The Diary

  “Please read my diary, look through my things and figure me out.”  Kurt Cobain

Image by Dwayne Blee of www.freeimages.com

      Grace received her first diary years ago for Christmas from her Aunt Marge.  She had been twelve at the time and she had regarded the shiny red cover wondering what she would do with it.  She didn’t like to write.  Of course, she tried to act thrilled.  She didn’t want to hurt Aunt Marge’s feelings.  Her mother would have been livid if she had and there would have been hell to pay.  Not long after, Aunt Marge died in a tragic car accident.  She remembered the day in exact, glaring detail.  Snowy, treacherous roads and a bit of ice had sealed Aunt Marge’s destiny.  The accident set a series of events in motion that would change Grace’s life forever.  One by one her family left.  First her mother died, and then her dad. Finally, her little brother had fallen through the ice one fateful day while ice skating.  By the time she was 20, they were all gone leaving Grace alone to conquer the world.  

     She met Rob by accident.  A dear friend had set her up on a blind date.  The weirdest thing happened, though.  Her date couldn’t come.  Instead, he sent flowers with his apology.  Rob delivered the flowers and they connected immediately.  Compelled to see her again, he sent flowers to her and delivered them himself.  A whirlwind romance followed which culminated in a marriage proposal. Grace said yes before Rob even finished what he had to say.   Since Grace no longer had any family to speak of, she was eager to start a family of her own.  Just a little over a year later she welcomed a son who became her pride and joy.  A daughter soon followed, and soon it seemed her dreams of a family were complete. 

    The years passed.  Her son enlisted in the navy when war broke out, and at the tender age of 19, died in battle.  Grace's heart shattered into a million pieces.  Her grief palpable, she remained inconsolable.  Her diary filled to overflowing with tear stained prose.  

     Still her daughter remained.    Soon, Grace’s diary focused revolved around Elise and Rob's comings and goings.  Somewhere along the way, Grace ceased to exist.  Her life ceased to matter.  Her feelings were never discussed within the pages of her most recent diary.  In her mind, she was insignificant.  They were her whole world. 

After another joyous Christmas celebration, Rob suffered a fatal heart attack. One minute he was at her side, the next he was gone.  Grace wrote pages and pages in her diary as she coped.  She mourned her life partner, and once again the pages became smudged and tear stained.  Her daughter did all she could to see to Grace's needs, but then life stepped in once again.  Her daughter accepted a wonderful job thousands of miles away.  Grace mustered her strength, put a brave face on it, and saying goodbye, wished her well.

Years passed.  With each passing year, Grace withdrew a bit farther into herself.  She stopped associating with the outside world and became a modern day recluse.  Those she loved most in life had gone leaving her behind.  She longed to join them.  She longed to be free of her lonely life.  She played her music.  She created her art.  She survived, a prisoner of her dark thoughts and feelings of helplessness. She put on a brave, showed the world giggles and smiles because that is what she thought the world wanted to see.  She confided only in her diary.  She prayed that when her time was up, that whoever found her diaries would read them and understand. 

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Free Once Again!

      She stared at the blank screen and started typing then immediately deleted the words she had written. That sounded completely stupid.  No one would want to read that!  Frustrated she tried again, knowing that hours were stretching into days and days would soon be a whole week since she last posted or wrote anything.  Time worked that way and often got away from her.  She quickly clicked over to the screen that held all those brilliant souls who had already posted their entries.  Over 20 people already with brilliant stories and perfect grammar that hadn’t been stripped of their words like she had.  Damn.  Clicking on one she was drawn into a journey into the writer’s imagination that awed her.  Back she went to the empty page in Microsoft Word.  Write something!  She started again and again until it was time to give up and go to work. 

         Depressed and forlorn, she wondered how long she would be in this wordless funk.  She went to work even though she really didn’t want to go.  She faced the onslaught of children descending the cafeteria with a smile, because they deserved a cheerful disposition.  How bright and happy they were!  Their mood was contagious!  For the first time in weeks they were bundled up to go outside for recess.    They had been doomed to endure indoor recess for weeks on end.  Damn the weather to hell.  What good was the snow if no one could frolic in it?  She welcomed their hugs, felt rewarded by their smiles, and felt happy when one took her hand as she led them to the nurse.

       
 
       She returned to her computer at the end of the workday to discover her addled brains had been freed from their shackles.  The words flowed freely through her fingertips once again as she typed her latest story, publishing it with a sense of satisfaction and glee that knew no bounds.  Her soul rejoiced once again. 

• Your response must be between 33 and 333 words.  Mine has 325  • You must use the 3rd definition of the given word in your post. • The word itself needs to be included in your response. • You may not use a variation of the word; it needs to be exactly as stated above. • Only one entry per writer. • Trifecta is open to everyone.  If you are inspired, please join us!

FUNK (noun)
1 a :  a state of paralyzing fear
   b :  a depressed state of mind
2 :  one that funks :  COWARD
3 :  SLUMP  <an economic funk>  <the team went into a funk>

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Emotional Retreat

     It is where I go to cope with the demons in my head.  The ones that tell me I am no good and my life has no purpose.  It is a place for those moments when I look in the mirror and see for my undiscerning eye why my husband doesn’t come home, and why he hasn’t been home for so long.  

      It is in that dark place in my mind where I forget that he left because his job requires him too and has nothing to do with me personally.  It is not because of the ugly, fat woman that I see staring back at me in the mirror and will always stare back at me no matter how many pounds I lose or what others see.  Bills must be paid.  We must survive.  It is what he does.  It is only me who has lost my way.  It is me who can no longer sleep through the night because I have to pee NOW.  It is me who needs the damn anti depressants to get through each day, not the real me who once seemed so strong.  Where did that girl go that giggled uncontrollably at just about anything?  It is in this peaceful setting by the sea I retreat to find her once again hoping if only I could find her; I would once again find my purpose for being.  It is there I know without a shadow of doubt that I could find any hope of recapturing my youth before I lose it entirely.  It is inside those four walls I may find a shred of sanity and the happiness this enemy called menopause and anxiety has stolen from me.  That is my doctor’s excuse for all these dark thoughts that I struggle with.  Where is that girl who would sooner say “Fuck you Menopause!!? You can kiss my happy ass!” before effectively dropping her drawers and mooning all who care to see?  Damned if I should know, but I sure do wish she would get her happy ass back here before I go barking mad.    

      I sit inside and listen to the clock tick and the sea lap onto the shore.   It is here I cuddle my dogs close and occasionally nuzzle my daughter’s cat.  My fur babies love me no matter what and feeding them helps to flame that undying love.  I am not so far gone that I don’t realize that.  Any devotion is appreciated at this point.  It is here I wait for them all to return to me.  All music has left me.  I don’t even think to turn on the CD player.  There is no desire to find a beat or rhythm.  There is only the reality of my desperate hope that somewhere among the ashes my soul will rise and soar again.  Life is passing me by and I have all but lost the will to stop it.  If only I could.  My husband will return as he always does but what will he find?  Will I be afraid to leave the safety of this haven even for him?  Will I trust he will be happy to see me?  I won’t think on that now.  I will think about it on the faraway tomorrow when he finally returns.  I will think of it then and force myself to smile each afternoon when the school bus returns because besides all these warring feelings, I really am happy to envelope both of those precious beings with my undying love for them.

        I sit inside this small abode and watch the storm clouds of my emotions swirl struggling through each day praying that one day I will laugh again and my silly will return full time and not just for an occasional glimmer.  It is my safe haven.  It is where I go to process the feelings that bring me down and overwhelm me.  I withdraw into my own little shelter beside the sea as the storm clouds gather and the hormones rage.  I am not ready for this.  I am not ready to be old.   It is why I grasp desperately for any new signs of purpose and life: a class, a new job, just anything!!   Like countless before me and even more who follow, I guess I don’t have a choice.  I need to just handle it.  It will be soon time to wade back into the deep end and leave this peaceful retreat.  Until then, I will put it off and try to embrace what I don’t understand.  I will retreat within and pray for peace longing to discover the inner flame that I once had.

All photos courtesy of Morguefile.

Half Empty or Half Full?

This weeks Writer's Post Blog Hop's host is Angela at Journey of Life.  Thank you Angela for the thought provoking picture prompt.

     As the days draw closer to Thanksgiving, I have begun to reflect on what I have to be thankful for and whether my proverbial glass in life is half empty or half full.  That is a good question, and Angela’s prompt demands an answer.  I have stared at the picture prompt for most of the week thinking about what my take is on this subject.

 

       When I was younger I was a pessimist due to circumstance.  My glass was half empty and I couldn’t begin to imagine how it would ever become half full let alone come to the point of overflowing with happiness.  At that point in time it was a lot easier to imagine my cup half empty if not overflowing with despair.  Those experiences in my life taught me that it was all about attitude.  I chose to let circumstance beat me.  I chose to be depressed.  I chose to care what everyone else thought.  I was so deeply mired in my own unhappiness I was forced to take antidepressants to cope with everything that was going on.

      At some point in life my attitude changed.  My cup began to look half full and at some points overflowed with happiness.  My attitude changed.  I forgave myself for mistakes and the ultimate sin of not being perfect.  I forgave myself for failing.  I decided I was going to live each day one day at a time.  I was going to adopt the attitude my mother had…if not today, maybe tomorrow I can.  

      Life became funny.  I began to laugh more.  I got a little more silly instead of broomstick up my a$$ serious, and you know what?  Life got a whole lot easier to endure.  At times, life is downright enjoyable.  I learned to quit worrying about what I didn’t have and began celebrating what I do.  Every week I amuse the hell out of the cashiers at my local grocery store.  Me, the person who grew up practically allergic to math, can be seen working through the store subtracting each item’s price from how much money I have until I have absolutely everything I need plus a bit more.  When I approach the check out, I watch patiently as each item is ringed up.  When the total is announced I actually celebrate the fact when I have money left to my name even if it is only a dollar.  Some folks would moan about the fact that they only had a couple dollars left to their name.  Not me, I giggle and celebrate!  YAY!  I have a whole dollar left!!!

        I have changed with age.  Where I used to worry myself sick all the time about things which were out of my control, now I let it go and let G0d worry about it.  I choose to enjoy life.  I choose to live my life with my cup overflowing or half full.   It is your choice how your life is going to go.  Why not enjoy it and let go of things you can’t do anything about?  If you are doing your best that is all you can do.  If you are doing that, you are a success.  You are a survivor, and in the grand scheme of things life is what you make it.   I choose to be optimistic and count my blessings.  I choose to have my cup overflowing or at the least half full until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
 

  

Half Full

NaBloPoMo asks:

Is the proverbial glass half empty or half full?

     Even though there was once a time in my life when my glass was half empty, these days my glass is half full.  On some days it overflows with blessings.  It is all about a person’s outlook on life and their perception.  You can choose to see the bad and whine about your glass being half full, or you can choose to count your blessings and find the good in each day.


     When I was younger especially in the dark days following my mom’s death and my divorce I found my cup half full or bone dry.  I was depressed and could only focus on everything that was wrong with my life and what was lacking.  It is hard to look on the bright side when the world is crumbling around you.  You look at the optimists prancing about and wonder why they are so bloody happy and you are so miserable.  You believe deep in your soul that G0d has forgotten you, has no clue you exist, or simply doesn’t care.  You wonder what you have done to deserve this.  You turn your back on G0d in retaliation and things only get worse.

      One day I fell and hurt my back.  I spent months in horrible pain and as the days slipped by filled with visits to therapists and doctors and surgery loomed I realized I could do nothing about the outcome.  Only G0d could.  I didn’t ask for healing, I only asked He give me the strength to cope and carry on and find a way to do everything I had to do.  A miraculous thing occurred.  The week of surgery the pain vanished and the paralysis I had suffered in my leg ceased.  When the surgeon informed me that I no longer needed surgery and that it was a miracle, I realized not only that G0d did exist but He did care about me.

       From that moment on I believed.  I no longer felt alone against the world.  I began counting my blessings and being thankful daily.  I found the peace within myself that I never had before.   I found the strength to walk away from the people that seemed determined to see me miserable and walk into the future with G0d at my side.   I no longer worry about whether things will be alright.  I know they will be, and if they are not I know G0d will see me through making everything ultimately alright anyways.  

        A person only gets one go around on this merry go round of life.  Why be miserable?  Why continue to try with people that get their kicks kicking you?  Why let them continuously pi$$ in your glass?  It is better for everyone all around if you walk away without looking back.  A dear friend told me recently that they give people a chance to show them who they are, and when they do, they choose to believe them.  I was struck by the truth in their words and have carried them with me since.  People generally don’t change.  They are jealous when your cup is overflowing or even half full and they struggle and try everything in their power to bring you down and drain your cup.  People like that are not assets to your happiness and need to be weeded out otherwise they will suck the life from your cup.  It will be empty like theirs.  They might be happy, but you won’t.

       Through it all, I am happy and proud to say my cup is half full.  Some days it runs over, but very rarely is it half empty anymore until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

The Blues

     The first thing that popped into my head when I seen this week’s topic was “Nobody leaves this place without singing the blues”. It is what the leader of a blues band tells the kids starring in “Adventures in Babysitting” when they burst onto his stage while being chased by thugs. As I look around my house today, I have the same feeling.

    

      As much as I love snow, looking out the window on dark, gray, January days makes me feel much like the lovable donkey from “Winnie the Pooh”. Ho hum and blah. Where is the giggle in that? Even more depressing, my husband hasn’t been home since the holidays. Just when he is finally on his way home, his truck breaks down and now he is twiddling his thumbs in a hotel in Amarillo, Texas which might as well be on the other side of the world. He has been there 6 days as of today waiting for parts and his truck to be fixed. How do you explain the “why of a truck breakdown” to a 6 year old that fears his Daddy isn’t coming home because he doesn’t like him? A silly fear, but real none the less and one I can remember having when my Daddy was on the road for way to long. Sometimes the life of a trucker’s wife is more complicated and overwhelming than I can bear. Life would brighten up considerably if only he would and could come home.

     Depression sucks, and I will be the first one to admit it. Waking up this morning to discover that my dryer has given up the ghost and no longer is blowing hot air is the icing on the cake, especially with a lot of wet clothes and towels on my hands and no extra money to visit a laundry mat. What’s a girl to do when it is colder than a witch’s tit in the Klondike, plummet further into the depths of despair? Oh hell no! This girl searched the garage for clothes pins and strung the wash up around the house. I have clothes hung on hangers in the bathroom and kitchen. Amazingly enough it works!! Are we having fun yet?? Maybe I can get a hell yeah from the peanut gallery, although all I hear is silence.

     Everyone gets the blues. It is the time when everything turns to $hit and you just have no clue how to make it smell like roses again no matter how much Febreeze you spray on it. $hit still smells and looks like $hit anyway you slice it. It doesn’t make you like it any better.

      In the center of all this I wake up and find myself singing “Beaner!” at the top of my lungs much like Tommy Chong in that old “Cheech and Chongs” movie. Normal people would be near tears. I am sure my kids think I am certifiable and they wouldn’t be too far off the mark. In essence that is part of my charm. At least it started their day off with a laugh and a few rolling eyes.

      Yes, mom is losing it. It is all good, because I have learned to roll with the insanity and even though the blues tend to invade my space more than they are welcome, I always have the ability to eventually find some perverse tidbit like singing “Beaner” for no apparent reason and feeling better. Make sure you strum an air guitar while you do it and you will find it very refreshing. It isn’t the blues, but seriously; I’m not planning on leaving the house until the kiddies come home anyway. 

     There is still plenty of time to slap a smile on my face and a place a song in my heart. Even if I can’t they will understand. So it is all good. It is a good thing my house sees few visitors since my underwear is the home interior décor of choice today until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.