Thoughts, Scattered.

I'm assuming the title doesn't require explanation... ;)

Audio Blogs Continued....

NOTE:  This was done a couple of days before uploading.  From now on I'll try to remember to put dates on them for perspective.

Unbelievable how long healing takes with shoulder surgery.  Worse than that is trying to heal in an environment not exactly conducive to healing.  NOT my idea of actual 'living.'  Anyway, audio blogs continue until I can type without severe pain....

What to make of this week so far...

NOTE:  Actual talking will commence post-whining. *snort*

Begin Whining:  Waiting.  The Watchman Device isn't, at least in AL, approved by BC/BC insurance.  This means my cardiologist and electrophysiologist have to start the appeal process to get it approved for me.  So the waiting game sits in and I'm stuck on a blood thinner I believe is ruining my health.  So there's that.  I also found out I may have a torn rotator cuff and may need surgery.  Well alrighty then.  But hey, if that's what it is an I have to go through Sx and have my arm in a sling for a month... I can live with that.  The pain.. not so much.  Since when did I become such a wuss?

I've always had a high pain tolerance, but I've never had chronic pain like this either.  Guess I'll give myself a pass this time.

Somehow the idea of just living a normal life has receded into the background of dull static making it hard to hear myself think.  Everyone goes through a little something every now and then, and sometimes it's a big something.  It resolves, and people move on.  This has been a very long haul so far, but I'll do the same once I get past whatever the hell this is.  End whining:

Re-discovering 'me' again.  Sounds so damn egocentric, doesn't it?  Especially when you say it out loud.  But hey, it's not like anyone else can do that for me, right?  Getting through the steps of the day sometimes interferes with the process, trying hard to remember who I am and all that entails.  In my situation, since it's not somewhere I've been my entire life, it's a bit more difficult given this is an abrupt situation, rather than a chronic one.  It's a bit like a tidal wave of change that pummeled and stripped everything I knew about me and my life... completely away, removing almost all recognizable things and swept them out to sea.  Well, on one had that really sucks.  But, on the other hand it just means a clean slate.  Right?

Then there's the debris, having to clear that away.  Beginning to re-think and rebuild what was once 'me' is probably one of the strangest and toughest things I've ever face with regards to my own personal experiences here on planet earth.  Not to say it's completely bad, mind you, but it is a little unsettling to have to repair damage that was done that was beyond my control.  Medication and illness has a way of doing that sometimes.  So be it.

(Have I mentioned I absolutely love coffee?)

Anyway, there are choices I have to make.  Sounds reasonable, right?  The trick is having the strength and energy to see those choices through.  Like my choice, be it a small one, to visit ALL of my blogs today and catch up on things a bit.  Sounds easy as hell, yet even now my arms are so weak and achy that I still have to rest them on the laptop as I type.  So there's that.

What does all of this even mean?  I'm still fighting.  That's what it means.  I've walked right to the edge of just giving up but have managed to not step off into oblivion.  Isn't that how we all get through the hard times?.. not by saying there aren't difficulties but by saying there are and fighting being overtaken by them.  Well.. that's me anyway.

I'm still reaching for a better life, and that counts for something.  I guess.

When I'm without words, music...

When I'm without words, music...

Is THIS all there is?

And what I'm left with in the end is--not a single answer, solution, nor any real strength to wait until the next step reveals itself.  Over the span of more than a month now, ever since titering off the prednisone, my body has become my worst enemy.  It's weak when I need strength, it's 'loudly' painful when I need peace, serenity, rest.  And for the life of me nothing seems to get better as the days pass one after the next.  Nothing, it seems, is working.

There is hope, right?  People always say "There is always hope."  But the time for continuing to believe in something that has yet to be true--is coming to an end.  Once again, though most want to help, doctors are throwing up their hands and telling me--they don't know what to do, what it is, or how to help me.  I still have one last appointment, with an endocrinologist this time, who may be able to help.  Is this going to be my last hope?  I don't even have the strength to ponder that question.

So in this "New normal" of mine, real life doesn't exist.  Nothing beyond the windows means anything, and all inside this house can continue to collect dust in it's blooming irrelevancy.  Honestly, I've never experienced ANYTHING like this before and don't know what it is I'm dealing with.

I have no appetite whatsoever, and food doesn't even taste good anymore.  You'd think I'd get some benefit from that, like weight loss.  But no, thanks to the prednisone after-effects I can eat less than 1,000 calories a day and not lose a single ounce.  yay.

You're probably thinking "Oh, that sounds just like depression!"  Well, perhaps.  Except.. depression makes it so you don't WAN'T do do anything, go anywhere, and while it comes with physical pain, etc... what I'm dealing with isn't quite like that.  Oh, I GET depressed--but who wouldn't?  My mind and spirit WANT'S to do things again, not spend most of my time in bed (literally), wants to go places, take my camera and explore, and have at least an ordinary life if not an extraordinary one.  The DESIRE is there, buried deep beneath weakness, fatigue, pain, nausea, and so much more.  It's there, but it's being held hostage at the moment.

My life now, day by day, is marked by two thoughts: Morning: "Maybe today!"  And evening: "Maybe tomorrow!"

Is THIS my new normal?  Is this all there is, all I have to look forward to?  Will I ever feel good again?  Will I ever feel anything but pain, fatigue, and discomfort?  Will I ever have JOY again?

Will I EVER feel good or experience joy again?  Will it always be about pain, misery?

Will I really have to spend the rest of my life feeling like I have the worst case of the flu 24/7?

Will I ever... get answers to those questions?

Write. Read. Delete. Repeat.

Such is the case in this blog and always has been.  This is the place where I have exposed my heart of hearts, my spirt, and my soul.  When I dare to be blunt about the thoughts in my head or the feelings I have those entries here are often deleted.  Not always, but sometimes.  I guess you might wonder why that is.  I suppose if you reach for something and get your hand slapped enough times.. you stop reaching; at least that's what I did.

Pouring my heart out used to be easy for me.  With all my emotions on my sleeve (most of the time) I was an open book.  Hiding my emotions wasn't something I did across the board but under the proper circumstances, and with utmost care.  However, one of the relationships I was in taught me to mistrust, to close and lock-down my feelings to where I no longer felt safe expressing them.  Eventually, I would learn to not allow anyone to even know I had blogs, much less give them the url's so they could read them.

Mistrust is quite powerful.

I long to be that open and trusting again, and perhaps I will get there if I keep trying.  In the meantime I hold back, and I hold back a lot.  There's so much to say and share here, but I have to UN-LEARN a learned behavior, and I've not yet figured out just how to do that.

In a perfect world I could pour all of my experiences, thoughts, dreams, wishes, rants and ravings upon these virtual pages and go on about my business.  In a perfect world.

I'm going to find a way to fix this...

This is one crazy ride.

Seems like I spend most of my time in speculation regarding my current circumstances.  If there were any other direction in which to channel my focus I would certainly do so.  I mean, no one likes to be bombarded by the kicks, knocks, and out-right punches life sometimes dishes out, and when these are broken by even an occasional time-out then... well, rest and recovery is the only real way to make withstanding the worst possible.  Not to say we're destined to buckle under the onslaught, but it certainly makes it easier to get back up when you have the strength and clarity to do just that.

I'm a bit lacking on the strength and clarity thing these days.

Introspection is the name of the game these days, and I've gotten pretty damn good at being able to look at myself and ask the right questions.  The answers to my questions, however, are a bit harder to find as the questions themselves seem to shift and change and grow more numerous by the day.  Still, looking, asking, and listening for those important responses from 'self' remain the most important part of healing; for me, this is absolutely essential.

Yeah, it's one of those days where I've yet to determine the course of my life.

I'm freaking lost (no surprise there).

Focus, Please.

Reaching for something to focus on when you don't feel good is probably one of the most frustrating experiences ever.  Well, that is for someone who doesn't have a support system.  With family and/or friends involved, dealing with the known and unknown of chronic illness becomes a little more bearable in that there is always a soft place to fall.  I mean, anyone who deals with autoimmune disease know that falling isn't an option, but an inevitability.  Not accepting that as a fact means being blindsided when it happens.

Nope, I'm choosing to have my eyes open.

That fleeting sense of good health isn't enough to sustain me, and those temporary little flashes of what once was don't occur often enough to sustain me.  This is my new reality, for now, and it leaves me with not much of anything to focus on, anything to sustain me, anything at all to give me that emotional fuel to keep moving forward as quality of life diminish.  Oh, it's not as depressing as it sounds, because I've only just begun treatment and have yet to see where it takes me.

Escape is the only thing I have at the moment.  My methods are at least reasonable, providing me with enough distraction to carry me through the day.

Coffee, which infuses something akin to 'energy' and 'wakefulness' to start my day.
Music, the vessel in which I use to retreat when the weakness is too much.
Reading (Kindle), when I need to turn my mind completely off to what's at hand.
Sleep, which now gives me little respite.

Lack of focus brings the need for escape.

Oh, don't get me wrong.  My every waking day is filled with one real focus in mind, and that's eating right, getting a handle on the Prednisone hunger and other sides, and remembering that I have to get back to me again, to SOME semblance of health.  What I need is what comes with true focus, and that is the driving force that takes us along that path to our ultimate goal.  Without that energy and vitality focus fades and the lines between what I want and what I'm going to get begin to blur.  And trust me, it's not good when this happens.

A few mantras run through my mind every single day, and the dialogue rarely changes.  At times I give in to those random thoughts that this is it, this is the REAL 'New normal' and I can't fix any of it. There are times when I want to give up COMPLETELY and just let whatever happens happen.  There are times when pushing myself so hard to do simple tasks just drains me, and the world shrinks away from this very small space in the world of which I've unwillingly taken up residence.  In those hours, and they are hours, the despair is real, the weakness is real, the waning health is real, the isolation is real, and the realization that I'm NOT in control is very, very real.

And then suddenly denial sidles up, elbows me and says... "Are you sure?"

The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm caught perpetually in that swinging pendulum that smashes against acceptance and denial.  And honestly, I latch onto denial more often than not, and I'm pretty damn sure that's not the smart thing to do.

Confusion in all of this sucks.  It just sucks.

More research.  Continue treatment.  Say the enemy's name and say the words out loud if necessary....

The Invisibility of Being.

Throughout my life I've been pretty thin-skinned, listening to others tell me what I should/shouldn't be, what and how I should think, do, say, dream... developed into an art form for me that damn near reached "Spidey Power" status.  No, seriously.  I would take and wear whatever anyone projected upon me like a shiny pair of Jimmy Choo's.  And trust me when I say that two-sizes too small absolutely made a difference in how I felt and carried myself through life.

Barefoot is better.  Know what happens when you go barefoot the majority of the time?  The soles of your feet get pretty damn tough.  Having grown up poor I had only one pair of shoes (cheap) at a time and wasn't really allowed to wear them outside if I were just playing in the yard, etc.  They had to last until my mom decided we could afford more.  I think I had the toughest feet of anyone I've ever known because of this.  The only thing that really hurt me was if I stepped on glass (which I did a few times, once landing me in the ER to have the glass removed), and when that California asphalt and concrete got hot enough to fry an egg on.  Even so, over time walking barefoot didn't bother me one single bit.

But what about the INSIDE?  Oh, but that was a whole different story altogether.  I couldn't walk my way through through the pain to being 'thick-skinned' and pretty much felt the weight of anything and everything that was said to me.  Criticism became truth, a 'reality' handed to me that I willingly took.  My childhood experiences weren't filled with encouragement or praise nor even helpful criticism.  Indifference and criticism, and many times complete withdrawal of love and affection were the tools used to shape the person I would become.

I was to become the child who survived.

In adulthood, that small child I once was is alive, and though not well, that part of me is AWARE.  There is still a disconnection of who 'that little girl' was and who I am now, and I still see photos of when I was little and feel such pity for 'that little girl.'  Yes, I know it's me, of course.  But the disconnection is still there just the same.  I want SO much to apologize to her and say "I'm sorry I didn't protect you!"

I've accepted this disconnection as a part of who I am, but I don't like it one single bit.  C'est la vie.

I remain thin-skinned, but my reaction to criticism, disrespect, and so forth is very different now.  I've allowed history to repeat itself in relationships I've had, and the reality of this has unprecedented tenure, so it would seem.  It will be with me the rest of my life.  Okay.  I'll just have to work around that when possible, right?

So here I am all grown up and stuff.  I can make decisions, change my mind, and walk away from anyone or anything that threatens my happiness; such are the benefits of being an adult.  Right?  Well, not exactly.  At least not for me.  That subconscious, that inner child, the child I actually WAS at one time so long ago, well.. she has a mind of her own and remembers the pain, the isolation, the indifference, the coldness, the invisibility of being... well, me.

Such memories carry over for the long-haul and map the course of life in often undesirable ways.  But it doesn't always have to be like that.  I can do more to help myself in that respect.  And I do.

On bad days, of which I have far too many these days, that inner child is the one who suffers most.  Sure, I feel the physical pain, and I feel the isolation of my situation and all it invokes (depression, anxiety, etc).  But it's what happens INSIDE that changes my world, my life.  All I can do is anesthetize myself with too much coffee, reading, and way too much television.  My physical body simply refuses to allow much more these days.  That's okay, because eventually the AIH and the 'possible' Myositis, both autoimmune, is driving the bus now, and not even my inner child can rebel against that and affect change.

Sitting here in the quiet, drinking coffee, talking about things I've not talked with a single other human being about...well, but for one therapist for a very short time, I can definitely say I recognize my life as it was, and as it still is; The invisibility of being... me.

Not Today

I guess after spending the morning trying to write in all of my blogs I'm left with very little.  Hell, I started with very little.  Even so, I'm trying.  I have to be able to look back and SEE where I was so I can assess where I am.  This is all for a reason, all of this talking and contemplating, all the raging and wondering and wishing and... well, it's all for a reason.  Still, I would like to just stare down the crap I'm dealing with and say... "NOT today!"  Yeah.  If only.

My mind is trying very hard to still be 'me,' which means there's SOMETHING still here I recognize a little bit.  If only for a moment I can feel that spark, dulled by illness it may be, struggling to ignite something within the deepest recesses and protected by a very stubborn spirit.  I refuse to let go and give in.

My body, however, has other ideas entirely, and it sends the warning signals with any attempt at doing anything remotely 'normal.'  Don't move, don't clean, don't walk that much, don't pick that up off the floor, don't... just don't.  *sigh*  Enough already!... is what I really want to say.

I have to listen, though, because when I don't I pay big time.  It's hard to accept this state of bad health I'm in, though I do know and accept that it's nothing I did, nothing I didn't do that caused this to happen.  Autoimmune diseases are no one's fault.

I'm so incredibly tired...

Okay, body... YOU win today.

Family--Beating My Head Against the Wall

To say I come from a dysfunctional family is putting it mildly.  Further back than my own memory reaches my siblings have hated me.  No, really, I'm not making this up or being dramatic.  I don't talk about this much because it brings a lot of sadness and discomfort, anger and resentment rushing to the surface.  It's a long story, really, and one with gaps and holes and far-reaching voids where many memories have vanished.  It would be oh so much easier had I been adopted, because I know virtually nothing about my family tree, for all the asking I've done over the years, and my parents are both deceased with my having absolutely NO idea where I came from, who my ancestors are, or what my connection is to any of them, if at all.

I was a "Mistake," according to my mother.  Now, my relationship and experience with my mom is a story in and of itself, and honestly... I could write a novel here about that.  But I'm not going to.  Let's just say my mom was disconnected by the time I was born, old enough to be my grandmother, and about as unplugged as a parent could get.  It was easier to micromanage and control everything to a damaging degree, rather than create experiences that may have given me a chance and coming out on the other side with less 'issues.'  Yes, of course I have issues, and in a way it was my mom's only legacy.

How is it that I could know little of nothing, if anything, about anyone in my family tree?  Well, that's easy--when you don't answer questions, share nothing, and ensure that not a single photo, letter, information, etc. gets passed down to you... well, you can't ask a dead person questions.  Point blank, not pretty, but absolute truth just the same.

Everything from health/medical information was shared primarily with ONE of the 6 children, and I wasn't the one who got the information.  My eldest sister was my mother's confidant, her go-to gal, and there was an almost too-close relationship between my mom and my oldest sister (old enough to be my mom).  I spent my entire life on the outside, looking in, and it was that way until my mom passed away (over 20 years ago now).

One sister and I shared a dad, and my other siblings share a father form my mom's 1st and only marriage.  Yep, my other sister and I were illegitimate.  I could really care less about that, to tell you the truth.  My dad was out of the picture when I was 18 months old, and my mother really never spoke of him or his family except for some really scary things, very dark and scary things.  Now, it shouldn't surprise anyone that if you scare a kid like that, they're most likely not ever going to ask too many questions.  This was the case with me.

The siblings who had a different dad hate me.  Just the truth.  I was even told that one reason they despised me was that, because we were very poor, they often didn't get as much milk (the example used by one brother and sister) because when it came down to the wire... "The baby" (me) needed it more than they did.  I can't speak for what happened when I was a baby.  I can't apologize for something that I didn't do on purpose.  Yet that resentment carried right into adulthood for my 3 brothers and one sister.  BTW, I don't really think of them as brothers and sisters because they've not treated me as such throughout my life.  What memories I have of life with them.. isn't good.

I was born very late, with my mom being in her early 40's when she had me.  All my siblings (but for one) was grown and gone and with kids of their own, so I pretty much grew up like an only child from about age 10.. when one of my sisters married and moved out (she was 16).  We lived in a 3 bedroom house that was eventually condemned, and my mother (a hoarder) used all 3 bedrooms as her hoarding rooms.  My sister, the one I share a dad with, had her own room, lots of 'stuff,' decorated walls, record player, records, clothes, and a bike.  I didn't have enough toys to even have a toy box, so even in this respect I would find myself living an entirely different life than my sister... and everyone else, actually.

My mom was absent, indifferent, cold most of the time...and even cruel.  Skipping over more details than will fit here, I will say that my childhood was very, very odd, and the damage done has proven to be long-lasting.  Still, I spent my life longing for a family, a REAL family.  Now, coming from a family with 3 brothers and 2 sisters you would think that a strange thing for me to say.  Aunts, uncles, cousins... really had nothing to do with me, but for one cousin who, I guess, simply took pity on me.  I felt the hostility from them all growing up and didn't understand any of it at all.  I felt it, saw it, heard it, and experienced that hostility until we moved away from California.  We moved to Colorado because my oldest brother wanted my mom to move there so she could babysit while he and my SIL could work.  I was in 8th grade when we moved, and my life didn't get better at all.

Longing for a real family... even to this day....

I would eventually move away from the state of Colorado.  My kids and I, to make a long story short as possible, ended up here in the south along the Gulf Coast, where we settled into that strange place (strange to us because we weren't from there) and would end up calling the south "Home."  It's the only place that ever felt like home to me.  I'm still in the south, but a little further north by a few short hours.  But back to "Family"....

When my mom passed, naturally my eldest sister got everything.  Very important items my mom was holding for me until I could send for them were divided amongst my brothers and sisters and nephews... or just tossed out as garbage.  They did this QUICKLY after my mother died, the day they found out, using the excuse that they were sure that since she was on disability, got a veteran's widow pension, and on Medicare, etc... that the 'government' was going to come in and take her stuff.  Yes, LUDICROUS, but that's the excuse they used.  And when I arrived for her funeral I wasn't even allowed to so much as have a photo of hers.  My eldest sister 'allowed' me to take ONE photo to have it photocopied.  My mom had boxes and boxes of photos, btw.

Few actually had anything to say to me at the funeral, or after.  It was the same shit, different day.. only worse.  A few years later I'd tried once again to make some kind of connection with them, but it ended in a total disaster.  I finally came to my senses and realized that I was the only one putting in any effort and that it just simply wasn't worth it.  I basically told my oldest brother and his bitchy wife to piss off.  And yes, it felt great and was LONG overdue.

In the present....

I know pretty much nothing of my family history, my family tree.  My last living grandparent died when I was 2 weeks old, and everyone else was so much older than me that no one really had anything to do with me.  My mom wasn't really forthcoming with names, histories, etc., though she did incorporate some names and such in a few fun stories she would tell from time to time.  But as a little child I really had no idea if she were making the stuff up/telling fairytales, or if the information was actually true.  And after my mom's death... the information about grandparents and such were simply not given to me, even if I asked.  Photos, etc.... all given to my sister, who claimed some neighbor stole them, were lost.  My brothers, etc. chose badly when they decided to give my sister everything.  One person said they thought my sister pawned or sold the framed antique photos of grandparents etc for money.  Sadly, it sounds exactly like something she would do.

The cruelty extends into adulthood....

When one of my brothers passed away a few years ago I was told about this AFTER the funeral had taken place, and... I was told on Facebook by a distant cousin.  She apparently looked for me on Facebook with ONE purpose in mind, and that was to send me a message that read.. "B**** passed away last week.  Thought you'd like to know."  I asked "How/why?" which lead to her replaying in the same short, blunt fashion. She then disappeared and didn't say a word ever again.  I'd written back a couple of times.. with no response.  I'd written my nephew as well, and have been ignored.  And this nephew I grew up with and was very close to most of our lives.  He's only 2 1/2 years younger than I am.

Cruelty was their favorite weapon, and continues to be so.


The family tree...

As someone who feels completely disconnected from 'family' or blood ties, history... it only stands to reason that I would, eventually, WANT to know something about my own family history.  SOMETHING.  ANYTHING.  So when I decided to look into www.ancestry.com I felt like I was taking a step in the right direction.  Maybe this site could help me put the broken pieces together in such a way that I would at least see my connection within the bloodline.

What I've done...

I created an account at www.ancestry.com over a year ago, but since I wasn't really willing to invest any money into getting a full account, I've only spent the smallest bit of time there.  But that changed for me about a week ago when I saw a commercial online for Ancestry and a DNA test they offered that shows where your bloodline is from, at least in percentages.  A lot of folks have jumped on board for this.  Now, one cool thing about the DNA test and having a real account (which I don't yet) is that you can set your family tree to allow links between matches for DNA, region, etc.  It's a lot more complicated than that, and they have a video that explains it all, but it's a really neat tool and a good place to start.  But what about for someone like me?....

DNA results may be the only thing I really get out of this, and that's okay.  It's something, isn't it?  It would be nice to know for sure what ethnicities are involved in my family tree, even if I don't have any family history to see how the pieces fit.  I sent my kit off today and, from what I understand, it will take about a week for the results to get uploaded online.  Knowing it's not going to give me complete picture of my family tree... I'm still okay, and I'm fairly patient where that's concerned.

So what's my freaking point here?

My point is this: If you have information about family history (names, places, etc) please share them with your kids.  Don't leave them in the dark to spend the rest of their lives wondering who they really are (history wise), where they're from, what their history is, etc.  It's really not a good or easy thing to live with when you have no idea about those things.  Don't do that to your kids, seriously.

My desire to know more about my family history/ancestry runs deeper than the hurt from the disconnection from my actual 'family members.'  I rarely use the word 'family' when speaking about them.  They're blood relatives to me, but nothing more.

I have to wonder if I'm beating my head against the wall trying to piece together a family tree I know nothing about.  Names, birth dates, etc. are required to even do searches or make connections.  What little information I have really just stops at my mom, and my dad I have only a name and birth date.  It's really like hitting a brick wall.  But is it worth it, all of this effort?  I don't know.

I really just don't know.  The one thing I DO know is that I'm left with the question: Will I ever fully understand myself in connection to history and ancestry?

*shrugs*

Random Thoughts at 3am

I had to make that meme above.  I suppose it's just that one goofy part of me (sense of humor) that refuses to buckle under the health issues.  Yeah, I'm just ninja like that.

ANYHOO....Insomnia is a fickle bedfellow these days.  Incredibly unpredictable, I never quite know what it is I'm facing when I get into bed each night.  There's something triggering me to wake up when I go to bed, but I've yet to pinpoint exactly what that is.  Even nodding off on the sofa prior to going to bed doesn't guarantee I'll sleep once I get there, and in fact... it's almost a given now that I'm going to be waiting up, tossing and turning, until the wee hours of the night.  And what does this do besides keep me tired and exhausted?  For one, I get strange dreams, ones I really could've done without.  No, not nightmares... just dreams.  But still...

So it's 2am, 3am.. and stupid, random thoughts pop into my brain, which triggers more thinking, thinking, thinking... blah blah blah.  Damn.  Seriously.  WTH?  Most of it isn't even worth thinking about, I promise.

Okay, so falling back asleep this morning in hopes of getting about 5 hours I had a dream, and one that puzzles the crap out of me.  Well, I suppose most dreams don't make sense, right?  They're usually random babbling and broken intel of things we are either not dealing with, dealing with poorly, or unaware that we need to deal, you know, with those things.  But what about those dreams that aren't as chaotic and confusing?  What about the dreams that leave us thinking.. "Wow. That was so REAL!"  What about THOSE dreams?  You know the kind I'm talking about.

If your dream makes sense, what's the message?  That's the big question, isn't it?

I'm not sure what to make of my dream.  The content, which I'm not wanting to talk about, I think I understand, but my REACTION to it is yet another thing entirely.  It made me sad, seeing what I saw in the dream, though the actual thing happening wasn't a sad thing at all.  So.. wth gives?

Sorry to be vague about the dream itself, but some things are just TOO revealing of my own thoughts and feelings, feelings I'd rather keep to myself.  I'm trusting my instincts on this.  I may actually talk about this stuff in detail at some point, but I prefer to wait until I'm ready.  Hope you guys understand.

The other crazy thing that's happened today, post-dream, is that I feel a little anxious about my future.  It's like I'm being forced to assess what I want and how I plan to go about getting what I want, in terms of my future, happiness, health, and so on.  I don't have the luxury of being on auto-pilot, so introspection and continually assessing where I am and where I'm heading is really important.  T is more of an auto-pilot type, and it's not always easy for someone like me who's trying to take the wheel of my own life to be around someone who's just, well, letting life happen to him.  Not to say that his life is bad, because he's really chill and content most of the time.  I like to see where I'm heading, though, so laying back and riding the current isn't going to work for me right now.  Not sure it will ever work, to tell you the truth.

I wish I knew what my subconscious was trying to tell me.  I have a guess, but I don't LIKE that guess so am keeping an open mind and hoping I'm full of it. ;p

That's a lot of writing for someone who's as tired as I am.  Sheesh....

Getting My Attention

So, first of all, my blogs are about my life, my seeking to understand where I am and who I am in the midst of a few unpleasant truths.  Be it a past filled with abusive relationships, abuse of other kinds, living with and around controlling people, my health.. it's just me here trying to work things out in my mind, spirit, body, and my life as a whole.  Every now and then I'll indulge myself in other topics, but my goals are to REALLY work though some things that are, frankly, long overdue when it comes to 'dealing' and 'preparing' the broken, jagged pieces of who I am.

There will be times when I speak of things completely outside of myself, and when my focus is on me.. it's not because I WANT to be in that inward place so much.  Actually, where I want to be is healed enough on the inside, both physically and emotionally, that I can turn my attention further outward and away from that inner ground zero.  I'm not comfortable in this place and want a way out. THAT is why I talk about what I do and from a place that is centralized and within.  This is how I'm dealing.

And I make no apologies for how I choose to work through the matters that demand my attention.

Peace.  Joy.  Happiness.  Comfort from within.  Hope.  Freedom.  To have wings again... to live, to breathe freely, to seek more time in that outside world... I don't think my dreams or goals or wishes are that much different from others.  Correct me if I'm wrong here, but I think most of us would like those things I listed to be the foundation for everything else.

The more I find my health failing, the more I reach for what was, could be, and has been.  Why not return and see a better past and hope it can be again?  Why not remember when life was, while not easy, at least more like LIVING?  It only makes sense to me to make that a focus.

I've turned away from my own needs for so long that I was lost to everything completely outside of me.  I disconnected from my own personal truth, my dreams, even my own body, and I paid a terrible price for that, a debt I'm still paying as of today.  And all because my core belief hinged around making sure others had everything they needed first, that they were happy, and by God if I had to change who I was completely to make a loved-one happy, then by God I will do it!  What the hell was I thinking?  No!  That's NOT the way it's supposed to be, and yet I wasn't ever taught to take care of me.  Life was always centered around pleasing someone else.. all of the time... beginning with my mom.  This is repeated in nearly every relationship I've had.

I was told in a past relationship that I was self-centered.  Words like that hit me pretty hard and a reaction is always immediate.  Self-doubt steps in and takes over, pushing reason and logic aside to wither.  Having spent the better part of my life as a chronic people-pleaser, because God forbid I risk anyone's ire by disappointing them, I've attempted to 'reinvent' myself to a point where I've come dangerously close to losing who I am.  I know it's the inner machine working and grinding to reconcile this new and "selfish" idea that I should, you know, maybe start taking care of myself with being that person who was always, always putting everyone and everything else first.  And yet each and every time I try to do something for myself out of self-respect, logic and reason, I get a hard flash of guilt that makes me question why I would bother [doing anything for me].

Why I listened to anyone who didn't have my best interests in mind (to say the very least) is beyond me still.  If I ever finished the therapy I began at the end of the last relationship I probably wouldn't be wrestling with this right now.  I will say I learned much in the few short months I did see a therapist, one I was seeing because I DID recognize the damage that was done to me in the last relationship.  Beverly taught me a lot, and not just about myself but about the other person involved.  And I cried the day she told me, point blank, that I'd spent far too much time in my life focusing on the happiness and needs of others, and that it was time to accept that I needed TLC as well, especially from myself.  I had this sense of surrealism, and it was very strange to hear someone say those words to me in the way she did.

And yet I thought.... 'What's the catch'?

That's the real issue.  I don't trust easily now.  And I used to be a subscriber to complete and total blind trust.

No more.  I can have a healthy amount of trust without all the blindness, but it will take time.

And the guilt, the constant guilt whenever I speak about my problems here, whenever I do something positive or uplifting to my spirit, my soul, whenever I open up and speak from the heart about what's going on with me, my life.. that guilt cripples me, and the ugly voice of the past speaks up and tells me I'm selfish for doing anything at all to make my own life better.

...... more later.....

Drowning in coffee doesn't help

Two doctors appointments today, woken at 5am for no reason, sleep at the top of my priority list, yet sleep is out of reach for today.  When the night comes, it's my respite in time, though not in sleeping or dreaming.

Belonging to myself is the best thing I can do for myself.  I'm focusing on what I must in order to heal and survive amid the grasp of this ill-timed machine some call life.  God, but I am as tired as it gets today.

If only I couldn't gotten just a little more sleep this morning.  I'm tired of that phrase rolling about my head on far too many days.  I'm not even going to go into the plethora of ways T has found to make sure I wake, and wake, and wake beginning in the wee hours of every morning.  Why?  I've no answer to that, but I have spoken to him at great length about suggestions so I'm not repeatedly awakened by those things that really don't have to be as noisy as he makes them.

OMG, but I seriously need a good night's sleep.  On occasion I'm blessed with blessed, beautiful, and much-needed sleep.  But most of the time there simply isn't enough quiet and still to last throughout the night for me to get adequate rest.

I long for languid days, just a few of them.  If I can have days that promote stillness, peace, inner-sanctum, then I will rest easy on those nights.  It's not a difficult concept.  Is it?  I mean, is that really so lost on people that no one gets that when they disturb someone's sleep repeatedly it WILL take a tremendous toll on them eventually, that it's a matter of IF and not WHEN?  Really?

I will feel better when I'm finally able to lay my head down and feel the peace wash over me...

How tempting a vacation is from my life; how necessary; how perfect; how utterly insane it is NOT to pay attention to that one important and vital necessity to survival.

I'm running out of steam even as I write this.  And today is not the day to run out of steam.  Today I have to search and research and compare high-end exercise bikes for the home.  It's that time.  And dammit, how am I to exercise when I can't even sleep????

Shhhhh...

That inner voice needs to shut the hell up and think peaceful thoughts.

Sleep.
Exercise.
Healthy eating.
Healthy spiritual self.

God, please help me get some sleep today...

No blast from the past, thank you

Yet, because I've saved far too much on my phone and in emails, I'm often smacked in the face by past reality.  It doesn't mean that it's a bad thing, really, because as they say.. those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.  And some of us repeat it because we simply haven't learned our lessons.

Either way.

Funny, though, how much of the saved crap is unpleasant crap.  But I do know why I did that.  During a time when I needed that reality check it kept me strong in my decisions and resolve with what needed to be done for my health, my happiness, and my life overall.  It serves its purpose even now.

Having no one to say 'goodbye' to...

And you guys know I've spoken about this before, but the reality of the situation is that when the mask slips and you see what really 'is'.. it's an earth-shattering event that is very very difficult to get past.  During a breakup saying goodbye is part of the deal, and closure is a natural process of healing.  But what of those situations where you find yourself not recognizing who you fell in love with, that same person you have to say goodbye to?  Yeah, that's the sucky part of it, isn't it?  That person vanishes, and in his place is this other guy, one you only recognize because of the physical features.  The change, as the mask slips, is insidious, a cautious and malignant process that sneaks up on you while you're busy with the task of trying to find out wtf just happened.

I've said my goodbyes.  Many times.  The merry-go-round keeps spinning, that other face of that other person you didn't recognize anymore there on the sidelines, standing still, not speaking.  No brass ring, folks, just that nauseating sensation of your world spinning and no one at the controls to make it stop.

But it does stop, eventually.  The vertigo sucks, your wobbly legs try their best to keep you standing, and yet you're still filled with this question as to WHO you're supposed to say your farewells to.  The guy you fell in love with, or the one who took his place?

I saw a therapist and am not at all afraid to admit that fact.  Smart people WILL seek help with things they don't understand, those things that disrupt an otherwise good life.  She was great, I will admit.  So much I was able to understand because of her, so much pointed out to me that was there but unrecognizable.  I get it now, I do.  But she warned me that it would take time, work, patience and perseverance to come to terms with what I was dealing with, who I was dealing with, and the resulting damage to my spirit and being.  No blame, mind you, as I realize my blindness was my own.  But I don't blame myself either, because I was dealing with an unknown that I had no name for.

I do know what it is now, and that helps me when I feel that old bewilderment return.  When I find myself STILL wondering wth happened to me, how I ended up in THAT experience, I need only to remind myself just how bad things became, and how utterly destructive it was to me as a woman, a human, and a thinking, feeling individual.. and I'm grounded again.  Oh, but no hate there.  I don't hate and never hate.  I hate what a person does or doesn't do, not the person.  That's not who I am.

Recognizing what happened wasn't my fault was hard, and is still hard.  I was told repeatedly how it was all my fault, completely and totally my fault.  I was told that so many times that I began to believe it (Gaslighting), then accepted it as truth because, after all, I loved that person dearly and believed he loved me as well--a mistake I wish I hadn't made, frankly.  But I swallowed it all hook, line, and sinker.  But this is how those things work.  It's the same in every single case, which is why it was so easy for my therapist to identify what was going on and point it out to me in the way she did.

It's an ongoing revelation for me.  In and out of confusion and the understanding that what was happening was out of my control.  What I DID have control over, which I didn't believe at the time, was my ability to make the decision to walk away from it all. Which I did. Finally.

Or did I?  Well, I live with the residual damage, so it seems. A constant reminder of what I thought was and actually wasn't, always wondering wtf happened and who the F I was with.  The mask slipped and I didn't recognize the face behind it...

Crave

I do, but I don't know what.

Dammit.

Never mind.