The eternal weeding goes on. Yesterday, the sun came out and I had forgot what it was like. The unicorn meat eating cats sleep, and Max snores. I hope I am not up too long this early morning. I have a full day, including therapy, and a nap is a long way away.
I keep looking for news that Kate, of Prince William and Kate fame, have had the baby, but, no luck. And if that seems trivial compared to what is going on in the world outside my window, so be it. These are contentious times for Americans, in particular. But this is my own safe space for you: those of you with disabilities, and their loved ones, and friends...
Everyone needs a safe space to be in, particularly those with mental health diagnoses. I have to have quiet time in every day, which is one reason I wake at these extraordinary hours. I need time to listen to the silence, and to process, to think. I need time, in my apartment, when I hear no movement upstairs, and time when I know no one will bother me.
I spent years, decades even, at the Old House, listening to the silence, which is never void, but filled with the Presence. The silence fills with the sounds of trees I have known and loved, and the sound of Tinker Creek. The quiet fills with the thoughts of those that I have loved, and who have loved me, in the past, and in the present. Those thoughts are tied to my things, the furniture around me, the pictures, the clothes, the jewelry that were gifts. What I have bought for myself is such a miniscule amount of my things...So when I write those posts about my 'things' I am really recounting all the love I have been surrounded by.
I know that I ground in the material world. That is the very definition of grounding. To ground oneself, is to come back to the material, reality, after dissociation, or fear, or anger. To ground myself, I used to have a fat lab mix named Eddie. If all else failed, I knew that Eddie was real, and of this world.
Grounding is helpful in facing reality, to not be in denial. It helps to overcome the daily, sometimes petty, obstacles that face you and I. Denial is a special bugaboo of mine. I deny about everything. As an alcoholic and a person with borderline personality disorder, denial is the first place I run, when a change occurs. For instance, every dawn is change.
Today is therapy day, and I am on the ball. I am ok with dawn happening this morning...
Nothing very exciting happened this week, and I am profoundly grateful. I mean myself, and not the outside world, obviously, where plenty goes on. But this is our space, our time to be together, wherever and whenever you read me. I know that it is 11:18 AM in Moscow, Russia, and 9 in the morning, in Great Britain and Scotland. Your day started about the time I woke. For me, it is about 3 hours before dawn. I hope to get some more sleep, when this post is done.
But, I know that some of you read this blog at the office, no judgement, and some of you read it at home, first thing in the morning. I know that some of you are drinking tea, and some, coffee. And I like to think of you, out there reading, and trying to make it through another day, or making it easily, through your diagnoses of alcoholism, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, cancer, ADD, fibromyalgia, heart disease, and all the numerous, invisible, or visible things that happen to us, in this world. Or perhaps none of those things have happened to you. Perhaps you just like my descriptions of Nature, or something to read that lets you vent.
Just as, before I go to sleep, I think of all of us out there, with computers or not, struggling to stay sober, and sane, in this decidedly insane and un-sober world. I realize that a majority of my 'target audience' probably cannot afford a computer, nor do they have access to one. People with disabilities often have nothing, except the good will of the rest of us. One would hope, anyway...
My goal every morning, is to communicate. To educate. To uncover the hidden. To fight the stigma of those with diagnoses. It is decidedly difficult to blog under my own name, about such stigmatized topics as borderline personality disorder, and alcoholism, it effects my present and my future.
But the disquiet, and actual rage I feel, about what has happened to me in the past, and my diagnoses and the stigma attached, is so great, that I often throw caution out with the bathwater. If the Presence has marked me out, with my disabilities, then so be it. This is where I take a stand. And even if you do not take a stand, you have made one.
I am a person. A real person. With diagnoses and without. I am not my disorders. I am this page that you read.
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