Archives for posts with tag: ptsd

Still counting down, and I woke this morning acutely aware that in just two more days, I turn 50… ‘the end of the first half’. lol. This morning was a strange one. I spent it in solitary meditation watching wee fish swim, and in the greenhouse, watering seedlings, and in the rose garden quietly tending roses that got so little from me over the weekend. I sipped my coffee. Shared a wave and a smile with a neighbor in passing. Watched the dawn unfold to day, and went on in to work.

Work is… work. Today I am earning my living – and then some. Busy getting ahead, for a few days off to celebrate me.

There will likely never be a time in my life when it is appropriate to ‘share everything’ I’ve been through with any one other human being – and I’m not sure how many could withstand the tale without considerable heartbreak. Blech. Let’s not, shall we? Perhaps it is enough – and maybe all I ever truly needed – if I honor and respect my own experience, and value myself for having endured what I have, and managing to turn out decently well, over time, after a fashion, in spite of it all? I used to think I needed others to be understood, others to ‘feel heard’, others to feel supported and nurtured, to ‘make me happy’… but I’m not at all sure of any of that now. It seems quite possible that I needed to understand, myself, to hear my own words to respect my own heart, to treat my self with compassion. Certainly, now that I am learning to do so, and succeeding more often, and more consistently, much of what I felt I was missing turns out not to be missing at all – it’s simply best sought from within. 😀

I’m excited to be turning 50. To be ‘finishing the first half’. I’ve sort of muddled through it; had some wins, had some losses, some successes, some failures, some pain, some joy… I have some better notions of what to do with me now. I have a path. I have an experience. So…

Another lovely garden.

Another lovely garden.

I am feeling tired today, on a different level, as if my heart or perhaps my ‘soul’ is fatigued and needing rest. Hormones, probably. Or some other simple fundamental of being human, perhaps.  I slept well enough, although I woke once or twice briefly, and of course ahead of the alarm clock when my night ended.  I’m eating well and taking care of my nutritional needs.  I’m getting good regular exercise, and I’m not taking medications I don’t need, and those at the lowest effective dose of the most reliable Rx available at this time.  I’m staying with new mindfulness and meditation practices, and yoga, and attending to the needs of my spirit and my heart by ensuring I take time for people and things I love. 

Memories and daydreams mingle as I approach 50. "Sunset on the River" 1994 and 2011. Oil on Canvas

Memories and daydreams mingle as I approach 50.
“Sunset on the River” 1994 and 2011. Oil on Canvas

…and I’m tired.  I feel a bit like I am momentarily ‘paused’ to re-buffer… or something… When my mind is still and quiet I feel the unease of dissatisfaction more clearly.  I’m uncomfortable facing it.  What am I afraid of? Change? There’s so much of that of late I don’t see that it would be all that remarkable. lol.  Hormones. I will be so glad when the over-rationalized, highly resented, chemical driver of my experience ebbs like the tide.  I daydream that I will be suddenly ‘more sane’ and calmer… I hope not to be disappointed. LOL Maybe I am just a madwoman after all? I do wonder, sometimes…

The ‘first half’ is nearly at an end… a dear friend who heard about my new aquarium adventure remarked “one must adjust the temporal currents in ones own body and mind in order to commune with the fish.  it will be very beneficial to your journey, i believe.”  I’m sure she’s right on both points.  So, ever onward…50 staring me in the face, and when I stare back I see it pretty clearly some days.  Still…overall I’m pretty happy. Overall I’m pretty satisfied with most things. Overall I’m in good health, and reasonably rational.  It’s hard to bitch about feeling tired, or share some existential angst, knowing how many friends, family, and acquaintances are really struggling.  Harder still to deal with feeling dissatisfied about things that suddenly look awfully small when I consider the pain and turmoil in our global community. Am I finally becoming a grown up? lol.

7 days to 50…

8 days to 50…and today is actually pretty damned unpleasant so far. I woke from nightmares, groggy and drenched in sweat, before the alarm went off. The day seemed to begin well enough; a good latte and a sense of relief that nightmares are something I can wake up from isn’t a bad beginning. The morning shared with a partner seemed lovely…

Maybe it looks easy..but...

Maybe it looks easy..but…

…the day is not idyllic. I’m frustrated. Struggling to communicate well. I feel discontented. I feel disappointed that I seem to suck so badly now at something I thought I was really good at, and wondering how it is that I ever managed to think I was good at it in the first place? I am ‘having a bad day’. Somehow the satisfaction of good work, skilled problem solving, and task completion is escaping me. I feel dissatisfied in spite of my efforts, in spite of my successes. Right now, only my failures seem to count for anything with me. I’m aggravated that I feel this way. Fucking hell – struggling to communicate, to connect, to feel joy in what is joyful to me, to feel valued and appreciated…I want very much to yield to ‘today sucks’, but I know it doesn’t have to be the day, even if it is the moment.

I am crying. I’m not sure how much that matters, really, aside from completely removing any chance of being able to communicate effectively. I can see sunshine outside through the patio door. Flowers nodding in the breezes as if to confirm that it is a lovely day… out there. (In here –  meaning within my being –  it is sucking rather a lot, today.) Some of this ‘growth’ stuff is pretty damned painful, and today it is hard to see the value. I sometimes feel very alone on this journey. Alone, and silenced.

I feel like ‘my inbox’ is piled high with things I need to master, work on, improve, succeed at, appreciate more, do better, understand more… and I feel like I’m not making any progress. At least, I feel that way today.

8 days…good thing it isn’t a deadline.

…I bet I already know how you finished that phrase, if you speak American English as a native. lol. Actually, I have rocks in my thoughts, so perhaps you aren’t far off? 🙂  I’m 15 days from my birthday…my new aquarium is standing in its place, ready to be leak tested, and waiting a final equipment check.  Yesterday I delighted my senses with a visit to a nearby landscaping business for some choice rocks for the decor. (Yes, I am the sort of being who finds searching great piles of river rock for just the right ones quite entertaining and satisfying.)   My experience is one of ‘creating a world’. lol. Grand of me, I know, but it is the sort of imagination I have, and really the metaphors while I also ‘work on me’ are endless and wonderful.

...a box of rocks.

…a box of rocks.

The box of rocks is exciting on its own, but it also got me thinking about aphorisms, homilies, figures of speech, slogans, and idioms; shortcuts we take to communicate.  Thinking on that ‘box of rocks’ and how we take communication shortcuts that rely on our listener’s own experience, history, and culture to understand us (by implication) as much as explicitly through our own unique verbiage, (if not more so) quickly put my attention on the clear contradiction between embracing a genuine life and genuine sense of self (sense of genuine self?) and taking verbal shortcuts.  Only 15 days left, and the first half ends…so, I will commit to avoiding the use of figures of speech, slogans, idioms, homilies, and aphorisms for the next 15 days.  Why? I mean, we all use them (some of us more than others). Aren’t they pretty harmless? Well… maybe, but it struck me that colorful or not, expressive or not, they are both lazy and imprecise – and in no case is a choice to use someone else’s phrasing truly ‘my own voice’. Worse still, so many times lately, at the heart of some bit of logical fallacy, error in reasoning, failure to take care of myself emotionally, or moment of treating someone else less well than I could have, I find some verbal shortcut that has become, over time, ‘programming’ instead.  It starts with nursery rhymes and rote memorization in childhood, and slowly becomes who we are.

Maybe you think I’m taking this too seriously? ‘ Making a mountain out of a…’  I don’t need to finish that, do I? Ok,  maybe it seems a small thing, and unlikely to change the way any of us view the world we live in. Perhaps. I mean… Science is safe from sloppy language becoming programming, right? Hmmm… maybe. Again, maybe. What if I ask you what the moon is made of? If the little voice inside your consciousness quickly quips ‘green cheese’ in the background – even though you know it is not factual– just maybe this is a bigger deal than seems obvious.  I’m at least going to give myself 15 days to be who I am, using my own words as much and as often as possible – even correcting myself if I catch myself taking a short-cut through the programming. lol. Why? Because ‘I love you, too.’ means more when it isn’t a knee jerk reaction to someone else saying ‘I love you’, and ‘because I want to be heard’…my own thoughts…my own words…the things that matter to me, about me, to be understood by others.

While I walked to work, I gave the matter of words a bit of thought, well, a lot of thought. I came up with uncountable numbers of simple phrases heard over my lifetime that have become something beyond a sentence or a simple thought – they are cultural programming.  I won’t list them, you no doubt have your own, I simply suggest that for me, it is time to retire as many phrases, and sentences, that I quickly reach for every day, in favor of more genuine heartfelt communication.  If it auto-completes in my head, I’ll be looking for other words. lol.

…In other words, 50 seems a nice point in life to be who I am.

Being one, among many.

Being one, among many.

Desire...

Desire…

It’s a simple enough thing that we all share, I think; ‘desire’ – for a thing, a person, a moment, a feeling, an event. The seeking, the craving, the wanting – certainly those feelings are part of my experience.  Not long ago, I participated in the simple search for ‘a tray’. An item. A thing. A functional purchase intended to fill an underlying need for … convenience.  Doesn’t matter what the need is, though, does it? Wouldn’t a need for information, or understanding, or change, or growth result in a similarly committed search? So, I went shopping with my partner, some time ago, for a simple tray of a certain ideal size, and the item just wasn’t to be found locally at all. We must have looked ‘everywhere’ – or what felt like ‘everywhere’ – and it just wasn’t. It was maddeningly frustrating. We eventually found one that was suitable, perhaps not ideal, and more expensive than seemed truly reasonable – but it was, and we accepted it, rather than delay the fulfillment of that need. There’s got to be a metaphor in there…because yesterday, we were just wandering about indulging our senses, and there they were – all the trays in the universe, stacked. lol. We didn’t need one.

Wishing, planning, and wanting...

Wishing, planning, and wanting…

I had a difficult weekend on some levels, but on others it was quite splendid. At one point, while I was walking from a starting point to a destination, I noticed a large patch of small mushrooms that had burst forth quite overnight. I thought for a while about that bit of life’s curriculum.  It seemed apropos and worthy of contemplation; the mycelium of a ‘patch’ of mushrooms is a living thing that in some species expands to cover a large area beneath the surface of the soil or whatever loosely covers it, expansive and unseen. Rain, sunshine, temperature, and other factors all influence precisely when a given type or patch of mushrooms suddenly fruits and becomes seen.  It’s a little like growth and change, isn’t it? I can read a book, I can study a lesson, I can do the exercises, but until ‘conditions are right’ those things don’t amount to new understanding, or change, or growth, or an epiphany.  I’ve been thinking about that a lot, and what it means for me with regard to learning new things, and pursuing new knowledge. I don’t have any witty or insightful conclusions; I keep pondering mushrooms.

What is valuable? What has meaning?

What is valuable? What has meaning? (detail from ‘Icon’ 2002)

I had occasion over the weekend to be struck by how many people in my life who had hurt me deeply, injured or traumatized me, or committed ‘great acts of evil’ against me, also prepared me for some future challenge in life, some greater understanding of something, or shared with me some indescribable bit of beauty: art, music, literature, poetry, sensuality, or experience.  It caused me to wonder a lot of things, not the least of which was – how do we determine what has value to us? Why can something we learned by rote as a child, and learn later is demonstrably untrue,be still likely to have such a hold on us over time, even nurturing the lies we tell ourselves, and complicating our understanding of the world around us? (Case in point: racism. I find very few people who are racist because they learned as adults that some race or another has some evident flaw that puts their safety or experience at risk. The racists I have been acquainted with learned it at home, from their parents and families, same with homophobia, and most other forms of personal bias.) How is it that we can gaze upon some gilded half-truth (or complete falsehood) passed down through generations and not recognize what is the true truth, the real reality? I thought about that some, too, this weekend. Still, no answers.

Fleeting inspiration...and nature shows.

Fleeting inspiration…and nature shows. (detail from “Inspiration” 2010)

I walked to work today, smelling the wet, fresh fragrances of spring garden and spring rain. I am inspired to paint; I have something in mind.  Everyday things keep getting in my everyday way… every day. lol. I could force the issue, throw down a drop cloth, drag my easel out of its hiding place, lay out my paints and brushes. I will. At some point. Eventually. For now, the stillness of mind that comes of simply contemplating inspiration is pretty satisfying.  In 16 days I will be 50. I have a few more things on my mind that painting, although the painting on my mind is relevant to my experience…it can wait.  Actually, it seems oddly much more ‘urgent’ to relax with my loves and watch ‘nature shows’ – those documentaries that are heavy on the exquisite photography of the world we live in, reassuringly narrated by some firm, calm ‘voice of reason’.  I remember with great fondness “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom” from my childhood…and Jacques Cousteau…and lately we’ve been enjoying “Life” (BBC, narrated by David Attenborough) and the “Wonders” series (also BBC, narrated by physicist Professor Brian Cox).  How is it I never get bored with that sort of thing?

Power, and clarity, and keeping it simple.

Power, and clarity, and keeping it simple. (“Eye of Horus” 1995)

I’m finding value in clarity and simplicity lately…not just in words, but in plans, and actions, and thinking, too. My thoughts and my eyes return again and again to simpler things; captivated by ‘now’. It’s more powerful than I could have known to put down the words and the thoughts and all manner of complicated tangles of hurts and yearnings and lost moments, and simply breathe and be. I don’t have any way to convince or persuade, or share with any real efficiency, what a strange sudden and abrupt turn all of life – my own, at least – seems to have taken, and in such a wonderful way, so I watch it all unfold. Observing. Being. Enjoying the stillness within the chaos.

What it is. (detail of "Emotion and Reason" 2012)

What it is. (detail of “Emotion and Reason” 2012)

So…still more questions than answers. 16 days to my 50th birthday. I don’t think I am ‘the same person’ I was even 6 months ago. I’m not interpreting that, or judging the experience, I’m just making an observation. Change is very real, isn’t it?  Where does the idea that some sorts of people ‘don’t change’, or ‘can’t change’, come from? I remember years ago being told that my violent spouse-at-the-time would likely ‘never change’… but I don’t know now how true such a statement can really be. I’ve changed rather a lot over the years. I don’t doubt that the risk of waiting around for some people to change might be unacceptably high, or too emotionally, physically, or financially costly… but ‘never’ is one of those words I understand to pretty nearly assure a logic fallacy right around the corner – ‘never’ is sort of big. So is ‘always’. Or ‘everyone’…How about ‘no one’?. I try hard to avoid those, especially during conflict. Even where there might be some slim chance of offering a logical proof, the likelihood such an argument would be productive is slim.  I’m learning.

Only 16 days to go… I guess at 50 I’ll be ‘a grown up’ for real… or so I was recently advised by a bright young man of 3 in the waiting room of a recent appointment. lol. He also suggested I would ‘be able to do anything I want’… that would be a hell of a birthday present indeed (I had to decline his offer that I could be his grandmother if I wanted to. lol).  I am more than satisfied with reaching that milestone in good company – that would be the ‘anything’ that I want; the affection of my loved ones, and the pleasure of their good company.