Cutting Ties...and this time I mean it (?)

Right now, with all the hubbub over the coronavirus, the focus is on health and cleaning and preventing sickness. What better time, then, to clean all the dirt and cobwebs out of my emotional closet?

Yeah, yeah. I realize I have talked about this before, cutting ties with people who are harmful to my emotional and spiritual well-being. But, when it comes to my family, that is, the one I was born into, I have spent my entire adult life trying to cut ties with three of them--my mom and my two living sisters. And what I have learned is that saying you are cutting ties, and actually doing it are two completely different processes; carrying it out is not easy, or even guaranteed to stick.  Especially because I am, and always have been, the scapegoat, the eager to please person, the one trying to earn their love and their approval. I have always listened to their rants, apologized for things I didn't do or say, struggled to keep the communication channels open, sent cards and letters and gifts that were never reciprocated. After every toxic episode, every hurtful event, I have second guessed everything I said and did, playing the drama over and over again in my head until I am convinced it is ME who is crazy, ME who misconstrues things, ME who is manipulative, ME who is toxic.  And when I get to that point, like I am right now, all I want to do is cry and curl up in the fetal position and go to bed and never get up again.  Of course, that is not an option, and is not even close to a healthy response. 

Everyone has their own opinion and their own ideas on how to deal with this, and the solutions are all over the spectrum, from "forgive and forget" to "tell them to *&!% off," to "pray for them" to "explain it to your sisters," to "have limited contact." None of these work. At all. Or ever will. The level of manipulation they have, and still are, creating is impossible for me to explain to a normal, rational person. Solutions others give me are rational solutions, meant for rational people, not for toxic, narcissistic people with severe personality disorders. Regardless of what I say, what I do, nothing gets through to them; it's as if I am speaking Japanese, or trying to explain the theory of relativity to a two-year old, or teach a cow how to run on two legs. And I am frustrated and sad and angry and disappointed, mostly all aimed at myself. 

Sure, I have read the Psalms and I know I am covered by God's grace, and I know all of this will end and I will spend eternity in heaven by Jesus' side. And I know He is the judge, and He has a purpose for everything, and that nothing surprises Him. However, that does not stop me feeling like a very weak Christian right now, because I cannot find peace in this situation, there is no scripture that can tell me how to deal with this, no prayer to make it all go away. And the only way I can make this bearable, make it so I can move on with my life, is by cutting ties completely. 

I have tried in the past, and have failed. And I will more than likely fail again, and get sucked into their drama and their lies again. Like forgiveness, cutting ties is a lifelong process. 

Out of Sorts

Out of sorts...what a nice, polite euphemism for depression! Today I got up at 9 am, went back to bed at 10:30 and slept until 2:30. Out of sorts?

You know that feeling you get when you just don't feel like yourself? You know something is wrong, but you just cannot put your finger on it? That is how I have felt for the past two weeks, like there is this weight crushing down on me, making me tired and sad and short-tempered. I can't explain it. And I am not even sure I want to try to explain it. It's too damn exhausting. But I have a fairly good idea what it is...it's baaa--ack. I thought I had it beat, that maybe I had pushed it into a corner where it would stay and not bother me ever again. Ha. Now that's funny.

Well, not really funny, not in a ha ha ha way, but funny in a "you have got to be kidding me!" kind of way. Depression does not ever go away, not really. It is not a temporary sadness, or a let-down over not getting something you really want. Depression is pervasive, and as much a part of me as my freckles and my weird shaped toes. I can hide it, dress it up, learn to live with it, or push through it, but the darkness is always there, like a heavy fog just hovering over me, or seeping out under the door. Shit, I am running out of metaphors and similes.  It's so hard to explain the feeling, the overwhelming sense of not being like most folks. 

But do you know what is strange? As suffocating as depression is, I can pinpoint exactly what precipitates it, and, despite being in a very dark place, I see life more clearly than in any other frame of mind. Perhaps because depression is SO dark, and so overwhelming, all the trappings and bullshit and nonsense get stripped away--they just aren't necessary and do not matter at all. The result? A clarity of thought and discernment that, while crucial to my sanity, unfortunately, makes me more sarcastic and cynical than usual, more matter-of-fact and blunt than many would find comfortable, and, may I say, abrasive and abrupt in pointing out stupidity and group think.

So, why am I "out of sorts" now? Well, the short answer is, because our recent vacation got curtailed and hijacked by some stupid virus. But the real reason goes deeper than that; it involves betrayal, lawsuits, deaths of all our parents, the stress of managing estates and probate, taking on the caregiving again, best friend getting divorced, stepdaughter's marriage crumbling; dishonest, manipulative family members; worries about kids, home improvement projects, and just daily life. Which is why I needed a vacation. Here is where it gets "funny,"--our long-awaited, much anticipated, and greatly needed trip to Spain is ruined the day we arrive. We have to stay in the hotel, change our return flights, and come home 2 weeks early. Jet-lagged. Still. Back into full-time caregiving, with no respite this time because the special needs day services are on hold for health reasons. Back into managing two estates because sometimes family just sucks. Back into helping friends and kids navigate life's issues. Back to the tasks of finishing the garage and getting the RV ready to sell and finding a car for our daughter to use when she and her family come stateside this spring--correction, if they come stateside this spring.

You know what I am NOT depressed about, though? The coronavirus. Yes, it's a global pandemic, and yes, I take it seriously. I take health and safety and well-being of me and my family quite seriously. And yes, it is, at best, an inconvenience, and at worst, a huge wrench messing up the our lives, making us reschedule things, forcing us to get used to doing things differently, and it is frightening, and uncertain, and has created an era of uncertainty for work, payroll, health systems, school, holidays, events, and sports--this event has impacted every aspect of life in nearly every one of the 180 plus countries it has infected.

I may always feel the darkness, I may never rid myself of the specter of depression, and I may never be "normal."  

BUT, because I have Christ, I have hope. And though my earthly hopes and dreams may be crushed, and plans laid to waste, I hope in my life with Him through eternity.

Because I have Christ, I have joy. Sure, I may not look very joyful; in fact, I may look miserable. Don't confuse happiness with joy, though. We will always have unhappiness and sadness and death and uncertainty in the world.  But Christ is my joy.

Because I have Christ, I have faith that He will see us through this. He will see us THROUGH--through being the operative word.  We will not start into a situation or a problem or a crisis and get stuck in it. We will, by the grace and benevolence of God, get through it and, by definition, to the other side.

Because I have Christ, I KNOW God is in charge, God is in control, and nothing this world throws at me will make me believe otherwise.  Not even the coronavirus.

Undeserved crown

Over a year ago, we planned this trip--a trip to Spain, the birthplace of my mother-in-law and the home of her entire family. A trip intended to mourn her passing and celebrate her life, to relive memories and moments, to cry and laugh and hug and remember. Through no fault of our own, we had to keep delaying the trip, time after time after time, as family crises arose and more sweet souls went to that great beyond. Life happened, in other words. So, finally, over a year after sweet Conchita's death, we left our home in the North Carolina mountains and headed to the sweet, orange scented beauty of southern Spain, and excited to see family and later, to escape to beautiful places surrounding Seville where just the two of us could recapture that spark, rejuvenate our souls, and just enjoy being us--no deaths, no kids, no pets, no responsibilities, no caregiving duties. Hotel reservations made, splurged on business class for the long transatlantic flight, earmarked special must-see places on Trip Advisor--we were raring to go. Nothing was going to stand in our way. Nothing.  

Yeah, nothing but a tiny, submicroscopic infectious agent shaped, fittingly enough, like a crown. Coronavirus, COVID-19, has been crowned, at least currently, as the queen of the modern world, wreaking havoc in practically every area of life across the globe. What started as a mere footnote in central China rapidly became the bold print headline dominating all forms of media. First China, then Iran and Italy were affected, and world health organizations scrambled to contain it, understand it, limit it. Characteristically arrogant and nonplussed, we Americans (including us) went about life, creating and sharing memes on FaceBook, and acted as if our super-power status could insulate us from the panic abroad. Heck, thirty minutes before our flight departed from Miami we listened to the Presidential proclamation limiting travel in the EU, then just shrugged it off and boarded our plane for Spain. We arrived the next day, hugged family, checked into our hotel, recovered from jet lag, and made plans for a Spanish family reunion in the park.

That was Thursday. Less than 36 hours later, we are stuck in our hotel, incredulous as entire countries shut down. We pour over news reports on BBC, the Department of Homeland Security, the State Department, Google, and, of course, FaceBook. We hear rumors and try to validate them. We search for truth and verification and guidance as to what to do, where to go, should we stay or should we go. I am alternately irritated, angry, and cavalier about the whole situation--irritated that statistics are being manipulated, angry that our vacation has been ruined, but cavalier about the implications of how this happened. We contact our travel agent to arrange an early return, complain about the inconvenience and the unfairness to each other and to family and friends, and then, suddenly, I stop. Not only has this virion become the queen of the media--I have allowed it be queen of my thoughts, my decison-making, my mood. Not once have I prayed about it, asked God for guidance, thanked God for the blessing of even being able to embark on such a journey. No, I instead complained and whined and scoured human sources for an answer, for direction. I allowed this virus, a creation of the Creator, to supplant the Creator.  

I have so much to learn, so far to grow.

Operation Burnout

This has definitely been a rough week--emotionally, spiritually, mentally.  I have cried more this week, for apparently little to no reason, more than I have in the past year, and a lot of the tears have been angry, selfish tears. Tears shed in self-pity, in the "why me?" mindset.  I am so overwhelmed with the duties and responsibilities and the realities of being caregiver, guardian, trustee, representative payee, and sister of a mentally disabled adult sibling.  And, at the same time, I feel guilty for feeling overwhelmed, for feeling resentful.  And I just sit and cry, and get angry at the dumbest things, and cry some more, and feel sad.  My sleep is sporadic and not restful, I have given up exercising, and nothing I read or listen to gives me comfort, or answers to my questions.  And yeah, I read my Bible, I pray, I listen to music, try to take time for myself, count my blessings, all that stuff.  But, at the end of the day, I am still lost, overwhelmed.  I am in a black hole, with no end in sight. And I feel like I have lost who I used to be.  

Since over two years ago, right before my parents died, my life has been completely devoted to the care of my brother.  We oversee his hygiene, his choice of clothing, and how much he eats.  We shop for him, cook for him, clean up after him, and drive him everywhere.  I conducted hours of exhaustive research to locate resources for his special needs, to get him qualified for benefits in his new home state, find him a doctor, and ensure his Social Security benefits are channeled into the correct account. We supervise daily meds, and  repeat incessantly the mantras of wash your hands, brush your teeth, wipe your face, clean your razor, take a shower, chew your food, look out where you are walking, wash your hands, buckle your seat belt, look out for the car door so many times I feel like I say nothing else. When he is acting out, or throwing things around upstairs, cussing out some inanimate object, I stop and (try to) calmly intervene and figure out how to distract him and refocus him on something less frustrating.  I have to literally be a mind reader and a behavioral psychologist to ascertain if he is sick, because he is incapable of either discerning if he is sick or communicating true discomfort.  Conversely, we have had to learn that when he complains about being cold, tired, sad, or has a stomachache, that really he is upset about some microcosmic, miniscule change in his routine.  We have had to clean up overflowing toilets (and the messes he made when he tried to "help"), plastic spatulas burnt to the dishwasher coils, projectile vomit that happens without any warning (in a moving vehicle), and countless other disgusting and unsanitary incidents.  My husband cleans his ears three times a week to prevent earwax impaction--because, if he doesn't, the alternative is a one hour appointment with the doctor to flush out more wax than I thought was possible to form in a human ear in the space of six months.  Monthly pedicures and manicures are paramount, as is prophylaxis for fungal infections.  And those are merely the physical needs; behavioral, social, and spiritual needs are far more comprehensive.

Don't misunderstand...I love my brother; we volunteered to take on this thankless job, knowing it would be hard, knowing that resources are scarce, fully aware it would be a very steep learning curve.  Steep learning curve for me, that is...my brother will never learn more, or progress to the next stage in life...and that, my friend, is the rub.  Day in, day out, nothing really changes, nothing ever will.  Psychological evaluations from the past 60 years are eerily similar, talking about the same challenges, pointing out identical behaviors and challenges, regardless of whether he was 10 or 25 or 55.  Folks who don't deal with developmentally delayed adults tell me, "oh, it's like a perpetual toddler, or like my 8 year old." No. It is not. First, he is not my son...he is my brother.  Second, it is not that simple. In some ways, he is highly functioning and capable, like a 10 year old, but in others, he is almost infantile.  And in still other areas, there is no explanation. He is, was, and always will be, forever a kind of child.  A man-child. A very special person. Who will never grow up. Or be on his own. He will never drive, or get married, or have a regular job.  But when I look at him, I still sometimes see an adult.  He can do some basic things...with supervision. He can read, he loves music, and he is an awesome bowler.   But the fact that he is physically an adult lures me at times into the trap of false expectations, and, when he does not meet these expectations, as he will always, inevitably, not meet them, I am temporarily stunned, shocked, disappointed, and irritated.  Immediately followed by an overwhelming sense of remorse and guilt.  And I get angry and cry and then cry because I am crying and get angry because I am crying. And when folks who interact with him occasionally say how sweet he is, how fun he is, what a joy he is, I wonder if perhaps I am wrong. 

Yes, there are people who have it harder, who have challenges that make ours look like a cake walk.  But I am not in their shoes.  I am in mine.  And I have been completely and utterly human this week, and have succumbed to my human weaknesses.  This week, it has, for me at least, been too hard, too beyond my capability to manage, to understand, to fix, to deal with.  I am too tired to even apologize for feeling sorry for myself.  Judge me if you will.  Rant over.  

A time for everything

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

2 a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
3 a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4 a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5 a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6 a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7 a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8 a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.

The God-Given Task

9 What gain has the worker from his toil? 10 I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. 11 He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. 12 I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live;13 also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God's gift to man.

14 I perceived that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it. God has done it, so that people fear before him. 15 That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already has been; and God seeks what has been driven away.[a]

From Dust to Dust

16 Moreover, I saw under the sun that in the place of justice, even there was wickedness, and in the place of righteousness, even there was wickedness. 17 I said in my heart, God will judge the righteous and the wicked, for there is a time for every matter and for every work. 18 I said in my heart with regard to the children of man that God is testing them that they may see that they themselves are but beasts. 19 For what happens to the children of man and what happens to the beasts is the same; as one dies, so dies the other. They all have the same breath, and man has no advantage over the beasts, for all is vanity.[b] 20 All go to one place. All are from the dust, and to dust all return. 21 Who knows whether the spirit of man goes upward and the spirit of the beast goes down into the earth? 22 So I saw that there is nothing better than that a man should rejoice in his work, for that is his lot. Who can bring him to see what will be after him?

Insignificantly significant

The older I get, the less significant I  feel, the more trivial my worries seem, and the fuzzier my memories become.  I wonder why I ever believed what grades my kids got mattered, or why it was so damn important for them to clean their plates.  The day-to-day moments of life with kids have all just melted into a giant conglomeration of individual moments, events, and flashbacks, almost impossible to distinguish what happened when and where and to which kid.  My recollection of my life from ages 25-50 is like that PlayStation game, Katamari, where you push around a sticky ball and collect any items you see. The more stuff you roll up onto the ball, the bigger the ball gets, and you can then pick up larger items--even cars and whole cities.  

Somewhere in my katamari are potty training successes and failures, first steps, emergency room visits, report cards, first dates, countless military deployments, arguments over whose turn it is to do the dishes, admonitions to clean up rooms, and countless other moments, the significance of which in life as it is today escapes me.  I try to recall.  I really do.  But when I try, one (or all) of my adult children challenge my memory recall skills with a roll of their eyes and an “oh mom.”  And God forbid I share a story with their kids without first clearing it with my daughters.  I mean seriously?  Give me some credit here—I am not going to embarrass, shame, or expose horrible secrets or bad behaviors to my grandkids.  It’s as important to me as it to them for my daughter/their mom to be seen in a good light. 

All of this leads me to my point.  (You were hoping I’d get here eventually right?).  Which is:  all of those memories, that ball of stuff collected over the years, it makes up my life, a lifetime of big and little and minuscule moments in time.  Some good, some not, some horribly painful and quite a few breathtakingly joyful—but every single thing in that glob is both gloriously insignificant and significant.  It’s who I am.  Who I was.  Who I’m becoming. And why does it matter if I don’t remember the gerbil’s name or whether I never apologized for missing a 6th grader’s basketball game?  Why do I beat myself up for things I said or did or didn’t do when I cannot go back and redo those moments?  I cannot separate it all and line it all up in a nice neat continuum in sequential order.  My memory is not capable of that. 

I can barely remember what I had for dinner last night.  

But...and here’s the kicker...I can make new memories and tell new stories and sit back and be a part of my daughters’ memories, and my grandkids’ recollections, as they create their own balls of stuff, collecting moments and treasured points in time.  

I cannot think of any greater joy and privilege than to be rolled up in their  ball of life. 

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'"  Jeremiah 29:11

Pride goeth before the...

I see it in others.  In my brother who, even though he’s mentally retarded, has the innate selfish nature of a young child, who wants his own way. I see it in my brother-in-law when he talks about his network, his "people" who can get him great deals, his justification and rationalization of misappropriating money.  I see it in my husband when he tries to minimize his brother's actions so he can maintain a relationship.  I see it in my sisters who think ill of me just because my parents chose me to handle things after their deaths.  I even see it in strangers in their thinly veiled attempts at validation in their posts on Facebook.  But what about me?   What is this blind spot that I so willingly allow to cover my prideful thoughts, my insecurities, my need for validation?

I argued with my husband today...all day.  Off and on, but all day. Not yelling or confrontational or in his face.  No, the little digs and comments under my breath, the kind of fighting that sneaks up on the other person, then runs and hides behind false civility and an innocent look of, "Who? Me?" Because selfishly, pridefully, yes sinfully, I want to be in control of everything in my life, including those things others have to work out for themselves. Especially things that involve our life together.  And I lie to myself that I feel the need to help (translation, to control), because we are married, we are one, and because he is me and I am him and we are one together. Right.  I am me.  Me.  Me.  Me.  And I want to know when, why, how, what, and where for just about everything that affects us.  Because I trust no one.  

Not even him.

Sounds awful, doesn't it?  

And no matter how many times I tell myself it is because of all the hurt and betrayal I have endured, it is actually because of my pride.  Pride that is camouflaged as insecurity.  Pride that hides behind rationalizing.  Pride disguised as the strong survivor/former victim. 

Pride that goes before the fall. The fall from submitting to God's will. Because pride is more than just being arrogant or full of oneself or thinking I am superior to others.  Pride is putting my will, the will of SELF, before all else, including focusing on my own problems, my own fears, my own desires.