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Darkness Comes, Darkness Goes

March 30, 2017 //
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Yesterday was an intense roller-coaster ride of emotions.Shortly before midday I hit a low point. Not an everyday lull in my enthusiasm, or a mildly blue moment – I was overtaken by darkness, and feeling an almost suicidal level of despair. This is not an exaggeration; I know what that feels like, and what those words really mean. It took me my surprise. It took me over. While I struggled in the sticky mess, tangled in despair, and unable to find any fucks to give, a soft defeated inner voice tried her hardest to pull me back. “This is emotion; it lacks substance unless you give it substance.” “Begin again.” “This will pass.” I not only didn’t give a fuck, I couldn’t remember at all why I should. Bleak.

As I arrived home from what, in the moment, seemed like a fairly pointless waste of time (my annual physical), I let my Traveling Partner know I would be going offline to take care of myself and to avoid spreading my vile mood like plague. He offered understanding, compassion, and support. He cracked a tender understanding joke. He’s having his own experience, and as much as I am able, I return that loving support, and endeavor not to “weaponize” my emotional experience. I approach the apartment, already prepared for the person with the pressure washer cleaning the building exterior and sidewalks; the landlady alerts me of these things, these days, in advance so that I am not taken by surprise. I find room for gratitude and appreciation, but it does nothing to lift my mood.

I sat down with a cup of coffee, a notepad, and an attentive eye and begin making a list of the housekeeping details I would like to handle. The list grows. I begin weeping intermittently. I don’t make any effort to stop it. I just don’t care. I pause, aware for a moment with more than usual clarity that I am indeed in A Very Bad Place and that steps are in order. I remind myself to let my friends next door that I’m in that bad place, and to check on me later “if things sound too quiet” or… just because. I don’t get the chance; my phone nags at me briefly to attend to a message from them. We end up hanging out and talking about… house work. Room mate drama over housekeeping is such a mundane real-life challenge of adulthood that it’s no surprise to hear that there are such challenges next door… and… I’m preparing for my own afternoon of housekeeping, facing some loose similarities in dealing with the woman in the mirror, who I hadn’t noticed had been slacking off a bit. I also hadn’t noticed I’d dropped my highly effective habit of making a to do list each day. What the hell? When did that happen?

As we converse, I mention I figured I’d been a little overly casual about the housekeeping, myself, for… “about two weeks, maybe”. I flipped back in the notepad on which I was making a new list. Nope. A month. A month ago I’d stop making lists. Just… stopped. Damn it. I laugh. My friends laugh with me. We drink coffee together. We talk about chores. We talk about the way our inner narrative and our assumptions change our perspective. We talk about “theory of mind” and how we tend to assume people generally think as we do, know what we know, and make decisions in the same way. We walk about compassion. We talk about explicit communication. We talk about boundary setting. We talk about life – and we talk about The School of Life (great videos!) We lift each other up through affection community and conversation. When they leave, I feel… able to go on.

“Go on” is exactly what I do; I get on with the housework. I tidy. I organize. I clean. I really clean. My mood begins to lift. Details that were dragging me down, in the background, begin to lift me up as the apartment takes on that well-cared for, detailed, tidy, orderly appearance that I love. Small tasks, large tasks, general tidying, deep cleaning – all of it matters if I am “feeling disordered”. Each task lovingly handled from start to finish, satisfying once completed, builds the foundation for the task that follows.

An hour or so of connected social interaction, and another hour or so of household chores, my mood completely turned around. I felt connected, present, and capable. The bleakness and despair of the morning were behind me. By the end of the day the apartment feels great. It is tidy and clean and orderly. I like order. It gives me a rest from the chaos still lurking within.

Today? Today I begin again. 🙂

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Categories anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, grief, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Parables, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Spring, The Art of Being, The Big 5

There Was This One Time…

March 25, 2017 //
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I fell asleep composing coherent sentences, assembled from thoughts and words, suitable for this morning’s writing. It was, as I recall, a good idea for a blog post. Unsurprisingly, it was lost among my dreams, during the night. I woke rested, clear-headed, content – and utterly without a thought that seemed worth writing about.

I hoped the blinds in the studio to let the sunrise illuminate the room. I watched the geese on the lawn, sipped my coffee, and listened to the peculiar suburban hum of existing humanity that seems so nearly inescapable, generally. I notice that my throat is a little sore, and shuffle my weekend plans around to reduce stress, labor, and exposing others to potential contagion, in case I am sick. If I’m  not actually ill, the sore throat remains a sign that I likely need more rest than I have been getting. I decide to take care of this fragile vessel this weekend. Life is more a thru-hike along a breath-taking wilderness trail than a paved loop through a state park; it’s important to take care, and pace myself. 🙂

I hear my Traveling Partner stirring in the other room, making coffee. I smile, content and wrapped in love. Last evening was weird, infused with drama. OPD. Not my drama. I am supportive throughout, although I struggle a bit with resenting that a human being I have made a point to cut out of my life completely can still push so much toxic waste into my experience. The resentment quickly fades to sorrow that my Traveling Partner has this bullshit to deal with in another (any other) relationship. I know a lot of people who do. Myself, I tend to fairly quickly find my way to “troll blocking” and “unfriending” these days, even in real life; I have no liking of, or time for, destructive games or drama, and very specifically define “love” and “affection” as exclusive of those sorts of things. Yep. I said it. If you treat someone badly on the regular, it is not understandable (to me) that you “love” them. From my own perspective, you do not. That’s not love. There’s no room for argument, it’s merely my opinion, and how my own map of the world looks.

No drama today, I hope. I sip my coffee and smile. My Traveling Partner puts his head in the studio to tell me that there is a new season of Samurai Jack. Finally! Season 5. We share a fondness for it. I can’t tell if my moment of delight has anything to do with Samurai Jack at all, it’s all mixed up with my delight that my Traveling Partner is here this morning. I have no idea what the day holds. It is unplanned. Unscripted. I wonder what moment will define it.

Today is a good day for patience, and a good day for contentment. Today is a good day to love, and to live gently. Today is a good day for laughter, kindness, and gratitude. Today is a good day to enjoy small things, and to build a drama free zone. Today is a good day to make the choices that change the world.

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Moments, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, solo hiking, The Art of Being, The Big 5, women, Words

Human, Adult, One Each

March 24, 2017 //
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Yesterday was… quite a day. Complicated and stressful. On the whole not at all satisfying. No shortage of love, just with multiple side orders of stress and chaos. I don’t much want to consider it right now.

I woke feeling fairly rested, and I was really needing to get more than 5 hours of sleep. I’m grateful I did. The morning began well, although I could have done without my partner’s loud aggravated venting about how the shower was adjusted; I had precisely the same experience yesterday evening, myself, because he’d left it adjusted to meet his needs and I’d forgotten to be mindful he was the last person in the shower, and had similarly sprayed water all over the place. I didn’t yell about it or get pissed off because it’s not that sort of thing for me. I find myself irked that it is that sort of thing for him. We are each having our own experience. I breathe and let it go. I remind myself that yesterday’s health crisis will be likely to have outcomes of its own, because both medication and healing are their own experiences – processes with sensations, and emotions.

It’s a work day. I keep forgetting that detail, wanting so badly to stay home and relax. I’ve enjoyed my Traveling Partner being here. He arrived in crisis, though, and has remained so, although it morphed from an emotional crisis to a physical/medical one. Now things are likely to settle back into more normal routines. I’ll probably be home alone tonight, having served the purposes of nurturing and providing comfort skillfully. There may be an angry moment later, waiting to be had, I’m not always certain of seeing these things coming, but a tiny voice wants to ask “what about what I need? what about my health? what about my circumstances and the details of my experience?”  It sounds pretty selfish to see it written that way. There’s a balance to strike. It’s more difficult when we both have needs to be met more urgently than is usual. I am very likely to put my own aside. It’s what I learned to do. It’s part of why I live alone these days; it’s that much harder to undermine my own needs, and my own long-term self-care, when I am not faced with the constant presence of people so dear to me that I am risk of choosing to undermine my needs in their favor, full-time. Someday I hope to have become so strong and skillful at supporting and caring for the woman in the mirror that I have strength to share, 24/7. I keep practicing.

I’ve held my shit together and done some pretty excellent adulting this week. Tonight I’ll probably loosen my grip a bit, and cry it out. Having that unreservedly emotional moment without judgement or self-criticism, just letting go and feeling the feelings, is also important.

Today is still ahead of me. I’m focused on work. Tomorrow I’ll begin again.

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Categories anger, Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Moments, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Spring, The Big 5

Enter Title Here

March 23, 2017 //
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I start writing this morning without a title. That’s not the usual order of things. Another night goes by, I wake and begin again on less than 5 hours of sleep. 4 nights on minimal sleep isn’t going to support great cognition, or emotional balance, and I make a point of setting reminders for later breaks, meals, and coffee. Focus and task management are already impaired. It gets worse on less sleep over time, reliably.

My Traveling Partner blew onto my doorstep yesterday, shortly after I got home from Jury Duty, driven my way by emotional storms and drama elsewhere. We hang out. He talks. I listen. I do my best to avoid criticizing that other person in his life, and to just be here for my partner. It is more important to support my partner, provide a safe place, and time to heal. I had expected to (most likely) spend the evening alone, meditating, relaxing, and making myself emotionally ready for today; I have a medical procedure later. At one or two points I begin to tear up unexpectedly as we talk; although he is here with me, he’s not realistically available to provide the emotional support that I need myself, for tomorrow, and with regards to my health over time. Not right now. I breathe through those moments; I am loved. It isn’t personal. This too will pass. The moments I find myself feeling alone in spite of his presence won’t be what I remember about the day. 🙂

I really need to sleep. I’m still not quite awake. I feel groggy. A little dizzy. I am in more than usual pain, in part due simply to being tired.  I double check that I’ve set my ‘leave now’ alarm. I double check it a few more times. I’m having trouble holding on to the knowledge that the alarm is indeed set. Really. No… really. I check it again anyway, “just to be sure”. I consider taking the car, if my Traveling Partner is still here when the time comes to head to my appointment…faster. Less time spent away from work on a busy work day. It hits me that there was something specific I’d intended to work on… I struggle to remember what. I am eager to be finished with so many things… finished with medical diagnostic procedures, finished with house hunting (and the implied move on the other side of that process!), finished with taxes, finished with hiring a new analyst and completing a software implementation, finished big disrupting tasks and events, generally, and back to living gently, predictably, uneventfully, and comfortably day after day. Sleep. I’d like to get back to sleeping regularly… that I’d like to begin again. Soon.

Speaking of beginning again. I think I’ll go do that. Today is a good day for beginnings. 🙂

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Categories Brain Injury, Free Will, Healthy Living, Love, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, pain, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, The Big 5

Between Nightfall and Daybreak

March 20, 2017 //
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I went to bed walking on clouds, wrapped in love, and feeling sure of “my place in the universe”. In my next moment of awareness I am mired in doubt. Restless. Insecure. Uncertain. Questioning even those things that seemed so certain the night before. Questioning love. Questioning the value of taking care of this fragile vessel. More questions than answers, and not the solid sort of question that just by being asked becomes a sign post on life’s journey. No, these were the questions that torment, more like the flea bite on my wrist – aggravating and not worth obsessing over, but I’m still scratching it. As with that metaphorical flea bite, digging at it long enough could do actual damage, rather pointlessly. Knowing that does not stop it itching.

I started to reassure myself, and stumble on thoughts intended to soothe and encourage. I notice, at some point, that I am actually quite awake. 3:37 am. I am awake in the wee hours asking myself existential questions about life, house hunting, relationships, the future… It’s a poor time of day for that sort of reflection. My brain attacks me in the darkness. I finally just get up, feeling some weird complex emotional stew of sadness, insecurity, fear and learned helplessness. Why the ever-loving hell am I putting myself through all of this? (Particularly after such a pleasant weekend.)

Is it going to be that kind of day? I find myself struggling to balance concerns about my health with eagerness about the house hunting. So human. Struggling to balance powerful feeling of being loved and valued by my partner that comes of having his confidence and trust as I house hunt for a more permanent place of my own with the sudden fear that this could mean he is indifferent to the outcome, and that I mean less to him than I thought I did. Struggling to balance my own confidence in myself with the lingering chaos and damage that begins whispering “how dare you?” in the background. Struggling, out of nowhere, with self-doubt about my painting, my writing – my existence itself. Instead of “who am I”, this morning my brain sucker punches me with “why am I?” and I question my worthiness as a human creature. Manufactured internal drama.

When the tears come, I am not surprised. I sip my coffee and snarl back at myself “fuck your tears and your moody bullshit!” In the quiet room my voice sounds stern, and harsher than I mean it to. I haven’t had enough sleep. I’m somewhat stressed about my health. It’s a very poor time to rethink every-damned-thing I’ve worked on while I was well-rested and clear-headed. Certainly, I have no cause to doubt my partner, or the worthiness of life itself. It’s scary to make a decision on something as huge as a house. 30  years of debt. Fuck. That sounds… yeah. Scary. I breathe through that moment and give myself a chance to accept that it does feel pretty nerve-wracking. Reasonably so. The fear is tempered somewhat by my partner’s confidence in my decision-making, but also boosted by that same experience; what if I choose badly? Doubt found its foothold right there. It percolated through my sleeping consciousness. I wake here; mired in doubt, wrestling with personal demons before the alarm clock goes off.

Damn it. I’m also wrestling with my keyboard. I spilled coffee on it yesterday, cleaned it up, let it dry, and hoping for the best, took no further immediate action. I need to clean it properly. It becomes a metaphor in this moment for taking better care, for listening deeply, for following through on tasks, and for patience with circumstances; the “insert” function is stuck in the on position. When I attempt to make a correction, hilarity ensues. I am okay right now. (I am most particularly okay once I notice that my “insert” key isn’t stuck at all; I’ve been tapping at the wrong key, quite ineffectively. Yeah. Getting enough rest does matter. I smile at the journey this small living metaphor has taken me on this morning. I’m definitely okay right now, for most values of okay. 🙂 )

The thing with insecurity and doubt are that they are no more “real” than any other emotion of the moment (and no less so). They have no decision-making power that I don’t choose to grant them. I find I’m still annoyed with waking myself up over moody bullshit, and the less-than-subtle moment of irritation is returned to me as a silent reminder to treat myself well, to show myself kindness, to consider myself…

…I’m taken back to the conversation about house-hunting I had with my Traveling Partner last night. “I really want you to meet your needs with this,” he’d said “don’t be focused on what I might want.” And “I’m excited about this for you.” Is that what set off my doubt and insecurity? Is it that fucking hard, even now, to be really okay with taking care of me? I find myself smiling in spite of how annoyed I am to have disrupted my own sleep, undermining needed rest, to waste time feeling uncertain about whether I know what I want and need for myself, or feeling fearful of committing to it. It’s very human, and a reminder that there is still work to do on this solo hike through life, becoming the person I most want to be. I pause to recall the lovely observations made by my Traveling Partner last night, about how he sees me, how that feels for him, and about this love we share, and the strength we find in our shared journey.

The little house I’ll see today isn’t the biggest one I’ve seen in my price range (it’s also not the smallest). It doesn’t have everything on my wish list (but it has a lot of things). There are no obvious ‘deal breakers’ in the described details or photographs, but experience has already taught me that people will take very careful pictures to avoid showing those off. I’ll just have to see it. Is it enough? For some values of “enough” it obviously is. I set the whole matter aside; there’s nothing more to be done, or felt, or decided, until I see it. The alarm goes off in the other room. It’s time to get up. lol

Today I’ll treat myself well, and with great consideration. The day will begin, and it will end, and tomorrow I’ll begin again. Somewhere in between, I’ll see a doctor, see a house, and see to getting the day’s work done. From the vantage point of “now”, it’s enough.

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Categories Anxiety, Brain Injury, Free Will, Love, Metaphors, Mindfulness, Moments, more than a little bit of bitching, Perspective, Post Traumatic Stress, Relationships, Sleepless Nights, Spring, The Big 5, Words
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