I'm still struggling with depression, and with suicidal thoughts, but I had and evaluation today to see if I would be a good candidate for Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation; I would, just have to get insurance approval. And I continue to rake through the archaeological records of my heart breaks trying to find the treasure that will release the curse of this savage grief.
Today's discovery is the loss of the ranch. When I was 13 we lost the ranch, and I lost my way. Up until that point I had never thought about doing anything other than taking over the ranch. It was the blood of my blood; it was as much a part of me as my hands. Losing the ranch was losing my safety net, my future...my life as I knew it. Interestingly enough, it was around the time that we lost the ranch that I started obsession about suicide.
Long story short, my dad was able to sublet the ranch a few years later and I wound up returning to the ranch with my dad my senior year. That year his brother died and set up a trust that left a home for my dad to stay in in Dickinson, so we spent most of our time there, but the ranch buildings continued to be ours to stay in.
When my dad was pretty sure he was going to die he offered to try to get the ranch back for me. I said no. Not because I didn't want it, but because I really had no idea how to run it on my own...I wasn't like my dad...I didn't know how to pull a calf, I didn't know how to pull an engine out of a tractor and take it apart, I didn't know how much seed to buy for the crops. There was no way I could do it alone. I hated saying no because it was my greatest desire to have the ranch, but I knew I would fail without his wisdom to guide me. And I hated having to say no to him because I knew how much it hurt him that the ranch that his parents and he had worked so hard on was no longer in the family.
Saying no felt like a betrayal to the land, to my father, and to myself. It still breaks my heart, and I still carry the guilt that I wasn't smart enough, and strong enough to take it on. And when my dad died, the chance of ever getting the ranch back died with him. All of the wisdom, skill, knowledge that he had accumulated over the years was gone. All the stories of his growing up in the depression was gone. Stories of his mother; my beloved grandmother were gone. Him constantly giving me shit about being a grump-ass were gone.
Even the home we shared in Dickinson was gone...I was left dangling for the wolves with a storage until full of "stuff", and no direction or purpose. At least when my father was alive those last few months I had the role of care-taker to give me purpose...with him gone, I had nothing, but grief and the belief that since I had cried at his funeral I no longer was supposed to have any feelings...I just needed to carry on and be "fine."
Today's discovery is the loss of the ranch. When I was 13 we lost the ranch, and I lost my way. Up until that point I had never thought about doing anything other than taking over the ranch. It was the blood of my blood; it was as much a part of me as my hands. Losing the ranch was losing my safety net, my future...my life as I knew it. Interestingly enough, it was around the time that we lost the ranch that I started obsession about suicide.
Long story short, my dad was able to sublet the ranch a few years later and I wound up returning to the ranch with my dad my senior year. That year his brother died and set up a trust that left a home for my dad to stay in in Dickinson, so we spent most of our time there, but the ranch buildings continued to be ours to stay in.
When my dad was pretty sure he was going to die he offered to try to get the ranch back for me. I said no. Not because I didn't want it, but because I really had no idea how to run it on my own...I wasn't like my dad...I didn't know how to pull a calf, I didn't know how to pull an engine out of a tractor and take it apart, I didn't know how much seed to buy for the crops. There was no way I could do it alone. I hated saying no because it was my greatest desire to have the ranch, but I knew I would fail without his wisdom to guide me. And I hated having to say no to him because I knew how much it hurt him that the ranch that his parents and he had worked so hard on was no longer in the family.
Saying no felt like a betrayal to the land, to my father, and to myself. It still breaks my heart, and I still carry the guilt that I wasn't smart enough, and strong enough to take it on. And when my dad died, the chance of ever getting the ranch back died with him. All of the wisdom, skill, knowledge that he had accumulated over the years was gone. All the stories of his growing up in the depression was gone. Stories of his mother; my beloved grandmother were gone. Him constantly giving me shit about being a grump-ass were gone.
Even the home we shared in Dickinson was gone...I was left dangling for the wolves with a storage until full of "stuff", and no direction or purpose. At least when my father was alive those last few months I had the role of care-taker to give me purpose...with him gone, I had nothing, but grief and the belief that since I had cried at his funeral I no longer was supposed to have any feelings...I just needed to carry on and be "fine."
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