Someday

    Though I have found it in my heart to forgive, I cannot manage to forget. My own self esteem has been shattered so often I realize that it is brittle and easily cracked. I try to remain solid, strong, impenetrable, but when my heart thaws and opens up I become vulnerable again. I had thought that with acceptance and forgiveness I would find inner peace, and at times I have. But too often there is turmoil, fear, doubt, insecurity. The result of so many scars. Yes, I am proud of my scars, they show that I am a survivor, but scar tissue can be fragile and easily torn. I do my best to protect these scars, shelter them, cradle them tight against my chest, keep them from harm. But it is not my nature to remain closed off, cold, hard. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I do not hide my emotions well, except for the painful ones, those I hide very well indeed. There are moments when painful emotions will damn near bring me to my knees, but I bottle them up, stuff them down my own throat until I nearly choke. I don't want people to think me unbalanced, fragile, insecure, damaged, flawed. It is so much easier when people think I am intimidating, tough, invulnerable. But to open up, be myself, relax, allow the inner me to be seen, and hopefully understood, is almost more than I can manage. It is terrifying. My past does not give me great hope that sharing the real me will end in anything but the need for damage control. Am I fatally flawed? Not enough? Too much? For once, just once, I would like to be just right, enough, the one. I know it is the darkness and chill of winter speaking, channeling cold, dark thoughts through me like a charlatan soothsayer speaking in tongues. But winter or not, I fight the urge to hide away, armor my heart, close myself off, protect myself. But I won't. It is not my nature, truly. Instead I will flay myself wide and await what will come. Trembling with fear of what may come, but knowing that someday I will be enough. Someday.

Me, Right Here, Right Now.

    Today was a series of events, small snapshots of happy, reminders of joy, tasty tidbits of life. Throughout my day I was reminded of how fortunate I am to be me, right here, right now. My day was a series of positive interactions with the people that surround me. From the everyday "good mornings," simple smiles from coworkers, jokes, teasing, light banter, to the crazy adorable little towhead shopping with her big, biker daddy as he let her make her own selections, paying with dollars from her little, black leather, studded purse. Her seriousness during the purchase, him gently coaxing, yet allowing her to be "in charge," was a tender reminder that there are sweet, kind people out there, everywhere, in all shapes and sizes. It was a dark, gloomy, typically rainy fall day here in the glorious Willamette Valley, rain pounding on the metal roof, and sheeting down the windows. At one point, my my coworker comes bursting out of her office into my workspace, points at the small, high window behind me and yells, "Look! The Sun! Oh my god!" Then scampers back to her office giggling. I turned, the sun was beaming, and I had to laugh. Such interactions are invaluable in times such these, times when the whole world seems rife with chaos, and teetering on the brink of a global abyss. For years, I have been saying, "In times like these we need to be kind to each other." But for so long I was in an environment where it seemed I was the only one who made the effort. Now my life abounds with people who believe in the power of kindness, the power of laughter, the power of love.
    To be me, right here, right now, living in the moment, feels as if I have "arrived." Arrived at a life that I have known should be mine, could be mine, would be mine. A life I have been working steadily towards for what sometimes feels like an eternity. I am not saying my life is perfect. There are certainly days when my demons come out to play. There are days when I have fears and doubts, but they are few, and not very powerful these days. Sure, I could be making more money, but I make enough. Sure, my life could be a bit tidier, but it is tidy enough. During the week I work with people who make me laugh. Drill night I am surrounded by the tightknit brotherhood that has welcomed me with open arms, who make me laugh. My family is happy, healthy, loving, and they make me laugh. Weekends are spent in a dreamy haze with the one I love, who makes me laugh. My life is full of love and laughter, what more could anyone want? Honestly. I am so fortunate to be me, right here, right now.

Brain Unchained

    Brain Unchained. A writer's imagination is both blessing and curse. It is a curse in that I have all too often been able to imagine the progression of events from beginning through to an inevitable, and tragic conclusion. I have yet to discern if this is prescience, logic, imagination, or if I am merely living up to my own expectations. On the flip side of this, I have a rich life going on inside Brain. Thoughts ricochet around inside my skull like hyperactive four year olds penned into a small room and cranked up on sugar and caffeine. Some days my thoughts are organized into lucid essays. Some days they are random, scattered, scrambled, chaotic, beautiful, and highly entertaining. Other days Brain is haunted and taunted by demons whispering disparagement, discouragement, deprecation. The demon days let Brain rampage about the delicate terrain of my psyche, crushing, smashing, damaging my fragile ego with unfounded fears. Even on the demon inhabited days Brain wants to compile thoughts into tidy essays, assessments, analysis. On the demon days my imagination is the curse, but my writer's mind is the blessing as I dissect, analyze, study, flay Brain wide open, and turn scrambled dissonance into comprehensible composition. This has saved me many a day. Brain runs gibbering in circles, caught in the hamster wheel craze of fear, doubt, anxiety, and panic, when the writer steps in and forces those slavering thoughts into logical order. Amazing how the cause and cure for Brain Unchained are truly one and the same.

Only Winter

    I am glad of my hat today, so I can hide the vulnerability I know must be so apparent in my eyes to anyone who bothers to look. I know what it is. It is fear. Fear of the encroaching winter with its cold, grey days, long frigid nights, and the demons that seem to thrive in such a climate. Reminding me too easily of past winters that were cold, dark, and achingly lonely. Fear that I may have said too much, or too little. Fear that I am heading down a path destined to circle me right back to where I was before, back to my strange aloneness, my solitude. Fear that history will repeat itself. I fight the urge to flee, retreat, hide, protect myself. I feel a chink opening in the armor I have worked so hard to construct, allowing my vulnerability to rise to the surface, leaving me open to a coup de grace.
    Brain assures me that the fears of today are merely vapors rising off the surface of fatigue, sleeplessness, restlessness. Brain knows how easily I become fragile, brittle, vulnerable, especially at this time of year, and even more so when I have started to inch my way out on a limb. Brain has kept me reined in quite well these last few months, despite my Leap Before I Look nature, urging caution, maturity, some iota of restraint. Maturity and restraint, it almost makes me laugh. But it has not been easy, and is likely a causal link between restlessness and fatigue, as I try to do too much in too little time.
    As is my nature, I flay myself open, looking for forensic evidence, the root of my angst. Honestly, I cannot readily identify the cause.  As always, there is some stress to life, but it is negligible. I am content with myself, happy with myself, not reliant on anyone else to reach a state of bliss. Brain, Body, and Spirit are all healthy and happy. I am not looking down the barrel of a long, cold, winter alone, instead I have found a possible kindred spirit, Heart is happy. So what then? Everything is falling so neatly into place, smooth and sweet.
    Is it just the coming of the cold? Could it be so simple a trigger? But the Cold reminds me so much of my first winter in my little home, when the nights were freezing, and I was struggling to fight clear of the abyss that nearly claimed me. Cold, dark, alone, exhausted, tormented by demons. I begin to think that my fear is linked to the cold, fear of finding myself returned to that bleakness, PTSD being triggered by cold hands and feet. But I am much more than I was then; more confident, more self assured, more resilient, stronger. Since then I have reclaimed my sense of self, my  integrity, my sense of self worth. I have healed myself, and come through scarred but strong, solid, balanced. If it is just the cold, then there are remedies for that; a blazing fire, hot tea, warm hands, warm heart. My fear is unfounded, it is not the abyss looming, it is only winter.

Sssshhh

    Ssshhhh. Be very still. My demons are stirring. I hear them, restless, drowsy murmurings, soughing, unintelligible whispering. I feel them skritching at Brain with icy talons, poking Heart with bony fingers, blowing on Spirit with dank breath. Familiar little bastards, with their familiar little games. If I am calm, quiet, still, then they may fall back asleep, return to somnolence, leave me be. So be still my heart, be very still.

Lead With My Chin

    Like a punch drunk boxer, I lead with my chin. It is a fatal flaw, one that I can't seem to train myself out of, no matter how I self-coach. It does go hand in hand with my leap-before-I-look personality and impetuous nature. I wade in, head high, fists up, heart pounding, waiting for the knock out punch, hoping I can deflect it. I had vowed that I would protect myself better this time, keep my defense strong, chin down, eyes up, lead with my left. Instead, here I am, chin high, misty-eyed, heart on my sleeve, Spidey-sense tingling a warning that I am about to get clobbered. But do I back down? Throw in the towel? Beat a hasty retreat? No. I duck and feint, tell myself that a little fancy footwork will get me through to the next round, suppress rising panic. I often feel like I am in the wrong place at the wrong time, that I shouldn't even be in the ring, but here I am, shaky, queasy, nervous, in over my head. Not that long ago I had vowed that I was done with the whole thing, I was too battered, too drained, too often sucker-punched. But I am the ragged, old fighter that keeps thinking that all I need is one more chance to prove myself a winner, the champ. One last chance to be on top of the world. It is the eternal optimist in me. "You lead with your heart, strong and true, loyal to a fault." Lead with my heart, far more painful and potentially devastating than leading with my chin, but the only way I know. The punch drunk boxer, battered and scarred, yet defiant and stubborn. It is the only way I know. Terrifying as it is, I lead with my chin.

Custom Build

    I am beginning to view my life as a custom kit. A box full of parts to be sorted, polished, fit together, sometimes retooled to fit, sometimes discarded all together as damaged or just plain wrong. It has been a long, arduous, knuckle busting build. At times I think that the fates have tossed in random pieces, just to watch me wrack my brain trying to make something fit that really just doesn't belong. And I know the fates have stolen a piece here and there, letting me search fruitlessly until I come to the realization that I will either need to do without, or make shit up. And time and time again, I think I have all the pieces laid out in logical order, ready to be wrenched together into the masterpiece I know it will be, when someone comes along and upends my workbench, scattering the pieces of my life all over the concrete floor. So I start over, laying pieces out, polishing, beating out dents, searching for loose screws and lost bolts. I really feel like I have most of the pieces at hand. Some are solid, oiled and ready, already working for me. Other pieces I am holding, turning over in my hands, polishing up the rough spots, eager to see how well they fit. Some things slide into place with ease, others need a little body English. I think I have discarded most, if not all of the pieces that weren't meant to be, though I am sure I will find more tucked into corners, or dropped suddenly into my lap. Yes, there will always be pieces to add, tune up, change out, but I think my custom build is starting to look real sweet.