Wandering
Have not quite come to the conclusion of what I am going to write. Oh, it's not that I don't have things to write, it is that maybe I have too much and of that it is also allowing myself to "go there" and start putting some things of paper. I have gotten up and walked away from here at least five times now. I decided what I am going with, get comfortable, then chicken out. It's ok, I'm about to make that six.
I have lots of thoughts, emotions, feelings, and other stuff that I just don't know the word for, going through my mind. Even after sleeping for almost three hours, it continues to agitate through the wash cycle. I can do this. I can work with all this. Even if I don't know what it all is, I can do something with it. I can slow the movement down.
I think back to several months ago at the church meeting where I got really anxious and came up with a way to control my breathing and in turn slow the anxiety down. It didn't go away yet it became manageable for that moment I needed to get through. I think back to the winter when my mind was battling between anger and sadness. The two polarizing emotions stemming from a situation I was in and had no idea what to do about it nor who to talk to about it. Tangled together I visualized them separating and going to different corners. Without a clue if it was the "right or wrong" way to work through it, it worked and brought some calmness.
You see, I had this, at least at some basic level and, I was good at it too. Then again, dealing with two or three things that you can identify is not too bad. Dealing with a bucket full that you don't even have names for most, gets overwhelming and when it all starts gearing up when you are not around anyone to help you work through it, it gets scary too. Yes, in the overall, general sense of things, I am not alone. Since my mind doesn't send out an RSVP or post on a marquee when a war is going to break out, there are many times I really am alone.
There are times I am simply faced with how I would like the situation to go down and how it will actually go down. And the difference is always very far from one another in the spectrum of things.
I can honestly say that I have never tried to hurt myself to get attention, to manipulate others, or to try and control a situation. Most times, it takes quite a bit to even get it out of me that I have done something, then even more prodding to find out what it was. As written before, my self destructive/harming behaviors are to punish myself, shift pain focus, or quiet things. It is all inward actions, and if I do my best with them, no one knows. Just because I have never acted in that fashion (hurting myself to draw attention) does not mean I have not thought it.
I ran across some journal entries, writings, different stuff like that, a while back that got me thinking. There they were, words on paper of different scenarios - almost like watching something on television - where I would get hurt or injured. The result, someone came to my aid. The injuries were varied as thus it could have been everything from a hug, to being held, to having my life saved. It was a simple pattern - I was injured, someone showed compassion. Even in all of this, there was never a manipulative side to it. Never a "I'm going to do .... if you don't show me attention." No, it was simply, I got hurt and someone helped me. It was always a nice thought, it still is.
I remember desiring "nurturing" so badly. I put that in quotes because I cannot guarantee that I even understand what that word really means. I have been blessed with buddies who hugs, high-five, put their arm around ya (although I generally do that more than get that), for no real reason at all. That is what buddies do, it is kind of an unwritten rule of being a buddy, yes? You look out for each other the best you can. If you are my buddy, I look out for you, I do my best to protect you, I lift you up when you fall down, I bring you band-aids and even buy you ice cream. I hold you in my arms and let you cry. I sit on the street corner and laugh with you at the funny things we see. We laugh at each others jokes as stupid as they may be. We are buddies, we don't see each other for a long time and pick up right where we left off. "Remember when..." never gets old and possibly gets more hilarious as the years go on. We have a lot of "ours" - our song, our handshake, our codewords. We also grow up and move on and, although buddies for life, we live an long way from each other. See the pattern? We are buddies, yet I take care of you, and you let me. That's how it works. I took care of my buddies because I loved them, yet somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered what it would be like to have someone do the same for me. I would never ask though. If it happened, it happened. If not, that was just life as usual.
Back in 2008, we had some heavy rains and my back yard flooded. The water was starting to get into my work shed. Not a problem, yet all my sisters belongings were stored in there. I made several trips to buy sand and bags to protect her stuff. Everyone was working, so it was up to me to save the day. I remember filling bags and stacking them. I could barely breathe. I was sweating, hurting, my chest felt like it had been hit with a ball bat. Then I turned, lost my balance, and fell. I busted my arm across a concrete block and really had no clue it if was broke or not. It sure felt like it. It was one of those moments, there you were, hurt, and all alone. I managed to get up, wipe my eyes, punch something, and finish filling the sandbags. When mom and sis finally arrived to "help" the work was about complete and no one really gave a crap that I had been hurt. For the record, I guess it wasn't broke, it eventually quit hurting. Oh, and my sister's stuff was saved.
In winter of 2009, I walked out on my steps and fell. They were slick and my feet went right out from under me. I landed full force on my back. My legs went numb, I had the wind knocked out of me, and I was scared as hell. I hit the stairs so hard it ripped them away from the porch. I would have black bruises across my back - 3 of them, equally spaced from hitting the risers on the steps. I would compression fracture T11. I had just been on the phone with my brother and luckily had my phone in my pocket. I called him and was all calm until I heard his voice then I just broke down that I had fallen and couldn't move my legs and I needed him to come get me. I watched cars drive by as I laid there on the ground. I think some even waved. By the time he arrived I had crawled back up on the porch as my legs had started to get some feeling back in them. He stopped and got Robin, knowing that he would not be able to get me up on his own. They got me up and in his truck (like hell if I was calling an ambulance, this is Oakwood territory and that would have meant dealing with the ex-stepfather) and off to the hospital we went. Robin had to go back to work, mom met us there. Now, I don't expect warm fuzzies from Joe, he's my brother, we have that "sibling agreement" that we love each other yet don't have to show it in public. Some kind of affectionate response from my mom would have been nice. Nope. We made lots of fat jokes though. What else do you do? Not even a sit next to the bed and hold my hand. I had no clue if I had broke my back or what (especially since I had already had one serious back injury), so a little unsolicited nurturing would have been nice. And, no, I wasn't going to ask for it. That was a big no-no. I lucked out, even with the fracture, my spine wasn't compromised. I did not even have to dig out the cane to walk. I kind of shuffled around for a bit and ended up in physical therapy, yet I was walking. As for the stairs, they would stay "attached" for another year or so (and I would fall down them at least three more times before I finally ripped them completely off the porch).
Too many memories of being sick or hurt from the time I was a teenager and on and being left alone to deal with it. No wonder my mind plays such elaborate stories, no wonder they were written. No wonder I misunderstood affection when it was "offered" and only ended up hurting me really bad. I don't even think I realized what was really happening. I was allowing myself to get hurt, yet (whether it made sense or not) it was worth the price to just be noticed. I didn't understand healthy/unhealthy, I was just getting something I longed for at a price that would haunt me for the rest of my life. It wasn't that I desired affection less after that, it was just that it now came with fear. Nurture suddenly became equated with danger, shame, guilt, and pain. I still desired it, yet there was no way I was going to go hunting for it. Even when I was in an intimate relationship, it was very one-sided. Anytime I was touched I would have flashbacks or anxiety attacks and that became a lot to try and deal with. So, I was the comforter, rarely asking for any affection back (and never asking for a return of intimacy), and seeing the nature of our personalities, there was not much argument in that.
I don't understand how someone can love me (at whatever level). I have a hard time understanding how God can love me. Sure, people tell me how caring, compassionate, funny, loving, etc, that I am and how I am blessings in their lives, yet it doesn't make sense. I can't comprehend it to a point. Yes, I am all these things, and I would guess have always been these things, (and will most likely continue to be these things and many more), yet it is like something doesn't line up. People reply that if I were to die how much they would miss me, how it would almost destroy them. Really? See, I can't comprehend that. I see it more as, "well, she is gone, let us move on." Even if I stand here and exclaim my worth, greatness, etc, I am still just me and that is just how it is. I'm no one special, I am just me.
Chris shared with me today that Karen inquired if the situation from this past week may have been a suicide attempt. Will have to say that caught me a little off guard, and not for obvious reasons. As I answered to Chris, no, it was not (I never lie to either of them. Might get a little willful, yet will never lie). Yet then I was thinking of, how if it had been, I wouldn't have admitted it anyways. I would have covered it somehow. No one would have known one way or the other. Then the thought came to me, Karen is pretty sharp too, and I think she knows that is exactly what I would have done, thus asking the question.
It made me start asking myself seriously, would I ever cross that line. Would the destructive thoughts and scenarios that have ran through my head for so many years, ever start playing out in reality? I hope not, and I will do all in my power to keep it from ever happening. I often just want to go crawl in the corner, pull my knees up tight to me, and hope someone comes along and puts their arms around me and pulls me into them. It will never happen, not in reality, not in the moments I need it most. It is ok, I have accepted it. There are just some things meant for others. I am at least blessed that, when able, I can be that comforter to someone else.
I have lots of thoughts, emotions, feelings, and other stuff that I just don't know the word for, going through my mind. Even after sleeping for almost three hours, it continues to agitate through the wash cycle. I can do this. I can work with all this. Even if I don't know what it all is, I can do something with it. I can slow the movement down.
You see, I had this, at least at some basic level and, I was good at it too. Then again, dealing with two or three things that you can identify is not too bad. Dealing with a bucket full that you don't even have names for most, gets overwhelming and when it all starts gearing up when you are not around anyone to help you work through it, it gets scary too. Yes, in the overall, general sense of things, I am not alone. Since my mind doesn't send out an RSVP or post on a marquee when a war is going to break out, there are many times I really am alone.
There are times I am simply faced with how I would like the situation to go down and how it will actually go down. And the difference is always very far from one another in the spectrum of things.
I can honestly say that I have never tried to hurt myself to get attention, to manipulate others, or to try and control a situation. Most times, it takes quite a bit to even get it out of me that I have done something, then even more prodding to find out what it was. As written before, my self destructive/harming behaviors are to punish myself, shift pain focus, or quiet things. It is all inward actions, and if I do my best with them, no one knows. Just because I have never acted in that fashion (hurting myself to draw attention) does not mean I have not thought it.
I ran across some journal entries, writings, different stuff like that, a while back that got me thinking. There they were, words on paper of different scenarios - almost like watching something on television - where I would get hurt or injured. The result, someone came to my aid. The injuries were varied as thus it could have been everything from a hug, to being held, to having my life saved. It was a simple pattern - I was injured, someone showed compassion. Even in all of this, there was never a manipulative side to it. Never a "I'm going to do .... if you don't show me attention." No, it was simply, I got hurt and someone helped me. It was always a nice thought, it still is.
Back in 2008, we had some heavy rains and my back yard flooded. The water was starting to get into my work shed. Not a problem, yet all my sisters belongings were stored in there. I made several trips to buy sand and bags to protect her stuff. Everyone was working, so it was up to me to save the day. I remember filling bags and stacking them. I could barely breathe. I was sweating, hurting, my chest felt like it had been hit with a ball bat. Then I turned, lost my balance, and fell. I busted my arm across a concrete block and really had no clue it if was broke or not. It sure felt like it. It was one of those moments, there you were, hurt, and all alone. I managed to get up, wipe my eyes, punch something, and finish filling the sandbags. When mom and sis finally arrived to "help" the work was about complete and no one really gave a crap that I had been hurt. For the record, I guess it wasn't broke, it eventually quit hurting. Oh, and my sister's stuff was saved.In winter of 2009, I walked out on my steps and fell. They were slick and my feet went right out from under me. I landed full force on my back. My legs went numb, I had the wind knocked out of me, and I was scared as hell. I hit the stairs so hard it ripped them away from the porch. I would have black bruises across my back - 3 of them, equally spaced from hitting the risers on the steps. I would compression fracture T11. I had just been on the phone with my brother and luckily had my phone in my pocket. I called him and was all calm until I heard his voice then I just broke down that I had fallen and couldn't move my legs and I needed him to come get me. I watched cars drive by as I laid there on the ground. I think some even waved. By the time he arrived I had crawled back up on the porch as my legs had started to get some feeling back in them. He stopped and got Robin, knowing that he would not be able to get me up on his own. They got me up and in his truck (like hell if I was calling an ambulance, this is Oakwood territory and that would have meant dealing with the ex-stepfather) and off to the hospital we went. Robin had to go back to work, mom met us there. Now, I don't expect warm fuzzies from Joe, he's my brother, we have that "sibling agreement" that we love each other yet don't have to show it in public. Some kind of affectionate response from my mom would have been nice. Nope. We made lots of fat jokes though. What else do you do? Not even a sit next to the bed and hold my hand. I had no clue if I had broke my back or what (especially since I had already had one serious back injury), so a little unsolicited nurturing would have been nice. And, no, I wasn't going to ask for it. That was a big no-no. I lucked out, even with the fracture, my spine wasn't compromised. I did not even have to dig out the cane to walk. I kind of shuffled around for a bit and ended up in physical therapy, yet I was walking. As for the stairs, they would stay "attached" for another year or so (and I would fall down them at least three more times before I finally ripped them completely off the porch).
I don't understand how someone can love me (at whatever level). I have a hard time understanding how God can love me. Sure, people tell me how caring, compassionate, funny, loving, etc, that I am and how I am blessings in their lives, yet it doesn't make sense. I can't comprehend it to a point. Yes, I am all these things, and I would guess have always been these things, (and will most likely continue to be these things and many more), yet it is like something doesn't line up. People reply that if I were to die how much they would miss me, how it would almost destroy them. Really? See, I can't comprehend that. I see it more as, "well, she is gone, let us move on." Even if I stand here and exclaim my worth, greatness, etc, I am still just me and that is just how it is. I'm no one special, I am just me.
Chris shared with me today that Karen inquired if the situation from this past week may have been a suicide attempt. Will have to say that caught me a little off guard, and not for obvious reasons. As I answered to Chris, no, it was not (I never lie to either of them. Might get a little willful, yet will never lie). Yet then I was thinking of, how if it had been, I wouldn't have admitted it anyways. I would have covered it somehow. No one would have known one way or the other. Then the thought came to me, Karen is pretty sharp too, and I think she knows that is exactly what I would have done, thus asking the question.
It made me start asking myself seriously, would I ever cross that line. Would the destructive thoughts and scenarios that have ran through my head for so many years, ever start playing out in reality? I hope not, and I will do all in my power to keep it from ever happening. I often just want to go crawl in the corner, pull my knees up tight to me, and hope someone comes along and puts their arms around me and pulls me into them. It will never happen, not in reality, not in the moments I need it most. It is ok, I have accepted it. There are just some things meant for others. I am at least blessed that, when able, I can be that comforter to someone else.