Long time all at sea

 Not sure what title means but popped into my head. I’m 60 now. Unbelievable. Despair stalks me daily. It’s certainly persistent, the fucker.

Coming back to these pages after taking a couple writing classes, which I enjoyed. I know writing helps me and I met people who don’t appear to be living with depression which is an increasingly shocking idea for me to entertain. I just cannot imagine it.

Grief permeates me. And urine apparently. About 4 years ago I had a partial hysterectomy (still got them ovaries, yippee???) . Since then I’m a pee machine. Is it possible to pee my grief? As I’m so numb these days and rarely cry, is my body deciding to take things into its own hands ( laughs at self/ pun of sorts)? Is it helping me release grief by peeing. Sometimes 12x a night. That’s my personal record anyways.

So much grief. Losing my wee baby Nova, she was only 14 weeks. Never had a chance. If I was in the states I could be charged with murder, manslaughter, etc, such is the current states of their fucked up politic. 

I lost Nova as February 12 passed into the 13th in 2007. Or the 11th into the 12th? See my memory is really hole-y now too.

So much loss. And grieving things I never had. How can I lose what I never had?

Finished a ketamine assisted therapy program a month ago. The ketamine infusion part I think was helpful the group zoom therapy not so much. I lose any grounding in groups. Always so in tuned to others and their feelings and energy. So out of tune with me and my own.

My dog is 13. He’s in pain a lot.

My husband is 67. I’m pretty sure we’re negotiating a trauma bond and mostly do okay.

My parents are still alive. It’s tough for the both in so many awful ways.

That’s enough for now. Thanks for listening.

All About Swarm and the Will - written in September

This is the companion video I sent with Swarm II to Beijing in an effort to explain. Not a great video quality wise, but the bees are spot on!

Art is such therapy for me and so is nature - especially tides. Tides are entirely reliable, they come in they go out. When we lose our foundations and call everything into question, tides offer hope for new trustworthy foundations.

There are many more examples in nature that perpetuate the the idea of will. Will to live will to live, despite voices telling us otherwise. Finding that stopper finding our personal barricades against self-harm. The days of despair mock our will. Our will patiently waits out despair and vice versa.

Whoopsie, not able to attach video, maybe i can make a link to it

Math

Wide awake, in the dead of night as it were. 0345 hrs PDT.

Sometimes I just wake up, not sure. I was dreaming, nothing too bizarre content-wise. I went to a funeral last week, and there were some pictures of her. In one she was standing in the middle of a labyrinth and it was just like the one at Homewood, so i was thinking about Homewood and my adventures there. Didn't talk a lot, I was very reactive and angry and I was in there being a rescuer, trying to help, sometimes I did, sometimes not. It's so confusing. remembering Bunny, hoping she made it. What can really help put us on a healing path? I often find myself in a state of waiting, what for not sure. For real life to begin? Expecting so much of other people, perfection, for them never to hurt me. For perfect understanding. I expect such of myself, and of course fall short, self-damnation ensues. So I direct this nasty navel-gazing outwards and find the betrayal I seek. I will always let myself down, so others must too.

It's probably not helpful to watch shows like B.O.B. with PTSD in every episode. And this fascination with all things morbid, hoping for disaster - does this mean normalcy to me? I think it must - I seek it out. I seem to thrive when others are in distress. Perhaps it is an illusion of thriving. I kinda hope so cause the answer to that equation marks me as outside comfy - and human - parameters.

Sometimes i feel i've an old soul, then soulless. I sat in that church completely mystified really. I was astounded at the presence of such faith - I know everyone doubts, or at least I imagine this happens. A church is so big filled with symbols I just do not believe in. And I sit there in a state of incredulity, such a written in stone state of unwillingness. I don't see it as a closed mind, simply a questioning one, except that I have moved beyond questioning whether there is a god. I just don't think there is. What is interesting is that I find evidence of the external presence, the extended aura if you will, of people. There is much untapped about our corporeal selves, I see it as our individual electrical fields, our magnetic resonance. Electricity runs, or tends to run, on the outer edges of a conductor. Our bodies are electrical, we are conductors of same. We just haven't caught up with the science of it, although I am pleased to read of increasing collaborations between biology and psychiatry - so much for that mind/body dualism eh Rene? I am much more enthralled with your math foci.

Love math. Love its apparent certainty.

Amygdala - deedah - and Zombies. Nothing New Under the Sun

So all this new research is out suggesting a much closer biological / psychological link as evidenced in how our brains process and change when experiencing trauma. The area(s) of our brains that is (are) very active whilst we are in a daydream state apparently get hard-wired to our amygdalas as a result of the traumatic event(s). And all those big brainy folks finally have proved (aka conceded) that one doesn't have to experience trauma directly in order to develop PTSD. GENIUSES!

Last time I checked, my brain has always been connected to the rest of my body. Of COURSE there is a bio-psych link. And being traumatised is not always about having our lives threatened - not sorry DSM-IV. I am human, just hearing about someone else's horrific experiences gets to me. I was once a therapist, so I heard a great deal, and it is incredibly humbling to have met so many people who have retained the courage to keep living - in loving ways too. Sometimes I don't want to live, and I often feel anger instead of compassion. And I think that it can take a great deal of courage to end your life, or to choose to live, neither is an easy choice. Sometimes the emotional pain is so physical - more bio-psych link.

What remains true, I believe, is the persistence of the "symptoms". For me this is the direct evidence that anyone who lives with PTSD knows to be true. We get hard-wired. We get stuck - sometimes in a kind of frozen or numb state (and if we are overmedicated, the numbness removes us from the feeling world) and , for me anyway, envious of the living-energy we see in others.

In this case, I detect hopeful underpinnings (yes hope!). That is to say, if my brain can get hardwired one way, is it not also true that there is some way to repair the wiring? My brain is powerful, look at all of the weird shit it does - I think it is capable of changing back. I am waiting for research to catch up. Yet, art helps me channel some of this misfiring brain into less destructive actions.

So, thank you universe for art. And here's to all of us out there, with or without voices, let's take care of ourselves. Let's be kind to us.

My First Time - Emotional Remoras

Having an off day day and thought this would be the best time to blog. I've been wanting too, mostly because I have so much crap swirling around in my altered brain and this seems like a good way to empty it out. Plus it's raining and windy out.

Some of my art.

I just reconnected with Homewood, a facility in Guelph Ontario where I received a lot of help, and realize I miss it there. I miss the safety I felt. Good and kind people.

I am angry about what has been robbed from my life, I didn't choose this. I try not to sound whiny but I have a right to my anger. I am certain PTSD and Depression meet the criteria for contagious (infectious sounds too positive).

I am a horrible friend because I am too afraid to commit, or to offer intimacy. I'm not good at sharing. And I'm convinced that everyone will betray me anyway. I get startled, irritated, defensive and paranoid with the slightest change in my surroundings. I have nightly terrors (I think this is where horror movies come from). I want love but I fear it will be taken away, so I keep those walls firmly installed.

I live on Vancouver Island, a staggeringly (is this a word? No bother I'll just make it up, our culture is replete with new words and budding wordsmiths) beautiful place, yet I hate the sunshine (hahhah! I bet you thought I was going to say rain!) it deepens my guilt. I have read and heard (been told) many times how guilt and shame are harmful feelings to carry around - but I didn't ask for them either, guilt and shame are like little emotional remoras. Virtueless little suckers.

When I challenge the guilt, I can find justification for all of the contributing factors. There is nothing positive that I cannot turn to a negative. My clouds are lined with lead.

WOW, I feel better already!

Well, I am an artist now, which really helps me. It's very meditative and there is little social demand. I can only last a little while around other people, then I start to get agitated and unfocussed, terror steals in and I get the urge to run away. Sometimes grocery shopping is pretty intimidating, especially as I have a gift for selecting the longest lines. My addictions are food and cheap clothing

I guess I want to say that I know there are many of us out there, living with these invisible carry ons. I know a lot of us live in isolation, literal or otherwise. Part of me wants to connect with others who share similar experiences and feelings, another part of me is terrified of being ridiculed and rejected. Yet I wish to write. I wish to hear from others. Being in Homewood helped me feel like there was a place I could belong, that I could feel trust again.

What do others think?