... for my blog and Facebook friends.
I'm going off my nut today. Got an annoying email from my stepmother via my father.
A few years ago, while I was getting counseling during a divorce, the counselor casually said that I have PTSD. I'm not sure why he didn't pursue it, maybe because it wasn't a major issue and it wasn't the focus of the counseling. I'm not like some of those poor folks who come back from a war and have flashbacks about bombing and what-not to the point where they can't function. Life is mostly good. Pretty darned good, at the moment.
Anyhow, during the divorce I just wanted to sit still and talk to a cooler, wiser head before doing something permanent. I wanted to understand some of the patterns behind my actions, why I kept putting myself in negative or abusive situations over and over again. So, dunno. I just kind of let it wash over me. PTSD. Yeah, whatever. And the lawyers want xeroxes of every financial statement under the sun and the ex is after me for as much money as he can get, while he sits in the house I paid for and doesn't take care of his kid, who is failing school. One thing at a time.
Sometimes, though, I wonder if there wasn't something to what he said. I get an email or a phone call, and it's like a fire alarm going off. Depending on the stimulus, sometimes there's a panic response. I can't stand to have things pointed in my face as though they're a gun, for example.
My gut response is way out of proportion to the stimulus. Crap starts bubbling up out of my brain. I start grinding my teeth. Even cracked one a couple of times. I stomp around the house mentally composing responses which include a mile-long list of grievances. I think about how my sister turned out, a nasty train wreck of a person with no self-respect, and how our folks treated her like dirt. Buying liquor was more important to them than the fact that she had a congenital defect which caused her constant pain. I think about the decades of nastiness they've dumped on me, how I wasted twenty years of my life in some idiotic, misguided attempt to get approval. I get really angry.
And you know, that isn't me. Or maybe it is me in some sense, but it isn't how I want to spend my time. I have a really fortunate life now. A husband who's a great companion and really considerate, a son who shows every sign of being an interesting person, gardens, books, interesting experiences, a house, all the material goods a person could need.
So, you know, I have to work my way out of it. It starts slow, with "Well, these people don't love or like me so maybe I am a piece of crap, but I can at least make my life a net positive by helping out others." Then I get to "You know, it isn't all about me. Not even close. Lots of people have crappy relationships. What I need to do is go think about someone or something else for awhile."
I go read blogs. I read about people's grandkids or how their bathroom has dry rot. I read about their kids' soccer matches or how their birds have a new fledgling or they made a new art doll out of used coffee filters. Slices of life. Good stuff. How nice it is that people share parts of themselves, that they put stuff out there.
Life settles after awhile. I should get back to mine. At the moment my son is formulating some plan for terraforming Mars. He's talking about warming it up using hot chocolate and birthday candles. I don't know if there's enough free oxygen for the birthday candles, but I've heard worse plans.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
9 comments:
yeah. that. make art. do goofy stuff. read a book. go to an art show or a movie. these are all better than dwelling on stuff that might have made you who you are but doesn't necessarily define you...
*sigh* I think that counselor was right. Your wolves didn't know you or care and it had nothing to do with you AT ALL. Have you held a funeral for them? That helped me, holding my own little funeral for my dad, a couple of years before he was dead. I had to let it all go there. It was good.
You're good. You're beautiful. You're a great mom and wife. You're talented and creative. You're ALIVE and loved.
You know what? Forget 'them' and think 'us'. Easier said than done, I know; but dwell on those wonderful people who are your family, your son and husband and all these blog friends who are there to reach out to you.
In fact why not help your son plan his terra-forming. I could think of nothing better than investing time in helping a child create a wondrous imagination and along the way you may just find those demons shrink down to manageable size.
(Imagine me suggesting to you when I live on the razor edge ..... rotfl.)
Birthday candles and hot chocolate. Now there's something to focus on!
Yes, bloggy friends have a certain something, don't they? One can unload sometimes to bloggy friends while one tends to say "Fine thanks" to "real" ones.
I LOVE the film of your son dancing! He's so beautiful. And it was so nice to hear your voice, which was surprisingly (to me) American (yes, it wasn't really surprising at all but, you know) and reminded me so much of someone - just can't think who.
I have no accent at all, of course; or at any rate the same one as Gordon Brown. (I wonder if you ever hear him in the US? Not for much longer, anyway.) But I don't look so grumpy.
When parents don't love or adequately take care of their kids (and tragically, this happens more than most people would like to think), it really is never about the kid. It's about damaged people who should never have tried to raise children. It's their sickness, not ours.
So, yes - drink hot chocolate and play with your kid and visit. It does help.
When I feel those particular blues welling up, I remind myself that pain creates art. In your case, even very good and inspired art.
Parents like yours and mine carry the burdens dumped on them by their own parents, and back through the generations. Finally, one comes along like you who refuses to pass on inherited pain to your own children. It is one of the hardest things in the world to do, but also one of the most rewarding for yourself and those who follow.
You are adored by people you don't even know, and that makes you pretty damn special.
You and me both on the crappy relations and traumas from earlier life. But, we're also survivors. It's written all over us. It's just a pain in the ass that for some of us it had to be so much harder than for others.
I echo the previous two comments. I know the past can sneak up & whack us unexpectedly. But our strengths lie in the fact that we can overcome the sneak attacks.
You are an absolutely brilliant human, wife, and mother.
Post a Comment