and you go on with it the way you know it's supposed to be done but in doing so, you feel even crazier. But what are the options? If you go to your room, close the door, get in the bed, pull the covers up- you are still there with it or more precisely, it is with you. It IS you. Might as well stay in the light. Might as well.

It's funny. I saw a friend of mine in the old days go through this and I would try, over and over again to rebut his arguments of the myriad ways he was going to be suffering some sort of horrible fate but none of my logic did one damn thing to relieve him. I remember walking and walking endlessly with him because the anxiety strung his nerves to where he could not stay still and telling him over and over again that the IRS was NOT going to put him in jail. That he would NOT freeze in the winter, that...
Whatever.
None of it mattered.
His mind was telling him that everything, EVERYTHING was wrong.
I understand that now. One of the things that told me I had to get back on the antidepressant was the way I felt when I walked. I can't explain it but it's like the body just needs to push, and push and push, trying to get rid of some of the anxiety but it doesn't work. Maybe it helps. I don't know.

What I do know is that eventually the medication will truly take hold and that these feelings will dissipate and perhaps even entirely disappear. I hope so. I think they will.

I wonder if those people in the old days experienced this sort of illness. People have always gone insane and that's for sure. I feel certain that mental illness is as old as we have had brains. Hell, I look at my old dog and I know she suffers from a sort of dementia. It may not be just a human thing.

BUT- here we are in this twenty-first century world and I can't help but wonder if the way we live doesn't contribute to all this craziness. Instead of dealing with the problems that beset just us and our family and our communities, we are given the opportunity to know about and worry about so much more. Every thing that happens in the world that can cause grief, can cause worry, can cause anxiety- it's all here for the reading. Earthquakes and volcanoes, oil spills and car bombs. Not here, but somehow close because I know of it. And we don't have to wonder if we'll get enough rain for there to be enough beans to can for the winter. We don't have to worry about the foxes getting our chickens or the bears getting our pigs, thus opening our family up to starvation. No. We are worrying about things that ultimately we have no control over whatsoever and that, I think, is perhaps more crazy-making than anything.
Of course the farmer couldn't control the weather but he could, perhaps, water his beans. He could build stouter fences for his livestock, he could hunt and kill the marauding bear.

But I can't do a damn thing about the oil spill. I can't do anything at all about volcanoes or earthquakes or hundreds of thousands of injured and starving people but I know about them. It is all there, all of that terrible stuff- niggling my brain, telling me that all is doom. All is doom.

And I take all of that stuff and the way my brain processes it and I turn it into illogical and ridiculous worries about how I am fucking up on a daily basis, how I am not good enough as a wife, a mother, a friend. And logically, I know that I do the best I can but that's not what this sick part of my brain tells me.

Yeah, it's a booger. And I am going to ride it out and I am going to do my best and I am taking that medication and I am writing this here and I am sending it out so that if you, too, are struggling with this and are afraid- well- let me tell you that I am afraid too and that yet, I know, we'll manage. We'll survive. We won't always feel this way.

And that even in the midst of it, even as the buzz which radiates from the knot in the stomach tells me that something horrible is happening every moment, I can take heart in knowing that no, not really, it's not. That the sky is gray and it's windy but that's okay. This is no killing storm heading my way, it is merely weather. I can know that my daughter and my mother, too, had good birthdays and that I had something to do with that. That even in this state, I can help make things better here, for my own. That I can give Owen a bottle, that I can fix a nice salad, that I can bake some fine cakes, that I can write a pretty card, that I can say, "I love you," and mean it with all of my heart.

I can look around at my family and the friends who are family too and I can know that this is what's important. This is what matters.
The rest, this other stuff- just weather. Just feelings.

Not to say that weather can't be destructive, not to say that feelings don't matter. That would be a lie. But to say that sometimes, mostly in fact, they are just passing events bringing what they will and if we hang on, if we hang in, they will change.

Tend the garden, tend the chickens, tend my tiny world. That's what is before me and that is what I will do and the moments of relief will become hours and then days and oh Lord, won't that be fine?

I wish that for you, too, if you are suffering. I am telling you again that you are not alone, no matter how alone it is you feel.

I wish this were a more cheerful post but it's not and I am not one of those bloggers who is eternally upbeat or funny or cheerful or enlightening or grateful or timely. I am merely me, and even as I know I am the luckiest woman in the world, I know that to be honest, I struggle mightily and that's just the truth and I know you do too. Maybe not in the same way I do, but every one of us does in some way, struggle daily.

And we need to take comfort in the fact that we go on and we do our best while we wait for the weather to change or for ourselves to change or to change ourselves. Whatever.
We do our best.

And we turn on the AC when the heat gets unbearable and we are grateful for that comfort, that coolness. I remember when I was living in a trailer, a tin can of a house, and it got so hot and my ex-husband and I went to the second-hand appliance store and bought a rattly, noisy used window unit and we put it in the window of our bedroom and we turned it on and we were stunned with the sweet, frigid air that it pumped into our house, the way it cooled our sheets, our brows, our very blood. And we felt guilty about that, too, being the good hippies we were.
I laugh at that guilt now.
And I take that memory as a lesson. Do what you can to get through this life, especially the hot eternal nights. And don't feel guilty. Your suffering does not alleviate anyone else's.
Do the best you can but don't suffer if you don't have to.

Amen.

28 comments:

  1. Ah, thanks Ms Moon.
    I needed every single word.
    I especially like the comparison to weather. And the way you talk about not going back to bed, because the feeling would still be there. Lots of wise words here for me to remember and practice.
    Thanks for writing this all out, thinking it out with us.
    Means the world to me.
    You will feel better soon, soon soon. And so will I.
    Love,
    Bethany

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  2. Dear Sweet Mary Moon - Thanks for talking to us through this hard stage. Many words of wisdom within this post. I especially relate to: "The rest, this other stuff- just weather. Just feelings...they are just passing events bringing what they will and if we hang on, if we hang in, they will change."

    No one can talk wisdom to you like you do, M.
    And you, too, B.

    Love you! N2

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  3. "All around you can be the most perfect, wonderful day filled with so much love and so much joy and yet, here you are, walking around in this dark shadow place, unable to feel it, unable to participate. "

    This is exactly how I felt last week. I'm sure it will all sneak up on me again when the doctor calls with the results. I feel okay now, but if the news is bad...........

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  4. And here's another one who needs to hear these words just now. I'm sorry it didn't last. But I'm glad you realise it's coming again. x

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  5. I wonder if you had my brain for today... Except you can write it out and it makes sense. I can't.
    You put the finger right there where it hurts: there is so much far suffering going on, and there is not a thing we can do about it. And that is scary...
    At times, not knowing can be a blessing.
    Try to find your pink cloud back, and when you see mine, send her to me...
    Thanks for writing it all down! Fab stuff, that writing of yours...

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  6. The nights aren't so bad.
    I can drink and drug myself to sleep. It's the days, especially weekend days (or any days without structure) that are the problem...

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  7. Amen to all your remarks about suffering.
    Perhaps the networking that has come into being through the so aptly named "web"-- and especially the creativity and intimacy of blogging-- is a quite necessary corollary, a psychic counterweight, to the almost instant awareness of disasters as they occur worldwide. When I was a kid, we learned how to group ourselves around a prone friend and actually lift him or her right up off the ground, easily, with each of us using only our fingertips to bear the weight. It surprised us every time. Though I live with a lot of my own darkness and terror, especially for the future of a severely handicapped daughter, when I read your blog and others, a sense arises of individuals all over the world dancing in place with hands extended. Rebecca, I hope the test results are good. And Ms Moon,
    may the moments of relief expand to days very soon.

    A.

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  8. thought about you the last couple fo days, i know the oil spill is probably not really close to you but still..it must hurt...you just keep watering your peas and your veggies...take care of your loved ones...another horrible event that makes me BOGGLE at the weight of the modern industrial world, where anything goes in the name of progress and moneymaking.

    i have this idea that in 100 years time historians will be trawling thru comments and blogs from now...at the great height of technology..before the crash, which Im sure will come, when it'll be so expensive to hook onto the the net that few people will have the means...to see what we were saying...about how the greater forces of industry affected the 'little people"

    a ten, fifteen, twenty year ? window into social reality...

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  9. I love this post -- all of it and want to say so much in response. I don't know what the sort of depression that you describe is personally, but I have a little sister who has suffered it her whole life so I have a tiny understanding of it and I am grateful that you have something to help you with it.

    I think your hypothesis about the endless suffering and worries of the world and our accessibility to that knowledge is so interesting -- I've often wondered whether having basic survival worries would cancel out the other, more abstract stuff. I like, especially, what you said about control -- how we can't control those things that hang over us and threaten our sanity (oil spills, etc.) but what we can control is what matters.

    And I really loved your air-conditioning story and the admonition "your suffering does not alleviate anyone else's." I love that.

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  10. You so brave to talk about these feelings. I found a lot of comfort in how quickly I related so closely. Thank you.

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  11. If you were eternally upbeat, I would never read ;)

    No suffering. For either of us.

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  12. Amen, indeed. Amen, sister.

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  13. Bethany- We will survive. Phew. I know we will.

    N2- I may sound wise, but in my heart, I don't feel so wise. But thank-you for all the sweet love and wishes.

    Rebecca- You did good today. You got outside with the kidlings. Hang in there, baby.

    Mwa- Comes and goes. Here's to it going and being gone.

    Photocat- Hmmm. I am not sure I am a pink cloud sort of person. I think I am more of a black dirt sort of person. I need to feel myself grounded. But I know what you mean and I appreciate what you said.

    Lucy- I am so sorry to hear that you still suffer. Dang, girl. I miss you.

    A- My friends and I were not so talented. But I know what you are talking about. I hope that it is true.

    Screamish- Do you think? I wonder if what we write here will be present at all. And if it's not- that's okay with me.

    Elizabeth- It goes against what we are taught, but still, I think it is true- we do no one any good at all with our suffering.

    Angelika- Oh, baby. I'm sorry you can relate. I truly am.

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  14. Sometimes you just blow my mind. I know exactly what you mean, and I've thought many of these same things myself. I wonder too, about chopping wood, hauling water, sewing my own clogthes, growing my own food - having more pressing needs consume my day, if I would be less worried about everything. Lack of control is what unhinges me every time. That oil spill is making me crazy, as I spent my younger days helping to clean up things like that, and they can be so devestating. Men and their machines do not ever think they will fuck up, but they always do, or mother nature does it for them. Shit always happens.
    My sister and I have had several conversations about me trying to explain to her menopause or depression, but she was younger and not there yet and she tried to understand, but now that she is older and bending under the weight of hormone and emotional baggage, she is amazed that you can't get it until you live it. Kind of like bearing children. You only think you know.
    Well, stay busy, Ms. Moon, try to rest and keep hugging everybody who loves you. And all we can do about the weather is keep an eye out and be prepared. If the world as we know it ended tomorrow, you and Mr. Moon would land right on your feet, because you know how to live, and grow food and take care of things, especially each other.
    Thanks for talking about the scary stuff, it's very brave and kind of you. Hugs.

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  15. SJ- If I were eternally upbeat, I would not be the woman that I am. To misquote a Lyle Lovett song.

    E- So. You too?

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  16. Mel- We are doing what we can, aren't we? And yet, our brains and the media tell us that it's not enough.
    We need to tell our brains differently. And see if that works.

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  17. I HEAR YOU MS. MOON

    xoxoxo
    michelle

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  18. Thinking of you, Mary, hoping for light and peace. Soon.

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  19. I have spent my entire life watching my mother go through the same cycles you describe; trying to understand and praying, begging, pleading with the universe to not have to suffer the same fate. So far, going okay.

    I know things will straighten out for you but I'm sending good thoughts and hoping it will be soon. Hugs to you.

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  20. I understand all of this. I don't have crushing depression but my brain can come alive and get into that "do loop" of crazy thinking if I let it run wild. I rein it in and use the tools that I've learned in Al-Anon. Life is much easier these days in my immediate vicinity but the craziness and sadness of the world is often too much. I know that I am powerless over the oil that is slinking towards the marshes, yet I want to do something to help. I feel compelled to do something to make it right, to do my part to "fix" it. Sigh...that will wear me out and has in the past. So I do those things that I can do and hopefully have the wisdom to recognize that there are many windmills that I can't joust at.

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  21. Michelle- Love you, sweet Michelle.

    Kathleen Scott- Thank-you so much.

    Mel's Way- And we do not always bear our mother's burdens. Perhaps you will take after your father's side of the family in this regard. I hope so.

    Syd- We all want to do something, don't we? And hell, they can't even stop the gushing.

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  22. I am sorry you have been struggling so.

    You are loved.

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  23. Ms. Bastard-Beloved- I am okay. I swear. Thank-you, sweet woman.

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  24. Thank you for this.

    I love you for this.

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  25. I, too, thank you for writing about the hard stuff. Sometimes the weight of the world just about does me in ~ I can't even read about the oil spill, it's just too unfathomable, my heart just can't handle it at all. But I love your perspectives on life and so admire your striving to make sense of it all and enlighten us along the way.

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  26. Thank you, Miss Moon. Often it's more helpful to say it than hide it. Sometimes I feel I've been saying it so long that I should just not saying anything at all, if I can't say something nice.
    (So my blog is silent.) But hey, we have medication and beautiful lives.

    Namaste.

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  27. Dear Ms. Beautiful Moon,
    I know what you mean, and believe you to be the strongest and bravest of us for talking about it, facing it down, staring it back, helping us all. I love you.

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  28. Stephanie- You are so dear. Thank-you.

    Lulumarie- I am holding you tenderly in my heart.

    Just.Kate- I understand. But I miss your voice.

    Angie C- Hell. I'm just compelled. It's embarrassing sometimes.

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Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.