Still Riding The Crazy Train But The View Ain't Bad

So remember when I said I'd kind of gone off the deep end? Yeah well that was an understatement. I'm still there, riding the crazy train, barely treading water at the deep end of the pool, I'm living in a world without chocolate or books or green tea. . . . you get the bleak picture. Point is, this isn't something that just goes away. And looking back I can see that I started developing little cracks as far back as a year ago. Nobody else really noticed and I just thought lack of sleep and money, Bee's health, my son's depression and explosions, lack of transportation, lupus, and female issues were all conspiring together to make things a little tougher. And that is all certainly true. But it was something else, something deeper and I went a little crazy. Well, am a little crazy. And by the way, don't be offended. I'm from the South and crazy is a perfectly acceptable thing to be. I mean, don't you watch the news? ALL the crazy stuff happens in Florida which is because, I assume, per capita, we have more crazy people. I think it's the heat. And using the word "crazy" allows for a little levity. However, as a mother of a child that is, as defined by her diagnosis, mentally retarded I can understand if someone gets a little offended. After all, I've been known to go all mad cow on anyone I hear using the word "retard". So I get it but I promise, I'm not being derogatory.

So back to my point. I'm crazy and I'm now on crazy pills. They help a little but they make me sleepy. Now, lupus makes me sleepy. My heart defect makes me sleepy. The extra weight I've put on from the prednisone to treat my lupus makes me tired (which is different from sleepy as some of you might understand), stress makes me tired and so on and so on. Point is, if my air mattress was more comfortable I could stay in bed constantly and still not get enough rest. But the pills take a bit of the worst of the crazy away. Not all of it and I'm trying to keep the consumption to a minimum as I've been given the "addiction" caution talk from my doc about the meds. But at the moment I'll take addiction later for a little tiny bit of almost sanity now.

You're probably wondering where I'm going with this and what the heck it has to do with God. Well, I'll tell you and then I'll probably wander off onto another tangent and then get back to the point again. Try to stick with me, it might be worth it in the end but I can't promise anything.

Okay - here it is: God always has a plan. 

The point could also be: God can turn a tragedy into a miracle. 

A few scriptures to back these points up before I go on another ramble:

Romans 5:3-4 Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; character, hope. 

Okay, I'll ramble here for a minute. As I typed the scripture above I thought to myself "Who the heck enjoys suffering?" I mean, sure, we can keep our eye on the truth that God is at work in our lives but down here in the mud and the blood that doesn't always help. Or maybe my faith is still not strong enough. But I know plenty of faithful people truly living Christ-like lives (and this is a lot different than being a Christian but that is a rant for another day) and they struggle with struggle, too - if you know what I mean. But I think the intention of the scripture is that eventually, perhaps once the misery is over and you are on the other side of it, you can rejoice in what you went through because now you can see where that struggle has led you. Point is, God's got a plan and wide screen viewing, you know?

Jeremiah 29:11-13 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. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

James 1:2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.

1 Corinthians 10:13 No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.

That last one I think you can safely substitute the words "misery", "struggle", "trouble", "affliction of the crazies" or any other thing that pops into your head for the word "temptation". Basically, God's got a plan and He is going to make it all turn out alright. And that's my point today. My journey on the crazy train has taught me a few things about compassion, about being a friend, about not judging people, about walking the mile. And from the vantage point of nearly clear thinking in the middle of a dose of meds, I can see that this is a growing experience for me. An opportunity to become a better person because now I understand something that I previously had little compassion for. Not to say that I had none, but I didn't understand, and so couldn't fully respond with complete love and acceptance. Now, I have inside information, so to speak.

When the anxiety began to consume me, when the fear froze me, I started researching online for natural ways to treat anxiety. I read all about exercise, green tea, meditation, proper nutrition, and a variety of other things. All these months later I realize those articles are meant to treat the kind of anxiety everyone faces through daily stresses, not full on episodes of crazy. And trust me, the crazy has been all up in my business. Still, what could trying those things hurt? So I made a vow to exercise daily no matter how I felt (Leslie Sansone Walk at Home - try it, she is amazing and youtube has full length workouts for free) and trust me, there have been days I could barely slog through. But somewhere in my brain I got the idea that if I didn't do this, something bad would happen. For example, right now it is 2 in the morning. I haven't done my mile yet (I'm working up to the two miles but like I said, I'm so freaking tired) but I will before I go to bed, which is usually around sunrise. Another part of my anxiety is that it gets worse at night, and I feel like I need to be on watch. I also vowed to write creatively every day. Now, you may be reading this blog thinking "Why? She's not a talented writer!" and that's okay. This blog isn't about presentation, it's about reality. Remember what I said in the first post? This is a trip through my brain so I've already warned you - it ain't always gonna be pretty. The point is, I vowed to do it, even if it was just one single sentence, I had to write something. And so, I did. And last night, I finished a book.

Let me back up to the glory days for you (feel free to sing the song while you read this, it's a good song and now it's in my head) to my school days. From the first time I won an award for my writing in elementary school (it was a national award, by the way) I was certain I'd grow up to be a writer. All of my teachers (with the exception of my high school math teacher who believed I was some sort of personal blight) thought I would be as well. I racked up a lot of awards, had some poems and short stories published in a few magazines, newspapers. Typing this I get the image of a high school quarterback that everyone thinks is going to go on to the pros and get million dollar deals but at the 10 year reunion already has a comb over and sells lemons to us poor folk. That's kind of me - without the comb over though if this prednisone induced hair loss doesn't stop it might come to that. Point is, I married, had kids, specifically a profoundly disabled kid that was physically, financially, and emotionally draining (I love her, but hey, honesty here) and I quit writing for the most part. I put those dreams away. Oh, once in a while I wrote things. A short story that appeared in a regional magazine. A poem here and there for weddings and things (the thing being a eulogy for a child, sigh). But, mostly, I didn't write. If I had time to sit down for something like writing I was napping, I mean, come on! Last year - before the cracks - I started writing again. Then the cracks appeared and I didn't recognize them and thought I was just silly for trying again.

Always, though, in the back of my mind, was this thing someone said to me once - God gave you a gift, how are you using it? 

The answer . . . I wasn't. Then the question: Did I still have the gift? The answer. . . (ummm, I'm starting to sound like Oh from Home here) I didn't know and was afraid to find out. 

But my vows were to God, kind of like a deal. You probably know all about those, right? Fox hole deals. Help me out and I'll do blah blah blah. Well, frankly, God can smell fear induced malarkey a mile off so the only one dealing is the person in the fox hole. God's plans aren't going to change just because you vowed to be nice to your odd Aunt Patrice at the next family get together or volunteer more or whatever. YOU may change, if you choose to keep your end of the bargain, but God's got wide screen viewing, remember, and that fox hole is right smack in the middle of whatever plan he's been cooking up all along. 

But like most fairly honest fox hole deal makers - with the added bonus of my brain making me think I HAD to or bad things would happen even though I know well and good God doesn't work like that - I've been keeping to my deal. Daily exercise, ugh (though I've actually gained weight, not sure what's up with that) and daily writing. Gallons of Twinings Decaf Green Tea. As healthy a diet as my finances can allow. And even though the crazy was getting worse, I stuck with it. Seriously, sometimes I was like a puppet doing my exercise video. Some nights I really did only write a single sentence. And when it became obvious that I wasn't getting better I spent six weeks desperately trying to get in to see the doctor for some magic pills. And in case you're wondering, spending the night clutching your kids' bottle of seizure medication thinking you could drink it and everything would just be okay does not qualify for a same day sick appointment. Go figure. I did, however, manage to get an appointment for a sinus infection, thank God, or maybe I wouldn't be here right now.

So here I am, pills in hand. Still riding the crazy train. Still deep in the fox hole. But changed for the better, all the same. Although, to be honest, when I'd finished the last sentence of the book, got down on my knees in thanks, and realized I would not have written anything had my life continued down the usual track, I did hope that God would look down and say "Okay, good. Lesson learned. Let me just restore your sanity real quick." Judging by the anxiety slithering around in the back of my head today, I'm guessing He didn't do that. I mean, it would have been my preference but He's got that wide screen viewing and all so I guess I just need to keep on writing, exercising, drinking enough tea to raise Twining stocks, and hope that I'm close to the light at the end of the tunnel. And, in the meantime, just have faith and remember this:

Psalm 37:5 Give yourself to the Lord; trust in Him and He will help you.

Perspective

Recently I went through a box of old photos my stepmother had kept. One picture, in particular, had a profound affect on me. It was taken one cold, snowy December night when I was ten. The year was 1983 and I was just a few days shy of my 11th birthday. In the picture I am wearing a hideous red velvet jumpsuit with a frilly, red and white striped shirt and a pair of boots that had been handed down through my five older brothers and had been cut down a bit so that they would fit me. We won't even discuss my hair. It was, after all, the 80's and taken in that context - with the exception of the boots - I looked just fine. I was even smiling, which was rare for me as a child. You see, I was very excited. That night, I was to attend a church Christmas party.
A few months earlier my family had decided to look for a new church but by Christmas we hadn't found one. The pastor of our previous church and his wife had decided to become missionaries and I think my parents were not very fond of all the changes in the church after that. We hadn't attended in several months so it was a surprise when the new youth leader called our house one night about a week before Christmas. She wanted to invite me to the youth Christmas party. My parents said that I could go, but they would not drive me, so she agreed to pick me up and drop me off.
We lived at the end of a very long dirt road that meandered through thick patches of woods and pastures. The road was about two, perhaps three miles in length. My brothers and I walked this road every school day to the main road to catch the bus and this "bus stop" was where the youth leader agreed to pick me up. I remember that night very clearly. It was extremely cold and had been snowing all day. The wind was biting, the snow flying, and it was so very dark outside. I was afraid of the dark all those years ago. Okay, truth is I still am. But I'd have braved anything to get the chance to go to that party. My stepmother had been baking - a rare occurrence - while I was getting ready and when I left she placed a large slab of banana nut bread, wrapped in a paper towel, in my hand - another very rare treat. I remember how warm it was in my mitten covered hands and as I walked out the door I held it close to my face to feel the warmth. I honestly don't think it lasted very long, I was whip thin but had the appetite of two teenage boys. Because it was so cold, and so dark, I hurried to the main road. When I arrived I stood where I could easily be seen and waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually I was so cold I knew I couldn't stay out much longer and decided I'd better head back home. That walk, which before had been quick with hope and anticipation, was long and dreary and bitterly cold, inside and out.
My stepmother was angry to see me, insisted I must have dawdled and that the youth leader had tired of waiting and left. I had embarrassed the family and should be ashamed of myself. I remember I cried myself to sleep that night. Couldn't I ever do anything right? It seemed I couldn't.
A week or so later the youth leader called again. She spoke with my stepmother and then asked to speak with me. I realize that her explanation was meant as an apology but it was, really, a cementing of an idea that had been growing in me for years. You see, she told me she was very sorry but she had forgotten about me.
Forgotten about me.
I was forgettable.
My response? Oh no, that's okay. Don't you worry about it! My feelings don't matter, let me make you feel better. And she did. And that was when I knew: I didn't matter. Not to my family, not to strangers. Not at all.
Over the years I have searched for people that will love me, for whom I would matter. You ever see two people, friends, family, spouses, and when one walks into the room the other lights up? I want that. Who doesn't? Just one person to think of me each day. To notice if I'm not around. To love me enough to push and prod until all my neurosis lay in a broken heap at our feet. For a while, I thought I'd found that.
So fast forward to about eight months ago or so. Myself and six other women had this group. We met on a private fb chat and watched a movie together and talked once a month, sometimes twice. We had a private group page and shared our lives, we'd known each other for about 13 years but lived too far away from each other to get together in "real life". One of our group often isolated herself and had been gone for a while. I called, I messaged, I sent cards. She avoided. One day I finally got her and she cried, saying she was afraid to come back to the group, that we would be angry with her for having been gone so long. I promised we weren't and she said she would come back. I thought it would be nice if she could see how much she meant to everyone, but in order to not single her out, I created posts with each of our names on them. The idea was that each person should write something they really loved about that person. Everyone participated and wrote wonderful things about each other. The other ladies told each other how they felt they were like daughters, sisters, mothers, how special, how talented, how loved they were. Under my name? They all wrote in varying ways that I was a good mother.
Oh, I know. It's silly to be hurt by such a thing. But you see, I was ten again and felt like an afterthought, someone that didn't matter so much, but you included because you were being nice. I didn't share how hurt I was, I knew I was being childish. But the truth is, I have always been that little ten year old girl with so much hope only to be told I'm forgettable. Of course, I didn't realize at the time, but I was well on my way to this little island of crazy I'm currently inhabiting. The price is high but as they say in real estate: location, location, location. And the location of this little island is right in the center of all my broken dreams, lost hopes, blackest moods, biggest fears, neediest impulses, deepest pains. So I think I reacted to the exercise more emotionally than I would have had I not already been developing all those little tiny cracks.
Who doesn't have baggage? Who doesn't carry a lot of hurt and pain around with them? I know a woman that was sure that every time she walked in a room and someone laughed that they were laughing at her. Didn't matter that they hadn't even seen her, all those little snubs and hurts and insecurities started poking at her until she felt like she was wrong somehow, less than. Most people have them, learn to heal them or live with them or let them ruin their lives. Usually one of the three. I'm somewhere smack in the middle of that triangle.
In the end, I think our lives all come down to perspective. We cannot see anything through eyes other than our own and our experiences color everything. But there is someone that sees all things, clearly.

Hebrews 4:13 Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we much give account.

Matthew 6:3-4 But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

Matthew 6:6 But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.

See a theme there? God sees everything, even into our hearts. God can see what is really happening, and He can see how WE see what is happening. And guess what? God loves us, insecurities, neurosis, breakdowns, breakups, crackups and all. Because, in the end, our perspective is flawed. God's however, never is.

Zephaniah 3:17 The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with his love, He will rejoice over you with singing.

Now go find yourself the soundtrack to The Prince of Egypt and listen to the song "Through Heaven's Eyes" sung by the extraordinarily talented Brian Stokes Mitchell or go to this link and remember, God sees everything and He still loves you. 

Let's Visit Loneliness Again

     I have - or had, not sure any more - a wonderful group of friends. We were a group of seven women and we've known each other for about thirteen years. The last couple of years have been very hard financially for my kids and I and my friends have been so wonderfully supportive. When they found out that the last week of the month is so lean I don't eat, and that Noah doesn't eat that much, they sent groceries, grocery money. When they discovered we couldn't afford the groceries for a Thanksgiving or Christmas feast, they ordered them delivered straight to our door two years in a row. They sent Christmas presents to my children. Lovely women. Truly a blessing from God. They didn't care about our financial situation, understood that I could never repay them, and reached out to help us anyway. We would not have made it through the last two years without their kindness and generosity.
     It seemed that these wonderful women would always be in my life, they were my family. But then, depression hit. I can deal with depression. It made things a little harder, moving through life was a little more difficult but I was still moving forward. Then the anxiety hit. Terrible panic attacks, paralyzing fear. I tried to talk to these wonderful friends of mine but they didn't seem to listen. I was told to look on the bright side, to stop feeling sorry for myself, to make the choice to be happy, to be stronger. I could feel their impatience with me growing. They messaged less and less. No more phone calls. I tried not to talk about how I was feeling, I understood that there were some things people didn't want to deal with, even the most wonderful, giving, loving people. After a while there was silence. No phone calls, no messages. I would check my mail every day hoping for a card, a little note that said "Hey, I love you and you are not alone. I'm thinking about you." It took a few weeks to realize the mailbox would be empty but for the bills and junk mail, that the phone was not going to ring.
     I have never felt more alone in my life, and that is saying something. There has been one woman, a newer friend that I am still getting to know, that has been here for me as she can. I say as she can because she deals with many of the same issues I do: financial struggles, physical pain due to a disease or disorder (though she hasn't received a diagnosis yet but we are praying for one), depression, anxiety. She knows my darkness and sits with me in it when she can. I try to do the same for her. When my family of girlfriends abandoned me, God had someone else ready. He had laid the foundation for this two years previously when her daughter met my son at school. Eventually her character convinced my son - who had been an atheist up to that point - to come to her church. He would walk every Sunday to mass. Four miles round trip in the hot Florida sun, wearing his dress shirt and tie and not made for long walks dress shoes. One day her father found out and the rest is history. He started taking Noah to mass, became his sponsor in his RCIA class. Her mother and I started talking and we really clicked. Then things started to fall apart in my life. But God had already known what was going to happen, He had already been at work preparing.
     How much time do you think God spends working in the background of our lives, building bridges over troubled waters, spreading safety nets for those times we try to fly without Him, preparing a shoulder when we need a friend? I think He spends a lot more time than we realize. I think God is always working on something, forever at His loom weaving the tapestry of our lives. We may lose sight of God but neither God nor Jesus has ever lost sight of us. The bible abounds with proof of this but I think I was most moved to believe it when I read John 17:20-26:

My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me. Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world. Righteous Father, though the world does not know you, I know you, and they know that you have sent me. I have made you known to them, and will continue to make you known in order that the love you have for me may be in them and that I myself may be in them.

     That was about me. That was about you. Even before we were born Jesus was praying for us. Even in this moment Jesus is praying for us. We don't deserve it. I am often ashamed to address Jesus in prayer, I know that some of the pain, the horror that He endured was caused by me. By my selfishness, my sins, and I have a hard time coming to Him in prayer. But Jesus will wait for me, as will God. And in the meantime, Jesus will continue to pray and God will continue to weave a foundation for me that no amount of anxiety or depression can obscure. Lupus pain and illness cannot change. Loss of family and friends cannot break it. If I have no other family, if there is not a human on this Earth that thinks of me on any day, I still have a Father and I still have a Brother and they are weaving and praying and loving me and when I am so alone on this Earth I weep, I am not alone in Creation.

Still On The Wrong Train

Really rough time right now. Today is one of those days I'm not sure if I can get through. I've been trying to get in to see my doctor but apparently severe anxiety and thoughts of suicide don't count as same day sick. So I'm really not up for a lot of writing at the moment but I just wanted to put this here:

Psalm 150

Praise the Lord.

Praise God in his sanctuary;

praise him in his mighty heavens.

Praise him for his acts of power;

praise him for his surpassing greatness.

Praise him with the sounding of the trumpet,

praise him with the harp and lyre,

praise him with tambourine and dancing,

praise him with the strings and flute,

praise him with the clash of cymbals,

praise him with resounding cymbals.

Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.

Praise the Lord.