Sometime around 1943, a young army Air Corp Sergeant stationed in Newfoundland is asked by his buddy to join him and his girlfriend and her friend for a night out. The young sergeant begs off. He really doesn't want to go. His buddy keeps after him. He tells him that his gal's pal is pretty. Maybe he used the term "a real looker." Whatever he said, he ended up convincing the young sergeant to go with him. They went to the USO for dinner, and then to a movie. He saw her again the next night. And the next, and the next. And thus begins a history, that somehow leads to me. I love the stories of how my grandparents met. I love the details. I want to know more! I love hearing what they wore, or the kind of car that they drove. I love my families history. Both my mother's and my father's. The story of my hungry Grandaddy courting my Grandmama. He wouldn't eat at her house because there were so many children and such little food. He would put a bisquit into his coat pocket before church and after church, he would make his way to my Grandmama's house, stuffing his mouth with cold bisquit because he didn't want to take any food from my Grandmama's sisters and brother's.
Both sets of my grandparents are from Kentucky. And while my parents have long since divorced, i crave the connection between my 2 families. I am amazed at how we come together. how we fit and who we are. I love to pour over pictures of my cousins and their families. It is so amazing, becuase even though we may not know each other well, we have a connection. Sometimes it is a very physical connection. Today, at my sweet grandparent's house I was looking at pictures. I found a very good picture of my GrandpaEarnie's late brother, Troy. I was completely amazed at how much I favored him. How strange. I have been feeling insatiable about the stories of my family lately. Maybe it's because this is the first time as an adult I have ever lived near them. I'm not sure. Whatever it is, I love how the family tree works down to me....and how I perpetuated it even further.
I love looking at photo albums. Any one who knows me knows this. If I have been to your house, I have more than likely seen your baby pictures and your wedding pictures and maybe even pictures of you having your children. The mystery of what makes us who we are is so fascinating to me. I saw a baby picture of my dad today. It was his first birthday. He is looking at his cake, but tucked behind his ear is a little curl. That baby is now my daddy, and my children's Grandaddy. But something about that sweet baby curl touched me. I am connected to that curl. To the sweet little chubby baby legs. That sweet, innocent baby boy became my daddy. The picture of my Mama sitting on the floor in a sunbeam holding a newspaper. I love to examine that picture for clues, looking for the girl, and the woman that my Mama later became. I will pour over baby pictures of my cousins looking for likenesses. Looking for connections. I am totally intrigued by connections. And by history. The history of what makes me, me. The sweet ancient pieces of my family, that slowly fall away with each passing year. Yes it's very sentimental. But each of those pieces of my own personal history have a story. And my god....do I love a good story. Thousands of little pieces of DNA all swirling around that helped create me, and I, in turn, helped create my own little pieces of history. My own curly-headed DNA that each have their own story. Life goes on. Sweet..............
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Dumbo
Been thinking about this a lot. And Audrey said to keep writing. I love Audrey.
20 years ago I was diagnosed with chronic depression and panic. Over these 20 (22 years actually) some odd years....I have watched myself literally come and go. The first panic attack I had was at Auburn. This is the first on e I ever paid attention too. There were probably others...I just remember this one so clearly. My boyfriend did not like me. That is a big old problem. And I could tell he didn't. He despised my major (theater), hated my friends, was scared of my mother and all her wrath and power, and I think, in his very small mind, he was scared of me. I was very sad. I had no...I mean ZERO self confidence. I loved being at Auburn, and I adored my major. it felt right. I had made some marvelous, caring, and precious friends. But I never totally felt like I belonged there. I was always waiting for someone to come tap me on my shoulder and tell me that Auburn had made a mistake, and that I would have to pack my bags and leave. So....my boyfriend. He was from a town even smaller than mine. He was my dear friend's cousin. He was good and sweet and everything I thought I should marry. He was also a bigot, a racist, and his family's adorable 'golden boy.' He was also, I should mention, very
Southern Baptist. After a difficult previous relationship with a Mormon, I really thought I was doing what my family wanted me too! In fact, they had told me to find myself a "good Baptist boy." So I dressed up every Sunday in heels and beautiful boutique dresses his mama bought me and stood up next to him in church. Even though I didn't agree or sometimes even believe in what all was being taught. But I really wanted to make everyone happy, and proud of me. So I stuck with it. Trying so hard to make him like me. And he just did not...... Now, I am not certain why he even stayed with me. I was begining to show signs of severe depression. I was crying a lot. Uncontrollably. I was not eating. I had no energy, was having terrible nightmares, and sometimes found myself gasping for breath even when I was resting. Then one afternoon he let me borrow his car to go to rehearsal. I needed to put gas in it. After I got out and put gas in the tank and paid, I got back in and headed toward the theater. Then I noticed people were honking at me. I looked around, but did not spot anything wrong. Someone else honked at me and pulled around me. They pointed at something. I could not tell what. Suddenly, I started to get really scared. I didn't know what I had done wrong, but it must've been something. A few more people honked and pointed, but by that time I was just crying. Then the next person yelled something out of their window at me. I completely fell apart. I was crying so hard, and couldn't catch my breath. My heart was banging, and I was about to throw up. Somehow I pulled over to the side of the road. I curled up in a ball and just sobbed. I begged God to just let me die because obvioulsy something was really wrong with me. I am not sure how long I stayed on the side of the road, but it took me a while to calm down. When I finally was calm enough to get out of the car and see what the problem was....well, it was simply that I had taken the gas cap off and placed it on the roof of the car. It was still there! I could still see the gas station from where I pulled over! I dont think had even gone 100 yards! I was so overcome with shame. Now I was late for rehearsal ( I had one line as a maid in The Philadelphia Story!) and I would get in trouble for that. And I still did not understand what had happened.
Later, when I tried to explain to the boyfriend what had happened, I was stopped cold by his complete lack of concern or sympathy. He said something to the effect that I was getting as crazy as my mother and then told me I needed to pray. I told him I had prayed. It didn't seem to make a difference to him. Evidentally, my prayer wasn't of the right mind. It makes me sad, now when I think of it. I was trying so hard. I was trying to not turn into my mother (who was well, um, batshit crazy at that time), and trying so hard to be the right girl for my family. I was starving myself because I thought that would help me get cast more, and because my mother was constantly reminding me how much losing 5 pounds would make me feel so much better! Wah wah...i know.....But what gets me now, is just how clueless I really was. It is so easy to look back on all of this and say wow, I really needed some help! I did go to a doctor, eventually, who diagnosed me with panic disorder. For years I took Paxil, (a whole other story!!) I got to thinking about this stuff, because today I felt panic surging up inside me. I used some yogic breathing and a little bit of prayer to center myself. It may require more than that....i am not sure. Still trying so hard not to use medication. I am going to go for a walk in a little bit. I will walk, breathe, and pray. ANd I will think about that boyfriend. Eventually, he did break up with me. My heart was very broken for a while. Until I realised it was the best thing that could have happened to me. You know, it's funny. I can look back on all of my relationships with fondness, or laughter, or even irony. All but this one. I still think about how sad I was and how hard I tried and how I always came up short. This relationship never has made me smile nostalgically. Maybe because it came at the time I mark as the beginning of my battle with depression. But I don't think that's it. I think it may have more to do with my lack of judgment when it came to my boyfriend. There is so much more to the story of him. But I started this blog for the purpose of tracking my health and walking. Funny what helps make us healthier is sometimes just letting go of old junk. Anyway, I am going walking on this glorious afternoon. I can bet I come back a better, more together person. Walk. Breathe. Pray.
20 years ago I was diagnosed with chronic depression and panic. Over these 20 (22 years actually) some odd years....I have watched myself literally come and go. The first panic attack I had was at Auburn. This is the first on e I ever paid attention too. There were probably others...I just remember this one so clearly. My boyfriend did not like me. That is a big old problem. And I could tell he didn't. He despised my major (theater), hated my friends, was scared of my mother and all her wrath and power, and I think, in his very small mind, he was scared of me. I was very sad. I had no...I mean ZERO self confidence. I loved being at Auburn, and I adored my major. it felt right. I had made some marvelous, caring, and precious friends. But I never totally felt like I belonged there. I was always waiting for someone to come tap me on my shoulder and tell me that Auburn had made a mistake, and that I would have to pack my bags and leave. So....my boyfriend. He was from a town even smaller than mine. He was my dear friend's cousin. He was good and sweet and everything I thought I should marry. He was also a bigot, a racist, and his family's adorable 'golden boy.' He was also, I should mention, very
Southern Baptist. After a difficult previous relationship with a Mormon, I really thought I was doing what my family wanted me too! In fact, they had told me to find myself a "good Baptist boy." So I dressed up every Sunday in heels and beautiful boutique dresses his mama bought me and stood up next to him in church. Even though I didn't agree or sometimes even believe in what all was being taught. But I really wanted to make everyone happy, and proud of me. So I stuck with it. Trying so hard to make him like me. And he just did not...... Now, I am not certain why he even stayed with me. I was begining to show signs of severe depression. I was crying a lot. Uncontrollably. I was not eating. I had no energy, was having terrible nightmares, and sometimes found myself gasping for breath even when I was resting. Then one afternoon he let me borrow his car to go to rehearsal. I needed to put gas in it. After I got out and put gas in the tank and paid, I got back in and headed toward the theater. Then I noticed people were honking at me. I looked around, but did not spot anything wrong. Someone else honked at me and pulled around me. They pointed at something. I could not tell what. Suddenly, I started to get really scared. I didn't know what I had done wrong, but it must've been something. A few more people honked and pointed, but by that time I was just crying. Then the next person yelled something out of their window at me. I completely fell apart. I was crying so hard, and couldn't catch my breath. My heart was banging, and I was about to throw up. Somehow I pulled over to the side of the road. I curled up in a ball and just sobbed. I begged God to just let me die because obvioulsy something was really wrong with me. I am not sure how long I stayed on the side of the road, but it took me a while to calm down. When I finally was calm enough to get out of the car and see what the problem was....well, it was simply that I had taken the gas cap off and placed it on the roof of the car. It was still there! I could still see the gas station from where I pulled over! I dont think had even gone 100 yards! I was so overcome with shame. Now I was late for rehearsal ( I had one line as a maid in The Philadelphia Story!) and I would get in trouble for that. And I still did not understand what had happened.
Later, when I tried to explain to the boyfriend what had happened, I was stopped cold by his complete lack of concern or sympathy. He said something to the effect that I was getting as crazy as my mother and then told me I needed to pray. I told him I had prayed. It didn't seem to make a difference to him. Evidentally, my prayer wasn't of the right mind. It makes me sad, now when I think of it. I was trying so hard. I was trying to not turn into my mother (who was well, um, batshit crazy at that time), and trying so hard to be the right girl for my family. I was starving myself because I thought that would help me get cast more, and because my mother was constantly reminding me how much losing 5 pounds would make me feel so much better! Wah wah...i know.....But what gets me now, is just how clueless I really was. It is so easy to look back on all of this and say wow, I really needed some help! I did go to a doctor, eventually, who diagnosed me with panic disorder. For years I took Paxil, (a whole other story!!) I got to thinking about this stuff, because today I felt panic surging up inside me. I used some yogic breathing and a little bit of prayer to center myself. It may require more than that....i am not sure. Still trying so hard not to use medication. I am going to go for a walk in a little bit. I will walk, breathe, and pray. ANd I will think about that boyfriend. Eventually, he did break up with me. My heart was very broken for a while. Until I realised it was the best thing that could have happened to me. You know, it's funny. I can look back on all of my relationships with fondness, or laughter, or even irony. All but this one. I still think about how sad I was and how hard I tried and how I always came up short. This relationship never has made me smile nostalgically. Maybe because it came at the time I mark as the beginning of my battle with depression. But I don't think that's it. I think it may have more to do with my lack of judgment when it came to my boyfriend. There is so much more to the story of him. But I started this blog for the purpose of tracking my health and walking. Funny what helps make us healthier is sometimes just letting go of old junk. Anyway, I am going walking on this glorious afternoon. I can bet I come back a better, more together person. Walk. Breathe. Pray.
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