Dearest Mental Health

 When we were walking through Wal-Mart today, I felt how you shrunk down inside of me.  I felt your anxiety that ran throughout, where you started questioning your every decision this past week. How you were beating yourself up about everything that happened…stop!  Just take a moment and breathe!  

When you were in that past relationship, you were made to walk on egg shells as not to disturb the monster that you called significant other.  You ate guilt for breakfast, lunch, and dinner because you were manipulated to believe everything wrong was your fault.  You saw no way out from the prison that you helped to create for yourself by allowing the narcissist to have access to your thoughts while you slept.  It felt like there were days in that aftermath that you could barely breathe, but you managed to keep getting up every day and began working on yourself once he was gone. You sought help and guidance from a professional because you were so beaten down you couldn’t even stand on your own two legs at that time. Now, you’re better.  You didn’t run away from the fight for your life, you walked passionately and intently toward this version of you.  I kinda like you now.  So, why does everything in you say to run now?  That feeling to run away, not walk, from the job you’ve had for so long now because you feel that same pull into darkness you once did. The familiarity of those eggs shells crunching under your feet, once again triggering you to into a shell of this person you’ve become.  The sound of the lies piercing your ears becomes so loud you can’t hear me cheering you on past them.  You promised yourself to never be in a relationship like that again, but you were there first before this monster. Now he roams the same hallways five days a week with his control issues.  You’ve expressed yourself and are aware now of this trigger but I see you raising your hand to ask a question because if you  speak out of turn you are argumentative or combative to his sense of self.  My friend, you fought hard to get past those demons and I can’t stand by while you’re flailing your arms asking for help, not again.  I am listening, I hear you, I am right here with you now and always. So, breathe, get on your knees and give this one to God, let Him fight this battle for you.  Then get up, put your hand down, and walk toward the doors and opportunities that God presents. 

Signed,

M.E. 

Dearest Grandpa,

Yesterday was such a special day of celebrating your life.  It started at one of the churches you helped to establish, where family and friends poured in to listen to the official good-byes laid out in the beautiful program of your service.  Philip began playing on his guitar, "Lead me Home", with which we all listened to those sweet words, "I am standing on the mountain, I can hear the angles' songs, I am reaching over Jordan, Take my hand, Lord, lead me home.". The pastor of the church spoke a few words then Tommy began speaking on your "wonderful life".  His words rang so true to who you were in this world and the life that you led, for your family but first for Jesus.  Tears fell down my face as I reflected on your life and how you were now rejoicing with Grandma in Heaven surrounded by those that you had loved and lost. The graveside portion of your service was just as moving.  With each ring of the shots fired in the 21 gun salute to your service of your country, the impact of your life also rang  out to all those standing within hearing distance.  Then silence followed.  The solemness with which those soldiers stared at each other and the attention to detail they had in folding the flag that covered your casket sent tears streaming again down my face.  We seemed to all reflect on how "love in action" doesn't have to make a sound, but leaves a mark on the lives it touches.  Philip Smith's prayer brought us all comforting thoughts on how much you were loved on this earth and where you are celebrating now.   The hugs and handshakes of condolences to the family after the service looked like every Baptist church parking lot when the Sunday morning service is over.  Then it was back to the church to feed the bellies of everyone.  

After a few changes of clothes, we all met back at your home on Molly Circle for, what felt like, a last supper.  Tables and chairs were brought because the front porch just wasn't big enough.  I looked around and saw Tommy and Joni holding sweet baby Sadie in the porch swing,  Justin and Briana with Lincoln, Kennedy spreading his arms to give those precious hugs of his to K'lani.  Joel, Amy, Morgan and mom sitting there in the throws of conversation.  All the boys tossing the football back and forth embarrassing the older guys.  Wayne, dad, Philip conversating at one of the tables, I'm sure guns were involved in their conversation as some point.  Amy, Crystal, Julie, Jennifer, and Shannon discussing raising children and how difficult it can be at times but the humor that comes out of those struggles can lend a laugh to everyone.  Becky and Donna sitting there on the front porch watching everyone one last time enjoy this home their parents loved so intently.  I felt as if my mind was taking small snapshots in the hopes of always remembering these fleeting moments.  I got up to leave about three different times but found myself sitting down for just one more conversation, for one more giggle, and one more picture to hold onto.  

I hope that you knew how much you were loved on this earth, but sometimes I'm sure you felt unappreciated and perhaps, as if, not valued, but I've learned that love comes in all shapes and sizes.  Sometimes, it's big and sometimes it's quiet, but it can always be found deep, where the roots grow. I see those roots in my father.  The love he has for his grandchildren and now, his great grandchildren goes beyond anything I could have ever wished for.  I know you are gone now, but your legacy does continue on within those 7 children you raised that led to the 21 grandchildren they gave you  and onto the 44 great grandchildren and now to the 5 great great grandchildren. Your roots run deep within this family and will be remembered with smiles and fondness throughout these generations.  

Dear Mr. Addiction,

I had a dream the other night...I was standing outside in the darkness, fully clothed, when I could smell the rain coming, could hear the thunder as it got closer and see the lightning strikes as they became brighter. The wind blew hard and the trees bowed to it.  It was as if I was watching myself standing there unable to run for cover.  I slowly extended my arms out from my sides up towards the sky and felt the first rain drop plop onto my face.  One by one they kept falling until my entire body was soaking wet.  I just couldn't move...I had prayed for this rain before in my life.  Praying again now, that it would come and wash it all away as each droplet fell and pinged against me.  Standing there, in the darkness, allowing nature to seemingly wash away every feeling that I ever had that led back to you, I realized it wasn't the rain falling anymore, it was coming from my eyes....my tears. Tears I keep hidden from the world and from myself, for if I expose them to others, I expose my weakness as well.  

I woke up from this dream and realized that life is full of men like you.  It would be easy to say that you only go after the broken but that's not true.  Most people would think you come in like the Kool-Aid fella, busting in like you own the place, but it's more in the quiet moments of life you subtly knock on the door.  When we open that door, there you are standing there holding whatever it is that makes us forget.  We all want to forget...forget the pain, forget the sadness, forget the boredom, forget the lack luster life we have created for ourselves.  For it's in those moments that we are at our weakest and why we invite you back into our lives.  I had hoped 2 years ago, when losing my brother that you would never show up again, but I guess that was a false hope.  A few months ago, when hearing about an old friend succumbing to the same tragedy, I hated you even more.  I wanted to ask you all the questions that I would never have answers to.  Why did you lead these good men toward their fateful end?  Why did you continue taking from mine and others lives with no regard to our feelings?  How would these holes you created be filled with something other than you?  Where does possibility enter and you exit?  

 Life has taught me that you cannot have good without evil and you sir, are the evil one.  You are the devil I see in so many places, lurking in the shadows of hearts.  For those that are tricked by your shininess and allure of forgetting, I will do my diligence to be there to help them remember.  I have failed those I love in the past but I promise to always remember them and not allow you to make me forget how much they meant to me and those that loved them.  We are all flawed and have walked the paths you laid out before us because it seemed easier, but life is not easy.  It does get hard and we become weary, but God loves us still.  His love is what we need to carry within our hearts and not the burdens of this life.  I will continue giving my burdens to Him and praying, not for the rain to wash it all away, but for His love to wash over me so I can shower those around me with it instead.  

(Signed)

A broken but saved by grace being,

M.E.

Dear Homeowners of 303 Bethel St.,

Let me start by saying I am not currently, nor have I ever, been diagnosed as "mentally unstable", except once, by my momma, when I threatened to slash the tires of a sales lady for accosting me outside of a store that I will not name.  I wouldn't have done it though, I'm all bark with little bite and a deep seeded fear of the PO-LICE.  I have never wanted to visit their home, hence why this letter and not a pop up face-to-face introduction we're having now.  

Growing up in small towns we tend to live in a bubble of security, a frame of mind that nothing too bad happens.  Tragically though, the plagues that ravage big cities have now come to our slice of the world.  My brother, succumbed to this fervent drug plague and lost his life at the age of 39.  As you can imagine, grief became my companion that traveled with me every breathing moment that followed that news. It wasn't long after this that my daughter informed me I was to be a Grandmother!  Can you guess my reaction?  I was.....annoyed, irritated, and down right pissed off.  That wasn't your guess, huh?   I don't believe it would be most people's reaction or guess to mine either, but it was raw and real at the time.   The daily struggle had became “trying” and I was exhausted.  I had nothing inside of me to give myself let alone anyone else, including a tiny one that would deserve love and attention. I believe those that were around me daily kept waiting for me to obtain some glow about life for becoming this new version of a human being, a grandmother, and they were all sadly disappointed as I clung to my sadness.  For if I wasn’t sad for a minute then guilt crept into my heart leaving the could’ve, would’ve, should’ve(s) all to race through my mind and pile up at my front door.  Nothing anyone could say made me feel better, nothing I did seemed to take the sadness away. I found grief  not to be just one emotion, but all of them in a glass jar and each day you shove your hand in there and pull out one just hoping that one won’t leave you crying, face down into the carpet that day.  

One evening, during this past holiday season, while riding through town, I passed your home and looked over to see your big concrete porch decorated ever-so-perfectly.  I can't remember now how exactly the greenery and lights were strung, but I do remember the feelings that overcame me and I began to cry like a baby.  Now, here I am crying, staring at your porch remembering all of the Sundays sitting on my Grammy's big ole concrete porch.  It may not have been decorated the way you had yours, I'm pretty sure the extent of her decorating that porch was an old metal glider, a few yard chairs, and whatever season/holiday clings were on her screen door at any given time, but nevertheless, I was overcome.  I saw my Grammy, my brother, my children, my mother, my father, my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, all sitting there spending time with each other, laughing, talking, and loving. The tears were streaming down like joyous memories of childhood flooding me.  For so many months my tears were from a dark and painful place, but the effort and time you put into making your porch so inviting allowed light to fill my heart.  Here is where I say thank you...thank you for unknowingly spreading the season's intentions of happiness and family to all those that pass by with burden's on their hearts.  Thank you from the depths of my soul for those tears of healing that evening.  

Dear Trailer Park,

I guess when getting ready to depart from your gravel paths, I am becoming, somehow, a little emotional about leaving your potholes behind.  I once heard someone tell a story of a young girl the mother didn’t want her daughter to be friends with, her excuse to the daughter (?), because “she lives in a trailer and YOU don’t!”.  Unfortunately, the bougie brigade of society will only ever see rows of desperation and trouble instead of opportunity and worth.  

All those years ago, here I was a single mom with two small children, a low income job, and living with my in-laws, we desperately needed somewhere of our own.  There aren’t  many homes out there that are affordable in the tax bracket I was signed up for so up to the plate steps the “trailer park”.  Duh-duh-ta-duh!  The winds may have been dusty and the cats galore, but you were ours to make our own as long as I paid the lot rent each month, we were together, the three of us (Me, Morgan, and Matthew - mi familia). You were witness to our beginnings and watched as we made mistakes that led to uncomfortable conversations at times.  You were there for the good, the bad and the funny.   I can still see Stinky all upset that the Christmas lights weren’t working because he didn’t realize he had to plug them into the wall for the power, he stood there just plugging one end into the other saying, “see they don’t work!”.  Every time I touch that certain light switch I can still see Moody falling in what only can be described as slow motion, and how it felt to be suspended in time for even a brief moment with my Mongrels. 

For all the laughs, the tears, the tragedies we endured in this rectangular home, I will forever be grateful to you, Trailer Park, for being our home and allowing us the opportunity to grow together to become this family that I treasure so dearly.  Now, as I look around this trailer, that holds most of my cherished memories of life, my heart breaks a little to leave them behind, but just because there are a few extra tears at the end of one chapter doesn’t mean there won’t be smiles leading into the next.  

With humble regards, 

M.E.

Dear Santa,

While out Christmas shopping this past weekend, I spotted you in the mall, but you seemed to have your hands and lap full of little ones.  It crossed my mind to stand and wait but didn't want to take the focus away from the children since you appeared brimming with the Christmas spirit as you proudly sat there listening to their wishes.  I hesitated for a few moments to watch the magical looks in their eyes as they delightfully expressed their wants to you, but then the lights seemed to dim inside of me and I began to walk on to push past this feeling of sadness that overcame me.  

When I was younger, Christmas seemed so magical, the hustle and bustle of this time of year, the sparkly, twinkling lights everywhere and people smiling at each other, all filled my insides with a warm cocoa feeling.  As the years have gone by though, it seems to have lost that shine that my spirit once leaped like a reindeer to touch.  It has grown into so many motions, a tribute to the routine, with no twinkle of magic left to wish upon. You, yourself, being such a jolly fella may not understand how Christmas could be anything other than special, but some of us have been riding in the struggle sleigh (sometimes on the hood barely hanging on with an antler sticking in a place no one wants an antler stuck) for quite some time now.  Losing my brother this year has filled me with a sorrow that I never knew existed and everything now seems somehow tainted with this grieving feeling.  It seems easier to plop on the couch and potato my way past all of these feelings but I’m gonna try to slap a smile on, nod agreeably with those around, and choke back every single tear I want to release for the next two days. 

 I guess that’s what my wish is this year, while you’re watching anyway, could you dry those tears before they well up to the surface?  I wouldn’t want to ruin this joyous season for those who aren’t wading in their sadness.  Zip the boots up and off I go…..smile locked and loaded., hopefully.  

Thanks in advance for any help,

M.E.

My Dearest Queen,

    It is with humble and reverent intentions with which I write these words. It has been far too many days and nights that I have sat idly by without interruption as you have allowed this dismissive nature to surround you due to your fear of persecution. For even in knowing the consequences that awaits me for my harsh writings, I am more troubled by the actions of others toward my Queen and therefore, must be willing to accept the fate of my forthcoming.  

   Unlike men, who are born into the title of King, you traveled the wastelands of this life and earned your crown.  I have seen the pits from whence you arose, the ashes your feet stepped from would have stained most, but you were unmarked. Your body has felt life before it's first breath and held spirits that would one day walk this earth, why do you not roar in the faces of those that discount you as nothing more than a child attending to her dolls?  The commentaries of these men do plague my ears as they boast and tribute each other for their accomplishments throughout the kingdom.  They pass through staring as if these lands are theirs to take and do as they please.  My Queen, I beg of you, please no longer sit in silence!

    Others in the kingdom often forget the turmoil we encountered before your reign, but we, the patrons and peasants that have watched your rising and felt pride in you, our Empress, will no longer be privy to these misgivings of others toward you.  The sound of our march toward this repression will be as thunder across the land.  Fearful men will try to hide to surpass the storm but they know nothing of what their nature has brought forth this time.  This storm will be strong, this lightning will strike, and this earth will quake below their feet, for this is our promise to you, my Queen. 

The revolution must begin now!

Your devoted patron throughout time,

M.E.