September through December are difficult times for me personally. The end of October and beginning of November are the worst. For thirty-four years, I’ve kept the demons at bay by ignoring them, but they are always close by, pushing for relevance in my life. One year ago, I began to confront them. One by one, they are having less relevance in my life and I am moving a little bit forward each day to find the better me.
Carter Canyon WMA.
The last two weeks have been incredibly difficult to get through. As with any trauma work, there will be good and bad times, progress and setbacks. This past week was one of the more difficult ones, but three friends stepped up to help keep me on track and to be that inner voice of rationality when my own inner voice could not. To them, I am eternally grateful.
As for where I go next, it has to be spending more time offline doing what I love (reading, writing, being in nature) and less online, even though I know that means losing touch with people.
I still remember the dust particles in the air. I remember the trees blossoming. I remember the punches to face. I remember being dragged down a flight of stairs. I remember never having no being taken as an answer.
The phone rings, echoing throughout the dining room. “Ugh,” Paul and I say in unison. I feel myself tense up. My heart begins beating in my throat. I close my eyes and try to will the most menacing machine in my house to stop ringing.
“Do I have to get that?” Paul says before the answering machine picks up.
“I can’t talk to anyone right now,” I reply. We decide to let it go. We’ll call back later.
As an introvert, talking to anyone on the telephone is difficult. Yet, I have a landline and a cell phone. I hate them with every fiber of my being.
Deep breath.
This is not an easy post for me to make or write, but there are some things people need to know. This past year has been a huge struggle, bigger than anyone will probably ever know.
A good friend of mine recently told me my shift in writing here has turned extremely personal. That is due, in part, to finally taking care of my mental health issues with a professional instead of doing it on my own.
By working on these issues, it has become harder to mask my inner turmoil. People at work ask if I’m okay. I’m not, but I am, and I will be. That’s the important part.
From the end of May through June, there was outrage over the forced separation of children from their parents as families entered the United States illegally. Many were seeking asylum. Outrage filled the news cycles. My Facebook feed had posts several times a day from people I know locally as well as national news. I had to stop checking Facebook to get away from it all.
There were protests and calls for the forced separations to stop. Comments such as, “I have a 4-year-old and can’t imagine this happening to me,” helped everyday Americans identify with the plight of people trying to escape from a variety of circumstances many people cannot understand or comprehend.
Then, everything went silent. Although I have continued to read stories about conditions at the detention centers where children are still being held, there has been nary a peep from the local folks who were once so angry about the treatment of children. It was like it didn’t matter. Several stories, however, have made national attention, and people are angry, it just seems like no one I know in western Nebraska cares about it anymore.
Somewhere over the Rocky Mountains. I was on a plane. I didn’t have a map or a compass.
The airport in Denver was quiet except for the sound of a ticking clock. Once I concentrated on the sound, I realized it was not a clock at all. It was the sound of the moving walkway near our gate and it was not “ticking” as consistent at a moving second hand.
Imagine living in a world where you are told nothing you ever do is right. Imagine a world where everyone questions your actions or behavior. Imagine where everyone who could help you fails or is removed from your life. Imagine what kind of person you would be if you grew up in a world like this.
The wolf has fascinated us for thousands of years. We watch it as it makes its way through the woods, across snow, and as it approaches its prey. But it has also struck fear into man’s heart. That fear has created many legends over the centuries.
Its untamed spirit inspires us, draws us in, but it also causes us to fear because we can never seem to take that untamed and free step into the wild ourselves.
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