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.

 

TRUMPIE the LIAR

Social distancing is not hard for me as it is already the case to protect my internal workings from being overwhelmed with stimuli. What’s hard is the fear added to the everyday anxiety faced, but that too is manageable.

My biggest concern is our health care workers, and the shortage of protective gear, along with ventilators which there is grievous shortage of. That combined with a double talker of a president who pontificates about it one way, tricking me with hope, but not doing what he eludes to.

He and his cronies can be counted on for one thing, lying with an equal ability to  manipulate. Yesterday’s noon news conference turned into poor me as Trumpie went on about fake news that made him look bad. He manages to turn everything into something about himself. Bobble head Pence nods behind him in agreement as always. Once a narcissist always a narcissist.

He surrounds himself with lapdogs with no experience, or knowledge. What they offer is allegiance, not to the country, but to their owner, drooling for acceptance, selling themselves as pets as they pat him on the back over and over.

Trumpie’s own hand pats himself so much I lost count of how many times he said everything’s great, and he is great. He is the world leader at overcoming the corona virus, didn’t you know? If you didn’t, he will tell you. I fell for it needing reassurance so much I believed his lies. I ought to know better.  

He has not begun the process of converting factories into producers of ventilators. Hospitals are not receiving help to expand their resources. Rather he bails out his rich friends in the airlines, airlines that can shut down, lay off workers, and take out loans just like the small businesses are expected to do.

He talks the talks as if the most urgent needs are being met, acknowledging the need for ventilators, but then says, we’ll wait and see. That is what stresses my heart like a fist squeezing it in a vise. Breathe, breathe.

“I don’t think about what I can’t control,” Samuel says after some thought.

We sit together by the creek on the first day of spring. The day is warm and balmy with birds that migrated home tweeting happy songs. A few yellow flowers dappled the otherwise drab meadow, evidence that soon an explosion of life will occur. 

“You’re lucky,” I respond, a tear squeezing out thinking of all the people needing care but possibly shuffled out into halls or parking lots on stretchers in the near future. 

There is some truth to Samuel’s way of coping. He is right. Taking measures to protect the two of us is quite overwhelming. I had started leaving packages outside for a day or two. Also spraying mail with disinfectant leaving it on the bench a few hours before touching it,  feeling a little silly doing it.

Then the news explains that it necessary to leave packages outside for a day before opening. Then throw away the package, wash hands, and spray where it sat with disinfectant.

Food being delivered should be dropped at the door avoiding face to face contact. Remove from packages, put in your own bowls, and microwave it. Throw out all packaging, and wash hands. If you think you’re doing too much, you are probably not doing enough. 

I wonder how many are not able to do these things as they are still required to report to work, or just haven’t digested the seriousness of this. That would be understandable as we have not encountered such levels of isolation and protective measures in our lifetime.

 

 

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.  

DUMP TRUMP

The time change, the ever expanding Corona-virus, spring, enough to catapult my interior into the stratosphere, yet peculiarly there is a calmness inside I attribute to the full plant pot oil added to the CBD oil legal and available in New York State. 

But it is the last vial with no ability to refill until a visit to a state where it’s sold legally. Oddly, all these years living in a hyper state of panic, cured by a little oil derived from a plant.

Sleep improved drastically, and also a calmness throughout the day that no amount of therapy, meditation, exercise or work on positive thinking could provide. One half dropper at night before bed.

Added to the work daily to achieve health which includes work on thoughts, a main culprit at bringing me down, along with the other activities listed, peacefulness inside my being seems to match others not afflicted with severe life-long PTSD. That’s miraculous.

Still my insides feel squirrely due to the Virus that half the administration says we will contract, not if but when. The scientific half that has not been gagged by Trump who possess brains, stamina, character and integrity.

The other half, Trumpie and his cohorts—LIE. When he or his liars come on the air I look away. Faces of liars during this crisis make me feel sick, not hopeful.

So there is a low humming concern vibrating inside me, yet for now our area has not been hit. That might have more to do with no testing, rather than no virus. It is not the time to lie, be ignorant, nor every time say how great you are and how everything you do is so great.

It is the time for hard work, honesty, and compassion for others, all lacking in the person leading who does not lead, but instead continues to look out for his own money and interests. My wishes for honest leadership in this crisis go unresolved… again, over and over, again and again. No comfort there. 

 

Freedom to Become

Sitting in the living room rather than by the fire, looking out to the snow-capped land because the dining room is in disarray due to Samuel’s painting of the walls and ceiling, leaves me a little discombobulated.  

The winds blew in the cold last night, but the sun will come out turning tomorrow back into spring with temperatures in the 50’s.

That is much how it’s been in upstate New York all winter. The changeable nature accelerates shifting daily. Perhaps that is what caused the tossing and turning when the night before I slept like a zombie. But upon waking memories of the dream stayed with me throughout the day.

The sadness of the dream and what has been lived with ruminated within. That Tom got close trying to cuddle and kiss. Brothers don’t do that, though mine did. No wonder closeness even with my husband never came.

I wonder about reincarnation. Returning to life to live it better until you get it right. No thank you. Pretending to have a family that wasn’t one. The harshness of surviving. Consuming blackness that didn’t begin to be exhumed until writing about what my mother never wanted told.

Freedom unraveled internally as each one died, Tom the last to go. A feeling of safety. Learning about authenticity of self, a process growing and evolving each day, each moment. These years have brought joy, peace, and a wholeness not experienced before. Gratitude fill me.  

 

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.