Wretched ...

No, not another whiny post of me feeling sorry for myself, but my offering for this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge


The word for this week was wretched, being or appearing mean, miserable, or contemptible

~~~~~~~~~

The wind was howling. In its wake followed snow; the kind that manages to be wet and sharp all at the same time. The kind of snow that cuts right through your flesh down to your very core; down to your very soul.

It was a wretched day, and there seemed to be no escape from it. I darted from place to place. Each place I stopped offered the promise of shelter, but each time it was a hollow promise. There seemed to be no shelter anywhere from the misery. I was quickly losing my will to try. It would be easier to just stay where I was, give in to the bone chilling cold; easier to drift off to sleep, and never wake up.

The will to live was for the moment, however, stronger than the cold; stronger than the weariness gathering around me. I kept trying, kept seeking, kept going. Finally, I was rewarded. I found a spot, some shelter from the wind, seemingly made just for me. The spot was not luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but it was enough.

Sometimes, enough is better than any luxury.

I nestled in, gave thanks for the shelter, and weathered the storm.

Confession

I was confirmed into the Catholic faith many years ago, by my own choice.  I was faithful in attendance at church, and at the classes that taught me about my chosen faith and the commitment I was about to make.  I learned as much as I could, and read everything I could get my hands on.  There were parts of the doctrine I didn't fully agree with, but I loved the sense of community in my little lakeside church; I took comfort in the ritual.  I sang in the choir, I read on Sundays when they needed me; I served with the women's group to give comfort at funerals.


When I moved away from the lakeshore, from the community that had initially welcomed me, I would attend church in whatever community I found myself in, for the first few weeks, but I never felt that same sense of welcome.  I rarely attend church now, unless I am visiting my best friend, who's hubs happens to be a pastor. 


My beliefs are not as rigid either; I follow a much broader path that would, I am sure, be deemed heresy but the Catholic church official governance.


This ramble is just to give some context to something that drifted through my head last night as I was falling asleep after a very long day.  I was thinking about the comfort in ritual, and the sacrament of reconciliation (commonly called 'confession').  Contrary to popular derision from non-Catholics, the sacrament of reconciliation is not a carte blanche to mis-behave, not a "magic wand" that lets you go out and be bad again until next time.  No, you honestly have to be sorry for what you have done, and truly intend to not do it any more.


So looking back at the last week, what am I sorry for?  This is what came into my have-asleep, free wandering brain:

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.  It's been years since my last confession.
I have been playing God.  I have been thinking that I can control things again, instead of accepting what is.  This is the source of my pain.  I've been blaming myself for the actions and reactions of others.  I've been trying to figure out how to fix things that are not mine to fix.

I am sorry for my attitude, and I truly do want to change ... 

Faraway Vol. 2

1 week of no contact ... heartbroken.

Trifextra 5: 33 words

(Trifextra week 5 challenge: 33 words based on this image)

"Jawbone of an ass?" he asked with a smirk, pointing.

She laughed; a real laugh, from deep in the belly.

"Alas, poor Yorick ... a fellow of infinite jest" she replied.

Red Friday ~ Broken Heroes

http://www.cbc.ca/fifth/2009-2010/broken_heroes/ 

http://redfridays.ca/ 

Friday Fluff (Trifecta's Getting to know)

What is your name (real or otherwise)?   

I write as Basinah.  It is a name laden with meaning for me, but if I gave away the secret meaning, it would defeat the purpose of a nom de plume, non?

Describe your writing style in three words.  

Emotive.  Random.  Real.

How long have you been writing online? 

I have been blogging since August 2009.

Which, if any, other writing challenges do you participate in?

 None.  You are my first *blush*

Describe one way in which you could improve your writing. 

Continue to practice.  Submit to a forum where I will get honest feedback and constructive criticism, not simple praise. (Well Hello there!)

What is the best writing advice you’ve ever been given? 

To write the first draft freely without judging, and edit later.

Who is your favorite author?   

How does anyone pick just one?  Patrick Rothfuss.  George R R Martin.  Vince Flynn.  So many I have not met yet ...  (my mom was a school teacher who became a librarian; a voracious appetite for books may be genetic)

How do you make time to write?

I spend a fair bit of time on the road, and I think; random thoughts swirl around the subconscious while my forebrain keeps me and others safe.  When the thoughts coalesce, I scramble for a keyboard or a piece of paper, and set them free.  They get edited and polished as time permits.

Give us one word we should consider using as a prompt. 

hes·i·tate

 

verb (used without object), -tat·ed, -tat·ing.

1.

to be reluctant or wait to act because offear, indecision, or disinclination: She hesitated to take the job.

2.

to have scruples or doubts; be unwilling: Hehesitated to break the law.

3.

to pause: I hesitated before reciting the next line.

4.

to falter in speech; stammer: Embarrassmentcaused the speaker to hesitate.

Direct us to one blog post of yours that we shouldn't miss reading.

I found this a fascinating exercise.  As I read over some previous posts trying to pick one, many emotions washed over me. Especially touching to me was a post more than a year old where I was hurting, and there were comments from my beautiful Sarge Charlie, who has now stood down from his battle with cancer, and rests in a well deserved peace.

If you look at the "cast of Characters" page you will find links that will fill in some of the back story for you, but here, I am going to offer you this post; which upon re-reading now held a whole different meaning.

Strong Enough 

Perspective ... (Trifecta Wk 15)

After gentle prompting from karen, I have decided to participate in the Trifecta Writing Challenge.  


This week's prompt was: 
fool 
noun \ˈfül\

3  a : a harmlessly deranged person or one lacking in common powers of understanding 

I chose to focus on the second half of the definition given.  Please, let me know your thoughts.

I lie here, curled in my bed, tail tucked over my nose, watching and listening to the two-legs that live with me.

They think that because I don't speak their language, I don't understand. I think that because I don't speak their language, I understand more than they do.

Fools.

I see their body language. I hear the subtle undertones in the words they speak to one another. I hear what they are really saying. They don't see that, or pretend they don't. In truth, I think their shared spoken language causes them to misunderstand each other more often than not.

Fools.

They think my love is simple. I think they make their love more complicated than it needs to be. Love simply is.

Fools.

Trying not to hermit ...

Still no contact from S ...  59 hours with no contact, not that I'm counting or anything.  Since he came home from the sand, we haven't spent one day without touching base at least twice.  I feel like I'm in the twilight zone or something; this can't be real.


I e-mailed a few close friends, told them the bare bones, and said I didn't want to talk about it. I would likely cry, although there is the possibility of saying something rude that I don't really mean as well.


I alternate between putting a bitter and sarcastic, or absolutely sad and pathetic, quote on Facebook, then deleting it again within 5 minutes. I have moments when I want to delete my account completely and never talk to anyone again.  I have been working from home instead of the office, partly because I don't want to talk to anyone, and partly because I am still randomly bursting into tears over unknown triggers. At one point I realized I hadn't even bothered opening the blinds ...


I am trying to understand what happened, and I still can't.  One friend has referred to it as a temper tantrum, and that has elements of the truth.  Another friend (also a PTSD wife) has reassured me that this is common in folks with PTSD, the gut reaction of anger over being told something that they knew deep down was true, but didn't want to face.  They assure me he will come around ... but they don't know him.  I am not so sure.


If he is keeping his regular schedule, his appointment with mental health would have been yesterday.  I was hoping that I might hear from him last night ... but nothing.  


I find myself checking my e-mail less often, because I don't want to be disappointed.  When I do see that I have new messages, and they are not from him, I feel crushed all over again.


How did I let myself get so tied up in him that I am so lost without him? I thought I'd promised myself not to do that again ...


The only thing that is letting me keep it together right now is that I don't regret naming the elephant, I don't regret naming the truth that we both knew.  I truly, truly regret the way it turned out, though.

Flying solo ...

S formally severed all ties with me last night.


He feels my naming the truth was a betrayal of him; he was happy ignoring what we both knew to be true, and resents the fact I forced him to deal with it.


I am very disappointed in how he has reacted, hurt by a number of the things he said and accused me of ( what I 'really' meant by some of my replies when I tried to explain) and the first bubbles of anger are starting.


I don't know how much of it will show up here.  Right now, more than anything, I feel totally defeated.


Red was here for the weekend and got to witness part of it.  She messaged me this morning and said "Don't worry, things will get better", and the only reply I could think of was "Don't tempt fate".


So my goal today, is to get through it without messing anything else up.


aside to Karen @ Muttering ~ based on recent drama, this may or may not be a good week for me to play with the Trifecta Writing Challenge, given this week's topic ...

I screwed up ...

Something happened with S that caused me to spill my guts and push for clarification on our relationship, to push him way past where he is comfortable ... and as a result the relationship is irrevocably changed, and may not even be able to continue as a friendship.


I may have lost my best friend.


I feel horrible.

Window Shopping ...

S and I have had various discussions about travel, and his fairly strong feeling that I need to become proficient with a handgun for most of the places I want to go, or places that he has suggested for mutual travel.  (He says carrying a machine gun makes you just an average Joe, but a handgun shows you mean business ...)

See, so far I've been a long gun girl - mostly shotgun, a bit of rifle, although I do prefer shotgun.  Nothing like seeing a clay bird vaporize against a twilight sky, and the feeling of "I did that".  I did, however, really enjoy the family day where they let us in the SIM room and we got to do training with the C-9 and the C-6, as well.

I inherited a small pistol (similar to the one at left) when my uncle passed away, but due to Canadian gun laws, (barrel length (snub) and .32 caliber) I can't actually own it.  It requires a "prohibited" class of ownership permit, and the government no longer issues those.  Thankfully, I have a friend who got grandfathered in when the law changed, and the piece now lives with him.  I visit it occasionally, while deciding what to do.  I will likely end up selling it.

My friend has an impressive collection of firearms, so I on my last visit, I shot a few of his handguns, trying to get a feel for what I like.

He had a .22 pistol that I liked, but S says I am wasting my time with that.  I liked a couple of the .32s as well, but again, there is that whole licencing issue.

The research I have done to date has me leaning toward 9mm.  It is (I've been told) a good beginner gun that still has stopping power.  So I am currently looking at picking up one of these: a Baby Eagle 9mm from Magnum Research.  It is a fairly inexpensive gun, and 9mm ammo isn't as expensive as some others, so I should be able to get some decent practice in.  (S, who gets paid to practice, his firearms and ammo supplied, often forgets the realities of those of us who have to pay for our own)

I would like to shoot one before I commit, which is a bit more of a challenge up here.  Maybe time for a road trip to the states again?  We'll see.

Love to hear some thought from those of you who know about these things.

Red Friday ~ Canadian Forces - Combat Engineer

Fear, and torture

I don't think I'd do well with being water boarded.


First off, I don't care for being upside down. I have low blood pressure, and when I'm upside down the blood pools in my head and makes my eyeballs hurt. I learned this in my early 20's when a fellow I was dating offered to let me see what his fall arrest harness felt like. He hung me from the garage roof ... and then he and his friends went for a beer. At some point of trying to get out, I flipped upside down. I couldn't get myself flipped back upright, so I hung there for a while. I was very upset when they came finally came back.


I am also disturbed by the thought of drowning. I do not say afraid because I enjoy water sports; fear of drowning while swimming, kayaking, or diving does not enter my head. I have always thought, however, that drowning would be one of the least pleasant ways to die.


When I was young, I almost drowned. I was doing underwater summersaults in water that was much too shallow, and got stuck. Upside down. With my head and shoulders wedged up against something. I was afraid, but it was a totally different kind of fear than the panicked terror I felt when I found the tarantula. Drowning was a calmer fear, if that makes sense, more of an "I am going to die, but I'm really not ready to; I really don't want to. Wonder what I can do about this?"  
Where as the tarantula fear was more of an "OHDEARGODTHAT'SABIGSPIDER.REALLYBIGSPIDERreallybigspider...ANDITSFRACKINGMOVING ...awesome ... whimper ...".
Drowning (almost) wasn't like that.  I was gasping and puking when I finally fought loose and got upright, but I never felt irrational, I never felt hysteria.


S and I had a conversation about the nature of fear.  (and may I add, props to the guy for taking it totally in stride when I come out with, apropos of nothing "I don't think I'd do well with being water boarded").  He likened the "rational" fear to going into shock when faced with a serious injury - your brain shuts down all but what it "has to" do to survive.  Where as he guesses that somewhere my brain "knew" that the odds of the tarantula being the deadly kind were slim (and it wasn't, it was a male desert blonde tarantula, about as dangerous as a wasp sting), so my survival instincts didn't kick in, and I was free to freak out.


So I am not sure which fear would kick in if I were being water boarded (not that its likely, but still ...) and I really don't care to find out.


Welcome to how my mind sometimes wanders ...

Paying full price ...

Confluence of occurrences ...


Sebastian and I had a conversation a while ago about "Paying full price" in life.  Like people who are jealous and bitter about their neighbours' 52" TV, but only willing to pay $200 for one, too many people are bitter and resentful of unfulfilled dreams, but not willing to do what it takes to make them a reality.  They are not willing to pay full price in their lives for the things they want to have, yet are jealous of the people who are.

~

One of my dance instructors recently related a story regarding following one's dreams, and surviving on "Tuna and Rice" for a while in order to be true to your higher calling, your passion, your dreams. (Likely better for your health and waistline, as a side benefit)

~

I was approached a while ago to help facilitate one of the local OSISS groups, and I didn't leap at the opportunity at the time, but a few weeks ago I started making the connections again to make it happen.  No real trigger, it was just picking at my brain that it was time.

~

S is back in therapy, and is having some major "lightbulb" moments, which are rocking him pretty hard.  Some of them we talk about, some of them are not the kind of things he feels comfortable discussing with me.  Some things have slipped out when he lets his guard down.  I have not poked at those things; he is totally in the drivers' seat on this one.

~

Compassion Fatigue Solutions, a training facility I have done one course through, has been promoting a new e-course, and a new (revised) workbook.  This is another set of courses I have been meaning to take, but keep finding and excuse not to ... basically, I haven't been willing to "pay full price", to make the sacrifice ...

~

I have been unhappy with my job, and there are strong rumours that with provincial budgets, that decision might soon be taken out of my hands - I might be looking for a new job.


All of these things have crashed together in my mind tonight, with a few other things, and are telling me it is time to follow the call, and move towards doing what will really give me satisfaction.


I started out my educational career in psychology, but veered away and into the environmental field because when I was young, I was afraid that I would not be able to insulate myself enough to keep "my failures" - the people who were not ready to be helped - from killing me.


I have always felt called to help more, to make more of a difference.  I have been told that in many of my former lives I was a healer.  I am trained in Reiki.  I have done some very informal counselling through the Family Support Group.  I have found it very rewarding, and have received positive feedback.


I have contacted OSISS to re-investigate the possibility of participating in a local group as a volunteer, and to pursue some of their facilitator training opportunities.  


I will be looking into some of the courses through Compassion Fatigue Solutions more seriously.  


Some of these changes will require sacrifice.  The courses are expensive.  I will have to cut some corners.  Maybe eat a lot more tuna and rice ...


The courses, and the volunteering, will take time.  I will have to make some decisions about what I give up to make room for them.


Its time to start paying full price for what I want.

When I say I love you ...

... I simply mean I love you.

I love you with no expectations that you be anyone other than who you are.  I love you with no demands that you love me back precisely the way I love you.

It does not mean I will accept continual bad behaviour, but realize I realize we are both human, we will have bad days, we will make bad choices, and we will sometimes mis-speak.  I promise to never do anything intentionally to hurt you.  If I hurt you by mistake with my words or actions, I hope you will tell me, and give me a chance to learn from my mistake, and to make it up to you.

It means you occur to me throughout the day; I want to share things with you, to hear your thoughts on things; and to know that I occur to you as well. No matter how far apart we are in geography, you are always with me.

It means I do not have to want the same things you want in order to understand and accept that they are important to you, and to support you in them.  It means you do not have to want the same things I want, but I hope for your support in them.

I simply love you.

I think your past has taught you that love means something much different.  That love came with strings, and that to love someone you needed to sublimate the real you, and become someone else.  I don't believe that is love.  I don't know exactly what it is, but it is not love.

I know I am important to you.  You do not communicate that in the same ways I do, but I am learning your language; I believe you when you say it.

I love you.

A weepy Red Friday ~ Sgt. Mackenzie ~ For Sarge Charlie

A good man will be laid to rest today with full Military Honours, well deserved and hard earned.

Charles E. Cordle, US Army, Ret., 74 years old, affectionately known as "Sarge Charlie", died at his home in West Palm Beach, FL on Sunday, January 29, 2012 following an extended illness. He was a US Army Veteran for over 26 years, having served in Korea and Vietnam. 

For more about Sarge Charlie's life, and to read some of his thoughts, see his blog here: http://sargecharlie.blogspot.com/ 


Drop by and send some love as well to his beautiful and dedicated wife, Bee (Bonnie) at http://muffin53.blogspot.com/ 

Tap & drink, my friend, may you rest in eternal peace.