Archives for posts with tag: ptsd

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.

I woke ‘too early’, though I suppose it’s never too early to spend pleasant moments with a lover…only, I am alone now, with my coffee, impatiently watching the clock to head to my Friday appointment.

The morning started wonderfully well, then took a detour through ancient pain through the wonders of human communication and all it’s grand potential to have pitfalls and consequences. Now I am withstanding the nearly inevitable attack on myself from within that so often follows dialogue that even brushes past damage…and this morning was more like ripping off a scab by mistake, because it looked like a bit of nothing-or-other to be brushed away.

I am feeling frustrated, on a couple levels, and incredibly angry ‘with the world’… which I think may be more accurately described as ‘angry with people who hurt me long ago’.  It is the heart of my struggle with anger. This anger is largely unresolved, unaddressed, and ever-present, the sort of thing no one in my here/now experience deserves directed at them, and without any hope of being addressed with the appropriate individuals. I have the perception it must surely be the most vile and horrific expression of terrible rage ever in humanity’s history with anger, too, because as soon as it ever begins to come up, everyone around me immediately moves to do or say whatever it takes to shut it down. I have a lifetime of experience that says to me that my anger is unacceptable. I try and try to deal with it alone, and I suck at it in a most extraordinary way, I admit.

We each have our challenges and issues. I doubt mine are truly unique, and there are women who have and will suffer worse, more, and longer. I have survived some nasty shit. Broken, but perhaps not beyond repair, frustrated, but loved…things are better than they were, but god damn, I am so tired –  fatigued – from continuously working to address first one bit of damage, then another, with a frequent experience that feels a bit like scrubbing a huge expanse of floor, and just when I take a moment to appreciate the work well done, someone walks up and says (in a totally well-meaning way) “you missed a spot”. It’s frustrating…almost seems like the floor just keeps getting bigger.

Am I just bitching? Maybe…I am still headache-y, and feeling disappointed that I have challenges getting the emotional support I need…but a great deal of that is likely tied to my lack of skill at asking for what I need. Harder still to communicate that some particular thing is very important to me, especially when I have my own doubts that it makes sense, or what I need from the moment as a result.

I don’t feel well understood this morning, and something I was trying to communicate got swept aside for something else also important… I feel lonely and not well cared-for, right now, which has me doubting… so many things. That is the nature of this morning’s brain attack: doubt. My rational mind ‘knows’ this doubt and depressed bit of morning is illusory (thank you mindfulness!)… the feelings are what they are, just feelings.

How do I tell a lover that all I really want is a few minutes with strong comforting arms around me, and reassuring words while I cry really hard for just a few minutes, when I have so much trouble acknowledging it for myself?

Friday’s experience is brought to you by trauma, damage, and a will to survive… There’s hope for the day, yet; I got an early start.

I’m really counting down the days, now.  In 29 days, I am 50.  I feel a bit unprepared. lol.

Finally finding my way...

Finally finding my way…not yet 50!

My partner photographed me last evening (the picture above wasn’t it), during a moment that was a bit… well… I wasn’t feeling great about ‘things in general’ and I was definitely feeling a bit fatigued and annoyed with myself for not taking better care to meet my own needs in recent days. The picture he showed me was a photo of a middle-aged woman, rather more average looking than not, and… from my perspective in the moment, looking quite… old: overweight, lost in thought, vaguely dissatisfied, skin really showing signs of age…not my best look.  I found myself wishing I hadn’t seen it, because it doesn’t capture how I feel about myself, right now, or in general these days, and it provided a perspective on myself I didn’t care to experience.  He deleted the picture before I asked him to, and when I did ask him to delete the picture, hearing him quietly say “I already did” in reply caused this strange little moment of pain, and I suddenly felt very… out of date and replaceable.  Most days now I feel more beautiful than I remember ever feeling at earlier points in my life; seeing that picture left me feeling unsure of my experience of beauty and self, and tempted to yield to the immediate internal attack on my sense of self called ‘photographs don’t lie’…

…I got past that moment, and the sting of not being ‘picture perfect’ as I approach 50, because I remembered that while ‘pictures don’t lie’ – human beings do, and when they lie to themselves it is skillful and sometimes difficult to spot.  I’m unmistakably a grown woman of some years, experienced, and in some photos perhaps tired, or suffering, or lost in my own challenges – but I am who I am, and I am beautiful, vibrant, and talented.  I have my father’s charm, and my mother’s wit and willingness to play whimsy against intellectual rigor for poetry’s sake, or for humor, or a new point of view.  I am a woman of great depth of emotion, and of great insight.  I am experienced, and open to continuing to grow and change, and willing to share what I learn about life and love.  I am learning to be as aware of what I bring to the world around me, as I am learning to be aware of what the world offers me. I am learning a new way of understanding life and valuing it, building on compassion, kindness and encouragement, by choice.  I am learning to speak up for what I matters to me, and learning to communicate without attacking, or defending.  There is value in who I am, and excitement in who I am becoming.  Age isn’t especially relevant to any of that, nor is it relevant to my experience of life, except perhaps where the phenomena of aging present themselves one by one over time, and I don’t see that those are all that profound in and of themselves (yet).

Still, I will be 50 in less than a month. That has meaning for me.  I am facing a life that lacks ‘history’ in a way that sometimes wounds me greatly, from within.  I am, in a remarkable way, something of a stranger to everyone who holds me dear.  My longest friendship, at this point in my life, is with a buddy from my Army days…we’ve ‘known’ each other since 1981.  Since we’ve met we’ve actually spent less than 2 years of actual time in each others presence, and for many years now, rarely actually communicate. I haven’t seen him since…1988? Does he really ‘know me’? Me? Me, now?  Probably not.  I have a decently large circle of friends I cherish, people I value and of whom I would say ‘these are relationships that matter to me’… not one of those relationships is longer than 18 years…I’ll be 50.  My family, I suppose, has something or other like a historical perspective on ‘who I am’… except I was estranged from my family for many years, and to this day rarely visit family members in person; they live quite far away.  My dear sister and I, although our lifespans overlap by 43 years, have actually only spent 8 years and a couple short visits together, and reconnected much later in life, when I was past 40.  (She wrote me while I was at war, though, and her letters from that time remain among my most treasured possessions.) Even my partners have shared little of my life’s journey…my longest long-term relationship in my current experience is just 3 years and 3 months and about 3 weeks long, to date; although we met many years prior as colleagues we didn’t maintain any sort of connection when employment changes took us different places in life.  I’ll be 50 in less than a month. We’ve shared so little time together… how well do my partners actually ‘know me’? Hell, how well do I know myself? I have very few memories of my life before I was about 12, and those memories are really just a handful of snapshots of experiences, some of which I’m often unsure are ‘really my own’ – since many seem to be recollections ‘from the third person perspective’, as if they are things I was told about, and memorized.  (I remember trauma pretty clearly. Lucky me. lol.)  People have come and gone.  My challenges connecting well and developing relationships over time are coming home to roost as I face my half century – no one ‘knows me’ in that broad historical way that old old friends or family may share.  That is the loneliest piece of my understanding of myself – the subtle and pervasive awareness that no one really knows me, because they just haven’t been around for very much of my experience.  My dearest female friends – women I consider ‘old friends’ and who I hold more dear than most lovers – are women with whom I’ve shared less than 4 years of real-time together in most cases.  That’s a small piece of 50 years.  My longest standing female friendship is with a woman of many years association, and even that dear friendship, due to geography more than anything else, is someone with whom I’ve really only spent some fractions of a couple year’s time really in the same space.  How sad.  Sadder still that I have to get this far in life to notice the lack of historical perspective on myself, from anyone but me.  ‘Lonely’ describes the feeling, and it is a feeling I haven’t had much exposure to, honestly, or I suppose I’d have noticed sooner… it is definitely an emotion I am glad to be able to simply observe, and let go.  It is, however, a powerful life lesson on the value of connections and a reminder how little time there is to waste in life.

Less than a month from now, I will be 50.  It feels like a big deal to me.  I have some ideas about it, even what I might like for a birthday present.  What do I want for my birthday, really?  I want to be known, loved, accepted as I am for the woman I am now, and am becoming… but sometimes I don’t know if that is a reasonable desire, because of the lack of history… but damn, what would be a more beautiful way to celebrate this amazing being I am, the life I have lived, the journey I have taken and that stretches before me, or to celebrate this fragile vessel, and all that it means to be human, to be a woman, to age and grow, and gain wisdom, develop insight, and to love deeply and truly, than to feel the warmth and honor of being recognized and valued? To be understood and cherished? To be loved?  But I don’t know how to put something like that on a wish list… I don’t even know how to ask for it… I’m not sure I’d know how to recognize it and feel the weight of it with certainty. F*cking brain injury. Damned PTSD. Cursed slow march to menopause.  I hope I have a pleasant birthday, loving and feeling loved. It would be enough. More than enough.

…At least I can say I started really healing, and practicing mindfulness, and finding my own way – before I turned 50!! 🙂