shut down and pick up
Initially I lost connection because my kitten pissed on the modem- alright, fine; initially I lost connection cause I lost my mind (shit happens)- then the kitten pissed on the modem, and then I realized, ya know what, I fucking love a home, disconnected. And so I canceled it. And then I couldn’t pay my phone, so that got cut off, too. And then no one could reach me, and I saw the isolation, and that it was good. And so it was. (I’ve been reading Genesis lately; I apologize.)
My facebook is inaccessible- blame the kitten, blame my stringent security selections that ensure that I cannot access it outside of my home without a texted code. I deleted (in one fell, wonderful swoop) my firstname.lastname@example.org email. I don’t know why, beyond that I am pruning what has not been working for me in favor of what has.
Or, I am hauling around a heavy beating-broken heart geysering blood (what a mess!), and I am humiliated and horrified and seeking warm tight tucks wherein to lick my wounds alone.
Let’s call it a generous mixture of both.
Regardless, for the most part I’ve been doing wonderfully. Messiness generally allows for the most productive growth, no? I do yoga. I meditate. I drink green tea. I talk to real, live people and seek companionship. I wear clothes that fit. Most nights I even sleep, with neither nightmare nor interruption. I am back at school and back in vocational rehab.
Things have lately gotten a little, shall we say, tense, since the government shut down. Poverty is very much an active trauma; there is very little net beneath us besides social services, and this threat that is, very much, a threat to our literal survival- our food and shelter- brings up previous situations. I’ve been thinking about the bear, lately, and mattresses in church basements, and snow. For the last couple weeks I’ve only slept when drugged; my heart races almost constantly. I’ve also been frequently faint from hunger, as I have attempted to reserve the majority of our food for my child, an impulse resulting from both maternal instincts and trauma-thinking, with a cold necessity underlying.
In good news, I’ve been able to use the self-care tools I’ve spent the last few months meticulously nurturing, and so far so good. In even better news, I managed to buy an ’88 red Ford Ranger pick up truck, with a canopy, and the bed is large enough to comfortably fit my family if it comes to that. So I am holding to breath, movement, mindfulness, and a pick up. Not bad, considering.