Choices

    Recently, an anniversary came and went without fanfare. The one year anniversary of me making a life altering decision. It was not a decision made lightly, or without ample forewarning, it was thought out and executed despite the fact that I knew it would cause me a mountain of grief and suffering. I was not wrong. The grieving process lasted a solid 8 months. I went through all the stages: Denial; Anger; Bargaining; Depression; and Acceptance. Some stages I went through several times. Some became nearly a way of life for a period of time. Some were definitely more painful than others. At times I felt damaged beyond redemption, wrecked, ruined. I knew what I would likely go through, but made the tough choice to save my own soul. I had to make the tough choices, because no one would have done it for me. It was my decision. My life-saving choice. True, I lost friends and connections, some had to choose sides, and I do not begrudge them that. But I survived it, came out stronger, saner, healthier than ever before. I feel as if I were cleansed by the fire, all the negativity that was holding me back was burned away, and I was finally allowed to flower, change, metamorph, thrive, truly live my own life as it was meant to be lived. This has truly been a summer of change, on every level. Yes, I am still the person I have always been, but am now far more true to myself than I have ever been. I am at the zenith of my life with no sign of it letting up. Yes, the pace does get exhausting at times, but it is a justified, physical exhaustion, not the fatigue of mental and emotional drain.
    Six months ago, I would have thought it impossible that this anniversary would go past unnoticed, even by me. But today I realized just that, it had indeed come and gone, and I did not even notice. I was too busy living my life, enjoying my day to day existence, looking ahead to growth, changes, challenges, and constant betterment of myself and my life. The joyful journey that is Me.  

Animals

    Is it so surprising that I relate far better to animals than to humans? All my life I have been more comfortable in the company of the four-legged sentient life forms than the bipedal humanoids. It far more natural for me to read and understand the body language and actions of my beasts than to comprehend human nature. My animals are predictable in their actions and reactions, their love for me, their interactions with each other. They never doubt my feelings for them, and are very perceptive to my moods. I have written, a number of times, about their companionship, and empathy during the darkest days of this last winter. They were my tether to reality, my lifeline to prevent freefall into the abyss. They were there for me, when I felt no one else was. True, my family kept in touch, kept me in their hearts, but they have their own lives and I would never expect them to be at my side for days on end. My animals and I understand each other, trust each other, never doubt each other. That is a true gift. My dogs are honest and forthright, even in their guilt. Granted, my cats are a little less trustworthy, in that feline, "I really want you to pet me, but I kinda wanna bite you" way, especially His Shitness, Homer. But they still are affectionate, loving, and desirous to be in my company. How many humans can I say this of, day in and day out? I confess to a ridiculous attachment to my animals, their quirky personalities, each one a rare individual. I know that their attachment to me goes beyond She Who Feeds, especially my dogs. My dogs prefer to keep me in sight when I am home, and according to sources, are rather quiet and uninterested in much when I am gone. I know their exuberance at my homecoming is always excited, happy, delirious even. And after a long day, when I feel like the whole world has assaulted me emotionally and mentally, their slobbery, gleeful welcome helps me shed some of the cares of the world. Relaxing, alone, in the evenings, I look around my living room and see every one of my animals within a six foot invisible bubble, most within arms reach, some in physical contact. To have Hellcat sprawled across my lap, vibrating with his insanely loud purr, Elliot draped across the back of the chair with one massive paw resting on my shoulder, Luna curled regally at my left side in her ranking spot of Queen, Homer exhibiting his mild fetish for my sheepskin slippers. Hugo lays at my feet, watching me with loving eyes, Tonks slumbering contentedly nearby, twitching with Wolfhoundy dreams. Peace radiates out from this mass of fur, a peace and acceptance that I find no where else. Is this wrong? Am I approaching crazy animal lady status as my pack increases? I just know that I understand them, I do not worry that they will ever doubt me, suspect me, question my love and attachment. True, they are not great conversationalists, but they are great listeners.

Changeling Eyes

    When I feel the outcast, the alien, isolated and alone, I need to remind myself that I am merely seeing the world through different eyes. But there are days when I feel I wake with different eyes. As if during the night Eye Gnomes have slipped into my room, pried open my lids and replaced the current, accustomed orbs with Changeling Eyes. I feel the difference even in my sleep, with violent visions, perspicacious perceptions, sagacious scenarios. Upon awakening, even the light feels wrong, colors are twisted, depth perception is skewed. Like wearing new bifocals, I stumble through days adjusting to the new vision, trying to ignore the throb of Brain strain, pretending to the world around me that all is well. Inside my skull, Brain is scrambling at double time in an attempt to return my world to a comprehensive amalgam. Days will pass when so much around me does not make sense. Only routine keeps me moving ahead, as I can decipher what was once my "normal" reality, force it to make sense. They say that one need only be able to understand on in five words of a paragraph in order to comprehend the gist, that is my world as I struggle to regain focus through altered eyes, Changeling Eyes.
    I cannot despise the Eye Gnomes and their malicious pranks, for it does give me ample opportunity to fill my mind with visions unseen by others. To remind me that the world is always in a state of flux, fluid, motile, emotive, evolving, revolving. We are passengers with ever changing scenery. I watch the world through Changeling Eyes flash past the window of my train, colors altered, landscape skewed, green sky, blue waters, verdant grass. Overtinted, old photograph with lurid tones changing innocent face to harlequin. It has an amusement all its own. A circus parade only I can see. It is entertaining, when not distressing. I chose to find the amusement, overlook the trauma, as best I can. These Changeling Eyes, they are mine. These Changeling eyes are my view into an unknown and unknowing new landscape.

DreamsRealityLife

    Once again, standing on the threshold, the cusp of new and exciting. So many pathways are laying before me. At times I feel near to panic with the overwhelming immensity of it all. The wild and glorious potential of my life. The stars are aligning. Karma is smiling on me. Pieces of the Puzzle of Me are slipping into place. Even as I feel solitary and alone, I also feel a sense of community, acceptance, love, friendship, new Kith and Kin.
    Even when alone I do not feel lonely, except for in the dark of the night, when I would reach out for warmth, knowing my warmth is thousands of miles away. But that is okay. The warmth will return, the connection is not broken by miles. For now, thoughts and dreams, brief messages, knowing, fills the void. Another corresponding piece of the Puzzle of Me.
    Brain, Body and Spirit begin to feel aligned. At least for today. For the Now. And that is where my Mind's Eye focuses, the Here and Now. True, Brain is scattered, spacey, languorous in thought, sleepy in execution, meandering in a luxurious mental landscape. But Body and Spirit are strong and aimed arrow-straight at goals, adventures, dreams. My Dreams, held before me as a guiding chalice, a Grail, the treasure beneath the sand. My Dreams coming to fruition, nearly ready to be plucked. It is amazing where I can travel within my Dreams, my Reality, my Life. It has all become one: DreamRealityLife.
    At times, I feel that part of my Isolationism comes from Dreams becoming Reality, and my unshakeable belief that it can and will happen. I have been ridiculed and shamed in the past, for Dreams. Made to think that they were less than fantasy, less viable than opium induced pipe-dreams. Made to feel an outcast, scorned for being a Dreamer. But I am a Dreamer. The Dreams were Mine, and I held onto them with a child-like belief, the innocence of wishing on a star, the Dream whispered to the favorite stuffed animal, written in scrawling hand on scraps of paper. I believed. I still believe. My Dreams. My Reality. My Life.

Isolationist

    I have been feeling isolated again. I know this is internal, not external. But I so often feel set apart from the world around me. Even as I join new endeavors, meet new people, step out into the world, it is rare that I feel like I truly belong in the norm of the human race. I also realize that my new endeavors also tend to set me apart from the population a bit and place me in small sub-cultures. Is this a subconscious choice? Do I choose the path less traveled so that I can walk it alone? Am I such an Isolationist that even my attempts at "joining" only make the gap that much wider? I don't know. Or is it merely my mental state that alters my perception? Again, I don't know. I do know that so many days I move through the world feeling like a visitor, an observer, a tourist. An alien hiding behind the facade of being "one of us." I wear the mask of belonging to avoid feeling completely alone. I wear my skin like the costume of a superhero, to protect my true identity and help me feel impervious to attack. There are days though, when the supersuit feels frayed, splitting at the seams, tattered, thin. Days when my true identity bubbles to surface and I am under threat of exposure. When my carefully constructed protection splits and gaps, allowing pain and injury. These are the days when I fall back into my Fortress of Solitude, mentally, physically. It is when I see the world through alien eyes. When I feel surrounded by the unfamiliar, uncomfortable, unknown. These are the days when not only do I feel isolated, but also when I must rely on superhuman effort to stay the course, to remain in the public eye, to go out into the alien landscape. I must not withdraw into my protective shell, and this is truly a superhuman effort. I must not hide myself away, avoiding all contact. The effort is great, heroic, painful. I feel flayed and delicate, nerves raw and exposed. But I know I have the Heart, Strength, Fortitude to fight against my own inner workings. I can keep treading the path I have chosen, even though it is the road less traveled, and find a few like-minded travelers. And if not, I will continue on alone, pursuing my dreams and goals, knowing that there are a few fellow aliens nearby. Yes, I do know I am not alone, even on these days when I feel it most poignantly. I am not alone.

It Hurts

    Fragility of psyche. It has been the bane of my existence, my Achilles's Heel. Tough exterior, delicate interior. Days pass when I feel invincible, powerful, in control. During such days I hope, in vain, that I have finally managed to reach a level of internal fortitude that will carry me though all the rest of my days. But I know it is not the truth. The truth is, those days are more the exception than the rule. The feeling of emotional invincibility is fleeting at best. Truth be told though, it is so much a part of who I am that I don't know if I would be remotely the same person without my delicate, fragile nature. My tough exterior should not harbor a tough interior. I feel that if that were the case I would be cold, distant, uncaring, jaded, detached. Honestly, with what life has thrown at me over the last years, I would be fully justified to have become the crass, cold, damaged shell of myself. I would be fully justified to see the world through skeptical eyes and closed heart. But that is not who I am. My heart is an open book, open and tender. My heart feels emotions on a grand and epic scale, often to my own chagrin and dismay. I wish I could protect myself, wrap my heart in armor, make it bullet-proof, a Kevlar Heart. That would be so much less painful. So much easier. It would make maneuvering through life simple, painless, bland, cold, and bitter. I choose to allow myself the luxury of tears, the warmth of joy, the giddiness of elation, the heat of passion. But I pay a heavy price. I pay the price of dark days, sleepless nights, tear stained pillow. My Aloneness, as I hide from the world, sheltering myself during fragile moments. My Life Unhinged. I feel the need for a rock, stability, safe harbor, but it is always kept from me. I feel kept apart from all that makes life easy for others. I strive to maintain my footing, to not crumble before the onslaught, to keep mind and body strong, powerful, protective. Yes, we shelter fragile Psyche as best we can, but some things just have to be felt to be understood. And so it is, my Life. My Path. My Destiny. To feel deeply, to lead with my heart, to take it on the chin. It is who I am. I cry. I laugh. I love. It is who I am. But it hurts.   

The Best Thing

    Sometimes I feel as if I am the only person in the world happy and willing to accept things for what they are. I do not seek perfection. I appreciate what I have. As the song says, "It's not getting what you want, it's wanting what you've got." I think I follow this adage quite well. For those who seek perfection, they will always find disappointment. Dissatisfaction. They will see the flaws and not the beauty. They will find the reason why it won't work, not see the ways in which it does. I have always been able to see the beauty hidden beneath the dents, rust, scratches. I actually see beauty in those same dents, rust and scratches. I chose to look ahead, see the potential, set goals, find ways. I do not look at the now, curse the roadblocks, cry over inequities, buckle under difficulties. I look to the future, seek routes around the roadblocks or bull my way over top of them, become stronger as I face and beat down the difficulties. I do not cast blame, aspersions, doubt. I stand tall and look to the horizon. Even from the depths of the abyss I managed to look ahead, see what needed to be done, fought through darkness, was burned by fire. Even then, I looked ahead. I still do, look ahead. I see potential in the now, as a seed holds the potential for life and growth. I know that with tender care the seed will burst forth, full of potential, fruitful. But I also look at now, and appreciate where I am, who I am with, what I have, who I am. I revel in today. I hold what I have in warm, careful hands, knowing the value, wanting what I have. Having what I hold. Yes, I do look to the future, strive to better myself, my world. But I see the glory in now. I do not need perfection. I do not expect everything to fall into easy little molds. My life is not about Easy, never has been, never will. My life is not about trying to find the perfect fit, the perfect life, the perfect relationship. Nothing is perfect. To hope for perfection is a recipe for failure. But, to strive towards tomorrow, to build upon what I have today, to desire that tomorrow I am a better person than I am today. That is a recipe for happiness, contentment, fulfillment. And I know it is the best thing I can do. The best thing.