Margm

Sometimes I get angry at Billy for leaving first. Makes no sense at all. It is like I want him to hurt instead of me. I get a lot of crazy notions but the best thing I can do for him and for me is not to think about him 24/7, and when I find out how to do that I will let everyone know. And Gwenivere my dear, somewhere you tried to beat me on the word salad, but you just made me like you that much more. Gal, you got a sense of humor. As an addendum, I have questions about becoming a Catholic, like not believing in purgatory. I am a lifelong Baptist, but I love the symbolism of the Catholic after retiring from a Catholic hospital too. I am thinking, maybe that is what this is, maybe this is purgatory, so maybe I can understand being a Catholic.

Reading the book of a noted psychiatrist right now, (on losing her doctor husband), I noted all of our feelings. She works at probably the most noted teaching hospitals in the US. She went back to work after a month. She had to pass the dreaded oncology building every day. A colleague asked her once to review a paper he was writing. She said "my husband just died." He said "it has been three months." She is bipolar and he helped her so much with that. My heart goes out to all of us. I noted she could not concentrate either. She did like me, and possibly you too, start a new book, another, and another, reading a paragraph, starting another book, another, finishing none. Concentration is gone, and some times can be dangerous. I have mixed feelings about remarriage. This woman remarried, another colleague. Some of my friends remarried. Why wouldn't I want people to be happy? Do I suspect they can really never be happy? The woman I met at Walmart, married a former classmate and said "it is not the same," I think one of my good friends is happier than with her deceased husband, (we had got them together). What works for one does not work for another. I am writing another word salad. I certainly want all of us to regain just a small sliver of happiness anyway we can. Peace.

Marty, I save your note in my (to read) folder. My widow friend told me to keep busy. Sometimes "busy" keeps me. I don't know if that is good or bad. I know I had to come home and put on my sneakers and knee length socks cause my legs and hurt foot are tired. I have Bri's school yet and then have to get my son's partner from the doctor. I will be driving after dark. I don't like to do that.

I went to an Indian psychiatrist once. I guess he was Indian, not Native American for sure. That was probably 30 or more years ago. I paid him $125 and bought his pamphlet for I think $13. He saw me for possibly 15 minutes, of which I talked for probably 14. His lessons to me were these words "you have to learn to love yourself." Well, I did not go back. I might not have "loved myself" but I sure loved my money more than this psychiatrist. I guess we honestly all love ourselves. For sure, we shower when we think we don't smell good, we eat when we are hungry (and in my case when I am not). We change our underwear often. I guess we do that for ourselves, so we must love ourselves some if we try to carry out our daily grind. We do it for some reason.

Perfect sense. Good memories ache. Bad memories are like the Heet liniment, does not help either. But we have to keep trying. Maybe having someone or something that depends on us helps the most. Either the innocent fur kids or the human kind too. It does with me. It is no bother, anything that gives us reason to keep living.

I wish all the quotes and recommendations would work for us all. Unfortunately, I have two clay feet and slog through this life. Still I wake up every morning, head for the bathroom and every morning expect to see Billy, but he is not there anymore. Sometimes, acceptance is hard, but seems to be a necessity. Even buying a new car without him, just knowing he is there, and that is not a specific date, just something that he has always been around for. It will always be that way. Then I remember something happening that is not good to remember, but somehow the anger hides some of the pain. What do I want, Your right Brad, it is best to keep positive memories. In nearly 55 years there were a lot of memories that were not positive, but the last 25 years or so were just coasting down the stream, enjoying what we saw and did together. I had rather be on the bank walking than fighting rapids alone. A good analogy is having knee pain, back pain, shoulder pain. Remember Heet liniment? Wow, you put that on and the aggravation from the liniment is almost worse than the pain of the joints. And, do not wipe your eyes with your hands, that stuff does not wash off. So we treat the pain with all kinds of stuff. Nothing helps for long, but we keep trying. At least that is good. We have to keep trying. I had an uncle who said WD-40 helped his joint ache. Hmmmm. Wish this was just a joint ache. I still buy pretty journals. I am going to chart this course. No, and I cannot go back and look what I posted yesterday even. Today has to be better. Maybe.

I am only going to draw on experience. This is not to qualify as advice. I took antidepressants for so long. When Prozac came out, I might have been one of the first customers. I took it for so many years but one night during a nightmare I was having, I took a plug out of Billy's sleeping back thinking I was fighting some fight in a nightmare. It is a long standing family joke, but to poor Billy, it was not funny. I told my shrink, thinking she would laugh too, but she started getting me off the Prozac. I had noticed for years the absence of being able to cry, a blunting of feelings. Now, I cannot take any of the antidepressants. My son just started taking one for bipolar that can cause some bad side effects but he feels so much better, he does not want to quit taking it. It has not toned down his artistic impressions as all the others have. He is not like my daughter, who will take 3-4 psychotropic medications at once.. This is the only one that helps him, and I sure hope it does not have any bad results, as he loves feeling happy. I would have to say that the antidepressant caused a problem with having everyday feelings. I was taking them when my dad passed away. I could not even cry. But, I am not taking them now and have not cried for my mom. Now Billy, that is another subject completely. I can watch/listen to music and I cry buckets. This is just me. I do not know how other people react, but while taking them there was not any euphoric moments, so they did not do me like amphetamines (for which I did have prescriptions). But when the amphetamines wore off there was terrible depression. And now, I am allowed nothing except Xanax and blood pressure medications. The ER doc gave me a written prescription for an opiate for the pain in my foot with me telling him I could not take pain medications. Of course I did not fill it.

Gwen, I wrote another one of my word salads. I won't tire you out though. Look, the pain would not be so tough if the love had not been so much. And, you volunteer. I know those people, you make a difference in their life. You make a difference in ours too. Don't like to see any of us hurting, but we loved, we love, we have loved. Hugs my friend. I wish you peace.

What a sweet, hopeful and insightful post George.. I did not have a horse in this political race. I am totally political ignorant. I always say "how can you trust someone who voted for Nixon and my favorite politician (before prison, inside prison, and after prison) was former governor of Louisiana, Edwin Edwards." I think if you still have hopes and plans you will live long and prosper. It is when we give up that we suffer the most. I sometimes look at the sky and ask Billy why he left me and even then I know he would not have if he had had a choice. We just have to keep on keeping on. I wish you success in all your endeavors. Most of all, I wish us all peace.

“When we pity ourselves all we see is ourselves. When we have problems, all we see are our problems and that's all what we love of talking about. We don't see the good things in our lives.” ― Ann Marie Aguilar Sometimes I just bleed all over everything. I can handle it. I just wish my daughter could get help. It will just be another case like my mom passing and I cannot cry. Hey, I made it to this age, with the help of Billy. I wish that for my granddaughter too. All you ever want is for your kids to be happy.

Personal things sometimes might not should be mentioned. Sorry to burden with this, but sometimes Billy's death is not the only hell I go through. And no, I cannot cry for my mother's death yet, and perhaps someday my daughter will not cry for mine. So, it is my fault, but I never knew I would pass down my mother's mental illness to my daughter. I didn't even know Mama had one, when I was a child. I do now.

I think the volunteering is very admirable. Gwen does that too and I think Kay volunteers to keep her church's books. They would have me keeping the prison's books if I had to handle money. We had 80 years combined and it was all pension too. I guess that is what you call retirement. I did work awhile after retiring from the state job where they give me Social Security too. Don't want to work anymore. My mind would not stay with it anyhow. Good luck with the surgery. With your attitude I know it will go great.

Let me tell you about my memory. I have my system of keys in left pocket, phone in right pocket, glasses either on my face or to the right of the computer. Today I lost my bra. I know, I know, how can you lose a bra. Well, mostly I don't like to wear them, but in common decency to the people I meet on the street, I do wear them. So, I had to get another one. This afternoon I came into the kitchen and my bra was hanging from the paper towel holder. Don't remember putting it there. What I am getting at is this: Kevin, have you had any of your surgery yet and I have just missed the note somewhere? I don't remember seeing anything about the surgery being near. I did know you needed it. Knocking on wood for this one. I think 43 years was long enough to work. Do not plan on doing it any more. Now, I hope you do not need to work even part time and I hope you let us know when you have had surgery. And, I hope I have not missed the note where you had it already. I don't go back and read old notes unless it is something I have to do. I don't think I have read notes from you for awhile. If you have had the surgery I sure hope you are doing great.

Yes he was, and I hope he is in his element right now too. He is with his brother (who I loved), his little sister he never met and his older sister (maybe....I didn't like her), and his mom and dad, a bunch of his friends and his best friend. I've got to think that way.

Yeah, if I could grow a beard we would have looked like Mutt and Jeff.

Facebook sends memories. This was November 14, 2014. Bless his heart, and mine too, we did not know he would not see the next November. This is my scraggly haired, scraggly bearded mountain man. If Billy could have lived out a dream without me, he would have been Jeremiah Johnson living back in the mountain man time. He read every mountain man book I could find for him. I usually exit out of the memories they send me, but I did not today. I am looking at my scraggly haired, scraggly bearded Arkansas Jeremiah Johnson. And, now I am left with that mountain to climb. The little dickens. He could hold out his arms and I could walk under them without touching them. I have not cried. He is not gone. Here he is. See those high cheekbones. I wish I could touch him and his beautiful blue eyes.

Gin, I'm sorry there are those triggers. Sometimes they come on important days, sometimes just a familiar sight, sound, or smell. The stupid time change put me down for two days. Sometimes the reality just is not supposed to be. I like salty, then sweet. Sometimes I eat my dessert first. Unfortunately I just like to eat.

Gwen, it is hard to come out of depression. I don't have an animal because "the black dog" is with me constantly. I cannot try all the new medicines so I will just drag him around with me. This is not to make light of it, but I am a chronic depressive and most times I feel like Joe, the fellow below. (This is a lifelong problem, not just a grief problem, though it does make it unbearable sometimes. You are not alone, and if this new counselor does not suit you, find another. We cannot be with you personally, but we are here. And these feelings you are having, sometimes it is hard to dig yourself out of the hole Do not try to come off the Xanax cold turkey. If you do not want to get off it, find another doctor. I know some people do not believe in it, but honeychile, I am not one of them. I believe.

Gwen, some doctors don't believe in giving Xanax. I'm sure I told you all about falling down steps and landing my whole body sitting on my foot, my size 100 butt on a size 7 foot. In younger days I would have just limped around. But it really hurt. I should have had on sneakers and socks instead of flats. I was agitated too so was not paying attention. The foot kept hurting and I have to keep telling myself I am not a spring chicken but an old boiler now. The fact the hurting would not quit made me go to the ER. Up until then, the only way I would have gone to the ER was comatose. Luckily it was just a bad sprain and I had to pat myself on the back (I can still do that too) that nothing was broken. Mama's broke hip did not show up until over 24 hours after her fall. I kept telling them I could not take pain killers, so they gave me Tylenol and a prescription for opiates. My new doctor gave me 2 refills, but Walmart put 5 on the bottle. Well, they would only give me 3 in Arkansas. I'll play this out, If she refuses me, I will tell her to send me to a neurologist because it is the only thing that helps my tremor. My Gosh, so I get addicted, It is not like I will be addicted that long, and I do not abuse them at all. I don't try to get them refilled before time and most times they last more than a month. Like Marty said, if one counselor does not work for you, go to another.

I may have had 20 extra pounds of cheering myself up. Sometimes I wonder if I am trying to do like that mule in the clover patch and just eat myself to death. Sonic has a cheesecake shake that I cheer myself up with often. I have dream amnesia. But this morning I dreamed about Billy, he was alive, and he told me that he tried, but he could never forgive me for something that happened 40 years ago now. He was with the other woman and all her friends were with her and were telling me what a bad person I was. It seemed to go on forever, but in reality I know it was only seconds. I woke up angry at Billy. I used to have this dream when he was living. I woke up angry, then very sad because it was not true. I like my dream amnesia best. I can still remember this nightmare and it is near noon. If it had been true, maybe she could have kept him alive longer than I did.

Gwen, I didn't eat her rum raisin, I bought it for her so she would leave my cheesecake alone. I cannot eat raisins, so she was safe. No sweets are safe around me, or Cheetos.

I am sorry Kevin. I never really cared for birthdays or presents. I had them for my kids and Billy but I am an odd-wad, or haven't you noticed. I am terrible to buy a present for because I don't care to get them. Mama always had big birthday parties for me until I was about seven. I think I just got jaded as I got older.. Do I say Happy Birthday? Well, I hope the day was better than yesterday or the day before.. Today was a better day for me and so I made one step forward. My family understands me too. Unfortunately for them, Billy loved getting presents. When I cleaned out his things he had so many things that he never wore, never used, just because he loved getting presents and they loved lavishing them on him. I would get angry at him because the kids really could not afford all they got him and he calmed it down. Now, I wish I had just kept my mouth shut.

Anytime that little charmer is on here, you know we are all smiling. Our therapy for today. Thank you so much Butch.

Well, Brianna loves cheesecake too, but maybe my growling when she got close to it drove her away. (I had her rum raisin ice cream). I am devious.

And soothes the savage beast. I grew up on country music. Never knew there was anything else except the many Fannie Crosby hymns in our Missionary Baptist hymnals. Do you know I can go in a church (now we are talking about our small town churches, some even have pianos and organs), anyhow, I go into one of these small town churches, see the man leading singing over by the piano and immediately start crying. Now, to the untrained eye, I look like a sinner needing saved. No one can look inside my head and see my daddy all those years leading singing for every service. Remember, we even ran off the bulletin and cleaned the church. It never fails. Don't know why I have this phenomenon happen, my dad has been gone since 1984. When I stayed with my grandma, I would wake up to her little high soprano singing "I Come to the Garden Alone". My dad, who played every instrument "by ear" would sing me to sleep at night, some Slim Whitman, Red Souvine, or Red Foley songs. Most likely it would be a Jimmie Rodgers (The Singing Brakeman) about "all around the water tank just waiting for a train, a thousand miles away from home, just sleeping in the rain" and I would cry for that poor man out in the cold. Heck, Daddy could even yodel. Then every morning I would wake up to KWKH radio country music. I think my life was a country song. Every Monday night we had "picking and singing" at our house and the neighbors would get out on their porches (remember them?) and listen to 5 to 10 people playing country music. One guy sang just like Elvis and would always sing me "Red Cadillac and a Black Mustache" We would have people come from all around to listen. Music was a part of my life, just like church. Small paper mill town. I think relearning to live again is our biggest obstacle. Music might remind me that I am still alive.