Branches vs roots

Tags

Anxiety, Bad Old Days, branches, Change, clarity, cloud of doom, Confusion, Courage, dread, Expunged, Fear, gunk, Kinesiology, Nourishment, Panic, peace, Purged, remnants, roots, routed, self-honesty, source, That Which Has Been, Universe, wading boots

This entire universe and everything it contains comes from the same place. This I believe unreservedly.

Our roots are common, but it’s difficult to keep that in mind when you think of yourself as one of the branches somewhere at the top of the tree, far removed from the root system even as it ultimately provides the nourishment we need to exist.

We forget, and find it hard to identify with the whole tree, let alone the source of life that animates us. And we think that if we lose all or part of a branch or twig that we associate with ourselves, it’s a catastrophe. That life as we know it is over…

We get stressed, freaked out and whatever other reactions seem appropriate at the time. But this is just change. And our response to change is only as severe as our association with those things that are a-changing. To feel better, we have to learn to let go.

This concept can be applied to our lives at all kinds of macro and micro levels. Easier said than done sometimes, however!

And I’m reminding myself of this quite purposefully today as I prepare for this evening’s appointment with Kerry from Awaken Kinesiology.

I made the booking last month when I realised I was having some sort of intense energetic response to my five year anniversary. Because I want the remnants of all that gunk routed. Purged. Expunged. So bring it on!!

However, my body has other ideas and is bestowing a rather visceral response in anticipation of this appointment: fear in my belly, anxiety in my heart, confusion and panic in my mind (making things all cloudy and fluffy).

Seems crazy, this little cloud of doom I’m sporting on this gloriously blue-skied and sunny Spring day. The sunshine is matter of fact and reminds me that everything is going to be just fine. Yet, this morning I had to drag my sorry ass out of bed, like the Bad Old Days.

I know it’s all good and I WANT this for myself. Clearly though, there’s more than a few bits and pieces quietly haunting my insides. I function pretty normally now (whatever that means!) compared to how things have been. And maybe for some people that’d be enough. But it’s not enough for me, not by half.

So I’m pulling on my wading boots to trek through the muck. Time for another clean up, you see.

And it has to be done, despite the physical experience of dread that accompanies such ventures. This post is by way of gathering a little courage and exposing what’s going on in my body and mind for what it is: fear of change, even if that change is for the good.

I’m not just the branches, I’m the roots too. Especially the roots!

So here’s to more clarity, self-honesty, peace and freedom from the corset-like confines of That Which Has Been.

And here’s to a little more peace for y’all on this lovely day, too.

Om Shanti!

~Svasti xo

Nothing is wrong

Tags

Change, Dancing, Depression, Exhibit A, Fear, good luck fairies, grasping, inner yogi, lila, Meditation, nothing is wrong, Panic, perceived indestructibility, preferences, Sanskrit, thin-cold fingers, uncertain, unemployment, winter solstice, wrongness, Yoga

Middle of the year and all, only days from the winter solstice (in the southern hemisphere!) and there’s a heck of a lot of shifting going on.

In fact, there always is, right? It’s just that we tend not to notice so much when it doesn’t affect us personally.

Unless of course, you take up yoga, meditation or dancing or some other kind of activity that helps us uncover our sensitivity and connection to the world. Even then, it can be a little hit and miss, depending on how self-involved we are on any given day.

And even then, only if we learn to divest ourselves of attachments to this interaction of interconnected energies. The thing we call life. Because it’s the attachment to emotions, the rules of the game, our form and/or how we perceive others are perceiving us (for example), that keep us tethered to the rule book.

In Sanskrit, the word lila is used to describe life, but it actually translates back into English as ‘play’. The play of life.

Been getting a little freaked out in the last couple of weeks because the contract job I’m doing right now is finishing up at the end of the month. On the 25th to be exact. No extensions are being offered because the company is itself, going through a bunch of transformations.

Like unwelcome acupressure applied directly to the heart, I can taste just a hint of panic rising as the days of June tick by.

My freak out isn’t so much about things ending, as the reasonable possibility that I’ll be out of a job. Again. With two weeks to go, I still don’t have a job, or any interviews lined up. And yes, I’ve been doing everything I can!

And the soul-crippling depression and fear I experienced last year during four months of unemployment is attempting to creep its way back into the pit of my stomach like thin-cold fingers of smoke, grasping at my throat and whispering horror stories from back then.

Of course, I’m talking to a bunch of recruiters and have a several leads to follow up. But nothing is definite yet. Although, as I said to a recruiter I spoke to the other day – when is any job ever definite or secure?

Regardless, a dozen plans have taken up residence in my mind, attempting to allay any potential panic but actually, has led to a great deal of thrashing around as a result. Not so helpful!

But I’m waging a war against such uncertainties, because certainty really is so entirely uncertain. Is it not? We’d like to pretend otherwise, but our fragility and mortality are much closer to the edge of our perceived indestructibility than we think.

Clarity came again one night about a week ago as I took in a sweeping panoramic view of my life as it stands. I calculated how quickly I’ll run out of money this time around (really soon!) if I don’t get a job in a hurry. And considered how I might possibly avoid falling into the same black pit as last time.

But all of these thoughts were based on the premise that something in my life was wrong. Until that moment, I was pretty convinced of the wrongness of not having a job, wielding last year’s experience as Exhibit A. Those four months of unemployment were bad, according to the judgemental little voice in my mind.

Luckily, that judge-voice isn’t the only one speaking provocative ideas inside my head! The next question (proposed I think, by my inner yogi self) was: But what if nothing is really wrong at all?

It went on: The upset we feel when things go “wrong” is often more disturbing than the perceived wrongness itself. And we combine it with the situation we’ve proclaimed as wrong or bad, creating a seemingly insurmountable wall of stress. But really, is anything actually wrong?

For now, I’ve come down on the side of my inner yogi.

Nothing is inherently wrong, regardless of my preferences. Even if I don’t get a job again for months, and even if that means I can’t go on retreat in October (as per my current plans). Even if I have to get a flatmate or move out of my current place and sell most of my possessions. Even if I end up homeless, there’s still not actually anything wrong. It’s just life in action, and my response to those things is something I’m in charge of.

That doesn’t mean I won’t do everything I can to get a job. Of course I will!

My inner yogi wanted to know this, too: Can I apply this idea to any situation? To the BP oil spill? To the death of a child? To natural disasters? To the two year old child in Indonesia addicted to smoking?

Perhaps. I think it’s more truthful to admit that I’m not there yet, but working on it!

To say that nothing is inherently wrong doesn’t mean we don’t care when life gets shitty. We don’t stop participating in life. But we do learn to see the greater interplay of existence. The flow and play of life.

And this blog post represents my attempt to relax into that flow and accept whatever is coming my way, responding appropriately but doing everything I can to avoid falling into a pit of despair should life not go the way I want it to…

~Svasti

P.S. If you find any good luck fairies, please send them my way, stat! 😉

Fear and panic – or – more stuckness

Tags

Badge of pain, EMDR, Eye Movement Desensitization & Reprocessing, Fear, Panic, Post-traumatic stress, PTSD, Stuck, Therapy

There’s so many other things I want to be writing on my blog right now.

I’ve got half a dozen draft posts dying to get out the door. But captivated by other things… I’ve been unable to write about those things, or finish my other posts.

And I’m pissed off about that.

Melinda commented on my last post – saying there seems to be a lot of fear running ’round for me right now. And how!

That post was a desperate attempt to explain something… I don’t really understand yet. It’s good that I wrote it though, because H read it (I trust her enough) and could then ask me questions to try and get to the point.

Which we sort of did.

The point would be, I’m going in circles right now. I’m super pissed that I can’t move beyond where I’m at. I feel like there’s a big, fat HUGE boulder smack bang in the middle of the path I’m travelling. There’s no easy way around it, not yet.

Every time I approach it, there’s a sense of incredible panic. The physical reactions of my body make me feel like I’m about to die. Not thinking I’m going to die – feeling it, in every cell. It’s happening in the moment.

If I’m in a therapy session, and we’re talking around/near this blockage, I literally feel like I’m choking, too. There’s an absolute tangible reaction and I cough – like crazy – trying to dislodge… whatever it is.

Then, there’s the residual knives in my heart pain, that takes ages to fade. And even as I think of it now… returns a little, reminding me… ooouuch.

This started when H asked me why I never say Andre’s name when I talk about him.

It’s literally the only thing that I’ve ever been really hesitant to talk about with H. Or anyone, for that matter. I think I might have written his name down in an email to some close friends right when it happened. I can say his name out loud when it’s just me. But I can’t talk about it to other people for some reason.

And because there’s this foundation there I can’t make myself go near… the pain, the terror, the horrendous emotions that go hand in hand with all of this refuse to gracefully fade.

Even though that’s what I want.

Unlike my mother, I don’t want to wear a badge of pain for the rest of my life. I don’t want to not get over it. I know that getting over it doesn’t mean that what happened wasn’t important. I absolutely know that!

And yet… here I am.

So. H suggested that because of the way I’ve described what’s going on, that I might benefit from a technique called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization & Reprocessing).

From the website:

EMDR is an information processing therapy and uses an eight phase approach to address the experiential contributors of a wide range of pathologies. It attends to the past experiences that have set the groundwork for pathology, the current situations that trigger dysfunctional emotions, beliefs and sensations, and the positive experience needed to enhance future adaptive behaviours and mental health.

I’m interested to give it a go, of course. When something isn’t working, try something new!

So now H has referred me to two of her colleagues. I need to call them and see who’s available/what works best.

Ha! Another potential opportunity to neglect myself, sit on my hands and not do anything for a while… But I’ll try not to do that. I will attempt to call them, work out which one to see and book in some time and so on…

~Svasti

Ground zero

Tags

Anger, Assault, Black eye, Broken glass, Confusion, Fear, Memory loss, Pain, Panic, Violence

Confused and a little disturbed, I couldn’t work out why he was shouting at me.

We’d just had dinner. A slamming pumpkin soup I made with sweet potato and a little ginger, paprika and rosemary. He checked his emails on my computer and later played some tunes on his guitar, plugged in to his mini amplifier. It was all very chilled.

He’d come to see me as a favour to his ex, who recently bought my old car. She still owed me a bit more money and this was the final payment.

Everything was going pretty smoothly, even though Andre sort of mentioned the fact that we weren’t seeing each other any more left him sexually frustrated. But I let that comment slide through to the keeper.

I hadn’t seen him for a couple of weeks until this night, a Thursday night. I ended things because I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. I think we both knew that. So when the ‘car drama’ happened, it seemed like a natural break.

He looked a little sad, and whilst I can’t recall exactly what he said (memory loss issues!); he brought up the topic of the ‘car drama’. Somewhat apologetically I think.

My response was something like: You know, I should have listened to my gut instinct. I don’t really like doing business with friends because money often causes problems. I shouldn’t have sold your ex the car.

Then the shouting began. Don’t ask me what the content was. It just sounded like loud white noise ringing in my ears.

Now – I don’t like shouting. I never have. I’ve always been sensitive to outright bursts of anger. I find it very draining and upsetting. I don’t mind having disagreements, but shouting puts me off-balance.

My first response was: I think you misunderstood what I said. I just meant that money and friends often don’t mix well – and look and what’s happening here. Please stop shouting.

But he didn’t. He got meaner. More cutting and insulting.

Please leave my house, I said.

I recall feeling composed at this point. I was telling myself how well I was handling the situation.

Asking him to leave just made him angrier. He made no effort to do as I’d asked. He just stood there shouting at me.

Please leave, I repeated.

He began taunting me. Why don’t you call the police?

I have no idea why I didn’t.

Except, my innocence about people and their motives is rather child-like. I tend to believe people are who they present themselves as. This is despite plenty of evidence over the years that most people aren’t that honest.

So, even though he was mad for some reason I couldn’t fathom… I thought he was ‘just’ mad. I didn’t expect the situation to escalate. And I thought I could handle things – that I was handling things.

From this point on, my memories aren’t coherent. I see snapshots of things that happened, but I have no idea whether they directly are connected to each other or not. Perhaps there was something in between each flash, but perhaps not. Also, the conversations below are all ‘approximate’ because I just don’t remember what was said. I have more of a general feeling of the words used only.

I know I kept trying to explain that I wasn’t accusing him of anything, that I was talking about the whole ‘friends/money don’t mix’ thing. I also know that he wasn’t listening; he just kept shouting at me and refusing to leave.

He hadn’t put his shoes on yet. His shoes, guitar, amp and a small bag were sitting in the hall. I decided that if he wouldn’t leave, I’d start moving his stuff outside. Possibly not the wisest move, but my therapist thinks I have a history of taking unnecessary risks…

I grabbed his shoes and his bag and opened the front door, ferrying his belongings to the driveway. When I came back in I felt, rather than saw, a shift in his attitude. I went to pick up his amp.

Before I could, he grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me against the wall. The flat part at the base of my skull hit the plaster with a crack. My vision went white for a few seconds.

Don’t touch my instruments! he thundered.

Well get your shit out of here and just LEAVE, I demanded, in shock. And how dare you touch me, get your hands off me!

Now we were both standing in the hall, the front door was wide open.

He was taking cheap shots, attempting to use things I’d told him against me. Trying to upset me. No wonder your mother… I can’t remember the rest. Only that in the face of this maelstrom I remained strong.

You don’t know what you’re talking about, quite clearly. My parents love me.

Things were very tense. Stressful. Extreme.

I slowly inched him towards the door. I was getting desperate. The verbal abuse continued. More nonsense. Menacing nonsense.

The very next thing I remember was afterwards. You see, I didn’t know it had happened til it was done.

He looked at me with intense anger in his deep brown eyes, staring defiantly.

The world was surreal.

WHAT JUST HAPPENED? WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME? WHY IS HE LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT?

Then I started to feel the pain.

Oh. My. God. My face… Did he? Hit me?

I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t even see his arm move.

What the hell did you do? Did you just HIT me? Why would you do that? You fucking PRICK, I was crying.

He stood there silently then said, Go on, hit me back. Go on.

Andre is incredibly strong, muscular and a martial artist. I’m also trained in martial arts, but my inner voice was screaming at me not to respond. DON’T BE CRAZY. HE’S MUCH STRONGER THAN YOU ARE. DON’T DO IT!

But somehow I clumsily slapped him, with almost no strength in my arm. Yet the earring in his right ear fell out, onto the carpet.

Good. Now you can’t complain to the police. You hit me as well. And geez, I hardly touched you. If I really wanted to hurt you, you’d know about it. I could smash your fucking head in if I wanted to. And I might just do that some time… he mumbled in a low deep growl.

I focused on that earring even though I was shaking and crying. I needed the situation to change. I wanted the shouting to stop. I wanted him gone, but I didn’t have a plan. I was totally winging it.

Your earring fell out. It’s on the carpet. Pick it up, and get the FUCK out of my house!

What? Is this a joke?

No. Get your fucking earring and leave.

As he bent down and grabbed it, I used all the power I could muster to physically push him backwards, out the door, and I closed the door in his face.

Only I wasn’t quite fast enough.

He regained his balance and leapt forwards, his guitar slung over his shoulder. The head of the guitar smashed one of the glass panels as he put his shoulder into the door and forced his way back into the hall.

There was more verbal abuse, screaming, shouting, threats of further violence. Words that are lost to me, drowned out by shock. Drowned out by the ugliness and anger in Andre’s face.

In desperation, I remembered something. A strategy. A way of breaking the energy of a confrontation.

So I started screaming at the top of my lungs. HELP!! HELP, SOMEONE HELP ME. HELP, I NEED HELP. SOMEONE PLEASE COME AND HELP! I’M BEING ATTACKED!! SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME! HELP, HELP, HELP!!!

Directly over the fence from my front door was a block of flats, no more than three meters away. There were multiple tenants, some of whom must have heard me. I was also living in a split residence with neighbours who always complained about the slightest noise. So they must have heard me too.

But no one came.

The night was dark and freezing cold, and my screams were lost in the chill blackness. Not even an echo remained. And no help came.

Inexplicably my screaming seemed to break the spell and he walked out. I slammed the door. But he didn’t go away. Instead he stood outside yelling abuse, making threats. Terrorising me a little more.

JUST GO AWAY!!

I was in tears, pain, shock, distress and fear. I was terribly confused. My body was shaking non-stop, which lasted the rest of the night and much of the following day.

I was still trying to work out what just happened. Why it happened.

The rest of that night’s story is told here: Those eyes – or – don’t step in the glass

*********************************************************************************************

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ground_zero

The term Ground Zero may be used to describe the point on the earth’s surface where an explosion occurs. In the case of an explosion above the ground, Ground Zero refers to the point on the ground directly below an explosion (see hypocenter). The term has often been associated with nuclear explosions and other large bombs, but is also used in relation to earthquakes, epidemics and other disasters to mark the point of the most severe damage or destruction. Damage gradually decreases with distance from this point.

~Svasti

Anatomy of a PTSD attack

Tags

Panic, PTSD, Trauma

Post traumatic stress disorder. I know I have it. However the triggers are still hazy, unclear.

It seems to be a word, or a feeling, or a visual. Something stupid.

Like, I’ll see a guy on the street who looks something like him. I know it’s not him, but he looks close enough for my heart to start racing. Or, I’m in the shower and some anger rises up. I start talking to him, telling him things I wish I could have said. Or – sitting with my therapist.

One second I’m there – walking down the street, washing my hair, conversing with my therapist. The next moment I’m gone. To a room outside of time and space.

It’s just happened. Only hours ago. It’s just happened and I’m there, dealing with the overwhelming feelings of shock, pain, distress, fear and panic.

Like a very strong tide, I’m simply swept away from the shores of rational thought, and I’m surrounded. The tears rise up and don’t stop. My heart beats so fast I’m amazed I don’t die right there. My body temperature rises and I’m sweating. All potential for thinking about anything else has gone.

I’ve been abducted from my world and transported to a place where the trauma never goes away. Where it’s sharp and pointy, looking for a soft place to gouge. Where it’s all I can do to remember myself.

It lasts as long as it lasts. I descend into a place with no windows. Others can see in if they happen to be around, but I can’t see out. It’s dark in there, this place.

Sitting in my second session with my therapist (I think!) I go to pieces. I stop hearing what she is saying – no, I can hear the words but they don’t make any sense. She hadn’t said anything particularly challenging, and neither had I.

My memory isn’t so great these days but I think it was just an evocation of emotion. It accumulated slowly, sneaking in behind my defences as silently as fog.

My other senses started to fail. Sight, sound, touch, taste. It all became about feeling… pain, sorrow, incredulousness, sadness, fear, terror,

The coughing started. The normal breathing patterns went away. The shaking began. The non-stop crying, like a child.

It’s like being at the top of a slippery dip and without warning I’m going down. There’s no shortcut, I ride the length of the slide from top to bottom.

My therapist did give me some tools to work with:

• You have to catch it when it comes and tell yourself to stop
• Its important to tell yourself you are safe, that its over now
• Try to catch yourself at the top of the slide
• If you can’t, then try to get off as soon as you can

So far, they’ve helped a bit. Well, a little bit. I know it’s a matter of practice.