This Is Where I Am

I refuse to say,”This is where I’m at.”  I may be very down, very low, and certainly not functioning well, but I still know correct grammar from incorrect, even if it has become socially acceptable to say “where I’m at”.  What does society know anyway?!

This is where I am.wpid-20150630_093436.jpgAnd, now, yes…I’m going to sing to you, here in this place where I am.

Seems I’m always sitting in the waiting room of life
Staring out the window at the world that is outside
Wondering when my time will come – if I’ll ever have my day
Whiling the time away

Doctor, Doctor, can you tell me what is wrong?
Can you fix me with this song?

Seems I can’t get out of here, and the walls are closing in
The pressure in my head is high, and the air, it feels so thin
Will someone call my name, please? Won’t you open up the door?
This room’s more like a prison cell; I can’t take it anymore!

Doctor, Doctor, can you tell me what is wrong?
Can you help me with this song?
Doctor, Doctor, I’ve been waiting here so long
It hurts when I breathe, and all my strength is gone

Feels like I’m gonna die here in this room (still waiting)
Feels like I’ll never get out of this room

Doctor, Doctor, it’s been hurting for so long
Can you help me end this song?

Doctor, Doctor, there are no words left to say
And I have no more chords to play

©Autumn Dawn Leader 2015

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Waiting

When I was little, my grandmother owned a booked the title of which intrigued me greatly. The name of the book was The Owl Called My Name. Curious about the story within the pages, there was a day when I asked her about the book. She told me that there was an ancient Native American belief that held if a person ever heard an owl call their name it meant they were going to die. The book was based upon this mythology.

I never read the book. I cannot tell you why. The title, however, has always stayed with me, never ceasing to speak to me.

I’m very honest about my longing for death. If you’ve read very many of my posts, you’re used to me sharing this about myself. I’ve always been waiting to hear the owl call my name. I’m still waiting.

What do I do while I wait? Well, you know, one of the things I do is write songs; I sing, I make music.

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It was inevitable that I would eventually write this song. Today’s the day I’ve chosen to share it with the world… something to do while I wait.

Some, I know, won’t like it or “get” it at all. For the rest of you – you who are with me in the waiting room of life – this is an anthem of the waiting, aching soul; it is my story…my story then, my story now…my story until I hear…well, you know.

A Sky Full of Music

Turn up your volume, please.

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I could write, and tell you how I’m feeling. Blog it all out. I have so many, many things to say – stories to tell, experience to share. Stuff and more stuff. Aging superhero (aka musician), strugging with life, illness, trying to cope, trying to cultivate awareness (living present in the moment), trying…failing…trying…  or, I could do what I do and just give you this. Because, right now, this here says it all, and it is how I say it best. Always.

I still have HOPE and a PROMISE

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Last week I made the very hard decision to go back on medication for depression. This was not an easy thing for me to do, because I so detest the side-effects of antidepressants. But, the time had come to either do something or to go to bed and never get back out of it.

Since we cannot afford for me to have a stint in the hospital or for me just to go to bed (we can’t afford for my husband to stay home from work to take the kids to/from school, or to come home from work every single time I have a breakdown and am crying hysterically down the phone), it was necessary to do something.

So, yesterday, I bit the bullet and went to the doctor. I was officially diagnosed with severe depresion (scoring a 24 out of a possible 27 – the higher the score the more severely depressed you are) and was given the prescription.

My attitude to it is this: I know how I am supposed to think, I know what and how I am supposed to think, but my brain will not work that way; it needs some serious help. This is the first step to getting better; this will open the door for me to be able to make myself think the way I should think. This is the first step – on  a journey – to better days.

Yesterday morning, in my quiet time before getting out of bed, I felt God give me this verse of scripture:

Come back to the place of safety, all you prisoners who still have hope! I promise this very day that I will repay two blessings for each of your troubles.Zechariah 9:12 NLT

I am a prisoner of depression. But, I still have hope, and I have God’s Word; His promise of blessing.

No, I’m not happy that I’m on an antidepressant that I know, while it’s helping, will affect me in ways I do NOT want to be affected.  But, I have hope of deliverance, from both the depression and, eventually, the crappy side-effects of the medication I have to take in order for me to cope with my every day life.

Hope is not synonymous with wishing. Real hope is not the same thing as wishful thinking. The difference between hope and wishing is as much as the difference between a dream and a fantasy: the former is inherant with power and possiblility while the latter is just smoke and sandcastles.

I still have hope. And, I have a promise which keeps that hope breathing.

There really was something about this particular Mary…

Now it happened as they went that He entered a certain village; and a certain woman named  Martha welcomed Him into her house.  And she had a sister called Mary,  who also  sat at Jesus’ feet and heard His word.  But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him and said, “Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me.” And Jesus answered and said to her,  “Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. But  one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her.”  – Luke 10:38-42

Be still, and know that I am God. – Psalm 46:10

During a recent time of worship, I wrote a song based on this account of Martha and her sister Mary from the Gospel of Luke. It is also based on the first part of Psalm 46:10.

My desire has always been to be like Mary but, I have to admit, I have spent more of my life being rather Martha-like: anxious, stressed out, overwhelmed, frayed and frazzled. And, then there are my really bad days.

This song was birthed equally out of my desire to more like Mary and my Martha-like desperation. It’s a heart-cry and, since writing it, I can’t get it out of my head.