Past the Edge of Despair

Today I am waxing reflective. Of course. This year is drawing to a close. And I am so grateful. Good bye and good riddance. Adios 2019. Part of writing a new post includes looking at what I posted last. It's a good post actually. And only a few who read it, got it. Because as much as I talked about stinky stuff (aka... shit), I know there's hope. Hope in the light coming on. Light bulb moments are filled with hope. Because without them, the darkness is overwhelmingly dark.

This has certainly been a year. A year I'd just as soon not see again. All of my kids were plagued by their acute depressive disorder. And I nearly lost one of them. The job was, well, just a job. And since I am a teacher, there is no effective way to do the job when it is just a job. It is too big. Too fierce. Too full of passion. Too thankless. Too structured. Too regimented. Oh. Yeah. The big push, my passion, at my job, is this: trauma-responsive classroom for traumatized kids. Well, for all kids. Trauma-informed/sensitive/responsive practices benefit all kids. Oh. And adults as well. Because if adults are living a calm, regulated life, their kids most likely will be doing the same. But I have lived in perpetual crisis since October of 2017. This is when my daughter left traditional school. This is when I found out how my district supports it's teachers. This is when I realized that talking the talk and walking the walk are vastly different things. This is when I knew that if I left my depressed 8th grader in public school, she would die. Probably at her own hand. And sooner, rather than later. This is when I started down a slippery slope of too much mental clutter to function effectively in ways that benefit my home life or my career. This is when I found out how truly helpless I really am. My world began unraveling. And it has continued doing so for the past 2 years. What have I gained for my high levels of stress and toxicity? More stress. A perpetual cycle of not being available to parent my very high needs kid, which leads to more guilt, which leads to more exhaustion, which leads to brain fog (don't laugh, it's a real thing), which leads to less ability to function in any capacity, which leads to knowing I am a failure at parenting, adulting and teaching. Which leads to me pondering the effectiveness of driving off a bridge or into an on-coming semi. To which I say, where now is the hope? The hope of ending family crisis and career burnout? Where is the hope that all this time, energy, fatigue and effort being poured into my kid will pay off? How will she effectively fight her suicidal tendencies if her mom leaves her in the same fashion? This leads to more hopelessness and more fog and more cortisol being released and more perpetual crisis.

If you read this in the fashion that it was penned (okay, well, typed) then you are tired now. And out of breath. And that is my life. Bursts and breaks. It's not a literary accident or failure. It's true to life. My life.

I'm fairly certain that the light at the end of the tunnel has flickered with hope for the last time. It has been extinguished and I'm here, again, in the darkness. So if you read my last blog post and you were saddened by my sadness, realize that sadness paired with hope is still hopeful. Sadness paired with despair is a completely different beast. And this is the time it is appropriate to worry. To know that a soul who feels only the burden of their shortcomings and no hope for a real change or a brighter future, that is a soul on the brink. The brink of a disaster that is too huge to even fathom. Because it will be buried. In more societal shame and secrecy. And more baggage and societal norms and aches will be placed on my children in their "healing" process, leading to more trauma, more disconnectedness and the cycle will repeat. Again, and again, and again.

Today, I got up to try and pull myself out of the hole I am in, and realized that it's cold and dark down here, and I don't have the energy to climb. And without some form of light, I have no reason to try. To scratch at the walls of dark, cold, despair. Today I am beyond the edge of despair. Today despair is wrapped around me like a warm blanket.  without the warmth. Just cold. and dark.

Suvival is not for the weak

I am a survivor. Of abuse as a child, emotional and mental and occasionally physical abuse as an adult. Of self-sabotage. Of self-hatred. Of anger and rage. Of addiction. Of taking my rage out on others. Of perfectionism.

I wish that were enough. To survive. To struggle until something changes. But it's not enough for me. I want to thrive. I want vibrancy and resilience and happiness. I want to learn to trust again. To love. To believe in the good of others.

Some of this is happening. I have some intimate friends that I can trust and love and who love me in spite of the fact that they KNOW me. Because the friends who love me BECAUSE they know me, they don't KNOW me.

If you look into my soul, there's blackness and deep seated anger and pain. Indescribable pain. Pain of living in a family system that is toxic and sick. I have read a book before called "Shame on You" and the family dynamic in it, is similar to mine. There is a black sheep and it is the responsibility of the black sheep to carry the dysfunction of the family. He/she is labeled the toxic one. The crazy one. The one who fractures the family.

But the reality is that the family couldn't have a black sheep unless it is already fractured, broken, dysfunctional in nature.

As I sit here typing this my stomach ties in knots. Not only is it uncomfortable to sit in this pain, but talking/typing about it, could very easily result in more pain. More resentment toward me, the one who constantly breaks apart the family. Recently I have been repairing a relationship with my sister. And it has been pointed out to me that I'm the one who consistently stirs the shit pot. And I'm certain there's an element of truth to that. For one thing, to effectively drive a person crazy or to gas light effectively, there needs to be a subtlety to any and all accusations, the lie must be buried in a fair amount of truth and/or facts. It's not a secret to me that I can be manipulative and twist reality to match my needs. What is generally a secret to me is when I am doing it, and when I am aware I am doing it, how to stop. There are some specific behaviors that happen when I'm called out for bad behaviors, and even though I know they are part of the fight, flight, freeze response for me, I cannot seem to think my way through them to a different response. Which leads to sabotage. Sabotage of relationships, jobs, family, networks.

Of course, the more I know about the brain and trauma, the more I know that there is no thinking when I am in the survival part of the my brain. As I sit here stewing in this, and yes, it is stinky to sit in, answers and solutions come to me "out of the blue." What do I do with kids? Practice. Practice appropriate responses when they are not in survival. Practice so it becomes second nature. *light bulb*

Okay, so as I sat here, in misery, not avoiding that ideas that 1) I live with a heavy responsibility to keep my family's focus off of their own dysfunction, and that 2) I do this very well, and as an adult, only I am responsible for my actions and for real change in my life; I have had a light bulb moment. It could very easily be a small light, a 4-watt-nightlight-bulb kind of light, but it feels big right now. It feels like stadium lights came on at the football game. It's time to process this and most importantly, practice. Practice new, calm, rational behaviors when I am not in crisis.
  

Enveloped in Silence

We are enveloped in snow.  I sit here in my pj's enjoying my snow day. I find snow to be majestic and powerful.

Silent Majesty

Snow....
Today
I love you
snow.
Today
I am in awe
of your silent power.
I love your
whisper voice
that roars out
into the night time
and now it glistens
in the daytime.
Today I love you
snow.