I am moving…moving in a lot of ways.
I feel like I am moving on from the “deep depression” I was in the last week or two. I can try to accept the fact that my father is gone from this world and just accepting that fact is giving me peace. I miss him but I miss living and staying that depression takes the life I love from me. The depression comes in little sprits but does not last long. I am able to accept the cold wind when I feel pain from the RA in my body and not wallow in the fact that I hurt because hurting is not what it use to be. I can move on. Moving can mean many things. I see my sadness get taken away in the breeze and I am in reality. The wind is moving and so must I.
One of my favorite movies as a child was Castaway. I saw the movie in theaters probably three times and took a mini tape recorder in with me once so I could listen to the movie when I was home in bed. At the time I think I was thirteen. The “french man” was gone, it had probably been a year. We were still in the house he molested and abused me and my twin in. That was probably when my “deep depression” started.
I would lay in bed and listen to the movie on the small tape recorder and picture what I saw. I remembered feeling so sad that the castaway lost his friend, Wilson; an imaginary friend he made out of a ball that had a red hand-print on it. I felt sad he was alone. I was alone and I was so sad. The pain from my past and the uncertainty of my future was a dark blanket over me; a hood I could not remove.
I loved the transition in the movie where he came to acceptance and just lived on that island. The island meant something just as much as the first time he discovered the milk inside of a coconut. I knew what my island was and I had to accept it. Much like I feel I am on a path of acceptance that my father is gone from this earth.
Speaking of….throughout this process the last few weeks I have lost touch with the spiritual side of me. I know I am still present in spirit but there is something there blocking it from healing me. Perhaps my healing is a gradual process….muck like the time it took for the castaway to build up enough courage to decided to want to live and not end his life.
One last thought on MOVING> My mind is not moving like it had been the last few weeks. I struggle a lot with guilt that I added in my father first getting ill. When I moved here to the South from Denver, Colorado I worked on a lot of art projects and crafts. I sold things online and really enjoyed spending my time doing it. My father never had a craft buddy and he was an excellent artist, I wish he had done more. We became instant craft buddies and he went into a bipolar manic episode. My sister and step-mom have told me many times that he did that every year in the fall. The year prior he was in the same condition at about the same time. His bipolar seemed to be heavily affected the seasons. The last week he was home he slept on average three hours a day but they were little naps. He was not taking his medication when he normally did because his schedule became so off. He was a diabetic and was not eating like he should have and smoked a carting of cigarettes in three to four days. He was fun and creative and taught me a lot when it came to different things to create with…but he could not stop. The last few nights I gently talked to him about his state. I told him I thought he was in a manic state and tried to watch his med intake. At the time I tried to keep my composure but I was sad and angry…I knew he was getting very ill and fast. The last night he was home before my step-mom took him to the ER I stayed up with him until 4am. I was scared. Now is the time to let that fear and sadness go and enjoy life. I think the more I focus on enjoying my life and being at peace the healthier I become.
-I am not going to go back and proofread this blog. I typed a lot about things I don’t want to see again…I apologize if there are errors.
Thank you for reading friend.