Hello Darkness My Old Friend

My left hip feels like I fell on it yesterday not twenty months ago.  I dared to sit on three  cushions  on a yoga studio matted floor for one hour.  I shifted a lot.  The pain hit within three mins of sitting.  I choose “fuck it I want to sit in this mediation class. I’m choosing clarity right now.”  This morning I am being punished by my hip and back for my choice.

I still don’t want the Vicodin back. I’m choosing clarity. It equals pain that I have to manage. And admittedly higher pain then I anticipated. But it’s winter and blah blah blah I am happier in clarity then I am blocking the pain and not functioning but surviving the high. 

Yoga helps a lot more then I expected.  Hot yoga is next.  Last night was the first time I went with B to her studio.  Not for yoga but for meditation class.  I forced myself to go and not have an attitude.  I pushed past the fear.  It hurt like hell.  Emotionally and physically.  And I’m really really proud of me.

  
These are my leggings and winter sox.  I love leggings.  And I don’t care about my big ass either! 

Fuck this PTSD

The nightmares are getting strong again.  He was back last night.  The worst part about the last couple of vivid nightmares is that I have turned violent in them.  In the dreams I am angry and tired of being abused.  I become violent on people or animals.  I have had dreams of fighting as a child before.  But these dreams are me aware that I am becoming violent, that the behavior is “bad” and yet I choose to keep going.  When I wake I struggle to process why I would dream that I punched someone, literally beat the shit out of a woman or that I hit my dog.  I cringe at some of the images that are now stuck in my mind.

Doctor increased my meds effective last night.  I am not impressed thus far.  It’s one night and I would prefer an instant fix please……. Damn still no instant cure for PTSD from a pill.  Bummer.  I think I just needed to say that.

Fuck you PTSD.  You may be capable of giving me horrid nightmares (for now) but you will not rule my day.  Today is my birthday and I am driving to Rockaway Beach to see my parents.  So fuck you.  PTSD sucks ass but my life does not! Cover image is proof.  Yep, I saw Van Halen this Summer!!!

My life rocks because I make damn sure of it.  Have a great day! 

I have peace

Life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what ya’ gonna get.

This is how it has felt to be for the last…… awhile now.  Years maybe.  I’ve spent the last two plus years in consistent therapy.   I have laughed hard, cried and I have experienced a snap.  I’ve been triggered and I have fought my way back to sanity and calm.  And for the last over 30+ days I have experienced withdrawal from Opiate pain medication.  Which is something I have feared, avoided and always knew I would one day face.  I still carry a couple days supply on me at all times.  The fear that the pain that makes me weep in a corner, will one day without warning reach up and grab me by the hair pulling me to the ground kicking and screaming.   Thr fear that it will come back with a vengeance still holds on within me.  If you have never known chronic pain I can not explain it to you and I hope you never find out what I am talking about.  But if you are here reading you probably already understand.

How do I possibly explain the last couple of months?  It wasn’t planned.  I mean I didn’t pick a day and say I quit Vicodin.  I have been seeing a Chiropractor and receiving decompression therapy twice to three times a week consistently for eight months.  As soon as I could begin to stretch I started doing Yoga via my iPad at home alone.  I hated it.  Yoga alone made me feel like a piece of fat shit and often made me self hate for awhile afterwards.  Yet I knew I needed to be doing it so I forced myself.  I quickly found that I would rather do some basic yoga stretches outside before and after my walks then I would alone in my living room.  SO I started stretching.  A lot.  Fuck what anyone thinks, I told myself.  I’m in horrid pain and they don’t have to live with it.

Then two things happened that signaled I was on the right path.  A woman walked into my life with grace and ease like I’ve never really experienced before.  There was and remains zero effort to having in her in my life and heart.  She is among many things, a yoga instructor who has healed her back and now manages her Fibromyalgia and MS with yoga and nutrition.  I listened and asked for the space to do it alone before with her.  Then number two was a gift I will always be grateful for.  I went to our regional camp out.  I went to Yoga every morning in the sun with some of the most beautiful people I have ever met.  Super hippies I lovingly call them.  B (my now partner) joined me for the weekend and I walked easily into yoga right next to her.  The instructor was like a gift from the gods.  His voice calm and soothing all the while reassuring everyone that yoga is about health and taking care of yourself.  Let me be blunt.  As a fat woman in chronic pain with a life changing injury in my back the difference between the philosophy of yoga and pounding yourself with weights and exercise until you puke is overwhelmingly refreshing.  In Yoga class I am consistently reminded that if my jaw is clenched I am not getting it, if there is pain I should back off and that I should always be able to take a controlled inhale and exhale at a slow count to five.  As soon as I got home I joined a local yoga studio and found the same teaching.  There are countless styles and poses but the philosophy remains and it has clicked with my soul.

So when I realized that I was approaching three days without reaching for a Vicodin I made a choice to try Ibuprofen and ice.  I have experienced shooting pain and spasms that would usually result in my reaching for the Vicodin.  I have chosen otherwise and thus far it is manageable.  Am I in pain?  Yes I am.  Is it still interrupting my life?  Yes daily.  Sometimes after Yoga I still have to pack my hips in ice and my back needs it daily.  But I have to confess I didn’t know how fogged in my brain had become from the opiates until I began to come out of it.

I spend a lot of time sitting in clarity and marveling at where I have come.  I am in pain and the nightmares are slowly returning.  Yet I have peace.  I have worries of life and daily tasks.  Yet I have peace.  I am tired all the time.  Yet I have peace.  I’m in love.  I’m not afraid of her.  I don’t worry that it will end or she will betray me.  I trust her.  I have peace. 

Pic is at camp.

  

I’m on my path and moving forward.

Well hello there.  Sorry I have been away.  I have been making changes and getting better.  Slowly.  There is no fast road to heal this injury.  But I rounded a corner and am fighting hard.  I am about to take the next step which is warm and hot yoga at a studio.  I have pain.  I have back spasms.  My neck and my knees and blah blah blah.  But I also have a beautiful life which I am not ready to quit living.  I am inspired to do more.  So no matter how much I hate it I am going to yoga class and I am getting off these fucking meds.

I’m in vicodin aka opiate withdrawal.  Right at this moment the symptoms are strong.  My heart is palpitating, I’ve had random muscle cramps and spasms all day, diarrhea for a couple of days and I cried multiple times today.  I’ve started weaning myself slowly at least five times in the last few years.  Then I get injured and the number of pills goes up again.  This time I am determined to use meditation and yoga to heal and strengthen myself.  So I’m 48hrs without any opiates and my body is pissed.  Trust me if it gets to where I can’t take it I’ll swallow one.  I’m not an idiot.  It’s hot hot hot in Seattle.  That helps.  But I am expecting pain and stomach issues and whatever.  I should look up the symptoms.

A few posts back I talked about making the decision to be Lesbian and the kind of woman I wanted.  I set it into my meditation and made very specific promises to myself, all revolving around being true to myself.  I thought about what it had taken for me to reach this place.  How hard I worked to find me and get honest about what I wanted.  I meditated on the women I have loved -vs- the women I desired.  I thought about my own brain washing by society vs what I truly found sexy in a woman.  I finally got really honest with myself and as I did so I was able to admit a few things….

1) It’s not the women in porn who turn me on.  It’s the women I see in the Lesbian world who are real about who they are at all times.  Righteous unapologetic women.  I finally found the courage to say not only do I agree with these women but I am one.  And somehow that realization has killed porn for me.  Well the kind I have watched since discovering it in my twenties.  ((((gasp))) Yes I watch porn.  Yes I like it.  I have a hub site I have gone to for years.  Now I can’t find what I want on there.  I’m terrified of what will come up if I enter the terms in google.  LMFAO

2) I want to ride on the back of a bike with a Butch in control.  Not just ride the bike but live the life.  I have since about age 15 which was the first time I saw a gorgeous bad ass Lesbian on a bike.  I have watched from a distance and never dared to seek them out until now.  I have ridden with men and never felt safe.  First ride with a woman and I was relaxed.  Guess what?  They are as badass and awesome as I have imagined and then some.

3) I’m gay.  I swear to you on everything that is holy I have never even considered the possibility until recently.  How can that be?  Let me try to explain.  Yes I have been with women and yes I have loved women.  The first woman I said I loved was lust and greed really.  She was a mentor of sorts in a world where status is earned publicly or not at all.  The second woman to hear me say those precious words was the first I truly loved and will love for always.  The love has changed but it won’t die.  So how could I just now be realizing I am a big’o gay Lesbian?  Because I have held onto the notion that my sexual desires are the only thing that determine my sexuality.  I no longer agree with that belief.  I hold fast to the belief that your sexuality – what turns you on – has nothing to do with your character and who you are as a person.  I know some pretty evil miserable rotten straight people and I know some equally in the gay and kink communities.  I have seen some mind-blowing amaze balls make you cry honorable straight people work magic in my lifetime.  Again I have seen the same in the gay and kink communities.  To believe that what a person does behind closed doors consensually with another human being somehow makes his/her mind or heart less than is simple ignorance.  So riddle me this.  Why have I believed that my sexual desires determine what my relationships should look like?  I heard the words come out of my mouth “I have no desire for an emotional connection with a man.  I can’t connect with their energy and feel good anymore.”  I don’t hate men.  I love my Son.  I love my Father and Brothers and many male friends.  I simply have reached a place where I am no longer desire to give what it takes to engage with a man sexually or connect on a heart level.  That is my definition of Lesbian.

I’m taking my meds.  I’m going to my appointments.  I’m walking and doing what I am supposed to for my health.  I’m eating healthy.  I’m on my path and moving forward.  The PTSD is getting quieter.  I am facing fears and saying no to them.  Therapy for the mother fucking win!

When you are blinded by abuse

As I release control over areas of my life which have caused me so much turmoil over I find myself more in control of others.  Areas of my life I mean.  I’ve always known I was abused.  But I didn’t know how the PTSD was ruling my life.  I felt cursed not to be blessed with the ability to block it all out like others I have met.  I spent my entire life fighting the images, the feelings and the hell that came from childhood sexual abuse and rape.   Now once again my opinion on the subject is changing.   Because I’m healing.

I’m not grateful for my abuse.  Fuck no.  But I am seeing that everything I walked through as a result of the abuse was my path to today clarity.  Every path I willingly choose to walk down which resulted in me allowing someone to use me, take advantage of my vulnerability & ignorance and was me straight up going back for more abuse was the way I had to go.

When you are blinded by abuse you simply don’t know you are blind.  You think you can see clearly but really everything is covered in thick chaotic darkness.  When clarity comes you stand back and marvel and accept what you see knowing you will never be going back.

  

This is not an anniversary to remember

No matter how I feel inside and out, today is not about me.  Today is about my Son and whatever he needs and wants.  He has asked for an upbeat celebration and good day downtown Seattle.  That is what I will endeavor to give him.  My pain, emotional and physical, can fuck off.

One year ago today I drove stunned and clearly in shock in response to the third phone call of an inner circle death in the dark shaking my head in disbelief that it was happening again.  But this time it was my Son that I would have to hold myself up for and listen to as he screamed and cried behind a closed hospital room door.  I sucked it the fuck up and shoved my shit way down deep.  My whole body clenched and jerked as he screamed Dad Dad No Dad……  I will never forget that sound nor the immediate change in my Son just an hour later.

My Xhusband had a heart attack and put his car into a wall on Father’s Day 2014.  Tell me how I can ever do anything less than everything my Son asks of me on this day for the rest of my life?  So right now I am going to shower, put on makeup and dress beautifully.  I am going to smile and laugh and joke with my Son and his pregnant girlfriend.  I will raise a glass and tell grand stories of our time together as a family and B’s childhood.  I will honor the man I am so blessed to have co-parented with.  I have to let myself cry a little now.  I cry because I realize how hard the next few years will be without Mike to co-grandparent with.  I cry because I can still hear my Son screaming and no Mother should ever have to hear that.  I cry because I know how bad my son is hurting today.  I cry because grief is a part of love and I have chosen to love deeply.  I understand that now.

 This is me walking my son into the funeral last June.  Yes I have chaps on.  We gave him a biker funeral.

The cover image is my Xhusband, my Son and I at OzzFest at the Gorge Ampitheater.  It is 2004.  A year after our divorce.  Which we did amicably for $300.00.   He wasn’t perfect.  I am not perfect.  We did not fuck each other over.  It made being friends and co-parenting a dream.  I was lucky.  I had no legal right to my Son when I left.  I was very lucky and I guess maybe just realizing today that maybe I didnt choose “that” badly when I married….????

Nerve pain

I hate random nerve pain.  For example this morning I went from zero to catching my breathe and cussing because it felt like a bowling ball had been dropped on my big toe.  Sharp pulsing take my breathe away pain that lasted about three mins.  What the mother fuck is that?  Tonight the same ankle that is attached to that same foot feels tight and painful.  I ache all over.  I don’t fucking care.  It’s just pain…..

Fuck this mother fucking disease!  Grrrrrrr!!

I helped paint some art tonight.  In spite of the pain.  Fuck you Fibro – you loose.  My life rocks.

Here’s a pic of what I helped the community make tonight.  It’s fucking gorgeous.

  

I don’t require me to stay and fake it any more

I just dashed out of Beer Friday and raced home in fear.  A good 15min drive home and my heart’s still pounding in my chest.  I can feel my stomach churn and ache from the knots.  I have an urge to cry, scream or panic.

I was fine.  I was standing with two women I have years of established friendship with.  Two women who have shared some of their darkest secrets with me.  I told them how I had talked myself into coming forced myself to come out and I was glad I did.  I had loved seeing the people I have forged this eleven year friendship with.  I was questioning myself as to why I ever have to force myself to see my friends…..

And suddenly there were too many people.  About 3hrs had passed and maybe 25 to 30 people were milling around chatting away.  There was good music with a great beat playing.  Two tables filled with food and a kitchen overflowing with beverages of every kind.  I could name about 3/4 of the people in attendance.  I felt myself begin to question what I had to talk about and the next thing I knew my heart was pounding so loud I could barely follow the conversation.  I took a few deep breaths.  It seemed to help.  I changed groups and engaged in conversation.  My heart started pounding again only this time is was accompanied by waves of anxiety.  The kind of waves that make me feel like I must be going fucking insane.  There is no rhyme or reason.  There is nothing for me to fear.  Yet I feel my stomach turn over and a wave rises from my gut to my face.  It’s a hot physical wave of anxiety dripping with fear.

I walked away.  I sat down on a semi-secluded couch and took a few deep breaths.  I could hear distinct voices of people I know and love.  Yet I was so overcome with embarrassment I could not bring myself to ask for help.  I thought of at least two women at the party whom I knew I could pull aside and ask for help and they would not judge me.  I could not do it.  I grabbed my keys, smiled and even gave a few hugs.  I felt myself calm down knowing I was leaving.  But in my van I sat with my heart pounding and fought off tears.

The waves continued as I drove home.  I searched for a reason.  What is triggering me?  Nothing….. I’ve got no answer other than I have fucking PTSD and ever since the last trigger I have been unable to shut the social anxiety part off.  There is no reason other than the crowd gets too big and I go from zero to heart pounding physically very uncomfortable symptoms.  I’m still having the waves.  I’ve been home long enough to say hello to the dogs, change into my nightie and sit down to type.  I am still getting waves of physical anxiety and heart palpitations.  I feel annoying and stupid.

I don’t know if I can do it anymore.  I have a small crowd limit now.  I have an urge to cry and feel sorry for myself.  I wont allow it.  I would rather sit here all night and take deep breaths then I would break down and cry over this shit any more.  I didn’t fucking deserve to be abused.  it’s not my fault I have the fucking PTSD and yet I am humiliated and embarrassed that it can still do this.

And yet I still have my clarity.  I know exactly what it is.  I know what the anxiety is from.  I know that the tapes of my childhood got triggered and a social situation turns them on and WHAM hello social anxiety waves.  They are stronger than they were eleven years ago when I first pushed past them to join this community.  I didn’t know what it was back then.  I just thought I was weird and a chicken shit.  Again, thus the creation of “the bitch.”  Now I recognize what is happening and try to take myself down.  If I can not, I leave.  It sucks but the alternative is worse.  Get drunk and possibly make an ass of myself because I am so caught up my social anxiety that it causes me to show off or get cocky.  I don’t want to be the cocky bitch any more.  I feel lost and sometimes panicked without her.  So today, my clarity allows me to leave and do what I need to do for me.  Like last weekend when I choose to go back to the hotel.  Tonight I choose to come home.  And that is OK.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with me coming home and I dont need to beat myself or feel about it today.  That is a huge difference for me.

I find myself thinking “well I guess I better keep investing in my friendships privately and get used to not going to the big events.”  And I am OK with that too.  Camping is different.  I have my space that I can isolate in when needed and recharge.

I don’t require me to stay and fake it any more.

The pain is back

I’m struggling.  The pain is back.  My hips and back are at a constant 3/4 and sends shooting pain to an 8 through out the day and night.  My left woke me.

I know what I need to do.  My pride is not letting me.  I need to take my cushion with me and sit on it rather then hard seats.  Everywhere…..

I don’t like to show my illness or pain.  I don’t want to now.  This is fucking bullshit.  Can I at least please have my dignity?

The pain is making me exhausted and overly sensitive.  I do not …… FUCK!!!!!

Pic is my tire on the side of the freeway last week.  That’s how I feel today.  Soooo fucking pretty!!!

That’s pretty cool

I did great.  I smiled, I held my head up high and I laughed with my brother T.  I did not stuff my face with cookies.  I waited until I got back to the hotel for my earned pig out.

The same Aunt I spoke of earlier never came near me but I caught her looking me up and down and snearing to herself.  Seriously she has to be in her sixties now and still does that shit.  The after party was to be held in her home.  I drew my boundary politely and calmly telling my Dad that I had no desire to be in her home and planned to order a pizza and pick up beer at the hotel.  My Dad decided to join me.  So in the end I got a couple hours alone with my Dad drinking beer, eating pizza and telling stories.  Turns out I’m not the only one with some stupid drug stories from my young and dumb days.  My Dad is no longer afraid to tell me the truth.  That’s pretty cool.

Fuck those people.  I hope they have peace someday.  I love my Step Mom more then words can say.  And I loved her Dad who was a good good man.  I paid my respect.  I showed my love.  I looked good and I honored me.  Win win win.

This is taken outside the hotel tonight.  It was 94* at 6PM

The dress was full length but showed my arm and back tats.  I was complimented.  I felt like a Goddess.  I am a Goddess!