Lonely but not alone

I think we all pretty much know this, but, as a reminder, depression sucks!

It makes dealing with my life’s choices and circumstances really, freakin’ hard…especially because I’m doing it on my own.

I’m not “alone,” exactly. I have some friends I can call, some online groups I can reach out to, and two faith communities which offer spiritual support and help me reconnect to God’s presence when I’ve gotten overwhelmed and forgotten to let that divine presence in.

However, I AM doing it on my own. 

I reside in an apartment with five members of my immediate family during the week, then I sleep on my ex’s couch on the weekends, so our daughter, who experiences the special needs of high functioning autism spectrum disorder, can be around her dad despite his weekend work schedule. The expense of child care, especially overnight, isn’t affordable.

I’m the support person for the family in my home, sort of: My 22 year old daughter, her 23 year old boyfriend/partner, and their two toddlers – my 2 year old granddaughter and her 1 year old brother. My youngest child is 7. My adult daughter works outside the home and the daddy takes care of the g-babes at home. Everyone’s stressed and relations are strained and we’re all in survival mode – mutual emotional support is in very limited supply.

At my ex’s things are a different kind of stress, as might be suspected. The atmosphere when we’re both there is tense and angry. My PTSD is triggered and I basically shut down, emotionally – except that the sadness, anger, and resentment tends to result in tears and irritability.

In the midst of it all, I’m trying to work through my emotional trauma recovery and learn how to manage the triggers and symptoms of Bipolar II Disorder and PTSD. Plus there’s the fibromyalgia, hypothyroidism, and diabetes.

Parenting, learning how to parent, a child on the spectrum is painful and exhausting, despite the good parts, which can be overshadowed by almost daily meltdowns. The joy and love I get and feel from her and the grand babies is wonderful and keeps me from going too deep into the depression, but the physical  and emotional exhaustion of sibling rivalry between the three of them and tantrums wears me down.

There’s no money, no time, and no space.

I don’t want a man because I need one to make me feel whole. I want a partner to help carry all of this. I want someone I can trust to do what needs to be done when I need the space and time to take care of myself. I want someone who will take the initiative to do the things that need to get done that I. Just. Can’t. I want to be able to hug and be hugged, just because. I want someone to have meaningful conversation with, to laugh with, to just be…with.

Except, I don’t have the wherewithal to be and do those things for him. Then there’s the whole issue of what sane, secure, stable, and capable man would willingly enter this chaos? What man wants a mentally and physically challenged, middle-aged, obese woman with the responsibilities and entourage I have?

Who has the time to “get out there” and look. Not I. Who has the energy and the confidence? Not I. Who has a broken picker and doesn’t trust herself to attract the kind of man with the character, integrity, and capacity to enter this world? Yep. That would be me.

Loneliness sucks about as much as depression. At least God loves me.

An open letter from a fat woman

Dear Everyone (including fellow fat people),

I realized something yesterday. I don’t enjoy being asked if I’ve lost weight or gotten smaller. This question is usually asked by those who are slender, generally healthy-looking, and physically fit. However, others who are also overweight will ask the same question. Often this question is accompanied by facial expressions and asked in a tone of voice which indicate the person is issuing a compliment and an encouragement. For those who are aware of the mental/emotional health issues I deal with, this question is followed up with, “You look happy, like you’re doing good/better.” It occurred to me that I feel neither encouraged or complimented most of the time. In fact, part of me feels frustrated and defeated, less than.

I had two people who I know love me and care about my well-being ask me at two different times yesterday if I had lost weight. Last weekend a third person asked the same and two weekends ago, someone asked me if I had gotten smaller. Four different people over a two-week period of time, all of whom hadn’t seen me in a month or more, asked me if I had lost weight. Each time, I felt obligated to say, “Thank you.” However, because I’m almost compulsively honest, I followed that up with, “No, I think I got smaller but then got bigger again,” because I know how the mental health disorders I experience have manifested in the past three months, as stressors in my life have multiplied, almost exponentially, and that I’ve been abusing myself with food. I know how my body feels, how clothing feels on my body, and how body has changed shape again in response to the binge eating and unhealthy food choices I’ve been struggling with.

Why not just accept the compliment and keep the rest to myself? It’s dishonest. I feel like I need to be truthful with myself and with others. If I were to say, “Thank you,” and move on, then, part of me would believe the lie that I’m doing better than I am and that the issues I’m having around food aren’t “that serious” or of concern. In the world of addiction and recovery, that’s part of the slippery slope of denial and it’s dangerous on many levels: physically, mentally, and emotionally.

For me, being fat is an outward sign of my food addiction and binge eating disorder. It is a sign that the depression aspect of the Bipolar II Disorder and the anxiety part of the PTSD are in more control than my rational self and spiritual being. If I accept the compliment and move on, then, I experience a sense of shame about these things, because I’m keeping them hidden from people I care about and who I know care about me. They need to know that I’m not okay. I’m not doing better, and that I still need them to be aware that I need them to see the truth that I’m not well and need their continued awareness that I’m still at risk.

This compliment is also an unconscious form of fat-shaming. It sends the message that I’m more acceptable if my physical appearance fits into an idealized shape more like theirs. These same people wouldn’t express their concern for my mental or physical health by asking me outright, “Have you gained weight. Are you doing okay? Is there something going on?” That question doesn’t get asked because it’s considered rude to comment on someone’s obvious weight gain. Why is it rude? It’s rude because gaining weight is often accompanied by a sense of shame, a sense of failure, and we are conditioned to avoid pointing out people’s shameful things in public ways . . . unless we’re doing an intervention, we’re assholes, or we’re talking about celebrities and other public figures.

Complimenting a fat person for losing weight sends the message that you believe they are less acceptable when they look more fat and that looking less fat makes them more acceptable. It reinforces the belief that no one wants to see a fat body, therefore, as long as I’m fat, no one wants to see me, because they won’t see me, they’ll just see my fatness.

In some ways, being fat and trying to lose weight is like being poor and trying to get rich. Society sends the message that being fat isn’t acceptable. You can exercise it away, you can eat it away, you can choose whether to be fat or to be thin. To some degree, those are true statements. Society sends the message that being poor isn’t acceptable. Get a job. Get an education. Get a career. Save money. Set a budget and stick to it. These things are also true, in certain ways. Yet, none of these things acknowledge very real barriers and systemic forces which exist and make those things more than challenging for people experiencing obesity or poverty.

Root causes of obesity go beyond eating too much of the wrong food and being physically inactive. I can’t tell you how many thin people I know who eat junk food all day long and live primarily sedentary lives. As a matter of fact, I lived with one for 18 years. There are genetics, mental health issues, ingrained generational patterns of lifestyle, physical health conditions, financial capacity, and life obligations which all factor into whether a person is fat or not.

Root causes of poverty are equally complex. I know people who work multiple jobs, don’t spend their money unwisely, shop with thrift, and work to save their pennies, but who remain poor. It takes money to make money. In order for someone to get an education that, MIGHT, lead to a good paying position, on a high earning career track, there has to be enough money to pay for the right education, often at the “right” educational institution. There has to be enough money to keep the bills and basic necessities, such as housing and food, stable. There has to be enough money to pay for the supplemental educational tools. In order to save money, the student repayment debt, as well as the costs of housing, food, transportation, clothing, and health insurance cannot meet or exceed net earned income. There has to be enough time and peace to allow for homework to be focused on and done well.

The correlation between poverty and obesity is also a real thing. If you experience poverty, then your ability to afford the healthiest foods is compromised. Your access to those foods is compromised if you are reliant on public transportation because you can’t afford a vehicle. The time you have available to prepare home cooked meals is limited. If you live in poverty, you typically are either living with a lot of other people in a small space or may not have a home at all, so buying in bulk and storing food is not possible. If you are a parent of young children, living in poverty, you can’t afford to pay for childcare while you go exercise. Being able to afford a gym membership is out of the question and the money required in order to pay for supportive footwear for walking, jogging, or running is needed to pay a bill or buy school clothes for the kids.

I experience poverty, as well as mental and physical health issues which are all interconnected with the fact that I am morbidly obese. I’m working on all of those things and I have a lot of things going on in my life which demand my time and attention. I don’t enjoy being fat. It’s physically, mentally, and emotionally painful. I don’t enjoy being poor. It’s also a painful experience. I am doing what I can, as I can, to work on both of those things, but, I don’t know that I will ever be able to do enough to change either of those conditions in order to be acceptable enough.

So, please remember, complimenting someone who may look like they have lost weight, but you may not know if they’ve been working to do so, is not necessarily a compliment. Even then, compliment something other than their loss of fatness. Compliment their clothes. Acknowledge that they are exuding a sense of self-satisfaction and happiness. Or just tell them how happy you are to see them and spend time with them, without commenting on their appearance at all.

A Fat Woman

Your impatience is not my problem 

My dear fellow, I’m really curious about how you managed to survive before texting, Facebook, and cell phones. After all, you were born halfway through the ’60s, experienced your nostalgically idealized childhood in the ’70s, and rocked through your ’80’s adolescence.

You grew up with short, spiral cords attached to big, heavy phones attached to walls, in the era when answering machines were a novelty and voicemail didn’t exist.

Yet, here we are in the post-millennial era of texts, tweets, and instant messages…and your capacity for delayed gratification, what little there was, has been reduced to nanoseconds.

I receive the first text notification, then, while I’m painstakingly tapping out my reply, I hear three more whooshes and see your final text with a snarky, disgruntled, passive-aggressive comment about me ignoring you…followed by four, reddish-orange angry emojis.

The first text was time stamped three minutes (or less) before I tapped “send” on my first reply.

God forbid I be in the middle of being a mom, grandma, or friend. Heaven help me if I’m showering, sleeping, or otherwise engaged in self-care. Meetings, appointments, and attendance at public events aren’t even a consideration.

I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be trapped in your psyche.

I realize that this angry impatience is rooted in a myriad of things, many which are, quite literally, out of your control.

That being said…I’m over it.

You are “tyranny of the urgent” incarnate…and you, my dear tyrant, have been displaced.

You are a child of God, as am I, which makes you my brother. Like me, you are cherished, loved, and flawless in our Father’s eyes. 

Sadly, my vision is somewhat impaired and often clouded by a haze of exasperated agitation whenever I see a text from you.

It’s taken me awhile, but, I’m finally reaching a point where I don’t stop (whatever I’m doing), drop (any other conversation), and roll (over and succumb to the insatiable hunger of your ire).

Your impatience is yours to resolve, not mine to fix.

Good luck with that.

Change, Friendship, Innovation: My words for 2016

I spend too much time on Facebook. I like to think that most of that time is pretty worthwhile, especially since making some priority adjustments. However, I can get caught up in the Nametests analyses of my FB profile.

Typically, the end result is an “epic fail.” The algorithms couldn’t be more wrong in their calculations. Maybe I’m less authentic and transparent about myself than I thought I was. It’s definitely something worth considering. However, occasionally, the outcome is on point.

Recently, one particular Nametests has been showing up: What is your word for 2016?



This word will guide you through the year of 2016! It will support you in your daily struggles and situations that may appear hopeless. This word will always show you the silver lining so that you won’t ever need to worry. It was chosen for you specifically, embrace it! Share your result on Facebook and show your friends what your word for 2016 is!


Through a series of interesting clicks, I inadvertently wound up with three words:

Now, I realize that many folks use meditation, prayer, or other esoteric methods of discovering their “word” for the coming year. But, according to the Circles of Innovation Playbuzz survey, I’m definitely a member of Gen C. I don’t YouTube as much as the video below portrays. That being said, I do tend to live my life with smartphone in hand. Most of the healing, growth, and progress I’ve made since starting this blog has been with the use of technology and social media.

Anyhoo, this is an ongoing thing for me. So, 2016, my year of Change, Friendship, and Innovation is starting with a Facebook community I joined in 2012, 28 Days To A New Me, established by Robert Kennedy III. In the past, participating in this process through an associated FB group was a tremendous boon for me, as well as many others. However, I stopped consistently engaging with awhile ago.

Yesterday, I decided to get back to the things which have worked for me and I posted in the group. I noticed that the vibrancy, energy, and participation appears to have diminished. I’m sure some of that has to do with Robert moving forward into growing his business of helping people achieve their goals of leadership in professional and personal development. It all began with the 28 Days group and book, 28 Days To A New Me: A Journey of Commitment

By now, you probably think I’m getting some kind of affiliate compensation, with all the links and “plugs” for Robert. That’s understandable, but, completely untrue. I believe in him and trust him. Ever since I “met” him, on Facebook, through connections with people I know and trust in my face-to-face life, Robert has proven himself to be a person of integrity and compassion, with a strong drive and purpose to see others succeed. He’s been a mentor and a friend.

When I posted in the group, I asked who was going to participate in January and expressed my desire to experience the sense of fun and community which initially drew me in, helped me stay motivated, and keeps me coming back. A few others commented and agreed to join me, not only in participating, but, also in working to revive the group. Robert is going to support and guide us, but, we’ll be the admins and doing the work.

Have you decided whether or not to do a New Year’s Resolution? Are you gung ho and raring to go or have too many years of getting derailed got you cynical about your own potential for success?

One of the best ways to prepare for success is planning for it and choosing one, specific action, to focus on completing every day.

Join me in 2016. Whether it’s physical health and fitness goals, changing careers, tackling the borderline hoarding clutter, or dealing with deeper things, we can support each other and get through it, together.

28 Days To A New Me – Personal Transformation (Facebook group).

If you’re not on Facebook, that’s okay. Leave a comment and let’s see how we can support each other, here.

Six Word Friday: Kind

May kind ribbons encircle each heart

bleeding from conflict, abuse, and terror.

May empathy and compassion set apart

judgment for understanding, regarding every error.

May healing from a sad start

instill Love, Hope, and Faith forever.

(c) 11/20/2015, lem

Six Word Fridays are hosted by Adrienne at My Memory Art. Please go visit to discover more Six Word Friday creativity!

Which is the Big Bad Wolf and which is the Evil Little Piggy?

I’ve really been struggling with the depression aspect of the bipolar. That’s nothing new, I suppose. However, as I’ve been digging deeper through the layers of trauma, getting a better handle on the PTSD. (Here’s the 411, if you didn’t already know: Depression + Anxiety + my life = CHAOS ^3!) Improved consistency with the mood stabilizer med seems to have flatlined the hypomania, leaving me feeling like the depression has taken over.

I was kind of missing the hypomania. Those are the only times I’m able to get things done or feel self-confident. Hypomanic episodes are when I experience a genuine sense of joy and happiness. My life is a reflection of Fall/Winter in Portlandia: long, drawn out periods of cold, dank darkness occasionally disrupted by teasing, brilliant sunshine and clear skies, which still leave you cold. Hypomania is the brilliance of the sun, burning so bright you feel as if your eyelids are melting. You’re compelled to turn and look up, even as you can’t keep your face from transforming into something less than appealing with a wincing squint.

Anyway, the hypomania is resurfacing. Evidence? My posts from November 1st – 9th. All that nutritional research, compulsive organizing, the obsessive need to produce a perfect as is humanly possible summary document, while taking public transportation on three separate grocery shopping trips on three consecutive days, and writing nine, 1,000 +/- word blog posts back to back – in the midst of living my life as it is.

Then, I crashed and burned. From the 9th through the 16th, it was like a less colorful, much less humorous episode of Hee Haw’s, “Gloom, Despair, & Agony”:

It’s now 3:15 am on the 19th and I’m writing my second blog post of the night . . . the first post was for a newly reactivated blog that’s supposed to be focusing on my codependency issues. In the last 48+ hours, I’ve scrubbed and sanitized the petri dish otherwise known as my refrigerator, hauled 5-6 bags of accumulated garbage down to the dumpster, dealt with burned on food left for too long on the stove (too long may or may not mean several days), gone on a quick grocery shopping trip, picked up a prescription to replace my lost bottle of mood stabilizers, met with a couple of ladies from one of my faith communities, gone to my cousin’s to wash & dry two loads of laundry, hung out with the grandbabies, reactivated an old FB profile that’s a previous pseudonym and invited my “safe” people to join me there – which they all have, culled 130 “friends” from my primary FB profile, written three blog posts, and prepared an awesome homemade dinner.

I surprised myself with The Awesome, lol.

I guarantee I’ve only slept 6 – 8 hours, or less) for that entire time. But, I digress.

While writing my last post I discovered a couple of groups that I LOVE! I haven’t been into metal, since . . . well, EVER! Their songs (and official videos) feel like my dark insides coming out into the open for examination and processing.  This one especially blew me away. The layers of meaning within meaning of these lyrics, hits me on so many levels.

I’ll leave you with the lyrics:

“Big Bad Wolf”

Even in these chains, you can’t stop me. (4x)

Once upon a time
There was a nasty, little piggy filled with pride and greed
Once upon a time
There was an evil, little piggy typical disease
You see this little pig is slowly becoming my own worst enemy.
You see this evil pig she’s a blood, blood, blood sucking part of me

Everywhere I go, you go along with me (she said)
Everything you get, is all because of me (I said)
Everything I do, you do along with me (she said)
No matter where you run, you cannot hide from me

She’s got a hold on me
Maybe she is just what they want me to be

Even in these chains, you can’t stop me. (2x)


Pig, pig! Would you let me in? (2x)
Pig, pig! I’ve been everywhere that you’ve been
Now I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to win

Pig, pig! Would you let me in? (2x)
Pig, pig! I’m already under your skin
‘Cause I’m the big bad wolf, now let the games begin

You see I am the wolf,
And this dirty, little piggy lives inside of me.
You see every now and then,
I forget which one that I want and which one that I need.
I have come to realize
That both of them have become a necessity
I now have come to realize
That I become which animal I choose to feed

Anything I say you lie along with me. (she said)
Every song you sing is all because of me (I said)
Anytime I cry you always laugh at me. (she said)
No matter what you do you will belong to me

She’s got a hold on me,
Maybes she’s just what they want me to be

Even in these chains, you can’t stop me. (2x)


Oh man, all these voices
I just can’t get the fuck out of my head!
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t

Even with these chains, you can’t stop me. (3x)
Even in these chains, you won’t break me
Even in these chains, you won’t stop me
Even in these chains, you won’t break me
Even in these chains, you won’t take me
Even in these chains, you won’t haunt me

Pig! Pig! (2x)

Stay the fuck, stay the fuck, stay the fuck out of my head!

She’s got a hold on me,
Maybe she is just what they want me to be

Even in these chains, you can’t stop me. (2x)


‘Cause I’m the big bad wolf, now let the games begin! (2X)

Writer(s): Christopher Howorth, Christopher John Howorth, Maria Diane Brink, Kevin Gregory Churko
Copyright: Maria Brink Itm, Cadium Music Publishing O.B.O. Gumpofwump, Chrisinthismoment

Happy Birthday, my son!

1986 11 09Today, my son turns 29.

When I saw him on Saturday night, I mentioned that I had hoped to have his gift ready.

“Oh, yeah. I guess my birthday is in a couple of days…”

He went on and we touched on the fact that, for him, because of the way he grew up, his birthday has never really been either celebrated or about receiving gifts.

Sadly, this is true.

Since today is his birthday and this post is about celebrating him, I’m not going to go into all the whys and wherefores exposing this lack in his life. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see.

Dear Son,

I was a 16-year-old runaway when I discovered you were growing inside of me. I was staying with a friend we’d met when we stayed at a neighboring homeless shelter a little while before. Your father was in prison on a parole violation. I didn’t know about his record until the night he went to jail. I’d vowed my love to him and he’d gotten me away from the sad life I’d been living. So, I was going to , “Stand By My Man.”

I was so scared when I got the news I was going to be your mommy. I was clueless and knew that I’d have a hard time meeting your needs. Even though abortion was one option, it never was for me. There was no way I could ever give you to other people. I didn’t want you growing up wondering why I didn’t want you. I couldn’t imagine giving away the only family I had.

That was the same year Madonna came out with, Papa Don’t Preach, and even though my situation had little in common with the song, other than being a pregnant teen, “I was keeping my baby,” and it became my anthem.

Selfish? Yeah, probably. But, deciding to keep you motivated me to do better, to be better, or at least to try. I entered a youth job readiness program and got my first GED.

Your father and I wrote each other, giving updates, making plans for our future, your future.

It was February. I turned 17 in June and he got out of prison. We went “on the road,” again. We landed in Texas and became friendly with a truck driving couple. They “adopted” us and took us back to their home in North Carolina. I didn’t know both my mother and her father had been born there.

The local community and church welcomed us. They helped us get a trailer.  They got us a car, a dark blue, two door, Oldsmobile Cutlass. I finally got prenatal care.

You were such a strong baby, with such a strong heartbeat! At my first exam, the doctor thought he heard two heartbeats, with two echoes. My belly was so big and so full, he thought you might be twins!

The week before you were born, your father got into a car accident on his way to work and wasn’t able to work. With you just about ready to enter the world, he convinced me that there wasn’t any way we would make it if we stayed. Despite the fact you were nearly a week overdue, we packed up the car late that Saturday night, after visiting friends and watching “rasslin’.” We drove on out of town. We got about a hundred miles away when I admitted that I wasn’t having Braxton Hicks contractions and you were on your way.

We pulled into the pothole filled parking lot of a little greasy spoon joint. I swear he hit every one of those damn things! When I tried to get out of the car, the pain immobilized me. He ran in, called out, “Cup of coffee to go! Woman in labor! Where’s the bathroom?” He was back in the car and driving almost as soon as he’d left.

On the way back to town and to the hospital, he broke the speed limit and we made it back in way under an hour. Even though we’d seen a state trooper every few minutes on the way out, we didn’t see any on the way back. I was in the delivery room by 2:30 in the morning. They broke my water, but the labor didn’t progress the way they thought it should. I got an emergency C-section. You were born around noon. I heard later, that the doctor wanted to get home in time for Sunday supper.

We stayed in the hospital for a week. I lost a lot of blood in the surgery and was severely anemic. It was the height of the AIDS scare. Your dad and I fought because he didn’t want me to get a blood transfusion. The medical staff won that argument and I received three units of blood. The night I got out of the hospital, we got in the car and left. I had 12 or 13 staples in my stomach.

We spent the first two years of your life living out of cars and hitchhiking across the country. Your dad was a better caregiver than I was during that time. I guess I was experiencing postpartum depression in the midst of it all. By the time you were two and I was 19, we were on our own.

You’ve been through, and overcome, so much in your short life. Now, you’re married to a wonderful woman and have two stable and loving families you belong to.  Your, “real,” adopted parents support and guide you in ways I’ve never could. You’re one of the best managers your company has and you’re taking college classes. You guys are on the path to home ownership. You are in the early stages of owning your own business. You’re a man of faith and integrity and continually work to grow, heal, and improve.

I couldn’t be more proud of the man you are. I love you.

Happy Birthday, my son!