Process of Grief. “I feel so depressed” I say to myself. “I’m so tired” I say as I yawn a big mouth yawn. Trying to exercise, to eat, to stay up past 7:30pm, to not snap at my children. Take a deep breath. In the nose, out the mouth. “Why am I saying these things to myself, about myself?” It’s not normal? Is it just PMS? Is it just not having enough free time to myself? Or am I this way? Is the world the way I think it is? What’s true? What’s not? What matters? What doesn’t? I find myself several times picking up my phone to check Facebook , to see if anyone posted anything, to read about what horrors are going on in America and around the world. To be reminded of scum or told to just forget about it, don’t think about it. I forget that I deleted my Facebook account. And then I feel relieved I am not part of that right now. My heart is starting to beat fast, this was supposed to be a time of relaxation. Jack and Fiona are taking their nap; the house is quiet. I’ve worked in my studio, taken a shower, and here my mind goes again, in the loop. I think, “I should be happy.” Why am I so down? The election has taken a real toll on me, the Trump presidency and the Bannon appointment. I feel like I’m panicking. I could try to make myself believe I’ll be fine so I shouldn’t worry so much. I don’t want to put my head in the sand like an ostrich. I don’t want to become a medicated zombie. I don’t want to go crazy. Where is there balance? I remember growing up and hearing my mom and her boyfriend talk about Carter and Reagan. They said Reagan was bad. I didn’t know what that meant, I just Knew our house didn’t like Reagan. When I became old enough to vote my mom had stopped voting. “Why mom? How can you not vote?” I asked her. She told me it didn’t matter anymore, that everyone was corrupt. Around this same time she told me she “Hated white people”. I wonder what my mom would say if she were alive today. Maybe she wouldn’t be as surprised as me. I was naïve. I thought things were getting better, but they were festering. Now I’m festering, trying to keep a grip. I am in the midst of raising twins in the heart of a dramatic developmental stage. During the breaking apart of mother and baby, I still want Jack and Fiona to be my little babies, they still want me to baby them. But they are getting bigger and finding their own independence and individuality. I am also changing, some by choice, some not. I must be more stern now, Jack and Fiona are heavy, strong, loud. They need direction and supervision almost all the time. The only time it’s easier now is at the park. I can sit and eat my lunch while they run off and play on the structures. It’s relaxing. There’s just a dark cloud hanging over my heart and mind. I feel like my mom died all over again, that type of shock. I feel like crying.
Category: art
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I am freaking out right now. I mean freaking out. The American government is being taken over by extreme right wing politicians. Not just Federally, but there are 31 Republican governors and only 18 democratic ones in office. All three branches of government are controlled by republicans, plus they have the potential to have a conservative leaning Judicial system. I feel like one of those crazy people right now. The world is changing, there will be bloodshed. Realizing only half of America voted during this election, that 46% cast throw away ballots or didn’t vote at all. To realize that half the country are totally apathetic. To be a mom raising children in this new world, like a world sixty years ago. I have been going along thinking good will happen, I just need to do good, be helpful and caring, as I am, raise my children the same, vote, speak up as much as possible, and justice would prevail eventually around the world. That there were enough people doing good, we were moving in a positive direction, that we were changing the world. I laughed today when I realized that we, the ones who care, are a minority. Only 25% of the population of America voted Democratic. Take Hilary out of the equation. (She still represents the Democratic party). The same holds true for the Republican party, who BANK on that 46% who don’t give a shit. They know that their guns can take care of us bleeding hearts. Their jails, their crushing of social programs, creating tent towns under the freeways. The Republicans know that there is a majority of Americans who will probably be fine, some with money will rake it in, so to them they don’t mind what’s happening on the streets. Their hearts aren’t affected by it. I am part of a minority that cries when she hears about people suffering, I want to do something or have nothing at all myself. I walk on that line, getting closer than I’ve ever been with the political shift that’s taken place this past week. I can’t just go back to my life and not fight this. Even though I see now that we are a small group. The only hope is for the WHOLE WORLD to UNITE!! One country can’t do it alone, not two or three or five. It HAS TO BE ONE WORLD. I wonder how many of us are out there? How many bleeding-heart liberals exist on Planet Earth today? Time to make art.
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Sick again. Then better. Then sick. Then better. A roller-coaster. Non-stop dishes; complaining re-wires the mind, it makes you more prone to anxiety and depression, I read this on-line. The pile grows, minute after minute, day after day. It causes me anxiety. There’s nothing I can do about it. I feel overwhelmed domesticity-wise. It’s hard for me to handle the constant talking, my name being called from all which ways, 360 degrees around my head, non-stop. The pulling in this direction and that. The mess after mess, Jack and Fiona growing up into actual people, whole people I need to clean up after. There’s no containing the mess, or trying to “keep up with it”, no, it just barrels out, the minute you think you’ve got it all under control, KaBoom! It’s like a hurricane went through the house. I can’t tell how exhausted I am from this whole ordeal. (of being a parent). Or if it’s the beginning of menopause and my hormones are changing drastically, leaving me unable to be the “Good Housewife”. I’ve said this before; it’s back breaking work. It’s intellectual too. Sometimes I’m bombarded with so much talking, mood switches, fighting, whining, asking, grabbing, calling my name, my mind goes blank. I can’t remember names of common zoo animals. Spaghetti brain. Then the constant anxiety over the election, pure fright. Do I need something stronger? Something to numb my body and my senses? A costume? A disguise? Fake it till I make it? Does my stomach hurt from stress or hormones? Or is it real? Are all feelings real? How do we honor ourselves and how we are feeling when we are under a heavy pile of dirty laundry? Too heavy to pick up, too massive to just “get it done”. These are feelings that go through my mind and body. Things I say that get taken out of context, another problem when you’re raw. Is it a shared feeling? A shared sense of being? It’s noon, Monday November 7, 2016. Tomorrow is the election. We will see if some of my discomfort will go away after tomorrow (If Hilary wins). If Trump wins, I just don’t know. It will be a very sad and difficult day for me, for a lot of people.
Dirty Laundry Blog by Jennifer Hynes 