Eostre and Winston

It started as a celebration of Mother Earth, Eostre, and from that we get the symbols of fertility: the bunnies, the eggs, and so on. It is Sunday, Easter Sunday, and I miss my mother's Easter gift and card.

It was a beautiful day yesterday, and let's hope we are done with snow. I spent the day driving in the country, trying to save a dog. When I got to the county pound he was staying at, a miracle happened...he got adopted right in front of me. My small contribution was that the pound volunteers had him in the lobby, right there, for a meet and greet with my dog. He was quite a looker, and very frightened. He appealed, I am sure, to this woman, as the beautiful beagle that had caught my eye in a photograph.

So Many Springs

It's still cold outside, when I take the dog out. The wind blows, and blows, and blows. We are deep in the heart of Spring, in this small corner of the world. Even Rat Cat hesitates to go out...those cupped ears catch the wind too well. And everyone moans and complains, as if we were stuck in Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long, Dark, Cold, Harsh, Incredibly Long, We May Have To Eat Carrie, Winter. 

The sky was blue yesterday, with gale force winds to keep the chill up. I particularly love the feel of the wind on my skin, and in my hair. I am just not used to living in a mini-Chicago: I saw a full grown St. Bernard lifted off of his feet yesterday, and whip past, with his human holding tightly onto the leash. Max manages to keep himself on the ground by the fact that he is so close to it. While muscular and strong, he is quite the 'low rider,' and so he is an unnoticeable speed bump in the wind's path.

                                                       Max, in full 'speed bump' mode

And, like a friend I can't get rid of, my yearly sore throat has appeared, magically borne on the wind from the flowers and the thawing earth. I remember distinctly thinking, yesterday, about the day, 'the tickle' disappeared, along with the last day of cleaning the pool, and the last day of mowing the lawn. I remember the last fall twilight. I watched the stars rise, I had shorts on. I remember swimming on the last night I swam, the last time the pool was so warm, and the wind not so much, anymore. It was an incredible feeling, to be rocked by the dark, warm water and look up at the summer night, with the stars hung low, in the twilight fading, fading.

These memories survive. Others fade too quickly, whipped by the wind of bipolar change. But the feeling that I stand on the edge of summer, at the beginning of twilight, has never changed. It comes easily in the spring, the memory of the last days of summer.

Today is my brother, Marc's birthday! It's so cold that I had forgotten!

It Bugs Me

Getting over another Facebook post about how all military veterans are mentally ill and shouldn't have guns. Ok. I am all for gun reform. I am all for military veterans. And God forbid that being in a war, in whatever capacity, shouldn't change a person. It's going to, Ladies and Gents. It's called 'experience' and 'education.'

Just to clear up the nit picky stuff ahead of time.

And we certainly know where I stand on mental health diagnoses. What triggers fear for me? The implication that violent, killer predators are just your average Joe with a mental health diagnoses. This is called demonization, folks. It's called stereotyping. It's called prejudice.

Believe it or not, I am on the verge of dating. You know, a cup of coffee (what the hell else?) and some pleasant conversation, meeting people with common interests. Some of my friends tell me, "Don't tell them about all your issues up front." I don't, but have in the past, in the interest of education and advocacy about people with mental diagnoses.

What comes up, is a look at my Facebook page, with the little notation under "About," with a link to this blog. The manner in which I was raised, I am not sure that my diagnoses are an "issue." Anymore than my father's attendance at the "March on Washington" at Dr. King's invitation, so long ago. Believe it or not, my father's participation in that famous event, in the past, has lost me friends, and dates. I can't say that I regret those losses.

And I suppose, in a way, my friend is right. It's society's stage of development, the very reason I speak out, the fact that there is a terrible stigma associated with mental health diagnoses. I suppose that it would be like showing up on a date, with an extra finger on one hand. Only, somehow, we are "sneaky" about it...it doesn't show.

No, it's not something I want to bring to the conversation.  I am more advocate, than agitator. Education, and not aggression, is needed. However, I would not invite someone to inspect my appendectomy scar...TMI, Ladies and Gentlemen. Too much Information.  And yes, there is that slight nod to, 'what is expected.'

It's the turn of the century version of a '60's mindset. "We lay our cards out front, so there is no excuse for confrontation or suspicion, later." Transparency is the term today. It's the subject of I'm Ok, You're Ok, which was a definitive book in the '70's. "Let it all hang out" has become, "Let your freak flag fly."

Now that I have that off of my chest: I am simply going to enjoy several cups of coffee with possible friends. I am not my diagnoses, although there can be amazing gifts to a 'disorder,' there can also be unimaginable pain. But there is always Me down in there. The Me that almost everyone else has, excepting Karl Rove.

A Thousand Suns

After a wild and crazy 5 inches of snow, I wait to see what today will be like. It turned to beautiful yesterday, with the bluest of skies, but windy. The wind blew from the north, and then the south, the south, and then the north. Dark clouds appeared, and broke before the sun. Then the sun disappeared behind dark clouds...the unicorn herds move too swiftly for the cats to hunt. And the wind blows, and blows, and skitters, and wraps around the tree tops and spins them. Scarves are twisted up into the sky, along with hair, and faces are turned left, right, to face and unface the wind.

The wind forms eddies, to snatch hats from heads, and conspires to lift my own self above the ground. Leaves are everywhere in the yard, they bang against the dog on his lead, and cover my face when I go out. There are millions of leaves, and each one raked, returns to it's place every night, or closer to the door, where they crouch like hungry mice trying to get in. The cats chase them, or hurry past, as if they were beggars on the street.

The ground is wet, and covers shoes, and ramps, and sidewalks. Pieces of snow still piled here and there, white and mud colored in the field, grey in the City. Rampant water, the snow melt, flows over everything, and the sun shines too bright, glinting, yes, actual glinting off of the snow, and the running water. There are a thousand suns.

Breath steams, or blows, or is taken by the wind. The tulips and trees drink and drink and drink more. Sometimes I step out, and return to take off, or to add a scarf, or a coat. Sometimes my feet freeze but I only wear a shirt and a scarf. The wind dries the land, but there is always more water, running in streamlets down the buildings and cars, across the ground. It pools in hollows.  The dog walks through a small lake to get to high ground, under his tree. The pool fills with snow and sleet and rain.

And the dog wants out now, into the dawn, and the first glimmer and the cats huddle next to the heater. I sit here with my coffee, and wait for the sun.

Error in Music

I realize that most of my posts are simply read by my friends, and I don't mean to alarm anyone. I would like to think this blog is read far and wide by people who: have been diagnosed with a mental health issue, or have been raped, or are in recovery. But it's simply not true, unless my stats are lying to me.

However, I do continue to post in the hopes that someone will be helped, in some small way, by my words. Either those with a diagnoses, or friends and family of those who have been diagnosed. It eases some portion of the pain to write, and be read.

I realize most of my problems don't show in my everyday life. That's why they are invisible disabilities. And I walk a fine line in this blog to keep from being committed, or have some other horrible action taken, which is society's current answer to a mental health diagnoses. Too, there are friends I adore, that I really have no wish to alarm. But shit happens in a mental illness kind of way sometimes, and I have become careless this winter. I am simply not taking care of my physical body. And I can beat myself over the head with that fact and still do nothing to take care of it.

I wait for a sign of some sort. I listen to invisible music, hold my instrument, wait for the interval to come to make it speak. I have listened to this cosmic music, and wonder if anyone else hears it. I know now, that others do hear it.

Meanwhile, as I wait, and whisper to the musicians on each side of me,  I wait to take my pills, I wait to walk the dog, I wait to eat as I know I should eat, until the signal comes. But I was only partially able to wait to cut, and I wait to drink, with no feeling of having any time in sobriety behind me now. And I do have that time behind me. But everyday, I wake from dreams of drinking, and I am born down with the burden of it. I do see that my Higher Power keeps sending them to me, to keep from being tempted. My support network is all that I could ask for, and more. And today, I am determined, and ask that the disease be lifted from me. Every night, I crawl into bed and thank whatever rules me that it has taken my burdens away for that day.

Although I cut one night, the next night I acted against the current of the music, and spent an evening with friends. I did not feel like being happy, cheerful, whatever. It's not that I don't want to be happy; it's that I feel I don't deserve it, as a Bubba pointed out to me, long ago.

There is this beautiful day, today, complete with snow. I want to go to the food bank, but don't even know yet if they will be open. I don't want to take my pills, but will. I didn't want to eat well, but did. The pause in the music, although it overwhelms me by its own beauty, cannot last as long as I may like... 

TRIGGER, TRIGGER, Saturday

It's happening again. I am becoming paranoid. I wrote a friend this morning, something coalesced for me. The last time in my life I kept waking at a ridiculous time and drinking massive amounts of caffeine and eating sugar, my mother was dying. I have to find out what is triggering this kind of stress in my life.

On one hand, my mother asked me to single-handedly help her 'into death.' And at this time, I feel I am being asked to participate in a project too big for me to handle. Borderline people show signs of extreme stress when they think that the load of what they are responsible for, is being increased. I AM trying to think of a better sentence in English to explain it. But I fail.

It looks like another talk this morning with my therapist, and my sponsor, and thank god I have an appointment with my psychiatrist, soon. In group, I am taught that perception is what it is all about. My interpretation of an event(s), makes, shapes my world.

Big things are going on in the life of a friend. I am being asked to invest. I feel I can't say no. Voila. Illness. And this morning, I feel the full realization and weight of my diagnoses. I feel sick as shit. I wait patiently, and not so patiently, but forcibly, for the rest of my support network to wake up, so I can talk to someone. It's just my illness. It is terrible at this hour. But I can't keep my support without consideration that my support network sleeps normally. I have to wait. Somehow, for the next three hours, I must keep from cutting, or drinking.

It really is that bad right now. I want to cry. I am crying. Suddenly, every character defect and every fear of abandonment, is right here with me. I am overwhelmed, and I wish I could call someone. I realize that I don't have to 'past trip' as my therapist calls it, to realize I am caught in a pattern from the past.

Does my 'bestest' friend love me? Will she tell me this morning, she just can't live with my disorders any more?

I just cut. Can I call my therapist now?

Sweetening Toward Spring

Nothing is more life-affirming than a good round of applause. The reading at Liminal went well, last night. I am decided that I have removed myself from the Arts scene in this small corner of the world, quite long enough...The withdrawal started with my Father's passing. It's full time to move on.

We wait for the snow again;  what a Spring this is turning out to be! The animals sleep softly, although Georgia is up and about. I have just played Chopin's "Berceuse, Op 57" for the dog, and was going back to sleep, but remembered that you wait here for me. 

I see more pink trees around me, everyday. It was tulip trees, last night, in the twilight, ghostly. They are my favorites, and I had one at the Old House. I can only hope that last night's frigid temperatures won't harm them.

 I love trees, especially to hold one, feel the bark, and stand on the roots. I have been healed more than once, since childhood, by standing on tree roots. They have an electric feel to them, that is soft and strong and gentle. In the winter, trees are iron sharp, cutting the land. In spring, they are softer, and float in a green mist. I have forgot, this long winter, that sometimes the mist is also pink, purple and white.

So, today, I can float on my feelings, and the knowledge of the coming of Spring; although I don't have a feel for the Spring, yet. I hope it comes soon.