Forgive, Live and Love

I’ve been thinking and praying.

To start with, I feel like I am a funny, intelligent, loyal, decent human being. I feel like I’m a good mom and wife, though I know that like most of us, I could improve. I’m a good friend. I think I’m a good daughter, even though that’s been a long, rocky relationship.

That word I just used, though. “Rocky.” I was thinking tonight and wondering why I have a few of those rocky relationships that don’t seem to get resolved over time. Problems begin that are not necessarily huge, outlandish arguments that completely sever ties, but are powerful enough to cause a lot of mixed emotions that just compound over time. We go along weary of saying something wrong to each other and causing hurt feelings, but then because we’re not talking, our feelings are hurt in that way.

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I think what I’ve figured out is this. I don’t kindly, yet firmly, insist that when the initial problem arises, that is fully and completely settled then and there. Now of course, not 100% of a misunderstandings will be settled and put to bed at the immediate onset. Time is needed to think and settle, and both parties have to be willing to sit down and speak to one another from the heart. Instead of years worth of misunderstandings, avoiding the other, blaming the other, and/or blaming myself, it is my hope in the future to settle things early on, instead of trying to just get out of dodge when it first comes up, with mixed emotions flying all around me, and nothing truly being put to bed with peace and forgiveness found.

In the beginning, when I try to duck and hide, I say some stuff I want to say, though probably not in the best manner, and honestly afterward, I more often than not run away. There is no closure.

Now, I am a big believer in how receptive the person on the other end of the line is, depending on what I choose to say and how I choose to say it. However, if things aren’t settled sooner rather than later, bad memories/thoughts come to the surface any old time they want to, and I experience the same sadness I did when it all first took place.

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I need to put my heart on the line in the beginning, ask how I can better our relationship, and share what I need as well. I need to discuss and sort, with respect to what each person can handle at that time, and feel forgiven and that I’ve forgiven them, and that we’re still loving family and friends and are moving forward.

Happily.

Peacefully.

Lovingly.

Because I don’t know about anyone else, but I feel uneasy and sad. I want things to be better. I want to do better, and I want others to treat me in the same way. However, over time, if I try to chip away at it with gestures that are not reciprocated or misread, it causes even more pain, and honestly, things get all jumbled up like a ball of yarn you’re trying to roll back into place after the cat destroyed it. Sometimes you give up on that yarn and trash it.

I need to settle up at the beginning, so to speak, and put it to an end. I need to respect my boundaries and those of others, but I cannot go on dragging things out over long periods of time, all the while feeling angry, unloved, undervalued, insignificant, and somehow making the other party feel hurt, followed by a brief time of peace, and then boom!!! we are back where we started.

I need to say and do what I need to say and do in the beginning, because after all, I believe that most people want to get along with others and love them. I believe most people have good hearts and that they do the best they can with what they know at the time. I believe people can misread each other, that folks have bad days, and that as I misunderstand them, they misunderstand me. When I mentioned above that at times I feel anger…come on folks, really and truly, what is anger at its core?

Pain.

Hurt.

 

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I believe if all involved would try to remember these things and just speak from their heart with honesty and without pointing out blame on the other side (the other person) that there could be such peace and love instead of confusion and heartbreak. Most importantly, even if the other person doesn’t do, think, and feel as I just mentioned, as long as I act and love in that way, at least I can know I tried. Maybe later down imaginary roads, forgiveness and peace can be found. Time runs out so fast, though. So fast.

Tomorrow is Father’s Day, and I lost my dad about 25 years ago. So yeah I know, my sisters know, my stepmom knows, that time runs out so fast. And when that time runs out, I don’t want anything left unsaid, and I don’t want someone wondering if I loved them, or not. I do. I really do care for the people in my life. I just hurt, and that blasted pain gets in the way. Happens to most of us, I assume.

I hope to forgive and be forgiven. In the end, it is truly that simple. Maybe I’ll get my courage up to make a phone call or two tomorrow.

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Feeling the Hit

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A friend who also “suffers” with Bipolar Disorder is tanking. Trouble with school, personal care, family, and so many opportunities for which she has worked. I know she will pull herself back up. She’s had to do it before. Most of us with this “disorder” do. But I’m infuriated and outraged. I hate Bipolar Disorder.

The hell of it is that tomorrow night, at this same time of 11:40 p.m., I could sit here and write that having had the disorder makes me a fighter, able to achieve, and offers blessings of unparalleled creativity and intelligence. Just give me time, and I’ll believe that again. I’ll “feel” it. It’s a lie. It’s all a big lie.

Bipolar is a liar. I could never articulate it better. Bipolar. Is. A Liar.

Speaking of my friend again, she’s quite successful and brilliant, but she doesn’t know that right now. I know that. I like to toss a saying around that I once found funny and have hung onto, and it’s a smart idea as well. “Surround yourself with people smarter than you.” That’s definitely the case with this friend, though she is leaps and bounds more than that. She’s warm, nurturing, caring and loving. But she falls down. We fall down. Sometimes it takes her a while to get back up, and sometimes sooner rather than later. But more often than not, the depression strike and anxiety spike, and we spiral down, we feel a tremendous hit.

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A hit on self-confidence. A hit on beliefs. A hit on our physical selves and immune system. A hit on the love and energy we can give your friends and family. A hit on how you can care for your basic needs.

There are days, when we have to count – the brushing of teeth, the journey of walking from the bedroom to the living room, the task of grabbing some small something to eat, and possibly, though often not, the basic grooming and taking of a shower – count all of that, as a win for the day. There is no way to express what it takes in our minds to achieve even that some days. I wish I could describe it, but every minute seems like an entire day. Time. Moves. So. Slowly.

So. Slow.

A brain screaming at you to move, to not move, to cry, to try, to smile, to die.

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And next week, possibly a month, the frenzied energy and lack of control of mania visits. But if you don’t like it, hold on. It will change.

A happy medium, doctors and therapists call it stability, but honestly, that’s bullshit. In my experience, we aim for that, and if we get it for a week or two, it’s amazing.

My friend will get back up. I get back up. Then it’s wash, rinse, repeat. It goes on and on. Spin cycle. Roller coasters. Whatever.

I understand why people give up and actively commit suicide or passively allow it. The fact that I know this will be my existence until the day I die is exhausting and horrifying. But I’m expected to be a good mother, wife, daughter, friend, animal lover, wanna-be volunteer, blah, blah. I understand the overwhelming point people get to when they say, I cannot take this fight another day. I cannot. It just has to stop. This ingenious, lying disease has beaten me, and I’m fine with that, just want it gone.

I want to be gone. Knowing it will never stop. I will never be free.

But, there are things that still stop me, thank goodness. The roles I mentioned above, because I do love being those things when I can do so. And friends who know this torturing bastard disorder with hands outreached to hold mine, and me hold theirs, when we are feeling overburdened and unable to move.

That’s how I know my friend will be okay, even though she is beyond any type of description of hurting that I can relay, because we’ll help each other get up, and move, and survive

…even if sometimes that’s not at all what we want.

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