Saturday, May 03, 2014

I'm "safe"..

I just watched this video of a piece of poetry.


"Dumb people, Smart phones" is about right.  We sit and text all day or play on games or computers.  Even now, as I type this, I have one kids sleeping, two on tablets and one texting on his phone while playing a game on his XBox One.

Every once in awhile, we text eachother from the next room...although we do holler as well, sometimes, "Hey!  Check out what I just posted!"

I will say that I do try occasionally to get them out somewhere.  But when I ask, half of them say "No thanks, I'll just stay home."  And when we do go out, the majority of the electronics comes along.  After all, we would hate to be bored.  Or have to communicate...

Because communication is scary.  It comes with the chance of being rejected...
the chance of making someone angry...
the chance of feeling like a fool...

And I am just as guilty.  Writing here makes me feel better.  Venting what I need to say, working through my own feelings of rejection and isolation in a safe media environment.  After all, nobody is going to read it anyway.

How do I change things?  The reality is that I can't.  With one child who has severe mental health issues, media (music, internet, text) is the only thing that keeps her safe.  Because she can distract herself and try to block out the voices that tell her to do unspeakable things.  She's also agoraphobic so she won't leave the house except on rare occasions. So if we are home - they all have access to the "net of lies".

I live vicariously through social media.  Many times I have begged for prayers, begged for help and the replies I received were truly heaven-sent.  At this point in my life, I work at an outside job, then come home and work at home cooking, cleaning and being an anchor for four kids who have watched a parade of people we cared about walk away and leave us.  I'm terrified to have a close relationship with anyone...I don't care if they hurt me, but watching my kids be hurt again is what strikes the fear into my heart.

Yet...I'm lonely.  And it is so tough to just sit here and feel the pain and emptiness knowing it is what is best for my kids.
Which is why I'm on the computer.  Which is why I am fighting a battle inside.  Which is why the kids keep asking "mom, why are you sad?"  I just keep telling them that I am tired.

Which is true.  I'm tired of trying.  And I'm tired of people leaving me.
Heavenly Father, help me!  Hold me tight so that I can feel Your presence.

Monday, April 28, 2014

Being a child of the 80's

Being a child of the 80's, there are so many songs that bring back the angst of those teenage years.
I had this one incredible boyfriend.  He would do anything for me; I was more precious to him than he could express.
When he moved away, this song would always remind me of him.  True love hurts incredibly when it is interrupted.

About 5 years ago, we reconnected on Facebook.  This simple message came across with the friend request...
"I was 17 and SO in love with you!"
Eventually, he came to live with me.  But unfortunately, I was still hung up on someone else.  Someone who ended up proving what a drunk jerk he was and walking out on me with my best friend.  While I was figuring out my hangup was a superjerk, I lost the one who loved me.  Truly loved me.

I tried to call him back.  I apologized, begged and pleaded.  But he did not want to be hurt again.  And I don't blame him, really.  So I counted myself lucky to just be his friend.  We talked every day.

Then - nothing.

He disappeared.

I found out later, he had a massive stroke.  At 43 years of age.  Now disabled, he lives with family who will not allow him to talk to me.  He can only say a few words.  Cannot use his hands well enough to text or be on the computer.  Can only walk with a walker.

I miss him.  I miss the man he was.  I miss the way he treated me.  And I will forever kick myself for not being there when he needed me, for walking out on him, for hurting him.  When all he wanted was to be loved. When all he wanted was me...

My biggest regret.