Solstice Epiphanies

Last night Griffin and I talked about the sleep problem I’ve had for some time. Basically, I average 4.5 to 5 hours of sleep a night. Not only is it bad for me in general, it’s particularly bad for the fibro. Unfortunately, this is a habit I settled into after Mom died, or maybe just after I returned to Houston. I had developed the habit previously off and on over a few years prior to that, but never quite as extreme as this and not for as long an ongoing period.

Griffin suggested I keep a diary. He suggested I note when I go to bed, what time I wake during the night, what time I return to trying to sleep, and my feelings at the time — I think he meant my feelings as I try to return to sleep, but I think I should do so when I first get ready to go to sleep, and maybe when I first wake, if appropriate. To this list I’m adding a) what plans I have for the next day and what time those plans are for, and b) any events of note that occurred during the day, especially the evening.

I went to bed at midnight. I woke at after 6 a.m. to go pee. Then I sat in bed and journaled, and the rest of this post came from that journal entry. I made some important realizations and am going to write up the appropriate ones into thank-you cards for Griffin and Sabine, each. The following is the majority of the entry, edited for clarity.

***

6:20 a.m.  12-21-13  YULE! SOLSTICE!

Realized earlier that I didn’t do much for a long time [after I moved to Seattle] because I was healing. I’d wanted to just be cared for during all those months and years after Mom’s death — was so tired and drained and hurting and scared for all that time. So I got here and [Griffin and Sabine] took care of me. I may have needed care for longer than we all expected, but I am finally coming out of this mental and emotional space and doing chores around the house. Griffin being temporarily less able spurred me.

I am feeling more healed, I realized. Something that was clenched inside of me has loosened. I still have a lot to work on, but maybe I am now better able to not only work more effectively but recognize my progress.

Christmas Memories: Sadness and Joy

I always loved Christmas while growing up because it was a big deal to us as a family gathering, both immediate and extended. For the first 11 years of my life, we got together with my dad's family on Christmas Eve, even at immense inconvenience to other family members, to open presents after midnight when my grandfather arrived from closing up the movie theater he managed. After that, the younger siblings (my dad's generation) rose up in protest and we began having our gatherings at a more suitable day and time and took to drawing names instead of giving gifts to everyone, another hardship on the younger families. Even with all the craziness and sometimes 35-40 people in a small, three-bedroom house, I loved the holidays. And Christmas morning was always just about the four of us: Mom, Dad, my little brother Jim, and me.

However, the year I was 16, we moved 1100 miles away from the town, and everyone, I’d known my entire life. At least that Christmas, it was still the four of us. Unfortunately, Dad died of a heart attack the following May (or March, I'm not sure after 35 years) and Mom insisted we stay where we were. So the Christmas I was 17, there was just Mom, Jim, and me. Mom wanted to make it something to remember as being different, so that it wouldn’t be a memory of loss — any more than it already was — but a new memory. So the three of us talked about it and decided to have lobster tail for Christmas Eve dinner! Mom had never cooked lobster of any sort before, but she asked the man at the fish counter where she bought the lobster. Jim and I made the salad and melted the butter and set the breakfast bar for our feast. We even had little glasses of wine with Mom's regular-sized glass. And it was a very fine meal! It was a nice way to start a new memory.

In addition, my brother and I were panic-stricken that there was no one to fill Mom’s stocking or give her gifts from Santa that year, so we did it. We bought small gifts for her stocking, and we went in together on a single gift for her from Santa. On Christmas morning, Mom quickly figured out who the 'elves' were who had surprised her by filling her stocking, but the look on her face when she found a package to her from 'Santa' was one of shock. I think she believed in Santa for a moment, or that an angel had reached down and given her a gift. Then she saw the smug looks on our faces and realized that her 'angels' were the two teenagers who were her anchor in this world.

By then, our extended families no longer extended. Our family was just the three of us.

Anger and Compassion

Dangerous

My housemate Sabine is a very angry person. She is also kind and generous. But as someone living with her, I would not agree with "sweet" the way those who do not live with her (or are not married to her) think she is. Because when she gets angry, she uses her anger like a sledgehammer and woe to him, or her, who gets in her way.

Unfortunately for me, I have issues relating to anger, particularly to other people's anger, whether it's directed toward me or not. I want to cower, I want to hide, I want to run.

My friend Julie would say this is one of my Life Lessons. My therapists would all say I can use this as an opportunity to deal with my issues about anger. I'd like to tell them all to jump in the lake, but that would just be petty. Especially because they are right.

I wish I could help Sabine. I think she needs therapy, but she is not someone I can suggest that to. There is always a wall around her that I think no one can penetrate, except maybe her mom. Not even her husband, Griffin, gets that close.

And, basically, the only person we can fix is ourselves. That's another lesson I'm learning.

Stuck to Unstuck? My New Journey

Oh, how badly I've been stuck. I've been exhausted. My brain has felt clogged and slow. I've taken naps for hours almost every day. I have done virtually nothing to further my plans or contribute to the household. I have been a lump since arriving in Seattle.

Luckily for me, my hosts have been very understanding of my exhaustion and have asked little of me so far. Friends have supported my need for sleep and rest. It's just been me who has had higher expectations.

I have a comprehensive list of things I need to do: catch up with people online and over the phone; contact professional connections; get in touch with local contracting agencies; join professional organizations and meetups and attend meetings and events; unpack what I brought to the house; and begin revising my novel.

I don't expect myself to do everything every day or all at once. I have date ranges for everything in my list. Of course, I'm behind on probably half the list so far. But maybe that's due to my unreasonable expectations in the face of unexpected setbacks. Like needing to sleep all the time.

I have a long history of overindulging myself. In response to what seemed to me a lifetime of excessive and unreasonable expectations and a lack of understanding of my needs, I began to allow myself to slack off on things, which started small and gradually grew to encompass everything in my life.

Well, I've completely changed my life again and this, too, must change. There are things I want to do and things I need to do and blowing them off is not acceptable to me any longer. Blowing off these things does not lead to the life I want to live. And that's the important point: there is a life I want to live and I have to put in the time and effort to create it. Always before, I've waited for it to happen. No more.

When I was younger, I pursued my life more actively, so I know I can do it. There are many things I did and was when I was younger: I cleaned frequently and regularly; I wrote and drew and painted on virtually a daily basis; I did physical activities that I enjoyed; and I didn't dwell on my mostly solitary state. And I daydreamed. I played. I imagined. Those are important things in anybody's life, but particularly in the life of a creative person.

So I'm going to relearn old good habits and discard current bad ones. I'm going to be healthier in ways that I can enjoy. I'm going to rediscover my true self and let her out of the various boxes and closets where I've hidden her and all her wonderful, brilliant aspects. I'm going to love for love's sake, I'm going to love and value myself, and I'm going to live a full and rich life for as long as I possibly can.

On Making Friends

Today in therapy, we were congratulating me on the strides I've made in my cognitive therapy: developing my center and a sense of home in myself; becoming comfortable and content with the way my life is, even though I would rather it be less solitary; basically developing more of an internal locus of control rather than external.

Then I asked my therapist, "What next? Go back and do some trauma work?" She was curious why I felt I need trauma work rather than to continue with cognitive work. 

"Where in your life do you feel that past traumas are holding you back?"

That was a good question. We talked about that for a bit, then I came up with my problems with making connections: both friendship and romantic. Since I've lived in Houston, I've had two friendships go ballistic on me (and had to go to other friends to get reality checks to make sure I wasn't the crazy one in each situation), one dropped off the radar, and one has had very good reasons to be scarce. But in my past, I've watched as other people made workplace friendships that developed past the workplace and I saw people make love matches that eluded me. I've developed the expectation, I told my therapist, that either I won't make any connections or the ones I do make will end very badly. (I have one good friend I made via work and who has remained a good friend for over 25 years.) I feel I'm so poor at making friends I might as well start making them out of Sculpy.

There is good reason for me to think that traumas have affected my ability to make intimate and lasting connections. But it's also possible that my expectations, based as they are upon experience, have twisted my beliefs and self-talk about friendships and romantic relationships. So far, we are doing quite well with the cognitive stuff, so why not keep going on that, my therapist suggested. 

The Center of All Things

Today's therapy became very philosophical. A post of mine appeared on the What EveryBetty Said blog today and it was about the concept of all things being transitory. This led to my thinking about how I lost my anchor and my center when my mom died because she was those things to me. Then I wondered if maybe I'm making my BFF into those things in her place, and if I should pull back a little bit.

My therapist saw things differently. She's listened to me talk about the Zen Buddhist and Stoic philosophies that I read on and her take was about risk and needing to risk pain and the negative emotions (think in terms of the negative space on a graph) in order to have the possibility of joy and love and the full range of positive emotions (the upper, positive part of a graph). That what I really need is to create my center, my anchor, within myself, not pull back from people so I don't risk pain.

There are a lot of reasons why my center is not within myself. My parents did not raise me to be self-sufficient. In fact, my father — a cop — taught my mother to handle a gun and my little brother to handle a gun, but did not teach me. I was warned away from tools and ladders and other "dangerous" things because I "might get hurt." I was sheltered and protected, at least as they saw it (they didn't protect me from being molested) and pretty much expected to marry someone who would continue to take care of me. Even though my mother worked outside of the home and she made equal decisions with my father and was in no way submissive or second to him. It was all very weird — I saw that even as a kid. So I didn't develop an interior locus of control or a sense of self-confidence in the face of difficulty.

Next, well, are the traumas in my life. Molestation. Bullying. Then losing my father, then my brother before I was 22. I held onto my mother with both metaphorical hands and all my might: she was the reason I chose not to take my own life after my brother took his and I could barely cope: I felt a responsibility to my mom to not put her through that again. So she was my reason for living for a very long time. She anchored me to this life.

One of the biggest problems I've had since Mom died was this lack of a center or an anchor, a lack of being grounded. My therapist proposed that this is what I work on. Be my own center so that I can embrace those I love without leaning on them so that if they go away I won't fall over. Be grounded on my own feet so that passing traumas cannot knock me over. Be able to still love and care with a whole heart, without crumbling should I lose who I love.

The concept is a simple one, sure, but not easy for me to achieve. It's spiritual: what in my non-deitific life gives me a spiritual center? It's cognitive: what have I accomplished that proves to me that I am self-reliant and independent? It even touches that part of me that is kinesthetic in nature: not leaning, standing on my own feet, etc., like a Weeble ("Weebles Wobble But They Don't Fall DOWN!")

I'll address these aspects of centeredness and my life in later posts (or this one is going to be far too long; besides, then I'll have ready-made ideas for later posts). Right now, I'd like to know, do you feel centered and grounded within yourself? What does or does not give you that sense?

Misplaced Heart

I lost my heart years ago and have been trying to get it back again. My heart is never entirely with me, never completely where I am; it's usually looking out the window or over the wall or across the sea. For awhile, my heart may sit beside me, whether it's in a cottage outside of Seattle, a rehabilitated ranch house along the Pacific Ocean, or an apartment next to a lake northeast of Houston, loving the place where I am. But after a year or two or four, my heart sprouts wings once again and flies off, telling me I don't love where I am, I never loved where I am, and urging me to leave. My heart is always making me chase after it.

I loved where I grew up. I loved my small town as it grew to the size of a small city. I loved my family's house. Okay, I didn't love the pink all over my bedroom, but the rest of the room was fine. I even, when I was much younger, loved myself and was my own friend. My heart was inside of me and in my family and my home. I was content.

But we moved. Daddy died. We fell apart, my family and I. And I didn't love where I lived.

Life changed so much then. I graduated from high school. I went to college. I moved between college and my family's home — which I had come to dislike a great deal — for school year and summer until I graduated yet again and remained in Seattle. There was never time to love a place or to find my heart or my center. And then, for a few years, I moved every time my lease was up until I moved in with two friends. We shared a house, these two young men and I, for a year and a half. One of them moved across the country for a job and my best friend and I found a great apartment to share for the next two and a half years, until we were heartily sick of one another.

I enjoyed the apartment a great deal. I enjoyed my next, with another friend, also a great deal. A year after that move came more changes in where I lived and who I lived with and how happy — or rather, unhappy — I was.

Falling In and Out of Love

My love affair with Houston has been waning, as many of you reading my blog have already surmised. I don't have many friends here and none of them are close friends. I don't have work. And it gets too hot and humid for too long for my taste in the summer. And it has giant roaches.

That being said, I have a terrific therapist and psychiatrist. I am involved with an interesting non-profit for which I do both volunteer and paid work. Rarely is there snow and ice in the winter.

I know that the friends part is due largely because I haven't gotten involved in a lot of things. I have gone to professional meetings and networking lunches and met a couple of women there, but they have drifted away. I'm involved with the non-profit and enjoy the people I know through there, but only a couple of them socialize with me and that is rarely. So I guess I have tried.

I think I'm noticing this more since my trip to Oregon. I got to see several friends (and was perhaps busier than was necessary for a vacation). I got to see the ocean again, which I love. I even imagined the sound of gulls my first morning back in Houston. 

Connection

Humans are born hard-wired for connection, which is why being thrown out of a group, being ostracized, or simply having no community is so devastating. Even the non-conformists have to find other non-conformists to hang out with!

In my e-class on shame, love, and worthiness, one of the things Ms. Brown talked about was the need for a connection network: people in your life whom you can go to when you need support, when something that felt shaming to you occurs, when you need a reality check, and just for that being part of a group of people who love and accept you.

I have a very small connection network of people I know in person, and most of them live elsewhere. But I've discovered that I've got a lot of online friends who I've never met in my connection network. These are the people who cheer me along during my difficult times and my good times and who help me recognize good things amidst the rubble of my current life or who suggest good things that are not too difficult to do to make things better. These are the people who don't seem to mind that my blog has so much angst and depression to it. They see beyond the depression and anxiety to me, which boggles my mind.

As I slowly learn to accept that online friends count just as much as friends I've met, I slowly start to feel better. I feel as if I've met many of these friends and I find I want to give to them as much as they give to me. This is my community. This is my neighborhood. We drop off virtual casseroles on bad days and we share virtual margaritas on good ones. If I had the money, I would fly out to meet every single one of these people, give them a hug, and take them out to dinner (this was how we showed appreciation in my family).

So to all of you who are my virtual friends and family, and to those who may become such, thank you for making me feel more connected and less alone. It's taken me awhile to appreciate this kind of connection, but I have appreciated your kindness and thoughtfulness for as long as you've been providing them.

Love and blessings to you all!

January Sucks

My boy, HS senior photo

As I wrote yesterday, my brother killed himself 29 years ago,  just days before my birthday. I always get depressed in January. I was also always used to having my family making a big deal out of my birthday, even as an adult. Mom called me every year on my birthday ever since I went away to college and sang Happy Birthday to me on the phone, even when I lived in the same city as she did. She called me with my brother, then with her second husband, then with my grandmother, then just her. But she always called and sang. So I'm feeling quite unhappy about January these days, even more than before.

My mom, HS senior photo

Because of my brother's suicide, every January hurts, but at least every year prior to last year I had my mom — whose own loss of a child was greater than I could imagine — for comfort and to take my mind off my birthday loss and pin it on birthday gains (such as all those additional years that are better than the alternative). I miss her voice.

Missing My Boy

He was born three years and almost nine months after me and he was always "my boy." He was my treasure and my gift and I'd have given my life for him. For a long time, I wished that our parents had died and at least left me him. 

But he died when he was 18; this coming week it will be 29 years since he killed himself, just days before my birthday. I always get depressed in January. 

The thing about suicide (which I conveniently chose to ignore when I was thinking hard about it, some time ago) is that you never get over that grief. It remains sharp, like a deep cut from a sharp knife. It gets better, but never entirely heals. Everyone I've ever talked to who survived a loved one's suicide tells me that. Even people who were friends, not even close, remain affected for years and years.

So every January I bleed inside. 

Family ... Kin ... Clan ... Tribe

What is 'family'? Who are they? What part do they have in your life ... and you in theirs?

All my life, 'family' meant people related to me by blood. We rarely included anyone from outside the blood-clan into our tribe. So members of my family had a huge impact on my life and on me, sometimes not so good. But good or bad, I loved my family more than my own life.

Mine wasn't the type of family that invited others in. Our parents didn't invite a friend each for my brother and me to take along on even short trips: we and sometimes our cousin(s) were supposed to be enough playmates for each other, and if you knew my cousins you'd know why this was a delusion. My parents had friends they spent time with, but there was a strong line between friend and family. And you never, ever asked favors of friends. 

A Sally Fields Moment

The past year-and-a-half has taken me places I've never imagined. I never imagined taking care of my cancer-stricken mother — or being able to for that matter. I never imagined moving back to Oregon then back to Houston, all in the space of six months. But more than that, I never imagined finding out that So Many People Like Me!  They really, really Like me! (And one or two have even said 'L-O-V-E'!)

Yeah, I have a strong Sally Fields side. That Oscars moment of hers was very painful to me, because I could (and still can) identify so strongly with her. 

It's such a wonder to me, to be liked, to be loved. My parents loved me, as did my brother. So did my grandparents. I imagine that while I was very young and very cute and had few significant opinions of my own that my aunts and uncles and some of my older cousins liked or loved me as well. I was 8 when I found out that not everyone loved, or even liked, me. It went downhill from there. Apparently I am one of those people who often causes others to form very strong opinions one way or another. 

There's lots of history and tons of stories in there, but they aren't the point of this post. The point of this post is that, as a result of my difficult year-and-a-half, especially the last month or so, I have found out that many people I like and respect Feel The Same Way About Me! It matters because it hasn't always been so. It matters because it feeds the part of me that needs external validation and that has been feeling empty for too long. And it matters because I have lost the favor of several who cared, or said they cared, during that time. This is not a one-to-one correspondence in growth here folks. I believe that I have acquired approximately 5 to 10 times as many "likes" as I've lost.

I think I'm feeling a bit dizzy; perhaps I'm coming down with something. Oh yeah, I think it's that thing called a Sally Fields Moment. I think it's a crazy little thing called 'loved'.

Presents = ♥!

When I feel low, I want people to give me presents. Heck, I'm even happy when I receive a "present" I've ordered for myself: I lurve the UPS driver, the FedEX driver, ... basically whoever hands me the "present."

And yes, my family frequently used material things to say I love you. We hugged and kissed and said I love you, but there was just enough gift-as-love/affection to make it into my psyche for a lifetime. So when I feel depressed or lonely or even just blue, I want to receive presents.

I have no books due to come to me until January (Ms. Lucy March!). My apartment is too messy to even contemplate buying a tree and decorating it ... or decorating anything. I've got to stop buying ice cream as a present to myself. And I told my friends not to give me anything for xmas when I go stay with them all up in Seattle. So ... sigh ... no presents are due.

This is an issue. This is an issue I need to work on and I have achieved a lot of progress (like, I am aware of it and can often sidetrack it). But, given how things have been lately, and even, hell, for the past couple of years or so, my love-basin is feeling quite empty and dry (kind of like most of the lakes, rivers, and bayous in Texas, as a matter of fact). So it's a lot more difficult to sidetrack that presents = ♥ feeling.

I don't have any ideas that I'm sure will work. Distraction, the old stand-by, of course. I have tons of yarn and crochet thread, so I can work on a project to give myself. And I do have to buy a few things for myself, which will at least fulfill a retail-therapy aspect.

That should help. I hope it does. It will be so humiliating to ask the people I know to "give me this book/ring/knicknack and pretend it's a gift from you to me." 

On Simplifying My Life

I like reading about simplicity — there is always a new perspective or something new to learn. Because I don't have my favorite books with me, I've been cruising teh Interwebz and found a post on one of my favorite sites: zenhabits. This post is "Simple Living Manifesto: 72 Ideas to Simplify Your Life" by Leo Babauta, the author of the site. 

The post isn't about 72 things you must do in order to simplify your life. The 72 things are ideas and suggestions, things to think about. I am beginning with the first one, because it seems central to how to live my life in general, not just how to simplify it.

"I. Make a list of your top 4-5 important things." This list basically sets your priorities and the way you want to live your life. This is what I wrote:

1. Creating. Writing!, drawing & painting, crocheting.
2. Freedom. Being able to do what I want to do when I want to do it, not being tied to an 8 to 5, commuting, unsatisfying-job existence (and getting burnt-out, and getting sick — again). Being able to do work that I think is fun, being able to work wherever I want to work. Having time and energy for my important things.
3. Love & Friendship: having close friends to talk with, having friends to do things with, having people to love. (Having a "romantic" relationship would be nice, too.)
4. Compassion & Giving:  Things like volunteering for EcoBot and being the Vice-Chair for its committee, volunteering to do stuff here and there, and maybe volunteering to work with shelter cats and cats at adoption events. Giving my time.
5. My Health. Physical, emotional, mental. Getting the care I need and taking care of myself in every way.

It's not an exciting list: there is no lust for travel (not that I would turn it down, and the Freedom item would allow me to do so, but travel isn't important to me as a thing by itself). No building a hugely successful business (that wouldn't leave me very free). It's a list that feels good to me. It feels open; all of it feels "free" to me. I wasn't sure about 4 and 5, because they weren't exciting, but even though I'm not doing all I could be doing (possibly because I'm not free as I struggle with money and worry and grief), I am doing some and there is lots of room for growth.

I can see what I want here. I'm not sure how to get to all of it. And I need to just start writing: if I can write more than one blog on a regular basis, I can write a story. I can start a novel. I can work on any of a number of things I want to write. The blog seems different from "real" writing, but for goodness sakes, look at my weekly word count! That's real writing alright.

Who knows? As I pursue the things I can easily pursue now, maybe the others will simply come to me.

What are your top 4 or 5 things?

I Long for Love, Just Like in Film and Song — Only, Not So Much

I just read an article in Cracked.com that validated many of the issues I have with various romantic comedies: most of the ways a character shows love in these films is illegal (unfortunately, they tap Twilight only once). I mean, who wouldn't want to be stalked by a would-be suitor and find out he has tons of pictures of you in his apartment, or have him disable your vehicle to "protect" you?

http://www.cracked.com/article_18756_6-romantic-movie-gestures-that-can-get-you-prison-time.html

This article reminded me of the music list I want to create: Songs of the Stalker. All the cliched love songs that, if looked at carefully, are downright disturbing. Not even The Monkees were left out of this one.

• Mary Mary, by The Monkees: "Mary, Mary, where you going to? Wherever you go, I will follow." This after the guy has been rejected by said Mary.
• Norwegian Wood, by The Beatles. At the end of this song, the hoodwinked young man lights the woman's beloved furniture on fire.
• Every Breath You Take, by The Police. "Every breath you take, Every move you make ... I'll be watching you." Yeah, that spells romance.

Unfortunately, I keep forgetting to write down my list, so those are the only ones that easily come to mind. I'll write down my list eventually, but what are your favorite rom coms and love songs that break laws or in real terms are actually creepy? Please share, then I can truly create my play list, Songs of the Stalker. I'll even share!