As the title suggests, this is a spontaneous and unedited ramble, of sorts … there’ll be plenty of mistakes no doubt and no particular flow … so hang in there ;)
I’m listening to Angie Stone, again … loving her stuff at the moment …
I was scrolling through my FB newsfeed this evening and came across a friends lovely little post with pictures, of him and his wife at a wedding in Australia somewhere.
Now my mate has had vertigo on and off, like myself, but other than that he’s pretty healthy. His last vertigo bout came when he last travelled to Australia and seems to think it had something to do with the flu and the altitude.
Anyways … as I’m looking at this awesome pic of him and his wife, a thought crossed my mind … “how on earth did you get back on a plane after the last bout of vertigo???”
Which if course set Me off on a train of thought that I’m still grasping at:
The last time I got on a plane I had a panic attack and just before the doors shut I jumped up and got off that plane as fast as I could. It wasn’t a pleasant experience and neither was waiting at the airport for 5 hours for someone to pick Me up!
But I’ve never got on a plane again.
The same thing has happened with driving … or going places … or certain people … or occasions … if theres been an inkling of panic I don’t go back.
Enter … The WHY?
And as I’m pondering all the adjustments I’ve made to my life so I can have some semblance of ‘normality’ and functionality … I’m wondering Why I can’t just go back and do what I used too …
Train of thought goes immediately to a little girl stuck in a room where she can’t reach the door handle so she can get out … where she can’t yell cos she can’t breath properly and feels like she’s suffocating … where theres no-one coming to get her … where theres no way Out …
and the only source of survival that she can muster, is her witts.
She negotiates … she pleads .. but not to much because that brings a different kind of fuckery if it goes wrong … she tries to ‘change the subject’, like a diversionary tactic …
And … I’ve been doing this Ever Since!
It’s not just avoidance. It’s survival.
Survival of the fucking fittest.
You see, people are predictable in their own fucked up unpredictable ways.
Just ask the social scientists!
And I had variables … reasons … things to avoid … things to move and remove … faces to employ and a way to breath so as not to appear too frightened … I was able to predict the unpredictable until it became to unpredictable.
And this is Me.
This is what I do … I don’t move for fear of moving and what it may ’cause’ … the repercussions.
Even as a fucking adult, my muscles tense and my heart pounds way to fast … my breathing will slow and I’ll remain quiet … so I can hear ‘whats happening’ … whats happening in the undercurrents … what the ‘feels’ are … whether there is danger or if it’s just a passing noise …
And that whole fucking sensation is built in and no amount of ‘I have pts(d) and I am recovering’ makes that tense sensation subside.
The only fucking thing that works are mind / feeling numbing drugs!
It used to be alcohol and fuck do I wish I could drink like I used too! If anything it was numbing … there was no panic and ‘over watching’ … and I don’t give 2 fucks what anyone says, if the fucking alcohol works then drink that son of bitch till it doesn’t!
I can slow my breathing down … but it’s still intense … and that intense sensation doesn’t subside until my personage feels like it … feels like its ok.
And this is my fucking life. And at times it’s mind fuckingly fucked! When my head aches and my muscles won’t relax and I can’t focus and want to run but theres nowhere to go … because all those demons, are In Me … they never went anywhere. Sometimes they subside and let Me breathe … sometimes they choke the life out of Me.
Why can’t I, I, I get on a plane again and go to Australia and have pretty little photographs with my partner and kids and mokos and smile like the sun is shining out of my happy little ass???
Sometimes … a lot of times actually … even though I try and try again …
I am nothing more than a frightened little girl standing in a dark damp room trying really hard to breathe, hoping that the needle he’s just injected will kill him and someone will come to the door, whilst scanning the room for something to hide in or stand on so I can reach the door handle … if Only I was just a little bit taller …
Sometimes, I am nothing more, nothing less, than that little being, in that moment.
And that fucking sucks ass.