What Am I Tired Of?

Quite often I say that I’m tired. I know what I mean, and I think my husband sort of understands it as well. But the other day, when I said I was tired during confession, Father asked me: What are you tired of? It took me a few seconds to start articulating my thoughts.

Overall I have this sense of exhaustion with life: of trying and getting nowhere.

Do I really go nowhere? Of course not! I know I’ve accomplishments to celebrate. But some of these successes have taken me years to achieve: years of struggle, disappointment and suffering. Yes, I know I’ve accomplished things, but I feel like the price has been very high. I have no energy left to keep on trying. Often, that’s how I feel.

I’m tired of people.

Do I dislike everybody? No! I love so many people; I’d give my life for some of them. I finally have wonderful friends in this country. I know lots of people who care about me, who worry about me. But I’m tired of fake people who pretend to care about me and only care about themselves and their needs. What actually angers me is their fake love and concern, their, of course, I love you, but I’ll spread rumours behind you; their how are you doing?, but I couldn’t care less and I’ll get my way even if it means stepping on you. I constantly try to focus on the good characteristics these people have; I pray for them, I do it regularly. But again, I’m tired of all these.

I’m tired of disappointing people.

Am I really such a disappointment? No! I know that’s not true. But I also know that some of my actions, ideas and thoughts disappoint people quite often. And because I’m no longer willing to give up on who I am and what I stand for, people make a big deal into how I’m such a disappointment.

I’ve made zero improvements in my health

I’ve been trying to fix my hormones for 17 years and I’m not even close to being done. I have anxiety and depression.  I feel like for every good weekend I have, the next 2 I’ll feel awful.

On bad days, all these thoughts combined make me tired, tired with capital letters. Although  I know that this pattern of thoughts belongs to depression, sometimes  I don’t think I can go on any longer. But I know I’m not alone, and that tomorrow can be better!

 

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Thirsty of Peace & Starving Of Light

I’m thirsty of peace,

and starving of light.

 

My heart feels uneasy,

with a longing for rest and quiet,

for a peace than sometimes seems unreachable.

 

But my starving soul tempts me every day

and advises me to give up;

my soul whispers that nothing will ever get better and that dying will solve everything.

I know those are lies. I know the symptoms,

yet…sometimes I believe all the whispering:

Nothing

I’m gone

People move on

It’s easier

Somehow, deep in my heart I know I’m meant for greatness,

for happiness,

to love and be loved.

I know that God is with me and that he will give me peace and light through Jesus Christ.

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One Of The Obsessions That’s Slowly Destroying Me

I have a few obsessions; I think all of them are slowly destroying me. One of them is about going to a beautiful sunny beach with my Munequito.

I didn’t have a honeymoon, but I never wanted one. To be honest, I never even ambitioned to get married. I guess that in my magical fantasy life I dreamt of going to Machu Picchu for my honeymoon, but that’s just one of my many crazy dreams with no foundation.

I’ve made some small trips with my husband. Nothing major, but we’ve gone to places. I think twice we went to Seattle for a few days. That counts as a vacation. We’ve spent a night in Harrison Hot springs, and some separate nights throughout the years in Bellingham. We’ve been to Salt Spring Island for the weekend.

We love each other very much, and we’re happy, or as happy as my craziness lets my marriage to be a happy one.

But I’m truly obsessed with going to a beautiful Mexican beach with my husband. I see it as a very late honeymoon and as something I’ve worked very hard to get. I’ve had this obsession for years. And over the years, I’ve created these images in my mind:

We’re getting out of the plane and the warm air makes me smile

We arrive at the hotel, I hold my husband’s hand and we run towards the ocean: it’s not cold, the sand it’s beautiful!

We wake up in the morning and walk down to the beach, to stop later on for breakfast

I’m obsessed with that trip, with those memories. I’m fully aware how unhealthy this is.

About 3 months ago I had saved enough money to go on this trip: beautiful Huatulco was waiting for us. I blame the excitement (but it was stupidity and lack of focus) for the horrible mistake I made. I booked the trip for the wrong days and we couldn’t go. I was covering from someone at work, a position that ideally I wanted to get; I couldn’t leave my job to go on this poorly and mistakenly scheduled trip. I could probably have gone, and I’m confident I could still have gotten the job. But I can’t do that sort of thing, I’m not sure what stopped me: morals, values, ridiculous sense of responsibility?; maybe I’m dumb and my priorities are odd.

I couldn’t get a refund nor could I give away the trip to someone else. It was all wasted. I cried for days; it was incredibly hard to let go (plus consider I wasn’t having a great mental season anyway).

I decided not to attempt this trip anymore, at least not for the summer which was my original goal. I planned something else for the summer, something that I’ve been looking forward to doing for 10 years. And so you know, that also ended up in tears and suffering (clearly a topic for another post); yes, there were some highlights, but with a very sad ending.

But Christmas is coming, and I can go to the beach! But I want to go because I’m obsessed with it. I’m not sure it will bring me happiness. My husband doesn’t want to go, he has zero interest in this trip; he goes along with me because he’s better than me and loves me very much. But I’ve in places where I didn’t want to be (for holidays and non-holidays), and it’s awful. I don’t want him to be in a place where he doesn’t want to be. Especially, because I don’t think I’ll be happy. My obsession is of such intensity, that I know that any small failure will crush me: forgetting my flip-flops, not putting sunscreen on my husbands’ toes, a bad piece of fruit in my husband’s plate…I’m not pessimistic, but I know that something may happen that isn’t part of my perfect trip, and I won’t be able to handle it.

But without my obsession, I feel like I have nothing: nothing at all; and that scares me. My obsession gives me a fake sense of happiness, it provides me with a fake and pseudo reachable goal to dream of.

I have invested so much in this utopian trip that I don’t think it can realistically bring me happiness. But I know that midnight Mass on the 24th will make me happy, that waking up to hug my Christmas moose will make me smile; having a cup of tea while looking at my Christmas tree will give me joy; and  watching The Little Mermaid with a bowl of potato chips and salsa next to my Munequito will make me so happy. That’s the happiness I want, and that’s what I should aim to get this Christmas.

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My Morning Bus Driver

We met when he stopped the bus in the middle of the road so I could get in. You cannot really run with that cast, he said. And I liked him since that day.

Every morning, he would show up with a nice smile and a good morning. He wouldn’t start moving the bus until I have found a seat.

When my cast was removed, he still would ask how I was doing. I loved that so much. He, a random and kind stranger would ask how I was doing. Some close people (friends, family) never followed up at all.

I don’t see him anymore. I miss him. But I’ll always remember him and pray for him. Because there were days, mornings particularly, when his how are you doing? made me feel loved and less alone.

Posted in Life, Non fiction, Short Stories | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ten Years and Two Reasons

This August I will be celebrating 10 years since I moved to Canada. I’m 32, so pretty much I’ve lived a third of my life in this country. It doesn’t feel like that at all.

I came to Canada when I was 22 years old. I remember how happy and excited I was to be here. I was also incredibly happy that I wasn’t in Puebla anymore (I wanted to leave so badly).

These 10 years have been very difficult, I would have never guessed that. Never. But there are 2 things that have given me all the strength to go on: my husband and God.

 God

Although I know that I’ve always had God, it was not until 2 years ago that I really experienced my faith as an engine towards pushing harder and not giving up. I wasn’t a practicing Catholic, but I thought that in my own way I loved God. I had no idea all the things that I was missing!

Now, I have a personal relationship with Jesus and he is at the centre of my life. I see Mary as my true mother, and the Saints as those friends that are always with me, helping me grow in holiness.

I see suffering as an opportunity to grow, I struggle many times to do so, but I try my best.

I’ve realized I’m not as nice as I thought, and I fail to be the best version of myself most of the days.

I know God only wants the best for me, and while most of the times I cannot understand why certain things are happening, I trust in Jesus, because I know who He is.

 My Munequito

My husband is just too good for me. I’m the evil one in this marriage, and everyone knows it (my family, our friends, etc.). Now that I think about it, I know God gave me this husband so I could handle trials and suffering, but also all the happiness and blessing that I’ve been given. Praise God for that!

My Munequito is smart, incredibly nice, kind and loving, in fact, that’s his only defect: an excess of kindness. It amazes me how much he loves me despite my many faults, my constant rumination about the same things over and over.

Last week at counselling, when trying to look at the progress I’ve made, Lindsey said: I remember when Morgan contacted me because he thought you were going to kill yourself. He was there, at the end of my first session with Lindsey when we came up with an emergency code that we were going to use when I felt like I was just going to kill myself.

Yesterday I was watching Downton Abbey, and Mr Bates said to Anna (Mr Bates and Anna are one of my favourite TV couples of all time): It’s not right for you to cry alone. You’re married, and that means you never have to cry alone again. I immediately texted this to my Munequito and told him: you’ve never told me such thing! But the truth is, I’ve cried next to my Munequito many times, I’ve lied down on his chest at night and sobbed nonstop.

Many years ago, back in Mexico, I once wrote: the worst thing of being alone is knowing that, indeed, you have somebody around (lo peor de estar solo es sabe que sí se tiene a alguien). I don’t feel that way anymore. I don’t think my Munequito understands the many reasons that make me depressed or fuel my anxiety, but that’s not important. He is always there, hearing my complaints, drying my tears, trying to love me more and more.

I only hope I’m at least half as good to him as he is to me.

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I’ll See Her Again

I always thought that when my abue died I was going to be beyond devastated. I used to think that I was never going to recover from her dead. Thanks to my faith, that wasn’t the case.

Last year she passed away. My brother gave me the news early Friday, and by Saturday at 3 am I was already with my family in Puebla. I was devastated to see my mum so crushed, to see my Avi barely alive, and to be home, a place that I refuse to recognize as my own.

I cried, but very little to be honest. I was upset I didn’t get to spend another Christmas with my abue, a Christmas where my husband could be present. At the same time, I was aware of how much mental and physical suffering my abue was having, and consequently, I knew about my mum’s struggles to properly care for her.

Although it had been decades since my abue received the Eucharist, I’m confident she’s in Purgatory. And that makes me so happy because God willing, I’ll see her one day. Since she died, every Holy Communion I’ve received it’s been offered for her: that her suffering may the temporarily relief and that she may join God in His heavenly kingdom soon.

My abue was the best grandma I could ever have. I think I’ve said this before, but if I’m a moderately decent person it’s because my abue raised me while my mum spent hours at work so she could provide for me.

My abue was so much fun, kind and also very strict. I love her so much. I only have happy memories of her. She loved me like a mother and I have nothing for thankfulness and love for her.

I know she was happy that I married such a wonderful man. I can’t wait to see her again.

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Summer Love

I take you for granted because I’ve grown used to your love,

your kindness and innocence

your good heart, a heart with no malice.

I love you because your smile is bright and welcomes my many faults,

because you’re patient with me, a me that I can barely stand sometimes.

 

I love you because somehow you don’t judge me…I’m not even sure how that’s possible.

I love you because you’re meant for me,

because even your small imperfections complement the perfect love you offer me every day.

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