healing

To Begin at the Beginning, Again

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I find myself here again,in the realization that I have taken steps back when I had hoped that I was moving forward. Even now, my resistance to write only spells the dangers of what is left unresolved, the hurt, pain, and traumas of experience even now I can seldomly understand. So here I am, back to where I began that journey long ago, asking for the world to help light the way.

The problem is, that it feels like a retreat, a loss, a surrender. To be here means that I was drawn back into the vicious and viscous vortex of vexing vehemence I had believed I rose above.
I am flailing, hoping I can grab the branches but my arms are losing strength and these lifelines are out of reach. I sink further into the muck, for the mud to catch in my throat. I cough and heave but my vigor has left me. This monumentous motivation that moved me to climb mountains now sits there, in the mud, sinking listlessly into the dark abyss below.

Soon I will be covered, eyes well below the surface, losing sight of what is high and low, where was in our out, what was up or down. The dark seems so inviting because letting go will free me of this guilt I have about the slide I am doing. As I sink further, so too do I disconnect from the responsibility of moving forward.

Truthfully, I keep coming back to the question, why am I doing this?” and “What is it that I want?”. If I am here, is this the place I want to be? This sense of miswanting arises from following all I’ve ever known. This path has driven me thus far over so many years, but it begins to crumble under my feet. These cracks and rising stones slow my pace enough to question whether I missed the turn off long before or if the path untravel to which I need to persevere.

My legs slow, with no path in ahead. I survey they horizon but find nothing to gravitate to. Perhaps if I look up, at the stars in their meaningless arrangement that I may find inspiration within their ancient flame.

I can’t make promises at the moment for they will be empty but I can tell you want my dreaming. That I will see you again soon, outside the muck and mud, or at least trying to once again climb to freedom.

Cura

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I need to heal. I feel this in my mind, body, and soul. I shake and fret over moments so small that I sometimes feel on the edge of collapse. Though not crushing, it’s the sting from when you get scratched too deep—the pain that permeates and pulses. I push it down but even then I know I carry it with me. I need to heal, and I hope this is the first step.

I’m so worried about the damage of unraveling that I push down and compartmentalize the pain to keep me away from the struggle. This, though, cuts me off from something just as important: an expression of spirit. I’ve been neglecting it for some time. Making excuses about why I have stayed away. I couldn’t deal wit the feelings of beginning as it brought back all the memories of yesterday that feels so unsettling.

I’ve been fighting for so long that I am afraid I don’t know how to live outside the emotional battlefield. The stresses and scares of my experiences pervade me in such a way that I feel physically resistant to doing the things I need to do to help myself. So I come back here to put words on a page in the hopes that I can start to dig again into my spirit and push forward beyond my limitations. To find a space to be free of strife and live a life I am meant to. It feels like a tired song or a neverending story, but at the moment, I know no other way to heal.

These words split from my fingers to tell me something more, that I’ve been holding too much in and that now is the time to set myself free. To forgive me for the life I have lived and tell myself that it’s okay to have not measured up to who I wanted to be. It’s never too late, but don’t hold onto the image of yesterday to forsake the promise of tomorrow. I can’t help myself; it felt so sweet back then. The ravages of time felt like they took their toll, unfairly weighing on my face and body like a ship weathered by the constant sea and storm.

I know there is no going back; the past is within the past, but could it not have been more gentle in its transition? It makes me so afraid of working towards my dreams because of the pain I experience to get to this one.

But what does the cost matter if you were willing to pay it. You were willing to jump knowing that not all things in life come easy or work well. The pain you feel on your soul is a remark of a spirit that stayed true to itself despite the difficulties. A worn and beaten statue does not tell himself of all the injury but all the moments it learned to live through.

This way I too need to be true to myself, do I really want to live a life without difficulty? Would stopping now fulfill my journey of dreams? I know the answer is no, but I don’t remember where to begin again.

IPursuing a dream is the journey of a million steps, and what gets you there is to keep walking. There are moments when you will need to bandage your feet, take a moment to heal, and appreciate what you have accomplished along the way, but the only way forward is through.

Be kind, I may falter, as I begin this journey anew.

Road To Recovery – Road 9 – Blame

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Tired Of The Rain – シワスタカシ

It’s the combination of past inadequacies and current tribulations that I found myself needing a breath of fresh air. I couldn’t hold it in, the rooms were too stifling for the emotions that threatened to boil over and I didn’t want the image of me to be tainted by the small weaknesses that plague my heart. It was a dumb thought that needed to be felt. Almost an inevitable feeling that was to be faced. Something that I knew was coming and maybe was perpetuated by my lack of emotional healing. This idea of blame, a responsibility of my current situation and the continued avoidance of my failure as part of it. Eventually it would catch up to me, I just didn’t know when. It was there, on the roof of my school building when I broke down for a second and it all came flooding out.

I didn’t realize it was there, sitting in the back of my mind. A little voice blaming me for this accident and all the changes because of it. The opportunities lost, the failures I felt both personally and productively. I had been guarded against it but was secretly hoping it would eventually erupted in my face. Like a child waiting for his punishment that appears to never come, ultimately sabotaging the happiness he could attain as guilt of a deed gone unpunished.

I knew it would come to this, I had felt if for months waiting for what would fall into place, hoping my life would just explode into a million little pieces. It’s almost easier that way, you don’t have to face the blame because your life reflected what was already felt inside. I avoided it, which made me avoid the things I hold dear, as sick sense of self punishment that perpetuates only disaster.

It’s a feeling of undeservedness to all the kindness I received, why was no one seeing what I was seeing. Why did no one blame me like I blamed myself? Why could no one see the idiot behind the crippled body who didn’t avoid the chaos to come?

It’s just a bad mix of feelings, that feeds on the past trauma and feelings of inadequacy, multiplying in size until something happens and my self breaks down and falls like rocks unable to support this personal image I had been propping up. Reliving this unresolved conflict that I believed went away only makes me realize that even when you fight your demons that doesn’t mean they disappear.

I was and haven’t been my best self, relying too heavily on the comfort to ease the burden of my failures. Hiding way and subconsciously waiting for this day to come. Even then, having accomplished something great but not entirely what I wanted was all it took to me realize that daze I had been living in. A soft blow pushing me over shows me how fragile I may have already been.

I strongly believe that knowing and understanding of ourselves will give us strength and power overcome the long road ahead. It’s though my naivety that that it made me believe that maybe by knowing I could avoid the trauma in it’s entity. I have taken the stance since my accident, with these emotions that come, to go ahead and feel them, embrace them as they are part of who I am and where I’m at. To realize them, process them, understand them, and let them go. It’s then in this small part of me that I hate, that makes me know I’m healing. It’s then in this small part of myself that I hate, that makes me know I’m human. It’s a process, and it doesn’t come all at once, but now because I acknowledge these feelings I can finally do something about them.

Road To Recovery – Road One

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I have been waiting to write this all week, as I have had a lot of time to organize my thoughts reflect on all that’s been going on.
Just be wary, though this won’t be overly graphic I don’t intend to spare any details.

As to what I am recovering from, well, let me tell you what I have been explaining to people all week – the accident:


It was a little after midnight last Saturday night, the roads we still busy and the rain hadn’t let up in days but for the most part nothing out of the ordinary. I was leaving my girlfriend’s house after some conference planning the night was young but all I wanted to do is get home to get to sleep. It had been a rough couple of days with two deaths in my family so life was on the mind. One of the last thoughts before actually getting into my car was “I don’t think I’m invincible like most 20’s somethings, I just know I can’t die yet.”
Off I went down the road I had traveled many times, but I would never make it to my destination.

The freeway was slippery, slipperier than usual as hydroplaning seemed inevitable. I had slowed down the car enough, to accommodate, made sure no other cars were around me but even that isn’t enough. In one especially bad patch on the freeway, my car slipped out of my control as it spun 180 degrees to face oncoming traffic. I knew I was in trouble but this next part surprised me as the car was launched over the median landing me on upside down on the opposite side fo the road.

I still remember the smell, like used phosphorus of a match mixed with a hint of melted plastic, a scent that to the inside of my nose every time I closed my eyes to fall asleep this following week. I already knew my car was in trouble as I hung from my seatbelt starting at the concrete that replaced my windshield. I was miraculously unhurt from the flip, though I knew I needed to get out of my car quickly because I was on the wrong side of the freeway now.

My airbags had gone off but my door was still working. I unbuckled my seatbelt, pushed open the door and made it out to the open road. Cars were whizzing by, attempting to avoid the accident, I made it over to the shoulder and assessed the damage from there. For all intents and purposes, I was okay.

After a moment of trying to understand all that had transpired the next action popped into my head. I needed to call 911 and turn on my hazard lights in my car to avoid any more collisions. I didn’t have my phone on me though, it must have been back in the car.

Now attribute this to panic or a daze I left the shoulder of the road to get back into my car. I crawled in to the flipped vehicle trying to make sense of all of the disorder that my car was in. That’s all it took.

BAM.

I find myself rolling along the highways, out of breath, gasping for air. This time I can’t get up, my right foot feels strange. I look over, my car has shifted and behind it, another car smashed. Almost like a movie, I found myself crawling towards the shoulder in the rain. All I felt was the cold and the pain.

A black pickup truck stops, two men in orange vest’s get out and start asking me questions. They are polite, trying to help, start to set my foot and check for injuries. Off in the distance, I see the police lights stopping the flow of traffic. The two men splint my foot, check for broken bones, give me a neck brace and hand me off to a set of paramedics to cart me off in an ambulance. It feels like forever sitting under the rain but once I get inside I realize how much everything hurts. Sitting my back hurts, breathing my ribs hurt, moving my legs hurt. There I am getting to the hospital, moving from bed to bed being poked, prodded, examined, and kept awake.

I hadn’t lost consciousness that whole time, eventually staring at the ceiling of my medical room at 5 in the morning breathing straight oxygen feeling my bones ache. I was eventually transferred to a better hospital who could take better care of me in my condition. That first day was hard, not being allowed to drink water in the event I would need surgery (which I ended up needing).

Over the next couple of days, I had been carted from room to room, had emergency surgery on my ankle, more x-rays, CT scans, and IV’s than I could count. I was hurting but at least I could move through the pain. I was weak but at least I was getting stronger day by day.

I could barely get up on my own and spent most of my day in bed but by the time Wednesday happened I was already on my way out of the hospital. End count: 5 fractured ribs, 1 partially deflated lungs (that needed draining), one broken ankle, and a large back bruise.

In the end, I was lucky, it could have been so much worse. I am out of the hospital but it is not over yet, this road will be long, and recovery both short and fast but I am going to do the best I can to catalog the journey so that you can learn the lessons I am having to learn the hard way.

I will recover because there is so much more that I need to do.