Moment by Brittle Moment

    Funny how I can go from feeling invincible to fragile, grounded to floundering, and back again in the flash of a moment. I know I am on shaky footing these days, hoping that the ground will eventually firm up beneath my feet and not feel like shifting sand as the waves recede. I can look at the calender and see how it was a mere few weeks ago that I had tumbled over the edge of the abyss. Tumbled, fell, hit the jagged bottom, and crawled back onto a narrow ledge for a toehold of safety and respite. I can look at the last few weeks and congratulate myself on my recovery. My strength. My resolve. But I can look at those same weeks, day to day, hour to hour, moment by moment view and understand the fragility of any given moment. It truely amazes me. I feel like a Maple tree: dense hardwood, glorious spreading canopy, vast trunk, and yet brittle, with hollow branches that can barely support their own weight. I need to be a Willow, that can bend and flex but spring back into shape without breaking. The Willow that can hold to the banks of a raging river without losing its hold.
    At least my brittle moments have lessened, and shortened, so they are easier to disguise. It is second nature to choke down panic, fear, desolation, and anxiety. Hide it from the world, keep it held tight in my chest until it passes and I can breathe again. A few brief weeks ago, these brittle moments stretched to hours and days, making it difficult to hide that face from the world. I moved through life as an automaton, going through the motions of calm and normalcy, hiding behind hats and tinted lenses. Fleeing a room for a few moments of absolute breakdown until I could regain just enough control to fake my way through the working day. By comparison, the last week has been a cake-walk. Okay, not the last week, the last few days. Okay, the last 48 hours. I find I can measure my rationality in hours. Which also, truely amazes me.
    I look at life these days with the "one day at a time" perspective. To be able to get through any given moment with calm is a victory. I shield myself from some truths. I actually delude myself, knowingly. Telling myself how everything will work out, everything will be fine. Some moments this is reality, others it is complete happy horse-shit. But I am my best source of positive reinforcement. When I find myself confronted by a truth I do not want to acknowledge, I turn away, deny it until I can face it down with resolve and strength. Some truths are too painful, overpowering, unacceptable, and so I will ignore them until they do not hold sway over my emotions. I am sure most would say I need to face these issues if I am to heal, but I know my limits. I will face these truths when I am more resilent, less brittle, less easily shattered, more like a Willow, less like a Maple. Until then, it is one day at a time. Hour by hour. Moment by brittle moment.

Eye of the Storm?

    I have felt preternaturally calm the last 12 hours or so. This did come after a tumultuous explosion of emotion, angst and hard physical activity in an attempt to burn down the manic energies coursing through my system. Exhausted, I climbed into my bed early, in an attempt to calm myself with the coccoon-like feeling of my warm down comforter. For a while it had the affect of a mother's hug, letting me pour out pent up tears and pain. Then, again like a caring hug, it led me to a place of calm, thought provoking clarity. I lay for hours, staring into the dark, letting my mind roam in and out of the events that make up my world. When calm, my mind stops running in pointless circles like a hyper hamster on a wheel, and instead will pause for breath and then begin a linear path.
    The paths I can travel when calm may not always run straight and true, but they do lead me forward and into a new understanding of self. I am striving to learn of myself enough that I can become proactive, instead of reactive. I want to have at least an idea of what is coming up the road to meet me, instead of feeling like I am in a Funhouse waiting to be startled by the next grubby apparition to spring out of nowhere in a pointless, heart pounding act. I want to be prepared for the next event, not startled by it. I am exhausted from living in a constant state of expectation, waiting the next attack on my psyche. I am trying to step away from the shellshock, and battle fatigue that makes me jumpy and over-reactive. I need my mind to be my bunker, where I can view the world, see what approaches, decide friend or foe, and make decisions accordingly.
    I feel as if I have made a major stride towards the proactive. I have reached a state of calm and clarity that has eluded me for far too long. In this clarity I can see far afield, understand my place in the cosmos, take charge of what I can, and release myself from responsibilty for what I cannot control. I am hoping that this calm, this clarity, this stillness in my soul is the aftermath of the recent storms, and not, instead, the deceptive Eye of the Storm.

Mysteries of the Mind

   Just when you think that depression is just depression, and it can be warded off with good intentions, fitness, nutrition, positive outlook, optimism and general joie de vive, along comes the diagnosis that hits far deeper than merely the pat phrase "Seasonal Affected Disorder." The deeper I delve into the mysteries of the mind, at least MY mind, the truths begins to surface. At times it feels as if I am looking at an algae covered pond, seeing some mysterious creature bumping up beneath the dense green surface. I can see the movement, see the solidity of the beast beneath, but cannot for the life of me identify it for what it truely is. Or in truth, discover how many creatures are actually there. One? Two? Too many? And just how large?
 
    One of the largest and most active creature seems to be Introjective Depression. I had never heard of such a beast. But apparently it inhabits my pond: "Introjective Depression is developmentally more advanced that Anaclitic Depression. Introjective Depression is characterized by feelings of being unworthy, unloveable, guilty, and having failed to live up to expectations and standards. The person with introjective cognitive structures has a keen sense of morality and self-scrutiny. These individuals have excessive demands for perfection, a proclivity to assume blame and responsibility, and feelings of helplessness to achieve approval, acceptance, and recognition. The Introjective person overachieves in order to win the approval which he or she feels is lacking. With any sense of failure or lack of approval from important others (an activating event), the Introjective individual is vulnerable to depression." Hell, who knew? Yes, I've always been a perfectionist, and have felt deep angst at presumed failure. And "keen sense of morality and self-scrutiny?" Oh hell Yes. Have you read any of my over-analytical blogs? Most of my writing is all about self-scrutiny. I guess it should come as no surprise to find that these hardwired aspects of my personality are also a core of my self-flagellation. They are more than the core, they are the hand that holds the whip.

    There is a sense of relief in the naming of things. A name is another step towards understanding. And understanding is paramount in finding a source of relief. It gives me a jumping off point, a target, a visible creature to define and understand.

(*For those who know me and know my private nature, understand that my sharing of this information is one of many hurdles towards my own self-acceptance, understanding and management of the Whirlwind that is Me. It is not an attempt to elicit pity or sympathy, just understanding. I love the Whirlwind that is Me. I truely do. But I am searching for ways to lessen my impact on my psyche and my environment, for a Whirlwind is a force of Nature, not to be denied, but hopefully to be understood and accepted for what it is.*)

My Fire Demons

    I am usually one to think and write in metaphors and symbolism to keep the reality of my inner demons somewhat out of the public domain. Today really isn't much different except I am willing to name  a few of those demons for what they are. Expose them to the light. Rob them of some of their power. The last few months have been a brutal, painful, arduous, revealing self-exploration. I truely feel as if I have been through a trial by fire. Fortunately, my nature is Fire, and so despite the flames licking, scorching and burning, I did come out mostly unscathed, though a tad singed. But I have been forced to deal with inner demons. Forced to come face to face with truths about myself that are undeniable, and that shape my personality, the very core of my Self.
    As my difficult trial by fire reached a chaotic crescendo last month (or dark, frozen abyss depending on the perspective) I found that I could no longer fight the good fight without allies. Not just the casual alliances of friendship, but the strong, well-trained alliance of professionals. My professional demon hunters, if you will. I sat through several different assessments, defeated and exhausted, choking out my tale, hearing words of sympathy and understanding. More than once I saw that flicker in their eyes that made me fear I would not walk out under my own power, or be allowed to leave at all. I know it was my willingness to speak truths, listen and understand words of advice, and prove the mettle of my fight, that convinced all involved that I was safe to unleash back into the world. I have long known I struggle with demons, my own personal little beasts that possess me from time to time. But through the years I have managed to keep them caged, pacified, somewhat controlled, or at the very least, maintained. But now I had reached that hellmouth dimension where they were ruling my life, unleashing thier raging power, wresting control from me. I fought with every fiber of my being, every trick, every ploy, trying to recage and restrain. Nothing worked for more than a brief moment, then they would return more powerful and chaotic than before.
    Chaos seemed to be the ruling force. As we all know, demons thrive on and dispense chaos as their favorite habitat. They live for and within chaos, and so will feed it, nurture it and release it out upon their chosen victims. I was their Chosen One.
    Forced to seek out allies to ensure my own survival also forced me to confront these demons head on. There was no other way. I have long known I am borderline bipolar, the only thing making it borderline is that during manic episodes I never do anything harmful or destructive (I guess that is a silver lining). And during the depressive state I would never have thoughts of self-destruction (Suicide? Never! Homicide? Well, now...). I walk a fine line most of the time, balancing health, nutrition, fitness, self analysis, self exploration, meditation, and stress management. It is a very fine line, and a difficult one. This line was finally crossed, my balancing act shot to hell, my life tumbled into the hellmouth. My demonspawn were unleashed upon my world. The only way to limit the damage was to come to terms with the realities of being a Demon Keeper.
    A proven way to gain control over demons is to know their true Name. I know I have limited my control by not knowing or refusing to name the demons that inhabit me. I know the strongest by name now: Introvert, Bipolar, Social Anxiety, Reactive Attachment Disorder, Introjective Depression. Some I have known and battled with religious fervor. Others, I could feel the weight of their presence, but did not know what lurked in the shadows. I have Named. I have pulled them into the Light. I have weakened their powers.
    The hard reality of being a Keeper of Demons, is just that, I am a Keeper. The demons are mine. They are mine to tame, control, leash. But they are truely mine, a part of my psyche, and will always be a part of the multitude of facets that make me unique. I am striving to develop a working relationship with these demons of mine, for they are not Evil, they are Fire and Chaos. As one who has always had an empathy for beasts, both wild and domestic, and had the ability to tame with love even the most irrascible, I know I can conquer these demons of mine. I will harness their powers for my own use. Channel their energies and use them to restore mine. I will allow myself to revel in the Fire of Chaos when it is unavoidable as it is a stimulating alternative to stagnation and apathy. I will accept, love and cherish them, these Fire Demons of mine. I will learn to understand their nature, as I am understanding mine. For they are part of me, part of my nature, part of the Fire.
   

The Fire That is Me

    Fire. Flame. Maelstrom. Firestorm. Embers. Ash. Phoenix. The fire that is Me. The fire that is misunderstood. The fire that is the essence of my being. The fire in my heart and soul. My spirit that is a raging blaze or softly glowing ember. It is me. It is mine. My Fire. My Spark. My Vitality.

    Embers, covered in ash, that seem cold and dead. But a wisp of tinder, a breath of wind and I burst to life. Lively flames leaping and surging. The tinder burns hot and fast. The flames dwindle, but prove the spark is alive. Vibrant. At times, it is far more than tinder that ignites. I become a conflagration. Flames burning hot and hard. Leaping to the sky. Sparks crackling and raining down, fiery hail. Sometimes all consuming, destructive if not for self-imposed fire-breaks. The flames leap and dance. Bright. Hot. Hungry. Dangerous. Alluring. Hypnotic. I feel the edge of danger. I know the damage of fire. But I know the vital heat. To live within the vortex is exhausting yet exhilarating. To live with me is to know the vortex, embrace it, feel the heat, the radiance, the warmth, the exhiliration. The Fire that is Me radiates energy, warmth, life, passion. I may singe, but never destroy.

    I am a flaming whirlwind. I am a gentle heat. I am the firestorm. I am the warm hearth. My heart is an undying ember, kept sheltered and ever bright. Protected from those who would douse the flame out of fear or envy. Protected, nurtured, tended. The ember awaiting the tinder and breath of wind.

Treading Water

    These days I feel as if I am treading water. Managing to keep my head above the waves, but still getting water up my nose, making me cough and choke. I continue the slow steady movements that will allow me to keep breathing, even if in my heart I know there is no rescue ship on its way. I can't let myself give up, that is not an option. But at times my arms and legs feel leaden, my chest aches with every breath, my heart hammers against my ribs, and the cold seeps into my marrow. But still I kick my feet and flutter my arms in a valliant, last ditch effort. Bloodshot eyes scan the horizon, hoping for a glimpse of a rescue party, a glimmer of hope, but all I see is wave after wave. But still I tread. Although I lose faith in rescue, I hope for the sight of land. Even a remote island, where I can relax and breathe easy for a bit. At this point I would be happy to find a rock to rest on, a piece of flotsam to cling to, anything to give me the feeling that the constant struggle to remain afloat is not in vain, or foolish.
    As the days pass, and I continue to tread, I search the horizon for an island. My island. My piece of salvation. Solid ground beneath my feet. Stability. Once again I find myself feeling that I am placing too much faith in rescue. That I need to place my faith in self salvation. I will be the one to come to my own rescue, again. I must continue moving in an attempt to find that patch of sand, pile of rock, safe haven, sanctuary. I can find my way to land, I have the strength to continue to fight against the waves that wash over me and threaten the very air I breathe. I continue to find that I am so much stronger than I ever imagined I could be. I have an inner core of steel that will carry me through any and all trials and battles. Despite the fatigue that threatens, the daunting seas that seem endless and hostile, the rescue that will not come, I will tread and swim until I feel solid ground beneath my feet once again. That's all I need is just a bit of solid ground.

Onions, Jeans, Jewels, Me

    This last year has been a constant revelation of my fluid nature. I feel as though my soul, my essence is being peeled away like an infinite onion. Each layer removed, sometimes painfully, to reveal a deeper, simpler layer. And like peeling an onion, there have been many tears shed. Tears are an indisputable consequence of peeling onions.
    Today, I am exploring the predawn mental meanderings that made me think that so much of my fluidity, false starts and sometimes gender-bending explorations of self are merely an attempt to find just one place where I might fit in. I have felt like an outcast, outsider and misfit all of my life. Through school I was one of a handful of Invisibles, hanging onto the fringe of the social groups, never fitting, never understanding what was required to fit, and not sure I wanted to. As a child, teen and young adult, this was a painful and uncomfortable reality. I envied the people who always seemed at ease, happy, and socially acceptable. Over the years I did learn to emulate this behavior, externally at least. I can slip, chameleon-like, into almost any social scenario. I can chat up nearly anyone about almost anything. I have developed excellent listening skills which help me understand what someone feels comfortable discussing. I have a strong empathic ability to know what someone needs from me, be it a smile, a hug or silence. I enjoy interacting, feeling a connection, even if I still feel like the stranger in a strange land.
    The upside, is that to all appearances I do fit in anywhere. The true downside is that I have constantly struggled to find one place where I do truely fit. One group that might be the puzzle in which I am the final piece. So what I realize I have done, is slip into different social groups, explored alternative situations, sought the fringe groups that drift about on the edge of society. I have slipped into these situations as if I am in a fitting room, trying on jeans in an attempt to find the one pair that fits me like a glove (or like a damned good pair of jeans). What I have found is that, like jeans, I am not an easy fit. Each group may have some defining characteristic that I identify with, but only one characteristic. Like jeans; this pair is long enough but the waist is too loose, this pair fits the waist but the rise is wrong, this pair makes me look deformed. Why is it seemingly impossible for me to find a fit?
    I admit, this search for a good fit has led me into some very interesting groups. It has made me come to erroneous conclusions about my nature as I see one characteristic and think, "Yes, finally, that's me." But then I step back to see the whole picture and realize that all I was seeing was one unimportant pixel in the overall view. It has caused me to make declarations, that at the time seemed appropriate and true, only to have to rescind them later with a feeling of sheepish gullibility. Many may wonder why I feel such a need to find my "Fit," a group, acceptance. Why? Because I am human. Humans are pack animals. I may be an Introvert, so to all outside observations antisocial, but I still need the physical acceptance of a pack, even be it a pack of one. I feel the need, desire and requirement of contact with other similar beings. I am not seeking a group as a source of personal validation, or for approval for my Self. I am searching for a deeper level of understanding and of companionship, contact, and acceptance for who I truely am.
    Where does all this onion peeling, crying, and trying on of jeans get me? A deeper understanding of myself, and an ability to admit attempts and mistakes. I don't know that many people (especially of my age) put themselves through such rigorous and fluctuating behaviors. Many might read these words and think I am either insecure, shallow or schizophrenic. Maybe. But I think not. Insecure? Sometimes. Shallow? If I were, would my journey in search of Self be so arduous, painful, and difficult? No. Schizophrenic? No. Bipolar, yes, but not unmanageably so. I make these attempts, painful and uncomfortable as they may be, in order to discover truths about myself. Failure is often just part of the process. The failure can be every bit as revealing as success, maybe more so, though it is also far more uncomfortable and a cause for not a little humility.
    But what I realized today, after gestating on the pre-dawn maunderings, is that I will likely never find one group in which I fit. No single group could satisfy, explain, or define me and my multitude of facets. For that is what these different aspects of my personality truely are; Facets. And really, what are facets? They are the the different faces of a jewel, small and large faces, that are the reason a jewel sparkles. Facets are unique and individual to each jewel. Facets help hide any small flaws, small imperfections that are really not important to the value of the jewel. I have many Facets, each one with its own angle, each one making me a unique Jewel that will glint and shine in my own unique way. I do not need to fit anywhere but within my own setting.