The Vulnerability in Knowing

I know that I’ve been absent for quite some time here. There has been no new writing, no spam posting of edited pictures on social media, and a barely-noticable, quite sparse presence on the book of face.
I haven’t been creating like I used to, for months… and that’s okay.

“We’re all on a different timeline.” has been repeated over and again and it makes me wonder. In the multiverse of five billion minds, where will paths cross, intertwine and split again, all creating what we know of ourselves?

What exactly started the chemical reaction of learning more of myself, I don’t know. The healing does not come like a cleansing rain. No, it comes like a nuclear explosion, laying waste to all you’ve ever known. It leaves you in what looks like ruins, flaws and brokeness exposed.

There is no painless way to know yourself.

Before uncovering the foundations a soul stands on, hours, days, months are spent digging through the rubble. Research on radioactive events, in our existence, is never truly over. So it is, sorting through fragmented memory, to find insight into a reason for every element of ourselves.

Clarity is supernatural and what you once thought of in black and white, washes away. Contrast can only do so much to see within, when even our brain-matter is gray. Such is the struggle, when it is realized that previous you-s no longer exist, and you are pressed to give answer to questions insidious persistence. Steady retort is buried under the debris of all I have been and have yet to be.

Long story short, I’ve been learning about myself, pursuing healing, and wrestling with the unknown. When you think about everything you perceive yourself to be, what do you find when the past is pried open and the patterns of of your personality are tracked? Getting to know someone, with all their flaws and idiosyncrasies, takes intention and vulnerability. You are worth getting to know yourself that way.

Access to the Heart

Should

Hi
There’s been a heck of a lot to process lately. Almost nothing seems untouched. It’s like trying to stay in one place but hanging from a pendulum. I can’t begin to cover everything whirling around in my life lately, so I’ll try for as much “now” as I can.

Yesterday, I woke up happy despite my tiredness; fed Clove, took my meds, and returned to the cozy comfort of my bed. After some time had passed, and I had both gone to and returned from sleep, there was no pleasant escape feeling. Yes, no pressure to check items off of the never ending to-do list, but with the absence of pressure, I felt suspended, as if in a vacuum, without solid form, empty, blank.

This morning, I woke up and tarried in bed some sleepy moments, before getting ready and heading out the door. Coffee put a bit more pep in my step, and singing out in a room full of people doing the same, kept my energy up and the joy flowing.

It wasn’t until after I had gotten home, that the pendulum swung back again. I don’t know if it was watching stories on social media overflowing with pain and anger, or the fact that the weekend is quickly approaching it’s end.
The best weather we’ve had all week has graced us today. “Should”s fill my head. I should be enjoying the weather properly, actively, instead of convincing myself to leave the bed I had returned to, and sitting on the slab of cement outside my door. I should be utterly happy, tickled pink, over my many blessings.

Find the pleasant things.
The wind is more than a slight breeze. It sighs and whispers through the trees, wood creaking beneath birdsong. The ebb and flow of ocean waves sound to rest within their boughs. I wonder what all of the birds are saying. They have no moral dilemma, no sense of uncertain future. A Mourning Dove calls, and I am transported into a childhood memory.

There are no details, despite the picture not blurring. It wasn’t a complete memory. Although real and true, it is a mixture of memory, old photographs, and possibly dreams. Isn’t nostalgia interesting? Looking back, I long for those days. Chalk on the driveway, making homes under trees, being unafraid to let loose a shout or scream; they sit on the surface. Oil and water, or a soup you skim the fat from; nostalgia is like that.

Nearby, a train’s deep whistle echoes and just like that, I’m pulled into the present. More “should”s are waiting, both question and command. Sometimes, I wish I was simple, but that smells strongly of the roses they make all those glasses from.

That is where I leave you for now, friends and strangers. Answers have not yet turned into action or soaked into my grey matter. Health and peace to you these days, and thank you for sticking around through the above partial brain dump.

Let’s do “get help”

I think that part of why I have such difficulty expressing negative emotion is because of my high empathy. That doesn’t exactly make sense without context, I know. Thinking of all of the hurt and difficulty in the world weighs me down immensely. I know that there is only so much I can do to help but I want to do it all. This “give until I can’t anymore” mentality is good, to an extent.
Just because I feel people’s pain doesn’t mean that others understand that. Taking on so much, mentally and emotionally, actually ends up keeping me from helping others to my full ability.

So, my own pain and struggle, I don’t like acknowledging it. I don’t like expressing it and I want to keep others “safe” from it. Part of this comes from a selfless place, but really, lately, I’ve found that I get annoyed when people don’t do what they can to take care of their own problems. Because I’m exhausted by other peoples worry and complaint, I don’t want to share mine. The mindset of taking care of it myself, just pushing through, or telling myself subconsciously that it’s not real or it’s just me not doing enough, has completely infiltrated.

I’ve only just realized this, thinking about how someone I know, instead of calling emergency services, after being in a situation very close to the one my grandmother passed away from, waited an hour or more, for someone else to help them. I’ll admit, that made me angry. I was irritated because my grandma didn’t have the chance to call and had to wait hours until she was found. I’m irritated because I care about this person and they aren’t asking for or accepting help that will actually contribute to solving the problem.

This caused me to look at myself. Sure, I’m not pushing aside a severe physical situation onto those around me who care about me when I could be getting help from someone actually trained to assist immediately, but I have been pushing aside other things that I need to ask for help with or acknowledge to resolve with the resources I have available. I think one of the things that I’ve pushed down is that I’m mad at myself. In some sense, I need to call 911 instead of laying on the ground, downplaying it and telling myself I’ll be perfectly fine until someone finds me there with my broken leg.

If you are reading this, and you are the person I’m referring to, or relate to my side of this challenge, please don’t take offense. I’m annoyed at the struggle. I’m angry to see it reflected in me. It’s because I care so immensely.

I don’t reach out often. I don’t open up easily but, friends and strangers, please, be honest with yourself and if you need it, get help.
Love y’all.

Chasing

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about life; what gives it meaning, who I am in relation to it and the impact that has on how I proceed.

Everything we are and do comes from what we consider truth. The world seems to be overwhelmed with contradictions and misinformation. This isn’t a political standpoint, no, it’s a life standpoint.
Have you asked yourself lately why you keep going? For some of us, it’s a painful question. People tether us to this place. Maybe you have a strong sense of purpose that keeps you moving forward or maybe you turn the query back around. Why am I still doing this, day after day.

For me, I too often find meaning in acceptance. As much as I put on a devil may care attitude, if I’m truthful, other’s opinions have impact. My internal voice is “not a good friend” as a TikTok trend would say, and I find myself constantly craving validation while simultaneously struggling to accept it. That’s embarrassing to admit. Maybe by exposing my own struggles and weaknesses, more of us will grow and heal from the internal battle I believe we all have on some level.

Identity is everything, a filter which experience and thought are passed through. What do you accept as truth about yourself? There’s a good chance that I’m starting to get on your nerves with all this talk of truth but, I care, and this is important. Who are you? What are you chasing? Is it enough?

Thank you for joining me again, friends and strangers.

Perfection

It is beautifully quiet, for a few precious moments. The sunlight from our frozen outdoors, bounces off of my ring onto the pillow next to me in small dancing dots. Clove is free to wander the apartment but she has returned to her cage for a mid-day hay snack and possible nap.

At the beginning of this year, a few weeks ago, I chose what goals I was going to focus on this year. Since I could not pursue them all at once, I chose to save for a house and to focus on and pursue my health all out. The result of this, has been decreased eating out with friends, fast food stops, and more appointments than time to take a breath.
For my chronic pain and fatigue, I’ve gotten two diagnoses. Hearing a medical professional say that it’s not all in my head and no, I’m not being dramatic or overly sensitive is so reassuring. Admittedly, though I am happy to have some answers, there are no cures, only treatment for symptoms to try. I now go to physical/occupational therapy twice a week before or after work, and am still working with my primary on what medication is the best for me. The other part of my health is mental health. I finally am pursuing full answers to my questions so that hopefully, I can be better equipped to take care off my brain.
I read somewhere that someone was trying to change the term to brain-health because it decreases the stigma around mental health. Mental health seems to have worth and morality assigned to it, while physical health does not. Did you know that anxiety can literally damage your brain? Brain health.

Mental health doesn’t just cover people who struggle with your labeled conditions though. Stress and our perception of ourselves affects mental health. One of the providers that I’ve seen looked at me and told me that I have amazing memory and talent. I must have looked properly shocked. “Do you not think so?”
Do I not think so… What do I think about myself on a regular basis?
“You’re letting perfectionism steal your joy.”
Wow. In my pursuit of being the best me that I can, I was self-sabotaging. I speak to myself in a way that I never would speak to a friend, often in the name of being who I want to be. Nothing I ever do is good enough for me.

I had a friend over last night and ended up reading her some of my old writings. She is absolutely convinced that I’m an amazing writer and that I need to be published. I downplayed it, made excuses, and eventually was told “I’m going to shake you every time I see you if you don’t give this a chance.” She believes in me far more than I do. It’s warming to have a friend stand up for you, even if it’s against yourself.

I’m working on it, friends and strangers.
What is your idea of perfection?