Fuzzy Trauma Llama Vacations in Hell

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on December 24, 2012]

It’s Christmas Eve and instead of being in The Homeland with my family, I’m sitting on my couch in B-Town, waiting to attend an Al-Anon* meeting with L**. I spent the 10ish days leading up to my flight home crying, puking, saying over and over again how much I didn’t want to go. Not this year. Not right now. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I could barely function enough to do my job. So, when Tuesday came around and I was in the worst shape yet, I went to therapy to figure out what to do. It’ll be my first Christmas away from home and the first Christmas my family spends apart. It was surprising to see and feel just how much I didn’t want to be there this year. Just the thought of being in that house with my dad, pretending like everything is a-ok, like his alcoholism didn’t fundamentally fuck with my life, like I’m not dealing with my own pain right now…. Spending 8 days keeping all of them calm, taken care of, worrying about everyone but me. It’s the same ol’ story, again. Take care of Sister, take care of Mom, protect everyone from Dad… I left therapy knowing that if I finally took the time to make a decision for myself, if I decided to take care of myself instead, I would be staying in B-Town for Christmas. So, after 4 more hours of crying, trying to convince myself that guilt and fear aren’t sufficient reasons for me to fly across the country to that house, I canceled my flight and tried to get some sleep. Finally.

It had been at least a week since my last full night’s rest (even more than a few hours would be great), but I stayed awake, anyway. Night 2+ of no sleep. The next morning, I told my mom I wasn’t coming home. I spent most of Wednesday crying, throwing up, trying to sleep. L spent most of the day with me, trying to get some sort of food into me. We took a sauna together, sometimes she just sat with me. I never realized how much being in that house and playing that role have conditioned me. I never realized the deep fear that lives ever deeper inside me. This notion of living the life of a parentified child, and adding 5 years of molestation, assault and rape on top of that — it’s a wonder I made it this far at all.

I thought making the decision not to go home would end some of the nausea, sleeplessness, anxiety. I was wrong. Partly. Wednesday night I went to hell and back. B was supposed to leave for her Homeland on Thursday morning and by 3am on Wednesday night/Thursday morning, I was having a full-blown panic attack and it turned into this purging, painful, desperate catharsis. At least that’s what K calls it. It’s the closest I’ve come to death, and I know that sounds hyperbolic, but it isn’t. I was crying uncontrollably, vomiting, my whole body was convulsing. I hadn’t slept in days and couldn’t stop shaking and honestly felt like if I was all alone, I wouldn’t make it. And it just kept going. Every time I thought it couldn’t get worse, I couldn’t keep doing it, feeling those things, it got worse. The sheer desperation I felt that night is simply not something I can put down in words that describe the pain I felt. At times I was telling B I needed to be hospitalized. I wanted so badly to just fall asleep, to have the nausea and crying and shaking stop. B called K, her own therapist, and MB*** at 4am our time, trying to figure out something to do. And even as I write this, I know it sounds trite. At times I just wanted everything to stop. I couldn’t do it anymore, I couldn’t feel like that anymore. But, somehow, I hit rock bottom, got to the very ends of the fringe of my rope, and 5 days later, I am still recovering. At least I feel some semblance of normality.

This is where the story gets interesting. I am writing this as a new Fuzzy Trauma Llama. Something shook loose on Wednesday night, some demon was purged. My body released so much deeply buried pain, trauma, fear, sadness, secrecy. It feels like I went through a cathartic rebirth. I feel different, like a different me. It’s hard to describe, but staying here and going through just the worst night of my life healed me. At least a part of me. I can feel some of the anxiety has disappeared. I can feel my subconscious churning through all of this — still trying to make sense of what it was I went through, what it means, how I’ve changed.

I find it difficult to convey the true levels of pain and suffering I went through Wednesday. There seem not to be words for it. No one says this is a path you can take. No one says you don’t have to bury all of this inside until it devours you whole. You can choose to heal this trauma. And I’ve realized that by taking this step, by choosing to heal, by facing hell and continuing to walk further in, I am changing the story for sexual assault survivors. I’m putting another narrative into that magical Jungian collective consciousness and I’m disrupting the operative norms that seek to keep us as broken victims. When someone harms you in the ways I’ve been harmed, they take all of your power for themselves. By deciding not to let him break me, by deciding to heal and take my life back, I am also taking back that power. For the first time, I feel that power and that strength inside me. I feel the power in what I’m doing here. I feel myself changing and solidifying and I am going to finally know what it’s like to flourish. Onward!

-FTL

*This was my first Al Anon meeting. We met in a small, circular room. Chairs were set up around the circumference of the room so that everyone looked in to the middle. The meeting is for women-identified people, led by women-identified people. It was a mix of straight, lgbtq, old, young, middle, tall, black, parents, children, daughters… I had huge issues with the God stuff — just hearing “God” causes a visceral reaction in my gut, but that’s a whole other issue. I heard stories that resonated with me and helped me de-normalize how I grew up. I haven’t gone back, but if I do, I’ll give this group another try. It’s probably one of the few places I could get past the word God and onto the lessons.

**L lives above me and B. She has become a compassionate guide and sage presence in my life. We have an amazing little hobbit-hole of a home tucked behind/under L and A’s main house. We’ve been living here for about a year and a quarter now, and L and A have become our family, not just our landlords. L has her own story to tell when it comes to trauma, and she has shared her story and her home and her love with me unconditionally. Someday, I’ll figure out how to show both her and A how much they mean to me. In the meantime, I bake them pies.

***MB is like B’s second mom/Cool Aunt. Very dear friend of her mom’s (and became a dear friend of her dad’s, as well), very free-flowing, intelligent, warm woman. Loves B like a daughter and has been a loving support to B throughout this and the rest of her life. MB is awesome, has a great sense of style, reminds me a bit of Joni Mitchell, and has a phenomenal laugh.

Who can Love a Fuzzy Trauma Llama?

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on August 17, 2012]

I never stop writing because the need is no longer there. I stop writing because I just can’t think about this anymore, or I just need a break from feeling all this crap. The problem with trying to figure out all this sexual assault/rape stuff is that it never stops. Not really. It sometimes gets better for a while, but eventually I get to a place where going to work just isn’t an option. All in all, things are better. I feel secure in who I am, I know I can handle this, I am committed to continuing, etc.

Anyway, I started having dreams recently about B not being in love with me anymore. In the dreams, I come to find out she’s just been going along with the relationship and she’s happy enough, but not actually happy with me. This morning when I woke up (I had a terrible dream), I asked B if I could tell her about it. She asked me to wait until she was fully awake, so I did. When I told her about my dream, she told me she thinks about how she never got to be a single queer and wishes she could just go make out with other people. She said it’s annoying that I am so needy sometimes. I felt like my chest collapsed. The feeling of seeing this fucking process take another relationship from me…to take B from me…it’s just too much to think about. This is all so hard already. I’ve been so lucky to have her beside me, but I fear I either have to lose her support or lose her. I know I could do this without her support, but I don’t want to do life without her. I don’t want to come out the other side of this fucking shitty, really difficult process, and find her gone.

I remember feeling pinned down, feeling hands, bodies…those memories make my chest tighten and my throat constrict. They make me clench my jaw. They make me want to yell and vomit. Thinking about losing B just breaks my heart. It makes me cry. It was so recently she was talking about songs for our wedding and we’re not even engaged. Now she’s talking about wanting other people and it’s taking all of a new kind of strength to keep it together. I’ve been fighting assault and anxiety and depression and PTSD and exhaustion and rape for so long, I’ve only focused on strengthening that part of my resolve. I can’t bear the thought of carrying all that plus the loss of B. It’s because she always encouraged me to be myself, that she always loved me for all my weirdness and all the pain…she helped me start this whole thing. Without her, I don’t know when I would have been strong enough to go through all this. But it’s not just that. I fucking love her. I haven’t loved someone like this and I honestly don’t think anyone has loved me the way she did. Or does. I don’t know. It just sucks hearing the person you love talking about making out with other people. I don’t know how I’m supposed to take that or what I’m supposed to do about it. It feels like I’m kinda stuck here waiting to see if my life is about to further explode. Like I’m supposed to just sit here and wait for her to figure out how much she wants to be with me, if at all, and how much she’d rather be elsewhere. Honestly, the thought of her not being here… Are we supposed to keep sharing a bed? Are we supposed to go on this vacation? How do we hang out with people when they know us as a couple and I want us as a couple, but she may not?

This is so fucking unfair. I didn’t ask to be needy and I didn’t ask to need support. I didn’t ask to be doing this nor did I ask to put my partner in this position. When is this going to stop fucking up my life?

Who is supposed to love us? If B can’t, who can?

-FTL

The Merits of Soaking a Fuzzy Trauma Llama

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on June 4, 2012]

Today I talked to my sister about talking to my mom and, since then, I’ve been thinking about baths. I know, weird, right? Mom always suggested baths when I was stressed, popular culture always elevates baths as these amazing, relaxing, scented, feminine, magical places. I always got restless within about 5 minutes, stressed about sitting in water for another 5, tried to just chill, turn off the lights for another 5, etc. That’s it. Done. Out.

For whatever reason, today I understand the appeal. I actually want to take a bath. Now that I’ve come to crave water as a grounding element in my life, allowing it to soak me seems…cleansing. As long as I shower first. I mean, sitting in my own water is enough without mixing in a full day of work stress.

Anyway, post-connecting dots, I feel immense sadness, yet also a very deep understanding that these connections were the first example of many to come. “The end” — whatever that is — will be a more profound, fuller sense of connection, I think. Might need to seek Z* to get there.

For now, still waiting for a solid night’s sleep. Dreamt about E again last night — this time she just tole me she was sad. Tossed and turned all night. Exhausted and ready to just crash. Mind and Body both need it.

-FTL

*Z is a wonderful friend, teacher, mentor, spiritual healer, etc. Z has a rich life history and comes from a diverse healing background, including (but not limited to) transpersonal psychology, sacred healing, breathwork, medicine work, native american ceremony… Z also takes beautiful photos, but that’s just a personal note.

Fuzzy Trauma Llama Dreams of the Past

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on June 2, 2012]

Here’s to hoping June is better than May! As of this morning, I believe I consider May 2012 to be one of the most difficult months of my life. Not necessarily the saddest or the most destructive or…something. Maybe not the worst? If not the worst, only because I think I have more tools to deal with difficulty, now.

For the past ~4 nights, I have had nightmares. They aren’t sexual, they just involve me being stuck in a violent or threatening situation and having to escape. Last night was wholly different and unexpected. Last night I dreamt about E again, but not like I usually do. This time, all I wanted to do was talk to her. She was so angry in the dream — she wanted nothing to do with me at all. When I finally did talk to her, I wanted to tell her that I’m going through this process now.

By the end of the dream, I think I finally had some subconscious info about our relationship because I think I kind of understand what went on there. I think it’s interesting I never put all of this together before, but as soon as I told E explicitly some of what happened to me (in real life, not in this dream), and she was the first one I ever told that to, I think I knew, somehow, that we weren’t going to work. I think E is the relationship I had to sacrifice in order to do this whole healing thing. For the last 4 years, I’ve been talking or thinking about hate crimes* as the reason our relationship didn’t or couldn’t work. I kept thinking and feeling like I just wasn’t getting the support I needed from her. I think that was and is true. I don’t think she could have supported me from ALongDistanceCity and I also don’t think I was ready for this healing, but knew somewhere along the line it was going to happen. It’s like, once I had the courage or impulse to say out loud what happened, it was the first step in dealing but I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. There must have been something inside of me that knew this was coming and knew E wasn’t the one to do this with me, if anyone was. I think hate crimes provided this trigger-like response — they created an unsafe and violent sexual environment which awoke the part of me that had felt the same ways before. I don’t think I realized at the time, but I think I was asking E if she could stand this sort of pending struggle, and something about her response told me she couldn’t.

In some ways, I think she actually did help me along this road — if all of these choices are first steps, then she helped me start. 4 years later I feel like I’m really doing this. I am healing and clearly coming to a greater understanding about how all of these seemingly dissociated events are linked by the fact that they’re all my experiences. It’s clear I don’t understand how my life fits together yet — I still feel overwhelming pressure and sadness and confusion and exhaustion on a lot of days. I still feel like I am not living a life in which my experiences are unified. I am still working to understand what it means for me to be healing from childhood sexual assault and what that means for the overall thread of my life.

But, after 4+ years, it seems like I’m finally starting to understand how my whole life is affected by my childhood, and once I figure out how to live that full experience, I really do believe there’s greater understanding and the “end” — not just about me and my life, but about how my life and experience is connected to all of the violent norms in our society. This isn’t just a fight for my own life back. This is me trying to gain something that leads to a deeper understanding of pain, struggle, trauma, identity, recognition, and individual agency with respect to the choices we make for ourselves. The resolution will be amazing, whatever it is. I just have to keep trying to get there. Along the way, I think I’m going to learn a lot about myself I didn’t know before.

Here’s to June.

-FTL

*I was a target of anti-queer, anti-gay hate crimes in the early months of 2008, during my final semester of undergrad. It pretty much sucked, and E, my girlfriend at the time, was living across the country.

Fuzzy Trauma Llama Feels All Mixed Up

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 31, 2012]

This, friends, is what I like to call Sucking it Up. I say sucking primarily because I have felt pretty sucktastic the past week or so, and also because I’ve avoided writing the entire time since I fear the suckage of writing, as well. Thus, Sucking it Up. Embark:

This sucks. I know, I know, it was ~20 years ago, blah blah. This fucking sucks. This week, it’s been sadness, nightmares, disrupted sleep, exhaustion, and crying. And more crying. Including on my Wednesday morning walk to the train, which turned into a cryfest+pep talk+going back home…. In fact, I stayed home Tuesday and Wednesday this week & honestly hardly made it through today. My seemingly perpetual cycle of headache vs not headache is enough to make me crazy. I feel like there have been so many fucked up emotions this week, I’m just utterly overwhelmed.

I was searching for info about coping with a job or other daily activities today and came across this thing people who are healing from sexual assault/rape are supposed to read every morning (http://www.pandys.org/articles/readthiseverymorning.html, from Pandora’s Project out of Minneapolis, MN). At the very beginning, it says if you get out of bed, you’re doing well. If you have a job, you’re doing amazingly. It continues for a while and the very last one says (or, rather, toward the end) if you’re only able to exist, there are people waiting for when you’re ready to live again. Honestly, some days I feel like it’s enough to ask myself to just be awake. Other days, I feel like if I could just be awake, and do nothing else, it would be the most productive day. I’m having a hard time stringing thoughts together tonight.

Sometimes, and a few times in the last month, I have simply (err…) felt as though the only way to deal with the anger or sadness or anxiety or exhaustion is just to feel it all. All the weight and might and pressure — ride it out. I think that’s another component to my need for time. It’s like I need to get to a place where I can let go and have some of this backlogged stuff run its course. Sometimes it is just too damn hard to be in the same world as everyone else. I mean, sometimes it’s just too damn hard to begin with, but lately this feeling has been building, like I just don’t operate in the same reality as other people. It’s as if the sadness and pain and all this healing is just too much to fathom in most people’s reality and it is such an unmistakably huge part of everything in my life right now, I feel like I’m moving in a different realm.

Ugh, there are too many things going on in my head right now. I can’t keep my thoughts straight.

I am so tired.

Also, I read the average for this process is 3-5 years. Ok.

-FTL

There’s a Grey Cloud over Fuzzy Trauma Llama’s Head

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 24, 2012]

I continue to struggle with motivating myself to write in here daily, so since I currently have the motivation & desire, I’m just gonna go with it. I have had a crappy past few days, hopefully getting some of it out will mean another turning point — or better, a break from these rapid “phase changes,” as I’m calling them. I guess the phase I’m in right now is just sad. I am sad. I feel it in my chest and jaw and fingers. It’s this…full feeling. It’s like feeling the emotion fully for the first time — feeling its Platonic essence, or something. It’s like my body feels Sad.

I can’t pinpoint what I’m sad about, and I’m beginning to think I’m not sad or mad about any one thing; these phases aren’t leading me to one specific answer. More and more, I think I’m just headed for some sort of “hmm” moment when suddenly I just know something or feel something. It’s hard to describe all of this, especially being the feelings-averse creature that I am. Anyway, I currently feel a whole lot of sadness and it’s further exhausting what I felt was already a decently high level of exhaustion. (Man, it’s SO windy tonight!)

——> spent some time being distracted by wind

Before this whole Immense Sadness thing set in, the exhaustion was the biggest of my problems. It still amazes me that I’m sleeping ~9+ hours/night (thank you, Mary Jane and valerian!) and when it gets to be about 10am, I’m sleepy. 12pm, quite tired, eye twitching, etc. 1:30pm — done. I have nearly fallen asleep at work while sitting on the toilet. Needless-to-say, no amount of sleep satisfies me and I go through every day feeling the exhaustion of what K calls “backlog.” I explained it to B using computer language — it’s like copying an old hard drive to a new computer. It takes a while for the new one to read through all that new data, sort it, match it up with duplicates, etc. I guess that since I’m open to this sort of Healing Process right now, my mind has subconsciously started doing the backlog and, as a result, my body is feeling the effects. It kinda explains why I’m going through all these phases at what feels like such rapidly shifting pace. I felt so angry for ~1 month back in March/April, then zen, then anticipatory/anxious, then alien-obsessed, then simply broken down, then tired, then enlightened/”I Am the Yogi of My Body,” then exhaustion, now deep sadness…all within a few months. I feel like I’ve been 18 different versions of myself/moods of myself in the past few months — no wonder I’m exhausted and seeking some sort of reprieve. I am simply out of energy and right back to needing time. I just need some time that doesn’t count for anyone else — freeze time for them and give me a few days…or a few weeks, to be outside, by water, with books and this journal and Mary Jane and a guitar. Mostly the tent+outside+water part. K suggested I look at Green Gulch, a zen meditation center up by Muir Woods. K said that might be a good place for me to spend a few days in silence and peace and solitude. Never thought I’d see myself writing about zen meditation centers! Well, at least me going to one…

And, I think I’m done for now. I’m taking one thing to work on in the coming weeks, days…

Patience

Clearly not a strong suit, but it is clear this is going to be varying levels of difficult for who knows how long. I need to be patient through these harder parts with the knowledge that the shit is just me winning. No matter how much this sucks, it’s better than a year ago when I hadn’t even started.

-FTL

Fuzzy Trauma Llama Plays with Building Blocks

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 20, 2012]

For whatever reason, I just haven’t wanted to write lately. I don’t know what it is about writing in particular that’s so hard. It’s probably that it’s so much slower than typing. K probably has some sage wisdom about why writing it out is helpful in a specific way — I know there are benefits to physically writing things out with respect to memory, etc, but there’s just something somehow exhausting about looking at so much empty space and the task of filling it with words. I’m in kind of a sad place right now. I’ve been so disconnected from my body, I’ve had a hard time making an honest effort to take care of it. Sleeping/rest is clearly one step in the right direction, but I think there are three overall goals I need to strive for aka Pillars to Strengthen Yourself:

Sleep. The good kind and lots of it! As much as my body needs! Caveat: Make sure to watch for signs of depression — sleeping/laying about out of despair, lack of motivation, etc.
Nourishment. This is of the mind and body, but also the spirit. Yes, I said that. I think this means therapy and writing in here, even when I don’t want to. I think writing is therapy of the mind that soothes my introverted self, so even though writing is like more therapy, I just need to suck it up. This also means feeding my body good, healthy, nurturing foods. It means finding a way to enjoy exercising with it again. This is key. Also, meditate. Sit outside, go to water, play softball, etc. Cultivate community, play music, listen to music, read…
Relaxation. The above, though some of those things are very enjoyable, are all active goals/Pillars — even sleep. The goals are to actively replenish or rebuild or evolve. This one is all about sitting down, or swaying in a hammock, or lying in the grass…this is about taking a break!

With those established, the evolution of this healing thingo will be much better supported. It’s no like there isn’t more suckage ahead, but at least I have some tools to deal with the suckage and now tools to use in rebuilding/recovery. Hopefully I get tools for discovery/enlightenment next!

-FTL

Fuzzy Trauma Llama Takes a Nap

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 12, 2012]

Today I had a pretty awesome day in comparison to the past week, so for now I’m just going to revel in that. I’m still sleepy and a bit sore and am finding social situations to be quite challenging/taxing, but that’s better than impossible. So, all signs point to better than before and now I just need to take care of myself.

-FTL

Fuzzy Trauma Llama Gets Phased

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 11, 2012]

I very nearly went to work today! In general, I feel almost normal, at least with respect to the orb*. I walked to the grocery store, nearly finished Hitchhiker’s (and with only four pages left, it’s a wonder I’m writing this instead), and actually did a fair amount of work. It’s nice to finally know this orb thing isn’t just going to be pushing its way out through my chest every day until this process is closer to over. Today, the biggest thing I’m coming away with is:

It won’t always be like this / This feeling won’t last forever.

I think this needs to be a sort of mantra when I enter these phases. When I was feeling so angry those few weeks last month, I got so caught up in it. I had no idea how to ease the feeling or get the energy out. Then there was this zen phase, then the contemplative phase, then this week of exhaustion and crying and soreness and the feeling of just needing time. Now I feel like I’m kind of moving out of this craptastic phase and I’m not sure what’s next. However, no matter what it is, I need to remember those are all phases along some sort of healing path, and luckily the nature of phases is such that they ultimately end. Angry? Won’t last forever. Can’t stop crying? Won’t always be like that. I think it’ll be helpful during difficult phases and likely true for the overall process, too. Right now, I have no idea what “the end” looks like, but it’s gotta be there. I mean…the end will never really be here, but at some point this is gonna get a helluva lot easier. It isn’t gonna be a daily surprise finding out how I’ll feel that day. Another thing coming out of today was:

It is not only ok, but necessary, to take breaks.

I know I would not be at this point had I gone to work earlier in the week. I know I couldn’t have made it through Monday and Tuesday, but it was absolutely beneficial and wise for me to take the extra time. Even today, after a week away from the office, I am totally exhausted, sore, and by 7pm was ready to lie down. I’m sure not every phase will take it out of me like this one has, but even when things aren’t so catastrophically terrible, our bodies still brace for all that energy. We talk about our minds reeling, but my body is reeling now and I need to rest and sleep. Tonight feels really similar to healing after a week of physical illness. It’s like I had the flu all week and now I’m just drained.

-FTL

*I often felt this orb thing in my chest. I once described it as: An orb. It glows, in my chest, orange-ish/gold. It feels like it pushes outward, creating pressure starting in my ribs and pulsing bigger and bigger. Feels almost like I could reach in and pull it out.

Fuzzy Trauma Llama’s First Steps

*CONTENT WARNING! Common themes of this blog include, but are not limited to, PTSD and abuse, sexual and otherwise.*

[written on May 10, 2012]

Today’s probably the first day this week I haven’t felt totally overwhelmed. I still didn’t make it to work in person, but I was online all day and essentially worked as normal. Between breaks and work, I mostly just sat outside in the sun. During all my breaks I read Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. During this week of weird orb-ness*, very few things have become clear except that:

I need to have consistent, frequent outdoor time.
Water is soothing, particularly waves, and makes me feel grounded.
Meditating is totally real, no matter how new agey that makes me sound.
Therapy is awesome, everyone should dedicate this much time to knowing and understanding themselves with respect to others/society/etc. ||: above new agey comment : ||
Cook your own food. What better way to reconnect with your body when feeling lost, disoriented, exhausted? Nourish the body. It expends energy, allows you to take care of and nourish yourself, plus, the body has a natural tendency to seek rest after eating. Expend energy, eat, sleep, wake, and start again.

Despite this, I still fell just as lost as before, perhaps slightly better equipped to deal with it. I really did have to pull out all the stops to find this state of respite…or whatever it is. I stayed home for 4 consecutive days. For many of those hours, I never once looked at email. I slept during the day, at night, 20 minutes, 10 hours, whenever I needed to. I cried. As much as I could, which is at least a step in the right direction, I think. I did meditations. Sometimes I did a few meditations consecutively. I even “created” some of my own physical meditations, as I’m calling them. K mentioned that my intense love of solitaire and current impulse to play as much of it as I can stand, might actually just be an ok coping mechanism to have. I have come to realize pacing is very soothing. I also play this game where i tap each finger tip to the thumb in order from nearest (index) to furthest (pinky) and back again. First it’s one tap each. Repeat. Then two each. Then three. Up to five. Back to four. Continue back to one tap each. Repeat one tap each. If I can get through the whole thing flawlessly, it always means my mind is calm enough for muscle memory to move my fingers. I do both hands, one at a time, until I “win” with each hand. Somehow, by the end, I feel more grounded.

[…] <—- there was a break in here, a matter of hours, it appears.

Since upping the meditating, I’ve stopped the whole solitaire thing. The intense pain in my chest from the orb of somethingness has somewhat soothed, and my main remaining feelings are tiredness, residual soreness, enough herbal enjoyment in my blood to last a few failed tests …

I want to read, outside, for a few days. Living in a tent by water with enough supplies to last me at least a few nights out there. I feel like I just need time. More of it. Or a pause button for everyone else. Somehow just a way to take a break. For me.

-FTL

This orb is something that haunted my body for a long time. After a lot of searching, and lots of different healing modalities, I can say the orb has moved to the realm of Former Friends. A painful teacher, but an important one.