Final Ten Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit: W-Y (There is no "Z.")

My goal tonight is to get the rest of these songs done so I can start writing about something else again. It's been a strange experience, spending all this time on songs I don't even like, but also kind of cathartic. I think when a relationship goes wrong we all suffer a sort of flux for awhile wherein we're trying to figure out where things went wrong and what we could have done differently. In fact, I'm starting to feel that way about this series of blogs but, if nothing else, listening to these songs has made me feel better on one score: At least I never took my grief and made horrible music to torment the ears of others with -- I've gone and made it into terrible writing instead.

1.) What Could Have Been Love, by Arrowsmith. I don't literally cry when I hear it, but "now that I'm alone all I have is emptiness that comes from being free" is downright depressing. If that's the intent, then this song is right on the mark.



2.) Mary Chapin Carpenter came out under the label of country music, but over the years her singing has taken on such political overtones that to me she's more like the folk singers of old. Whatever she is, she's really good at depressing me as well ~ What to Keep and What to Throw Away:



3.) This next song I find kind of comical. It's VERY Country, I've never heard of Loudon Wainwright III or this song Whatever Happened to Us, and don't know what "Argosy" is, yet I'm intrigued by the phrase "my proverbial heart." There's a deep thinker buried somewhere inside this simplistic song, and it's just enough to make you vomit.

4.) Who's Going to Ride Your Wild Horses? ~U2 Am I going to vomit or am I going to cry? I always liked U2, so I don't dislike the song, but it kind of sounds like many of their other songs, and I don't think I ever really listened to the lyrics very closely before. This lady who leaves the man in the song sounds like trouble, all right. He's most likely better off without her.

5.) From 1972, Woman's Gotta Have It, by Bobby Womack, is written as a little word of advice from a man who "had a love and lost her." It's pretty awful, but this previous line in quotes does qualify the song for our list.

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6.) Everclear's Wonderful reminds me more of Contemporary Christian pop music more so than alternative rock -- and I do mean contempt. Then again, it's pretty good music for fourteen-year-olds, and there sure are a lot of those coming out of broken homes. Poor kids. For them life may never seem quite right again. So much depends on how maturely their parents handle it. Just makes me want to vomit.
I did see a therapist once after my divorce who was adamantly against this Divorced Parent Bashing that goes on -- The way people sling around remarks about "broken homes" and how screwed up the kids are going to be, etc. She'd done some research and found that, statistically, children of divorce are not only just as well-balanced as many kids with married parents: They even do better in some ways, such as in being adaptable and seeing things from more than one point of view. So maybe I think this song is pretty bad, but rest assured if you also are a single parent, I have nothing at all against you. Just try to be honest and keep the lines of communication open with those kids.



7.) Along those lines, here's a song that really bothered me one evening on the oldies station when I was driving home alone after dropping my kids off at their dad's house: Cher, singing what Sonny Bono wrote, You Better Sit Down Kids. It's obviously told from the man's point of view, and yet I guess Sonny was no way going to pull that song off and actually sell it to anyone. I mean, Sonny Bono was already a terrible singer. If you add divorce to that it's downright depressing, so here's his ex-wife...



8.) This next song I hate more than all of the songs in this entire blog series, all together. My mom always sang along to it when it came on the radio, even (or especially) when she was still married to dad. Now that I've been married and divorced myself, this is just too much for me to take.



9.) Now in contrast to Barbara Streisand and Neil Diamond's insipid song, we've got Velvet Revolver's repulsive song, You Got No Right. Something about the way the music drags along and the singer sounds as if he's forcing his words through some kind of thick fog, really makes me nauseous. Enjoy!



10.) Oh, Dixie Chicks, why did you have to write this song and torment ex-wives everywhere? I'll bet women listening to the country music station everywhere cry their eyes out when this song comes on. I can't actually relate from a personal point of view because my ex to date hasn't remarried, and I highly doubt I'm going to give a care if he does. That ship sailed so long ago I think you could call it The Titanic. "He's two and she's four" made even me tear up a little bit, though. Poor babies. By the way, the song is called You Were Mine...



There you have it, folks.
I hope you're as relieved as I am to have made it through this blog series.
Next time I write, it's going to be a one-time entry on Divorce/Break-Up Songs that I love to sing to, so expect to feel empowered, inspired, and ready to sing along.

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Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 20 out of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "T."

You know, because it's so much fun!

For today's terrible song review, I turn now to the songs that make your heart ache -- possibly from anxiety -- starting with the letter "T."

My illustration here is something I found while looking for funny images referring to Online Dating, an all new (and more efficient) way to get rejected. And, speaking of rejection, the first song on my list is the classic Take a Letter to Maria...

1.) Now, this song is so bad that it's just plain funny. And kind of catchy... and I like the twist on the old "Getting a divorce because my husband cheated on me with his secretary" because, in this instance, the wife cheats on the man, driving him to cheat with his secretary... Stupid song.



2.) REO Speedwagon never ceases to amuse me. Although I often think all their songs sound alike, every time I run across one while seeking out bad break-up songs, I come across a song I apparently know all the words to... damn radio...



3.) Tell Me Why, by none other than The Beatles. I love them, so I love their songs indiscriminately, but I gather that a lot more people than I ever would have imagined absolutely hate all their early stuff, and a lot of their later stuff, too. Huh. Although I can't wrap my head around this fact, I am big enough to admit that this song isn't their best, and certainly their lyrics improved once they left the shadows of A Hard Day's Night... but it sure is catchy when in the throes of rejection.



4.) The Suffering, by Fishbone is admittedly one of their "nicer" songs (as opposed to Lyin' Ass Bitch), but I still don't quite understand why anyone would want to listen to it. I suppose it could be like the old "Sad Songs Say So Much" deal, but I personally prefer good sad songs if I'm going to mope over a broken relationship.



5.) I love ABBA because they are such an easy target when discussing bad break-up songs. The Winner Takes It All is at the very least not a completely mindless, happy-sounding song. And, being a bitter old divorced woman, this song is even somewhat relatable.



6.) I think probably the Pistol Annies' Trading One Heartbreak for Another is one of the most depressing songs I've ever subjected myself to. The music is uninspired, ponderous and repetitive, the singing nothing especially good, and the lyrics just deaden my divorced mother soul. Probably the worst thing about it is that there's this basic truth behind it: That getting divorced to someone you've had children with opens up a kind of wound that doesn't heal. No longer do I have to live with my ex-husband, but my children do. And I've always found it ironic that we divorce somebody because the two of us can't get along or communicate at all anymore, but, because we have children together, we are forced to continue to attempt to do so for a maximum of eighteen years of our lives. Frankly, by the time my children are both grown, my eldest will be the same age I was when I married his father, and I find that very depressing. Like any mother, I carry around that guilt and hope my children don't repeat our mistakes. This song makes me cry because it's terrible, but also because it's true.



Out of thirteen (lucky thirteen) songs that I listened to for tonight's blog entry, only these six made the cut for actually being about divorce or breakup, and all the rest were either ambiguous -- or downright chipper. This is not supposed to be fun, people! If you want to listen to the positive, empowering divorce songs, then you've got to hang in there for six more letters of the alphabet before I start those rolling. You may want to post some requests toward that aim. I have a few personal favorites, but I'm sure there must be more.

On the bright side, though, is the fact that I couldn't locate even one break-up or divorce song that begins with the letter "U," so really all you've got left to tolerate are five letters, none of which I will torture you with this evening. I've got some drawings to work on. Have a nice night!

Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 18&19 out of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "R" and "S."

Am I a card-carrying member, or is he?
The world may never know.
Tonight once again we explore the world of singing through your pain, envy and fury in relation to divorce or breaking up with someone.

I think it may just happen to be a healthy thing that I can write on this topic these days. As they say, when you can find it in you to make a joke out of something, you've beaten it.
It's been six years since my own divorce -- maybe seven -- and the marriage was over well before that. I've never missed being married, but I do miss my kids when they're away. That will never change.
Please be forewarned that the following videos might make you vomit.
Or cry.

1.) I couldn't find any songs that began with an "R," but a dear friend of mine suggested Return to Sender. I'll assume you know who sang it, and note that this must've been a very racy movie, considering they did not film him only from the waist up!



2.) Not to be outdone, I do have a few songs that start with the letter "S" for you to consider. The first band has been referred to as "one of America's most beloved (and sometimes hated) commercial rock bands." I know them best for Wheel in the Sky, Don't Stop Believing, and Anyway You Want It, but for our purposes tonight we have Separate Ways, by none other than Journey. (And, yes, it does make me want to vomit. Not one of their better songs.)



3.) Starting Over Again, by Dolly Parton. Now there's a contrast to Journey for you. Honestly, it makes me think of my own parents. Bad song. Vomit.



4.) Sunny Sweeney, why do you hate my ears so much? Don't you have anything else to sing about?! Staying's Worse Than Leaving reminds me of when I packed up myself and my children and left my ex-husband. Some people judged me and put their two-cent's worth in, but they didn't know the whole story, and in my defense I have to point out that there's a huge difference between liking a guy in general and having to live with him. If only I'd known I could have made an entire career by singing badly about it, my life would have turned out very differently. Vomit, in case you couldn't guess.



5.) Swallow My Pride, by Billy Bragg. I REALLY hate this guy's singing style. This has been a rough night for me. I think I've completely run out of bile.



Five songs. That's all I can stand for tonight, especially since the last three were all country music. This is one of those nights when I'm wondering why I subject myself to so much torment listing and listening to such terrible songs, especially when I consider how there's at least ten songs I can list off the top of my head that begin with "T" that I have to gather up for next time.
In the meantime, take care of yourself and try not to dwell on your own card-carrying member of The League of Evil Exes. Goodnight.

All In My Head

I've been having an interesting time with brain rehabilitation... I was going to say "lately," but it always has been of vital interest to me, considering it's my life I'm talking about here.
Tonight when I arrived at the Neuropsychologist's Tuesday night Traumatic Brain Injury Education/Support Group, I found myself sitting alone across the table from him because none of the other group members wanted to brave the weather.
Well, technically one of them left a message stating that he'd had a bad couple of days and now couldn't actually locate his car keys at all, let alone drive over.
I took this as an excellent opportunity to pick the good doctor's brains for items not seeming to connect as my neurons attempt to fire.
The Brain Rehab people have begun to flip-flop a little in their services. They've done an amazing job helping me with my speech and language/cognitive coping skills and accommodations, so much so that I will be done with that portion of my therapy by the end of next week. And I've been out of physical therapy for about three months now.
Every three months they hold a "family conference" that includes all the therapists, the psychiatrist, care coordinator, any social workers or counselors involved, and of course any of my family members who care to be there as well. These meetings are an exercise in frustration for me, because I keep hitting up against this wall that I've been trying to get a feel for. I don't know how high or how long it is, and I'm not sure if I'm going to find what I'm expecting behind it.
Basically, each member of the staff gives a summary of their area of therapy and what my goals are in that therapy. They all smile at me at once as the person who has the floor says, condescendingly, "You are working on re-training your eyes to converge and diverge more effectively..." Then they spell out what progress I've made and what the game plan is, just exactly as if we haven't been talking about these things individually for the past nine months since the accident. I know what I'm working on, and I know what I'm working toward. What I want to know is how they intend to get me there -- not by each individual skill set, but in terms of The Big Picture.
Now, in their defense, I know they can't predict with 100% accuracy how far I will progress, nor in what amount of time. The reason they provide all that basic information in the meeting is to help outside people (counselor, sister, etc) to understand what I'm working on and how I'm doing, and they can't very well ignore my presence and address my sister instead of me. I get all that, but my sister already knows all that coming into every meeting. What she wants to know is:

1. How are they going to transfer me back into the regular work world? I'm doing volunteering at
   
   the school two mornings a week, and it's causing headaches and dizziness. I asked the vocational therapist what to make of it, and she suggested I keep a journal of all the details surrounding these symptoms so that we can adjust my environment as much as possible and get a realistic idea of how much of what I can tolerate. Then I do a part time job, and then I go back to the real world and work a job...except that she has no idea what a good job for me to go into would be because she's not a certified English teacher, and neither is she me. 
2. Is there a specific end goal that I'm working toward, and what is it? Can I go back to teaching? How? How do all these therapies lead up to getting my life back on track?
3. Why can't they approach the insurance company more proactively as opposed to reactively? They get me all worked up and concerned about what the insurance company might do, and so far none of their dire predictions has taken place. It seems very unprofessional.
4. When I asked about counseling with an expert on PTSD for my car accident dreams and terrible fear if the car happens to move the wrong way while I'm in it, why did they look and smile at each other as if mentally shaking their heads at me? 
5. Why did the care coordinator tell me privately that, although I deserve to have all the therapies my neuropsychologist recommended, I should probably not pursue it (again with the insurance company in mind)?
6. Why aren't they organized enough to find out our concerns and address them directly as things progress? They remind me of driving with an adult as you're getting your license: They've done these meetings and worked on these kinds of cases so much over the years that they don't even think to explain some of the things that they know automatically. They just assume we will know. They asked us if we had any questions and, when we didn't, they all smiled across the table at one another and shook their heads, which gave us the impression that no one else ever  asks questions at that point. My sister and I decided to write them down next time, and to call or email the therapists in charge of each of them.
7. Why are they completely ignoring my brain-hand coordination and communication issues, and faulty fine motor skills in my right hand? I will bring it up the occupational therapy for that and they blow it off and tell me it's not going to help me. Fine if it won't, but don't I have a right to have it addressed elsewhere, then? Maybe I should start looking...

Anyway, all this hanging  in the balance and I find myself getting a two hour one-on-one with my trusty advocate, so naturally I settled in and started asking questions.

The doctor was very disappointed in their approach, but told me that they've been burned by both the insurance companies and lawyers quite a bit over the years, and things are getting harder and harder to get covered all the time. This tightening of the fist has squeezed out some of their enthusiasm quite a bit, and naturally so, but he will continue to insist that this isn't good enough.

"Why should you be punished for being smarter than many of the rest? You deserve the same amount of treatment as anyone else whose sustained a 47 point drop in their IQ. It should not matter that you were well above the average to begin with. Just because you're now average because of the car accident doesn't mean that it's good enough for you and what you are used to being able to do. You shouldn't have to beg for treatment that they're supposed to be giving you anyway. Let's get to work here and start talking about a game plan for you. They're good people at the brain rehab, but sometimes they need to get a little nudge. You hit a plateau and they consider you done, and of course we're glad they've helped you make so much progress, but now there's nothing wrong with you casting out a bigger net and handling these other issues.They've become more noticeable as you've eliminated the most debilitating of the symptoms, but that leaves time and room to work on the remaining symptoms."

I got out a sheet of paper on which I'd written all my questions and a pen in order to record all the answers as he gave them to me. It's a lot harder for me to take notes than it used to be. I used to be very well organized from thought to paper, but this may be something I can get back again over time. It's in my head somewhere; I just need a little more assistance in teasing it out. Here's the feedback he gave me:

Regarding My Volunteer Work

• I will need to record a list of symptoms and environmental triggers that may be causing them, and I will need to continue working at the school until I've got enough data to examine for a solution.
• I shouldn't be doing any one task for more than an hour at a time. 
• Two hours on the copy machine were bad for me because of the constant noise, reading directions and working out how to follow them, looking down and then up again as I did so. My eyes do not look back and forth from one job to another now without having focusing issues. This action repeated over a two hour time span brings on neural fatigue. 
• The doctor is going to dash off a note to the vocational therapist to suggest that I need to be in a well-organized classroom in which I can follow the same daily routine.
• For my part, I need to pay close attention to my symptoms and remind myself that if I overdo it my brain will quit on me, and he doesn't want me to set myself up for failure. And for mercy's sake don't try to push through if I am experiencing symptoms too strongly. If I'm feeling dizzy, then I need a break.
• I will have to discuss my limitations with the school secretary, who is very kind and helpful, and also with the teacher I'm working with.

Big Picture

• After volunteering, the doctor would like for me to get a repetitious job as the next step toward
  
  getting back to work again, some kind of bench assembly where I can sit and do the same task for up to four hours a day in order to determine how long it takes for me to become overly fatigued. In this way they'll have a better measure of how much I am capable of doing at a time without all the distractions. He says he doesn't like to have to subject me to something so tedious, especially since there's a lot of really low-functioning people doing that job at the place he's got in mind, but has to recommend I swallow my pride anyway because it's only another step in a process and not something I have to be locked into for the rest of my life. 
• The third step in the process of getting back to work will be to progress in the assembly line job to doing quality control checks where I've got an example to check side-by-side with the finished parts. In this task, as well as any other I undertake for now, I need to avoid doing a lot of up and down and back and forth work with my eyes, as that is bound to bring on dizziness, headaches, and the onset of fatigue again. 
• In the fourth step, I will need to do some job in which I have to overlook the progress of others -- He's thinking maybe as a shipping clerk, so we can see if I'll be able to build up toward a part time position of four hours a day that challenges my brain as closely as if I were teaching without actually putting me back into a school until we know how I'm progressing.
• For the fifth step, the doctor says that if I'm almost done with my degree then I should finish my degree. He says that I can go back to college with accommodations, finish my thesis, and have that master's degree to get a job teaching online. This would be an idea job for me because it will provide me with the kind of time and structure that I need to succeed.
• I didn't know this, but the brain rehabilitation center can get tutoring assistance for me to help me finish what I started at the university. He says there should be no question that the accident stopped me from finishing my class, and that therefore this loss must also be compensated for. 

Addressing Additional Therapy Concerns

• The doctor says that whether they like it or not, the brain rehab will be receiving a letter from him detailing all of the above, but additionally to remind them of his other two recommendations.
• He will see to it that he specifically insists and spells out that I need occupational therapy for my fine motor and organizational needs that have yet to be addressed. Occupational therapy (OT) is the use of treatments to develop, recover, or maintain the daily living and work skills of people with a physical, mental or developmental condition.^[1] Occupational therapy is a client-centered practice that places a premium on the progress towards the client's goals.^[2] Occupational therapy interventions focus on adapting the environment, modifying the task, teaching the skill, and educating the client/family in order to increase participation in and performance of daily activities, particularly those that are meaningful to the client. ~ Wikipedia
• And finally, there is a specific therapy method for PTSD that has turned out to be The Magic Bullet for the long-sought cure/coping skill set to help PTSD sufferers get the control and calm they want for their lives, helping them once again to live effectively.
• The doctor wants me to see someone who specializes in that method of PTSD treatment. I've been having car accident dreams. There's also my fear of the car going too fast at a certain angle, or last night when my brother-in-law hit some ice and the vehicle we were in slid out into the opposing traffic lane and then overcompensated to the right again -- these kinds of things terrify me, and I shouldn't have to live with this problem the rest of my life. If the brain rehab won't help me get the treatment, I may in fact have to look into finding someone myself. I'm not sure where to start, but the doctor is aware of my needs and planned on going home to work on them yet tonight.

My two final thoughts on these long-belabored problems are these:

1. I don't care for the way the brain rehab shrugs off my additional symptoms as if to say, "So you can't sleep in peace or move your right hand effectively? Wow, sorry about your luck, but it's not debilitating enough for us to address. Congradulations. You're average. Have a nice life."
2. Thank God for a neuropsychologist who really cares about his patients as individuals and goes to such extremes to get them the help that they need. This man doesn't seem to ever go home any earlier than eight o'clock on any night, and even then he takes files home with him and goes over them. In my case, he's planning to night on writing a more specific list of recommendations for the insurance company and the brain rehab. He's also going to write a pointed letter to the vocational therapist outlining his plan to help me reclaim my future. 

The accident put my life on hold and altered my course. I thought it had also taken any chance I'd ever had to finally achieve the self-sufficiency I've been fighting so hard to claim, but because so many of the people in my life care about and encourage me every step of this journey, I feel as if I've almost gained more than I had to begin with.

Painting Happiness

Tonight's the revolution.
Tonight I shrug off the blues and get to work painting the last two little "gift" paintings that I'm doing for my support group so that I can move on to the other work.
I'm going to pick up my brush and spread thankfulness and love instead of mere paint.
I'm going to daub on chunks of happiness and drip some joy.
As I said last night, happiness is a choice.
And I'm choosing it.
I'm still alone, but I'm going to fight back against the sadness.
I'm going to create my own happiness.
I'm going to nurture my own sense of peace and goodwill.
I'm slinging these words around like spackling, and if I keep it up the meaning of it will be lost.
Sometimes you can ruin a beautiful piece of art just by fiddling around a little too long, trying to polish it up for others to see.
It's better to keep it raw, keep it real, to present it as an unblemished representation of what you've got inside you.
One of the most wonderful things about artwork is that you can say some really hard things, instantly and urgently, without opening your mouth at all.
And one of the even more wonderful things about artwork is that another human being has only to take a glance and have an instant reaction.
One of the mysteries of artwork is how it means one thing to me when I paint it, but when I pass it along to someone else it can take on an entirely different meaning.

When I painted Joy, the woman I gave it to saw the love of her sister-in-law speaking to her from beyond the grave.
Even more mysterious is the way that my artwork creates a bridge between me and other people, a silent but strong understanding between us of something either tragic or beautiful that draws them into the painting in such a way that they can both interpret it using their own experience and also understand my experience.
A connection.
Contact.
And a new bond is formed.
It was Gandhi who said, "Find yourself in the service of others," and his words repeatedly prove themselves to be true in my life.
It's especially powerful when I paint something specific for a person I've gotten to know quite well, such as any member of the support group.
One woman has had a very hard life and struggles daily against a disease that she knows is going to win out in the end.
We have absolutely nothing in common. In an ordinary setting, I might have no reason to address this woman -- Actually not much chance of ever having met her at all. My life takes me places far from her world. But over time, as I hear her story, I feel a powerful empathy with her capacity to love people who can never love her back.
So when I paint something for her, a simple something just as a keepsake, I make certain that it will tell her what is good about her and about her life. I will tell her with my painting that she is beautiful, that what I see inside her is stronger and more compassionate than what she sees herself. I give her the painting, and with it my friendship. It's a gift to me as much as it is to her. It changes both our lives.

I know from the group a young father who struggles with alcoholism. He doesn't have custody of his son and doesn't see him regularly, but he loves that child with a fierce determination that I know there is no power strong enough to keep him from being there for that child... except his own weakness. He bolters himself up with anger and despair.
I know those feelings. I know the anger of having my children taken from me, the grief of shuttling them back and forth and trying not to hurt or confuse them by my determination not to get myself entangled with their father, or anyone else like him, ever again.
I know the kind of people I want my children to be when they grow up, and I know that it's my responsibility to finish college, get a good job, follow my dreams, and find a proper life partner, because this is the only way they're ever going to know how to do it.
I don't judge him for his addiction. The things that have happened to me in my lifetime have stripped me of many of my self-righteous judgements from the past. I understand now that we all have our demons, we all have bits and pieces of our pasts dogging us incessantly. We all struggle in that space between where we are and where we want to be -- of who we are and who we want our loved ones to think we are.
I ran up to him after the group last week and pressed the painting into his hands, breathlessly explaining that I made it for him and I hoped that he'd take it in the spirit it was intended and not feel that I was judging him, because I was so not judging him -- and I think on his face I saw something for a moment that wasn't angry, just lonely and afraid. He was touched, and he thanked me.
I told him that simply by caring so strongly for that little boy, he is a good parent. He cares. That's a whole lot more than a lot of children have. I told him that he's good enough, that he tries hard, and so long as he doesn't quit that will be enough. I'm hoping it will be enough.

One woman from the group has a processing disorder. I think nine or ten months ago I would have had no idea what this was, but now that I've been mildly brain damaged (or severely, if you take into consideration the 47 point drop from the car accident), I know now that it's a condition in which you see and process everything differently than the rest of the world.
In her case, I see that she is almost constantly all keyed up, tensed and harsh in her effort to push the world back a little so as not to become overwhelmed.
But her love of music is her salvation, her peace and her soul, so I painted for her a reminder.
I think her harsh, anxious voice would have once been all it took for me to want to avoid her, but I know now what it is to have the world press at me from all sides to the point that I can't think and I feel far too much. I can relate to having grown up in such an invalidating environment that I'm constantly wired up, waiting for the next attack instead of being myself and minding to my life with no concern for the judgements of others. But I think at one time it was me who did the judging, and it's a little bit as if these paintings are my way of making amends.

This painting on the left was for the woman who seemed every day to fall deeper and deeper into that dark place I could now traverse with my eyes closed.
I saw her flirting with death, lying stranded on the island of her depression thinking that no one would miss her after she was gone. I knew that darkness, and I couldn't stand seeing her sink into it week after week.
I told her one week that I'm beginning to find that the most depressed or otherwise mentally ill people that I meet are nearly always also the most creative and funny people that I know, and in a hollow voice she said, "Yeah. I'm sure they said that about Robin Williams -- 'Oh, you're so funny! I'll bet everyone loves you....'"
I think if I had passed her on the street I would never have known how much she hated herself and how sick she was of living alone and in pain. I would have seen a smiling, laughing person with a great sense of humor and a keen wit, gregarious and seemingly well-loved.
I wouldn't even have known that she needed me.
She wouldn't have known it, either.
In fact, I'd often felt a sort of distance between us, a sense from her of being held at arm's length.
Every week I would come dreading that she might not be there this time, might not be anywhere anymore.
I painted her this picture. I gave it to her and watched as a flood of happiness flashed over her features.
And now she smiles every time she sees me.
We smile at each other because we understand each other now.
She knows that I care and understand.
I've caused her to care and understand me as well.

And now for the woman whom I've known the longest, the sweet, kind, mild-mannered woman with the big heart and the gaping wounds of verbal abuse and invalidation pulling her to her knees. Her label is Bipolar Disorder, but she is not a label -- She is a human being. She is smart and funny and friendly, but she seems to think, as so many women do, that she is stupid and silly and not worth very much at all. She has good days and bad days -- Days she stays in bed, days where she could clean and organize and otherwise fix the entire world.
She is troubled by these boxes of things that she would like to sort and get rid of the bulk of, troubled week after week, for the entire year that I've known her. It sounds like those boxes never get done.
Once I offered to come out and help her, but she looked so horrified at the idea of me seeing how she lived that I changed the subject and never offered again.
She has an irrational fear of homelessness and an ongoing abuse of herself for being too ill to work.
She lives with her aging father, who sounds to me like the most miserably manipulative person I've ever heard of. She has sisters who won't help her but are always quick to judge the job that she's doing, and the fact that she doesn't have an official job that makes her any money. She seems so beaten down by her life, but more and more she comes into our group and displays a tremendous capacity for love, strength, humor and grace.
If only she could free herself of the people who drag her down.
She longs to be free but is frightened to death of it.
And I understand.

The only group member remaining is the one I have had the hardest time understanding. She came to the group with ropey scars marring her wrists, a flat, expressionless voice and a body that seemed to have eaten the real her alive, and was now just masses of flesh.
I couldn't stop looking at those scars. At first she spoke very little, but those scars spoke volumes.
The only other thing I knew right away was that she loved cats with the same passion as I had loved them when I was ten. Cat earrings, cat binder, cat notepaper...
I thought there was nothing the two of us could possibly share. She was desperately afraid of being left alone, and possibly even more afraid of being alone in a crowd. She ate and cut and bought things to stuff down her pain and self-hatred.
I understood that kind of pain.
Hell, if I'd ever had any kind of money I would have bought things to ease my own pain. Sometimes I buy things that I can't afford, and those times are always when I'm feeling lonely and depressed. I feel as if they'll cheer me up, but they never do for long.
In time I learned that she's funny -- Oh, probably the funniest one of all, because her humor is so sarcastic and her punchlines delivered with deadpan accuracy every time. I didn't have to think twice about what to paint for her, but it took me a long time to find the right words to go with it. We're so different in so many ways, and she has always been so careful to choose words that never entirely give her away. I look at those scars, and I don't have to ask what she's hiding.
And all I can do is paint her a picture and hope it eases her pain.
It's all very well that my artwork makes me feel happy as I'm working on it, but ultimately it's more about who I'm painting it for.
On nights like last night, I think I need for someone to notice my pain, someone to make or give something to me so that I know they understand.
But on nights like tonight, I realize again that I notice my pain. My pain is real because I feel it, and not because someone else does or does not understand it. I understand. And I can make and give what I need to myself.
I can paint happiness.
That's such a great gift, and you'd be surprised how often I forget that, how often I devalue myself and tell myself that I have nothing to contribute to this world.
Like they say, we are all facing some kind of battle, and that is why it's so destructive when we judge other people. In so doing, we are also placing a judgement upon ourself.
Only when we strive to understand the experiences of others do we completely understand ourselves. This is because we are nothing if not part of the world that we live in, in connection with the people around us. If we can understand them, if we can make an effort not to judge them, then maybe we could show that same kindness toward ourselves.
Maybe

Stuffing Emptiness

I get this lonely, empty feeling sometimes when it's time to turn in for the night.
I don't want to go to bed when I feel this way.
I tend to scour the web for signs of life and some sense of connection.
On these nights, it always seems as if I've already checked every email, and written every person who could possibly answer back.
Some of the most important people in my life don't answer back on nights like this.
I turn to Facebook and search first my wall and then my newsfeed for signs that there's anyone else in the world feeling as empty as I do, or signs that anyone else cares to know how I really feel at all.
I read one joke after another searching for something to laugh about.
I read one inspiring quote after another, searching for something that will make me feel less alone.
I stuff myself with food and media, filling in the hollows of my soul and the cracks in my mind with as much -- or more -- than they can hold, as if this overflow of information is going to stick to my ribs instead of running out the cracks and leaving me feeling emptier than before.
On these nights, I can hear the clock ticking on the wall.
The ironic thing about this is that probably I could pick up the phone and give someone a call if I wanted to. An actual call is likely to evoke a response.
Or I could paint and all the emptiness would disappear.
But now that I've remembered that, I realize that I have to go to bed.
I'm going to be doing some volunteering in the morning. There will be smiling people and lights and children, and I will be helpful and friendly and brave. I will walk those halls with an answering smile to a question no one is even thinking to ask me -- Are you all right?
My smile says I'm fine, doesn't it?
And I am.

Fine is an apt description.
Fine means that I'm coping.
Fine means that I've got it under control.
Fine means I don't need anyone to help me.
Fine means that I'm observing my life from a distance and don't know how to actually live it.
Fine means that intellectually I am aware that loneliness and emptiness are not permanent states.
Fine means that I will be able to fall asleep so long as I imagine that there's someone there holding me and reassuring me that emptiness and loneliness are not permanent states.
Fine means that reading a blog or "Liking" something on Facebook is contact enough for anyone.
Fine means that even though I want people to care enough to answer my emails, I am aware that the world doesn't end when they don't because I could go out and find new people who do care.
Fine means that I can always shove down my sadness and find something funny to joke about.
Fine means that I can joke about my sadness, even -- make it just one big joke.
Fine means that if I do find someone on Facebook who is hurting, lonely, sad, or discouraged, I will take the time to post something encouraging on their wall the way I wish someone else would do for me.
Fine means that I will continue to struggle with my diet of food and information overload for as long as it takes for me to stop being fine and start choosing to be happy.
Because, damn it, being happy is a choice.
I can make that choice.
Fine means that the reason I don't just pick up the phone and call a friend or family member, or paint that cathartic picture, is because I haven't decided yet if I deserve to be happy at all.
Fine means I'd better get to bed so I can sleep until the morning, for in the morning I will be distracted from the emptiness for a few hours, sometimes days or weeks.
I almost wish I didn't feel fine at all.
I wish that I would feel motivated instead.
I wish that I could learn to love myself.
I wish ...

All these people in the world, and yet so many of us feel so alone.
So much stuff in the world, and yet so many of us feel so empty and needy.
And there is nothing fine about being empty and needy. In fact, it's an unspoken taboo.
To admit that you are not fine, that you are empty and need to be filled with love and acceptance, is like admitting that you've stolen from people or lied to and cheated people. To admit that you are not fine is ugly and scary because it means that maybe no one else is really fine, either.
And so i don't.
Except here.

Because no one reads it anyway.

Strained Eyes

Today I was volunteering at the local elementary for about three hours. This is one step of many toward getting back to work full time. I did two hours' worth of copying and an hour of paper-correcting, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Nice school, nice kids, nice staff. Good morning.

My neuropsychologist had warned me against going to the school for quite so long and then off to vision therapy for another hour because he said it would absolutely wipe me out for the rest of the day.

He was right about that. Even after a nap I still feel queasy and I'm not going to be online for long because it literally hurts to look at the screen. I don't know how else to build back up toward working full time again, though. The doctor and I will be discussing this further.

In vision therapy it was discovered that my left iris sits minutely higher than my right iris, which the therapist says may be the key to what's been going on with my eyes. 

Eye problems are common after car accidents because if you get hit from the rear your brain splats up against the front of your skull, while if you get hit from the front the brain will slap back against the occipital lobe, which is the center that controls eye movement. I was hit on the right side and then the back, and so have been having trouble with converging and diverging, focusing up close and then far away. The eye muscles are weak and get easily tired, which results in dryness and aches in the sockets.

This Iris thing is something the Therapist might never have figured out if I hadn't come to her feeling really tired already (Ha! Mr Neuropsychologist!), because it caused my eyes to move less fluidly. The left eye didn't really want to converge at all, which explains why I've had shooting pains in my right eye all afternoon -- It's doing the work of the left as well as its own. Noticing the left and having heard me complain of the pain in the right, she took a picture of my eyes and then measured them out. There it was, right on her iPad -- my left eye does not line up with my right eye, so when the two separate images converge there's not an even overlap, resulting in blurred vision.

The Therapist is going to have the Behavioral Optometrist take a look when he comes in sometime this month.

If this should turn out to be the case, then all I would need to fix it would be to have a prism put in my lense. Yay!

I wonder sometimes what it must be like not to have glasses. I've been wearing them since I was seven.

Chances are people who wear prisms probably can't do contacts.

This is my take on what getting therapy for your eyes is like...

All the same, it's most likely good news and has been a good day.

Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 15 -19 out of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letters "N - Q."

I've been busy the past couple of weeks doing important things like, you know, living my life and all that, but I want you to know that I have not forgotten you. I'm sure you've been losing sleep nights wondering if I'll ever get to songs starting with the letter "Z," right? It so happens that I, too, have been anxious in this regard. I can't help but look forward to what on earth I may find when I google Divorce/Break-Up songs that begin with the letter "Z." But right now we're a little over halfway through the alphabet, so we'd best buckle down and get to work.


1.) Today's first Break-Up Song is by The Black Keys. Although Next Girl isn't a particularly good song, this group has always surprised me with their style and overall presentation. If this number is especially bad, at least it's brief, right?



2.) I can't dream of why Tegan and Sara's song Night Watch wasn't more popular, coming out as it did in the era of Nirvana... [Sarcasm Font]
Have you ever heard of them? If so, you're definitely one up on me. If not, I looked them up on Wikipedia for you: "Tegan and Sara is a Canadian/Indi, Indie/Pop duo formed in 1995 in Calgary, Alberta, Canada composed of identical twin sisters Tegan Rain Quin and Sara Keirsten Quin." 
I suppose it was the gimmicky twin-factor that did Canadian hearts good in 1995, and I am just jealous that I don't have a twin sister to write songs with...or have any musical talent at all, whatsoever...



3.) Eric Clapton's Old Love. There's nothing at all to the lyrics, and no reason the song should run for six minutes and twenty-seven seconds, except that it's Eric Clapton, man, and he does what he wants. He was cited at the fourth best guitarist out of one hundred in Rolling Stone Magazine (Here's the address, if you're curious, but we all know Number One had to have been Jimmy Hendrix: http://www.rollingstone.com/music/lists/100-greatest-guitarists-of-all-time-19691231/jimi-hendrix-20101202 ), so I guess we can attribute the song's fame for all the guitar playing Clapton gets to do in this song. Eric, I wish my old love would go away, too, but singing about it for over six minutes isn't going to help.




4.) On My Own. Sadly, not the song from Les Mis. The lyrics are pretty good, but this is just not my kind of music. I really hate it. The one part that makes me laugh a little, though, is: "Now we're up to talking divorce, and we aren't even married..."



5.) I guess you know it's all a matter of taste, that I can criticize Patty Labelle and still really love Jim Croce's Operator, but I just can't help it. I heard this song during my formative years and thought it was kind of sweet. "My best old ex-friend, Ray" is just about the most pathetic phrase in any break-up song I've ever heard. I relate to the idea of trying to get rid of a feeling that you have for someone who chose to disengage from you entirely, and also that need to show them up by acting as if you've got it all together and don't care anymore, either. This song doesn't make me physically weep, but my heart is crying. ha ha



6.) Usher's Papers. As an artist, I think he crosses all kinds of boundaries. The bland pleasantness of the music for the subject matter is kind of off, but I can't quite bring myself to vomit over that. 



7.) Pendulum, by Anastacia, "the little woman with the big voice," is a study in break-up denial, but I love the strength she's shown personally in battling breast cancer.



8.) Genesis's Please Don't Ask, proving once again that old adage: "The majority of people who say 'I'm fine' are just lying." 



9.) Quick -- The song's a little weird at first blush, but there's something about Jill Scott that I can't help but like -- Maybe it's because she almost became an English Teacher. I'll bet the world lost a good one. By the way, The No1 Ladies' Detective Agency was a very good book.



Well, I couldn't find a number ten, so that's it for the week, I think. 
I still maintain that after I've finished this long and sorry exploration of Divorce/Break-up songs that make me want to cry/vomit, I'll be more than happy to go into Empowerment Songs next. Play 'em if you've got 'em.

Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 14 of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "M."

1.) One lovely thing about researching Divorce/Break-Up songs has been the insight that I've gained in the process. In this particular example, I have finally figured out just what exactly is wrong with Kanye West: Oedipus Complex. Whatever else may be disturbing about his character or temper, one can't help but feel a little softness for a man who so clearly loved his mother. She was a talented, creative and intelligent woman in her own right, so it's no wonder that her child might write a song about being jealous of her boyfriends and trying not to become like them one day. Assuming the song is based on life, of course. Of course, I may just be saying all this because she was an English Professor for roughly 31 years, and I most certainly do have a soft spot in my heart for educators. Anyway, from Donda West's son: Mama's Boyfriend.



2.) Mean, by Pink. She seems to know something about it. Kind of depressing. meh.



3.) Memphis, Tennessee was originally sung by Johnny Reed in 1964. Either covered by Reed or ChucK Berry, the song is the same -- I had to listen to it twice to realize that the "Marie" that the man in the song is singing about is his daughter and not his ex -- He gives it away at the end when he points out she was only six. This ending is the clincher here. It's that style of singing, though, where the tune is kind of monotonous and the singer isn't very expressive, so according to my lights it only gets a vomit. He did, however, sing Secret Agent Man in 1966. That's a fun one. Kind of dumb, but fun.



4.) Did you know The Drifters sang a song called Mexican Divorce? Me, neither. It's just like all their other songs, except not about making out under a boardwalk, and with an occasional female chorus. I thought maybe I've never heard of it because it was racist or something, but now that I've heard it, I think it was just bad. Vomit.



5.) Miss You, The Rolling Stones. It's The Stones, man. What can I say?
I used to find Mick Jagger kind of creepy, and so the video grossed me right out as a teen. I'm sure they've got better songs, and this one drags awfully long for what little it has to say, but, again -- The Stones.



6.) Misunderstanding, Genesis. For just a minute I thought I'd never heard this song before, but hey, it's Genesis. I knew. In a way I suppose it's no different than the issue I take with the Drifters' song: Doesn't sound as upset as the words would indicate. Sounds pretty dated, and not much to it. No tears or vomit to be had here.



7.) The Moment of Truth, Matthew West. One of those Christian music songs where the singer is addressing his audience, making it sound as if he's giving advice to one specific guy who's listening to the words. Is he listening? I wouldn't be, just because the music is bad. It pains me that so much of this music is either boring, tacky, elitist, or just a poor copy of rock music. This is in part because these songs are way more about what the artists are trying to say about their religious beliefs than whether or not the music is well-written. You can find some deep messages with a lot to say, but the music kind of ruins it much of the time. It's not all bad, and this song's message isn't all bad, but once the divorce or break-up has already happened, it takes a lot of work to pull it all back together. I guess it's the question we all end up asking, "Is this worth it?"



8.) My Bed, Sunny Sweeny. I hate this song. It makes me want to vomit.



9.) I know these are supposed to be songs that start with an "M," but this song popped up along with Sunny's other sunshiny little numbers, and I just have to remark: Drink Myself Single, also sung by Sunny Sweeny, is the epitome of all that's awful about country music. She's mad at her partner, decides to dress in her low-cut top and tight blue jeans, and then go out and get staggering drunk so that she can find out what it's like to sneak home late after sleeping around like he does. Great. That'll really help you make some wise choices and improve your life. I hate music that encourages people to abuse alcohol and and/or act stupid. VOMIT



10.) When My First Wife Left Me  ~ The lyrics aren't good. The guy lost his wife, rightfully blames himself, and then sings about it, but it's John Lee Hooker, and that man sure does have the perfect voice for the blues. He's good, too good to mock. Probably too good even for me to comprehend.




Well, I don't know about you, but I'm glad all that's over!
The blues number was easily the best music in the bunch, more because of who sang it than what it said on its own. The rest of the songs were pretty Miserable.

Tune in Next Time for some songs that start with the letters NO!

Divorce/Break-Up Songs that Make Me Want to Cry/Vomit, 12 & 13 of 26 ~ Songs That Start With the Letter "L," and a Couple of "M's."

Turns out I couldn't find very many Divorce Break-Up songs that begin with the letter "L," but no worries -- There's still plenty of misery available for this one day, and enough misery to go around still tomorrow. 

Although I started on this subject as a response toward songs that made me mad or sad, I am finding, as my sister once told me, "The reason there are so many songs about having a broken heart is because that really happens to a lot of people all the time, and that really is a big deal." It was nice to hear it, simply because I'm so prideful that I don't want to admit that someone could make me feel so bad about myself or my life. I try to shove things down and be stoic about them when really writing or singing a song, writing a poem or short story or letter, or even painting about what hurts -- No matter how truly awful, funny, sad or true to life that expression of your feelings may turn out to be, it's best to let yourself grieve before moving on. Otherwise, you stay stuck in this mode and start weeping at odd moments, like when Can't Help Falling in Love is playing at some gas station, or you get angry when you hear Queen over the sound system in a department store singing Crazy Little Thing Called Love because it's just so horribly cheerful. In the end, you can use that time to put the power back into your own hands where it belongs. You don't have to allow someone to make you feel bad or question yourself. You've got the power to get over them and let them go. I guess what I'm saying is, "Listen to these songs and wallow in misery if you must, but if I could I'd choose to make you laugh. You deserve that gift, so go ahead and give it to yourself."


1.) Ben Folds' Landed. It's okay. Not the kind to make me cry or vomit, but it's simple and it does what it came here to do.



2.) In Love for a Child, Jason Mraz sings about being a child of divorce. Having no idea what the reference to the pool and losing memory was about, I looked the song up. I read that every time Mr. Mraz sings this song live, he dedicates the song to his mother. In the September issue of Richmond Magazine, there's an interview stating that "While the song could be interpreted to have left Mraz feeling negative about the whole situation ...Mraz says "this is a love song... really when I look back at my life, I was loved through and through and through. So it was a really powerful song for me and to share it with them too ." 
Because it speaks of lost innocence and misunderstanding, it's a sad song all the same.



3.) I hadn't listened to more than one minute of Fishbone's Ma and Pa before I started smirking. I probably should include in my already long title "Also Divorce/Break-Up Songs That Make Me Want to Laugh." That said, like Love for a Child, the song addresses what divorce can potentially do to children. It also suggests that there could be a better way to handle that experience so that "little sister" doesn't have to act out against all the fighting. Maybe if it were less dated it could be a better song, but for now all it does is make me want to...vomit, I guess. Laughing is not an option, and it does get less funny as I adjust to it... oh, crap. This is catchy, too. I'm going to be singing it out loud some time tonight when I least expect it because it's now stuck in my head.



4.) Made of Money, Adam Ant. It's bad. This video is pretty hard to look at, considering it's just his face and has no lyrics. Add to that the fact that the lyrics are really bad (makes me choke on my shreddies" was my personal fave) and it makes me want to vomit.



5.) Did you know that Eddie Cantor was the first to sing Makin Whoopie? I'm bemused that they were allowed to film/record this in 1928, but mind you it was before the heavy censors came raging through Hollywood. [Side Note: In case you didn't know that 1920's movies were done in color, I would like to point out that at this stage of development, historically the color process for films involved a two color (red and green) additive system that used two color negatives pasted or printed together, and I believe that this video is a result of that process]. The song about marriage and divorce (in case you didn't know), and is really rather cynical for being sung by a comedian. And for the record, by all reports Cantor was happily married and had five daughters. I'm going to end on this note despite the fact that the song is also pretty silly, this version especially so, making me want to roll my eyes like Eddie Cantor rather than laugh.



Tomorrow I'll have a list of  ten more Divorce/Break-Up songs that make me want to cry/vomit beginning with the letter "M."