The week's laundry

So, here's what's up this week -

I'm working on getting all the laundry folded. That's an ever menacing task. I can always get things washed, but getting it folded is another story. It seems like we live out of the 'clean' pile. Very tedious.

My big orange fish has big black splotches all over. Not a good sign. But I think maybe they'll just spontaneously go away?

My dog got all freaky weird kind of sickish yesterday. I heard this big crash, like maybe she saw a cat outside and bashed into the window. (Yeah, I know, she's not the brightest crayon in the box all the time.) But then she came in and crawled up on the bed by me and one of her legs wasn't working right and she was having a really bad muscle spasm in her shoulder for about an hour. Later she seemed to be paralyzed on one side of her body and she couldn't walk, and then she couldn't figure out how to lay down. Today she seems better, but she's really clingy. I wonder if she gave herself a concussion. Hmmmm???

I've been having a bunch of anxiety attacks. I don't know why. I keep having to take Klonopin. I have that love/hate relationship with Klonopin. It saves my bacon, that's for sure, but I just wish I could control my emotions on my own.

In Relief Society on Sunday the stupid lesson ended up being about honoring your father and mother. I leaned over to my friend sitting next to me and said, "Well, this is a difficult one for me. My dad came and sat on my couch last spring and disowned me." She just kind of blinked at me and said "I can see how that might make this difficult." I promptly buried my head in my lap and proceeded to cry. I didn't just cry. I BAWLED. And for some reason, I was just frozen on the spot. I couldn't get up. I couldn't leave the room. I was just sitting there crying and crying. I was shaking and crying. I was crying as quietly as I could, but everyone knew I was crying. I was all folded over onto my lap with my face buried in my hands, all snotty and teary, and I couldn't do anything about it. I was having a full-blown anxiety attack. I was just a mess. Finally I remembered that I had a great big handkerchief in my purse, left there from the temple dedication we had gone to a couple of months ago, so I leaned over and dug that out. I was able to mop myself up, and I do mean mop and the very literal sense of the word.

I just kept thinking "How can I honor my father and mother when they have not behaved honorably?" I have done everything I could to honor them throughout my life. Sure, I had my rebellious years, but I made amends for all of that. I've done all I could to honor my parents and serve them and treat them with respect. I've loved them unconditionally and I have treasured them. I have raised my children to do the same. My children loved and revered my parents, they adored them so much that when my parents turned their backs on me, my children were wounded perhaps as deeply as I was, albeit in different ways.

So, I went to my parents, whom I had always honored and trusted and loved, and I told them the truth. In return they betrayed me and dishonored me. They turned their backs on me. They disowned me and walked away.

How can I honor them?

That was the lesson that left me crumpled up in a ball in the middle of the RS room, bawling like a baby. I finally collected myself enough to leave about 10 minutes before the lesson was over. I felt so embarrassed. I felt really bad that I had done that to the teacher. I needed a Klonopin just then. The lame thing was that later I realized that I had one in my purse all along, and just didn't remember it! Me and my great brain! Oh well - if there's one thing in life I'm good at, it's making an ass of myself. We'll call that one mission accomplished!

I just keep wondering when I will stop crying about being hurt by those people, my family, you know. I honestly don't miss them. I don't want them back in my life. If they came to me today and apologized and said they wanted to be part of my life again, I would accept their apology, of course. But I would tell them I really couldn't have them in my life again. I've changed my life around and they just don't fit anymore. I've closed up those spaces. There were gaping wounds where they used to be, and they've healed over. I can't open them up again. I just can't do that. It would hurt me too bad. They almost killed me before with what they did to me, see? It just wouldn't be safe for me to open those wounds again. I can't. I couldn't. I wouldn't. I won't go there again. I'm moving on. I'm trying. I'm working on forgiving. I'm working on so much. It really is exhausting, but I'm working on it. Every day I'm working on it.

I feel like I'm pulling this enormous wagon up a steep hill with just straps on my back holding it to me. It is so heavy and precarious. Sometimes I could just fall backwards, and I don't know if I would recover. You just can't imagine how heavy it is, honestly. The work has to be done, I swear it does. But I can't tell if there's a top to this damn hill. I don't know if I'll ever be done! I don't know if the weight of the wagon will ever be lighter. I don't know if this will ever get easier or if I'll ever get stronger so it will feel lighter to me. I keep thinking I have to do this alone, too. I'm sure the Savior could help me somehow. I just have to figure out how. I keep thinking that if I pause long enough to get yoked up with Him, I might lose ground, or worse yet, sink into the mud. The mud is so horrible and deep. This is such awful work. How did I get here?

And the laundry keeps piling up. It never ends, does it?

This is a really lovely arrangement of this piece. It isn't the full piece, but I'll post that another time.