Grace and Pink Dolphins

Dear Hearts,

Today is International Women’s Day. Ohhh. Ahhh. So cool. Not.

Stupid and unnecessary. Every fucking body and cause have a day and/or a month.

What about International Catholic-Republican-Barbie-Collecting-Day?

What is cool are pink dolphins! I know, right?! But, they do exist, Virginia.

The Amazon River Dolphin is the biggest of five freshwater dolphins (didn’t even know they existed). I mean how cool is that? And, some of the natives regard them as (paraphrasing History Channel) semi-divine beings with magical properties!

Nature is so fucking cool. See, that’s how I know that is God. The platypus proves God’s sense of humor and the Pink Dolphin accounts for God’s feminine side. I bet God likes Barbie too.

**********

FEAR.

“I am afraid I can’t help you.”

“I’m afraid you can’t do that.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

It’s part of our everyday language. (Thank you, Richie, for teaching me the difference between “everyday” and “every day”.)

I am not going to say (queue high-pitched-nasally-voice) “according to the dictionary fear is defined as…”

I hate that. It’s the equivalent of “it was all a dream” in fiction. It’s a cop out.

All of it—all the negative shit—comes down to fear. On Ash Wednesday, Father talked about cutting negative tethers and allowing ourselves to be happy and “soar” as God wants us to.

In drawing this week, I was trying to depict that. I got the dolphin (had to add wings!) jumping out of the water and the breaking chain. But, shit. I was having a helluva time with how to depict all the Darkness. Words? Pictures? Both?

Then I looked at a phrase (I colored it and keep it in my bedroom) from “Amazing Grace.”

“AND GRACE MY FEARS RELIEVED.”

That simple. That fucking simple.

Okay. So here’s the first thing that popped up when I Googled “fear”

Noun: an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that someone or something is dangerous, likely to cause pain, or a threat.

Verb: be afraid of (someone or something) as likely to be dangerous, painful, or threatening.

When Gram died, almost five years ago, (Where did the years go?) the overwhelming grief could be described as fear. To live without Gram? The pain and hurt. The loss…

I was afraid of Asshole when we lived together.

I was afraid to lose the fairytale I bought from T., because that had been my reason to live.

I was afraid ever day of not being a good enough teacher and getting “in trouble.”

I am afraid of regrets, wrong choices…

This is what I had sketched down for all the Darkness to which I was cutting the tethers: self-harm, like cutting; sin; regrets; co-dependence; suicide; cruelty; depression; being consumed by material things; psychotic breaks in Asshole; PTSD; death; abuse; teaching; ECT; past; violence; terror; alcohol and T.; lies; Henry; losing and keeping My House; hate, OCD; panic attacks; divorce; fear; guilt; doubt; ulcerative colitis…I made myself stop there.

I don’t need to put all those things on paper. I already have in many ways, but it doesn’t have to go into my Dolphin Drawing.

FEAR covers it.

All of those things I listed above can cause pain. So much pain. I remember in 2012, when I came home from the hospital after my colitis and my sister sitting on the bed with me. I hugged her and sobbed. “There’s been so pain,” I said.

You can also fear good things. Like I am terrified of getting better. Why, you ask? Because then I don’t have a good moral reason to be on disability and I know the Darkness and it’s a long fucking way to fall from the Light into the Darkness. What does that feel like? Not wanting to die or even having genuinely good feelings?

My House is my last tether to my old life. I fought so hard…

I fought so hard…it hurt so bad…I was so afraid…I was so tired.

“Grace My Fears Relieved.”

Now, I can finish my drawing.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Family

Health

Sunsets with Gram

Buffalo Meatloaf

Angel

HOW FUCKING COOL IS THAT?!

Hey God

Hey God,

I’m sorry I didn’t make it to Mass tonight and I’m sorry I am too lazy to go on a Sunday. I had a pretty bad panic attack. But, you knew that.

I wish missing Mass weren’t a mortal sin. I just got Pop’s blanket—my college blanket that he died under and have covered my lap with it.

See, I was feeling better this week. But, that scared me.

Because if I’m not down-in-the-well depressed and having panic attacks every day, what is my excuse?

But I guess this is what CD…and disability look like. You sit on the ledge of the well and then you fall back in. It's the Plains of Unhappiness. I don't believe I deserve any of the blessings I have.

I am so ashamed to be on disability. To be applying to the government to have my $30,000 loans forgiven. To be going on Medicare. To not have a 30-year-odd career like my parents.

The people at Burning Bed have no idea how fucked up I really am.

This whole house business scares me so badly, God.

I know it’s a tether I need to cut. But, it scares me. The last of my supposed-to-be-former life.

I try to be good. I took G-Pa for an hour’s ride in the country today even though it was the last thing I wanted to do. See, if I were a really good person, I wouldn’t have added the “even though.”

This panic attack was pretty bad. My mind was even in panic mode. Like DANGER, DANGER, RUN, RUN, FLEE. “How do you run from what’s inside your head?”

I could be living in My House right now. But, I’d be alone. I’d be sad. Here I have a purpose.

Why do I feel like I need to write at least 500 words to make a post legit?

I miss my Spring Room on a beautiful day like this. The final loss.

I felt like I could hear Gram’s voice today in the kitchen when I got back from a walk with Mom. I could hear Gram getting ready to have tea and just hear the tenor, the lilt of her voice. I can’t believe she has been gone for five years.

Have I wasted five years of my life, God?

I want to trust that you have a plan. I want to just turn it all over to you. It’s hard. I’m tired. It would be easier…

Huh. Haven’t had that thought in a while.

I actually saw my reflection in the mirror at Burning Bed this week and thought, “Gee, I’m pretty.” Fuck. When was the last time I thought that?

Thanks for my phone. I dropped it last week on the street and a Good Samaritan turned into a cop who brought it to me. And My cousin—who visited a few weeks ago—she is GIVING me a $500 iPad for $100. Wow. I am so fucking grateful.

I have been thinking about T. a lot. Was there a good man in him anywhere? There had to have been.

This morning I woke up in a panic thinking my grades for school were late. I convinced myself that I didn’t work there anymore.

Everything is a double-edged sword it seems.

572 words. I can be done now.

I thank you for all your blessings. I don’t deserve your Grace. But that is the nature of GRACE I guess.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: Shower or cigarette? Cigarette.

Grateful For:

Health

Angel

iPhone being found

Family

A room of my own

The Greatest Trick

"The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist." The Usual Suspects 

The greatest trick Clinical Depression ever pulled was allowing you to feel better and then grabbing your ankle, pulling you back into the well.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Tethers and Tornadoes

Dear Hearts,

YAWN. YAWN. YAWN.

I just worked at Burning Bed for three days covering the front desk from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m.

I am not used to getting up at 5.30 or going to bed before midnight. I did it for years and I worked full time—often more than 40 hours a week. How did I get it all done? Dinner, ironing, cleaning, chores, bills, phone calls…I guess that’s why I was just tired all of the time.

And over the last three days, I wasn’t even “working” eight hours a day. I answered phones, wrote up referrals, etc…but when I was busy I was drawing or on my iPhone. So, I got off pretty easy. I was ON STAGE, though. I wanted to do a good job. I wanted approval, because I want to be an employee of Burning Bed. I was “tense” in that I didn’t know everything I had to do; I had to ask a lot. I offered to do “office work,” but no one took me up on it. A reminder on the wall in the office suggested office staff can always clean when there is spare time. Fuck, pay me, then I’ll clean. Maybe. Yesterday, in the morning I was literally falling asleep at the desk. Literally.

I think there we put way too much expectation on ourselves to work too much. I place the blame squarely with the Puritans and their ridiculous work ethic. As a society, we talk about “Self-Care” and shit like that—we also have a collective resignation to being stressed and working all the time.

Why? Who says that is the only way?

I don’t want to live my life a 70 MPH all the time. That’s why I broke down. Maybe I am so much weak or lazy as just—not built for 70 MPH, 40 hours a week. I a freely admit that I cannot work at 12 a.m. to 8 a.m. night shift. Lots of people do. Societally and Culturally, casual sex is the thing to do. Maybe just because “everyone” else is doing it, doesn’t mean that is the best way to do it.

#602 Emily Dickinson

Much Madness is divinest Sense -

To a discerning Eye -

Much Sense - the starkest Madness -

’Tis the Majority

In this, as all, prevail -

Assent - and you are sane -

Demur - you’re straightway dangerous -

And handled with a Chain -

There is still guilt and worry and shame…

Last night was Ash Wednesday. We start the 46-day journey to Easter, the Holiest of Catholic Holy Days. Easter is WHY Christianity exists. PERIOD.

Lent is not this time of giving up things we enjoy and sacrificing. Lent is the Greatest Miracle of All Time. Christ’s Crucifixion was essential to God’s Plan. So I am not going to fast or sacrifice chocolate just to go back to it after Lent. I am going to add something to my life every day—I am following Dynamic Catholic’s Lenten Program and Doing a Seven Sacraments Program via St. Paul’s Theology Center.

According to Matt Kelley (author) and the Catholic Catechism (27), God created Man for Happiness.

Huh.

Father, last night, talked about being in a hot air balloon—apparently, he loves it. Whatever. Freak. I love Father, but still…He said that God wants us to soar above the mundane. But, we have all these tethers that we have to cut in order to allow ourselves to fly.

Cutting the tethers that keep us from Happiness.

I ain’t soarin’ in no hot air balloon, but perhaps I could throw off the albatross or cut the anchor.

Wow.

The couple with the little baby was there again last night. They sat in front of me. Toward the end, the little girl, safe in Grandma’s arms. Just leaned back and looked up at the ceiling of the church. Her eyes sparkled. Here mom and dad found her back-bending amusing. She was smiling. I thinking she was seeing Angels. That little, sinless, perfect baby was seeing The Angels and maybe Christ himself.

Ya’ know when a cat, dog, or baby (not suggesting all are equal—cats are way better) stares at something intently or just darts out of a room (not so much a baby)? Also those with Alzheimer’s  or those close to death in some cases. I think they can see what we can’t. I think that is the real consequence of being exiled from The Garden of Eden: Knowing right and wrong, having logical knowledge, growing up…prevents us from seeing what the Sacred.

Without a doubt, Angels were in St. Patrick’s last evening. Without a doubt, my Pop saw his dead brothers and angels when he was dying. We may catch it out of the glimmer of our peripheral or in dreams…but just because we can’t SEE it, doesn’t mean it ain’t there.

Tuesday night here in the Holy City was Mid-West Storm at its best. My fucking phone just started this high pitching “EEEEEEEEEE.” I hear the tornado siren. NOAA was saying to take cover like NOW. Not maybe, but like this is happening NOW. TAKE COVER IN A BASEMENT OR INTERIOR ROOM. THIS IS GONNA HAPPEN AT 9.35 P.M.

A little background…I am truly scared of tornados--why isn’t it spelled tornadoes—I guess that is an alternative spelling—huh. I digress.

I am truly scared of tornadoes. A hurricane I can hunker down; an earthquake, unless I am on the crack, I can hold on—but a tornado is Thumb of God coming down and saying “You live,” “You die, “This house goes,” “This barn stays.”

G-Pa was in the basement showering. I was waiting for him to finish because I wanted by bedtime cigarette and I was watching Shameless.

I wasn’t afraid.

I made sure Angel was in a safe place. I knew G-Pa was in a safe place. Well, showering during a tornado and lightning may not be the smartest idea—but he’d rather die—seriously—than have me come to see him in the shower. He was in the basement anyway. I was sitting on the couch, which is in front of a large window.

I wasn’t afraid.

I looked at all my Barbie and things—my HOME. I ain’t going nowhere. I have been run off and caused to hide one too many Goddamn times. If I were gonna die, then I was gonna look that Motherfucker in the Face.

Fuck. The bullies didn’t kill me, abusive men didn’t kill me, my job didn’t kill me, divorce didn’t kill me, I couldn’t even kill myself.

(Years ago when I didn’t know that tornadoes were surrounding The Holy City I unsuccessfully tried to sit in the garage and have a cigarette.)

I wasn’t afraid.

When I told Mom that I had turned and looked out the window, she laughed in a certain way and said, “Oh, Kate! I see a blog here.” My first thought was why?

I unplugged my electronics and I watched.

I did not see any tornado-like window or activity. Hey, I saw Twister (Rest In Peace and God Bless Bill Paxton).

A woman at Burning Bed yesterday said I was brave and kind of stupid to do what I did.

Germs scare me. Door handles scare me. Letting go of My House scares me. Life scares me. Not Death.

I am not afraid of Death.

The way I looked that Storm in the Face—that’s how I need and want to look Life in the Face.

How? Tethers? Albatross? Anchors? CD?

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: I got my fucking “Womanly Time” today. What the fuck? I just had it!

Grateful For:

Father at St. Patrick’s

Health

Family

Angel

Storms