Yesterday

Yesterday I got the news that you died. You took your own life, in your own way.

You told everyone that you were OK - said you were going to live a long, long time. But it was all a lie. Inside, you knew the hours were limited. Perhaps you set the date in advance. Maybe you just woke up that morning and knew that this was it. You hid the evidence. Perhaps you had the stuff for a while and it gave you peace, knowing that you could check out at any time. As someone once said to me "you must never be sad if you hear I killed myself, for it was the the thing I wanted most, at that moment, to do".  She took her own life in 2003. I was still sad.

I know how you struggled with the insistent voices in your head telling you to end it all. You tried everything you could think of, to ease your pain. At first, it was alcohol and drugs. Later, you worked with a therapist and took medication. You reached out to religion and embraced your cultural ancestry. Finally, you devoted your life to your gift for language and imagery and became an incredible poet. My world has been enriched by your words. And now, you will not see the publication of your first book of poetry. What was to have been your life's celebration will now, instead, become its memorial.

Goodbye my friend. I send you love.

More on Religion

Part one - note to coffee shop preacher:

I am sure if we met one-on-one under different circumstances, I would like you. You seem like a very kind man, who cares about kids and your community. But, instead, we meet at the coffee shop and every time we do, you are loudly discussing your cock-sure religious beliefs.  Usually, you are quoting the Bible with someone in a pissing contest to prove who is the more pious. Last time we met, I got fed up and left in a fit of anger. This time, I remembered to bring my headphones in order to drown out your conversation. I don't want to infringe on your beliefs and I DO want to keep my opinions to myself. Devout Christians have been some of the kindest people I have ever met in my life. However, I have also been blessed with generous and kind atheist, Jewish and Pagan friends. 

Part two - my inner dialogue, as I wrestle with my feelings:

I think about my friends who have been through tremendously difficult times and I am thankful that they have such a strong faith. I am positive it is the only way they could have survived their turbulent lives. For this reason, religion definitely has a purpose. However, I have also been through the fire (and am still going through it), and I am doing OK, even though I am not attached to any organized religion. But, I do have faith in something. Call it hope, call it life, call it God or call it Karma. Whatever it is, it allows me to wake up and face another day. I don't dwell on it. I just know that it is. I don't try to recruit others to my way of thinking. I don't spout my beliefs out loud, any chance I get, in order to impress myself or others. I have said it before - faith is an intensely personal experience for me. So personal, in fact, that when I was a child, I used to feel embarrassed in church - it felt like my innermost secrets were being discussed without my permission. My sisters did not feel this way. My mother did not and I do not believe that this is a common experience, but I could be wrong. My father did not attend church with us when we were kids. But, after he died, we cleared many philosophy books from his shelves. Obviously, he had an interest in the inner journeys of humanity. He became more outwardly religious when he started attending AA. Turning his addiction over to a higher power certainly had an effect on him. It also worked, as he was sober for close to 3 decades. 

I feel that someone is out there and something does work but perhaps it is humanity's destiny to not know the answer until we leave this earthly plane.

Engrish Haaard

Do you ever have days like this? Days when just finding the correct word seems impossible? Conversations are very difficult today. Hell, I can't even update my Facebook status, without having to make corrections. What synapses aren't firing? Why do I get this way? I guess all writers go through this, which is why we are supposed to get up at a specific time each day and write through our blockages. Not supposed to post them on our blogs. But, I thought I would, anyway. Is 6pm too early to go back to bed so I can start all over tomorrow?

Memories of the Present

I am able to effortlessly walk one and a half to two miles at a time these days. Most often, I head out to the local coffee shop, have a cup and daydream while watching the world whiz by outside of the front window. I don't want to jinx anything, but my back is completely free of pain these days. My legs are much stronger as well as my lungs. It is in my nature to totally forget about this past year's health problems. I would like to keep the debilitating and excruciating sciatic nerve pain as a distant memory. Same thing goes for that very lonely week lying flat on my back in a Reno hospital, while blood clots were cleared from my lungs. It all seems like an uncomfortable dream today. I am only reminded of it now and again, and then, I hate to dwell on the memories and don't usually bring them up in conversation.

See, that's the thing about living in the "now". Yesterday and six months ago fade away as I make my life a "day-to-day" life, instead of a "plan and plot for the future" kind of life. For so many years, I was dissatisfied with where I was, always dreaming of a better job and hoping for a more 'successful' life. For a little while, things moved along at the pace I expected but that eventually changed, when I decided to chuck it all and go back to college. I was so hungry to learn and followed my heart instead of my head. After having the life I had rebuilt yanked from under me a couple of years ago, I realized that I was not the one in charge of my circumstances and just decided to let go of the reigns.

What a journey I have traveled. Never thought I would again live in the town where I was raised. But, I am glad I have had the experience of seeing this place as it exists, now, instead of just as an image from a traumatic memory. While I don't know if I will end up here, I think I have been able to work through some memories and make peace with parts of my past. Most surprising to me is how I have been remembered by old friends and classmates. I always felt like an outsider and somewhat ashamed of who I was. But, as it turns out, people's opinions of the teenage Anne were not the same as Anne's opinions. It has made me rethink the narrative I have identified with for years. It is time to create a new story for this new Anne. Perhaps my ability to block out recent health problems can be utilized to erase my version of my past.

I am a survivor and it is time to make some new memories that I, hopefully, won't forget.