For years, I’ve heard friends talking about their dads attending their high school graduation and walking the brides down the aisle. I’ve listened to stories about how much dads love their grandchildren.
This and so much more wasn’t in the cards for me, as I was only 15 years old when he died.
On top of that, I heard some disturbing things about him after his death, which I now question. Not certain I believe what I heard based upon the source and that person’s past. Or maybe I just want and need to believe that person lied to me.
So, I’m left with a lot of questions. I was also thinking about what I did in the days, weeks and months after he died. How did I cope? Because I know I certainly didn’t cry much. Had I, I think I would have never stopped. So, I threw myself into sports and listened to a ton of music. One song I repeated over and over was Cold November Rain by Guns N’ Roses. I could probably sing you every lyric from memory. Like right now, if you’d so wish.
So yeah, anyway, where am I going with this? Well, it’s more of a rambling tonight, I guess. I did realize a connection between my 15 year old self and my 42 year old self. Both of us turn(ed) to music and physical activity (even though mine is limited now due to health conditions). And I suppose that’s a good way of coping. And I’m learning to forgive, as well as asking to be forgiven. I find it a shame that so often it’s easier to forgive once the person has passed away.
Thanks for listening. Take care of yourselves and each other. ✌🙏💛
So, I’m going to follow the advice I give others and be vulnerable here.
*I AM OFFICIALLY ASKING FOR HELP.*
I’m in need of encouragement from people I’ve met through my blog, as well as family and friends. I’m depressed.
It’s bad. I’ve tried to find upbeat moments and days, and I have indeed found some. This has been an almost insurmountable feat, however. I am apathetic, totally flat. Usual things that bring me happiness, no interest. Wanting to be awake – psssh, yeah right! Having to push myself hard to go outside. Can’t settle but don’t want to move. Just have that feeling I always do when I’m bad.
I want to go home.
Where is your home? Is it the apartment or house in which you now live, or more of a fantasy? Something from a fairy tale, perhaps?
Here’s a thing. Great mood or not, Johnny Cash music speaks to the situation every time. 🎵🎶🎧🎵🎶🎧 The Man in Black. Every single time.
As for me.
It’s not peppy social media post type stuff. It’s the negative stuff most people fail to post.
SPOILER ALERT: LIFE (and its truths and this post) AREN’T ALWAYS PRETTY.
Miserable. That’s me. Okay? Miserable. So miserable and tired of fighting it. And for effin what? Even if I crawl my way back to the top, I’ll be back here soon. It is the reality I face with my day-to-day, week-to-week, month-to-month Bipolar. And I’m so extremely tired of the physical pain.
And I love you folks, I promise I do, but don’t tell me to pray it away with name it and claim it, and don’t tell me to drink a smoothie. Sometimes, it really is okay to say, “I have no idea what you face, or what to say, but I’m listening. I care. I’m here. It’s important to me you’re on this planet.”