Archives for category: pain
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What It Is. What It Isn’t.

May 28, 2014 //
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I woke this morning with a headache, aching knees, aching ankles, aching back… funny, the thing that is on my mind is not the everyday pain of aging, or paying for youthful mistakes. I am thinking about love. Love is precious and peculiar, and for all the years I daydreamed about love, while dismissing it as fanciful bullshit for children, I had no understanding of what it might actually be, if I had it, practiced it, or experienced it. Love is a verb and a noun. Love demands much of us as beings, and the penalties for poor decision-making are very high. Totally  worth it, though, totally worth it.

Love is not what we think it is; love is what it is.

Love is not what we think it is; love is what it is.

So sure, I woke in a lot of pain this morning. That seems irrelevant every time I glance down at the orange knotted-cord bracelet one of my loves fashioned for me as we sat talking, while he packed his hiking kit.  Love isn’t a diamond tennis bracelet. Hell, love isn’t even this bright bracelet of sturdy nylon cord. Isn’t love the movement toward giving, the inspiration, the desire to take someone’s needs, interest, fancy, and delight and make them important to one’s own experience, and then taking action?

How is this orange knotted cord bracelet not the most precious of ornaments, simply because it is love?

This token of love doesn’t go with anything I wear regularly. It stands out boldly from my flesh. I don’t generally wear bracelets at all; I feel it as I move through my morning.  I am moved by, and aware of love with every small motion that brings the orange back into my view, or shifts the cord against my skin.  I feel a little silly, a little giddy, no different from feelings I might have were I 16… love excites me.

This morning, the pain vanishes from my awareness most of the time; because I am reminded so simply, so frequently, of how much I am loved. Love, and loving, are a pretty nice distraction to deal with on a Wednesday morning. I’m sure not complaining about it.

How often do we mess with the goodness in our experience at one moment or another because it isn’t what we expect, or what we dream of? How many tender joys are lost because they were one thing, and not another? Would you turn down orange knotted cord because it isn’t something fancier that you dreamt of longer? Are you truly open to love? To being loved?  I have to admit, to be fair to love itself, all those bitter years of certainty that love was a lie, a pretty illusion, a pointless treasure hunt – I wasn’t open to love, or being loved.  I had defined ‘what love is’ and because it wasn’t presenting itself to me in the form I demanded, I couldn’t see it when it did turn up. That is one of the saddest things about being lonely; it’s often a choice.

So, this morning I am aware of my pain, and in spite of that, I’m choosing love.  Taking a moment to feel the connection to a love nurtured, shared, grown over time; connected by a simple orange knotted cord, on a very early Wednesday morning.

Today is a good day to love.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Big 5, women, Words

Love Potions & Miracles

May 27, 2014 //
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Are we all secretly counting on miracles to make things right? Are we all after some sort of patent nostrum, magic potion, or a pill to make everything better? It’d be damned convenient, wouldn’t it? I mean, compared to having to build skills, habits, work through baggage, be accountable, and make good choices… a pill seems much simpler.

I’ve tried the pills; they don’t work. Well, they work, if by ‘working’ we agree to mean ‘have an effect of some kind’ for ‘some people’. Sometimes the effect they have fits the loose definition of ‘working’. Pharmaceuticals didn’t work out for me, personally. They tended to be too much, or too little, or had other more pronounced effects that were uncomfortable, unacceptable, or needed medication of their own. Over time I ended up taking a lot of pills, and for a net effect in improvement so slight that I was little more than a poster child for giving the medical community ‘a chance’.  I still struggled. I still suffered. I still hurt. I had a level of emotional volatility that wasn’t comfortable for anyone who had to live with me, and threw tantrums rivaling the most highly irritable three-year old, and did so with a ferocity and frequency that raw honesty requires me to admit was abusive to live with. I wasn’t okay.

This past weekend was a walk down memory lane, and serves to highlight how generally good the past year has been. Practicing mindfulness, meditating regularly, and learning different skills to identify and communicate my emotional experience in an appropriate way has done far more than any pharmaceuticals ever did. Still. This is a journey – and I’m far from reaching my destination.

So… pills don’t work. How about those miracles? Well, frankly, after this morning, I’m wondering if I should sign on to the miracle side of the argument… I woke early, damned early, crying in my sleep. The hot flashes the last couple weeks have been… extraordinary.  Over and over again, I find myself drenched in sweat, and right on the edge of freaking out because I’m overcome by feeling ‘too hot’.  Beyond being socially a bit awkward to be dealing with it so openly, it’s just seriously uncomfortable.  Take something for it! Sure! Except that medical science lags so far behind the hopes, dreams, and needs of women that it is little more than comedic at this point (are scientists even trying?). I mean, seriously? ED drugs are widely available, but in spite of the pure misery of billions of women dealing with their hormones and the effect that has on their relationships, there’s not shit of any real effectiveness available to deal with symptoms of menopause. Nope, we can all collectively go fuck ourselves, science is content with ‘bitches are crazy’ and leave it at that. Sorry. I’m feeling a tad bitter about the state of medicine and womanhood just at the moment.

I got distracted… by hot flashes. Go figure. The hormone thing is pretty attention consuming, honestly.

So. How about those miracles? Yep. Sitting here this morning, finding a moment of comfort staring at my monitor in the dim light of early morning, just sitting.  Taking a few minutes to calm myself and shush the infernal demons that woke me ahead of schedule. Feeling very alone. Feeling incredibly insecure about the future. Feeling pretty sad and overwhelmed. Wondering what the hell I could possibly ever do to make it up to people who love me, then feeling mired in suppressed rage that being female should feel like something I need to make up for… it was a rough start to the morning.  There was a quiet scratching at the door; at 5 am we’re all pretty cautious about keeping things quiet; everyone in the household has their own sleep challenges, and we all know how much it matters to get the sleep we can.  A wakeful partner checking in, a quiet ‘how did you sleep’ and a follow-up ‘are you up?’ from me.  Ordinary love, aside from Love never being at all ordinary… he headed back to bed, hoping for more rest. I resigned myself to continuing to face my challenges until the time came to leave for work.  I was settling in to breathing, being, meditating… and he quietly returned, crossed the room, and just stood near enough to touch, his tenderness palpable.  He said “I feel so helpless to do anything to help you with the menopause thing.” Honest. True. Loving. He headed to bed, and now I am writing about miracles.

It was a simple enough miracle of love; I felt lonely, my love connected with me, intimately, gently, honestly.  I need that, more than a cure, and feeling it matters so much this morning.  My demons have no real defense against love.

Today is a good day to love.

What time is love?

What time is love?

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Logic & Reason, Love, Menopause, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, women, Words

Souvenirs

May 26, 2014 //
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No pictures, please.

It’s been a difficult weekend. Hormones, fatigue, poor choices, the consequences of broken routines, the inevitable truth that we are each having our own experience, and no doubt any number of small other circumstances distilled into a weekend wrought of pure misery.  I could go on at greater length, say more than that it mostly sucked, but it seems unnecessary, really; although we are each having our own experience, the experiences we are each having remain human experiences, and given a moment to do so, they are experiences to which any one of us can likely relate all too easily.

I brought souvenirs from Las Vegas: t-shirts, playing cards, anecdotes, and photographs.  I also brought less tangible souvenirs: exhaustion, frustration, physical discomfort, and PTSD teetering on the edge of emotional disaster. Life is like that, isn’t it? Things we see, things we miss. Things we accept, things we reject. Things we desire, things  we have. The destination, the journey itself.  So often, there is more than what is obvious, and being aware really matters.

I’ve brought souvenirs from life along with me, just as I did from Las Vegas.  I’ve brought a pretty vicious and chronic case of long-term frustrated anger with regards to how I perceive my place in the world in the context of the culture I live in, and how I have been treated, myself, as a woman.  I’ve also brought years of unresolved pain over trauma and abuse at the hands of people who claimed to love me. I’ve brought extra tickets on the ride to Hormone Hell.  I’ve brought nightmares, quite an assortment of them, and the tantrums and mood swings that sometimes complicate my life because emotionality is a common consequence of disturbed sleep.  How is it these are ‘souvenirs’ and not just my baggage? Well… if they were just my baggage, wouldn’t I just shut the fuck up about them, and get to unpacking the bags and putting shit away? I would think so… Instead, I find that I have no particularly successful methodology for that process, and a great deal of real talent at sharing the pain.

Souvenirs. I bring it. You endure it. For what it’s worth, I’m working on me with indescribable devotion, but nothing about that makes amends. Sometimes it is hard not to lose my way in the fog of fuck ups, discourtesies, moments of inconsiderate temper, misplaced hurt feelings, frustration, and failure upon failure upon failure to treat people (who matter) like they matter (because they do), including me.

Yesterday started well, ended calmly, but in between those two points… yeah. It wasn’t good. I woke this morning still feeling the sting of it, the sorrow welling up inside me, ready to spill over a new day. Then something went right. For the first time since I started having difficulties with my right knee, I was able to fold comfortably, gently, into the crossed-legged sitting position that feels best to me for meditation. First one breath, then another – not just relaxed, and not ‘doing‘ meditation – meditating.  I felt lighter.  Another breath. Thoughts were just thoughts again. Another breath. The future began to unfold less like a hinged box or difficult puzzle, and more like … spring.  Another breath.  Attachment to emotional outcomes fell away.  Another breath.  Calm. Just calm. Just being. No timer, no limits, no fear or doubt.  I felt centered. Safe.  I felt awake and aware of how far and how quickly I had drifted from my heart’s safest shore… and I held myself, my heart, within my own compassionate awareness for a time.

Hours later, I heard the household beginning to stir. A new day. A new experience. My skin shivered with the ripple of other emotions on the current of my sense of ‘home’.  I felt a moment of understanding, and acceptance; living with me has some very difficult moments. I took a moment to appreciate the will and love that must go into that commitment, and honored the effort my loves bring to our relationships and our life together. I sat down and finished the manuscript I’d been fussing over rather pointlessly for a few days (weeks?). It seemed the least I could do to treat myself well in the aftermath of so much hurting, to finish something I started to meet needs of my own, on time, and as a high priority for myself.  It feels good to have the moment, and take advantage of it.

Hell of a weekend… I’m not sure I’d call it ‘recovering from the trip to Las Vegas’ in any accurate way, but today, for now, I feel as if I am at least ‘recovering from tripping’. lol

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Logic & Reason, Love, Menopause, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, women, Words

Crying in Las Vegas

May 21, 2014 //
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I imagine people cry in Las Vegas frequently. It seems like the sort of city that could provoke it, under a variety of circumstances.  The experience of  Las Vegas is intense; there is just so much going on, continuously.

Las Vegas at Sunset.

Las Vegas at Sunset.

I’ve had a great time in Las Vegas, so far. Great accommodations, and in another post, on another day, I’ll link places that impressed me. This is not that post. It wouldn’t be fair to all the wonders of this city, or this hotel, to do that here, because right now I am crying in Las Vegas.

I’m not even sure these are ‘my tears’. I’m tired. I’m overloaded with new information, professionally. This is a very busy and very successful conference, and I’ve learned a lot that has value, and rates further contemplation, and future action.  I am, however, crying right now. I’m not even fighting it. I got back to my room before the wave of emotion overtook me, and there’s some comfort in that, because I can just give in to the tears. Perhaps another time I’ll write more about those, too, but there are already many strong voices on the subjects of rape, of gender, of parity, of suffering, of the everyday lack of decency, consideration, and goodness.  Those strong voices are already shouting into the wind. Right now, I am not that strong.  I’ll cry awhile instead, splash some cold water on my face, and get back to work.

This trip has been ‘all about people’ in a beautiful, very open way. That’s worth celebrating. So, I’ll cry awhile longer, and consider the people I’ve met here and the stories they have had to tell. Eventually my tears will dry, and I will once again feel a smaller part of a much larger whole, with my own story to tell; and words rather than tears will flow.  In the meantime, I’d like to introduce – Las Vegas people.

Hotel staff...

Hotel staff…

...Of all sorts...

…Of all sorts…

...at all hours.

…at all hours.

Practical work that goes on almost continuously...

Practical work that goes on almost continuously…

...in the sun, in the heat, in the background.

…in the sun, in the heat, in the background.

Shopkeepers with a dizzying array of goods, open almost 24/7.

Shopkeepers with a dizzying array of goods, open almost 24/7.

Street performers...

Street performers…

...girls in costume, and more. (Superheroes, cartoon characters, celebrity look-a-likes...)

…girls in costume, and more. (Superheroes, cartoon characters, celebrity look-a-likes…)

Las Vegas is a city of illusions for sale, for business, pleasure, and consumption.  It’s still a city. These are still people, each with their own story to tell.  Each storyteller bringing something to the tale of humankind that is worthy of a moment of attention; honest, heartfelt, and fearlessly engaged.

Not every story is a fairytale.

Not every story is a fairytale.

Today is a good day to say thank you. Today is a good day to be grateful. Today is a good day to be aware that we are each having our own experience.

 

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, grief, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Rape, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, Words

Headaches and Homecomings

May 14, 2014 //
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I woke with a pounding headache this morning, and thinking fretfully of subtly out-of-reach goals. My dreams are gone and forgotten, leaving only hints that they were uneasy. I feel well-rested, but there’s this headache.

Do fish get headaches?

Do fish get headaches?

The workday begins.  I feel distracted and disconnected, thinking more of the evening to come, and the homecoming of a partner who has been away for many days and returns with a travelers tales of adventure, misadventure, and love.  Exciting!

There’s little enough to say until after the stories are told, shared, savored, and stored away for another day.  Then next week, I travel, myself.  It is a busy spring.

I have the sense there is more to say, that there was something queued up in my consciousness that needed some time, some consideration, some words… gone now, if it ever really was.  Two oddities of my TBI are the way it affects my sense of ‘novelty’ and ‘completion’.  I sometimes struggle for hours trying to remember “that important thing/idea I was in the middle of before I got interrupted” – it often turns out that it was simply something momentarily engaging like a commercial, or a slogan, or a phrase of poetry in my head that was stuck on a sort of loop, and when I finally do recall whatever it was, it not only isn’t ‘important’ – it isn’t relevant or even slightly interesting.  The novelty thing is different, equally ‘quirky’ and annoying.  I sometimes experience things as novel that I’ve known or been doing for a long while, or used to do a lot and gave up, then returning to it find it feeling completely new.  I get the reverse, too, where I don’t at all recognize something as entirely new, and never-before-experienced. That has some problematic moments, since it can occasionally result in having the perception that I know someone and just don’t remember their name, when actually we’ve never met at all and they are an un-vetted stranger.  Having a brain injury results in some peculiar vulnerabilities.

In the news, I found some amusement – and offense, let’s be honest – in stories about Karl Rove doing old-fashioned bias-based mudslinging, using the potential for having had a brain injury as an insult.  I almost missed the open insensitivity and contempt it indicated for the wide variety of talented people who do live as survivors of brain trauma, I was laughing so hard.  Seriously? How is brain damage – with no other information – even an issue? Will candidates now have to have scans to prove their brain is fully healthy and intact? What will happen to congress then? (You should be able to hear my eyes rolling from where you’re sitting, if you’re quiet. lol) It’s been clear for a very long time that critical thinking, a good education, and the will to serve the people of this country are not common characteristics of politicians, and as with the rest of the population, the intellectual and cognitive gifts of legislators are not evenly distributed. lol

Brain injuries aren’t actually uncommon, according to my reading. Very serious ones are less common, but how many people get through childhood without banging their head badly enough to get a concussion? Turns out that’s a bigger deal than we knew.  Football players – there are a few there – boxers, really any contact sport has the potential – and how many jobs are out there where a blow to the skull is a known potential risk? Soldiers surely come to mind, so many come home with a TBI, that ‘TBI’ is now a pretty commonly known acronym;  it wasn’t before the modern wars in the Middle East.   So, if a TBI isn’t particularly uncommon, in one form or another, how is it okay to use that as an insult?  It isn’t.

“Brain damage” isn’t actually a joke.

A good day for exploring the possibilities.

A good day for exploring the possibilities, and looking at things from a new perspective.

Today is a good day for compassion. Today is a good day to welcome someone home. Today is a good day to accept differences and commonalities. Today is a good day to understand that we are each having our own experience.  Today is a good day to love.

 

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Words
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