It never ceases to impress me. I write a frank and honest report on my life, I disable the comments, and I get 4 e-mails. I write a funny post about me combining the technology of a writing instrument and the technology of a walking instrument and not a soul comments. Oh well.
Two of the four e-mails contained the phrase “I knew you were in pain, I just didn’t realize it was this much pain.” And I looked at what I wrote and I’m just shocked that people consider that pain. I wake up in pain almost every day that doesn’t even touch the need to have a friend at church or the chance to have someone get close to me and not have God take her away.
I still remember a lot of the trips to the psych wards to visit my mother. I remember the blood from her wrists that stained the vomit from her stomach (her stomach rejected the bottle of Tylenol she took which probably saved her life yet destroyed her liver) during that first attempt. I remember the other attempts as if they were yesterday. I remember the yelling and screaming that comes from a depressed parent raging out of control at a 15 year old boy who just wants his mom to feel better, followed by days of a mom locked in her room and my father and I tip toeing through the house not to upset her more. I remember feeling guilty each time because I wasn’t able to stop her pain. I wasn’t able to see the signs of a coming attempt and stop it. I wasn’t able to do anything to make life easier.
Occasionally people would come by the house and inquire about my mom. My job was to run interference. Find out what they wanted, give them the answer they wanted to hear, and send them on their way. I don’t actually know how many people I’ve lied to. I don’t know who even knows a portion of what those years were like.
I remember in college I had a girlfriend named Sara who thought she could help. She begged me to open up to her. I refused. I refused. And I refused. Right before Winter Break, I relented and told her. She broke up with me over the phone during the break.
Somewhere along the line I developed an anger management problem and when I couldn’t fix stuff or I couldn’t stop bad from happening to my mother or others, I would punch walls, ceilings and my truck. KNJ-P suggested I seek help. I did through LDS 12 step. Step 4 is to make a written inventory of your life. I did. Step 5 is to share this with one other person. I chose KNJ-P. I made it a fourth of the way into the report before she stopped me. She couldn’t handle any more. She asked me to never share again – and I never did.
I all at once hate God and yet feel blessed by Him. I am allergic to alcohol. I will go into anaphylactic shock if I drink it down. I have really bad asthma where I started coughing just around the second hand smoke of certain cigarettes. Because of these ailments, I was never able to turn to drugs to forget my world. Some days though – it would be really nice to just forget. Instead, each day I wake up with these and a host of other memories that are too horrible for me to write. Beyond a God who always takes, I also hurt for a God that gave me a childhood full of parental suicide attempts, heartbreak, openly lying and sorrow. When does the plan of happiness kick in? Or the plan of Mercy? Or maybe even just a loving Heavenly Father hearing the tearful pleadings of a young boy asking for hell to be over? According to the bible dictionary – prayer is the act of getting our will to be in line with the will of God. When I prayed I prayed for my personal hell to end. It never came about. Was His will (the one I never lined up with) to show me only a life of Hell?
A day in three acts - [Normally I love Mondays. Josh takes the kids to school and the van to work, and I get to sleep in (good in these times of nighttime pain), have a slower ...
1 month ago