April is the cruelest month...

Especially where I live. April can never seem to decide whether or not to allow the warmth of springtime to seep into the world or to blast us with one more blizzard. The past two weeks, April has chosen the blizzard thing. Sometimes the wind would stop and large, sleepy snowflakes would float down. It was lovely--but I think if we're going to have this much snow, we should also get Christmas again. Today the sun is back, but it will be windy and cold.

The birds don't quite know what to do. It's too cold to nest and the snow gets in the way, but they seem very happy--and noisy! Yesterday a flock of blackbirds covered my leafless crabapple tree, singing with such gusto I was certain they were inside the house. They left when I opened the door to go to a rehearsal and haven't been back again. I'm hoping they'll visit today.

I have been riding an emotional roller coaster for too long. There are moments when I feel I'm in front of the roller coaster, trying desperately to stop its motion, only to be run over and at the last moment, flung into a seat--usually in the back where the motion will feel most intense and I can't see what's ahead. Nightmares are, as usual, fairly unmanageable. There have been moments when I've wanted to give up or give in--to just allow the feelings to dictate my life to me. The problem is that many of those emotions are old, created long ago and then ignored. They no longer have relevance. I don't feel the same way today, but the ancient memories clamour for expression still.

Today, however, I have no time for sentiment or validation of those past feelings. And, quite honestly, I'm tired of them. I've given them space and credence and allowance for more than five years. I think that's quite long enough. It's likely that for the rest of my life counterfeit emotions will present themselves. They may be strong enough to cause me tears, or make me feel at odds with life for a moment. They may interrupt my day or confuse me a bit. I may be resentful of them when they come, but I refuse to spend more time than necessary on this. I have a life to live.

A tiny bird is sitting on the rose bush near my window. Its song is a far cry from yesterday's chorus in my trees. It points its tiny beak skyward the softly rounded body quivers as the bird warbles. I wish to borrow from my visitor the ability to live in the moment, to sing because that's what I wish to do, and to allow that song to fill my whole body until it quivers with sound and joy.

Dear PTSD,

I've learned much from you over the past few years. Now it is time for you to learn from me. You came to me uninvited. You may stay as long as you behave yourself. If you misbehave, I will train you to act differently. You are a part of me, but you are not me. I will live my life as I choose. You might disrupt that life occasionally, but understand this: Interruptions are rude and unwelcome and will be dealt with swiftly and quietly. Please feel free to enjoy our time together, but remember your place. You are a byproduct, not major part of who I am and I have a great deal to do with the rest of my life.

Love,
Sam

My life has been as Cruel April for awhile--spots of sunshine and warmth, interrupted by unwelcome storms and frigid temperatures. It's time to prepare for growth, to leave behind the parts that keep me painfully shivering. I'm ready for the flowers to bloom.