Because I could not monopolize your poignant, perfect post why insanity is insane with this comment:
Ms. Moon, your post made me feel a sunset's colors worth of emotions. I am so happy for you to have had Dog Island, it is such treasure and I hope you can find your way back to it. I am so sad for you to have the fear and panic take over and ruin all that once felt safe, all that should be perfect. It is cruel. I have it all the time too, it's an odd agoraphobic fear of leaving the cave, and you described it achingly, frustratingly well. Tears came.
It is cruel for our minds to ruin what we love, and take away the ability to relax, as I'm always tight as a spring, inside and out. Sometimes I get scared just because of all I have to lose, the certainty that it will all be lost to me sooner than I want, despite my happy future tomorrows with my kids obsession, I know there are no guarantees. And far away from phone, internet, trauma centers, EMT's, medicine, news, all the things that give a speck of comfort or safety. Feeling vulnerable scares me, and I fear the trips, as every trip is fraught with danger. I read safety statistics for every mode of travel and buy big ass cars with airbags and I still wait for a truck part or falling rock to fall on me, just to insure I have plenty to worry about. I can't camp, ski, hike, sail or fly without panic, and can barely sit in a public place without worrying about crazy random acts of violence. I couldn't watch my husband and son body surf waves at the beach without hyperventilating - sharks, undertow, neck injury, my brain just tormented me. I'm petrified something terrible will happen to people I love, because it happens all the time and I can't accept it. Don't. Won't.
Just some of the things that scare me, maybe mostly that we're all so alone at the core in life, no matter how much or how many we love. Or maybe no matter where I go, there I am, and I don't know where there is anymore.
I wonder, Ms. Moon, what is the root of your fear, is it jumbled, like mine? I wonder why we can't make the panic go away. I feel that much of it is chemical, like drugs in my veins, changing my body and my mind too often for me to keep up. And I want a pill to fix that, because it should not happen. We have Catch 22 in the church of batshit crazy, we people who are so aware and so smart or discerning or burdened with hope that we should be crazy. But we are still sane enough to recognize the insanity and are doubly burdened.
Sorry to ramble, but I'm going to think of your sunsets and you unable to have them besides in your past, while I photograph my sunsets, fretting their passing and not their being and trying not to freak out, and remembering to breathe. I wish we could figure it out. I'd start with hugs.
And ghosts. My, my. I bet your family has some stories, as mine does. One of the perks of hyperawareness or whatever it is we have, or living in places or homes that hold energy, that helps makes us crazy, and thank goodness funny. I'm missing funny and safe, and sorry you are too.
Keep telling us about it, though, It is soothing in its sharing. Thanks.
See how this would just be the most narcissistic comment ever? I'm going back to read your post again and look at the pictures and try to be happy and not sad. And hopeful for you and me and the rest of the congregation.
Mel. Thank you. It is things like that- words written back to mine- that make me so in love with the blog. I say this and you say, yes. I know. I understand. Me too. And then I think, well, it's good to talk about these things. It's good to know we're not alone. It's good to know that if we are crazy, at least we are a tribe of similar crazies. We HAVE a tribe.
ReplyDeleteAnd I don't know that my fears even have as much as a basis for yours. Some do- driving on the highway in the rain- can't do that. But I can understand why I fear it. Other things- nah. Fear of leaving the cave as you say. Perhaps. It's funny how all the things that go into us as children, especially, come together with such force when we are older. They make their way out of us like a splinter that finally comes back out of the skin, creating pain and heat and infection.
Sucks.
Well. We go on. And we have each other. And maybe they'll come up with some magical treatment, not necessarily a pill. Because I think a lot of us are suffering from some variety of PTSD. I really do. Those old splinters are nothing but old traumas we've held onto for so long.
I love for you writing this. Thank-you.
And we go on, having written and read, maybe feeling better. I know I do.
Me too, I feel better.
ReplyDeleteThanks for this Mel. Beautiful.
True.
I felt a similar pull and emotional reaction to MM's post. And now yours.
Thank you, really. A lot.
Thank you both for understanding. It's probably the best we can hope for in this crazy world. Your splinter analogy fits very well. A lot of my fears are rooted in childhood and suppressed things, and I've used writing to try and exorcise them, but so far it hasn't worked. The Bus is a what I wrote the day I had a panic attack putting my son on the bus to kindergarten. Fear permeated me. The Dream is another I wrote after a dream much sicker than Bethany's lobster dream. I think I'll have to hunt them down for my next post, fear personified, or fear identified. I'd like it kick fear's ass and soon.
ReplyDeleteWow. I am so glad you stopped by my blog so I could read this post and discover another person that gets it.
ReplyDeleteFear is part of our journey, and it makes me feel bettter to know that we're all drowning a little, even when the surface of the water looks perfectly smooth...
Perhaps we're all each other's life vests?
So beautiful, both post and comment. I have the fear in me, but it is getting much better. I was helped by meditation and most by mindfulness. I try to remember "They are just thoughts." I can now drive in the rain and clean and ski. I hope you both manage to shake some of the fears and discover more of the joys.
ReplyDelete