Words, Words, Words

I'm going to prepare you now for some eye-rolling. Go ahead, stretch those eyes. I am fairly positive that one or more of my most loyal readers will be rolling their eyes at some point during reading this. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I had a really rough week last week. Very dark. Probably one of the darkest weeks I've had since early last summer. I didn't write about it, I didn't talk to anyone about it, I didn't reach out to anyone for help. When it gets that dark in my head, I don't want to have to describe the darkness. Even considering how to describe it gives me the shivers. I am grateful that all I had were thoughts and not actions. I am grateful that the part of my brain governing logic was not asleep at the switch.

I wrote a lot last year about my struggle with depression and my family's financial struggles. That was tough for me to do, honestly. For those who know me, it may seem laughable to think there is a topic about which I don't talk. In reality, I use words as a buffer.

I had a therapist when I was in high school. Her name was Linda. I loved her. I had a series of therapists from age 11 on and she has always been my favorite. I remember sitting in her office one time, chattering away about school, swim team, church, etc. She sat there, a small smile on her face, and let me talk myself out.

After I finished, she said, "okay, now how are you, really?"

And then I really told her.

I am so good at words. Big words, small words, emotive words, encouraging words, ten-dollar words, ridiculous words. They are the bricks out of which I build a fortress around myself. I let almost everyone in, really I do. I have been told I shouldn't play poker because I can't hide my emotions well.

The problem has become I don't feel like I can be me, the real Sue, around too many people. (Cue eye rolling.) Yes, I know. My friends, my true friends, (of which there are many) love me unconditionally. There is nothing off-limits. They accept everything about me.

I am afraid, though, that there really is something off-limits, but it's not been discovered yet. I know off-limits territory is there. I am a navigator operating in the dark, pushing my toe further and further out to find the boundary. Until I've found it, I'm fairly certain I need to hedge my bets because once I find it, I will lose these friends, the ones who are so loving and accepting.

I stopped blogging about my depression because I didn't want to scare people. I also didn't want people to think they had to intervene. Words are the bricks in my fortress but they are also heavy to carry around. Sometimes I use them to build gravestones, to commemorate something I've lost or can't have. I need a place to offload them but am not always ready to mourn them publicly.

The other reason I stopped blogging had to do with people's generosity. It's interesting how the mind works, because sometimes I mis-remember things. Shocking, I know.

See, when I talk about how my family is struggling, I am frustrated and venting. I am not intending that people will act on what I write. There are two reasons for that. First, this blog is not very widely-read. That's really okay, for now. Second, I hate for people to be nice to me.

Let me clarify.

I find certain aspects of myself tolerable. I like my hair, my sense of humor, my laugh, my verbal abilities, my random knowledge of useless trivia and my thighs.

The rest is a toss-up. On some days, I enjoy that I cry randomly at odd intervals. It's endearing. Mostly, though, I want to constantly tell myself to suck it up and get over myself. No one should be crying over their daughter receiving a brand-new pair of ballet shoes (for example). There are times when I am thoughtful and compassionate. This is a good thing. Just as often, I am prickly and curmudgeonly and unkind to people. Okay, maybe not out loud to people and maybe not on purpose, but still! I have really ugly thoughts a lot. I am judgmental and thoughtless and callous.

Now, when one lays eyes on me, they will probably see the former, the funny, clever, word snob lady with nice thighs (well, not that you'd mention it because I usually always wear pants, but trust me, they are nice thighs). Reading my blog, one would see that this nice lady's family is in need. It might occur to you to be kind to said lady.

So let's say you decide to be kind. My immediate response is tears (because oh, lord, there are always tears). Then, I start scrolling through all the hateful things I've ever said and done. I might even go to the tapes, the ones that show me being ugly and awful to many, many people. Upon reviewing the evidence, I would conclude that I don't deserve said gift.

As an aside, yes, this is probably why I'm exhausted most of the time. My brain operates about 10 times faster than my mouth and my mouth runs like the Ramones. So, yeah. I wouldn't recommend a vacation to my brain.

In any case, I had a couple of friends be very kind to me last year. It might have seen like small things, these kindnesses, but they absolutely meant the world to me.

And here's why it's important to sometimes hang onto things.

I am in the process of organizing my house. I am taking 14 weeks to do it. I am following a strict program, I have lists, I am going slowly, not trying to multitask and being methodical. In cleaning my kitchen, I came across a letter one of the kind friends wrote me along with some money to buy a new CD player.

This friend told me that she (I'm paraphrasing and so forgive me...she is a very precise person and probably still has the letter, so I will beg forgiveness if I'm misrepresenting what she wrote) was glad I was writing about my struggles. She applauded me. After receiving her letter, I texted her and thanked her profusely, saying I wanted to find a way to thank her.

Here's the thing. She told me specifically that she knew I wasn't trying to solicit money or help with my blog post. I told her that I hope one day I can financially bless people. I am going to quote her text here, because what she said has stuck with me: "I just wanted to do something to support and love on you. The time will come when you will be able to bless others with money, but until then you will bless others in other ways: with your spirit, your faith, your humor, your story. You have blessed me with all of those already."

See, I had only known this chick for a few months at the time this happened. It was so humbling to hear, from a new friend, that she had already been blessed just by knowing me. It was painful to hear, of course, because I'm the prickly cactus of a person on the inside. Nice things hurt because I have to let the prickly out to allow room for the nice. And that can be a painful process, not unlike draining a wound in order for it to heal. Not pleasant, but for really deep wounds to heal, they need to need to be drained.

2015 was supposed to be our year. We felt like we had a foothold on things, that this was the year we were actually going to be able to climb above all of it. Then, of course, another setback. I found out about it almost two weeks ago. I didn't tell anyone about it immediately because I didn't know how. I wasn't sure how to insert, "the guys my husband works for are jerks and I hate them" into polite conversation.

It all spilled out at small group last week. I cried, not tears of sorrow but the bitter tears of anger, frustration, resentment and disgust. It kills me that my husband, who is college-educated, intelligent, articulate and talented, is wasting away at a company that doesn't recognize or appreciate his talents. It's a special kind of hell to see the one you love torture himself for shortcomings that are not of his own making.

It's been tough, too, because our things are starting to give out. My pots and pans are losing their teflon and shape because they have been used as drums, boats and hats. My favorite lifter is starting to deteriorate. My oven mitts are all crusty and gross.

I mentioned all of this not because I wanted all the things. I mentioned it because my crappy kitchen stuff is a daily reminder of the struggle we've been walking through for years, the one I thought would only last for a little while. I have delayed and delayed getting new things because I figured the next paycheck would allow me to do so...and then the next one...and so on. Instead, I've had to be a crazy steward with every penny and not been able to see fit to get new things.

Of course, the people in our small group love us. They, in the words of my friend, wanted to do something to support and love on us. So they got us a gift card to Bed, Bath and Beyond. They gave it to me in a bag with new oven mitts, which in itself I considered an amazing gift. Really, if it had just been oven mitts I would be writing the same post and crying at the same points. I am a dork about small gifts.

The thing is, when I got home and realized how generous they had been, it was painful. And I knew I had to write about it. Well, to be fair, I started thinking of ways I could thank everyone. Mostly with my baking, which I will. Cause I do that well. Just sayin.

I had another friend be generous with me Saturday. And I have had other unexpected kindnesses. And they all hurt. I am fairly certain I deserve none of them. (Cue more eye rolling.)

I keep hoping for the time I will be able to be financially generous. I hate that my generosity seems to end up looking like a kindergartner's art project, homemade with pasta and glitter. I want it to look crisp and pretty.

God seems to have a different story written for me. Naturally, I want to help him edit it. Naturally, he has password-protected the document and hidden it from me. Being humble is something I would never have asked for on my own. It's less painful, in my opinion, to be able to do for myself, to be self-sufficient. It's less messy, less emotionally involved.

God doesn't want less from me. He wants more, and he doesn't mind pasta and glitter. He knows that what I offer to people is my best, even if it's not as pretty as some of the other gifts. (Please note that my description of my gifts as children's crafts and others as pretty is my own construct. I am not trying to disparage any gift that we have received. Rather, I am disparaging my own.)

Of course I hate all of this. I spent most of last week feeling snarky and prickly and angry. I walked around feeling like I was wearing an itchy sweater. I wanted to fling myself to the ground and have a good, old-fashioned tantrum. I didn't really, but I feel like I may have been unkind to people. Because lastly, words are my weapons. I am not agile with my legs but am quick to throw words like ninja stars. They have surprising accuracy and are deadly.

So thank you, to all who have shown me kindness and have built into my family by praying for us. We appreciate all of the prayers and know that God has us in his hands. My apologies, for the unkind words and lack of disclosure about my dark times. I'm a work in progress and am working to break down rather than build up walls. It's a new skill and I'm clumsy at it still.

Thanks for reading, really. There's something powerful in knowing that people are connecting with my words and thoughts. I appreciate all of you.