a hard drive

Many of you who follow my blog know I have a bit of trouble driving on the road. In a quick summary, I hit a dog, felt terrible, developed a Post traumatic shock disorder thing; little or no driving in about seven years. Devastating yes, but today is different.

The hard drive to my computer was viciously attacked by spy ware that promised to save me after it attacked me. How cold hearted is that? For the first time in my life I wished I could find a big bug and drop it in “their” site. I spent three and half hours trying desperately to get free, and save my precious hard drive.

I’d like to find their address so I could send my request for compensation of them, losing for me, over 500 posts, articles or blogs (what ever you call them is fine by me.). I lost approximately 384 photos. I lost all of my children’s stories. Lost the only Christmas story I ever wrote. Everything on that hard drive: four blogs, three wikizines! Time to get a usb; run them on hard copy print, and you know what?

After I calmed a down a bit, I felt like going for a drive around the block. At 10:30 pm where do you go? I sat in my little van and played the only radio station that’s received (no joke.) Got out, slammed the door and started setting up the new used computer that’s been waiting for me in the dining room to give it a test drive. Yes sir, a hard drive there too. I’m still loading stuff in.

Giving it time

It looked so cold, the water black
bumped next to banks with large white drifts.
Where would my mind go?
I’d like to take one of those colorful boats
bump on down the river, not a doubt, not a shiver.
Where would my mind go?
Frost on top and limbs covered so completely
smallish birds that chirped so sweetly.
I was giving it time.
Where would my mind go?
I was giving it time.

The last time was just long ago...

In March of 2001 I traveled to my beloved beach three or so hours away. It would be cold, wind blowing down on the shore, with waves crashing loudly. I would sit there as long as I could stand, pencil in hand, sketching everything around me. Seaweed washed up in the foam, tiny crabs bubbling in the wet sand, and the wonder: the curious seagull. At the end of my day I would take my sketches back to the place I was staying and paint, on canvas: “the catch of the day.”

By the fall of 2001 I had finished therapy and felt elated to finally be free. No more appointments, no more traffic into town, and no more prescription medications. I was so totally free. I felt the urge to be charitable. Yes, share the joy. Share my joy.

I made a plan to give some money to my uncle, a very sweet person. I had asked what he would do if he had (______) amount of money. He had immediate answers. I handed him the envelope and together we cried knowing that his life would improve too, from my shattered past. Two improved lives moving on. Normally I would not want to share any charity, keeping the information deep inside to remain humble. I reveal this only because of the depth I plunged to within a few moments later.

Leaving his home I traveled to look at a van parked in a yard that I thought to purchase. I was almost there when a beautiful Malamute came charging across my path. An Alaskan breed of dog used for pulling sleds. So incredibly large and gorgeous with a totally free expression on it’s face. It was like he had never tasted freedom. He’d run from a house across the street when someone accidentally opened the front door. No collar, no tags, just that wide open run straight in front of my vehicle. If only I could convey how happy it looked, to be free.

I was in a Grand Prix, low rider, it was awful. I sat on the side of the road and cried, shaking uncontrollably. I could see people but I couldn’t hear them. I did hear the police ask, and then begged me to leave. They were afraid the owner would shoot me; running around with a revolver in his hand. At that point in time I wish he would have. I wasn’t feeling well. I felt responsible for taking the life of the most beautiful creature I had ever seen; eyes were the same color as mine. So I’m crying thinking… I just did a good thing, why did a bad thing happen?

I bought the van two weeks later and it stayed mostly parked for almost five years. Driving became quite scary. I was so busy double and triple checking my surroundings that the muscles in the neck and shoulder would tighten. A friend came along and has been driving ever since.

Now it is time for change. It is time for me to re-think what I’m missing. I miss the ocean, and it just may be the one thing that inspires me to take the plunge and rejoin the driving world. So every day I go out somewhere and tell myself I will drive again on a regular basis. My good friend has helped a lot and will continue until I am ready. The last time wasn’t the “last” time; it was just a long time ago. We anticipate good things to come.

Angel

In a dark light I stood between two worlds, one below and one above; one full of pain, self-rejection. The above hovered nearer and nearer until I could feel its love. A strong positive rush of warm air circulated and wings began to unfurl; six beautiful wings I had. And they were light and bright and my peace swelled as each feather detached from the cares of this other world. This other world which sought to hold me down; sought to daily fill me with negative blood for circulating and coursing through my veins. A poison so strong I would require others to help me reach release.

A light from behind me began acting as a dryer for the new dampened wings. They lifted more and more as the light shone brighter against my back. I reached out in the dark, arms first, then each pair of wings separately. Three glorious pairs of wings, what was I indeed?

I remembered, as a child at seven years old, meeting the three angels in my backyard. One spoke, one wrote, one continually smiled, but I did not know anything more about them. We communicated mind to mind, but I did not know what that was about either. Sometimes I still hear them. Though I have not been able to see them, I hope to some day. I would like to know what they told me, as I have forgotten.

My wings completely dry I begin to rise and move freely. I can move away from the negatively now. The other world appears dark to me now and is disappearing even as I watch it. The world of promise and positive living is warm and draws me near. I go. I go.

I am going to start listening to me!

What better person to tell me when to wake up, when to eat, when to go outside, when to shut off this computer, when to ride my bike, and on…. People all around me do this everyday, living. I haven’t been living but existing.

I have many friends in my computer world but have lost touch with my outside world and have dwindled down to one friend I stay in contact with. What am I thinking? I have to stop. When I am able to see people I could take advantage of the moment. There is nothing and no-one to tell me, “no,” besides me.

When I don’t listen to me I get wrapped up in listening to others. Because I have a mental cognitive issue and a past history of self-abuse, I get lost in the “world” of another person, hoping to leave my own behind. I fantasize about what I want before looking at the logistics. Then unfortunately due to my lack of self-knowledge I hurt another and another, and on…

This past history of self-abuse started out with my being abused by adults. Yes, adults telling their children strange rules they must obey or suffer their mother’s death or the fires of hell. Pure sickness that drives children to madness; but they don’t see it. It’s corporeal punishment time. Stand in line for the belt or bring me a limb from that tree… and this is the polite stuff. The other abuse is horrible and I cannot go into it here.

This morning I began to make notes of the life I want. Since the one I have is not it, I allow myself to dream a bit. I’m listening to what I want for myself in order to be a healthy thinking person; in time, a healthy thinking friend to insiders and outsiders.

I’m returning to professional therapy, having really “recognized” a behavior pattern I’ve had for years; forever? It is serious and I find I cannot live with this behavior any longer. I hope to avoid medications but at this writing I am willing to do whatever it takes to stop this behavior. Other than this,I like me. I like a lot of what I already am, moving toward liking all of me.