Sludge

 That's what I call the stuff that mucks up my mind and makes my thinker move slowly. "You're sludging up my mind." Apparently, it's a naturally occurring part of ADHD. Which I am more and more convinced is a part of my make up. Since I am a starter, not a finisher. Since I'm SUCH an empath.... if I don't feel it, I'm not doing it. Since.... procrastination. Because.... anxiety. And so on and so forth. But if my mind is cluttered, and it usually is, the thinking process is slower and less effective.  You know, more muddled. I can express this line of thinking a billion times in a billion ways and still be surprised and harshly judgmental toward myself that it is so hard for me to achieve everyday things in my life. But truthfully, I know that acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. And I have to accept the fact that I'm not a lineal (linear?) thinker. I don't think, do, or live in straight lines. I'm a poster child for the ".... and this is why my coffee is cold" memes and stories. 

I poured myself a cup of coffee and then went to the bathroom, on the way back from there I remembered that I needed to move the laundry over, so I did that. While I was there, having taken the clean, freshly dried clothes out of the dryer, I brought them to the living room to fold, but then I remembered.... and the story goes on until I discover my cold cup of coffee umpteen hours later. 

Today's muck list includes but is not limited to.... 

• the death of Toby Keith. Did you know he's not even a decade older than me? This brings up another sad (?) point... 
• mortality. My mortality to be precise. The aches and pains and physical limitations more and more present in my life bring me around to the facing of my own mortality. Ick. 
• coffee. good coffee with a good friend. My llbff (life long best friend forever) sent me a link to try the coffee she loves. I'm also thinking about cold coffee. still in the pot. and in the car in my cup (where I forgot it, duh). and not drinking it. ever. never ever drinking cold coffee. Where did these kids with their cold brewed coffee drinks even come from? Are they really even mine?
• cleaning. Why don't I do more of it? I'd feel better (less muddled) if I did.
• every day tasks:
• laundry that needs folded
• laundry that needs washed
• items of said laundry to donate or throw away
• unloading the dishwasher
• loading/running the dishwasher
• wiping down the countertops and 
• cleaning the sinks
• beating down the cobwebs... I thought the darn cobs were sleeping or in hibernation or something, but the doorway corners and light fixtures tell a different story.
• taking a bath or shower. Simple enough. Except I tend to let it loom large in my brain and let it become monumental.... do I have enough time? Where's my new conditioner? Don't forget to get your razor, that forrest won't mow itself down. Lock up the dogs.... remember what they got into last time you forgot them? Laundry.... did I just use up all the hot water (good thinking Care, really good thinking....)?! Am I even awake enough to do this? All this thinking is making me tired! 
• Nerve, muscle, joint pain. If you're in your 50's like me, this is self-explanatory. But in particular, I'm cautiously optimistic about the PT for the nerve in my left leg causing so much discomfort. (Oh dear God, she's going to ask me to rate my pain with a number, so what is it now? What was it this morning when I first woke up? I'll hafta remember what it is later when I put animals away too). 
• Just vacuum already. 'nuff said.
• change cat litter. This is a chore that is surprisingly much like doing dishes, the feeling of relief and accomplishment is shortlived due to the fact that as soon as it is finished it is racing toward the "this needs done again right now" finish line. Finish line? Ha. There's no finish line, it's a song that never ends. 
• Things that never end. My friend and I were talking about organization and why it eludes us. Well, it's because those people who put things away as soon as they use them and have an organized home, calendar, life.... they never stop putting things away, adjusting the schedule, planning ahead, doing the next task. There's no finish line. 

For some things, such as success and sobriety, I'm so grateful that there's no finish line. I'm so glad that my quality of sobriety isn't measured by someone else's success; someone else's transformation, someone else's new beginning. If it was, I would have thrown in the towel a long time ago. Because transformation is slow with this one. I am not the same train wreck I was 30+ years ago, but I'm still a train wreck non-the-less. How many times have I cried real tears and thought, "why? Why am I not somewhere else? Somewhere farther? Somewhere more? More successful. Successful parenting. Successful teaching. Successful organizing. Successful.... (and the list goes on)..." Today I have to stop and breathe. And think to myself: acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I accept that I am who I am, where I'm at, for whatever the reason, then and only then, am I able to take on the sludge and slow it down and un-muck it up. But day to day... yeah, there's a lot of sludge.

Pain! You made me a Believer....

 December started out unbearably hard. The tears would not stop flowing and life was difficult every single day. And it's not surprising when grief strikes hard between Thanksgiving and Christmas, is it? I wasn't surprised, but I was still caught off guard. If that makes any sense. And if it doesn't, well, that's too bad I guess. I always say I won't be so surprised next time. I say this about a lot of things. Betrayal is what I say it about the most. But I can't be not surprised and still choose to trust in the good in the world and look for the good. I can't look for the good if I'm always dodging the not-so-good, the evil, the shadows that lurk behind every surface. And I'm an eternal optimist. I get down. I go negative. I know, it's true. But in the big scheme of things, looking at the big picture, I always think that a) tomorrow is a new day, and that b) the sun will shine tomorrow. If today is a hard day, I say, "that's okay, because tomorrow will be a better day..." But in December, the sun did not shine. Not one day to the next to the next. It started out cloudy and dark. And I missed my Dad something fierce. Of course, I imagined him in his Christmas spirit all joyous and infectious. As Christmas drew near, I imagine him reading out of Luke chapter 2 from the Bible, as he did every year on Christmas Eve. That was our sacred Christmas time. Christmas Eve. As a child, we went to church that evening and then celebrated our family Christmas after church. And then Christmas Day was reserved for going to Grandpa and Grandma's. And when the time came that it was just Grandma, we moved that celebration to the 26th. When I had my own little family, we did our family thing on Christmas morning because Christmas Eve was always the time to go to Mom and Dad's. And I have photo after photo after photo of my Dad, reading the Christmas story, written by Luke, with at least one kid on his lap. As December wore on, I was able to cry and hope at the same time. And at the least, in the same day. My tears weren't all sad. Some of them just were. They were there. Reminding me of a Dad who has been gone for three Christmas's now. And of his gentle, joyful spirit. 

As always, the harsh realities crash through too. The reality that not everyone loved him. That some saw his flaws and didn't carry forgiveness. And it always cautions me and tends to bring some guilt. Guilt that I just love him. I care, but I really DON'T care, about those terrible things. I just care that he was my Dad. I know he had some public sins. Everyone sins, some just not as publicly as others. My friend Tom used to remind me of that. And growing up in a small town as I did, I needed that reminder. The reminder that Jesus called out gossip and judgmentalism many times in his teachings. More than some other sins that our society points fingers at. 

I found faith again this year in December. Because I was desperate. I needed a life raft. Remembering that God, the God of the Bible, saved me, hopes for me, loves me, and carries me was exactly what I needed. Because I was going down for the last time. I needed some joy. and some hope. and more than just PAIN.

But Imagine Dragons is right. Pain, it'll make you a believer. Because it breeds desperation. And desperation breeds.... well, hopelessness and despair. I was in despair and I cried out and Jesus heard me and saved my soul. and today I am grateful.

What WOULD Jesus do?

 Pardon me.... your crazy is showing. Yeah, I know. My crazy. The crazy I come from. They're not so different, are they? 

So we were talking about how generous my dad was. And how that is how I imagine Jesus to be. Generous. Giving. Sharing. What's mine is yours. But in the midst of this conversation it took a very ungenerous turn. The story was.... some people were begging in a parking lot (like the Walmart parking lot) and the other characters in this story went to explore the situation. Before giving generously of their hard earned money the couple ask the ones in need what they thought of Jesus Christ. But not liking the answer given, the couple decided they would definitely not give of their money to these people. Okay... it's their money, they can do as they please with it. But on the heels of the conversation of Jesus and generosity, it seemed.... wanting. Less than. Not enough. My argument goes something along these lines.... Jesus would just give. No strings attached. He might attach His truth to it. For example, the woman at the well, Jesus says "go and sin no more." But He DIDN'T say, "I'll love you if you go and sin no more...." or "I'll forgive you if...." It wasn't conditional. Of course I think of the parable of the good samaritan who took care of someone who was not like him! Different nationalities and different religions too. He didn't say he'd pay for the poor beaten man's room and care IF.... he just took care of it. It wasn't conditional. I just think Jesus is like that. And I think I'll want to change and be more like Jesus because He's generous with me. He's not conditional. What if we were all more like Jesus and just gave because we could? Would the world be changed? I'm betting so.

The eternal optimist... Dad

 Last night I had a vivid dream about my Dad. We were establishing our own farm on the Suderman ground he loved so much. My Dad. I woke feeling encouraged. Because Gib never got down and stayed down. Not even in the hospital. Maybe at the end, when he knew he was dying and there was nothing he could do about it. But even in the daily fight to beat those little leeches in his brain, he never stayed down.  I didn't understand his plans to fish with Duke and why he was so obsessed. But then I realized it was hope. It gave him a goal. And there was no goal he couldn't reach. Pure positivity and love for life and sheer determination. That was all it took. These are no small things. The more I reflect on all he overcame in his life, the more in awe I am of him. If the only obstacle he'd ever faced was that of his Mom leaving this earth when he was eight years old, that would be enough. But this tragedy set a whole lot of other adverse situations into place for him, from being separated from his siblings when they were farmed out to different relatives that first year or so, living with different aunts and uncles, to then getting a "new Mom" who didn't understand him, to a dad who didn't know how to temper his own sorrow and frustrations. These events being the tip of an iceberg that was his life. 

Why? Why am I obsessed with my Dad's life and trying to figure it out? I guess I believe I'll miraculously find answers to the mixed up mess I call my life too. And I want to know where I come from. You know, in relationships they say that you keep repeating the same thing over and over until you change first. I want to know why I pick the ones I pick and do the things that I do. 

And if we're going down that road... I think I have a good one right now. But it doesn't come natural to me to choose things that are good for me. It's a head decision, not a hormone/heart decision (are these two things really all that different? When we fall "head over heels in love" is it not really a hormone thing? I think so, because it is often something that makes no sense, it's just this overwhelming rush). Which I suppose is also part of adulthood. I know plenty of friends who've gotten a good one by sheer luck and powers beyond their own control. Maybe that has finally happened for me since I've surely prayed for that long enough.

Here I Go Again....

 I have decided I need to be blogging again. But I'm super unenthusiastic about the whole thing. I don't feel like I'm interesting. To myself or anyone else. But I also feel the need to purge a growing surge of emotion. It feels as though I'm slowly coming back to life. I've just been really apathetic and dead inside. and exhausted. all. the. time. But memes on Facebook make me aware that being perpetually exhausted is part of adulthood. zero stars. not a fan. want a refund and to not be an adult anymore. 

It's been three years since my dad died. This floors me. because I miss him and grieve for him every single day of my life. I've decided it's okay to just be sad still. I guess I thought it was time not to be sad all the time? idk. But I realized that a large piece of my depression stems from this deep sadness and that there's no logical ending place to it. I can't make it make sense. I can't will myself to be better. 

Every day I have these giant epiphanies about life growing up and being Gib Suderman's flesh and blood. There may not be any way to express/explain this as it is both huge and trivial at the same time and has to do with my need to be loved, my crazy adolescence, the giant hole in my soul, and so much more. Dad had a hole in his soul too and knowing this explains so much about him to me. The gaping hole he tried to fill with fun (he was a fun guy), with women, with adrenaline rushes (coyote hunting, 4-wheel riding, racing, etc.), with work, with church. My dad was such a compassionate guy. He always told me about this hole in his heart that only I could fill. He also told my kids this. He was big on talking about this. I catch myself saying this to my own kids. 

I completely needed to pound this out and cry as I typed. I feel like there should be more. This is unfinished. But I'm about done. Put a fork in me.

Oh, we surrendered our big dog, Princess, today to the humane society in Newton. So I probably needed to cry that out too. I've been deeply saddened by this today. She needed to go. She has killed two guineas now. One she killed twice. I know that isn't really possible, but just go with it. I snatched that guinea from her and Alice (the little black terrier) and put it in the barn even though I was pretty sure it wouldn't live through the night. It lived. and healed and then that damn dog killed it. again. And more recently she killed our guinea who harassed the chickens tirelessly, and we called him Lucy, short for Lucifer. The thing is, Princess was supposed to be our farm dog that I could take with me everywhere, that didn't have an electronic shock collar, that didn't need to be in the fence. The guard dog. But she mostly lived her life tethered to a cable in the yard because she tried to kill the chickens and guineas. So she didn't get to live the life of privilege. But her and I were pretty bonded. I'm pretty heart-broken that we had to get rid of her. If I wanted to get rid of birds and just keep dogs, she could stay. But the way it stands, she can't stay. We want to have ducks and chickens and guineas. When we got Princess she was severely underweight. And she didn't really know what it was to just be loved. She is still scared of being beaten... we have never beaten her. But when she does something she knows is wrong, she will not come to me (or anyone else) out of fear. She trusted me. I feel rotten for abandoning her at the shelter. And the tears wouldn't come. Until I started talking about my depression and the constant missing of my Dad. I miss him so ridiculously much. 

Just a quick pit stop

 "Get counseling" they say. "There's treatment for that" they say. "There's a special therapy for that" they say. "Bullshit" I say.

I really don't know. I really think there's something stuck in there. Inside. Where the things go round and round in my mind. But I've therapized, and counselized, and group therapied, and dug deep many a time before. And I'm scared. But I've turned into something, someone, I don't like. A dirty someone. Someone who doesn't keep up with the house, who has too many animals, whose house smells like animals, who has trash on the floor, who has more stuff than space to keep it in.

So what's next? Cuz I don't want to live here. But to get "back" from here (ha! back to where? just back from the middle of hell I guess), is a much bigger thing than getting here. And it looks like a long and winding road. Probably full of painful truths. I am real sick of painful truths. 

So is there a way out of here? I suppose that there is. But I'll just re-iterate, there's a lot of fear. And scoffing and disbelief. Which leads back around to hopelessness. and it feels like a vicious cycle.

Random observations.....

"It's normal" they say. The feeling of apathy and of floating through life without a rhyme or reason. What's my purpose? Apparently its common for those of us on disability to feel like we lack a purpose, like we're just being propelled along and living life with no real purpose or meaning. But common or not, it's exhausting and it's real. It's big. It's both quiet and roaring. Sometimes the din of the noise in my head is all-encompassing. But sometimes the deafening sound is just the sound of silence. Nothingness. 

Today my prayer is that I find a purpose and grasp onto it with a vengeance. That I don't feel directionless and floating.

Random thought of the day.... I never ever thought I'd feel victorious when I pay my own energy bill. But every time I am able to pay my own Evergy bill, I feel powerful. I feel like I just won. I never thought this would be privilege of adulthood that I would revere. But boy does it feel like a victory every time I have paid this bill after almost a year of relying on the goodness of others to pay it for me. Paying bills is a mundane privilege and to call it a privilege is just an annoying term for obligation. But today, I know that the ability to pay bills can fall outside the scope of things inside my control. And it's no longer just a hum-drum obligation, but a privilege of adulting that I've taken for granted and now know can be lost just as easily as being obtainable. Today I'm grateful for the mundane act of paying bills.