Archive for the ‘mental and emotional health’ Category

29 Jun

The Elusive Fence

Posted by DOGKISSES in health, human relationships, invisible illnesses, mental and emotional health, relationships, stories. Tagged: , , , , , , .

“Everything God creates is good, and God made sex, so therefore, sex, when done well, is divine.” Amy Wolf

“I’m a FenceSitter,” I told him, as I was finishing, rather nervously, my third glass of water. Our eyes met but I’m not so quick when it comes to what I suspect is fairly easily discernible to most folks.  I’m usually the last person in a group, besides one of my sisters, to get a joke.  People’s witty remarks come slowly to me.  I think way too much.  Our conversation continued without my having taken note of an elusive imploring look in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asked as he sat there,  seemingly content and happy in one of the handmade chair-stools at the large wooden table in his kitchen.

“Sometimes I don’t know what to do,” and I told him a little about what being a FenceSitter means to me.  I also told him the story behind the wonderful image.  He still hadn’t said anything as to the irony of what I was describing to him.

He grabbed another beer.  “Just do whatever you want to do,” he said with an ease of mind that may accompany a carefree lifestyle with minimal responsibilities.

I needed to decide, I thought.  In reality, I’d already decided on what I was going to do with my evening.  The navy blue shirt he was still pulling over his head when I opened my door felt like a sudden hard rain that comes while you’re driving,  causing you to pull over to the side and wait.

“I guess I don’t know what I want,” I responded.  I looked at the drawings on the large table, along with initials and short sentences.  I imagined the people who had sat there most likely inspired by alcohol, the main source of which being Pabst Blue Ribbon and much of the time, Johnny Cash’s music.

“Well, that’s no good.  Let me get you another glass of water,” he said.   His apartment was quieter than usual for a weekend.  He said his roommate was gone.  I asked if he had plans for the evening.

“Nope,” he said, without any hint about what he might like to do or wished he could do, which was a part of my acute but temporary dilemma.  Another part was that when I’d sat down at his table and told him I was on my way out for the evening, he’d said, “You look nice.”  I’d never seen the look on his face that I saw in that moment.   His eyes had only traveled from my hair and face to the crisscrossed straps of my summer dress.  “Very nice,”  he politely added.  He reminded me of a cowboy in an old western movie when he nodded his head in a slight way giving me the impression that his compliment was genuine.   I needed more water.

“I can’t believe I’m this age,” I finally said, as I finished another glass of water with about twenty more minutes behind me.

He smiled.  “Are you saying making decisions doesn’t get any easier when you get older?” he asked.

“Exactly,” I said.  I was no longer sitting but had stood up, taking hold of my handbag and keys, even though it didn’t change the way I felt.   “I mean it ought to be easier by now.  I should know what I want.”  I realized that making decisions were much easier for me when I was younger.  I don’t know when things changed.  I guess when I got sick.

I do know one thing I want and that is to feel good.  I’m tired of being sick and damn tired of pain.  I’m really really tired of it.  I’m tired of feeling like life is passing me by because I’m too weak and fatigued to do the things I wish I could do.  I’m also tired of being indecisive and unsure of myself — sort of unfamiliar in my skin.

“Sometimes being a FenceSitter is hard,” I told him.  Time was passing quickly and I was counting every minute by the clock on his stove.

“Right now you’re sitting at a fence,” he said.   He’d told me earlier that he had built the table out of fence posts.  “How does that feel?” he asked with a  smile on his face.

I finally got it!  My new acquaintance is a FenceBuilder and I was sitting at the FenceTable talking about being a FenceSitter!. I laughed, but only slightly.  I was a little embarrassed that I hadn’t gotten this already.  I was also a bit taken by the irony.

“It feels pretty good,” I responded, and it did, except for my decision-making dilemma that I was creating on my own.  Nature had indeed slowed me down, but things had cleared enough so that I could have moved on towards my original destination.   Instead, I drank more water.  There were many things going on in my mind at once.

My age, being sick all the time, feeling like I’d lost so much time to grief, and last year, to an emotional trauma.  I wanted to live but that was why I’d made an earlier engagement.

“Help me out here,” I asked the FenceBuilder.   “I’m really too tired to drive,” I remarked.  I was sick.  It was true.  In fact, I was barely getting around but felt I’d go crazy if I didn’t get out and away from my home for a while.  I’d been in the bed most of the day with nausea and fatigue.  It had been a bad day.

“Ahh, you’re not too sick,” he responded, and he smiled.  He didn’t believe me.  I could tell.  I saw no use in trying to explain what fibromyalgia or CFS is like.  I did make an attempt at what felt like defending myself.

“I woke up sick.  I really don’t feel good.”

“Then why did you make a plan to go out?”

People don’t understand chronic sickness, surely not when they can’t see it, and even more surely, when the sick person is freshly showered and dressed up a little.  Looking good and being sick don’t mix well in the minds of those who’ve never experienced an everyday battle with illness.

“I just wanted to get out for a while,” I said.  We talked more and I drank more water.  I didn’t know what to make of the feelings I was having.  I wanted to keep my plans, kind of.  I think I wanted my cake and to eat it too, but I wasn’t sure that was the only dynamic happening.  I felt like if I was continuing to sit there with this man, that possibly that was exactly what I really wanted to do.

I honestly didn’t feel like driving by that time and quickly approaching was guilt about getting sidetracked, even if Mother Nature did have a little something to do with it.  The rest was up to me, like keeping my agreements with people, which is important to me.

As the minutes passed we continued enjoying each others company.  I told him the story of me having had two tick-borne illnesses.  I told him I’d been struck with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome after the second one, which was Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever that had lasted over a month before a doctor finally prescribed medication.  “I lost a lot of weight,” I said.  “I barely weighed a hundred pounds.”

“Well you can’t weigh too much more than that now,” he remarked. I realized he was right.  “I carry more than that around on both my shoulders every day,” and he laughed.

Mother Nature again!  I had a hot flash.  He got me another glass of water.  Now I was thinking about his arms and shoulders.  There had been many times I’d seen him arriving home in the heat after a long day of work without his shirt on.  Sometimes I’d wondered if it had been for my benefit but I always brushed it off.  I did however flirt with the young man.

Men flirt with younger women all the time.  Men date younger women all the time.   I’ve never flirted much, but I feel like time isn’t necessarily on my side.  If I’m ever going to know what it feels like to flirt, then I figure I better get to it, so I have, a couple of times.  It felt safe and I must admit, it was fun.  I had no clue that the FenceBuilder might feel the same way I was feeling when I’d seen him cleaning out his truck or meandering around in his yard without his shirt on.  Well, maybe I did have some clues.

I was trying to get more clues by the fourth or fifth glass of water I drank while I sat at the fence-table.  “Well, now I have more things to think about in making my decision, or rather, changing a decision at the last moment,” I said followed by a deep breath I felt like I needed.

“Like what?” he asked, seemingly naive but now, I realize, he most certainly was not.

“Well,  imagining you slinging around hundreds of pounds on your shoulders doesn’t help matters.”

He smiled.  I excused myself.  I needed fresh air.  I had to think about canceling my plans.  I felt pretty bad about it but time had gotten away from me and I guess, I simply couldn’t walk away from the desire to go back to see the FenceBuilder.

I made a phone call changing my plans.  I made a brief trip home discovering a plate of fresh pasta with herbs and chicken in my refrigerator.  A neighbor had cooked it for me and left it while I had been out.  I was starving.  I ate it immediately.  I felt better.  I thought I’d made the right decision.

Arriving back at the FenceTable I accepted a beer, which is pretty unusual for me, but I had a feeling the rest of the evening would be an unusual experience.

I think the FenceBuilder may have used my pain to get closer to my body, but I’m not going to hold it against him.  “Does your shoulders or back hurt?” he asked.

“My entire body hurts when it hurts,” I responded and quickly added, “although it does settle in my shoulders.”

“Would you like a massage?”

I never say yes to this!  “Yes, I would,” I said.

Stress had filled several consecutive days.  Financial worries had been making me nauseated but also disturbing me were my deep concerns about my son.

He has an ACT team who doesn’t do shit and this makes me mad, and stressed!  I am a mother — not a social worker, a doctor, a therapist, a money manager, which are all treatment services the ACT team claims to be providing for my son.  I’ve been doing their job for the best of a year.

After massaging my shoulders,  he casually sat back down in his chair.  Smiling he asked me what I wanted as he opened another beer.

I didn’t think much about my stress for the next twenty-four hours, other than I might pay a price in fatigue and pain.  Much fun was had.  There was nothing confusing about that.

As I write, still fatigued, I’m reminded of my wonderful meeting with a Morgan horse named Candy.  I knew I’d pay a price in pain for the fun lesson I had with her.   My body feels about the same today as it did two days after my lesson with her and I learned some things too.

Riding a horse gives me joy for several weeks afterward.  Horses are good medicine for depression.  I had great fun with the FenceBuilder, but unlike my time riding horses in which I always feel an emotional connection, I was left with somewhat of a wanting feeling.

Something was missing.  I realized it was in my heart.

I missed my best friend who is on another vacation.   I longed for his company all day.  I longed for a feeling of being connected.  I took my younger dog for an early evening walk to a nearby natural butterfly garden.

I thought about how I was feeling.  Embrace this wanting I feel. Know it and feel it. So I did.  It was not such an easy feeling to sit with.

Returning home I snuggled up close to my canine companions.  They are my best friends.  Their sweet eyes revealed their loyalty and love.  I rubbed their soft fur.

Lying in my living room, brightened only by a colorful hanging lamp I recently installed, I saw the light flickering on my cell phone.  My dear friend had sent me a wonderful long text message, which he’d never done before.  He usually emails from his trips away.  His text felt more intimate than the emails.  He shared interesting little details of his trip.  Little things that made such a huge impact on me.  This soothed some the wanting in my heart.

I realized as I embraced the feeling, that I have some really good people in my life.  People who understand I live with pain and sickness.  Not dozens of people, but a few, which is enough.  I was reminded of how much I love these friends.

I learned too that part of why I enjoy riding horses is that they sense how I feel and this is a wonderful connection.   I actually communicated on an emotional level much more with the Morgan, Candy, than I did with the handsome FenceBuilder.

I learned too that FenceBuilders are indeed strong.  I have no doubt in my mind that the man can carry two or three times my weight over his shoulders.

As to being a FenceSitter, well, maybe the years ahead of me will change this some, maybe.  For a short time I was free, like butterflies on a sunny summer day.  As to my decision to return to the handsome FenceBuilder’s FenceTable, accepting a shoulder massage, which I had strongly suspected would lead to more, I have no regrets.



29 May

Fibromyalgia, family and a funky chicken?

Posted by DOGKISSES in fibromyalgia, health, mental and emotional health. Tagged: , , , , .

invisible pain and fatigue is a long hard row to hoeWe don’t talk too often and sometimes I simply don’t know how to communicate with my relatives.

I recently received an email from one and the subject line read: ” You must do this!!!”

I think I thought there was some type of national emergency or something.

It was an email asking people to pray for people with cancer and then to forward it on to others.

Well, I thought, who would I send it to?

Most people I email to are really busy.  I feel like I’m asking too much of their time if I send them emails asking them to forward a message, although, now that I think about it, people do that with me for causes they believe in all the time.

I didn’t think much about not sending it on as requested and then I saw a note at the end of the email — 93% won’t forward.

I knew I’d be one of the 93%, which kind of didn’t feel too good.  I felt like I would be in a group of people who didn’t care.

Maybe it was the subject line of the email–You must do this!!! —  along with the three exclamation marks that touched on my one fragile nerve I had left by mid-day.

I realized quickly that the email bothered me.  I was taking it personal, or at least in a way it was not intended, I don’t think.  It had nothing to do with my level of care about people who have cancer, along with their loved ones who are grieving too.  I’m sure I care and I did take a moment to say a prayer.

My mother has survived breast cancer and I’m grateful to modern medicine for this because she had about seven or eight aunts who all had breast cancer.  They were not as fortunate to have the treatment that my mother had.

My father died after a long bout of severe pain from cancer.  My grandmother died two years ago, also in severe pain, with a type of bone cancer.

My beloved Free girl, my canine companion, had to go due to bone cancer in her leg or from all the pain pills, the latter of which made her sick.

My friend Sonny, who passed away one week ago today, had throat cancer.  They were able to remove the tumor but the radiation left his throat too dry to swallow, leading to his having to use a feeding tube, subsequent weight loss and weakness, all of which shortened his life.

I am no stranger to loss as a result of cancer.

I care.  I care about people in general.  I hurt when someone I care about and or love is hurting or sad.

I feel sad for people who are suffering.  People with terminal illnesses.  People living in a war or are watching family members being abused or killed.  I feel sad for people who are starving or sick without access to medical care.

I feel sad for all the broken hearts in the world.

My adult son who has a huge place in the center of my heart has suffered many times and he is a young man.   My heart has broken many times for him and for the other young men and women I’ve met through him who I’ve seen suffer.

I feel sad for the lesser injustices, such as my ten-year old friend who wishes for things, such as an end of the school year celebration, but who graciously accepts that her family doesn’t have enough money to celebrate in a way that  a young person might dream about.

Sometimes I care so much it hurts and I don’t even know how to feel such strong feelings.

I felt selfish by the way I was experiencing the particular email from my sister.  The three exclamation marks felt like — well hell, I don’t know what it felt like, but it wasn’t a nice happy feeling.

Maybe I wish family members would take a small interest in  learning a little about Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.  I wish they were able to understand the seriousness of the illness and acknowledge it.

Sometimes I think they are afraid of acknowledging how serious my illness is because if they did, then they might feel some sort of obligation.

I’ve been what you can safely call sick since 2005.  Many of my symptoms were magnified over the past year.   Two accidents and a narcissist had a strong impact on me, my health, and my life.

If folks don’t believe much in fibromyalgia and think the term Chronic Fatigue Syndrome is nothing more than the way they feel after a long day at work, then it isn’t logical to expect these same people to take the term narcissist very seriously either. 

People who don’t believe you are sick when you are, or who may believe it, only they think it’s because of something else, not what you have been diagnosed with and what you know is true, are not showing respect.

Basically, if you don’t have cancer and haven’t been told you’re dying, or if it isn’t an illness people are familiar with or can see, then I believe many people write it off to being psychological.

When I read the email of what I “must do!!!” — I felt a surge of emotions.

What about me I thought? I am aware, as I think many of us with fibromyalgia are, especially since other people will often remind us, that it is not a terminal illness and for this I am certainly grateful.   Should I be more grateful than a healthy person should be?  Aren’t all us who don’t have a terminal illness grateful for that?

Knowing I don’t have a terminal illness indeed offers me a sense of gratitude and feeling gratitude is a healing experience.

There are plenty of days when I feel like this illness is killing me.  I get scared of the future too.  There are days when I’m so tired, so incredibly fatigued, that I feel like the walking dead.

Brain fog and physical fatigue together, plus pain all over my body, even with strong medication, gets me feeling a bit… depressed.

This illness has taken my career and any confidence I  had about future earning potential.  I can’t do a great deal many things that most people take for granted.

My friend, Rose, who has a health blog, Seeking Equilibrium, is too cool.  I shared with her my feelings and she re-wrote the text in the email asking for prayers for people with fibromyalgia.

I wasn’t brave enough to send the revised email, until I got the same email from a cousin, and then saw that the original one came from my other cousin.  I was struck with courage, opened my email, added some recipients and clicked send.

I doubt very seriously if anyone forwarded an email asking for prayers for people with fibromyalgia.  Maybe, but my gut feeling tells me probably not.

My mother came to visit a week or so ago.  She came to help me out a little.  I know she wished I’d had more free time, but I didn’t.   I told her I was trying hard to finish a project and she understands it was important to me.

My mother wanted to have time with me that I simply didn’t have that week.   She wanted us to have a fire outside, but I did not have the energy at the end of the days.  I too wanted this.  I wanted to sit around the fire and see my mother happy, which would have made me feel happy.

“We didn’t get to spend any time together,” she told me after five days of being here.  “I wanted to go to the thrift shop(s).”

I felt guilty.  First of all we had spent time together.  I told her she would be walking into my life as it goes during the week.  I have many ongoing obligations and people don’t realize how much of my time and energy is spent on fulfilling them.

Then too, going to one thrift shop in a day is my limit and even then I can’t stay long.   I can’t walk around a store for more than a few minutes before pain sets in.

Now, I just say I’m sorry to my mother when she wants to go shopping and I’m too tired.   It’s time like this when I feel like a disappointment.

The disappointment isn’t only about her though.  One of my favorite things to do is thrift shopping.   I miss it too.

In pain, fatigue, sadness, grief and loss, I’ve found a few ways to live my life the best way I can — with the knowledge, tools and abilities that I have in this moment.

I recently decided to try a little harder to actually live my life.  I may only get moments in time, but I’m getting them.  I hope those moments will turn into days and weeks.

I’m finding laughter again, which is excellent medicine.  I heard myself laugh today.  The sound of it lingered in my mind for a minute or so.  I liked it.

I’ve gotten several pictures of my son now, smiling again, which seemed lost to the lens of a camera for a long time.  I’m enjoying music again.   I’ve made some new friends.

dancing like a funky chicken is good medicine

funky chicken

I’ve even learned a new dance that my ten-year old friend and I came up with, “The chicken dance,” she calls it, which is easy because when I do it, she and her sister laugh so hard they quickly fall down on the sofa, so it only lasts a second or two at each go.

I’m still tired though.

Click on image for a little history of the chicken, from IconDoIt, the blog.

Image of Gardenlady by, “The Graphics Fairy”.

All content in this blog, including images and external links are subject to a Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.  See my Terms of Use in my sidebar for more information.

Thank you for visiting my blog.

dogkisses.

Related posts from Dogkisses’s blog:

Without the label of fibromyalgia

Fibromyalgia Misunderstood


22 May

In memory of a real friend

Posted by DOGKISSES in grief, life. Tagged: , , , .

remembering...

  Suddenly, it sounds like every bird around are each singing at once.  My mind feels empty but my heart is exploding with a deep sadness.  

I learned today that my dear friend passed on this morning. 

I don’t like death.  I just don’t.  I miss people who die.  And now, my dear friend, a man I considered my accidental adopted father, Sonny, has left this earth. 

Sonny was an amazing human being.  I’ve never known anyone who experienced as many losses in one lifetime as Sonny did and adding to that was a will to live like no other I’ve ever seen.  

I watched Sonny carry on after losing three sons, two of whom I knew and loved.  They each passed on at different times in life, the last one, Sonny’s oldest son, passed not too long ago, the loss of which did have a severe impact on my friend Sonny. 

The last time I saw him he said he wished he could come live with me and I wanted him to.  I really did.  Then I could see him I thought.  Even if he died I could be with him.  I considered it wondering if home health would come in.  I would have taken care of him if I had been able.  I would have until his last day. 

I wish it wasn’t so.  I wish I’d gone three days ago, two weeks ago, and I wish I’d done what he said when I talked to him several weeks ago. 

“Sugar, you should call me every day the rest of my life.” 

Sonny knew and so did I. 

I had gone to visit him not long ago,which was the last time I saw Sonny, and was so sad to see him in the shape he was in.  He recognized me though and he knew my son too. 

I took a picture of us with my cell phone and he could barely see it but he laughed and said, “Sugar you look about as bad as I do.”

I laughed too thinking how at least somebody could see my illness. 

Sonny saw my illness and it made him sad.  He missed too the way I was before but he loved me as I was.  Sonny called me when he saw something on television about fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue syndrome or mental illness.  God Sonny loved us! 

He sang me a song not long ago.  I was so sad I couldn’t think and now I can’t remember the name of it.  He sang the words — I’ve always got you on my mind —  his voice was fragile but he still managed to sing to me.  He didn’t care how it sounded.  He told me it was so.  He said I was always on his mind. 

Sonny was at the state hospital with me when my son was very ill and I didn’t know what was wrong.  He was there all the way through it and sat beside of me when the doctors told me words that took me down, literally, and Sonny held me while I cried tears that felt like they came from the bottom of the ocean. 

Sonny was a mechanic and loved old Mustangs.  I was 26 years old when I first pulled my 1966  into the gas station’s parking lot.  The first man I met had the same name as my father and reminded me a bit of him.  My father had passed away shortly before.  Seeing my car the man called out to Sonny.  I couldn’t believe it.  He looked just like my dad only he had gray hair.  He sounded like my dad.  He moved like my dad.  I felt nearly haunted. 

He had a small cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth.  He loved my car and made some pretty common remarks you might hear at a gas station in reference to the looks of the driver, if the driver is female that is.  From that day forward, Sonny became my adopted father.I never  told Sonny certain things my dad had always done for me, such as fixing my car problems and buying my son and I a coat every Christmas.  These were things my dad did for me, no matter what.  My dad didn’t have much money but what he had he handled it well.   Oddly, when I met Sonny and told him how much he was like my dad, he began doing these exact things. 

Now I cry.  I knew Sonny leaving would make me miss my dad more too. 

I don’t like death.  It is too sad.  People leave forever.  

Sonny always told me I changed his life.  He became a bachelor after he met me and he lived happily ever after, calling his ex-wives by numbers.  “Wife number two called today,” or “number three.”  They were always calling and he enjoyed telling folks about how so many women wanted him. 

“I feel like a nineteen year-old in an old man’s body,” he’d say enthusiastically.  

I cry again.  His first wife died, the mother of their sons who have died. 

Sonny carried on.  Sonny always carried on… 

Sonny was a funny man.  He and my mother got along great because of their joke-telling abilities.  The first time my oldest sister met Sonny she cried.  She was very close to our dad and when she saw Sonny’s blue eyes, she cried.  They looked exactly like our dad’s. 

His daughter told me today that he went outside yesterday.  He got dressed.  He wanted to sit in the sun.   He was just like my dad.  Even in the end they wanted to wear nice clothes.  They liked being neat and clean.  They wanted to look handsome.  And they did.  

I was driving home at dusk yesterday.  I felt that feeling of being in between.  Not quite dark but no longer day.  I thought of my dog’s nearby gravesite.  Sonny.  I thought of him right then.  I had been thinking the past few days — call Sonny, no go see him, but I didn’t.  So for that too, I cry.  I wish so much I could have said good-bye. 

Sonny gave me a Subaru once.  The greatest little car I’ve ever had.  Sonny helped my son once and I don’t know what we would have done otherwise. 

Sonny listened when I cried.  He listened when I spoke.  He heard me.  

 He completely loved my son.  He said he saw him the same as his own grandson.  

Sonny always told me I was a good mother.  If I said I felt otherwise, he had a never-ending list of reminders for me of all that he remembered while I was raising my son.  My son was about seven or eight when we met Sonny. 

Sonny was my dear and good friend.

 

14 Apr

A bright star and a drop of heaven

Posted by DOGKISSES in Canine companions, depression, mental and emotional health, relationships. Tagged: , , , , , .

“My Buddy is a Dog”

A letter from a smart girl to a smart dog, with Love.

I received this letter today from a sweet and wonderful girl who has obviously fallen in love with my dog.  My dog’s name sounds like “Roofy,”  so I left the letter as it is, except for my input to correct my name, “Ms. Dogkisses.”

This was a long winter for me and my dogs.  I was injured from a bicycle accident and then a serious cut to two fingers.  There were many days when I could not walk them too far and some days not at all.  My young 4legged companion,  “Roofy,” really needed a friend to play with her.

With the dawn of Spring we met our new neighbor.

“Roofy,” runs as fast as she can and the girl holds on, running behind her laughing the entire time.  It’s hard not to smile seeing them run like they do.  It’s hard to stay down in the dumps in their presence, so I don’t.

“Roofy’s” new buddy is a bright star for us both.  One day when I was sad, she had a bowl of jelly beans her dad had dropped off a few minutes earlier.  They were amazing jelly beans.  One tasted exactly like buttered popcorn.

“I know how to make you laugh,” she said.

“How?” I asked, smiling some, trying not to cry.

“If you eat two different flavors at the same time, it will taste so bad that you will laugh.”

So I tried it.  I couldn’t see how this was supposed to make me laugh, but I figured why not and that maybe she knew something about laughter that I don’t.  She was certainly right about them tasting bad together.  The two I chose tasted like cheap whiskey.  I made an ugly face and she smiled.  She was waiting on me though before she laughed.

Her anticipation was clearly visible.  I had to smile,  not from the taste of whiskey, but at the abundance of life in her face.

Joy is easy for her to reach and the hope in her eyes that she could make me laugh was simply beautiful.   Several times since we met, I’ve felt the desire to at least allow a door for joy to enter.

I had mentioned in front of our young friend that one day I might move.  I  wish I hadn’t said it.  I was just thinking out loud, but she immediately responded saying she would miss us, well, she specifically said my dog.  I immediately regretted having said anything about moving, especially since I’m not planning on it anytime soon.

Children and young people think more about now than yesterday or tomorrow, kind of like dogs.  They really do know how to live.

That night she wrote this letter.  I read it while she visited me today.  She asked me to tell her my three favorite things about the letter.

I was completely moved.   I told her I loved the entire letter, which I do.  I told her I especially liked the first line, and then how she described her feelings so well.  I didn’t know she enjoyed writing.

I didn’t tell her that the last line made me a little sad because one day I might have to move.  But again, that is the future and the girl and the dog do not live in the future.  I was sorry to have mentioned it.  Honestly, if she said her family was moving, I’d be sad too.

Every day I look forward to the school bus now.  Every day that I am blessed with a visit with the girl, I feel happy.   I wish I’d had more children but I didn’t.  I wish I had a daughter and my son had a sister, but we don’t.

Life is amazing isn’t it?  With pain, sadness and grief, there are these bright moments that seem like they are no less than drops of heaven sent straight into our laps.  I guess that’s why we endure hard times, because we know there will be these precious moments that make us glad to be alive.

All those long winter nights when I cried, and cried some more, and then I silently prayed.  I prayed for help in this world — on this physical planet we call earth.  My heart had a hole in it so I’m glad it is being filled with joy and the love between a girl and a dog.

I love my dogs.  They give so much.  They are truly amazing animals so of course I want them to be happy.

They help me more than any medicine doctors have ever had available for depression.  They give me a reason to keep going when everything around me is falling down.  They love me when I’m sick or in pain.  They love me every single day, even on days I’m too sick to walk them.

In my darkest hours they are here for me and they know.  They know when I am in the darkness of grief.  The lower I fall the closer they move their furry bodies to mine.  Sometimes I think I’ll get smothered if I don’t get my butt up and live a little.

It was true.  The day the girl didn’t come, “Roofy” watched the window and every time she heard people outside she got excited, until she realized it was not her new friend.  She let out a little sigh each time.  I could tell she missed her friend that day.

Today they were both happy.  They climbed a steep hill together.  The girl is a bright star and the dog is a little drop of heaven.  They are quite a pair.

I have a new friend!

This is a picture of my Egyptian princess on a day she is happy with her new friend.

I call her an Egyptian beetle-hound princess because she has natural eyeliner and beauty marks that remind me of Cleopatra.  She also hunts and finds insects.   In photos, her eyes almost always have the green glow around them.  I guess this is “red eye” in a dog’s world.

A couple of days after this happy day the girl, “got on the A-B honor roll for the first time.”  She was proud of herself.  I wondered if her new friend has helped her as much as she has helped us.

10 Apr

Just in time.

Posted by DOGKISSES in invisible illnesses, life, mental and emotional health. Tagged: , , , , , .

“Ms. Dogkisses,”  the woman said, “Why do you wait until the very last minute to pay your bill each month?”

I looked at the clock on her wall.   In my world, 4:45pm was early.  Her office closed at 5:00.  It wasn’t only the time of day,  it was also the last day of the month that I could pay my bill without my auto insurance being canceled, so I was just in time.

I didn’t know what to say.  I guess I looked bewildered because her level of irritation immediately lessened.  She sat down at her computer and asked me to have a seat.  So I did.

I work under pressure.  Sometimes within minutes of a deadline.  It probably has a lot to do with chronic fatigue.  Maybe the pressure of a deadline gets my heart pumping and my adrenaline flowing and that’s the only way I can work!

She had a bowl of candy on her desk — with the good candy in it, like chocolate Kisses.  It was not your average office candy bowl with the hard peppermint candy or artificially flavored suckers.  I politely asked if I could partake and her warm smile made me feel like I could have the entire bowl if I wanted it.

Enjoying the chocolate I began to talk.  Sometimes, when I’m upset or nervous and must interact with people I talk too much.  I tend to tell the truth about what’s going on in my life.  I just start telling.  I usually manage to get a few laughs as I try and wrap my pain in humor.  Sometimes  it backfires and someone cries.

It takes energy for me to pretend I’m okay when I’m not.  Since my energy is endangered and possibly on the brink of extinction, I don’t try as hard anymore to make others feel better about how I feel.  I try to follow the social norms as much as I can, and manage pretty well most of the time.  Sometimes things get me, little things such as the normal greeting we are use to in America, “Hello, how are you?”

We are supposed to say fine and move on.  It’s easy to say fine to someone like the clerk at the register in the grocery store, but other times it’s harder.  The other day I was checking in for occupational therapy for my hand.  The clerk asked me how I was doing.  Well, I was very sick.  I was dizzy and thought it possible I might pass out before I could get upstairs.

“I’m fair,” I said, and I even gave a hint at a smile.  She was disappointed.  I get that a lot.  Fair is simply not good enough for many people.  I’m amazed at the responses I get from complete strangers because I said I was fair.

So, there I am paying my bill, feeling nervous that I interrupted this woman’s day by arriving just in time and I start talking and telling.  I tell the woman a few things about my life.  I tell her about my time.  I tell her that I have a son dealing with some hard things in life.  I tell her I’m overwhelmed.  I eat some more chocolate.  I don’t know exactly what it was I said that she most related to but she suddenly stopped typing.

She turned to me and asked if I would tell her more.  Her eyes had teared up.  I told her a little more.  Then she tells me.

She tells me how odd it is that I came in when I did and said what I said.  She tells me how she is completely moved by the things I said.

“I’ve never heard someone talk about these kinds of…” she paused, “problems or illnesses, whatever they are, the way you just did.”

I wasn’t sure how I had talked about anything other than being open about the way I felt.

She told me about what was happening in her life, which sounded a lot like what was happening in mine.  I listened.

Before I left her office she told me she had an epiphany, although I wasn’t sure what it was.  She said my timing had been personally important to her.    She was overwhelmed, as I was.  I don’t think she had a way to put that into words.  I guess that’s what she heard from me.  A way to talk about what is hard.

One thing that I think changes for those of us who live with chronic illness is time.    We are given time to reflect and think about life.   We also learn, as it seems we must,  how to talk about the difficult things in life.  This isn’t easy.  I believe that learning how to better talk about what is hard is part of our healing journey.

It’s hard talking about what is difficult to talk about.

I’ll probably continue to talk too much when I’m nervous.  I’ll probably continue being too honest at times.  I have tried to change this about myself,  but I can’t and I’m too tired to fight who I am.  I’ll most likely continue saying I’m fair when fine is just too far for me to grasp.

I’ve been told I wear my heart on my sleeve, that I cannot hide and that my eyes tell things about me.   I have in a way been forced by this part of who I am to learn how to talk about what people see; what I cannot hide and do not want to anyway.

Sometimes this part of being me works out alright.  My nervous honesty worked out alright paying my bill.  I think I’ve gotten myself out of a couple of tickets with sudden outbursts of utter truth.  I told the truth about why I was speeding (hard times!) and then another time about why I was driving — briefly without a seat belt — while tired in the middle of the night (hard times again!).   Both times the truth came out of my mouth faster than I could think.  Both times the truth was so bazaar the officers let me go.

Sometimes it’s good to talk about what is difficult to talk about.

The image of French Rose by, “The Graphics Fairy.”




29 Mar

Romance, after the Narcissist

Posted by DOGKISSES in human relationships, mental and emotional health, narcissists, relationships, stories. Tagged: , , , , , , .

Milano, Italy

Image via Wikipedia

“I can give you a better kiss than the one I gave you before,” he said, flirting with me over the phone.  Our lips had touched gently and briefly as a parting gesture the week before.

“You can,” I responded.  It was partly a question and a little flirting back.

“You bet I can,” he said and that was pretty much it for me.   His confidence gave me butterflies and weakened my knees a bit.   I was shaving my legs within the hour, so I knew.

I was also using some lovely citrus body scrub, along with Neutrogena’s Sesame oil, both products having been gifts from the narcissist I had a relationship with, if you call what we had a relationship.  I had one, but I have no clue what he had other than a private little party in his mind.

I was glad to be using these products again.  I’ve used the sesame oil since I first discovered it in the early 1980’s, but love has a way of pinning itself to little things in a romance.

The place you first made-love or food that you enjoyed together remind you of what is gone when the romance is over.  The bottle of sesame oil had worked its way into my memories and this is something I love about writing.  Just now as I type, I realize that the narcissist never knew how to make use of his gift.  He knew how to give gifts but he did not know about sweet romance.  If he had known, the body of sesame oil would have been empty a long time ago.

Maybe the most difficult part of letting go and moving on after ending a romantic relationship are the reminders that come when you attempt to be sexual with a new partner, even something as slight as flirting can cause you to remember.  Plus, the aftermath of a relationship with a narcissist carries unique problems.  Many people are severely mentally and emotionally traumatized by the experience.  I was.

I mentioned to a couple I know that I was ready to date evoking instant match-making ideas in the woman.

I liked their friend the first time I met him and we later had an evening alone together, the time of which was fun and easy.  He was confident but didn’t seem arrogant.  When he said he could give me a better kiss I thought well, he sounds like a man who knows what he has to offer and it sounded alright with me.

Do I trust my radar?  No.  Not now.  I don’t yet trust any feelings of attraction .  A relationship with a severe narcissist left me with a large dose of cautiousness about people’s intentions or sincerity that I’ve never known before.

I refuse to stop living though.  I’m too young to give up on love or romance.  I think anyone living is too young.  Plus, its Spring and what a wonderful time to be like the French and take a new lover.   I either read that in a book once or saw it in a movie where a French woman said, “I’ll think I’ll take a lover for the Spring.”

This is what I was thinking about as I poured oil on my legs and then used a nice lotion afterward.

I did contemplate my actions.  At least the man is honest about his wish to, “give me a better kiss,” I thought, but there are conflicting feelings.  We don’t seem to have that much in common.   He doesn’t have a dog.  I must admit I wonder about people who don’t have dogs.  As I rubbed the lotion on my legs I thought hey, I’m not trying to mate for life here.  I’m not a bird.  I’m only human.

I thought about being in my forties.  I remembered a wonderful psychiatric nurse I once met.  She was an intelligent woman who had traveled the world in her forties.  I was struggling with the aftermath of an unhealthy relationship then too.  I’ve met two severe narcissists in my life.  I loved both of them and I ended both relationships.  They were about 13 years apart.  I never thought after the first one I’d ever go through anything like that again but all narcissists are not created equally.  The two I have known both did have charming ways, passion and intelligence but they were very different types of people.

The subject of sex came up.  That’s another part of a relationship with a narcissist.  There are usually problems around this.

“If you think you enjoy sex now,” she told me, “just wait ’til your in your forties.  You have a lot to look forward to in life,” and she went on to tell me how she had divorced a man, very much like the one I had known, when she was in her forties.  I was in my early thirties then.  She told me about her leaving and going off to Europe for two years where she, “enjoyed several lovers,” while she was there.  It sounded dreamy but hopeful. 

“I had an absolutely wonderful time,” she went on, “and then I met the man I would marry.  He moved here and we have a wonderful marriage.  You can have this too,” she told me, “but you must leave this place to have it.”

I was in a hospital for depression.  I’d only been there one night and it was clear to me and this head nurse that I was in the wrong place.  The psychiatrist disliked me so much after meeting me only once, he said he was glad to see me go, which was early the next morning.   That nurse had prepared my discharge papers after our conversation the night before.

The woman planted a seed in my brain.  I may not get to go to Europe for two years, but I swear I don’t want to make it to 50 and say dang, I forgot to enjoy those 40’s.

What if he surprises me I wondered?  Honestly, I wondered if the man could not only give me a kiss but if he could rock my world.  Shake me into a new reality.  Give me new thoughts and memories of romance.

I have grieved.  I have hurt.  I have seen many days when I didn’t want it to get dark.  I just didn’t.  The nights of the past winter seemed each one to last forever.

I want to take a lover for the Spring.  I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

The kiss drew me in and I found myself swept away into romance.  I have a new memory now.  I have a new and sweet experience.  The soft kiss lasted as long as the winter nights had.

I’m not out of the woods.   I doubt I’ll be like the woman in the novel or the movie, or the nurse in Europe.  I have to learn my boundaries.  I have to learn again, to trust myself.

I remain human.  I remain a woman.  I remain imperfect.  I remain cautious.







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20 Mar

Horses healing hearts

Posted by DOGKISSES in depression, fun, health, mental and emotional health, Mental healthcare. Tagged: , , , , , , .

Horses heal the mind, body and spirit

Candy, A Morgan

Wow!  OMG!  Totally Awesome!

Those are the words that first come to mind as I write, recalling my ride today.  

Today I met a Morgan horse named Candy.  I couldn’t believe her name was the same as the Appaloosa that I rode last summer.  I loved that Appaloosa, who was a very spunky girl and today, I loved Candy the Morgan horse, who was tender, sweet and did exactly everything I asked her to do, and then some!  I mean, some things I asked her to do I didn’t realize I had asked for because I’m an amateur rider.

The trainer showed me how Candy was keen to my every move, such as barely moving my foot in the stirrup, which told Candy to slow down a little. Candy was sweet and intelligent.

I also learned that gently pulling back one side of the reins, while giving a little on the other side controlled Candy’s speed during a trot.   Instead of bouncing up and down, afraid of falling, I was able to move gracefully with her.  This was an awesome feeling.  It was exciting too.  It was most likely my favorite part of the lesson.

The trainer told me I was doing a great job.   She said she was surprised at how well I did during the trot.  I’m sure she had no clue how much this meant to my self-esteem hearing her say that.  I felt good about myself in that moment.  It was a healthy sense of control in a time when most everything in my life feels completely out of my control.

Aside from enjoying the ride there is a relationship that you develop with a horse and it doesn’t take long — only a few minutes.   It’s amazing how much a horse listens.  The simple act of holding out my pinkies, which I didn’t know about,  slowed Candy down.

While I’m certainly tired from the ride, there is a smile on my face as I write.  My spirit feels good.  I don’t feel like a complete failure.  Candy sure helped me.

Morgan horses are so sweet! They are much like dogs.

Candy, a very sweet girl!

“Morgan horses are kind of like dogs,” the trainer had said when I first arrived at the farm.   I walked through the barn and met the other horses while she saddled up Candy for me.  One of the Morgans especially reminded me of dogs.   She kept nuzzling her big pretty head up against the bars appearing to desire a scratch behind the ears, just like a dog.  I gave her a scratch and she kissed my hand, just like a dog.

I had a great time!

Now I must go rest and dream of my meeting with one of the sweetest horses in the world!

Candy lives at a farm in North Carolina.  This farm does not offer or include in their lessons equine-assisted therapy.   Any therapy I received I captured on my own.

I’m not a doctor or a medical professional, nor am I offering advice on treatment for depression.   I simply want to share my experience and tell how riding a horse, along with the relationship that is created, is great therapy for me in my journey to fight chronic sadness, frustration, illness, grief, and often, a loss of interest in things I would otherwise enjoy.

Antidepressants don’t always come in a pill.

(update on Monday, March 22, 2010) —  Lots of stiffness and sore muscles since my ride, but today I’m doing better.   I stayed in bed most of the 24 hours after the ride.  I also had to take anti-inflammatory medication but to me, it was totally worth it.

Physical strength isn’t a requirement to ride on a gentle horse.    I didn’t have to lift the saddle, which was a good thing and I chose to trot, which I’m sure added to the aftermath of pain.

Compared to the side-effects I have from antidepressant medications, the short-lived flare of the sore muscles and fatigue is not a big deal to me.

The extra pain will go away and the gifts Candy and her trainer gave me will stay.



4 Jan

Antidepressants don’t always come in a pill

Posted by DOGKISSES in depression, healing, health, mental and emotional health. Tagged: , , , , , , .

Her name is Candy and if you met her you would know why.  With strength, a racer’s spirit and her graceful great power, mostly what you notice about her is how very sweet she is.  She sure gave me a healthy dose of an antidepressant!

her spirit comforts mine

Depression is something I’ve struggled with for most of my adult life.  I’ve never been able to tolerate the side-effects of antidepressants.  I’ve turned to more traditional medicine for my symptoms.  I did once promise myself if depression zaps me to the point of not being able to get out of bed that I would take medication but the older I got the more sensitive I’ve become to the side-effects.

Acupuncture helped me when I had access to treatments.  Gardening helps me a great deal too.  When I last had a garden, my favorite part of every day was going outside first thing in the mornings and checking to see if anything had happened during the night.  Often times since I was living in the mountains, things did happen.  Little things that amazed me.  Personally, I think getting closer to nature is good treatment for depression.

The mental and psychological benefits I feel during and after riding a horse came as a surprise to me.   I don’t own a horse but I sure wish I did.

My grandpa used to buy and sell horses.  The thing about that was that he sold them way too soon for me to get to know one.

I got a taste of equine-assisted therapy by volunteering at a riding center in a small town in the mountains of North Carolina for people with disabilities.  She was about six years old.  She was amazing.  She helped me put the saddle on the horse and when we made it to the ring she stopped.

“Why did you come here today?” she asked me.

I had to think for a second.  “I came to help you ride,” I answered, which appeared to satisfy her.  She complimented me on my hair band.  I’d bought it in Texas at a cowgirl craft show.  It was my favorite.  “It’s very pretty,” she said.

Then she looked at me in the eyes and so sincerely she said, “This is the best day of my life.”

I understand better now what she may have referred to.   After having the opportunity to get to know Candy, discovering the antidepressant benefits along the way, I can relate to the feeling of having the best day of my life.

Several years after meeting the girl I started thinking of riding horses again.  One day while driving through the country I saw a sign.

“Horse lessons and Trail rides“ — I jotted down the number.

Not long after that day I was driving up the steep gravel drive on the small farm in a rural area near where I grew up.  The land was familiar.

Candy was gorgeous Appaloosa.  She was obviously sweet but I had no clue how spunky she was and wouldn’t find out until later when we took her to the forest on an equestrian trail.

Candy gave me good medicine.   I would come home so tired I had to go straight to bed but it felt good.

I would rest and remember how it felt being with her.  Every little turn in the trail had stuck in my mind.  I couldn’t wait ’til the next time I could ride.

I think riding a horse makes my brain produce all those wonderful chemicals depressed brains need.

I felt good when Candy listened to me too.  She certainly didn’t have to but she did.   She really wanted to do something else, which was fly as fast as she could alongside her competitive friend but she did what I asked her to do instead.  I learned to trust her.  I wanted her to trust me too.

I couldn’t believe the power she had.  She begged me to let her show off her racing skills, but I was not at all ready.  I knew I was too weak to handle her if she took off running and I could feel how fast it would be if I let her go.  I felt like we became friends in a way.  She was disappointed that she couldn’t fly but her loyalty seemed to be to me, as long as I let her know what I needed and wanted her to do.  I was sad for days that she didn’t get to run in that forest.  I felt like I had disappointed her.

There are many feelings that I experienced during the blessed time I was with Candy.

Fear, confidence, trust, excitement, accomplishment and love were all part of my experience.

The effects of the rides would last about ten days, maybe a little more.  That’s pretty darn good for one dose of medicine.

Healing and medicine doesn’t always come in the form of a pill.


I’m not a doctor or a medical professional.  This post is not intended as medical advice.

I’m just a person who discovered that building a relationship with a horse is healing.

Thank you for visiting my blog.

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