Being alone and feeling alone are two very different things.
I have felt alone in a crowd of thousands.
While I like alone time, I loathe feeling lonely.
I am an emotional creature.
I always have been.
It has been both an amazing and horrible trait to be blessed/cursed with.
I have such difficulty keeping my emotions in check, even when I know logically what I am going through is likely good for me or necessary.
A long, what seems like a total lifetime ago really, I had to break up with a boy. We were so very different, I am not really sure why or how we even came to be, and yet?
We worked.
He was different.
And special.
And despite our differences, I liked him just as he was.
For my part, I loved him to bits.
But like many things, it had to end.
There was no fault, no blame, no anger or destruction. It was a matter of timing, distance and all the other things that life throws in your way.
But I was completely unready to let go.
The last time I heard his voice, it was both good and not so good. And that would be because of my awesome emotional state and lack of ability to control it. It seemed like the more upset at our parting I got, the more frustrated I became at his lack of emotional display.
I mean, we were going to be parted forever, wasn’t I worth a tear or two?!
Geesh!
It hurt and I told him so.
He explained that while he was fond of me and that it hurt that we had to say goodbye, he didn’t have the luxury of losing control of his emotions and because we were separating for non-awful reasons and that we were now both able to take our lives in different directions, it was a positive thing.
It made me feel ashamed of myself and I envied his ability to stay so rational and positive.
Being so emotional can be tough and it hardly seems like a luxury for me.
Because I feel things so intensely, I am capable of taking the smallest and simplest things and squeezing more happiness and joy out of them then most people can feel.
But.
It also means that I am also capable of feeling pain so sharp and hurtful it can, and does, bring me to my knees.
And it can do so much worse than that.
Yesterday, in front of a large room of my peers at BlogHer ’10, I tried to keep my feelings under control as I sat next to 3 beautiful and AMAZING women (and one dude, but he is still beautiful to me) and shared how the emotional tsunami that occurred after the death of my sweet baby boy and other myriad life events too nomerous to go into had not just brought me to my knees. It brought me to the point of sitting in my van in the middle of a freezing December night waiting to die.*
We were a damn fine panel, people.
It was telling that there was as much laughter as there were tears (Seriously, those who weren’t there have no idea how full of humor and happy all of us are and can be. This post is way more of a downer than that panel was. I love that about us.) as we talked about the different life events and paths that had led the 5 of to be sitting on that dias together talking about how we had gotten through so many things because of the community that surrounded each of us.
My community.
Do you know how thankful I am for all of you?
I may be in a fight with god but you are all angels and I have been lifted and carried and supported on your wings more than any one person deserves to be.
During the panel I recounted the darkest moment in my life. Sitting in that van, my body being slowly poisoned by the huge bottles of pills I consumed in some warped desire to save everyone from the wreck that was me. I remember watching a solitary bead of condensation that had melted on the windshield because of my body heat, roll down a slow, difficult path. As it worked hard to cut across the frost all by itself I remember thinking how tired I was, how much I felt for a drop of water fighting along an obviously futile path, how surreal it was that it was the last thing I would probably observe in this life…and how terribly, horribly alone I felt.
I don’t talk or write about this often.
It is difficult and embarrassing for me.
(Really, you have no idea how much so.)
Here on this blog I am almost putting the covers over my head wondering what on earth y’all think of me and it and everything, but saying and talking about it in a room of my peers was not easy.
As I recounted and remembered I almost couldn’t go on.
Because along with being a very emotional person, I am also blessed with an acute memory.
All those years later, sitting in a conference room in New York City, I felt the pain of that night cut me.
And I couldn’t speak.
Then I felt a hand, half-curled from the effects of the stroke that almost took her from us all, reach out and take mine in hers for support and to let me know I was loved.
It was my beautiful friend, Anissa.
She was there for me to give me strength to get through and go on.
I was not alone.
I am so thankful for the people I have met during my years online.
Most of you don’t comprehend how appreciated and needed you are in my life.
Sometimes late in the melancholy of the night or when I am hit by a wave of grief or loss or memory, I have nowhere else in the world to turn but to you all.
I have cried literal lakes of tears on the keyboard of my computer over the years.
And no matter what time of day or night, no matter what city I am in, no matter what my problem or sorrow is?
Someone is always, ALWAYS there.
To listen, love, hug or just accept me just as I am.
Mama Loves & Looney Tunes (Photo credit: Schmutzie)
My beautiful community.
You all mean so much to me.
You have done so much for my life.
You helped save someone that should have been well beyond saving.
I am grateful for you every day.
Because of you I am never alone.
And I’m here to say in my big, overly emotional way…
I love you.
xo,
Me.
*Because I mentioned this series many times in my panel, I will take pity on the people who immediately started Googling my blog for this story once our session was over and post links to Part One, Part Two, and Part Three here. (Except I take no pity on the ass who Googled, “How did looneytunes try to off herself?” You need a lesson in etiquette, yo.)
Aw Loralee, this made me cry. While my story isn’t nearly as dramatic as yours, there was a time when I too thought the world would be better off without me. I never did turn my car in front of that logging truck, but I seriously considered it.
I felt alone too. And I’ll always remember being a total blogging newbie, arriving here and how kind and thoughtful you were (are!). You welcomed me into the community and let me know that I’m not alone either.
You’d better be at Blog Her11 because girl, I’m finally going and I’ll personally track you down!
(lots of hugs)
Karen
I had a very hard case tonight at work. I thought of you…these were not good thoughts..These were “this was Loralee, a few years ago, thoughts.” You can understand what I was photographing. I need to look forward and think about tiaras and tutus, not the darkness that surrounds me daily.
I missed your session. I was there in spirit, holding your hand. I could not attend it. I have to keep some of those doors shut, or I cannot perform 40+ hours a week. I know you get it…cause you know me.
I like this blog. I like it because it’s not all sunshine and roses. Sometimes I like the sunshine and roses (I won’t name names…) but sometimes that makes me feel even more like something must be seriously wrong with me. Which, something is seriously wrong with me, but that doesn’t have to mean that I don’t have something to offer. I struggle with that thought…I need to save others from who I am.
That’s not really where I wanted to go. I’m sorry for your loss. I’m glad you are still around. I just wanted to say I’m a fan. :) (That is not a flippant little smiley…but a very genuine smile, if you can imagine it.)
I hate that I missed you session for a stupid reality TV show audition. You and your session? Worlds more important. Lesson learned. I was there in spirit. Love you. xoxo
Your session was amazing. I didn’t see you and Anissa holding hands, but I saw Anissa and Peter holding hands and I cried like a freaking baby.
When you said “I’d give all of this up in an instant if I could have my son back” I cried. Because it’s true. And I wish you had that option. I really do.
And the story about the one solitary raindrop. That will stay with me forever. Your story helps me better understand the individual in my life who tried to kill themselves.
Thank you for being brave. I wanted so badly to leap up onto that stage and hug each and every one of you. I don’t know why I didn’t.
Loralee. I’m thankful to God for your life. Because mine is better for having known you.
Thank you for being there for me…in Utah. I’ll never forget you and always call you my friend.
And someday…we’ll see each other again. I just know it.
Love you.
Wonderful post…so glad Anissa was able to attend. BTW, the link for Anissa’s site is wrong…it takes you no where. :(
Your session was amazing, and it was a weird sort of honor (if that’s even the right word) to sit there and listen to all of your stories. Thank you for sharing.
I love to death and thank God for your blog daily, because without it I wouldn’t know you and would have one less friend in my life. I hold you dear to my heart.
As far as the google search by the idiot….. Oh shit, I shouldn’t have laughed but you should see some the shit I have googled over here too. People are freaks!
I hope that lonely feeling goes away. I know that feeling well. IT SUCKS!
****I love YOU to death*** I shouldn’t be reading and commenting this early in the morning. SORRY!
That was incredibly beautiful, as are you.
This touched my heart. *Hugs*
I loved the session. I loved that I got to side beside all of you in person and hear the stories I’ve been hearing for years (in some cases, like Cecily’s, MANY years) come off my screen and be right in front of me. I cried so much.
What struck me most about you is how eloquent you are – how well you spoke. Don’t take this the wrong way – but it surprised me. I had no idea what a talented public speaker you would be, on one of the most difficult subjects someone could ever discuss. Beautiful inside and out.
I don’t comment often (ever?) but I always read. Cheering you on from afar.
I appreciate your blog. I know that’s a weird word to use, but it’s true. I appreciate your honesty, your candor. I know at times depression can be lonely, but your blog, your voice, they help so many of us know that we’re not alone.
thank you.
You are positively beautiful Loralee.
You are effervescent, your inner glow makes me smile big smiles.
I wanted to attend your session, but in the end decided I couldn’t handle it because my own pain is still too close to the surface.
I wanted to see each of you, hear your beautiful voices share the innermost parts of you and to cry with you. I sat next door and thought about you all the whole time.
I know it wasn’t meant to be this time, but sometime in the future – yes.
(I feel the same way about bloggity world and it’s crazy life giving abilities)
Hugs and love,
Arianne
You are beautiful in so many ways. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself with all of us. I love that I call you friend.
We are here. In loud boisterous ways, in soft loving ways. We are here. (Like in Horton Hears a Who!)
And we, who are here in all these ways, are happy you are here with us.
I didn’t intend to attend that panel. I was going to skip that session block entirely. And I wasn’t going to go that panel because I’m still feeling raw about my grandmother’s death earlier this summer. Then I got a text from a friend who was sitting in the room (before it started) feeling really overwhelmed and needed someone to vent at. So I went and I stayed and I’m very glad I did. Thank you for having the courage to speak and for allowing us to listen.
Just here to say thank you for sharing.
Your session was one of the highlights of my BlogHer weekend. (And I’m not saying that just because I got to pass Ree Drummond a tissue.) It truly was one of the most moving, inspiring, feel-it-in-my-toes-this-is-why-I-blog moments. So proud of all of you for doing it.
Oh, no, really. Someone Googled that???? Holy black recesses of hell. Some people.
I wish I’d been at BlogHer to meet you and all of the other wonderful and amazing people I’ve come to know through their blogs and tweets. I hope and pray that the support you continue to receive carries you through whatever it is you’re dealing with now.
Beautiful picture. I love your tiara.
Wow we really are kindred spirits. I know exactly how you feel. Everyone around me always wants to know why I get so excited over silly little things and so devastated when things go wrong. I guess they will never understand. I am here for you if you ever need to talk to someone. We really do have a lot in common and each deal with our struggles and demons. Thank you for sharing your life and letting us know that we are not alone. *hugs*
I never exactly know what to say when I comment here. When I feel that way, I just usually skip commenting. But, for some reason, I can’t do that on your blog. I’m compelled to say something… I just wish I knew what it was! I’m not the type to write out thing like “*hugs*” (though there is nothing wrong with that!), but I think I might be looking for my version of that. I’ll let you know when I figure out what that is. In the meantime, though, as always, thank you for your bright light and honesty. Wish I could have made it to BlogHer this year to meet you.
although we may not comment on every post ever written, you know we’re here. always supporting you. you are brave and i only hope that your speaking out can help someone else going through traumatic times. just beautiful, you.
I didn’t know of you until that panel, but I’m so glad that I do now. I think attending that panel has been a transformative experience in my life and you are all in my heart forever. If I had known last week what I know this week, I would have hugged you for sure. (So here’s a cyber hug for you.) You all were a damn fine panel, indeed.
bless you. someday, someone will read this and it will save her life.
You are a beautiful awesome person. Never forget that. Thank you for sharing your stories with us.
Loralee, I absolutely adore you. I’m so grateful that you are with us to share your story and your triumphs. Because of you, the world and the blogosphere are MUCH better places. I am so glad to say that I know you.
Loves you, woman.
That panel was nothing short of amazing. I felt so blessed to be in the audience. You, Cecily, Anissa, Peter, and now Kim… you all blow me away. And the humor… I’m the kind of guy that laughs at a funeral… sorry… couldn’t help it. I think the humor comes from our ability to see how infinitely tiny we all are. Or maybe we’re all just sick. ;)
Thank you so much for sharing that dark moment in the van. And thank you for living.
Loralee,
Hugs to you my friend! I am a huge fan of your blog! I read it and know that had you and I met while I still lived up in your neck of the woods we would of definitely been friends. Maybe we should meet up in Oklahoma sometime, when you come back to my neck of the woods! Although I am usually trying to catch the quickest plane out of this place. It doesn’t usually happen! I hope you start feeling better soon! I totally get you… I am in the same place, and it sucks!
I am so thankful that I have gotten to know you the past few years on your blog and that you and I have gotten to meet twice. ((hugs)) to you girlie. Love you lots!
I just found your blog today through Prairie Mom (?). Just found hers today too through Christine’s (welcometomybrain). I just want to say that I think you both are amazing. Profoundly, abundantly amazing. I cannot imagine losing a child. If you are still breathing, you are a wild success. Not that I wouldn’t understand if you decided to stop breathing. Personally, I think any grieving (and still breathing) parent should be listened to. Long and hard and patiently and as often as they feel like talking about it. I think the stuff that life forces you to live with when you have lived through that deserves to be heard and empathized with, perhaps more than just about anything else deserves to be heard. And the person that tries to tell you that you are doing it (grieving) wrong in even the smallest of ways is a complete and utter fool. It is difficult to imagine a more stupid assumption. Anyway, that is what I think. So, I’ll be listening in now too. God speed on your journey.