SHE RISES

Sometimes the most fear filled confusing periods are right before great change. But hanging onto to the boat in tumultuous waves without a life jacket feels so scary. Lost at sea.

Then homecoming, when the scent of the candle is noticed. Before it was in the warmer all day without the ability to absorb its aroma. Being apart from my body happens often. Being away from my center, a place that I’m only beginning to know and get comfortable with, feels more and more unbearable.

But home. Home where there is a place for me in all my seeming weirdness, where every person is unique, special and needed, every single one.

All my traits others don’t like are accepted because that is how I survive. And all my survival tools are admired, not scorned and hated. But I can cast off those that helped but now hurt. That is the battle raging, and the gap is closing. So close. So close.

From great despair, torn down to ash, she rises, over and over again…

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The Punisher

Life became an all-out war against myself. I made it that way when turning each day into a pass or fail day depending on the scale, just as my family had done. Lose weight, you are normal. The punisher took over, always ready to take on the job with glee; chastising, criticizing, stealing the joy out of life.

Take back the moment, which means dwelling on now, not the size of my body, and what a failure I am. Days became dark. The usual depression combated by working at positive self-talk deepened without knowing why.

Eating patterns developed in childhood to survive came on stronger manifesting into all that mattered. Life is so much more than about that.

None of the usual summertime pleasures were enjoyable, but robotically completed instead. All of my psyche turned on me, like it had much of my life. The only way these past few years that life became joyful was remembering that it is not the size of my body that matters, but the being inside it.

Yes, the body matters, but so does treating myself lovingly, which includes understanding why my food habits are such, not hating myself for them. Softness simply destroyed, gone, lost, and out the window.

I want the life back that says I am good inside my soul, no matter the outside trappings. To feel good about who I am, what I do, and what I say. Confront the beast that tells me otherwise, because that loud echoing from my past— the family I came from who taught me to be silent, meant eating to stuff it.  

How quickly I became lost. Interactions lately with each of them has poked the ‘beast.’ She arrived frothing with self-hatred stealing my joy.

I don’t know the answers, only that it is my life to love and I will.

 

A System Corrupted

A feeling of satisfaction fills me when seeing the clock read after 7 this morning. The tossing and turning during the night was met with determination to let my soul know that the badness feelings descending upon it are habit, not truths.

You are OK. You are GOOD. And on went the soft voice of reality chasing the childhood demons away who have latched on since the sexual attacks were suffered. It is this damage that is the hardest of all that was taken.

It is tiring facing this each day, confronting the negativity that grew as my body grew. When a child is forced into silence over traumas that need airing, it is not the trauma causing the damage but this imposed tomb where feelings implode all on her own, the snakes wriggling outward with no place to go.

So much damage. Now my life is picking up pieces and gently placing them close to where they used to fit. And the work is tiring. Not only must the negative voice need taming, but depression is present each day, each moment of every day. Doing things to relieve that heaviness feels good, and walking is the best cure.

Yesterday it was little things piling up. No wonder it was hard to get back to sleep after using the bathroom. Samuel’s brother visited, the one who also raped a sister in high-school. And instead of joining them, I stayed relaxed playing games on the tablet near-by only occasionally joining in. No phony acting on my part.

Samuel and I had lunch after meeting an attorney for estate planning. That brings up thoughts of what the future holds, always close to my thoughts anyway. How would I manage on my own? I don’t believe I would.

Lunch was greasy, over-priced, and priced incorrectly. When confronting the manager about the mistake she reacted stupidly with stubbornness. No success.

None of these occurrences are earth shattering, yet my delicate system reacts and stays enervated in ways that are not healthy. Others rudeness, ignorance and insensitivities  through the years was usually put upon my own shoulders, and by me.

To have changed much of this is a miracle, lessening the load greatly. Unfair things still get to me sticking like burrs during the rest of day into the night. Padding along the meadow after forcing myself out after a busy morning brought relief.

A light sweat erupted furthering the feelings of satisfaction and delight. Buttercups fill the meadow with daisies beginning to pop out. The grasses, taller than me, wave and dance in the breeze while leaves rustle a soothing cadence.. This simplicity is what brings me peace.

 

 

Worthy to Heal

 

Rattling the cages of childhood, truths keep falling out. Tidbits of wisdom about what really occurred. Forced by shame to go on as if nothing happened made life oppressive in just about every way. Loneliness honed itself into a sharp, cloying, empty, bottomless pit devouring me for decades to come.

 Terror and trauma held into my little girl’s body changed me in ways I will never have as my own again. But I have me now. I am learning so much that my mother never wanted me to. Her ways were to just go on, the opposite of what was needed to heal.

Expecting me to be how she wanted me to be, how other little girls and young women were, caused a desperate need to fulfill her dreams. That yearning for acceptance and love broke down what was left inside even further. Who I was became lost beneath the façade of normalcy.

It is easier for family to go on without the shame of sexual abuse known, so the child abused takes it on. This damage follows a person for life. The toll to my body, mind, emotional well-being, and nervous system is severe.

The ‘tortured colon’ describe by my gastroenterologist? Which meant a tortuously painful colonoscopy until the anatomy of my colon became known. The constrictions and curvatures may have developed as a child by holding muscles in the pelvic area tight as a defense against further onslaught. It certainly was the reason for my skinny kid frame to become bloated and overweight, though that didn’t keep them off either.

And now, with peaceful lulls in my days and sleep filled nights… why are they suddenly disturbed by negative thoughts and insomnia? Because a brain broken by trauma held in unprocessed is incapable of sustaining happiness for long periods.

Knowing that gives me hope, because I can self-talk myself into believing that like every other woman sexually abused as a child, I do deserve happiness and peace. Happiness is peace; peace from negative thoughts, buzzing anxiety, a too fast paced life, and most of all blessed sleep.

These are basics that every child coming out of childhood deserves, human rights for all but that many don’t receive or develop. Beliefs forced onto a child form the personality. Shame, badness, and feelings of abnormality become cemented into the personality of a child suffering sexual attacks by those she loves.

Left to fend for myself caused irreparable damage. Self attacking traits carved in to me are a challenge to shift requiring a belief that I’m worthy along with the fortitude and persistence to take it on. 

 

 

 

 

Pain and Pleasure

The joy of life sprinkles its way from my toes on up. Though the meadow now holds many dangers after the killer bird attack, and its constant stand on the rooftop or garden arch, my footfalls feel more peaceful further on down the path.

Each entry into the war zone makes me alert, but my fight with water ammo has kept him respectful. My water bottle is carried in my arm like a rifle. Laps resume happily. New shoots on the pines are brighter green as a whiff of pine sends shivers of pleasure within.

Confetti drops from the trees that leaf out after blossoms fall making it feel like a party of celebration on this simple joyful walk. A sheen of sweat erupts even though the day is cool, which makes the respite of sitting by the creek after the last lap even more a pleasure as it’s earned.

When my interior is able to make room for all that life presents, including grief, loss, terror, and beauty, acceptance makes the joy of being come alive. The earth vibrates with energy filling me with hope and peace.

 

To Every Season…

So much of my life has felt like being bumped from one obstacle to another, the path treacherous, scary and lonely, making me crave connection and acceptance by obliging to what others wanted.

Living by my head, and the pain that drove me, slowly dissolved as the peace on this little plot of land stilled my interior opening up the real Patricia. Words come from below, not my head, fluttering up like butterflies. Wow, where did that come from? A little known place hardly used until these past years.

It goes quiet when fear invades. Covered up like a grave. Digging down deep beneath the usual humanness is a heavenly green, a richness of being which transcends ego. Where giving is more a gift than receiving, including gifts to the self where doubt is replaced by the surety of acceptance.

Jealousy is replaced by the knowledge that each being is full just as they are… including myself. Peace comes when given a place. As the grasses dance in the breeze, the balm of mother holds me in the morning while sitting by the creek, and warms me as the sun sets at night.

A chaotic life can calm. The work done, the fight over, let the sun shine in…

 

Rebel Forces part 2- PTSD

After the debacle of killer bird chasing me, I tried relaxing on the patio, still on guard for further attacks, yet protecting my space with determination to make sure the mockingbird learned to back off. As the sun warmed my body, the usual response to stress occurred making the glands under neck enlarge.

Samuel came to sit with me.

“They won’t hurt you. It’s not like the BIRDS where they attack and kill,” Samuel said.

“You don’t understand. I know they won’t kill me, but my body doesn’t know. Once the fear hits, the adrenaline ratchets up, and all systems take off as if death is imminent.” I lamented.

Having Samuel understand won’t happen. Unless you suffer from long-term PTSD, the concept remains a concept beyond comprehension.

Tears finally rolled down my cheeks as the pathetic dilemma of my life is faced once again. A bird terrifies me, yes it does. And it is out of my control.