Congealed Feelings...Thwarting Myself

Silver Swarm

i walked the dog to the beach this morning, stopped to sit, let myself feel the sadness wash over me. Watched the tugs at a distance, looked across the water, watched the waves crash, still crying, feeling alone, so tiny, angry, insignificant, wondering why it hurt(s) so much. I keep talking about this, maybe i just need to to dissipate the power over me. Like my personal hydro. Trying to let off some of the radioactive steam so I don't melt down, but although i am not a nuclear reactor, I still feel the toxicity of the outlay all around. An utter lack of faith in myself. Thinking only of despair for the future, a future of failure, always looming, waiting for it to come. Or maybe i do try to bring it on myself to ease the limbo of waiting. Our survival instincts are always working, assessing. But I don't see any plan, no way out. Looking up at the birds, a distant curiosity fills me, what for? What the fuck am I doing here? There is no need for me. I just hurt. I'm wasting precious air.

And of course weighing heavily is the issue of abuse and how it gets passed down like some ill conceived heirloom. Children who are beaten, terrorized, berated by their damaged parents for the smallest imagined blunder. Vowing never to be like their parents, but missing the key: they don't know what the alternatives are, and by the time adulthood rolls around, the choice to abuse not only appears to be the only solution, it feels like the right one, the normal one. Then we are confused when our behaviour does not elicit the response we want. We are trapped the angst of disloyalty. Must not speak the truth of it. The cycle continues. Alternatives feel too scary, ancient congealed feelings feel too scary. Do not go there. Punishment lurks. Abandonment lurks. I feel the anger surge inside, the injustice drills in to me, floods in really. All the world a series of injustice. Molecules of injustice as microcosmic clones. and all the while, the tugs tug, the birds fly, oblivion or denial? The former as pinnacle, the latter as waystation.

The neglect by the trusted ones feeds our toxicity, subliminal whispers of how we might seek revenge, doesn't tell us the consequences, lures us with images of payoff,  the empty promise by which we are fooled. The hole in the fence where we hammered in the nail. The hole that remains even should we manage to pry it out. The lesion.  The fence forever altered. Is this what is happening in my brain? Is this the irreparable damage? Is there hope in neural plasticity? Solace in medication? I fear it i too late for me.
I try to understand in a way that is balm. But its homonym surges forward. I don my protective coating and carry on. I continue to hope through the despair, it is all I can do to thwart the lure of the edge.

PSYCH! or rather SNAP!

Just got a call from the clinic, no Dr. Passey in this week, thus my case was not discussed, thus one more week until my "case" is discussed.

Crappity-crap-crap.

I am now blogging for health central, the latest is Anxiety, Depression and PTSD . Guess I'll just go between in an alternating type fashion.

Jane

A very dear family friend, my 5th sister, is extremely ill. The likely not coming back kind of ill. Everyone who knows her is currently going through all manner of shock/grief response. Me, I don't feel anything.I think I'm in serious lockdown mode. I feel like a horrid freak. There is no reason not to feel anything. And I don't think I am in shock or anything like that.

It's not about me.

Please live Jane, we're even not remotely prepared to say goodbye. You are a gracious, hilarious, beautiful woman. Please live.

Happy Lab Rat

Shame has been on my mind a great deal lately. I am a very fortunate person, with many things and people in my life to feel grateful for, but gratitude eludes me. I try to feel grateful, I do. Sometimes there is a fleeting permeation of peace: reassuring yet elusive as w(h)ell. Shame however is, as they say, another story. Persistent. Shame for intervening too late, shame for an ill-judged intervention, shame in my gelid state of cowardice.

In the news people everywhere are fighting to survive. Our planet is markedly void of peace. I believe in our capacity for goodness, believe that goodness is our default state. We are drawn astray. Our childhood deprivations become our internal stealth guides.  We are not aware. We seek power to assuage powerlessness. Wealth to erase neglect. What was externally toxic claims our self. We become our abuse.

I wonder about my drugs. Wonder if I am further crippling my brain. My brain has the capacity to heal itself. I fear the drugs interfe(a)re. HA, a pun of sorts! I want off. before my desire to want out wins.

My Veteran's Affairs Case Manager has suggested I be "assessed" by an OSI Clinic in Vancouver (OSI - Operational Stress Injury - yeesh, why can't the military just use the words already there, talk about reinventing the wheel). I have agreed to it, maybe there are other things to help, maybe acupuncture? Maybe a couple of short laser blasts into my brain? Lick a socket??? Apparently my GP and Psychologist have decreed I meet the criteria for Long Term Disability. LTD - sadly not a fancy car. I want to feel better, although it is fun being a drama queen - LOOKATMELOOKATME!!!!!

I am happy to be a lab rat. I said I would be part of a study if it meant I could undergo some as yet unsanctioned (ideally controversial - so I can achieve my dream of being a superhero) treatment. But I am (no surprise) afraid. Some of the staff at the clinic were military. I fear being found an imposter. Fear that what is wrong with me is a fundamental, genetically flawed state. A factory second. Defect. Marked down for quick sale.

Oh boy.

Puppy needs outside.