The sound of ice freezing
PTSD, the black, sterile letters from the screen are screaming. The clock is 13.30, and a dark something has been sliding between our feet, where it slipped past us silently. Light and dark has always been in conflict with each other, so much that the other colors were miffed by coating of the void left after the fight. It’s impossible to win a war that never had the possibility of victory in its programming, impossible to learn something good from something that’s wrong.
Hours pass by relentlessly, and 8 days has gone since I sat in a meeting-room, learning yet again how wrong everything can go, how madness lurks behind every corner of safety. It’s the bomb exploding when you really tried to step at the right places, the unspeakable acts of people who should be your protectors. Trauma strikes before and after you take a breath, it’s real dangers in its unpredictability, in the soft caress of your skin before a slap, the sudden death where life was moments before. When our mind can’t make sense of it, it leaves you grasping for meaning in something that’s just chaos.
Every one of us have their stories, rarely we go through life without feeling pins pricking our skin. Most of it heal and hide the marks, but some wounds bleed again or the needles strike you at another piece of skin. In my work I’ve encountered different kind and types of wounds. Some still bleed their hurt, some of them are on the brink of reopening and some healed the wrong way, and must be healed one more time. People bear them in different ways and on different parts of their bodies, some visible, some under layers of clothes and some covered by make-up. My job is about this healing process, always searching for hidden ones, making sure their healing properly and keeping them free from infections that threaten the organism. It’s even more important for me to be sterile, so that I make sure that I offer a safe haven to open and plaster the wounds.
Life has been stable in its instability the last two weeks. I keep longing for something lost, and having a hard time resisting whispering thoughts trying to tell me there’s hope.
It’s not long since his arms where there, resting over my shoulder. It’s not long since the beats of his heart reached the ear I placed on his chest. It’s not so long since I felt safe there, and I had the feeling that no matter what happened around me, I would be fine, if I just could lay still and hear the thumping sounds of life running through him. To let go of that safety is pain, it’s trusting that I will do the same thing again, with somebody else. Sometimes it’s hard to believe: How do you replace love that you gave everything for? How do you find the energy and will to use it once again? It’s not that I think somebody else is the only was to happiness, more that I know how good it can be to really love someone and being loved in return. I have so much to give and I hope somebody out there will awake the possibility of me releasing it again.
The sound of the door bell waking me up
This is already a wonderful day, even if I was torn out of sleep by kids ex exercising their finger muscles on my door bell. I tried to hide in the shadow as I opened because of my frankenstein’s face mask, but by their swift disappearance, I’m not sure I managed. They brought a present; My snow-White mate for life, little Amadeus. He’s been naughty as usual, but wasnt away for long this time, and that wasnt to bad either, since I had a visitor yesterday.
Today I’m going to Bergen together with Helene. The anticipation is brimming: I will see my psycholgy Friends, my sister, my best friend and a lot of other Friends, and will in addition to that play boardgames, maybe Even Resistance, which is the best social game ever made that I know of! I have also done a lot lately, for example met a lot of warm and inspiring psychologist, organized things for my group (am now planning a hike to a cabin) and read about mentalization. I’ve had the best chatts, and talked a lot with an amazing guy. Can’t believe my luck, it was worth fighting away the hurt, rejection and dissapointment that lingered from the bad choices I made. I feel free, and will devour every bit of life with vigor. I have so many good things now: Wonderful and caring friends in many cities, a great family, the best job where I help the nicest people find their inner beauty, all the things I need, and my Italian course, that produce goose-bumps when I discover yet another beautiful word that gives my ear another reason to listen to magic.
Remember this: even if everything is as bad as it can be, you will get the price in the end. Or like my mother said; Nothing is so bad that it can’t be fixed. I believe that, and if you don’t, listen to my and others stories, and don’t forget you’ve felt good before.
The sound of letting go
People are afraid of it all. Tiny little creatures crawling on the floor, rooms where space is limited, certain thoughts and triggers evoking them, and not least: Humans. How they smile while holding a dagger behind their back, how you curl yourself up for protections from their harsh words, and how you think about jumping over the edge both in happiness and sorrow.
Pain has always been an anguish for me. When I felt it, I felt it intensely , no matter if it was physical or psychological. I tried all the strategies that I had then, to strangle it: Soothing, thinking, hiding, words that promised another and better life, mechanisms of short-term survival that did their job there and then. It worked, until new Pain knocked on my door.
New days always bring with it something else, whether its pain or joy. Its full of unknown events that always surprise you, its full of twists that`s impossible to predict, and it`s also full of strong emotions, also good ones. They are the champions presenting another reason to free your nerves from their cages, so that they can touch every aspect of it with its tiny, fast fingers.
Today also hide secrets, known only to the special few: The knowledge collected from your personal narrative. Some of the best and the worst, and lot of in-betweens. It’s the kiss you had from that special one, making you dizzy and happy to be alive, it’s the first time you stumbled, but got picked up again by a stranger, gentle and caring. It’s the tears brimming over from disappointment and loss, but thanking you for their release. This pendulum swings back and forth, like a lot of things in life. Its homeostasis, not of temperature or drug-tolerance, but of feelings. It’s the principle of balance that keeps tugging us back in a new direction, never static. Almost like the universe itself. Sometimes the pulling is stronger, and the movement leads to others moving, too. It’s the boomerang coming back, with something new on its surface from where it travelled. The air we breath in is never the same as before, it changes but does it job perfectly, all the same. We humans are even more magnificent. After change, we mostly learn and are even better adapted for emotions yet to arrive. Because they will resurface and try to pull you under water, make you cry for help and struggle with panic. But remember: You won`t drown if you remember to swim the right way, and be calm while you do it.
The sound of the morning after dark
Aside Posted on
The darkness from yesterday had for the time being been forgotten with the new morning coating over the bleary paint. An angel peering down from its sky of hope, would clap its hand delightfully and deliever a package of encourangement at my doorstep. I have already been outside and picked it up, delving in to the new day with vigour and a mild stroke of self-comfort over my cheek. A little joke describes some of what I`m feeling right now:
There is this guy who’s always been poor, and one day he decides to pray to God that he could win the lotto. He prays and prays, but doesn’t win. Every day, he prays to God that he could win the lotto, and it never happens.
One day, when he’s very old and frustrated, he gets on his knees and says, “Look, God. This is the last time I’m going to pray. PLEASE let me win the lotto, or at least tell me why you aren’t letting me win.”
Suddenly, an angel appears before the man and says, “Look, sir, could you do God a favor and at least BUY A LOTTO TICKET???!
Its only yourself who can grab the chance before you, which reminds me of a song from Natasha Bedingfield:
I also add a link to my last.fm page, for those interested in what a psychologist listen to (at least, THIS psychologist)
Narrative of my life: Part 2
Some days just makes you think. Not just any thoughts, like ‘I wonder what dinner should be’, but thoughts of reflection. I’m not always sure if this is good, sometimes it feels like it would have been so much easier if I just cut the conscious part of myself, away for a while.
I have just come from a 2-day course about psychology. At the end of the day it felt too much, sometimes all this talk about anxiety, depression and stress just gets me, even when I am touched to tears by the compassion in certain people. I always feel lucky when I think of how far I’ve come, but eventually the other side of the equation kicks in.
I started on my narrative some days ago, and it still chills me a bit when I ponder why I don’t remember much from my earlier life. What would I be without the pictures, stories and memories that points to how it maybe was? I always get bit stressed when I see movies portraying this: How is it to form your identity from scratch? Like I wrote last time, many times when I think back its with shame. How could I be so self-sentered?
I used to live in the world of books and felt comfortable there. I really lived in the world where the characters were. I remember very little about the books now, it’s in a haze, and its like I never read them at all. In the start of school I loved reading, and I have kept that interest even when we started analyzing books and in my opinion cutting their magic away. It’s like eating a delicious meal and afterwards hearing that what you ate was a combination of something healthy and disgusting. A friend told me, before I went to China, to eat first and ask afterwards if I wanted to keep my sanity. This element was central for my well-being. The songs I learned and thought I understood were just childish miming far away from reality. That’s how you start believing in fairy castles and strangeness. In fact, after hearing some of my favorite songs later, I was kind of disappointed sometimes, it was always much simpler than once thought.
School was okay, for the most time. I was never one of the cool girls, and kept to the two same girls for the 9 years I went there. It’s like that in small places, the structure designs itself, and maybe I ,participated more in creating it than I ever knew. Again, I was the domineering queen. I decided a lot of stuff: that we should form a club where we wrote about the environment, without noticing the weak response I did get. I took the lead, and found it natural. I planned, organized and came with bright ideas. Must probably have been a real pAin, but I was blissfully unaware. I think I was 12 or 13 when I started in the scout group, after some sorry attempts at what we call 4h. I don’t even remember what the letters were for, just that I did not particularly like it. We were ‘forced’ to have meetings, do tasks, and have a party with sketches. I am a bad actress, and will probably never be happy in the limelight. It’s like all my flaws, and I felt I had more than most, suddenly got even more obvious. Like I remember it, response was seldom given at anything I did, no matter how hard I tried. When I think back now, my memories might have been colored by untruth, but now That I know my mother lived in constant depression (she said a black veil hung over her the moment she came home) it’s not completely unlikely. From my mother I learned that happiness should and could be measured in cleanness and how fast you cleaned it. I can remember that is was fun, though, especially when we did things together, like sorting socks.
My scout group gave me all I longed for, and more. I once again came in leader roles, but now in natural way that I thrived in. I can just sum it up: I felt great, just said what I thought, laughed, made up funny songs with my friend, and became the famous story-teller. I also began falling in love at that time. It was sweet and wonderful, and added a flavor that made the ingredients of life irresistible. Kindergarten has all been about playing; the bits of heaven consisted of time in the sandbox and on the swings. Higher, faster, better. The heavens in my teens was made of heart-beats, giggles and my first kiss. It’s not obvious to me why this was so important for me, my parents were not a particularly loving couple, but my mother and I used to watch dramas on the tv all the time, and romance and feelings was the meaning of it all. This I adopted easily, because love was all that is, something I still believe and live by.
There are so many small stories to tell about a life, but I can only choose some, and hope it represents my story in some ways. Sometimes I’m surprised when I talked with old friends and family-members and something new suddenly enters my consciousness. Some weeks ago, at a conference, I at herring, that I normally stay away from. At that time I thought: Why not? As the taste landed on my tastebuds and entered the smelling part of my brain, I memory suddenly came alive. I remembered how my grandfather always ate this, and this was so precious to me. He was an icon for love and care, and to forget our time together, or denying them access, feels like losing valuable possessions. A similar thing actually happened some ours ago. I was sitting in the bus taking me home, with my eyes sleepy and closed, when I suddenly remember the feeling of sitting behind the sofa, looking up. We had a red leather one, and I sat there, feeling small but also protected. When I think about it I’ve been the opposite of claustrophobic; Tiny or dark places attracted me: It was just for me and I owned the space there and then.
As I am Rolling back at fort on memory lade, in a nostalgic pace, I suddenly starting about you: The reader. Maybe it’s confusing to follow my train of thoughts, or even a bit tiring. I want to thank you for sticking to it so far, especially since my grammar probably has some hiccups here and there. I will also make this the natural way to end this part, and will as promised before, continue at a steady pace.
Like always, I appreciate feedback, especially constructive and concrete one like: don’t write so much, or detailed or I especially disliked/liked THAT part. I think I’m quite good at using feedback in a good way, even when it points to things I need to work with, so always feel free to say what you think!
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