Tragically Broken

 First of all, I am obsessed with JellyRoll of late. He seems to say the things I feel and can't seem to put into words. I have a couple current faves, starting with "Save Me." 

Somebody save me, me from myself

I've spent so long living in Hell

They say my lifestyle is bad for my health

It's the only thing that seems to help

All of this drinkin' and smokin' is hopeless

But feel like it's all that I need

Somethin' inside of me's broken

I hold on to anything that sets me free

I'm a lost cause

Baby, don't waste your time on me

I'm so damaged beyond repair

Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

It's been years and years and dare I even say it, YEARS, since I have I've actually descended into the depths of hell in the bottle and the pills and chemicals. But the desire to leave my life behind and escape the chaos of my mind has been looming large of late. And I even had a recent taste of the pain of my life being greater than my desire to stay clean, I had a brief, very brief (abbreviated) relapse. But I had too much program time and the voice in my head saying, "You need to get honest with yourself about the reality of your recovery...." and chose to get honest and restart my clean time. After 36 years. It was humbling. Is humbling. What gets to me about this song (and I only posted some of the lyrics), is the chorus: "I'm a lost cause" "don't waste your time on me" "I'm so damaged beyond repair, Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams". This has been my mindset for as long as I can remember. I can envision little Carrie, under school age, crying and broken and not knowing why she was so shattered. That's where I really connect with the lyric, "somethin' inside of me's broken..." And it is reality that I seek anything that drowns out that feeling. I live in a state of denial even without mood altering substances. And alcohol was my poison. But recently I discovered Oxy. I've known for a long time I'm an addiction switcher. Because I just want the pain to stop. Tattoos, relationships, jobs.... these are often ways for me to escape myself. I'll just tell you, tattoos, they just hurt so good. No wonder my relationship failed, if I really believe I'm a lost cause. And that is probably the crux of it. 

But I have also been knee-deep in the life of the prodigal "son." I've come home, and my Father dropped everything and killed the fatted calf. We've celebrated. Because the depression last December ('23) was concerning. I wasn't sure I'd survive 2024. Holding on for my babies was getting more and more difficult. 

Remorse over past actions, damage done to people I love, in sobriety, has been the bain of my existence. My children have literally begged me to forgive myself. I am afraid to. I am so scared that this action will equal a free pass and I'll forget the pain I inflicted. I'll forget and repeat it. Truth be told, I'll never forget, and holding myself to a higher standard of perfection than humanly possible, actually increases my likelihood to repeat the behaviors. But head knowledge doesn't penetrate the heart, or the brokeness. 

But I'm asking God to heal my brokenness. And one of the things that has started the healing has happened in the last few years. Forgiving others, letting go of anger, and accepting that they may or may not have the ability to be what I need or what I needed as a child. 

So this bring me to my next Jelly Roll obsession. His recent hit, "I Am Not Okay" is also a winner with me. And some days I do not know that "it's all gonna be all right...." but I want to believe this. And the truth is... God has always taken care of my dumb ass, so why wouldn't he continue doing that right now? 

Getting back into my faith brings me to a level of Jesus Lover (I am a bit opposed to calling myself a Christian, because American Christians are also the bain of my existence.... they are not new testament Christ followers.... they are Pharisees) that is a bit eccentric (translation: weird, extreme). Being an extreme Jesus-lover means I pray about everything, even the little things, and I tell God when I'm pissed off at Him and I need His help. And I know that everything, everything, is figure-out-able with God. But not really with self. I am not enough. 

God has told me some things. One thing He's been telling me for awhile now, but I'm finally convinced it is really God not just me pretending to hear something I want to hear.... is that He is not calling me to a great job where all my needs will be met. God has been telling me that He's calling me to rely on His ability to do miracles in the world today. And that I can't do it. You know, I'm on disability and it is a wild and hilarious ride. To explain just a little bit: at the end of 2023, we were in a financial bracket that made me eligible for medicaid to pay my medicare premium (about $163/mo), and also provided us with $233/month for groceries. When my cost of living expense increased by $48/month, I lost both of these benefits, an approximate $400 ($396) a month. Does this seem equal some how? I've been pedaling as fast as I can trying to make ends meet.... using school loan money for my kid(the child, not the goat), selling my little crafty stuff, selling the produce of the farm, like eggs, and baby chicks, and our kids (the goats, not the people). But it's never enough. This fall, I finally was able to take the district training I needed to start Substitute teaching in a nearby district. I need to do this approximately 4 full days a month to make enough to meet the debts. My cost of living "raise" this year is a whopping $38/month. I just wonder what all benefits we'll lose with this so-called raise. But life continues to happen.

Our septic system has encountered a little hiccup. And we've found through some miraculous financial contributions, and labors of love of Christ-followers (the kind I actually want to be like), a semi-permanent fix. It's not a forever fix, but it works for now. As life keeps on happening. And happening. Last week we got up to no running water. Our well pump died. It appears that something bit a wire and burned out the pump. But the truth is, it is a blessing. Our pressure switch was running overtime and the electrician pointed out it was glowing red all the time, pulling more electricity and not getting real results, and this had been happening for awhile. The well pipes were rusted through, and our water pressure has always been questionable for us in the four years we've been here. But the thing is, the pump was $539, at the cheapest price we could find. And then there's parts that need replaced labor. So I first asked God for a miracle. Then I posted my dilemma on social media. And aha! Miracles happened!! Miracles with skin on. I had an offer from a loved one to buy the pump that same day! I also had two friends offer to contribute $250 each! That covered the debt! But to make things sweeter.... the electrician donated a large part of his labor. And over the cost of the well, we only had to pay $250 total. This led to each person donating $125. One person told me that she had plans for $100 of the $250 going to a different Christmas benevolent gift, but felt that running water was an emergency and so was going to forego that gift in order to bless us. With the gift of the electrician's time and hard work, she was able to help us and make the other benevolent gift she had already planned. God blessed two families through the humble gift of one man and his generous contribution of labor. 

I could never have afforded this expense on my own. And God has assured me that this is going to happen again and I'm going to have to rely on the love of others to cover the costs. It's comforting and frightening at the same time and goes against the whole "American Dream" theory of being self-sufficient and that this is somehow the Christian way of life. This is the Americanized Christianity that is often judgmental and hateful. And God tells me I am not going to be able to achieve these things. Not by His grace anyway. His way is the old-fashioned way where fellow Jesus-lovers take care of those who cannot take care of themselves. God tells me that I'm chosen for this and it's a special calling. I live in the middle of the American midwest, and it does not feel special, chosen, successful by the standards of this "Christian nation." 

As I continue to chase after Jesus and find myself still feeling very much like the first Jelly Roll song I posted, I find myself singing at the top of my lungs when my latest favorite song comes on.... Liar. And I usually end it by saying something smartassy to Satan, like "yeah Satan, you are a LIAR!" 

To summarize: 

• Jelly Roll obsessed... because I have always been aware that I'm broken. And that I just something to stop the pain and Jelly Roll addresses this in so many of his songs that I love. 
• God loves me and shows me that miracles are real all the time. 
• God has called me to be my weird, authentic, quirky self.
• God's calling on my life is not really something that is in line with the American Way.
• I'm blessed in my brokenness and my life is a miracle.

    

Pay it Forward....

 I feel so many deep level rants going on. But my mind just scatters in every direction when I try to collect my thoughts. Rants and angry blogs make for an easy, good read. But surely there's more to writing than just collecting my anger in piles and dumping it.  

One problem with angry-ranting all the time is that it takes away from my ability to re-frame my thinking and find the positives. And every day, there is something positive. 

Yesterday, we went to town without money. I mean, yes, we are flat broke. But I had money on the ebt card and we needed lunch, so we went to the grocery store to find some lunch. At the checkout we realize that my ebt card is not with us. So my child looks to see if she has her debit card. But no, she does not. It was also left at home. So the two plastic sources of money we had, were not with us. We always have no money, but yesterday we had NO money. 

Embarrassment. Humiliation. Standing in the line, trying to figure out how we can have some form of food with what we have, nothing. 

Then guy behind us says, "add mine to theirs and I'll pay for it all." "Really?!" "Yes, really." He had one item, a drink. And he generously bought our lunch. Restored my daughter's faith in humanity. Me.... it took a minute. Why? Because I was still so embarrassed and humiliated and felt the worth that I would attribute to garbage. None. But it only took a minute. Because my child was there to remind me that it was a good act, and that someone took care when we were in need. Randomly. We don't know this guy, we are not going to put him on our list to someday repay him in some fashion. 

What I will do is remember. And pay it forward. One day, when things are not quite this grim, I will pay it forward to my neighbor, randomly. And maybe, just maybe, I can help restore someone else's faith in humanity. 

What is a Black-hole-Soul anyway?

I was what you might call....hard to handle. A handful and then some. I have a lot of "punny" descriptions. I took a self-help/self-improvement class once and this phrase has stuck with me: "She's fun to date, but hell to live with." Well, I was certainly the bestower of living hell on my family and I was not one iota willing to share in any sort of responsibility in the matter. 

I often wonder if this is a product of a black-hole-soul. I've known for eons already that my soul is a black hole. Suck-you-dry-and-leave-you-wounded-and-begging-for-a-reprieve kind of hole. The one that can never be filled. No amount of love, pets, alcohol, drugs, hate, adrenaline, sex, or thrill-seeking can fill it. Nothing. Every single thing leaves that Black hole unfulfilled and begging for more. Eventually, it also does this for the family, friends, support circles, and even acquaintances of the one who possesses the black hole in their soul. Because no matter how much one gives, the BhS (Black-hole-Soul) is never renewed or refreshed. And everyone knows that one can't pour from an empty vessel. So those in relationship to the BhS are drained, waiting for their giving to produce fruit and be returned. But it never, ever happens. And everyone in the wake of this tornado is damaged and broken. Not "just" the owner the BhS. 

This is me. Owner and operator of a BhS.

So having been born at the tail end of the 60's, raised in the 70's (and 80's), I was full of the whole F.U. culture that women's liberation was rolling out. (Please don't insert politics here, there are whole other stories we can debate conservatism or liberalism in). As I type this, I have Joan Jett on replay in my head.... "I don't give a damn about my bad reputation...." complete with guitar riff and even a little head banging action. Yep. As a teen, I carried this around like a badge, just daring someone, anyone, to fuck with me. Do not step on my toes, I will fuck you up and I will not care where the carnage lands. Your reputation. My reputation. Your nose, my toes. Your house, my family. Carnage. Destruction. Because if you somehow manage to offend me.... you know, maybe you look at me wrong, or you got out of bed today..... then my black hole is raging and that in turn angers me. With that insatiable anger that rolls out like desire but with a side of deadly destruction. 

I have a friend that talks about how he may not love himself today, but he no longer loathes himself. Ahhh. My brain lights up at this. Self-loathing. Loathing. Black and vile hatred spilling out of the BhS. I can relate. Occasionally today I can relate with the learning to love myself piece, but in all reality, my brain perks up at the phrase "self-loathing." Because hatred is just too benign of a word to describe what the BhS does to me, makes of me, creates in me. 

As a person who possesses a BhS, hatred of my own self is such a roiling, billowing cauldron of hot and stinking shit that it has no choice but to spill out. It stinks up every corner of your BhS life. My addiction to pain, to adrenaline, to anything that might make that BhS less formidable and more tolerable somehow, is real. Overwhelming. In my life today, I have stopped trying to either soothe my Soul or kill myself, taking as many down with me as possible, in the form of drugs or alcohol. But make no mistake, the residual affects of the BhS are still present. Strong. It lurks in self-destructive relationships, in brazen thrill-seeking, in larger-than-life self-pity and one-up-man-ship, self-sabotage, and just general irresponsible behavior. 

It's not something I've never worked to improve, but it IS at the very core the cunning, baffling, and powerful part of my addictive nature. The yin and the yang of my desire to protect my Soul from hurt and danger and hardship and the precise inability to recognize anything that is good for my Soul because of that damn blackhole. 

When I see other people's BhS spilling their stink onto me and my life, I am appalled when it is pointed out to me that I am not so different from them, that I have wreaked untold amounts of havoc on every life I touch. 

The BhS story is never-ending, but because this kind of honesty is exhausting, not to mention stinky, I am drawing this post to a close. I didn't tell you all this so you can send me hug emojis and emoticons and ask me if I am alright. I wrote this out for the sake of 1) purging it, and 2) trying to sum up unexplainable behaviors that accompany the life of this woman with a BhS.