BREATHE

Waking. Sit with it. Breathe. Just sit, as the little fountain gurgles, and the hummingbird’s wings make a flutter close-by at the feeder. Birds in the trees sing melodies while the damp earth emits fragrant scents of life.

Just sit. Let the shoulders relax, and breathe allowing consciousness and relaxation at the same time. Coming that far after a lifetime of anxiety is progress, a miracle really. So give room for it. Luxuriate in it. 

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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.

 

 

Traveling This Life

Rhubarb from a friend. Jam, my favorite canning job!

Trying to canoe with Samuel is like trying to lasso water. There is no synchronicity as he does his own thing. But on this journey in a new part of the canal going against the light current, it’d be nice to work together. He tries, but doesn’t pay attention for longer than a paddle or two.

Laying my oar down, enjoying the bright sunny day, exasperation moves through me with the breeze while pondering the life we’ve had. We put each other through so much, he with my rage that had nothing to do with him, and his quietness masking anger coming back ten-fold passive aggressively. It is interesting that two such diverse temperaments stayed loyal for over 40 years. 

Though we have our spats, we’ve also learned not to stew over them. Soon we are back to enjoying the moment. That progress is noted on this perfectly brilliant day with azure skies painted with emerald green trees exploding with thickly sweet scented blossoming locusts wafting their aroma down upon us..

In a few weeks we go on our first camping trip to the mountains for three nights. Part of the fun is the anticipation, and readying for the trip; campfires, loons on the lake, sandy beach swimming — and to try my patience, more canoeing…

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.

 

Rebel Forces

photo by Patricia

Though summer is very slow to arrive, this spring day is crisp, sunny and just right. Peace descends into my core with the deep silence except for bird melodies. My meadow walk begins. Something made me turn around. A jet bomb blasted towards my face. Screaming, hands up, the killer bird backed off… but not much.

Past thinking was that mockingbirds were our guard birds, but they are guarding their own, not us. And this one has a nest very near our house. Too near.

Continuing to walk, but turning back to check, the torpedo zoomed in again right towards my eyeballs. True adrenaline hit my veins. My anger made me stomp towards him swinging my jacket like a wild woman.

As he sat stoically atop the snowball bush I hissed, “You want to fight? Let’s fight!” Bad move.

He stood his ground becoming more aggressive. My body shook with the rush of chemicals while backing down the path afraid of this little bird which had become a beast. It uncannily knew when my back was turned waiting for that opportunity to attack.

Keeping guard on the way to the house, he watched from the roof barreling down once more while entering through the back door. Filling both water bottles my artillery was loaded. With weapons of mass destruction the march goes on.

Each lap we faced each other, round and round. After splashing him once he kept his distance with a tidbit of respect. When my defenses dropped, the torpedo swept in. Nearing lap ten my hands became numb from holding up my armor. 

My little patio, now a war zone, needs protecting. Getting out the hose, my gun lay across lap locked and loaded. Come on mother fucker. It came, I hosed.

Flapping its wings atop the garden arch, he screeched out to his rebel cohort next to him, “She’s got water!” Both stared me down while I held steady.  Apparently water effectively hampers good aeronautics. 

Daring to fill up flower pots with my head slightly turned, a swoop to the jugular. Too late my rapid fire hose missed this birdbrain who was outsmarting me.

Samuel sticks his head out the door, “Training?” he asks.

“Yes, but they called in relatives to help,” I reply.

In 15 years living here, fighting a bird is a first. The war goes on…

 

FRIENDS

Tinted, like looking at the world with dark glasses. When the growth of a personality is embedded with feelings of ‘badness,’ feeling abnormal, even dirty, it separates a being from others in so many ways… emotionally, spiritually, and intimately. Closeness is feared.

Anxiety arises. Any interaction with another human makes it pop like hot mercury. Though much of that has lessened, anxiety and the customary feeling of wrongness, or badness, are still issues dealt with daily. 

Living in a bubble is not my desire, but my needs require an environment that includes a great deal of solitude that is steadily familiar. Upsets in equilibrium interfere with my health setting off a reaction that is out of my control. But outings are still pleasurable.

A friendly gathering offered a place to really talk. Later at home the harsh voice began banging, “You monopolized the conversation. Can’t you see what they have been going through?”

Then a softer voice quietly budged in, “Give yourself a break. It’s OK to share. It doesn’t mean you aren’t aware of their struggles or pain, or that you don’t care. Let yourself off the hook. Think of the supportive things that were said, like, you are a good friend. Remember that?”

Remember that.