MORE LATER...

(I took this off the blog for awhile, ashamed that I was feeling/thinking this way. I'm learning about Relapse now, and the need for Self-Love, and Self-Acceptance all over again. If I have to feel ashamed for having problems because of years of emotional and psychological abuse & neglect, then I am not working my program, and I am allowing others to dictate how I feel about myself. I am not willing to do that. That is a sick system, and I refuse to become tangled up in that again. So here is my posting from two weeks ago, with its reality, as reality is.)

First off I will tell you that this will be an ongoing blog post. It has to be.
I am in the process of processing. I am going to counseling again. I am pulling away layers of the onion that I thought I had pulled away already. Down to the core I thought I was. But there is more to go through.

Or maybe this is a new onion. Maybe this is a different variety of onion, a Bermuda or a Hardy Yellow, that now I am beginning to tear away the layers of...once again in my life.

You know, you think you've dealt with all the shit in your past. You've gone to counselor after counselor over the years, and you've poured your heart out so many times, and you've cried ten billion tears, and you've written a hundred letters that you don't intend to mail.

And then you find yourself dealing with something new, something you never knew about, something you didn't expect, something you didn't remember...until now. Its called "repressed memories." And there is More Later.

And your life seems to be all screwed up again. And the pain seems to be just as cutting and intense. And the problems this all causes seem to be just as damaging to your life and friendships and relationships and future as the first time you began to face your past. And then there is more later.

I wish I had realized just how true the statements were that I have heard in 12Step meetings. I have been told that "there is always more layers, more to deal with." It may not be as hard, or as life-shattering, but there will always be more to deal with...another layer to pull back and examine, another layer to journey through...that you are always working on yourself, until you reach perfection (in God) in heaven.

As I begin on this new journey into my past, my self, I realize I have been given new tools to work with, and God has provided a new guide. This will be hard. This will be painful. This will be lonely. But I have some old tools to help, and now I am being given some new tools to use along the way on this journey. I can start again. I have done it before. And with God by my side, I will succeed.

Life is a journey, and I will treasure the hard and the smooth times. "THIS TOO SHALL PASS."

And there is MORE LATER...

Mr. Bluebird

Its been three days since I saw him. For the past four months he has been there every time I stopped by. Just hanging around, watching, taking in the scenery.

He's blue, but he makes my heart sing. He's the bluebird that nested and raised a family in my mailbox. I watched him make that nest. I even tore it out of the mailbox four or five times before he got it completed and moved his girlfriend in.

One weekend I forgot to go to the mailbox for two or three days, and what did I find when I grabbed the pine needles and started to pull them out? A nest of three small baby blue eggs, and that was that. I visited the mailbox every day (He had built the nest under the box in the newspaper shoot) after the mailman or mailwoman had made their rounds.

There I would find hovering over my head a bright blue and gold warrior, protecting his home and family. I would sing to him, "Good morning Mr. Bluebird, good morning Mr. Blue." and he would chirp.

I got to see the tiny heads with open yellow beaks waiting for mommy or daddy bluebird to bring breakfast, lunch or dinner. I was witness to tiny feathered flights of fancy, as they learned how to fly, and began to sore with their parents. And I got to visit the mailbox every day and hear the hovering wings above my head, my bluebird, protecting his nest.

Three days ago he was gone. No hovering. No chirping. No Mr. bluebird. In fact, I havent seen any bluebirds in three or four days. Have they migrated south before the Indian Summer sets in? Have they moved on, to find homes of their own in other places? Are they on vacation? When will they return? I long for my bluebird, and the fanciful flight of feathered wings above my head when I visit my mailbox each day to retrieve my mail. Where have you gone Mr. Bluebird?