I’ve been in one of those strange states where at times I feel and seem extremely normal and even pretty well, and yet in ways I’m really struggling. My eating has been just terrible. Really terrible! And I’m even hiding a lot of it from my husband. Almost like when an alcohol abuser hides their bottles.
Morning and early afternoons seem to be OK, but come around 3 pm and I feel like I’m slipping. I’ll admit that I just got my monthly. Perhaps that is playing into this. My motivation is almost nil right now. I have no idea what to make for dinner, and wish I didn’t even have to make it. I wish some vegetable heavy meal would just show up on my table at 7 pm when my husband gets home, and call me to the table, too.
I am often quite lonely, but I try not to think about it much. Then oddly, though I love and miss my husband, some times there is also some part of me that wishes he wouldn’t come home so I could just have zero pressure (not to make dinner, not to talk, not to stay awake). Lately, even my pet bird seems more responsibility than I can handle, at times.
It certainly is tough to try to put on that everything is rolling on regularly. The truth is, life is really changing now. In my early 40s, struggles seemed like they were starting to truly pass and I could pick up where I left off in my early 30s. But that halted, and I took maybe three or four steps back. Now, I’m really starting to feel older. My husband is older. His big birthday is a reminder of that. He’s about 13 years older than me. He’s only one year younger than my mother was when she died still somewhat young. That was less than one year before all of my hospitalizations started.
Yesterday I was watching the ceremony for former president George H.W. Bush at the Capital building. President G H.W. Bush was in his 90s, but it made me think of losing parents. “Younger” former president Bush clearly looked in distress. I felt for him. It made me think how horrible it is to lose parents. He lost both this year. He was lucky, though, to have his parents for so long and that they passed in a rather peaceful way.
About 16 years ago, I was on a business trip to Taiwan. I took a couple of days off afterwards to visit my brother in Hawaii, which was en route home. At that time, my brother lived in his sail boat. I think my sleep while on that sail boat was among the best sleep I’ve ever gotten, and the mornings and evenings were so wonderful listening to the marina sounds and the sea breezes. It was obviously warm, but not too hot since it was on the water. My parents had visited him there a few times in years before, even staying on his boat. They enjoyed the experience as much as I did. Much better than staying in a hotel, but maybe that’s just us.
There is something lovely and peaceful about such a life on a sail boat in a tropical land. At least as long as there are no major storms. If you own the boat 100%, there are only some other fees. Marina fees, and a couple others. Life is so simple! The space on the boat may be small, but I felt it was plenty of room for the kind of existence I would enjoy. Bro is the size of a football player, and it was plenty big for him. The morning air there had a certain feel and smell like no other. It was purifying! Purifying! Imagine instead of taking moodstabilizers, antipsychotics, perhaps antidepressants, and other meds, having the morning air blow out all of the toxins, stressors, depression, anxiety, agitation, and other crap from your brain and body? Straight through and out! Ahhhhhhhh! Then you feel as light and free as a seagull. Able to almost fly.
Marina sounds to me are not that unlike the sounds of a flag’s rope smacking against a flag pole in a light breeze. It makes a ringing sound each time the rope hits. I’ve always been fascinated by that sound, as far back as three years old when we’d go to the boat in the summer time. My parents had a boat right next to my grandparent’s boat. We’d go out on the bay as my Pop Pop sailed with a big smile on his face steering the boat wheel, with the wind blowing past our faces. Or rather through us.
Some of my fondest moments of my early life were on that sail boat, sitting on my Pop Pop’s lap, looking up at his smiling face. In his face there was nothing but love and satisfaction. He loved the water and the freedom on it. The rest would jump off the side of the boat and go clamming, while Pop Pop and I threw a line in the water and waited for crabs to bite. We’d pull the line a little bit to see if it got yanked. If it did, we’d sloooowly pull the line up bit by bit. When the crab showed through a couple inches of water, Pop Pop would grab a net and scoop it out, and throw it in the bucket.
My Pop Pop’s last jobs were in a jazz band. He played the trombone, but at home he’d often sit in his music room practicing guitar, which he loved, too. I’d always go in to see him, and he’d sit me down on this little stool in the shape of a foot, which was actually meant to be a foot rest. He’d play, and I’d be entranced by the sounds and almost feel the vibrations throughout my body. And every so often I’d look up at him, and he’d always be smiling down at me. His face was like the sun on a warm day. If I closed my eyes, I didn’t see him completely, but through my eye lids I’d see bright colors changing…yellow, orange, red, blue, and a combination. Then I’d open them again and he’d still be staring down at me with that huge sweet smile. Occasionally he’d play something with a Spanish sound and I’d get up and start dancing. I always loved to dance. I’d twirl around and flap my arms, like a bird dancing in the wind. I’d become intoxicated and feel like I was rising up into the air, weightless, but riding the air stream.
Thank you for letting me take this space.