aww ~ april 9, 2014
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My mind swirls when I think of the phrase "losing touch."
Of Dad in the 1980s and 1990s. Living as a quadriplegic with no sense of feeling from his shoulders, down his torso, into his groin and thighs and knees and calves and ankles and feet and toes. For thirteen years, his body never responded with startles to our touch when we would physically clothe him and change his external condom catheter and put his socks and shoes on his feet and position him in his chair or in his bed. Sometimes his legs would jerk, but not because he felt our hands; his limbs would simply spasm. Sometimes he'd laugh and say something like, "Watch out there!"
My mind swirls when I think of the phrase "losing touch."
Of my own body back in May, 2011. My limbs turning to rubber as this damnable disease of neuropathy invaded my nerve tissue, squelching its sensitivity and ability to perform; wreaking havoc on my muscles, depleting them of strength. At at that time, my body and mind waking in the mornings as my eyes would open with a blink and I'd be faced with immediate fear. Oh god, another day. I wonder how well my legs will work this morning. For balance, I would reach for the bookcase beside the bed; I refused to use a walker. My arms weak, my hands feeling so very heavy like I was wearing boxing gloves, though I'd never worn boxing gloves. I despise this illness with a passion.
My mind swirls when I think of the phrase "losing touch."
Of Mom in the 2000s. In her catatonic state sitting in the chair beside her hospital bed, her eyes glaring at me as if I was the devil himself, though she had no knowledge of herself at the time. I had to remind myself she wasn't there, in her mind. Even when she bluntly stated, "Take off my glasses." Those were her only words for what seemed months but was probably only weeks.
My mind swirls when I thinking of the phrase "losing touch."
Of my own 15-year-old mind and body in 1974. Possessed by the terror of datura stramonium, jimson weed, the devil's weed. Hallucinations in full 3D. Rape in an open stadium. Institutionalized in a circular asylum. Black cock roaches crawling my body in a flesh feast. Witch doctors dancing round and round my bed. A secret world where I only was on the inside.
My heart grieves when I think of the phrase "losing touch."
Of my own dream, now at 54 years old in 2014, to thru-hike the 2184 miles of the Appalachian Trail. My call of the wild. My high school dream that I first gave up in my early 20s. Gave it up to serve God and then had to let it go because of decades struggling to survive my own internal drowning fluids. A dream resurrected in 2010. Perhaps a silly and superficial dream, but still...a journey I often find myself longing for. I haven't totally given up the dream. But slowly I'm letting it go to the realm of never-to-be-fulfilled. I think something in me hopes that if I let go the dream...maybe, somehow, it will find me again...
9 comments:
I think it sounds like a wonderful dream.
Hoping you can have your dream someday. I know it might seem like it will never happen, but still you never know??
I hope it will, but yeah, sometimes I'm sure it seems like it wont. :(
You just keep trying, you never know.?
I can't find the words though I'm trying. Losing touch but staying in touch . . . with those dreams. (((hugs)))
Thanks ladies. <3
I'm tempted to write something about me having a "pity party."
But...thinking about that term "pity party" (which I use sometimes)...it really can be a devaluing term. I mean it can be used in jest or to get our minds out of the gutter sometimes. But it can also stifle expression...of the low times...minimizing circumstances. That said, I know us humans all need perspective; it's a coping tool.
I sure can get to feeling self-conscious after posting my blues. Maybe part of that feeling is from cultural indoctrination, so to speak; ie: shouldn't I be speaking 'positives" or some-such?
I wonder too, if when folks post online their 'negative' or 'dark' or whatever-to-call-it side, if readers get the impression that is all a person's life is? But...life has lots of Blue. Joni Mitchell sang so. ;)
<3
The term "pity party" was used to shame some of us in our former faiths. I remember one woman who'd at the top of her voice tell us all to stop having a pity party. Seemed very important in those years to hide ones emotions if they weren't the "good" ones. All of us have no right to have sadness when Jesus died for us. That kind of thing. It stifled all of us. I'm still stifled worrying about what others think of me.
I remember one day we found out the depth of her pain (her baby drowned) but she showed no pain and some of us then understood why she just couldn't let herself or anyone else have a pity party. Her last view of her child was not good. Why would I want to remember that? she said. But you knew that her generation not only didn't but often couldn't give voice to any of their pain without themselves being silenced.
I feel caught between two generations. Parental, who kept it all in and children who are so open but only when it suits them.
It stifled all of us. I'm still stifled worrying about what others think of me.
I still battle that one too...but it has eased, especially the past year. I was making headway before the Knapp crap...then that threw me a punch almost into just disappearing into the wallpaper.
Omg...her baby had drowned. And she was supposed to go along strong.
That sandwich generation. I'm soon-to-be 55 and growing up, we didn't discuss problems. Now, in this current age, it seems culture has swung to the other end of the pendulum, in a way. Hmmm....it reminds of when a person has been involved in a toxic religion and when they get out...for awhile...they may swing to the opposite end...endeavoring to maneuver the new-found freedom. Except, instead of a person, the 'hush' generation and 'shout it from the rooftops' generation is a cultural thing. It's probably a cycle that has gone on since recorded history.
Another thing, she smoked and I never knew it until just before she died. She hid it from everyone. Never did smell it. She died of lung cancer. Again, refused any pity party stuff.
An aside. She was one of the last of my Christian friends that I spoke to years ago. She asked a question and I answered her directly. When our conversation had come to its end she said, "You're the kind of Christian we should all be." This after I told her I no longer believed. :-)
"When our conversation had come to its end she said, "You're the kind of Christian we should all be." This after I told her I no longer believed."
Interesting. It seems she was maybe commenting on honesty....or being true to oneself?
I don't know. I've heard it before and I don't know what it means. I didn't ask.
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