I am a fucking mess. This statement is not only true of me right now but most of the time, unfortunately. However, every once in a while (more lately than in the past, thank God), a ray of sunlight peeks through the darkness and I find myself writing affirmations not only to "the world at large" but also to myself. Here are a few I'd like to share with you.
Be absolutely nothing but your true self, always. If others don't like that, it is their loss, I promise.
Alone might be very safe but it is also very cold. I like having the warm blanket of contact, even if it's scary sometimes.
Keep putting good into the world, even if all it gets you is a kick in the head. You will always be the better person.
I am way too smart to act this dumb.
Another day, another chance to get it right.
I need to learn that there will always be people who care about me and people who don't, cherish those who do and fuck the rest.
With these humble thoughts in your mind, I hope this day finds you a happier, healthier person than you were yesterday and well on your way to feeling even better tomorrow.
xo,
K
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
Words
Generally, I am the first person in the world to admit to my flaws, which are many. However, one thing that truly pains me to admit is that I am very fucking naive. I experience occasional moments, however fleeting, in which I feel that what I say matters to someone other than me. These delusions of grandeur, the idea that when I speak, people are listening, absorbing, caring, usually vanish as quickly as they appear. But, every once in a while, they linger. I wonder if, by sharing my thoughts and experiences, I can help someone else, lighten their load, make them feel less alone, but really, that is me at my most naive. I don't think anyone really cares what I have to say, not for long, anyway. Who am I to counsel anyone, being the completely fucked up mess that I am? Who can blame anyone for disregarding my trivial thoughts? I certainly can't. I'm just mad at myself for ever thinking otherwise.
My brother has been dead one month today. What was once my family of four now consists only of my mother and me. I contribute nothing to the world, merely existing, biding my time until it's my turn to go.
I might feel completely different tomorrow, might re-read what I've written here and think, "No, Kari. People do care. You're not worthless, not useless," but right now, that doesn't make one damn bit of difference. Right now, I am a naive fool, talking to myself, for absolutely no reason at all.
My brother has been dead one month today. What was once my family of four now consists only of my mother and me. I contribute nothing to the world, merely existing, biding my time until it's my turn to go.
I might feel completely different tomorrow, might re-read what I've written here and think, "No, Kari. People do care. You're not worthless, not useless," but right now, that doesn't make one damn bit of difference. Right now, I am a naive fool, talking to myself, for absolutely no reason at all.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Jeff
It is very difficult to form coherent thoughts right now. I am usually quite adept at stringing a phrase but tonight, words are jumbled, unclear, conflicting. Tonight, my world is forever changed. Tonight, my brother is dead.
When we were little, my brother and I, three years apart, were frequent playmates. We were each other's only sibling and being the only game in town, we found reasonable enjoyment in each other's company. I can clearly recall sitting on the carpet in his room, his entire Matchbox car collection and toy garage between us, spending what felt like HOURS choosing which cars we wanted to play with. I'd choose one, then him, back and forth, laboring over which hot-rod or monster truck we most coveted. (I'd choose the emerald green sports car whenever possible.) Eventually, all the cars distributed, we'd generally play for about ten minutes and, quickly bored after the laborious selection procedures, go on to other pastimes.
Another frequent game of ours was "Fifi". My brother, the younger of the two of us, would act as Fifi, my French poodle, who would obediently follow me around the house, often at the end of a "leash", barking for treats and grinning sheepishly when receiving pats on the head.
This is the brother I choose to remember right now.
From the age of fifteen until today, at age thirty-six, my brother's life (or a reasonable facsimile), was dominated by alcohol and drug addiction. For the past twenty-one years, I saw only rare and fleeting glimpses of the wonderful, playful, kind soul he once was. For the past twenty-one years, I have known, far more often than not, only the monster.
In the interest of self-preservation, tonight, I choose not to focus on the cruelty he unleashed throughout the course of his addiction. I choose to put aside (but NOT forget), the barrage of insults he hurled at me, my husband and my mother, in countless instances, for many, many years. There will be plenty of time for that, whether I like it or not.
But really, the point of this rambling blog, when my head is so unclear, when my feelings are so convoluted and contradictory, is that addiction...fucking...sucks. My brother had countless opportunities for recovery. I sat in on more "family sessions", listened to more excuses, shared more emotions and pleas and angry declarations than I could possibly count. But, the fact remains, alcohol won, drugs won, addiction won and I lost, my mother lost, my brother, in oh so many ways, lost. I go on, such as I am, for whatever it's worth; questions, forever unanswered; soul, forever broken; life, forever changed.
Jeffrey Scott Feldman
5/28/76-12/21/12
When we were little, my brother and I, three years apart, were frequent playmates. We were each other's only sibling and being the only game in town, we found reasonable enjoyment in each other's company. I can clearly recall sitting on the carpet in his room, his entire Matchbox car collection and toy garage between us, spending what felt like HOURS choosing which cars we wanted to play with. I'd choose one, then him, back and forth, laboring over which hot-rod or monster truck we most coveted. (I'd choose the emerald green sports car whenever possible.) Eventually, all the cars distributed, we'd generally play for about ten minutes and, quickly bored after the laborious selection procedures, go on to other pastimes.
Another frequent game of ours was "Fifi". My brother, the younger of the two of us, would act as Fifi, my French poodle, who would obediently follow me around the house, often at the end of a "leash", barking for treats and grinning sheepishly when receiving pats on the head.
This is the brother I choose to remember right now.
From the age of fifteen until today, at age thirty-six, my brother's life (or a reasonable facsimile), was dominated by alcohol and drug addiction. For the past twenty-one years, I saw only rare and fleeting glimpses of the wonderful, playful, kind soul he once was. For the past twenty-one years, I have known, far more often than not, only the monster.
In the interest of self-preservation, tonight, I choose not to focus on the cruelty he unleashed throughout the course of his addiction. I choose to put aside (but NOT forget), the barrage of insults he hurled at me, my husband and my mother, in countless instances, for many, many years. There will be plenty of time for that, whether I like it or not.
But really, the point of this rambling blog, when my head is so unclear, when my feelings are so convoluted and contradictory, is that addiction...fucking...sucks. My brother had countless opportunities for recovery. I sat in on more "family sessions", listened to more excuses, shared more emotions and pleas and angry declarations than I could possibly count. But, the fact remains, alcohol won, drugs won, addiction won and I lost, my mother lost, my brother, in oh so many ways, lost. I go on, such as I am, for whatever it's worth; questions, forever unanswered; soul, forever broken; life, forever changed.
Jeffrey Scott Feldman
5/28/76-12/21/12
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Anyway...
I haven't written in a while. I suppose it's because I don't have much to say. Well, not much that hasn't already been said, ad nauseum, anyway. I'd love to say that my life was taking on great twists and turns and changes for the better but, because I'm honest, perhaps to a fault, I cannot. The fact is, nothing has changed except that I feel like I'm in the worst place, mentally, that I've been in for months. Not an unfamiliar place, I assure you, but one that I was hoping not to revisit again so soon or, frankly, at all. I truly believe that my depression is hard-wired into my brain and I am not naive enough to believe that it can ever be "cured". Is there treatment available? Surely. But is it available to me, once again without health insurance? Most certainly not.
You're probably all sick of the "woe is me" trials and tribulations of poor Kari. Believe me, no one is more sick of it than I. But the fact remains, I feel quite powerless over most of the situations in my life. My husband often gives me this example of my "inappropriate" reactions to things. Whether I stub my toe or break my leg, my stress-level is, on a scale of one to ten, an eleven. I can't argue that, it is the truth. Why I react that way is the question. Seemingly small, almost insignificant slights become exponentially greater than they should be, automatically. My mind has never worked "properly" and I don't think it ever will. Sure, I'm not going to lie, meds would help. Therapy? Absolutely! Alas, for the present time, I must fight this battle within my own mind alone. This is not to say that I don't have a loving supportive husband. Believe me, I am grateful for him every day of my life. I have some fan-fucking-tastic friends which sets me far above many others, I'm certain. Everything is not misery, though many times, it feels that way. But overall, without fail, I am miserable and I'm really fucking sick of it.
I know no one can solve the problem that is me, least of all, me. I don't expect you to. I guess what I hope, above all else, is that people, even just a few, can understand that I am not this way by choice. I would give everything to have a clean slate, to have been born with a mind and a heart not clouded by depression. I recall being asked in one of those "touchy-feely, experimental-type" seminars in junior high which, of many possible "qualities", I would most like to possess. Some of the choices included "wealth", "health", "success" and "happiness". Most people chose "health". I, without hesitation, chose "happiness". After all, if you're miserable, what value do any of those other things possess? I figured, even if I was poor, unhealthy and unsuccessful, if I was happy, I could overlook those things and still enjoy my life. I suppose, after all these years, I still wish for that.
You're probably all sick of the "woe is me" trials and tribulations of poor Kari. Believe me, no one is more sick of it than I. But the fact remains, I feel quite powerless over most of the situations in my life. My husband often gives me this example of my "inappropriate" reactions to things. Whether I stub my toe or break my leg, my stress-level is, on a scale of one to ten, an eleven. I can't argue that, it is the truth. Why I react that way is the question. Seemingly small, almost insignificant slights become exponentially greater than they should be, automatically. My mind has never worked "properly" and I don't think it ever will. Sure, I'm not going to lie, meds would help. Therapy? Absolutely! Alas, for the present time, I must fight this battle within my own mind alone. This is not to say that I don't have a loving supportive husband. Believe me, I am grateful for him every day of my life. I have some fan-fucking-tastic friends which sets me far above many others, I'm certain. Everything is not misery, though many times, it feels that way. But overall, without fail, I am miserable and I'm really fucking sick of it.
I know no one can solve the problem that is me, least of all, me. I don't expect you to. I guess what I hope, above all else, is that people, even just a few, can understand that I am not this way by choice. I would give everything to have a clean slate, to have been born with a mind and a heart not clouded by depression. I recall being asked in one of those "touchy-feely, experimental-type" seminars in junior high which, of many possible "qualities", I would most like to possess. Some of the choices included "wealth", "health", "success" and "happiness". Most people chose "health". I, without hesitation, chose "happiness". After all, if you're miserable, what value do any of those other things possess? I figured, even if I was poor, unhealthy and unsuccessful, if I was happy, I could overlook those things and still enjoy my life. I suppose, after all these years, I still wish for that.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Thank You
I could get all philosophical today. I could delve deeply into the reasons why I am NOT thankful this particular Thanksgiving day. I could gush endlessly about the things that I AM thankful for. But for once, I'm going to keep it simple.
Despite all the obstacles life throws in your way, despite the seemingly insurmountable hardships you may face, despite all the advantages or disadvantages you were born with, have acquired or lost or have yet to discover, you cannot control where you began but you can absolutely shape where you're going and where you will end. I thank you for taking the time to read this, for allowing me to share a small piece of my heart and soul with you and for continuing to return to this place. People matter above all else and for you, I am truly thankful.
Despite all the obstacles life throws in your way, despite the seemingly insurmountable hardships you may face, despite all the advantages or disadvantages you were born with, have acquired or lost or have yet to discover, you cannot control where you began but you can absolutely shape where you're going and where you will end. I thank you for taking the time to read this, for allowing me to share a small piece of my heart and soul with you and for continuing to return to this place. People matter above all else and for you, I am truly thankful.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
When the World is Running Down
This post was originally written as a tweet but because I wanted it to include fb peeps as well, I'm copying and pasting it here.
Vent time! I know, you couldn't be more thrilled, right? Shaddup! If you follow my angsty ass, you should be used to this by now. Anywho, I just have to say that I have made so many meaningful connections through social media. I'm a facebooker from WAY back but still relatively new to twitter (as in, I've had one for years but never tweeted all that much prior to the past few months). Like all of you, I've encountered my share of trolls, most of whom are now, once again, safely esconsed 'neath their respective bridges (as far as I know. I generally block their asses.). But the vast majority of souls I've encountered in this crazy electronic metropolis are genuine folks, intelligent, respectful, funny and, my favorite, snark-laden. Though I should be used to this by now, it is still a surprise each and every time I make a new fb or twitter friend. To some extent, the internet is the great equalizer. You can meet someone, many times having no idea what they look like or where they come from, their financial status, their worst subject in high school, etc., with a completely clean slate. You can share what you want, when you want and with whom you want (or, in my case, overshare) with little fear of judgment or condemnation. Sure, for some, this is an excuse to reinvent oneself with completely bullshit personas but I suspect, for the vast majority, it is a place to reveal one's true self, warts and all, in a relatively "safe" place. Which brings me to my main point.
Over the past few days, twitter and social media as a whole has been bombarded with the news of the demise of Hostess. Yes, it sucks, no more Twinkies, but on a larger scale, it also means the loss of 18,500 jobs, including my husband's. We have done the living on unemployment thing, for two miserable years, and I still cannot believe we are faced with it again. But seeing all the snide, nasty comments, the often uninformed opinions about what Hostess employees, unions, etc. "woulda, coulda, shoulda" done, with no regard for the REAL, non-union Hostess employees who's jobs were eliminated by decisions they had NO part in making, burns my ass to the extreme. But, again, I'm getting off track.
To those of you who have been SO supportive of me, both during these past few trying days, and before, I thank you with my whole heart. Members of my own family, who I know have read my fb posts about this situation, have chosen to ignore me and many continue to make mean-spirited and heartless jokes. This is not unusual for my family, who for generations have turned a blind eye to family situations occurring outside of their own four walls, but fuck if it doesn't still hurt like hell. This is why I am so grateful to my "online" friends (I hate that term, a friend is a friend is a friend, but many of you I do have yet to meet "offline") for providing listening ears, wise counsel, FUNNY jokes, uplifting photos and just plain love and support at a time when I need it so badly. I love each and every one of you and am so very grateful for your kindness. You are cherished, you are special and you...are...irreplaceable.
Friday, November 16, 2012
Um...yeah...whatever...
At the suggestion of my brilliant friend, Sandy, I have chosen to blog for you, today. Woo to the hoo, right?
I'm going to cut to the chase. My husband was laid off today and I am NOT fucking happy about it. If you're a frequent (or even occasional) reader of this blog, you may be acquainted with our tumultuous past three years. If not, here's a brief recap - in September 2009, right after his 41st birthday, my hubby was laid off. We spent the next insanely difficult and trying years living on his unemployment, my meager savings, and food stamps. Quelle fun, I can assure you. Then, in October 2011, just when we were at our wit's end and certain that we would have to return to NY and my mother's house, tails between our legs, he got a job...at Hostess. For one full year (plus an extra week or two), two college-educated, bright (albeit bi-polar: him, and clinically depressed: me) individuals were "gainfully employed". Well, that's not entirely true, HE was gainfully employed, I remained, as I do at this very moment, a useless lump on the couch, biding her time, somehow making it through each day without downing a bottle of sleeping pills. That is, until today. Today, we woke up to discover that his company of employment, which has been struggling financially for months, was kaput, no more, a done fucking deal. Which leads me to this conclusion: good things do NOT happen to good people, they happen to lucky people, fortuitous folks, the ones that the hand of fate has chosen to bestow happiness upon. But...not...us.
I know, things could be far worse. We are, as far as I know, physically healthy. We, as of this moment, have a roof over our heads. We have each other. But you know what? Right now, at this very second, that is not enough. I want my husband to be gainfully employed. Hell, I want myself to be gainfully employed. I want to continue to have the health insurance that we so desperately need in order for me to be able to get the therapy that I've been SCREAMING for for more than a decade. I want a break...not for a year...but for enough time that we, two good souls, can truly pay it forward. But, alas, how can one pay it forward when they cannot even afford to pay for themselves?
Please note, I am slightly inebriated as I write this. At this moment, I am safe in my apartment, my husband nearby, unable to harm myself but nevertheless, I am slightly drunk. If there is ever an appropriate time for such a state, I suspect now is it.
Not sure what the point of this is except to say that to everyone posting things on facebook and twitter about "woe is me, no more twinkies", I suggest you get your heads out of your proverbial asses and realize that the end of Hostess means that 18,500 people, including my husband, are now out of work, less than a week before Thanksgiving. I suppose unless one has been faced with the trauma of unemployment, one may not know just how devastating, in every sense of the word, this is. Sadly, it is a situation we are all too familiar with and one I would not wish upon anyone. Take a moment to reflect on all you have. Even if it doesn't seem like much, it may be more than your neighbor has, or the lady you pass at the grocery store, ashamed to pay with her EBT card, or the person who unintentionally cuts you off on the highway. Be thankful for everything you have, however little it may be. I am.
I'm going to cut to the chase. My husband was laid off today and I am NOT fucking happy about it. If you're a frequent (or even occasional) reader of this blog, you may be acquainted with our tumultuous past three years. If not, here's a brief recap - in September 2009, right after his 41st birthday, my hubby was laid off. We spent the next insanely difficult and trying years living on his unemployment, my meager savings, and food stamps. Quelle fun, I can assure you. Then, in October 2011, just when we were at our wit's end and certain that we would have to return to NY and my mother's house, tails between our legs, he got a job...at Hostess. For one full year (plus an extra week or two), two college-educated, bright (albeit bi-polar: him, and clinically depressed: me) individuals were "gainfully employed". Well, that's not entirely true, HE was gainfully employed, I remained, as I do at this very moment, a useless lump on the couch, biding her time, somehow making it through each day without downing a bottle of sleeping pills. That is, until today. Today, we woke up to discover that his company of employment, which has been struggling financially for months, was kaput, no more, a done fucking deal. Which leads me to this conclusion: good things do NOT happen to good people, they happen to lucky people, fortuitous folks, the ones that the hand of fate has chosen to bestow happiness upon. But...not...us.
I know, things could be far worse. We are, as far as I know, physically healthy. We, as of this moment, have a roof over our heads. We have each other. But you know what? Right now, at this very second, that is not enough. I want my husband to be gainfully employed. Hell, I want myself to be gainfully employed. I want to continue to have the health insurance that we so desperately need in order for me to be able to get the therapy that I've been SCREAMING for for more than a decade. I want a break...not for a year...but for enough time that we, two good souls, can truly pay it forward. But, alas, how can one pay it forward when they cannot even afford to pay for themselves?
Please note, I am slightly inebriated as I write this. At this moment, I am safe in my apartment, my husband nearby, unable to harm myself but nevertheless, I am slightly drunk. If there is ever an appropriate time for such a state, I suspect now is it.
Not sure what the point of this is except to say that to everyone posting things on facebook and twitter about "woe is me, no more twinkies", I suggest you get your heads out of your proverbial asses and realize that the end of Hostess means that 18,500 people, including my husband, are now out of work, less than a week before Thanksgiving. I suppose unless one has been faced with the trauma of unemployment, one may not know just how devastating, in every sense of the word, this is. Sadly, it is a situation we are all too familiar with and one I would not wish upon anyone. Take a moment to reflect on all you have. Even if it doesn't seem like much, it may be more than your neighbor has, or the lady you pass at the grocery store, ashamed to pay with her EBT card, or the person who unintentionally cuts you off on the highway. Be thankful for everything you have, however little it may be. I am.
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