Now I almost feel like I want to write them more.

What would you write the government if you could tell them more about your life?

“I like Oreos. Please give our state another representative so they can write a bill to give away Oreos on Fridays. Thanks. Peace out.”

I’ve never seen so much reality television. It’s an odd little window, this “reality”. Watched an episode of “Kendra” last night. Didn’t realize her husband was so nice. I mean, I didn’t know anything about him. But it was the “Here Comes Baby” episode and he was so supportive and involved. It made me happy for them, and I found myself liking them. Which was weird as I know almost nothing about the people.

But, oh Lord, “Keeping Up With the Kardashians” I can’t watch long. Can’t muster much emotion for them. Sorry sisters.

As usual any of the Bravo competition reality shows I like, and “Project Runway” is a must.

And our latest DVD tv series is “The Wire”. Which I can’t get enough of.

So, yes, as you can see…lots of couch time lately.

What are your shameful television indulgences?

Anything you’d like to confess, dear?

I’m one of those people. The ones who get really excited about something they learned yesterday. And want to tell you all about it. Down to every.last.detail. Or have to fight the urge to Google biology topics or *cringe* search YouTube for visuals.

And that would be fine, my insane quest for knowledge. If only it didn’t turn me into an educational evangelical at the end of each chapter of a textbook. Spreading the Word, baby, Spreading the Word.

I’ll try to spare you the gory details. But The Man, the poor Man. Just imagine him, hostage to my yammering and over enthusiasm.

But he not-so-secretly loves it. Like when I talked about how hydrogen bonding is effected by temperature and the state of water in the car. Yeah, yawn, right? I was right in the middle of “…so they slow down and the hydrogen atom of one water molecule forms a more secure bond to the oxygen in another and…” The Man said, “You know, being smart is really sexy.”

Grin.

I blog as a means of expression and connection. There are times I have a lot to talk about. And times I don’t.

Needless to say, healing is an ongoing process. I feel good right now. Balanced. But it’s a time I don’t want to think much about babies, kids, childrearing. Reading about other peoples kids gets overwhelming. Almost masochistic.

Instead, I fill days with Biology, Spanish, and Political Science classes. Which fill me, fascinate me in a totally different way. A necessary one.

We really shouldn’t be thinking about babies right now. I need surgery for an unrelated GI issue. One more genetic test for blood disorders is in the works. It’s still unclear if the new health insurance will cover blood thinning injections I’d need during pregnancy.

So I’ll use the time to find direction. And build a better life for our hypothetical future family.

This blog will bend and curve as life does. Somewhere in it, I will find a solid “voice”. Thank you for taking this ride with me.

Who do you find inspirational, and why?

Thursday was the root. A long day, more than half of it in the library. I found a great, quiet little corner to study in. It was ideal!

Somewhere around 6pm, time started passing too quickly. People had left, I didn’t know when, but I was alone. Presumably I was reading, but nothing stuck in memory. My body was in the school library, my mindset was…15 years back.

This is how PTSD manifests. I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone. Unlike film and television portrayals of PTSD I rarely get visual flashbacks. It’s an invasive mind-SET that hits. A way of thinking, a survivalist, predator/prey mentality. Senses are heightened, awareness of surroundings is paramount. Energy and thought processes are diverted from the enjoyable or interesting to tactical necessities. Where am I, where are other people, what are they doing, where are the escape routes…?

This can go on for hours unnoticed. Sometimes I recognize it’s there, the PTSD. Sometimes, like Thursday evening, it slips past. I was stuck. Silent. Watching people pass and eyeing them from behind the tiny cubicle in the corner. Listening for movement, the click of the nearby door, the rustling of notebooks. They likely never knew I was there.

Rehearsing scenarios. For the crazed school gunman who could sweep through our quiet, studious hallways. Or the fire that could break out in the periodical section. There were so few school police officers…how many campus patrols had I seen today? One, I saw one car, I remember now. I have to pay attention to these things. Have to. Have to. Methodical. Step by step.

Hyper vigilance. PTSD.

The me that was forced into trauma adapted. Thinking solely to LIVE through it. Not to love, or to be kind, or to express emotions. Those are indulgences a fight-or-flight mind can’t afford. To her there is no difference between healthy stress and dangerous stress. Stress means shut down, batten-down-the-hatches, if I have to chew off my own leg – sacrifice pieces of myself – I’ll get out of this trap. And everything is a potential trap. A constant stream of adrenaline.

Friday, safe, home alone, I broke down. Terrified that PTSD had hijacked a quiet Thursday. I cried, looked for ways to push people away and condemn myself – when all I really wanted was to feel secure. But how do you trust, how do you reach out, how do you express tenderness when you are transitioning from the jolted, threatened, emotionally-spartan PTSD mindset of Thursday into the safety of Friday? I don’t always know.

But I have to remind myself, that’s ok. That’s something The Man has helped me with. Learning that we ALL break. We all give under specific pressures. No one person can hold up under all things.

I am learning to forgive myself for lapsing into “her”. She is part of me. I am not crazy, or bad, or stupid, or lazy. I am a survivor. With survivors wounds. And some days, survivors need the freedom to safely break.

And faith. That I – whole me, not just PTSD – can come back better.With more tools for identifying and preventing it from happening again. Faith that the people who love me, really love me, will stand by. That I can count on them to want to understand. They won’t give up, hurt or manipulate me when I’m weak, or dismiss experiences.

The past few days I am back. Grateful, so grateful, to be loved. And loved well.

———————-

For abuse, violence, and battle survivors: I was helped by a treatment called EMDR. It has been reviewed, used and rated very effective by the US Dept of Veterans Affairs and the American Psychiatric Association for the lasting effects of trauma.

Wah wah wah. It felt like drowning in my head today. I wanted out, escape to bed!

But then on Twitter, Heather of The Spohrs are Multiplying announced it was looking like she would be having their baby girl today. And the day changed. At least my perception of it.

Maybe that sounds nutty because I’ve never met or talked to the Spohrs. But the realization that little baby girls are being born all over the world…right now…every day…how can those ever be bad days?

Sending positive thoughts to the Spohrs, couldn’t be more excited for their family. Or any other family welcoming new, wee members to their clans. Hoping all goes well. Joy!

A personal, fundamental association with the natural world resulted. From a young age we were given an education in ecology and basic environmentalism. We investigated cool fungi, learned about erosion by asking why the trees’ roots were showing, and found that spiders really weren’t scary when you scooped them up on a piece of paper and shooed them out of the tent – then they go eat the dang mosquitoes, thanks spider!

Grandparents, a small army of aunts and uncles, and parents taught us to leave no trace, respect plant and animal life, and hold a reverence for wildness that was tied to The Divine. We got the message.

In my thirties, that reverence has taken a new course. The cravings for immersion into wilderness have gotten stronger, different. I want to challenge myself with nature. Allow the desert, canyons, and mountains that surround us to teach me.

Our hikes, particularly the more strenuous Sunday jaunts, never fail to educate. Sometimes, like at Anniversary Narrows, I learn about the power of water by observing the rock it has carved. Sometimes, as was true at Boy Scout Canyon, my knowledge of the passage of time and the impermanence of humans is tested. Sometimes, like when I closed my eyes at the top of Red Rock’s Turtlehead Peak yesterday, I feel so much a part of everything – a oneness – that there are few words to describe the movement of that energy through your being.

Then, there are hikes like Zion. Zion in January, to be exact. Icy, slippery, high trails. Pitched trails. You could go right off the edge and, no doubt, die. Trails that work your nerves and bring you, literally, to your knees. It was there, on all fours many of the hours to avoid slipping, feeling frustrated, humiliated and small, Zion reminded me to let go. That the trail would take as long as it took, there was no bound, no expectation. You will be filthy with red mud and snow, shaking with adrenaline, and that’s ok. Ending the day safely, intact, was the goal. It was an exercise in flexibility for the ego.

And when you’ve finished your lesson, she will reward you. Your mouth will drop open in awe. Purity, Grace in action.

Photo by The Man.