getting closer to the source

This is a bit exhausting - still trying to piece together and make sense of, single-handedly, without evidence and/or support from anyone in the family (i.e., no witnesses) what actually happened in my childhood to lead to the experiences I have today of trauma, sleeplessness, social anxiety and various other high stress-related symptoms and behaviors.

I feel like I'm trying to assemble a puzzle while having no idea whatsoever what the finished picture will look like, and trying to find the pieces by feel rather than by sight. In other words, everything seems to take at least 70 times longer than it 'ought' too...

Sigh. Well, at least I'm making progress. I'm no longer leaning on my old friend Jack, which means my body is not dealing with the ravages of alcohol on top of everything else. I'm sleeping better, with fewer nightmares and more continous, uninterrupted hours of sleep. I still have strange dreams, and still have trouble going to bed at any sort of 'normal' time of night, but I'm less fearful of actually falling asleep. I've learned how to get through the peri-panic moments so that I don't get sucked down the rabbit hole of dread. I've established enough contacts with people I trust so that I can call somebody if I really get stuck. So I don't feel so alone with it any more.

And now I'm beginning the process of trying to re-assemble the rest of my life, all the things that have been on hold for the last 10 years while I tried to figure out what the hell was going on, what it was inside me that continually undermined and sabotaged my best efforts to 'get ahead'.

Well, I'm not going to make a list - it's too long, and still in progress. And honestly, I don't need it. It would just be for show. But time is too short now to waste on such a project, and it's become clear that no one will ever read, understand or care about it besides me anyway. So why bother?

That last statement seems like it ought to feel depressing to write, but in fact it doesn't. It feels like a mere, bald, plain statement of fact.

And in fact I don't need such lists, such affirmations any more. Because I have the more real, solid evidence of having been hugged and encouraged and supported enough by my many friends who've come through for me in ways I never expected. Healing is well under way.

It's interesting to see what path things take. I no longer feel like I have any 'control' over any of it - it's more like I'm simply removing impediments to the growth of this plant/being named Grasshopper. And then seeing who she turns out to be when her flower (beautiful sunflower!) finally, finally, after all these years, gets her chance to bloom.
***

The anger is gradually subsiding - it was a knife, necessary to the process of cleaving away all the dead wood that barred my path for so many years. There's still a fair percentage of my daily energy going to maintaining that clear path - like a samurai machete-wielding goddess, I hack my way through the mental monsters and demons that plague me. But I do so with a single-mindedness that would do any cape-wearing hero proud: I no longer flinch or apologize, but simply get on with my business, do what I have to do.

Sometimes my 'goddess' is Wonder Woman with her bullet-deflecting wristlets; sometimes she's a big, black Jemima figure with a headscarf and overalls, shotgun on her hip and pitchfork at the ready. A no-nonsense, fierce, don't-mess-with-me mama who keeps a cigar in her pocket and can break any man in half over her knee. (Queen Latifah seems to embody, at least in her films, this fierce mother-bear protectiveness that I so missed having in my childhood.)

Whoever and whatever she is, she's fierce and strong and takes good care of me. She keeps me safe, fends off the bad guys, and sometimes scares the shit out of me with her directness and her total and complete unwillingness to take no crap from nobody, nohow.
***

The critical, judgmental voices are getting quieter and quieter, smaller and harder to decipher, like that 'wah-wah-wah' sound used to represent adult voices in the old Charlie Brown cartoons.

I feel more and more comfortable telling them to just shut the fuck up, and feel less and less remorse about having done so.

If anything encroaches on my peace and serenity, I just tell it to fuck off. It's amazing how well it works, and how blissfully, blessedly silent the internal, nagging voices are becoming.

I'm less and less hyper-vigilant - less triggered by loud voices and random scowly faces caught out of the corner of my eye.

I've adopted a total acceptance policy (been using it for quite some time, actually, but it's gradually spreading to encompass every area of my life), what some might refer to as 'radical acceptance' (yes, I know there's a book by that name.)

So if I find myself doing some kind of OCD behavior, rather than judging it, I simply accept it, encourage it, even, and ask it what it's doing. I get curious about it, and try to find out why I might be doing that particular thing (like checking that the back door is locked 20 times before I can actually go out the front door. Answer? It has to do with security, or lack thereof, and having lost many things of great sentimental value to a burglary about 10 years ago. When something traumatic happens and you don't have the emotional resources to help you cope with it at the time that it happens, you tend to store the memories away until such time as you feel safe enough to look at them and help them heal. Meantime, the 'trauma' can leak out in all kinds of weird ways that you may or may not associate with the original source of the problem.)

Today's google search link harvest: