Wednesday, June 12, 2013
One distinct advantage of being the Whirlwind is the ability to fly from one end of the spectrum to the other, and quickly return to center. I rant and rage, weep, dissolve, wrap myself around my hurt and let it mature to fruition. I analyze, pick apart, dissect, flay. I debride the wound, no matter how painful, peeling away the unhealthy layers, the scorched flesh, necrotic tissue, until I am left with a clean, though raw, gaping hole. Much as a snake sheds its skin, revealing supple, shiny scales, bigger and healthier than before. It is how I cope. How I heal. Today I feel supple, shiny, healthy, revitalized, pure. A return to center. A return to myself.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
"You lead with your heart, strong and true, loyal to a fault." These words, spoken to me by a dear friend during a rocky patch in my past that is all too similar to my current state of mind. I do lead with my heart. I wear my heart on my sleeve. It is open, inviting, and easily bruised by careless handling. My heart does not know how the game is played, it does not understand the rules. Are there rules? Isn't trust, honesty, kindness, openness, and love enough? No. It is not. So my heart, playing fair, thinking the game is going well, is easily blindsided by the realities of a game without rules, where it seems everyone is out for themselves. My heart and I do not understand. I am beginning to think that my heart is not meant to play this game, not meant for careless hands, not meant to be shared with mortal man. I do not want to become jaded and bitter, I do not want to feel like I must hold back out of fear. In truth, my heart is fearless, it is my brain that must put on the brakes, throw up shields, protect and defend. Heart feels no fear. I do lead with my heart, and it is strong and true, it deserves to be appreciated for what it is. My heart is strong, and will find other, deserving, avenues. Heart is fearless, even when damaged, it is fearless.
Oh Optimism, you refuse to leave my side even when I would gladly chuck you out the door. I should have known that you, of all creatures, would not abandon me in my time of need. Despite broken heart, damaged trust, crushed self esteem, life on the financial edge, and wolves at the door, you return with your rose colored glasses. Of course, in my self analytic way, I do wonder if you are actually delusion in optimism's clothing. That would make more sense, at this particular fork in the road. But then, as I have stated often enough before, I am the eternal optimist. When I say that I am not just blowing smoke, it is an ingrained, to the marrow, element of my base formula. I could give it the chemical abbreviation of EO, you would find it in my cells along side of C, Fe, O2, and Ca. An essential, binding element that holds together the very essence of my being. Without EO I would likely shatter into a million shards, and blow away on the wind. It is the part of me that motivates, drives, restores, rejuvenates, heals. The part of me that will not allow me to permanently give in to pressures, defeats, failures, rejections. It prevents lasting bitterness, grief, dismay, disillusionment, defeat. EO picks me up when I am all alone, tends to my needs, tucks me in at night, and protects me from my demons. Even when I rage against it, beat my fists upon it, attempt to dislodge it from my system, even try to wish it away, it remains steadfast and true. Yes, it may just be Delusion in Optimism's clothing, but it is my delusion, to have and to hold, until death do we part.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Alone again. Naturally. Some things get easier with practice. Other things it just gets easier to pretend everything is okay. One thing I have had more practice than I deserve is learning to be alone. I am good at it. As a matter of fact it is something I excel at. I have developed advanced coping skills to manage depression, weeping, cumulative stress, loneliness, and grief. Hell, I can cook a healthy, delicious meal while crying non-stop. That takes some serious skill and practice. I get up every day, take care of the menagerie, pack a healthy lunchbox, and get myself off to work where put in a hard eight hour day, every day, maintaining a cheerful demeanor. Again, serious skill. I get off of work, come home, feed the menagerie and delve into an arduous workout, sometimes going until it is perilously close to bedtime. Then I top my day with a ridiculously healthy dinner, and maybe some homework. All the while, just under the surface, lying in wait for the slightest waver in my resolve, is the pain. Failure, rejection, disappointment, the taint of betrayal, death of trust, another battering of my self esteem. It is all there, barely contained within my skin. Oddly, no matter how deep the pain, I still analyze, appraise, dissect, eviscerate, flay, study, reflect. Assess the damage. Stop the hemorrhaging. I cannot help but turn events over and over and over in my mind, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to comprehend how life can diverge so far from where it was a few short weeks ago. Bliss to disarray, contentment to utter confusion, elation to anguish. I do not deserve this turn of events, so oddly familiar to me, a near deja vu, a disjointed feel that I have been forced down this path before. It is different, and yet the same. This feeling of being cast off, left in the ditch, my luggage in my hand as I watch in bewilderment, my ride heading off into the sunset. Leaving me stranded by the side of the road, puzzled, alone, mouth gaping in utter disbelief. How could this happen again? I think, I do, that it really is not me. Not me, but the choices I make? Am I destined to be drawn to those who need me for all the wrong reasons? Is it my desire to heal, repair, fix the damaged? My helpful, giving nature, my kind heart, the spirit that draws orphaned kittens and neglected children into my sphere. Is this what leads me down these paths? A desire to heal the broken? Is that what this is all about? Then maybe it is me. My fault. My own nature that leads me to be left alone again, naturally. Now I will turn my healing powers, my kind heart, my nurturing nature onto myself. I am the one that needs healing, comforting, repair. The damage wrought was deep and devastating, but neither permanent nor fatal. I am stronger than that. I will heal. I understand myself well enough to know that I am fully capable of standing tall and straight, and on my own two feet, alone again, naturally.
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Eternal Optimist. Contrary to popular belief, this is more a curse than a blessing. With me through it all, thick and thin, up and down, crawling through the dark abyss or running across the mountain tops, it is a heavy burden. My optimism. It always keeps hope alive, even when I need to let it die. I cling to things, knowing it will get better, when it won't. I talk myself off the ledge when there is no one else to do it for me, as I talk others off the ledge when I would rather crawl into my shell and weep with sheer misery. Optimism does this to me. It keeps my heart wishing, hoping, dreaming, desiring, where it has no right or reason to do so. Optimism makes the happy horseshit scenarios play through my mind on an endless loop, even when I beg for them to stop. Eternal optimism brings misery and heartache more often than not. Eternal optimism makes it hard for me to turn my back and walk away. It whispers, "Where there is life there is hope." But the reality is that sometimes, often times, optimism leans precariously close to delusion. It lies to the logical, plays to the emotional, misleads the practical. Optimism lies. Not always. But often. My eternal optimism allows me to lie to myself, lead myself on, buoy my spirits, lift myself up just in time for another stumble. I wish I could trade in my eternal optimism for a more healthy realism, but that has never been who I am. I am sure that soon enough, my eternal optimism will convince me, once again, that this time it will work, this time everything will go smoothly, this time I will have the happy ending. Honestly though, I am losing faith. Even the eternal optimist can only handle so much. But ask me again in a few weeks, I'm sure the happy horseshit will be back.