It has been over a YEAR since I posted. It seems hard to believe that, but it is true. This year has been beyond description—the things that really matter have been underground, wordless, shapeless. I have tried to describe them to others, but I find that the only way someone understands is if they have had the same sort of experiences in their lives.
Mysterious healing of old wounds and rifts. Moments of deep depression and anxiety. Experiences of the rightness of the entire journey. Accepting that I am loved beyond measure; recognizing that we all are. Surrendering to trust in the Mystery: it prescribes the perfect journey for me. No other path is needed.
As I emerge, it is indeed like that well-worn metaphor of the caterpillar and the butterfly. Without longing for the cycle to cease, I trust the arising and also the descent. Light and dark. The great blessing of being human. To be caterpillar and butterfly, and then again—caterpillar, butterfly. Every day, til the heart stops beating, the cycle will carry me, sing to me, call me home to my own heart. It’s not a place of perfect joy. It’s a place of emotional range and brilliant experience.
Hello. Welcome back to my blog. And welcome home to your life. How’s things with you?
The Global Youth Peace Summit was amazing and also incredibly challenging on many levels. I can’t even quite explain it, to tell the truth. But in the two weeks since it ended, I’ve spent a lot of time alone (nothing new there) and I’ve been pretty depressed. I have been weaving all kinds of stories about what people think of me and what a fucked up person I am. And although I know that these are not true, that in fact these same people like and even love me very much, and in fact I’m not fucked up at all, I’ve found it really hard to get out of the story.
In addition, I’ve hardly had any work lately, because my company just doesn’t have any work to give me, and since I’m paid a very good hourly wage but not salary, if I don’t have work, I don’t get paid. It also gives me WAY too much time alone. And when I’m alone, I get depressed. The one just sort of follows the other.
The time after the Summit is generally tough for everyone involved. The village that we create there is a powerful space of love, acceptance and healing for everyone, no matter what role they play or how they show up. It just happens. And leaving it is generally hard and can often be a letdown. It’s kind of like what happens for many people after Christmas. This year I had hoped that since I live in Austin now, it would not be as hard. In fact, I think it’s been the hardest post-summit experience yet.
I find that I’m embarrassed about what’s been going on for me and resistant to blogging about it. However, at the same time, I feel incredibly pulled to do so. In fact, I even started a new blog the other day, just so I could shout out without reservation how I feel and what I’m going through.
But, since I made a commitment a while ago on this blog to not hold back anymore, and to reveal the “deep, dark shit,” and also because something in me tells me that this is part of my service and what I have to offer the world, I’m going to write about it here. Basically, when things get bad, I hate myself. I honestly truly HATE myself. I think that I am a terrible person and that I really don’t deserve to be here. I think that other people don’t care about me. I think that I should not have come here to Austin, that the people at Amala Foundation don’t want me here, that they wish I would leave.
I think of past arguments with random people and past situations that were hard and I get stuck obsessing on those situations also.
I think about being single and that there is something innately ugly about me and that is why I’m single. I think about how hard it has been for me to do work in general, and how much I procrastinate, and how I don’t stay focused on creating photographs and writings, and it spirals into a truly ugly internal put-down session. It is just insane. Truly. Insane.
The thing is, I know this stuff isn’t true. I KNOW IT’S NOT. But I can’t believe that when I’m in it. I just get sucked down, like it’s a huge deep-ocean whirlpool from some 50s horror movie.
Let me say this, also, the good news: It’s shifting. I’m climbing out. I went to a volunteer appreciation thing at Amala last night. It was sweet. We did a sacred pipe ceremony (native american style) and then had a talking circle where we passed the talking stick. One of my friends and I went together and we both have been feeling very depressed and horrible and we both spoke up during talking circle. It was great to just say out loud in that community: “I am doing terribly, I hate myself, I think you all hate me, I don’t know who I am or why I’m here,” and then just pass the stick! It was awesome to do that, actually.
I truly didn’t want people to come up and get all huggy with me after, and people were very sensitive and kind in that way, but I felt a lot of love sent to me without direct contact. I did get a bit of very solid loving feedback from some people I feel very comfortable with, and then someone else who I respect and care about immensely, and was one of the people I had really convinced myself did not like me anymore, sat and talked with me for a while. He’s so real and so sweet and was very solidly rooted in knowing that everything that was happening is FOR me and not TO me, and that it’s all serving my evolution. As soon as he said that, I knew it was true. And I also realized that he indeed still cares about me and likes me, and that nothing at all was wrong.
Then I spent some more time today with someone else I care about a lot but who I have stories about that cause me pain. We had a sweet conversation as well, and we just kind of roundabout got into some of these stories I have made up. As we talked, I again realized that all my stories were missing big huge chunks of information and that when those were filled in, then the whole story shifted and my confusion was evident. Which felt fantastically freeing.
So, now, I feel like things are on a more even keel. I pulled a tarot card from the Osho Zen Tarot deck (online) and it was “Trust.”
“Trust life. If you trust, only then can you drop your knowledge, only then can you put your mind aside. And with trust, something immense opens up. Then this life is no longer ordinary life, it becomes full of God, overflowing.”
That resonated so fully and completely.
Oh and the reason I named my post “shaking my fist at god” is because I’ve been fully doing that lately. If you know me, you know that the god of my understanding is simply the universe, all that is, the pattern and love that underlies, permeates, creates, sustains and destroys all that is. Generally, I cultivate trust that the life unfolding is the exact right life for me. But this past week in the deepest muck of this darkness, I have denied and resisted, shouted and sworn, “why have you forsaken me?” And it felt like an important part of whatever this process is. To just say, NO, God! WHY ME, God? Fuck you, God!
and now…the other side of the mountain…the downhill side. for a while. [like the old Donovan song: “first there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is”]
I woke up in a hotel room in San Luis Obispo at 6 am this morning. I don’t even need an alarm anymore. I jut wake up. And when I looked outside, it was raining. I’ve got a long drive home, and a photoshop assignment to do.
I’ve been pretty sporadic with this blog. Inconsistently posting. And more than that, it feels pretty amorphic. Unformed. Shapeless. Some bloggers seem to blog happy, witty stuff. Some people spin with they say, so they look cool. Some people moan and groan. I don’t want to do any of these things. I just want to write about life, and what it’s like to live it, and post photographs.
I’m struggling with inner voices telling me I’m no good. The thing is, while I have a hard time believing them, I can’t quite get away from them, either. There are two main things I beat myself up about: I don’t get shit done and I don’t like the way I acted with someone. I want to be perfect. I want to be endlessly productive. I want to be the best friend who ever was. I want to be a master at sitting in silence. But…it turns out, I am not perfect, I am incredibly inefficient, I blurt out stupid and hurtful things before I realize what I’m saying, I am endlessly distracted and I fidget continuously.
Okay. Truth be told, it’s not that bad. Mostly, I’m doing well, I have good friends, a nice home…but the days keep turning into weeks, months and years, and very-few-to-none of my ideas get manifested. This is incredibly frustrating. I feel like I am wasting my life. And who knows how much time I’ve got left. Two times in the past three days, I came *THS* close to getting run off the road by an almost-out-of-control tractor-trailer. Every morning I wake up and think, Oh my god, I’m still alive. How much longer is this gift gonna last? I think how precious this human existence is, and how I want to make something of it and not waste it, and be fully fully alive, loving, particpatory. I realize I had checked out of life for a LONG time. Finding my way back in is proving to be a challenge.
Franklin the bear is staring at me from his spot on my desk. Are you writing again? he asks.
I’m trying, Franklin. Trying. Lonely and fearful. Angry at my perceptions of hypocrisy by people I thought I could count on. Slipping into that place where the dark corners look darker, and the blue sky hides. Yet who can ever be 100% reliable? And when is the sky ever always blue?
Reaching in deeply, pulling out the memories that hurt to look at again. But these days, there’s new capacity for me to look at these stories and retell them, reframe the pain.
I think my heart opened wide this summer, and a lot of buried stuff got released. And I’m feeling it, big time. But, you know…it’s ultimately a good thing. And as I move through and release it, I’ll be free of that burden.
Today I found a therapist who can help with managing ADHD and also with everything else. I like her. She diagnosed me, uh, that would be a resounding YES on the ADHD. Okay, good to know. She told me that it takes me longer to do things because so many thoughts fly through my brain, and that I need to accept that and plan for it. I guess I never have accepted it. I’ve judged myself instead.
She also said, “did you say you have a master’s degree?” And when I said I did, she told me that I should recognize that I’ve already done more than many people with ADHD are able to do without help and diagnosis. So I could feel good about that.
I guess I will take her at her word on that one. I need to let myself feel good about something right now!
Have I shown you Franklin yet?
(Veronica, I know you are reading this. Franklin says HI and thanks for sending him to live in California. He likes it here a lot.)
Okay, this is going to a slightly more wordy blog than the last few.
I realized this summer I have ADHD. Now that I’ve figure it out, I’m like, DUH.
So, that explains why I have always had a hard time with follow-through, why I am challenged to finish projects, why my heart aches and my head spins when I think of everything I want to do in my life, why multiple moving parts make me feel crazy. Why I acquired the label “underachiever” as a kid.
I believed them and blamed myself. Why was I an underachiever? Why didn’t I ever live up to my potential? I’m a smart girl, high marks on standardized tests. Why always the failure, the inability to stay focused, changing my mind, flitting about? For decades, I’ve lived with this intense self-judgement. Why can’t I get things done? What is WRONG with me?
I have blamed myself, and kept myself hidden, and pretended I could do it. Knowing, fearing, that I couldn’t. Trying again and again. Spending HOURS to read a scientific paper that other’s could wiz through. Taking hours too long to finish projects at a job where I had to bill my time by ten minute increments, and come in under budget. I couldn’t do it. I blamed myself, judged myself a failure.
I live by lists. But how to translate a long list into a day and a week’s organized life? Completely overwhelmed. Surfing the internet, or watching movies, to avoid the failure.
Now, I am getting ready to do something about it. This week, I’ll start neurofeedback. My housemate just happens to do it. It’s one of the only non-drug modalities that is really helpful for ADHD. So, I’m hoping it helps. The other alternative, which I’m not ruling out, is medication.
This post is a statement, a claiming, a notice that the stigma stops here. ADHD is not a crime and I’m not going to be ashamed of it. Depression, alcoholism, addiction—all of which I’ve struggled with in years gone by—are illnesses, brain disorders, chemical imbalances. I do not have to feel guilty about them. I CAN do something about them. And I will.
If you are reading and can relate to any of this, hold your head up, do not let the myth of shame bind you. You are free, beautiful and worthy of love, respect and friendship. If you meet people along the way who don’t see it that way, that is not your affair. Let them go. Be who you are. Heal. Grow. Love yourself. Feel how you are loved by this universe. Perfect how you are. However you are.
That is such a strange expression. Holy Cow. I wonder where it came from.
Anyway, here’s the deal. I’ve been dead tired and depressed and not sure why or what is going on. I am happy about school but not really feeling that happiness. Happy about photographs but having to push myself to do anything at all. Last night I took a bunch of photos of the clothespins on the clothesline at my house.
And an artichoke one of my land-mates planted.
I have some black and white film shots too. After I get them developed, I’ll try to get them scanned in and add them to this post at some point. Or put up another one.
Meantime, I’m trying to decide which classes to keep and drop. It’s a drag because I want them all, but am afraid I’ll burn myself out. I have a job now, too. Part time botanist again, at a small firm called Avila and Associates. The owners are a couple. I like them. They like me. I want to do good work for them. So I don’t want to take on so much at school that I can’t deliver. And, besides, I need the money.
All that love and openness I experienced at the Global Youth Peace Summit seems to be in hiding. Somewhat. I know it’s not really something outside of myself. But that is easier said than experienced. Okay, but you know what else? Sugar. Seriously. Sugar=depression. And this summer I managed to not eat a lot of sugar, except here when I got home. So, starting today, no more sugar. Or very little. After all, Wednesday IS my birthday and I don’t want to deny myself cake. You know.
Well, that’s the update from the Santa Cruz Mountains. It’s another foggy day in paradise. Like, seriously. Foggy. And cold. “SIGH” It was great to get out and be HOT this summer, even if sometimes that 100+degree-heat was killing me. Cuz here by the Pacific Ocean in central/northern California, let me tell you, it DOES NOT GET HOT. So if you come to visit, bring long pants. And a jacket.
Oh, and by the way. I was thinking I might start blogging every day. You know. Just to keep things interesting. I can’t guarantee if I’ll actually keep up with it (because you can’t guarantee anything, really, anyway). But if it starts clogging up your inbox (if you get these emailed to you), you can always change the settings on your subscription. No, I don’t know how to do that. But I’m sure it’s easy.
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground. Into the blue again, in the silent water.