So I wrote a blog. I’ve been writing them for a year now. You know, with all my free time whilst I raise twin toddlers. I occasionally sit down between cooking meals, changing diapers, doing laundry, cleaning toilets, not sleeping, etc... and throw together some ramblings about my short comings. My mental illness, former addiction, parental failings, sin in my life, you name it. That’s what I do. I am an open book. I’m not actually whining, contrary to what some might think. I’m just not ashamed. I’m not afraid to be transparent. I just share who I am, faults and all.
Two weeks ago I was tired and frustrated with all the continually and sometimes judgmental and contradictory rules of parenting and my own inability to keep up. So I finally chose to write about it. And most people got it. Most.
Mother of sanity...
It’s memorial weekend. We are up at the cabin with family. A time where we are supposed to be resting and relaxing. A time of thankfulness. A time of remembering those who have given their lives for our freedom.
My husband has been working overtime and doing freelance work so we’ve been looking forward to this trip for weeks. We even bought our twin two year olds their first fishing poles and planned a treasure hunt.
And then there’s me.
A massive ball of, “just take me to the sanitarium."...
It's been a shitty couple weeks. There it is. I swore. I’ve been doing that more than usual lately. Out loud. So if that is happening in my daily life, why wouldn’t I share it here? But it bothers me so much it cripples my mind. Self flagellation immediately ensues. That I am worthless. I can't even control my stupid mouth. I never have been able to. I live in one constant moment of open mouth insert foot. It's better I not leave the house.
I love Jesus. I do my devotions. I go to church. And I still swear. But I feel worse about cursing then I do about over eating, or about talking negatively about something someone posted on facebook, or that white lie I told last week, or a family member I still haven't forgiven...
I used to spend a lot of time drinking alone in bars. On a daily basis. I told myself that only sad alcoholics drink alone at home. This somehow made my addiction feel slightly less pathetic. I would sometimes rotate locations on different days of the week so as not to arouse suspicion. I would spend hours pretending I was working hard on my computer because I was going to solve human trafficking. I was going to end world hunger. Me. News flash ... I wasn’t working...
I thought about killing myself again today. Not the first time and likely not the last. Some people have Cancer. Some people have Aids. I have a mental illness. I cannot qualify it’s seriousness or pain. I just take my medication and pray that it does not take my life. Many of my friends don’t even know this about me. Surprise.
There are no parades. No colored ribbons. No t-shirts. No races to champion the cause. No soap boxes with celebrities on bullhorns. Just a stigma. Just the shame...
There she was, in all her disheveled and irrational glory. Dressed in nothing but her bra and underwear, screaming at the top of her lungs. Pacing outside her tent in a sold out public campground. And the obnoxious wind, that friend that never really could keep a secret, carrying her voice through the trees. Curse words flying to and fro, doing their undeniable damage. Her daughter continuing, incredibly, to argue back.
Welcome to the sh!t show...
When I got married my life changed forever. I was a drug addict and an alcoholic and my sweet Prince Charming was taking me on for life anyways. Even when I tried to give the ring back shortly before the wedding. He refused. His exact words were, “I want to create an environment where you can become the woman of God he created you to be.”
I know, ladies. Swoon.
And so I did it. I took the dive. Hurled myself down that aisle. Stood in front of somewhat bewildered friends and family (on both sides). Said all the vows. All of them. In front of God. You know, the Great I Am. Creator of Life. And I swore my allegiance to this smooth talking, tall drink of water...
Happy Holidays everyone. As this year comes to a close I sit here and realize that my neck feels broken. Whiplash from looking back on the last 12 months. All the things I had hoped for just one year ago. All the things that right now feel, for lack of a better way of putting it, wilted.
And who do I blame? Cause there’s a lot of that going on right now. Too much. In fact, it’s all I see. Everyone seems to be busying themselves with the work of pointing fingers. Laying blame.
The consensus? 1. The world is on fire and we are all going down. 2. If you don’t take a side, on whatever the issue may be, you are the problem. 3. All the people on the opposing side are sheep (Well, baaaaa, because by this formula I guess we are all gonna get eaten by the big bad Wolf), 4. Compassion and empathy has left the building, 5. We are now absolutely defined by our skin color, our sex, our religion, our sexual orientation, our voting record. Ad nauseam. Everything BUT our hearts.
Get a grip America...
First of all, I want to make something abundantly clear. I have mostly given up on the Presidential election at this point. I am in a full state of mourning. I am literally in the grave. That is where you can find me. RIP. Here lies Sarah Kallies. She once believed in Democracy...
I have no plans to vote for either candidate at this point. And it’s not because I don’t care. If anything, I care too much. And believe me, I have heard all the reasoning as to why this is idiotic.
Guess what? Bye Felicia. It’s my vote. I don’t care. Save your manipulation for someone else...
A child is a child is a child is a child a child.
Sweet Omran, you are the face of war today. And I see you. Being pulled from the rubble. Sitting in shock and confusion. Your empty stare. And I want you to know that I am fully present in this moment. Instead of hopelessness, there is a fire in my belly that was started a year ago and it continues to grow.
I was going to wait to post this until September 2nd. In honor of Alan. But now I see you, Omran. It’s almost been a year since I first saw his lifeless body laying on a Turkish shoreline. A baby, really, like my own. Since he grabbed a piece of my heart that I will never get back. Nor do I want to. Because he has taught me so much.
That we are the same...
