Sometimes Songs Let You Cry

Updated from Summer 2018

"Sometimes people say a song made them cry when they mean a song let them cry."

I saw that quote on Twitter and couldn't get it out of my head all day.

I immediately thought of the song "My Immortal" by Evanescence.

I first heard My Immortal in 2004. I looked it up because it was on a list of songs my second child, CJ, then aged 10, had asked her younger sister, SF, to download for her when she came to my house.

CJ, formerly sharing a close and loving relationship with me since her birth, was deeply entrenched in a campaign of hatred against me, fed by her father (and his supporters) after I escaped from him. For over two years, she refused to visit me or even speak to me without hateful words. I soon found out there is a name for what was happening there: "Parental Alienation Syndrome". Though PAS is not an actual health condition, it is nonetheless a broken state of being that is not healthy for a child's development.

It is not healthy for the alienated parent, either.

Something inside of me got broken.

That was a long time ago, and the situation is better now. My daughter grew older and wiser, and she realized that the things being said about me were untrue. She learned to make her own choices, and has returned to me.

But for years, every time I heard "My Immortal", I'd take a deep breath and subconsciously ask myself, "So, are you going to make it through the song without crying this time?"

I'd nod my head and inwardly say, "Yes, I can do this."

I'd get through the nocturne piano intro played in the key of melancholy minor.

"I'm so tired of being here..." the female voice would sing.

"Suppressed by all my childish fears..."

And I'd daze out a bit, until it built into:

"These wounds won't seem to heal, this pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase..."  
That was as far as I could get before the fight began to be lost.


"When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears

When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me."

I'd think of so many times that I held my crying little girl, wiping tears from her face... and then I'd be wiping my own.

A sign of humanity.

Somewhere along the line, enough tears bled from my wounds to allow some kind of scar to form. Today I purposely tested it. In a somewhat noisy house, as the song filled my ears, I didn't cry, but I still felt the tracks of those tears, like tire ruts wanting to pull me in.

However, as I listened again later, while writing this blog post, when all was quiet and I was alone,  tears filled my eyes.

Still human.

I had to turn the song off because I don't want to cry right now.

Actually, I never want to, even though I understand some of the science and spirit behind its necessity.

Other devastations have happened over the years. My Immortal has been replaced by different songs that want to all but drown me. The songs start to play and I quickly switch them off, sometimes accompanied by a whispered "No. It hurts too much."

But maybe I need to listen and weep.

I've written a lot about tears in posts on another blog I have over at Wordpress. Here is a link for some: Posts that deal with tears .

And here is something (this link) written by a gentleman whose books helped me greatly in recovering from some traumas, Lundy Bancroft, on the topic of tears. You'll see that I commented at the end of the article, me being "Steenybopper".

In the back of my mind is the reminder that God keeps our tears in a bottle (Psalms 56:8). What exactly is meant by that, I only know darkly as through a glass, but I plan to know fully someday.

And then there's this: "...weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." (Psalm 30:5)

And the normality of tears is pointed out in Ecclesiastes 3:4: "...A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance..."

And my favorite is from Revelation 21:4, from whence I take hope in knowing that someday God Himself will wipe away my tears. Peace, precious peace, at last.

There IS hope, but meanwhile there is the shedding of tears. <3

Thanking you for reading, 

Read more at my entire blog:

Holy Sheepdip

Related posts:  Why I Escaped (And From What Did I Escape?)
They Who Feel Too Much

My Pomchi Was Attacked

I was standing in front of our shop while W backed the four-wheeler up to a trailer. Eleven-year-old J came out with our little Pomchi, Bear.

I looked down the pathway to the greenbelt behind our property and saw nine-year-old C walking by with her friend, T, from the neighbourhood. They waved and said something, but they were a bit too far away for me to hear it, so I just waved back.

A minute later, Bear went running through the gap in the gate, barking madly. There is no point calling him back as he does not listen. I heard him bark and bark and bark as he ran behind our yard and out to where the girls were, behind a stand of aspen trees to the right behind our shop.

Then I heard the girls start screaming.

I wasn't sure if they were just goofing around, but when the screaming got louder and more frantic, I ran toward where they were and yelled, “WHAT IS GOING ON? WHY ARE YOU SCREAMING?”

They just kept screaming and didn't answer.

I ran back toward the gate where Bear had squeezed through. W heard me screaming and he ran to the fence, leaped over it, and ran down the path to the greenbelt.

I was slower climbing over the fence in my Uggs slipper boots. I called back at J, “Shut the four-wheeler off!”

As soon as my feet hit the ground, W came back into the pathway with C close behind him. There was so much noise and panic going on, I couldn't tell what he said. I heard him yell “DYING!”

I screamed, “WHO'S DYING? WHAT???”

C was sobbing loudly and screaming, “BEAR! BEAR! OH, MY POOR BEAR!”

“WHAT? WHAT? WHAT HAPPENED TO BEAR?” I screamed, scared half to death.

Then I saw Bear lying limp on his side in the path in front of W.

I didn't get an answer but I shrieked “NOOOOOO!” when I saw him.

I ran to pick up my little dog, refusing to accept he could be dead.

Bear sprang to his feet and limped off rapidly in front of me. He ran through the gap between the old broken gate and the fence post, on up toward the house.

“He's going off to find a place to die,” I thought.

I got over the fence and ran after him, finding him under the lilac tree by the front of the house.

I spoke softly as I crouched down, reaching in to attempt to pick him up. “Bear... Bear... come here, sweetie. It's okay...”

He gave me a sharp growl and backed away. I thought, “I need to get into the house and phone the vet right away.”

I left Bear under the tree and ran through the basement door, with my other dog, Nova, leaping around beside me, chasing me like it was play time.

“Take the dog! Take the dog!” I ordered J and C, who were close afoot. I couldn't have a hyper puppy potentially upsetting Bear if she were to try to play with him. I didn't know what was wrong with Bear at this point, having not seen any blood or heard the story from C.

J took Nova up to her kennel.

C ran back outside to check on Bear. Soon she yelled, “Mom! Bear's over here!”

Bear was on our back deck. I felt relief knowing he was able to climb stairs.

Behind me, I saw T's dad go running across our yard. I still didn't know what happened at this point, if there was a bear outside, attacking T, and somehow my dog managed to get away, or what.

“What happened? Why is Bear injured? Where is his injury?” I asked C.

C was crying as she pointed to his side and said, “That's where T's dog bit him. He picked Bear up like he was a chew toy and shook him. Bear landed on the ground and just lay there. I thought he was dead!”

I approached Bear on the deck as he sat motionless by the sliding glass door, staring at me with his big dark chocolate-chip eyes, waiting to go into the kitchen.

I tried to pick him up, but he backed away, not wanting to be touched. I saw his wound. There was no blood, but a patch of fur had been torn clean off, right above his right hip, leaving pale pink skin exposed and bulging. His paws and under-belly fur were a bit wet and sprizzly from having been in tall grass.

C opened the sliding glass door and Bear went straight in and lay down under the kitchen table. I went to my cell phone and called the vet's emergency number. I stepped out to the deck and spoke with the answering service staff member, who told me the on-call vet would get back to me within five or ten minutes.

I ran upstairs to get Bear's kennel and brought it back to the kitchen. Then I crawled under the table to try to get him. He allowed me to pick him up. I placed him in front of his kennel's open door and said “kennel”. He walked in and lay down in a cinnamon bun shape, staring out at me with his big black eyes.

He wasn't doing his usual excited quivering. He was very still. That worried me.

T's mom, L, came running through the kitchen door, nearly crying as she said, “Oh my gosh, I am so upset! Is Bear okay? My daughter KNOWS not to let the dog off the leash. She is in so much trouble!”

As we talked about the incident, looking at Bear as he lay quietly in his kennel, my phone rang. It was the vet. She asked me some questions about his condition. I described it as best I could. She ensured that he was able to turn his head, open his eyes, wasn't breathing differently, etc. She instructed me on what to do to check how his blood was circulating, as an indicator for or against internal injuries. I pressed up above his top front teeth for a few seconds, then released my finger. The white spot left behind by the pressure quickly turned back to the usual pinkish black of his mouth. That was a good sign.

While I talked to the vet, Bear got up and walked to the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. L, C, and I followed him. He went to his favourite corner on top of a pile of clothes I save up till there are enough to bring to the thrift store. It is dark and out of the way. He knew he needed that little private spot.

In the end, the vet told me to clean the wound and then apply either chlorhexadine (which we didn't have), Betadine (which we also didn't have), or chamomile tea or black tea (of which we have heaps).

“You mean like Earl Grey?” I asked.

“Yes, that will work,” she said.

L had some saline wound cleaning spray at her house, so she ran home to get it.

The vet told me basically to watch and wait. If any changes of concern happened, such as Bear becoming lethargic, I should get him in to the vet at once, but for now, he was good to lie quietly and rest.

When L came back, I sprayed some cleaner on his wound. I was worried the feeling of moisture landing on his wound would make him cry out, but I was relieved when he didn't even flinch at it.

Over the next few hours, various family members and I checked on him frequently. We brought his kennel back upstairs and led him to it.

For the first couple hours, Bear was very still. Maybe he was in shock. He didn't want any water. He didn't even want to lick my hand or my arm, which normally he does eagerly. We brought him his favourite food – cheese – but he had zero interest in it. He didn't even want to sniff it. He just lay there looking at us, right past the cheese.

After a few hours, when C and I were checking on him, C said, “We should do a cheese test on him!”

“Ah, yes. Good idea. Let's do the Havarti test,” I said.

I went down to the kitchen and opened the cheese drawer in the fridge. Bear usually comes running when he hears that drawer open. I cut off a hunk of Havarti and headed back, running into C with Bear on a leash halfway down the stairs. I'm not sure if Bear ventured out because he heard the cheese drawer or if he didn't want me to be away from him. When I offered him some Havarti, he still wasn't interested.

We led him back to his kennel and left the cheese in front of him. We offered him some water in his little dish, but he didn't want any. He did, however, lick my fingertips after I'd dipped them in his water bowl. That, too, encouraged me.

That is where it stands right now. He is still lying on his side in his kennel, looking out at me when I look at him. No tail wagging yet. No excited quivering. I keep praying for my beloved little dog to heal up. Having him hurt hurts me more than I can describe.

Bear sat motionless in his kennel

The wound is above his right hip

More of a close-up of the wound

Bear went upstairs to the bedroom

UPDATE: Next day, Monday, September 24, 2018

I woke at 3-something in the morning, worried about Bear. A few hours later, I got a message from a friend I've known since we were ten years old. She told me she had put $250 on Bear's account at my vet's office.

If I hadn't been so tired, I would have cried.

My 9-year-old, CHL, and I headed up to the vet, an hour's drive north on the highway. We stopped to meet my oldest daughter, N, at work on the highway expansion project. She, as well as one of my other daughters who is also away from home, is worried sick about the dog that captured our hearts.

The vet told us she needed about an hour to shave Bear's fur around the wound so she could do a better assessment, and she recommended an x-ray. She warned us of the possibility of exploratory surgery if indicated.

CHL and I went out to do errands for an hour, then returned to relatively good news: There was no need at this juncture for surgery. Oral antibiotics and painkillers were provided, and wound care instructions were given, along with chlorhexidine wash and ointment.

The bill total was $267. And it turned out my friend added another $250 to Bear's account later, just in case, and so it was more than covered.

I am speechless with gratitude, tired beyond words, and silently praying that this dog that brought me necessary healing will himself be healed.

Bear rests in his kennel literally at my feet

Evil One

Evil One 

 

Evil
Evil
Evil One
How I hate you for what you have done to me

You knew I was weak
And you gave what I wanted
You took what you wanted
And then walked away

You left me dying
And you do not care
I hate you for what you have done to me

You gave me a taste of what you knew I needed
Then you took it away when I needed it most
I hate you for what you have done to me

Evil
Evil
Evil One
How I hate you for what you have done to me

"Feeling No Reason To Live"

Sometimes when one says, "I feel no reason to live," there is nothing that can be said or done to change how that person feels, so please don't argue with them - just hear them.

On a similar note...

One of the coldest things one can say to a friend who is hurting is, "It's none of my business."

• Pretending Everything's Fine When It's Not 
• They Who Feel Too Much 
• Un-Understood 
• For The Record, My Heart Is Sore

They Who Feel Too Much

They feel "too much".

They have the power to love deeply, to understand the plight of those they adore, to heal the heartache of whoever reaches out to them.

If they give you their heart, carry it carefully.  If you drop it, you shatter it like glass.  The pieces, moonlit teardrops on a broken face, are hard to fit back together.

When they feel hope is lost, they die some more.

Stop all the music.  Songs intensify the pain.

Let the death march begin. 

They don't "get over" being harmed.  It piles up inside, silently - where it cannot be seen, sometimes hidden even from their own sight.

A new lock is added to the door of their heart.

Woe unto those who offend one of these tender beings:  not because the tender beings wish pain upon them, but because of the ways of reaping and sowing.

I pray the torments that drive the hatred of the offenders will end when they make things right with the ones they have harmed, and that the broken hearts will somehow be mended by the miracle of love.

 Some related posts:

•  Are You Highly Sensitive?
• Feeling Un-Understood 
• Info on HSPs (Highly Sensitive Persons) (from someone else's blog) 
• The Empath Within - Are You A Highly Sensitive Person? (This is also from someone else's site.   It includes a helpful list by which you might see if you are an empath/highly sensitive person)

Un-Understood

I am in a state of emotional overwhelm.

I've fought all week against one thing after another trying to steal my joy, faking it in hopes of making it, but now I have finally gone under and feel I am drowning.

I know this is not my normal state and so I am hoping I will come back up gasping for air and find the sun shining fully enough to dry these tears within.

I feel like I want to talk to someone about it, but at the same time I hold back because...

Because why?

I don't know.

Well, I do know, but I don't want to explain.

I know there is nothing anyone can to do fix anything for me, and I don't expect that, but sometimes I wish I had someone to whom I could go who would care.

I am not so unique that the feelings I have just expressed are ones that nobody else has ever felt.

I feel un-understood.

Does anyone even read this drivel?

For The Record, My Heart Is Sore

Some days I feel so lonely.

So many things combine to result in a state of being overwhelmed.

Today, my man took our two boys out so I could get my work done.  Our little girl has been napping for a few hours.  I crave this silence sometimes, but then when I get it, I feel aware of how alone I am, and it's not a good feeling.

I'm getting some work done, but I'm thinking too much, and it's mostly about unpleasant sheeyite.

Re-reading one of my blog entries didn't help matters - this one:

Wow, I Love Being Ignored - Don't You? Ugh.

Sigh.

Stuff I just won't write, but wish I could talk to someone about it, and that someone would care.

It's a fleeting moment, surely.

Life does get better, I know.

The waiting is the hardest part, but I don't even feel like looking up that Tom Petty song.  The sad one I already posted above will suffice.

Do you know what I mean?  Do you ever feel like this, where there are some things that weigh you down - things that are hard to explain even if you did have someone to talk to?  And even if you did talk about it, you fear the listener would only diminish your feelings by not understanding because they couldn't possibly?

More of my writing from past blog entries can be found in the right hand column of this page.

Here are a few samples:

• Pretending Everything's Fine When It's Not
• The NEED To Communicate
• Hair Wasn't Easy To Grow
• Why I Escaped And From What Did I Escape? (The long story)

Pretending Everything's Fine When It's Not

Do you ever feel troubled by something, or by someone - or by many somethings and someones - but you keep quiet about it, try to act like nothing's wrong, and hope you are the one that is wrong?

That a solution will be found?

That the pain will end?

Maybe someone has hurt you, but you are hoping it was unintentional, so rather than create an issue because of your own feelings, you wait, quietly, painfully, for a resolution.

Perhaps you love that person so much, you'd rather take the pain than risk hurting them by questioning them on their actions.

So, you go about life, working, talking to other people, laughing, maybe even singing, on the surface appearing to be quite normal, and maybe for the most part you do feel 99% fine, but on the inside there's that little 1% - ooh, "we are the 1%" - that is so powerful, it's on the verge of killing you despite the 99% that is trying to shut you up.

I've heard the phrase "taking the high road" - is that what that would be called?

Yeah, I think you know what I'm talking about.  You're reading this, so you must be human.

Then again, I shouldn't assume that everyone has felt this way.  Maybe some don't.  I'd love to hear about it, if so.

The song here, "Save Me", by Queen, doesn't quite say it, but in some ways it does... 

"Save me, save me, save me

I can't face this life alone"

That's not to say I'm not saved by the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ.  For me, that is a given.

But there is still life on earth.

There is so much pain here, for so many.

Save me, save me, save me...

(I bet there are more people who can relate than are willing to admit it.  Here I am to say that I am one who understands.  I have no answers, but I do understand.)

If you like my writing, check out my other entries, and click "follow" on the top left of this page.


A few other related and semi-related posts:

• Alone In This World
• Wow, I Love Being Ignored, Don't You? Ugh! 
• Why Does Sh!t Happen To Me? Ohhh, I Get It! 

Wow, I Love Being Ignored - Don't You? UGH!

Ever write to someone and end up wondering if they even received your message because they don't reply?

So you write again, only to still not receive a reply?

Or how about the infamous typing of a huge paragraph or three, in chat, and the answer is "oh", or "ok", or "yeah".

Or worse, they disconnect without a fare-thee-well of any sort.

Excuse me while I pull my hair out for a moment.

Then there's the seemingly deliberate ignoring of questions in emails.

I've heard it put something like this:

"'Yes' is an answer and 'no' is an answer.  

'I don't know' is not an answer, 

and neither is 'maybe'."

And then there's the flat out silent treatment.

Kinda makes one wonder why they continue talking to such a person.

Are we too nice?  Too hopeful?  Too forgiving?  Or is there no such thing as being "too" any of that?  I really don't know and I always welcome comments.

If it's work-related, that's most frustrating, as one doesn't necessarily want to cut ties with part of their income source, and one must be careful not to be a pest lest they get on the bad side of the other party and lose that income source because of it.

Several years ago when I was in a Laubach Literacy class on how to teach reading to adults, I saw a poster on the wall which said what I now know to be a famous quote from Albert Einstein:

For those reading this via email, I will repeat what is in this poster:  "Insanity:  doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results."

It does feel a little insane, talking to someone who doesn't answer.

Despite the fact that I have a lot of hair, if I keep attempting to communicate with those who choose to be incommunicado, I may end up with a coiffure similar to that of the famous smart dude in the above photo.

Don't let me get me!

Silence is not always golden.

Silence can feel so lonely.

Oh yeah, hint-hint... did ya know that bloggers LOVE getting comments?  ;)  Say away, whatever's on your mind, even if it's nothing to do with what I'm writing here - even if it's the fact that you've got food stuck in your teeth and it's bothering you right now.

I'm listening.

And I won't ignore you.

Do you hate being ignored?  Or are you somehow okay with it.  I'd love to hear.

If you like my writing, check out my other entries, and click "follow" on the top left of this page.

Sadness and Inability

Who do you talk to when you feel like you are going to cry, and the thing that triggered you doesn't make sense to even yourself?

I feel this is something in which I cannot be the only one.

Someone somewhere who is reading this must be able to relate and think, "Hey, yeah, really... I know what you are feeling."

I am sorry to not have an answer for them or for myself.

Sometimes it's just a word, or the way someone says that word, or the look on someone's face, or the weight of a whole world's worth of troubles.

I will restate that with a different twist:

Sometimes it is just a word, or the way it was said, or the look, which suddenly becomes the equivalent weight in emotional heaviness of a whole world's worth of troubles - the same feeling of inability to do anything about it, whether it be trying to fix one relatively small problem or trying to fix the entire broken planet.

Inability.

Inability to change something that I want to change.

Inability to even understand what the root is.

Inability to put it into words.

And hence, the feeling of sadness.

Ironically, in such situations, the one who pulled the trigger is not the one who shot me, so I do not blame them - I merely feel the feelings of pain, relive the things that caused it, even when I cannot always picture the event that inflicted the original wound.

Do you know what I mean?

At all?

I deal with things that trigger me, and I deal with the fallout.

I ask myself questions.

I ask God.

One cannot always know in advance that their actions may cause pain in me.

I will seldom tell the trigger-puller that they have shot at me.

I bear it silently.

I wonder if it happens to others?

The pain will pass, but meanwhile, I try to understand it.

There must be a reason in it.

One more is coming to mind as fitting:

PS:  I welcome comments, either in the comment box or privately, even if they are to the effect of  "I don't get it".