A quote:

I'm reading a great book right now called Welcome to my Country, by Lauren Slater.

As I am having problems posting anything these days, I thought I would quote something from this book that resonates with me:

"Imagine to love over and over again, and then to lose the love. Imagine fighting your way through days, sudden spurts of light, and then drought. Depression is a death within, a knowledge--terrifying--that you cannot resurrect yourself. Depression is loss of the vision that lets leaves breathe and fall, that lets the air smell of seed and soil. And there must be rage, yes I think there is rage toward such a severing, such a ragged deep rupture with the world."

Love

Charles Bukowski - The Laughing Heart

 

 

The Laughing Heart

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

-- by Charles Bukowski

Robbery!

When I was a young girl I fell in love with the movie Space Camp, and after watching it I decided 2 things: I wanted to be an astronaut and I really really wanted to go to Space Camp. I told this to people and they laughed at me and told me I could never and would never do either. So, as a result, a little part of me died and I formed the necessary scab and then scar to heal the wound.

Remember this? Pure awesomeness, no?

"The stars belong to a new generation." Too bad I wasn't part of it.

When I was young girl I wanted to be a model. I was always told what a pretty girl I was by all my parents friends, so why not? I was told I was pretty, I thought models were pretty, so I thought this would be something cool that I could do.... And then the bomb dropped - "Well", my friends pointed out, "you aren't pretty enough and you have too many beauty marks on your face. That isn't the way models look." Strike 2 for me! So, another little part of me died and I started making a list of all the things I couldn't do because of my deficiencies - and to my horror - there seemed to be a bunch of them. Please bear in mind I WAS A YOUNG GIRL!

Maybe if this had been a theme in my childhood things

would have been different.

 

Fast forward to my mid-teens when I was awarded a scholarship for a summer dance program called CanDance. One of the classes we took was Kinesiology and it was love at first sight for me. I decided then and there that I was going to become a Kinesiologist. Cool right? When I shared my exciting news with my friends and parents I was told that I probably wouldn't be able to accomplish this because I didn't have the strongest "science skills" and "wouldn't I be better off focusing on something that was 'English' related? I was good at English." And then my response, "of course, how stupid of me." *giant head smack*

When I was young, I unknowingly gave up on my dreams and the possibilities of my dreams. When people asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I decided I would start answering "a nurse," because that is what my mom was. It was safe and people didn't seem to have a problem with it.

After people stopped asking me this particularly traumatizing question, and after I let go of the ridiculous notion of being a nurse, I started waiting for people to tell me what I should be doing because they obviously knew better than me. For example - my girlfriend was a student of the Ryerson Dance Program and thought I should audition, so I said, "okay, why not? I'm not doing anything else at the moment and I know how to dance." Off I flew to Toronto, where I was granted another scholarship, and picked up some mad dancing skills.

It is no wonder to me why I am, the way I am. I can see now that this is why it is hard for me to listen to my authentic voice. I can see now, why it is hard for me to make decisions around what I want to do and what I think I would like to do. I was taught that I wasn't good enough, I wasn't pretty enough, I wasn't smart enough and most importantly -  I didn't know the answers. So I limited myself and lost myself all at the same time.

I was robbed I tell you! Robbed!

Now as an adult, I find myself on the treasure hunt of my life, or more truthfully, for my life. I'm searching dark cobwebbed corners and attics for the things that were once rightfully mine, but were taken from me. Sometimes I stumble across my treasures (and I mean this literally) even though their presence is invisible to me, and the only reason I notice them is because I have tripped on them, fallen, and hurt myself. When this happens their invisibility starts to lift and I begin to see them. I see them and wonder - "is this really a treasure of mine?" and after close scrutiny "well, maybe this is mine, for a second I thought it belonged to Megan," and then "oh".

For the most part, this reclaiming of 'self ' is very difficult for me; however, there is the odd time when I stumble upon a fragment of my lost treasure and know, at once, that it is mine. When this happens, I can lovingly pick it up, cradle it in my arms, and quietly rejoice in our reunion, and (in the words of my friend Ani) send out blessings like butterfly kisses....

Letting go...

Last night, while laying on my couch trying desperately to be distracted by my television set, it hit me. It was like watching a horrific catastrophe that I was somehow the sideline observer of, and the victim in.

Up until this particular moment, I had been so disconnected from the pain of it, that it took me a few minutes to clue into the fact that 1. Something was happening, and 2. It was happening to me. It was almost as if it was coming from my television. It started as a low moaning/ whimpering sound and as I sat wondering where the hell the noise was coming from, and what on earth it was, it grew steadily louder. That's when I looked down and saw my whole body shaking, or more like spasming.

It went like this:

"Oh, are those my arms, hands, legs? Why are they shaking like that? Why can't I feel them?"

And then,

"Oh, this is me. This noise is coming from inside me, how strange."

And then the 3 separate parts: the noise, the shaking, and me, collided and merged into a giant, messy heap. It went on and on and on and on and on, and for the first time in 3 weeks, I felt like I was present in my body. It hurt, it was exhausting, and it was welcomed. I knew it was in there somewhere, I just didn't know where, and frankly, up until this point, didn't want to know.

This is a shining example of what occurs when one denies themselves the existence of their unwanted emotions (usually done in order to protect oneself from feelings such as fear, abandonment, grief, anger, loneliness and a slew of other emotions). This is a pattern most of us fall victim too.We carry these unwanted situations and feelings around inside our bodies - in our muscles, organs, and mind and they disrupt our lives, directly and indirectly. It's something I have constantly experienced in my practice, and now know to be a form of self-preservation or survival.

Denial. Denial. Denial!

So there I was in my pre-hokey pokey state, naively believing I was okay, when in fact I was in a place where I had pushed my emotions in and down until I couldn't feel them. I didn't want to feel them, and as a result I developed the 'phantom body zombie syndrome'. My body was numb. My mind was numb. Most of my emotions were swirling layers of numbness... I was numb. We are like little squirrels really - running around collecting and storing things for a later time. This was my later time.

This is the kind of squirrel I desire to be.

The blessing: I knew this was a very good thing; I wasn't scared, I allowed it to happen.

The curse: it hurt that this was something I was experiencing alone.

The lesson: emotions do not stay buried. They have ways of coming up - some healthy, other not. For example, my shaking and crying was a very healthy way for me to discharge my experience, and therefore, let my healing process begin. Examples of my unhealthy reactions to my buried emotions were: insomnia, headaches, anxiety attacks, lack of motivation, and a change in my eating. 

To the two:

I let you go because you are a narcissistic asshole who is unworthy of me. I will not look back.

I let the you go because it was the right thing for me to do, but I will carry you with me always.

I let you go - both of you, in different ways.

I let go.

Something random...

Prothalamium

Come, all you who are not satisfied

as ruler in a lone, wallpapered room

full of mute birds, and flowers that falsely bloom,

and closets choked with dreams that long ago died!

Come, let us sweep the old streets-- like a bride:

sweep out dead leaves with a relentless broom;

prepare for Spring, as though he were our groom

for whose light footstep eagerly we bide.

We'll sweep out shadows, where the rats long fed;

sweep out our shame-- and in its place we'll make 

a bower for love, a splendid marriage bed

fragrant with flowers aquiver for the Spring.

And when he comes, our murdered dreams shall wake;

and when he comes, all the mute birds shall sing.

-- Aaron Kramer

Is two better than one?

For me, there is something terrifying about loneliness, about being alone, or more honestly, about being without a companion. Even trying to write this post, is complicated for me. It feels as though I am lost in a thick fog, blindly trying to grasp the words or feelings I am looking for.

Maybe I'll try approach this in a different way, from the perspective of 'why' I like being with someone. I like the feeling that someone has my back. I like the feeling of being able to be fully vulnerable with another person. I like the feeling of curling up in someone's arms. I like the feeling of safety and security. I like the feeling that, if shit is going down in my life, someone is there to see and feel me. I like the feeling of getting close and forming a bond with someone. I like the feeling of physical and emotional intimacy. I enjoy the feeling of sharing - shopping trips, bike rides, meals, etc. I like the feeling that if I fuck up, I won't be alone in it. (Zing - how's that for self-criticism - ouch!) Maybe the deeply wounded part of me, sees having a partner as an acknowledgment of my existence, proof that I really am here, that I'm not invisible, that I belong. Do I sound confused? I hope so because I am.

Lately, whenever I have had to check something off my list of 'adult experiences' (and believe me they have been many), one of the first people I want to turn to, is my ex-husband. This is a very interesting phenomenon for me. Why him, after so much time (and many experiences) have past? I want to phone him to tell him how awful things are, just so I can feel like everything is going to be okay, even if it's for a couple minutes. I want to curl up in bed or on the couch and have him hold me. Talk about romanticizing; however, in his defence there was a time when I felt I had that with him, which is probably why my mind goes there.

Is two really better than one?

These feelings of mine are potentially dangerous for my mental health because my experience has shown me otherwise. I often find myself in a position where I run straight into the waiting arms of the possibility that my feelings will be made real somehow. Yet, the reality is - I haven't met a partner who is available to navigate through my life with me. Is it because I'm too much? My depression is too much? I don't think so. I think it's more a matter of people and their limitations (and I write this with love, not contempt) because this is the reality. We are all limited, each and everyone of us, in different ways and in different degrees. Have I mentioned how confusing I find this?

I know several people that are perfectly content living their lives alone. They seem to have some kind of system in place where, as they begin to feel lonely, they enter into a quick-fix-lonely-buster relationship. A weekend here, dates there, a couple lovely nights, maybe even a few months of life devoid of loneliness and they are good. They move on, live their lives alone again, until the loneliness becomes too much and they repeat the cycle. I am not that person. I want more.

I am extremely fortunate in that I get truckloads of support from my therapist and all the wonderful women in my life; however, it isn't the same. Why is this? Why can't it be enough? Is this a societal thing that I'm up against? Are the feelings of being incomplete without a partner (at my age) something I have been unknowingly fed and unknowingly eaten? I know I am loved, by a number of people, so why do I feel so damn lonely? Why does this feel so hard?

Maybe I should watch this video everyday to help erase 

some of my confusion around this subject....

(It's pretty great huh!?)

A woman in my writing group shared an interesting thought last week. Is it better so share a bed with someone just for the sake of sharing a bed? Is it better to pretend we aren't alone and to instead turn a blind eye to the reality of our partnership, just to stop the feelings of loneliness? Will the loneliness really stop when one enters into a relationship with another? There aren't any straightforward answers to these questions. For me, it's a case of 'my head knows the answers but my heart is yelling something different'.

*le sigh*