Little Girl Me

Dusty corners remain that no one knew, or wanted to know, what little girl me went through… not even me. If everyone else chastises her, so will I.

Tears leak out, trailing down my cheek, like squeezing a sponge dry during a period when nothing is stressful or bothering me, yet something is. A memory is provoked, perhaps by the quiet, empty house with a feeling that a sudden scare is impending.

Like Chet bursting out from behind the shower curtain with an evil joy at terrorizing me. He’s been dead three years. I check behind it some nights while brushing my teeth, lately more often than others. What, am I ten years old?

Much of my life is like that, something ready to happen to crack the peaceful silence keeping me always on edge. The exception is when I’m outside, unless Samuel approaches without offering a clue, then I jump with a yelp of fear erupting. Usually he remembers to signal his coming near when I’m resting by the creek after a walk in the meadow. That took years of reminders before he took heed.

This unaccounted for stress is of course due to early trauma(s). So nothing could be bogging my life down. Gifts of good sleep, good health, and all loved ones doing well… still tears come with a good dose of sadness.

When to know gentleness and acceptance of what’s there, and when to exert the discipline of pulling myself up attending to things with a brightness that is not really there. The debate loses out to the tenacity of a feeling of sadness that stays. Patience with what I’m feeling instead of brushing it aside. 

The sadness of what was done, how deep it goes, and how much destruction was caused. To be tender towards myself and the little girl I was. No one bothered to know her, not then certainly, and now? Now it needs to be me. Those parts are speaking, and I’m listening. 

While meditating the thought comes, he held me down. He held me down. And there is one tear, two, then done. Enough to appreciate the feelings and why. To know what has been driving me to eat in ways abhorred, that hurt. Hating myself just like my little girl felt hated by all those around her.

Those that did it, those who did nothing- everyone, even the school nurse who was my aunt, and she knew. The silence to me as a little girl sent the message that I was nothing, hate-worthy, not loved. The only way though this is with love, a sword that cuts.

Love is not welcome, love is tainted by force and evil. What love is left shelters deep inside, only flickering with warmth on occasions of safety which is rare. Because monsters are everywhere, even alone in the silence of my own home.

I have known since age eight what people are capable of. And since loved ones are capable of such evil, everyone is.

The only way through is with love for little girl me.

WORRY or SLEEP?

 

It is so easy to follow my mind into the pit of worry, but no, whatever might be a problem, it is not my problem to solve unless it is about me. Caring is one thing, injecting my input into another is not. It happens with kids and grand-kids, especially when my head hits the pillow.

Detach. It is their time to deal with their problems if they exist, because my mind can go places where nothing really is happening. Yet my gut also is aware of things that others are oblivious to. So don’t throw out concerns that may be valid, just don’t lose sleep over them.

If they are there, they are not mine to solve. Sleep did come, deep and long.

Black and White Meet Grey

What if you beat the beast by not beating, but loving with soothing counterpunches in the form of words that shower care? A fight or a soft cloud. As it often is in the world of Patricia, finding a balance can be difficult as my world has been black or white. As years pass more grey lifts up offering a sultry fog mixing both. The ups and downs begin to meet in the middle as if standing on the center of a see-saw.

And that’s OK, it’s called balance, and I like it. No great highs to come down from, nor lows to rip myself up from, though there seems to be more of those than the highs. A general evenness has evolved.

Be aware of the successes savoring them, not dwelling on what’s lacking but relishing all that is; the sparkle from the twirling items sending prisms along the wall and carpet causing the kitty’s head to spin one way then the other.

Enjoying her antics, then her need to curl up on my lap offering her belly for pets until my legs ache and need to move. Love flows freely between human and cat. She responds to it, and I surely do if I pay attention to the moments.

So many pleasures at hand, right here at home. A trip to return a few items starts out enjoyable making me wonder if I ought to get out more. Faces smile back at my smile bringing a feeling of joy. By the second hour, and an argument at the check-out, not heated, but ongoing, the manager is called who allows the return.

Weariness takes over with a wish to be home, the tiredness hitting like a stone wall. The external world can be exhausting, reminding me why my life remains reclusive. Each person is parroting their needs, like the cashier who doesn’t understand the benefits of satisfying a customer, repeating the store’s policy as if it’s a edict from the King.   

Home. Home Sweet Home. 

In Touch

For much of my life, answers were looked for from others because other people seemed to have it together. Being split from my soul meant being lost in the forest, drowning in doubt, spinning misplaced like a wild dervish.

But others don’t have my answers. The solutions come from within, a place unexplored, untouched, unknown. That place had to be protected to survive, but it meant even my own parts couldn’t reach it.

It is only in these past few years that moments of clarity arise from a place where all things flow, the soul. The answers sought are inside me.

Sometimes information lies elsewhere, but the important stuff is there waiting. needing only to be tapped, touched, and connected to. Those moments occur most dramatically while meditating, or out in nature.

LOVE?

Swallowing Vit C throughout the day has not deterred this cold, probably caught by the grand-children Saturday. Waking at 3 AM, it took work to stay put and go back to sleep till 5.

Thoughts whirled. If you can’t control thoughts, you’re in big trouble, a line, or one similar to it from the Julia Roberts movie, Eat, Love, Pray.

So OK. Flip side to side, then lay flat concentrating on the breath some more. Thoughts quieted, sleep came, albeit interrupted, it came.

With the usual rocking by the fire sipping fresh coffee, thoughts arise. How lucky my life is despite all the struggles. Sons love me, grand-children too, and Samuel, a man unfortunate enough to have a wife almost incapable of love.

Love can be thought of, but rarely felt. There is a glimmer of love deep in the tunnels where it flickers protected. For myself, for others. But it is not accessed easily like most who are trusting, warm, and open.

How could it be out in the open where that kernel of essence could be completely annihilated? When all that was precious shattered, the only whole fragment left  lay in the vault of a vault, so walled in no one gets at it, even safe ones, even me.

It is as it is due to what was done, no fault of my own. It does mean I cannot love or feel love, but do so only in the safety of aloneness where I can think of you without you near me. There love flows.

 

RESILIENCE

photo by Patricia

Yin and yang. Would there be pleasure without pain? Days are not easy in the best of times, though winter adds to the stress of them. Drudgery, dull days, no sun. When it does appear all feels brighter. But in our area that is rare during the winter months when 5 pm means black darkness.

Push, push, then push some more. No one said it would easy, not for anyone. And pushing to implement goals brings relief in the form of satisfaction. Exercise also helps, along with eating in a way that is healthful, listening to the body’s cues, not the ever present gnawing which craves the comfort of love.

The work to go deeply inward trusting that what’s needed is there, takes time, commitment and faith, a belief that what sustains resides in every living thing.

Inviting the Beautiful

Even something as simple as a visitor unexpected, delighted in, yet unplanned, in addition to a skype call from Cory with his little angle Quinn, then the grand-kids later for tubing down the hill, cocoa, and dinner altogether when the parents returned…. whew, putting it in writing makes it harder to say simple.

A quiet, albeit peaceful life with Samuel, is gladly interrupted with a fun interaction with others, but so much altogether on one day was too much for my easily stimulated body. It was no fault of mine, things happen. Sleep would not come.

The dreaded sleep aid was necessary, making me groggy all the next day. There was no other way to calm down a nervous system that gets overstimulated. That is the life-long damage of PTSD, which can occur when trauma is not processed at the time it happens. Even fun things cause my body to do this.   

A day of quiet restored equilibrium, but the day felt wasted doing little to nothing except rest. The need to keep reminding myself that rest is needed, and this is not my fault, or flaw, or lack of character, was repeated throughout the day. I’m hardly a believer in anything except it being my fault. It is a tough job to calm me, to keep quiet, to keep still, to silence my worrisome, self-blaming mind. 

Sleep returned to the usual pattern- GRATITUDE. Now the usual heart healthy activities can be resumed; meditation, work-outs, cooking lots of vegetables, and other healthy fare, and trying to protect my delicate internal workings which are too often pushed too far. It doesn’t seem to seep in, though if listening there is a little voice saying, ‘no, too much.’ 

The most important work needing attention, is countering the harsh bully, challenging the awful thoughts which pound relentlessly. That is the work most challenging, and most needed. When that comes first, all else falls into place.