Personal Time

I wasn't running away when I skipped writing the past few days' blogs. I was trying to get my head straight. Spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling. That is, after I stopped crying and could focus my vision agaIn. I got really angry, mostly at myself, which is what I have tended to do throughout my life when things go wrong or I make a mistake. Couple that with the frustration of not being able to do anything about it and you get a hysterical anxiety attack complete with hitting the only person within reach. That would be me. I didn't put any force behind it, in order to avoid bruises. At the peak of my sorrow and anger and frustration, i exercised tremendous restraint. I did not scratch bloody gouges in my arms and face, which would have certainly helped distract me from my inner pain, but decided that would probably land me in a hellhole of a psych ward, possibly in restraints which would make my life much, much worse. Besides, I didn't deserve to be hurt that way.

Eventually I indulged myself by watching a lot of interesting documentaries. One of those was "The illusion of Time", a Nova show. It was thought-provoking. I recommend it. I couldn't help applying their ideas about time to the way my life has been the past four years. They said, in spite of the way we manage to sync time all over the world, the reality is that we each experience time in our own way. You know, like it seems to take forever to reach your cabin on the lake when you're heading out on vacation, but time seems to fly when you're kissing and snuggling with your sweetie. It's totally a subjective experience.

I suppose a lot of people visualize time as a never-ending line that stretches behind them and ahead of them. I always envisioned it as a spiral, like a spring. Now I don't know.  Scientists say that time and space are inseparable. What does this have to do with my situation? Not sure. It's just fun to think about.

All I know is that the less that things happen in my life, the faster time seems to go. You'd think it'd be the opposite, but when things disrupt my usual routine of nothingness, time seems to slow down so I can pay closer attention to them.

My therapist, today, suggested I talk to the administrator here like I write. He said my writing is eloquent. Alas, they are two very different forms of communication. I wish I had the administrator's email address. I'd send him an email. But he's just a pawn of the corporate office. I don't know if he has much, if any, power. He did visit me, pat my hand and advise that I think happy thoughts. This was  when I was in the throes of my panic attack. I was crying too hard to say anything, which was fortunate, because if I had been capable of expressing myself, I would have guffawed in his face at the ludicrous ineffectiveness of what he said. I think he means well and wasn't just being idiotic, though.

Anyway, I've calmed down. I still feel like somebody stomped on me with hobnail boots.  And I'm weary of the fight, almost as defeated as I was the time my second husband, drunk and stoned, held a knife across my throat. I told him, "oh go ahead. Kill me  and put me out of my misery." But mostly I just feel like sleeping. It's the only kind of break a person in my situation gets. Handicapped folks don't get vacations from their disabilities. Wish we could. Wouldn't that be great?

Peace. May your lives be eventful in positive ways. ❤