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My journal + project for my patients. Variety of items- real life, to funny happenings. |
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1/11/08 This is my first attempt at a blog of my own. I started this for the 500-words-a-day-group. I believe there is a creative side to all man. Some share it in the words they write, or the deeds they do. For all the heartfelf moments in life, I write. I gave myself a christmas present of a WDC subscription with the goal of structuring myself to create new items and finish things I had begun. I am working on items I think will be great for a book I intend to publish for my patients and the families that love them. I want to create a book that will be left with the patient and family. I work in a Long term acute care facility, many of these patients are hospitalized more then a month. Life gets boring, and scarry and sad, I hope to brighten their day. I hope my book can help them through there journey in healthcare. Unless you are a nurse I don't think you even understand what that means. Often it is a horror story of a journey. If you have anything you would like to share, enter it under the entry "For Your Patients". If you would like to keep your submission private then feel free to e-mail it to me. I intend on sponsoring a contest for this as well, so if you do enter here in the blog you will be more then welcome to put it in the contest once it is up and running. I am in need of inspirational, funny, uplifting, spiritual, touching, vivid imagery in all forms. Quotes, poems, stories, jokes, even honesty- amidst depression with a way to lift yourself out of it as an outcome. Anything you can imagine that would entertain you or speak to your heart, if you were bedridden and unable to enjoy many of the things we take for granted, feel free to share it all. Beyond the project read my blog, Feel free to share or post. Thanks Lorrie |
| Make up work for 3 days of writing I missed. This was inspired by a recent case in the courts, not to mention a child I took care of yesterday that I suspect broke his arm through abuse. Child protective services was notified, and then you watch them walk away and wonder, will it help? I hope so. I hope the boy knew that I cared enough about him to get involved. Abuse, I just don't understand the depth of sickness that leads up to it. Poverty, drugs, disfunctional up bringing. It is all so sad. SOUR MILK From my chair I wake to the smell of the bakery Shoppe down the block. Each mornin this is my alarm clock. It's a pleasant warning, that morning has risen. My belly is growlin again. I can picture all the goodies in the bakery window. They have all kinds, even fancy ones called 'Crumb Buns', Mama got me one once. I can picture the crumbs under the shelf, the ones they are just gonna sweep into the dustpan and throw away. My mouth waters at the thought of one of those crumbs. I am stiff and achin as I reach for Suzie, my pal. Suzie listens to me when I am cryin. She is a raggedy doll with one eye and a black hole for the other. We match. I just can't seem to get hold of her today. I guess my arm is too weak. The wood is cutting into my neck, as I try to change positions to inch just a little closer to snag her left foot. I sigh as my arm flops down, hitting hard on the edge of the chair. A tear comes out of my right eye and falls to my lip. No time for cryin, I lick it up like a dog getin the last bit of water out of bowl after a long run in the park. Oh how good water would taste right now. I sigh again and resort to listening to the sounds I can hear. Delivery trucks, a dog barkin in the distance. It must be close to closin time. I tense at the thought and almost pee myself, dreading the hour He returns. You better not pee yourself girl, what are you an animal? I feel like an animal. I am six, I think. I really don't know much about numbers, but I think that's what I heard them say I was. I know I am not an animal. I have seen animals on the TV, like the ones in the zoo. They cage animals in, to keep them in their place. I am tied to this chair like an animal. This is my cage. Can't be trusted to stay in a bed, while the man goes to work. I might burn somethin, or feed myself up all fat like my Mama. My body is extra sore today. He shaked me good and hard last night, slammin me into the wood of the chair. His face is strange when he ties the rope on so hard I can hardly breath. Pushing my face back and smilin he talked right in my face, "Girl, you got to sit on the chair like a lady and just sit. You hear me girl! You wait here and don't you get no idea bout playin with that stupid Suzie doll. You touch that doll and I'll rip her other eye out! You just sit." I blinked, swallowed hard and squeaked out, "Yes sir". I wanted to ask why I can't be tied in the bed? Or maybe he could put a little blanket on me. It gets cold on this chair all night. I thought better of askin, as he stood up and flicked his cigarette in my face. Last time I asked he burned me real bad. As he walked down the stairs I heard him yellin back, "No asking for food. No asking for drink. No asking for nothin. You just sit. I know what you need and I know when to give it to you." I don't think he knows nothin, bout nothin. All he knows is hurtin. I don't think nobody knows nothin about me hurtin. If somebody knew they would get me. I still wonder where my Mama is? Bet he hurt her real bad. Steps are gettin louder. I blink my eyes real big. Not supposed to be sleepin, just sittin like a lady. Door slams REAL hard. Door slammin hard is always bad. Somethin bad musta happened to him, and I get to pay for it. I see him put a brown paper bag on the table. He throws a look at me like he wants to kill me. Like the time he choked me so hard I saw white light. Like when I woke up tied to my chair, on my face, with a table on top a my chair. He comes at me and I turn my face to soften the blow. Spittin his bad breath at me, "What you lookin at girl! Did I tell you to look at me? No, I didn't tell you nothin. So you just sit there till I tell you somethin! I don't work hard to come home to you lookin at me, like a little Bitch! I see you eyein that bag. What, you thirsty girl?" I just look up at him with my eyebrows talkin, like you know... confused. My eyebrows are saying, "I don't no what to say?” I want to lift my hands up to my face, to stop the next blow, but if I do then he hits me harder. Next thing I know I am on my face with that hard chair on my neck. Somethin popped on my side. I take a breath and I feel it, like a hot knife pokin me each time I let air in. I feel like I am on a roller coaster ride. My chair spins up, as I slam to a stop. He is in my face again. This time he has a knife. I am sure he is going to stick me. He is going to stick me right were the burnin in my ribs is, but he just laughs at me. Laughin is all he does, as I watch him cut off the rope. Scared I run to the corner and cover my head, putting as much of me against the walls as I can. The walls help stop some of the blows. A little bit a pee comes down my leg. I cringe waiting for the bad night he had, to come out on me. Instead, I hear the brown paper bag. I peak through my laced fingers to see him sit on my chair and open the bag. He pulls out a carton of milk. One of those little ones, the kind kids get in school. He reads one side of it then laughs, "Little old, but it'll do." The milk carton appears at me feet. I look at it frozen in place. Another growl from the man, "Pick it up girl! Drink it, drink all of it!" My fingers are shakin, as I try to pry it open. I can’t get it. I am so nervous, I chew it open to drink it fast like he says. I take two gulps, and then the thickness chokes me. I look up and see him laughin. He stands up over me pushin his hand on my head, "Drink it Bitch! You wanted a drink didn't ya? Then DRINK it!" I swallow the rest, chunks and all. My stomach turns and I just can't help it, I throw it all back out. It flies out so fast I don't see it goin at him. All I see is white chunks on his boots. He lifts me up by my neck and throws me so hard I land on the wall over the table. My little body crashes down and I see the white light again. Next I am being kicked in the stomach. I tumble like a rag doll across the room. Things are flyin and crashin and all I can do is pray. "Please take me." Those are the last words I get to say. The police report indicates my body was found on the floor. I was emaciated, so thin you could see my hips, spine, ribs and knee bones. I was beaten to death for apparently wanting food. A broken chair with a cut rope was next to me. The object appears to have been used to land the final blows to my head, causing my death. * Approximately 2.03 children in 100,000 die each year of abuse in the United States. 1,479 deaths were reported in 2004. This is the result of a study published in 2006. I mention this, as it is 2008 and data comes post the real facts. The death rate is not going down, but rising, due to programs and investigations geared at exposing child abuse. I hope this story inspires you to reach out to the innocent. Volunteer, donate to a charitable organization, or at the very least keep your eyes open to those around you and report anything you suspect as abuse or neglect. Calling to report may just save a life. |
| 08 I haven't had time to write as I work 12-hour shifts for the past 3 days, so I will try and make it all up over the next two days. My mother is in California, visiting her sister. The visit wasn't a planned one, as my Aunts husband died. The whole thing is pretty sad, as this man was young and did not tend to his health problems. He had a denial approach at his illness, I would imagine if he talked himself into feeling better he could pretend enough to get himself to work. The past two weeks were horrible; he could hardly walk, swollen from kidney failure and diabetes that was out of control. My aunt finally convinced him to go to the hospital the day before he died. They wanted to take him to intensive care, but he refused and by the next morning he was dead. It is interesting to see how people handle illness, most would have wanted all the care they could get, but in this case I think he was still denying how ill he was. That is one take on it and the other, I think his levels were so out of whack, in his blood, he didn't know what he was doing. Over the three weeks my mother has been with my aunt, she has witnessed her go through the various stages of death and dieing. Often there is shock, then anger followed by sadness, sometimes guilt associated with whatever you feel you didn't do that could have changed the outcome. This is were I worry for my aunt, as she truly tried to convince her husband to seek help, many times, but he refused. My prayer will be that she does not turn to a state of guilt and then depression. Already she is having episodes were she is confused, gets headaches and then cannot think straight. Kevin made all of the decisions in the home and for her to be able to think and decide is a completely different turn on life and having to do this due to a death must be overwhelming. While going through all this, the church my Aunt belongs to has a ladies group called 'The Love Club'. The leader is 85 years old and they have met every week for 40 years. The group takes prayer requests, praying for the majority of their meeting and ending with singing songs together. For 40 years they have written down every request and a reply or outcome to each situation. My mother said it is endearing to see the enthusiasm in them, as they meet to perform a task they have been doing for so many years. They were eager to share all the blessings that have come from this little gathering. If not an answer to prayer, the least being thanks for the time spent in praying. Did you ever wonder how many prayers pass through the airwaves of life? I do. As a nurse I see people reach out in prayer through desperation. I hear prayers of thanks to God when a life is saved. I reach out to those that gasp, "Help me".... always offering to pray with them after we have given all the medication or treatment we can. I am a Christian, as I was raised in the Christian faith. I still feel however that in each one of us there is a spiritual part of life that religion can not dictate or measure. I say this because God is here for us all, not for only those that believe as we do. God, your higher being or whatever you refer to is always waiting to answer your call. Just like The Love Club, sitting there by the phone waiting to join in asking for help from above. Wherever you believe God resides, he is part of our existence no matter who you are. He sits at the head of the table of The Love Club, just as he sits at the edge of our bed when we call out in need. |
| Just taking a minute to explain my utter stupidity in the counting of the words for each entry for the 500 words a day I am trying to complete for this Blog/journal. I thought I was doing great. It was amazing how short 1200 words are when you have entered the character count vs. the word count of 362. Yes I feel a bit blonde, at the moment. Anyway, I went through each entry and did a WORD count, and as you can see most of them do not meet the goal of 500 now. So from here on out I will pay attention and record the word count. |
| 1/21/08 writing assignment. Create a poem most related to the struggle you are going through in your life. I must explain that I wrote this for my husband, but I seem to see the Ostrich in me after reading it, as well. The Ostrich Theory I am just an Ostrich. Hanging out in a place I call my home. I find myself always looking for sand. The problem is, there is no sand here. So I bang my head against the sense that others try to make me see. I smash myself up against reality hoping to bust it up, so it will go away. I find myself always looking for sand. The problem is, there is no sand here. Can't anyone see I need sand? You can't expect an Ostrich to function without sand. I find myself always looking for sand. The prolem is, there is no sand here. Do you think maybe something is wrong with me? That could never be. I am an Ostrich, to survive I must make myself blind to what I chose not to see. I think the problem is, there is no sand here. |
| 1/20/08 Writing I sit her exhausted after 3 days in a row, thats 36 hours, and I am so tired my eyes are closing. I don't know what to write about other then I am still very upset about the Fire Hazard I wrote about yesterday. People at work tell me I am nuts, my mother tells me I have to do something before we lose our lives here in this house. How do you tell an adult not to do somthing, that obviously they feel they have the right to do? Are not the other 4 family members, in the house, important enough that you should be able to be told NOT to smoke in here? I am speechlesss. I feel like a prisoner in a dream. I keep hoping to wake up, but the same bad dream keeps happening ever day. Well I will go get some rest and tomorrow I am going to have to seek family help with this, as my basement still smells of smoke and I can't just sit here leaving our family in danger. |
| Barley is a Conamara Pony that my Aunt owns, I had hoped to see her grace my pastures if I ever make it to the country one day. She is a sweet horse that loves to eat. I have sat with her and learned so much just by watching her. If she has an itch she will move up and put the itch in front of you and is sure to let you know how much she appreciates a good scratching. Grooming her was as soothing to her as it was to me. The sad news is she has been ill. It seems now that a foot abcess has spread into a bone infection. Bone infections are serious and often fatal. She is so bad off right now if she does not get better by Tuesday, she will have to be put down. I stood there listening to my Aunt tell me this and of course I started crying. First I cry for Barley. She is such a nice girl and I hate to see her go. I had so much wanted to find time to spend with her. So much is going wrong here, I feel like my dreams are dieing, as well as a horse I truly love. Well Barley, I promise I will come feed you and be with you before leave this earth. Your nuzzles and listening ear have been a comfort to me, and I will be a comfort to when you go home. You trulyare a beautiful girl. Love Lorrie |
| Make up writing for 1/18/08- FYI, being a nurse I worked 13 hrs and had to wait for my son (who is also a nurse) to drive home last night, so needless to say I was in bed and too tired to write. The Fire Hazard: Went to bed at 12am, to wake at 2:45am to the smoke alarm. Did you ever wake up to one? It was horrible! I knew it was real and not just a malfunction from boiling water in the kitchen, as I could hear my son running down the steps yelling, "It's a fire". I scrambled to get to the basement. I see my husband, coming up with a cigarrette in his hand. He is hanging on to the railing, as if standing asleep. The smoke is pouring out of the basement and he is just standing there hanging on, looking at me dazzed. I yelled at him, "Paul get out of the smoke!" He raised his eyebrows as if to say, "What?" He walked slowly up the steps, still half doped up from an apparant muscle relaxer he took. My eyes were burning and my throat felt scorched from the smoke, just breathing it a few seconds. I couldn't beleive he was just standing there in the smoke like it was nothing. My son is in the basment and I can here him coughing, as he is trying to put out the smoldering items and the rug that had been ignited by a cigarette from my husband. My husband went to the kitchen and I pointed him to the door, telling him to go outside. He just stood there and turned on the kitchen fan to finish his cigarrette. I went to help my son with the fire, but it was pretty much under control. We looked at each other like the two parents of the house. I don't know if you can understand that, but my son and I should not be the ones putting out a fire, that a man feels was no big deal. This was a serious event here and not until I started looking around, did I realize how many multiple burn marks are all over. They are on the rug in front of the couch, on the table next to the couch, his computer board is melted from some and so it the rug by his computer. I am VERY frustrated right now. I have begged him to stop smoking in the house. We have replaced one rug already in another room. Now we actually have a life threatening event and you go up to the kitchen and continue to smoke a new cigarrete you lit as your step son is trying to stamp out a fire!!!!!!!!!!!!! This is insanity! |
| My writing for 1/17/08 I have decided to start to try some poetry. I really do not know too much about Poetry. I tried to join a poetry club and boy was that out of my league. They were doing many different types of poetry that I found so confusing, I could not even attempt such intricate forms of poetry. So her is a try. See how you like it. I try to write from the heart and this is based on Water and it’s relationship to us Spiritually as was a contest suggestion. The Power of Water Like the thirst that can only be quenched by water, is my love for you oh Lord. Like a sponge, I soak up your greatness. Like a sponge, I sprinkle your kindness to those you send my way. Full, I have the power of a river. Empty, I am as weak as a dripping sink. Water is ever depleting, forever evaporating. Our Soul in constant need of refilling. Only through You can I find this precious replacement. In You, I find peace at the rivers edge. When all is weary, I drink from You and I am new again. |
| http://5000questionsur.livejournal.com/?skip=40 I took this from another writer in our 500 word a day group, as a place to get some ideas to write about. I think it would be great one day to complete all the questions, if not for anyone else but for myself. If you would like to join in just copy the questions and put our name on it and answer the questions in the comments, or copy the link for your own blog. |
| http://feeds.feedburner.com/brainyquote/QUOTENA This site has quotes each day on different topics. This is the Nature link. Add your favorite quote that deals with nature or pick one from this site and add it to my blog. Enjoy! |
| A family member was told years ago he had diabetes. He really didn't believe it. Didn't change his eating habits. Stopped the pills the doctor put him on. Continued smoking 2-3 packs a day. I will say he was faithful in taking his blood pressure medicine. Now at Age 47 his kidneys are leaking protein, the beginning of renal failure and his glucose of off the roof. Now don't get me wrong, I feel sorry for this man, but if you checked your sugar and it was 300 would you eat the last 6 donuts in the box and find your glucose medicine and take a half a pill? I think I would be on the phone with my doctor getting a diet, exercise plan and medication I need to prevent further damage to my body. Well seeing how this individual handles most things in life, he will probably get all hyped up to start something new. His efforts will last about a month. Actually, it will be more like 2 weeks. How do you help someone change when they are obviously killing themselves? I just don't know how anymore. |
| Did you ever stop and think what it feels like to grow old? Do you look forward to it, or dread it? I have always enjoyed being around the elderly. When I was a young girl other then my brothers and one other girl in our neighborhood, were elderly. We had a lovely 4 family home in Elizabeth NJ. Our landlady was an elderly Jewish woman, Mrs. Kahn. She had a gardener come and tend to the roses in our hugh backyard. Above us, on the opposite side of our home was and elderly couple the Smiths. Mr Smith was senile and faded over about a year, then I was 8 and I can remember each week I would spend one night with Mrs. Smith watching either Laurence Welk, or some type of entertainment show. No doubt she always made me a Shirley Temple and gave me stale crackers or cookies. I loved the drink, but would be polite and love the crackers too. My mother always instilled in us to do good for those around us, and helping the elderly is were I think I started my love for them. I can remember sitting next to Mrs. Smith and watching her fall asleep watching the show. I remember studying her face. It was worn and wrinkled with a few stray hairs I found funny and at the same time endearing. As a nurse I still enjoy each of my older patients and hearing about their lives. Their features, pictuing them as they must have been when young. Hearing some struggles we would never go through. Their life experience is always interesting to hear. I for one do not dread getting old. I look forward to one day being a grandparent and I will never be one of those women with the lip stick and eye make up that makes them look like a psych patient. Cheers to growing old gracefully. |
| If you know me you know this is very old. But it is good to look back and see where I was in life when I wrote this and how much stronger, put together and happy I am now. I am leaving this private part of my life on here for anyone that is in the state of confusion or hopelessness I was in when I wrote it. It is a good example of life being able to change...for the better and once that weight is gone you don't have to go back to live that pain again. If it applies know there is hope out there for you too, believe in yourself and do the right thing for you. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Not too sure how to rate this, but there is some cursing in this. If offended with foul language please do not read. Normally I try not to use this type of language, but for this- it is appropriate. 1/13/08 Thought for today- No need to give a writing critique, as I have not checked the sentence structure, spelling or punctuation. I just need to get this out on paper so maybe when I read it, again, I will have the courage for once to REALLY do something about it vs. just reading it again . Did you ever notice when you try to stay up, something or someone tries to pull you down? This seems to be the circle of fate that revolves around my life. I am so stressed right now, my right eyebrow is twitching. Do I have anyone that I can talk to about it? No, I do not have anyone to talk with about it. I have talked about this so many times, I can't bring myself to put the ones I love through this shit again. I don't want to waste a counselors time in leading me to the right direction... again. "When are you going to do something about this?" "You deserve better." " I hate to see you hurting like this." My Aunts most heartfelt advise, "When you learn to love yourself, you will stop letting this happen to you." The list goes on. I dread hearing those words, so I have been stuffing in all the hurt and pain for months, if to be honest years. I am not saying all that is wrong in my life lies in this marriage, but I do know that the weight that drags me down is this relationship. I feel I am bound to a man that is so far from what I want in a man, that I can not believe I am here. This relationship or the feeling that I am absoulutely not allowed to leave this relationship, is like being tied to a cement block that pulls you down, lets you bob up for just enough air then pulls you back down again. I feel as though I am getting weary and not to sure how much longer my head can come back out of the water. The best I can do is just accept it, and expect nothing. That works for awhile, but eventualy you don't have the power to pull off the facade. I almost hate to sit here and write about this, as I have to leave my cave of ignorance and face what I am feeling. It is pure pain. I had a childhood of pain, living under a father we all feared. He was a mentally ill man that used God and the Bible to keep you in fear. I was fat. In his eyes and the words that came out of his mouth, disgusting. Have you ever been forced to get on a scale in front of your family so you could be made fun of? The funny thing is I look back to pictures of myself, and I wasn't this blimp he made me feel I was. I was a prepubecent teen, chubby, but not disgusting. This lovely treatment and life in general under this horrible man, led me to an eating disorder, of which I battle to this day. I can remember times I would engourge my face with food, and while doing it thinking, "How ya gonna like me now, you bastard!" Of course the only one we really hurt is ourself. Beyond the wonderfully mentally ill father I had, I also endured some other experiences a child should never go through. No doubt the cause of some trust issues I have with men. Well enough of the poor little me memories. I am a grown women, with events in life that will always bother me. I try not to dwell on that era, as I have been through it and resolved it the best I can with counseling and Gods help. Somethings you can never erase, but have to go on painting a better picture dispite the darkness. I've learned that dark times make you tougher and stronger and they give you something others don't have. They give you the ability to forgive when as a child you should never be placed in that position, but with God you can rise above it. The thing that haunts me is how I ended up in a relationship with a man that is very much made up of all the things I hate in a man? He has been a nasty, mentally unstable beast to our children and myself for years. He has no faith in God and has no quams in mocking me about my faith. He finds smoking marajuana to be acceptable, our child finding his pot pipe didn't phase him in the least. You think he could of at least moved to smoking that crap outside! Speaking of smoking, he is a 3 pack a day smoker who refuses to go outside, so we live in an ash tray. If I say anything or refuse to sit by him while he chain smokes his night away, I am a bitch. He argues with me about any topic we may attempt to discuss. In fact he argues his point with everyone. His argument is often non-sensical, or offered to offend with a goal of putting the other person down. This past Christmas, I actually got up at his parents house and told him off empahsising how disgusting and inappropriate he was, in front of his family. You would have had to be there to appreciate it, but when you are arguing with your new sister-in-law, who had a gay uncle that died of aides, there is no room in the conversation for mimicing a gay man giving a blow job to the bottle of wine on the table! For Chirst Sake!!! I felt like hitting him in the head with the bottle. The crazy thing is his mother comes running to his aide, "Oh, whats going on, I'm sure he didn't mean that." His sister sits there with her eyes wide open, like buckwheat on the little rascals, saying nothing. I get up and tell his Mom, "What do you think just happened, I can't sit around here listening to the foolish disgusting things that come out of his mouth anymore! I'm sorry, but I really have to get out of here." Oh yes, I was brave for the moment then I remember I have to go home with this fucking idiot. This means I will be wrong. This means I will have to sit there for a minimum of one hour, if not 3, to hear the usual. 1. Is there something wrong with you? 2. You have a lot of nerve going off like a nut like that in front of my family. How dare you embarass me like that? Then comes the mocking as I sit there in silence 3 Oh what, are you going to turn into a rock now, have nothing to say, just going to sit there like a lump on a log? Poor Lorrie, she has it soo bad. Then he turns into the counselor, when the mocking doesn't work. 4. The best one- Are you ever going to learn how to have a relationship? 5. Is your purpose in life to torture me? Ultimatum man- Like me the way I am or I am out of here. The problem is he never leaves. 6. I really don't know what I stay around here for. You have never done a thing for me. One of these days you are going to be sorry, I just may never come home. I remain the numb me. I think I learned this when I was little. It is as if words go through me. It is some form of a state of confusion. It is as if I am observing the conversation vs. actually being in it. Sometimes I sit there with a song going through my head. Sometimes I picture life in the country, awy from this man. Sometimes I picture myself answering him back. Most times I just sit there looking at him until the ranting is done. My reply, "I don't have anything to say." Oh, don't get me wrong there have been times I have replied, but that is when I loose it and I turn into something from a movie, a possed nut screaming at such a high pitch sound you can't understand me. This is always a mistake, as the beast loves it. He points at me laughing, jeering, now look at you! This is normal? I'm the mentally ill one here, look at yourself! I have officially filed for divorce 2 times, Have left my home for 3 months and have had him kicked out for about 2 months. Judging from my record you wouldn't guess I am a professional. I am the financial backbone for our family. He pays nothing. I could easily walk away and get an apartment, but that would mean loosing the house. He can't aford it, refuses to leave and I can't aford to pay both, so I stay and have turned into a more or less hermit in the upstairs of our house. Multiple times I have been to the point were I don't care about the finances, take it all. Then I wake up and say why? Why should he have taken years of your happiness and then tons of what you worked so hard for? I owned this home before I ever met him. So I return to the confused me, I don't know what to do. He won't agree to a divorce, why should he? He lives here for free, doesn't work, doesn't lift a finger with anything in this house. I call him the Cellar Dweller. Not to his face, but everytime he grumbles some stupid ass thing at me, that is what I think of, "The cellar dweller beckons, I must run and meet his needs." Maybe my Aunt is right. When I learn to love myself, I will put an end to this. I agree with her to an extent, but there is more to this then not loving myself enough. As a Christian I have tried to forgive him. I guess somewhere beyond the hurt and pain I feel with him I have hope for him. I have tried to love him dispite his faults. Hell, I have faults of my own. I have tried to encourage him to seek help, try medication, try God, try something. I truly can not comprehend what I am doing with my life and I want to undertand it, so I can do the right thing. I want to wake up knowing what direction to take, for myself and my son. My last thought: I believe we have some control in our happines. Our actions add to or take away from our happiness. I read a saying the other day from Abraham Lincoln, "I am about as happy as I make up my mind to be." Maybe I haven't made up my mind to be as happy as I could be? Or maybe I am afraid to fail again? No matter the answer, I can only move on and live the best life I can with a hope that soon there will be relief from this weight around my neck. |
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