Oofda. So much has happened in my world recently. I’ve been processing things internally, leaving me quiet and still much of the time. I watched Leaving Neverland and the Oprah interview that followed over two evenings. I had to take several breaks to walk around and think. I slept the night horribly between viewings. My spirit was unsettled, (and sleep is when we ignore our bodies and exist only in the spiritual plane.)
I’m not consciously aware of how but during that unrestful night, I worked out a significant understanding of how to cope with loving humans. In many ways, the universe has been providing repeated opportunities to address this issue. I’ve been shying away. It’s incredibly complex and often uncomfortable. Hearing Oprah share her wisdom in a repetitive, heavily stressed, and urgent manner finally got to me. (I can be pretty thick.) 😑
I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to process, absorb, sit with, over-analyze, adapt, and finally grow from it. It’s ugly. It hurts. It hurts in ways I can’t even articulate. It’s hard work, too. I have to train my brain to adapt, and it requires a fierce focus. I hate intensely focusing on lessons that frighten, disturb, and drain me. (Adulting sucks; this wasn’t in the brochure.) I wanted loving humans to be black and white; not a gazillion shades of gray I didn’t know existed.
I asked myself why. It turns out; it’s because I fear trauma. I’ve spent half my life healing from PTSD, thus avoiding it seemed an ideal strategy. I was wrong. Hiding from what I fear hasn’t worked out. Ever. (Wait. Except for horror movies.) I’m grateful for Oprah. I love her; she’s one of my favorite teachers. She taught me Michael Jackson was a human being all along. Two people told their story and showed us how pedophilia slithers in and devastates. I believe them. The cracked facade displaying a man as a god shattered into a million tiny pieces.
Now I will gather those pieces and build them into the real man. He looks, moves, and sounds the same. (Many positive attributes remain intact.) However, he also profoundly hurt some children. He broke a taboo that creates ripples of suffering known to wreak havoc in the lives of many for generations. He lied in our face. It will take time for me to sort out my feelings.
Loving people is hard because we’re each a universe of complexity and individuality. All good or all bad are imaginary concepts, no matter how much we want to believe in them. The child within us wants clear heroes; in whom we can invest our love and admiration without fear of pain. Reality won’t play along because humans don’t work that way. Loving is complicated and hurts like hell sometimes. Forgiving is a choice and process involving growth, new perceptions, and scars. It’s so gray, we all have to figure out for ourselves where to go from here. So much of being an adult is recognizing how childlike we are and consciously compensating (when necessary.) Thank goodness for candy. 💜✌🏽
I’m recovering from rapid energy depletion. My washing machine broke. It resulted in two maintenance visits in my home on consecutive days. The first visit included the head of maintenance, as well, whom I suspect is hard of hearing. In any case, he speaks loudly. He’s quite friendly and chatty. He even tightened my door handle on his way out when he noticed it was loose.
Regardless of how cool he is, I can barely remain in my body when he’s near. I have a fingernails-on-chalkboard-level reaction to him, against my will. I managed to exchange polite greetings (while standing in front of the balcony door, debating about fleeing outside.) The second visit was just the maintenance person, who replaced the faulty part and confirmed it worked in about twenty minutes. Yay.
I had to lay down for a bit afterward. I have a rule about no naps during the day, ever, (because it sabotages my sleep routine.) But all the energy I was planning on using for the rest of the day was gone. I crashed as soon as vertical and stayed there for two hours. Then I got back up and told my pets we’re performing an official do-over.
It’s not a ruined day; it’s just a time-shifted day. (The difference is whatever I make of it.) I decided I’m going to switch things up a little. Now that I’ve been watching TV daily, I’m reading less. Naturally, I’ve decided I need to prioritize which shows to keep (and dump the rest) because this doesn’t work for me. I recently purchased an HBO subscription, and have a few new shows I’ll continue watching, along with (Game of Thrones when it resumes.)
Westworld is my new favorite show, in the meantime. The soundtrack is my favorite part. It’s by Ramin Djwadi, who also scores Game of Thrones. I love the theme song; it’s a composition lesson to me. The show is well written and performed. Noticing the well thought out details in the script is like finding easter eggs in video games. I’m completely enthralled. Another show I’m keeping is called High Maintenance, (also on HBO.) The last is Grace and Frankie on Netflix.
The wind has been calling me, telling me it’s time to read The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss, again. Just thinking of it feels like coming home after a trying day. I’m looking forward to spring because I plan on rearranging my living space to suit my lifestyle better. I’ll be using a lot I learned from watching Marie Kondo on Netflix. I love her; she’s a joy virus. (Never thought I’d use those words together!) I’m off to read. ✌🏽💜
The Fleetwood Mac concert was last night. I still have a massive grin on my face. I’m floating on a cloud of joy, today. Since I attended alone, I took a Lyft ride there and back. Aside from struggling to locate my Lyft driver among so many others after the show, it proved ideal. Instead of waiting in lines, the crowd smoothly flowed through security to our seats. It was like being gently guided.
I was seated among lovely people who reminded me why I love Sioux Falls so much. A woman seated with her partner in front of me turned around and gave me a high-five when the band took the stage. I was between a group of young women and two men around my age. We spontaneously swayed arm-in-arm to the music several times while singing along. 😮😍😆🙃
It startled me at first, but I played it off and joined in. Then I internally celebrated my happy amazement over bonding with local strangers without the slightest bit of panic. I had floor seats, so we stood from the moment the music began until the band took a bow at the end. I wore cargo pants with a leg pocket for my phone, which was perfect. I didn’t lose anything while mesmerized by the performance. Yay.
After a few songs, I realized I was standing there on tiptoes with my hands clutched in fists just below my chin, shoulders hunched, eyes open as wide as they go, and presumably a super goofy expression around my grin. (Part of me is secretly hoping the band couldn’t see us well from beneath the lighting.) I couldn’t help it. (Even though I’ve seen photos of people doing this, and thought they looked like doofs.) Heh.
I had a fantastic time. I did see one other black person, but I think he worked there. 😂 (I didn’t look around at the audience once the band started playing.) Mick Fleetwood’s drumming blew my mind. His kit is gold with penguins on the kick drum. After stunning us with his skills, he got up and casually tossed his sticks while exiting the stage. (So cool.) He did all the faces, too. I love him. 😆
The magical vibe that only Fleetwood Mac can create remains wrapped around me like a hug. Watching Stevie Nicks in her element with my own eyes was a bucket list moment. She rocked. I love her. (I’m making that face again.) Christine McVie came out from behind the keyboards to sing beside Stevie Nicks, too. (I may have involuntarily squeed.) I loved seeing Sharon Celani and Lori Nicks singing backup, as well. The band sounded fabulous. The percussion and bass were felt as well as heard, (which is how it should be.)
The new lineup is tight and smooth together. I think they’re even better now. (Yep. I said it.) The tribute to Tom Petty was brilliant. I’m off to continue being a happy doof while I practice drumming. ✌🏾💜
p.s. Here’s the photo I took (just before I forgot my phone could do that.)
I’m going to share a few things I’ve learned about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) after living with it for nearly half my life. Your mileage may vary, so take what fits. In my mind, I see my ability to cope with stress as a balloon. Stress inflates it. Ordinarily, as the balloon inflates, it stretches to accommodate typical stressors. PTSD occurs when overwhelming stress causes the balloon to swell so far beyond its optimal range, it produces a pocket extrusion, reducing the overall tensile efficiency.
From that point on, to prevent a blowout, hypervigilance is required. The amount of stress you can cope with resets to zero (child-like stress tolerance level,) and you have to start over by stretching your stress balloon a little bit at a time, without popping it, repeatedly, until it regains a semblance of elasticity. This process is your new full-time (unpaid, nerve-wracking) job regardless of your present work status. Forget about getting nights and weekends off. Holidays? As if!
Trauma causes PTSD. Something awful happened, and you came up short on internal resources to deal with it in real time. The situation convinced you of your impending and untimely death. Your brain pulled the emergency lever causing you to check out emotionally (because it’s too hot in here.) Once the haze clears and you finally wrap your head around continued existence, PTSD shows up and says, “S’up, bitch?”
The first year or five is mostly training. Figuring out which random things trigger you from calmness to a sudden panic attack, (often for no apparent reason,) quickly becomes a priority. We also soon realize concealing (masking) how we feel is helpful when among others. That ever-present, barely containable, private hysteria shaking in the back of your mind alarms others if you let your guard down.
I believe it’s the tendency to stare off into the distance while visibly unraveling. Masking is exhausting, but you’ll master the ability. The motivation is irresistible: human contact. Isolation may seem like your new lifestyle, but it’s just a tool you can summon when you need to regroup, recover, unmask, and rest from socializing. Humans don’t thrive in permanent isolation, so don’t linger longer than necessary. Social skills entirely fall under the use-them-or-lose-them rule.
The sleep disturbances usually show up right off; such as, nightmares, insomnia, crashing and sleeping for several hours only to awaken feeling unrested, and the like. As does the super-uncool tendency to jump like the clown from It just showed up, over every loud noise, sudden motion detected in your peripheral vision or contact from outside of your view (especially from behind.) Good times.
The flashbacks are like jumping between two avatars without warning or a controller. (This game is rated S for sofa king no.) And there’s always a frenemy or two who will delight in provoking you to jump because it looks hilarious every time. Each time, without your consent, you react as if you’re suddenly about to die. Your reaction doesn’t diminish over time (in my experience.) The OMG-I’m-ending hormones release (like the Kraken) every time. Then you have to go somewhere quiet to recover — every time. Kick them to the curb sooner than later. (You’re welcome.)
The bad news is PTSD sucks so hard it can lead to thinking about suicide. The good news is you can live with it. It’s not easy, but it’s doable. The more you practice safely stretching your stress balloon, the more it becomes a habit and less a conscious chore. Only you can choose your pace. Your brain is physiologically different than it was before you acquired PTSD. Don’t lie to yourself about getting over it. You don’t. You build a scar over time and eventually relearn how to manage your stress efficiently enough to get back on your journey.
It’s part of who you are now. The healing process takes place within yourself, and only you can do the necessary work to regrow an efficient stress balloon. A good therapist can provide a map and support. If you have the means, do it. You deserve it. If not, you can still do it. (The internet.) Just remember to be kind to yourself. You have a wound, go easy.
Avoid binging on carbs. They’re prepackaged depression and anxiety outside of moderation. You’ve got enough on your plate without adding shit on purpose, eh?
Practice good sleep hygiene.
Stay well hydrated. Your fight-or-flight system is broken and is sending out false alarms all over the place. Flush out those toxins often.
Stretch when you first awaken, and before you go to sleep. You’re physically tense most of the time, so counter it twice a day deliberately. You’re the boss of you, dammit. 🙃
Choose (ideally) at least three people you trust to support you by connecting with you (unmasked) as you heal. Preferably people who understand PTSD or are willing to learn about it with you. (Pets help if you talk to them.)
Exercise daily within your (physician approved) range of ability. It’s an incredible built-in hormone regulator.
If you can hear, listen to music alone in the dark with headphones on. Hopefully, you’ll find a musician or several whose music can express intense emotions you can’t even classify on your behalf. It’s an incredible release. (For me, Evanescence, Bach, ABBA, NIN, Beyoncè, Sheryl Crow, Stevie Nicks, and Fleetwood Mac have helped tremendously in this manner.)
Anytime you feel tempted or compelled to act on suicidal ideation, wait 72 hours first. You survived this long; you can hold out for another three days to allow your brain to self-correct. (This is more a rule than a tip.) 💜 [Suicide Hotline]
It’s okay to have moments when you’re convinced it’s not worth so much effort. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or broken. It signals it’s time to turn on some stand-up comedy or Key and Peele and laugh (like you’re getting paid) for a while.
Others with PTSD can be a source of information, tips, and support. Remember you’re not alone, even when it feels like you are.
Flex in the mirror once in a while. You’re a healing survivor who was once a victim. Life knocked you down, and you chose to get back up and continue your journey. You’re freakin’ fabulous. 💪🏾👍🏾 💜
It recently occurred to me I can watch TV, now. (And I don’t just mean repeatedly watching Seinfeld, The Boondocks, and other animated series with 15ish-minute episodes.) Netflix is fantastically rocking my world. Part of me wants to travel to their headquarters, stand in front of the content selection team, and dance my happy song on the violin before them until I burst into tears of gratitude. 🥰😍😮🤔🤭🤫
Oofda. I might understand why oversharing is a thing, now, too. 🙃 What I mean is I don’t care about the recent price increase for Netflix. Worth it. Period. I finished experiencing Black Mirror (until they create more.) I’ll undoubtedly rewatch it. Sense8 is easily my favorite show of all time. It reaches me on a level beyond even novels. It’s astonishing when you consider books are my most natural means of connecting with the world outside my head.
I think watching in 4k is a significant factor, as well. It seems we’ve finally progressed to where filming and lighting are accurate enough to captivate. Skin looks like skin, now. People of color finally look as radiant as they do in real life. Light-toned people no longer appear sickly in natural lighting. I didn’t even know the flaw was distracting until it went away. It’s eliminated a subconscious uncanny valley. Yay.
The imperfections in human appearances are significant in adding interest, dimension, and believability. Humans don’t look perfect; it’s what makes us beautiful. Julia Roberts seems to get it. She remains gorgeous because she’s not fighting nature, she’s embracing it. (I know she’s not the only one, but she’s who caught my attention in this respect.) Aging doesn’t diminish beauty. It merely transforms it. For a long time, Hollywood has attempted to hide this transformation from us. But with 4k, it’s futile. Heh.
I’m thrilled because I’m looking forward to films with actors whose careers flourish at the point where they master their skills, not end. Where irrelevant formulas no longer drive the industry. Where entertainment no longer centers on momentary titillation laced with gratuitous violence. Not a viable vision to emulate, that. There’s far too much junk food in our collective entertainment diet. We deserve more, and Netflix is banking on it.
Hollywood still thinks reality shows are the solution, but they don’t seem to grok the point. Reality shows are a band-aid. We’re not rejecting fantasy and imaginings. We’re rejecting formulary lies. Monetary gain as the single goal is anathema to creativity. It’s a Banksy shredder, yo. I’m pleased there is a corporation with the cerebral fortitude to play Go while the rest are still playing Chess. I feel like I’m watching the butterfly-wing-flap that stirs a tsunami in the future of entertainment. (See why I couldn’t help but overshare?) 😆😂✌🏾💜