I Want To Be Normal

I want to help others but I can't help myself. I love and know God and trust Him too, but that doesn't stop my brain from being a jumbled mess. 

Jumbled thoughts can be pretty!

Scattered thoughts keep bombarding me. 

I feel like a rattle-head. 

I think I wrote once about this before, being a rattle-head. And it was the least read post...Even I couldn't relate to it much after the episode passed.

I have cried out to God for help this morning, and for the past two days. I have gone to others for prayer and careful, with exercising great inner control tried to explain to my family of three teens and my dear husband (I almost didn't want to say dear, oh, how hard it can be on a marriage--to twirl out of control and to not know why or how to make the top stop spinning).

I don't know what pushed the top into its first spin. 

And that is part of the problem I can't think clearly. I can't remember even simple things. 

It is like the filing part of my brain has gone on vacation. Like the secretary or office worker that does this clerical job is on vacation... and her office is getting messy very quickly. Manilla folders are scattered about the surface space, the counter tops and her desk. A few have fallen to the floor, and someone has dropped a couple in the trash. 

But the "organizer" has left, gone on a holiday, I don't know when she will return. She didn't leave a message or post a note.

And my brain runs down this trail......

(Post a note - oh, I love those little colorful sticky notes. They come in so many colors, shapes and sizes. They are so much fun. Who ever thought of making a note that sticks but unsticks was quite clever. I like the idea of being able to drop my thoughts little pieces at a time on a little square box. Once out it is safe for keeping it until it is or might be needed in the future.)

Have you have seen Beautiful Mind-the movie? You know the shed with all the papers on the wall and how they are tied together by lines. His mind thinks it has found a clever pattern, an insight that others simply can't see. It is obvious to him, even an obsession. But others are clueless, normal. Others don't see the patterns, how events connect. I am sure God sees how, it all connects to Him. He must have a super large brain with a very elaborate filling system. How does He process it all?

He sees everything! He knows when sparrow falls from a tree or looses a feather. He has not only numbered the stars in the sky - He knows them by name. 

And again my brain runs.....

(Oh, I just saw two shooting stars this past weekend visiting my family/friends. It was magical, mysterious, a gift from God. I love their home that I often call a homestead... they do too sometimes I think. I know they call it a farm. It is a family farm for 11, but don't get a picture of just a bunch of rows of crops. No, this is a full functioning family farm with chickens (hens and rooster) giving forth fresh eggs for delicious meals. And the milk comes straight from the dairy. It is so rich and filling. I love the grits. I can make them at home but nobody else will eat them, so I don't like to waste a large pot of them. Funny thing is my family will eat those little bags of instant grits, but not the yummy polenta grits by Red Mill organic foods. I can eat a few plates... more if I didn't stop myself. Why do I like them so much? Does it matter? A comfort food doesn't have to have a reason.)

The sky was so beautiful - gift from God!

(Oh, the shooting stars! The first I have ever seen in my life, and to top that we saw two! One flew from east to west and a few moments later probably a minute or two, one flew from west to east! The sky was so incredibly bright. It was a chilly winter night, like many I have been there before. But on this night when five of us walked from the main house to the guest house it was like someone turned on the LED lit planetarium. Crisp, sleek black so distinctly contrasted the beaming bright little lights! Some seemed to twinkle. Do stars really twinkle but we can't normally seek them dance on and off in the sky because the atmosphere gets in the way or too much light from the homes limit our view? The children ran inside to get a camera - one with 14 megapixels- a new camera - a Christmas gift to my daughter. And I stayed outside, me and God or God and me. And I praised Him! I thanked Him for the beauty and how delightful it was to experience His sky and two shooting stars. And in response I heard, "You know, I know each star by name?" Marvel, speechless I gazed about even tilting my head back knowing the stars I saw were without numbers... and awed at God that He knows them by name. My eyes wet with the thought of such grandeur.)

Do I need to write? Is it not something I do but something I need? Is it therapy? What keeps me sane, normal?

I pause and take a deep breathe. Inhaling the air about me in the room slowly, holding, and the release.

Is this like my brain? 

It inhales slowly at first taking in pictures, comments, thoughts about what my eyes see and what my body feels and what I hear. And then in writing-in remembering- it slowly releases some of the chatter, clutter and keeps me from going into overload. 

We left for New Year's Holiday on Friday morning. It has almost been one week. And this-right now- is the first time I have sat at the computer to exhale all the thoughts running about in my head. 

It feels better, my head that is. The wheels, like movement in a clock, in slowing down.

(My brother can repair old pocket watches. He is ten years younger than me but he can do so much. He doesn't know how talented he is. And I was buying a nice silver and pink fake gem guess watch from someone local for $15. I was to meet Nicole in a parking lot, but I had the wrong location. Then when we set up to meet in a grocery store parking lot, I went to the blue car that furthest away from the store as instructed, but there was a man in the blue car. I didn't think he should be a Nicole, and I wasn't going to go up to his window to find out. A trap- it felt like it could be a trap. So I drove up closer to the store and went shopping. I filled my cart with groceries. And in the store I realized I hadn't been in a grocery store for such a long while. I couldn't remember the last time. I told that to my husband on my way home and he agreed that  I had not, but that he liked going grocery shopping. I guess that is why we haven't had a good balance of food, running out of butter, cheese, fresh fruit and veges, and so much else that is simply nourishing food.)

Do you notice the oddness of the way my thoughts run and wander? I do. 

But I also know there is nothing I can do to stop it...  Writing- at least- gets it out of the main frame of my conscious working thought area. 

What is wrong with me? 

I am sure some doctor could give me a new label. 

Have I overloaded my brain, which from school I know this is suppose to be impossible because we are told we use so little of it. Or does too much enter too quickly and then the main drive begins to crash? Do I need more random access memory or maybe a quicker processor? Is there a repair shop I can go to get a reboot or maybe a clean disk... clean disk... a big smile came across my face and another deep breath. Wouldn't that be nice? Even to have a backup disk... you know, a place in the human world cloud that I could download my thoughts for safe keeping and then pick them up if I ever needed them. That could be a cure, if anyone could figure out how. 

And my thoughts return to God. Only He is capable. 

I am moving slower and so is my brain.

My thoughts have slowed, almost stopped.

I feel sane again.

And I feel hugged, more settled, quiet!

So what have I learned... is it that I don't write because I enjoy it (I do enjoy it) but more than that, I write because I must! It is part of remaining sane, to write and unload, a necessary therapy needed so that I can be functionally normal (and again I smile at that - at least, I might appear functionally normal).

We -here - know the inside joke to being normal... it is kind of like the idea of being perfect or being right. A mirage that can never be obtained and still we try to aim. 

Thank you for listening. I want to post even though it might have errors. It is raw... unproofed, but I need to push publish to have it leave my brain and enter the internet cloud for my later retrieval. I don't want to save it... it just doesn't seem like what I need to do. I must let it go... release it to unload and be set free.

I love comments. Any comments help me know all this has a purpose.

Holiday With The Abuser

You can choose your dance.

How could there be a worse perpetual punishment? You are sentenced for life to spend every holiday from this day forward until you die with your abuser. The hammer thuds, wood hitting wood. Case closed! Next...

How does one come to terms with the diabotical extreme of two polar opposite emotions?

What could be the happiest of day, sweet memories, the gift of having friends and of knowing peace (this aim we celebrate, plan, await, and imagine) to be swallowed with the pain of abuse, the memory of horrors. The magical moments of innocent pleasure that pours from gratitude of relationships and material surprises entwined with paralyzing fear and anxious triggers of past trauma.

A squeal - the delight awakens us to a peek over the horizon of tomorrows knowing somehow they can be spent in love, happiness and peace.

But you are given the pill--filled with slivers broken innocence mixed with a hint of arsenic to deaden your memory and emotions. It must be swallowed if you enter the Act; Scene 1 is about to begin. The cast has gathered and all finding their places. The countdown as begun quickening the call to action... but you are not yet in place. Are you undecided?

Tremoring, you try, you are forcing the pill to be washed down with something a little more mind altering than spring water. It doesn't really matter if you remember, you just plan to go through the motions. Nothing more than the performance of a body-double will serve the purpose of the Holiday gathering.

How could you be asked, or expected to comply? For who? or What? or Why? (haven't you learned it is better to not ask so many questions, just move along ... step onto the moving walkway. The path will carry you into the next set. Play the part and move along... such a simple charade. 

Who owns you anyway? Who writes the screenplay that must be followed for the sake of world peace?

You have been warned. It is such a dramatic, critical role - no one else can fill-in. It just wouldn't be the same. You alone are called forth for the role of your lifetime that must be performed on-call year after year, holiday by holiday.

And the NEON LIGHTS FLASH ..... in the deep crevices of your soul. "CUT!" a loud cry shakes you partially awake from you stupor. And you remember,

You have a choice. You are not a robot. You have a mind, a will, a soul separated, living apart from being enmeshed with all others. There is no cosmic group will accountable to God. No one is allowed to play your puppet strings in life unless you walk out onto the set and submit to the part.

It is harder to think for yourself. So you pause and ponder,

No applause will be guaranteed when the curtain closes and the lights come up. No casting call expected for next years performance, no parade of thanksgiving, no gifts and no acceptance. And yes, no roses thrown at your feet. You will not be loved or part of the inner circle of belonging.

But still you get to chose, it is your life. Choices always result in consequences. Nothing is ever as clean and perfect as the script given to you, showing your part in black and white. Flesh of man changes the odds. No one is perfect. All are a slight variation of what could or should be.

You do not have to submit. You do not have to spend any time with your abuser. You have no written or unwritten obligation to keep.

Forgive, Release, cut the abuser free. Once he owes you nothing, You are free to walk.

Choose your next step carefully. If you so choose to be free, in confidence, move gently toward the narrow door. Within are possibilities unknown by those who follow the script.

Live. Laugh. Love. No regrets. No promises. 

A Real Nightmare Before Christmas

The holidays-to many- (the sheer thought of them) brings such marvelous images to mind, memories of years past but also promises of this year to come.

The mind is not so kind to those who hurt.

Joy

Intrudes without a warning.
Shut up. Closing In. Sliding.
Slowly the walls grind, pressing down and inward.
Smaller...the space to live, to exist to breath naturally, yet so-not-normal to the average person with an average working brain, with fibers, cells, the chemical uptake, with a spark, a leap, a jump across the synapse.

Of not! Out of rhythm, a mis-fire, a bit of energy is the passing chemical so taken for granted in person who lives day by day above the riff-raf of those with less ability.

It is all wrong.
What I see is what is not in place.
Nothing being where it should be.
Discarded, unwanted, not right.
A miss is assumed without even a look.
Of course, it must be wrong.

Out of hundreds, what are the odds that I could ever select 'the one' that could receive the sought after appreciation - "approved" - well done - wow, thank you. I really mean it, its lovely. Exactly 'the one' I picked, 'the one' I planned to select.

Why play the game?

A charge of shopping, wrapping and mystery.
The odds are so large against being 'the one' wanted.
What a waste of time and no thanks, just mere haunting grunts of disapproval, followed by a full and depressing grey sigh as futility.

Why do we waltz these dark steps of this unnerving dance? 

Haunting, hollering, hear the grating shriek. The shrill of what could have been, but what clearly is not and never will be.
Just numb darkness.
Hollowness with no capacity to be filled, complete or accomplished.
Always the holiday minstrel tune left unsung, a melancholy drool of dread.

Alone is intoxicating.

Leave me alone. Go away.

Silence is the only sedative - a mere moment of peace is intoxication.


Drunk on not and none--the twins robustly traversing through murky time.

And once upon a time... she died... morbid, sick, and so warped.
It brings joy.
The uglier, the steeper!
A vertical plane, a sheer grip-less wall to climb, or quite more logically to slip, slide, and fall into the abyss of regret, torture and sorrow.

And they all sang underneath the mistletoe that turned into a wiry metalic worm. Tubes of remorse coming, darting, and trying to strike an attack.

If only I could get one bite, a good deep sting, to penetrate the marrow of her soul, to kill the hope, to boil the blood, to curse the shadow lurking just behind, and closing in, foretelling what will be.

We never let go, she will never be free.

Be warned, leave her.

Stay away.

She is mental, in a-not-so-right way, get it?

Understand?

Fact-check... the history if visible to any clever, practical person in charge.

Don't be trick into thinking she can do or be. Truth be told 'it is never finished".

Laughter - a dark, coal chilly bark of the one called "unlove."
He is coming from what is not, nor never will be.
No need for stabs--a sharp, steel, reflective edge that could slice with ease, like a swipe through butter with a warm, metal blade.

So unnecessary when she is already gone, a prisoner of regret.

A snobbish smirk and the felt movement of air brushes over her bony fingers and in to her outward flaring nostrols the slight breeze brings comfort to the present moment but in reality where-ever it may hide, and precisely where no one will ever find.

Never more, Never, Never, Never more.
How crass! The lever of knowing its forever, the titanium threads tightened in a web so meticuluously weaved.
Clawing about her tender shoulders like a pretend shawl.
They think it wraps about her as a decoration running along the mantle - all for show.
But why?
Isn't it obvious?
It is all about the same.

Such a deafening perfect distraction, and it can be sad how well it works. 

Makes one miss-out on all the fun of the tactless contention--the sharp, jagged words cleverly placed in a festering spot where repeated jabs remain hidden--just under the surface.

They are always there, a dull, pricking nerve.

The source of pressure so easily sends her into a tissy. The wire-trip to anger, an explosion sends bits imbedded into anyone near her presence. 

So guard yourself. Protect. Keep safe. Stay away.

Rejoice! Again, She is all alone. The echo of time ticking away, against itself. Forever to be remembered as a menace, and she longed to be left alone.

It always works, year after year, after year.

The perpetual perfect plan until death do you part.

"It could be worse."

"IT" always can! But that tis OK by me, because stealing her joy and leaving her empty once again is all the holiday cake and ice cream I need to be full.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

And it's all wrapped in pretty paper and stuck with loops of colorful ribbon, in the boxes snuggle under the Christmas tree.

Mystery under the Christmas Tree

What can they be... inside, I mean, of course?

Hope... grace... peace... We are within.
We may not surface, not show, but know no weapon formed against us will ever prevail, and though in the victory dance he is rejoicing like the enemy enjoying his spoil of battles won. It is never, what to him it seems.

Never doubt... in the center core remains a soft flickering flow, a permanent sense of knowing self.

I may be captured-a prisoner held within while here in his dominion of earth.

Don't be sad - he can never harm her, as a sweet child of innocence she runs through the field of daisies and wishing flowers up to her arms like playing in a field of wheat, so full of nourishment and sheer delight.

My love can not be taken away from her, so don't shed a tear. 

She may look tormented, broken, imprisoned by chains of sadness and misery, but it is only the false reflection of what he wants you to see.
Trust me. She is OK.
She may never experience the fullness of living what she knows within while she lives here on earth.

Believe me she breathes easy and peacefully snuggled in close to Me, covered in a rain of colorful sprinkles of lasting joy. She is safe, and happy.

Christmas brings visions of sugar plums, santa traveling, and reindeers dashing - maybe she fails to engage every season, year after year, because she doesn't know how to live the innocent world of holiday charm and wonderful make-believe!

"Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! "

All turned upside down, and inside out - it truly is his greatest fear - she knows happiness, love and contentment within her core being.

Hark, grace is the real nightmare before Christmas to the enemy that wants to rob, kill and destroy the Merry Christmas of every girl and boy. In the end, and in eternity, he never wins.

Game over.

Have a MERRY MERRY Christmas and a New Year filled with hope! 2012