The trouble with the truth

I have been thinking about this a lot. I made the mistake of clicking over to a Twitter account I have no business looking at anymore and reading, yet another dribbling version of this person need for everyone to know her “truth”. It made me think of this article I’d read some time ago about why science tells us not to believe eyewitnesses testimony. The reality of it is, we all see the “truth” different.

You see, you and I can watch the same thing and see two, totally different stories. It’s proven. And so while your truth is “your truth” and my truth is mine; that doesn’t actually make it the truth. It makes it what our memory sees. It’s bullshit. It’s a memory and we all have memories that are different than the next persons.

The past month has been a series of ups and downs. Somedays I have this peace seep into my soul that let’s me think for a few moments, everything is going to be okay and then, a something else washes over me, with this fear, that this person , relentless, selfish, insecure and mean, is never going to let anyone try and get back to a normal life.  Instead, my life is going to be a series of hateful tweets, shitty, self-centered decisions and scary stalking motions that leave my teenage daughter fearful for her safety.

There are fewer of those days luckily and more days of peace. Days of walks and baseball and summer. There are mornings of watching the beautiful men in my life snuggle and hold each other close. There is that excitement of when our Daddy comes home. There is sharing memories that have been missing for the last couple years. It’s a pity I still let those shitty days, that hateful person, rent space in my head but I am incredibly grateful for those days that I get peace.

Erin, my therapist told me to find something that I love about all the things I “hate”. Whether it’s food, eggs for example, or whatever, or whoever. I hate them but I love how a good, fresh farm egg makes a cake taste. I find my mindfulness in the flavor those eggs give to my much-loved baking. I hate the smell of cigars but I am reminded of my dad who smokes them at card games and I love him and I love that he gets pleasure from some things, even if it’s cigars. And today, my love for this person I hate so much is that they gave me pieces of my life back. Ones that I have been missing forever. Love notes and handholding. The courage to put on my wedding rings again. I love that, despite the months of torture, I found my voice again. That I have found a love for working out and caring for my body, my temple. That I have made it a priority to make it to the gym, to the therapist, to eat better, to take my medicine. And while I truly, deeply and profoundly hate this person, I love that I got some of my life back because of their selfish, hateful and evil-driven actions. And because they’re so awful, I know I am not. Because I have truly seen what an evil, unstable person can do.

I’ll be honest here. I am tired of being silent. I have sat by and watched this person shit on my life.  I don’t know that it is all about me, or my family but  I am sure some of it is. I can guess what. I have 400+ screenshots of hateful. I have hours with the Royersford Police and many miles to the courthouse and avoid going to certain stores as to avoid this nasty person. But I am done with silence and I will write what I want. And I will say how awful and selfish I feel this person is. How a normal person would have stopped with the bullshit months ago. But instead, makes it a point to make fun of or hurt people they “supposedly” love. What a joke. When you love someone, even when they “scorned” you, you don’t dig daggers into their back. The people you love, you care for. Even when they hurt you. You make sure, even though they’ve imploded your world, that they have a coat when it is cold and food in their bellies. You don’t burn their fucking house down. That’s what SELFISH people do.

The truth works two ways. Mine and yours. Stop with it now. Move on. It’s time. Stop trying to hurt us. Stop hurting yourself. It’s time to move on.

 

 

Let’s talk about right and wrong, shall we?

I worry about the future.

It seems our current leaders are already lacking a moral compass and now? We’ve got a bunch of 20/30 somethings with the same issues. I worry about the work ethics and the inability to see outside oneself and as I watch certain communities as an outsider versus an insider, I worry. And I worry a lot.

So let’s talk about this. Shall we?

This is Davis. My oldest son and the other young man is Conor. They’re good kids. Both of them. But they’re friends and I happened to have a photo handy of the two of them. This is not about them but I want you to have a visual. So, say Davis is cheating on his school work. Like all the time. And that Conor found out. And then Conor totally ignored that what Davis was doing was bad. And not only did he not do anything about it, he gave him tools to help him to continue to cheat on his homework. And then Davis’ entire world imploded. He about lost his schooling and his life. Where does that leave Conor? To blame? No, not entirely but part of the problem. The really big, big, big problem. And let’s say there were many people who knew about Davis’ little cheating problem and they didn’t tell either. Are they to blame? Nope. But they’re still part of the problem. Davis life imploded. Davis’ mother is upset that his friend knew and didn’t tell her so she could help him and everything has gone to crap. And why? Fear? Is it fear that keeps us from doing the right thing? Is doing the right thing REALLY that hard?

Everyone is too scared to hurt their friend and then, in the long run, THEY REALLY HURT THEIR FRIEND. Are you getting this? By not telling, YOU ARE HURTING PEOPLE. You are PART of the problem. You have a shitty moral compass and then to smack “Christian friend” on top of that lack of morality? Well, there you go. This is a huge problem. Huge. We should be guiding people. Steering them to do good and be good and not be self-serving little assholes who will lie about anything to make sure they get their way or not feel uncomfortable.

And let’s think about Davis’ mom here. She was the LAST to know. The last. And should have been the first. When there was an inkling of bad doing, friends should have said to Davis, “hey buddy, this isn’t right.” and if he didn’t listen? Maybe the teacher or someone like that if you felt too afraid or worried to tell his mother. But nope, Conor and everyone else just ignored the problem and in some cases, handed him the homework to copy in the shape of a theoretical house key. YOU WERE WRONG. You are wrong. Period.

I am baffled. Frustrated really with people, in general. And look, I am not perfect. I have screamed and pushed people at church services. *WAVING*, hi I am an asshole sometimes too. But I know how to apologize. Like a grown up. I know to say, “hey I did a really crappy thing. I can’t change it and nothing you did or anyone did makes that okay. And I am sorry”. That’s how you apologize. You don’t say, “hey I am sorry that I did that thing but you picked on me and so I felt entitled. But I am sorry, kind of but not really.” No. You don’t get to make an excuse to be an asshole. Period.

You also don’t get to be my friend if you sit back and watch that shit. This is what we call boundaries. Your vibe attracts your tribe. I fully believe that if the company I keep tends to snakes, they very well might be a snake too. But people like to watch the shit show, don’t they? The gapper delay is proof of that, isn’t it?  If you call yourself Christian if you call yourself someone’s friend. You are MORALLY obligated to point out to them they’re assholes when they’re being assholes. My friends do it to me. It makes me uncomfortable and sometimes I recoil but I appreciate it in the end. It makes me a better person and it makes me a better friend.

And so, there is my lesson for the day. I’m worried about our future. Worried.

 

 

Have Ramen, will be okay

Kevin works for Hai Street Kitchen now. Gone are the days of lemonades and red straws and here comes the days of sushi burritos and omg, ramen. So much awesome ramen. I am sitting here, eating said ramen, happy I voted and ready for bed time. Today everything feels okay. Yesterday, Sunday? It did not but today, ramen makes it okay.

The “my life got stolen from me” diet, has been a weird one. There are days where I eat nothing and other days where I can’t get the cheese crackers in my mouth fast enough. Some mornings, it’s 4 cups of coffee, black and others, one with sugar is hard to suck down. I’ve lost weight I needed to lose but at the expense of lots of normalcy. I’m out of control. Being out of control makes me feel horrible. I feel horrible most of the days. I can’t seem to figure out how to regain control. I paint; out of control. I cry; out of control. I go back to work; out of control. I write and say what I want; oh em gee, out of control. I stop writing, stop talking; so out of control.

I have no control except to sit here and enjoy my ramen.

So I will take that control. It’s all you can do when you have a daily battle with mental health combined with immense trauma.

This is mental health awareness month. I have a deep struggle with mental illness. One that no god or higher power can fix. It’s a chemical thing. One that makes me so sad and sometimes, unaware of what is actually happening instead of what the manipulations and manipulators are telling me. I am a high functioning mental health person. I can wake up each and every morning and plan out my suicide but still get the kids ready to go to school, sew a Halloween costume and make dinner, that actually tastes good. I’ve never been to “that place” when I would actually do it, but I know, very well, the feelings before it.

I see a therapist now. My March sent me into a very dark place and my April, well it dug the hole for my coffin. May has been somewhat better. I was able to apologize and to realize that my struggles aren’t something I am making up in my head. They’re happening, to me and not happening because I did something wrong.  This is because I found a therapist that is so very much for me. I couldn’t have met her at a better time. She doesn’t make me feel bitter or angry. She is the first to tell me that when my actions are awful, that they are awful but there are reasons behind them and the reasons aren’t because I am crazy or mean; the reasons are because I am getting my ass kicked and sometimes, our feelings are out of our control. We just need to learn to reign them in, in a healthy way and not let the white rage come through. She and my army of friends have saved me from filling that May hole.

May is mental health awareness month. I am gonna find some control in educating people about the “sad”. Tell them about my brother; he lost to the sad. About myself, who can’t see her beauty because the demons are so big. I will use May to show people that have mental illness aren’t always the people on the street corners chanting obscenities. That sometimes it is the mother at the library with “bitchy resting face” or the funny lady who loved her family fiercely and was fine one day and gone the next. I want people to know the signs of scary mental illness. That often suicide isn’t the tweet that reads, “I am not okay” but it’s the giving away of oneself so that you have nothing to take to the afterlife. And that sometimes suicide comes out of the blue so you have to really look closely at the people you love.

I also want people to know that mental illness doesn’t make me crazy. Sure, it makes me sad but is also makes me who I am. Well, parts of who I am. And I am truly loving, truly giving. It’s in the parts of me that paint and draw and sew and would do just about anything for anyone. And while the sad will keep me from your party, it will not keep me from holding you in your darkest hours. I think anyone who really knows me, knows that is me.

So please, educate yourself. Know that praying doesn’t cure true mental health issues anymore then dancing naked in the woods does. Learn the signs of the suicidal person. It could be your daughter or your son, someday, scary as it is to say outloud, it might be me. And the “not sick” me, wants you to save me, because I have so much to live for.

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