Hi All,

Today is Wednesday, April 3rd.  I've been writing about my Dad's death so much lately that sometimes I forget how this all started. So, that said, I am going on a walk down memory lane tonite. My walk one week from today exactly nine years ago. That would take us to April 10, 2004. In 2004  was 30 years old. I am not going to blog about my romantic life at that point except to say that I was with a man who I did not deserve, and really did not fully appreciate until a few years ago. (I will also add that the only reason I am not going to write about that part of this story is that it is not fully mine and I dont think it is fair to share other people's lives in the same crazy way that I share my own without getting permission and since we are no longer in touch this would be impossible.) Anyway, in 2004 I was working very hard not to be a daily  drinker. I was doing this thing I guess you could call my attempt at controlled drinking. If you dont have an alcohol problem this may not make any sense but if you do then you can appreciate the special hell that this project creates.

So there I was dating this nice man who was willing and able to give me the life that I said I wanted and yet it seemed something was missing. I was living alone with my dog and down the street from the very same house that I had moved to in my previous relationship. When I had moved into that house, I thought I would live there, with that man, for a long time. Imagined I'd have children there or around there. Thought things would turn out different. When I found myself alone, in an apt, up the street from where I had imagined my future I became scared, confused, and desperate.

I had moved on so quickly and with such velocity that I dont think I even really knew then how I felt and what I wanted. I was drinking much less in an effort to prove something to myself about my maturity or my life or myself but when I did drink, well, it was not pretty, not controlled, and I was not ok. April 9 I found myself in NYC visiting my old roomate and looking to begin drinking at 3pm. I began at a bar in the East Village that was in a basement and very dark. At 9pm I vaguely recall being in the bathroom with a man I didnt know. By 10p I remember looking in the mirror and feeling totally disconnected to the person who was looking back--after that it is all sort of black and brown spots. What it was mostly, was terrifying and, in retrospect, life changing.

That black out and my realization after it that my drinking was not working, had not been working for a long time, and basically had never really worked was life changing for me. It all happened in April. So April is a strange month for me. I remember the weather and how sad and scared and lonely I was in the beginning of the month. Remember just how desperate I was at one point to get my old drinking partner back and how confused I was, even at 30, about what love was--what it felt like to be loved and to love. I had pain, need, desperation wrapped around and in between it all. It's painful and sad to remember those times not just because of my regrets about the people that I hurt but also because of how much I hurt myself and how vividly I still remember that pain.

But that pain did do something for me. It moved me from a place of victimhood, desperation, and addiction towards a new and very different place. It did not happen overnite but it did happen pretty quickly. Once I stopped fighting the pain and just felt it...it moved me. And once the pain got inside me and I allowed myself to feel it and not anestheisize it then I was changed. The pain forced me to be honest. It forced me to get help. It forced me to show up for myself and stop hiding behind bad relationships and drama. And when the alcohol, weed, and men that loved them both more than me were all gone...what was left...was me. Stripped down and without any bells or  whistles I began anew. Began to peel away the lies that I told myself until what was left was real. Over the last 9 years I have peeled, stripped, and peeled and stripped and then built it all back up and up and up until I was solid, strong, real. In the last 4 months my new self has been shaken, pushed, prodded, and knocked down. At times I've wondered if maybe I was wrong to think I was strong at all. Have questioned my life, my choices, my sanity. Have reached out and then shut down. Have opened up and then closed again. Have pushed, pulled, and tantrumed and thru it all, despite it all, I've remained...myself. And that is something that

Guilt Recovery Program

Hi All,

Today is Wednesday. Yesterday was Tuesday and was a not great day. Work was hard, my clients were pissed and ungrateful and blaming. I was tired and felt hopeless. I backed into a parked car after Seder around 9pm--and by the time I had driven home just felt done. Both cars were fine but the accident just seemed to really drive home the theme of the day which seemed to me to be Karen Sucks. As I lay in bed reflecting over it all, I realized that I missed my Dad and I didnt talk about it, not to anyone. For one of the first times I felt that I didnt want that to be the center of the conversation, didnt want to walk thru the sympathy, or attention, and so I just ignored it and hoped it would go away. Not only did it not go away but instead of the loss pain, I just felt artificial, and pretend, and sort of both plastic and disconnected. I realized I'd actually rather feel downright sad then feel like I'm pretending to not feel sad. Pretending it seems is not my strong suit.

I woke up this morning determined to not let Tuesday wreck Wednesday. (I would l say that some meta version of this is how I am running my life lately.) And so I took my shower with determination to not bring the Karen Sucks theme into Wednesday and then I decided that I would not even worry about that theme and just accept that if that theme came up again than so be it. Acceptance. My day was smooth, low key, somewhat productive and not...reactive. I cant tell you all how often my bad days somehow, somewhere involve reactivity. Often.

Today was clearly not yesterday. I'll say it again for both of us. Today was not yesterday. Obvious and suddenly so soothing. Today was not yesterday because it could not have been no matter how hard I might have tried to made it the same if I wanted to. And here is what I then really realized for the first time in nearly four months. November 22, 2012 will never happen again. I will never have to have that day or night over again. Never again have to have those conversations or feel those exact feelings. They are over. In the past. Done.

Will I feel pain? Loss? Grief? Will I feel angry? Hurt? Sad? Guilty? Broken? Will I feel unable to accept circumstances beyond my control? Yes to all of it. Yes. Almost definitely I will be forced to deal with all of these different emotions and feelings and thoughts because they are all part of life. The idea that this exact scenario is over though is something that I honestly feel sort of relieved by today. I mean, it is done. It has happened. I dont have to try or expect or wait. I just have to put it where it belongs--in the past.

Along with the pain in the past needs to go the guilt. The guilt is the thing. The pain hurts, has brought me to my knees, but is somehow finite and clean. Loss. The guilt is  different because it is not finite, is not clean, is somehow cerebral and heavy and thick. A few weeks ago it happened with me and the guilt. This moment that I now wonder if maybe happens to all survivors of a loved one's suicide...I had the clear thought: this was my fault and everyone knows it. There it was. I had felt bits of this thought before but never this certain. I felt so hopeless and sad in this moment. And then I knew what had to be done.

I had to say goodbye to the guilt not temporarily but forever. I mean I had to close the iron door on this unproductive, untrue, and destructive emotion for good. Guilt, it seems, is a luxury I just cant afford. Because this particular guilt could destroy me piece by piece from the inside out. I told myself, I'm done with guilt. Then I told everyone else that I could think of.  (Just like when I quit drinking, I safeguard myself by telling everyone my plan so I know that everyone can hold me accountable and being vain and sort of committed to living  with integrity this has been somewhat effective.) And so the guilt is over. No one has asked me if it is easy to stop feeling guilty or not? If they did I think I would say it is very similar for me to stopping drinking. It is not hard to do anything once we decide that we want to. It is the in between that hurts.

So if you are reading this and are going thru something similar I would suggest that you too try this. You tell yourself that this guilt is no longer an option. Self: guilt is no longer an option. Just like I once said, Self: drinking is no longer and option. Then you hold on for all of the weird shit your brain does to get around itself. While this is happening you find lots of other things to say and do and think about. And when all else fails you pray and reread why you thought this was a good idea. 3 weeks away from 9 years without a drink or drug. 1 week and four days without guilt for my Dad's death. One day at a time, baby. xxK

April is the Cruelest Month

Hi All,

April. It looms ahead on the horizon. Before April is the end of March. The end of March is happy. My daughter's bday, 6. The beginning of March is happy, my mom's bday, more than 6. But always there is April. Last April I cant remember. I have always hated April...too cold, too windy, not May, not even close to May.

I am not sure what to say about things lately. My job is so busy. I have been there long enough to see the good and the bad. The easy and the hard. It is good though and solid and real. It means something to me this place and these people. It means something to be at a shelter.

And my children are good and beautiful and perfect. Nearly 6 is a brilliant age all freckles and eyes and questions. Sometimes I am not sure how or why I was given these miracles. And 4 so sharp and wide eyed and earnest. It is too much sometimes to live with their goodness and innocence. It forces me open, to be present, and then there I am present and open and unable to protect myself from the pain that inevitably arises. I remember. November. April.

April is my Dad's birthday. I try to remember his birthdays that I spent with him, but I cant. Sometimes I remember good things and I am happy but mostly I just have the picture in my head. I try to alter the picture. Latelty I have been trying to imagine him jumping off of a bridge and flying into the sky with big wings soaring, free, happy. Sometimes this works. The other times it is just the picture.

I try to be of service to others and sometimes I think maybe I am. I try to do the right thing and sometimes I do. I try. I want to do better or more. I want to fix things or change things. I want people, all people, everyone to know this was my Dad and he is gone. I want them to feel the loss. I want them to understand what happened to him, to me. I want just one person to feel differently about things because of this...

And that is that. The way it is tonite. xxK

 

A year of Surrender

Hi All,

Tonite I spent time listening to some pretty smart people talk about surrender. I admit it, surrender is not my strong suit. In fact, I think that lately I might actually hate the word itself. And hate in this case is not too strong a word. In the first few days and weeks after my Dad took his own life I was numb and then dazed. I could not quite get myself to face what had happened which seems strange since I thought about it all of the time. I was in a constant state of unpleasant visualizations coupled with a mind that seemed unable to accept those pictures as real.

Having done my share of a therapy and having been lucky enough to have not one but two amazing therapists to work with, I know and have known for sometime that my  proclivity towards replaying images and thoughts does not serve me well. So, I tried to stop the pictures and mostly did or at least lessened them. Change the channel I would hear my therapist saying or move a muscle change a thought I would hear my friends say. Distraction is a good thing during these times. But the truth is and was that even though my obsessive mind does not serve me, the pushing out of all of the thoughts does not always serve me either. I need to find a  place in the middle. A safe place.

I read that Einstein said that our most important thought was if we believe that we live in a hostile or friendly world. I read this in another article that I sought out after hearing someone speak tonite on Surrender. This woman said she is spending a year with the idea of surrender. This idea spoke to me. I thought of myself at times actually unable to speak the Serenity Prayer in meetings. Here are the words I cannot say:

God, Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Generally, I can muster the courage to speak the courage portion but it is the acceptance part, the first part that even still sometimes chokes me up. Who knew I'd be come a person unable to speak the phrase to accept the things I cannot change without crying or feeling like I might. This is where Surrender enters the picture. I find myself stuck at a crossroads who will I become with this new experience? An angry person? I sad person? A broken person? A scared person?

Though I confess to often being all of those things lately it is not who I want to be and it is not who I will allow myself to be. At some point I need to...surrender. At some point I need to accept that this event has happened and like all other events that have happened and will happen--I believe--it was meant to happen and I cannot continue to feel I should have or could have done something different to alter it. After all, who am I to know how things should be. All I seem to know is what hurts and how to protect myself from that pain. Only the protection is not real and only protracts the pain.

So I will say this...inhale the pain, let it fill me up, let it break me open, and swallow me whole.  Pain like a wetsuit heavy and black and slippery all over me. Keeping me safe from more pain. Protected. Insulated. Alone. It is so tempting to give into it because I am tired and scared but I wont do it. I will do the opposite. I will step out of this heaviness, scared, naked, and willing to surrender to this friendly universe that I will trust and love because I dont have a choice. xxK

The F Word

Hi All,

No, not that F word...the other one. FEAR. Tonite, I am going to write about a unique kind of fear. The fear that happens after unexpected loss. I think the clinical word is traumatic loss.

Tonite it is Saturday night. The weather here was not so good, light snow, freezing rain, and general yuck. I had plans but decided to stay in. My husband had plans and decided to go. I was looking forward to a quiet night at home, hunkered down, with my babies (now age 4 and almost 6) when something else went down. The kids were tucked in. The fire was crackling and it started. The fear. My daughter so ridiculously tuned in says it is too quiet tonite, it feels scary. I am not scared in the monster way that she is so I can confidently assure her that we're ok and she should sleep. This works, for her.

Meanwhile, I am in my own place. I start remembering how Thanksgiving night was really quiet. I start remembering how the house was clean and the kids were asleep and then the phone rang. I begin to go there to that place of remembering and also imagining. I am there but here. Another night, tonite, another phone call...it could happen I think to myself. Powerlessness. Loss. I almost cannot move. I clean. I keep cleaning until nothing in my house is even a little dirty. Powerlessness. Loss. The phone is not ringing, but it could. I begin to imagine the worst kinds of car accidents and the worst kinds of phone calls. I finally step outside my door to listen just in case I might here sirens. I dont. It is quiet outside and sharp and cold and heavy. I am alone.
I tell myself that this is my imagination and that it is probably even normal. It is only 3 months since my Dad's death. Only 3 months since the phone call.

I stand still and try to breathe in and out, slow, in and out, slow. I look out the window at the dark snow and yard. I try to stay here and not go there to that night, that place. I am half successful. I go there briefly and come back. I do this often. I go just for a spilt second into the bad and then come back to the good. I am stuck in between. I want to both remember and forget.  Remember the good and forget the bad. I tell myself this. I will myself to erase the phone call. Erase. Even while I am trying to forget I know I never will. This pain it is in my body the same way my children's birth is. It is physical this loss. No one tells you that but I will.

I will tell you that the this loss, this intentional death is seared into my body and mind and I am like a cattle--branded. This loss is like that. Burning. I always before thought of loss as cold and empty but not this. This suicide, this killing, is hot and burning.

I tell you this because I know it is ok. I know it needs to come out. And the fear of losing others it is real and an after shock that I hope someday will subside. Maybe it never will or maybe I'll learn to ignore it and move on. It is hard to know. Maybe, or I guess definitely, it was always hard to know...I thought I knew something and I was wrong. So all of the knowing now it is different, and conditional, and shaky. I sit with my new shaky conditional unsureness and I am aware of how it was always this way. How I just thought I knew things but none of us really do. These thoughts make me uncomfortable. Various anesthectics run thru my mind. Alcohol. Food. Shopping. TV.

I sit here. Quiet. Feeling the fear. It is real and not imagined but the ideas that got me here are not real and I need to stop and I do. I am sitting at my kitchen table writing my blog on my computer. My husband is on his way home and as I write this I look up and I see the headlights of his car. xxK


 

HEAL ME

Hi All,

Today is Monday, President's Day. I had to work. It was a long day at work. I was busy and felt that everyone I talked to felt disappointed in me and that I wasnt doing enough to help them. I felt this in a defensive and sort of mad way. I felt my very least favorite feeling. Powerless. A close cousin to my other least favorite feeling. Inadequate.

I tell you this not because I need to break down my job or peformance but because I know myself well enough to know that this is more about me than them. And these two feeling specifically are definitely my new go to trigger feelings. I am not sure how to handle them except to be aware of them. Notice them. Invite them in. Be their friends. Hello powerlessness. Hello inadequacey. Hello to my new old desire to save people. To fix people. To heal people. Hello to these old friends that I now see as enemies. Hello. Hello. Hello.

Where did you come from? What is it about me that keeps inviting you back? Leave me alone. You mess up my work and make me over personalize and under perform. You are not helpful and you are not wanted here. Powerlessness? I will not work harder than the people that I work with. Inadequacey? I will not assume responsibility for someone else's choices nor will I take more responsibility for another person than they take for themselves. I will not feel guilty or apologize. I will be strong. I will be kind. I will be compassionate. I will be present.

I will not live in other people's problems. I will not use their problems to avoid my own pain or discomfort. I will accept my own sadness, my own loss, my own pain. I will not hide or deflect. I will not be sarcastic even when challenged with sarcasm.

I will do my best. I will look at my part. I will challenge myself to find new and creative ways to empower myself and to empower those around me. I will connect when I can. I will be open when I want to close. I will be open. I will be open. I will be open. I will pray to the Universe. Heal me. Heal me. Heal me. I will close my eyes and envision a giant sewing needle stitching my heart, big loose stitches will bind me back together, and it will hurt, but it will heal.
xxxK
 

Reaching Out, Reaching Down, Reaching...

Hi All,

Today I saw a psychic medium. I cant decide if it was smart or sad, intuitive or pathetic but I know that it didnt hurt me and might have helped me. I know that my deep sense of being totally alone and separate from my Dad was somewhat abated at least for thirty minutes. I know that it is a little sad to think that I needed another person to help me with this or that I needed to pay someone to tell me that he is still with me, but I did. I mean I really needed that and I am glad I did it and glad it is over and glad I can take it with me.

I sort of see this experience as me reaching out and I think it is good to reach out. I think it is good to find other people who can help me and I am glad that I am able to do that. I am glad I dont feel ashamed or isolated in this pain. I am grateful for my willingness to try different and alternative things. I am grateful also that people are starting to talk about mental illness more openly and I hope that continues too because it helps, it helps to be able to talk about these things without fear or shame or anything except compassion--for myself, for him.

It is strange how the time is passing and yet the pain remains, constant, dependable. A giant loss. A gaping hole. Time makes the pain more familiar, and not so jarring, or scary. It feels like part of me and not in a super traumatic or big way, just something that happened, another experience, a layer. Sometimes it wakes me up out of a deep sleep, breathless, wait...just wait. I am there on the bridge. Wait. Please. Wait.
I am there saying something. Wait. I am trying a different approach. More compassion. Less desperation. Wait. I am not so attached to the result. I am more calm. Wait. I am not a daughter but just a stranger. Wait. I am trying something new. Wait. I am so close to getting it right. Wait. I am...here...Even in my dreams he doesnt wait. It is always the same. He is gone. I dont see it, but I know it. Even in my dreams I cant save him.

When I wake up I tell myself, I am ok. Acceptance. I tell myself this has happened and it is ok, you are ok, I am ok, and I am. I am ok. I am sad and a little lost or maybe a lot lost but I am ok. I am intact. I will go on. I will be more than I was before, not less. I will hug more. Laugh more. Show up more. Smile more. And, yes, cry more too. I will be and do more because I understand something more. I understand pain more which means I somehow understand love more too. I love my Dad. I love his pain being over. I love what his life meant to me and what it means to me now. And this love it hurts on the edges but in the center it is like all of the other love I have. It is pure and it is good and it is healing. xxK