External Forces

    So many times I have wished that I could shelter myself from the brutal impact of external forces. As strong as Body is, it is not strong enough to deflect the myriad of external forces that batter at Brain and Spirit. I have felt under constant assault for far too long, and am not only battle weary but suffering from PTSD. I have become brittle and over-reactive. Only my stubborn will, coupled with dogged determination, as kept me upright and moving forward. I am fighting to alter my surroundings, remove myself from the situations that are most likely to beat holy hell out of me. One by one, I have managed, through sheer force of will and sacrifice, to rid myself of external forces that are toxic, negative, unhealthy, unhappy, bleak, dismal, and soul sucking. I have rid myself of many, but there are more waiting in line, holding their place in the queue for their chance to to be the next jack-booted thug to kick me in the teeth and toss me in the ditch. You would think that after so many years, so many attempts to beat my psyche into submission, that these bullyboys would have learned that I am not one to surrender to their heavy-handed ministrations. The best I can hope for is that I can out-stubborn them. The downside is that there is only one of me, and a seemingly endless supply of these thuggish external forces. They tag team me. Leaving me lying in a heap as they chuckle at ringside, watching me stagger to my feet, wipe the blood from my nose, and give them my best steely stare. They laugh, and send in a fresh fighter. I tell myself that it is fresh meat, a target rich environment. But I am lying to myself in a vain attempt to keep myself upright and slugging it out. If I could just beat back these hooligan external forces, keep upright long enough for the bleeding to stop, maybe a chance for a sip of water. But they just keep coming. Well, you know what? Come at me, bro, bring it on. I will do my g'damn best to keep hitting back. But damn, I am tired.

Internalize

    One of my finely honed skills is the ability to internalize emotions, thoughts, rants, raves, and near psychotic breaks. I keep myself on a very tight rein, and wish I didn't have to. I want to unleash the Whirlwind, in full public view, without censor. But I can't. Too much hinges on my ability to practice restraint. Instead the Whirlwind rages in my heart, mind, and soul. I feel it bruising and battering, pounding on the shell that is me, seeking escape, screaming for freedom. The brutality of it can leave me trembling, exhausted, nauseated. My head pounds, my stomach churns, my blood burns. My vision is effected, tinging the world with red. My mouth is dry, acrid. I feel as if I have swallowed a spoonful of lye. This is a near daily occurrence  at different levels of intensity. Sometimes the Whirlwind is more bluster, at others it is full blown, gale force, EF-5 tornado leveling everything in its path. That was the weather report for today. EF-5. The internal carnage is devastating. The aftermath will take days to clear. I want to unleash the furies that are held so tightly within, to let them exhaust their energies pounding against something other than my psyche. But I can't. It cannot be allowed. Not now. Not in the foreseeable future. So retain my grip, hold the reins tight in both hands, grit my teeth, and  hope I can ride it out.

Me

    I write, here on this page, this blog, this little world within my brain that I have chosen to nakedly share with the world, not to seek help, or sympathy, or, gods forbid, pity. I write because it is one sure way to rid Brain of the weird randomness that rolls around inside, battering on skull in an attempt to escape and wreak havoc on my world, my real world. I also write, flaying myself open for all to see, so that others might read and feel less alone. I know too well the feeling of my strange aloneness, that feeling of always being the outsider, the square peg, and I also know that there is nothing wrong with that. It is who I am. It is how I feel. I do not seek to change vital aspects of my Self that make me who I am. True, I do sometimes wish I cold walk into any room and feel like I owned it, owned the crowd, instead of faking my way through many social gatherings, presenting the tough, confident, self assured exterior. Those who know me know how fragile that facade can be. I have friends who know that I have a limit to how much, or how little, time I can spend in social gatherings before becoming exhausted and brittle. That is when Brain tunes everything out, voices become unintelligible white noise, as if Brain is overflowing and cannot accept any more input. Like a glass filled to overflowing. Yes, I hide this well, too. I will reach a point when I want to sneak away, find a dark corner to just sit, quietly and in the quiet, but I know if I find that space, I am not likely to leave it willingly. It is me. It is who I am.
    I also write, here on these pages, to sort through what often feels like chaos, constant noise, the garbled ramblings of my own voices. Truly it is just too many thoughts all vying for attention, clamoring, wanting to be heard. It is difficult to sort through at times. That is why I write. It is also why I exercise, nothing sorts through the chaos like the monotony of swimming lap after lap, or cycling and counting revolutions, or running and being lulled by the metronome of my steps. It is soothing. Soothing like the ticking of a clock, or the purr of a cat. Today, if I could, I would sequester myself away, lock myself in, and write. I would avoid all contact, all social interaction. But not today. I would if I could, but I can't today. So I will put up the facade and go out to face the world. It is what I do. It is who I am. Me, for better or worse, just me. And I like me that way.  

Face To The Sun

    "Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you." Yes, mostly. Not always. But I try. I do my best to keep my face to the sun, my eyes looking forward, my feet moving along the path. But I do not always succeed. It is remarkable, even to me, how fast Brain and Body can flip from one channel to the next, like a hyper child with the remote control. Up, down, comedy to tragedy, calm to out of control. Even I do not know where I will land from moment to moment. It is brutal, nearly debilitating. Social anxiety screams off the charts. Panic settles into Brain with cold, probing fingers. There is even physical pain that accompanies the spaz attacks. Body and Brain are under constant threat, doing their best to fend off all that is thrown at them, but unable to dodge all the missles. It is an ongoing game of emotional and physical dodge ball. I know who is at the giving end of those red, rubber balls. My shadows, aka my demons. Who else? Little bastards. The best part is when I can catch the balls, and throw them back with every ounce of strength I have. I have stopped playing by playground rules. Head shots are allowed. Groin shots acceptable. They don't play fair, blindsiding me, pestering me at all hours of the night, spoiling fun times with their snarky remarks. So why should I play fair? I know, two wrongs don't make a right, but this has gone from a game to all out war. If I could booby trap the balls, make them explode, I would. I try to keep my face to the sun, honestly, I do. I try so very hard. But when you get brained upside the head by a well aimed, hard thrown projectile, it is impossible to maintain focus. Instead they lure me into a game that I really cannot win. I will be the kid covered with red welts and sporting a black eye by the end of the game. But I will still be there, getting battered, mocked, taunted, tormented, and yet getting up time and time again to face my foes. My shadows. My demons. Face the sun? No, I will face my tormentors and eventually beat them at their own game. Until then, I am stocking up on ice packs and bandaids.

Heart Takes The Lead

    They have crept in, on cat-soft feet. My demons. They taunt me with my failings, my flaws, my ineffectiveness. I let my defenses falter, allowing them the tiniest fracture through which they flowed like water. They do not need more than a hint of an invitation to come in full force, make themselves at home, to wreak havoc on my vigilant, fastidious, mental housekeeping. It was fatigue, this time, as it often is. Fatigue and feelings of inadequacy. Body has been betraying me lately, and Brain has been muddling about in a fog. The world seems brash, harsh, painful, cold, I have become over-reactive, as is my inclination. Body and Brain both suffering from Princess And The Pea Syndrome. The slightest touch, lightest pressure is like nail driven into flesh, or mind. I am overwhelmed by sight and sound, feeling battered and bruised, exhausted, battle weary.  
    I am assaulted by reminders of my shortcomings, those I cannot help, those who need me but who I am failing. I force myself to turn away, as my heart cries out defiance. I am told, "you can't help them all." Why not? Why can't I? I can't even help the small and innocent closest to me. Why am I not strong enough? Why am I not capable? Why do I fail? I can't even help myself, so what makes me think I can help others? I am fighting my nature, fighting against the need to crawl into my shell and hide. I am doing everything in my power to not give in to whispers that I am not good enough, not smart enough, not strong enough. It does not change my desire to save them all, save all the small, innocent, weaker beings that need a strong arm, and strong spirit. But Heart is breaking. As strong as Heart is, it cannot help but feel the bruising, abrasion, and lacerations inflicted with each perceived failure. As Brain and Body flounder, Heart tries to take the lead, struggles to keep us upright and moving forward. To keep us from laying down, giving in to despair. And yet it is Heart that is most likely to feel despair in the face of enormous odds. Heart takes the lead, for better or worse.
     The Demons are clever at their craft. Whispering their malicious, vicious, abusive taunts. They know where I am most susceptible, they understand my doubts better than I do. Their adroit, facile flaying of my psyche is a marvel of their cunning craft. They are, indeed, masters of their art, fifth level black belts in the martial art of emotional and psychological flagellation. I can almost admire their proficiency and inventiveness. But I wish they would take their show on the road, and leave my psyche intact and unsullied.
    I will do all I can to rally Body and Brain, to shore up Heart, to make it through one day at a time. To prepare myself for a future that is heading towards ample opportunity to finally help who I can, or to fail miserably, dramatically, horrifically. I am glad I cannot see the future, for if I could I might very well run away and hide. Instead, since I am naively heading forward, idealism held high like a beacon against the dark, I will only know success or failure when it hits me full power in the psyche. Body, Brain, and Heart have to be ready. The Demons can do their damnedest to turn fatigue into feelings of abject failure, and I may be listening at the moment, but I know I am stronger than they. I may not be strong enough to help everyone, but I am strong enough to beat back my Demons once again. That I know I can do. But g'damn, I am tired.   

Light and Fluffy Scrambled Brain

    Brain is really struggling to keep up these days. It has gotten to the point that Brain is making bad decisions, and allowing stupid shit to happen. Normally, Brain is the voice of reason, the voice of logic, the one who keeps the rest of us in line. Lately though, not so much. Today it has regressed to the point that Brain is in a constant conversation with itself, "Don't do anything stupid. Pay attention. Don't get us killed." Brain has been distracted to the point that we have taken the wrong exit off of the freeway, then was so distracted by being so distracted that we nearly rear-ended a guy who was slowing down to turn. We could blame fatigue and overload, but really, there are no excuses. We have got to get back on track mentally and physically. This is not a game, this is not a vacation. This is reality, and life at full speed ahead. Yes, we are getting tired, worn out, a bit broken, but the end is in sight. Well, at least the finish line for the current major event. There will be other finish lines, other events, more life to be lived than most people might ever dream about. But poor Brain is feeling limp, scrambled, fluffed full of air, a pale shade of its former self. Even Body is feeling behind the eightball, and not being quite as protective of Brain as usual. We all blame it on the time change, the whole, "Spring forward," bullshit. But the reality is that we are just feeling worn out. There is no easy remedy for what ails us, just the knowledge that we have to keep working hard, pushing towards the finish line. I consider this excellent training for my upcoming Half-Ironman; pushing through the pain, the mental fog, the exhaustion. Pushing even harder once the finish line is close, knowing that I will leave it all on the track this time. I will cross the finish line knowing I gave it everything I had, and then some. Then, only then, will I take a break, rest up a bit, power down a feast fit for a victor. Until then poor, poor Brain will have to struggle on, scrambled or not, and help get us through to the other side.

What Body Does

    The time change has thrown another rock into cogs already grinding against too much built up debris. Brain is really struggling against Seasonal Affected Disorder and fatigue, Spirit is not far behind. Body, on the other hand is telling the others to just suck it up and keep moving. But even Body is feeling the drain of  being overworked and short-shrifted in the sleep department. All Body knows is that we have to keep at it, keep pushing, work harder, ignoring strained muscles, bruises, and inflamed joints that wake us in the middle of the night with their throbbing complaints. Brain is stumbling around like a drunkard in the dark, stubbing proverbial toes into proverbial chair legs. Spirit is taking a less active role in the dishevelment, instead Spirit is draped over the proverbial chair in an enervated daze, with a glazed-over, thousand yard stare. Body is insistent that we keep moving, keep training, keep pushing, striving, working towards dreams. It has become a tug-of-war, with Body, fortunately, managing to keep the upper hand.
    This time of year is always the roughest for us. The mental, emotional and physical strains are as irresistible and inevitable as the tides. This year is no different, with Body dragging the whole crew through the morass by the nape of the neck, indifferent to objections and cries for mercy. Body should be entitled to some downtime, but knows that this is not the time. If Body were to take a break, rest, collapse, then the whole structure would crumble like a shanty built on sand below the high tide mark. Body knows better. Body will keep dragging our sorry asses along until we reach the light of Spring, and then, finally, Body might get a break. Or not. Body is disinclined to admit to needing a vacation. Instead Body is likely to take it as permission to ramp up the training, push even harder. Once Brain and Spirit are back onboard and holding their own, then Body can finally assault life at full throttle. For now though, Body will keep dragging us along, ignoring the whining, head down, shouldering the load for all of us. That is what Body does.