Spreading the Light

I was already feeling a little philosophical (or full of bs?) this morning since I spent most of the night lying awake with my rambling thoughts rather than sleeping...and then I read a snippet in the newspaper. This chap, Scott Maxwell I believe was his name, had been asked to speak at his church about the Orlando Massacre...the last line he asks, "Did I spread light, or foster darkness?" In my own way, I had been pondering this question for myself as I zombied, half asleep through my morning.

Specifically, I was thinking about the life events that have brought me to exactly where I am right now. Had my dad not lost the ranch through his alcoholism, and the crappy economy of the 80s, I would have hidden myself away on the ranch. Hidden away on the ranch I would have nurtured my own alcoholism, and probably be long dead. And I would like to think that somewhere along my travels, that I have spread light...that I have made someone's life just a little bit better...that maybe, just maybe, the world was a little tiny bit better for me being here.

Yesterday at the clinic a returning patient, upon seeing me, squealed my name and came running to give me a hug. I thought for a moment she must have me confused with someone else, but then she started going on about how engaged I was with her last time, and how it had made her feel important, and that her issues were important. It was something small in the grand scheme of the world, but for her it was a big deal. And it did make me feel like maybe I am important to this world, that by just being kind, and present, and engaged we all have the opportunity to make the world a better place.

As for the darkness, yes, I am guilty of being a fully engaged step-parent to the darkness. I gossip, I judge, I seethe. It is something I am ashamed of, and it is something I would like to change...but the darkness is seductive. Perhaps if I focus more on spreading the Light, and less on avoiding the darkness, my Light can fully dis-spell the darkness.

today was a good day...

Feeling less angry today. As well as less...well, everything...but in a good way. My last post was a catharsis. I said things that I needed to say, and that I've been needing to say directly for some time...I've just needed to let my truth see the light. I have been lugging my shame and fear around on my back for far too long, and I've been able to dump a little bit of that load. Am I cured? I don't know...I don't even know what that means, or what that would look like.

At least for today, I feel like a "normal" human being (or at least what I think a "normal" human being feels like)...not so much like the waif on the outside looking in. Will I be able to maintain, how will I maintain? I don't know. And that is okay. I'll take today, and I will embrace it with gratitude.

Yesterday, the 5 remaining days of my internship seemed like an insurmountable obstacle, but now that it's whittled down to 4, now that I know I will see my wife in 5 sleeps, now that by the end of next weekend I will only have one more written test left to finish my degree...now I feel like I'm on the downhill, and at least for today, everything seems do-able.

Raging Rant

I'm re-posting this from my other blog (with some editing), Finding Grace (http://fallingupwithgrace.blogspot.com/) ...because I can...and because I finally was able to recover my password for this one...and because, fuck it...I'm not going to be afraid of my truth anymore (and who hears it).

I've been in Washington for 3 weeks now for my internship. I was expecting it to be hell, but I wasn't fully prepared for the types of hell it has been. Yes, I expected to miss home...in all the ways that home is home (snuggling at bed time with wife and pups while watching stupid tv, studying with friends before tests, hitting a favorite restaurant once a week, spontaneous meet-ups with friends, routine, etc.). I expected to be exhausted from my internship (esp when I heard I'd be doing 4 10's), but I wasn't prepared for what amounts 11 hours a day with "learning" lunch breaks. I wasn't prepared for 11 hours a day of christian radio and hearing about the church, and the ministry, and "loving the lord." And, nothing against religion, or spirituality...but non-stop ANYTHING is wearing...I couldn't listen to Enya 11 hours a day, and talk about Enya all day long, and I LOVE Enya. Even though my supervisor is a very loving, kind, and open hearted Christian, not all of his patients are, so by opening up discussions about Christian views, invariably there will be patients discussing their view of the evil ho-mo-SEX-u-als.

I also wasn't prepared for the 20 hours of sunlight that Washington gets every day...having turned into an old lady who is up with the sun, I've averaged about 5 hours of sleep a night since I've been here...and it is catching up with me...and really exacerbating my post-concussion symptoms...concentration, confusion, balance, etc. Oh yeah, and I'm doing an online class...which is hard to keep up with when it takes me 30 minutes of reading to comprehend a paragraph.

Since I've been here, and away from home and stability the Stanford Rapist Debacle, and Orlando Massacre have occurred. Both have left me reeling. In the SRD, the miscarriage of justice when that little fucker was convicted but slapped on the hand by the good ol boy judge, when that young woman was run through the fucking wringer...when she endured the hell of being put on trial even though she was the victim...when she was re-victimized by the court system...and the jury found him guilty, but the perpetrator was the one who the judge decided he needed to take care of, keep safe...not the fucking victim of the little privileged piss head (who has apparently never had to take accountability for his actions)...when all of these things occurred I was knocked askew. I am heart broken for his victim, and for every other victim out there that has not gotten the justice that they deserve. I am heart broken for every person who has been told, and/or believed that it was their fault that they were sexually assaulted. I am heart broken for every person whose life has been irreparably damaged by sexual assault. And yes, I'm heart broken for myself. I'm heart broken for every fucking time I thought I was safe, and I learned that I wasn't. I'm heart broken for myself that by the last time I was violated, I'd been violated so many times it just wasn't that big of a deal...and even though that is the case, I never quite feel safe...my body is still not my own...and the nightmare never quite goes away, even when it quiets to a gentle white noise in the background...it never gives me complete peace...like the peace you get when the electricity goes off and without the refrigerator, and clocks, and lights humming, you finally hear true silence when you didn't even realized that your perception of silence was an illusion as you realize how loud the "quiet" was. And I have no positive, feel-good, "on-the-other-hand" for this. It just sucks, and it is the experience of way too many of us, and the press on this case was just a slap-in-the-face reminder about the lack of justice/resolution/closure most of us will experience.

Re: Orlando...in the week before the shooting, I had had two... TWO fucking conversations with people where I told them that things weren't so bad for us gays anymore. One of the people was looking for assurance as a mother of a teenage girl who had just come out as bi that she would be okay. "It's not like it used to be...it's mainly just cyber-douche hats these days...I haven't been threatened with a beating, or rape in over 10 years" I told her. Then this. I didn't really think it had affected my sense of safety as a lesbian until Monday at work when someone asked me if I was married...and I didn't correct him when he asked about my "husband." I haven't fucking hid the gender of my partner in years...but deep down, my sense of safety was rocked. I feel like I'm back on solid ground again there...but I'm angry...at so many fucking things I can't even articulate...but one is that some people's response was to immediately change their profile picture to some NRA bullshit, because defending every fucking nut jobs right to buy an assault rifle is more important than mourning our dead and thinking about how we can keep fuck -tards from easily getting their hands on weapons meant for war. You know what? I love guns. I think they are fun, especially ones that go "bang-bang-bang!" really fast and loud. But you know what else I love...my fucking bio-identical progesterone cream. Which I have to go to my dr. for, after an exam and an blood test...and I don't get that prescription indefinitely...I have to keep going back to my dr. to prove that I am safe to take it. So this bull shit about not being able to screen people for gun purchase; it's bullshit!...guess what...you want an assault rifle, you go to the fucking shrink, get your eval, then you can get your gun..or not...and you have to fucking get a re-eval every fucking year. I only get 3 refills, you fuckers only get 1 box of ammo. Problem solved. Boom!

And it's not just Orlando that has me pissed off...it's the fact that even though we finally have our marriage recognized by the USA, there are still people who want to take that away...the fight isn't over. We can't just relax...we have to remain vigilant. Just like we have to remain vigilant every time we leave the house...yes I am out...but yes, I still have to be VIGILANT every time I reach for Chris' hand...is it safe? Is someone giving us the look who might have a gun, or a knife and wait until there is no one around so they can gut us or shoot us. Is it better? Yes. Is it safe? Hell no. And every time some whack-job preacher or senator proclaims that gays are evil and destroying our country, attacking our well-being; it gives some off-kilter whack-a-doo who is looking for someone else to blame for his lot in life; someone weaker than him to blame, permission to beat, rape, and/or kill one of us. And yes, I have guns, I sometimes carry a pistol...but that doesn't make us safe. Some Westboro walnut could walk up to me with a gun out and pull the trigger before I had a chance to reach in my pocket. I think way too many people think action movies are real, and forget how real life really works.

Fortunately, I do have some really awesome people in my life...a couple folks who have checked on me since I've been up here to make sure I'm doing okay with all the crazy in the world, and in MY world. The folks I'm staying with are awesome, and have gone above-and-beyond taking care of me...making me dinner, adjusting my neck, bringing me fresh berries, loving me, making fart jokes...all the important stuff. Thank the Goddess for Love...and for allowing me to allow love into my life. 

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.