Would You Be Me?

Exhaustion runs deep, into my core, my blood, bones, every atom of my being. I am tired. Even with enough sleep, I am tired. Winter’s weariness? Failures of self?

“It hard being me,” I lament to a friend, and whisper out-loud to the gods. It is hard being me, and I’m tired of it.

My thoughts tend to believe the worst every time, and that tendency consumes me in winter. Bleakness of soul matches the frigid temps. The havoc of this engulfs me in ways that wreck relationships. Others there willing to love, offering warmth and real caring, are shoved away brusquely. My best feature is turning away from you coldly.

Is that all there is left from childhood? Taking my trust, only coldness remains. I need you to keep away from me. Aloof, yet needy. It is so tiring being me. Dreaming of being someone else consumes me once again.

.

Advertisements

You Are Alright

photo by Patricia

Feeling lost and alone is not uncommon, you’re not alone. And especially during this holiday so jammed packed with memories, melancholy and feeling as if something is missing because it always has been missing. That is punctuated particularly sharply as all the supposed good cheer is spread around.

And there is cheer in my soul where there once resided only a void, a chasm so split no reckoning took place. Over time some of the writhing pain was allowed expression; writing out all the deep dark secrets my family didn’t want told, the hurling of journals full of anguish and rage into the ceremonial fire, years and years of meditation where moments of being present while feeling safe were experienced while the constant anxiety ebbed even for just those few moments, a mother dying whose hold on me locked in all those secrets to protect her other children…the abusers, one event after another opened the channels from head to heart, from a robotic life to one more fulfilling because wholeness and self-acceptance had begun.

Yet there it still lives, the disbelief that others could truly like me, even love me. Wanting it, yet pushing it away due to the danger of it. Wanting it yet unable to accept because love of self is still only just blossoming.

Stringing days together where being in the moment is doable for longer periods, along with success at healthy pursuits of good nutrition, exercise, appropriate sleep, and the constant challenge of negative thoughts replacing them with positive ones based in reality…then?

Something, too often the something is unknown, disrupts sleep, eating, exercise, and thoughts. Anxiety rules. Where did all the calm wisdom and self-acceptance go?

Start again. There are countless ‘start agains.’ Even my little life where I’ve cultivated a safe place is invaded by others I care about, and who care for me. The ones I love become the enemy, digging up wounds that never seem to heal. One moment warmth, the next, you are up to something and dangerous.

Easy, easy, my mantra in the night waking up with my heart beating against the pillow. You are alright, you are alright, you are alright.

Every one of us must face this aloneness. You are not alone. Many wake in the night with the same. Many face their days with the same. Pull in the threads of the universe and connect. You are not alone.

WHY

photo by Patricia

When life turns a corner in later years the body is less able to keep up with the mind which stays young. The reason why, what’s the point crops up. Let’s just speed the process and be done with it.

Challenges loom larger, and life takes work. That is true for all stages. Retirement does not bring eternal bliss. The stress of raising children, then getting them through college and beyond, along with the need for money to pay for it, is replaced by other challenges.

Failings in health, thus worries over what might happen, often intrude. Others my age have already died from one thing or another. Curbing thoughts over these real concerns takes effort. Just get on with it or such thoughts will drown you in fear.

My brain races ahead while sipping morning coffee. When a child suffers trauma that goes inside her, rather than being processed, it can cause life-long damage to the brain and nervous system.

Just be done with it so that each day courage does not have to be mustered to live it. Fall doubles the challenges already faced; fitful sleeping, and repetitive negative thoughts that bark in my head relentlessly about weaknesses and failures. If the voices lie, or are not rational, it makes no difference.

The clanging of self-negativity grew from the age of eight with the first sexual attack by a loved brother, amplified by the reactions from others afterwards, and the lack of intervention. I was terrorized, traumatized, ripped apart, and it didn’t matter. I was ignored. As a child of 8, the lack of help in any way crippled my vulnerable growing years, shaping my personality to forever attack itself.

The negative conclusions about myself ripened and solidified as the years passed. My injured brain needs so much care, attention and love. Love is the hardest emotion to muster and let flourish. It is dangerous to love. The tiny spark deep down that allows for warmth and softness must be sheltered, protected and thickly covered as if in a cave. If injured further it could be extinguished completely.

There are days when autopilot runs things. The robot me does what needs to be done. Then there are days when asking what’s the point brings me to the present moment. In that moment warmth flows with living fuller… the shape of my hand as the skin stretches over bones delicately, the prisms of light dancing on the carpet, and most especially the love of my sons whose lives have grown in ways mine never did.

 

GENTLENESS

photo by Patricia

The feeling of differentness so acute as a child suffering sexual attacks by my siblings arises sharply at times. Many feelings from then still linger, stabbing into my present life. Unprocessed traumas and all the feelings with them didn’t dissipate but grew with me.

Yet no gentleness exists. It is a habit to beat myself up when today’s issues erupt emotion from childhood wounds. There is no conscious link to them. That is changing. There are reasons sleep is interrupted. Wounds untended in childhood along with a stolen voice caused an inseparable rift within; deep wounds and no way to them. I am mute to the world and mute to my soul.

Wounds fester and when touched with present hurts the pain expands exponentially. It is like placing an already burnt arm on a hot stove. The present slides away as the psyche escapes elsewhere. If a person is talking, what is said is not heard.

Self-loathing because the feeling of differentness is so acute is not what the wounded child needs. And she exists within me and will always be there. She needs what you did not receive then. Since there was only one urgent unspoken rule to not speak of it, there is no one to emulate a pattern of how to be gentle with myself.

It is a new road with little to go on except the times my mother extended gentleness in adulthood. There were moments when she tried, maybe to make up for the past. 

 

WHOLENESS

photo by Patricia

The path to the core becomes tangled, blocked by memories, though the soul goes there to hide. So one resides in a place that can’t be found. No way in, no way out.

She peeks out at times. Maybe there is someone to trust, who takes her hand and guides her. Even so, the world is tough and into hiding she goes.

It may never be safe to come fully out. Maybe only in solitude does she find her soul, a safe haven to breathe, connect and become who she was meant to be.

It is these roots that save her. The very place she runs from, the memories which are a part of her history locked deep below. The same place where she hides.

Coming out she looks below and runs. Yet that is where the strength comes from and has kept her here all along. It is in what she suffered that makes her strong and who she is. It is her history that makes her beautiful.

MEMORIES

“We’re going to play house. You’re the Mommy, I’m the Daddy,” he whispers softly in the child’s ear. His breath is warm, and she loves him, trusting her brother.

Blank time, then while bathing the water hitting the tender labia sears with pain. No one intervenes. No one stops more of it. Somehow the child grows and now entering the winter stages of her life those memories are as if yesterday.

How does she take the beauty of today and balance those with the memories of yesterday?