Failing to Thrive

 Sometimes blog posts come in spurts, these explosions of emotion or rants or thoughts that ignite and must be shared. And I wonder how I can make a more reader friendly version. But then I lose the flow. The crazy, mixed up flow, that once it starts, demands to be finished and every rabbit hole explored. 

So yesterday was a learning day, a growing day, an oh-shit day. Because no growth happens in rainbows and butterfly days. So today as I process my own trauma and what my part is in that, I think to myself, "Well Care (because I call myself Care sometimes), you are learning something new, something big, or the universe wouldn't have thrown this at you." I don't know yet if I believe myself. Sometimes my optimism lies to me. But always believing in new beginnings.... priceless. Okay, maybe priceless is not the exact right word. Maybe what I'm looking for resembles hope. Everyday a new beginning.... hopefulness. It doesn't ring the same as the old American Express motto/slogan. When I journal/blog, I have this great a-ha moment, hour, day. This time where I realize that my mind goes in circles at 90 miles an hour all day long and never stops. It does slow down sometimes. Usually when I need it to hurry up and process some piece of information. Then I find it meandering aimlessly through the past inside my head. 

A particular sadness that I carry with me is that sometimes (many times?) I say things that don't make sense. Things that are polar opposites of my core beliefs. This giant flaw makes me think my sanity is tenuous at best. Absent at most. I'm not one to think that people who battle mental health issues are crazy. It's a part of life and there are ways to heal mental illnesses. But when I have these lapses in reason, I know that I am totally bat-shit-planet-of-the-apes crazy. I guess I am can console myself that I am not "basic." Nor boring. But sometimes I just want all the noise to stop. To cease. To give me a rest. No wonder I am tired all. the. time. *sigh*

I have been told (by people I love) of things I said or did, actions I took, that are not consistent with my beliefs. And never were. I know that today my belief system has changed considerably from the ones I held in my younger years. The BD years. Before Divorce. Do other people split their lives up according to events? "The Divorce." That was a big one for me. There is before divorce and after divorce. I have a life before middle child, after middle child. Before Punky, after Punky. Before getting my teaching degree and license, after the start of my teacher life. There will likely be another one here. Teaching/after-teaching. 

Today I struggle to find optimism, and I feel as if I really am a failure. Those old voices, ghosts, demons are yelling and shouting inside my head. Counting up the numerous, frequent, fails of late. I have been saying that I am going to learn from my failings, that failure is the building block to success because it leads to growth. True statement. But here I sit, warm and happy in my pile of shit, a failure. 

Overwhelm

Over the last couple of years, I can see my life unraveling. I see.... the slow unwind of my professional life, my personal life, parenting and more. I can see it. I cannot seem to affect a change in the outcome. Like I'm in a trance.... knowing that it's my life coming apart, knowing that I'm the responsible party, that I am the one who has to change something. But as one in a trance, I cannot seem to move, to motivate, to start the change. It seems, to me, that I am unable to do anything but watch the unraveling of my life. 

I know that on some level, this is simply not true. It's my life. I can live it by default, but I am still the responsible party. I'm the one who pays the bill. It's my name on the blank that says "responsible party." And life just may come to collect. 

It's time to pay the piper. 

The truth is, this is an extremely uncomfortable place to be. The unknowns plague me. The demand to be acknowledged, and yet, no resolve in sight. Just more unknowns. Where do the answers lie?

I've heard that answers lay beyond the end of my comfort And here I am, dangling out in the deep, dark world of discomfort. Hoping for some answers. Answers in life. 

I feel the itch. the itch for something new. Creative. Something fun. Something true to my self. 

My prayer today is to find that passion. The spark that is true to me. My true self. The part of me that shouts to the world, "This is me!"  That part that can no longer be tamed or denied. That part of me, that doesn't have time for any detail that does not enhance my life. Amen?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

Uninvited Rage

What happened? Why are you stuck? These are questions asked by my therapist. We were talking about how, for awhile, I wrote every day. Every. single. day. And now I don't. I just quit.

Well, I am in the anger stage of grief. And I don't want to be. I don't want to be angry. at Dad for leaving me, but I am. I don't want to feel hatred and rage toward the brain surgeon who cut him open and let his brain bleed and not recover. But I am. I don't want to be angry at Dad for getting on that 4-wheeler and wrecking and laying facedown in the dirt, inhaling that damn dirt that grew that fatal bacteria that invaded our lives and took over and ruled over us. BUT I AM. Angry. Rage-filled. Bitter. Hateful. Full of bubbling, brewing, festering, infectious RAGE that at any moment could spill over and cover my entire world with a bitter plethora of colorful expletives and the stench of toxic emotion. I am so fucking angry.

I have been aware of this. But I don't want it. I have viewed it as something to ride out. like a storm. But it's not something I will ride out by ignoring it, by just knowing that it is there, and yet pretending to be capable of living a life of of peace, a life of honesty.

I am going to have to embrace it and let it overcome me. Consume me. I will need to let go of control and become submerged in it. Or at least in sort form of it. I will have to accept it and surrender to it. And let it wash over me.

I guess I am scared of that. First of all, I don't want this. I don't want to be consumed by anger and rage that I logically don't believe. It's not Dad's fault. It's not the surgeon's fault, no, wait, that one I don't fully believe. In this regard, I push down my feelings because my family is of a pacifist background and will never sue this man for malpractice. But I don't know that this wasn't some sort of carelessness by an overly-confident (cocky would even by an appropriate adjective) surgeon. But I have tried not to be angry about this because I see no resolve and that is even more frustrating. But I see where all this pretending has gotten me. Festering. Smelly. Infected. Toxic. Stuck.

But to go on, I don't WANT to be mad at my Dad. But he is the one who got on that 4 wheeler that day. He is the one who left me to face the rest of my family without him. He is the one who... oh hell, he fought so FUCKING hard to stay here, even when he was in so much pain and decay, see... I just can't blame him. I can't let that anger just live. Because he didn't want to go. He fought like a Son-of-a-bitch to stay. He loved life. He loved us. He wanted to be around for a much longer time.

I want to end this with that sweet summary of how I've faced this, walked through it, and now I get to experience that gratitude and know acceptance. But no. I'm not there. I am still angry, bitter, broken, and full of rage.

Missing Dad

Every day I wake with a little more of Dad inside of me... my heart, my actions, his voice in my ear, and in action (WWDD?) And everyday that he is a little more deeply embedded inside of me, he is a little less here outside of me. A little less of his energy, his presence, his passion embody the things he made or made happen, or built. They are little less of my Dad and more just earthbound things.

What does it even mean, he's inside of me?!

I feel him. I can't explain it. It just is. And I'm grateful. Because this Daddy's girl is so, so lonely for her Dad. But he's here. He's a part of me. Every day that I wake, I become a little more like him, because he is within me.... his energy, his gentleness, his compassion.

I don't know much, but I am willing to learn

My least favorite thing in the world. Feeling the feelings. Walking through my pain. But I have spent so much of my life both practicing and condemning avoidance. At the same time. I talk about my family of origin and how it was never okay to talk about.... well, anything really. I stew and fume and just keep it there to be my only source of angst whenever I wish. But I have also fostered it in my own life. I avoid the things I don't want to talk about, the subjects I wish NOT to tackle. But the truth is, the healing comes in the feeling and talking and walking. Walking the pain all the way to the end of the path. In that process is the pathway to peace. The victory of contentment. And I realize that being reasonably content is far more achievable than the ever-fleeting happiness. Happiness is temporary. But true peace, true contentedness, comes from a place of working through things and realizing that life isn't always rainbows and unicorns. And when that fleeting moment of happiness dissipates, content and peace will still remain. As long as I remain willing. Willing to walk through feelings, good or bad. Pain. Willing to learn a new way of thinking. The Bible talks about faith the size of a mustard seed. I think that applies to willingness too. If I have just a sliver of willingness, just a grain, on those dark days, it will be enough. Enough to pull me through and change me. To pull me through and open my heart and my mind to whatever God has for me. I try to remember this. Because I know my mind is a dangerous playground and a ticking timebomb. I know that if am not careful, I can be swallowed up by half-truths, by insane narratives in my head, by insecurities and fears. I know it can happen. I know I have to keep that doorway of willingness unlocked, even though some days the only thing keeping it from latching is a tiny grain of mustard seed.

This computer will automatically close all tabs and shut down in... (some amount of time)

Some mornings I get up and think I have nothing to say. Just the endless chatter in my head. I know I need to learn to write anyway. Write my way through the writer's block, if that's what it is. I think it is just that I forgot to close all the tabs before I went to bed and work up with 99 tabs open on my internal browser. And I keep getting a message that the storage is full and I need to upgrade. Am I alone in this? Memory is slow, but there's a lot to sort through, maybe that is why. I don't actually know how to upgrade my internal hard-drive or even access more storage. Maybe I'll try a reboot. A complete shutdown for the human life equivalent of a computer shutdown minute. So what does that mean? 24 hours? 48? And what exactly am I detoxing from? My computer? Any and all forms of electronics? Humankind? Well, humans these days are not super kind anyway. I am not sure I'll mind a human-unkind detox. Okay. For real. Help me formulate a plan for this. Will I magically heal and be ready for a reboot in two days? What else do I need to detox from? Prepared foods? Negative thoughts? I'm hopeful I can formulate a plan and then share my experience with all of you. You know, kind of like when your electronic browser says something like: "Computer will shut down in 60 seconds. Do you wish to save your work?" Or whatever. I am planning a shutdown. I can still cancel it or change the settings and save everything at this point. But once I shut 'er down, I may lose some data if it wasn't properly saved.

Turning a Corner

I grew up in a home where anger and rigidity ruled. Conformity was a necessity and essential to survival. I also spent a large part of my young and not-so-young adulthood feeling sorry for myself, building a wall of bitterness, calling out the people who I felt "wronged" me.

Not me. I'm not like them.

Except that I am. Because whatever I focus on, I become.  And I became angry, bitter, volatile, scared, angry, and pressurized. I wasted a lot of my adulthood pointing out my victimization and hurt instead of nurturing healing and forgiveness. I became the thing I hated. It is a sad fact. I regret this more than any other thing in my adult life.

The thing is, I am sad, and yes, angry, that I endured things in childhood that I shouldn't have. But holding that pain tight only hurt me more deeply. And in turn, it caused me to hurt the people I love.

Finally, finally, finally... I came to a place where the anger subsided. I could see. I could really see my family for just who they are. Flawed, broken people who were continuing to choose life in their own brokenness. Their own frailties. Their own lack of a better example. And the guilt and shame that those shortcomings carry with them.

I am awash with regret. With shame. with some emotion that I can't quite put my finger on. As this realization and reality washes over me, I am overcome with the knowledge that I perpetuated shame and sadness in the souls of those I love.

And yesterday. Yesterday I was offered a gift. I had both the opportunity and the right "mood" if you will, to offer an apology. I didn't offer an amend. Because when I offer an amend I ask how I make the situation right. And I didn't do that. But maybe, just maybe, by seeing life for what it really is, seeing others as beautiful souls, and offering kindness instead of judgment, I will be making some kind of an amend. Perhaps when I don't lie about my upbringing, but I don't get stuck on the violence and my own frailties, I will not cause more harm. Maybe. Just maybe.Yesterday I got to say with utmost sincerity, "I'm sorry I was so judgmental, so hard on you." And I also got the gift of being forgiven.