Emotional Healing. Child of an alcoholic. Young adult depression. Inspiration.

I was once told by a wise woman that emotions are a strong force to be reckoned with. They breathe their own life and have their own destructive force. If one does not allow their emotions both happy and sad to escape and feel acknowledged, they will eat away at the life they live in. My journey in life has been a road filled with many peaks of happiness and many valleys of depression. But through it all I have held those words of wisdom with me. I have always found it easy to release my anguish, my depression, my sadness, and my happiness to those around me who love me and to my best friends “pad and paper.”

With this blog I hope to inspire others to write their emotions on paper, let the forgiving page hear all the words of hurt, pain, contentment, joy. With this blog I hope to inspire myself to forgive all that hurts in my life, to let go of old grudges and to grow, from the inside out.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Kinship of Kindness

For as long as I can remember my dad has never had someone that he could have considered a friend. He’s an introverted man, a man who likes to keep to himself, and who has always seemed content watching his Basketball games or perhaps reading a book. I believe my dad may have felt that others couldn’t satiate his intellectual pallet, and regrettably due to this closed many doors.  But, like so many things in life, that was just one fading and worn facet of my dad. I was never able to see the social part of him, the part that likes to interact with others or enjoys a conversation about something other than music or sports. I never knew that part of John existed. And I was naïve to think that my dad was, for lack of a better word, a “loner”. “No man is an island unto himself.” And my dad is no different.
It wasn’t until I visited my dad in rehab recently, that I finally got to see that part of him that loves to have people around. It may sound cliché, but it brought tears to my eyes. My dad was so happy to talk and to interact with those men who are all fighting their own demons and fighting for their second chance. Those men carry the very same demons that my father possess’, and those men are my dad’s friends.

“My dad has friends.” I don’t think I can express how good it is to say that.

These are a group of extraordinary men who all have their own unique stories to tell, and whose paths in their lives have brought them all together. In a selfish way, I am so happy that their lives have led them here, because without them, I don’t know if I would have ever seen my dad as happy as he was. He’s now become part of a brotherhood, a brotherhood of recovery.
From this visit I believe my dad is starting to teach me life lessons once again. I take after my dad, in judging others too swiftly, and in alienating myself because I feel they may be inferior, or that maybe I might be inferior. My dad has genuine friends now, friends he wouldn’t have if he didn’t take down his fences and allow them into his life. Friends who when they knew my mom and I were visiting him, all came in to wish him luck, and even gave him shoes so he’d look nice. It really makes me wonder how many doors I’ve shut due to my own insecurities. I’m now vowing to take after my dad, let down my walls, and enter into the kinship of kindness.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Just one Journey

“Imagine all the people living life in peace.” At some point or another we’ve all heard those words sung by music legend John Lennon in his iconic song Imagine. And there are those of us out there that have dissected the words and turned this song into an anthem for peace. I’m guilty of doing it; imagining a life where people are equal, there are no wars, no bullying, no hate or discrimination. And I’m guilty of thinking the only way to do this is for people to love each other, hold hands and sing Kumbaya. But this way of thinking and trying to live life hasn’t worked so far. The Quakers tried, The Hare Krishnas have attempted it, and most notably the Hippies have created entire movements for it, and despite all the efforts people are still bullied, entire races are considered sub par, women earn less for the same jobs and people in love aren’t allowed to marry. Despite everything every inner hippie has tried to do, we’ve been unable to change the world, and I think I’ve figured it out.
            We’ve all worried too much about the world. We’ve felt that we are the world and we need to change it to make life peaceful. And I must admit, I feel that may the wrong way to look at it.
I commit to this new way of thinking. I am the world and I need to change my world to make my life peaceful. If I can stand up for my rights, and help myself than I have a better chance of creating a greater more peaceful world around me. And in turn if we all are responsible for our own lives than we will no longer have to simply imagine all the people living life in peace, we will actually have the opportunity to see it happen.
            So I ask you to try improving one part of yourself. Make yourself happy first, and then see what a difference it makes in the lives of those around you.

Ignoscency & Insipience

Have you ever had one of those days or weeks where nothing felt right? That was my past week. I didn't feel like me. There was so much running around in my head. My worries and concerns for what was to come and my insecurities for what was happening. I ignored my own words of wisdom and internalized what I felt, cause that's what I know how to do best, and I shut down. I didn't write, I didn't talk, I just sat like a couch potato and did nothing. And that's not okay. I know I have to let out what I'm feeling otherwise I spiral into a place that no one should be. And so I say sorry to you and sorry to myself. For not allowing myself the pleasure releasing everything I was feeling. This is a journey I am traveling on and I hope you can forgive me for when I travel down the wrong road, and have faith in me that I will find my way back. So here I go again, my journey awaits.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Holy Halloween

The warm winds are beginning to blow. And scary faced jack-o-lanterns are adorning porches all over the country. When I was younger this was my favorite time of the year. My mom would make me my costumes, more often than not I wanted to be a cat. My dad and I would decorate our house, one year we even decorated while we were angry at each other. And it was tradition to carve pumpkins the night before Halloween.
When I was younger I looked forward to seeing decorated houses and Halloween stores sprout up like weeds in abandoned store fronts. And I wish I could say that I still did. But this Halloween hasn’t been the fun and games I remembered from my childhood. It’s hard for me to see the jack-o-lanterns lit, and witches crossing signs leading up to doors adorned with fake cobwebs. Halloween has always been a holiday for my dad and I. But this year he isn’t here.
My dad is in rehab, and I am so happy for him to finally be putting himself where he needs to be. But there is a part of me that is so angry and so sad for the mere fact that he isn’t here to help me decorate our house. I know that if he had a choice, he would be here helping me hang our pumpkin lights and making sure that the house looks just the perfect mix of scary and welcoming. I wish my dad could be here to help me. But like I said, I know he’s where he needs to be.
So I’m going to put on my big girl panties and decorate this place, just like my dad would like. Ill push through the sadness and of course I’ll mourn the passing of a holiday with out him, but Ill celebrate it like he were here.

                  Happy Halloween

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Good Grief

Good Grief, does that not seem like a picture perfect definition for an oxymoron? Upon first hearing such a phrase I immediately think, how can grief be good? Grieving is sorrow, heartache, and anguish. Good is superior, excellent, outstanding even. To force these two words together seems a stretch of the imagination. I don’t remember feeling outstanding when my heart was broken for the first time, and my grieving tears fell upon the broke pieces. I can’t recall feeling great when I was overcome by sadness when my grandmother passed away.  
However upon sitting at my computer and really thinking about the phrase so commonly used in ‘The Peanuts’ comic strip I began to realize that this saying is actually in no way an oxymoron. It makes perfect sense.   Grieving is a personal process. A journey in which we allow ourselves to feel our emotions, a moment in time that we give ourselves to sit in our rooms with Ben and Jerry in tow and let our feelings flow over us like a blanket, and then melt away like our uneaten ice cream.
Through grieving we release our pain, and those emotions that we didn’t even know we had. If you’ve been lucky enough to love, you too will experience this voyage. However you have the power to realize that it doesn’t have to be this depressing experience, you can allow yourself to have a pity party and feel sad, because in essence that is what grieving is, but grow from it. Don’t let the seed of sadness create cheerless flowers; instead allow them to blossom into a beautiful bouquet.

And remember if you are going to have a pity party, bring your chips and dip.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Forever Fine, Finally Fabulous

“How are you doing?” This is a simple question asked millions of times every day by thousands of people all over the world; and chances are, the majority of the answers are simply stated as, “Fine.” As for myself, it is almost the only answer I know how to give. If you look up fine in the dictionary the most basic definition is given as, very well. But unfortunately I have to think that every time someone says that they are simply doing fine, they surely don’t mean that they are doing very well.
            Why is it that we can’t say how we are truly feeling? Why after a bad day at work when asked how I am doing, I can’t say that I’m not doing well. That I’m frustrated with work, that I’m anything but fine. Instead I bury my feelings, my frustrations, and my irritations. Letting them fester inside me like a bad “ju ju” soup.
            From now on, I say we all start a movement. A movement to be truthful with ourselves and to those we encounter. At least once a day to whomever is asking, tell them, how you truly feel. What you truly are. If the girl at the checkout counter asks how you’re doing today, and it’s been a sub-par day, then tell her. Maybe put a positive spin on it, so she doesn’t think you’re a little crazy. Instead of saying, “My day sucks”. Say that “It’s been a rough day, but the weather is nice outside, and that I’m sure it’ll turn around.” Hopefully by allowing those small feelings to escape and by adding positivity to them, we can stop walking around with our bad “ju ju” in us. And hopefully one day when we are asked how we are doing and we say fine, we can actually mean it.              
Please feel free to share your moments of a day of being just “fine”, or if you happen to try to let someone, anyone know how you’ve really been feeling lately, feel free to share that experience as well.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Eternal Echoes

It is said that our cells and genes have memories. That while we are being created and our parent’s genes are combining to generate our one of a kind person, not only are they passing us their physical traits, but also their emotional. We are now discovering that we are more like our parents then ever and not just the typical “you have your mom’s nose or your dad’s eyes.” Rather those small quirks, those fears, insecurities or things that brought them joy, that are being passed along with the same genes that are shaping our eye color, or the size of our feet.
 As a child I would willing place myself in time out, because I didn’t do as my mom told me, or I did what I wasn’t supposed to do. I would ground myself or restrict myself from things that I loved to do. My family all laughs at this now, and they did then too, but realizing where this may have come from adds a new level of complexity to my life.
My self punishment and  my overdramatic nature, didn’t come upon because I watched to much T.V. or because I was competing for attention from another sibling (I’m an only child). And although it is a sight to see and a story to be told of the young girl who puts herself in time out, to realize the meaning and the story that it all stems from seems a much more serious matter.
I have been battling with my father’s demons in my own body for years, growing up my father had told me of how his dad had been hard on him. How he never felt that he was good enough for him. I wonder now if my feelings of always being in trouble are because my dad felt that he could do no right in his father’s eyes.  Is this why I always penalized myself even if it was unprompted? Could this be the reason behind so many fits of angst and anxiety?  In a strange way I feel more connected to my dad now, knowing that this insecurity we both share is something we can both battle together, and overcome. It is an interesting premise and one that I would ask everyone to think about. How many of your personality characteristics have come from memories that your parents cells have given you?

Monday, October 4, 2010

Desultory Dreams & Demiurge Desires

My mind is flooded with images that flow through me like a movie reel. A silver canister of random depictions, where one has nothing to do with the next, as accidental as a lamp post and a shooting star. They are each unique to themselves. But their own individuality doesn't make them any less interesting. Each of my matchless thoughts are strung together like beads of a necklace. The only thing that keeps the beads from letting gravity take hold and bring the crashing to the floor is the string they are on. Much like the only reason these incomparable ideas are appearing is because of me. I am the string that holds these metaphors together. A beautiful idea, that no matter how different one may be to another they are still connected. A hopeful idea that no matter how alone one may feel they are still linked to everyone else, like beads on a necklace or images in my mind.