Lying awake at 2am and staring at the insides of my eyelids (as has been my standard operating procedure of late), my brain was rolling around the many revelations, expectations, tribulations, and disappointments that have presented themselves to me these first weeks of the New Year. I have been in a prolonged state of high agitation recently, far beyond anything I have endured before, it has been relentless and seemingly endless. As if I am living in a war zone; shell-shocked and desperate, panicked and adrenaline fueled. But despite, or because of, this anxiety and stress, I have been trying to do a major overhaul of my outlook, understandings, expectations, tactics and motivations. It has not been easy. Far from it. But I press ahead, trying to break through to the other side. It has felt like a trial by fire.
So, last night, in my late night self-therapy session, as I wondered where I was leading myself, what I was doing to myself, how my actions and reactions were tearing me down inside and out, I swear I heard a voice. It was a clear whisper, a shiver in my mind. It softly said, "There comes a time to put aside childish things." Just that. It sent my mind down a whole new path. A path of further revelations, for good or ill. I will never lose my child-like joy for play, rough-housing, climbing trees, looking at bugs, catching snakes, skipping stones, the wind in my face at 80 mph. I will not lose the child-like wonder at a spider web outlined in dew, spring flowers, bees buzzing in an apple tree, new puppies, a purring cat. I will not grow old, my heart is as young as ever. But I think the voice was speaking of a new level of spiritual maturity. Acknowledging to myself that I am at a crossroads in my life where I must re-prioritize. A time when I must, for my own sanity and security, chose to focus my energies on my own life, self, and surroundings. I need to fully acknowledge the coming years when I must look to myself to secure my health, happiness and security. I believe the voice was reminding me of what is important now, right now, and for my future.
Yes, there is always time for play, and always should be. But there are times when work, home and hearth must take presidence. Play will always be available, but there are times in one's life when one has to buckle down to a few seasons of hard, diligent work in order to make future years easier, more comfortable, safer, saner, and secure. I have known this, logically, but not really absorbed it spiritually. I have been focusing on losses that have seemed tragically overwhelming, instead of pouring my emotional and physical energies into the solid and substantial reality of my new life. Instead of seeing the loss, I have to see the success. Instead of fighting an uphill, high casualty battle I need to retreat into my bunker-like home and let the tides of war beat themselves against my foundations until I can open my door to see either carnage to be swept away leaving peace behind, or a strong ally shining in the morning sun. Either way, I will be the Victor.
Really, what is a victory in what seems to be the endless battle that is my life? A Victory is surviving to fight another day. A Victory is having peace in my heart knowing that I am fighting the good fight, despite the chaos that flows around me. A Victory is approaching a wall of flames, a trial by fire and not backing away in fear of the potential damage and pain. A Victory means that I can Break on Through to the other side; charred, scorched with hair smoking and ash in my mouth. But to Break on Through, and remain whole of Spirit. That is a Victory.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Shout Out
I am having that lonely feeling of shouting out to the universe and hearing only the soughing of the wind. Not even crickets chirping from hidden crevices, or dogs barking in the distance. I am trying to make my voice heard, but feeling as if all my words, whether breathlessly whispered or shouted with all my strength, are falling on ears of stone. I feel I am living on the knife's edge of anticipation, waiting for the universe to react and respond. I have fooled myself into believing that if I just rephrase the question, alter the wording, crank the volume, that eventually the message will manage to cross the void and the universe will eventually answer. That if I can up the amplitude of emotion, reveal my angst, bare my soul, that it will eventually hit the proper chord and unlock the truth. I know this is erroneous thinking, but I cannot help myself. In my desperation to be heard and understood I am trying every imaginable ploy, every media, every outlet. Nothing is working. It is making me feel that all my efforts are in vain, and will bear nothing but bitter fruit, self-harvested.
But I will continue to send my message out into the ether, in the hopes that, at the very least, it will be detected by an alien life form empathetic to the cause. At the very least, I know I have found my voice. I know that what I am saying is worth hearing, my message is valid, my reasoning is sound, even if my method of delivery is ill-timed and/or misdirected. So I will continue my onslaught, and not let myself be deterred by the cold void of space, I know there is at least one warm body out there that will hear me, feel my energy, appreciate my efforts, and eventually return the message across the airless vacuum of the night sky.
But I will continue to send my message out into the ether, in the hopes that, at the very least, it will be detected by an alien life form empathetic to the cause. At the very least, I know I have found my voice. I know that what I am saying is worth hearing, my message is valid, my reasoning is sound, even if my method of delivery is ill-timed and/or misdirected. So I will continue my onslaught, and not let myself be deterred by the cold void of space, I know there is at least one warm body out there that will hear me, feel my energy, appreciate my efforts, and eventually return the message across the airless vacuum of the night sky.
Self Destruction
I have known for many years that I have a fear of success. That I will work hard towards a goal, but give up too soon out of frustration, impatience and sense of abject failure. I have begun to see how often it is self-sabatoging behavior. An underlying fear of success, or expectation of failure. I am not sure which. The fear of success may be rooted in an abject fear and expectaion of failure, and so I make a choice to remove myself from a task, situation, relationship before I am rejected and sent packing. By making the choice to fail, at least I manage to avoid the devastation of rejection. But I still feel that sense of failure and rejection deep in my very core, whether self-imposed or otherwise.
For the first time in my life, I chose to pursue a goal, and not stop until I accomplished it. The result: Success. I managed, despite having the odds stacked against me, to buy a small home. It was a long, arduous, stressful struggle. So many times I was sure that I would fail. Several times I nearly gave up out of sheer exhaustion and anxiety. But I knew this would likely be my last chance, possibly forever, so I continued to persevere. The victory was sweet and powerful, though somewhat tempered by not having anyone to really share my first honest triumph with. But it showed me that I can succeed, that I am not doomed to fail just as I see the goal reaching my fingertips.
Strengthened by this lone victory, I am fortifying myself for another ongoing battle. I am striving to regain what I had allowed myself to lose, through my own insecurities and expectation of rejection and failure. I have found this struggle to be far more stressful, arduous, and anxiety-inducing. But the outcome is far more vital to my well being than a roof over my head, than material possessions, than a sense of physical security. I will not allow myself to give in to the constant shiver of dread that has been such a constant companion that I find I can smell my own fear. But despite these fears, the terror of absolute loss, the potential for crushing defeat, the adrenaline inducing anxiety attacks, I have resolved that I will not quit this fight. I will not allow a fear of success, or a fear of failure, to decide my actions. I will continue to pursue what I know to be right and good. I will draw upon all my inner strength to rise above my fears, and fight my own panic to regain what I allowed to slip through my fingers. It is the hardest battle I have ever fought, especially within myself.
For the first time in my life, I chose to pursue a goal, and not stop until I accomplished it. The result: Success. I managed, despite having the odds stacked against me, to buy a small home. It was a long, arduous, stressful struggle. So many times I was sure that I would fail. Several times I nearly gave up out of sheer exhaustion and anxiety. But I knew this would likely be my last chance, possibly forever, so I continued to persevere. The victory was sweet and powerful, though somewhat tempered by not having anyone to really share my first honest triumph with. But it showed me that I can succeed, that I am not doomed to fail just as I see the goal reaching my fingertips.
Strengthened by this lone victory, I am fortifying myself for another ongoing battle. I am striving to regain what I had allowed myself to lose, through my own insecurities and expectation of rejection and failure. I have found this struggle to be far more stressful, arduous, and anxiety-inducing. But the outcome is far more vital to my well being than a roof over my head, than material possessions, than a sense of physical security. I will not allow myself to give in to the constant shiver of dread that has been such a constant companion that I find I can smell my own fear. But despite these fears, the terror of absolute loss, the potential for crushing defeat, the adrenaline inducing anxiety attacks, I have resolved that I will not quit this fight. I will not allow a fear of success, or a fear of failure, to decide my actions. I will continue to pursue what I know to be right and good. I will draw upon all my inner strength to rise above my fears, and fight my own panic to regain what I allowed to slip through my fingers. It is the hardest battle I have ever fought, especially within myself.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Humpty-Dumpty Me
As I fluctuate wildly between the world of reality, fanatasy and insanity, I am getting a wide view of the world I inhabit. It is a unique perspective, peering over the wall between the worlds. Often times it is an uncomfortable, uneasy and unbalanced perspective as I fall from my perch and crack myself wide open like Humpty-Dumpty then peer in at the soft gooey center, poking at the abumen with a stick, stirring it around, scrambling, frying, then trying to put myself back together again. The cracks are still showing, with maybe just a little viscous fluid leaking out. I try to hide the cracks and seepage from those who love me, but they see. How can they not? They are worried, hovering, waiting to see if I will stay whole, go sunnyside-up, or attempt a flip and break the yolk. If the yolk breaks, the best I can hope for is for a scramble. A mixed up mash of me that won't resemble anything that I am now, but will still have the basic ingredients of me. I am hoping that the cracks will mend, the seepage will stop, and I will manage to remain unscrambled, whole and still able to balance on the top of the wall.
Epiphanies
A few weeks ago I got to learn, first hand, the meaning of the word "Thunderstruck." Being hit with an unquestionable realization that shatters the current beliefs, theories and understanding of my perceived reality. It almost dropped me to my knees with a brutality that would have been less painful, and less unexpected than actually being struck by lightening, I think. It left me literally shaking, barely functioning, and desperate. It sent me deeper down the spiral of pain and hysteria. Down an abyss darker, deeper, and seemingly inescapable. Into a bleak, hopeless despair that felt unending, and actually well-deserved. It felt as if every poor choice, every obstinate moment, every pain ever inflicted on another, was suddenly being returned to me tenfold. That is the way of negativity, what you put out there will come back as a Reckoning. This was my time of Reckoning. My time for deep regrets, abysmal failure, panic, fear, abandonment, deepest despair. It was truely unbearable. Truely unbearable.
I am only a few days away from the abyss at its very worst. It is still close enough that I can feel the vapors that rise like cold spectres, reaching for my soul, caressing my spirit, gripping my heart. I remember the chaos of my mind as it ran, gibbering, in circles around and around my fears and failures. I am hoping with all my heart that I have managed to raise myself up above the lip of the chasm. Or at least have a fingerhold on the rim, and a ledge beneath my toes, a sense that I will make it over the top without plummeting back into that murky depth that no light penetrates.
Today is the first day I feel that my mind has managed to slip free of the self-flagellating, self-defeating cycle that has been the norm for far too long. I feel that I am gaining better perspective on my past, present and future. Though I may be deluding myself in an effort to at least pretend that the abyss has lost its hold on me. Today I managed to glean more truths about the Me that I have been missing, the Me that needs to be present for balance.
These truths, which are not self-evident, have made me come to grips with lies that I have been telling myself for so long that I truely believed them. That is an interesting thing about lies, the longer they are lived, the more strength and power they develop, until they seem to be honest truth. Lies to self are not easy to uncover, and are very difficult to face down and purge. It is a painful process. It is humbling, humiliating and yet empowering. I understand my reasons for these lies. They really were not much different than the "little white lies" that we tell those that we love in order to protect them from brutal truths. But in my case, they were lies I told myself in an attempt to protect myself from perceived hurt, risk and vulnerability. It worked, maybe too well. But I still ended up on the bad end of the deal. And now I am having to lecture myself on the importance of honesty, especially to myself.
I am only a few days away from the abyss at its very worst. It is still close enough that I can feel the vapors that rise like cold spectres, reaching for my soul, caressing my spirit, gripping my heart. I remember the chaos of my mind as it ran, gibbering, in circles around and around my fears and failures. I am hoping with all my heart that I have managed to raise myself up above the lip of the chasm. Or at least have a fingerhold on the rim, and a ledge beneath my toes, a sense that I will make it over the top without plummeting back into that murky depth that no light penetrates.
Today is the first day I feel that my mind has managed to slip free of the self-flagellating, self-defeating cycle that has been the norm for far too long. I feel that I am gaining better perspective on my past, present and future. Though I may be deluding myself in an effort to at least pretend that the abyss has lost its hold on me. Today I managed to glean more truths about the Me that I have been missing, the Me that needs to be present for balance.
These truths, which are not self-evident, have made me come to grips with lies that I have been telling myself for so long that I truely believed them. That is an interesting thing about lies, the longer they are lived, the more strength and power they develop, until they seem to be honest truth. Lies to self are not easy to uncover, and are very difficult to face down and purge. It is a painful process. It is humbling, humiliating and yet empowering. I understand my reasons for these lies. They really were not much different than the "little white lies" that we tell those that we love in order to protect them from brutal truths. But in my case, they were lies I told myself in an attempt to protect myself from perceived hurt, risk and vulnerability. It worked, maybe too well. But I still ended up on the bad end of the deal. And now I am having to lecture myself on the importance of honesty, especially to myself.
My Fluid Nature
The last year or two have been a strange journey of self examination, trials and tribulations that have kept my mind and personality in a bizarre flux. I feel as if different aspects of my personality have raised their shaggy heads, and each taken charge of my life for periods of time. Wildly different aspects, each trying their best to control a wildly stressful series of events. Each trying their best to protect me and help me survive it all at least partially intact.
The upside of this has been that it has allowed me to experience and understand these different aspects in ways that I never would have if my life had been easy or predictable. It has led me down false paths as I felt that the current aspect was the dominant, "True" aspect of Me, and tried to force that to be the Truth. The real downside is that it has alienated those closest to me as they were forced to deal with these different aspects in full force, instead of tempered by the other, gentler aspects of Me.
One prime example. I have always been a Tomboy. Alway have, always will. But in the past it hasn't prevented the feminine side of Me to raise her head, come out and play, and revel in being female. The feminine aspect is fragile, vulnerable, emotional, tender. Aspects that the Tomboy (and even rougher aspects) manages to keep tucked away where they are safe from harm. The Feminine side is the side most easily hurt. The fragile China doll, in delicate clothes that cannot withstand rough handling. Therefore, she has been stored away, hidden from the harsh realities of life, for so long that even her existance has been called into doubt. But she does exist, despite Tomboy denying her very existence. Tomboy just tries so very hard to be protective, tough, resilent, and a little grubby.
But in the ongoing Search for Self, I am trying to reach into every corner of my nature, find the hidden aspects and allow them to blossom as they need to if I am ever to reach a state of Peace and Harmony within my own skin. So many aspects have been hidden away for so long. They are the fragile, vulnerable aspects. The parts of me that are easily hurt, offended, damaged. I do not think I can blame myself for sheltering them, protectiing them, during this latest, difficult phase of my life. But I am trying to transition into a fully functional Being, with all my aspects united and working together to make me happy to live within my own skin.
For that is the crux; when I submerge vital aspects of myself, I stop being comfortable in my own skin. I resent myself for the self-censorship, no matter how life-saving it may be at times. By denying any aspect, I do an injustice to them all. I want to embrace all of me; Maiden, Mother, Warrior, Siren, Vixen, Tomboy. It is a Wild mix. A bit of an unpredictable mix. But that does not make it an undesireable mix. Quite the contrary, it makes it an intriguing, erotic, delightful, domestic, calm, peaceful, exciting, fiery mix. The Real Me. The Me that is fighting valiantly to emerge from the Chaos.
The upside of this has been that it has allowed me to experience and understand these different aspects in ways that I never would have if my life had been easy or predictable. It has led me down false paths as I felt that the current aspect was the dominant, "True" aspect of Me, and tried to force that to be the Truth. The real downside is that it has alienated those closest to me as they were forced to deal with these different aspects in full force, instead of tempered by the other, gentler aspects of Me.
One prime example. I have always been a Tomboy. Alway have, always will. But in the past it hasn't prevented the feminine side of Me to raise her head, come out and play, and revel in being female. The feminine aspect is fragile, vulnerable, emotional, tender. Aspects that the Tomboy (and even rougher aspects) manages to keep tucked away where they are safe from harm. The Feminine side is the side most easily hurt. The fragile China doll, in delicate clothes that cannot withstand rough handling. Therefore, she has been stored away, hidden from the harsh realities of life, for so long that even her existance has been called into doubt. But she does exist, despite Tomboy denying her very existence. Tomboy just tries so very hard to be protective, tough, resilent, and a little grubby.
But in the ongoing Search for Self, I am trying to reach into every corner of my nature, find the hidden aspects and allow them to blossom as they need to if I am ever to reach a state of Peace and Harmony within my own skin. So many aspects have been hidden away for so long. They are the fragile, vulnerable aspects. The parts of me that are easily hurt, offended, damaged. I do not think I can blame myself for sheltering them, protectiing them, during this latest, difficult phase of my life. But I am trying to transition into a fully functional Being, with all my aspects united and working together to make me happy to live within my own skin.
For that is the crux; when I submerge vital aspects of myself, I stop being comfortable in my own skin. I resent myself for the self-censorship, no matter how life-saving it may be at times. By denying any aspect, I do an injustice to them all. I want to embrace all of me; Maiden, Mother, Warrior, Siren, Vixen, Tomboy. It is a Wild mix. A bit of an unpredictable mix. But that does not make it an undesireable mix. Quite the contrary, it makes it an intriguing, erotic, delightful, domestic, calm, peaceful, exciting, fiery mix. The Real Me. The Me that is fighting valiantly to emerge from the Chaos.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Fight or Flight
The last few weeks have been an interesting rollercoaster that is a culmination of a year of near-insurmountable stress. By "interesting" I really mean frightenig, shocking, stressful and adrenaline-laden. Self-inflicted, self-induced. I have been in a constant state of "Fight or Flight" with no visible, physical foe with which to react appropriately to. Fight or Flight? I chose Fight. It is more direct, though riskier than flight. To be in a stand up knuckle duster would be much preferred to fighting what seems an elusive, invisible and yet dangerous foe. I wish I could flee from the situations presenting themselves in rapid and dramatic succession, but that is not an option. It is not an option because I am faced with too much worth fighting for. It would be so much easier and safer to just call a tactical retreat, find a bunker and hole up and wait for reinforcements. The main problem with the safe scenario is that there are no reinforcements on the horizon. So, it is me, fighting to maintain, regain or realize what I want, need, and desire.
Battle fatigue is taking it's toll, and I'm feeling shell-shocked and brittle. Nights suddenly interupted by panicked thoughts, strategies, recent battles, pending battles. I will start awake and my mind leaps immediately into action, fueled by night phantoms taunting me in the darkness. Days are filled with unexpected and frequent adrenaline surges causing my mouth to go dry, hands to shake and sweat, heart to pound in my chest with such force it feels as if it will erupt through my sternum, my whole body will tremble, I flash hot and cold, my vision becomes tinged with the red of battle readiness. My appetite has waned to nearly non-existant. I have to force myself to eat small meals that sit like gravel in my stomach. But I know I need to maintain my strength for whatever impending action my body senses is near to hand.
This would be fine if I was in a war zone. Maybe I am. Maybe my body realizes what my mind will not admit: that I am in a fight for all that is truely important to me. A battle that I do not want to lose. A battle I cannot lose.
Battle fatigue is taking it's toll, and I'm feeling shell-shocked and brittle. Nights suddenly interupted by panicked thoughts, strategies, recent battles, pending battles. I will start awake and my mind leaps immediately into action, fueled by night phantoms taunting me in the darkness. Days are filled with unexpected and frequent adrenaline surges causing my mouth to go dry, hands to shake and sweat, heart to pound in my chest with such force it feels as if it will erupt through my sternum, my whole body will tremble, I flash hot and cold, my vision becomes tinged with the red of battle readiness. My appetite has waned to nearly non-existant. I have to force myself to eat small meals that sit like gravel in my stomach. But I know I need to maintain my strength for whatever impending action my body senses is near to hand.
This would be fine if I was in a war zone. Maybe I am. Maybe my body realizes what my mind will not admit: that I am in a fight for all that is truely important to me. A battle that I do not want to lose. A battle I cannot lose.
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