Each Day

“Today felt better than all the other ones,” I said to Samuel, then remembered starting the day with an extra dose of CBD oil. It seemed a good idea due to the anxiety bubbling in my belly that is in addition to the usual daily challenges with it.

Normally a full dropper is taken at night before laying down in bed, under the tongue for five minutes before swallowing. It is a helpful habit to keep until safer days arrive. It may also help with sudden wakings due to an increase of nightmares. We gut laughed during a TV show. It has been weeks since laughing like that. 

Interestingly, food cravings stabilized almost immediately with the additional dose, meals becoming healthier frosted with a greater capacity to connect with my body. 

The current of anxiety thrumming deep down has vibrated constantly since the crisis began, rising as it crept closer and closer finally arriving within the community. Waves of apprehension heighten during news reports. That gratefully lessens while outdoors. Bird songs, fresh air breathed in fully, and the current of the creek meandering by comfort the ragged edges.

A beaver appeared, then a weasel slipped in and out by the bank where it made holes in the mud looking for roots to eat. A fox appeared only yards away. The wild gardens are full up with snow-drops with many bulbs popping up growing taller each day. Yellowy jonquils are almost ready to open, my term for them ‘miniature daffodils.’ The majesty of solitude, peace, and quiet smooths away unease offering respite. 

Meditation helps to settle my core, concern rising again during news reports, feeling the buzz as it erupts internally. The draw for the most current news has reduced feeling assured we are doing all that can be done to protect ourselves and others by self-isolating. 

The jerk of a president refutes the numbers of ventilators desperately required en mass, choosing instead to let the older population die. He bizarrely talks of filling up churches by Easter relaxing social distancing before the pandemic has hardly even approached it’s peak.

It is more of the same lunacy. Networks don’t broadcast his long-winded reports anymore which are full of lies interspersed with self congratulatory propaganda.

 

 

Feelings Need Comfort

photo by Patricia

Listening to news brings deep vibrations of fear coupled with anxiety. Maybe not watching would relieve it, yet every scrap is consumed needing to know, be prepared, and to be preventative. Like a moth to flame, or to safe ground?

Trying not to feel what is there doesn’t work only pushing me to old habits of stuffing my body with unwanted food, no longer an escape that helps much. Causing great dis-ease instead, intensifying fears because now my own actions are causing harm. And it is a very big clue that emotions need tending to with care, gentleness and compassion.

So feel the feelings. Oh that. Yes, feel it. These feelings don’t run through dissipating like others moving on to the next issue. These rumble on as the emergency heightens.

So continue with the things that keep my body strong and healthy. Meditation. Time in nature with the relaxing repose by the creek after lap 5, healthy nutrition, sleep, and past-times that unwind stressed nerves.

 

PRAYERS

The living room in disarray while Samuel continues painting doesn’t help calm the disquiet revolving inside. Even the cat raced around throughout the day like a mini-Road Runner from the cartoon, her antics matching my feelings.

After emailing friends about bowing out of our gatherings the next two months, a feeling of abandonment coupled with loneliness lay bare like a dry field; even though it was my choice, and being at home is where most of my time is spent anyway.

The thought of imposed isolation felt suffocating as if jailed. Then prayers, thoughts of others, feelings for those world-wide also experiencing fear and uncertainty. Families in our area scramble for day-care because all schools were closed over the weekend until further notice. These same families must work which means continued risk of exposure out in public.

My friends, and many others, continue socializing including church services today. That is foolhardy. Services can be conducted safely on-line. Why wait for someone to test positive in our direct area to shut down? By then it is too late.

Prayers. Prayers to the health care workers, keep them safe. Prayers for our officials making decisions… may they be guided with wisdom. Prayers to those with compromised immune systems, and the elderly (which includes me), but especially those with other health problems. Prayers for those hospitalized because loved ones cannot visit. May they find comfort. Prayers for us all world-wide.

EACH MOMENT

It couldn’t be true that fear lay in my belly. Cocooned in our little home, my belief is I’m above becoming terrified of an arriving virus. Yet why suddenly had eating without hunger become all consuming? There is usually a reason, especially after all was going so well.

The robotic state of constant numbness from overeating returns instantly when fear seeps in. You’re making excuses, the harsh voice whips. Am I? Could it be terror? Yes, terror. Never far away especially when feelings of victim-hood, helplessness, or powerlessness visit.

Eating it away doesn’t make it go away, only boxes it in wrapped with self-hate. I can do without the hate. Only with compassion can the terror be unearthed, real terror that feels shameful as if it is something to hide.

But on the news the influx of others seeking therapeutic assistance has increased greatly, even if virtually on-line for safety reasons. Those with anxiety or depression issues are hit especially hard. Duh.

It is with compassion that acceptance of real feelings and my whole self occurs. That’s missing when the eating machine emerges. Food was, and is, the bank vault locking in terror tightly so that daytime life can go on. Not good sustenance at all, just a habit since age 8, a survival tool that hinders my health and well-being.

As a child that was what mother insisted. Go on as if nothing happened Love your brothers, wolves in sheep’s clothing, monsters who look human. Nighttime terror locked in daily with food, the one thing she gave freely.

Identifying the terror is the first step. Then do all that you can to protect yourself, especially while out in public which is very little except picking up groceries and other items. Even that is being curbed as much as possible. My friends continue church services, and attendance in chorale and other groups. Which is why I am not going to attend our upcoming monthly gathering, or the next month’s.

As one not involved in group things, seeing them exposes me to their perspective groups of people. Each of their families, kids, and grand-kids, and all the separate churches because each belongs to a different church. So our little gathering of 5 exposes me to a much greater population.

At the risk of anyone saying I’m overdoing it, feeling safe needs focus and respect. I’m worthy of listening to my own rationale as an intelligent person, not going along with others because they know best, or because getting together doesn’t worry them.

It worries me. They don’t know what’s best for me, only I do. The hammerings of  negatives in my head are not coming from others, only me. Just say no, and know you are doing the right thing. 

Do what can be done to protect myself. Accept that terror is there which helps lessen it. Come back into myself, into each moment, feeling the new thick carpet under my bare feet in the bedroom. The sparkle from hanging gems sending prisms dancing on the wall as the sun sets, an orange orb that dazzles my eyes with brilliance

Come back to this precious moment. Each one comes never to come again. Be here now.  

Que Sera, Sera

As the start of spring unfolds, so too the impending virus, marching across the country like a plague. My mind says, go ahead eat. Because eating numbs anxiety replacing it with an anxiety accustomed to— self-hate. And that doesn’t feel good either.

Face the terror. Yes, death might come to either myself or Samuel. My mind takes off; sick, out of respirators, death, alone, unloved, cold. Or vice versa, Samuel hospitalized without the ability to sit with him due to his quarantine, and death, leaving me alone.

And there is the more real probability of neither of those. Yet the low thrumming terror has been blotted by eating leaving me deadened to fullness or satiety eating things in a way that began at age 8. Eat to numb the pain, terror, and abandonment.

Stop. Face it. Feel it. If the worse happened is living paralyzed until it might come any way to live? Stuck in a chair eating because I’m too scared to move? Or walking the meadow taking in every moment with openness loving what is there.

The sun broke out in the late afternoon calling me. Grabbing hiking shoes that are waterproof to the muddy path, donning coat and hat, the walk, despite so much dull drab browns and greys, was stunning in its earthy splendor. Birds singing, sunshine burst through the puffy clouds.

Movement of my body brought sweat. Off went the coat, lap after lap. My body loved it. Work begins on facing the crisis internally where numbness was achieved by old patterns of eating that make me feel sick not well.

Face the anxiety, sit with it, feel it. Seriousness has been a state of being since age 8. Because survival is a serious business. But other feelings have emerged over time, especially a connection with my central core, or soul, no matter what is happening externally.

That is lost when any form of numbing is initiated. Connection to self. Numbing is rejection of self, even if for decades it saved me. My path now craves wholeness, connection, and peace.

BLOOM

photo by Patricia

Waking, the same dead dragging feelings wake too always present in my core needing work to banish and confront. Sipping coffee rocking by the fire, watching the cat pretend hunt on the porch through the sliding glass doors, the question presents itself— why?

Why always awaking with pessimism framed with rocks of depression? Why goes back to Chet, not the first attacker, but one who held me captive long after the attacks stopped. Captive in badness. Knowing it wasn’t my fault wasn’t known then.

Like weeds overtaking gardens with deeper, tenacious, stronger roots than flowers, thoughts and beliefs that developed in childhood grew thick and heavy, solidly intertwined, and muscled. Hack away at it, they grow back while sleeping waking as if all that happened was yesterday.

The feelings, the heaviness of blackness believing myself bad, abnormal, abhorrent really, not fit to be born, surely not fit to live, craving relief from the pain even if it meant thoughts of death for decades to come.

Why? Isn’t laughter, light and joy part of being alive too? Can’t these feelings dance? Why must the feelings upon waking be so forlorn? What else is there? As the delicious black brew is enjoyed, more of what’s hidden wakes too.

Wind blows through the tree limbs with a song as geese fly overhead, nature melodies comforting. Spring, a time to dance, play and laugh, as in any season if one tries, but spring is especially exciting. 

 

FRAGILITY

Afraid to be awake, unable to fall asleep, a combination that haunts what had been mostly peaceful days. Feeling like soaring into the sky like a bird with freedom one day when temperatures are in the fifties and the suns full out, then the boom of racing thoughts with great heaviness, my body moving through quicksand as the cold pierces and the wind howls with swirling snow.

This is the stuff of spring, shedding off winter but getting stuck in the coat sleeves. One day euphoric, the next, my head on the pillow with every thought a worry or concern. My concoction of CBD oil infused with whole plant oil is dwindling. Access to whole plant oil in New York is not yet legal, and the second bottle is all that is left.

It seems to help with the racing thoughts when trying to sleep, and cutting back on it using only CBD oil meant the last several nights were upset with insomnia. Is this just in my thoughts, or real? Taking a half dropper as was my usual along with half a dropper of CBD oil last night, instead of cutting back, brought sleep back again.

Something else to worry about as the transition into spring makes me crazy. It seems to smooth everything out, taking my frazzled nerves burnt out from PTSD since age eight, and oiling them up with soothing bliss— not the usual horrendous negative worrying that keeps my head spinning. It is a tonic that will soon run out. Though stores of CBD oil are in my closet, it seem to work best fortified with the real stuff. (which is double the price)

Fact or fiction. Does it work because I believe in it, or does it really? I’m thinking it really works. Why else do so many people want it and buy it? Rolling out of bed to greet the day, it is met with a grumpy fearful attitude. Sometimes the fright is more prominent depending on what is happening in my aging body.

“I’m seeing flashes of light in my eye,” I say to Samuel worriedly.

“That happened to me,” Samuel says.

“Should I see the eye doctor?” I ask.

“No, you’ll be alright by morning,” he said.

“Or I’ll be blind,” I mutter walking to the bedroom.

And it went away, coming back again that night but less vividly. And in its place new ‘floaters,’ little black things swimming in the eye that started many years ago. This new one is front and center, and very noticeable because it’s new. Floaters are common as eyes age, but flashes of light were frightening. One more weird thing in my body to deal with. It would hard without Samuel to talk to.

The fragility of life makes me want to capture time even on these cold, cold, days. Take each moment in my hand, head, and heart memorializing its preciousness by making imprints throughout.