My Truth In 5 Easy Steps: How Do You Like Them Apples?

Dear Hearts,

My Truth (or part of it):

1.     I love coloring. Every time I feel guilty because coloring isn’t “productive” or “creative” enough I am going to say a Hail Mary instead of googling article to validate my guilt or love of coloring.

Although I didn’t know that Satan can take you over if you color a mandala! I shade and I use different colors mindfully. I pick what I color mindfully. I may not be drawing—but I did lots of pixel art and this is the coloring side of it. I am making someone else’s outline my own.

CRITICS (those who can’t criticize) say that coloring stifles creativity and is mind-numbing. It’s like watching Netflix. It allows people to be to be lazy and not creative. Well, fuck them. When I am coloring an angel or a Bible version, I am praying in motion. I pick colors symbolically. Yes, coloring gives me structure. It’s a helluva lot better than OCD tendencies like hand-washing until your skin bleeds.

And if we go with that thought that people ought to draw their own pictures instead of color, then shouldn’t people write their own books, instead of reading? Make their own movies, instead of watching them? Make their own recipes, instead of following them?

For me, yes, coloring relaxes me, but it is also an experience. It’s soothing. Healthier than taking more Xanax.

So I am gonna continue to color.

2.     I don’t watch mindless TV. Well, yeah, I do in the mornings sometimes. But, at night when I sit down for a three-hour binge, I am not watching mindless TV.

If The Walking Dead doesn’t make you think, then you’re choosing not to think. That show is not about zombies, it’s about the essence of who were are as humans.

I love Reddington on The Black List. He is the urbane man’s villain---the anti-hero you root for. He is also a ruthless killer—but only when they deserve killing. And Lizzy, his protégé, who hasn’t wanted to lock up and torture someone who has lied and betrayed trust?

I could go on. But, I relate to characters. They become my friends, my inspiration…if I said that about characters in a book, no one would say that’s unhealthy or stupid. So TV, movie, and book characters become a part of my life. I get to ride with Wyatt and his immortals.

3.     I like smoking. Is it good for me? No. I smoke four or five American Spirit cigarettes a day. They are all natural—only the diseases Mother Nature intended. I don’t eat fast food, drink, or do a lot of other “harmful” things. So, guess what? If I die ten years earlier—I will enjoy my cigarettes. No one likes a quitter. And, I don’t care what the DOCTORS say. Smoking four natural cigarettes is not the same as a half pack a day. I have had so much pain…I think about suicide (THINKING IS NOT DOING, MOM). Fuck it, smoking is better than OD’ing. That’s what gets me through the day: American Spirits.

THE HORROR! SHE SMOKES! Yeah, the horror I am not out-of-shape or over-weight. I don’t eat a half pound of meat and six pieces of bacon at Wendy’s. I eat health with one bad thing a day.

4.     I am a germa-phobe. I have OCD and anxiety. I always will. I don’t shake hands and I don’t want to see you if you are sick. Does my OCD affect you? No. So shut the fuck up about it. Not liking the number 13 and crossing myself whenever I see the number 13—is it weird, maybe. But, I just don’t give a fuck anymore.

You ain’t gonna cure it. I have had it since childhood and off all the things I need to work on in my life my OCD isn’t at the top of the list.

OCD is my barometer. The more stressed I get, the worse my OCD. So, I know that when my OCD gets out of hand, then I need to adjust things in my life.

5.     I don’t like getting up before nine. a.m. Fucking deal with it. I will stay up until one a.m., but I don’t like getting up a five or six. I have and I will again, but I don’t have to pretend to like it.

I may never work another 40 hour-a-week job. If I tried now, I guarantee cost would be my physical and mental health. If I’m here for G-Pa every day and make his quality of life better, is that less important than working a full-time job?

In college and teaching, I always doubled down and did twice as much as I needed to. In college, it paid off—with mono as a cost. But then again, almsot 20 years later who the fuck cares that I had a 3.94 or graduated Suma Cum Laude or Cum Laude. (I graduated SUMA CUM LAUDE.)

As a teacher, nothing I did was good enough for the bosses. And, I went above and beyond. My reward: Ulcerative Colitis. I didn’t sign up to be please the admins. I wanted to be a good teacher to the kids. But, that was the least important thing to the admin.

Every time I want to call myself a fucking bitch, loser and feel guilty—I will say a Hail Mary. (I will probably still feel guilty and call myself a fucking bitch, loser—but I’ll be saying a lot of Hail Marys.

God, do as thou willst. Show me your way.

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: “That’s the thing about decision…you don’t have to talk yourself into the right ones.” Tom Selleck, Blue Bloods

PPS: Martha says I am doing really great and hard work in therapy. I should be proud of myself. I don't know if I believe her, but I'd like to.

PPPS: Coloring, critics I may not be able to draw. But I pounded this out in under an hour. (By the Grace of God and St. Brigid.)

HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES?

PPPPS: Material things can never fill the void…the hole.

What if…can I stay there and be happy?

Psalm 91 

King James Version—the only real translation.

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.

² I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.

³ Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence.

⁴ He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.

⁵ Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;

⁶ Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.

⁷ A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee.

⁸ Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.

⁹ Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation;

¹⁰ There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.

¹¹ For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.

¹² They shall bear thee up in their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a stone.

¹³ Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder: the young lion and the dragon shalt thou trample under feet.

¹⁴ Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him: I will set him on high, because he hath known my name.

¹⁵ He shall call upon me, and I will answer him: I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him.

¹⁶ With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.

WHERE DOES THE RATTLER COME FROM? HOW DOES THE FEAR INSIDIOUSLY DOMINATE ME?

Hold On...Jump

Dear Kate,

Adah here.

Yes, I know you’re having a bit of an episode. I think it will be a slight one though as far as shaking goes. Don’t reach for the Xanax yet. You have coloring, The Black List, and The Walking Dead tonight.

I know what your thoughts are consumed by.

The House.

There. I said it for you. But, not tonight. You’re not going to write about it tonight or even tomorrow night. Tomorrow night you have OES (Order of the Eastern Star). And, you will enjoy yourself. You can listen to The Catholic Channel and smoke in the car. And remember how you loved Rainbow? Well, you love Star just as much? Star won’t break your heart.

Gaia last night said that she felt from your blogs that you were thinking your depression is more of a chemical thing. But, you didn’t buy that too much.

Here’s the deal. You grew up in an abusive household (NOT YOUR MOM’S FAULT). You made were bullied at a time when bullying was no big deal. You had one abusive boyfriend after another. You married a controlling man who “took care of you” and “bought you things” until he didn’t. You were in jobs you hated, mostly. There were a lot of things that brought you to where you are at now.

YOU walked away. YOU ended it. You could’ve stayed. Remember when you imagined that you’d kill yourself when Asshole died? (When you loved him.) You didn’t kill yourself or even try when he went nuts. You went to your Gram’s funeral, wrote, and delivered the eulogy.

Yes, you almost fell down on the floor if it had not been for you father. But he caught you. Yes, you mourned your Gram and your marriage in your tears, but that is okay. You knew it was over then. You did not fold when Asshole lost touch with reality. You didn’t necessarily stand up to him—but you didn’t just give in either. Remember opening the secret bank account? Remember erasing the Garmin so he wouldn’t know you’d been to a lawyer? Remember not leaving your house. You Scarlet O’Hare-d that Motherfucker. She didn’t let the Yankees run her off Tara and you didn’t let Asshole run you off Home.

Is that your Tara?

As much as you stood against Asshole’s tsunami of psychosis, I think it cost you more than you thought.

You slept with a buck knife by your bed. You lived in locked rooms. You stayed on the pill in case he raped you. You asked the doctor to test you for poison and toxins, because when you were hospitalized with UC, you really believed he could be poisoning you. For over six months you lived in terror.

You worked and you taught and you did what needed to be done. You swallowed all the pain and horror.

That situation changed you. Divorcing—losing your “supposed-to-be-middle-class-dream”—changed you. The shingles virus is in you. No, I am not suggesting you get the shot—but you had Chicken Pox and the remnants of that virus will also be in your body. Chicken Pox v. The Terror of Asshole. (Not to mention your marriage, where you worried you’d get in trouble and you’d rather borrow money from the credit card companies, than your own husband.)

Chicken Pox v. Asshole

I would rather have the Pox.

But, if virus at the age of 10—that right of passage that almost every kid in your generation experienced—changed your body, then what the fuck do you think living in a constant “FIGHT OR FLIGHT” state did to you? You don’t think that changed something in your brain?

You kept up the fight for so long. You had the full-time-plus teaching job, you did the housework, you got your Master’s, you did “all the right things.”

You know things got bad before 2012. Really, you probably shoulda left him in ‘05, when he had his first psychotic break. But, remember 2007? Your stomach issues—your physical suffering with your colon. He literally stepped over you while you were on the floor crying. That was the first physical sign.

Here’s one. By the Grace of God, St, Jude, Mother Mary, and all the Saints your UC went into remission when you stopped teaching. You can eat things that you didn’t and couldn’t eat for over five years. So, just to be clear: quitting teaching = UC remission.

So, a job you dreaded physically changed you.

I don’t know what else you should have done when you went into the nut-house in ‘14. You lived on your own and handled a household for over a year. But you were changed already. You did good all things considered.

THEN. ECT. That definitely changed your brain. That was the whole point. You were not Katherine Therese Kennedy—you were someone I didn’t even recognize. You, who can remember pre-school in detail, lost a year and half-plus of memory.

Chemical, organic, physical changes.

You OD’ed when you realized T. was “crazy.” He was your port in the storm. It’s what you knew—he said all the right things and he did all the right things. And, you needed a reason to live. He gave you a dream to hold onto. He was more abusive than Asshole.

You are not who you once were. You were so happy when you were teaching? Nope.

I think it’s good you aren’t who you once were. There are more changes to come. Physically, emotionally, and spiritually. You were traumatized, terrorized, and threatened for years. Remnants of that virus are still in you.

Maybe you will…just keep on keepin’ on. Hold On. (You remember when that song played? I know you do.)

Daddy is coming. He is going to see you installed as Adah in OES.

Never in your life have you lived more than 100 from your parents—now you live 850 miles away. Hold On.

Grace. Belief. God. Mother Mary.

I know you will discount 95% of what I’ve written to you tonight. But, somewhere inside you know it to be true. You may be at the bottom of the well—but the light…there is light…you can see it…and I promise you it’s there. Hold On.

People, God and Mother Mary have your six.

Now, go smoke a cigarette and start watching another episode of The Black List. Then color.

Ever Faithful,

Adah

“You know what I feel like? I feel all the time like a cat on a hot tin roof.”

“Then jump off the roof, Maggie. Jump off it. Cats jump off roofs and land uninjured. Do it. Jump.”

“Jump where? Into what?” 

…

“What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof?”

“Just staying on it I guess, long as I can.” Tennessee Williams.

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: For God’s Grace—where that pencil poked you in the knee and thumb over 30 years ago—you still bear the mark. What kind of marks do you think Life has left on you?

PPS: Yes, I hear you. Everyone had badness in life. You did let them beat you. You didn't let Life beat you--you fought for as long as you could. Just Hold On a little longer, please.

PPPS: How easy would it have been to put down roots in a nut-house?

"Here I Stay?"

Not Tonight

Dear Hearts,

Not tonight.

I’m in that place again. Nothing makes me feel…well, much of anything.

I need to write about—I know what I need to write about. But I’ve already had one episode today. So I’m not gonna write about it tonight.

This is clinical depression—like any chronic illness, it hits like a Jersey wave and then is calm like a Florida bay.

Gaia called instead. She said I don’t have a choice about living or dying.

Talking to her for over an hour was far more important than writing about THAT. I already know the answer. FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME.

NOT TONIGHT.

My voice has lost its lilt its tenor. That’s how I know I’m back in the well. I fake it. But as Martha said, “faking is sometimes too hard.”

I just wanna color and watch The Blacklist and then an episode of The Walking Dead. Play a song for me, Mr. Tambourine Man.  That’s the closest I Mr. Tambourine Man is giving me.

Much Madness is divinest Sense—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 -

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: The Walking Dead—Glenn, really? You had to fucking kill off Glenn?! You motherfuckers. If you kill Darryl, I will join the riot. UPDATE: Good choice to not kill Glenn after all. Nice plot twist. I couldn't believe you'd kill him!

PPS: Gaia and Johnny--God keep you.

PPPS: It's the generalized fear, terror that is most exhausting.

it's not dark yet but it's gettin' there

"It's Not Dark Yet" Bob Dylan

"Shadows are falling and I’ve been here all day
It’s too hot to sleep, time is running away
Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I’ve still got the scars that the sun didn’t heal
There’s not even room enough to be anywhere
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there

Well, my sense of humanity has gone down the drain
Behind every beautiful thing there’s been some kind of pain
She wrote me a letter and she wrote it so kind
She put down in writing what was in her mind
I just don’t see why I should even care
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there

Well, I’ve been to London and I’ve been to gay Paree
I’ve followed the river and I got to the sea
I’ve been down on the bottom of a world full of lies
I ain’t looking for nothing in anyone’s eyes
Sometimes my burden seems more than I can bear
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there

I was born here and I’ll die here against my will
I know it looks like I’m moving, but I’m standing still
Every nerve in my body is so vacant and numb
I can’t even remember what it was I came here to get away from
Don’t even hear a murmur of a prayer
It’s not dark yet, but it’s getting there"

 

I have a choice: live or die. 

But I didn’t choose this Darkness inside me.

I’M SO FUCKING TIRED OF THE FEAR AND MISERY AND TALKING ABOUT THE FEAR AND MISERY WHEN I HAVE NO GOOD REASON TO FEEL THIS WAY.

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.