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.

Old Man Dog

    I lost another of my furred housemates today. It was the funny Old Man Dog I have been fostering since I had to have my beloved Tonks put to sleep. He was a quirky, geriatric gentleman, and got along with everyone in the household. This morning, with no forewarning or foreshadowing, he went into a grand mal seizure, and it just did not end. It was a reminder of my solitude, as I cradled his head, unable to even get to my phone as I kept him from damaging himself. It was also a blunt reminder that my trauma is mine and not deemed high on the docket to anyone else,  it does not make me the center of the universe. There are so many times when I wish I could be rescued, but there is no one to rescue me but me. I so wanted someone to take charge, "fix" it, shoulder the burden of responsibility. Someone did, me. For the first hour or so, there was no possibility of transporting him by myself, the seizure was far too active. But then it slowed to over all body spasms. I was finally able to load him into my little pickup for the hour drive out to the shelter. Again, reminding me that I am not the center of the universe, I felt as if no one was hearing me when I was saying, "He has been in active seizure for over 2 hours," and "I have a dying dog in my truck." I knew I was taking him in to be euthanized, he was geriatric, with various health problems, and had been in full seizure for so long I knew he would not come out of it well. When someone asked, "Is he able to walk in?" I wanted to yell, "NO! he cannot walk. He is dying. He is not conscious." But I refrained. Again, my trauma is mine. So I went out, wrapped my arms around his quivering body, that seemed suddenly frail despite his 60+ pounds. Once we were inside, there was no doubt in anyone's mind what needed to be done, and it was taken care of quickly, efficiently, and with compassion. I kissed his wrinkled face, hoping he would at least be aware enough to know I loved him, and watched as he slipped away, to cross the Rainbow Bridge. I left. Walked to my truck, alone. Drove home, alone. And now sit, teary eyed, not alone, because my Hugo is with me. At least I have my lovable, goofball mutt. At least I am the center of his universe. I will miss the Old Man, he was sweet and loyal, loved me, and just wanted what we all want; a safe, comfortable life. I am glad I could give him that.

Well Earned Fatigue

    Exhausted. Drained. Hungry. Worn out. Exultant. Jubilant. Triumphant. Blissful. Life continues to hurtle me through time and space. Chronically short on sleep as I try to cram as much adventure, experience, living, loving, and laughter into the time I have. Today, The Firefighter Stairclimb, 41 flights up the Bancorp building in 60+ pounds of full bunker gear with battalions of firefighters from quite literally around the world. Of course, having opted for a wee bit too much fun yesterday, and not enough sleep last night, it was a tougher climb than it should have been. But that is the penalty I pay for my desire to make every waking hour count. Even if it means some of those waking hours really should be spent sleeping. I'll sleep when I'm dead, right? I do know that chronic lack of sleep can contribute to moments of near meltdown, but when that happens, I can look back, remembering the sights, sounds, emotions, and sensations of life that lead me to opt out of wasting time sleeping. Yeah, remind me of this sentiment next time I am whining about insecurities, loneliness, and other self-imposed, self-inflicted stupidities. Yes, I am sure I will have more than a few moments of frailty, I am only human after all, but most of these are echoes from my past, not realities of my present. There is a certain amount of wry amusement as I read recent posts and the underlying currents of self-flagellation. I know it is the change in the weather, encroaching winter, trepidation on my part as memories of the derangements of past winters encroach. Truly though, last winter was mellow, with my only source of chronic aggravation being my employment at the job from hell. Well, that has all changed. This year, for the first time in half a decade, I am heading into the grey days in a job that I love, with co-workers who are sane and amusing, and a boss who is appreciative. Not only is the job situation finally resolved, my personal life is on track, as a matter of fact, it is a major source of bliss. And add to all that, I am setting higher goals, reaching for the stars, the gold ring. So, exhausted, drained, hungry, worn out, and rightfully so. This is well earned fatigue, and I revel in the memories that caused it.

Demons Be Damned

  Despite how glorious my life is, how blissed out I am, how strong, capable and independent I am, even I have my weak moments. Despite life changing achievements, life goals set and met, more goals and dreams on the horizon, even I can feel second best, unworthy. Despite knowing I am loved, cherished, desired, even I have moments when I feel alone, lonely, and unwanted. These moments come at unexpected times, blindsiding me. When my slumbering demons manage to stir, wake, and sneak up behind me to whisper in my ear. Yesterday was one of those days. I started to write, then stopped myself, ashamed, angry, frustrated. To have worked so hard, come so far, to still feel insecure. To allow self-flagellation, negative self thoughts, doubts. These are the self-pitying, mewling, unworthy words that I wrote yesterday, before stopping myself:
   "Why, oh why, is it so hard for me to stop feeling like the girl on the side, winner by default, second choice, a stopgap measure? Am I merely a pleasant diversion, a comfy way to pass the time, a dear friend, a buddy? Jebus, don't let me be a buddy. The buddy with boobs. That has been a moniker from the past, "like a guy buddy, but with boobs." I just can't seem to shake the deep rooted insecurity of a lifetime of these relationships. No, I don't think that I am presently in any of these degrading situations. So why can't I manage to step away from that particular baggage? I have been quite adept at shedding myself of many of my insecurities and doubts, but this is one area that seems to cling to me like a cobweb. How is it, even when I am faced with evidence to the contrary I still manage to flagellate myself with these doubts? Past experience. My track record is not great. As a matter of fact, it is quite dismal. Am I merely jaded?"
    Bah. Sometimes I amaze myself with my own insecurity, doubts, and what can amount to self loathing. Honestly, I don't know what dredges these feelings to the surface. I have been on an even keel of late, triumphant, delirious, blissful, even epic. So why the sudden gush of self-pity? I blame the change in the weather. It is as good an excuse as any. Maybe it is that I have accomplished my major event of the year, my big goal, and now, without the diligence of physical training, too much attention is turned inward. I do remind myself that everyone, and I mean everyone, has bad days. Days of doubt. "Fat days," if you will. Even those who seem to have it all still fall prey to whispers of their demons. The key here is to make sure the demons know that they can just go fuck themselves. There is no simpler way of putting it. The demons want to come out and play? Kick up a little dust? Toy with my delicately balanced sense of self? Get all up in my face? Fuck with my shit? Well then, gloves are off, I'm not going to put up with any of their shit right now. My life is too grand and glorious, epic and  amazing, fun and fantastic. I don't have time to spend weeping into my Wheaties, crying into my coffee. What a ridiculous waste of time and energy. So yesterday, after writing those pathetic lines, I left my fabulous job, got on my Harley, rode through the splendid autumn evening, swung by the fire station, breathed in the scent of the engine bays, headed home, wrassled the dog, worked out until the sweat was dripping off my chin, ate a grand, healthy dinner, and reminded myself that my life is amazing. Tonight I swam until my shoulders burned, ate a glorious dinner, peeled apples for pie to take to a fish fry tomorrow, planned out my crazy, fun filled weekend (firefighter stairclimb on sunday), and now am drooping with well earned fatigue. Demons be damned, I have no time for their carping. My life is too mind-blowingly astonishing to waste energy on insecurities. I love my life.