The Search for Tranquility

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” – Laurell K. Hamilton, Mistral’s Kiss

I’ve been a little jumpy lately. Something that I really don’t care to talk about set off yet another relapse of PTSD. I’ll be grateful when I can calm down enough to not think a certain someone is going to bash my car windows in, follow me home, or just show up somewhere I happen to be in an uncontainable rage. When I get to the root of that irrational fear perhaps I can feel a sense of peace again.

The fear I have of this unnamed person is only half of the equation. Two nights ago, a woman ran in front of my car while I was driving on my way to tango. I still can’t quite put it all together to make one big picture. It’s come to me in pieces. I saw a bike on the sidewalk and her on the other side of my car. I thought I had killed someone.

I pulled over at the first opportunity and ran back to see if she was okay. A crowd had already gathered. The woman was standing and I was hysterical. The EMTs and law enforcement arrived. All witnesses supported my account: she literally ran straight in front of me. I had slammed on my brakes so hard that my back seats came unhinged and the contents of my trunk were scattered in the back of my car.

All I could do was cry and I wasn’t the one who nearly got bowled over by a vehicle going 30 MPH. This is one of those times in life where I’m convinced some sort of divinity was looking out for me. The witnesses to the accident stood around me, telling me it was going to be okay and that I’m a good person who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. I also think it’s worth mentioning the kindest of them all was a gay man out celebrating his birthday with his mother and his fiancé. I’ve literally lost count of how many times a gay man has come to my rescue. For those of you who still live in the stone age and view these lovely human beings as sinners and something less than human, F*CK YOU! Seriously. I have a lot to say about my own perception of the struggle for equality. I’ll save it for another time in the near future.

As it turns out, this woman was darting in and out of traffic because she thought she saw money in the road. Holy f*cking hell. I’ve felt desperate from time to time in life, but I don’t think I’ve ever been that desperate. There was some speculation that she was high on drugs. I make no moral judgments. We all deal with pain our own way. Some of us can face it, some of us ignore it, and some of us just need an escape and find that escape in very bad places. I gave her all the cash I had on me. I hope that went to something that was beneficial for her.

The entire situation makes me sick to my stomach. This woman who was ready to sacrifice her life for pocket change in the road had a man with her. My instincts told me something wasn’t right about it. She seemed afraid of him and that made me feel even more badly for her. I think what upsets me the most is that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do for her.

I was too shaken up to drive home. The wonderful man who was the greatest comfort to me called my brother from my phone and he and his fiancé gave me the world’s longest hug while I sobbed myself to exhaustion. My brother came to pick me up and drove me home. Since this ordeal, I’ve felt as if I’m barely in touch with reality. My hound is a comfort. Tango is a comfort. Even my job is comforting. Despite these wonderful things, I’m feeling quite detached from the world . . . I also feel as if I could cry for days. The effects of these lovely aspects in my life are only temporary. I guess I’m still in some form of shock.

In other news – the question that seems to be on most people’s mind is my dating life. If people are asking me when I’m going to start dating again they’re asking if I need to be comforted . . . . sickos. No thank you, sir. I do not need your comfort and I don’t want the comfort of whomever else you have in mind for me, either. I'll be just fine. 

"Nothing if permanent in this wicked world - not even our troubles." - Charlie Chaplin

The Perfect Trifecta

“So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them.” -  Slyvia Plath

When the dust finally settled from the departure of my beloved Miss Cassie I returned to tango with the urging of a great friend. I am so very happy to be dancing again – even more so at the moment because I’ve been experiencing withdrawal symptoms due to the gift that keeps on giving: the wretched flu. The damn thing knocked me on my arse for a little over a week.

Since returning to tango I’ve had an entire new set of observations. Perhaps the most startling epiphany was the realization of how very shy I actually am. It’s a bizarre thing. I’m outgoing enough. I make a point of talking to people who are obviously new to tango, have come alone, or are just having a tough night. What’s killing me at the moment is the cabaceo. I only dance with a person I’m comfortable with – which is generally with men who are old enough to be my father. It’s my comfort zone.  I find myself not only making extreme attempts to avoid eye contact with a lot of people, but also blushing and quickly turning away if eye contact is accidentally made.

I do this, too. Lame.

I’ve reflected a little on my strange reaction to men my age. The only conclusion I can come to is that my male counterparts intimidate me. I don’t pretend to know why and I foresee more years of therapy in my near future. I have to remind myself from time to time that I have come a long way. There was a time I couldn’t bear to be around a male presence because I was terrified. My only grievance with this part of my personality is that I’m quite certain I come across as a snob and this couldn’t be further from the truth.

I might have been a shark in my past life.

I judge myself enough for ten people. I don’t need anyone else to add to the mix. I recently discovered that one of the trademarks of PTSD is survivor’s guilt. That new little bit of knowledge explained quite a bit. I feel guilty about damn near everything and am always asking ‘Why?’ What have I done in lifetime that warrants the life I have now compared to others who were brought up in similar if not identical situations? I cry for the people I knew who barely survived it and are left with severe emotional scars, a dead end life and drug addictions. I cry for the sister I haven’t seen in nearly 20 years. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. I’m afraid to look because I’m afraid of the answer. I have to keep telling myself that their lives are out of my control and there wasn’t anything I could have done differently to make things better for them. I have to keep repeating that to myself until I finally believe it. I’m not there yet.

"The worst guilt is to accept an unearned guilt." - Ayn Rand

Something else from the tango realm has been a bit of a grievance. Since I’ve returned to tango I’ve crossed paths with a couple of folks that I never cared to see again. It’s not a huge community. It was bound to happen eventually. My grievance is that they ask me to dance. When you know I don’t like or trust you, why bother? I don’t turn them down because I don’t want to make a scene. I dance with them and am on my highest form of alert the entire time. In fact, I’m working extra hard when I dance with them so I’m not the recipient of some a**hat’s short fuse. Not only do they ask me to dance every time they run into me, but they also close embrace me and I do not like it. My assumption is that one person forgot that he did not treat me with kindness when I first started tango and the other is trying to get under my skin in the most underhanded way possible. Still, these are assumptions and not proven truths.

I'd much rather do this when I'm asked to dance by an unsavory character. 

All grievances aside, tango is still something I look forward to every week despite being a wretched shy, blushing thing and catering to a couple of people I really don’t care for. I can’t wait to snuggle up next to one of my favorite people and share a wonderful dance.

An ethereal form of serenity.

I was raving to a friend about tango recently. I had a breakup but wasn’t upset about it because life is so pleasant at the moment. I have a job I love, a basset hound that I adore and tango. As she pointed out, it’s the perfect trifecta. I’m not bothered by being single. In fact, it’s nice to not have someone demanding that I cater to their every whim. It’s nice to have the freedom to do my own thing and just be. It’s a lovely life. Nothing beats a doting dog, a fulfilling job and tango cuddling.

Who could ever resist this face?!

Sometimes I think I should start dating again; this is mainly because the society around me thinks I must be flawed because I’m single. I have issues with this because I have no desire whatsoever to invite another person in my life and anytime the thought of dating even crosses my mind I immediately browse through the dating ads on craigslist just to remind me that there’s mainly smut and bottom feeders waiting for me. No thank you. I’ll take my simple, perfect little trinity. 

Villians

“You learn eventually that, while there are no villains, there are no heroes either. And until you make the final discovery that there are only human beings, who are therefore all the more fascinating, you are liable to miss something.” – Paul Gallico

I've found most villains to be quite amusing.

My most recent ex told me that I villainize others in my writing. Perhaps there’s truth to that; the only perspective that I can offer is my own. What I can say is this: our perception is our reality. If we choose to interpret the actions of others as malicious, if we choose to interpret their behavior as ill intended, that is our reality. What I have given thus far is my own account, my own feelings, my own perception.

I’m disappointed that it didn’t work out. I wanted it to, I really did. I wanted him to be many things. I wanted us to be many things. The reality is this, we are really two people who need the same thing in life: grounding. The harsh truth is that ultimately neither of us could offer that to one another.

There's only so much we can do or give for one another. We can either accept the other as perfectly flawed, or move on when we can't see past those flaws. 

I’m not saying he’s a bad person. I’m saying we’re bad for each other. I caught a glimpse of that when we spent a weekend out of town together. I had to process everything that had occurred over that weekend. I asked for space. I needed space. Three days into the space that I asked for, he called it off. Today he hinted at wanting to get back together. I think that would be a stupid move on my part and bad news for both of us.

If both feel the other has consistently wronged them, it’s just not a good thing. He was there for me through some tough times, and his words also made some of those times really tough on me. I had to consider what was bad for me and what was good. Ultimately, the bad outweighed the good. This isn’t a dig into his character or essence as a person, that’s just how it was.

Whether or not it hinges on the fact that I'm Libra, I need balance. I need fairness. I need for things to be well-rounded and sound.

Today in particular I’ve been called many things: coward, flawed, and while not implicitly stated, mentally unstable. I’ll admit it hurts, particularly from someone I trusted and who meant a good deal to me. What I can say is this, I honestly don’t feel I’m to blame. I’m not saying he’s to blame, either – I just refuse to allow someone to make me feel at fault. Life doesn’t always play out as we’d hoped or intended. It’s full of surprises, twists, turns, setbacks and leaps forward. That’s part of the beauty of living.

Go fly a kite. Literally . . . because it's loads of fun.

I can say with all honesty I never envisioned myself to be where I am in life right now. It’s not where I intended to be, but it’s where I am. I’m gradually getting closer to the life I had hoped for. Sometimes I experience setbacks that feel so enormous and discouraging that I just want to wave a white flag and surrender. However, the worry, anxiety and stress poured into those scenarios really doesn’t do me any good. It’s wasted energy, really. Despite another setback to achieving my personal goals, I’m trying to glean the better parts of my current life. I won’t achieve independence as soon as I’d hoped. I’m disappointed, but I won’t be consumed with regret or even think about pointing a finger at anyone else but me.

For now, I think I have more than most could have hoped for. I have an amazing support network. It wasn’t something that’s just been handed over to me, it’s something that has been built over time and includes people who choose to see the best in me. Those are the types of people that I want to keep close to me. I have tango. There is no greater bliss in this world. I have a basset hound. There is no greater example of one who loves unconditionally and without expectation (with the exception of walks) than a dog. These are things that bring me joy in life help me get through some of the darker times life brings. They hold me gently and carry me back into the light when I can’t get there myself.

“To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.” – Oscar Wilde

The Pack Is Still Standing

“They that love beyond the world cannot be separated by it. Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still” – William Penn

I stopped counting the days since she’s been gone. It hurts. It hurts a hell of a lot. It took me a while to quit looking for her in my rearview mirror every time I went on a hike with Merlin. I kept thinking I’d see her with him in the back seat. She’s a phantom and I miss her more than I can stand sometimes.

I watch Merlin sleeping sometimes. Lately he’s been wagging his tail while he’s dreaming. I like to think he’s with her in those moments – that he’s found her somehow. I know he misses her, too. I am trying so hard to pull myself together for his sake. Grieving dogs need to know that the pack is still intact. It’s okay, hound. The pack is still standing.  

We mourn. We howl. We heal and move on. Its okay, hound. I'm still here. 

Everything in my life is changing. I’m settling in to a new job. I’m looking for places to live and have realized that it is extremely difficult to find a place in or around Portland. The listings are filled in a second. As it stands, it looks like I’m going to have to move really far out for something affordable and then I’ll absolutely have to find a roommate to offer a discounted rent to because I’ll need someone to help with the hound if I have an hour commute each way for riding my bike. Dang.

I’ve only just started looking. I won’t be too discouraged at this point. Perhaps something miraculous will happen and Ava and the hound will find the perfect spot. The pack is still standing.

Yeah . . .  That's pretty darn close.

 

Someone in my life that I thought I could always count on made it their personal mission to wound me deeply. It was repeated attacks on my character and anything of any importance in my life at all. The only thing I catch myself thinking is, Why? What on earth have I done to you to deserve this? I am now asking myself if this is someone I want in my future. I don’t know the answer, so I’m giving myself time.

The unconditional love of a dog is arguably one of the most comforting things in this world. 

 The pack is still standing. We’re going to be okay. I have to stare into my reflection and remind myself that I’m still standing sometimes. There have been so many wonderful things in my life, I just want the ugliness to go away so I can enjoy the beautiful things for a while.

Speaking of beautiful things, I’ll be returning to tango soon. I’ve missed it. Actually, I’ve really needed it – particularly when scenarios in my life are so dark and painful. I’ve always prided myself on my intuition when it comes to the pain of others because I don’t want them to suffer. I received that favor in turn this morning. A friend offered to talk and reminded me that tango holds us sweetly. It really does and there’s something so very beautiful and healing about it.

The tango embrace. This is what bliss looks like. 

I’ve always thought I’m fairly good at masking how much I’m really hurting. I’ve either convinced myself of a blatant lie or I have the privilege of knowing someone who sees pain in others like I do . . . . I think the dead giveaway was the fact that I was playing with my facebook profile at 3 am this morning and there was a photo with a lone wolf. I wonder what sort of emotions and symbolism these lovely creatures evoke in others. Since I first met my she-wolf, in some other dimension in time, I’ve always seen the wolf as a companion and protector. The pack is still standing.

A friend told me once that she didn’t need to watch soap-operas because I practically live one. She’s right. I don’t know how it happens, but pain and grief and drama find me more frequently than I care to admit. Maybe someday I’ll write a book about what feels like an endless saga, or perhaps the soap opera days will eventually end. However, be it pain, grief, or a soap opera life, the pack is still standing.

On second thought, a book might be a bad idea . . . . because much like this picture, none of these soap opera events make any sense. 

“My grief and pain are mine. I have earned them. They are part of me. Only in feeling them do I open myself to the lessons they can teach” – Anne Wilson Schaff