Rice on White

ƛ͙ Ɗ͙ƛ͙Ƴ͙ Ɩ͙Ɲ͙ Ƭ͙Ӈ͙Є͙ LƖ͙Ƒ͙Є͙

As much as I dislike the title, it is what it is.

Time to make do and find the hidden rainbow right?

There didn’t seem to be ANY rainbows to be found as I stared down at the floor full of rice. I was at work and had just ran to the cafeteria to grab lunch. I had the privilege of being able to eat alone in my office at this job. However, in my haste to get through lunch while doing some work on the computer, my plate had tipped, sending white rice all over the floor.

I stared at it.

How ironic. I had just told the housekeepers to stop straightening my desk in my office because they never actually cleaned it, they just shuffled all my papers together so I couldn’t find anything.

So now I had to go ask them to please vacuum up my mess. As I contemplated if I could possibly pick up every little piece of rice I thought of searching for a vacuum myself.

It’s such a simple problem right?

I mean don’t cry over spilled milk. Or Rice.

Photo by arianna signorini on Pexels.com

But these days I seem to cry over everything.

My son was in full active addiction after a couple years downslide from having it all. Business, new house, family, money. All gone of course. He now faced many charges of possession to feed his addiction, a few are even felonies. His disease was telling him there was no way out, despite many options for recovery. Basically just getting help would solve half his problems. He couldn’t see a way out except to keep trying to work a few jobs to save for a lawyer. Keep in mind that’s been his story from the beginning of time, is he just needs a little bit more money and everything will be alright.

But staring down at that rice imbedding into the doctor’s office- type old carpet; I became an addict.

I saw every one of these rice pellets as a problem. There was my failed business. That one is my ex-wife. There’s my kids I haven’t saw or supported. There’s my IRS debt over there. Each one of my felonies stared back at me with such white rice starkness, I could hardly keep my gaze.

Trauma specialists say that when a traumatic event hits us at a certain age, it gets stored in the cells of our nervous system and time becomes frozen. We shut down emotionally, in a sense, to stay at that place for self preservation. We refuse to listen to solutions or to people who remind us of that place that hurt us. There is virtually no way for the brain to move out of that place until it ғᴇᴇʟs sᴀғᴇ enough to.

That’s why jail, shame, threats, people telling them how innefective they are or what a mess of their life they’ve made DOESNT work in FIXING it.

Furthermore, when people lose their pride, their sense of purpose, their identify (if their identity was wrapped up in their job or their relationship) they feel like they need justice from that. Before a resolution.

So basically, everything is just too overwhelming for their frozen in time brain.

That rice was too overwhelming to clean up.

My healthy brain scooted each piece of rice together until I got a pile to throw away. Again and again until all the rice was gone.

My son, however, in his very hijacked brain keeps staring ( or avoiding) his pile of rice. He wants to run. He wants to hide. He says, mom there’s no use, they ( the cops) aren’t going to stop until I’m put away for good.

My tears flow on days like this.

My strong smart entrepreneur son is going to jail for satisfying his cravings like a smoker buying his ciggerettes, like me buying my chocolate chip cookies. He has a disease that sent him down this dark path of destruction and chaos and there’s not a damn broom or vacuum thing I can do about it.

This is my day.

A͎ D͎a͎y͎ i͎n͎ t͎h͎e͎ L͎i͎f͎e͎ o͎f͎ t͎h͎e͎ M͎o͎t͎h͎e͎r͎ o͎f͎ a͎n͎ A͎d͎d͎i͎c͎t͎

Photo by Rakicevic Nenad on Pexels.com

Published by Samantha Waters

A unique perspective on the world from a small town girl turned big city nurse. Now a grandmother to 4 gregarious, resplendent boys and 3 endearing, magical girls, she strives the make the world a more understanding, pleasant place to experience this intense thing called life.

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