I am so deeply proud of myself right now.
There aren't many people in my life I can share that sentiment with. Which makes me a little sad. But I digress. I am SO very proud of myself. I am lying on a bed in a room in a town that is hot. Everything, the bed, the room, the town. It's all hot. And it's November. I could wish the bed and room were cooler, but I am happy for the hot. I spent the day driving in it, with my windows down, soaking in the heat and the skin of the world that lays itself so bare in these gorgeous hills. I am in Southern Arizona again, in Yuma.
Today I drove, and tomorrow I am going in for surgery.
That is a very strange thing for me to reread. I also watched Dr Strange, in a cool theater, all by myself. I sat and soaked in a story that was actually really very helpful. It reminded me of the power that resides in surrender. I will need that reminder tomorrow.
The only thing I am genuinely scared about tomorrow is the anesthesia. I am terrified that I will not be able to let go, that I will stubbornly cling to consciousness, even if it means hours of torture. Isn't that a terrifying thought?? Oh, it is. I don't react well to drugs that try and control me. I tend to fight them, and in the fighting create a nightmare world for myself. I tried to surrender to psilocybin before, and it didn't go so well. I threw myself headlong into my subconscious, instead of stepping lightly into the stream, and I fought wars with what I saw. Morphine, any sort of benzo, hell, even Tylenol PM. I fight them.
I need to not fight tomorrow. I need to let go, put my body into the hands of people who know what they are doing, and I need to check the fuck out. THAT is what scares me.
So, why am I proud of myself. Because I have done things over the past couple of days that I never thought I could do. I am getting surgery to get implants for teeth. I am going to titanium bionisize my mouth. I have spent the past 20 years of my life not being able to smile, because I was ashamed. Of what, I'm not exactly sure. The level of psychosis I have around my mouth, my skin, my autonomy, hints at reasons for my fear and shame to me. But I don't have any tangible memories of what it was that caused me to check the fuck out when it came to my teeth. The level of checking out, the blank spaces in my mind, the lack of even a hint of memory... if anyone else told me they had those symptoms around a specific body part, I'd tell them to see a very specific kind of counselor and get those memories back so they could deal with the trauma. I, apparently, don't find myself worthy of the same advice, because I never stuck with a counselor long enough to let them help me. I acted as my own counselor, inefficiently forcing myself to heal around the wounds and build up enough strength to be able to exist in spite of them.
What I am doing tomorrow is only a small step forward in what I know will be a very uncomfortable, bitch of a journey. Resetting bones that I imperfectly set myself, with the help of professionals.
But, it is, by far, the hardest step. Anyone I know who has ever dealt with the kind of fear that tells you you are about to die knows what I mean when I say that my body has been in flight mode for months now. The kind of fear that sends surges of adrenaline coursing through your body, begging your limbs to work harder than they ever have before to run the fuck away. And when that fear is unwarranted, or the wrong response, the level of effort involved in just standing still is astronomical. The level of effort involved in actually moving forward is fucking superhuman. I had to build GIANT walls around every facet of myself, hiding self from self, in order to start to deal with it. When I lost control of my thoughts, when I remembered what I was doing, I would be flooded with pure anxiety. I would shake, and throw up, and cry. Just from thinking about something that was going to possibly happen months away.
The last week would have been the worst, but I was smart and I invited my parents out to stay. At any other point in my life, any other stressor, that would have been a monumentally stupid thing to do. Because my parents represent every unhealthy thing I did to myself to survive my childhood. They are selfish, and sweet, and loving, and cruel. They are, simply, family. Fucked up, great, awful, wonderful family. And they require a lot from me, just to navigate the complex maelstrom between honesty and love.
Which was perfect. I was so busy thinking of everyone else, I didn't have a moment to spare for myself. Seriously. It was fucking perfect. I had one panic attack the entire time they were there, and it was over being stuck in the back seat of a minivan while my mother drove dark, windy, mountain roads and my niece screamed in the seat next to me. A perfectly reasonable panic attack.
And this Friday, I walked into a dentist office for the first time in 20 years. Granted, it was a dentist office in Mexico, bright yellow and blue, and full of cheerful people happy to be there. It was NOT your typical dentist visit. BUT STILL. PEOPLE! I can't tell you... I really can't describe the monumental achievement that was for me. I walked in, and I didn't run back out. I sat in the waiting area, and I didn't run back out. I talked to multiple people, and I didn't run away screaming. I let people, men, touch me, open my mouth and evaluate what needs doing, and I didn't scream my way into oblivion. I didn't run away.
I am proud of myself. I have told my body, over and over again, how much I love her, how proud I am of her. I have patted myself on the back, thumped myself on the back, rewarded myself with tequila and hot sex with wonderful strangers. I have spent time with myself, spent some money on myself, eaten a LOT of very good food, and I have been happy.
Tomorrow I go in for surgery. I'm still scared, but writing this out has helped remind me that I am kind of a badass. I can, literally, deal with anything. That's a wonderful feeling. It helps to remind myself that I choose to feel this way, choose to feel this fear, and do this shit, and come out stronger on the other side.
There aren't many people in my life I can share that sentiment with. Which makes me a little sad. But I digress. I am SO very proud of myself. I am lying on a bed in a room in a town that is hot. Everything, the bed, the room, the town. It's all hot. And it's November. I could wish the bed and room were cooler, but I am happy for the hot. I spent the day driving in it, with my windows down, soaking in the heat and the skin of the world that lays itself so bare in these gorgeous hills. I am in Southern Arizona again, in Yuma.
Today I drove, and tomorrow I am going in for surgery.
That is a very strange thing for me to reread. I also watched Dr Strange, in a cool theater, all by myself. I sat and soaked in a story that was actually really very helpful. It reminded me of the power that resides in surrender. I will need that reminder tomorrow.
The only thing I am genuinely scared about tomorrow is the anesthesia. I am terrified that I will not be able to let go, that I will stubbornly cling to consciousness, even if it means hours of torture. Isn't that a terrifying thought?? Oh, it is. I don't react well to drugs that try and control me. I tend to fight them, and in the fighting create a nightmare world for myself. I tried to surrender to psilocybin before, and it didn't go so well. I threw myself headlong into my subconscious, instead of stepping lightly into the stream, and I fought wars with what I saw. Morphine, any sort of benzo, hell, even Tylenol PM. I fight them.
I need to not fight tomorrow. I need to let go, put my body into the hands of people who know what they are doing, and I need to check the fuck out. THAT is what scares me.
So, why am I proud of myself. Because I have done things over the past couple of days that I never thought I could do. I am getting surgery to get implants for teeth. I am going to titanium bionisize my mouth. I have spent the past 20 years of my life not being able to smile, because I was ashamed. Of what, I'm not exactly sure. The level of psychosis I have around my mouth, my skin, my autonomy, hints at reasons for my fear and shame to me. But I don't have any tangible memories of what it was that caused me to check the fuck out when it came to my teeth. The level of checking out, the blank spaces in my mind, the lack of even a hint of memory... if anyone else told me they had those symptoms around a specific body part, I'd tell them to see a very specific kind of counselor and get those memories back so they could deal with the trauma. I, apparently, don't find myself worthy of the same advice, because I never stuck with a counselor long enough to let them help me. I acted as my own counselor, inefficiently forcing myself to heal around the wounds and build up enough strength to be able to exist in spite of them.
What I am doing tomorrow is only a small step forward in what I know will be a very uncomfortable, bitch of a journey. Resetting bones that I imperfectly set myself, with the help of professionals.
But, it is, by far, the hardest step. Anyone I know who has ever dealt with the kind of fear that tells you you are about to die knows what I mean when I say that my body has been in flight mode for months now. The kind of fear that sends surges of adrenaline coursing through your body, begging your limbs to work harder than they ever have before to run the fuck away. And when that fear is unwarranted, or the wrong response, the level of effort involved in just standing still is astronomical. The level of effort involved in actually moving forward is fucking superhuman. I had to build GIANT walls around every facet of myself, hiding self from self, in order to start to deal with it. When I lost control of my thoughts, when I remembered what I was doing, I would be flooded with pure anxiety. I would shake, and throw up, and cry. Just from thinking about something that was going to possibly happen months away.
The last week would have been the worst, but I was smart and I invited my parents out to stay. At any other point in my life, any other stressor, that would have been a monumentally stupid thing to do. Because my parents represent every unhealthy thing I did to myself to survive my childhood. They are selfish, and sweet, and loving, and cruel. They are, simply, family. Fucked up, great, awful, wonderful family. And they require a lot from me, just to navigate the complex maelstrom between honesty and love.
Which was perfect. I was so busy thinking of everyone else, I didn't have a moment to spare for myself. Seriously. It was fucking perfect. I had one panic attack the entire time they were there, and it was over being stuck in the back seat of a minivan while my mother drove dark, windy, mountain roads and my niece screamed in the seat next to me. A perfectly reasonable panic attack.
And this Friday, I walked into a dentist office for the first time in 20 years. Granted, it was a dentist office in Mexico, bright yellow and blue, and full of cheerful people happy to be there. It was NOT your typical dentist visit. BUT STILL. PEOPLE! I can't tell you... I really can't describe the monumental achievement that was for me. I walked in, and I didn't run back out. I sat in the waiting area, and I didn't run back out. I talked to multiple people, and I didn't run away screaming. I let people, men, touch me, open my mouth and evaluate what needs doing, and I didn't scream my way into oblivion. I didn't run away.
I am proud of myself. I have told my body, over and over again, how much I love her, how proud I am of her. I have patted myself on the back, thumped myself on the back, rewarded myself with tequila and hot sex with wonderful strangers. I have spent time with myself, spent some money on myself, eaten a LOT of very good food, and I have been happy.
Tomorrow I go in for surgery. I'm still scared, but writing this out has helped remind me that I am kind of a badass. I can, literally, deal with anything. That's a wonderful feeling. It helps to remind myself that I choose to feel this way, choose to feel this fear, and do this shit, and come out stronger on the other side.
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