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.

I

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.

Yelling

Do not yell at me any longer. I do not fear your wrath anymore, not like I did when I was little. And I never respected you for being angry with me. I am a grown woman who has fought you my whole life, in my head, in my heart and in making others 'be' you and then hating them instead. My hate runs deep, my heart is as cruel as yours. I would love them and cherish them and run them through with a blade of ice.

Hating you was never an option. Your lap was the safest place in the world. Your arms around me, smelling like Blistex and Old Spice, it was Heaven. It was perfect. It was Home to a vagabond girl that knew of boxes and moving and change, all too well.

Do not yell at me when you cannot see my eyes, so much like yours. You would learn fear, as I did when my eyes could see no higher than your elbow. Looking into your own eyes would paint a strip of fear in your heart as wide as the one you painted in me.

I love you and I respect you, but no more yelling. None. I am no more yours to yell at, than you are mine to abuse. Try learning to respect me, as a woman. Might heal us both.

Right now, all I feel is hurt, and the weary fear of my own creation. Right now, all I want to smell is Old Spice and Blistex, to feel safe.

Still I open my heart to you. I let you run me through, again, with your blade of ice. I try to remember. I try NOT to continue your Legacy.

I love you.

Clotho and Lachesis and Atropos

The Three Fates are really not well documented in mythology. There are the three hags in most tales of heros and legends. These are the Three Fates. Some say they are the daughters of Zeus, some say they are the daughters of Necessity. It matters not to me, they are part of too many tales not to be important.

Clotho is a spinner, she creates the moment of your birth, she spins the thread of your life. Is it golden and pure? Is it tattered and thin? Is it brown, grey, or a fine silvery thread that blows in a gentle breeze, like gossamer?

Suffering is part of those threads. Do you suffer? What is your tale of woe? Money. Love. Illness. Abuse. Neglect. Is your car broke down? Suffering is part. But so is happiness.

Are you rich in family? Are your pockets full of money? Do the dogs lick your toes just to watch you jump?

These threads can be woven into a tapestry of your life and either warm you and comfort you or feel like a wet blanket on a cold night. Are your threads rich in embroidery of joyful moments of peace? Your outlook is purely your own, she only provides the threads.

Lachesis determines the length of the thread. And the quality of life, or your destiny. Will you create ripples on the pond that span the world? Or will your ripples make your families life richer by your love and ability to knit wonderful booties every year at Christmas? Will your life bring happiness to millions? Or will you keep body parts in your freezer? Lachesis determines that with the creation of your thread. Free will still applies, but that thread is your destiny.

Dip a thread into a glass of water, it makes ripples. If you dip the same thread into a pond, not so much with the ripples. If you dip this same thread into the sea, the ripples are hardly noticeable. But some say if a butterfly flaps it wings in Brazil, it can create a tornado in Texas. Your presence has purpose. And you may never know what that is.

Atropos is the woman with the "abhorrent shears" to cut the thread. At times she does so with little notice. An infant that breathes twice and lays lifeless had a very short thread. Their lives were not meaningless, as their deaths were felt deeply by someone, somewhere. A prison guard wept bitter tears when this baby died, the prisoner only felt the pain of childbirth, her daughter meant nothing to her. She cared little for her own situation, the baby was only a burden.

My great-grandmother was over 100 years old when she passed. She saw the automobile evolve from a hand cranked bicycle-type gadget to a bat-winged door Ferrari. Her thread was long and rich. Full of learning and knowing and very busy fingers. She took her thread and made quilts that still warm us, even now, nearly 20 years since she breathed one last time. 

I have made a difference in someone's life. I don't know whose. But I have touched too many lives in precarious and dangerous places to not have made a difference. My ripples are unknown to me. I like to think they travel far. I know there are two wonderful men and wonderful young woman that travel the world. I have made a difference in their lives, and they have made a difference in mine. Those changes affect those they touch. So my ripples are in Cuba. My ripples are in Indonesia. My ripples are in Ghana.

I do not know if they are good and pure. I do not know if they are harmful. But so far, my tapestry appears to be rich and full.

Happy Thursday.

Sincerely

Sincerity is very difficult for some. It is second nature (so it seems to me) that lots of folks have a separate agenda when they speak to you. Either to glean information, or to make certain that your intentions are blocked. To what end, I do not always know or understand. Why would someone be so deliberate in their actions?

To say something to someone and leaving something withheld (that is not a sarcastic remark), is to lie to them, or be insincere. This is a very narrow path, to me. I love the sarcastic remark, and don't like to hurt people's feelings when my opinion is petitioned. Honey, where did you get that hair cut? At the dog groomers? -- Funny, yes, sincere, no.

I want to try something a bit less hard edged. Such as, darling you have such a pretty face, that hair cut is not flattering at all. This could hurt a person's feelings.  But should be considered as a more tactful way of being honest with someone. According to Franklin, even this is too much of a lie.

It is difficult to find the sincerity in myself without using humor and sarcastic tone. At that point I know I have failed to be honest with what is the center of me. This is the me that presents itself to the world, humor and sarcasm. It is funny and it does dance around the topic that is at hand. Therefore diminishing it's importance or lesson. This is also the character I present to my loved ones. This has shaped my relationships with them. With that in mind, can I please say something about your hair? It is very pretty and catches the light a glistens in a beautiful way. I think the waves in your hair show your character quite nicely. The way it is shaped does nothing to show off your good qualities.

How is this? I could not be more proud or more excited for both of you. You are both choosing paths that will challenge you and bring you great happiness. For this I am filled with love for you both. I hope with all my heart that your pains are few. But I will be here, as best I can, for you when you need me to be happy with you, and to hold you when Life hurts.

Today's reflection

“To be persuasive we must be believable; to be believable we must be credible; to be credible we must be truthful.”

~~Edward R. Murrow

Shadows

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

Oscar Wilde

I have spent a lot of time in your home, listening to your story, while I read between the lines. I have come when you called, even for a hemorrhoid that you have had for years, but now has a pregnant belly providing extra pressure. I have apologized for things that were not my fault, but it closed a ridiculous issue. I have smiled to keep your day nice, no matter what my day has been like. I have eaten crow publicly "No sir, I did not do as directed". I have patted those on the back that deserved it, as well. I knew a man I called The Airway God. But the thin veneer of bravado is very poorly maintained, even by the best of us. We put on our suit of armor, and our loud and comfy boots. Every item is a fragile piece of rice paper, even us ladies wearing makeup, waiting to be ruined by some unexpected bodily fluid. This is what happened to me. Blood saturated through my long standing suit of armor, and contaminated my body with God, only knows what. I have my last test this week. All clear so far. But the panic that set in, and was almost immediately was profound.

I have Combat-PTSD, so they tell me. Flashbacks, nightmares, insomnia and startle reflexes are common place for me. I can only read a few pages of a book at a time, it becomes too much information and my brain downloads the newly absorbed text and drops it out the bottom of my head. There is an abundance of advise to 'heal' from this, but my doc says, this stays with you forever. Learning to manage it is the key. The need for grounding is strong and leaves me with  a sense of isolation that can only be described as complete. There are voices in my head, whispering just out of range of detecting any words. Like exuberant roofers wanting to complete a task that has run two days over schedule.

Cortisol is your friend and your enemy. Too much and you rage like a bull elephant in musk, too little and you are deeply depressed, over eat and cry endlessly. Meditation is the best thing to keep your levels under control--CRAP. I can meditate for an hour, and in 30 minutes I am a black rage that has me at the verge of breaking my house to pieces.

I know I am taking my anger out on my housemates. I do not intend to, but I find that particular anger has a beginning, a middle and an end. The 'end' part is good, it suggests I may be done with my stress (open mindedness, makes any possibility present itself). I love them all, and I want to provide, but this extended leave has me in a position that no longer allows for such things.

This is my thought- when you hit rock bottom, there is nowhere to go, but up. And hey! it aint cancer. So there is that.

A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.

Oscar Wilde

The Dog's Day

If I could be anything I wanted in the whole world, I would be one of my dogs. That sounds vain and ridiculous, but my dogs have it good.

I have three dogs, and a poodle. I cannot call her a dog, but will include her here as 'the exception'.

Napping is an art form here. Either lying in the sun, or stretched out in the middle of the floor, flat on their backs, napping is taken quite seriously. I adore that moment when the dog lays down on the floor, takes a deep breath, and moans long and soft, letting go of every care in the world. To slumber deeply for a few moments. They probably get 10 to 12 hours of sleep a day, mostly in short 15 to 30 minute periods. And never seem tired always vital and refreshed. I could live without the steady snoring, though. At any given moment, somewhere in the house, there is a dog snoring. The exception is almost always laying out, baking in the sun. If she were a person, she'd be overly tanned and wearing frosted lipstick, and that would be smeared all over her crooked mouth.

Eating is another thing. Timeliness is very important. If, at 7:02 there is no fresh food available, there is a dog attempting hypnosis on me. "You want to fill my bowl. You want to fill my bowl. YOUWANTTOFILLMYBOWL". But the food is really just grazed upon. One at a time, they mosey by the bowls, and take a few bites. Then slop water all over, so their slightly dirty  feet make darling little muddy foot prints in my kitchen. There is the occasional belch, and a wet whiskered nose shoved at me.

Playing. I have, at any given moment some sort of dirty, slobbered upon toy in the house. I actually don't mind. They are like gifts. They make dogs happy and can be thrown by dogs, or by people. Two of the dogs fetch, with single minded purpose. It took some work, but there is no longer competitiveness over who plays with what. There is a large variety of balls here, soccer, tennis, and football. The football is my favorite. The boy here has worked for years on his fetching and catching skills. It is astonishing to see him catch a football in midair. I have a small collection of ropes floating around here too. Two of them are fetching items, they get caught in the tree once in while. One is either used for tugging or untying the knot, over and over. It doesn't matter how often or how difficult a knot, she works at it tirelessly until it comes free (not bad for only being four months old).

I want to be one of my dogs. I want to learn that tranquil peace; that comfort of routine; that determined focus. To live completely in the present moment, as though there was nothing to worry about.