I’m walking on the edge of the knife. Just waiting on the cuts to get deep enough. Waiting to see that first course of blood. That first sign. Waiting to see if I fall to either side. If the blade is sharp enough to end it or just sharp enough to cause more pain. More infection in my soul. More hopelessness. Waiting on someone to tell me to stop. But no one cares enough to tell me. No one cares enough to save me. So I keep walking….
Like so many, I was saddened to hear of the passing of Robin Williams. Isn’t it ironic that so many entertainers are victims of depression and substance abuse?
Thinking over the list of people that we have lost in recent years is like thinking over a list of the greatest talents of our times. Health Ledger, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Kurt Cobain, Tony Scott, Whitney Houston, the list goes on and on.
It made me think. Is perhaps the reason that so many entertainers succumb to these insidious diseases because they are so used to living the lie? We all do it to some degree. Say “I’m fine” when we are really not. Put a smile on when inside we are crying.
The pressure to entertain everyone has to be tremendous. To be the funny person when the world is crashing down around you. To make others smile when yours is so fake. It’s so easy to let depression isolate you. To make you withdraw from others for fear that they’ll see the suffering you try so hard to hide. To pretend so hard that you’re happy that you almost believe it. Until you’re alone and reality comes crashing back.
Someone told me that they think suicide is the bravest and most selfish choice a person can make. As unpopular as that idea is, I get it. To overcome the fear of death because life is just too hard take a certain kind of bravery. To leave those you love behind to deal with the aftermath takes selfishness.
Maybe it’s time we stopped expecting people to be perfect and happy all the time. Maybe it’s time we accept flaws and love people anyway. Maybe we need to take the time to do more than shoot a text.
Depression is a real illness. Accept it. Look for it. Step in and step up. None of us and none of those we love are immune.
If there were a Guinness world record for weirdest dreams, I would hold that record hands down. By a long shot.
The first dream I actually remember was when I was perhaps seven. In it there was a Queen Anne chair that was deep purple that had a poster of WC Fields on the back. It was chasing me through some Victorian house trying to kill me. Oh, and it only had three legs. Although I overcame enough of that dream to love the color purple, WC Fields scares the bejeezus out of me to this day.
About six months ago give or take, I dreamt that I took an airplane to some Arab nation. The man I was interested in at that time met me there. Normal enough so far. But, he was a midget. And he was humping the windshield of a car.
A few months later I dreamt about the same man, not a midget this time. But a perfectly proportioned miniature. Like two foot tall.
The night before last I dreamt that my daughter, my father and I were all in the hospital. Never mind that my father has been gone for many years. We all got discharged and came to my home. My daughter was sleeping on the couch with my grandson, my father was asleep in the bed and I was trying to tell someone that I had taken an oxycodone but couldn’t think of the word. That person turned out to be my sister (who has passed) except she was my mother (who has passed) in my dream. She took me outside to tell me that my father was dying and I got furious because someone had stolen my mailbox.
Last night I dreamt that I got a new job. In my dream, my best friend and soon to be coworker was Khloe Kardashian. And I was angry at her because some mysterious thing had happened in April and she wouldn’t tell me about it. It had something to do with $817. Then Khloe and I were at the movies and Joey from Friends agent Estelle was our boss.
If anyone wants to take a crack at these, feel free.
But first, admit it. I hold the world record for weirdest dreams.
It’s hard realizing that, the people you put yourself out for, don’t put themselves out for you. I’m a single mom and have been for over a decade. I’ve put my children above all else in my life. Even as adults, I take care of most of their financial needs. And it has become too much.
I did the hardest thing ever this week when I was honest with them about my financial and health situation. Supporting three households has drained me, financially and emotionally. The cancer that began in my cervix has metastasized to my bladder. I needed someone else to be in charge for a moment.
Let’s backtrack a little. I have a son who has always been known as the easy child. We don’t butt heads or argue. Ever. Then there’s my daughter. She’s so much like me that we have a love/don’t like relationship. We argue and butt heads on a regular basis. And yet, I was surprised by both of them.
My daughter, Megan, was furious with me for not being honest with them about everything from the beginning. She cried and cussed and had an old fashioned hissy fit. My son, JC, was calm. Said that he understood and everything would be ok. For me not to worry. Then, he went on with his life and Megan stayed.
She is a sophomore in college and is on summer break. And she stayed. And started looking for a job! And came up with a plan. She sat and talked with me about the diagnosis and what it meant and what the plan was with my oncologist. She took charge.
JC is older. Has a fiancé/girlfriend and has given me the most perfect grandchild ever born. And, the day after the confession, texted me about paying his cable bill. His gf is angry that I will not be funding her $2000 root canal and crown and has cut back on my access to my grandson. And he still is asking for financial help. I’m stunned and hurt.
Maybe it makes sense somehow. He never argued with me so he won’t argue with her. But it still hurts that he would let me be limited in the amount of time I spend with my precious grandbaby. I can’t go to their home, which I have paid for for 2 years, without the gfs permission. I get to see them only at church.
Where did I go wrong with him and how did I miss how strong my daughter is?