not writing

I have not had any desire to write for a while.  I am feeling the need to release, or at least spew, a lot of things, but the process of writing does not feel comfortable.

As a result, I am kind of stuffed with stuff and nowhere to put it.  I think that it is connected to being in a period of great change.  I think that is the source, as change does not come easily to me and I always go to ground when change is what I need to face, or if it is forced on me.  My default behavior is to ignore whatever it is and hope that if it is neglected that it will just go away.  It would be so nice if that worked.  Really nice.

I find it interesting that several areas of change in my life are coincidental with the second anniversary of when I fled that other life.  The actual date is next week, the 22nd.  Those bunch of days and weeks are still a nightmare of panic, escape and so many things I just have to get over and forget as much as possible.

I have been nightmaring for more than three weeks.  First two weeks or so of that person and his family.  Now, they include people in my life now, with the same frustrating barriers to any kind of resolution, in dream or out.  I used lucid dreaming to change the mares before they ended.  It worked for a few nights, four to be exact, and then I kept waking every half hour or so when I stopped the activity.  So, not being nearly the dummy I used to be, I stopped that.  Who woulda thunk it.

The mares now are frustrating, but at least no one is trying to kill me in them.  I will have to wait it out until they stop.  Fucking ptsd.

Anyway, to think about other things.  I spent the weekend with my daughter and her family.  It went really well.  She did not become impatient with me even one time.  My guess is that I behaved more properly and did not irritate her.  My therapist keeps telling me to talk to her, and I have tried to do that, to let her know that she can say anything to me, but she is not interested.  So be it.  I really do not want to be in a position where I have to decline to answer any questions about what happened to me.  I will not say anything bad or even the teeniest bit negative about her father.  I do not believe that children, even adult children, should carry any of the burden of their parents' experiences.

I wish, oh, so much, that there will come a time when she will not need to have her husband be her voice with me about this.  We can talk about anything, but not this.  I cannot imagine the pain that she has to carry about him and all of this mess.  Most of it is over for me, but I think not so much for her, although I am only guessing, as she will not talk to me about any of it.

That makes me think of some larger circumstances that friends of mine and their families have had to deal with, how essential talking about some things were, to be a part of the history of that time as it was for their parents and grandparents.  They tell me, in one way or another, how important it is for the healing of the entire family and community.  My experiences are minor in comparison and it does not make any sense to damage any chance my daughter may have in connecting with her father at some point.  

I mention all of this because on Saturday we celebrate, finally, Yule and Christmas.  We had the most wonderful time and when my son-in-law drove to pick up the boys' favorite Chinese take-out, he asked about her dad.  I have not spoken to him since the morning of the day I left and have seen him just the two times we were in court, so I know nothing about him from that time.  I am surprised that he asked.  Life is so complicated.  I told him that if C ever wants to talk to me that I will do whatever and however she wants to do that, but that there are many things that I simply cannot share with her.  Those include the same things that I will never share with anyone.

Keep writing, J.  Um, one of the gifts I had for the boys was one of those rubber band looms.  I guess that many of his friends have one and they all get together and make bracelets and other stuff.  Their school allows them to bring the looms and supplies to school and use them at lunchtime and all the indoor recess periods they are having this year.  I bought him lots of supplies, a storage box and a really cool tool bag in which to put everything.  He had never made any himself, but in the span of a couple of hours he learned how and then taught me.  I am sure that he has observed his friends making their stuff, but that was still a pretty cool accomplishment for a six year old.

The little guy has a broken arm, having fallen just a couple of feet to the floor and wrecked something in his elbow.  This is the same sweetie that has worn a series of wounds and last year had an accident with his bike, where he flew over the handlebars, cracked his helmet and knocked out a tooth that all of us had to search for before taking him to the emergency room; so the emergency room is not all that scary to him.  He and his Pooh doll had all the same treatments, including a pretend x-ray for the bear and temporary casts for both of them, as well as glow-in-the-dark stickers proclaiming their successful treatments.

He had a follow-up appointment a few days ago with an orthopedic surgeon to apply a permanent cast.  He did not want to go and whilst he was cooperative, he kept his head down, chin to chest, when the temp cast was removed and they did whatever they do to hold his broken arm.

The surgeon tried to joke with him and involved a newly licensed and very young doctor who was shadowing him that day.  Every joke and jest was met with silence.  One of the things he said was that he would be able to smack his brother with his new cast.  No reply.  Later, the surgeon asked who the first person he/grandson would smack and, with head still down, replied, "The doctor."  And, started giggling.  I just love that kid. He has had a lovely and ironic sense of humor since he began to talk and could make jokes.  My daughter says that he appears to be just a plain, old boy on the outside, but that there is some serious stuff going on inside him.

I know just what she means.  He is on the quiet side, both boys are, but his insight into other people and situations just takes my breath away.  I have been calling him my Buddha Boy since he was little.  And, he is the most wise young person I have ever known.  I love them just the same, but there is a sense that he and I will be close as he grows up.

You know, when I am there, or they are here, that my peace and contentment is all I need or every will.  I know that I am lucky that they are my family and I never forget for a moment what a blessing we are for one another.

Last week I had the best compliment of my life.  I have been struggling with being stuck for quite a few months, you know, not making enough progress, insufficient forward movement.  I am able to intellectualize how far I have come.  It is just that fear still has the power to overwhelm me sometimes.

So, anyway, there I was at the office of the accountant who was chosen by my ex to prepare out taxes for 2013.  He waited until the last minute to provide any paperwork or information and it cost me more than $600 to have it done in time, even with an extension. 

Anyway, the accountant turned out to be someone I know, a fellow parent from the time our children were in elementary school, something my ex would have known had he ever been involved with our daughter.  It was nice and he told me to call him anytime if I had any questions about anything financial.

When I saw him last week, he wanted to chat before we got to work and told me that I looked great and asked how I was doing.  I told him, gushed actually, about nearly everything.  He told me that I looked great.  Again.  And that I was very different from when he saw me last year.  He said, "You were...you were...you were...ummm...you were," and patted his hand on his desk and I finally said, "A wreck, right?"  He looked up and said, "No.  You were way more than a wreck."  Then, told me that I had made his day, that he and his wife had often prayed for me and he was pleased to hear how well I was doing. 

Best.  Compliment.  Ever.   Like ever.  So far he will not tell me how much I will owe him, but it does not matter.  He is making my life less stressful, just by being the person I remember from all those school-day years ago.  There are some really wonderful things from that other life and it is another blessing to be able to remember them and be able to recognize them when they arrive on the silver platter that is my old friend.

I am rattled by this two year anniversary.  I know what I want, but am not so sure about what I am capable of doing. 
I am stronger than I have ever been in my life. 
I can do what I need to do, most of the time. 
I can remember to take care of myself, sometimes.
I can forgive myself for not being perfect, always.  This is such a huge thing.

I have some choices to make in the next few months.