Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Things Left Unsaid
Yesterday afternoon, I sat in bed rather frustrated by a therapy session I had just returned from less than an hour ago. Erin was my therapist prior to Jane and she always made me bring up all sorts of crap that I thought was resolved, which of course was merely buried in my subconscious. Needless to say, without fail I'd leave Erin's sobbing.
Jane's different, our conversations flow, she's my paid friend who gives me a whole 45 minutes of undivided attention. To tell you the truth I like it this way because shooting the shit with Jane is easy and I always leave her Beverly Hills office with a laugh instead of crying.
One of my "assignments" when therapy first began was to write a letter to my cousin in law ,Celso, who died on May 9th. Six weeks later, yesterday, I finally had the motivation to pick up a pen and write him. All the while I played his music and had his videos from youtube playing on my computer.
When I looked up, several hours had passed and I was amazed that 10 pages later I was done. I walked to the kitchen and read the letter aloud to the picture of him on our refrigerator. Desperately I searched for matches and ironically found a pack from The Ivy which is a place Celso would never would have frequented due to it's pretentious customers. I walked over to the kitchen sink and burnt the letter while praying and waving the smoke out of the window.
This may sound insane but I heard from several spiritualist that if you write a letter to the deceased they will receive it in their new world. I desperately hoped my letter reached him as the smoke exited the window, and that Celso was reading each word as it was released into the air.
Once the letter was reduced to ashes, as all our bodies will be one day, I gathered as much as I could and threw them. The rest were were drained in the kitchen sink and I felt a tremendous release.
Since Celso's memorial, which I did not attend due to my depression that I was already trying to muddle through, Miguel had given me 2 bracelets that were blessed with his ashes. It wasn't until yesterday that I was able to wear one of the bracelets I had taped to the shelf above my writing desk. However, the other bracelet was missing. As early as Saturday, I had seen both bracelets taped above my desk and now one of them was gone. Did it fall? Who knows.
While the letter was burning, my phone rang an odd number 310-000-0000, stopped, then called twice at two separate times. Coincidence? Once again, who knows.
What I do know is that Celso's brilliant strength (his shine) to appear happy despite his desperate depression which eventually contributed to his death will forever remain with me. As a Bipolar II/ Manic Depressive (whatever you wish to call it), I greatly admire the effort he put forth to deal with his demons and I appreciate his music which allowed him to channel his creativity. What I find most amazing was the energy he emulated and how he maintained a happy demeanor despite whatever private hell he was experiencing. Even after he died, he allowed those of us in the room with him to see his infectious smile, something I have never experienced with anyone postmortem.
May he rest in peace and finally released from his unbearable struggles. May the Lord, our God cradle him and allow him to find eternal happiness.
Jane's different, our conversations flow, she's my paid friend who gives me a whole 45 minutes of undivided attention. To tell you the truth I like it this way because shooting the shit with Jane is easy and I always leave her Beverly Hills office with a laugh instead of crying.
One of my "assignments" when therapy first began was to write a letter to my cousin in law ,Celso, who died on May 9th. Six weeks later, yesterday, I finally had the motivation to pick up a pen and write him. All the while I played his music and had his videos from youtube playing on my computer.
When I looked up, several hours had passed and I was amazed that 10 pages later I was done. I walked to the kitchen and read the letter aloud to the picture of him on our refrigerator. Desperately I searched for matches and ironically found a pack from The Ivy which is a place Celso would never would have frequented due to it's pretentious customers. I walked over to the kitchen sink and burnt the letter while praying and waving the smoke out of the window.
This may sound insane but I heard from several spiritualist that if you write a letter to the deceased they will receive it in their new world. I desperately hoped my letter reached him as the smoke exited the window, and that Celso was reading each word as it was released into the air.
Once the letter was reduced to ashes, as all our bodies will be one day, I gathered as much as I could and threw them. The rest were were drained in the kitchen sink and I felt a tremendous release.
Since Celso's memorial, which I did not attend due to my depression that I was already trying to muddle through, Miguel had given me 2 bracelets that were blessed with his ashes. It wasn't until yesterday that I was able to wear one of the bracelets I had taped to the shelf above my writing desk. However, the other bracelet was missing. As early as Saturday, I had seen both bracelets taped above my desk and now one of them was gone. Did it fall? Who knows.
While the letter was burning, my phone rang an odd number 310-000-0000, stopped, then called twice at two separate times. Coincidence? Once again, who knows.
What I do know is that Celso's brilliant strength (his shine) to appear happy despite his desperate depression which eventually contributed to his death will forever remain with me. As a Bipolar II/ Manic Depressive (whatever you wish to call it), I greatly admire the effort he put forth to deal with his demons and I appreciate his music which allowed him to channel his creativity. What I find most amazing was the energy he emulated and how he maintained a happy demeanor despite whatever private hell he was experiencing. Even after he died, he allowed those of us in the room with him to see his infectious smile, something I have never experienced with anyone postmortem.
May he rest in peace and finally released from his unbearable struggles. May the Lord, our God cradle him and allow him to find eternal happiness.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Pain
One thing I learned in nursing school is that pain is subjective and to always treat pain seriously. However, throughout my brief nursing career I grew to be skeptical of patients and often labeled them as med seeking, which of course many were, but all were not.
Now I find myself paying for these thoughts due to karma. As I am laying in bed with 2 capsaicin patches, heating pad, oxycodone, and naproxen in my system I am literally feeling my previous patients pain.
How can this be? At 38 yrs old I look at my many medications and I am reminded of my grandfather and how he was the only one I could call during these difficult times because he understood, he was experiencing what I am, he never judged nor told me it was all in my head. Next Friday will mark the 3rd year of his passing and his absence is felt more and more as time goes by.
Time does not heal wounds, at least not when it comes to losing a loved one who has died. I fondly remember my grandmothers, grandpa, and friends everyday. I dont dwell on my grief, but rather I think of them when things are most trying...such as now.
Lately I've been stumbling though the daily motions of life. Were it not for my daughter,I'm not sure I could accomplish half of what I do...which isn't saying much.
I'm depressed. There, I said it. I wrote what no one wants to hear. Having to disguise my physical and mental pain is exhausting. I've been in therapy enough to know the psycho mumbo jumbo any licensed therapist psychiatrist/therapist would say in response.
Yes I know I am lucky and count my blessings everyday, and I know I need to keep busy. However, unlike before I never suffered from such excruciating pain that is at debilitating at times.
Now I find myself paying for these thoughts due to karma. As I am laying in bed with 2 capsaicin patches, heating pad, oxycodone, and naproxen in my system I am literally feeling my previous patients pain.
How can this be? At 38 yrs old I look at my many medications and I am reminded of my grandfather and how he was the only one I could call during these difficult times because he understood, he was experiencing what I am, he never judged nor told me it was all in my head. Next Friday will mark the 3rd year of his passing and his absence is felt more and more as time goes by.
Time does not heal wounds, at least not when it comes to losing a loved one who has died. I fondly remember my grandmothers, grandpa, and friends everyday. I dont dwell on my grief, but rather I think of them when things are most trying...such as now.
Lately I've been stumbling though the daily motions of life. Were it not for my daughter,I'm not sure I could accomplish half of what I do...which isn't saying much.
I'm depressed. There, I said it. I wrote what no one wants to hear. Having to disguise my physical and mental pain is exhausting. I've been in therapy enough to know the psycho mumbo jumbo any licensed therapist psychiatrist/therapist would say in response.
Yes I know I am lucky and count my blessings everyday, and I know I need to keep busy. However, unlike before I never suffered from such excruciating pain that is at debilitating at times.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Unachieved 2011 New Year's goal
ok, so I didnt finish my novel as I had originally intended. seems there's never ending bullshit I have to research. a published writer friend of mine said, "write what you know," but of course I didn't take her advice and decided to make research for my novel the project/focus of my life. I have now acquired my own personal Civil War library and my husband says that if I purchase one more Civil War book or subscribe to another Civil War magazine, he is going to flip out, so in response I found two more magazines and just went wild on amazon.com--latest book to arrive is Civil War Recipes.
I have had this novel in my head for quite a while, but to put it on paper has been quite the challenge. I figure I have 3 more yrs to finish this novel although ideally I would like to submit it by 2013 at the latest.
seems my heroine, Milicent, is having difficulty muddling through 1862
this is a boring post...I shall torture you no more, rather I will post a pic of my favorite Jeffrey Campbell skate shoe I wore on my birthday
I have had this novel in my head for quite a while, but to put it on paper has been quite the challenge. I figure I have 3 more yrs to finish this novel although ideally I would like to submit it by 2013 at the latest.
seems my heroine, Milicent, is having difficulty muddling through 1862
this is a boring post...I shall torture you no more, rather I will post a pic of my favorite Jeffrey Campbell skate shoe I wore on my birthday
Monday, May 9, 2011
150th Anniversary of American Civil War
After countless books, maps, DVD's, and Civil War music, I feel I am ready to return to 1861. With much effort to pull myself away from the TV and bed, I am feeling the writing muse beckon at my side to complete my novel by Jan 1, 2012.
In order to keep so information from becoming repetitious, I am strongly considering breaking each part of the book into 4 parts. It's not uncommon for authors to write book series which makes sense considering I have information overload.
The girlie part of me wants to write a version of a Jane Austin/Civil War novel, not so much for publicity sake, but because I feel it might appeal to a larger/ younger female audience.
My husband, however feels I should write a Civil War "erotic" novel which I am sure would sell, but I do not wish to compromise my literary integrity for cheap sales. So sorry Miguel and all those perv men friends who highly support his decision.
As of now Milicent (the heroine), is tiredly studying and crafting codes to teach potential spies. Meanwhile her husband, Edwin, is working tiredly with Union Generals in Washington recruiting professional photographers, topographers, and trusted Union couriers. With Abraham Lincoln in such a predicament, he is willing to confide in Edwin Bingham's intelligent prowess, especially since the Confederates have already occupied parts of Quebec and Southern Ontario.
EXCERPTS TO COME LATER
In order to keep so information from becoming repetitious, I am strongly considering breaking each part of the book into 4 parts. It's not uncommon for authors to write book series which makes sense considering I have information overload.
The girlie part of me wants to write a version of a Jane Austin/Civil War novel, not so much for publicity sake, but because I feel it might appeal to a larger/ younger female audience.
My husband, however feels I should write a Civil War "erotic" novel which I am sure would sell, but I do not wish to compromise my literary integrity for cheap sales. So sorry Miguel and all those perv men friends who highly support his decision.
As of now Milicent (the heroine), is tiredly studying and crafting codes to teach potential spies. Meanwhile her husband, Edwin, is working tiredly with Union Generals in Washington recruiting professional photographers, topographers, and trusted Union couriers. With Abraham Lincoln in such a predicament, he is willing to confide in Edwin Bingham's intelligent prowess, especially since the Confederates have already occupied parts of Quebec and Southern Ontario.
EXCERPTS TO COME LATER
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