Tales From the Tango World

“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of time like dew on the tip of a leaf.”      -Rabindranath Tagore

I’ve been delving into other forms of dance after belly dancing took me under its spell. Lately, I’ve been practicing tango. This is by far one of the most difficult forms of dancing I’ve learned. There’s no formula to it; one needs only to listen. I am gradually getting better – but this has been an excruciatingly long process.

I’m just about three months into it now. I know how difficult it can be as a lead and a follow, as I’ve practiced both. I’ve been practicing more as a follow lately. My tendency in dancing throughout my life is to automatically take the lead and laugh maniacally on the inside as my dancer partner attempted to rein me in. There is no flexibility for that sort of nonsense in tango and I have to learn to yield to someone else every now and then.

There is a tremendous amount of trust that one gives another in order to follow in tango. I'm learning to trust. I have yet to figure out if the hesitation is PTSD, my own reserve or just plain stubborness.

I think this cat displays better posture than me. 

There are good nights and bad ones. Sometimes one gets off on the wrong foot – literally and metaphorically. The partners that are most patient are the leads that I most enjoy.  I make a step they didn’t want. They tell me it’s okay. They remind me not to tense up and relax and the crazy things I’ve come up with that are most likely not a move in any form of dance expression have even amused some. I am grateful because they are willing to teach me, give patient and gentle instruction and aren’t too bothered by what can only be described as my sacrilegious tango antics.

This is lovely, too . . . and also far more advanced and trusting of her partner than I think I'll ever be.

Not all nights are as fun. There are times I can’t connect with the music, I can’t connect with the lead, and the lead is very annoyed by me. Last week I arrived at the practica a tad bit late. I was out with girl friends and lost track of time. I was partnered with an older and more experienced dancer. He was immediately frustrated because he said my step was not wide enough and this was thwarting his attempts at a pivot turn. I widened my step. He rolled his eyes barked that I was over dramatizing the move. I had no clue what this guy wanted from me. I felt bad because it was obvious that I was frustrating him. I tried again. He dropped my hands in the pose and said, “She just showed us this five minutes ago.”

Needless to say, I ran away as quickly as my legs would carry me without breaking a run as soon as the lesson was over and I avoided eye contact with him all night . . .  and was a horrible follow that night. I wasn’t connecting with anything and far too afraid of pissing off the leads. Truth. He attended the milonga last night; I still avoided eye contact, but did exchange the superficial pleasantries of “How are you?”

I’m horrid, but I’m learning. There are times I can get into the music and share a beautiful moment with my dance partner, and then I make a mistake, tense up and start to over think and anticipate much to the dismay of the lead. It can go downhill quit rapidly from there.

Regardless of the handful of bad experiences, I’ve stuck with it. When I first began a tango course at Portland State a seasoned dancer was kind enough to take me under his wing. He encouraged me to stick with it, praised me when I made a ‘perfect step’ and told me to own it because I am elegant. I thank you Kind Sir. He would never let me apologize. Ever. While I have not seen this gem of a lead and overall fabulous human being in a while, he still sends me links to events he thinks I’ll enjoy.

I remember once when we were practicing a tango form of a box step. We were doing well. He had me switch sides with him so I could watch us in the mirror. It was lovely. Our legs moved in synch and perfect alignment. I would not have been so excited about committing myself to this had he not shared that moment with me.

See how beautiful it can be? 

To the encouraging leads of the world: I commend you.

I imagine for most dancers, there is always room for improvement. I am still stepping on toes, getting my toes stepped on, kicking, being kicked. I almost always carry a bruise or two from a tango grapple. I don’t mind; it’s worth it. I have a very long way to go to look as graceful as most of the women out there. Every time I sit out a set I watch as they effortlessly float across the floor in their narrowly heeled tango shoes.  They are as lovely as the dance.

Perfectly pointed toes. I don't know how they do it. 

I hope the clumsiness and awkward movements dwindles away eventually and I can be as graceful as they are. I imagine it’s much more enjoyable for the leads – even the patient ones who are willing to let me dance sacrilegious tango as part of the learning process.

“To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful,  more powerful.” –Agnes De Mille

The Haunting

“Lately I’ve been thinking

Lately I’ve been dreaming of you

I’m so resistant to this type of thinking

Oh, now it’s shining through

I was alone for the last time

Before my night’s vacation with you

Alive from the first

Now I’m denied by the ghost of you” – Howie Day

I told myself forgetting him would be easy. It’s not. We both tried to patch things up despite my attempt to sever what we had; it just didn’t happen. For the sake of my sanity, I had to let go. I realized this situation had been stretched out for far too long. There’s no turning back from that and this was something that seemed to have no end in sight. He’d be back in two weeks, his schedule would be jam packed, I’d be finishing the term and it would drag out for another 3 weeks. It’s madness and the constant grief and anguish that I was experiencing was just too much.

Since doing everything I can possibly think of to get over him, I’m haunted by his memory instead. I see things that remind me of him everywhere. Everywhere. I went to dinner with my mother. She took me to the same place I met him one afternoon and I remembered the feeling I had that I may burst and die from happiness. I wasn’t bursting with happiness that night with my mother.

I took a walk last week during a study break. I’d passed that place a million times before and hadn’t noticed it until then. I’m assuming the construction to the building is what drew my eyes towards it – that’s where our reunion took place. I remember my heart danced at the sight of him and when he held me. I didn’t want him to let go. I had mixed feelings looking at the corner coffee shop; part of me wanted to hurl rocks at it and another wanted to collapse on the nearest bench and cry.

Sometimes there aren't enough rocks. 

I passed the building where I first met him several years ago. He was a vision; he still is.

I walked past the church where we sang together for a few months only for the joy of loving music.

There was a brief moment when I laughed at the irony of it all. While talking to my therapist about this experience with him, trying to make sense of where I went wrong, she mentioned Asperger’s. I heard that word in connection to him several times after that, and not just from her. The photo I attached to the blog where I first admitted I loved him – its source gave the image a caption that questioned the stereotype of whether or not someone with Asperger’s could love.  

THIS. This is the infamous photo.

I’ve been doing a lot of dancing lately – because it’s something that makes me happy. Bellydancing is still something to which I am deeply connected, but I’ve been enjoying tango because it’s an experience I can share with others. Guess who piqued my interest in the dance? Being a country bumpkin for a large portion of my life, I still think Portland is a big city. I’m a fool.

 I’ve been taking a non-credit tango course at PSU. The instructor gives some pretty spiffy discounts to students and I’m still at the stage where I suck ass and really need all the help I can get. So, I get to go to these group classes, meet new people and dance as a crappy tango dancer afterwards with whomever is up for a challenge. I always warn those who ask me – I am guaranteed to frustrate you. Truth.

This is what it looks like when I dance tango. Truth.

 Last night I attended one of these dance soirees. From my conversations with my former flame and my petty understanding of the inner workings of his mind, I assumed this sort of event would be too easy for him . . .  yet I underestimated the sense of community that is part of tango. I was chatting with whomever decided to sit next to me or *gasp* dance with a really crappy tango novice. At one point I struck up a conversation with a lovely gal while I watched in amazement at the grace and beauty of the more experienced dancers prancing about on the floor. She asked me if I knew him. I felt my muscles tense for an instant and then I said his last name. Yes, she replied. He was telling me how awesome you are. All I could muster was that we had a falling out and excused myself because I felt another crying fit coming on.

Poor gal. She apologized a couple of times because she realized she had hit a tender nerve. How could she have possibly known? I silently cursed myself for being neurotic and then decided that it was probably about time for me to go. I had reason – a large group of very fun friends and karaoke. I am so thankful for that reason – because I am a terrible liar.

Note: Not just a terrible liar, but not a very creative one, either. 

The greeting I received when I made it to karaoke will go down in history as one of my favorite moments in life. I was glad to be in the presence of a very dear friend, my radiant light, who has been so encouraging and comforting while I’ve been navigating the waters of falling in love and feelings of a broken heart all within one semester.

This little light of mine decided to flirt with every man in the room on my behalf because she wants to see me 'married off and happy'. Also, she was a bit drunk. Having never seen her in this state, I was amused.

She tells the KJ that I should be serenaded with a song. I request Coldplay. I love Coldplay. The song he chose to sing to me was The Scientist. The Scientist. The lyrics are beautiful and deep. It’s all about a breakup and wishing you could start over but knowing you can’t. F*ck me. So, while the KJ with an angelic voice to match his angelic face sang with a passion to make any gal swoon, I was using every amount of energy I possessed to not run out crying. I managed. This time I managed to shed only a few tears and compose myself quickly enough that no one knew anything was wrong. 

Yeah . . . that about sums up the karaoke experience

After barely making it out alive with a night of tango, karaoke and mass quantities of alcohol I went to a meditation workshop this morning. I couldn’t quite remember the address. I used the navigation on my phone to get there once before and thought I could look it up in the phone app. The very first address listed was in Beaverton. The name of the establishment connected to this address wasn't listed on my phone. It didn’t need to be; I don’t know why I remember it, but I did. That was the last place I met him in person. I remembered experiencing joy and sorrow at the same time. I stared at my phone in disbelief for a few moments while my mind grappled with many questions. Mainly, ‘Why’? and ‘Really'?

I was out with my dogs this afternoon at the dog park. Someone asked me at random if I believed in signs. I used to have an answer for that; now I have no freaking idea. If the Universe chooses to speak to me, it’s usually in the form of dream or meditation. By the way, guess who haunted my visions during meditation? I feel like his memory is being thrown at me from every direction. Is this the Universe or some part of my psyche that I refuse to acknowledge that still misses him? Am I randomly making connections where they don’t belong and seeing only what I want to see?

I don’t know what to make of any of this, really. I have never loved another human being as I loved him and I can only guess this is part of the process that goes hand in hand with these type of things.

Beloved, I thank you for the memories. They are something I will hold with me forever just as a part of me will always love you. Everything I ever knew is lingered by one touch from you – and everywhere I go I see your face in my mind.

He is everywhere . . . the air I breathe. 

To the Universe, Psyche, Beloved – the haunting can stop now.

“What have we given?

My friend, blood shaking my heart

The awful daring of a moment’s surrender

Which in age of prudence can never retract

By this, and this only, we have existed.” – T.S. Eliot

All I loved, I loved alone.

“From childhood’s hour I have not been. As others were, I have not seen. As others saw, I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same tone. And all I loved, I loved alone.” - Edgar Allen Poe

 

Some say it was negligence, others said confusion; still others said he was a self-absorbed douche that didn’t deserve my time, love or affection. They said he didn’t deserve my tears, my pain and the deep aching I felt at the very root of my heart. I still feel that aching. In regards to what he deserved, I have no thoughts on it, only that he held every part of my essence in his hands. Instead of accepting, instead of reciprocating or even finding solace in it, he ripped my heart from my chest and left it in a pulsating bloody pulp on the floor. It was the constant rejection that did it, I think.

I don’t know where it went wrong in all honesty. I’ve looked at it from every angle and I just can’t find the source. I was looking for my mistake for weeks when I was told that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. And I won’t let him put that on me, either.

As much as I tried to reach out, I was ignored. His actions told me that I was nothing but an afterthought to him. There would never be a place for me in his life. Eventually the feelings of pain and sadness turned to anger. I don’t like any of those feelings.

I have been told that any guy with the slightest bit of interest would make some effort. It existed in the beginning, but not long after that. At first I thought it was his confusion and he needed space. We never seemed to communicate effectively. Ever.  It wasn’t until someone actually did show interest in me that I saw what everyone had been trying to make me see for weeks.

It was one outing and that’s probably all it ever will be – but I can say during that time this guy I only saw in passing on a daily basis - made me feel as if I were the only person in the universe that mattered to him. It was exactly what I needed exactly when I needed it.

 

I had drafted a letter I intended to send to the object of my affection. I never sent it. Ironically, the same night I finished it he messaged me saying he wanted to talk about the events of the last 4 weeks. At first I agreed, however,  the more I thought about it, the more I realized I had nothing left to say. I’ve said it already. I’ve given it already. Every time I saw him in person he left with another piece of me emotionally, physically, or spiritually. I have nothing left to give.

It took me two years to get over a physical assault. I imagine it’s going to take me two more to get over this experience. Expressing love makes one vulnerable and because of how deep that emotion can run, the pain will run just as deep. It’s not that I’m going to close myself off from society and cease from living with compassion and positive regard, only that I can’t emotionally open myself up to anyone for a very long time.

 

 

“Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us, you, of your own will did it. I have not broken your heart – you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. So much the worse for me that I am strong.”  - Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

 

 

 

Ripples, Waves and Tsunamis

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” - Rumi

I’m thinking that maybe there is no end to this process – there is no end to refinement. This is how the Universe has chosen to refine me. So be it . . . and the revelations will no doubt continue. 

The swelling of emotions subsided long enough for me to feel as if I have some grounding. It’s been hitting me in waves now and sometimes I am able to stand on the shore watching the waves lap at my feet. On good days, it’s a ripple effect; the pain is still there, but it’s containable. 

 

Sometimes I hope for a place of solitude . . .  some form of escape.

Sometimes I find myself hit with a wave of emotion that is so strong I can’t sort out what’s what. I don’t know what’s upsetting me. I don’t know the source of my anguish, only that it’s there and it’s time for me to face it and sift through until I find something that makes sense. I have a full arsenal of things that could be the cause, but there’s really only a few pieces that fit within a specific experience.

In all things, I do my best to act with love. For me, this means putting myself aside at times. It means putting on a smile when all I want to do is cry. It means listening to someone else’s heartache when I’m working through my own and trying to help them solve their problems. It's not easy. True story.

There it is. The aching.

I’ve been getting better at allowing myself to cry. For a long time I didn’t and with this wave of pain has come a force of trembling that I can’t control. I’ve been turning this over in my mind the last few days. As it turns out there is a scientific explanation . . .  and I can now say that studying anatomy and neuroscience wasn’t a full waste of time in the long run.

We share a very basic primitive area of the brain with our mammalian brethren. These are known as the reptilian and limbic brains. This area of the brain is a storehouse of emotional memory and is instantly activated the moment we sense any danger. The amygdala does not wait for instructions from the cognitive, conscious sectors of the brain. It simply acts. In fact, the amygdala allows us to act before we know why by triggering a biochemical cascade. I could describe this, but I’ll spare you. Basically, it’s a quick injection of various stress hormones into the bloodstream. 

What does this look like? You may wonder. The result is a hyper alertness that we’ve all come to know as the fight or flight response. This state of awareness is intense; it’s a dramatic jolt of energy similar to the thrill of an amusement park ride, bungee humping, or general jitters before performing.

 This is on my bucket list of things to do. Okay .  . it's really bungee jumping - but skydiving will be added.

Scientists are now adding a third type of response: freeze. Think of a deer in headlights. The freeze response is activated when there is no hope, meaning nothing proactive can be done to save oneself. This is an unconscious and instinctual immobility reflex. Disassociation is a common coping mechanism in the event of a freeze response, which is a mental form of physically separating ourselves from the threat.

This freeze response overrides any feasible possibility of fighting or running. This feeling of helplessness is strongly linked as a precursor to the development of PTSD. Unlike the fight or flight response, there is no release of energy from the triggered build up of stress chemicals. Our mammalian kin, acting with the same brain as the human species when responding to stress have ways of discharging this energy when the perceived threat is gone: they tremble, shake shudder, perspire and take a series of deep breaths when the trembling has passed.

 Is it over? I keep asking even though I know the answer.

 . . .  and there you have it. I’m getting in touch with the mammalian part of my brain – the I didn't acknowledge when all of this starting manifesting in ways I didn’t understand. The threat(s) are gone; I have to let the emotions come out now.

I remember my very first therapist telling me that this process would be like stirring a pot: the stuff from the bottom makes its way to the surface. It’s true. I do not like it, but I know the band-aids won't last forever.

I don’t know why, but thoughts and memories of my mother have surfaced. Part of her has made me. Part of her is in my genetic code. She scares me and I’m terrified of being her. While I can accept these fears and I can accept how her actions have dramatically affected my sense of security, identity, stability and will likely be present in any relationship I attempt to form – I acknowledge that I have to learn to forgive so I can let go. Maybe it's not even that; maybe I just need to let go. The hard part for me here is that when it comes to her, I don’t know how. I’m a bit lost at the moment.

Not only lost, but kind of at a standstill. Where do I go from here? 

I found myself once again crying and trembling and as much as I fought to control it, it wouldn’t be contained. I had to ask myself again, “Where is this coming from?” When I feel connected to someone emotionally and then there’s a day or two of nothing but silence, the feelings of abandonment resurface. At last I was able to make a connection: I felt the same way I did as a little girl when she left me with strangers,  when she left me for good in Georgia and her presence that was in and out of my life for what felt like an eternity as a child. Still, I remember desperately wanting her to love me. She never did.

For now there will crying and trembling. I accept it –  in waves, ripples or tsunamis. 

 I like to think we all get to visit this place at least once.

“Out beyond the ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.” - Rumi

Reflections and Revelations

“Accept everything about yourself – I mean everything. You are you and that is the beginning and the end. No apologies. No regrets.”  - Clark Moustakas

If this doesn't make you smile, there is something wrong. 

The last two weeks, give or take a little, have been a roller coaster of epic proportions. It started with what I recognized as another PTSD manifestation. I thought I caught it. I thought I stopped it. I recognized the negativity and fear in my thoughts and what emotions those thoughts evoked in me. I thought that was enough. It wasn’t. I soon felt myself drowning in a pain that felt like it was ripping me in two.

I lack to the words to adequately describe how deep that pain is. Nothing I know of in the English language exists. I think this means I should take up another language.

When I began to cut the negativity from my life, good things began to happen. Good things continue to happen. This is unfamiliar territory and the uncertainty of me thinking I’m going to ruin it, that it’s going to go away has been one of the causes that triggered my most recent relapse. The other was joy – because this is an emotion I don’t recall ever feeling and my psyche didn’t know what to do with it . . . so I had a meltdown. There have been no dark and sinister events. There has been no one in my life that inflicts emotional pain. My life is a far cry from what it was only six months ago. That was my message from therapy.

I have been so very blessed. The Universe was smiling on me when it sent a radiant light into my life. We just happened to be in the same place at the same time, and she has been cheering for me ever since. This newly found friend and mentor I’ve been blessed with has had experiences similar to mine, and is far more advance in the healing process than I am. She told me I’ll learn to make PTSD my friend. When I have felt defeated and broken, she’s reminded me of exactly what it is I’m fighting against: me.  That was my message from Radiant Light. Her gentle and reassuring presence has given me the most comfort through this process. Her presence gave me glimpses of peace in the middle of chaos.

A Beautiful Soul more or less told me to quit hiding. To paraphrase his words, PTSD is an obvious part of my essence and I shouldn’t apologize when it manifests. I shouldn’t apologize for being me. When I think about it, I was essentially apologizing for my very existence. This is something for which no apology is needed. Ever. That was my message from the Beautiful Soul that has touched me more deeply than anyone ever has. He has also challenged me and shown more patience than anyone else. Well played, and I love you all the more for it.  

I acknowledge that I’ve had the wrong perception for far too long. I’ve seen the PTSD as something entirely separate from me that lurks within the deep recesses of my mind. An entity that only comes out to torment me; to conquer and destroy. I’ve grappled with it and when I finally opened my eyes, I see that I’ve been grappling with myself the whole time. I accept it as a part of being. I’ll ride the waves as they come. Perhaps I’ll even learn to surf them. 

Eventually I'll go for it and dive in. 

When I began to examine the roller coaster of emotions, I took it personally. I saw the entire process as an act of aggression against me. All I could ask was, Why? Why does this presence exist within my mind? I’ve done everything right. Then I blamed myself for creating it. I blamed myself for allowing to it to take over, because I had yet to acknowledge it as part of my essence at this point. I realized I’ve been blaming myself my whole life. It was pointed out to me today that when a child experiences something traumatic and there is no one there to tell that child otherwise, the child will think he or she was responsible for it occurring. There was a wave of trauma and I blamed myself for every sinister thing that had taken place. I’ve been blaming myself for most of my life – and I’ve been apologizing for every bad thing that’s happened to me or anyone else.

The end result of this pattern of thinking was the perception of myself as a plague that would ruin everything I touched. I am not a plague and none of those events were my fault. I am worthy of existence. That was my message from the Universe.

Can you see the joy? The balance has been restored.

Then there was another message from my Beautiful Radiant Light: The Universe reflects the energy that we exude. I have been shown love, compassion and joy. I’ve been shown patience. I’ve been shown gratitude and beauty. If this is what I’m giving the world, I’d say I’m doing okay.

When I was finally able to admit that I was hurting, I was given compassion and I was loved. Several have expressed a sincere and genuine concern for me. When I grappled with myself that last time, no one reached out. When they asked how I was doing, what they really wanted was for me to paint a rosy picture and pretend that everything was okay. It was a shallow kindness that hurt nearly as much as the pain I was inflicting on myself.

‘What do you need?’ ‘What can I do?’ I admit I didn’t know how to respond. No one has ever asked that  before. So I was given a listening ear, and I’ve been promised a hug the next time I need one. I was held up by others because I was incapable of doing it myself. I was reminded that I amount to something even though I couldn’t see it. I was loved because I couldn’t love myself.

I was also given advice that doesn't ring true to me, "Look back and remember the happy times." I told her that it was too much for me to look back right now. The truth is that there's too much pain to sift through. My happiness is here in this present moment. Then sound advice was given: keep a journal of gratitude. I have been doing so and it reminds me of the beautiful aspects of life that I take for granted. What I've been thankful for so far: I woke up to candlelight; my prayers were still burning and the level of the chakra candle has shifted to focus on another energy. I saw the sunrise for the first time in ages. I have observed a sincerity I never knew existed. Thank you, Radiant Light - for showing me gratitude. 

I’ve been reaching out to others for most of my life when I see that they’re hurting. I’ve been doing this even more lately . . . and now I’ve been touched. I recognized the pain in them and did all I could to hold them until it subsided, and now it’s been reciprocated. It’s the reaching out that I find the most beautiful. A Buddhist priest described humanity to me this way: We are individual pumpkins on a vine. The vine connects us to one another so that when one rejoices, the rest genuinely share joy. When one feels pain, the others feel pain as well. I saw the intricate system of our connection with one another and the Universe through this experience. I've talked about the imagery the Buddhist gave me many years ago ever since it was put in my mind. To describe it is one thing.To see and experience it is something else entirely.  It’s a beautiful thing. That was my revelation.

“If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other” – Mother Teresa

Pain and Beauty

"Every nerve that can thrill with pleasure can also agonize with pain." - Horace Mann

I find the truth behind that quote mind boggling.

I've had to acknowledge and accept a few hard facts of life lately. I don't like it, but I know it's necessary. I've realized that if I want to make an impact for the greater good, I have to be able to stand and face the ugliness . . . and give it a severe thrashing. I'm not quite there yet. 

I'm learning to be more self aware. If I am too emotionally charged I'm useless. Nobody wins. This is just how it is. Sometimes the emotional pain is far too much. I can't describe it, but I know that those who have felt it understand. There have been occasions that all I can do is wail while simultaneously falling into a useless slump.

I have to acknowledge the vulnerability. I have to acknowledge the anger. I have to acknowledge the pain. These are all part of me, no matter how hard I try to pretend these aren't facets of what makes me and my personality. I've pretended my whole life that these are characteristics that don't pertain to me. Sometimes people see through that facade, no matter how hard I try to present myself as an unbreakable pillar. 

Sometimes this pain is so overwhelming that it turns to numbness. We go through the motions of life because it's what is expected of us. There is no joy and it's difficult to see past the few glimpses of happiness we're given. There is nothing left but self loathing and doubt. There is nothing left but wailing if we still have that in us. There is nothing left but despair; and how we present ourselves is entirely different from what we feel. It's like we're nothing but an empty casing that covers a very shaky framework. 

Something I don't yet understand is when we are our weakest, when we are our most vulnerable, we shut the rest of the world out. I don't know why others do it, but I know that I've built a wall at times because I don't want people to see my vulnerability and I don't think my emotional baggage is something for them to deal with. I've found that some want to share the burden out of pure compassion. This is part of being human. It's difficult to ask for help because we've been conditioned from a young age with the belief that we always have to stand on our own two feet. Supporting one another shows more strength than standing alone. 

Someone I love has challenged me to let the wall down and share those emotions, because that's precisely what I've asked of him. I've laid my emotions bare and made myself vulnerable to him already. He hasn't tried to break me, yet I'm still afraid. For him, I'll try . . .  and for myself, this is a long work in progress. His presence alone has awakened emotions that I never knew existed - and I still can't describe them. I'm still left wordless, breathless and in awe. 

The events in my life that have been so ugly, so painful . . . so numbing have somehow shaped what I am today. There are things that I've seen and experienced that I sometimes think should never be shared; I should never speak of them. I acknowledge that I can only carry so much for so long. When I can't stand on my own two feet, it's time to reach out and not give in to the numbing abyss of emotional anguish. When we think we are most unloved is when we are loved the most. It took me a long time to see it, but I did eventually. I hope he sees it, too. 

On that note, this entire process has been a challenge. I've been frustrated and I have no doubt he's frustrated by me - yet neither one of us has given up on this. 'This' is something I can't quite describe. He exists, I exist, and we both exist in it. It makes sense to me, but I doubt it will to many others. The things I want to shield him from are the very same emotions he wants me to share with him. I have been forced to acknowledge more of the darker side of my personality because of him, but I don't regret it. I am grateful. I am grateful because these are characteristics of myself that I've avoided for a very long time. I knew that I'd have to face them eventually . . . . and it appears as though that time is now. Challenge accepted, Universe. 

I see him going through the same phases and emotions that I experienced not too long ago . . . although his are likely for entirely different reasons. He's sorting out the positives and negatives in his life. I remember that experience. The process was not pretty. I felt even more secluded and alone. I doubt it will be as lonely for him as it was for me, but it's still difficult. I needed time to grieve some of those losses, even though I knew that the friendships were toxic. I tell him as often as I can that I'm here. He is loved. He is cherished. I hope when he's working through some of the darkest issues that he remembers those words. I meant everything I said. I have no doubt that others are giving him similar encouragement. Beautiful Soul, I am here. Let me love you.

I've seen glimpses, Beautiful Soul. I'm not afraid. You are magnificent, even if you don't see it yet. 

Changing gears, I had yet another victory. I think 2013 is the year of Ava. Last week, I was able to sit sandwiched in between two men. I didn't panic. I didn't try to run. I didn't reach for my beating stick. In fact, it didn't effect me at all. 

Just a few days ago I was beginning to go into another wretched PTSD relapse. I managed to catch it this time and I am still in amazed. I'm stunned because I've always viewed it as a beast that controlled me and I was helpless against it. 

I felt it coming. The rumination. The obsession over things that were said and things that were left unsaid. The obsession over experiences in my life that I'd rather forget that still plague me with their presence. This form of thinking is followed by the doubt, the self loathing, the fear. It eventually feels like there's a demonic presence in my mind that tells me I'm nothing. I'll never be good enough. I'm unlovable and I am worthless. I finally recognized it. I acknowledged that part of me and told it to go away; I distracted myself to the best of my capabilities. I told myself repeatedly throughout the day that I am a radiant being of light. 

I went to tango class and randomly hugged my dancing partner. She and I shared an amazing synergy together and I thoroughly enjoyed dancing with her. She kept her eyes closed when I was leading, as I often do when someone else is leading me. I was elated when I saw her face light up because we were connecting with movement; she intuitively knew where I was going. This is another aspect of humanity. We care for one another, we feel for one another, and we connect. It's beautiful.  It took me a long time to see it, but it truly is. By the end of the day, I felt nothing but joy and the first thing I told myself when I woke up was this, "I am a radiant being of light." I believed it this time. 

I'm keeping track for the new year. Ava - 2, PTSD - 0. I am winning. I can't describe the happiness I feel in these victories because I always thought this was something that had complete control over me. I now see that I can control it with a little bit of work and constant self awareness . . . and neither of these are negative things.

These boots are made for walkin'. I have arrived. 

After cutting out the negativity from my life, I am receiving positive. I don't deny the process was excruciating. I had no one and I was still experiencing the aftermath of the last two years. I started to reach out to the world around me and eventually the good came. I lack the words to describe how beautiful the latter process of this part has been. I think I'm seeing the world as it should be for the first time. All of the pieces are coming together and it's beginning to make sense. 

Beautiful Soul, it exists for you, too. I'm here. Don't ever think you're alone.

From Rage to Love

Rage n. Furious intensity, as of a storm or disease. 

It used to amuse people when I told them my motivation to succeed was spite and rage. The sad part is that it was true. When I was told that I was nothing, that I was and never would be good enough,  the anger continued to grow and I strove to be the best in everything. For some time it worked - but a person can only carry on like that for so long. It's a cancer that can eat one alive.

The rage began when I was a young girl and my father died. It grew and evolved with every painful event that followed after: my mother's rejection, the death of my grandmother and the abandonment of anyone that had ever mattered to me. I was alone in life and I knew it. Anger was all I had to keep me going and I let it take over.

This is a pretty good representation. Did I mention I was constantly getting into fights as a wee lass? I was sending the world a message: don't f@#! with me or I'll kill you with my fury. 

The turning point began about a year and a half ago. It had been six months after I experienced something that I was naive enough to think that it couldn't possibly happen to me again. I don't remember why I was in Beaverton and just happened to stumble upon one of those New Age / Pagan shops. I do remember that I was extremely upset over someone's words that were spoken out of cruelty. I was still trying to recover from what happened and couldn't handle such harshness from someone I trusted.

Perhaps it was a divine intervention. Whatever it was, the encounter I had in that shop started me on a path that moved me from anger.

I can't even remember if I walked through the door - perhaps I stumbled through it. I could barely speak. I knew from the instant the store clerk spoke to me that he was gay, which was a very good thing because if it had been a straight male I probably would have ran out. There was no one else in the store, so he came out from behind the counter and hugged me. He held me until I stopped crying.

This is pretty much what happened

When I was finally able to form words with my mouth, I told him what had happened and that I had experienced it for many years as a child. I was furious that it happened again and I didn't even see it coming. He squeezed me tighter and told me that I had to forgive myself first and then I'd be able to move towards compassion for me and others. He also told me that I needed to give myself time to grieve. This was the beginning of healing my spirit. Countless therapists tried working on my mind, as if this alone would fix everything - that just wasn't the answer.

I didn't even get his name. What he gave me is priceless. It took me a while to get here, but I have arrived and I'm bursting with the purest form of joy. Just when I think I couldn't be any happier, the universe sends something else my way. I am beautifully aware of every waking moment and experiencing things in life that I never knew existed. My words don't do it justice, really.

It's not only happiness. I still find myself grieving for the injustices others experience, but it's not overwhelming anymore and all I want to do is work harder to change it for them. This is my new motivation: making an impact for the better. While I've accepted that I can't possibly do it all, I hope someday I can see a change for the greater good and perhaps in the next life I will have the ability to do it all.

Someday I hope to run into the guy in the Beaverton store just so I can tell him how thankful I am. He held me until I stopped  sobbing and shaking and pointed me towards a path of healing. His kindness and genuine concern was moving. I've learned to forgive, I've learned to love and I've also learned to trust again. The one encounter I had with him helped me get here.

The end result is my newly found joy in belly dancing. I'd practiced it for a year and a half before I set it down because I was too consumed by anger and grief to continue. I've picked it up again with new fervor and strive for perfection . . . and then there are times when I do it strictly for fun not paying attention to technique whatsoever simply because it makes me happy.

Emotionally, physically, spiritually . . . one of the most beautiful things. 

While in Seattle I attempted a run . . . well, I did run. What struck me is that I usually channel rage to push myself. I wasn't able to do it - not even when I put on a set of music that has traditionally worked me into a frenzy. There was no anger to channel - just me giving myself a pep talk to keep running up those hills. I can't recall a time when there has never been even a subtle anger underneath the surface.

I ran into an old friend last night. She hadn't seen me in a few years. She couldn't put her finger on what had changed, but could only say that I looked beautiful to her. I know the answer - it's this immense happiness that continues to overflow in my life. 

I find something else occurring in my life as well. He came back. I love him. I love him and if he doesn't know that by now he's an oblivious fool. I am ecstatic and afraid at the same time. I take in every moment with him because they are precious to me. When he left for a retreat a couple of weeks ago I found myself counting down the days until his return . . . and then I laughed at myself because I'm usually counting down the days until I can be away from someone.

These moments with him, this state of constant joy with life that continues to amaze me - they are very dear to me and I hold them close. I always will.

He is such a beautiful person

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it."  ~ Rumi