Inspiration

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I am reading all of these lovely inspirational, moving, deeply thought, resonating articles and books from lovely empathetic/sympathetic peoples.

 

I’m just not there yet, y’all.

I feel that you want me to be there. 

Believe me, I WANT me to be there. 

 

The best I can hope for today, is that I have trudged through the deepest muck of MrexH situation, and am passing through the bit of squashy junk before emerging out.

 

Also, I hope that I have some sturdy boots on.  I can’t even tell if I do or not.

 

It’s also okay if I have on an off-white trench coat, which is so gunked up from the muck, that it has frayed at the bottom.  Uh-oh, now I’m picturing an old-timey leather car-driving cap and ridiculous goggles as well.

 

It occurs to me that I should reconsider finding a new therapist to speak with and work through some of the emergence from muck. The screaming in my head might be a big clue for me…

 

I am really not interested in going through my back-story with another person, though.  I have told this tale over and over and over and over and over and over and well, over and over

 

Can you give a therapist a document dump, or at least Cliffs notes, to avoid speaking those words again?!!?

 

I just want to walk in, have a gentle greeting, and listen to sage advice from someone who knows stuff and can see me enough to help me reveal myself to myself.

 

I can pay them in tea, blueberry zucchini brownies, and a hearty companion for The Philadelphia Story viewing.

 

Meet me at the corner of close and soon, wise sage!

 

Love, Ms. Herisme xo

Super Anxiety Powers

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I am currently in the throws of experiencing the strength of my own Super Anxiety Powers.  I am unable to pinpoint the specific origin this time.  Somehow I feel that if I could define the cause, I could zero in with some laser precision and knock it out.

 

Power and control, baby

A dangerous illusion, I know

 

I’m not sure how anyone else’s anxiety takes over their being, but mine has such a grip on me right now, that I am finding it difficult to control my fingers and hands as I type this.

 

My Super Anxiety begins with an overwhelming feeling in my stomach gut, which then travels outwards through my body. The feeling is very intense through my thighs and up to my chest regions.

Perhaps not unlike butterflies on cocaine… 

super intense tainted death cocaine, I think.

 

Once it hits my heart region, I can hear every sound every piece of my heart arteries and valves make.  This is so overwhelming and intense in my eardrums, that it feels as if my heart is going to explode out through my ears.

 

Sometimes I can take a few naproxen sodium (like Aleve) to bring the intensity down to a manageable level.  Sometimes soothing hot tea brings it in check.  Sometimes playing a mindless computer game and taking a rest, does the trick.  I have been trying all of these, and my Super Anxiety Power is all ‘honey badger don’t care’ on me.

 

I had to stay perfectly prone and still for 10 minutes the other day

in order to just make some muffins.

Muffins, that’s all

Not even scary muffins, just muffins for my sweet puffin muffin bear boy to eat

because that is what he had requested

 

I am currently in the naproxen/hot tea and rest mode – yet, still experiencing barely controlled Super Anxiety Powers.

 

Over the past few days, I have heard myself screaming over and over in my head, kind of like a waking nightmare with blood curdling screams.  It has been so bad that at least twice I have had to look carefully around to see if I was screaming out loud or if it was just in my head.  So far, it has been my imagination (knocks on wood and crosses all fingers and toes).

 

I am wondering if this is my brain waking up from some of the protective numbness or disassociation from my experiences these past few years.

 

Regardless, I have to keep working on figuring out how to cope, manage and take responsibility for this Super Anxiety Power so that I can keep Mr8 and myself healthy and safe.

 

Here’s to the hope that my Super Anxiety Powers can be used for progress!

Tap that SAP

Hold up – that sounds gross

 

I will consult and suggest that this SAP get to work on the basement

 

Love, Ms Herisme xo

L O S T (not the show)

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I am lost

I exist and do and try my best to not upset the balance, while protecting my gentle son

I contribute nothing other than this.

Whatever possible potential of meaningful contribution or connection outside of this, was long ago extinguished.

I thought I had something

But it was a deadly and devastating mirage

Intellectually I know that I need to be more for my son, but I recognize that I have no reserves or hidden pockets of talent or meaning, to pull from.

I am lost

 

Then there is this part of me thinking that when you have completely and utterly lost yourself, perhaps it’s time to recognize that whatever you do at this point truly doesn’t matter at all, so you might as well try anything/everything.

Within reasonable parameters, naturally –

whatever that means to you and your life.

I am a single parent of a young child = explicit defined parameters for me.

I’m so fracking lost, y’all. The only direction I can see are the almost infinite, entirely overwhelming, directions leading away from lost.

If I find a goal, other than keeping Mr8 and myself alive, I’ll keep you posted.

Hopefully, I’ll release myself to take a step in some direction.

I’m going to mess up and need new directions, I know. It is my gut that is telling me to go ahead and step in one direction.

No. Not THAT One Direction (goobs).

You know what I mean – or not. That’s okay.

I’ve got safety goggles, valid passports, glitter glue, and cut a figure like a middle-aged Eastern European housefrau, circa 1983.

Something is bound to happen – oui?

Love, Ms. Herisme xo

‘Aint’ aint a word…

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I have had many awesome work colleagues throughout the years.  Most of whom should be richly rewarded for having worked with me so gracefully (I put in ‘good karma’ points for all of you!).

 

One colleague in particular comes to mind these days.  She of humble infinite wisdom – although I believe she would accept the ‘humble’ part, I feel sure that she would ascribe her ‘wisdom’ to anything other than herself.  But, she IS so wise.  She knows what to say, and just when to say it.  Even if you do not want to hear it, she confidently speaks what you need to hear anyway, and in such a way that you are thankful to receive the message.

 

I have been fortunate to know one other person like this in my life.  They are both from an intersecting life place.  They both know each other.  They are both women .  Their similarities end about there.  One of them is very practical and pragmatic, the other is far more spiritual and mystical with her messages.

 

It is the practical woman who has been on my mind.

 

When I would bemoan some seemingly critical work decision/process/event etc to her, while trying to place my appropriate political chess pieces on the work board to best suit my group/employee/department, this woman would patiently listen to me.  And she really listened: eye contact, nodding, asking reflective questions.

At one of these moments, when I was seeking her advice,

she replied, “You know, aint none of us getting out of this one alive, so you go ahead and make the best decision you can today.”

 

That has been a truth bomb for me.

 

Aint none of us getting out of this one alive – do the best you can today

 

Which then leads me to thinking about what is happening with mass shootings, bombings, trolls, outrage memes, and the extreme ridicule of our political system.

 

I know that some of the extremism is coming from a place of ideology supported after-life rewards.  I know that some of the extremism is coming from a place of fear and hate.  I know that some of the extremism is coming from a place of comfort with debasement due to anonymity.

 

Doesn’t it seem odd to you that in the thousands of years of modern human development, we continue to miss the mark in understanding and nurturing a way of communication beyond a fear-based disenfranchised model?

 

Or, perhaps, as humans, the “fight or flight” instinct is too strong for us to move beyond.

 

Don’t hate me – or, do hate me…  whatevs… Isn’t it alarming that here we sit with all of our insights into science, space, human emotion, power of love and positive thinking, and yet we continue to be subject to very base instincts?  I am not suggesting that becoming emotionless robots is the answer.  I am suggesting that having the ability to live by “aint none of us getting out of this one alive – do the best you can today” mentality is the complete opposite of shame and blame fear mongering, and I am wondering why we have not made more strides towards better understanding, better nurturing, better support, better respect, better acceptance and better love.

 

Can collective humans even do that? 

 

Does it truly begin by loving your family and friends?

 

Love, Ms Herisme xo

 

ps. I am well aware of the irony that I am not using my birth certificate name on this blog

Every Day

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When I drive past the overly thin man relentlessly walking the streets downtown with his backpack and uncomfortable smile on, my stomach turns and my heart breaks for you.

 

When I walk past the local mission service house with desperate people loitering outside, my stomach turns and my heart breaks for you.

 

When I park in front of the therapist’s office, next to one of your series of attorneys’ offices, surrounded by housing for people on permanent mental illness disability, standing in their doorways, staring at cars and people or off into vacant space, my stomach turns for you and my heart breaks for you.

 

When I am faced with the reality of our son’s lacking education as a result of your bad behavior, my stomach turns for him and my heart breaks for him.

 

When I am staring at my financial reality as a result of my misplaced trust in you, my stomach turns for our son and me, and my heart breaks for our son and me.

 

Yet, every day I awaken with a new sense of hope for our son’s and my future.

 

Every day, I am able to see grace and beauty and potential.

 

Every day, I can feel our son and myself getting stronger and more confident.

 

Every day, I am blessed with being surrounded by the support of my family, friends and surrounding communities.

 

Every day, I wonder at the miracles and tragedies all around us.

 

Every day, I am grateful for all of the little moments of happiness,hard work, and challenges. 

 

Even on days when I wonder how we can possibly get through any of this, I am grateful.  Painfully heartbroken and sad, but grateful.

 

Because all of these things mean that we are alive and full of love.

 

This is an amazing, strange, weird, awesome life. 

 

I pray that all of us can do this gift some justice.

 

Love, Ms Herisme xo

MisTweeted & Identity Crisis

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You Guys

I am having a complete identity crisis.

As revealed earlier today (in a private tele convo, so you are just hearing about it now, unless it was you I was speaking to), I could hardly tell when I was having fun in a situation until I was probably 30.  This factoid might enlighten you as a precursor to my current crisis.

I am calling it a crisis, because defining/redefining myself is having a HUGE impact on my ability to function.  Wait, maybe that’s the indicator for needing professional intervention.  Anywho, it is what I am currently experiencing.

I am unemployed

I am existing solely as a caretaker for my son

I do not have a profitable passion

I am not sure that I have any passion

I am not even sure if I like the tea that I am drinking

 

And now, after a few weeks of Twitter silence, the Pakistanis have returned to insult me.

Not really me, of course, because they do not know me.  They think I am some old male controversial Pakistani political celebrity elder statesman kind of person.

I have been ignoring them for months.

Typically what happens is that a Pakistani tweets something ‘@’ ing me, thinking they are connecting with the politician man.  Then someone else retweets, someone else adds comments and retweets, and their friends retweet and their friends retweet and so on.  For a few years, I would even be tweeted by news outlets as if I were this Pakistani man of political influence.

Yes, this has been going on for years.

Yes, I know that I can change my twitter handle.

 

Are you still with me?

 

For a long time, I used these ‘@’ tweets as my own personal entertainment.  Not to mock the feelings of the people tweeting their passionate political views, but more so to challenge myself to find tongue-in-cheek ways of responding that I clearly am not the person the tweet is intended for.

I would reply to the individuals who started the threads, and enlighten them that they were tweeting the wrong person on the wrong continent/time zone/interest level etc.

Then Brooke Shields did that Funny or Die with “Check yourself before you wreck yourself.” I added that as a hashtag to most of my replies when I was mistweeted (poor mistweeted me!).

For example (handles changed to generic @soandso’s for them, and @me for me – words otherwise copied exactly as tweeted)

A Pakistani tweets:

@soandso @soandso @soandso He @soandso has also started rat race of inducting men loyal to him rather then party like @me

I tweet:

@soandso @soandso @ soandso @soandso it’s MY party and I can cry if I want to #wrongsoandso #checkyourself #beesrbuzzin

If the ‘@’ tweets turned scary or inappropriate, I carefully went through the threads and blocked the tweeters.  Sometimes this would take me days (500+ re-tweets).

After a few years, there was a tipping point where it seemed like most people recognized that I am clearly not a controversial Pakistani elder statesman.

One time, maybe three years ago, some men that I corrected in a mistweeted thread, even sent me notes back with some Insha’Allah’s, and a prayer.

On a few occasions I have included women’s advocacy links in my responses – where it seemed appropriate.

 

My family are all terrified that I am now on some government watch list.  Whatevs.  Maybe they can figure out who I am and report back.

 

A very few times on twitter, I have also been mistaken for a Canadian museum society.  Unfortunately, I do not speak or read French, so my potentially amusing responses really failed here.

 

The point is, I do not know what the hell I am doing.

I am not even clear on who I am.

 

Obviously, though, I am not a Pakistani elder statesman or a Canadian museum society.  So there’s that then.

THIS is what PTSD does.  This is what abuse does.

 Take good care of yourself and your neighbors.

Love, Ms. Herisme xo

These Days

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These days I am struggling.

Some days are just like that when you are grieving, feeling stressed, reconciling terror etc.

In the meantime, I will send you here to hear another voice:

I had the Courage to Leave

And as one sweet friend who stopped in the midst of her own busy schedule today, to share a warm hug with me, said, “Today is a hard day.”

I responded, “Today IS a hard day.”

She heard, “Today is OUR day,” and was delighted to have this affirmation.

Don’t worry, I corrected her.

“Today is a hard day.”

and then

“Hard days are OUR days. 

Today is a hard day,

and hard days are our days. 

Today IS our day!”

Love, Ms Herisme xo