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Irritated and Disappointed

August 8, 2016 //
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I woke this morning to a cool gray sky threatening rain. It’s probably an empty threat. I woke feeling okay, but within minutes I was feeling cross with the world, with humanity itself, and disappointed in the world and my fellow human kind most particularly. Seriously? We can’t do better for measures of success than revenue and gross margin? We can’t elevate ourselves as a specie beyond profiting on the suffering of others? Yeah. I didn’t actually mean to open up a news site first thing, and I’m definitely regretting it.  It wasn’t even ‘serious’ news, although to be honest I find that news information from sources like The Daily Show and Last Week Tonight regrettably often seem a higher caliber of reporting these days…and Last Week Tonight told me why, this morning.

How about it, humanity, how many more things can we ruin by chasing profit at the expense of substance, meaning, and value? We have so much potential…

Anyway. I’m not exactly angry about it… just disappointed. Disappointed first that I looked at the fucking news – any fucking news – first thing in the morning. I know better than to do that to my fragile waking consciousness. Then too, I am disappointed that as human beings we still hold up “making money” as some laudable skill, and “wealth” as a great goal for an adult life… and I am frustrated at how difficult it is to explain why it seems obvious this is a fairly stupid approach, generally. There is so little worth having that is “about” money.

I’m shouting into the wind. We all want things or experiences that “cost money”, making the money valuable to have. We’re constantly told “the market” sets the price of goods and services based on wholesome supply and demand. We ignore how badly wrong the math is because we like the way our ideas sound, and cave to pressure when we’re told that wages are also set by some mythic “market” and that our value is only as much as the job itself is “worth”, rather than being paid for the value of our expended life force (which is probably a whole lot less variable, frankly, since we are all human beings). Ah, but if I bitch when my bank account is fat, and I’m making a good wage, I’m told that it’s easy for me to say so, but…  And if I bitch when I’m broke, why, that’s sour grapes and I should do more, work harder, and surely I will profit. Seriously, people? It’s like I’m shouting at monkeys – the noise is audible, but it is unlikely I’m actually being understood. It is what it is, I guess… what a depressingly pointless human legacy. Fail sauce, fancy monkeys, fail sauce – keep your fingers poised over those typewriters, perhaps you’ll write a novel yet.

...Raindrops on roses...

…Raindrops on roses…

Sorry. As I said. I’m cross with disappointment in my fellow-man, this morning, and it’s my own doing. This too shall pass. I hear a soft rain falling, and open the window to smell the petrichor of meadow and marsh. I put on some music after a while. Humanity hasn’t changed much overnight, and changing my perspective will be the easier choice, instead of clinging to hope that my few aggravated words will sway even one human being as they choose the course of their life. We are each having our own experience. Looking past money’s magic funhouse mirror is too hard for most of us; we need stuff.

The music carries my heart to a different place as fast as a Mclaren F1 on a straight ribbon of highway. The beat pulls my sense of self out of my head, more firmly into my body, into this moment. Music becomes movement… becomes a bass guitar hanging from my body, and practice, and nothing at all to do with disappointment or aggravation. Am I slowly beginning to work out some of the challenges, incrementally, over time? Maybe…? I’ll keep practicing. Today is a good day for practicing the practices that tend most to improve my experience. 😀

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Logic & Reason, Mindfulness, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, The Art of Being, Words

Oh. I just got that…

August 1, 2016 //
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I’m sitting here, awake early, watching the slow lightening of daybreak becoming a new day, stormy skies overhead, the sounds of traffic muffled and distant. I was sitting here thinking something or other… and like a jigsaw puzzle piece which has an obvious placement, without searching for it in this moment, I recognize that the verbal form (figure of speech?) to say that something is or is not “supposed to…” is an indicator of an assumption being made. Damn that is so entirely obvious. I mean, by definition, I think I “knew that”…only… now I also “get it”. Well… An improved understanding on any terms is nonetheless an improved understanding. Maybe I also actually already understood that fairly deeply… and only this morning experienced the ‘a-ha!’ moment of “getting it” – detached from the actual experience of making the connection at some other point? Perhaps the feeling is simply a feeling, like so many sensory or emotional experiences, and potentially prone to error?  I don’t know how all the variables of learning, understanding, reasoning, and the sensations of experience epiphanies actually work, and admittedly, I am also aware that my “novelty recognition circuitry” is pretty impaired. 🙂

I do think, in this moment, that I now understand more easily and with a greater sense of clarity that assumptions don’t work (than I had previously), and the understanding is based on also understanding that using the phrasing “supposed to” straight up shouts that one or more assumptions that do not align to reality are being made. It’s a helpful thing to be aware of in conversation.

It’s not the first time I’ve been slow to catch on to something, although quite commonly it’s something humorous that I’m not getting, specifically. There are any number of little quirks and oddities of character that result from brain injuries. Like Witzelsucht or “Gourmand Syndrome“. It often gets me wondering how many “eccentric” or “quirky” people historically actually had some sort of brain trauma? We have barely scratched the surface of what there is to know about the brain… and… we’re using the brain itself to do the work of learning more. I wonder if “conflict of interest” ever comes up… I mean… consciousness itself may have a stake in how much we understand. And then, too, if everyone – or approximately almost everyone – has some sort of brain trauma, over time, what is “normal”? Who decides that? Why do they get to decide for everyone else?

A stop along memory lane, Cafe Schenk, Pfersee.

A stop along memory lane, Cafe Schenk, Pfersee.

I continue to sip my coffee quite contentedly. It’s a Monday with a couple appointments, and some hang out time with my traveling partner at day’s end. I don’t have much on my mind, aside from my health, and that mostly because I am over 50, and didn’t do a great job of taking care of my health when I was much younger, rather than due to diagnosed illness. (You! There are on the couch, 20-something me, you do not need that additional tasty slice of torte, and you’d do well to try to get some damned sleep. Please?? And please leave out some reminders for 30-something me to get off her ass and get some exercise! It’s all going to matter so much, later.) Pretty routine stuff for now; I’d do well to lose a few pounds, and to get into better shape. Physical therapy and keeping an eye on calories and nutrition, walking more (more than that), and getting enough rest are a good starting point. So many damned verbs.

It's a journey.

It’s a journey.

The challenges of the past few days seem less threatening in the cool morning air, with the security of fresh hot coffee warming my hands. How much of my experience is illusions built on emotions, sensations, and assumptions? How much of that can I replace with observation, mindful acceptance, and non-judgmental awareness? Questions for a Monday. Today is a good day to be the change I wish to see in the world – I say it often; this morning I hear the words, and listen to the meaning. There are still verbs involved. I know that my results may vary. I’m okay right now – I can begin again, any time. 🙂

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Mindfulness, Perspective, Summer, The Art of Being, weight loss secrets, women, Words

Emotion and Reasons

July 31, 2016 //
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This has been, so far, a very complicated weekend, emotionally. That’s neither good news, nor bad, it’s just damned peculiar and quite unexpected, although each time some challenge is met and passes by I find myself thinking “how could it not be so, all things considered?”  It’s quite uncomfortable nonetheless. Some of the difficulties that have come up [for me] have been catalyzed by my traveling partner’s presence, which is just… so not okay with me. Other difficult moments have been dropped on my experience by OPD (Other People’s Drama), which could be avoidable, when I see it coming. In all cases, it’s been incredibly precious to have my traveling partner here for support, encouragement, and love. Even the difficult bits that were more to do with him than not are significantly eased by his presence, although I am not easily able to appreciate it fully in some emotional moments. I’m glad he’s here.

Sharing the journey can help me navigate obstacles more easily.

Sharing the journey can help me navigate obstacles more easily.

It’s clear, after a couple days dealing with me, that I’ve “hit a bad patch of road” on this journey, and my partner is my lover, my friend, my ally, my buddy, my confidante… but one thing he is not? He’s not my therapist. He suggests, and I agree, that it’s a good time to make an appointment with my therapist to discuss some of life’s recent… “inclement weather”.

Yesterday, quite unexpectedly, a Facebook friend (and long-time historical associate, someone who once resided in my home briefly), unloaded a quantity of emotional poison in the comment(s) on a post. The post was an innocuous seeming political post – I’ve been working on taking a more positive approach, instead of locking step with alarmist negative campaigning and media frenzy – and I wasn’t actually expecting anything from it (no likes, comments, views); I seriously expected it would be disregarded in the storm of shock-value headlines being shared, and angry rants about what isn’t okay today. Instead, someone I have long considered quite dear to me – a friend – just went off on me in an angry verbal outburst that crossed over to multiple threads, took many comments to write, and was just… It was the verbal equivalent of assault, and I definitely felt attacked. Viciously. Over a positive Facebook post supporting a presidential candidate. Ugly stuff – the sort of things that end up making the news because women deal with so much of it on the internet. I haven’t had to wade through much of that kind of thing – this time it came from someone I thought a friend. I was immediately overcome with horror, sadness, panic, fear; my PTSD flared up hardcore. It happened on the way to the farmer’s market. It could have gone very badly indeed. It wasn’t pleasant as it was.

My path is mine to choose.

My path is mine to choose.

I did my best not to panic. I read enough to recognize, appreciate, and deal with the practical matters; I deleted the comments, first (don’t leave spoiled poison on food prep surfaces). Threats, crazed hateful accusations, intimidation… this is not the sort of stuff that ought be left lying around Facebook where people could be hurt by it. I blocked this person who had once been dear to me; it isn’t in my best interests to excuse, tolerate, or justify someone’s ill treatment of me, or to permit it to continue. I was still in shock, shaken and frightened. PTSD is a bad-ass, and doesn’t back down easily. I finished my shopping with little enthusiasm, and headed for the safety of home. On the way, I logged into each social media account I have, of all types, and blocked the person who attacked me. Mistreatment is a very good reason to end a friendship.

I got home and sought space and isolation, seeking emotional safety. My traveling partner and another friend were hanging out, and when I attempted to excuse myself, asked me gently to share, instead, and be supported. I did. I didn’t expect much; men don’t deal with some of this sort of thing as much, or in the same way, or as often on the internet – their haters use different language, or maybe it reaches them differently, or… no, hell, that just sounds sexist. The simplest truth, I felt wounded and alone, and I didn’t expect anyone would really understand, and that I’d be told to ‘get over it’ and ‘move on’, and told to minimize the impact, or calm myself without regard to my actual experience. I was so wrong! My partner and my friend listened, looking angry and appalled, using words as first aid to help me past the worst of it. I cried. I let my hurts be soothed. It was very human, humane, kind, compassionate, loving – the sort of thing one expects from friends.

My traveling partner is right, though; in the space of such a short time, to hear from exes, to deal with internet haters and trolls, to ride out life’s storms in a dingy is a lot of work, and I could likely use a bit more help. I “need an oar” with which to row; it’s time to make an appointment with my therapist. My emotional experience, at least lately, is sufficiently volatile to evoke a question about hormones from my partner at one point; it’s an easy answer to “what the fuck?”, before menopause. There’s no shame in needing medical help, and having both a TBI and PTSD I am well aware that mental health care is “medical” in nature… so it’s off to the appropriate doctor I go. 🙂

It’s been quite wonderful to share the weekend with my traveling partner. To need him emotionally in some dark moment and actually have him right here is powerful. To want his company, and enjoy it without crossing town, is a treat. The pleasant moments have been by far the most plentiful. I try not to deal with myself overly harshly that I am so human, having made that remarkably clear this weekend with my difficulty managing my emotional life skillfully. I pause to really appreciate my traveling partner’s insight, and new awareness that I’ve been treating myself poorly on a couple points – it isn’t necessary, nor an accurate reflection of “what it is”. Attachment issues again? Oh yeah. So human. 🙂

Today starts well – most days do, actually, regardless what direction they go from there. I haven’t had enough sleep, and the sleep I got was restless and disturbed. I’ll probably crash early tonight, sometime after my traveling partner departs. Maybe not. I thought I was both tired and sleepy last night when I went to bed; I laid awake well past midnight, and woke at 4 am. I managed a nap until not-quite-six. The morning is cool and overcast. My head aches. I’ve no idea where the day will take me…but I know I am my own cartographer, having my own experience. I know I am not alone. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Hormone Hell, Love, Menopause, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Oooh, Shiny!

July 30, 2016 //
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Yesterday was lovely, end to end, in spite of the short, restless, night before. It was a pleasant day of healing self-care, relaxation, and mindful attention to the woman in the mirror…

…[It was pleasant] after having a deeply intimate discussion with my traveling partner during which I revealed to myself (and him) that I’ve been quietly struggling with feeling beat down and dismal, fighting off feelings of being irrelevant, “expired”, no longer useful in the world…because I’ve tended (all my life that I recall) to define myself (in the context of relationships) based on my sexuality and sexual availability (and skill), and my ability to reliably bring in an adequate steady income. Sex and money. I’d convinced myself at some distant point that what I bring to a relationship that has any real value is sex and money, just those. I literally don’t have a good understanding of what else I may offer a partner that has “real value”. No wonder I lost my shit the other night, feeling criticized in some implied way over the housekeeping, my weight/fitness, or my current state of non-employment (outside the home); I felt worthless. Yikes. I have some things to think about, and I definitely need to ease up on the woman in the mirror. She’s doing her best, and it is enough.

A walking meditation on a sparkling summer morning.

A walking meditation on a sparkling summer morning.

I spent the day after that feeling rather tender toward myself. I have the sense that I treat myself generally well, day-to-day, these days and it came as a surprise that I’d snuck in such a hurtful bit of messaging, playing more or less continuously on repeat in the background of my consciousness. I was feeling unwanted – but not saying so. I was feeling “out of date” and “superseded” and worthless – and wasn’t even giving myself the courtesy of hearing it, murmured so quietly, so deeply within.  Acknowledging these feelings came with a measure of awkward sad embarrassment, because I was holding on to the assumption that I “know better” now, and would not choose such a thing willfully with my eyes open… only… I did. It was buried in the fine print on the choices day-to-day made to ease the social tension that sometimes develops around my rather intense emotional life; if I choose to disregard my emotional life in order to be polite, to be practical, to be “grown up”, and then fail to follow-up with myself later to make room for my feelings and deal with my needs and hurts, I am going to pay for it, and so will everyone dealing with me when it finally goes down. I do not always make the wiser choice. I’m very human.

It’s the weekend, and it won’t be quite so hot today if the forecast is accurate. (Remember terrible inaccurate weather forecasts? Is that still a thing at all?) Today is a good day to treat the woman in the mirror well… It’s going to take some practice. 🙂

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Love, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Summer, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Well That Was Weird

July 29, 2016 //
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I didn’t sleep well, and woke too early. I feel generally okay, and it was nice to open up the patio door, and do my ‘sunrise yoga’ as the sun actually rose. I make a point of acknowledging and embracing gains in strength, flexibility, and overall fitness, hoping to limit the discouragement that can so easily creep in when progress feels so slow.

Begin again.

Begin again.

I’ll admit I face the new day earnestly reaching for a new beginning; the evening ending awkwardly, after some difficult moments there toward the end of the evening. I won’t berate myself and insist it was “all me”, that would be inaccurate, although perhaps in many circumstances involving my emotions, it likely wasn’t a 50-50 thing. I tend to keep a tight grip [too tight?] on my emotions when my traveling partner is with me… It’s not a value add, at this point, and I don’t do myself any favors to keep it up… but we so easily find ourselves mired in my bullshit, even now, over some momentary shitstorm of strong emotion that it’s more than tempting to try to ‘keep things in check’ minute to minute, and it’s not really something that works. I probably don’t have to explain that trying to hold back emotions by force of will has a pretty common outcome of unexpectedly strong emotions spilling all over the damned place, spreading across small issues, creating large issues, complicating communication; the signal quickly becomes the noise.  When my TBI-related challenges cross paths with my PTSD symptoms… well… it’s not pretty, and I’m frankly not at my best, and it is a thing that has everything in the world to do with me living alone. I don’t know how else to ‘protect’ the people I love most, but of course… there’s this. What a fucked up mess.

Love matters most.

Love matters most.

We found our way, more or less, by the time I made my way to bed. My partner moved the fan into a window, and tweaked things to keep air moving during the night, and ensured the apartment was secure. I didn’t have to ask, and it’s lovely to be able to count on him for small things that feel urgently important to me (whether they are important ‘in real life’ or not).

My restless night didn’t continue to distress me after I woke, and my “nightmares” weren’t terrifying; it was just my brain finishing up the day’s processing, reconsidering this and that, and shoving new information into long-term storage, I guess. No noteworthy content. I woke to birdsong, and a small amount of lingering bitterness that I suck so hard at managing my issues in the company of a human being with whom [for me] it matters most to do so.  I’m frustrated with myself. I’ll keep practicing. I’ll keep taking care of me. I’ll keep learning more about loving well. Then… I’ll keep right on being quite human. Awkward.

Anyway – the weekend is here. I get a fresh start with each new dawn. There’s nothing on my calendar for the weekend except love and loving. Today is a good day to dust off The Four Agreements, and begin again. 🙂

Stick with the basics - it's a great place to start.

Stick with the basics – it’s a great place to start.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Hormone Hell, Menopause, Mindfulness, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5, War and News of War, Words
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