strong

Sometimes I feel strong.
Sometimes I don't.
Right now, I don't feel strong.
I miss feeling strong.

Strong in all senses of the word.
But mainly internally.
I lack conviction.
I lack motivation.

I lack a sense that I'm on the right path.
That everything will be alright.
That everything will work out.
That I am safe and OK.

There are times in the darkness when I'm OK.
But this isn't one of those times.
I fear the dark and the quiet.
In them, there is no place to hide from myself.

I know it will get better.
But I don't feel it.
I know I've been here before.
But I've forgotten what the light feels like.

Maybe tomorrow I will remember.
Maybe tomorrow I will feel it.
But tonight it is Dark.
And I am alone.

magic words

So what is the unsaid that needs to be said? or the already said that needs to be said again?

I don't know...

I really don't know.

My heart aches. My mind is not my own. I am lost in a sea of confusion.

Is it the details? Is it the words? 

Yes, it is the words that keep me prisoner...
                And I hate words.
                                Words  kill, words maim, words lie, words mislead...

But unless I speak the "magic" words I will remain trapped in my silence. 

Trapped in the past. 

Trapped in old patterns.

And still I don't know what the magic words are.

alone in my head

2300 miles worth of alone time in my car gave me lots of time to think. which is good and bad. the good was the realization that one of the things that is currently putting my sobriety on shaky ground is this pesky knack I have for not talking about what is going on with me. It's not like it's a new revelation that i have difficulties with being congruent...i just haven't connected it with my difficulties with sobriety until now.

and with that revelation in mind I have had good intentions of opening my mouth and my heart...and each time I don't. but each time my heart and my mouth shut down. and maybe  i'm overly sensitive, but it often "feels" like when I do start to make an attempt that the people around me just don't want to hear what i have to say.

so, instead i blog well past my bedtime.

perhaps another night i'll go on a tirade about how f'ed up it is that i had to make that trip to take care of a parent who failed to take care of me when i was a child and needed to cared for, nurtured, and protected. perhaps another night I'll write about the frustration of not having been in the parent role since i can remember. and how after my mother's 6-week visit to the psych ward when i was 11, instead of getting some sort of support from my siblings, I got a lecture about how I needed to take care of mom and keep her stress down...because I didn't have enough shit i was dealing with on my own as it was. perhaps another night i'll write about how normal it was to walk home with my dad in the middle of a winter's night because in his drunkenness he had driven the pickup off the road and into a snow bank once again. perhaps another night i'll write about the daily obsession with killing myself when I was a teenager because it seemed the only escape from the constant flashbacks that kept me awake at night.

tonight i'll just ponder why i bother thinking it might be of benefit to talk about any of this shit.

and still...it's f'ing hard

the level of hardness, the degree of difficulty
ebbs and flows.
but still, it is f'ing hard.

i am a deep pit of loneliness, trapped with a suffocating bail of sorrow.
until i really touch the sorrow, unwind it, live it, feel it, be it...
i cannot find my way out of this pit.

i am alone when i am alone...
i am more deeply alone when i am surrounded by friends.
each day i sink deeper...my shell gets harder.

some days i tell myself i will open up...
i will be vulnerable, i will connect.
but i don't...i just don't.

so, i sit in my sorrow pit.
i wrap myself in the loneliness...
because it is so much easier than sorrow.

it is...

"Why is this so f'ing hard?"
"It's stupid that this is so f'ing hard."
"This shouldn't be so f'ing hard."

And there were plenty more where those came from.
And for each one, my therapists answer was the same:


"It is f'ing hard."

I practiced it. I rolled it around my tongue. Played with inflection.
By shifting the words, by making that simple statement, my own judgement shifted.
It connected.

"It is F'ing hard."

I don't have to judge it, I don't have to judge myself, I don't have to worry about perceived judgement from others. It is a simple statement of fact:

It is f'ing hard.

19 years

Today marks 19 years sober. I'm not sure what I have to say about that, but it seemed like a momentous occasion I should comment on before the day is over.

It has been a hard won 19 years. Especially this last year. Complacency, stress, anxiety, fear, loneliness...they have all haunted me this year. But I made it. 

How did I make it? The biggest thing: Fear of disappointing my wife. Certainly I'm glad that I had something to keep me on track, but I would like something a little more...positive(?) to keep me on track from here on out.

In the early years of sobriety, it was the dogma of 12 step meetings that kept me sober. And it did its job well...that dogma that keeps us addicts sober in the beginning though needs to mature, to become something...more...something...I don't know; less dogmatic. 

I strayed away from meetings because I constantly heard "old timers" saying the same things week after week, which usually consisted of something along the lines of "I haven't been to a meeting in a few days, and I am so crazy...". That is not me, and that is not what I want to be. That is not my idea of RECOVERY. Recovery should be being able to function in the world without the bubble of meetings/dogmatic rules and phrases...without having to switch the addiction to substances to an addiction to meetings. And for years I have done that-I've lived in the world, surrounding myself with people whose lives don't revolve around alcohol and drugs, and I've been relatively sane and happy.

But I do need something more, and I don't know what that is. If everybody and their dog didn't drink in the highland games, the games community might be all I need. But being around people drinking all the time makes it easy to normalize drinking in my mind when my defenses are already depleted from the many blows of this last year or so. One piece of dogma I can get behind is "Complacency is our number one offender." It is true...and I need to find a way to knock myself out of that complacency, so that I can prance-ercise my way down the road of happy destiny. So the games will continue to be a source of joy, and an outlet for my alter ego, but perhaps especially because of my involvement with the games I needs something more.

There is another level of recovery to be had, now it's time for this little Hobbit to off and away on a little adventure to discover what exactly that is!

13 miles NW of Grassy Butte

That is where I grew up. 13 miles of dirt road from the nearest gas station, post office, grade school, and most importantly, bar.
I think about driving 13 miles (on a nice, paved road) and it seems like such a big pain in the butt. But growing up, I made that trip (plus stops in between) daily for 1st through 6th grade on dusty, wash-board roads. Once I hit 7th grade, it was another 30 miles each way. Or if you needed a real hospital, add another 60 miles or so to that 13.

We didn't bother with doctors and such too much as there was never enough money (oh how that rings through my head still today), and certainly not hospitals. Except one time.

I was probably 10 at the time. Mom was stressed out as usual, but I could tell it was worse than normal. She sat hunched on her stool in the kitchen,  cigarette in hand, shaking...whole body shaking. I went to rub her shoulders like I did when I knew she was upset, but I could feel the hopelessness of the situation without really knowing what was going on. I tried to sooth her, but I might as well have been trying to sooth.

Then it happened. She popped off her stool, glassy eyes wide as she skipped in circles around the house, wrapping on the walls while singing a song about how "they" were going to take her "to the funny farm" and she would "knock on the walls for them to let her out."

"They" was my oldest brother and his wife who drove her to the hospital, 73 miles away, where she stayed for several weeks recovering from her "nervous breakdown." Because it was 73 miles, I only visited a couple times. But that was okay. I couldn't have admitted it then, but it was a welcome relief to not have to be my mother's keeper for those weeks. It was sad, it was lonely, but there was a peace in the alone-ness that I shared with my alcoholically shut-down father.

And when "they" finally brought her home, I was reminded by my brother that it was my job to keep my mother's nerves calm, out there, 13 miles from nowhere, 13 miles NW of Grassy Butte.

an....interesting day

So, after talking aloud, I concluded that one of my jobs just wasn't worth the stress it was causing for the small amount of money I was making, so on the way to work I was working up my courage to give my 2 weeks notice. The courage part was mainly needed because I love the people I work for and the patrons of said place...but issues with a co-worker...well, they just weren't going to get better.

I'm nervous, but I'm ready. Then my boss has a talk with me and tells me that said co-worker has left for the day to "think about things" (which might be interpreted as "thinking about quitting) after the boss discussed with her some issues that patrons have brought up. And during co-worker's defense, she basically blames me for everything wrong with the job. She even perceives me as being so...vile...evil...??? that she had changed her work schedule so she wouldn't have to interact with me.

Wow. Color me taken-aback. Let me tell you, whether real or perceived; it just doesn't feel good to have someone think so poorly of you. Especially when it's someone you've gone out of your way to please.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not perfect and I know it. And let me tell you, I spent the first 3 month heart-fully apologizing daily for everything that she brought to my attention that I f'ed up. And apparently the moment that I no longer accepted her constant appraisal of me as being completely inept, incompetent, and certainly not nearly as awesome as her; I became the enemy in her mind.

So tonight, I'm working on letting it go. Living in the moment. At the earliest I won't have to deal with her until Monday. But here's the thing...it's the same buttons I dealt with with my mother. Everything is my fault. I am always the wrong one. I don't get to have a voice.  
And I've been living with this for months, and it's been pounding on those buttons with a sledge hammer. I'm a raw nerve.

What I know for the moment: My boss supports me and recognizes that I'm not evil spawn, and in fact she values me, and wants me to stay. I did inform her that my intention had been to give my two week notice, but I will reconsider if the co-worker leaves. I will not stay if she isn't gone in 2 weeks. I'm done torturing myself with co-workers with personality disorders. I want to eat a bag of cookies.

right?

Steven Brust. That's the name of the author I referenced in the last post. The Vlad series. Great write, very sarcastic...love, love, love.

So, on another note, what IS my contingency plan? I've been doing prereqs for 3/4 of a year, and I may not get accepted into this program. If not, what next? I feel like I've been in transition...well, for a long time. The ground keeps moving under my feet. But I'm getting my sea legs...the ground keeps moving but I'm not falling on my ass as much. But where is my horizon, and where is my compass? Not that I really know how to use a compass...

I think part of the problem, is that I don't really recognize when things feel "right." It happens every now and then...massage school, my wife, my tattoo sleeve...but by and large, it's just not there. Or maybe it is and I don't recognize it, or I ignore it, or it's drowned out by all the clutter in my head. So, what is right? On that note, I will close my eyes and see if the answer seeps into my head.

Shhh, don't tell

it's an ok day today.

Much of the day I could even say honestly a "good day".

The thing bringing me down the most is one of my jobs. It's a job that should be easy, and good, but due to a coworker it often is waaaay more stressful than it's worth for the small amount of money I bring home from it each week.

Why do I stay then?

Because of all the other people. I love them. Over the years they've become family. And let me just say again, I love them.

Sitting at work today I was thinking back to a book series I started reading in my teens. The main character who is of a low cast encounters this woman (of a higher rank) who is a personal assistant of someone he deals, and she is always very welcoming to him. Frequently he wonders "is she being nice because it's her job, or does she like me?" And in a scene during which she dies he becomes aware that Lady Teldra genuinely likes people. And I realize that much to my chagrin, I relate to Lady Teldra, maybe not the "lady" part, but I digress. The odd part of that realization for me is that for so many years I went around sneering about how I hated people. Eventually it chilled to "disliking" people, then to "distrusting", but now I have to admit I like people. Everyone? Certainly not. Most? Heck yeah. Do I still distrust, and have fear? Oh YEAH, totally. And still, I like people.

There, my secret is out. I like people. And most of the people I like, I love. (Mona!)

going hunting

Sometimes life just feels weird. And this is one of those times. Like when you hear a certain music on a tv show and you know you should probably look away. That music is playing reaaal loud right now, but I really can't afford to look away. I've spent too much of my life looking away. I can't live that way anymore...life is too dang short to continue not looking the moment straight in the eyes.

Why is that such a difficult lesson? That be in the moment crap? Oh, I know all the amygdala this and that, and cortisol this and that, but I want to know why the heart and the spirit can't be healed as easily as it can be broken? Why the hell, when I am at where I am at in my life, does conflict and confrontation feel so f'ing terrifying? Why do I still lie awake at night for hours for days on end because I'm worried I said the "wrong" thing? Why can't I be the person who says, "I don't give crap what other people think"?

I'm told that astrologically, things are jacked up right now. That the whole world is funky, and to hunker in. I'm still not sure how much faith I have in that kind of thing, but yeah, it feels funky as hell and I wish I could just hide in my little badger hole and wait for "it" to pass...but I know that hiding in my hole doesn't make things go away...if anything there are just bigger piles of "it" waiting for me. So, no hiding. Time to put on my badger pelt and go hunting.

the battle

I don't know where this became programmed into my head, but it did.

I'm not "full" until I'm sick...and then take about another 4 bites.

I've been better about not doing this, about being aware of my body, but so much for the last...I'm not even sure how long. Definitely since Phoenix, maybe longer. I became AWARE of it again tonight. I was scrounging around in the kitchen like a little mouse, searching for "what else" I could eat after dinner. And for some reason I actually paused and checked in with my body. My stomach was full. Very full. But I still wanted to eat. I argued with myself for a moment about what would be ok to eat, and the part that was aware that I didn't need, or want anything else finally won out. A small victory, but a victory none the less.

There will be many more battles. I know, because this is a battle I've fought many times. And I thought I had won the war. But somewhere/sometime, complacency stepped back in, and I "checked-out" when it came to putting things into my belly. So the battle begins anew, and I know how insidious the enemy is. Time to charge on.

Today was a good day...

Today was a good day.

Not sure what shifted, but who cares. I don't feel...insane. I've laughed today, I've had fun with friends, and I really didn't have any anxiety. The latter betting f'ing amazing.

I did fall off the wheat-wagon at a St. Patrick's Day party, and although I am sick, I'm not going to kick myself, and guilt myself to death, or get caught up in that all-or-none thinking that "well, I already screwed up, so whats the point? I'll just put both feet in the trough." It really is about living a clean-eating lifestyle. I can have a little bit of crap here and there and not think of it as "failure" any more than I would think of spilling a cup of coffee as failure. I mean really...if i spilled a cup of coffee, I wouldn't then spend the next 3 months intentionally spilling coffee to prove...what? how screwed up I am? How clumsy I am? What a failure I am? 

Nah, I had a brownie, I had a piece of bread. No big deal. Yeah, it made me sick, but the truth is; it was damn nice to not spend my time at the party going "Ugh, I can't eat anything here, woe is me." 

And another thing. It's really nice to go to an alcohol laden event and have people respect that I don't drink, and be supportive of the fact that I don't drink. AND it's nice to be at a primarily straight event and not have to worry about getting looks because I'm holding hands with my wife. Man, that is such an amazing thing. ABQ is pretty dang progressive, but there are still places where for our safety I have to be careful with personal space with my wife, so it is a huge relief to be able to just be, to let the defenses down.

Yeah, today was a good day.

Gratitude and Fear

I heard somewhere that "Gratitude and Fear cannot exist at the same time." Whether it is some magical phenomenon, or simply a way of shutting down a hyper-active amigdala, I don't know. But it seems to work when I can remember.

So here are some things I am grateful for in no particular order.
1. That my pup buries his nose under his paw when he sleeps, and it's mighty cute.
2. My very supportive wife, who has a good sense of humor.
3. My comfy bed.
4. Poop jokes.
5. The Coop carrying Beeler's Bacon Ends and Pieces.
6. Purple.
7. My Captain America pajama pants.
8. Trees.
9. Peaches fresh from the tree in the summer.
10. KISS

I was a huge KISS fan as a kid. They were like real-life super heroes in my eyes. I grew up and saw them as people eventually, but during my teen-age years they gave me ... something in those times where I had nothing. And I am grateful for that. Because truth be told, there were many times I lost hope as a teenager, and something always caught me by a thread on the seat of my pants and held me here. And although it's been hard, I am grateful to be here.

my boots

happily, the day did not go as expected. What I thought I would have to do, I did not, and although the issue is not wholly resolved, it is solvable in a way that I can live with...easily. I'm so f'ing relieved I could skip down the street, except I'm wearing my cowboy boots, and that would result in damaged ankles. Let me tell you about these boots. I love these boots. Not because they are particularly nice looking, or comfortable, but because they are a piece of me. What piece I'm not sure...hopefully more on that as we toodle down the page.

Back to the boots. In the community where I grew up, we all wore cowboy boots. Didn't matter what you were doing...they were standard issue for whatever the task. I didn't get my first pair of tennis shoes until I was in grade school where we were required to have tennis shoes for PE. Some times we got our new boots at the beginning of the new school year, sometimes we got them for Christmas.

When I got these, I hadn't gotten a new pair in a while...I didn't even have a pair. The previous year I had moved out of state with my mother. And we'd lost the ranch two years prior to that. And with losing the ranch, I lost myself, my direction, my sense that anything would ever be right again.

At the beginning of my senior year I'd moved back in with my father who was able to lease the ranch. I was back home. I got these boots at the beginning of my senior year of high school. I got a piece of my identity back. For the first few months I was back with my father he didn't drink around me; instead we hunted, we fished, we worked the horses. Really, for the first time; I got my dad.

Eventually, because of my own drinking, my dad started drinking around me again. It generally wasn't as bad as it had been before, but sometimes it was worse. We still did some things, but because of his addiction his life was cut short a few years later, and our relationship was rocky when he passed.

These boots have been with me 25 years. They've seen me through roundups, through brandings, and butcherings. They've walked me across the stage for my high school diploma which I thought I wouldn't bother getting. They were there when I buried my father, when I struggled with my own addiction, and when I fought my way through sobriety. They gave me strength, and bravado when I had no one at my back. They were with me through my bachelors degree, through coming out, through moving across the country. They accompanied me on starting a new life; one where I thought I wouldn't need these boots, but I did. They've hidden in the back of the closet, they've been shunned, but they've always been loved. They've been with me through the best of times, and through some of the worst of times. They have always been there.

At some point these boots became a metaphor for the best of my father and me. Our strength, our connection to the land, our work ethic, our heritage, our tenacity and fortitude. They are a metaphor for who I hoped I would grow up to be, not who I thought I would be. Hopefully I can live up to these boots.

Crazy, but thats how it goes...

Today I had my first appointment with my old, old therapist (M). It was good. Really good. I think we were both in a better, fresher place. I was able to be more expressive about what was happening with me, rather than skirtive of the issues, and she was much more grounded and able to see where I was at in the moment, instead of working with me as she needed to 10 years ago. I'm still eating the house in order to deal with what I need to tomorrow, but I was able to be in a better space for the most of the day, and I have some more tools to use in the mean time. And she was able to recognize just how strong my self-destructive potential is right now...which I haven't really admitted (until now) to anybody...and having someone know that that self-destructive side of myself is alive and well does indeed to a little of wind out of it's sails.

At least based on today's session, it feels like I can do some good work with M. There were some things that came up with the last therapist that she just was missing the mark on as far as holding the space for me to explore in the direction I needed to, but with M we were able to go exactly where we needed to...where I needed to. And to the credit of that last therapist; it was in our work that I was able to recognize some of those areas that were in my blind spot, but were sucking me dry. 

I also only slept about 3 hours last night. Seems like every couple weeks I have a 2-3 hour nighter. At least I'm consistent. But this really throws me off...emotionally, mentally, physically. And when I am trying so f'ing hard to get my life back on track it is really frustrating to have the setbacks that follow an extra bad night of sleep. Another setback, this one self induced, came as a result of the standing calf machine. I have crazy-strong calves, but I forget that I also have crazy f'ed up discs in my upper back, and I wound up further compressing a couple of those discs a few weeks ago during my work out and have had pinched nerves and subluxed vertebrae that won't stay put ever since.

My ability to stay positive got flushed down the toilet a while back, but I'm hoping my upcoming trip to PHX, and my first highland games of the season will start to shift some of the inner funk, and get me back on the Ozzy Crazy Train, and off the Destructo Crazy Train...and fast. In the mean time, good thing I've got my supportive, patient wife; and my big, dopey, sweet pup. And a weeks worth of my new favorite snack; bakers chocolate.

happy happy happy

It's funny how many comments I've heard about how "happy" and "energized" I appear. Funny because a) I've been having a bad run of anxiety for some time now, and rarely get my minimum of sleep requirements, and b) I'm f'ing disturbed. I lie awake at night wondering how, between depression and anxiety, I'm going to face the next work day. But I'm an old hand on putting on a "good face" to please the crowd when I'm under pressure...guess I'm better at it than I realized.

Which brings me to...there are certain situations in my life where I say to myself, "I would rather die that do that".  And I'm encountering one of those situations now. Now, don't get too excited...it's not a super-serious, "rather die", more like a thorn in your bra kind of thought, than a "i  need to act on this" kind of thought. So, how am I dealing with this? Food. Acting out. Shutting down. General spazziness. And I did call my old therapist to make an appointment.

My old, old therapist, not my recent old therapist. I love my old, old therapist. She's like a mom, kind of, in a therapist kind of way...but I was needing...new insight...or something like that. I got complacent in the relationship with my old, old therapist, I guess. But right now, I do need someone who knows me...who sees behind the "good face". Who knows my quietness reflects my level of disturbedness. Who knows to take me seriously. Who can see the unseen, hear the unspoken, speak what I didn't know I needed to hear.

That is all for now.

dreams

I've been dreaming about the community where I grew up, and I've been dreaming about it a lot. Over the years I've dreamed about the ranch a lot, but not much outside of it. The two main scenes take place either in the little town, or McDonald's place about 3 miles up the road (4 miles if you didn't take the short cut across the field). They were our second closest neighbors out in that little ranching community.

When I dream of McDonald's place, sometimes Sally (the family matriarch) is still alive, sometimes not, sometimes I just don’t know and I'm trying to find out. Often when I visit there in my dreams, there’s generally a sense that I shouldn’t be there; that I am trespassing or just don’t belong.

Last night I was there again, but all that’s left of this dream is just a vague recollection of being on the edge of their front yard, with the badlands at my heels. I am not doing anything, I am simply on the outside looking in.  In to what is the question. I'm not looking into the house. No one is present. It's just the house, me, my apprehension, and the badlands.

The badlands. My home. The bones of my bones.

I don't know why I was there last night without Sally being there...she is the only reason to return to that place. She was a kind, loving, caring soul. And I miss her. Another woman who I wish had been my mother. As a17 year old alone during the week she was one of the women who took care of me. She and Ella. As much as they could, as much as I would allow them; they were my stand-in mothers.

I’m sad. Sad that they are gone. Sad that I didn’t get to tell them how much their caring meant to me. Perhaps it is only now that I realize just how much it meant to me, what a precious gift it was that I had somewhere to go, that I had someone drag me to town and buy me a prom dress, and tell me "You are NOT missing your senior prom!" 

So that covers one side of my associations with the McDonald place. But the other association is much darker. It is a black root twisted around my soul.  And often I don't know which association brings me back there. Maybe both. I don't know. Either way, that place only holds sorrow for me, and it's time to uproot myself from that part of my past. What is the lesson Psyche? Can you be a little more specific so we can move on, please?

Gratitude

My insomnia and anxiety may be in part due to hormonal crapity-doo. If so, hopefully things will mellow out soon. Slept about 7 hours last night. It was good but I am sooooo exhausted still. Trying to keep my chocolate down to a square a day just to minimize any caffeine that may be exacerbating the situation. Got a sweet little yellow puppy snuggled up to me, and a supportive wife on the other side of him. Life really isn't bad, it's just the internal storm that keeps me from seeing the good stuff around me. Gratitude. It's what i harp on to others, but what I need to focus on myself. 

I am grateful for the love from so many people in my life (i'll call you the next time I need to get bailed out of jail Mona!), for my trees, for my garlic patch, my pups, my wife, my car, the smell of horses, the smell of spring grass, the memory of my grandmother. For chocolate, and coffee, and throwing, and my kilts, and bacon socks, and laughter. And bacon. For being able to walk to the mail box, or bend over without pain. To be able to go up the stairs without having to pull myself up. For the days I can slide my foot up to the gas pedal without having to pick up my leg with my hands. For puppy dreams. For videos of baby elephants. For the people who love me when I think I'm unlovable, and who remind me that I am loved.

Thank you.

Reality of convenience

For a change, a post that isn't written while half asleep.
Step 1 down. I've called someone I trust for therapist recommendations. I've also been doing a little research on my own. I know what I need...I just need to find someone who actually does what they say they do.

I'm tired. Exhausted. I spend so much time studying...and worrying. Mostly worrying about stupid, unimportant crap. Working out helps, and throwing helps, but still the worry is consuming my life and my energy. I'm turning into my mother. damn. 

Not sure how much I've written about my mother, but here is one reason I don't want to be like her: She exists in a reality of convenience. 
Here is what I mean by that. She sees what is convenient to see, she remembers what is convenient to remember. She acknowledges what is convenient to acknowledge.

A few examples: 
-When she stayed "too long" with my father, she did it because of me (even though she stayed because she was afraid to step out on her own at her age). When she left him, she did it because of me (even though it was her fears that made her choose to leave). 
-When she was with one of her husbands previous to my father, she conveniently ignored his violence against her children until her turned on her. More recently when this man passed away, she went on and on about what a wonderful man he was...in front of some of those siblings who suffered horrors at his hands.
-When I came out to family, it was a complete surprise to my mother....except for the fact that she had told my siblings a few years before that she thought I was gay.

There are many other examples, but not ones I care to share at this moment. 

But hopefully I've acknowledged what *I* need to acknowledge. 

Yes I am my mother's daughter, but I don't want to be like her. I want to be present, I want to be real, I want to live my life for the moment rather than the past or the unknown future. I want to be associated not with my "paaaaaiiiiinnnn" but with how fricking groovy I am. I want an identity of positivity.  Right now, I don't really have a good sense of what my identity is, either from the outside, or from my own perspective. Whatever it is, it is in transition. It is in my control. Lets see what I make out of this lump of clay. shall we?

12 thoughts

Not sure where this post will go today...lets take a ride and see...

So what I have to report.
1. I've been released from PT. I'm very excited to not be dropping that copay every week. I already kind of miss my PT crew-they're a great bunch of folks. Hip is way better. Still have some improvements to make, but waaaaay better.
2. I'm working on this online class and it is kicking my ass. I spend over 20 hours a week studying and doing my quizzes and still, after getting straight A's in my masters program, and getting B's on the unit tests, and it is frustrating as hell. Not only am I dealing with over-achiever syndrome because "if only I do good enough, maybe I WILL be good enough", but also, this is a prerequisite for a very competitive program and I need all the advantages I can get. So, in short, this class is making me feel like a failure, and stressing me the frak out.
3. I have disengaged from therapy. In part because my life is so stressful between my class, my 3 jobs, and the nasty bout of insomnia I'm going through. And in part because my therapist can't remember what I said in my last sentence. And also because I sought out a therapist specifically for EMDR so I could root out some deep knots, and it turns out the therapist I found had strayed too far off the designated EMDR course to really help me.
4. Anxiety is off the charts. And I'm frustrated as hell with that. I've done soooo many things to address it, and it only seems to be getting worse. I know I need to look for a new therapist, but the anxiety that pops up at the thought of that freezes me in my tracks.
5. I love chocolate. I haven't been eating sugar for a while so I get bakers chocolate and smear homemade sunflower butter on it, and plop a date on top. It's heavenly. I would like to eat some right now, but I know it would mess with my already messed up sleep. Perhaps for breakfast?
6. I'm looking forward to the Phoenix Highland Games. I really thought that the Flagstaff games would be my last competition. And I was depressed as hell. It was with great joy that I realized I could continue to throw...the black dog was sent to the dog house. There are few things that bring me as much joy as throwing. I don't really know why...I'm not particularly good at it...and I kinda hate crowds of people...but it thrills me to no end to strap on my kilt, step on to the field, and join my sisters in a day full of shenanigans.
7. I've been going to the gym regularly and it is helping with my hip issues, and my mental issues. It's become my new "drug."
8. Speaking of drugs, I've been thinking about drinking. A lot. For some time now. I fantasize about it. I know I shouldn't romance it, but I do.
9. I've thought about this a lot. I used to think I had all kinds of friends. Then when I needed them, instead them needing me, I realized I didn't have friends. Who would I call in the middle of the night (besides my wife) if I had an emergency? I wouldn't. I'd deal with it myself. Or not at all. Maybe I'd go to the bar.
10. Am I drunk blogging again with out the booze?
11. Maybe I need to sleep. Maybe I need to write when I'm not so fricking tired.
12. The end.

bla, bla, blogging

I think blogging after therapy is akin to drunk dialing...but i'm doing it anyway because, well, I am.

"How long do you need to blame yourself?"
"The rest of my life."
...
Yeah, that was therapy today.
Obviously not much movement on that subject.
Don't know what more I want to say about that. Just thinking (typing) aloud. Wondering why I have to blame myself...why I have to carry shame...why I'm so stuck.
Annnnnd...I still have no answers; no insights.

I wonder if admitting to shame, helps break shame up???
We'll see.

Freezing...

It's been the subject heading on my therapy sessions for some time now. Freezing and the...shame i feel for continuously reverting to freezing when things get intense. Or, even when they're not so intense. 

I'm trying to wrap my head around self-forgiveness for this pattern. Figuring out how to forgive myself for what has happened in the past, but the Truth I realized today is that it is forgiving myself in the present, not the distant past; forgiving myself in the moment that I need to work on...mostly. How can I forgive myself for the past when I can't forgive myself in the present?

I know that in the past I had no other choice. I know that through no fault of my own when I was younger that I had choice taken away from me, and that freezing was all that was left...that there was no running away, or fighting...and that there is nothing to forgive myself for. I was not wrong. I get that in my head...not sure how much I get that in my heart.

And still, I continue patterns of self blame, and self hatred today for minor mistakes...for things most people wouldn't even think twice about. And I do it because that was the habit I was taught when I was a child. Now that I recognize that habit, it is my responsibility to break that habit. To do things different. To honor my successes, to honor that which is good about me, and good in my life. To "not sweat the small stuff."

Sounds easy. Lets see if it is.

rattle, rattle, rattle

Here I am, blogging instead of going to bed/sleep early as I had planned. Oopsie. But perhaps I'll sleep a bit better if there are fewer things rattling around in my head.

Food recovery is going better. I've been off of wheat and sugar for...well, I haven't been keeping track...a couple weeks now I think. And I'm past the obsessing about my food-drugs, although while out shopping today it was very slippery around the cookie and candy aisles! But I made it out safely. I've also lost most of the weight I gained during wheat/dairy/sugar fest in Phoenix, which helps me feel better physically, as well as feel better about myself.

I do continue to struggle with anxiety. I have some ok days, I have some good days, and I have some really awful days. I've been trying different medications over the last month or so, and it's been not so fun. I tried to start a new one last week in hopes that the side effects would be minimal, but I was so doped up I couldn't function the one day I took it, so I stopped...because I don't have the luxury of stopping my life right now. I'm juggling 3 part time jobs, I just started a very intense class, and I'm getting back to the gym AND training for the Phoenix games. There has to be a better way than being doped up, even if doped up means that I don't have to worry about the random bursts of adrenaline that freeze me in place and keep me from completing "simple, day-to-day tasks."

Maybe down the line I can try this stuff again...when I have fewer obligations...fewer things to lose. But right now I can't do it. And maybe the fact that medication no longer seems like the only option means that I'm coping better than I was a few weeks ago. I certainly hope so. 

So, I'll continue to work on staying on the food wagon, and getting my butt to the gym. I need more discipline with time management, because I do get overwhelmed, and when I get overwhelmed I freeze. And freezing sucks. 

Perhaps more on that next time, but for now, I need to sleep...

The Things I Don't Talk About

Continuing on the subject of "recovery"...since my last post I've some-what gotten back on the food-recovery wagon. I'm eating primarily paleo again. I'm still craving bread/cookies/cakes here and there, but not obsessing as I was. I know there are shadowy places I cannot go right now or I will surely have a slip. But I'm not secretly ordering pizza, or sneaking to the Coop for a bag of cookies whilst my wife is away. 

As the insanity of my food-fixing starts to ease, I am more aware of the emotional stuff that I've been trying to stuff. Anxiety, fear, depression, etc. I wake in the middle of the night feeling lost, feeling scared, and most strongly; feeling a sense of impending doom. I know from experience, both personal and as a professional that this is PTSD raising its ugly head, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. Admittedly, it is better than it used to be; there isn't quite as much of the "generalized" fears, and anxieties, but it is still hard as hell to function like a normal person throughout the day. And as I think about it, it is the daily work of pretending like everything is ok...putting on the front that all is right with the world, that is what has exhausted me to the point that I can't deal as well as I once did. 

I continue to go to therapy. I continue to engage in personal enrichment. And I continue to put one foot in front of another...but it's hard. For the last year I've found myself stumbling more often...and sometimes I can't even get up to trudge the road. 

But I haven't given up yet. Oh, sure, there have been days in the past where I have given up for a brief spot, but I get back up.

I also know that something has to give...maybe a little food "recovery" will give me that "give", or maybe it'll have to be finding the right anxiety med, or finding the magic bullet to relieve some of the chronic physical pain, or some great psychological insight...I don't know...I just hope it comes soon because I'm running out of the immense energy it takes just to "deal" day-to-day.

In the mean time, I will continue to work on being positive, and I will continue to do silly stuff to make myself and others laugh, and I will continue to remain open to the beauty of the world when it shows itself to me.

Which brings up another thought...of late I've noticed that I get a little misty-eyed any time I see a Gesture of Humanity, no matter how small. I thought it was just hormones, but as I write, I realize that it is those little gems of beauty that keep me going. So my wish for the world is that today is that it is full of Gestures of Humanity...one never knows when a simple act of kindness will be a life-line to another.