TRIGGERD

 being triggered is an interesting concept. I have been aware of this happening in my life over the years and I have to say there wasnt mush consistany with each unfoldings, at least not that I am aware of, but lol isnt that the foundation of being triggered... unawareness?

On the onslaught of some, there was paralyzing fear

Other times, violent internal retching

The odd occasion my mouth would explode with @%&@^$%... you know what I mean.

There was a few times I thought my whole body, from my head to my toes was that bomb with the fuse burning to its soon conclusion.

Most all of these usually gave way to my head eventually working it out, calming conclusions reached, logical counsel recieved, healing bringing the ability to move onward. Or that is what Ive told myself anyway! hahaha

Today was a trigger that I have wrestled with a few times (ok, probably many) that I find very hard to bring to a healthy conclusion. When your mother once again tells you how screwed up and sick you are. And lets you know that she is not the only one that knows this to be true. And she regrets being around such a selfish and horrible person.

And then that old familiar feeling rises up. Those whispers from ghosts of the past become louder and you start to think of all the broken relationships in your life and start to believe that the burden is to big to carry for the very few that are still in your life.

And it would be in everyones best interest if you just got in your car and drove away untill you are on the other side of the world.

The problem is, I become exhausted trying to dig my way out of the deep dark pit I find myself in which makes the thought of driving to the other side of the world impossible.

The Sheif

 I had a shelf.

I suspect that I had built it when I was very young.

I needed this shelf to put things on that didn't make sense.

Things that were a part of my life like, my mom not meaning to forget about my little sister and I on that blizzardy day resulting in disfiguring frostbite.

She did love us but.... 

I couldn't make sense of this conflict and so I put it on this shelf.  high enough to allow my heart and head to move forward.

Over the years, that shelf became so heavily laden that I had to try to reinforce it.

On it laid the slaps on the side of our heads that were supposed to keep us on our toes.

The requirement to hug and kiss every adult that came and went  Shamed if we tried to pull back when grandad slipped his tongue in our mouths and rubbed himself against us. They said I was being disrespectful. 

My favorite uncle sexually abusing me.

My dad banging my head against my bedroom wall while i told myself he really does love me.

After I left home,  my shelf broke. The debris of shame and guilt and trauma took a long time to sort through. 

Once I entered the realms of religion, I realized I had  built another shelf. This one needed to hold all the head twisting inconsistencies that kept popping up, the politics,  and yes, the full blown narcissistic narative reinforcing control, manipulation and once again doubt and shame. 

Even though that shelf once again seemed to helped me move forward it inevitable also fell down leaving me covered in confusion and rejection.

Eventually I found myself in a healed enough state that i could see how  unhelpful having a shelf really was.

I was starting to experience a freedom ushered in by love that showed me how important it was to not shelf lifes hits

That in this freedom, i could look at those pieces of debris and that i had the power to make my own decisions as to how i would deal with them. Which ment i could toss them into that never ending flow, consuming even the most painful experiences in a never ending love when ever i wanted. 

Rye

 Rye must be the answer to all of life.

Lifes woes

Lifes joys

Lifes everyday situations

Oh sweety, is that a sniffle i hear? Drink this, it will take that away in a flash.

Did he say flask?

I need to get one so i can carry it to school,  just incase my throat gets dry.

You know....Wet it with rye.

But nothing else.

Mix ing it with pop will always cause you to throw up.

A wedding with no rye? Why?

There is absolutely no logical or socially acceptable reason. As common and right as little old English ladies sipping afternoon tea around the garden patio table.

Oh the horror to be caught with nothing to offer your guests anytime night or day, day or night.

Im running low

Dont let anyone know

You look sad, have a little pick me up drink

Oh what fun. Lets celebrate.

Boho hes gone. But cheers to his burnt out life and liver.

A never ending supply of shameless tipping, tripping, skipping thro every possible scenerio of lifes ups and downs.

Till one day you just cant get up again without having that glass by your bed waiting patiently for your eyes to open. The family pet thats always there, lapping at your every move and moan.

Alberts Death

Rollercoaster riding is an experience that is reflective of my life. I was put on this ride as a child and my life has been a constant series of ups and downs. Serious ups and downs. The problem is that I was not aware that the lows were dangerously low making the highs appear high when in fact they barely met the normal human state of ok-ness. 

Today I heard that my uncle, who sexually abused me, had died. And I am on the rollercoaster again being flung every way leaving me unsure if I'm up, down or sideways crashing every way, hanging from ankles. I am walking around with my knuckles white from gripping so tight onto the threads of of life  made bare by my  emotions. 

The experts tell me to just go with it and to make sure I am looking after yourself. 

Recieving this news, and all the conflicting emotions that ran me over, brought a lot of confusion to my weary heart.  When I get thinking about it, it really pisses me off that one of my first thoughts is how am I going to look after everybody else's thoughts and emotions around how I am responding badly to this news .  

Today I am going to look after myself and I am going to make it clear to everybody that I cannot even try to explain to them why I'm crying.

My broken multi tasker

 I think my multi Tasker is wearing out. Some days it seems as if it may actually be broken.

A doctor said it's because I'm getting older but they've been spouting that line to me for over 30 years. I don't listen to them much anymore. 

I've tried a variety of alternative natural pathways to loosen it up, lubricate it, trying to get it running close to its original state where it would kick into action  with barely a conscious thought. A well balanced circus performer hoping up and down on one foot on a tight rope juggling 10 balls in the air. Oh the grace, the precision.

These days the tight rope seems to be in a knot around my neck and I can hardly even catch one ball even though life is throwing  many at me. Instead of floating like magic in the air, they just seem to be bouncing off my head.

I had a lot of hope that mushrooms wod be the mechanic oiling and tweeking my multi Tasker into A1 shape but instead I find my self looking into deep holes of unspeakable treasures where juggling is not even possible. 

Being  wrapped up in beautiful peaceful clouds filled with brilliantly colorful music and air and fragrances unknown is where they take me.

Maybe my multitasking isn't actually broken. Maybe I was never supposed to be circus performer. I'm thinking  maybe I'm supposed to be  an astronaut where juggling isn't even possible.

He was a small man and maybe that was the problem right from the start.
Small weak eyes, small weak laugh, small weak spirit.
But i didnt know that in the beginning.
In the beginning i was the one who was very small. At 12, hell at 14 my being was contained in a childs body. No lips no curves no boobs. Just a scrawny kid who longed to feel special and thats just what he did. In the beginning.
In the beginning he was someone i trusted, someone i loved, someone i could aways count on.
Looking back now, i remember telling people he was more of a father to me than my own. The skidoo rides, the motorcycle rides, the boat rides. Learning to drive all these including the big camper truck. Chevy motor on a dodge truck i would hear him brag. If you ever get locked out of your vehicle this is how you get in.
If you lost your keys these wires will start her up.
If you ever need someone, call me, I'll be there.
And indeed he was, in the beginning.
But the following years became a big blur with months and days and moments melting all together with the stroking, the touching, the kissing. Muddying my life in the huge pit i was drowning in for a long time.
Long after war time guns have stopped shooting and bombs are craddled quietly in their casings and men and women lay sleeping dreamlessly in their own beds,  battles continue to rage in the hearts of those left in the carnage and waste lands that only war brings.
And here i am having never felt the ripping sting of bullets or the deafening explosions of bombs,  in my wounded heart the ravages of this war left me paralyzed for a long time afterwards.
And now what can I say, but only because of Gace my story doesnt end there.  I have  come to know is there is a God. And this God has always been there from the very beginning.  Bringing me hope and healing and in my darkest places I hear him whispering thro my screams, I am with you, I will never leave you, you are precious and loved.
And even when any human touch would feel like vultures clawing at my innocence,  His presence was a blanket, covering me and giving me space to heal.
He who is all things all the time has given me a new beginning.

Pieces Of Life

I hate scraps of loose random pieces of paper. They drive me crazy.
Where is that address ?
Did you write it down?
Yes.
On a piece of paper.
Do you know where that phone number is.
I jotted it down on a piece of paper.
Ahg - crazyness takes over searching for 100's of pieces paper floating around containing tiny bits of my life. Scattered all over the house.
Is it in the bedroom, the kitchen, dinning room, maybe the hall closet?
Where did that piece of my life go?
You know.... that piece that got scribbled across the basement floor where everyone walked across it because we were all in the dark.
No one could see anything. No one could see me. Or what was happening to me. There across the cold dark floor.
I can't stand all those fragmented pieces. I need help to pull them all together.
Maybe then I will be able to start seeing me.
Maybe then I can start to see who I really am.
Maybe then I can live like I am more than scattered and lost pieces of paper.