Agitated II
The psychic fissures feel calmer this morning, despite the 3 a.m. wake up from a credit card fraud alert. Better, but still fissurey. Therapy exercises still in progress. I am nearly ready to call the agitation a Remembrance Episode. The emerging memories were of my summer in the wild apple tree in the suburbs of Chicago, circa mid to late 60's, travelling the Mississippi River with Huckleberry Finn and Nigger Jim. I was far more in love with Nigger Jim than I was with Huckleberry. Huck felt entirely to much like a sibling for my liking. Paint your own damned fence, twit. I believe that in one of my day dreams there in my favorite saddle of the old apple tree, my adopeted father figure kicked the brat off the raft for me.
It has been at least 8 years since traumatic memories have emerged during a remembrance episode. I continue to react as though I am heading into trauma flashback hell, but the emerging memories are of delightful little gems such as sweet grass and my love affair with Nigger Jim. In my apple tree fantasies, my father figure was incredibly sensitive to the sore spots of a human who has been bought and sold like livestock. He comforted me like a father who could never justify the rape and pimping of children. Thank you, Nigger Jim. I am so glad to have you back. No, Father, I amnae going to change your name to satisfy the political correctors. You are perfect just the way you are. My role model in the resiliance of the human spirit. I can do this with you in my heart. Wanna help me prep the site for the coop? Only 3 weeks until the projected delivery date.
Again I wonder if the trauma blocks are all down and defused. Again I wish for a scientific measure of the phenom which can serve as proof positive. Sigh. . . Wish in one hand, shit in the other and see which hand fills more quickly.
I am incredibly pleased with how well Hubs and I have been dancing through the episode. None of the missteps spiraled into our habitual tit-for-tat skirmishes. He sorted his part, I sorted mine and we shared as best we could, when we could and commisurated from safe distances when the gossamer threads of psychosis were too tangled for safe sharing. I doesn't know, but my wife sense whispers that he is as near to making peace with his silver platter psychoses(pl) as I am to making peace with my white trash psychoses(pl). Maybe. Prayers in progress. . .
The proposed coop site is looking solid. Is it mere coincidence that every human made structure on this property is oriented with north, south, east and west walls? According to chicken folklore, chickens like a northern exposure for their roost. I amnae sure I fully believe the lore, but what the hey. . . I have the room to respect the lore. ?Por que no? The coop can be seen easily from any of the four buildings in the compound. We see what grows.
Replies
Hugs and support my friend.
A lot of how you’ve described the emergence of memories while waiting for flashbacks seems like an echo of my own recent memories. Though I continue to have the uncomfortable flashbacks, especially of my sister, I’ve had a return of wonderful memories of the times my father was home from a job on vacation.
For so long I couldn’t recall most of my childhood, other than the litany of reminders I kept track of but those weren’t true memories. Now I’m remembering not only all the trauma I had blocked for over 25 years but also the good memories, the special ones that I should never have forgotten.
I’m a believer in balancing and I wonder if my past memories have finally reach a level of healing to begin balancing the bad with the good. Before what little memories there had been were always the bad ones.
I love lore but belief in anything on that level doesn’t come easy for me. But have a weird obsession with old traditions, superstitious and lore. It could be coincidence or a bit of the old world working itself into the new.
Continue weaving your ‘wild magic’ Arfie. I believe in you.
Hugs & love!
I appreciate that you struggle with things and how you do
and it reminds me of my own daily stuff. You express stuff so well Arfie
you could definitely author a book, you seem so confident in your writer's voice. I think it's great how despite being brought into the past with memories and struggling with that, you still manage current relationships with all of us and your husband and family too PLUS the managing of building a new chicken coop and all the stuff on the homestead. It's really admirable.
I read the headline of an article the other day that read "110 year old man talks about what it takes to lead a long life" - I eagerly read that article... in truth I would ask you the same question. I marvel at those who 'keep going.'
(((Arfie)))
With my 65th birthday just around the corner, I am still an old folks whippersnapper, but I think your own summary just might have summarize the secret to longevity. "Keep going."
It is possible I have already written more books than most proclaimed authors. My handwritten therapy journal, alone. needs at least 3 file drawers to hold it. Then there the letters, blogs, etc., etc.
Getting published is a whole new gig that I am not very willing to take on. For starters, writing is entirely too valuable a therapy tool in my broken life to pollute it with publishing politics. I am smart enough to find easier ways to pay the bills. I go with the philosophy that writing makes a better record of life than way of life. I've never known *A Writer* who wasn't a miserable human being.