A Glimpse of Mania

My depression is a whisper.
My mania is a scream,
no, it's a shrill, high pitched shriek.
The kind that hurts a dog's ears
and fractures the stained glass windows
at Pine Village United Methodist Church
early on a Sunday morning
because when I'm manic
I'm up early,
because when I'm manic
I never go to bed.
No, I go to Utah.
Driving on I-70
through Illinois,
Missouri,
Kansas,
Colorado,
stopping briefly in Denver
to call my boss at 5:30 a.m.
and tell her that I quit my job,
effective immediately,
and oh, yes, have a nice day.
The heavy snowfall in Vail
doesn't deter me,
sleet pinging off my windshield
as I belt out Pink's "Family Portrait"
for the 57th time.
It's the only CD I brought
for I packed light.
A wad of cash.
Two cases of bottled water.
Eight bags of marshmallows,
the jumbo ones so I could play chubby bunnies.
And a blanket.
I have no idea where I'm going
but I'll stop when I get there,
have a burger and fries
at a local dive in the middle of the desert,
eating only three bites
and leaving a $50 tip.
I suddenly remember that I have cats.
That's right, my cats, not my family
get me to turn around.
The roads in Kansas
are a solid sheet of ice.
The bunny.
Dammit, the bunny!
SHIT! I ran over him,
so I put my car in park,
grab my blanket,
and crawl across the ice to the bunny.
It never occurred to me that I could be that bunny,
run over by a semi unable to stop on the ice
and when I reach it
I see that it's dead
and I weep.
"Oh God, what have I done?"
I wrap the bunny gently in the blanket
and slide him across the ice
over to my car
and delicately place him on the front seat,
not knowing that when I get back to Indiana
my therapist would reject my offering
and my dad would
throw the rabbit in the dumpster.
For five days and five nights I was gone.
Gone from home.
Gone out of my mind,
spinning wildly, uncontrollably,
jacked up on gas station coffee and menthols.
Wait, why am I buying those?
I don't even smoke.
But, oh, today I do
cuz I am cool!
I am queen of the world!
The weeping over the rabbit
is replaced by maniacal laughter,
raucous laughter
exploding from my lungs and I crank up the bass.
Yes, today I am the obnoxious one,
the one with the bass so loud
that it vibrates the car
and pushes everyone else away.
I am the one.
The savior.
The messiah.
The alpha and the omega.
Nothing can stop me now!
No, it will go on like this
until the crash,
ripped from heaven
and plunged into the depths of hell.
Sleeping for ten hours.
Twelve hours.
Eighteen hours.
Praying the flames will incinerate me
so that my family can go ahead
and have my goddamned funeral,
buy a pretty urn,
place it on the mantle
and stop worrying
about when the next time
I'm going to lose my shit will be.

Do You Sleep?

Do you sleep?
I mean at night when you're supposed to,
not during the middle of the afternoon
when you're not supposed to be
hiding from the world,
curled up in the fetal position,
covers pulled up over your head,
cursing your cats
who are walking around the apartment meowing,
looking for you
because it's the middle of the day
when you're supposed to be up
doing chores,
crocheting,
reading,
petting them,
singing to songs on your Echo,
writing shitty poems no one wants to read.
Do you sleep?
I mean the mirtazapine is supposed to help
but mostly it makes me hungry
so I get up and eat Fruity Pebbles at 1:00 a.m.
No, I devour them
like it's the first food
I've had since Monday and today is Friday, I think.
I'm not sure because my days all run together now,
an awful run-on sentence,
my life sentence without  the possibility of parole.
Do you sleep?
Soundly?
I'm jealous.
The prazosin is supposed to help keep the nightmares away
but I still see elephants
with pink stripes on their trunks
and daisies on their ears,
which is kind of like a nightmare
if they are stampeding right over you
while you're pushing
a little old lady in a wheelchair
through the plains of Africa at dusk.
Why won't my mind rest?
Is it punishment for something I've done
or haven't done that I should have?
Should.
I know, I know,
should is a forbidden word,
a no-no.
My therapist will gently remind me of that
every time it leaps from my lips.
But sometimes I disagree.
I should be able to get a god night's sleep.
Do you sleep?
Be thankful.

"I Love You Too"

I have been sitting in front of my computer for over five hours now, trying to decide what to write. There is a lump in my throat and there are tears welling up in the corners of my eyes as I reflect back on my visit to Pennsylvania four weeks ago. I went back with my parents to see my two grandmothers and my aunt and uncle and some cousins. I was looking forward to the trip and thoroughly enjoyed playing games and spending time with everyone.

But there were some difficult moments too. A year ago it became necessary to place my grandma in a care facility. She has advanced Alzheimer's as well as a number of physical health issues that made it unsafe for her to remain at home with my aunt and her family. It was a difficult decision for everyone, but grandma's condition was really declining rapidly. I had not seen my grandma since       
July 4, 2014. When I last saw her, she was able to go to a picnic with us in her wheelchair, and sit and visit with me. She did not remember what we were talking about, but she was able to participate in the conversation and laugh and smile. Grandma has changed so much.

The first time I went to see her she was lying in her bed on her back, sound asleep. When I had come around the corner and first laid eyes on her, I stopped suddenly, as the sight of her frail body took my breath away. Her mouth had fallen open and her eyes were fluttering behind her paper thin eyelids. She was breathing deeply and evenly. Her skin was cool and clammy to the touch. I took the back of my hand and gently brushed a wisp of snow white hair away from her brow and bent down to give her a kiss on the forehead. I'm not even sure if she knew I was there.

I went back to see her the next afternoon, as they called from the care facility and said that she was awake and up in her chair. When we got there, we found her up in her recliner, leaning over to the right, and yelling. I pulled up a chair in  front of her and said hello. The only response that I got from my grandma was yelling "Ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh". I tried asking if she was hurting. I tried propping a pillow behind her back. I tried rubbing her arm. My cousin tried singing to her. It was just tearing me apart. Finally, it was time for us to leave. I got up from my chair and went over and knelt in  front of grandma and took her hands in mine one last time and said to her "It's Kristen. I came from Indiana to see you. I love you very much!" And in a quiet voice, my grandma said "I love you too."  Maybe there was a brief connection there with her, maybe not. Whether she remembers it or not is not what matters. I remember it, and I remember her. And that's why I was there, hard as it was for me.

I am A Okay!

This past weekend, I had the privilege to be present at the wedding of my brother Jason to his partner Calvin. It was a beautiful ceremony and I was touched by the love these two men have for each other. I was inspired by their ability to be true to themselves and to each other, without apologies and without shame. They both have an amazing group of friends who were there to support them and celebrate in their happiness.

After the reception, on the way home, my sister and my mom said that I would be next to find someone to share my life with. Several times, I said that I was not interested. I am truly okay being single. It seemed like that was hard for them to understand. Back in 1996 I came out to my family as a lesbian. On the rare occasion that I have found myself attracted to someone, it was always a woman. So I believed that that was who I was. However, over the years, my understanding of myself has deepened and I have come to accept that my truth is that I am asexual. I mentioned that to a therapist about 8 years ago only to be told that there was no such thing. So, I doubted myself and questioned myself about whether I really knew anything about who I was as a person and where I would fit in, needlessly, for several years. Asexuality is misunderstood by many but it is a sexual orientation just as much as anything else that falls along the spectrum of human sexuality. I am not a deviant. I am not lacking. I am not less than. I am not afraid of sex. I am simply not interested. And that is okay.

I have decided to be open about my sexuality so that others may know that they are not alone. I do not k now very many people who identify as asexual, which at times has left me feeling very alone. But, no more. I am no longer going to deny who I am out of the fear of being misunderstood, out of the fear of being judged. I have always admired my brother for being able to be himself and I am choosing now to follow his example and to stand in my own truth. My life is rich and full and I enjoy my own company. I have a lot of friends who share in my life and whom I love dearly. I do not have to be partnered up to feel fulfilled. I am single and I live with my two kitties and I am A okay just the way I am!

The Sweetest Sound

If you were to ask my father, he would readily admit that he cannot carry a tune in a bucket. Throughout his career as a United Methodist minister, he would cut the mic when it was time to sing the hymns. But that never stopped him from singing. Because he was always up in front of the sanctuary, I never really got to hear the sound of his voice. I only knew the sound of my daddy singing "Happy Birthday" to me, or making up some silly lullaby or song when we were traveling from Indiana to Pennsylvania to visit my grandparents when I was growing up. And, well, that sound was, how can I put this, unusual! His rhymes didn't always rhyme and his words were usually made up as he went along, but he always seemed to be able to make me smile.

A couple of weeks ago, I was standing beside my father in church and I could hear him singing the words to "Amazing Grace" and I was moved to tears. My dad did not have an angelic voice. He did not sing in key. It was pitchy and off rhythm. But it was perhaps the sweetest sound that I have ever heard. I heard a faith that is unwavering. I heard acceptance and surrender. I heard hope. I heard love. I could not have loved my father any more than I did at that very moment. I only wish that I had had the courage to tell him so.

I have been truly blessed to have a father who is loving, compassionate, understanding, accepting, and forgiving. I have been through some pretty significant struggles over the past 25 years and never have I felt alone or abandoned by my father. He has given when he may not have felt like he had much to give without hesitation. And he has never stopped believing in me. I could not have asked for a better man to call my dad!

Breakfast With My Grandma

Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I traveled back to Seneca, Pennsylvania with my parents to visit family. After a harrowing drive in the snow "over the river and through the woods", we arrived on Tuesday evening to my aunt's house where my aunt, uncle, cousins, and grandmother live. By Thanksgiving morning, there was 34 inches of snow nestled there in the foothills of the Allegheny mountains.

On Wednesday, I offered to sit and have breakfast with my grandma while my aunt went upstairs to get ready for the day. You see, grandma has Alzheimer's. My job was to make sure that she finished her breakfast and took her pills. As we sat there looking out at the snow, my grandma would drift off and say "I'm so lost". I would gently remind her that she was home and suggested that maybe she felt a little lost since she had just recently spent nearly three weeks in the hospital. She would nod and say that maybe I was right and then once again, she'd say "I'm so lost".

I kept prodding her to finish her Raisin Bran so that she could take her pills. We sat at the table together, looking out the bay window in the kitchen at the beautiful snow outside. She asked me when I had arrived and what day it was, and I told her that it was Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. I told her that I had come with my parents from Indiana to visit and spend the holiday with her. We repeated that conversation about a dozen times over a ten minute period. Occasionally grandma would remark that her memory was not as good as it used to be. And then she said it. She reached out and put her hand on mine and said "Sometimes I just close my eyes and say 'Bring Audine back'". I placed my right hand on top of hers and felt tears welling up in the corner of my eyes as I turned toward the window and thought "Me too." In that moment, I realized that my grandma has some awareness, albeit limited, that she is not the same as she used to be. Her memory continues to slip away. Grandma may feel lost. But people do not consist of memory alone. She cannot follow directions very well anymore. She cannot sit and play cards with us, as she always loved to do. But she is still my grandma. Her smile still warms my heart. Her hugs still embrace me with love. She still remembers my name. She could still recognize the beauty of a doe emerging from the woods, looking for a bite to eat on a cold, wintry morning. I can't "bring Audine back". But I can meet her where she is with open arms and loving acceptance, and help to keep her memory alive with her help, hand in hand.

At a Loss for Words

This past week has been very difficult for my family. My sister-in-law's mother died unexpectedly on July 1, after just being diagnosed with cancer a couple of weeks ago. I found myself at a loss for words to convey how I was feeling when I heard the news. Almost immediately, I began to worry that I would say the "wrong" thing, that I would not be able to express myself in a way that would show compassion in the midst of  my sister-in-law's loss. I knew that I could not imagine what she was going through. I am blessed to have both of my parents healthy and still living.

I have always been better able to deal with facts than with feelings. I'd much rather stick to intellectual  knowledge, logic, proof, anything concrete that I can touch, see and hear. I am much more equipped to deal with physical pain rather than emotional pain. That viewpoint was at times helpful when I was still working in the health care field, but I have since learned that that viewpoint does not serve me well when it comes to my day to day interactions with others.

Now, I can see that my ability to identify my feelings, and to allow myself to experience my emotions without trying to run away from them, has changed. I am learning to sit within the silence and stillness, in God's presence, even if it feels uncomfortable. After the family viewing time passed, I went out into the lobby of the funeral home and watched people as they came in to pay their respects. I was still trying to figure out what I should say to "make it all better" because that is what I tend to want to do. I wanted to fix something that cannot be fixed and I felt helpless as I sat with my two nephews, ages 5 and 7,  trying my best to answer their questions in a way they might be able to understand. It broke me heart to see them crying, knowing that they will not have Grammy here to laugh and play with them anymore. As the visitation period was ending and I took my seat in the funeral parlor for the service, I was still racking my brain for what to say. I sat there, listening and praying for God's guidance and about halfway through the service it came to me. In my mind, I could hear my good friends gently reminding me to "keep it simple" and "put it in God's hands". The service came to a close and as I went up to the casket one last time to pay my final respects, I looked over at my sister-in-law, my brother and my two nephews, I wrapped my arms around them and simply said "I love you". I don't believe that any big, fancy words could have expressed my emotions or the compassion that I felt for them any better than uttering those three simple words, words which came from my heart rather than from my mind. If I continue to seek out God's guidance in whatever I am facing, I will not find myself at a loss for words.