what kind of blogger do I want to be?

These late May days are better in character than days were just a couple of months ago:  much less weird-a&& anxiety, more calm response to life, rather than the blinding brain-meltdowns of the recent past.  Recognition, learning, adapting.  Continuing stubborn.  Continuing to push the limits and just try.

I have spent about 5 hours reading around a blog I found through a WP Reader search for “brain fog.”   Broken Brain – Brilliant Mind, is one person’s catalog and commentary about his own several (!) brain injuries.  (The author writes anonymously, so I am choosing the gender.)

He chronicles his own brain-specific moments through blogging, but he has also organized a library of sorts.  Hence, the 5 hours of reading.  Followed by exhausted resting in the afternoons.

My last injured 15 months have been chronicled here, not intentionally as blog fodder, but out of need to make some sense of me through the art of writing.    For which I am deeply grateful now that I’ve discovered the battering my short-term memory took.

I began this blog because I simply had to write.  I still want this blog to be about giving an account of myself in discovering the world.  I am more than the walking wounded, but I do not do as much as I did back at the start of the blog in July 2011, so have fewer topics to wander around in.  I don’t want this blog to devolve into solely a traipse through a brain injury; although it will include those meanders, how much I don’t know right now.

It is apparently my time to discover and implement resources for healing, and especially, adapting.  One discovery in this online reading has been the documented phenomenon of cognitive fatigue.

Another is an entire book dedicated to “self-therapy” for brain injury, a thorough discussion of brain injury with the goal of creating one’s own healing process because we are the only ones who can know how things are working internally.

(Though, I am somewhat amused to be wanting to edit the book’s structure to make it more brain-friendly.  Hint:  paragraph breaks give us a chance to breathe and absorb!  Or:  my, that’s a lot of solid blocks of text there when your audience may have difficulty following!)

Those two finds alone validate my many months of solo journeying back from the brink and discovering a scrambled brain, where before illness was a very powerful, cognitively adept brain, able to learn just about anything (except calculus).

I’m tired out now from reading so much about brain injury.  Can I have a rueful laugh from the audience, please?

The answer to my blog post title is that my blogging and my life must be full of variety, so that is my goal.  I don’t yet have the how, but I will have faith that I will keep making the right choices in order to discover the steps back to a fuller life.

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Who Can Do This? YOU!!! « P’nina Pedals

JustI stopped in over at my “making room” post and left this link.  P’nina has quite a back story (that includes traumatic brain injury) and quite a front story that includes a long-distance bike ride in Israel!

Update:  I’ve spent some time reading several more of her posts.  You should, too.

Who Can Do This? YOU!!! « P’nina Pedals.

choices, fallback positions, and faith

Recently, I’ve been faced smack-on with having to pursue one option or another.  Time to reflect on that idea, the idea of choice.

What to choose and how to make the decision?

My choices have been an either/or, but not both.  What would I choose and how to make the decision?

I found the answer to “how” by remembering a theory of successful negotiation–always always always have a bottom line, a position beyond which you do not progress.   Stand there quietly in that confident knowing.

The “what” came immediately because of the how, but this does not assume that it was easy.  So, “how” comes first.

The how is:  we have to know what we want, the shape of a path, even if we don’t fully know the path.  Choosing causes the path to veer and wind toward a goal, perhaps, or just allows a peaceful stance, one of acceptance of choices made.

Fallbacks

A fallback position, the choice I could make if other options don’t seem to be working or presenting themselves, sounds like a good idea.   In theory.  In reality, adding an option that we don’t really want just adds tension and does not allow for acceptance.   So, no, I don’t want a fallback position because I don’t want to give up on paving my path with the choices I am interested in.

Having a fallback position presents too many options and causes paralysis.  Have to choose, to narrow down, to whittle away the swirling fog of confusion and plant my feet firmly somewhere.  Anywhere.  To do as my landscape design instructor kept hammering into us:  “Get in the boat.  Stay in the boat.”  (By which he meant, choose a theme/intent and stick with it.) More

I do not shrink from her pain

Will she dump me, too?

This to me from my elderly and infirm mother who is realizing that my sister has actually dumped me from her life, the way our father did to each of us, the way he did to my sister 12 months ago as he lay dying, and 6 years ago and 16 years ago and 26 years ago.  And forever ago.  Again and again.

My response to Mom seemed right as I said it, but wrong just after I spoke:  Of course not!  She adores you!

Oh.  She adored me, too.  How do I comfort my aged mother?  How do I assure her she is loved by all the children?  How do I help her hold this pain?  I cannot do anything.  It is not in my power except to continue as I have with Mom, she knowing I am with her always.

So, I stand strong with my mother as she reels in the knowledge that my sister has done to me what father did to daughter.  That sister could also do that to Mom.  I deal with her pain, not the one who is causing the upset.  I will not leave her alone to fear quietly.

My father caused terrible pain, the worst kind in his children.  If I start from the end, perhaps you will understand that he died the way he lived:  when his (6th) wife wrote and published his obituary, there was no mention of the children.  We did not exist to him.  We were disposable to him.

I am not disposable, despite being tacitly taught to believe I was.   My sister and brother were also shown that they were disposable.   My father showed our mother that she was disposable.  Can you imagine the strength it has taken to dash aside those lightning bolts of pain and doubt and to settle into knowing that there are people who are constants, who don’t have in their repertoire the ease of leaving, of disposing?

When my father died last February, I had been estranged from him for almost 20 years.  I left him because his behavior became ever more egregious to the people he purported to love.  That was not love; that was pain embodied in a genetic father.

The father of my childhood was nothing like the father of my late teens and beyond.  He loved me, clearly adored me, and always encouraged me.  OK, there was that one time in 1972 when I was leaving the house in holey bell-bottoms with the peace, love, and beansprouts patch (War is not healthy for children and other living things).  He told me I wasn’t leaving the house like that!  Um, yes I am.  See ya.

The father of my childhood did not show me that he had leaving in his repertoire.  I’m relieved I did not understand how he came to be married to my mother, how he left his first wife and infant daughter and moved on.

Then, he did it to our family.  Left.  Began a string of marriages that ended with a 6th wife.  Kidnapped my sister from us, leaving teenage me with the blame through his adult machinations.

I swam for years through the fog of the disaster he left behind.  Not well.  Always painfully.  But I came through it, strong and sure about how to love.  Leaving is an option of last resort, of such dire seriousness that it is simply not an option, even during anger, hurt feelings, and bitter argument.

My sister has not reached the same conclusion I have.  She lived with my father and was taught that leaving is always on the table.  And why shouldn’t she believe that?  He left her over and over.  When he kidnapped her, he caused a leaving from her mother, sister, and brother.  It must have been, and continue to be, excruciating truth, the depths of which I never comprehended.

I am finished with my father’s legacy in whatever forms it takes.  Done.

I hope for her a healing of the tissue-deep damage his example showed.   I hope for a healing for anyone who has been left holding the emotional bag.  I hope for the courage to put that bag down after coming to peace, leave it in unclaimed luggage, and never open it again.

You are loved.  See it.  Know it.  You are not disposable.

© No Stealing!  That’s what the little c in the circle means!
© lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.


craigslist and Stop Online Piracy Act (SOPA)

we’ve talked about this before.  here is the craigslist take on the Stop Online Piracy Act.  please don’t let our world be controlled like this.  George Orwell’s 1984 doesn’t need to happen.

craigslist | about > SOPA.

The internet is an amazing creation–think of the people you’ve met and the places you’ve seen because of the electrons that are connected in some sort of web.

fraility and pink mohawks

Ah, a long, sometimes sad few days.  How wrenching it is to see my elderly injured Mom coping with the long life she has been granted and the indignities that follow one on another.  She gallops toward 87 and assures me that despite these moments she wants to live.

Returning from the hospital on Sunday with me, the Big Mister heard that a friend had died.  This serious motorcyclist had a helmet with a pink mohawk glued to it!

We’re a little subdued and a lot tired, but oozing along anyway.  I am thankful for all this time I’ve had with my Mom–she’s a kick in the pantalones (to quote my sister!) and a fine addition to the Universe!

Thank you, Universe, for bringing me what and whom I need.

Here’s a post that poked me to remember my power and my happiness despite the challenges:    What if you only have 365 days left?

© No Stealing!  That’s what the little c in the circle means!
© lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Be not afraid of the dark or stillness

Being afraid of the dark is a primal response, but one we in our Western culture have outgrown.  The fear we’re left with is the fear of our own darkness, of the hidden words and pictures.  We do everything we can to keep that darkness from reaching the light, and always in the form of running hard, physically and mentally.

Being afraid to stop is the hint that we have something left to show ourselves, something to complete so that it can be removed from the inventory of darkness.

Why do we fear being still?  Being quiet?  It’s not as if velociraptors are going to chew off our faces as we sit.  Be still with memory, allow it to come, knowing that the whole of you will hold the memories and will gently integrate them.

The words, too, will show themselves.  But we have to remove the blocking wall of darkness first.

Be still.  Do not fear.  Breathe.

a note card I have tucked in a quiet place to remind me...

© No Stealing!  That’s what the little c in the circle means!
© lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to lahgitana and Rockin’ the Purple with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Police Evicted from Occupy UC Davis after Pepper Spraying Peaceful Protesters

Do you remember the violent altercations with police in the late 60s and early 70s in the US?  Do you remember Kent State?

This isn’t it.

(The video is over 8 minutes long, but it is worth paying attention from the very beginning to the very end, with speakers turned up.)

Police Evicted from Occupy UC Davis after Pepper Spraying Peaceful Protesters | Slog.

My friend has courage and requires the same of me

How am I supposed to act?  I want to be my regular ole self, but am more than usually keenly aware of the brevity of life.  I think of her every single day and wonder if today the chemo finally caught up with her and is making her tired and unable to do all that she had been doing.

So, I am my regular ole self, but the sadness is always there.  In the quiet moments, of which I create many for myself, I think of Mrs. Ploppy and her journey through life that at this moment has given her a glimpse of the end of her corporeal journey.  She has approached this time with humor and is unfailingly positive.  The courage she displays is … More

BOATLIFT – An Untold Tale of 9/11 Resilience

 

 

My Mom passed this along….

This is a story of everyday heroes.  Spread the word.  People can and do come together to help one another.

BOATLIFT (HD Version) – An Untold Tale of 9/11 Resilience – YouTube.

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