The Language of God

I have started to read and compare Bible passages from two different sources, which is giving different interpretations of the "same" pieces of scripture. This morning's reading was the story of Genesis, how God created the earth out of the empty void, and I've been thinking all day about the language of God.

God may (or may not) have actually given voice to creation in actual language, I don't know. But what I do know about the language that God uses to create is that it is studied every single day here on earth. . . only the academicians don't refer to it as studying the language of God. . . .in academia it's called Math, Biology, Physics, Astronomy, Chemistry, etc.

The language of God that creates all living beings is DNA. . . .the encoded "language" that creates a whole living and breathing human being. It's amazing, actually...to really think about how a human being is able to walk and talk, live and breath as a developed outcome of the unique and specific DNA written just for each person.

And the language of  God that creates the elements of earth is found in the laws of Physics, the protons and electrons, top quarks and bottom quarks, and the special forces that create all of the specific and unique elements found on earth. These laws are the language of God, and we don't even really give honor to the deepest truth of this fact. Every object that moves and interacts with anything else is governed by these laws. . .the language of God.

I was driving to school this morning thinking about how invisible the language of God is, yet so blatently in our faces everywhere if we just look at the truth of what creates everything. At first when I saw the cars I thought, well they're clearly not made by God, but I was wrong. We humans may mix and shape various elements in ways that allow for the structure and function of a car to emerge, and we feel smug in the glory of that accomplishment, but we haven't created anything. It's all still governed by the laws of Chemistry and Physics, so we haven't created anything.

Reforming and reshaping isn't creating.

It makes me think about free will in a very different way, because cars are not something that God created, yet they are allowed to exist because the language of God that creates the elements allows for the mixing and reshaping to happen, even if it ends up harming people and the earth. We're like mad scientists running around playing with a language we can't comprehend in any meaningful way. . . .but we play with it anyway. . . .which is such a terrifying thought, really.

I so very much want to put God first, in the ways talked about from the reading this morning, but it's not easy. I tried to hold my attention all day long today on just how beautiful the language of God is, and it's amazing how easily distracted I was by the language of the inconsequential and unimportant.

Well, I may not have listened to the language of God very well today, but I will try again tomorrow. . . .I will definitely try again tomorrow. . .

The Ugly, The Bad, and The Good

The band had a gig last week, the first one that I've been involved with since I joined the band back in October, and I learned something very interesting about my crazy PTSD brain.

I had decided that I was perfectly content to not play anything (especially since I'm only on the chanter, and not the pipes like the rest of the guys), but I was called out to play, and so I did.

My anxiety was more about having a panic attack or passing out than what anyone thought about me or my playing, but when my reed clamped up my anxiety rose even higher.

So I stepped away to change reeds, which I did, and then I have no memory of going back to play. I know that I did. . .and I remember (in fragments) the rest of the evening, but I have no memory of playing Chanty once I returned with the replacement reed. I was in such a heightened stated of anxiety by that point that my brain interpretted that level of stress as a trauma event, and completely blocked out the memory, even though it was actually a "good" event.

My brain is not differentiating between "positive" and "life threatening" events. . . .all it knows is heightened anxiety = trauma.

The up-side to this very disturbing fact is that it helps me to understand (and accept) why I have such a hard time focusing and concentrating when I am stressed. I don't know what to do with this information yet, but I think it's another very important piece to the PTSD puzzle I am (unfortunately) tasked with solving.

It's funny how the reed clamping up is such a beautiful symbolic reflection of exactly what's happening in my brain. And the irony is that the reed that I apprently did use to play hasn't worked since that night. . . .another symbol of the work that remains for me to do. . . .to fix the broken reeds in my brain so that I can play without having the excitement interpretted as trauma. Good grief!

So I will play (in public) again, and again, and again, because now that I know how my brain is processing a heightened anxiety expiences, I will use them to my advantage by re-teaching my brain that a heightened anxiety experience can also mean that I am doing something exhillerating that I enjoy, (so that it doesn't just automatically respond as if I'm being assaulted again).

It will take time and effort, of course, to fix the broken reeds in my brain, as the PTSD brain is no quick or easy fix. . .but I will grind whatever grist the mill requires, because it's really very important that I be able to remember the ugly, the bad, and the good.

The Best of All Possible Worlds

One of the very first college classes I took was an introductory philosophy class. It wasn't so much a general survey class, as it was an introduction to Descartes, but one of the concepts from that class that has bothered me very deeply for all of these years is the theory that we live in the best of all possible worlds.

This is the best of all possible worlds?

How can we be living in the best of all possible worlds when all I have to do is look around at all of the wars, famine, violence, child abuse, earth abuse. . . .the list could literally go on for days. So I've never been able to get on board with this philosophical theory, because it's very clear to me that this world is anything but the best of all possible worlds.

About ten years ago I received a book as a gift (The Four Agreements). I read the book when I first received it, thought it was a wonderful idea, but then it sat on my shelves collecting dust ever since. Then several weeks ago the trauma counselor mentioned the book in passing, and when she couldn't recall all four agreements I pulled the book off of the dusty shelf to find the name of the missing agreement. And after I had left a message on her voicemail with the agreement's name, I nearly tossed the book into the thrift store box collecting the sorted and purged pieces of my life, but something nudged me to reread the book instead.

And there it was: Do your best.

The fourth agreement is simply to "Do your best" in all things. Good enough advise, but in the book the author talks about how our best changes from day to day, and sometimes even from minute to minute because our best isn't going to be the same when we're exhausted or sick as when we're healthy and rested. Very profound. Well, profound for me, because this truth (at this point in my journey) is helping me to let go of the need to continually beat myself up for having done less than what I think I "should" have done either here in the present, but mostly about choices that were made in the past.

I contain multitudes.

I have always loved this quote from Walt Whitman, as I contain multitudes, too. I'm not a single entity, as there are all kinds of different "parts" to me (e.g., the concept of inner child , internalized parent, or inner critic are but a few examples of parts). The author also talks about how these different parts actually access and use a specific and unique part of the brain, which is absolutely fascinating to consider.

So, what I experience as my best on any given day is more the sum collection of the best of all of the different parts of me and how well they are able to work together (and clearly some parts are more limited than others. . . .lol). But I'm really doing the absolute best that is possible for me, given all of the limitations that exist within my life, whether that limitation is based on my genetic code, behavioral choices, cognitive belief structure, or damage to the brain from the PTSD. I'm doing the best that I can possibly do.

I live in the best of all possible worlds that exist within my self.

It's the all that catches my eye. Since I contain multitudes, then I also contain a multitude of worlds, because each part has its own specific and unique possible world (if it could function separately from all other parts of me, which isn't possible, of course, but this is the concept). Which means, then, that what I call "me" is actually a collection of all of these possible worlds that are contained within my self. And this is more than just an exercise in philosophy for me, because this truth changes the way that I comprehend the world that I co-create with every other part of God's creations.

Because, if I'm doing the best that I possibly can, then so is everyone else.

This truth is not very easy for me to accept, as I can be just as harsh in my judgment of other people's best as I am with my own. But at the end of the day, what this means is nothing more than this crazy mixed up world that we all co-create together (as the sum collection of each and everyone's best) really is the best of all possible worlds. Not because everyone is making the best choice for the world in each and every choice, because quite honestly we're all running around with our own ideas of what this "best" is supposed to look like. But mostly because everyone is just doing the best that is possible given each person's specific and unique limitations.

So we live in the best of all possible worlds, as the sum collection of everyone's individual best.

And while I still don't understand why some people's "best" includes not-so-random acts of violence against other people, I do have more compassion for the lot of the human race, and particularly for myself because I am harder on myself than anyone else will ever be. But that is changing. . . .slowly. . . .because I am beginning to see that I really am doing the absolute best that I can do.

Perhaps if I can remind myself of this truth often enough, I might actually start to believe it. . . lol.

Want -vs- Don't Want

At my last session, the readjustment counselor asked me the magical question of how I would "want" my life to be. She was trying to get me to look beyond the panic and insomnia, but her question did not have the desired outcome. I immediately shook my head because to ask that kind of question tells me two things: (1) she doesn't have a clue what to do to really help me, and (2) she doesn't have a clue what it's like to live exhausted with panic attacks every day! How would I want my life to be? I would want my life to be panic free and to be able to get a good night's sleep, that's how I would want my life to be.

But I can't have what I want. . . .and therein lies the problem.

So for someone who doesn't have them, I guess they just can't understand what a panic attack is (or understand why that kind of question would be such a slap in my face). Because I can tell you with great certainty that the panic attacks and insomnia aren't behavioral choices that I make. And while I may be able to change the way that I relate to them in my every day life, the panic attacks have hijacked my life. . . .and I certainly can't force myself to sleep. So please don't invalidate the truth of my life by posing a magical fantasy question that I would never be able to bring about. Grrrrr....

However, having said that, something wonderful has happened on the other side of her question.

I have been thinking about my life in terms of what I want, and what I don't want. The cancer I don't want. The panic attacks I don't want. The nightmares I don't want. The insomnia I don't want. But since these parts of my life are not choices that I make in the first place, all that's left is for me to either fight them (or not). . . to accept them (or not). . . .and to do what I can to improve my quality of life in spite of them (or not).  I have no control over these pieces. Period.

If I can't control it, I can't change it.

Powerful words. Especially when I look at how every single part of my life that I don't want boils down to these two categories: (1) the parts of my life that I don't want but do NOT have no power to control or change, and (2) the parts of my life that I don't want and i DO have the power to control and change. And it is this second list that has now sparked my keen interest and motivation, because there is actually a lot of things in my life that I don't want, but I absolutely do have have control over, which also gives me the power to make the choices that will bring about the desired change.

If I can control the choice, then I have the power to change what I don't want into what I do want.

So this is where I am with my very challenging life: it IS a challenging life. Which now means that anything I can do that will help to make my life more enjoyable, to bring about a higher quality of life, then I'm going to do just that. If this is really going to just be what my life is, then I'm not going to make compromises in any other part of my life where I have the ability to change what I don't want into what I DO want.

Which is why I am moving to New England as soon as I have completed this program.

I don't really want to live in Prescott Valley. I chose to move here because it's close to the VA resources that I need, it's close to the community college where I'll be completing this academic program, and it's where this amazingly affordable housing is located. Beyond that there is a very long list of things about this part of the world that I do not want, but I have compromised and have tried to learn to live with them because of the other positives this area offers for me. However. . .the only part of these factors that necessitates that I stay here (temporarily) is the community college piece.

So once I am finished with this program, I will relocate to some place where I want to live, because I'm just no longer willing to compromise on what I really want, especially when there are so many challenging pieces that I do not want, but have to learn how to accept them. Maybe if I had fewer difficult pieces it might be easier to settle for less than I want and compromise, but no more.

No more compromise!

So this is the year where I start transferring as much of my energy away from fighting against what I don't want, and chanelling it into what I do want. Oh, my. . . .it's going to be a very busy year!

A Tumble Weed's Life

Tumble weeds are amazing. They are the only plant that I know of that can disconnect its roots and roll around until they find an environment with enough water to support their life and growth. That's what tumble weeds are doing when they're out rolling around. . . . they're still alive in a state of hibernation,  searching for a better part of the world filled with the utopian hope of a better life once they have found what they're looking for.

I can just imagine what the planter box flowers think of the tumble weeds....lol.

Humans have people who are tumble weeds, too (only they're known by different names, such as gypsy, free spirit, wanderer, irresponsible flake. . .lol). I relate, of course, to the spirit of the tumble weed. And one of the most horrific sights for me is when I find a tumble weed stuck in a fence along side of a road, having been haphazardly blown there with no way of moving on the promised land. . . .stuck and oppressed by the fence of thwarted paths. My heart wrenches and wants to scream out the window, "Cry Freedom!" to the spirit of the stuck little tumble weed.

I guess it's more accurate to say that I over identify with the tumble weed's life. . . .lol.

I have always loved this part of me, the me who can uproot when needed and move on to greener fields on vast and distant shores. I've done it so many times that I don't very much think about it, really. I've uprooted myself with or without a job waiting for me on the other side, with or without knowing even a single person. Sometimes I think my life makes other people around me nervous, but it's my life, and I am mostly OK with it.

Tumble weeds don't have the same needs as planter box flowers.

Planter box flowers are afraid of the lack of a secure structure and uncertain sources of water. But these are not the fears of the tumble weed, as they uproot themselves with great ease to go off in search of the water. No, tumble weeds aren't afraid of uncertain water sources. Tumble weeds are afraid of fences and a civilized progress that boxes up the wide open spaces. And tumble weeds don't really care much about how scruffy other people think they look as they're out rolling around, either.

But there is a dark side to the life of a human tumble weed, and that has to do with the attachments we make with people we find in the environments where we have temporarily rooted ourselves.

I received a letter today from a woman I was friends with about ten years ago, and it was not an easy letter for me to read, as she was quite straight forward and honest about what she thinks about the way that I treated our friendship during a quick series of uprooted searches by my tumble weed spirit. It's no easy thing to read the hard, direct truth of another person when that truth is in response to the me on the other side of her anger and resentment that clearly remains powerful and present in her world.

And even though I know that the choices that I made had to do with me, what I needed to do for me, and had nothing at all to do with her or with any intention on my part of hurting her, the fact remains that she was hurt by the thoughtless and careless way that I treated the friendship. My friendship with this woman became collateral damge on the other side of my need to uproot and roll off in search of what I needed at the time, and that is not an easy truth for me to own. It's even harder for me to feel the truth that this friendship is not the only collateral damage created from a lifestyle of uprooting and searching for a better life.

So, tumble weeds may uproot themselves because they will eventually die if they remain where they are, but this is apparently no comfort for the planter box flowers who get casually left behind. I may have been doing the best that I could do at the time--and I was--but my best wasn't anywhere near as kind or considerate as I wish it had been. Other tumble weeds understand the lifestyle of "uproot and roll," but the planter box flowers do not always understand.

Yes, I have much to learn about how to nurture and maintain my friendships with the planter box flowers I find along my journey.

Grateful -vs- Gratitude

It always amazes me how I can know a word for my whole life, but then one day it just seems wrong somehow, or changed in a way that my brain no longer recognizes. That happened once with the word "tree," and no matter how many times I looked that word up in the dictionary, it just did not look like it was spelled right! Which also reminds me of the Friends episode when Phoebe's client/friend Steve smoked a joint and kept repeating the word "tartlets" because the word had lost all meaning. . . .lol.

The word that changed today was Grateful.

I bought a crappy little boombox yesterday because it was in the pricerange that I could afford, even though it wasn't what I wanted. But as it turned out, it wasn't just a crappy little boombox, it was a HUGE crappy little boombox, so there wasn't even a place where that monstrosity would fit! And as I was driving up the hill this morning to return it, I heard myself say, "Well, you should be grateful that you can afford anything at all!" Which is the exact moment when I became aware of just how much I use the word grateful when I have actually settled for something less than I really want (or deserve).

I should be grateful that I can afford to buy a crappy little boombox?

Maybe I can't afford (right now) to buy the CD player that I would really want, but does that mean that all that remains is for me to be grateful for crap? I don't think so. I would rather go without than try to force myself to feel grateful for settling for something that I even don't want in the first place. It's almost as if telling myself to be grateful for crap is an indirect form of punishment somehow. Or perhaps it's more the reminder that I don't really deserve what I want in the first place. But instead of being allowed to feel disappointed, I force myself into submission by reminding myself that I should be grateful.

I think there's a difference between this form of being grateful and what I believe is the true meaning of the word gratitude.

I know what it feels like to have an "attitude of gratitude," and it's an absolutely wonderful feeling, a feeling that makes my spirit laugh and dance in spite of crappy circumstances. But this other way that I use the word "grateful" has nothing at all to do with this kind of gratitude, because it feels very much more like a backhanded compliment from a "friend" who isn't really a very nice friend at all. I don't like that I force myself to feel grateful for something when it isn't really what I want. And I'm also aware of how very tired I am of settling for things that I don't really want because of some veiled belief that I don't really deserve what I want in the first place.

"I should be grateful" is really code for "beggers can't be choosers."

Well, I'm tired of feeling like a begger, because I deserve better than living a life in gratitude of crap. And I am just realizing that I've had this belief through my whole life. I am remembering how all through high school the boy I liked would call and talk with me for hours almost every night (even when he had a girl friend). . . .but he would ignore me at school because I wasn't one of the "cool" kids, so he couldn't afford to risk his reputation on being seen with the likes of me. I let that happen. I allowed him to treat me like a second rate piece of crap by telling myself that I should be grateful that this "cool and popular" kid gave me any attention at all. And not just him, either. It's not a pretty picture to look at my life through the eyes of a woman who no longer believes that she should be grateful for crap.

It's one thing to be grateful for the things that we have, especially when it could be a whole lot worse than what it is. But it is quite a different thing to force myself to be grateful when I have settled for far less than I deserve.

Well, I'm feeling very grateful for the lessons of the crappy little boombox now. . . .lol.

Going through the Motions

I love Chanty. I may not ever evolve to the playing of bagpipes, but I love playing Chanty. And I am discovering another unexpected lesson from Chanty, and that is the lesson of "going through the motions."

I've only been playing Chanty for just over two months, yet there are numerous times when I have either growled or snarled or loudly whimpered and whined because I felt so frustrated that I was never going to be able to learn  whatever it is that I am trying to learn. And it honestly feels like I'm never going to learn it, whatever the "it" of the moment happens to be.

But Don warned me. He told me that I would say, "There's no way I can do this!" a hundred times before I was done, but he also told me to keep going, even when it feels like there's no point. The tutorial book reinforces this idea, telling me to do the fingering correctly, even if it's out of timing, because the important thing to do is the fingering with clean notes, as that's how the fingers will learn how to do it correctly.

The important thing to do is to play clean notes, and the fingers will learn how to play it correctly.

The most recent frustration has been the "throws on D" that no matter how much I practice them, there is just no way that my fingers are ever going to move that quickly. But I keep going through the motions, just like Don and this tutorial book have been telling me to do. And one day last week my fingers quite unexpectedly started throwing on D, much to my great shock and awe. . .lol.

There's still much work to be done to play them well, of course. But I can't play or do something well until I have learned how to play or do the something in the first place. So I've become the queen of playing poorly, with the hope of one day playing well. Which sounds like a sad state of affairs, but I am feeling so much joy with even just the playing of Chanty poorly that the hope of one day playing her well is just the icing on the chanter cake.

So do my fingers have a mind and will of their own?

It's been a very odd experience to have to shift my thinking from "I am in control my fingers" to "just go through the motions and the fingers will learn what to do all by themselves." It seems like I'm in control of my fingers. . . .lol. I can consciously move them seemingly the way that I want them to move. But I am slowly beginning to understand that there is a process of learning that must become automatic, invisible, and outside of my ability to consciously control, in order for the playing (in the case the throws on D) with true precision and musical pride.

Who knew that my fingers would play best only when I get myself out of the way and just let them play all on their own.

On a completely different layer of my life, I am also being told to go through the motions. The theory of exposure therapy is telling me that since the lifestyle of avoidance behaviors has become such an entrenched part of the PTSD, the only way to undo these habits is to "go through the motions" of different behaviors, even if they feel fake or stupid or whatever else they feel, and eventually they will become the new habits I desire.

This is not at all what it feels like, of course. . . .just like with Chanty.

Well, in all honesty, I'm not enjoying the going-through-the-motions of Exposure Therapy as much as I'm enjoying the going-through-the-motions with Chanty. But Chanty is definitely helping me to trust the process on the one hand, because I can definitely see the fruits of the labor on the other. And while I'm not trying to learn "throws on D" in my personal life, Chanty is very much teaching me how to walk in faith that the going-through-the-motions with uncomfortable behaviors will eventually bring about the healing and change that I desire.

Who knew that Chanty would become not only a wonderful friend with whom I could joyfully dance and sing, but also a wise teacher who would become my beacon of light for a better life. . .

Beliefs

I have noticed a lot lately how I feel when I post certain blogs. Not the blog itself, really, but the content of certain blogs. And that's because I am very aware that what I believe is absolutely not what many of the people around me believe.

This is also a time of year that I see as a "battle of beliefs." Some people get highly offended if the word "holiday" is used in place of what they believe to be true. Yet other people get offended if you do offer them a specific greeting, especially if it's a greeting they don't personally believe in.

It's just a damned if you do, and damned if you don't time of year.

My personal pet peeve during this time of year is the pervasive belief that Christmas is a season. It's not. Christmas is one day, and one day only. There are lots of other days to be celebrated, other holidays during the season of Gratitude, Miracles, and Hope (which is what I believe this season to be). So I am not bothered that there are other holidays in the months of November and December that I do not personally celebrate.

Beliefs have great power to shape the course of reality.

My understanding of and relationship with God is changing, and it has been absolutely lovely to walk around feeling precious and special knowing that I was created for a unique and special purpose that I have yet to discover. And this new belief has also brought to the surface another outdated belief, the belief that I am inherently unloved and unwanted.

Believing one's self to be unloved and unwanted doesn't develop in a vacuum.

For my whole life I have grown up believing that I am inherently unlovable and unwanted. I've blogged previously about the context of being born to an unwed mother and a father who was married to another woman with two children who unknowingly became my half-brothers. It was also during an evolutionary period within a family system shaped by deeply held traditional Baptist beliefs, so the birth of an illigitimate daughter was anything but wanted and loved. And I invisibly held on to this belief as I journeyed through many other series of unfortunate events as they unfolded across time and space of my life.

But this is the season of Gratitude, Miracles, and Hope, and so it is possible for beliefs to change in an instant.

I never thought I would be able to move beyond the feeling unloved and unwanted, but I have. This new belief that God created me specifically and uniquely and with a specific and unique purpose really does change everything for me. And perhaps the story of my birth that focuses on the crises created in each of the two families I was born into is rooted in the belief that the illigitimate daughter born to an unwed mother and adulterous father is inherently unloved and unwanted. But there is more to this story than meets the eye.

Contrary to popular belief, I was not created by my parents. . .I was created by God.

So my birth isn't just about the human drama, because there's another story to be told. . .the story of how God created me specifically and uniquely with a purpose that I have yet to discover. And I'm honestly sorry that my newborn presence created so much pain and distress for everyone around me when I was born, but I didn't cause this distress, even if my illigitimate birth was the apparent and obvious cause.

God created this distressing event, not me. . . .so take it up with God.

Christmas is about celebrating the birth of Jesus, regardless of when his actual birthday might be. Which I look forward to celebrating with great joy and gratitude this year, because I find an unexpected appreciation of being born under circumstances that are less than normal. Although, in the case of Jesus I would have to rephrase that to greater than normal, as I'm not equating my own birth on the level of the birth of Jesus. But I do feel a sense of tangible connection with his birth in a way that I have not ever felt before.

And now I can see that Christmas isn't really about celebrating the birth of Jesus. Christmas is really about celebrating what many believe to be the purpose of the birth of Jesus, a purpose created uniquely and specifically for Jesus by God.

What a glorious day of celebration Christmas is going to be this year!

And wouldn't it be lovely if what was "normal" in this world was the belief that each and every person is created by God with a specific and unique purpose that make us all precious and special. . . .even if we don't always understand what that purpose is. . . .

Lord & Master

It's not an easy thing for me to openly admit that I've never really understood what it means to turn my life over to God. Some people refer to this as serving God's will, yet there are many different ways of giving language to this same concept. But I've never really understood what that meant in concrete terms.

What does it mean to turn my life over to God?

This past week I was made aware that I have a relationship with God the Creator, but I have no internal concept of God the Father or God the Lord & Master. Again, this is no easy admission for me, not to myself, and certainly not publicly in my blog. But it's true, nonetheless, and so I have been seeking to understand why.

Whose life is this?

I started from the most basic of all beginnings, and that is of my physical form. I did not create my body, yet I call it "my" body as if it belongs to me somehow. And this intrigues me how I call this body mine, when it clearly was created by God. And once I could release attachment to my physical form, I realized that the only part of my existence that really constitutes "me" is my thoughts, my feelings, my memories, my choices. In essence, it is only my will that fundamentally constitutes the "me" of my existence. . . .not my body. . . .definitely not my spirit. . . .and maybe not even my mind. . . .just my will.

My will is the only gift from God that truly belongs to me.

So if my body and my spirit essentially belong to God the Creator, then God is the rightful Lord & Master of both this body and this spirit, not me. And if this life that I am living doesn't really belong to me at all, then this is a truth that changes everything. I have always believed that God created me specifically and uniquely through my DNA, but now it is possible for me to also believe that there is also a specific and unique purpose for which both my body and my spirit were created by God, even if I do not now (or ever) know what this purpose is.

But does this mean that I am supposed to relinquish my own will and serve the Will of the true Lord & Master of this body and this spirit?

This is no simple question to answer, because at the deepest root of this question lies the issue of trust. I may be able to accept that God is the Creator of all things (including me), but to open up the possibility that even my life ultimitely belongs to God, and my job is nothing more than to live this life in service to this deepest purpose, then that means that I would need to trust that this deeper purpose will not contradict with the values and beliefs that I have come to know as that which defines me.

How do I recognize God's purpose for this life that I have been created to live?

I think none of this would even be an issue for me had I grown up with my self concept shaped as an instrument of God's purpose, but I didn't. So after nearly fifty years, to contemplate the possibility that my life may not actually be mine is a huge leap of faith and trust that this treasure map that lies dormant within my heart will not lead me into even deeper depths of darkness. And while God may, in fact, be the true Lord & Master of this body and spirit that I call me, can I really trust this map?

Can I trust this inner map of God's purpose for this life I have been created to live?

As selfish as this sounds, I don't know what it would mean for me to trust this deeper purpose for this life God created me to journey through. What if I hate the purpose that God created me to fulfil? Seriously, what if the purpose for which I was created is a hideous, boring, absolutely innane purpose? Even my asking of this question feels obnoxious, but it's the truth of what I feel right now!

Yet on another layer of this, it also feels like a huge burden of responsibility would be lifted from my shoulders. To let go of my need to figure everything out on my own would also mean that I could simply wake up each day trusting that I would be guided and supported along the journey of fulfilling the purpose for which God created me, which feels like a huge relief, actually. I had no idea how exhausting my life has been, this life shaped by the core belief that if I didn't do it, it wasn't going to happen. But to lay that belief down feels like a death of sorts, yet also like a renewed source of energy for my spirit at the same time.

Wow! It's just so clear how this core belief created a life map where I was responsible for everything, but had the power to control nothing. No wonder I am so exhausted!

It's also clear that both my body and my spirit have been created by God and encoded with the deepest purpose of my life. And whether I trust this inner treasure map or not, what I do know is that I will never find the treasure (the purpose for which God created me specifically and uniquely) if I do not trust it enough to allow it to unfold and speak its hidden language to me in a way that I can see and hear in my everyday life.

Knock, knock.

Now I'm feeling a little bit like Bilbo with my own unexpected journey knocking upon the door to my life, a journey that beckons me out into the vast unknown. Do I choose the illusion of safety and comfort of my warm and cozy home? Or do I seek to unravel the mystery that is already written upon my heart, a mystery that has invisibly shaped my journey all along?

It is funny how the curiosity of what this mystery might unfold really is greater than the fear or desire to remain warm and cozy. . . .because I really do want to know what this purpose is, a purpose that was important enough for God to create this amazing life that I am blessed to live in order to have this purpose fulfilled. A purpose that makes me feel precious and special in a way that I have never felt when I was living by the map of illusion of responsibility and control.

So I'm not the Lord & Master of "my" life--there are certainly far worse things that could happen to me. And it's not about a battle of wills, either (i.e., God's Will versus my own will). It's about making a choice between the life map created by a distorted belief that perpetually makes me feel responsible for everything (yet in control of nothing) and all alone in the world, and the life map created by God that makes me feel precious and special and supported along the way.

This is the moment, right here. I have travelled my entire life to reach this very moment. No one could have told me or shown me how to get here, as it is a moment that must be discovered all on one's own. Not even God could have brought me to this moment, because it is a choice that my will has to make, a choice to relinquish the map created by distorted beliefs in exchange for the treasure map that God has created for me (which, ironically, also makes it the only true moment of my life where if I didn't do it, it really wasn't going to happen).

It's funny how the irony of paradox works, but I think I'm finally ready to serve God. . . .

Finding God

My life has finally hit a turning point. Finding this PTSD Forum has helped me to learn what PTSD is, and also what it's not. I no longer hate the panic attacks. . . .which means that I am no longer fighting against them. . . .which ultimately means that I no longer hate or fight against myself.

Yes, I have definitely hit a turning point.

One of my uncles called me last night. . . .out of the blue. . . .in the middle of the dark night. He told me that he had read some of my blog and felt compelled to call me to tell me how precious I am, that he loves me very much, and that he has loved me for my whole life.

What a gracious and unexpected gift :)

He also told me that he completely understands what I'm going through with the panic attacks, and he shared with me how God had helped him through some of his own trials and tribulations. He told me to turn to God, that God alone holds the power to help me through this place where I am struggling.

The problem is that I don't turn to God for help, so I don't really know how to do so.

That may sound "weird" to some, but I didn't grow up with God. My mom, in her own way, thought she was helping us by letting us kids make our own choice about God and whatever church we wanted to attend. That may have worked had she given us language about and understanding of God at home, but she didn't. So I didn't grow up with God. And I especially didn't grow up with a God that I could turn to for help or protection.

On the contrary, I grew up in a world where I felt abandoned by those who were supposed to keep us safe and protected. That's not meant as a pitiful statement, but as a statement of fact. For many dark and twisted reasons, I absolutely grew up in a world where the people who were supposed to love and protect the little children didn't. And there was no God for me to turn to for help, comfort, or protection. So I learned very quickly that I was on my own, and if I didn't take care of whatever "it" was, it wasn't going to happen.

If I don't do it, it's not going to happen.

To grow up with this core belief meant that I was the only one capable of holding the chaos in my world at bay. Which also meant that I was in charge, that I was in control (which is exactly what a "parentied child" grows up to believe). I'm not "blaming" my limited parents or the observers who turned a blind eye to the fragments of our chaotic world that slipped through the cracks of family privacy. I'm just stating my personal truth, the historical fact that in my chaotic little world, if I didn't take care of it, whatever that "it" was, it really wasn't going to happen.

I grew up in a world that did not include God.

Well, I may not have grown up with God, but I did find God along the way, although I think the God I found is not quite complete and whole. Because in response to the conversation with my uncle last night, what I am beginning to realize is that while I absolutely believe in and have a wonderfully rich relationship with God the Creator, I do not know God the Father or God the Lord and Master. And that is precisely because I grew up in a world where I was the parent, and with a world view core belief that if I didn't do it, it wasn't going to happen. When there was chaos, I didn't ask God for help because I didn't grow up with this God. I did what needed to be done to protect my brothers and take care of my mom. That's what I did, becasue if I didn't do it, it didn't get done.

But I think I am outgrowing the world of illusion where I am my own Lord and Master.

Letting go of the illusion of control when you perceive the world as a terrifying, chaotic place is no easy task. But I think it's what I need to learn how to do. Accepting the truth that the panic attacks are something that I can't control is forcing me to look for help outside of my ability to take care of them, but I just don't have a lot of experience with this concept. And as condescending as it feels to me when other people tell me that I need to "Let go, and let God," I am seeing clearly that if I don't find a way to do just that, I will die alone and under the worst possible of deaths. And that's not at all what I want for myself. . . .not now. . . .not ever.

Let go, and let God?

To openly admit that I'm not in control is not about admitting weakness. . . .it's about admitting and naming the choas itself, because that's what I'm trying to control. It's not about the control itself, it's about the chaos that "needs" to be controlled. So to admit that I can't control something, is to admit that there is "something" that needs to be controlled, and that something is a wall of chaos that completely surrounds me, that utterly terrifies me, that leaves me feeling frightened and alone in the middle of what I've spent my entire life trying to control by deny it existed at all. So to let go of this illusion of control means that the wall of chaos is going to collapse in on me and flood my world with 50 years of truth never spoken.

So, right now, "Let go, and let God" feels like certain death, or worse. . . .

And while I may very well be outgrowing the world of illusion where I am in control, I don't yet know if I can believe in, let alone trust a world that includes a God the Father or God the Lord and Master who can deliver me from the chaos of this truth.

So I will continue on this journey. . . .in search of a world where God is in control. . . . one day at a time. . . .one turning point at a time. . . .

Avoidance & Exposure

Leaps of faith are not always what they seem to be, but they are leaps of faith, nonetheless.

I read an article last night on the PTSD forum about how the simple act of just reading information posted in the forum WILL increase PTSD symptoms, but that is exactly what needs to happen in order to help the PTSD brain to heal.

What?!

One of the hallmarks of PTSD, in fact it's one of the pieces of diagnostic criteria, is Avoidance with a capital A. Yet I have been highly defensive when my trauma counselor has repeatedly told me that my "life style of avoidance" is part of my PTSD. I have a life style of avoidance? Is she nuts?! But after reading that article last night I finally understand what she's been trying to tell me for this past year and a half.

I have developed a life style of avoidance.

After 27 years of panic attacks, I absolutely avoid identified situations that have triggered off panic attacks in the past. And, these areas of avoidance have generalized into an avoidance of activities where I am alone and isolated from quick resources for help, which has greatly limited my ability to do things that I enjoy, since most things I enjoy involve activities of solitude.

Avoiding what I enjoy also avoids the joy.

But, more importantly, I avoid people, people who I feel don't understand me or the way I choose to live my life, especially people by whom I feel harshly judged. When I was living at the canyon in that tiny microcosm of a closed community, I felt so exposed and vulnerable when I returned from my nearly 3 month leave of absence last year that I removed almost every single canyon-related friend from my Facebok account. Why? Because when I was standing in line at the general store, a fellow employee in the lane next to mine was whispering into the ear of his friend, very clearly talking about me, then they both looked over at me and started laughing. I know that shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. And not just on the surface, but very deep beneath all thicknesses of skin.

And so I deleted everyone from the canyon off of my Facebook.

I feel hideous enough all on my own. . . .so I certainly don't need the open ridicule of cruel and insensitive people heaping salt on top of the open wounds I work so hard to heal. And I'm starting to feel that "dump and purge" reaction rising up again, but that's not how I want to manage the anxiety I feel when I perceive other people not understanding me or judging me harshly. All I want is to feel like I am on equal footing, rather than the hideously damaged, broken, inferior person in the room. So I avoid people. And I avoid doing things I enjoy alone because I'm isolated from resources of help. And I avoid doing things I enjoy with other people because I avoid the people.

Vicious cycle. Catch-22. No win situation. It's no wonder I feel so isolated and alone.

Ultimately it's me who needs to change, not anyone else. Ultimately it's my perceptions about how other people think about me that needs to change, not how anyone actually thinks or feels about me. And I can be angry with other people all day long for not understanding or accepting me, but I'm only angry because underneath the heat of that layer of resentment and disgust I am really just utterly terrified of how they will respond to the truth of who I am. So I avoid people. . . .or I avoid the truth of who I am. . . . .a double edged sword of avoidance that only feeds and fuels the PTSD.

The solution, of course, is found in the theory of exposure therapy.

Exposure therapy tells the person with PTSD that they avoid what they are afraid of. Well, every single human being does that. But. . . .the person with PTSD does this to such an extreme degree that their life and relationships become dysfunctional (painful functioning) and/or afunctional (lack of ability to function). And exposure therapy further tells the person with PTSD that in order to heal their brain, they need to increase their symptoms, to flood their mind and body with a heightened stress and anxiety. Well, I can say with absolute certaintly that these are the exact opposite beliefs of someone who is living with PTSD. . . .lol. But exposure therapy reassures the person with PTSD that the increase in symptoms and heightened stress and anxiety are exactly what allow the mind and the body to finally process the stuck points, the thoughts and feelings that cause a person to avoid the persons, places, things, or ideas that are perceived as the source of the anxeity in the first place.

Holy crap, Batman!

It's interesting how I avoid the nouns in my world when the verbs are percieved as a threat in some way. And what I realize this morning is that this blog is such a very important part of my exposure therapy. This blog is where I battle with all of the nouns and verbs that I perceive as threat in some way to me and my personal integrity. This blog is where I confront the fear of what other people will think about me for having written nothing more than the truth of who I really am. And every single blog post I make, I challenge and hold accountable the thoughts and fears within my own mind that try to force me back down inside of this tiny little box where some tiny little frightened part of me believes that people in her world won't understand or accept her exactly as she is, even if it's exactly the way God created her to be.

Thank you, God, for creating my spirit larger than this frightened little part of me.

Very often there is great emotional intensity for me in the writing and (especially) the posting of my blog, but I post it anyway, because it's what I need to do. Then I sit back waiting for the fallout (which never really comes, but I anticipate it anyway). And now I understand that this heightened intensity is exactly what I need to help heal my brain, to help heal the damage caused by the PTSD poison. If I needed surgery to heal from a physical disease, I think people are more inclined to understand what's needed for recovery and healing. But healing all of these internal and invisible wounds? Not so easy for people (even myself) to understand.

The more I understand about my self, the less I care about what anyone else thinks.

My blog is literally saving my life, with no less importance as antibiotics can save the life of a body attacked by infection. Because this blog, as part of my exposure therapy, is helping me find the courage and strength to write about the truth of all the nouns and the verbs that create the story of me and the journey to my self. . . .even when the fear of doing so feels like it will crush me like a slow moving glacier across the landscape of my life.

After reading the lives of many other people living with PTSD who continue to choose avoidance over speaking their truth and risk of being hurt, I choose the risk of making myself vulnerable so that I can expand my world and bloom where ever I am planted. And as inconsequential as this blog may seem, each post of my blog is like a tiny little dose of antibiotics that fights the virus of Avoidance and heals my brain. . . .like a tiny leap of faith that I will survive no matter what anyone else thinks about what I write, no matter how anyone else responds to the truth that is me.

And, so, my healing journey continues . . . .one noun and verb at a time. . . .one post at a time. . . .one tiny leap of faith at a time.

Purpose, Finally!

One of the forum participants made a statement last night about how people communicate for a reason, that there is a reason why a person communicates something to another person. There is something that we want, or something that we need. And I awoke this morning with a clarity that runs much deeper than even this truth.

Every relationship is formed to serve a very specific purpose.

I have struggled for a while to define my purpose, but what I realize is that there is no single, central purpose to my life. My purpose is defined relationally, and specifically unique to each person, group, or community to which I belong. My purpose with each friend is different from my purpose as a sister, or my purpose as an employee, or my purpose with members of a group or organization to which I belong.

Every purpose defines the boundaries needed to carry out that purpose, informational boundaries, emotional information, physical boundaries, intimacy boundaries.

Like how I have many friends, but each friendship is uniquely defined around a specific purpose. That purpose may be mutually supportive processing, or sharing time together doing something we mutually enjoy, or talking about life philosophies for the mutual joy of philosophising. But each friendship has its own uinque purpose. It's the same with each and every relationship I have. . . .they are ALL created to serve a unique purpose.

And the unique purpose defines everything about that specific and unique relationship.

Businesses and corporations are formed and created based on a very clear purpose. It's called a mission statement. We generally don't formalize a mission statement with each relationship,but the relationship is still formed around its purpose. But I also think that much of the trouble that arises is because we haven't formalized the purpose of most of our relationships. . . .lol.

Wouldn't it be lovely if all relationships had their mission statements clearly defined?!

All relationshps have a "contract" of sorts that is either explicit (as is the case with business relationships) or implicit. The trouble with implicit relationship contracts that form the purpose of the relationship is that people end up participating in things they never agreed to! Or people change the purpose without even asking if you agree. Or people have a hidden agenda weaving its way around the purpose. . . .lol. It's all so clear!

I think a lot of people (not all, but a lot) are very uncomfortable with talking openly and directly about what they want or need from a relationship, which is probably why it happens so rarely on the surface, and mostly as this vague process that just seems to "happen" somehow....lol.

Or maybe this is something that other people naturally do already, and I've just now figured this out. But understanding what I want/need/expect from/of other people feels like I am understanding the nature of my relationships for the first time in my life. It helps to understand why I feel so uncomfortable and panicked when I am asked/forced against my will to have my purpose changed in relationship with someone (as is the case around certain trauma events).

So that's where I am today. . . .seeing and understanding for the first time how my life purpose is actually defined. And looking at the relationships that actually define my purpose by asking the simple and fundamental question of what purpose the relationship serves for me, and what is my purpose in the relationship itself. I really want to understand what I am needing/wanting/expecting of/from the people in my life, and also what I think is needed/wanted/expected of/from me. This last question will be what I think, but it's a starting point for me, for certain.

So this process of clarifying the purpose that defines me within significant relationships may take some time, but it will be well worth the effort, indeed!

The PTSD Tree

[This post is a repost from my "private" blog where I am documenting the "exposure therapy" process. . . .it emerged on the other side of writing a point list of trauma that I have experienced in my life. . . .trauma in the strictest sense, as an event that caused real or perceived threat to my life or being.]

If PTSD were a tree, this list would be the roots, the parts of the tree that grow in darkness, deep and underground. The trauma roots absorb the water and minerals from the earth, nutrients that form the physical strength and structuring of the tree, just as trees are supposed to do.

If PTSD were a tree, the symptoms would be the leaves that flitter in the wind, drawing the attention of the cruel and insensitive looky-loos passing by, leaves that convert sunlight into food that feeds the tree, just as trees are supposed to do.

The problem is that PTSD isn't the tree. The tree is me. I am the tree. These roots of trauma are MY roots. These leaves of symptoms are MY leaves. The PTSD is like an acrid poison that's been absorbed from the dark soil because the tree didn't know any better, and is now fed by a sun that doesn't even know that her radiant, beautiful energy has been used to kill the tree. . . slowly. . . .invisibly. Not because the tree wants to die, but because the roots of the tree and the leaves of the tree are only doing what a tree is supposed to do.

So the tree learns to despise and mistrust the harshly judgmental looky-loos, because they don't understand the tree. They don't understand why the tree looks the way she does. They don't understand why she behaves the way she does. And they don't even try to understand. So they rain on the tree with harsh judgment that seeps through the dark soil to mix and mingle with the acrid poison absorbed by the roots of trauma.

Over time, the tree begins to hate her roots and loathe her leaves. She tries to cut the roots out from beneath her, but they only grow back, deeper, stronger. And the leaves that she sloughs off, they grow back too, only they're bigger and stronger than the leaves she has tried to destroy. But she doesn't understand why, so she feels ugly and alone, wondering why God would create a tree with roots that absorb poison and leaves that convert radiant beauty into food that only feeds the dark poison's purpose. So she turns her face away from the sun, waiting for the death she hopes will release her quickly from this life of endless pain and suffering.

Then one day the tree happens upon other trees that look just like her. Trees that also have roots of trauma and leaves of symptoms that flutter in the wind. Trees that are misshapen, too, just like her. And not just a few trees, but an entire grove of trees, all with their faces turned toward the sun, dancing and singing stories of hope. The trees tell stories of how the roots and the leaves are what make the tree strong and vibrant and were never the problem in the first place (because the roots and leaves really were only doing what they are supposed to do), that the PTSD poison was the problem all along.

They also tell stories of how they're all learning from each other, learning how to absorb the nutrients they need from the dark soil, even from soil that is saturated with the PTSD poison, because they're learning how to transform the poison into less toxic poisons and develop immunity to the poisons they can't transform. And they tell stories of how they are now free to receive the radiant beauty from the sun without fear of feeding the PTSD poison that they may never be able to completely stop from being absorbed from the dark soil.

The hopeless, despondent tree is shocked and stunned by these stories that seem surreal and impossible. Yet she sees with her own eyes how beautiful these trees are while they're dancing in the sun and singing stories of hope. So she sits with the trees in the sun-filled grove, and she listens to the stories these trees have to share. And while she can't yet imagine that she, too, will one day be dancing in the sun and singing stories of hope and freedom to other hopeless, despondent trees yet to find their way to the grove, she slowly starts to feel the warmth of hope wrapping itself gently around her weary roots and leaves.

Two Worlds

This week has been a blur for me. It's hard to imagine that just a week ago, I was in such a different place. Making these connections has changed so much, and finding the PTSD Forum, well, there are no words for what this has done for me. But it's also making something else very clear for me.

There is great liberation in speaking my truth without having to even think twice about it. I can talk openly about PTSD with NO fear or shame. And I also don't have to worry about the other person getting uncomfortable, because everyone in the forum is dealing with PTSD. We're all in there because we're dealing with PTSD either directly or indirectly, so there's no skirting around it.

With PTSD, it is what it is.

But now what I'm finding is that when I switch back and forth between the PTSD Forum and Facebook, I am all too aware of how I am now living in two completely different worlds. One world accepts me absolutely unconditionally, and I can speak a dark truth without fear or offending or overwhelming anyone. And the other world is a world where I tuck myself down into a box of silence, fear, and shame of who I essentially have become, and I don't like it.

I don't want to live in two different worlds, but I don't know how to be who I am outside of the unconditional paradigm created by the PTSD forum world.

I have created a new blog. It's a blog of the journal that contains the Exposure Therapy process guided by the PTSD Forum. On the PTSD Forum they're called "trauma diaries," and they are openly posted. . . .the good, the bad, and (especially) the ugly! They're not intended to be "diaries" in the way that we normally think of diaries, but they are a diary of sorts. So I am posting my journey of this exposure therapy process in the forum, and secretly in my new blog. But I am feeling like there is a complete division between my two worlds that keeps me boxed up within myself in one of them.

For all of my life I have felt like I am less than everyone around me, because I have intuitively known that I wasn't "supposed" to share the stories of my life. But now that I have found a world where it's not only OK to share these stories, I am learning that the NOT sharing of the stories is, in part, what continues to fuel and feed the PTSD!

My silence is your comfort!

It's funny how I remember this phrase from a feminist artist's work, but I can't even remember her name. . . .oh, well. The point is that I remember it because it's absolutely relevant to my life! And I am having to look at my life and the real world I live in from a whole new perspective, and I am going to have to make some very hard decisions about the people who are within my world. Because I'm not willing to die a slow and painful death in order to modulate other people's emotional responses anymore.

I have honestly reached a place of critical mass with this issue, so either people are going to love and accept me as I am, or they can no longer be a part of my life.

Every day I interact with people (face to face and online) who share all about their life. . . their new jobs, the wonderful stories about their children, the new cars, or whatever their life is about, (and I love hearing these stories). But what's in my life every single day is a struggle for personal integrity and a fight for the will to survive. That's what's real for me. So the things that I find exciting are about whatever new I'm learning about PTSD. . . .what new therapies I'm trying. . . .what new books I've discovered. . . .what wonderful insights I've made. These are the facts about MY life that are relevant to me! But I don't feel like I can share these truths without causing other people discomfort (or worse!).

"Just because YOU don't understand PTSD, doesn't mean there's something wrong with me."

My new mantra. . . .and I mean it, because I'm going to die, literally, if I have to hold all of this crap inside. And now that I really understand what I'm dealing with, I'm just not willing to shield and protect the people around me. If my world is ever going to be secure and stable, it will only happen if I am secure and stable, not by trying to control my external world to indirectly create that security and stability for me.

Why could I not see this before?!

Filling in the Gaps

I think the Japanese have the right idea. When something gets broken, they don't throw it away. . . .they repair it. . . .and not only just repair it, but they fill in the gap with gold because they believe that the crack makes it more intesting.

It's not flawed, it becomes more valuable!

This isn't the way we Americans deal with broken things. . . .and it certainly isn't they way we conceptualize "broken" people, either. And I don't know how to describe what it feels like to have people fill in the gaps with misinformed judgment condescending ignorance about PTSD and all the ways that it can affect the life of a human being.

I am just begining to understand myself. My PTSD went undiagnosed for 27 years! So everything even I've been doing has been following the wrong trail of bread crumbs. But I have found a forum of people who are JUST LIKE ME, so I've been filling in the gaps with a completely different understanding of what's happening in a body and my mind that was created by God to do exactly what it's doing, so there is actually nothing "wrong" with me at all.

I'm done apologizing for the way God made me.

I have PTSD. That's not who I am, it's what makes me uniquely me. There is a difference. I'm not broken and damaged, either. My brain may have been scarred by past trauma, but it is healing itself exactly the way that God intended for the brain to heal itself. Yes, there are problems with the way that my brain is trying to heal itself, because that's what scar tissue can sometimes do. And I am doing absolutely everything I can to help my brain to release the trauma stuck points so that it can heal in more productive ways. . . .

. . . .BUT. . . .

I am NOT where I am because I don't know how to relax. . . or because I'm thinking negative thoughts. . . .or because I just don't want to move on. . . .or because I enjoy living a life filled with panic attacks, nightmares, and chronic insomnia. . . .No! And what I really want to say to people right now is, "Just because YOU don't understand PTSD doesn't mean that there's something wrong with ME!"

Wasted Time

An interesting day. . . .not feeling well, so I'm all huddled up at home. But I've also been feeling like my life could have turned out so very differently had I been diagnosed correctly back when the panic attacks first began. . . .which seems like past 27 years have been wasted years. . . .

They haven't been, of course. . . .because I needed to experience everything else, even if it was painful and difficult. I'm getting the information I need now, and the resources I need to do the kind of work I need to do, so that's all that really matters.

The PTSD forum that I found is so much more than just information and support. And the Trauma Diaries are not online journals, either. I'm not familiar with Exposure Therapy, but I am about to become well immersed in it. Right now it's all about me. . . .what I need . . . .what I want. . . .and what I'm willing to do to get there :)

So tonight I feel grateful and hopeful from a completely different place. . . .so we'll see what this new year brings!

Brainspotting

Over the summer, a friend of mine asked me why I was still having panic attacks after all of these (long) years. I reminded her of the trauma I experienced in basic training just before the panic attacks began. She said, "No, I understand that. . . . but why do you still keep having them?"

Why do I still keep having panic attacks?

It's such a brilliant question, but I didn't have an answer for her when she asked me, because I don't really know why I still keep having them. . . .or why I can't sleep. . . .or why I continue to have nightmares. . . and on goes the list of PTSD symptoms. But PTSD is a diagnostic label that provides a clinical description of symptoms. . . .it's not an explanation of why I still suffer with them.

PTSD does not explain why I still suffer with the panic attacks.

The most important turning point for me continues to be the biofeedback session earlier this year when I was sitting in front of this machine measuring physiological parameters with 97% coherence (near perfect degree of relaxation), yet I was experiencing a series of panic attacks during the biofeedback session. This scientific evidence that my panic attacks are NOT caused by me simply not knowing how to relax changed everything for me. . . .changed the way I contextualized the panic attacks. . . .changed the questions that I ask. . . .but, more importantly, it changed the way that I feel about myself for having the panic attacks in the first place.

The evidence changes everything.

And because I'm asking different questions now (no longer looking for ways to learn how to relax), I am finding different answers and pieces of information that shape very different perspectives. I have been extensively researching insights about the brain from neuroscience journals. Dr. Amen's work clearly shows brain scans of a person having a panic attack is identical to a person having a seizure. There is also very clear evidence that PTSD (especially when left untreated) can cause micro trauma to some brains with residual scarring that creates "hot spots" in the brain leading to varying degrees of psychogenic non-epileptic seizure activity (which also supports the scans obtained by Dr. Amen).

PTSD can create scarring in the brain and cause seizure activity.

This is finally the first explanation that makes sense based on what I have actually experienced over the course of the past 27 years, and I do believe that the PTSD has evolved into low level seizure activity. They're not epileptic seizures, but they are seizure activity. . . .electrochemical misfirings in the brain. I am also convinced that all "mental disorders" will one day reveal that it's ALL about what's happening in the brain. . . .but that is not my journey. . . .my journey is about understanding and learning how to live functionaly with a brain that makes my life extremely difficult, to say the least.

And today my journey was introduced to information about Brainspotting.

Brainspotting is an offshoot of EMDR, so it's still relating to eye position, but the underlying issue with this theory is that brainspots develop around trauma. . . .and then the brain will unconsciously respond to similar emotional experiences the same way as whatever survival mechanism was employed in response to the traumatic event. This is actually the way the brain processes every experience, whether positive or trauma based, we tend to respond in similar ways to similar events. . . .but some trauma events get "stuck" in this survival mechanism, creating maladaptive problems with apparently invisible causes. But once a brainspot is located and the "stuck" part is processed, the emotional trauma is released, and the brain in that area begins to function in a much more productive way.

The root of an emotional response, otherwised known as "core issues" is what creates the brainspots.

I recently came to understand that I do not process fear directly, but rather I experience a range of deflective responses that all fit  into a box called "Anger." I think this is a "brainspot" for me, the root of which creates a "brainspot" because any thing that emotionally feels like I am threatened elicits this same highly maladaptive response. . . .which now provides a tangible link between my body and mind.

So I am finally starting to find some peace with the panic attacks. . . .but there is much more work to be done. . . .much more work to be done, indeed. Finding someone who can do the MEG brain scans required to identify the micro scar tissue will not be easy (or inexpensive), but for now I will continue on with the interventions that help to release the trauma and heal the brain. But at least I finally have an answer (for myself) that makes sense about why I continue to have panic attacks. . . . even if it doesn't fix them or make them go away. . . . at least now I can understand why they don't easily go away. . . .

Ripples of Anger

I've been thinking a lot about the role that anger has been playing in my life. Several weeks ago I became aware that I was being sarcastic with a friend because I was angry...but the deeper (and much more important) awareness was that I was angry because I was actually scared.

I get angry when I'm scared.

I shared this awareness with a friend who commented back that she would rather feel angry than scared because anger motivates her to action, whereas she feels immobilized when she's afraid. I could see that growing up I didn't have the luxury of feeling afraid, so I learned very early in life to "step over" the fear and quickly move into the anger that empowered me to take care of situations, no matter how scary they might have actually been for me at the time.

But there is much more to this anger than meets the eye.

Looking back across my life I see my anger outbursts in a whole new light. I remember one particular art class, a drawing class when I was at UCR. We had a model who sat in the middle of the room, but I couldn't get past drawing what my left brain kept telling me the way that I "should" be drawing it, and I became so frustrated that I had to leave class because I had a small melt down in the hallway, a burst of anger that resulted in a torrent of tears, but when that passed, I was able to sit down and draw the still life perfectly. When the instructor looked at my amazing drawing and asked what happened, I told her that I got angry, and she said, "Well, that must be your process."

Who knew how deep that truth actually ran.

So I've been observing my anger these past few weeks, and I am greatly disturbed by what I see.  There are so many different ways that my anger manifests. And I'm not talking about being angry when there's something that "should" make me angry....I'm talking specifically about this protective layer of anger when I'm actually feeling scared or threatened in some way, because I don't just get angry when I'm scared, I also get very sarcastic...or arrogant....or avoidant....and all of this diversion only serves to keep whatever else I'm really feeling safely tucked away, down deep beneath the surface, ever and always outside of my awareness.

My panic attacks are like volcanoes violently erupting from the depths of all of the fear that lies buried far beneath the surface anger!

That's exactly what they are. And I find it very interesting this paradoxical dichotomy of my intrepid self and this person whose life is immobilized by the panic attacks. I think that's exactly what can happen when there is no direct voice for the fear. .  . .the fear will find a way out, even when the mind and mouth can not acknowledge that truth.

Fear will  find a way to speak its truth, even if it has to move mountains of denial.

I also find it interesting to think about the "volcano" genre of dreams that I've had off and on for many years. I used to think that the volcanic lava represented the repressed anger. . . . .lol. But now I understand that the volcano dreams are about all of the FEAR that doesn't ever get acknowledged or expressed, because it gets masked by the anger trying to empower the immobilized self that's really feeling scared and afraid. . . .and so it's forced to erupt in a flow of panic that doesn't just immobilize me, it pushes me to the brink of sanity and complete exhaustion.

I want to know what I'm feeling beneath my anger so that it doesn't have to erupt in an uncontrolled flow of panic.

This isn't going to be easy, because right now I only have the ripples of anger on the surface to serve as a guide to what is really going on. But I'm very glad that I am at least aware of this deflection process that takes place so invisibly, even it's taken nearly 50 years to see it for what it is.

Amazing.

So this isn't going to fix itself quickly or overnight, but I will continue to observe my anger and search for the deeper layers of what I am experiencing beneath the anger, which will at least open up space for me to be more authentic and honest about what's going on, rather than snipping and snapping sarcastically at the people I also care very much about :)

What If

There are many things that cause a person's life to change course and direction, and I don't mean the little twists and turns, I mean the events that cause a radical and life altering change. Today I had a conversation that causes me to think long and hard about how my life would be different, if I haven't had to deal with the dreaded panic attacks all of these long years.

What if I'd never had a panic attack? How would my life be different?

The funny thing about asking deep questions is that very often the answer is not at all what you think it's going to be when asked up at the surface. And when I doodled out a mini life inventory of each life altering point along my journey, the truth is that my life has been much more altered by the cancer, than ever by the panic attacks.

Then why am I so topsy-turveyed by the panic attacks?

Looking at this life map, it's shocking to see that three of the major life jolts in course and cause were motivated by the three different cause-and-effects of each round with cancer. But, once the path was diverged, then life mellows out. The difference with the panic attacks has been that no matter what I do, or where I live, the constant threat of a panic attack affects my quality of life in an every single day way that leaves me feeling jaded, bitter, and exhausted.

The unexpected truth is that it has been much easier to make peace with cancer than with these dreaded panic attacks.

Asking "What if?" can very often cause nothing but grief and heart ache, but there are those rare occasions when the act of asking the question opens up awareness into a whole new way of thinking. And this is one of those times, because there are some really wonderful insights that came from this dive down into my soul today. Like how I have not let the panic attacks stop me from ultimately doing what I want to do. They have clearly made my journey much more difficult and challenging, but I would pretty much have ended up in the same place. . . .doing the same thing. . . .and that (for me) is encouraging news!

I love when my assumptions about my self get turned upside down on their heads.

So I will continue on with this journey of making peace with the panic attacks. I may never love them, but I definitely want to have a different relationship to them. . . . .to coexist in peace with them. . . .even if I can't ever fix them or make them go away. . . . .one day at a time. . . .one day at a time.

Under God

I subbed for a Social Studies class today, and I came across a little blurb about Francis Bellamy, the person who wrote the original Pledge of Allegiance. I have been thinking a LOT about the Pledge of Allegience lately because there is so much controversy flying around Facebook about the two little words, "under God."

Who knew that there could be so much controversy found in just two little words.

When I got home tonight I searched the history of this powerful pledge, and wikipedia has some really great history on the evolution (oh, there's another powerful word) of the Pledge of Allegiance. I think most ironic is the fact that Francis Bellamy was a Christian Socialist. . . .which seems like an oxymoron based on today's standards. . . .but that is for another day's blog.

The two words in question were signed into law by President Eisenhower on Flag Day, June 14, 1954, something that most likely would not happen given the present administration, but that is also a conversation for another day's blog. For today's blog, what I am thinking about is how important it is that these two words never be removed from the Pledge of Allegiance because it is the clearest truth about the order of things. . . .the essential truth that we really should never forget.

One nation, under God. . . . .

I think for some people they interpret this to mean that God somehow blesses our nation, but that's not what it means to me. Our nation IS under God, because God is always above our nation (or any other, for that matter). I've seen other people phrase this as "God's in charge," and that's exactly what it means for our nation to be under God.

Jesus saw the truth of this long before our nation enacted these words into law when he told the people to "Give unto Ceasar what is Ceasar's, and to God what is God's." God does not create money, not then, and not now. God also does not create nations or global economies, as these are things of men, not of God. We "civilized" humans have created nations and the governments that run them, we have created money and the economies upon which they are dependent. But these are not the concerns of God. . . .these are the concerns of mankind, the creator of such trivial things.

What I see is the very dangerous trend  of looking to the President of this nation as a savior of sorts, looking to this one person (man or woman) to fix all of the problems that lay before us and also calm the worry and anxiety, instead of looking to God who is above the nation. So the reminder that our nation is under God helps me to keep things in perspective. . . .with this administration, or any other that might be in temporary charge and control, because God's power really is the only power that's ever in control of anything. . . .

One nation, under God. . . . .what a lovely reminder of what's really important :)