The problem with not allowing myself to cry for most of my life is that now, when I do allow it, I can’t stop. I purposely didn’t let myself feel. I did deny myself those feelings. Who wants to cry over vulnerability, pain, abandonment, loss, abuse? I’d rather, and I did, push it way down so that I didn’t have to feel emotionally what my body was denying physically.

I had a dream last night. But it was more than a dream. I was listening to myself as a child calling the ski team asking them to please come pick me up for practice. Then I walked down and sat on the dock and waited for them to get me. I would dangle my legs off the dock and watch as they took skier and skier and skier past me. I didn’t wonder until much older why they always made me wait. But they did. I’d sometimes sit there for an hour waiting for them to just pull the boat up and let me jump in.

In the dream though, it was my voice. My child voice that I had forgotten until I heard her speak. So full of hope and joy and anticipation of a good day on the water. I loved the water. I loved skiing and I loved the water. I loved it so much that I ignored the abuse that went on around me every week. Yes, as an adult I understand I was groomed and knew no better and blah blah blah. But I was in as much denial as my family stayed in. Even after I left that house I would take my daughter back to swim in those waters. Something about that lake I loved. I loved it so much I could shove the abuse down and take my daughter and choose to just remember the good. I so much with every fiber of my being wanted JUST TO REMEMBER THE GOOD.

Until I was attacked as an adult and sexually assaulted. I could not stuff it down anymore. It all flooded back full force for years. I remember the first time I really allowed myself to cry over it all. I was on my kitchen floor in my late 30’s. It took 30 years to really cry.

No one wants to believe or hear or understand what I went through growing up. They want to stay in denial which is incredibly invalidating and cruel to me. I’d like to have stayed in denial too but then that would have made me as weak and cowardly as they are.

I knew one day these dreams would come and I have dreaded that day. The repressed memory dreams. The ones that I left during dissociation so that I could cope. THOSE dreams. I dreamed a few nights ago of my mother and my therapist talking about something I’d told my therapist in confidence. When I woke up I felt as betrayed as I’ve always felt but more. I had forgotten what I had told the therapist until that dream. As if what I remember is not enough? I have to see myself as a child, I have to see that hope, I have to see my mother talking to my therapist about things I totally blocked out. It’s so difficult. Do we ever outgrow the need to be comforted and told it will all be ok even though everyone knows it won’t?

There will be no pictures today. There will be no searching for the good. The memories of abuse, lack of protection, and sadness have enveloped me.

I’m crying. And I can’t stop crying. And I will keep crying. My heart is broken. My body is broken. So I am crying. It only makes me feel worse but I am unable to suppress it any longer. That poor little girl that was me. That poor poor little girl. It’s just so unbearably sad.

SoCS:stream of consciousness Saturday

I don’t know if what I have done this past week is uncommon or common.

I’ve had a muscle disease diagnosis for over 11 years now. I’ve worked my way up to driving a few miles at most and that has taken me over a year. I typically stay on the prairie and down the dirt roads behind our house. Once I drove my daughter 7 miles to a Doctor’s appointment because my husband was out of town and it was an emergency. It only took 10 minutes and one traffic light to get there.

This past week while on the prairie the car that I can drive broke down. It sputtered and puttered home. I had it towed to the mechanic. THEN the other car which I cannot drive had the AC broken. As the one car was being towed I thought I would just boycott alltogether the limitations on this muscle disease and drive the car I cannot drive. The reason I can’t drive it is that it causes extreme pain. It takes extra effort to push the brake and turn the steering wheel. This causes me to then have days of excruciating pain and sleeplessness. So in truth, I can drive it, I just choose not to put myself through that pain when I know the other car is MUCH less painful to drive and there is only about an hour of recovery time.

Both cars needed to be fixed. My husband had JUST taken both cars in a few weeks earlier for other issues.

I decided to do this on my own.

I got in the car and drove to the mechanic. 10.3 miles. 17 minutes. I made it there. Muscle disease out the window. I got into the shop to wait to get the AC fixed and did not have the forethought of not having my scooter when I got there, being around tons of men, cologne, chemical smells, PTSD…nothing. I panicked. I thought I was going to have a seizure. Too many men. Too much cologne. Inability to get up and move. Frozen. All things very common for PTSD. I felt very exposed. Fortunately, the mechanic knows I have PTSD. He came over, sat with me, explained what happened to the AC, walked me out to the car, made sure I was ok, and then even came and checked on me again as I was alcohol wiping off the car. I also didn’t realize I’d then have to drive home! After all of that. I made it home and made it to the shower and made it to my bed. My body had succeeded and then the pain set in. Despite multiple pain meds, relaxants, and pain patches the pain was unbearable. YET I still did it. I fixed the car by myself. I had no cheering squad waiting for me to celebrate my 20 mile victory but I celebrated in my mind.

Denial is just a funny thing and I have thought about it multiple times since that trip.

I could deny having a muscle disease. I could even accept the pain that would go along with the denial. There is no denying the physical pain I am feeling right now as I type this. Even my fingers and toes hurt. But I can still push through the pain and do this, type this, get up and put in laundry. The weakness that happens because of this muscle disease I cannot push through or deny. If I can’t move, then I can’t move. My right shoulder is atrophied and my left leg is atrophied. I know those weaknesses and limitations and I can work around them denial or not.

So, I don’t know how many others with physical illnesses find it a common thing to just do what I did and say screw it I’m doing this regardless of the consequences.

I liked the fact that I had the ability to deny the disease and push through it even though I could not deny the later pain.

What I could not deny is what was in my brain.

I wish I could pretend I did not have PTSD. I wish I could just deny it, push through it, and act like it isn’t there. I wish I could deal with the pain, deny anything that happened that has caused the pain and just DO IT. Do ANYTHING.

Some may think well I did. I sat in that mechanic office and I DID deal with the PTSD. I didn’t. There was no dealing with it. There was no pushing through it. It was just as excruciating as the pain in my body but I couldn’t push through it in a way that made me feel invincible and strong like I did with pushing through the muscle disease. PTSD made me feel small. It made me feel angry. It made me feel defeated, hopeless, powerless, and as if life were just meaningless.

Yesterday, my other car was fixed so I had my husband take me there to pick up the car and drive it home. After countless uber experiences with clothes that had to be thrown away due to cologne and smells I thought, why not do this again! This car I could drive with no pain, the mechanic office was closed. I just had to get there, wipe the car down of cologne smells, and make it home. Denying again my muscle disease.

So I did it.

I made it home.

The pain last night from all of this was a cumulative affect. I started to cry. I never cry. I hate to cry. But I did.

I can deny or try to deny all of this in my life as much as I want to. It’s probably pretty common for most people do try to deny the bad things. But in the end we have to face the truth of it all. Last night I faced the truth of the pain in the PTSD and in my muscles. How difficult it was to do such a seemingly simple thing to most people. It was not simple to me. And I know it never will be. Common or uncommon, denial is a normal stage to go through to cope. I wish I could live in it like most people around me do. Just deny everything and pretend. My mind and body won’t let me do that. The truth truly does hurt. It hurts my physical body and my mind. I wish I could turn it all off. Turn the switch. Turn off at least a few switches to lessen some of this. I can’t. So I’m resting and writing hoping to find some peace and calm for body and mind. If that doesn’t work I will have to get out my camera. I feel tears coming again though at the realization of my life. I wish there were a switch for that too.

This post written for Linda’s prompt using the letters “mon” which I used as the word common and uncommon


*photograph taken by me on the prairie of the pink clouds setting sun and moon on the rise.

The tears of my soul

Are welling in my eyes

My heart finally knows

What my spirit tried to hide.

The past

Has arrived.

What will happen now

If I allow myself

To cry. 

Will I fall.

Will I rise. 

SoCs Dew/do

Does morning dew look like raindrops? 

I don’t know because I am never awake to see the morning dew. 

I was awake to go for my mindful walk this afternoon. They sky was hazy and there was a mist of rain. 

The word dew and the mist reminded me of a song my nana used to sing to me when I was a young girl. I sang it for my entire walk. These are the words I remember do  you know it?

“One Misty Misty morning when cloudy was the weather, I chanced to meet an old man clothed all in leather. He began to compliment and I began to grin,’How do you do and how do you do and how do you do again.'” 

This song reminds me so strongly of my Nana, one of my most all time favorite people in the world. I allowed the mist to just cover me. I breathed in the tiny droplets. Every inch of my body and my wheelchair was covered in this fine mist of droplets. Is this what dew is like?

I found these tiny droplets of what I would imagine dew would look like on some flowers. This flower is like a star, purple, with a yellow center. It blooms in the fall. It is almost fluorescent. I love it. My mother planted it. It is the last flower she planted that is still standing. I looked at it today on my walk and my tears mixed with my already wet face. 

Right next to this flower was a pale pink rose that almost as a yellow hue mixed in. My mother planted this one too. The dew like drops mixed right in with my tears. I cannot tell you if what was on this flower was a rain drop or my very own tear. 

I moved forward. I always move forward. I look for the good. I look for the calm. I found this sweet black butterfly that was ALL about the pose! And then this spectacular green bug on this orange spotted flower. Both bugs got me really mindful. I watched them and I FELT like they were watching me. I sung my nana’s song and just watched these bugs in the misty rain. 

When I got home I saw in the corner of my yard deep in the ferns was a red flower. I have no idea where it came from but it just stood so bright and beautiful there all by itself. I put my hand under it and felt blessed to be holding such a delicate beautiful creation in my hand. 

So I may not know the morning dew , but I do know the beauty of a raindrop and a misty walk. And I am grateful for that.
Stream of consciousness saturday!!!! The word is dew or do.