I must have been about 5 years old when I threw a fit at the grocery store for chocolate ice cream. My mother firmly told me no. We had ice cream at home, and she was not going to buy any more ice cream until it was finished.
I was determined to get my way. When my mother wasn’t looking, I dragged a kitchen chair over to the refrigerator so I could reach the freezer door on top. I pulled out the ice cream. It was strawberry ice cream. It was a half-gallon box. It was almost full. I ate the ice cream. All of it. In one sitting.
Waste not the strawberry ice cream; never ever want it again.
him: What did you apologize for? You didn’t do anything wrong.
me: Because I hurt her feelings, and for that, I am truly sorry.
If you can’t apologize for what happened, can you find it in your heart to acknowledge the pain, frustration, fear, anxiety that was created with a simple apology?
Another year gone by, now it has been eight since you left this world. I miss you, Mommy.
My life is more stable now. I haven’t moved out of state in almost a year. That’s one major life stressor resolved.
I lost a very dear friend in December. She died unexpectedly. I blew her off the last time she wanted to chat because I didn’t feel like gossiping. I wish I hadn’t done that. She always gave me my space. She’d slap me upside the head, too, when I needed it. She was a rock for me the last time my world imploded. I never told her how much that meant to me. She was a huge part of the support network that got me through the past two years. You would like her, Mommy. She would answer my cooking questions for me. She only made fun of me the time that I made meatloaf with mayonnaise because I didn’t have any eggs. I miss my friend, too.
I’m doing okay without medications. I still wonder what’s the point of doing anything, and I get anxious over little things, but I keep busy and make a little progress each day. My diet is much better now, and I’m taking multivitamins again. You made me take Geritol when I was in high school. That’s probably why I’m in fairly good health today. It probably helped me get through my depressive episode in high school, too. All those B vitamins are supposed to be good for stress.
I’m in a good place now, Mommy. Hope I don’t blow it all to bits.
What I tell myself:
I can’t afford to pay for a haircut right now
What I tell others:
Long hair makes me look younger
What I fear:
Hearing the stylist ask me,”Would you like a color with your cut today?”
I am medication free now. I made it through Effexor withdrawal. No more splitting headaches. No more sudden nausea. No more making myself seasick by turning my head too fast. I even survived a 49-hour cross country road trip without getting carsick. And I’m back to my constipated self.
But I cry at the drop of a hat. Some mornings, I wake up petrified. I don’t want to open my eyes or crawl out from under the covers. For awhile I was afraid to go to sleep because I so dreaded that feeling of terror that I knew would overwhelm me as soon as I woke up. I don’t want to see old friends because I can’t explain all the dumb decisions I’ve made over the past 10 years. Everybody has gotten married, had kids, have great jobs. To hit them with what I’ve been up to would be cruel and unusual punishment. And meeting new people? Forget that. I am not worth getting to know.
Now I remember why I was started on medications 15 years ago. Depression has invaded my persona again. I need new coping skills.
Thank you to The Chickenista for The Lemonade Award. I am flattered and flabbergasted.
As per the rules, I am passing on the award to:
Healing… Through the Eyes of Autism
ChickLitGurrl :: high on LATTES and WRITING
Kat in New York
The Daily Blonde
RGebbiePhoto – A creative journey in art
Have a look for yourself. There’s something in the list for everyone. Enjoy!
I’ve complained before about how the only hair that seems to shed from my head are the dark ones, not the stray gray ones that have begun showing up. The gray ones I have to pluck myself. That bit of vanity I still have.
Well, today it finally happened. Ran my fingers through my hair this morning and out came a long white hair in my hand.
I swear that I am NOT going to grow old gracefully. But I’m only 43 years old. I’m too young to dye now.
Recently I received an email from an old friend who told me that he admired my strength. I want to tell you where my strength comes from. People who know me personally will be surprised.
My father has held a strong influence in my life, but my strength comes from my mother.
My mother was born in China. In her late teens, she emigrated to the United States to be with her father. Her mother did not want to leave China, and never did. My mother never saw her mother again.
My parents met in Stockton, California. I don’t think the courtship was very long. They married in Reno, Nevada in 1951. That somehow set a precedent I guess because there has never been a real church wedding in my family. Everybody married in Reno. Well, everybody in the family who ever got married.
Before my dad became a naturalized citizen of the United States, he was reported to INS as an illegal alien and had to go to Canada for a brief period, leaving my mom with two little girls to care for. She handled all the legal proceedings in the States, with English being her second language. My mother was never very comfortable speaking English. She always spoke in Chinese to me.
She got flak from her friends about sending me to medical school. Education is wasted on a daughter. And why can’t Eva find a husband? She mentioned this to me only once, and it was in passing. She never gave me grief for chasing my dreams.
Thank you, Mommy, for being behind me, even though I couldn’t see it. I will be home soon, and I will visit your grave. I love you.
I help take care of a beautiful dog named Raleigh. He is the cutest thing, and I love him to bits! He’s a little quirky, but aren’t we all?
The other day I let Raleigh out to do his thing. We went through the sliding glass doors out onto the deck leading to the back yard. As usual, I have to practically chase him off the deck to go do his business. He goes trotting off into the yard, then stops about 10 feet from me and turns around to see if I’m still standing there (he hates being left alone anywhere). For a split second, I want to run out there and go with him. But I stop myself. “You have to let go, Eva,” I tell myself. “He won’t learn to be independent if you keep coddling him.”
Instead, I tell him, “Go on, Raleigh. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”
A dog is teaching me how to parent. Sigh.