Reflections on an Imperfect Time

I am currently in a place I never thought I would be.  I did not believe in the recovery model for mental illness even a few months ago, nevertheless thought I would be in a place in my life where the “recovery” stage would be very real and tangible in my day-to-day existence.

I never thought I would have any extended time of peace, and I never thought I would define peace as the picture to the left does:  “it does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble, or hard work.  It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.”

I am there, hallelujah, amen, thank you.  There is chaos all around me, but my heart is calm, it is steady, it is beating strong.  All of those thoughts I had of giving up, have vanished.  Those thoughts of giving up that I had almost constantly through every day of the last several years of my life, the ones I didn’t *know how* to get rid of, the ones that kept me cycling through the hospital and the crisis residence and at the mercy of people (supposedly) saner than I on the other end of a phone line…gone.

I have been through months of adversity without losing my steadiness, and there are even more big changes to come.  I am ready.  I know how to climb the mountain and I am familiar with the path and the twists and turns, and I know it will be hard as Hell and that the Devil himself may stand in my way, but I know within myself that I am ready for this adventure.

QoB is moving away, and my contact with her is sure to greatly decrease.  I am learning that my mom is not the young person she used to be, and that it is time for her to turn her thoughts and her activities and her energies into herself, her new relationship, and into being a cherished Abuela.

It is hard to let her go, to stop calling her so often, to not count on her for every little thing, to really *grow up* here at age 34.  I have had my mom by my side my whole life, she has gone to bat for me countless times, and now, I need to go to bat for myself and count on LarBear to be my touchstone.  This doesn’t mean the relationship I have with her will be any less special, it just means that it is time for me to learn to count on other people.

I *DO* have other people I can count on in this life, and she deserves all the happiness available to her, and if that happiness is retirement and open prairies and big blue skies, then I wish all that for her and more.  There is such a thing called a telephone, and it isn’t like I will never ever see her.  It will just be less.  It is only within the last month, I think, that I would ever have been able to accept this for what it is.

With QoB moving away, retiring from the life here, comes the need for LarBear and I to move.  Physically move, that is, into a new home.  Of course, this creates stress and upset and all of the above, but we need to start living within our very own means, and know that we can still be okay.  We don’t have a terrible income, and it is enough that we will be able to find a nice-enough place to live.  Of that, I have no doubt.  I only wish the process were speedier, more certain, less of a time-suck.  I am ready to find the place and get the stuff moved and BE THERE.

The part of the recovery model I am most focused on now, which is also part of DBT, is that I am building A LIFE WORTH LIVING.  The past several years, I have been eking by, and I’m done with that.  I do not want to define myself by my mental illness, and I don’t want others to identify me that way, either.  I am a strong woman and I have a good man by my side, and I honestly feel I can tackle whatever is around me, that needs tackling.

I have even more support outside of my relationship with LarBear, whether it is the constant support of my mental health center contacts, or my Dad, or the Big Dawg.  I have places to turn to.  More than anything, I want LarBear and I to build a beautiful life together, and we are well in the process of doing that.

I don’t want to be “the crazy one” forever, and I tire of being looked at that way by family, acquaintances, the like.  I believe that I am even *more* sane and well-balanced than the average bear, because I am insightful into my life and I *do* examine my own thoughts and behaviors and I also spend great gobs of time practicing DBT and going to therapy and the like.  Practicing my skills isn’t something that anyone should look down on a person for.  Chances are, some of the skills could work for you, or for you, or for my mom or for LarBear or any number of people.

I have more skills in my toolbox than most people, and I think that is wherein the true advantage lies.  I have those skills and I am in touch with different things that help me to feel better, such as writing and making jewelry, and I do not let a single day pass in which I do not create something, anything.  It is so very important — not the product, but the process.  It doesn’t matter if you try a new recipe or build a Lego village or paint a picture…the creativity that dwells within us, heals us, and there is a multitude of proof or evidence out there that healing can happen, no matter how desperate you feel your situation is.  If I can do this, you sure can, too.

Moving On: Through and After Abuse

I happened upon this photo quote today and it struck me upside the head, blinding me for a minute.  Could this be true?  Do I get to choose who I want to be?  Of course, there are certain things I strive for, but could I do, ya know, ANYTHING?  If I wanted?

I often feel like I’m the un-cool kid at the party, drinking lemonade from a red Solo cup and hoping no one notices that I’m not getting drunk like they are.  I think I feel that way, because I’ve been there, and I just tend to extend it to other venues.  I want to hang out with the cool kids at their blog.  I want to find funny and inspiring and thought-provoking picture quotes for my little blog.  I want so-and-so to c0mment on my last FB status.

And when one of these things happen?  When one of the cool kids invites me to play?  I nearly shit myself.  But why would you choose me?  Hello there, Ms. Confident!

One of the things that can happen in an abusive relationship, is that your partner convinces you that you are no better than the dog poo on his shoe.  Everything about you is wrong.  Your hair, your friends, your job, your family.  You just suck and don’t really even deserve to live.  No one will want you but me, and I don’t even want you that much.  And as you’re begging and pleading for him to stop whatever the hellish thing is that he’s doing at the moment, you start to believe these things.  At the end of 11 months, he has totally destroyed your self-esteem and anything positive you have ever thought about yourself.

You thought your self-esteem was low before.  Well, yes, of course it was.  It’s partly how you let this go on for so long, you sack of shit!  And then those outer voices turn to inner voices and you start telling yourself that those things are true, plus more.  You have whole rants lined up, on tape, in your head, and you find that your brain wants to play them constantly.

It takes years.  Of therapy, of medication, of being surrounded by people who love you — to get even the smallest bit of relief.  Your belief in your non-existent self-worth starts to grow slowly, but can be quashed just as quickly by a sideways comment.  Every comment hurts, but you start to seek out the positive ones.  The people who are there for  you, day in and day out.  The people that don’t hurt you or beat  you down.

So here it is, I thought I’d been working on finding myself.  Turns out, when I see it in print, I have been CREATING myself.  I am Rosa, and I am Rose, and I am Rosie, but most importantly:

1) I am Auntie Rose.

2) My parents love me:  QoB and the Big Dawg, and Dad

3) I have two great dogs.

4) DSB would do anything for me.  ANYTHING.

5) I am proud to work in a bait store.  I personally feel like I am the key to organizing everything and making sure things stay in their place.  I feel useful.

6) I blog.  A lot.  I try to every day, and sometimes that’s hard, but it seems like I always find something to say.  There are even people that READ this blog.

7) My abuser has stopped trying to seek me out and I have stopped being afraid of him doing so.  I would love for him to show up on my doorstep and meet DSB and Rascal.

8) I have worked hard enough in therapy (and in life), that my trauma issues have greatly settled down.  When I don’t sleep, it’s not because I’m having trauma nightmares.

9) My psychiatrist and I have found a potent drug cocktail that appears to (mostly) keep my symptoms in check.

10) I have allowed myself to be open to friendship again.

11) I have stopped thinking of myself as gross and realized that it’s just fat, and I can still be attractive and be fat.

12) I have found compassion for those I don’t understand, those I don’t like.  I don’t need to understand and like everyone.

13) I have given up on friendships that were so clearly one-sided and unhealthy.

14) I have developed a schedule that I stick to, almost without fail, and that helps me keep my highs and lows to a minimum.

15) I feel, through many methods, like I have achieved something that feels a lot like peace and contentment.

 

 

 

 

Reverb Day 18

Today’s Reverb13 prompt is as follows:  

I am often surprised where I find peace, it is usually in the midst of chaos.  In the midst of living, did you find moments to breathe? Were there moments that held you in the embrace of peace and quiet and pure contentment?  Did these moments catch you by surprise or did you create the space for peace to find you?

Ahhh peace, you are so fleeting, yet so very welcome.  I’d say that, in life, I find a lot of moments to breathe.  I, in fact, do quite a bit of deep breathing (literally), just walking through life, sitting in life, talking in life.  Those deep breaths bring me a sense of calm, but they also send off a signal to me in my head that, really, really, REALLY, Rose, it is going to be just fine.  Sometimes I believe it and I can get a little peace.  The rest of it is just unnecessary worry (for the most part).

Moments of pure contentment.  Well, yes.  Kind of.  I can think of many a time, spending time with DSB and thinking, “This could be it and I would be good with that.”  This could be all there is, and I would be happy.  It doesn’t happen every day, but I think it probably happens to me more than most people, or at least the people I know.  And I think it happens more to me because I look for it and seek it out.  I want those moments where I feel safe and loved and cared for.  Mostly, I like to feel safe.  Few people can give me that feeling.  I think that might be how it is for most people.

 

 

 

Tea of Tranquility

…is the name of a lovely loose tea that my sister gave me last Christmas.  I have been craving hot tea with honey lately (so cold in my house!) and decided to give this a go, minus the honey (I’m out!).  It is a reddish-pink color after it has steeped and really is quite good, even unsweetened.  I wish I could tell you what was in it, so you could go get some yourself, but, alas, the little plastic bag does not have a description.

I do know where she purchased it, however, as she took me there once on one of my quite infrequent visits to her big city.  I had never been in a tea shop before, and it was amazing.  The smells…sigh!  And drawers full of tea…everywhere!  I had no idea (silly me) that tea came in so many varieties.  We bought several small samples to take home.  My favorite was a citrus-y black tea.  Not only was it delicious, it was beautiful to look at.

I think it would be interesting to watch a documentary about tea, as silly as that may sound.  You know, the history of tea, or the art of tea gathering, or how to make different blends.  I should Google that and would likely find something, or if you know of one, do share.

That “tea of tranquility” has done me well today.  It is not nearly noon, and I have been up since six.  Damn the time change, is all I have to say to that one.  When I get up too early, I get a bit jittery.  Never-mind the pot of coffee that I shared with DSB before he had to get out in the cold to do fun welding stuff.  The tea, two large, steaming cups later, has left me feeling quite mellow.

And almost passive.  Docile.  Maybe they should brew this up and serve it to criminals and miscreants throughout the towns and cities.  Wouldn’t that be something?  “Miracle tea lowers crime rate in little-big city.”  Bwhahahah.  I love it.

With the tranquility, however, comes a trade-off.  I am feeling quite, well, how do you say…complacent.  I have things to do, people to see, and I’d much rather keep drinking this tea and reading my Kindle.  And then I realized I hadn’t taken my morning meds, and likely the reason for feeling so spacey was the lack of Ritalin in my system.

And so I took the Ritalin about 90 minutes ago, and have since cleaned my kitchen and done some laundry.  That “tea of tranquility” is still lingering in my system, however, because, while I do feel focused and clear, I do still feel peaceful and calm.

I should drink this stuff more often.  And petition City Council to, perhaps, put it in the water system.  😀