Archives for category: grief

A Struggle With Discontent

May 8, 2024 //

I woke feeling vaguely irritated and feeling discontented and annoyed in advance of any annoyances. Rude start to the day. I woke feeling dissatisfied… with… life? That seems pretty fucking silly, all things considered, and I spent the drive to the office turning it over in my head. There’s a song that somehow seems to fit, though I haven’t yet pinned down why that is. It’s not a new song, nor a song I’ve listened to recently… it just “speaks to me” in this peculiar moment of discontent and aggravation.

…There’s nothing “wrong” with the moment or day, so far…

…I’m just feeling annoyed. It would be much easier to deal with this and put it to rest if I understood why.

I sigh and take a breath, and exhale, and relax, letting my shoulders drop, and my jaw unclench. Weird morning.

This life of mine is perhaps not the problem at all… could be I’m just feeling the weight of the world this morning. That’s baggage no one can carry for long. I sigh again, burdened by this all too human struggle. I reach for a song that sings to a different tune, hoping to change my mind. Feelings of discontent can become corrosive, left to build and become attached to something real… That’s not an experience I enjoy. I keep “setting down my baggage” and trying to restart my moment from a new perspective.

…I find myself missing a dear friend I’d have gone to for conversation and perspective in a moment like this, and my eyes fill with tears. …There’s a hole in my heart… We are mortal creatures. I suddenly feel “wrapped in loneliness” on top of feeling discontented. Shit. That’s not what I was going for at all. (Change is.)

G’damn… I guess I really need to get away from “all of it”… except… I’m relentlessly aware that I’ll be dragging the shit griefing me most right along with me wherever I go. Fucking hell. I guess I’m just feeling low this morning. 😦 I wipe the tears off my cheeks and remind myself “this too will pass” – change is.

I sigh again (it’s just that kind of morning, I guess), and hope that my Traveling Partner got the rest he needed, and hope to get myself sorted out before the day ends – I’d definitely rather not drag this shit home with me at the end of the day.

I’m looking forward to my camping trip. Life is feeling way too busy and complicated lately, and I’m exhausted on this whole other level. Wrung out from day-to-day routine effort and the emotional burden of being a human being in a world of chaos, violence, and petty ugliness – I need a break. What do I even do when I’m camping to get that “break”? I sit quietly a lot, listening to the breezes and watching small creatures living their lives. I sit watching the leaves flutter and the changing light filtered through the trees as the sun moves across the sky. I let my mind sort of “empty out” and “catch up” on all the shit I didn’t have time to consider more fully. I walk. I wander. I take pictures of things that catch my eye, and perspectives I might like to see again, some time later. I write, mostly poetry and bits of self-reflection. I read. I meditate. It’s not fancy, and it’s not complicated by “activities” in any planned way. I’m not trying to “occupy my time” – quite the opposite, actually, I’m trying to “rest my mind” and calm my heart. I don’t know a lot of ways of doing that, or any ways more effective than just… getting away, and giving myself time.

Isn’t it odd that we human creatures can find so much silly bullshit to feel vexed by or annoyed over, even in the context of a generally good life? It strikes me as quite strange and rather stupid that this is the case, and I find myself wondering what purpose such a thing may have served when we were more primitive creatures seeking to make our way in the world? I make a note to ask my therapist for his thoughts on these vague feelings of discontent, and how I can potentially make use of them more constructively – with fewer tears, less sorrow, and a whole lot less aggravating stupid emotional bullshit to wade through. I roll my eyes, even as I recognize that I’m being a little hard on myself; human is human. Sometimes it’s messy, and we don’t exactly teach “dealing with emotions” to children skillfully, such that they grow up with the tools to do the job well. I’m still learning… and somehow, I persist in thinking I should be past that by now… then remember, again, that the journey is the destination, and that the point seems to be the learning, itself.

…Another sigh. A sip of coffee. A glance at the clock. Well, shit. It’s time to begin again…

Tags be here now, begin again, change is, discontent, emotional self sufficiency, Give yourself a break, my results vary, perspective, practicing the practices, ptsd, put down the baggage, self-compassion, struggling with discontent, taking a break, taking care of me, TBI, The Art of Being, the journey is the destination, there are verbs involved, this too shall pass

Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, grief, loneliness, meditation, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Oregon Trails, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women

A Headache and a Heavy Heart

April 29, 2024 //

I woke too early. My sleep was restless and interrupted. I finally stopped bothering to go back to sleep at 04:00 a.m. – it was just too close to when I’d typically get up anyway, so I got up, dressed, and headed into the office. Based on my mood alone, it’s a good day to go farther… just drive and drive, into the sunrise, and see where the road might take me… It’s a Monday, so that’s not really an option. Work. I remind myself that I’ve got a couple days solo coming up, camping, soon. I hold on to that idea as if with a clenched fist.

G’damn relationships are fucking hard sometimes. People are complicated and they need so much, and it changes so often! What matters in one moment seems unimportant in another, or in a different frame of mind, or from some other point of view at a different time. Complicate that further with individual trauma and baggage and bullshit, and… yeah… so hard sometimes. People are complicated. Me, too. It’s not reliably easy, this whole “getting along” thing… sometimes not even for lovers or devoted partners. There are verbs involved. Active listening skills to cultivate. Boundaries to set, manage, respect, be aware of. Little courtesies to offer no matter how tired we feel in the moment, or how bad we hurt inside. It gets messy, sometimes – we’re really just fancy fucking primates, with all the same poo-flinging tendencies of our ape and monkey cousins. I guess I should at least appreciate that human primates mostly fling metaphorical poo, verbal poo, and not actual turds, generally speaking.

“Lovers” 10″ x 14″ watercolor on paper 1992

I’m sipping my coffee feeling discontented and moody. I teeter between lingering anger and lingering hurt feelings. I nibble at my breakfast salad with moody disinterest in my health or fitness or frankly any other “hopeful encouraging bullshit” – that’s the kind of mood I’m in. Discouraged. Disappointed. Sad. It’s not a lack of progress; I could be celebrating progress right now, but I just don’t feel like it. I’m mired in my fucking emotional bullshit right now, thanks. I’m still eating this healthy breakfast salad, though. It’s “the right thing to do” in this moment, and I’m not going to give that up just because I’m in a snit over my relationship “difficulties” (relatively speaking, I’ve got it pretty good, and I’m probably being an ass to beef about it in the first place, I’m just in a terrible mood, dealing with lack of sleep and pain, and fucking cranky as hell).

We more or less got the evening back on track yesterday. Shared dinner together. Watched a couple videos. There are still things we need to talk about, and omg I fucking hate that shit. I dread meaningful serious relationship-building conversations about boundaries and expectations and all-manner of fairly important “taking care of each other” details that so easily turn contentious because humans are human, and feelings are easily hurt. We too easily take too much shit too personally. We make small things over into big things, and do our best to “win” or “be right”, when what might be most productive is simply to listen and care and love each other. I’m not pointing a finger – these are generalities that most assuredly apply to me, too. (I prefer to discuss my own bullshit over anyone else’s bullshit; I know its measure very well, and it’s a helpful bit of introspection, whereas finger-pointing and blame-laying only lay the foundation for some future argument. That’s tedious and a huge waste of limited precious mortal lifetime.)

The smallest tokens of lasting affection can feel huge.

I sip my coffee. Breathe. Munch my salad. Watch gray storm clouds roiling against the background of pale morning sky. Think my thoughts and feel my pain. I think about my Traveling Partner sleeping at home and hope that he finally gets the rest he’s been needing, and struggling to get. Everything feels worse and seems harder when we aren’t getting the sleep we need. I sigh quietly to myself. I’m grateful to have the office alone this morning – I’m not fit company for other people, presently. I haven’t been sleeping well, either.

A token of affection. Love on a chain. The only heart-shaped locket I have ever owned.

I give the day’s work an irritated look. It’s all quite routine, and I am struggling to care and to commit. Lingering malaise and ennui and irritation are vexing me, and I’m struggling to let it go. There’s a reason non-attachment is a practice; it takes quite a bit of practicing. I pick the last leaf of arugula off my plate and drag it around in the last drops of vinaigrette with a total lack of regard for forks or good manners before I eat it and set my plate aside. It can be so hard to “make space” for my feelings, to feel them, process them, and proceed to “do what’s right” nonetheless – assuming I have a good idea of what I think “right” may be in this moment in the first place. I breathe, exhale, relax, and try again to just let this shit go, properly, and move on – to allow myself to separate yesterday’s painful moment from necessary future (loving, nurturing, productive) conversations about needs, boundaries, and expectations. I sigh, and remind myself that relationship building is effort and work and commitment and also love. It’s so easy to tear down relationships (and people), and so much more worthwhile to do something to build instead – in spite of how much harder that often feels (is?).

What could be more worthy of study than communication? Even though we are each having our own experience, we are all in this together.

I give myself a minute with my thoughts and my coffee, before I begin again. I know my results will vary – but I also know that love matters most, and that we become what we practice. I definitely need more practice at deep listening, and communicating, and boundary-setting, and setting clear expectations, and being fearlessly open… and I know I can begin again, and keep practicing.

Sharing the love, and sharing the building. Destruction is far less joyful.

Tags aphorisms, be here now, be kind, be love, begin again, breathe exhale relax, emotional self sufficiency, feel what you're feeling do what is right, healing takes time, hollow aphorisms, incremental change over time, keep practicing, love and lovers, love matters most, love takes work, my results vary, perspective, practicing the practices, ptsd, real love, relationships, taking care of me, TBI, The Art of Being, the way out is through, the weight of ennui, there are verbs involved, this too shall pass, walking my own path, what matters most?

Categories Allegories, anger, anhedonia, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, gratitude, grief, health, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, loneliness, Love, meditation, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, solo hiking, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, weight loss secrets, women, Words

What Matters Most?

April 28, 2024 //

It’s hard to care about progress toward goals with tears pouring down. It’s hard to celebrate a joyful moment in the midst of angry criticism (however legitimate or well-intentioned). It’s hard to care about anything, and for the moment, I’m mired in this experience of deep sorrow and dread. I’m “shook”. I’m triggered. I’m grievously stressed out – by the person in my life who cares for me most, and who I hold most dear, myself.

…It’s just a moment…

…Breathe, exhale… begin again…

I tell myself the things I know I need to hear. I work towards perspective – and forgiveness – and I just… still hurt. I’m still crying. It’s still fresh.

I 100% absolutely unequivocally without exception completely and entirely loathe being yelled at. I don’t respond to it well at all. Maybe it doesn’t rise to the level of someone else’s idea of yelling? Perhaps it doesn’t, but I don’t do well with the escalated hostile angry confrontational tone to something that could have been handled with kindness, humor, and love, and treated as a human moment. Was it a big deal? Not for me to decide. Clearly it was a big enough deal for my Traveling Partner to lash out at me in the way that he did.

…It’s just a moment…

He’ll probably move past it far sooner than I will be able to. I hope he does, I don’t honestly want him also hurting over it, and I’d rather see him happy and okay with himself and with life, generally. I want that for both of us. Right now… I’m alone with my tears. At some point, I’ll probably be okay, and more easily able to nurture myself, and offer him kind words and put things right somehow.

(This wasn’t “a big deal”, and there’s nothing to see here, no violence, no trauma, just expressions of temper and frustration and angry words, and emotions, and it’s unpleasant and I’m unhappy, but these experiences are also part of the human experience – we’re not perfect creatures capable of full-time rationalism uncomplicated by our feelings, ever. We are creatures of emotion and reason – and emotion always arrives to the party first.)

detail of “Emotion and Reason”, acrylic on canvas with glow and ceramic details. 2011.

I breathe, exhale, and feel the throbbing of my headache, reliably worsened by the stressful moment. I didn’t sleep well last night, and although we were making light of that earlier in the day, it’s no laughing matter right now. The lack of rest has consequences for my emotional regulation. So… I’m alone with myself; the only person I know fully capable of accepting me as I am right now, and dealing with it without making it worse. (Which is a sign of real growth, and I take a moment to appreciate it that I can “be here for myself” in a way I simply couldn’t have 10 years ago.)

Fucking hell. What a shit show. People fucking suck… every one of us. So fucking human. Sometimes that really just sucks all the balls. My nerves are raw, and my emotions are in chaos. It’s a shitty place to be.

…I sit awhile “listening” to my tinnitus. It’s louder, too. It hisses and chimes and rings and buzzes in my ears while my head throbs and my heart pounds. Tears well up. My nose runs. I try not to make shit just that little bit worse by anticipating a shitty day tomorrow as a result of this shitty moment right here… tomorrow will be a new day. A new beginning. A reliable chance to reset and make choices in favor of a different experience. I’ll go to work. The routine will feel comfortable – and comforting. I remind myself this too will pass…

I take a moment for gratitude. It’s been such a lovely weekend. Rainy, mostly, but blue skies now; the sun came out at midday, and there’s a pleasant Spring breeze blowing. I got the things done I most needed to, and that I’d committed to doing. There’s still some laundry to fold, but I haven’t had to push a bunch of stuff off to another day. All of that matters, even if this moment seems to diminish it.

…I feel sad, though. As is so often the case, I was in such a lovely mood when shit went sideways. I suppose that’s likely to be the perspective any time shit does go sideways, eh? It’s probably going to feel as if “everything” has suddenly turned from golden joy and delight to … shit. I wonder how accurate that ever actually is? Was it just an ordinary moment that now seems vastly better than it was, because the moment that followed was just that bad? I think about that for a moment, and consider the nature of “perspective” and how subjective that can actually be.

The tears well up all over again, and I find myself feeling profound self-doubt about whether there’s even any value in hitting “publish” on this – whenever I finally stop writing. A missive of pain… seems… somehow tedious, or selfish, or pointless, or… just somehow lacking. I feel anhedonia lurking in the shadows, waiting for a moment of unsuspecting vulnerability to let that shit creep over me like clingwrap, smothering me in ennui and sadness and that horrible sense of grim futility I know so well… Not at all what I want for myself. That shit is a terrible way to treat oneself. I sigh quietly, resigned to the struggle – and the headache – and wondering how the evening ahead will unfold. For the moment, I don’t feel welcome in my home, nor even in my life. Just… sad and out of place. Like… a familiar stranger.

…There’s still laundry to fold. A partner to forgive. A moment to move on from. Water to get started drinking (you know, because of all the fucking crying). Like it or not, the way out is through, and I’d better get started… I’ve got to begin again somehow. This time, it’ll need some real work – and I know my results may vary. I’ll just start with stepping through it as a process, and trust that the process will… work.

…I miss the wise women of my lifetime… my Granny. My mother. Most particularly my recently departed dear friend. I feel so… lonely, right now. Thanks for listening, if you bothered to get this far. I appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll be fine, I’m just hurting at this moment, right here… and it’ll pass. Moments are quite fleeting. You’re welcome to share your thoughts – perhaps your perspective will help. No expectations, just saying; I do read the comments.

G’damn this headache, though…

…Something, something… “begin again”… it sounds empty just at the moment, but I know the truth of it… so I’ll just get started on that… What else would I do?

Tags angry words, be here now, Be Impeccable With Your Word, be kind, be love, begin again, breathe, cptsd, do your best, emotional self sufficiency, forgive, forgiveness begins with the person in the mirror, hurt feelings, it could be worse, it's just a moment, it's okay to cry, let the tears fall, love isn't cruel, mental-health, my results vary, perspective, practicing the practices, ptsd, relationships, taking care of me, TBI, tears over bullshit, The Art of Being, the human expereience, the long-term consequences of trauma, there are verbs involved, triggered, walking my own mile, what matters most?

Categories Allegories, anger, anhedonia, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, Frustration, grief, Logic & Reason, loneliness, Love, meditation, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women

America Hates Women

April 26, 2024 //

I’m sipping my coffee, and trying my best not to be bitter. Too much anti-woman garbage in the news, and it inevitably filters into my consciousness. I put on music to soothe my soul, and remind me that the path ahead is not reliably smooth or paved.

I don’t prefer to pour my anger onto the page, spilling like the blood I’ve already shed, wasted like the time it would take to try to argue the point that women are fully human, conscious, with agency and their own reasons to live beyond being brood mares or objects to be used for sexual fulfillment. Fucking hell, I hope you’re at least not surprised to learn that there are many decision-making individuals in the world who don’t see women as fully human conscious beings with rights and agency… because, yeah, that’s a fucking thing. Unfortunately. Second-class. An after-thought. Hell, there are people who disagree with women having the vote – or the right to withhold their consent. No shit. Wild, right? Disappointing, certainly – and yeah, I’m angry about it. Are you kidding me? Ohio just criminalized marital rape – it’s 2024 – until now, it’s been just fine to go ahead and rape your wife. Hell, if that’s too much work, go ahead and drug her, then rape her, totally legal. Gross. We can’t do better than this?

…A lifetime of seething impotent rage, just waiting for an opportunity. I’m an American woman…

I take a breath and a sip of my coffee. These aren’t abstract concerns for me; I’m a woman. Lacking the option to willfully choose not to bear children would have changed my life dramatically. My educational options would have been diminished (because that was a thing, and not so long ago). My career options, too, would have been very different, and very limited. My leisure hours could not have been spent on art – I’d have been forced to devote my time to child-rearing. That wasn’t the life I wanted, at all. Nothing about me is particularly “maternal” beyond having a vagina and a uterus, and by the time I reached adulthood, my chaos and damage were so profound that any child of mine was going to have a rough fucking go of it – it takes a long time for trauma to heal, even with persistent self-work. I knew when I was just 14 that I did not want children. That’s still true. (I am fond of my stepson; I met him shortly after he finished high school. He’s a good guy, doing his best, and he’s come so far since I first met him. I enjoy being a bystander on the relationship my Traveling Partner shares with his son – and that’s close enough to motherhood for me.)

I breathe, exhale, relax – and remind myself not to allow my anger to poison me. “The way out is through”, for sure, but no need to be ridiculous about it. Tantrums and lashing out don’t help anyone understand things more clearly, and don’t help me feel better. Hell, tantrums and lashing out don’t even give me momentary relief. You know what does? Knowing that my Traveling Partner, the person I go home to each day and wake with each morning, doesn’t hate me, doesn’t hate women, and understands us to be wholly human people. There’s comfort and healing in that. I’ve come a long way from that angry young woman who stood on the threshold of adulthood wanting vengeance.

I sip my coffee, and watch the dismal rainy gray dawn unfold on an America that hates women. You know who you are (although you’re probably not reading this). Do better, for fucks’ sake. There are little girls everywhere each trying to become the woman they most want to be – give them a fucking chance.

I sigh quietly. I’ve gotten caught up in a moment of pain. I breathe, exhale, relax, and let it go – again. I watch the little brown birds in the park, and the traffic making the trip around the block below, looking for parking. The rain falls softly. It’s an ordinary day, and there is no cure for pain – just a new moment, and a chance to begin again…

…Let it go…

…Begin again.

Tags a lifetime of rage, abortion is healthcare, Agency, America hates women, anti-woman, be here now, be love, begin again, breathe, chaos and damage, childless by choice, do better, emotional self sufficiency, find love, let it go, perspective, practicing the practices, ptsd, surviving the bullshit, The Art of Being, there are verbs involved, uterus on legs, vote, what matters most?, what women want, women's rage

Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, breathe, Despair, forgiveness, Free Will, grief, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Rape, Relationships, The Art of Being, War and News of War, women

Reminders

April 19, 2024 //

This morning as I drove in to work, I found myself behind the #17 bus as I entered the city. It sparked memories of commuting on that bus line for so many years. Recollections of an altogether different life. A moment of nostalgia swept over me… then I began to recall what those years were really like. I stopped feeling that soft fond sense of “a simpler time” – because it was not simpler, at all, and it was complicated, messy, and deeply unhappy rather often. It was a time of struggle, and of limited resources, and sometimes even of hopelessness and a sense of futility. I’m quite glad those years are behind me now.

I arrived at the office and got the day started. It’s a payday, and I took time to look at the budget and communicate numbers to my Traveling Partner and to get his thoughts.

I remembered an unfinished task from yesterday; it’s time to renew my “special access pass” with the State Park system (a really wonderful benefit for disabled veterans). As I moved through the new online workflow last night, I hit a requirement to provide an updated benefit letter from the VA and this stalled me doing the renewal easily from my phone, so I put it off for today. It was much easier on a browser from my laptop. Then I actually looked at the letter. How the fuck is this thing still using my previous married name from my first marriage?? Gross. I don’t use that name. I don’t like that name. That name holds reminders of a terrifying dark time in my life that I really don’t care to revisit if I don’t have to. 😦 My skin crawls with revulsion and loathing and residual fear just reading the name. I sigh out loud. Stand up and stretch. Work to explicitly let the moment go, within myself. My defenses are all up and I’m suddenly incredibly tense and wary. What a bunch of bullshit. Fuck that guy. Fuck that life. Fuck that name. I survived, and I’m here now, and this is not then.

…I take a moment to breathe, exhale, relax, and let it go…

…I look out the big office windows onto a city that never knew me then, on a beautiful Spring morning as the sun rises…

Crazy how long the damage can last, how long trauma can linger…

…I sip my coffee and begin again.

Tags ancient pain, begin again, chaos and damage, emotional self sufficiency, lasting damage, leave the past in the past, my results vary, perspective, practicing non-attachment, practicing the practices, ptsd, scars, taking care of me, TBI, The Art of Being, the damage is done, the time it takes to heal, there are verbs involved, trauma history, walk on

Categories Allegories, anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, breathe, Free Will, gratitude, grief, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Practices, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being