I’m taking a deep breath through the falling apart that is currently going on. Old neural pathways are activated within me, old traumas awakened and it is fascinating and completely scary at the same time to see myself move in and out of awareness around it.

The Story of What is Going On is not entirely important, says the Buddhist in me. The Writer in me says, “What the hell are you talking about?! The Story is everything!!” But I am too tired to write about The Story. I have been talking about The Story ad infinitum for days. I need a rest from The Story.

I am trying to be mindful that things have tipped over into feeling like Too Much. These include:

–The Divorce
–The First Anniversary of My Father’s Death
AND
–Being Suddenly Without Child Care (For several compelling reasons, I have had to take S out of the day care he has been in half his life, which is a relief and a heartbreak simultaneously. That is a big part of The Story that I am too tired to get into.)

What I do need to do is write about this wacky process of old traumas being resurrected like a fleet of mean flesh-eating corpses straight out of Night of the Living Dead. How to describe it? It’s like the biggest over-reaction you can ever imagine. You know this, too. Other people say, “it’s REALLY not so bad, everything is going to be OK,” and they are people you trust, and you know they are right, and you nod, and smile, but inside, you are totally overcome with sadness and fear and terror and OH. MY. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s what it feels like to be going through this odd experience.

Every time I try to knock it out Night of the Living Dead style it comes back to haunt. The violent solution, of course, does not work. What I do need to write about is the struggle to hold all of this with compassion and not collapse into extremes of self-pity or self-deprecation.

Today I put in a full day’s work while a brand new babysitter tried to get acquainted with Sami and he just screamed for me at the top of his lungs. He did not nap well, suprise surprise. I think he ate well. (He and the babysitter did end up bonding towards the end of the day.)

I tried to focus on work when my mind was racing with PANIC:
OH. MY. GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
WHAT THE F$&% AM I GOING TO DO?
WHAT
AM
I
GOING
TO
DO
?

There is lots of fear around the future. When I try to name it comes out like this: fear, fear, anxiety, panic, fear, a tensing in the throat, a clutching in the chest, a twisting of the stomach. My hara line is all in a knot.

The mental narrative goes something like this: I need someone to take care of me, why isn’t there anyone to take care of me, I feel about three years old and just want someone to just care for me. Why don’t I have a partner why don’t I have a mother why don’t I have a father a sister a brother a friend who will just drop everything and come to my rescue? Anger, anger at H, anger at the divorce, sadness, grief, missing my father, missing my mother, feeling separate, so miserably separate, feeling like no one can understand what is possibly going on with me, no one could be as wounded or as traumatized as I am right now.

Overwhelm. There are things piling up everywhere: bills, dirty dishes, emotions, dirty laundry. Shame shame shame at feeling so activated, so not-equanimous, so,
so,
so,
very
messy.

The flip side of this is that I am falling apart but utterly fine at the same time, I swear. I cope. I function. I function miraculously well. I brushed my teeth this morning although I forgot to put on deodorant today. I function for Sami’s sake. This is the difference between my mother and me, lord rest her soul. I can fall apart and function simulataneously. She, although she tried as hard as she could, was not able to master this feat.

I marvel at the pockets of normal in the midst of this craziness. Friday I started to go downhill, Saturday I cried all day long (Sami was at his dad’s), Sunday I felt fine and not very nutty, and today I feel nutty but also quite fine.

This afternoon when the babysitter left and Sami started to bite me out of boredom, as he is wont to do, I had the wherewithal to call a friend and to meet her and her kids at the park. We had a grand old time running around after them, pushing them on the swings and trying not to hover too protectively as they explored fearlessly from the harrowing heights of the big kid jungle gym.

So here’s the part where I write myself back to center, where I “right” myself, because lord am I tipped and lord do I know it. As Eckhart Tolle would say, half the battle is knowing that the “Pain-body” is active within us. That is how we take its power away.

It is time to keep it simple and to kick my spiritual practices in high gear. It’s time to pray my ass off and to hang on. To trust like I ain’t never trust before. To practice all the mindfulness I can muster.

What is happening right now? At this moment, all is well. I am alive and writing and cool and comfortable in my nice home. My stomach is full from a very lovely dinner of kabob, rice, salad, and a peach. Sami is sleeping peacefully and soon I will crawl into bed beside him and go to sleep early for once. All the old ghosts of the past cannot hurt me ever again. I invoke the help of Milarepa to name my demons and watch them turn into rainbows.

I will breathe in the pain and breathe out acceptance, breathe out understanding, breathe out tomorrow is a new day, breathe out I do not have to share my mother’s fate, breathe out I do not have to share my father’s fate, breathe out I am alive, breathe out I am home, breathe out I do not have to go crazy tonight, breathe out I am safe, breathe out I love, breathe out I am loved, breathe out all is well, despite outside appearances to the contrary.

Breathe out.
Breathe out.
Breathe out.