lonliness – The Wind

The Zing of Kebraland: 39 Steps (con’t)

(we come back to see Princess Alzira still bound in the bottom of a large well)

. “Alzira…Alziiiiiiira…..Princessss….”

A faint lyrical voice was calling, calling this strange yet beautiful name: Alzira. Princess Alzira… Why did it seem like the voice was calling me? In this dream was I a princess? Was I the Alzira they were calling?”

” HEY GOOFY! WAKE UP BEFORE THEY KILL YOU!!”

. That did the trick! My eyes snapped open, angrily!

“Was that YOU Tiny?”I grumbled, “You ruined a perfectly good dream! I was a Beautiful Zebra princess, wearing a purple cloak-with a CROWN!!! A CROWN!!!! I had a lovely name too, Albira? Almima? Jemima-no, no….”

“Listen Goofy, and be quiet, would you please? Now is not the time for dreams…you are in DANGER!!”

. “What are you talking about?” I tried to get up but realized I was bound leg and leg, and leg and leg. It all rushed in on me; “THE MICE!! Those awful MICE!!! ”

Now I whispered, “Where are they Tiny? Did you eat them? Can you cut these ropes?”

. “Whoa, whoa now, big filly! One thing at a time… The Men of Mice can’t Hurt you… They are Mice, after all.”

. ” But they have tools , and ropes , and there are soooo many!”

. ” Goofy… I mean Princess Alzira…”

. “So, that is my name? I am a princess?” I tried not to be gabberflasted, I mean flabbergasted, but thwais was monumental news. I was having a hard time whispering, I really wanted to shout, to scream, to run away! “Please Tiny, untie me, help me climb out of here. I feel like I’m going mad…who am I? Is this why the Zing sent me. Am I the Great Zing’s daughter!? Please say that isn’t so…he’s so, so goofy!”

” He definitely is that! No, he is your Uncle. Uncle Dweeble. And he is not the true king. Your Father, Zad the Zadmirable is the real Zing of Kebraland! And your dear Mummy, she is Zolla the Zootiful, the Queen by his side. Your blood is as blue as the the water of the Great River that flows thru the zenter of Kebraland. Oh, boy, now you’ve got me talking funny…Well, there you have it, Princess, proof positive. Now I can untie you. I didn’t want you to hurt me when you were told… ”

. ” I’m still going to Hurt you…now can you please untie me? I have to get out of here and get to the abyss!!! We only have 50 days left!!”

. ” Yes, Your Highness… ”

. With that the ropes seemed to evaporate, and I tried to leap to my feet like the great Personage that I was! Aaaannnd, I teetered, and I tottered…..and I crumbled in a heap!

. “HA!! That was funny!!!!”

. I whipped my head around, flinging Tiny off head over tailfeathers, and seeing now the top dog of the Mice!!! He was bigger than his comrades , by about a pound, looking much more like a rabid hamster in a fat suit, than a mouse. And rather than a toolbelt He was wearing a holster with what looked like a tiny Colt of pure silver.

. ” Tiny! What do I do now? ”

. ” Find your Sea Legs and Climb!!! CLIMB PRINCESS, CLIMB THE STEPS!!!”

. Tiny was flying in a rage, all around the head of the Bloated Hamster, ruining his aim…

I again leapt to my feet, steadier now, and began running in circles looking for a hoof hold…Steps! Tiny said steps!!! And there they were, but they were so little! I had to try, so I kept saying over and over, “I AM A PRINCESS, I AM A PRINCESS (step 1 thru four zipped by…) I AM A PRINCESS! (8 thru 12 now gone) I AM A PRINCESS!! (now steps were passing in a blur..) PRINCESS! PRINCESS!! PRINCESS!!! (the light was now streaming into the shaft!) P-R-I-N-CESSSSSS!!!!

. As I took the 39th Step I burst out of the well with Tiny riding triumphantly on my head with wings in the air, in a big WOOOOSH of wind and feathers!!

brown rock formation — Photo by Marco on Pexels.com

. My hooves hit the dirt and away we dashed, me galloping, faster than ever before, my hooves barely touching the earth, my thoughts only on saving Mom and Dad, and the beautiful Zingdom of Kebraland!!!

. (hold your breath for the next installment, coming soon!! )

. c. The Great Zing of Kebraland, by Susan T. Martin

Fanning A Flicker

In my last post here on The Wind, I shared how ashamed I was to not want to help myself get well. Upon further reflection the episode was cringe-inducing, and I must confess, my statements were frightening!

Back in pool playing days my motto was, “It’s not the dog in the fight, it’s the fight in the dog!” This , of course, referred to my uncanny ability to get behind 1-6 in a race to 7, and the saying fueled more than one come-from-behind upset. (remember Chanelle?) So, I always believed I was not a quitter. I was in for the long haul, and nothing was ever going to slow me down again!

I forgot something in my rush to judgement on myself, in my fierce denunciation of my own weakness. I forgot that I am human, and that I am made of dust. I forgot that I have a real, unmistakable disease, one among many, yes- but I believe the worst one:

I have Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Manic Depression, The BIPO, and it is deadly. In this instance it stopped me, blinded me from recognizing a simple fact: I was physically ill and needed a medical doctor. I had become so discombobulated in my grip on reality that I did not realize I could not breathe!

I blamed my lack of sleep for my headache, for my terrible weariness. This I believed was due to a myriad of different causes, ranging from the bi-pap machine not working right, my bed not feeling right, the fact that I had too much caffiene the day before, even so far as to think I was being persecuted by the devil himself. The brain fog was so bad that I just lay in that agonized state, unable to pry myself from this bed of torment even long enough to take my medication, which would have at least enabled me to get to the doctor.

Finally, only through an extreme exertion of prayer, and a HUGE inner push did I roll, really roll out of bed and onto my feet. Still berating myself as a failure, and feeling hateful towards the entire medical community, I was going to cancel the appointment with my PC. For some reason, though, just due to my suffering, I suppose, I did find clothes and the courage to leave the house and fall into the car.

The heat stifled me, and the weather was blamed, the sun blinded me- so it was complained about. My car wasn’t right, my head wasn’t right, NOTHING WAS RIGHT!!!

Then she walked in, in a ray of golden sunlight, thermometer in her hand…

” Hello Ms. Martin, I hear you are not feeling well…”

“grrrr…mumble, mumble…headache…grrrr…pneumonia….grrr…sinuses…mumble, mumble….no sleep…rotten sleep apnea…grrr, mumble mumble….”, says I.

Doc replies, ” Alright then, lets have a listen to your lungs!”

“grrr, wheeze,,,grrr…well I did use some spray paint….grrr..wheeze…”

“OK, Susan, let’s get you a breathing treatment! I’ll be right back with the nurse!”, pipes Dr. Wonderful, as she floats out on her golden cloud of I-Know-What-I-Am-Doing-ness…

——————————————————————————————————————————

(Twenty Minutes and 1 Treatment Later)

“WOW, Doc, I really feel BETTER”

(down curtain)

———————————————————————————————————————————- THE REALIZATION DAWNS

In retrospect, I DO NOT KNOW MORE THAN Highly trained Physicians. I do not recognize when my manic episodes have overtaken me, and I am unable to recognize how sick and confused I am when my Bipolar Disorder is not being managed properly.

Should I hate myself for giving into weakness and despair. THE ANSWER IS

NO-NO-NO-!!! A THOUSAND TIMES NO!!!

I would not berate someone with a terminal illness like Cancer for giving in to despair, especially when they are sick, sleep deprived, manic and lonely. I deserve the same consideration, and yes, LOVE, from myself. If my GOD, JEHOVAH loves and forgives me, then who do I think I am not to???

PostScript: My choice of featured Image reflects on feelings of Love for my puppy Izzy, who I had to put to sleep last month. It was one of the most difficult things I have ever done, because she was not at death’s door, of having a life threatening emergency.

No, my darling girl was just suffering. Suffering the pain an injured spine can bring, and the indignities of age on tiny Arthritic Feet. She lay awake every night panting and groaning, and spent each day unable to walk without crying.

She and I had a long, heartfelt talk, and she finally helped me to see that she loved me enough to let me go if I was suffering. And I recognized that this was also the most loving thing I could do for her. It was a hearthwrenching and agonizing decision, but for her, I did it. She would have done the same for me.

Goodbye my dear friend and ever loyal and dedicated companion. I will remember you. I thank God for the gift of our fuzzy cohabitants on this glorious planet He made for us.

His day is coming.

A ONE HANDED ENTRY

mommy with her sisters, before we knew she was sick.

this is tough, this being me.

i say all kinds of euphemistic things:

endure, be brave, be faithful…

a memory stirs,

i am back to missing you.

i am glad you are not suffering.

i am glad the pain is gone.

but here i am left,

wondering.

how do i carry on?

my life is like typing one-handed,

always swimming uphill

with one broken paddle, one broken pencil,

one half of one one-dollar bill.

i remember the days of our freedom

the two of us crying and laughing at once!

sipping our vodka tonics and talking like schoolgirls

till we were tipsy and high.

your kneecaps jumped up and down,

so i put you to bed,

worried that i somehow harmed

those beautiful knees.

they parted to give me birth,

but i don’t feel alive.

the sunlight changed the day you died

left me all dim and damaged inside.

now my life is like typing one-handed.

always swimming uphill

with one broken paddle,one broken pencil

and one half of one one-dollar bill.

my relief is coming, the shining day

you will return to me-free from any disease

it is our God’s promise to us!

the world will resound with our laughter,

our brothers and sisters will join in

we will all be perfect and no one will die,

not ever, no

never again.

i wont have to type one handed,

no more swimming uphill.

no broken paddles, no more broken pencils,

no need for one-half of one one-dollar bill!!!

Brainstorming

I am feeling a bit more positive than I was in this morning’s post, Dad got up for a while around 2pm, I laid on the couch dozing on and off, keeping my eyes and ears on alert. He fell on Wednesday, big gash on his head, poor Pops.

It happened while his caregiver was here, she called me saying there has been an accident. I believe the first thing you should tell a loved one is that the patient is OK before you dump the accident stuff on them. It keeps from shaving a couple years off their lifespan, because, as a family member, your heart just falls out of your chest when you hear,

” Hello, Ms. Kiko? There has been a terrible accident…”

What is the first thing you think of? Yup, I thought so: That he is dead or maimed or otherwise terribly injured.

So, I had been dropping off a painting at the Art Gallery, so I raced the 10 miles to the hospital in rush hour traffic, all the while telling myself that, as a law abiding Christian, I should be setting a good example and pleasing God by obeying the speed limit. I really tried, and I do always try, but that is a difficult task when your Dad is lying helpless and afraid in an Emergency Room.

I hit the Hospital doors at a trot, had my ID already in hand to be checked in, and rushed down the hall to his bedside, ready to find him at death’s door.

Of course, the scene that greeted me was quite different!

“Hiya there! Where have you been?”, he laughs with a big smile.

He smiles his most charming at the cute little nurse who is taking his blood pressure.

“Are you Ok, Dad? I heard you had a bad fall!”

He looks at me quizically, “Did I?”

I could just pinch him, but he looks so little and frail in the big hospital bed, so I kiss him on the cheek instead. Now I can see the big gash on his scalp, and blood all over the pillow. Oh, my, I think, here we go again. I just cannot bear him spending any time in this hospital, this is the place where he fell twice in May, the place that caused him so much anguish mentally, the hospital that hastened his Alzheimer’s Disease and broke his spirit, and the place where I had to face the reality of my losing him. Imminent. On the Horizon.

I hate that hospital. I told Dad’s doctor that I am trying to sue them for what they had done to him, and the doctor brings me back to reality: I am going to do whatever is necessary to get your Dad better from this fall…

Now I feel like a real heel, like that wasn’t what I wanted too?

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs:

I DO NOT WANT TO FEEL THIS!!!!

I DO NOT WANT TO WATCH MY FATHER DIE!!!

WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS FALL TO ME? TO SEE MY PARENTS, TO SEE THE PEOPLE I NEED, THE PEOPLE I LOVE, TO SEE THEM ALL LEAVING?

TO SEE THEM ALL DYING.

TO BE LEFT HERE all alone.

But, I did not say anything except , Ok. Thank You.

Now you understand a little more why I am so tired today, this month, this year.

Each day that goes by I feel a little more dead myself,

all tied up in my solitary cell, watching my life pass by.

I know deep inside that I want to do this, and I want to be with Daddy till the end. I just get so lonely at times. But I don’t mean to sound bitter. I am grateful for everyday I have. Just feeling a bit sorry for myself tonight. It will get better- I promise!

I will place my burdens on Jehovah tonight, He will hear my cries for help. I will pray in Jesus dear name, and Jehovah will breath new endurance into me.

His promises will all come true.

Been Away, a poem by Susan T. Martin

all the fear, for all those years

spent broken, spent frightened

spent.

awake now, knowing how

feel inside, heal outside

heal.

would you know? how could you know

never told you, afraid to hold you

afraid.

perfect plans laid, got the debt paid

freedom? slavery?

freedom.

traveled long way, got back today

missed home, missed you

you.

welcome my friend-did the pain end?

cutting outside, dying inside

dying.

spent.

heal.

afraid.

freedom.

you.

freedom.

you.

a poem by Susan T. Martin, 7/1/15

We Are Home…Aren’t We?

He sleeps hours on end while I fret.

He sits up in a recliner while I cook and fret.

He gets up to pee, yep, I fret.

He fights me over using his walker, my fretting heart pounds, fretting hands shake.

He is sad that he scared me, I feel guilty for that-and that makes me fret.

He smiles again, now back in bed, I try to lie down too.

I am fretting so much, I get up and clean,

” The visiting nurse will think I am an unfit caregiver…”

” The health department will take Dad away…”

” I better make more jello…”

Fretting, I twist my hands together and bite my lip.

” I must rest! Lay down and rest Kiko! Ok, ok I will…”

“Just as soon as I mop that backroom, there was a spot of kitty puke…”

” Oh, and there…oh, and there…there…there.”

” I really must quit fretting and lie down, I am exhausting myself…”

I lie down on the couch, heart pounding, back burning, mind racing.

Willing myself to rest I feel the room move away, and a warm cloud embrace.

Breathing slows, muscles begin to loosen and sleep is at the door…

He wakes up…I leap up, fretting that he will fall before I get there.

My mind feels like it is full of silver needles in a messy pile,

the needles are the shiny lines where my thoughts should be.

When they find us on the floor, which one will be on the bottom?

Fretting, I go change into clean knickers just in case.

Except I don’t have any, cause I have been fretting to much to wash.

I would have to leave him, and go outside to the washer.

He looks up from his cushy pillow, under the nicest comforter.

He says, “I love you.”

“Sit down now, and rest.”

The fretting stops, the faith flows in, and I lie down next to Dad,

and rest.

Moving Images by S.T. Martin2012

moving images

out of the swirling mists of time

images flit like scenes on a movie screen.

her dark hair in short cut, smooth and sleek,

lying coyly against perfect curve of cheek.

next image of child with chopped-off bangs

standing forlornly in kitchen doorway,

little striped cotton pants fall low,

eyes peer cautiously into lamplight’s glow.

through fog i see her glance at me:

mother’s gaze, so full of certainty.

daughter will survive harsh world,

grow into a brave, steady girl.

how wrong she was, this mother mine

lost now to cruel winds of time

for tumult wrecked the childhood lost

onto rocky shore fair dream was tossed.

i awaken to alarm clock’s clang

begin another drudgey day to slog,

put memory away till later time

when night’s embrace again lets film unwind.

by S.T. Martin c. 2012

A Poem Written for a Forgotten Reason…by S. T. Martin

Ode to my Father who Alzheimer’s took: A filthy thief, a nasty crook.

A man much adored by I, obscured by madness, left to die.

I care for him in his disappearance-vivid, charismatic, brilliant, delirious.

He who counted the planets, could name all the stars,

Now his stare’s distant like he’s gazing at Mars.

Oh, my dear Father,who Alzheimer’s took: You dirty thief! You evil crook!

Why did you steal my dear old dad? Leave me lonely-going mad!

I care so deeply, lost so much, do I now feel your demon touch?

Sometimes I sit alone to think, thoughts evaporate before I blink!

A family’s legacy of madness owned, no one here now, all alone.

Will I forget to wipe my chin? Neglect to wash the clothes I’m in?

Or, perchance, will someone see: find me in darkness, care for me.

Lead us through dementia’s night, help to cure this cruel blight!

Or are all our children due to bear their aging parents’ Alzheimer’s care?

c.S.T. Martin, April 27, 2015

Long Distance Lullaby

Where are you in this world? Are you in a war torn land, alone and wondering if anyone knows you are out there? Don’t worry- I know you are there. And I care that you are there. I want you to know that I am here, knowing you are there.

What are you looking at now? (besides the computer screen, of course…) Is the fridge empty? If you have a refridgerator, that is… I hope it has something in it for you to eat. Sometimes when I am afraid, lonely, or sad, I eat. Maybe a piece of toast, a cup of tea. You could pretend I am sitting there with you, on a normal day, two friends just chatting and having a cup of tea. We would not even have to talk, really. Just sitting together is nice.

Do you have a window to look outside? Maybe a wee patch of sky to see? Some blue, I hope, and a puffy white cloud. If the sky isn’t visible, or doesn’t look happy, you can share mine. (Although it is night here right now.) as we sit quietly, having our tea, I could describe a nice sky to you. I saw a pretty one this evening, soft pinks and lavender as the sun set. I see you like to take photos- is that your husband in that one?

Oh, your son? My, is he ever handsome! He’s a soldier in the war! Wow, you must worry constantly! I’m sorry- what a stupid thing to say…um…You don’t look old enough to have a son so grown up. No, really, you look fine. I don’t use much make-up anymore either, but I know you can’t get any where you are. If you were here I would share mine with you, and we could brush each other’s hair. I always find that to be so comforting.

No, I don’t have anyone to brush mine either, I’m divorced. Yeah, he was a bad man, he beat me. Oh, your daughter’s husband is like that? That is too bad. What! He killed her?!

Oh, man, that is terrible- I am so sorry for you. I did not know that went on in your country- and they did not even arrest him? Oh, I don’t know what to say. No, I didn’t know. Let’s just sit, I won’t bring it up. Here, let me hold your hand. It’s ok… there, there…

Me, kids? Oh, no, I don’t have any- wasn’t “in the cards” as they say… No, I wanted them. The truth is I couldn’t have children, no I had an abortion when I was 15.

Please don’t look at me like that- I was too young to understand. And I was abused, sexually, for years… No, it’s alright, I’m not offended.

So, have you had to live alone for long? You husband was killed in the uprising 10 years ago? Oh, my goodness, you really have had a hard time. I understand. You must be so lonely… It’s alright, go ahead and cry- I’m sad and lonely too.. see, now I’m crying!! We can wipe away each others tears, long distance!! No, it’s ok- you don’t have to apologize. Grief can be shared. Let it go, just let all the tears come. It is cathartic, and cleansing.

I’m still here, I haven’t gone anywhere. I will play some soothing music for you- to drown out the sound of the gunfire. Maybe then you could rest a little. That’s good, just shut your eyes a while. I will be here when you wake up.

See, this way I’m not alone either! Goodnight now, my friend. Don’t worry, everything is going to be alright. When you wake up it will be right again, good again. I will be right here, watching out for you…

Shhhh….shhhh……I will be right here.

What Color Is Despair?

what color will you paint my soul?

blues and greens in endless dreams

what color will you paint my soul?

what color will you paint my life?

blacks and reds of endless strife

what color will you paint my life?

what color will you paint my house?

winter white where no one shouts

what color will you paint my house.

what color do you think i see?

a space of clear that once was me

what color do you think i see?

what color should i paint my walls?

a shade of pink when no one calls

what color should i paint my walls?

what color should i wear?

it don’t matter no one’s there

what color should i wear?

why should i even try?

cause if i don’t i know i’ll die

why should i even

try?

a poem of sorts by S.T. Martin 3/5/2015