Love…a poem

john-jennings-438856 unsplash 500 pi

Meredith Gibraltar writes a poem about love.  Remember those who are alone on Valentine’s Day.  Cheers!

Love…love…love…love.
Love of a mother or father.
Love of a friend.
Love of a lover, wanted so much.
Do I dare to invite that lust?
Do I dare to invite that need?
I stand naked before you.
I watch for that sword,
that I know will cut.
I watch for that tongue,
that can wound.
I watch…
Will I let you near?
Will I let you in?
To say no would mean
forever alone.
Wanting, needing, craving but safe!
Forever alone is too bleak.
With courage I open my eyes and search.
I look in the face of a man.
Courageous and strong.
Could it be you?  My next love?
Could it be you?

Photo credit:  John Jennings on Unsplash

Writing is cathartic!

kaitlyn-baker-422999 unsplash 500 pi

Meredith Gibraltar talks of how writing about her sorrow helped.  But which way of writing helped the most?  Cheers!

As you know my cat Echo has passed.  It is a time of great sorrow for me.  I wrote about it in two blogs, a wrote a poem and a wrote a similar scene in the book I am writing.  Of all three the writing of a scene in a book was the most cathartic.  Cathartic means providing psychological relief through the open expression of strong emotions.  Crying is cathartic.  Well yesterday writing a scene in my next book was the most cathartic.  It was as if I was reliving the anguish as I expressed it in a character in my book.  When I write my book I often loose myself in the character.  I was gripped by the sorrow and relived it as I wrote it down and had a sense of relief after I was done.  But the large sense of relief only came after writing my book and only marginally when writing my blogs or my poem.  It was interesting.  I think it was because I wrote what the woman was saying, reliving my own sorrow in her words.

I have said it before.  Write a book.  Especially if you suffer from anxiety or depression.  It can be just 20 pages.  Or even longer.  Or just start writing and see how long the book is.  In mine a woman has a depression and just lost her cat.  Another gripping scene was written this morning where she is overcome with fear because she is being followed (fiction) and because she lost her cat.  It was all too much for her.  Again I was wrapped up in the story and feeling her sorrow.  Again it was cathartic.

Write my friends, write.  And heal as you go one.  Never stop fighting!  🙂

photo credit:  Kaitlyn Baker on Unsplash.

An Ode to Echo.

Echo 500 pi

I may have written about Echo my cat recently.  Well the situation came to a head yesterday late afternoon.  Echo had had a difficult day.  He wasn’t eating, needed help to use the litter and wasn’t comfortable even in my arms.  He is 17 years old.  Old age finally caught up with him.  So I made the decision that he was suffering too much.  I took him to the vet and now he dances in meadows with my brother and Candy, my daughter’s dog.  He is free of that pain and suffering.

Echo was a character.  Strong willed and affectionate.  He was scared of dogs.  He came into my life four years ago when his previous owners were moving and couldn’t take him with them.  I adopted him so that he wouldn’t have to go to an animal shelter where he would have been put down.  He was an old black cat with eyes that didn’t match!

Echo came into my home with my cats and my dogs.  The dogs spend their time in the living area.  The kitchen, dining room and living room.  There is a dog gate.  Echo spent his time everywhere else until a year ago.  He finally got used to the dogs and spent his last year in the living area with them.  He no longer cuddled with a heating blanket.  He preferred the couch.  He no longer came to my room at night to cuddle.  He preferred being with the dogs.  Funny cat.

Then he got sick.  He was dizzy and could barely balance to walk.  It cleared up for a couple of weeks.  Then it came back worse.  He needed help to get into the litter box.  Finally he wasn’t eating, even wet food.  He was barely drinking.  On his last day he was complaining when I picked him up and not purring anymore.  His eyes seemed to be glazed and he might have been in pain.  I think it was neurological.  So I said good bye to My Echo, My Echo.  May you rest in peace.  I love you and always will.

I’ve written about Echo in my next book Abigail.  His name is Charlie in the book.  Today I will write in what happened to him.  This is my way of healing.  To write about it and to draw him.  I will post the marker drawing that I do of him with this post.  I still have to do it though.

How will this effect me?  Will it depress me?  Yes.  I am sad but I keep telling him that I gave him four good years.  It was the humane thing to do because he was suffering.  Writing about it and drawing him will help me heal.  Remembering the good times will help me heal.  Thinking of him in Heaven in a field of daisies with Candy and my brother Ray will help.  Loving him still will help me heal.

May you rest in peace My Echo, My Echo.  Old Man.  I love you and always will.

So an ode is a poem that expresses the poets feeling about someone.  In this case Echo.

Echo my Old Man.
You will always reside in my heart.
Your last day was one of suffering.
So I took the choice.
That hard choice when you were no more.
The last think you remember was my touch and my voice.
Echo, My Echo.  Do you dance with the stars?
I remember your cuddling.
You incessant demand.
You lay in my arms often as I read.
You lay in my arms before any other.
You had that special place.
As now you have a special place in my heart.
I wept for you.
Echo, My Echo.
I weep for you still.
It was time, Old Man.
It was time.
Amen.

My goals…a poem.

jan-kahanek-184676 unsplash 500 pi

Meredith Gibraltar writes a poem about Goals.  Cheers!

I stand here and wonder if I have the right?
The right for new goals.
I have wallowed in my illness for so long.
Centered on surviving from day to day.
Centered on making it through the moment.
Do I have the right of a future?
Do I have the right to think beyond?
You probably think yes.
But for me deep down I don’t know if I have the right.
I don’t know if I dare.
Words are so empty at times.
I say I have goals but are they real?
Mere parroting of expected words.
Do I actually believe that I will survive?
Yesterday I thought yes.
Today I think no.
I don’t know.
It takes all my courage to think beyond.
It takes all my courage to believe that I will heal.
It takes all my courage to hope.
To hope about the beyond.

I’m not in the room!

jan-kahanek-184676 unsplash 500 pi

Stephen King is quoted as saying that he isn’t in the room when he’s writing.  I haven’t got the exact quote.  But it’s something like that.  That’s where I’m at with my writing.  Cheers!

I am writing my second book Abigail.  In it the heroine has a depression.  I write to raise awareness about mental illness.  As I write, I realize that I have a depression as well as suffering from anxiety.  I didn’t know this until this month when I started writing my second book.  As I write, I become the person I am writing about.  As I write, I see my depression for what it truly is.

I find it hard to do the basic things in life like taking care of myself and especially, cleaning.  Cleaning depresses me so much that I have had help for over ten years.  But now as I am aware of this, I am slowly taking back my own life and cleaning.  I am also taking better care of myself.  One of the first signs of a depression is lack of self-care.  If this is happening to you then know that you are probably suffering from a depression and seek help.  At first your family doctor can help.  If it’s serious he or she will tell you to seek professional help.  But the family doctor is the first step.  Open up.  Talk about your depression.  You are important to the people around you who love you and to humanity itself.  Everyone has their special something to offer their loved ones but also people around them.  Be it friends or even strangers.  Who knows?  Your kind actions may help someone out of their own depression without you knowing it!  You matter!  Take care of yourself!

Cheers!

In addition, writing helps with my mental illness.  Something about writing down what happens in my day helps me.  Expressing it even just in the written word helps me.  Try to write it down.  You could start a story.  Where the hero is you.  Or you could just keep a journal.  Write down the little things in your day as well as the major events.  Write my friend write!  And slowly you will heal.

photo credit:  Jan Kahanek with Unsplash

I didn’t know…a poem

jan-kahanek-184676 unsplash 500 pi

Meredith Gibraltar writes two poems about depression.  The last one for her book Abigail.  Cheers!

I didn’t know.
I know I have other problems.
But depression on top of everything else?
I didn’t know.
There were signs though.
Putting off things every day and not getting them done.
A low feeling when I absolutely had to do them.
A constant tiredness.
That became my mantra.
I am tired.  I am tired.  I am tired.
How to move forward?
One day at a time.
Knowing is half the battle.
Baby steps.  Small steps.
But always forward.
Now, I know.
I suffer from depression.

_______________________________

Depression.
How do I explain it?
A constant tiredness.
A constant low.
A putting off of everything.
Unless it has to be done.
A putting off of everything.
Sometimes even of getting out of bed.
My pets help.
I feel I have to take care of them.
Sometimes that’s what pulls me out of my thoughts.
My pets need me.
They need to be fed.
They need exercise.
My family needs me.
But not like my pets.
My pets help with my depression.
Thank God for my pets!

 

Photo by Jan Kahánek on Unsplash

My writing space.

writing 500 pi

Meredith Gibraltar shares her writing space with you all.  Cheers!

Yes it’s my dining room table.  We no longer eat at the table.  I spend many an hour especially in the mornings typing away at my laptop.  I do not take a pen to paper.  It is all done with the computer.

I am now working on  my second book Abigail, introducing the characters.  It will be a romantic suspense of a woman who is at the wrong place at the wrong time with respect to organized crime.  The book speaks of her struggles when she is followed and also of her depression.  I try to incorporate stories of mental illness into my books to raise awareness among my readers.

Cheers!