The desire to write has been fading over the past few months, mostly because the only time I feel driven to do so is when PTSD becomes intolerable. I don't enjoy writing about it and blogging seems to do nothing more than create a permanent record of my most irrational moments, and a distorted representation of who I really am. I've been open about the fact that the person who speaks on my blog is only one facet of me, but still there are times when I wish that facet was less whiny and oppressed.
I find myself wanting to lash out at people--to cause hurt when none should be given. The compulsion feels foreign yet familiar, as if I've been wanting to give pain for a very long time. It sickens me. Therapist would tell me this is old--a result of being unprotected and severely hurt as a child. I don't know what to do with it--where to put it--how to dispel it. Therapist would say to allow the desire to occur without shame; to understand where it comes from and to "speak" to it as I would if one of my own children were experiencing such feelings. Except--I'm not a child.
I told Darrin about this one night. He held me close and said it was okay. He said, soon, when the feelings have all been spent, I won't be bothered by them anymore. He told me he knows who I am and that this is unpleasant but temporary and I don't have to go through it alone. But he's not always here, and for the next few weeks he'll be gone even more as he teaches the afternoon and night classes.
I'm not going to say this to DJ, but I miss him terribly. He visits often. Darrin and Adam invite him to spend the night--to stay longer with us. I don't. I know it's good for him to be on his own. But there are times when I'd love one of his hugs, and I reluctantly admit that there were moments when he was still at home when I felt safe knowing he was watching out for me. I didn't need him to do that, but it seemed to be an amazing luxury I've rarely had--someone who always seemed to be thinking of me, wondering if I was okay, reminding me of the important things in my life. Not everyone has that, and probably I shouldn't have had it from my son, but it still made me feel valued, regardless of the source.
I finally have a Christmas tree. Darrin and Adam went to the mountains in rather nasty weather and cut one for us. It's not beautiful, but I'm guessing when you're traipsing through snow in high winds and all your extremities are numb, beauty is less of an objective than proximity to the truck. We haven't decorated it yet. I'm not sure when that will happen, but I'm really glad to have one.
Tabitha and I made my favorite Christmas cookies with my mom yesterday. She's become less and less linear in her thought processes. She went downstairs to get a bottle of maraschino cherries and came back up with an armful of quilts and blanket and photos of others she had made. Then she made us listen as she displayed each one, told us who it was for, and why it was made. Mixed in with the pictures were photos of a quilt I made years ago for Darrin's aunt and uncle. It was king-sized, a sampler quilt made of pieced blocks I thought would be fun to make. Then I took the top to my mom's house to elicit her help in quilting it. I had four younger siblings living at home and DJ was two. There were pictures of one brother and a sister quilting, and one of DJ putting in some stitches, as well. I left in his quilting when I gave the give to Darrin's aunt and uncle--just because I wanted to.
We made fifteen dozen cookies. I took a bunch home and they now reside in my freezer. Tonight the kids and I made tamales and this weekend we'll make pastries with our friends across the street (an annual tradition). Tabitha spends enormous amounts of time playing Christmas carols on the piano and when she's not playing, Adam has his favorite saxophone carol CD playing. I admit to being a little tired of their choices of music. I also admit to loving the fact that they're enjoying Christmas in their own ways and allowing each other time and space in the process.
Christmas is in two weeks and I've bought exactly zero presents. I feel no urgency or stress to do so. I'm taking one day at a time, grateful for snow, gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, Christmas lights on neighbors' homes, beautiful music, my fragrant (if hideous) Christmas tree, and crazy-still-blooming pansies. We had an ice storm on Friday. When everything subsided and warmed up slightly, the silly things were still there, displaying their riot of colorful petals. Visitors to my home shake their heads and laugh at my stubborn flowers.
And after they leave, I go out and whisper to those pansies how very much I love them.