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Love and Lust

June 5, 2015 //
0

I woke in a good mood this morning, in spite of the challenges last night. I’m definitely settled in enough now to sleep easily and deeply, and through the night. That’s a big win. The worse my sleep is, and the longer I go on less-than-ideal sleep, the more the volatile I am, emotionally, and the less skilled I am at managing the routines and practices that build something I can count on as executive function – and trust me, having a disinhibiting brain injury throws some career curve balls, and the most loving partner will have a surplus of ‘wtf??’ moments with me. Good sleep matters a lot.

This morning I am smiling over my coffee, and the nice note from my traveling partner – he’s very understanding about rescheduling our possible hang out time this weekend. He’s no fool, and recognizes that the furious itching and whatnot of these [probably] spider bites will impact our time together, and not for the better. It feels good to set boundaries for myself more skillfully, and without rancor. It’s these easy moments that I feel his love, even at a distance.

Today the way ahead seems obvious and pleasant.

Today the way ahead seems obvious and pleasant.

I was reading an article that the FDA has approved ‘female Viagra’ for women suffering from low sex drive (who decides their sex drive is low in the first place?), and there have been brief periods in my life when my own rather unfortunately robust sex drive dropped off (usually because the partnership I was in was a sex drive killer emotionally, or because I was on medication that affected it). For me, personally, the issue of sex drive hasn’t been one of a deficit at all. I have a disinhibiting brain injury – trust me, there’s no shortage of sex drive – and on top of that, an early life sexual trauma history that tends to result, as a package, in sufficiently high sex drive to have negatively affected most of my relationships over the course of a lifetime. The big driver in my lifelong lack of monogamy has been my sex drive. Reading the article, I couldn’t help wondering how many women will take this new medication, increase their sex drive, and find themselves faced with partners who don’t want the same amount of sex? There’s this strange myth lurking out there in some corners of the world that women don’t want as much sex as men do… that hasn’t been my experience, at all.

My high drive used to be an easy thing to deal with through my utter lack of monogamy. There was no shortage of willing folk to have some fun with. I’m in a weird place in life, now, with myself…at some point I lost interest in sex that lacks a good connection and authentic desire between willing equals. I can’t (and don’t care to) fake that. Now I’ve got this crazy sex drive, and the bar is set pretty high… It is not easy to imagine wanting to increase my sex drive from this place life. Hell, my sex drive was one of the things the VA used to justify putting me on powerful psych meds that were not actually appropriate for my issues. They didn’t actually reduce my sex drive, either. You know what kills my sex drive? Being treated poorly. lol

One thing I do find encouraging about the existence of a female Viagra, and it’s a pretty big deal; it implies acceptance that women want and need sexual fulfillment, too, and that it’s normal and okay to want more of what feels so good. That’s actually a very big deal in such a sex-negative culture, and a sign of real cultural progress. Now if we could just shift the cultural perceptions that older women, women with physical limitations, and very heavy women don’t want sex, or are not sexual beings, that would be amazing. At almost 52, I want sex as much and with as much fervor as I did in my thirties and forties – and way more than I did in my twenties. lol I not only want more – I’m way better at it. 🙂

Sex makes life sparkle - your results may vary.

Sex makes life sparkle – your results may vary.

It’s Friday, and the weekend is ahead of me. I will perhaps hunt down a wee allen wrench and finish hooking up the stereo. Saturday I will go to brunch with an old friend, and visit the Farmer’s Market. Sunday I’ll get some laundry done, and catch up on correspondence. An ordinary weekend, in an ordinary life; there are verbs involved, and sure – my results vary. 🙂

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Perspective, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Some Enchanted Evening

June 4, 2015 //
2

Tonight started in a most promising way. I had a task in mind; hooking up the stereo. Simple stuff, but it hits a nerve with my post traumatic stress and I felt considerable anxiety about the undertaking, and a dreadful lack of confidence about it. Here’s the thing, though; I know how to do hook up my stereo, and the fear and stress are an illusion left over from a lifetime ago. So, I got home, and got started. Didn’t get it quite finished – it turned out the wee allen wrench for tightening the set screw on the back of the speakers had gone missing. It’s a small thing – I’ll replace it and finish connecting the speakers and be done with it…

…I’m not wired for frustration. Rationally, I knew it wasn’t a big deal – I’ve been contentedly listening to music on my laptop for days. The disappointment and frustration collided at the end of a busy workday. I wasn’t up to the challenge and wept for some time, helpless, immobilized, overwhelmed. It seems inexplicable now, on the other side of it. I had a shower, meditated, did some yoga, had a bite to eat… I’m fine. Frustrated, but even that has dissipated.  You know what hasn’t changed? The ferocious itching of bites that I suspect now of being spider rather than mosquito. I’ve got several large painful welts that itch so fiercely moment to moment that it’s hard to focus on anything else. The one of my foot was most agonizing walking to and from work. Right now the one on my calf feels worst. My mood may be affected by these bites – I am sensitive enough to bee stings to carry a bee sting kit all spring and summer, anywhere I go.

...I still try to get pictures of bees...

…I still try to get pictures of bees…

Practicing good practices doesn’t prevent bug bites (well, there are probably some excellent insect control practices…) – and I don’t know how or how much these bites may be affecting me. (When my traveling partner got a nasty spider bite sometime last year it definitely changed his outlook on the world, and he was much more irritable, generally.) I’m suffering enough with these bites – and they are numerous – that I withdrew an offer to hang out with my traveling partner sometime over the weekend. It doesn’t make sense to allow even one previous minute to be tainted with predictable irritability or suffering when we can save it for another day, and enjoy each other. It was a difficult choice to make – but hanging out Wednesday went sideways pretty easily, and I wouldn’t be surprised to confirm these bites had something to do with my emotional dis-regulation. Another time.

detail of "Emotion and Reason"

We are creatures of both emotion and reason, of both light and darkness.

Tonight, between the frustration with the stereo, and the itching of the bites, and challenges getting my routines down (I think I missed on my hormones…not sure, though, I can’t recall taking them, but I also don’t recall not taking them…) (Did I mention the fucking itching? lol ) I finally just broke.  So sure, I cried some frustrated tears. I do that. I suck at frustration, even now, although I am hopeful that experiences like this will help me improve the way I handle frustration the next time. No humans were harmed in the making of this experience – even me. Really. Frustrating, sure, but even that passed, leaving behind only me. Pretty content, and entirely okay. Yes, it was a choice, and no that doesn’t make it less valued, or less genuine. It isn’t forced, it’s just that there are verbs involved. 🙂

At 2 with Inga

At 2, a very different perspective.

I’m tired. Sleepy, fatigued, and not feeling my best, without actually feeling ill. It’s a lovely evening to meditate – the process of moving has broken so many routines. It’s time to rebuild good habits, practice good practices with consistency and discipline – it’s time to take the very best care of this fragile vessel.

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Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Hormone Hell, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women

Traveling Some Distance

June 4, 2015 //
0

Yesterday went sideways for a painful moment or two. I am more resilient than I was even a  year ago; some tears, some words, and a hot soak in Epsom salts later, I was okay. Saddened a bit that I am less skillful at face-to-face communication than I would like to be. Irked with myself failing to recognize that communication is not always what someone else is after, at all. Still…okay. The evening ended quietly, and pleasantly, and I managed to pass an interesting milestone that is quite new for me, although it was  painful moment – I asked my traveling partner to go, rather than continue an unpleasant moment for both of us. I didn’t regret the decision. I didn’t candy coat it. I didn’t go after him, changing my mind. I didn’t plead for him to return – or even actually want that. I took care of me, gently and without guilt or fear. Last night, I needed me.

I miss living with my traveling partner – the convenience of his nearness and warmth is lovely – but one advantage to living alone is being more able to invest in my self-care, and to continue to pursue progress in therapy at a time when much of what I am working on/through/with touches on intimate relationship experiences, emotional self-sufficiency, free will, and developing/maintaining a comfortably adult sense of self with an injury and trauma history that tends to push me in a co-dependent direction with any being that may wish me more good than ill. Living with me is not easy on anyone – me, included. For now, developing that relationship I have with myself is an important part of what I am doing lately. It’s harder to do living with a being I adore with whole-hearted enthusiasm, commitment, and affection so strong that I routinely put love – and my traveling partner – ahead of my own needs. This is a poor choice over time, I know, and I’ve felt it like a weight tied to our experience together. We both need a break from the chaos and damage, figuring out how to get one has been a challenge. How unfair that he has to deal with it at all? He didn’t bring me to this place, but he’s been quite a good sport about walking part of this journey with me in spite of that… but… I am my own cartographer. It doesn’t just ‘have to be that way’ – it simply is. Eventually, following someone else’s path leads me predictably astray from my own. There’s no ill-intention to it; we are each having our own experience.

It was my traveling partner who first made that observation to me, in these words, “we are each having our own experience”. It has been a powerful observation that holds great meaning and perspective for me.

A good reminder

A good reminder

This morning I woke gently from a night of deep restful sleep. No tears. No nightmares. No residual ‘ick’ or emotional hangover. This is an interesting change, and I’m not inclined to question it. I feel appreciative of progress made over time. I am living my own life – right now. There are still going to be some painful moments; emotion is part of my human experience, and there is no ‘happy ending’ besides the one I create for myself.

Yesterday is behind me. Today is ahead of me. Tonight is hours away, and it is still the middle of the work week. There is plenty to do here at home – some housekeeping, a few remaining moving in tasks, a stereo to hook up. I decided to give up on the huge wall-mounted monitor – even on its stand it takes up too much wall space for something that is of little importance to me; I am quite content watching movies, anime, and favorite shows of all sorts on my laptop, or a bigger monitor than my wee laptop – but I earnestly prefer my wall space be reserved for art, and don’t really watch much television at all. On the other hand… music doesn’t sound the same on the laptop, even with my sound bar. It’s not at all the same as listening to music through a good amplifier and great speakers – filling the house with sound, and feeling the bass in my bones. I want that experience back in my day-to-day existence with the music I like best, myself. It’s been more than two years of compromising my musical taste because it wasn’t preferred in the household – now the household is mine, and I play the music I love, myself.

Somewhere across the distance of life's journey, I am connecting with myself.

Somewhere across the distance of life’s journey, I am connecting with myself.

I find this slow process of unfolding and becoming and allowing myself to acknowledge, accept, and invest in my own taste and needs without distraction or compromise both interesting and sometimes quite emotional. So far I am delighted with the results, and not inclined to take direction, or be blown off course by what suits anyone else – even my traveling partner. This sometimes sets up some powerful internal conflict as I untangle me from all the baggage that isn’t actually ‘me’. Love is what it is, and loving well demands that I open my heart to others – but also that I nurture my own heart, and satisfy my own needs. When I take the best care of me I am more able to love well…but I may not be the person my lover assumes me to be. Is there risk that love will be lost along the way? That’s a complicated question that lacks a clear answer…but I am certain of one thing; I can’t love easily if I am not the person I actually am, and any love returned to me can’t easily be experience, enjoyed, or sustained if it is intended for someone other than the me that I actually am.

The sum of many parts.

The sum of many parts.

This is not a sad morning, or moment. I feel encouraged and strong, and something like the way I feel in that moment at a trail head, pulling on my pack, adjusting the straps, and double checking my map before I head down the trail, eyes wide with wonder, awake and aware. I don’t know where my path will take me, and I’m okay with that. Today is a good day for solo hiking.

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Categories Anxiety, art and the artist, Brain Injury, Epsom salts, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

With a Side of Fail Sauce

June 3, 2015 //
3

I am having a difficult moment. I write those words simply, and hoping that perhaps seeing them on the page in such a practical no bullshit way might give me some kind of leverage, a way to pull myself from the edge of this pit. It feels harder than that. Given a chance I know that it probably isn’t any more difficult that giving myself some tenderness, some compassion, and maintaining the will to look the truth straight in the face, fully accepting disappointments, hurts, and all the small things that don’t feel good. Awesome is possible…but the effort to lift a finger to let go of the hurting long enough to change it is hard to muster right now. It won’t stay this way ‘forever’, however much I hurt right now.

I am not skilled at managing my emotions. I’m still such a beginner. I feel my feelings so strongly – as if they are the only real reality, the only true truth. Intellect tells me it isn’t so. Study suggests perspective matters. Practices, over time, have resulted in so many fewer such moments like this one. Here I am now, though. This one’s harder than most, lately things have been very good. It’s not helping matters that I have no name for this feeling…some mix of disappointment, sadness, frustration, loneliness, and grief…and over something probably pretty small in the bigger picture.

I wrote more. I deleted it. I wrote more after that. Deleted it, too. Writing. Reading. Deleting. Contemplating words in rows. Feeling feelings. Tears slide down my face, ignored. I write. More words. I delete them; they say nothing. I am uncertain what I feel beyond this gray heavy hurting and loneliness. People are not who I expect them to be, or who I want them to be, or even who they once were. People are only who they are, in this moment now, and not even reliably so; I persist in expecting things, assuming things, wanting things. Mere mortals, one and all, each with our own baggage, our own failures, our own hurts – each of us the ‘good guy’ in our own narrative, and making it up as we go along. Something about this must be worth it – most of us keep at it. Again and again.

...Maybe a picture of some flowers will help?

…Maybe a picture of some flowers will help?

I am covered in mosquito bites. The itching drives me mad. I am in tears, head stuffy, eyes swollen. I am resentful of my weakness and my failure – how the fuck did I manage to fuck up a nice bit of hang out time with my traveling partner so easily? I mean, aside from being utterly human? My head aches with doubt and insecurity. Right now, nothing feels good, or holds any promise. This seems an unfair extreme, and rationally I know to doubt the intensity of it. Right now, I feel sad…and a lot of other stuff, none of it any good.  My demons head for the playground. I feel stalled and helpless – and angry with myself that any one other human being anywhere has this kind of influence on my state of mind, however loved, however well-intended, however valued.

Words on a page. Maybe I should delete more of them? What is there to be gained in words about tears? It is wishful thinking to hope the demons might be distracted by a handful of words. They are not inclined to listen deeply, to be considerate, affectionate, supportive, or friendly – they don’t have my best interests in mind at all.  They do not love.  I do, though… it’s just hard right now. First I’ve got to swallow this bitter pill, with a side of fail sauce – then, later, when there are no more tears, sometime after a shower, after time spent meditating, after some sleep…maybe then it won’t be so hard to be alone. I may be doing quite a lot of it in the future – there’s really no way to know what the future holds for  me.

Some moments are harder than others. They’re all just moments, brief and ephemeral – good or bad, they are over so quickly. Hurting sucks, but it will also end. Eventually tears dry. Eventually wounds heal. Eventually, wherever I happen to be will be okay with me. I focus on something small; I am okay right now…it’s a place to start.

Begin somewhere, and keep taking steps.

Begin somewhere, and keep taking steps.

…later…

Change is. Really. That’s even okay – sometimes it takes getting used to. Sometimes there are regrets – and apologies. Sometimes there is distance. Words can be misunderstood. The summer showers of my emotions pass quickly. I’m okay. Tears do dry. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Logic & Reason, Love, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Learning to Live with My Bestie

June 3, 2015 //
1

I slept well again last night. It’s wonderful. I definitely needed the sleep. By midday yesterday, after a great night’s sleep the night before, my body and mind were pretty certain sleep was the thing, and I wanted more than anything to go home at lunch time for a nap. 🙂 Instead, I went home for a sandwich and some yoga, enjoyed a walk in the fresh air, and got back to work. It was a long day, but a short ‘commute’ home – I was ‘in for the night’ by 7:00 pm , and by 8:00 pm I was fed, showered, and curled up under the covers teasing myself with the promise of reading for a while. I went straight to sleep and woke to an alarm clock I had fortunately remembered to set.

This morning, my pour over coffee is luscious, warm, and crafted according to my preferences. I didn’t have to ask, or compromise, or go out for it. I can count on me for a good coffee in the morning. I am learning how much I actually can count on me, for all sorts of things. The last two times in my life I have made an attempt at living alone were characterized by fairly chronic anxiety, insomnia, and poor decision-making, and like living with an ill-tempered child. This time is rather like an idealized version of living with my best friend. It’s still just me, here; I  have learned to treat myself fairly well. What matters most [to me] is clearer, and what to do about it seems more obvious [to me].

Although I am having my own experience, I am still a human primate; intimacy, connection, and contact are important to me. I thrive on love. Affection matters. Touch matters. Feeling valued matters. Being visible is a big deal, emotionally. Adjusting to how those things fit into this new context is taking some time, and firm adherence to good self-care practices; I rely on myself to take care of me almost entirely now. I’ve been here before, but this is my first shot at doing it skillfully, effectively, and achieving notably good results. I still want, need, and count on the positive interactions I enjoy with others to fill emotional needs for connection, and contact. I am a social creature, and even at my most reclusive I thrive when I enjoy close connections with others. There are, of course, verbs involved. My choices matter; interactions are not all equally valuable, or equally pleasant. My results vary. 🙂

Yesterday I went to the mail box after work, I’m not getting much mail here yet but I know bills and statements will be coming to this address now. There is a certain loneliness in an empty mail box, living alone. I opened the box…nothing. Oh, wait…there at the back…an envelope. I noticed happily that it appeared to be a real letter, and from someone dear to me. A ‘welcome home’ card! The handwritten note inside commented that she thought I might like to get some mail that isn’t a bill. I felt understood, valued, and loved. It was a nice moment. I am peculiarly sentimental about such things; I will keep the card for some time.

A smile came in the mail today, wrapped in a plain envelope.

A smile came in the mail today, wrapped in a plain envelope.

I still write letters on paper, and send cards, myself. I do it because of how I feel when I get one, at some moment when I am feeling distant, disconnected, or alone. A few minutes, the price of a stamp, the effort to address an envelope, and the consideration it takes to put the words together and follow them with a 🙂 and a signature are a small price to pay for the powerful moment delivered in a plain envelope. I find myself thinking about sending sweet notes, pictures, drawings and cards to my traveling partner – a sort of love delivery service. Living apart I do miss those small moments of connection, and finding new ways to connect over distance is something I consider often. (Consideration being one of my Big 5, this makes sense to me.)

In moments of great hurt or anger, I find value in letter writing, too, although of the sort I would not generally consider sending; there is clarity in seeing words on paper, and it can be a calming perspective, allowing me to take a step back from the moment, and see things through new eyes. I find writing a good self-care practice, generally, and the act of writing to an individual, about relevant things shared between us, can often soothe my heart in moments of hurt, or ease my anger or doubt, and sometimes helps me gain perspective or understand something better than I did before I saw it in words. I can’t point any fingers at my TBI on this one – I have no idea whether this is a shared experience that many people value, or unique to  me. I am learning to doubt ‘uniqueness’ on a number of levels. 🙂

There is power in our words. We choose them and express what we can. Our lies can affect someone else’s reality. Our anger can do real damage to someone else’s heart. Our lack of consideration, or disregard, can tear down a relationship. Our support and compassion can tear down walls. Our love can change someone’s mind, or heart. Hell, our love can change the world – it just takes a lot of it to overcome the chaos and damage. Even the words we direct at ourselves, in the privacy of our own minds, have enormous power over how we understand our experience, and how we experience ourselves.

I had observed, hanging out with my traveling partner over the weekend, that living alone I miss the welcome home greeting each evening when I get home from work. It’s a poignant moment these days; I unlock the door content and smiling, and there is this instant of pain when I step across the threshold into silence, alone. It’s a hard moment for me.  I wondered last night what I could do, myself, to meet that need. If words matter…can I throw words at the problem? Last night I explored that a bit with a sticky note in the bathroom, on the mirror, reminding myself of some task I didn’t want to forget…and at the bottom of the note I drew a wee heart, and added “You are loved, and thanks for taking care of this right away. You matter.” I had forgotten about it completely when I woke – and seeing it first thing made me smile in much the same way getting the nice card from my aunt did, last night. I don’t know that I have more to say about it, right now. It doesn’t quite rise to the level of a practice, but it was interestingly effective and thought-provokingly so.

I have plans to hang out with my traveling partner this evening after work. I am eager for the day to pass to get to that point; our time together is precious, and pretty wonderful. Living apart highlights the value of the time together, and small things stay small; we both put more into ‘now’, and appreciate the time together in a more willful way. It’s lovely. I don’t waste time wondering why it took living apart to feel this secure about love; I am content to act on what I observe, and I am eager to be in his arms, feeling the warmth of his flesh, and his smile.

I bloom when conditions are right, and in my own time. Don't we all?

I bloom when conditions are right, and in my own time. Don’t we all?

Today is a good day to enjoy the company of a ‘best friend’ I can count on every day, every moment, without ever wearing out my welcome [me]. Today is a good day to appreciate love and lovers, and the value of a hug, and a welcome home. Today is a good day to treat myself well, because it is the best way to treat me. Today is a good day to enjoy the journey.

 

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words
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