Disappointment and sorrow are part of the human experience. So are misogyny and poor decision making, I guess. I feel sad this morning. It’ll pass. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and take time for gratitude.
I’m fortunate. I’ve got a nice little house in a good neighborhood. I’m married to a man I adore and who loves me unreservedly with his whole heart. I’ve got a good job and my health is better than it’s been in a long time. My commute each morning is a pleasant one, and I enjoy long walks on lovely trails nearly every day. The bills are paid. The pantry is stocked. My stepson helps around the house. It’s a good life and I am fortunate. Four years feels like a long time, but it will pass, and the future is unwritten.
It isn’t generally helpful to waste time on anger that can be better spent on joy. It isn’t generally helpful to grieve horrible shit that hasn’t actually happened yet. I do my best with it, sitting here quietly before my walk, thinking my thoughts.
Another breath. I lace up my boots. It’s time to begin again.
I’ve always liked my appearance seen as a reflection in a window. I don’t know why this is, somehow it just seems to be “the best view” of myself, a little diluted, a little less specific somehow, softened a bit… less “real”. I almost always find myself quite beautiful as a reflection in a window. I don’t see myself quite that way in a mirror, or a photograph. Peculiar. Today is no different. I see my reflection and marvel at that woman, there, seen as if through the trees beyond the window, somehow younger than my years, and no hint of the tears in my eyes, or on my face.
…Crying in my office, again? What is this, the 00s??
Things seem harder than necessary lately. By “lately”, I mean most of the last year, honestly. It comes and goes. It’s been the worst since late February, since my Dear Friend died. Yeah, okay, so – grieving is hard. We don’t control how that goes, it just goes. I’m learning more about actual loneliness than I ever imagined I could. I wasn’t particularly prone to feelings of loneliness, before. I’m so very very prone to them now. With my Traveling Partner having the challenges he is, and the one woman I’d have felt free to discuss it with, without reservations, simply… gone… I feel so incredibly alone, now. I chastise myself for a moment; I could have done a better job of maintaining other cherished friendships and preserving more closeness with more dear friends than I have. I enjoy my solitude, and I’ve taken too much for granted. I still enjoy my solitude…but when I need someone, I’m often going to find myself going it alone nonetheless. Often. I’m not bitching – it’s not a bad life, and things could be so much worse. I’m just feeling my years, and feeling lonely as I face inevitable mortality, seeing some vague younger version of me reflected in a window, and wondering what the point of any of this actually is… yeesh. Grim. I ache with it. And also just with pain, physical pain. Fucking hell that just blows. Fuck pain.
…Oh, right… I maxed out all my pain management medication yesterday and here I am today, managing on less, and not hurting quite so much, but… now my mind is altered, and I’m feeling very blue, partly because I did so much yesterday to attempt to manage yesterday’s pain, and I’m paying the price emotionally, now. So… am I actually feeling “lonely”, or is this just “the down” from opiate pain management? Fuck. This shit is complicated. I simultaneously want very much to simply be entirely alone with this crap, and also very much miss someone to talk to about it – and about life, and how difficult some of this very human crap very much is. Too real. Fuck pain. Fuck drama. Fuck this particular moment, right here.
I put my head down on my desk and cry for awhile. This too will pass. Feelings are feelings, only that. Emotional weather. Small frustrations pile on top of other small frustrations and assorted inconveniences; it feels like a big pile. Heavy. Tears flow after other tears. Moments follow other moments. The clock is ticking. Eventually tears dry. Eventually, I can begin again.
I’m sitting quietly with my thoughts, sorting the real from the unreal, and working to process troubling details of both. Emotional work still feels like work, sometimes.
Sooner or later someone you care about deeply, someone you love and loves you in return, is going to say some terrible shit to you, hurt your feelings, or create turmoil and sadness in your heart. That’s just real. Humans being human. That’s generally more about them, and not about you at all, regardless what was actually said. How you respond to it, how you deal with it, that’s the bit that’s you, and it defines your character. Just saying. Forgiveness, empathy, kindness, and compassion, can all be difficult to practice under trying circumstances. Still worthwhile for someone you love, right? It’s hard sometimes. Human beings can be pretty spectacularly vile – even towards someone they say they love. I sit and think about that for awhile.
Lately my disturbed sleep has been more likely to include nightmares – genuinely horrific, emotionally loaded, inescapable proper nightmares. I’ve begun experiencing reluctance to return to sleep, and experience suggests I need to take steps to break this cycle before I develop a more serious sleep aversion that could quickly undermine my mental health. Visits to the Nightmare City don’t become less frequent with increasing sleep deprivation, I know this. Self-soothing becomes more difficult over time.
“The Nightmare City” 11″ x 14″ acrylic w/glow on canvas
I remind myself to rehang “The Nightmare City” where I can see it if I wake during the night. Seeing it helps anchor me to the here and now when I wake from traumatic nightmares. There’s so much chaos in the world right now: violence, genocide, femicide, and murder. I guess the nightmares aren’t so surprising. I breathe, exhale, and relax. Pain complicates things, too. Stress over my Traveling Partner’s wellness and recovery from his injury and surgery adds to the emotional load. Yeah… not surprising. What matters most, now, is dealing with all of it, supporting and caring for myself skillfully, and taking appropriate self-care measures.
It’s hard to know where to start sometimes. My “inner demons” dance in the shadows of lingering chaos and damage, taunting me with the shards of lasting trauma that fuel my nightmares. Tears start pouring down my face just recalling some moments of “then” and I tremble with ancient fear and anxiety that I’ve somehow “saved for later” from so long ago. “It’s not real, it’s not now.” I mutter out loud through clenched jaws. I force myself to breathe. Exhale. Relax. I set the pain and recalled trauma aside. I’m okay right now. I feel like I’m having to “handle it alone”, which feels incredibly sad and lonely, but… aren’t we all dealing with our own bullshit and baggage mostly alone? Making our own journey out of the mire? Walking our own path? Having our own experience? It’s not “personal”, just human.
The first moments of a new day; steps on a path.
I sigh and dry my tears. Nightmares aren’t “real”, and anxiety is a liar. I breathe, exhale, and relax, and lace up my boots. It’s daybreak. A new day. I’ve left the Nightmare City behind, and I’ve got this path ahead of me to walk. It’s time to begin again.
Another autumn morning, no sunrise before the work day begins and I’m okay with it. I’ve got these quiet minutes of solitude to reflect on upcoming holidays, ongoing genocides, and an important election. (Please vote, I hope that goes without saying.) The world feels like it has gone mad… maybe don’t contribute to the chaos, pain, and mayhem. Don’t add to the body count. Seems almost ridiculous to say such things, but… there’s a lot of killing going on, and it is being perpetrated by human beings. Don’t be one the killers. Actual people are committing atrocities against other actual people, and somehow finding a way to justify their participation in these horrors. Don’t do that.
It’s morning. I’m okay, though I am aware of the world, and the pain, misery, and destruction we somehow refuse to end. It’s a foggy autumn morning. The sky overhead, though, is clear and starry. It gives me a brief hope.
Traffic in the fog.
Yesterday was a good start on a new week, that is already almost over. I’m over being ill, which is nice. Monday is a holiday, which I had forgotten, and the long weekend ahead feels like an unexpected treat. I sit quietly awhile, grateful for the small win. I gently shift my thoughts away from more worldly matters, and reflect with gratitude on the many things in my life that are working out well. Small moments of joy and satisfaction. Contentment. These things matter, too, and there’s an enormous reserve of resilience waiting within them. I breathe, exhale, and relax, giving myself over to a few moments of meditation, before I begin again.
Noisy restless night. I’m awake, for the moment. I listen. I hear the reassuring sound of my Traveling Partner, sleeping. I had been struggling to find deep sleep in a restless household. Now? I’m awake with a ferocious headache, a pinpoint of pain on the side of my head above my left ear. In between… sleep… and nightmares.
… I woke in a panic, responding to the soft frightened sounding voice of my partner calling out to me, “Honey…?”. I sat upright suddenly, shaking. The house was quiet and dark. Just an “exploding head” dream. Fuck, I hate those. The fear persists awhile. Before that, I was dreaming that I was in a large granite sarcophagus, polished smooth, very dark. The lid was askew enough for air to easily reach me, and I could get a comfortable strong grip on the smooth cold stone, but I couldn’t move it. No light, just a sense of the narrowness of the stone box. Huge. I was standing upright easily. I tried to gauge other dimensions and walked the length of it, which somehow extended onward…onward… onward… into the darkness…or was I walking in place? I felt trapped and breathless. Heart pounding. I hear footsteps, not my own, and freeze. “Don’t move,” I think. “Control your breathing and for god’s sake don’t move.” I hold myself so, so still in the darkness. That was when I heard my partner call to me, “Honey..?”, and woke, shaking, frightened, heart pounding. Is he okay?!
He’s okay. Sleeping. The house is quiet around me. Just fucking nightmares, and a headache, and pain. I sigh quietly and breathe. My pounding heart begins to slow to something normal and comfortable. I get up to pee. Take an antacid. Lay back down. But I’m not sleeping. Not now. It’ll be awhile before sleep “feels safe” again. The night is half gone. Split by nightmares. I try meditation. Reading. Finally just write a few words; I know the recollection will dim as dawn approaches.
… This will pass with the night…
Tomorrow, I can begin again.
Foggy morning, waiting for the sun.
I eventually slept, some. I woke abruptly, frightened and triggered, by furious yelling in the hallway. My Traveling Partner had a bad night himself, going off one problematic prescription and beginning another, the experiences overlap. He is angry, tired, and unhappy about the hall bathroom light being on, keeping him from sleeping. 04:18. I get up, dress, make coffee for my beloved partner, and leave quickly, before I can (too easily) also be provoked to becoming angry. My heart is still pounding as I leave the house. I’m shaking. I remind myself to slow down, to breathe, to do my best. Getting killed on the highway in the fog driving stressfully wouldn’t be a helpful turn of events at all.
Now, I wait for the sun. I sit quietly with my thoughts and my tinnitus, heart heavy with questions. Breathing. Letting shit go that’s not really anything personal to do with me. Reminding myself that my own fragile state is as much to do with my difficult night as it is to do with my unpleasant “wake up call”. Reminding myself to stay on the path, and to be my best self even under these circumstances (maybe especially under such circumstances). I’m not a perfect person. It’s not a perfect effort. My results vary.
… But doing my best to be the woman (person) I most want to be isn’t about anyone else, at all; I do this for me. My failures, however humbling, are part of the journey. I know to reflect on the experience, learn from it, and begin again. Life is brief – too brief.
I sit quietly, thinking about my Traveling Partner, this complicated man who I love so deeply and enduringly. He’s very human, too. Tough time for him. I remember having to come to terms with having become disabled, myself. G’damn that was…hard. I think about recent pleasant moments together and loving words shared; it makes it tough to get mired in stress, hurt feelings, or anger. It’s a practice I value greatly. It’s pretty hard to be angry when I am practicing gratitude.
Gratitude, even in this moment, after a difficult night, is pretty easy. My Traveling Partner is “a bit of a handful” lately, and caregiving is fucking hard (and relentless) – but I love this man for reasons (and through shared experiences) that go so much deeper than shitty bad tempered moments under trying (and temporary) circumstances. Hard is hard. Okay. Love still matters. So I turn to thoughts of our enduring love to comfort me right now. Heavy questions can wait for lighter moments when I am more likely to face them clear-headed. That just seems wise – although, wisdom isn’t really my area of expertise. I’m am simply a human primate doing my best to learn from my mistakes, practice useful (helpful) practices, and begin again when I struggle.
I breathe, exhale, and relax. I focus on self-care for now, and sit here in the fog (actual, not metaphorical), waiting for the sun. This too will pass. There’s a new day ahead. I watch the morning commuter traffic rolling by on the highway and silently wish my partner well. I hope he gets some rest and I’m glad he’s not having to drag himself to work feeling wrung out from sleeplessness and changes to his meds. That’d be rough. I sit wondering for a moment if he felt the love that went into making his coffee with such care before I left the house?
…Fuck, I love this man so deeply, and very much in spite of the shit we’re going through right now, (which likely won’t seem significant a few years from now)…
Daybreak is slow to arrive on this foggy morning, but it will, and I’m grateful to see another sunrise. It’s time to begin again.
Evening Light 