Mental health

UH OH! MOM’S GONE ALL KAFKA!

Thanks so much to Momshieb at Empty Nest, Full Life for giving me a great line. It made me laugh all day. I got lucky and found the perfect illustration! This one’s for you!

WEEKLY WRITING CHALLENGE: SNAPSHOT OF LIVING POOR

snow shack

Should I buy it? Do I need it?

I sit here a mass of nerves, stomach jumping, head spinning. What’s the problem?

My Kindle isn’t working like it should anymore. It has served me well for more than two years. Now, things that didn’t work perfectly at the start work even less well. It’s beginning to die. So what’s the problem? Get a new one, right?

Poverty. I can buy it cheaper now — on credit — than will be possible for months (years?) to come. I depend on my Kindle. I don’t buy paper books. No room. I have to make a decision. Today.

My hands are shaky. I should use what I’ve got until it dies then buy something. But that won’t work well. I’ll wind up paying full price. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You wouldn’t think I’d get into such a stomach-churning lather over spending $200 — especially when it’s something I use constantly, on which I depend. You wouldn’t think so. You’d think, at my age, this decision would be simple, obvious. But never having enough money means nothing is obvious or simple.

My moment in time. Sitting on the edge of a razor, ready to slide downward. I feel myself about to be cut in two. I see us losing the house, living in our car, no place to go. The moment is pure panic worry, anxiety, insecurity. Caught doubting myself, my motives, my reasons. Gut-wrenching fear, because the ever-hungry demons of poverty shadow me, make me second-guess each purchase, no matter how tiny.

Should I have bought the cheaper spaghetti? The generic rice? Not bought the fish that wasn’t on sale? Skipped the better dog food? Never mind a Kindle. I don’t deserve it. The other one still works, sort of. What’s wrong with me?

There’s no fun in this. No fun, no reward. I’ll be sorry no matter what I do.

I hate being poor. Right now, I hate being me.

MOM’S GONE ALL KAFKA!

Thanks so much to MOMSHIEB at Post Departum Depression for sending me the first line to really make me laugh all day. This one’s for you!

Gone Kafka

Daily Prompt: Rocks, boulders, life

Asking for help is easy. Getting it may not be.

I don’t mean getting someone to review your post or help you carry a heavy box up the stairs. Those are easy things, no big deal. You’ll happily do such things for anyone, even a near stranger … and they for you.

What about when you can’t manage the basic stuff of life on your own anymore? When a bag of groceries is too heavy? When the stairs to your apartment loom like Mount Everest?

Ask you family for help? Think about that. When was the last time one of them offered to help? When have your kids volunteered to lend a hand when they weren’t looking for some cash? They’re busy. Maybe they can find a little time around Thanksgiving. Or New Year’s.

“But I need help today! I need to do some cleaning. I can’t do it myself.” The silence is deafening.

Who will offer to help? The people who can barely take care of themselves, who have lives full of caring for the needs of others. They will find time. People who give because it’s in their nature to give. The rest? It’s painful enough to have to ask … much worse to be told “no.”

Growing older has nasty psychological components and plenty of good, solid reasons for fear. Real issues of being left to the care of unfriendly strangers, unable to physically manage the day-to-day tasks of life are terrifying. There’s nothing psychological about them. No amount of thinking them through is going to make them disappear. The tasks they represent are not optional.

96-Breakers-HP-5

Everyone needs food, medicine, trips to doctors. Sometimes, we even need to just get out of the house and see that there’s still a world out there.

Everyone would rather not need help. Universally, people prefer to be self-sufficient. The problem arises when that’s no longer an option and suddenly, the world has a frozen, dark look. It’s not your world any more.

The realities you’ve always managed on your own, automatically, without assistance are real rocks. Boulders in the middle of your life, immovable. Huge, heavy, solid. Waiting. And there is no simple solution. Maybe, there is no solution at all.

Daily Prompt: Do over and over and over?

Do I think it’s ever possible to get life “right”?

In a word? No.

And how dull would it be if we did?

RepetitionSigned

Watch Out for the Pod People!

Everything and everybody changes. Most of my family and friends have changed relatively gradually over the years. Recently a couple of people I’ve known for a long time have changed suddenly and dramatically. Overnight, they became dry and humorless.

It appears they had a humorectomy. While they slept, their sense of humor was removed. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but it’s deeply disturbing. I think it’s possible they have been replaced by pods, like the  “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”

I could not survive if I did not see how ridiculous my life is. If the absurdity of it didn’t make me laugh, I would do nothing buy cry and bewail my state. Laughter heals me. It’s better than sex. Better than yoga, meditation, medication, or street drugs. It’s free, unrestricted by laws, available to anyone who is not yet dead and is acceptable behavior under almost all religious systems.

Many friends are going through rough times. Their problems vary, but the results are the same. Stress, anguish, fear, worry, insomnia. You worry, try to keep it together until you’re ready to explode.

What can you do? If the light at the end of the tunnel is indeed the headlight of an oncoming train, I say: “Buckle up and let your hair blow in the wind. It’s going to be a Hell of a ride.”

Laughing at the craziness, insanity, ludicrousness, the utter absurdity of my life — and the demented world in which I live it — is my first line of defense against despair. Take away laughter, strip away my sense of humor and I’m a goner.

At our wedding — 22 years ago — my cousin and I danced the hora. What makes the dance so memorable  — other than discovering that she was in great shape and I wasn’t — was feeling like I was going to spin out of control.  That feeling of being grabbed by something stronger than me and being twirled and spun with no ability to control what happens has become an allegory for life.

I laugh any time I can, at anything that strikes me as even a little bit funny. It helps me remember why I bother to keep living.

My friends make me laugh. I make then laugh. When our lives are in tatters and everything around us is collapsing, we laugh. Then, we take a deep breath, and laugh some more. The more awful the situation, the more dreadful and intractable the problems, the funnier it is. We are not laughing at tragedy … we are laughing at life.

The difference between tragedy and comedy is how you look at it. Laugher is the universal cure for griefs of life.

If the moccasins pinch, wear them

I just read another post on the power of positive thinking. I was glad to hear again how I can conquer pain and make my problems go away by believing they will.  Does God really reserve his blessing for those with a positive attitude?

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

I don’t think there’s a malevolent deity or evil destiny stalking me or anyone else. Life just is. It’s not omens and portents: it’s stuff that happens.

Positive thinking is not bad.  It’s just that positive thinkers have a way of forgetting how suffering people don’t necessarily want a pep talk. They want to be in less, preferably no, pain. They want love, comfort and sympathy. My suggestion? Listen to them, find out what they want and do your best to give it to them. Your positivity may cure your problems and you are welcome to use it to make yourself feel better. Just don’t impose it on me or anyone else. Don’t force people to smile when they want to cry so you can feel okay.

I’ve got more than a few physical problems that are difficult to manage. There are bad days. I want to avoid dragging others down, but I have given up trying to make everyone else feel better by internalizing everything.

It’s unfair to tell people to relax, be happy, smile and that will make everything fine. It’s not true. Internalizing pain and sadness increases stress and makes problems worse. Don’t stop believing, but quit imposing. If you can make your own pain go away by force of will, good for you. In the meantime, remember: only you are you. The rest of us are different. A single solution, attitude or way of thinking does not fit everyone.

It is said you cannot know anyone until you’ve walked in their moccasins. Be careful: those moccasins can pinch something fierce.

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