Who wins?

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Who wins?

The undulating puking over my porch railing…

I love the release I feel when my body empties itself.

The never ending tear’s that strike from out of no where.

When will this stop?

The feeling of being is such a dark hole, I cannot climb out of.

Oh, I have heard the stories, I have read the information.

And…yet…for me the struggle continues.

I cannot hide.

In spite of all my medication and therapy…I am certain no-one has walked in my shoe’s.

I am losing my daughter…=(

My child, who I brought forth between my leg’s, wants to die.

My sweet, precious, intelligent, beautiful, soulful child cannot find her reason to live in this world.

I am broken, beyond words.

I take one step each day, one foot in front of the other, and yet my mind and heart are ever mindful of my child.

I “function”, as it is.

I put on my happy face for the outside world to see…and yet…

I know my baby girl. A beautiful girl wants to end her life because she see’s no sense in living in this fucked up image of what we all portray.

And so I puke over the railing of my front porch, yet again.

The undulating release of my anguish and pain.

Who or what really wins in the end?
Depression or anxiety or multiple diagnosis of our mind?

I pray on bended knee, my child will find some good in her soul.

She will find life worth living because she is powerful, strong, intelligent and so amazing.

I wait…puking, trying to be the “mom” I should be to impart all of my heart’s deepest love to my child.

In the end…

Who wins?

Friendship

“I’m here for you.”

really?

In the throes of my depression when I cannot see how to put on foot in front of the other you say…”I’m here for you.” And yet, you’re not.

“You can talk to me. You can tell me anything, I will understand. I am here for you.”

really?

Days go by without connection even though YOU know my hell.

I dare not ask for much.

I know, all too well how busy YOUR life is.

And, yet…when you say…”I am here for you.”
Are you?

I am the pretend happy face that no-one questions..
Underneath that pretense my heart is shattering in a million pieces…
And no-one knows because I will not allow my need to show.

I need a friend.

I walk, slowly, one foot step at a time.
I breathe. One breath at a time.

I am my own friend.
Me, myself, and I
And I am lonely.

I spare not to burden one with my problems.
I am an island unto myself.

My journey, not known to many because I will not share…
Because…I have heard…”I will be here for you”
And you are not.

“I am here for you”

Are you really?

Tips for the Fat Rider. (What?!)

#truthinmanyways. thanks…=)

Relaxed & Forward: AnnaBlakeBlog

WMGrayButt Derriere, it’s French for cute. And proud of it.

Are you are just too fat to ride? Then go wait in your room.

Did that work? Did you actually go? Of course not. Can we stop this now?

I have a video a friend shot of my horse and I competing many years ago. Showing was challenging in the beginning but we progressed. This was a second or third level test, and things were really coming together.

I remember this video especially because my friend was reluctant to give my camera back to me and the reason became obvious. As my horse and I started the test, the first movement was an extended trot on the diagonal, and that was when I heard them. There were two unfamiliar voices recorded; they must have been standing next to the camera. The first voice mentions how bad she thinks I look in…

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Love in the midst

I cannot claim to own this phrase.
These precious words came from a therapist.

Oh…how I wish I might be so lofty and pure…
To look beyond the words of hurt and blame.
Scorching and hateful.

But…
I am not.

I am worn down by blame and hurt and attack.
There is no worth in fighting back.

I will take what is mine and…
I’ll be damned sure to fight for what I believe to be right,…in spite
Of words of hurt and blame.
Scorching and hateful.

And yet…

Is there a way, I wonder
To lay aside the hurt and blame?

The hateful scorching words often unsaid but with a glance are true?

The love…
once so powerful and strong
Pushed against a wall.

Once one, now two, was one again.

Loving the midst.

Tender eyes…
Loving touch…
Unspoken words, yet words finished

I, ever hopeful.

We will find “Love in the Midst.”

Birth

I waddled into his office, yet again.
Another check up.

Ankles swollen.
Breasts huge and hanging.

Dr. Ashgar Rahaghi.
Oh….this man….
He LOVED this pregnant woman.

He rubbed my swollen belly,
He stroked my tear streaked cheeks.
“You look so beautiful, today.”

THAT morning….
Undulating pain every three minutes.
I cannot catch my breath.

Dr. Ashgar Rahaghi…
“You Look so beautiful today, so ripe and ready to bring your baby forth.”

I scream…..
“I can’t do this….”

From between my legs Dr Ashgar Rahaghi stands…
He rubs my thighs….
He looks me right in the eye, and says….”YES, You can”

He places his hand where I need to push.
“FOCUS” Dr. Ashgar Rahaghi says.

I look into his deep dark brown eyes.
He is looking into my dark brown eyes.

He says “PUSH”
And I push.
For all I am worth, blood vessels breaking, legs shaking, arms holding my legs up, I push, and I push and I push.

And…..
There she is…..
On my belly.

Swollen belly.
Breasts heavy and hung.

Dr. Ashgar Rahaghi……
“You look so beautiful, today.”
As he strokes my tear streaked cheek.

Re-kindled love

oh….so many years ago…..

The attraction. The eye contact. The unspoken words.

Yeah…we were there.

We connected.

The unspoken lust.

We wanted……

In the barn, in the house, in many rooms, it didn’t matter where

We wanted….

And then?

Life.

Fucking life got in the way.

We want…and yet…

We are suspicious.

What is the agenda?

What do you want from me?

What do I want from you?

Trust? Not so much, anymore.

I don’t know you.

You don’t know me

And yet…..

The attraction. The eye contact. The unspoken words.

Take me to the barn, to the house, in many rooms, it doesn’t matter where.

Just take me.

Connect with me.

Give me eye contact.

Back me into a wall and swallow me with your love gentle love.

Re-kindle what we once had….so many years ago……

When is it ….enough.

Out in my barn, I shovel shit.
I look to the Northern sky.
It is brilliant.
“Pink sky at night, Sailor’s delight”

I dump my wheelbarrow full of horse shit and shavings into the pit and look to the south.
The brilliant colors of Fall.
Reds, Orange, Yellow and Gold.
Vibrant.
Full of life on their way to death.

Snot and tears runs down my face.
I feel so empty.
Vacant of life
The vibrancy of color, darkened by my unknowing heart.

I ache. Beyond words.
My gut wrenches.
I dry heave in my horse’s stall.

I have asked you to hold me.
I have asked you to hug me….but not “pat” me on the back.
And, today, When I asked for a hug?
You patted me on the back…..Again, and again, and again.

This dance we dance of unknown words…..
The passion once alive, now passed by “life”

Snot and tears run down my face.
As you say “Good night.”

And I, alone, wonder when enough is enough.

I miss my ovaries.

Almost three weeks post opt.

Why, why, why am I not jumping for joy?
The tumor was benign.

I have rested.
I have slept.
I have taken my meds.

Why,why, why, why, am I not jumping for joy?
The tumor was benign.

I feel numb.
Days fall into days.

Humming birds need their food.

Laundry needs to be done.

Why, why, why am I not jumping for joy?
The tumor was benign.

I miss my ovaries.
A part of my body taken away.
By scaple, and knife.

Gone forever.

Why, why, why am I not jumping for joy?
The tumor was benign.

I am grieving my loss.
My body, my parts.
My womanhood…..
that which defined me.

I miss my ovaries.

I birthed four children, thanks to my ovaries.
And……
I feel betrayed.
I DID everything RIGHT

And, yet, I had a tumor.
The tumor was benign.

Why, why, why am I not jumping for joy?
I miss my ovaries.

Well, shit. My post-op struggles.

I would have thought I would be humbled with gratitude.
And yet, I remain, some what numb.

My ovaries and fallopian tubes have been taken away.

I am barren.

The tumor, found on my right ovary, sent to the pathology lab, was found to be benign.
Relief, an exhale of breath held for three long weeks.
And yet….
I remain, some what numb.

Before my surgery I put a lot on my “to do” list.
Re-write my will.
Ask my kids to help David with Rebekah.
Bestow my jewelery to my children.

My brain was fuzzy with thought.
I went to my four worst words.
“Yeah…but what if”

One week out.
I do not have cancer.
The ugly disease that eats at one’s very being
But also the fear that eats at one’s mind

I cannot lift anything.
My daily living has been changed.

My porch plants are drooping for lack of water.
My humming-bird feeders have mold in them.

My garden….oh, my garden.
I cannot weed, nor toil, nor plant.

My daily life living has been changed.

I need someone else to lift a bag of food for the chickens.
I need someone else to water my plants.
I need someone else to do the very things I took for granted.

For now….
My daily life has been changed.
And I am alive.

I will rest
And I will heal.
I will not have to live in the dreaded words of…
“yeah…but what if”