Ethereal in the Abyss
and Broad
sealed up the broken pieces--all in good order,
and worried me with unknowns
like an arachnid
eight limbs hunkered down
a desperate stubborn grip.
hunkered down
against the running water.
Try to stop me.
I asked for more or less, but preferably more.
So I'll stand here with my cheese and bread
in my mismatched socks
facing the door (I think it's blue)
Until it opens
5/28/2008
Thursday, September 25, 2014
In the morning
In the morning, I laid next to her.
she was not asleep.
she draped her arm across my shoulder
pressed her head against my cheek.
her warmth and lightness sank into me
and my little bird sang to me
as I floated in sleep
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Art by Egon Schiele found on Wikimedia Commons
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Mothers_in_art#mediaviewer/File:Egon_Schiele_052.jpg
Art by Egon Schiele found on Wikimedia Commons
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Mothers_in_art#mediaviewer/File:Egon_Schiele_052.jpg
Friday, September 5, 2014
Taking the Long View
Shortly after finishing my first year of college, I cut my hair off in a fit of depression. It was an alternative to self-harm but still not a very healthy way to deal with things. I got my hair fixed into an adorable pixie and started seeing a doctor and a counselor. That was when I was first diagnosed with depression. It is generally under control now. I am one of the lucky ones for whom medication works really well. But my hair has never recovered. I loved my pixie for a while, but I really began to miss my curls and the versatility of long hair. I keep trying to grow it out (which explains the unkempt poodle look.) But I can never succeed.
I realized long ago that my hair is a symbol for me. When I'm feeling down, when I feel like I have no control over my life, when I grow impatient with everything, I cut my hair. It gives me a sense of power, a sense that I have changed something, a sense that I can make things happen faster. But I still want my hair back. My desire to make things happen faster means it doesn't happen at all.
Resisting the urge to cut my hair has been especially hard for the last few years. About 2 years ago my husband developed severe anxiety and depression. He began struggling with work, home life, and especially school. Trying to stay strong sent me into my own deep depression for a while. Things got really bad.
In an attempt to find our feet again we moved in with my husband's parents early this year. Progress has been slow. After several months my husband finally obtained steady full time work with benefits. However, it does not pay well enough for us to live on our own. Finding treatment for my husband's anxiety and depression has been slow and difficult. The most recent setback was a decline in my own health. I hope it is temporary, but it has been interfering significantly with my ability to take care of things at home.
A couple of weeks ago I began to feel the weight of it all. I was discouraged and afraid. My in-laws are wonderful, and amiable people to live with, but I wanted us to be on our own. I wanted independence so badly that I struggled to be grateful. I wanted to get better. I wanted my husband to get better. I tortured myself trying to come up with something, anything, that would get us out of this situation quickly. I considered cutting my hair, but I decided it wasn't worth it because it wouldn't actually change anything. I felt like giving up. I knew things would probably get better eventually, but I didn't think I could hold on any longer. Finally I just talked to my husband.
After I told him how I felt I asked, "what are we going to do?" He replied simply, " I don't think there is anything to do. It is just a matter of waiting."
I don't know why, but hearing him say that softened my heart. I felt calm and hushed.
That night, lying in bed, I tried an experiment. I imagined where we might be 6 months from now, and 6 months from then, and 6 months after that. I began to see the long view. It was not just some distant idea of a better time, but a time-frame, and a picture growing brighter and more beautiful with each step. I felt hope rising within me.
I learned something very important over the next few days as I pondered my experience. I realized that I had been fighting for control for so long because I was terrified that things would be hard forever. I was impatient because I was scared. I wanted things to get better now so I could know for sure that they would. While I had faith that things would get a little better eventually, I did not have hope that things could be wonderful. I did not have hope that I could find happiness in the future.
Somehow this does all relate back to my hair. My hair is a daily symbol for me of my newly discovered hope and patience. The best way for me to stay away from the scissors is to visualize how amazing my curls will be 5 years from now. The best way for me to keep from falling into the pit of despair is to imagine how wonderful things will be for our family in the next 6, 12, or 36 months. As silly as it seems, my shaky relationship with my hair has helped me learn a precious lesson: Faith is a start, but hope is the key to patience. Faith is the belief that something will come, but hope is the belief that it will be as glorious as you imagine.
See also: "Be of Good Cheer" by Thomas S. Monson, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2009/04/be-of-good-cheer?lang=eng
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Cobblestone_roads#mediaviewer/File:Kr%C3%A5kgr%C3%A4nd_070405.JPG
I realized long ago that my hair is a symbol for me. When I'm feeling down, when I feel like I have no control over my life, when I grow impatient with everything, I cut my hair. It gives me a sense of power, a sense that I have changed something, a sense that I can make things happen faster. But I still want my hair back. My desire to make things happen faster means it doesn't happen at all.
Resisting the urge to cut my hair has been especially hard for the last few years. About 2 years ago my husband developed severe anxiety and depression. He began struggling with work, home life, and especially school. Trying to stay strong sent me into my own deep depression for a while. Things got really bad.
In an attempt to find our feet again we moved in with my husband's parents early this year. Progress has been slow. After several months my husband finally obtained steady full time work with benefits. However, it does not pay well enough for us to live on our own. Finding treatment for my husband's anxiety and depression has been slow and difficult. The most recent setback was a decline in my own health. I hope it is temporary, but it has been interfering significantly with my ability to take care of things at home.
A couple of weeks ago I began to feel the weight of it all. I was discouraged and afraid. My in-laws are wonderful, and amiable people to live with, but I wanted us to be on our own. I wanted independence so badly that I struggled to be grateful. I wanted to get better. I wanted my husband to get better. I tortured myself trying to come up with something, anything, that would get us out of this situation quickly. I considered cutting my hair, but I decided it wasn't worth it because it wouldn't actually change anything. I felt like giving up. I knew things would probably get better eventually, but I didn't think I could hold on any longer. Finally I just talked to my husband.
After I told him how I felt I asked, "what are we going to do?" He replied simply, " I don't think there is anything to do. It is just a matter of waiting."
I don't know why, but hearing him say that softened my heart. I felt calm and hushed.
That night, lying in bed, I tried an experiment. I imagined where we might be 6 months from now, and 6 months from then, and 6 months after that. I began to see the long view. It was not just some distant idea of a better time, but a time-frame, and a picture growing brighter and more beautiful with each step. I felt hope rising within me.
I learned something very important over the next few days as I pondered my experience. I realized that I had been fighting for control for so long because I was terrified that things would be hard forever. I was impatient because I was scared. I wanted things to get better now so I could know for sure that they would. While I had faith that things would get a little better eventually, I did not have hope that things could be wonderful. I did not have hope that I could find happiness in the future.
Somehow this does all relate back to my hair. My hair is a daily symbol for me of my newly discovered hope and patience. The best way for me to stay away from the scissors is to visualize how amazing my curls will be 5 years from now. The best way for me to keep from falling into the pit of despair is to imagine how wonderful things will be for our family in the next 6, 12, or 36 months. As silly as it seems, my shaky relationship with my hair has helped me learn a precious lesson: Faith is a start, but hope is the key to patience. Faith is the belief that something will come, but hope is the belief that it will be as glorious as you imagine.See also: "Be of Good Cheer" by Thomas S. Monson, President of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.
https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2009/04/be-of-good-cheer?lang=eng
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/Category:Cobblestone_roads#mediaviewer/File:Kr%C3%A5kgr%C3%A4nd_070405.JPG
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