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Where’s Rivka?

8 Sep

Hi world,

I’ve been holed up in the prison of my mind. Thinking many thoughts, engaging many feelings and investing in hard work. This past year has been a doozie for me and “making it through,” the analogous energy-zapper, meeting me daily at my doorstep. Most of my expression of the past year lives in perpetuity on my instagram page: @mybentlife

I will return soon. I feel the slight heat of a new ember within. The momentary pause of an unrestrained timeline will lift, eventually. And with it? Who knows…

Be assured that my eyes are open, my ears attentive and my spirit alert.

xo, Rivka

LOST; and in search of my inner Lesley Gore

12 Feb

Have you ever been lost?  Truly in a spot of unrecognized territory?  I have.  Once, while vacationing on the island of Oahu, Hawaii.  I took my husband and two children on an adventure we will never forget.  I am an avid hiker, at least the Rivka I am most familiar with, I can say, is an avid hiker.  So to an unfamiliar trail I took my family, the call of true adventure my thrill.  We began our trek to the hidden waterfall with somewhat of a visible trail to guide our way.  And though at many times we were unsure if our chosen steps were leading us in the direction we hoped to go, we were offered a smidgen of hope from a random passerby to assure us our desired destination did, in fact, exist.  So while we had a successful venture to the pool of water I had longed to see, our hike back to safety took a wrong turn.  The rain began to fall…and fall, and fall.  And with it, the trails were completely washed away.  Banana palm trees lay fallen in the mud.   Our once familiar markers were sailing down the, now flowing, creek leaving us truly lost and in a place of unrecognizable territory.  Gone were the one or two previous people who kept us on course.  Gone was solid ground, only slippery mud and a husband/father with a guitar (because every hiker totes a musical instrument, right?), a wife/mother with a bit of fear lurking inside her, an optimistic boy, and a little girl who promptly spilled the rationed trail mix as if paying homage to the ritualistic offerings from the island’s past.  In that moment, flip-flop bedecked, we the Bent family were considering how it might feel to sleep in jungle-like surroundings with no food or water left for sustenance.  Yet plenty of rain and who knows what else!  We obviously made it out, thanks to the guitar and the little boy.  No questions please.

Well, here I am again.  Lost.

Where is Rivka?  An honest to goodness question circling within my soul.  Hello…anybody home?

Oh the logistics of my whereabouts are accounted for, but the “me” I am so familiar with seems to be missing.  I am not depressed.  I know what that looks and feels like.  I am not oppressed, I have been there too.  I am simply too pooped to come out to play.  Every day for the past three weeks I have awoke in the morning and begun my search.  Or I lie awake through the night unable to properly sleep, thus getting a jump start on my quest.  I am looking for my Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows.  I am hoping for the feelings of “everything that’s wonderful is how I feel when we’re together” to return into my view again.  You know, my Lesley Gore!

Yes I have been lost before.  However, I have never before been in a predicament of unfamiliarity as result of too much pressure.  I have been blue, I have been burdened, I have been overwhelmed, and I have been tired.  But being in a place of enduring the weight of too many difficult circumstances culminating simultaneously equating to a pressurized intensity unbearable to my body, mind, and soul, is new terrain.

Unable to speak.  Unable to write.  Unable to muster up the energy for thought.  Pressurized, and thus, vaporized.

I began to formulate an ‘SOS’ type text to send out to my girlfriends who I figured could handle a cry for help.  But even that weight felt too heavy to lift; end result, delete.  Prayer.  Ah, the Heavenward thoughts which unite the human spirit with the spirit of One.  Key word in previous sentence being, “thoughts”…mine are bankrupt.  Fill in the blanks.

As I sit here in my living room writing, post a three week hiatus, my husband enters into the room to inform me our plumbing has backed up yet again.  We have a root ball blocking our sewage flow.  Tomorrow the dig will begin, at least I will know where to find me…on another path leading toward shit.  I think I’ve written about that in the past.  Sorry, the color brown seems to suit me.  And a statement like that does echo the voice of depression, I apologize.  I am merely utilizing my literary license to invoke the melodramatic.  Truly, sewage problems I can handle…I know how to squat over a bag covered bucket!

Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows…the search continues.  “Lesley, are you out there?!”

P.s. It is a good sign that I was able to formulate a post.  Cheers to that!  Now may you please enjoy the song, and remember it’s that time of year again when the baby king hides out in a cake.  😉

The Normal Translation

22 May

I have spent the majority of this day and last night’s eve contemplating my feelings of exhaustion.  Especially as I have had the good fortune of receiving more than an adequate nights sleep, several nights in succession.  Mind you, I am continuing my ‘full function’ of the days activities, but all the while dealing with the feeling of needing a nap.  The ideas I wrestle with are as minimally invasive as ‘do I need to take vitamins?’, to the more intrusive, ‘perhaps I have cancer’, thoughts.  To which I answer in the following manner; ‘if I do need vitamins I’m out of luck because I never follow through with taking them–yuck!’ AND, ‘if I do have cancer eating away at some part of my body, then I guess I’ll be dead in about a year.’  I know, I know, not exactly the type of “proactive” mentality I normally purport having.  I assure you, however, I examine my answers utilizing the most lighthearted thought process even though what comes forth resembles a rather melancholic tone.

At any rate, tonight I have discovered the source of my sandbags, the dip in my dew, the dent in my hull…otherwise considered the cause of my fatigue.  My new “normal” lives cautiously afloat the fragility of the health of my son, Cole.  And in my constant attendance to his well being, whether that attendance is in thought or deed, I see that I shoulder an amount of emotional stress which translates to–or manifests as–the demise of my stamina.  For instance, the fixed appointments of the day had to be cancelled due to Cole having had a hard night, last night.  His hard night was a result of severe nausea and abdominal pain.  And today, he tells me he has back pain and his symptoms increase when he lies down–the upset stomach symptoms.

Now in families where there has not been the trauma of a brain tumor thrust into their “normal”, nausea and abdominal pain equates to the flu or food poisoning…or quite possibility, appendicitis.  But not in my normal.  In MY normal, severe nausea and abdominal pain with an increase of symptomatology upon prostration means….need I really point it out?!

Entonces aqui estoy sentado al lado de mi hijo tratando tener confianza, fe, y esperanza en lo que no debe ser mi ‘normal’.  Espero que el tiene el gripe y nada mas.  Pero aqui estoy sentado, mirando, esperando, finjo tranquilidad pero con la sabiduría que quizas mas tarde o mañana vamos tener que visitar un doctor.  Y con ese normal, es dificil sentirme tranquilizo.

Did you catch that?  If not, the base of the meaning (though you can cut and paste into an online translator if you so desire), is that my norm is in constant motion.  And though I sit here on my couch wearing the appearance of docility, I am actually a good example of Newton’s laws of motion…perpetual and constant.  Which can quite possibly have a draining effect.  And being I have this new realization or epiphany (choosing to use the word wrapped in religion vs. simply derived from the French language), I will stop my ignorant complaints, for knowledge has filled the void of ignorance and to go about my days in wonderment as before, would be to act the fool.  ‘Oi Vay’… a tired fool is the worst of its kind!  And we don’t need a translator for that–she looks the same in any language! 😉  No, that will not be me.  I will attempt to embrace the fatigue and contemplate it no more.

“the sweet surrender to Norm”

**for those of you receiving this update on iphone or through email, I do have a youtube song attachment included.  …Enjoy!

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