I am so stuck that it is not funny anymore. It is coming on to two whole months since I decided that the whole frakking fear thing had to end. Just stop. So, I have been working on that, writing, talking in therapy and the groups, thinking positive thoughts and fighting every single day with all of the stuff that triggers a fear response.
I am doing well. I have had several occasions when I have not scanned the immediate and intermediate area before I leave the house or get out of my car and go into someplace and then again when I return to the car. I am over the big fearfest I had for the accountant appointment for the taxes, when I was convinced that it was the perfect opportunity for someone who is not me to accost me and say mean things. I refuse to even deal with the other stuff I thought might happen.
Being in fear for my life is terrible. The chances of an attack of that kind are less every day, every week and month that I am from the mess last year. I can intellectualize this as much as I like, but my limbic system is lagging behind the rest of us, everyone here is this crappy body.
Part of moving forward is finding a way to get back to art and stuff. I started a drawing journal, which contains a bunch of mandalas, including one I did intentionally, some quotes that are flowing out of my dusty memory chambers, and even the panic I felt whilst waiting for that appointment to begin. This journal goes just about everywhere with me. Those empty pages are helping me sort through my feelings, emotions as well, although I am still having trouble accessing them. I wonder at times if I will ever be emotional again about anything. It is a hole to which I cannot find entrance or begin to hope to fill with new and safe experiences.
It is my greatest fear that anger will be the first to return and that worries me so much. What might happen if I find and allow angry feelings to happen. Will I be able to control or contain them. What if I find out that I am a nice person only because anger, even irritation, is not available to me.
But, forward movement on all of this is what I mostly do now. I am finally organizing my stuff, pretty much settled on staying settled here in this house. That means that I can unpack and use the extra bedroom for the workroom I dreamed it could be when I first saw this place. A room to sew and craft, set up my easel and paint. Maybe do some sculpting with the little boxes of Egyptian paste I saved in the big move. Make jewelry and some of the purse safety things that a couple of friends like and want.
I am reading hopeful things, some of which are making me insane with their optimism and good cheer. You know, happiness building, problem solving, angst busting. Crafty blogs and sites, too.
However, in the process of all of this reading I am constantly finding, coming across projects that are creepily similar to things that I did years ago. I mean, there truly are not any completely new ideas, not really, so that is bound to happen, finding the familiar things.
And, yes, I am being inspired. Some. Too often I am saddened by the loss of those days of creativity. They were the islands of sanity and meaning in a life that was too often dangerous and broken. The life where all that fear was created, spawned, encouraged to keep me in line. When I read some of those sites or see a project or item or whatever that holds memory and energy, I feel so sad. Yeah, sadness is something that I have always been able to feel.
Tonight I saw some wool felting that looks almost exactly like the tiny embroidery pieces I made twenty years ago. Crazy.
I am guessing that this is uncomfortable because I am finding connection, right down to the bone connection, with some of the creations that I am finding. And, you know, that is forward movement of a significant nature. I need to honor all of this, take from it what is important and use the whole process to grieve for what I have lost, that person who had lost hope but managed to hold on to beauty.
I also need to find a way to mend my relationship with my daughter. I think that she is figuring out that the life her father and presented was mostly lies, that what people saw was the iceberg part floating above the sea, with all the nasty bits hidden under the surface. My therapist keeps telling me that I need to provide an opening for her to talk to me, to ask questions, and she is right. I know that I should do this, it is only that I do not want to have to answer honestly and share any of the crappy stuff, much less the worst crappy stuff. So, I am not doing that, telling my daughter that she can talk to me about any of this, ask me any questions. I have been thinking about this for months and I still cannot bring myself to do it. I know that this is a fail, just not going there.
I have been shopping for things. Some that I really needed, like a full-spectrum light for working and maybe to help with how depressed I am, especially in the colder, darker months. I was at Walmart (one of my purest of delights), getting groceries, light bulbs and alphabet letter beads. Yes, alphabet letter beads are a serious and legitimate need. As I was walking down an aisle, and endcap was filled with Ott lights, the small craft caddy ones. For ten dollars. That is less than a replacement bulb costs. So, I bought that, too.
There is to be a conference call tomorrow with the investment people. We do not know if this means that I will finally receive my share of our marital resources. It should be interesting.
I do not seem to be able to do a credible job cutting my own hair anymore. This is so distressing. I now save money until I can get it cut, at the little salon in Walmart by the way, and I am so nervous about the meeting tomorrow that I am going to get my hair cut in the morning. Maybe if I show up there decently groomed it will translate into confidence, at least the superficial kind. Better than nothing.
If good things start to happen, then that would be great. It would be wonderful to not worry so much about money, my future, finding a job. I am mildly comforted by having begun this journey to empowerment and confidence and the intention to make a decent life for myself. It seems like such a small thing, but I would feel less good about making these changes if I had waited until it looked like decent things might actually happen.
I will find out in a few weeks what the whole tax mess will be. I still find it ironic that even though I had no access or benefit from our joint money and investments, I have the privilege of paying half of the tax liability he incurred by gutting large amounts from the funds and by paying half of the income tax on the funds that did well. And, all on the money he stole from me. Cool, huh. I am pretty sure that my personal exemption will cover most or all of the taxes that need to be paid. One can only hope.
One more thing. I have been stressing over the lack of proper eyeglasses for many of my clients, as well as the people I have seen at the shelters and the place where I receive therapy. So, I went to three different stores and bought more than a hundred pairs of readers in a variety of diopters. I delivered half last week and will take the rest tomorrow. They are not an ideal substitute for prescription eyeglasses, but they are what I mostly use and they really do work well, great even. It is such a little thing, but they will help all of us and it gave me an excuse for more shopping. Yay.
Whatever happens tomorrow and through the next few weeks, I need to stay focused on what I want my life to be. I need to be strong. I need to keep finding the humor in all of this. I need to stay inspired.
I am still not sleeping decently. Antihistamines and a boring book are my default method of falling into slumber. One can only hope.