Archives for category: Brain Injury

I am a woman of few words, this morning. I woke ahead of the alarm – no surprise – but I woke gripped in a state of anxiety that was…remarkable, only I don’t have adequate words to describe it at all.  It felt rather like this…

"Anxiety" 2011

“Anxiety” 2011

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. I could barely breath, and for the first few minutes of ‘consciousness’ it entirely commanded my attention and controlled my experience. I was nearly overwhelmed by panic at the momentary sensation accompanied by the thought “how can I take a few deep breaths when I am unable to breath??” and the vague urge to claw at the walls, the air, my flesh… anything… to find some way to make it stop. I was on the edging of screaming with terror… and there was just nothing at all ‘wrong’.  I didn’t even have a recollection of being awakened by a noise, or having bad dreams. I simply woke – anxious.

As difficult as it seemed in the moment, I kept returning to the task of taking a couple deep relaxed breaths, full and easy and slow, committing to that and nothing more was itself an exercise in calming myself. I found a calm place within myself, and eventually put my feet on the floor, and got on with the day.  A latte later and those anxious moments were a dim memory. Meditating first thing is huge on a morning like this one. Watering the summer garden before the sun rises beyond the horizon is as good for me as it is for the roses, and the seedlings in the greenhouse, and those precious moments connected with the earth and life beyond my own limited experience helped me get centered and find serenity.  I’m even having a good day.

Is this really me? Did I wake that way, and still find my way here? How extraordinary…how precious…

It was a hot – and delightful – weekend. It was a hot Monday morning. It looks to be a hot week, all week long.

One possible consequence of my TBI is my poor memory. I wrote rather a lot about my experience with memory, just now… and read it…and suddenly found myself rather distressingly aware of how vulnerable I sometimes make myself because of another consequence of my TBI… ‘disinhibition’. (Sometimes referred to as ‘over-sharing’, by people who would rather I didn’t. lol.) I am learning a lot about ‘taking care of me’ – and one of the things I am learning to do is make more appropriate decisions about what I do/don’t disclose, and how, and to whom, and in what detail…so, instead of a lot of words about memory, and how my memory is impaired, and what it means to me in every day life…fewer words, less over-share, hopefully still managing worthy content.

I have memory on my mind this morning… because the morning started hot, and humid, like summer mornings of my childhood.  I walked in to work with my head flooded with recollections of … stuff.  The feel of the heat, the humidity, the summer sunshine finding its way into my eyes in spite of sunglasses, the smells of summer, the sounds… all of it combined to do whatever it is that causes ‘memories’ to be spontaneously evoked.  It is a very strange thing. Experience tells me that some of these unbidden memories may remain with me, if they drift undisturbed through my thoughts; examined, enjoyed, noticed… if I ‘hear them’.

Summer heat. Summer sunshine. Summer memories. Summer love… summer sorrow.

Summer sunshine, and in the distance thunder clouds on the horizon, invisible to the camera's eye.

Summer sunshine, and in the distance thunder clouds on the horizon, invisible to the camera’s eye.

Watering the summer garden brings me face to face with new flowers.

Watering the summer garden brings me face to face with new flowers.

Other flowers aren't new, but still lovely in the heat of morning.

Other flowers aren’t new, but still lovely in the heat of morning.

Yellows and purples defy criticism.

Yellows and purples defy criticism.

The hydrangea finally starts to bloom.

The hydrangea finally starts to bloom.

My spring garden has become my summer garden, in a few days of hot weather and blazing sunshine. I spent the weekend caring for roses, watering, potting seedlings, and attending to matters of the heart and spirit. I have moments when I feel so… whole. I am hesitant to look too closely, or to question it… it feels new… and a little delicate.  I’d like to put my feet up, in the garden, with an iced coffee and a leisurely morning ahead of me to consider it all… including these bits and pieces of memories and moments that drifted through my thoughts this morning. How much time is enough time to spend in the company of bees and butterflies on a summer day, and for how long will I remember it? Is reclaiming my memories a matter of happenstance, or of duplicating key background stimuli?

For now I am content to be, and to remember.

 

 

 

I had terrible nightmares last night…a panic and dread infused montage of hate and violence, crafted from ancient pain and damage to bring out my deepest fears and insecurities. I managed to wake with a smile in spite of that – thank you, Love. 🙂

The morning now is made of lattes and love songs. Dire Straits singing to me about the things that life teaches, the things that matter most, and the things that drive us.  It feels like a perfect morning, and such a relief after such a dread-filled night.  There’s something of a refuge and a homecoming for me in the early music of Dire Straits…I remember the first time I heard Sultans of Swing …I was still in high school, it was late, and I was in a bubble bath with my radio perched precariously on the window sill on a warm evening, trying to catch ‘good radio’ on the skip from Mexico, or California, or Texas. I was looking for Wolfman Jack. lol. Without preamble, the sweet soulful notes opening Sultans of Swing entirely changed my experience. I still find it to be … amazing. So… an entire paragraph for Dire Straits – it seems a pretty small ‘thank you’, really.

Today is gardening, and hanging out, and loving…and it is time for another latte. 😀

Love and roses; 'Irresistible' in the morning.

Love and roses; ‘Irresistible’ in the morning.

One of my favorite experiences is the simple delight of a leisurely morning, so much so that I wake each day fully 2 hours before I have to leave for work, with no agenda beyond having my morning coffee and some time for me, enjoyed on my own terms. That my partners do so many things, and make so many small choices, to ensure I have more of these mornings than not, is most certainly one of the most loving things I regularly enjoy.  This morning was one of those delightful leisurely mornings, although it was not in any fashion ‘routine’.

For one thing, I spent much of the morning in my rose garden, sipping my latte – which was a different flavor than what I generally favor first thing – and contemplating the work to come. My weekend begins on Friday. The roses need dead-heading, feeders need replenishing, there are some shrubs I plan to have removed that need to be marked, and I gently considered the fall pruning of trees and shrubs with an eye for future summers; the aesthetic result matters to me. I hardly noticed the drizzle that came and went, and it was well into an hour before I realized time had passed at all.

The blueberries are excellent this year!

The blueberries are excellent this year!

I still had time to enjoy a second coffee, and I enjoyed the robust hit to my taste buds of a favorite morning choice – a double shot of espresso, a little milk, and a hint of vanilla. Yum. I lingered over my espresso while I watched fish swim.  My anxiety about sick fish has mostly receded, and it seems I identified the issue quickly enough for early treatment to prevail.

A good day ahead of me, now, and a lovely morning behind me. I’m eager for the weekend…eager to be in the greenhouse…content to be 50, female, and in love. From this perspective, life feels pretty damned splendid.

...there are seedlings to plant...

…there are seedlings to plant…

…But life doesn’t wait for the weekend, and neither should a good time! Heading to the old-time-y candy shop down the road over lunch with my colleagues.

Enough sugar on hand to fuel a universe entirely populated by hummingbirds!

Enough sugar on hand to fuel a universe entirely populated by hummingbirds!

I woke in an excellent mood this morning, after a surprisingly good night’s sleep. I didn’t expect to sleep well, since I had crashed feeling rather anxious over one of life’s small challenges. I was pleased and surprised to wake in such a good, balanced, place. The loveliness of a calm leisurely morning is hard to describe; too often lately it feels like a luxury. I resent the fragility of exceptional mornings.

Joy meets anxiety; I have a sick fish in the new aquarium.

Joy meets anxiety; I have a sick fish in the new aquarium.

My mood is volatile this morning, and once the peace and serenity that I woke with faced its first challenge of the day, it dissipated like a mist as the morning sun rises on a summer morning. Mindfulness keeps things mostly in perspective, even now, but also has me attentive to the nature of my challenges today, observing them without judgement when I can, and digging myself out – metaphorically speaking – when I fail and discover I am judging myself quite harshly. I feel angry. I feel frustrated. I feel the pressure of unmet needs – and my resentment and outrage when I turn it all inward on myself. I don’t care to indulge in pointless wallowing in the details, or allowing reflection to become self-loathing, or rage. I can’t tell anymore, with any certainty, whether or not hormones are ‘an issue’… I’m so far beyond having a ‘regular cycle’ at this point it isn’t even worth guessing. (That, interestingly, is one more thing that keeps me focused on ‘now’ – when I let it – because I just can’t predict, or plan, for the hormones anymore. They just are, when they are.) My shitty mood is slowly becoming a migraine headache, as I fight the tears lurking just under the surface of my professional demeanor. Today is the sort of day when I feel as if my most fundamental needs as a being are entirely at odds with each other – mutually exclusive, and entirely unreasonable, and not at all likely to be met. Ever. Worse still, I’m pretty sure that if that is true – that it’s entirely my own choices that put me in that position…only…I don’t know…and I don’t know why…and I don’t know how to do what I suspect needs to be done about it…or something.

Simple pleasures offer some relief.

Simple pleasures offer some relief.

I’m able to understand that I have choices that can put me in a better place… working on that. Again and again, I nudge my Observer self back into the driver’s seat, and kick my Thinker self into the background. It helps, but I find myself having to make a firm consistent effort with it. There’s a feeling of internal resistance to it, which I don’t understand, but continue to experience. Still…practice…practice…practice… eventually something practiced enough begins to feel natural…right?

Some lovely things in my experience this morning, too. I so want to focus on those…

Seedlings in the greenhouse quickly becoming plants...

Seedlings in the greenhouse quickly becoming plants…

...the 'Irresistible' beauty of a miniature rose on a rainy morning...

…the ‘Irresistible’ beauty of a miniature rose on a rainy morning…

...the wonder of 'Ebb Tide' thriving in the most amazing way her very first year...

…the wonder of ‘Ebb Tide’ thriving in the most amazing way her very first year…

...the mystery of exotic flowers I didn't expect in my garden, and don't know the name of...

…the mystery of exotic flowers I didn’t expect in my garden, and don’t know the name of…

...quite dramatic up close, and a ready reminder of the variety of unexpected pleasures   in life.

…quite dramatic up close, and a ready reminder of the variety of unexpected pleasures in life.

So…maybe not completely awful, as days go. I vacillate between feeling I urgently need to address specific needs – take care of me more skillfully – and feeling as if I am ‘just being a big baby’ and ‘very high maintenance’. It’s just a Wednesday, maybe, and perhaps this is all a hormonal illusion… what is ‘real‘, anyway, beyond the loveliness of flowers, and the smell of a drizzly summer morning, and the certainty that love is, even when it is imperfect.