I woke to the alarm this morning, a rarity, and I woke with a sense of extreme relief to find myself awake and safe. Nightmares. More nightmares. They’ve already mostly faded from any hope of detailed recollection, although I rarely consider them in detail, once I have made my escape. I do remember a point during the night when I recognized that the strange heaving and shaking sensations that recurred in my dream world were my own unreserved sobbing in my sleep…I woke with swollen eyes and flushed cheeks, and that sensation like a desert wind had dried out my sinuses and my eyeballs. I must have cried for a long while. I dread facing days or weeks of my nightmares ramping up, eventually resulting in a deep reluctance to sleep at all, that over time becomes unsettled, disrupted sleep consisting mainly of unexpected naps interrupted by the panicked awareness that I have fallen asleep which rouses me abruptly, fearfully, and on the defensive – alert to the unseen enemy that may be lurking. I’ve been through it a few times before.  At its worst, I lived more than a decade of my life without ever having slept through a night, mostly only napping an hour at a time when I slept at all. (For now, it is not that bad.)

Sometimes all it takes to feel safe is opening my eyes to a new day.

So happy the night is over…

Do the details matter? The fear and anxiety are ugly enough without the details, aren’t they? There’s a frightened voice in my thoughts when I contemplate the ancient pain and damage in any detail…”Please don’t make me do this…” I avert my mind’s eye from my own experience far too often. I am torn apart by terror, old pain, old programming, the remnants of someone else’s will – and my own lingering rage.  Is it enough to acknowledge that my nightmares last night were populated with the faces of people who love me, whose love I recognize and accept – but the soundtrack was the voices of monsters dubbed in…and the message is clear. The damaged bits are making their own voices heard – “Don’t fuck with us!”  I know it is time, though…”time to turn and face the strange“… time to walk a path that takes me directly to the heart of who I am, and be ok with that... ok with me. It is time to slay some motherfucking demons*. It is time to fix the code, clean up the registry, uninstall the software creating the conflict in my OS…it is also, perhaps, time to find a more human metaphor for this experience. lol. (I can still laugh…even after a night of being screamed at in my sleep and assured that my life is not my own, that I have no will and no choice, that I do not deserve better, that everythingeverything – is ‘all my fault’. Being able to laugh after a night like this is a nice improvement.)

I spent some quiet moments enjoying the serenity of my aquarium.  Deep breaths. Yoga. A shower than could have been leisurely, but ended up rousing my startle reflex after the difficult night. (Have you ever taken a moment to wonder what it might be like to have one or more PTSD triggers that are totally daily events? Like… being in the shower? 😦 ) More meditation.  A quiet latte using the last of an almost empty bottle of maple syrup. (I like maple syrup in my coffee…is that strange?) A few gentle minutes with myself in the greenhouse, and in the garden… it all felt so good, so serene… but my night is like a nasty bruise; I brush against it and it hurts again.  Well, hell…it’s a lovely sunny day…and there are flowers.

Tiny white flowers...

Tiny white flowers…

Untidy purple flowers...

Untidy purple flowers…

Clusters of daisy-like flowers...

Bunches of daisy-like flowers…

Flowers in the shade...

Flowers in the shade…

Flowers in the sun...

Flowers in the sun…

Flowers that may be blue...or possibly purple...

Flowers that may be blue…or possibly purple…

Flowers in clusters...

Flowers in clusters…

Flowers along the walk...

Flowers along the walk…

...and flowers on shrubs.

…and flowers on shrubs.

Flowers, gardens, sunshine, love… it all matters so much more right now; an anchor, a life raft, a safety net…hope.  Ahead of me a new day, the possibility of real healing…the night is far away for now, and perhaps sleep will treat me gently tonight…or perhaps I will bring genocide to my demons*. 🙂

*note: I do not believe in literal demonic possession, for the sake of clarity, my ‘demons’ are a metaphor for ancient pain and damage, inappropriate coping mechanisms, out of date programming, poor habitual behaviors that do not support my values, and hurtful internal messaging… you get it, right? lol 😉

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

It occurred to me today, as I unfolded from another night of nightmare-filled sleep to find myself safe in the arms of morning, that 50 years is a much longer time to contemplate going into it, than it is looking back.  I mean, on my 10th birthday I doubt I spent much time contemplating the first decade of life, or the next few to follow, it was far more likely I spent it thinking about me, in the moment, and… presents. lol. Now, I’m 50, and facing a very realistic likelihood of living another 50 years, or more. 50 years. Ahead of me. 50. That seems like a lot of nightmares, opportunities to miscommunicate, arguments with loved ones, disappointments, tedium, and all the disarray and mess that being a human primate promises and generally delivers.  It also seems like a lot of time to try new things, learn, become the woman I most want to be, to change the world for the better, to enjoy love and Love, to hang with friends and hear what they have to say about things that matter, to fight just causes, to celebrate milestones, to support and nurture what I value…and for hugs, kisses, sex, great glasses of wine, tasty bites of interesting foods, amazing music and art, new friends, new ideas, and a lot of cozy nights on the couch with lovers watching TED Talks… or whatever the equivalent of that might be, in 2063.

The menu in the restaurant of life is a long one – and everything is ordered a la carte, no matter how much we put into trying to plan all the details of the meal.

I feel sexy, and alive, and strong – in spite of everyday stress, and every night nightmares – I feel capable, and enthusiastic about life.  It’s a nice place to be. There are so many experiences I would like to have – I’m not sure 50 years is actually enough for the easy ones, and I’m often doubtful I’ll get to some of the odd stuff I’d like to explore. I resist the term ‘bucket list‘, because for me life is not about checking off a to do list (except on weekends, when it is a matter of managing the chores and essentials. lol) – but there are things I want to do – not ‘before I die’, just ‘at all’ because I want to, because I have done them before and loved the experience, because they are things I yearn to experience because they resonate with me, or because they would be a living protest in the face of my demons. I guess I do list them, because I’m human, and making lists is something many of us do. 🙂

(I pause a moment and wonder, if I had every list I’d ever compiled, without regard to purpose or state of completion, would I learn something about who I am?)

Seriously, though, who doesn’t have some sort of personal accounting of what they’d like to do, see, achieve, share, experience, know, or understand? Some of the things on my list are strangely specific, others are inexplicably odd (at least to me). Some look like an easy victory in list management, if only I would take the first step and get it done, others lack even the vaguest notion of a starting point, or have an as yet unreachable prerequisite.

This morning I am thinking, perhaps not so oddly, about things that are morning related… I’d like to have brunch with a lover in a lovely regional bistro on the Chesapeake Bay, watching sailboats make their lazy way along the waterfront, and feeling the heat of a summer morning slowly become a muggy summer day.   I’d also like to awaken tangled in clean sheets and heavy comforters in a sunny German Gasthaus, have eager unreserved sex, and a hearty breakfast over strong coffee and bad jokes – in Augsburg, or perhaps Munich – and then stroll the fussganger zone looking at art, crystal, and porcelain. I’d like to visit the Carpathian mountains, hiking and camping with a friend, and learning some Romanian. I very much enjoy supporting a good cause and seeing the world change through actions and voices…I really like that one, it’s one I’d want to do again and again. (In 50 years I’ve been awed to see so much history unfold…eager to see what more there is out there.) I’d like to visit a Pacific Island chain, something remote and simple, and walk on a quiet isolated beach and see the sun rise, and set. I’d like to visit Las Vegas in a very sexy sports car, exploring the city at night, and driving in the desert in the outskirts in the wee hours of morning before heat and sleep become the priority concerns.  I would like to paint in an isolated mountain cabin alone for a week, and in a yurt near the beach during a storm, and in the comfort of a charming bed and breakfast in Carmel, California – painting until inspiration is fulfilled, then wandering the galleries and talking to other artists about other inspirations.

There is a clear theme is my wish list for my next 50, and the theme from this vantage point is ‘satisfaction’ and ‘fulfillment’ – not trophies or brag-worthy endeavors, just simple pleasures of the heart and spirit. My heart. My spirit. My satisfaction. On a morning like this, finding those moments doesn’t really seem difficult. I’m near the end of this latte, and these thoughts… time to live a few moments without words. 😀

...walking a serene path.

…walking a serene path.

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.