Buried Alive

Each time the old messages screech hauntingly, slay them down. After a while they tend to not bother, staying in their graves where they belong. Who we are may be a stirring in the cauldron of just that plus who we choose to be.

Make a choice. Slay the dragons, or let them take me under. I slay them each day, some days with more success and energy than others. Other days they thrive like the walking dead, burying me as they walk upon my grave.

But my hands claw up through the dirt, my spirit rises, flourishes, and wins. Those messages from childhood will remain. Whether to listen to them, or choose not to, that is the work.

I am bad because I didn’t fight them off. Brothers who weighed twice as much as me. I am bad because as vile as it all felt, sometimes my body responded. I hate my body. I am bad, bad, bad.

And ‘family’ allowed those message to stick because then they were protected. Those that did it, those that knew but did nothing.

Choose. The truth, which is something new to me that I am still learning about. Or choose old messages that often threaten to bury me. The magic is loving myself how I am, and loving my body too, just how it is right now.

It is hard to learn the truth of who I am over the booming loudness of badness… to find my way to my core buried beneath cold, hard, vaulted steel, arriving at the place where love resides.

Dig. Dig until you find it, that soft, warm, puffy cloud place where love and comfort swirl like warm waterfalls… for self and for others. Unearth the sweetness where bliss and heaven dwell within. 

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I am Enough

A rosy glow casts pink hazy fog, the scene surreal in its splendor. A simple sunrise gifted freely, though enjoyment is behind the window pane as the cold is frosting the pumpkins. Only the cat wants to sit out hunched atop the wicker settee waiting for prey.

A night blessed with sleep and a soft voice assuring me it is OK when waking in the night, it’s OK, go back to sleep. And since no daily occurrences are disturbing me, sleep did return. Such seemingly little things disrupt my being, and that has to do with a body that lived a life on the edge due to PTSD. It just is.

All that can be done to help soften the effects are deserved, and OK. Attuning to my needs is OK. Providing care for myself in a nurturing way is a path untrodden tentatively taken. So many wonders along the way; feelings of stability, calm, and OK-ness. That I am OK just how I am, and what I do is enough.

 

INNER ACCEPTANCE

When struggling, in pain, anguish, confusion, fear, anxiety, or any of the other countless forms of hurt, words pour forth easily. But what then when the tremors inside are calm, and feelings of well-being flow?

Will boredom replace chaos, or shall I take the peace and enjoy it? How this occurs is not really a mystery, or parts of it are. It was a war, a war with the world. But decades of fight are over.

There are things about me that have not changed. I am not easy to be close to. I like my solitude, and prefer to interact with others infrequently. Nature is my truest friend. (and my cat) Time does not heal all wounds, but hard work, perseverance, and courage do.

Wounds remain still, because what was taken in childhood when hands lay upon me unbidden, stole all that is sweet, innocent, and natural. Those hands took my life. The one left to live was run from.

Coming ‘home’ to what is after the rage burned out sustains. Warmth softens not burns. Once inner acceptance is felt it grows.    

 

A HAPPY DWELLING

Waking, the first feeling is edginess, and with it attempts at quelling anxiety. Soon my breathing becomes regular, and my body feels soothed as encouraging thoughts are put into place. Good sleep patterns occur once again. Why long periods of restful sleep are suddenly interrupted by a difficult night remains a mystery.

The workings of my mind baffle me. Not being able to fall asleep must have  come from me, perhaps a belief that sleep was undeserved because I’d let important self-care tasks go out of whack.

Punishment. Until cleaning up my act, punishment. And that feels true. As the sky turns rosy and another day erupts, thoughts go to, ‘What can I do to nurture myself today?’

Self-care comes first. I am no good to others unless gentle care is provided at home within myself. It feels selfish and wrong, yet is the very exact right thing to do. Make my inner dwelling caring and whole, only then can it be truly shared with others.  

GROWING (into who I already am)

It is very hard for others, even, or most especially those close to me, to respond to the person I’m becoming; or the person at my core who I’ve always been. My true spirit has been covered with anger, self-doubt, mistrust (of self), and all the vast smears left by childhood trauma.

Not a social animal, not involved with much in the community, or with others, there are connections— a few friends, sons, and Samuel. Samuel seems the most confounded by the changes. Unconscious efforts erupt to pull me back to what was because that is familiar.

Familiar can feel satisfying, the ruts of pain status quo. For two people wanting depth in their lives, growing pains must continue even as skin ages, wrinkles, and sags. Boxing in behaviors to keep things the same is not freedom, it is jail.

Refusing to allow another to take my worth, and doing so with grace not rage, puts the mirror in front of him. The possibility for growth is seeded for us both. The pay-off of growing older is growing wiser. One person must take the leap so the other dares come too.  

ADVENTURE

And so it is on again. After a weekend where my chest radiated a thin veil of remorse after the decision not to travel to Massachusetts to see my son, Monday morning when he called I heard my lips speak.

“Can we still come?” I asked feebly.

And so it is arranged.

Hurdles to tackle, this morning’s eye exam at an office farther into the city, and tomorrow’s 6 hour drive. Once calming after meeting the surgeon, with feelings of success for advocating for my needs, the peace of routine settled back into my bones.

Perhaps another challenge can be taken on. Like walking on rocks, rests in-between are needed, but the excitement of adventure pulls at me once again.

I’d like to thank How Far for help in tackling this. One of her posts told the story of taking on a challenge, also including busy highways. With humor she outlines the terrors and successes experienced.

That feeling of success at conquering a fear (terror) is worth the effort if it can be done without causing damage to the body. Therein lies the rub. Forcing won’t work. Taking on what can be managed, that is the way.

 

PEACE UNFOUNDED

photo by Patricia

A lull. A peace unfounded. Gratitude for what is. The first cup of rich, dark, freshly ground coffee is so much more relished when sitting in silence… not doing. Not writing, reading, or busying myself.

Just sitting. The first feeling is escape. Go do something. Yet an insistence arises that encourages my being to just be still. Something bigger than problems occurs, peace and presence.

The yellow birds come to the finch feeder. A rooster crows in the distance, sounding closer in the early morning dew that must amplify it.

My mind quiets as the warmth of the sun soothes muscles while chasing away the foggy puffs above the meadow now filled with the lace of queens.

As the sun comes over the trees, the patch of meadow filled with its glory lights up like jewels, a treasure stolen if my spirit hadn’t paused to absorb the new day.

Fall is coming, days shorten, and become cooler. But for now, mornings belong to the sun. I will soak it in until darker days come.