AN ALARMING SHORT STORY
There are times when change for the better depends upon taking a leap of faith as proved true for me, a couple of weeks ago ...
Early one morning, I can be seen engaged in an anxiety-provoking dream about rape when a compelling urge to relieve my bladder rouses my conscious awareness just enough to throw off the quilt and arise from my bed, where, feeling more asleep than awake, I begin to make my way across the expanse of our master bedroom's wall to wall carpet when these words float into my ear, giving me reason to pause: Annie, turn off the alarm.
It's important to note that these words are not unfamiliar to me. In fact, this scenario happens to be an early morning pattern, which sees Will reminding me to disarm the burglar alarm in case I decide to go to the computer instead of padding straight back across the carpet, where, upon slipping into bed and pulling up the quilt, it's my habit to reach for my iPad and review the post penned and published the previous day, suggestive of the fact that the editing process, which, generally, takes place before the crack of dawn, sees me working industriously for about an hour until my eyelids grow so heavy as to signal a natural sense of drowsiness directing my wearied mind to push save and close up shop, as though welcoming the sum of my parts to wholly relax for another hour or two as if time spent in peaceful repose is my just reward for having worked, over recent years, to simplify complex streams of consciousness, which filter naturally from deep within my subconscious each time intuitive trains of thought, tunneling through layers of my defensive wall of denial, compress my storehouse of repressed fears and memories into strings of insight, which, retrospectively, guide today's sense of reflective comprehension to gain a clarified view of yesteryear's confounding situations by shining spotlights on long forgotten details, which, upon being coaxed out of subconscious pockets, heighten my awareness of misperceptions that had exacerbated painful moments in time to the point of traumatizing certain portions of my neo Cortex, which, having felt paralyzed by fear of falling short of perfection, saw me condemning myself to quietly repress my problems rather than suffer stabs of anxiety over fear of feeling abandoned to experience a life of loneliness in which I'd be forced to fend for myself for failing to be good enough to please the Giants whose over reactiveness threatened to sever my connection to emotional safety each time a hastily conceived punishment was meted out that proved too severe to fit my childish 'crimes'. And all of that remained flash frozen in an unprocessed (undeveloped) state of being until my psychological engagement with sessions of EMDR THERAPY stimulated my conscious mind to develop the patience to make incremental gains in self awareness, which prove necessary to pinpointing negatively focused, misperceptions that, repressed subconsciously, had darkened certain self perceptions, which were buried behind my wall of denial.
Fortunately, this mental block did not blind my conscious awareness from seeing need to seek the key to open the door in the wall, forever.
Fortunately, sessions of EMDR therapy coaxed my narrow mindsets to broaden, offering my connection to personal growth space to adventure forth into an ever-expanding sense the great unknown where my smart heart and strength of spirit received astute coaching, which tuned my think tank into the necessity of mustering the courage to revisit forgotten details of blocked memories, which had unknowingly tortured my peace of mind with hot pokers of undeserved guilt that had stimulated sudden spikes of anxiety to arise, repeatedly, until my thought processor came to trust my therapist's agile guidance so completely as to open my mind to its innate ability to carve healthy pathways toward healing the injured portions of my self assessment by empowering my thought processor to switch tracks away from carrying forth heavy loads of unidentified, misinformed emotional baggage, concerning misperceived self assessments, which had caused my spirit to darken, during every stage of my life ...
Since none of the insights, above, are new, then why is what I experienced upon awakening at dawn, on this specific day different from every other day—over my entire life? Well, without further ado, let's address that question, right now ...
First, let's imagine me, half asleep, paused at the foot of our king size, four poster, cream colored bed, where following Will's direction, I can be seen turning away from Will's voice to face the small alarm box, affixed to a wall (which climbs straight up, fourteen feet, to meet our lofty ceiling) and upon reaching the alarm pad, still feeling semi-lost in a dream state, my left arm rises up into the air, where all five fingers on my left hand hover, suspended in humming bird fashion, for quite a few seconds in front of our alarm's number pad, because my think tank can't for the life of me figure out what to do next, and the confounding nature of my thought processor's inability to per from a simple task, repeated whenever I leave or return home alerts my defense system to declare a state of mental concern in case some unknown form of danger is about to close in, signaling my adrenal glands to energize adrenalin production in the event that having semi switched tracks from my subconscious nightmare to engage my brain with real life, my survival instinct feels stimulated to focus all of my energy on need to freeze, flee or fight with immediacy ...
So it's not as if I can't remember the code. In truth, I can't even make out the numbers on that pad, because once my think tank leaps into survival mode, each small square-shaped button seems to be imprinted with hieroglyphics, the likes of which I've never seen before, and as each moment of mental confusion casts darkening sensations of danger over my mental awareness my mind feels wholly swept up into a magic spell so overwhelming as to set cognitive thought spinning until I, like Alice, get to feeling myself swirling ever more deeply into the rabbit's hole, except that one small portion of my brain, which is seemingly holding fast to my last vestige of conscious awareness, appears to be watching the rest of my mind reeling back in time, and here's what differentiates this experience from every other episode of PTSD, thus far: This small portion of my brain is so determined to maintain control over my sense of 'here and now' that my mind's swirling sensation begins to ease just enough to throw my think tank into slo-mo as though to tame my brain's anxious reaction by seemingly stretching seconds into feeling like minutes, and as my dizzying sensation of heightened confusion begins to lessen so does my defense system's production of adrenalin, which lowers my current strike of anxiety from code red to orange, and though, in the moment, I have no clue how this host of interactive brain functions are influencing my body's organs to speed up or slow down production of chemical changes, because it's taken much more time to write this descriptive paragraph than the few seconds in which I stood, as though suspended in time, staring blanking at the alarm's number pad, before I grew aware of experiencing a spontaneous, spot-on change for the better after reflection suggested that I found myself turning toward Will, who, by now, can be seen sitting up on his side of our bed, looking tensely perplexed as he asks: Annie, what's wrong? Why are you just standing there?
Though most of my brain is still out to lunch, I hear an exceptionally calm, self empowered tone of voice offer up this crystal clear response, which seemingly floats out of my depths in slow-mo, above the expanse of our bedroom's ivory carpet, on a gentle current of air straight toward Will's waiting ear: My brain has been hijacked by a moment of PTSD, and I can't figure out how to turn off the alarm.
Thank goodness our mutual investment of thousands of dollar spent wisely on sessions of EMDR therapy places Will's comprehension of my mental confusion a few paces beyond my own, because his conscious mind, though confused and concerned, has remained, for the most part, connected to knowledgable clarity while mine is still reeling, resultant of my limbic system's spontaneous take over of my thought processor, which (like every human thought processor) is preprogrammed in utero to shut down the moment that my defense system senses need to divert every iota of available energy toward thwarting a near and present or subconsciously imagined danger by freezing in place, fleeting with the swiftness of a gazelle, or fighting, like a power-struggling lion, to the death ...
As Will's mind takes a leap of faith onto the same page as mine, quick as a flash, he throws off the quilt, strides to my side and having nimbly disarmed the alarm, my husband turns to me, looking deeply concerned. The nearness of Will's supportive presence seems to be my cue to lift up both arms in childlike fashion, inviting my husband to enfold me within his embrace, where I, clinging on for dear life, drink in these reassuring words, which, feeling like a soothing balm, float into my ear canal as though seeking to calm the 'close-to-but-not-yet' 100% healed, traumatized portion of my brain, which thank goodness, proves to be much less rawly injured from childhood trauma than had been true before I'd gained conscious awareness of the proven, therapeutic effect of EMDR, healing the brain from PTSD: You're safe, Annie. No one's ever going to hurt you so deeply, ever again.
Head down, arms still clinging, I hear a tremulous voice (more deeply connected to the healing nature of here-and-now than to yesteryear's unbearable pain) reply: I had that rape dream, again. Holding me even tighter, Will responds with: I thought so ... You were howling, again.
Next thing I know, a light switch flips on inside the darkest corner of my subconscious where skeleton keys, rattling around, wait to be swept out of the closet of my mind in hopes of finally unlocking the ironclad door in my defensive wall, behind which I am offered short but not sweet peeks at yesteryear's most fearsome ghosts, which have continued to go BOO! and GOTCHA! in the dark of night ever since fate had offered my adult frame of mind sound reason to bounce back and forth from conscious clarity to subconscious terror so quickly as to whip my think tank from crystal clear sanity half way toward madness with such a haunting, daunting sense of speed as if to say that the Gods have grown so bored, exacerbating power struggles throughout the oil rich Middle East, as to have the nerve to entertain themselves by playing ping pong with my brain as the ball, and as fast as a paddle can smash that last metaphor across the net and off the table, it's time to switch tracks, so please straighten your thinking cap and listen up, because here comes the next lightening bolt emotional reaction that's about to prove so unexpected as to shock our socks off, except for the fact that we aren't wearing any:
Imagine my body still slumping limply against Will's.
Imagine Will's strong supportive attitude as providing pretty much the only strength that I can count on to stop my dispirited spirit from collapsing, like a ballon pricked with a pin, until all of a sudden, from out of the blue ...
Imagine the blue of my eyes electrifying utterly unexpectedly as if a fire ball of latent fury is about
to burst through this newly cracked layer of my defense system's wall of denial, as though shot out of a cannon ...
Imagine the power of this long repressed blast of fury re-vitalizing my dispirited state of mind so completely as to catalyze all four of my limbs to straighten out and stiffen up, so that while both bare feet are planting themselves firmly on the ground, we see all ten of my fingers, uncurling from within both of my tight fisted hands as would be true of the tightly closed petals, which have readied themselves to fan open in similar fashion to my fingers, fanning around the palms of my hands, which are now pressed flat against Will's chest, so as to cause my startled husband to stare at me, as though shocked, yet again, because the unexpected nature of these switchback from emotional fragility to my dynamic expressions of self empowerment feels every bit as mesmerizing to Will's .naturally reactive state of mind as is true of my own ...
Imagine the sheer force of the sum of my inner strengths surging up, like Old Faithful, separating my body away from Will's as my voice, propelled on a tsunami-like wave of need to free my mind of succumbing to future attacks of PTSD, has just plugged itself into my very own declaration of independence from subconscious fear, as if in defiance of need to lean on anyone. And thus do I find myself standing straight up as tall as my full height of five feet two allows, and as though stepping up on my imaginary soapbox, I hear my most self assured tone of voice say (not for the first time): I may be small, but make no mistake ... I am significant!
As that statement does not remain suspended in air for more than a second or two, imagine the sum of my personal strengths injecting this new string of self-empowering insights into the self assertive portion of my voice, which like the Liberty Bell, literally, clearly rings, right out loud:
NO ONE'S EVER GOING THROW ME IN THE GARBAGE, AGAIN!
NO ONE'S EVER GOING TO INSULT MY BEST CHARACTER TRAITS WITHOUT RECEIVING A PIECE OF MY INTELLIENT MIND!
NO ONE'S MISPERCEPTIONS WILL EVER, AGAIN, COLOR ME SO DARKLY TO MY FACE AS TO HURT ME OR DISMISS ME, DISRESPECTFULLY, WITHOUT LISTENING TO MY SENSE OF CLARITY MAKE SOUND USE OF MY VOICE!
NO ANXIOUS SPIKE OF UNDESERVED GUILT IS GOING TO DISTORT MY SENSE OF REALITY SO QUICKLY AS TO THROW THE SUM OF MY STRENGTHS INTO THE GARBAGE DUMPSTER FOR WEEKS, BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT EACH ATTACK OF PTSD CONDEMNS MY PSYCHE TO EXPERIENCE ...
I UNDERSTAND THAT CUMULATIVE EPISODES OF PTSD RELEASE DEEPLY BURIED FEARS, ONE BY ONE, IN SUCH A BRAIN TEASING FASHION AS IF EMPOWERING EACH DETAIL TO PLAGUE MY BRAIN TO FEEL AS TERRIFYINGLY VULNERABLE, TODAY, AS HAD BEEN TRUE WHEN THE ORIGINAL TRAUMA HAD BEEN EXPERIENCED FOR REAL, RELEASING THE SAME OVER-ABUNDANT PRODUCTION OF ADRENALIN TO RUSH THROUGH MY BLOODSTREAM AS HAD BEEN TRUE WHEN YESTERYEAR'S TERROR OVERWHELMED THE TRAUMATIZED THOUGHT PROCESSOR OF A CHILD'S TENUOUS HOLD ONTO CLARITY, AND RESULTANT OF EACH EPISODE OF PTSD HIJACKING TODAY'S SENSE OF REALITY, I INVITE YOU TO PLAY WITNESS TO MY SUBCONSCIOUS SELF ASSESSMENT TRASHING MY SELF RESPECT, REPEATEDLY, UNTIL MY BRAIN DRAINS OFF ENOUGH ADRENALINE TO CALM ITSELF TO THE POINT OF ALERTING INTUITIVE THOUGHT TO GO TO WORK, COAXING EMERGENT STRINGS OF INSIGHT TO FIGURE OUT HOW BEST TO DIRECT THE SUM OF MY SMARTS TO CLIMB OUT OF THAT BLACK HOLE WHERE ALL I CAN FEEL IS EVERY BIT AS CONFOUNDED, WORTHLESS, AND SO DEEPLY GUILTY OF SOME INEXPLICABLE SIN AS TO DECLARE MYSELF AS UNLOVABLE AS WHEN GRANDPA AND JANET DIED, CATALYZING FROWNING FACES TO LOOK DOWN AT THREE YEAR OLD ME UNTIL MY MISPERCEIVED SENSE OF WORTHLESSNESS TRANSFORMED A SWEET, SCARED, DEEPLT SCARRED LITTLE GIRL INTO A HARMLESS FLY, CAUGHT IN THE WEB, SPUN BY A SPIDER SO POISONOUS IN NATURE AS TO EASILY BAMBOOZLE THE CONFOUNDED MIND OF A GOOD LITTLE GIRL TO BELIEVE HERSELF SAFE WHEN, IN TRUTH, A PERSON, WHOM I'D GROWN TO LOVE AND TRUST POUNCED ON MY LONELINESS WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY TROUNCING MY HIGHLY-VULNERABLE-SOON-TO-FEEL-SHATTERED-INNOCENCE, AGAIN AND AGAIN!
NEVER AGAIN!
WILL FEAR OF FROWNS SILENCE MY VOICE!
NEVER AGAIN!
WILL FEELINGS OF LONELINESS DROWN MY SELF RESPECT
NEVER AGAIN!
WILL I CONSENT TO CONDEMNING MYSELF UNWORTHY OF LOVE
NEVER NUFF PENNED ABOUT EVERYTHING WRITTEN ABOVE TILL EVERY HEALTHY MORSEL OF INSIGHT, CONCERNING THE PERSON I PROVE TO BE, TODAY, HAS BEEN SO DEEPLY ABSORBED AS TO REASSURE THE SUM OF MY REBALANCED TRAITS THAT A WHOLESOME AND LASTING SENSE OF CHANGE FOR THE BETTER IS SURE TO BE MINE MUCH SOONER THAN LATER, and since this alarming short story poured out of my mind on Friday, while my spirit flew high in a jet plane through a clear blue sky toward the Midwest where my love for extended family felt eager to attend a cousin's bridal shower, which is this afternoon, I'll pause my voice in hopes of having served your think tank sound reason to chew on, digest and absorb recurrent strings of insight, spotlighted, yet again, within the body of today's post—just in case your defense system needs a bit of extra encouragement to step aside, clearing space within your heartfelt smarts to graciously welcome intuitive trains of thought to tunnel, subconsciously, until strings of insights filter so freely through your wall of denial as to expand the narrowed framework of your conscious mind as has been true of mine ... and BTW ...
Please make no mistake—rather than intimating that, one day, you'll come to believe everything that I've come to believe, I'm suggesting that whence your personal quest to deepen your sense of self discovery commences, you, too, may be shocked to find that certain high minded principles, which have been guiding your path have actually narrowed the scope through which you set your sights, concerning fear based choices in need of identifying, because otherwise, you'll remain blind to decisions that stunt personal growth vs positively focused, adventurous choices that stimulate narrow comfort zones to expand for sound reason—and now that it's Sunday night, and a jet plane has landed me safely at home, I am good and ready to wish one and all a peaceful night's sleep till the first glimmer of sunlight rises at dawn when I'm sure to awaken sporting a smile, because Steven just texted, asking if G&G are free to enjoy a playdate with Ravi, Monday morning, and without even glancing at my calendar, knowing that I'll change whatever needs be, my reply rang out clear as a bell—Yes! Please and thank you! ...
Hooray for this running back's celebratory dance as I reward myself with today's game ball, knowing full well that my corny think tank views the sum of my personal strengths as worthy of having earned most valuable player, and with that simply said I plan to enjoy sweet dreams!
There are times when change for the better depends upon taking a leap of faith as proved true for me, a couple of weeks ago ...
Early one morning, I can be seen engaged in an anxiety-provoking dream about rape when a compelling urge to relieve my bladder rouses my conscious awareness just enough to throw off the quilt and arise from my bed, where, feeling more asleep than awake, I begin to make my way across the expanse of our master bedroom's wall to wall carpet when these words float into my ear, giving me reason to pause: Annie, turn off the alarm.
It's important to note that these words are not unfamiliar to me. In fact, this scenario happens to be an early morning pattern, which sees Will reminding me to disarm the burglar alarm in case I decide to go to the computer instead of padding straight back across the carpet, where, upon slipping into bed and pulling up the quilt, it's my habit to reach for my iPad and review the post penned and published the previous day, suggestive of the fact that the editing process, which, generally, takes place before the crack of dawn, sees me working industriously for about an hour until my eyelids grow so heavy as to signal a natural sense of drowsiness directing my wearied mind to push save and close up shop, as though welcoming the sum of my parts to wholly relax for another hour or two as if time spent in peaceful repose is my just reward for having worked, over recent years, to simplify complex streams of consciousness, which filter naturally from deep within my subconscious each time intuitive trains of thought, tunneling through layers of my defensive wall of denial, compress my storehouse of repressed fears and memories into strings of insight, which, retrospectively, guide today's sense of reflective comprehension to gain a clarified view of yesteryear's confounding situations by shining spotlights on long forgotten details, which, upon being coaxed out of subconscious pockets, heighten my awareness of misperceptions that had exacerbated painful moments in time to the point of traumatizing certain portions of my neo Cortex, which, having felt paralyzed by fear of falling short of perfection, saw me condemning myself to quietly repress my problems rather than suffer stabs of anxiety over fear of feeling abandoned to experience a life of loneliness in which I'd be forced to fend for myself for failing to be good enough to please the Giants whose over reactiveness threatened to sever my connection to emotional safety each time a hastily conceived punishment was meted out that proved too severe to fit my childish 'crimes'. And all of that remained flash frozen in an unprocessed (undeveloped) state of being until my psychological engagement with sessions of EMDR THERAPY stimulated my conscious mind to develop the patience to make incremental gains in self awareness, which prove necessary to pinpointing negatively focused, misperceptions that, repressed subconsciously, had darkened certain self perceptions, which were buried behind my wall of denial.
Fortunately, this mental block did not blind my conscious awareness from seeing need to seek the key to open the door in the wall, forever.
Fortunately, sessions of EMDR therapy coaxed my narrow mindsets to broaden, offering my connection to personal growth space to adventure forth into an ever-expanding sense the great unknown where my smart heart and strength of spirit received astute coaching, which tuned my think tank into the necessity of mustering the courage to revisit forgotten details of blocked memories, which had unknowingly tortured my peace of mind with hot pokers of undeserved guilt that had stimulated sudden spikes of anxiety to arise, repeatedly, until my thought processor came to trust my therapist's agile guidance so completely as to open my mind to its innate ability to carve healthy pathways toward healing the injured portions of my self assessment by empowering my thought processor to switch tracks away from carrying forth heavy loads of unidentified, misinformed emotional baggage, concerning misperceived self assessments, which had caused my spirit to darken, during every stage of my life ...
Since none of the insights, above, are new, then why is what I experienced upon awakening at dawn, on this specific day different from every other day—over my entire life? Well, without further ado, let's address that question, right now ...
First, let's imagine me, half asleep, paused at the foot of our king size, four poster, cream colored bed, where following Will's direction, I can be seen turning away from Will's voice to face the small alarm box, affixed to a wall (which climbs straight up, fourteen feet, to meet our lofty ceiling) and upon reaching the alarm pad, still feeling semi-lost in a dream state, my left arm rises up into the air, where all five fingers on my left hand hover, suspended in humming bird fashion, for quite a few seconds in front of our alarm's number pad, because my think tank can't for the life of me figure out what to do next, and the confounding nature of my thought processor's inability to per from a simple task, repeated whenever I leave or return home alerts my defense system to declare a state of mental concern in case some unknown form of danger is about to close in, signaling my adrenal glands to energize adrenalin production in the event that having semi switched tracks from my subconscious nightmare to engage my brain with real life, my survival instinct feels stimulated to focus all of my energy on need to freeze, flee or fight with immediacy ...
So it's not as if I can't remember the code. In truth, I can't even make out the numbers on that pad, because once my think tank leaps into survival mode, each small square-shaped button seems to be imprinted with hieroglyphics, the likes of which I've never seen before, and as each moment of mental confusion casts darkening sensations of danger over my mental awareness my mind feels wholly swept up into a magic spell so overwhelming as to set cognitive thought spinning until I, like Alice, get to feeling myself swirling ever more deeply into the rabbit's hole, except that one small portion of my brain, which is seemingly holding fast to my last vestige of conscious awareness, appears to be watching the rest of my mind reeling back in time, and here's what differentiates this experience from every other episode of PTSD, thus far: This small portion of my brain is so determined to maintain control over my sense of 'here and now' that my mind's swirling sensation begins to ease just enough to throw my think tank into slo-mo as though to tame my brain's anxious reaction by seemingly stretching seconds into feeling like minutes, and as my dizzying sensation of heightened confusion begins to lessen so does my defense system's production of adrenalin, which lowers my current strike of anxiety from code red to orange, and though, in the moment, I have no clue how this host of interactive brain functions are influencing my body's organs to speed up or slow down production of chemical changes, because it's taken much more time to write this descriptive paragraph than the few seconds in which I stood, as though suspended in time, staring blanking at the alarm's number pad, before I grew aware of experiencing a spontaneous, spot-on change for the better after reflection suggested that I found myself turning toward Will, who, by now, can be seen sitting up on his side of our bed, looking tensely perplexed as he asks: Annie, what's wrong? Why are you just standing there?
Though most of my brain is still out to lunch, I hear an exceptionally calm, self empowered tone of voice offer up this crystal clear response, which seemingly floats out of my depths in slow-mo, above the expanse of our bedroom's ivory carpet, on a gentle current of air straight toward Will's waiting ear: My brain has been hijacked by a moment of PTSD, and I can't figure out how to turn off the alarm.
Thank goodness our mutual investment of thousands of dollar spent wisely on sessions of EMDR therapy places Will's comprehension of my mental confusion a few paces beyond my own, because his conscious mind, though confused and concerned, has remained, for the most part, connected to knowledgable clarity while mine is still reeling, resultant of my limbic system's spontaneous take over of my thought processor, which (like every human thought processor) is preprogrammed in utero to shut down the moment that my defense system senses need to divert every iota of available energy toward thwarting a near and present or subconsciously imagined danger by freezing in place, fleeting with the swiftness of a gazelle, or fighting, like a power-struggling lion, to the death ...
As Will's mind takes a leap of faith onto the same page as mine, quick as a flash, he throws off the quilt, strides to my side and having nimbly disarmed the alarm, my husband turns to me, looking deeply concerned. The nearness of Will's supportive presence seems to be my cue to lift up both arms in childlike fashion, inviting my husband to enfold me within his embrace, where I, clinging on for dear life, drink in these reassuring words, which, feeling like a soothing balm, float into my ear canal as though seeking to calm the 'close-to-but-not-yet' 100% healed, traumatized portion of my brain, which thank goodness, proves to be much less rawly injured from childhood trauma than had been true before I'd gained conscious awareness of the proven, therapeutic effect of EMDR, healing the brain from PTSD: You're safe, Annie. No one's ever going to hurt you so deeply, ever again.
Head down, arms still clinging, I hear a tremulous voice (more deeply connected to the healing nature of here-and-now than to yesteryear's unbearable pain) reply: I had that rape dream, again. Holding me even tighter, Will responds with: I thought so ... You were howling, again.
Next thing I know, a light switch flips on inside the darkest corner of my subconscious where skeleton keys, rattling around, wait to be swept out of the closet of my mind in hopes of finally unlocking the ironclad door in my defensive wall, behind which I am offered short but not sweet peeks at yesteryear's most fearsome ghosts, which have continued to go BOO! and GOTCHA! in the dark of night ever since fate had offered my adult frame of mind sound reason to bounce back and forth from conscious clarity to subconscious terror so quickly as to whip my think tank from crystal clear sanity half way toward madness with such a haunting, daunting sense of speed as if to say that the Gods have grown so bored, exacerbating power struggles throughout the oil rich Middle East, as to have the nerve to entertain themselves by playing ping pong with my brain as the ball, and as fast as a paddle can smash that last metaphor across the net and off the table, it's time to switch tracks, so please straighten your thinking cap and listen up, because here comes the next lightening bolt emotional reaction that's about to prove so unexpected as to shock our socks off, except for the fact that we aren't wearing any:
Imagine my body still slumping limply against Will's.
Imagine Will's strong supportive attitude as providing pretty much the only strength that I can count on to stop my dispirited spirit from collapsing, like a ballon pricked with a pin, until all of a sudden, from out of the blue ...
Imagine the blue of my eyes electrifying utterly unexpectedly as if a fire ball of latent fury is about
to burst through this newly cracked layer of my defense system's wall of denial, as though shot out of a cannon ...
Imagine the power of this long repressed blast of fury re-vitalizing my dispirited state of mind so completely as to catalyze all four of my limbs to straighten out and stiffen up, so that while both bare feet are planting themselves firmly on the ground, we see all ten of my fingers, uncurling from within both of my tight fisted hands as would be true of the tightly closed petals, which have readied themselves to fan open in similar fashion to my fingers, fanning around the palms of my hands, which are now pressed flat against Will's chest, so as to cause my startled husband to stare at me, as though shocked, yet again, because the unexpected nature of these switchback from emotional fragility to my dynamic expressions of self empowerment feels every bit as mesmerizing to Will's .naturally reactive state of mind as is true of my own ...
Imagine the sheer force of the sum of my inner strengths surging up, like Old Faithful, separating my body away from Will's as my voice, propelled on a tsunami-like wave of need to free my mind of succumbing to future attacks of PTSD, has just plugged itself into my very own declaration of independence from subconscious fear, as if in defiance of need to lean on anyone. And thus do I find myself standing straight up as tall as my full height of five feet two allows, and as though stepping up on my imaginary soapbox, I hear my most self assured tone of voice say (not for the first time): I may be small, but make no mistake ... I am significant!
As that statement does not remain suspended in air for more than a second or two, imagine the sum of my personal strengths injecting this new string of self-empowering insights into the self assertive portion of my voice, which like the Liberty Bell, literally, clearly rings, right out loud:
NO ONE'S EVER GOING THROW ME IN THE GARBAGE, AGAIN!
NO ONE'S EVER GOING TO INSULT MY BEST CHARACTER TRAITS WITHOUT RECEIVING A PIECE OF MY INTELLIENT MIND!
NO ONE'S MISPERCEPTIONS WILL EVER, AGAIN, COLOR ME SO DARKLY TO MY FACE AS TO HURT ME OR DISMISS ME, DISRESPECTFULLY, WITHOUT LISTENING TO MY SENSE OF CLARITY MAKE SOUND USE OF MY VOICE!
NO ANXIOUS SPIKE OF UNDESERVED GUILT IS GOING TO DISTORT MY SENSE OF REALITY SO QUICKLY AS TO THROW THE SUM OF MY STRENGTHS INTO THE GARBAGE DUMPSTER FOR WEEKS, BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT EACH ATTACK OF PTSD CONDEMNS MY PSYCHE TO EXPERIENCE ...
I UNDERSTAND THAT CUMULATIVE EPISODES OF PTSD RELEASE DEEPLY BURIED FEARS, ONE BY ONE, IN SUCH A BRAIN TEASING FASHION AS IF EMPOWERING EACH DETAIL TO PLAGUE MY BRAIN TO FEEL AS TERRIFYINGLY VULNERABLE, TODAY, AS HAD BEEN TRUE WHEN THE ORIGINAL TRAUMA HAD BEEN EXPERIENCED FOR REAL, RELEASING THE SAME OVER-ABUNDANT PRODUCTION OF ADRENALIN TO RUSH THROUGH MY BLOODSTREAM AS HAD BEEN TRUE WHEN YESTERYEAR'S TERROR OVERWHELMED THE TRAUMATIZED THOUGHT PROCESSOR OF A CHILD'S TENUOUS HOLD ONTO CLARITY, AND RESULTANT OF EACH EPISODE OF PTSD HIJACKING TODAY'S SENSE OF REALITY, I INVITE YOU TO PLAY WITNESS TO MY SUBCONSCIOUS SELF ASSESSMENT TRASHING MY SELF RESPECT, REPEATEDLY, UNTIL MY BRAIN DRAINS OFF ENOUGH ADRENALINE TO CALM ITSELF TO THE POINT OF ALERTING INTUITIVE THOUGHT TO GO TO WORK, COAXING EMERGENT STRINGS OF INSIGHT TO FIGURE OUT HOW BEST TO DIRECT THE SUM OF MY SMARTS TO CLIMB OUT OF THAT BLACK HOLE WHERE ALL I CAN FEEL IS EVERY BIT AS CONFOUNDED, WORTHLESS, AND SO DEEPLY GUILTY OF SOME INEXPLICABLE SIN AS TO DECLARE MYSELF AS UNLOVABLE AS WHEN GRANDPA AND JANET DIED, CATALYZING FROWNING FACES TO LOOK DOWN AT THREE YEAR OLD ME UNTIL MY MISPERCEIVED SENSE OF WORTHLESSNESS TRANSFORMED A SWEET, SCARED, DEEPLT SCARRED LITTLE GIRL INTO A HARMLESS FLY, CAUGHT IN THE WEB, SPUN BY A SPIDER SO POISONOUS IN NATURE AS TO EASILY BAMBOOZLE THE CONFOUNDED MIND OF A GOOD LITTLE GIRL TO BELIEVE HERSELF SAFE WHEN, IN TRUTH, A PERSON, WHOM I'D GROWN TO LOVE AND TRUST POUNCED ON MY LONELINESS WHILE SIMULTANEOUSLY TROUNCING MY HIGHLY-VULNERABLE-SOON-TO-FEEL-SHATTERED-INNOCENCE, AGAIN AND AGAIN!
NEVER AGAIN!
WILL FEAR OF FROWNS SILENCE MY VOICE!
NEVER AGAIN!
WILL FEELINGS OF LONELINESS DROWN MY SELF RESPECT
NEVER AGAIN!
WILL I CONSENT TO CONDEMNING MYSELF UNWORTHY OF LOVE
NEVER NUFF PENNED ABOUT EVERYTHING WRITTEN ABOVE TILL EVERY HEALTHY MORSEL OF INSIGHT, CONCERNING THE PERSON I PROVE TO BE, TODAY, HAS BEEN SO DEEPLY ABSORBED AS TO REASSURE THE SUM OF MY REBALANCED TRAITS THAT A WHOLESOME AND LASTING SENSE OF CHANGE FOR THE BETTER IS SURE TO BE MINE MUCH SOONER THAN LATER, and since this alarming short story poured out of my mind on Friday, while my spirit flew high in a jet plane through a clear blue sky toward the Midwest where my love for extended family felt eager to attend a cousin's bridal shower, which is this afternoon, I'll pause my voice in hopes of having served your think tank sound reason to chew on, digest and absorb recurrent strings of insight, spotlighted, yet again, within the body of today's post—just in case your defense system needs a bit of extra encouragement to step aside, clearing space within your heartfelt smarts to graciously welcome intuitive trains of thought to tunnel, subconsciously, until strings of insights filter so freely through your wall of denial as to expand the narrowed framework of your conscious mind as has been true of mine ... and BTW ...
Please make no mistake—rather than intimating that, one day, you'll come to believe everything that I've come to believe, I'm suggesting that whence your personal quest to deepen your sense of self discovery commences, you, too, may be shocked to find that certain high minded principles, which have been guiding your path have actually narrowed the scope through which you set your sights, concerning fear based choices in need of identifying, because otherwise, you'll remain blind to decisions that stunt personal growth vs positively focused, adventurous choices that stimulate narrow comfort zones to expand for sound reason—and now that it's Sunday night, and a jet plane has landed me safely at home, I am good and ready to wish one and all a peaceful night's sleep till the first glimmer of sunlight rises at dawn when I'm sure to awaken sporting a smile, because Steven just texted, asking if G&G are free to enjoy a playdate with Ravi, Monday morning, and without even glancing at my calendar, knowing that I'll change whatever needs be, my reply rang out clear as a bell—Yes! Please and thank you! ...
Hooray for this running back's celebratory dance as I reward myself with today's game ball, knowing full well that my corny think tank views the sum of my personal strengths as worthy of having earned most valuable player, and with that simply said I plan to enjoy sweet dreams!
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