The Edge of Hell

I know I’ve been gone. What, you hadn’t noticed?

I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. I’m fragile. Be gentle.

I thought long and hard about telling you my story. Pollyanna I’m not, but I do try to be uplifting. I hope God remembers that when we meet again. I could say, “Oh, I’ve recently moved back from Florida and we had a lovely trip…” But, it would be a hellatious lie. I could say, “We lived in Florida for 7 years and it was just Paradise, pure Paradise.” The bugs, mold and alligators know better. I could say, “We were always treated with respect at our last 2 jobs, but decided to make another change only due to a delicious increase in salary.” Any takers on that one? I hate it when people talk like everything always comes together for them. Come on, people, show us your scars. We know they’re there. I wanna see some blood.

Here’s mine.

If you’ve read any of my writings, you know I write sometimes about Hell. Well, we all have to write about something and though I’m a sucker for gentle, Hell is often where I land. I like to think that I’m not the only one who seems to feel Hell a little more often than they used to. I’m either in it, or teetering on the edge.

I’m happy to report, however, that I have recently been promoted to a new position in the Halls of Hell. Hey, don’t knock it. Hell is hot and everything, but it’s got its levels of misery. I’ve gone from Pooper Scooper to Door Greeter and you can decide for yourself which one is preferred. The door opens with a lightning fast bang, so I have trouble knowing for sure, but I’m fairly confident that I’ve seen a few familiar faces down here.  So don’t be too surprised one day soon if I tap you on the shoulder and say “Hey, scoot over.” Fancy meeting you here.

It can happen. You might be next, so don’t be too smug. Hell is not a respecter of persons, it seems to me, and those who feel immune are often the most surprised. We’ll talk later about the “well-knowns” I’ve bumped into. And listen, the folks I saw were alive and well, so it’s not just for dead people.

Now don’t get upset with me, I don’t make the assignments; I just open the door and no you can’t have my job. I hear the Kaka Room is taking in newbies, though, so grab a shovel.

Escape, you say? Ha! Shows what you know! You think I haven’t tried?? That’s the Hell of it. You keep trying, in spite of facts. Don’t tell me you aren’t one of those “clickers” on the computer. You don’t get the result you want so you click again, but the computer keeps saying the same thing. Kind of a Hell for Dummies experience. See, Hell’s door only opens in ward. It’s quite clearly labeled “In Only”, but hope springs eternal. Click, won’t open, click, won’t open. Take my advice and once in, avoid some pain and get out of the way of the door.

The Devil is smarter than any of us know, probably because He’s been around for so long. But, good news abounds, He only holds you for a little while and then kicks you out. Trouble is, you take the Kaka with you, and soon end up right back from whence you were kicked. But, being the eternally optimistic woman I am, I keep thinking I’ll get out alive, never to return. It takes a big load of misery to discourage me. I do hate the heat. I’m not a sun-worshipper and shade is a long walk from Hell. Maybe if I gave in more quickly, I’d be less of a challenge to HIM. Along the well traveled, even if hot-footed, path to Hell, I’ve discovered a few secrets to getting kicked out, a note-worthy goal.

But, I digress. Where have I been? I’m trying to find the words.

Moving back to Oklahoma seemed so simple. With my history of “simple” turning into instant disaster one would have thought I’d have gotten some kind of warning. Instead, age and experience has turned me numb and dumb. Leaving Florida, we ran smack dab into Hell on the asphalt. I would like to report that the roads from Tampa to Oklahoma City are littered with the broken remains of hopeful dreams, not solely owned by me. Tropical Paradise proved to be, for us, just hot fiction. Not the racey, sexy hot; the miserable and exhausted kind. In fact, the Highway from Paradise became strewn with pieces of a broken down truck and about 10 pounds of our family’s sweat and tears. Ten miles out of Tampa, we broke down and that POS truck that we had spent weeks loading, never drove another mile. Before it dawned on us to give UP and rent a U-Haul, we pushed, pulled, tore apart and cussed this 17 foot full-to-the-bumper piece of metal. A testimony of my deep and abiding love for my husband is that I won’t mention his stupid and costly decision to buy and “fix up” this POS. After all, he did walk every step in Hell that I did, so he deserves some respect.

Last year (has it been that long?), we had finally gotten our fill of Paradise. As hubby was so fond of saying, “If Florida is Paradise, then send me to Hell.” Meaning back to Oklahoma, only the problem was the Devil heard him and took him serious, located us on his GPS and sucked us right into Hell’s newly vacated spots.

My beef is, couldn’t we have just had the tiniest of breaks? We’d already been dancin’ in Hell’s sewer. How about a little mercy? But, no. Trouble no longer comes in pairs, but dozens.

Our storage management jobs had become Hell’s closest neighbor and we wanted out. The job was about as much fun as running the Pentagon, or listening to Sarah Palin try to make sense when she thinks she’s making a point. Wink, wink. (Talk about Hell .)

So, exhaustion fueled the desire to pack, yet it took months and seemed never-ending. My naiveté did not allow me to think that the road home was going to be so adventurous. I was only focused on getting our collective rears back to our roots. I had all of the black love bugs, feisty alligators, and humid, thick, stinky air from Florida that I wanted. If Paradise meant life-threatening traffic that was never ending and rude; sand that was gritty and sticky; restaurants and entertainment that were booked up and expensive; and more importantly, a job that required more and paid less every day, then no wonder “send me to Hell” became our motto. The Devil just loves that request.

Hello, Hell.

I’ve learned a lot about Hell, some from others who lived to tell about it, and some from my own journey. Escape is the strongest desire for most who find themselves in It’s dark, concrete grasp. The deceitful part of escape was that while we’re stomping around and thinking we’ve gained ground, we were just picking up our heat resistance boots and moving to the top of the fire, cool relief only a reflection from the heat waves. Merely a mirage.

Hell has a purpose, you know. It’s very instructive. It’s our school. I don’t know about you, but my happy times, though admittedly often just the briefest of memory, don’t teach much. Now, Devil, don’t get excited. The good times are much appreciated, back off.

But Hell, now that’s the place where lessons learned are forever burned in the mind.

Ok, I hear you. Some of you think “Oh, there’s no Hell on earth; I’ll never go to Hell; I’m saved.” I’m not talking about the “burn-forever-‘cuz-you’re-a-bad-person,” Hell. Though I suppose we could debate that for years, I choose to avoid the religious discussion. I’m just talking about Hell-School. The distinction is minimal as far as I’m concerned, because both places have the same designing Professor.

But, to stay off the Black List from the very well-behaved religious folks, I’ll just talk about my own experiences and you can pretend you don’t ever have any exposure to Hell-School. If that’s your story, stick to it and you can enlighten us with your secrets to happiness. I want to live your life, please?

Hey, I’m not bitter. I’m just aware . Besides, frustration equals effort, which equals solution which equals peace which summary is growth. Hell on earth brings you to Heaven Above, if we learn to climb the ladder, right? Yada, yada, yada. At least the air is cooler up here.

I’ve heard the sermons and I see the misery all around us and it sure looks like Hell to me. You don’t own “testimony” you know. I have one too, and frankly, I believe the visits in Hell have strengthened my determination not to end up in the Real Deal. I’m convinced, convicted, whatever. (Are you listening, Mr. D?)

I have discovered a few secrets, which I’m glad to pass on. For one thing, there are three “L’s” in Hell. And those three “L’s” are the ticket out.

Meet Laughter.

Not the insane kind that is already in Hell, but the kind that comes from the heart.Maybe you laugh a lot, but when you’re traveling around in Hell, it’s not easy to come up with gut giggles. Yet, opportunity abounds. A sense of humor is vital to being kicked out of Hell.

Let me explain my recent exposure to a little non-hilarious son burn.

Never, ever let your middle son lead the way from one state to another, through all kinds of weather, with a GPS and no cell phone. “You don’t need to call me, mom, just follow me.”

Now, many of you may already know not to do that. However, if you’re like me and find yourself standing in the middle of the street after weeks of working and packing and job-house searching via long-distance, while trying to protest Smart Son taking the lead, as he is already speeding away in the car…well. See, right there is my gift to you, picked up on the Shoppers Bargains counter in Heart Attacks For Mom. Yep, you guessed it,Hell’s own Department Store. It is NOT a discount store, but credit is liberally dispersed so no worries. Shop ‘til ya drop. Another great feature is it’s conveniently located next to Husband’s Who Hate To Travel, more commonly known as Husbands Who Take No Pee Breaks Nor Ask For Directions. Another fine shop, filled with sparkly deception, glamorous clerks and fancy gadgets guaranteed to entice all men and torture all wives. These stores are mandatory shopping trips in Hell, with temptation lined aisles marked “Exit This Way.” You’re suspicious naturally, but find that there is no right way to take a wrong turn as you search for the way out. Don’t blame yourself, it’s impossible to think straight when you’re in Hell, and signs lie. That’s another way to tell you’re in Hell, confusion .

I know NOW that I should have said “No, YOU follow me, I have a MAP.” But, it just took so much effort to speak after working 20 hours or more a day with 2 jobs and packing and well, another fact of Hell: The roads are paved with good intentions and excuses and tired parents give in. We just can’t think and age at the same time.

Surviving no sleep, wrong turns, and crazy GPS signals trusted only by the young, we traveled. My weak attempts at “I can see the sign up ahead with my own two eyes, no matter it’s not on your GPS” were to no avail. It rained, son sped up. We became separated; son didn’t pull over and wait. Why? Because he was the leader and insane. Or was that me, for following? I forget. See, confusion!

On the 3^rd day of Hell’s Horrendous Daily Special, we were full of easy vomit fast-food, and lack of sleep in the roach-infested motels, and my husband had run out of reassurance. Feeling pity for his feeble attempts to persuade me that a death-crash was NOT eminent, I began to giggle. At first, my laughter had echoes of hysteria, but after a few weak and high-pitched squeals, I laughed for real and I actually felt better. Aha! A spot of Light in Hell’s Darkness, which brings me to the second “L” in Hell.

Everything lightened up when I forced myself to count the good things. Like crazy sons that found the strength to unload the broken-down truck and load the newly rented U-Haul. Without complaining. How could these two young men drive us so crazy, yet be so good when you needed extraordinary strength? Sweat and bossiness must go together.

Some people refer to Light as Faith, either works for me. Recognizing Light is another hard-won skill necessary for escape from Hell. Hell’s Dark is thick, heavy, and impenetrable, you think . He wants you to think that so you won’t be even slightly motivated to search for Light. If you expect none, you get none. (Which reminds me of a joke: “Do you know why Nuns travel in pairs?” Answer: “One Nun is there to see that the other Nun don’t get none.” --- Ok, sorry, but remember we’re practicing Laughter.)

Some of my best friends are Catholic so don’t take offense. They pay me back with Mormon jokes and I don’t take offense either.

Ok, now where were we? Oh yeah, laughter and light. Once we saw a bit of light, the air freshened up and it seemed no time at all until we arrived at our destination, with 12 hours to unload the truck and sleep before reporting to the new job; which was, turns out, another fine piece of Hell. In fact, it was Hell’s Headquarters.

Did you know that Hell has a mistress? Yep, and we ran right smack into the big fat She-Devil! Yes, they exist and this one was Our New Boss. Waddling Fat and Meaner than a junk yard dog. Ugleee! We were trapped, and Hell was in a rage. Had to have the job, because the house was linked to the salary; had to have the salary since it was linked to food; and had to have the food because our stomachs…well, you get the idea. So, we settled down into the heat.

This new self-storage site was Hell’s Own, leaving us even more discouraged, and we began to get angry. I felt my temper rise from my toenails to my eyelashes. I was so Hot, even Hell took a step back. We were bustin’ OUT, BABY!

we had jumped from the famous frying pan into the fire, AND moving fast towards an invisible exit. It’s there, but where? Let me introduce you to determination. Write that word down, because it’s the way out of Hell. Could we choke on the negativity of fear? We wondered “Would there ever be a ‘normal’ life for us?” We wanted to wallow in self-pity. We knew how, you learn it quickly while you’re riding Hell’s bumper cars.

Not to bore you with further hot details, but Hell continued to burn. If it was wrong, expensive, bad, hard, ugly, it happened. Our car carrier was stolen the first night while we snored in Oklahoma beds, the transmission went out on our only car, and we were plagued with constant sinus congestion. Do you believe in “plagues?” Ok, maybe it was China Drywall, from recent renovations in the home, but… I’m just sayin’. What are the odds?

AND, the worst winter since 1960’s hit Oklahoma within weeks of our arrival, bringing ice, 10 feet of snow, and power outages to our beloved home state. Of course it’s not ‘cuz of us, you think I’m nuts? It was just, well, an anomaly. A coincidence. So don’t blame me.

Then, all of a sudden, Hell burped. We were out. I wasn’t prepared for the admission, and I certainly wasn’t ready for the exit. But, that’s Hell for ya. Kicked in, Kicked out, vada boom. No warning. It’s all in the game of life.

We were lookin’ for the OUT door the minute we went IN, so while it was a relief to be OUT, we had to move fast. Change is the rule of the day. Keep moving, my friends. Hell has a million eyes. Make sure your daily routine is full of preparation for the unexpected, it’s lurking near. If depression finds you, move. While on the run, don’t stay in any one place long; certainly get up and shake off all Kaka when you first land on your arse from Hell’s Exit. Keep moving, keep moving.

How did Hell burp? Well, that question involves the third “L.” While you’re there laughing and finding small points of light, watch where you Look. Your eyes must be focused UP. Remember when you were learning to drive, and you were told that if you were driving at night, and the approaching car had their bright lights on, you should slide your eyes slightly to the right? Use your peripheral vision to guide your forward motion for those 2 seconds until the car passes. The reason, your instructor explained, was that you tend to go in the direction of your eyes. So, if you lock on to the bright headlights coming your way, your car might just pull in that direction and you have more of a risk for a collision.

Well, in Hell, there’s a lot of distractions, not in the form of bright lights, but certainly weird enough to get your attention. Real, pissy distractions. They stink, they attract (hey, don’t ask me why people love misery, I’m just saying that part of Hell is attractive, though fleeting…), they whisper insane things and they are strangely convincing. You’ve been there, you’ve heard it. Something like and “You’re worthless,” “you’ve been here so many times, what makes you think you’ll get out?” and this one was a real kicker ““You’ll never have sex again,” which kinda seemed true. Who had time?

Don’t LOOK! Instead, look UP. Rise above it. Focus on what’s ahead, don’t look to the left or right, and keep your head tilted up. The Devil hates that. He wants your head down, your attention spread thin, and your spirit broken by Hell’s noise and confusion. Instead, if you laugh in the face of frustration, see light in the thick of dark, and look up above the problems, you’ll find the way out. YOU WIN! In Hell, solutions are above the problems, not below them.

When we tilted our chin and raised our eyes, we found out we were not trapped. We had choices. We could go in other directions. The climb out of Hell is never easy; there is always some evil thing nipping at your heels.

Ignore it. You can do it.

We quit the She-Devil job, and yes, we kind of walked out. OOPs, there goes that reference. But in our defense, good jobs are hard to come by and I had a super duper one land in my lap, not long after I first “Looked Up” via CraigsList. No, not the now banned adult ads. A real job with a very good pay check! The new job required a short move to a town down the road and the Good got all tangled up in the Bad, but we kept going.

In the middle of little or no money, and more than we could get done in a day, my husband was hired at a job that had not advertised for help. He had applied at places he wanted to work and the calls followed. In this horrendous economy even my sons went to work…Hell always wants you to think “can’t.” When you start thinking “will,” Hell slithers to the side.

But, there was one more thing. There is always just one more thing.

You see, Hell never sleeps.

We must always be prepared. We can fight the battle, win the war against discouragement. Save your money, help your neighbor, keep your eyes open. Learn to Laugh, Find the Light, and Look up so you can rise above it.

Reserve some energy, my friends. Because, in our new town, we discovered that Hell has a Sugar Shack.

Details to follow.

I am Marisue, on the run from Hell, arriving back on Hub Pages, and I write.