Am I the vase or the lamp?

I have this theory about myself that vacillates between seeing myself as a lamp or a vase. Sometimes, yesterday being a good example, I see myself as the vase that hit the ground so hard when it broke that it splintered into all sorts of jagged and powdery pieces that it can’t be put together again. It can’t even be glued back together. No matter how much you try to glue the powdery parts together they fall out and plop onto the table with glue and an even bigger mess than before. It’s a fruitless venture even to try.

Then there are other days when I see myself as my favorite Arizona orange lamp that the mover broke when he moved me into my apartment. He felt so bad about it that he taped it back together with blue painting tape. It was pretty simple to do because it broke into two large pieces. I was annoyed at first, and I planned to get rid of it because it was broken. But over time it grew on me, and now I rather like it with the the streaks of blue tape. On better days I see myself as that broken orange lamp. Broken, but healing, and, in the process, better for it.

I want more broken lamp days, and less powdery vase days.

Don’t tell me what to do

English: A soapbox at Occupy Boston

Warning: This is more of a soapbox post. I’ve got a bee in my bonnet today.

I’m having an issue at the moment with someone giving me explicit direction on actions to take in treating my PTSD. Doing this is a surefire way to get on my bad Mexican side. I’m never sure what to do with such unsolicited advice. It is my belief that PTSD impacts all of us in different ways. We all have different triggers, and I believe that the treatment can be potentially different for many of us.

Don’t get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with saying to me, “You think you might want to call your therapist/psychiatrist, etc?” Or, “Wouldn’t it be better if you got out of the house, or ate something healthy?” I see these things as helpful suggestions, not as directives. Lord knows we need these suggestions when we get in the dark place. At least I do.

To me, directives are “You should do xyz treatment.” If a person is not part of my clinical team then they should please frame such things as suggestions, and not as directives. Good Lord!

What works for me may or may not work for others. I may make suggestions, but I will never direct. If I ever do, please call me on it.

Perhaps I’m in a mood because I heard from a friend of mine and learned that she tried to take her life back in April. We’re both suffering, but I recognize that her triggers are different from mine. Also, very few medications have shown any success with her. She’s trying, and tripping up and trying again. God knows she doesn’t want to suffer anymore. I can’t stand the suggestion from others that she just needs to change her attitude and she will be better.

We don’t want to suffer. We want to have families and be loved just like the rest of the populace. We want to do more than hold down jobs. We want to succeed at our careers, and we want to be able to do things like get out of bed in the morning without the daily fight just to get our asses out of bed. We’re tired of gaining weight from psych meds that mess with our metabolism. We want our goals to be more than “shower, eat, don’t die.” But sometimes just doing those three things is success for us in a day. Sometimes that is where we are. We keep going even though we know that, for many of us, are lives are half lives because of the struggles that keep us from doing all that we want to do in this life. But still we keep going. We keep going because we have the hope that some day our lives will improve if we keep up the fight.

Emerging From Under the Rubble …

After a triggering event I often feel like I’ve awakened from a deep sleep. That is how I feel now. I slept a ton, which is also par for the course after being triggered. Hope is back in my psyche. (thankfully!)

I am in the calm and quiet of the Barnes and Noble Starbucks. Books, central air conditioning, and iced tea are just the right potion right now.

Two months ago I attended a wonderful workshop at Kripalu on using yoga and music to heal trauma. A special shout out to Louise Montello and Shari Friedrichsen for this beautiful 3 day workshop. I hope they do it again. We had the privilege of being the first to experience this workshop. I mention this workshop because today, in my regained sense of calm, I started reminiscing about this experience, and it led me to the notes I took during those three days.

On the final day of the workshop Louise asked us to write a “story song” to summarize our trauma and how life was now, and we needed to do this in five sentences. In that moment it just came to me, and it came to me as a poem. I didn’t exactly adhere to the five sentences, but I found I came closer than a lot of people. Here’s what shot out of me like a bullet:

Bye Dad, no Dad.

Scary Mom, run away.

Bad Men.

Drink it away.

Wake up.

Put the drink away,

And live.

It was nice remembering this poem, and how I felt in the moment I wrote it. The “And live” part is what I try to focus on these days. Some days are more successful than others. Today is one of those more successful days.