Come sit with me, let's visit

Come sit with me, let's visit

Monday, January 19, 2015

Shell Shock- you should try this.

Know the diagnosis helps with the cure. I am healer, it's what I do. Just like any other attempt at doing things correctly, I first started to study. Currently there is a vast amount of information relating to this 'disease' even to the point of a recent attempt to relabel it as a Disease. Frankly my hallucinations and don't care if it's called Vanilla Machine Gun. I used to be a brilliant and vivacious woman. Now I hide, even in public, I hide. Nothing about me is consistent. I have become fluid, sometimes at a boil, sometimes frozen. Seldom do I stand still, for fear I will grow something on me.

I watched this video made in between WWI and WWII. It's brutal to watch, and as a medical professional, I find treatments deplorable. As a patient, I stop and think "hmmmmm" several times. It is most assuredly Food For Thought

Monday, July 28, 2014


I have jumped into overhaul mode. Must be time. I moved into a house a few years ago that has character. Established character. It spoke to me the day I walked in and saw the previous owners creations all over the house. She used gourds and seed pods dried flowers and wood as her medium. The house was full of painted, carved, stained and shiny shellacked bits of all sizes and shapes. She made lamps, tables, wreaths. The house was stuffed to the brim with artsy things.

The front yard is a southwestern hardscape. It is not UNattractive. I just am no fan of rocks instead of greens.  Take out the cactus' that are pretty, but rude. I like cactus. I do NOT like it in my yard. It is not a friendly plant. Ask my daughter. I don't know how she did it. But the dog came to the house for help one afternoon, many years ago. She had managed to suspend herself magically on 5 inch cactus tines on a 4 foot tall beast of a thing. I don't know how it happened. It looked like she was placed there by crane. It was a bitch to get her down. It was hours of baby on the kitchen table, dosed strongly with Benadryl. A pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass. Poor baby. Cactus and I are no longer friends. It tried to eat my daughter.

 The back yard has a sturdy lawn with different grasses to cover the sun only and shade only areas. Watering is handled via sprinkler systems on a timer. I LOVE the timer. I SUCK at programming it. We have had a few deaths along my learning curve. I've had to kill a mature and gorgeous honeysuckle. It was full of wasp nests. The largest I saw was the size of a paper plate. I was stung. I got very sick. Taking antihistimines along with my regular medications....18 hours of sleep...bad idea. The honey suckle had to go. I was really sad, it was pretty. Rotted fencing. A sturdy and full attitude palm tree stands proudly. The pompous grass had to go. Several blank palates have been looking at me for a year. I have planted marigolds that are happy and hearty and are taking over. I am letting them supplement the soil. Little rotted plant matter build up.

I know soil changes like this aren't fast. I am waiting, sort of. I am no good at patience. I want the 30 minute improvement, just like TV. No such luck. I am not spending an arm and a leg for that. Yards don't handle such grand overhauls well. Lots of things can become mulch for their neighbors, but not everything survives planting.

I am trimming the palm in back. Little at a time. The leaves will droop and touch you as you pass. I cut those down, and trim up the trunk. I have tackled the soil in the bed next it. Marigolds. A jasmine which seems determined to stay. Roses in different places that are all going to relocate to the corner and become a rose garden with a bench. The bird bath is living in the middle of the bulb garden. There are two gloriously tall junipers that I have trimmed up from the bottom so it is safe to walk past them.

This week I started with a brick garden box by the front door. Has a yucca (going) some ivy (going) and two roses (relocating). I have discovered a succulent garden thought process. Little clusters of this and that. They are water wise. They are green and don't try to skewer you. I also have a strawberry pot that just doesn't like to hold plants. It's future destiny is a Fairy High Rise.

Things CAN change. Things can GROW. Things can become more than what they are. Yes, they can fail. I prefer to consider these failures as fruit for the survivors. Alright. lets get dirty.

Saturday, July 5, 2014


I have had the need to assess my responses to situations around me. Am I REacting to what I perceive as your Insert Adjective  behavior. Or am I acting out of Life Experience and somehow imparting a piece of my Character into this situation to a Useful End. Am I participating in someone else's emotional reactions and snowballing something out of control? Or do I stand firm and tell my Truth without seeking my own end?

I have lived in different cultural situations. The nomadic existence of being a military brat created short term relationships that sometimes led to certain young people telling fish stories of their grandiose life styles and secrets of state we swore we knew and could never tell. The adolescent tales of 'who is sleeping with who' and who wore what, and how cool are you, as opposed to me? That all took place in a culture that my family had spent generations in, though I was still an outsider, since not everyone of my contemporaries immediately knew my family. The short term 'ole lady. The long term wife. Co-worker. Lover. Friend. Partner.

I have never had time for 'survivor' style manipulation. I don't get the amusement. I don't understand the need to undermine another person for professional (or personal) status. If you have to step ON me, apparently I have more value than you want to admit. So, get off me.

Since I have had to take a detailed inventory of ME (which is a damned chore), I have been watching my responses to things. I have always been pretty careful during my young life to watch my body cycles and make sure that I am fed and watered well if I got short tempered. Checked the status of the moon to see if I had to put all my knives away, made sure I let the people around me know that I could be surly, and to just smile and nod if poison drips from my face. Any other response usually just escalates my temper. I have had some absolutely wonderful partners in my life that have stood and yelled "rawr-rawr" right back at me, and let me just hollar a bad mood away until the behavior just made me laugh. I have very good friends.

I have been watching Action versus REaction in myself very carefully. I have been working on my constructive ability and functionality. I would like to someday trust that I can make a plan, execute, tidy up, and reap the benefits of my good work without pausing, second guessing, finding a squirrel, or just tossing my hands up and taking a nap instead. I am a difficult teacher, I do not accept failure. My ears have no ability to process whining (even my own). I cannot hear the word "No" (ask my anyone).

I stumble. I fall. If someone cuts me off in traffic, I still scream my newly invented epithets. But I have never beaten anyone for driving like a moron. I have had lots of opportunity. I am not saying I never will. Just that I have not.

It's not my core character to hurt someone. I do not do so with intention. My intention is to bring comfort and honesty. My intention is to act with an open heart and give what I can to this situation. My intention is to Listen and Teach. No more than you need, no less than you require.

I am working very hard to give myself Time and Space. To evaluate what, in my day, may be motivating my next sentence, or the way I feel RIGHT NOW. Is it important that I say the next sentence that is about to come shooting out of this pie hole of mine? Or should I bite my tongue, wait 24 hours and see how I feel about it then? Is this next sentence going to permanently change my relationship? In a good way? Will this benefit one of us? Is is shallow and trivial? Is it hurtful?

--Pleasure's couch is virtue's grave  <<Augustine Duganne 

Thursday, June 26, 2014


I started here to ask if you if music can save your mortal soul, but Don McClean asked that years ago, the Day the Music Died.

There are so many options for music. My current addiction has to do with Auditions from talent competitions (I think I have a crush on Simon Cowell, please don't tell him). I used to say "I love everything but opera". That is no longer true. There are many pieces that I have come to love. I don't know how it happens, but there is a hand that cups my heart and gives a gentle squeeze and my eyes well with tears.

Mozart was challenged to write an opera in German. This had never been done before. He wrote a piece for a woman whose voice was enthralling to him. The Queen of the Night aria, from the Magic Flute.The story is a queen demanding her daughter marry a man she despises or mother will kill her. I can listen to it two or three times in a row, then my brain just cannot make my voice construct that sound. Diana Damrau constructs this particular aria with her soul. I am enchanted by the way her body becomes involved and embraces the sounds:

There is a singer my daughter inducted me to nearly a decade ago. His name is Vitas. His range is phenomenal. This is my favorite of his. It's a love song written by a crane to the Moon. Astonishing.

There are few people who can tolerate my music. Especially when I get motivated. I start looking for things I have never heard. I beg for tunes. I find new and old. This one is fairly new to me. I listen. I feel.

Healing. It covers the wounds of my soul with stanzas and notes and pure sound. A salve for stings. A poultice for pain. A tea for tribulations.

I have no 'go-to' tune for a consistent refreshment. I would love to say there was ONE SONG that made it all better. There isn't. Pain is never the same. The need for bouncing around the house doing my really crappy Risky Business dance just has no soundtrack. Today the Soggy Bottom Boys. Yesterday Sam Baily. The day before, well it was Beyonce.


Tuesday, June 24, 2014


A mini-me update:
I've been feeling entirely more Me in the last few months. Haven't really said much more than little obnoxious asides on Life & Me.
Four years I've been living under new 'management'. PTSD & ME has been a liaison I wish no one to share. I forget. I'm scattered. I'm moody as a prepubescent girl. I am eagerly distracted (no, that wasn't autocorrect "eagerly distracted").
My closest and best therapy has been Scooter. He helped me learn focus and that little things really ARE the big things.
I've gained a few insights on myself. A big one is that I spent a very log time practicing medicine. With that came the internal dialog, external dialog, global survey, assessing current physiological status of everyone around me to know if/who was capable of maintaining the forward momentum that dictated every aspect of my career. This multitasking thought process is an ability I am sure many are aware of. However, fractured brains that KNOW only this thought process require a multitasking in healing/entertainment/silencing/measuring/growing/sealing simultaneously.
I have researched history. Moved backwards, Nixon, Franklin (my Fav), Vikings, Rome, Greece, Huns, Silk Road, etc....Egypt has been a long time favorite. As have the Aztecs (thanks, Ma).
I have begun a slow and steady nurture in the yard. Removing the locals deadly (to me) insects by drawing in insect eating birds. Supplementing the soil this season with my prolific marigolds.
Leading my rowdy canine down the path of Peace. So she can help remind me to center (for this, I deeply miss Monster Berry Pie).
I spend a few hours everyday creating. Solid goals ahead of me with deadlines. I am making them. I am pleased.
I have found if I have little interest, I give it no attention. None. Delete. Moving On.
I've revamped the Blog I haven't touched in a coons age. I have a few goals with that as well.
I MUST multitask. My brain has no choice. It's just how it works. I can sew for hours, but I need a nature documentary on head phones droning on. I can type thoughts out quite clearly, but I need music to move the words.
There is more. There will be more. I have goals. I make small ones. One step in a process (today I am cleaning out THIS cupboard). I must then STOP. Clean up my mess. And then I can go do something else. Two hour blocks of time. The length of an average 9-1-1 call.
Beginning. Middle. End.
Welcome Aboard, the train is now leaving the station. If I don't LOVE it, it's donated.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Change of Heart

Well, I hit bottom. About two weeks ago, I thought it couldn't get any worse. And then, my bank account got hacked for $600, when I really was pinching pennies. That seemed like a real annoyance. Bank forms, police report, late fees.... 100 days to recover lost monies.

But, something happened in the bank. Something inside me just 'snapped'. Sorta like it did before, only back the other direction. I felt centered, in control. Tired of being the victim. No one else was going to do anything about this. No one else gives a royal crap that I am in pain, and broke and spiraling down a dark abyss.

Don't get me wrong. I have family, loved ones, those that love me. But no one made such a big deal of all this pain that I was having besides me. And I was letting it consume me, almost literally.

See, I wasn't so much contemplating suicide as listing the ways I could NOT kill myself. I spent three days in this place, like a small shack on the edge of Hell. Treacherous cliffs, burns on my skin from the heat, and a triton in the corner, waiting for it's owner to come and shove me over the high side.

Then, I got hacked. SNAP. Done. I feel completely normal. No deep depression. A tune rolling around in my head over and over. I felt a healing in my bones. No shack, no dark burning abyss, no triton.

A few days later, my 12 year old dog collapsed. He died about 14 hours later. In my lap, in the parking lot at the vet clinic. Just died. After asking a few questions to my house mates about what they had seen in the last few days... it sounded like he had acute renal failure. My best mate, gone from my life. I was in tears for three days. No matter what I was doing, or what positive or negative conversations I was having, my eyes were full of tears and they rolled down my cheeks. Weeping for my lost, beautiful dog.

Don't get me wrong, this didn't put me back into the abyss. But it did give me a place to lay an enormous amount of grief. For patients lost, and partners lost, downed firemen, police and emts from a long past. Near misses, write ups, career shifts. I got to grieve a great deal. I saw, in my minds eye so many things that I got to let go of. Babies, kids, grannies, grampas, moms dads, and an assortment of those who died completely alone. And me. My broken armor and my broken heart. I got to grieve for me. For that I thank that smelly old dog dying in my arms.

And so I grieved. Deep and wide and long. My beautiful dog. Monster taught me more than I wanted to learn, or expected to learn from a dog.

Tomorrow will be two weeks. I don't like missing him. But when I do, I let myself weep, for a few minutes. But I am so fricken' tired of not flipping people shit, being a pain in the ass and generally making sure that I get my bite out of world. I am tired of being in charge of every body else's shit. I can't make it happen for you, I have tapped myself out. Get over it, I am healing.

I feel better, and that doesn't mean I will continue to feel better. But there are things I no longer have to deal with. I am tired of being a victim of my own brain.

So I did some house cleaning. Got rid of shit that was a burden, wasn't inspiring. I reconstructed several things here. Brought stuff in that makes me peaceful. I am done 'owing' strangers my life. My heart. My depth. My energy. I think my family could use more of that.

But first, it's me.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011


I am in pain. Things were going so well and then the dreams started again. Shredded. Torn. Burned. Bleeding. Screaming. Smells. Sound. The ever present flashing red lights.

I am not thinking clearly either. I forget from one day to the next. I cannot assert my thoughts clearly to others. I think in movie lines. I cry several times a day.

I am sad at my situation. I try to alleviate pressure from here and there. I get poor responses from those who are supposed to be helpful. I don't get calls I want. I get calls I don't want.

I try to breathe. I try to be present and appreciate the air, the sounds, the warmth around me. Then the thinking gets confused and like searching on the internet for a term paper on the statistical probabilities of next years income formula and finding myself in ancient Egypt discovering Ahkenaten was the first recorded person to worship a single god. Fuzzy logic in my brain. Useless things that still remain. Years of asking "Why?", then ascertain.

I am weary. Of hearing "No" or nothing. I am weary of my lack of assets. I am weary of my prospects. I am weary of my fears.

I listen to pop music. I listen to blue grass. I listen to "oldies" rock tunes I grew up with. I listen loud and long. I sing my pain. I sing loud and long.

I sit quiet. I listen to my heart beat. I listen to my breath. My mind wanders and the sound of my internal riot picks up. I slow the noise, I turn it down. I listen to my breath.

This is tiresome. This is weary. This is me, wallowing.

I love my best friend. I love my children. I love my parents. I love my grandbabies. I do love the concept of conquering this shit, crushing it beneath my toe. Making this time in my life a healing. Accepting the feelings I have. Feeling it. Knowing intimately. Learning the texture of it. Letting the weariness pass away. I look forward to the refreshing feeling of what strength this will leave me with, like a steamy hot shower after completing a filthy job. Being clean of these times. Letting this negative black tar drain away.

I have, like most people, considered suicide, once in my life, long ago. The reasons are not important. I got to the edge then, and found that I am too damn curious. Most of you that know me have experienced this curiosity in me.

I am too damn curious to see what comes next.