Scars and the tales they tell or hide …

My mom (who is almost 88 years old) just flew home after visiting me for a week. It was one of the quickest good-byes I’ve ever had at an airport. I think we were both afraid … afraid of the tears, afraid in case this is the last time we ever see each other. At her age, you never know. For someone who struggles with depression and BPD (me), you never know. These days in general, you never know. And we now live 2,000 miles apart.

my “Stoic Swede” mom and me in Tahoe

My mom knows that depression has plagued me most of my life, but she doesn’t know about the BPD and I don’t plan on telling her. She’s seen many of my scars. Some she asks about, most she doesn’t. Although she is quite educated and was a nurse and educator, she gets quite anxious at any indication that I might be struggling to cope psychologically with anything or be seeing a psychiatrist or psychologist. It worries her that there’s something wrong with me … Partly because she will then blame herself. So, I keep it to myself. I wore long pants and sleeves while she was here. I was continually conscious of myself and what she could see.

It was a good visit, setting her mind at ease that our move out here was right for me. The mountains help me to feel settled, grounded in a way the midwest did not. The movement of the American River soothes me whenever I am able to be near it and watch the sun reflect off its surface as the water rushes around and over rocks.

American River Canyon

American River Canyon (Photo credit: aresauburn™)

This is only a few miles from my house! The Forest Hill Bridge in the back is the 3rd highest in the US

I continue to have moments when my anxiety and fear of loss and abandonment overtake me. I had some even while she was here and again as I said good-bye. Will those ever go away? I’m beginning to doubt it. That is my cross to bear or fountain of youth to seek. Am I Don Quixote fighting windmills in my mind?

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza (Photo credit: M Kuhn)

In my last post, I was very discouraged about how few people were reading my blog. I contemplated the suicide of my blog and the word suicide was in the title. Suddenly, there were many more hits and several comments from readers saying they were reading, even if they weren’t commenting. Thanks for the comments that were made to that posts. They helped. I guess I need to keep fighting my windmills and some of them might turn out to be real and I can win the fight! Others will taunt me as they will. More scars may come from the fights, but I will fight to the end – never giving up hope for happiness in life. Not just fleeting moments, but deep seated, know it in my bones and it shows in my face real happiness.


2 thoughts on “Scars and the tales they tell or hide …

  1. I have been spending so much time either on FB or reading through blogs that I get too little of my work done. That said, I want you to know that I’ve just read several of your posts, and enjoy your writing. My mother didn’t want to acknowledge what she saw of my self harming: she once walked by the door of the room in which I was cutting my arm, merely to walk away and climb the stairs crying. I’ve never known what she was crying for — what I was doing to myself? her own demons? I will never know, only my own reactions to her refusal to acknowledge what I was doing to myself. As to our own personal level of happiness? I find myself full of paradox as to what and how I feel at alsmost any given time. The poem I wrote that you cmmented so kindly upon is I guess an example of that — I have realized that there is no definitive statement about myself that I can make about which the opposite is not also true. Our scars are like the marks of a sculptor, cutting away whatever of the original stone wasn’t the essence of the sculptor’s vision. We are sculptor and sculpted, vision and half blind visionary trying to see what we want to become. My energy and time here on the computer come and go, but I look forward in the future to reading both your new posts and to going over your older poosts. Your titles are intriguing and make me want to stay… 🙂 I’ll be around, lurking in the wind

  2. Thank you. I wish I understood myself better. My hope is that by blogging, and reading the posts of others’ blogs, I will do so and heal some. To know that others find any reason to want to read my posts is encouraging and an honor, Again, thank you. I continue to look forward to reading yours as well.

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