I’m still giddy from hearing from Martin Walker. I’m also still giddy over the surprise (early) birthday party.
History is full of fighting. We are a species for whom fighting and war in endemic. I, however, had one sick aggression gene; instead of flaring at others, I turn on myself. The incident with the clinic, although triggered by the action of another, became a sinkhole of self-loathing. When someone hurts me, instead of being angry at the person, I turn on myself. It’s a life-long pattern.
Then suddenly, on Monday, came a flood of life rings: an email from Nancy full of respect and a plea to remain on her committee, a similar email from Dyan, the lovely note from Martin Walker for finding an error in his book (of which he seems to have been unaware. And then a surprise birthday party FULL of incredible warmth and kindness. And I feel myself again.
It hurt so overwhelmingly awful to be shamed and ridiculed for having my condition. I now have a ‘fuck them’ attitude when I think of them.
Yesterday morning, I got another email from Dyan. We are meeting here on Friday. There’s an opening on the board for a communications officer, that I want to fill. I’m going to ask Dyan if she thinks I’d be acceptable. I think I’m going to propose that I have a handler in case something relating to clinic work triggers me again. I want to ask Carol if she’d mind being someone I could go to if I found myself triggered again. Carol is also on the board, and I write for her once a month. She runs the Arts Council.
I’d love to have that roll, believing that the position functions as spokesperson of a committee. I’d be part of a team. “I really want this job.” Chorus Line
I’ve been told that I have a neurological disorder. I was shown pictures of my brain to support their explanation of what was going on with me. I’ve heard this a million times: “The hardware of your brain is fine, but your software is misfiring.” Eventually I discovered learning about the condition isn’t going to make me less vulnerable. All I have, is my own experience. And as with every experience, I have learned from it. That is why I like the Carol idea. I feel safer.
I wrote the bit above about my struggle with what happened with the clinic Tuesday at around 5:30 pm. Then I made my dinner and watched a movie, then I came back to do some writing for Dyan. While I was typing away, Sheba suddenly started barking really loudly and angry and running from the bedroom to the back door. The noise scared and bothered me; an increasing sense of fear overtook me.
Where I sit at my desk, I am facing out a window and mounted above it is a motion-activated light; if someone comes toward either of my two doors, an outdoor light goes on. I was very frightened as time passed and the light did not go on, until I wasn’t anymore.
FND or PTSD, or both together … I don’t know why, but I can become very fearful. Beloved Dr. S. said PTSD was an anxiety disorder. I never understood that; I didn’t consider myself anxious. But now I think that’s how she labels what I call fear. I struggle to match my experience with medical terminology. But the fear aroused my Sheba was just like the fear caused by Nancy’s email.
Cathy remarked on how good my speech was when we Zoomed yesterday. She was expecting chaos due to all she’d read on my blog. But I was not surprised to be speaking well; Dyan’s and Nancy’s emails have turned my mood around. Cathy could hear my healed soul.
I was emailing friends much of yesterday morning—especially my friends who’d feted me the night before—then Her Highness and I went for a walk between rain spells. And then came Bruno, followed by making another batch of chicken wrap. I’ve worked on the recipes and ratios and am ready to make it again for my birthday dinner with my gay posse.