Showing posts with label disassociation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label disassociation. Show all posts

Standing still

If you stand still too long, the detritus of life begins to cling. Before too long, you look down and you can't see yourself any longer; only the barnacles of everything that's pulling you under the surface. Try to tear it off, and you'll bleed out.


He asks us to abide: stay under. Trust Him for oxygen when sobs wrack. Trust Him for a relief from this insurmountable pain of life that will someday come. That day when tears are wiped away.

But this year I asked for less. Revisionist that I am (aren't we all?), I want to say I want less of this. Less pain, less work, less abiding. But that's not what I meant by less. I meant less of me. Is this what it feels like to be reduced, refined, re-envisioned? Scraping off barnacles with a sharp stone while I struggle to stay here in the searing moment, sit with the pain?

Death is easy - you don’t know you’re a ghost
The fee is taken out nice and slow
While you’re walking around with your cardboard crown
We think we are kings
Wisdom warned us but our flesh is strong
we’ll find our own way we’ll  get along
Who knows what we need

But
life costs so much
Someone paid for the damage
the damage we’ve done
How else do you explain all these open graves we’ve got
Someone must have paid
‘cause life costs

I want to fly away, fly away. Get away. Be someone, someplace else. Get out of this old skin around bones that ache. All the world is gray but I know somewhere, sometime soon, the colors will bleed back in. Right? Tell me so. Make me believe.



You don't have to ask me why
Because I know you understand
All the treasures of my life
Are right here in my hand
Suspended in a moment
No more breath to catch
If you hold on to your end
Maybe we can make this last

This is the greatest time of day
When all the clocks are spinning backwards
And all the ropes that bind begin to fray
And all the black and white turns into colors

I don't want to build a wall
Or draw a line across the sand

This is the greatest time of day
When there's no you and there's no others
And all the rules grow wings and fly away
And all the black and white turns into colors
Grace Potter sang this song, "Colors", for me on Friday night

Oh, I hope this doesn't go on very long
before the skipping stone hits the surface of the pond

Floating (and a give-away)

We drive along northern Lake Superior's color tour route, through a canopy of yellow, the birches bowing over us, cathedral arches over a gravel road. Something about the yellow, the smells and the scene, the place and the time of year, plunges me deep into the murky world of memory. Memory so thick and so real that my eyes cannot see truth, cannot see my husband who tries to draw me back to my body. A hallucination of my past, gritty, agonizing, and breathless. We near Heartbreak Hill, and my heart indeed is still broken and my coping skills are swept away like ash in the wind. 


I feel burned out, like an overexposed photo, my soul a cigarette crushed out by abusers and my own consuming sins. God is absent in this memory, a mere onlooker whose hand I cannot reach.


We reach the hill, and the memory subsides. The cool air outside the car brings me back, but I am somehow stuck outside my body, my soul like a firecracker on a string that I drag behind me as we walk.


I put my thumbprint cross in my back pocket. Something to squeeze when the memories squeeze me in their inexorable grip.


Everything still bleeds out of focus. The memories wash over me like waves. A little girl broken. A girl in college breaking others. The weight of my shame descends upon my shoulders again and I am too heavy to walk far. My eyes blur with tears and they are hot, tears of my guilt, the guilt stain that I cannot rub out even though I know it is forever forgotten by the Savior to whom I confessed it long ago.


How do you keep walking when you know others are adrift in pain because of what you have done in your life?


There is no relief. All weekend, even still now on Monday, my soul is still hovering, afraid to rejoin my mind, which houses these acid thoughts. Without soul, the tears stop, the emotion stops, and I am not afraid or sad or ashamed . I move through the days like the walking dead, seeing and hearing but not absorbing, and I can't force that soul back in.


How can I be kind to myself? How can I find comfort? Where is my help among these jagged rocks on the stormy sea, when I split apart and let soul float behind so I can keep on living? I sing with David, praying for relief.
The righteous cry out, and the LORD hears them; he delivers them from all their troubles. The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. A righteous man may have many troubles, but the LORD delivers him from them all...Evil will slay the wicked; the foes of the righteous will be condemned. The LORD redeems his servants; no one will be condemned who takes refuge in him. (from Psalm 34)
Perhaps it is He who is holding the string to my soul, floating and ready to come home to my body if only I can open these clenched fists and receive His grace.

Gifts, counted, through the fog:
1011 Husband fighting for me through flashbacks
1016 Yellow carpet in the woods
1017 Laughter rippling through the leaves
1019 Carrots cooked with pot roast
1021 Music on the way home

A giveaway:
1. Comment on this post for one entry
2. Repost to Facebook or Twitter for a second entry and leave comment telling me.
(you can simply click the buttons at the bottom of this post to do so)
3. Mention this post to a friend and tell me in a comment for a third entry.

What you'll get:
A turquoise Comfort Cross from Calypso Studios, just like mine