Putting Your Kids First, Walk Blue
This prompt is from Daily Prompts, Mad-lib
The prompt challenges you contact someone right away and have them name a topic, a noun and a verb.
Hmmm Well, I called my sister but she didn’t answer. I texted both my sisters and no answer. I texted my daughter. Big mistake. She wrote me “How to put your kids first instead of your boyfriend”. Oh boy. This is not a good thing, but I promised myself that I would go with the first challenge that I was given. She refused to give me a verb or a noun, so along comes my sister and says “walk, blue”. I know.. this is a verb and an adjective, but there is enough nouns in the topic that I felt I was ready to go.. I thought… “Well… this is going to be very soul-baring. Hard to write. Laying my sins on the table. No justifying. No excuses. Just tell the story.. but tell it from the beginning instead of the middle where my daughter suggested”. Fear and shame started to creep up my spine, but I was committed and as raw, as naked, as exposed (sorry for repeating the same meaning three times, but it is this stressful to me), as vulnerable as I felt, I am going to write about this. Part one isn’t so bad. Part two probably won’t be either, part three will be the nasty one for me. Well, it is two days away, so read on to my part one, if you wish.
Putting Your Kids First, Walk, Blue
Six years and several first dates, one sort-of relationship (long-distance, just didn’t work) ago, I was discouraged. I went to weddings alone. I went to work functions alone. I went to family gatherings alone with my kids slowly bowing out of even the family gatherings as they were getting older. I had been so very sure that I would meet a good Godly man shortly after my husband and I were finished. It didn’t happen. Six years had passed. I cried and cried to God and became convinced that I was to live a life alone even though my heart longed to have a partner who was not like the last one.
I worked a very high-stress, long-hour job, had one of my children in competitive dance and spent all of the rest of my time trying to calm the destructive tides of having an older child with a fast-growing addiction problem. I carried it alone. My faith never wavered, but it was not in the right place either, now that I look back and see. I believed what I wanted to happen would, just because I asked instead of just knowing that God had in store what is right for me and my children and leaving it at that.
After six years of being alone and carrying all of this, I started to slip into a depression. Ok, I was already in a depression by then, so let’s say, more accurately, that I spiralled into a crippling depression. I was diagnosed with Lupus and RA. No need to get into that, but it just added to the reasons I felt completely abandoned in life by God and everyone around me. When you are in this place, you have a shroud of numbing cloud over your senses. The shroud thickened until I could barely function. If someone spoke to me, the words were there in my head floating in the darkness until I could string them together to answer to whoever had spoken to me.
It wasn’t scary. I will be honest. I liked it when I got that far into it. I was completely numb to my outside life. I didn’t feel anything. I just felt a black, calm numbness that sweetly lulled me to slip deeper and deeper into its black pool of complete disassociation with everything around me or perhaps even suicide. Likely suicide.
It was just me and the voice of God, and the other dangerous voice inside. I got more ill. Terribly ill. I slipped deeper and deeper down the slide of self-faiure and unworthiness. Nothing and no one got through. Days passed to weeks, weeks passed to months. I went from one task or mandatory event to another. Work, home, dance, home, work. I had found a wonderfully comfortable void. It was like a pool of nothingness. Constantly whisperng to me. Constantly beckoning me to slip further down into the pool of despair.
I liked it. I knew on some faraway level that I needed to snap out, but I was so very far gone that I just could not do it.
It was December 22, 2008. My youngest daughter had just turned ten and we were on the way to the Christmas party at her dance school. I cried all the way there. I somehow, for her sake and against all of my wishes, went downstairs with her, picked a chair and had empty, listless conversation with the few kind souls that tried to talk to me.
On the way home, my lovely little daughter, whose eyes were always shining and who’s smile could light up a room started to cry. “Mommy.. I don’t remember the last time that I saw you smile”. Oh my God. I am hurting her. Oh my God. The sweet darkness I was in fought to contain me, but her sad little face broke my heart and reality… emotion started to seep back in. I had hurt her.
It was December 22 and not one Christmas decoration was up. I had told the boys to bring them upstairs for me and since they didn’t, I was fine with not putting the tree up. What a lousy mother. I had hurt my little angel.
I brought them from the basement all up by myself, I decorated the house and the tree with my little sunshine and life gave me something to smile about again for those few hours.
I was driving the next day and realized something. It was life-changing in the God kind of way. (That is the best kind of way, isn’t it?)
I was comfortably relaxing in the numbness of the nothingness I had been in as I did my Christmas shopping (yes, it was the 23rd and I had not started shopping.. I am so ashamed to say). My black void was so sweet but I was beginning to sense the danger and started to feel that its power to call me to it was very frightening. I prayed. Just far-away prayers. I was so far down. How could God hear me? Far-away prayers. I prayed and prayed in my loose-listless sentences. I hoped that my precious God, who I had loved and trusted all of my life would hear me. In the blackness…
This will have to be continued tomorrow.. It is getting way too long. There is so much more to tell..