Summer Vacation

The summer vacation is coming to a close.  As a teacher, I have about 75 days off during these warm summer months.  It is a time that I use to recharge, reorganize, and plan for the next year.  It has also been the time when Tom and I usually reconnect after the stresses and constraints of the school year.  I look forward to the summer break, and I believe that He does, too.

Of course, I always set myself up with a cart load of summer projects to get accomplished.  Always on that list are things like clean the garage, catch up with the filing, clean the refrigerator, polish the cupboards, etc. In addition, this summer, I was hoping to paint the inside of my condo.  I had the colors all picked, and I figured I'd just chunk away at the work, one wall at a time, until it was all fresh and new again.

Too, coming into this summer break, we all knew that we were facing the hurdles of T's surgery.  The doctors led us to anticipate that being very difficult, with a long and complicated recovery.  So, we were mentally prepared for a medically intense summer.

As it has turned out, this summer has been much different than what I planned, or expected.

The best part of all of it has been the relative ease with which T came through her surgery.  Her recovery, while slow as we might expect from this kind of surgery, has been pretty smooth.  She is reintroducing various foods, one by one.  Most of what she is able to eat at this point is still pretty soft, and we do have to focus on proteins, but so far, so good.

I'll be right up front, and tell you that I have made almost no progress on that list of projects.  To be sure, there has been NO painting going on.  Some of that has to do with a pervasive exhaustion that has settled over our family.  I just haven't had much energy, and I seem to be able to sleep, and sleep, and sleep.  He and I have gotten into a pattern of staying up late, walking well into the wee hours of the morning, and then sleeping until the very late morning.  I have enough of the Puritan in my background to feel just a tad guilty about that, but I also know enough to really listen to my body, and take advantage of the easy days of summer to catch up and take care of myself.

The other side of the summer story is that He and I have dragged ourselves through this summer, feeling our way along and trying to figure out how we might relate to one another on this side of all that has happened. It has been a quiet sort of passage.  We've spent a lot of time together, but often that is time in the grip of silence (sometimes companionable, and sometimes simply empty).  We have held hands.  We have cuddled.  We have rubbed and stroked and hugged one another.  For much of this summer, it has seemed to be necessary to just touch and hold on.

We have, mostly, managed to not growl and snap at each other.  We had one difficult day at the beginning of this last week, but for the most part, we have been pretty gentle with each other.

We are still learning how to live this life we have been given.  Maybe that "still" isn't even really accurate.  It really does seem that we are maybe just beginning to make sense of all of it; finally healed enough to begin to try and sort through what is left, and figure out the way forward.

We've made some big discoveries:

We've learned that Tom has a genetic anomaly called MTHFR (and yes, we do tend to refer to that as "motherfucker.").  This is, apparently, a pretty common set of genetic polymorphisms.  From what we've read, there may be anywhere from 10% to 40% of the population of the US who have some form of this defective set of alleles.  There are several variations,  but only two have been studied very thoroughly.  The short version of what we've discovered about this is that this abnormality interferes with the body's ability to process B-vitamins and folic acid through a process called methylation.  People with MTHFR issues may be processing the B-vitamin complex at only 10%-60% efficiency. It leads to a build up of something called homocysteine in the blood; a condition called hyperhomocysteinemia. There are a number of issues related to all of that, but chief among them are cardiovascular problems, depression, alcoholism, diabetes, kidney and liver issues, anemia, migraine, arthritis, dementia, infertility, ... and on and on and on.  Knowing about the presence of this genetic anomaly gives us some context for the long arc of His history that brought us to this point.  It also gives us a solid handle on a way to intervene in the continuing and seemingly intractable depression that He deals with; has perhaps always dealt with. The prescription supplement, Deplin, that provides the L-methylfolate that His body cannot produce effectively helps to support the production and metabolic processing of the neurotransmitters that help to regulate mood and anxiety.  The trick is that dosing with Deplin is tricky.  We've had to do some "wiggling around" to get it in the right range.  I am thinking we are finally there -- I hope.

His post traumatic stress disorder continues to present challenges.  It is an unpredictable factor in our days and nights.  He can have very good stretches of time during which He feels well and balanced, and life seems pretty good, and then something triggers the PTSD and He falls into a spiral of uncontrollable nightmares, hyper-vigilance, vivid and unwelcome memories, distancing from relationship, mistrust, guilt, and depression.  The layers of His trauma can be a confound as we never know whether He is reacting to traumatic events from His childhood, or from the more recent events of two and a half years ago.  To make everything more complex, I struggle with my own trauma issues, rooted in an abusive childhood, too.  When He gets going, His responses to His own fears can smash right into my tender places, tripping me over into fear and anxiety.  With that going on, we are likely to fall into a nasty feedback loop where we are helpless to support each other.  We can be a thorough-going mess in the middle of all of that.

One hopeful development has come from an unexpected quarter.  I had a parent of one of my students recommend a book earlier in the summer.  She and her husband adopted three children (siblings) from two different orphanages in Ukraine about four years ago.  The oldest boy was about 16 when they first brought them all to the states, and as soon as he turned 18, he headed back to Ukraine.  The younger two, who are now in 7th and 8th grade, have a variety of challenges and issues.  Both struggle with English, although they have made remarkable progress, and surely speak better English than I do Russian.  The older one, who I'll call Alex, has a very difficult history.  As a six-year-old, he was present when his addicted mother (who worked as a prostitute in order to obtain drugs) was murdered by a "client."  Alex and his younger sister were sent to separate orphanages.  I do not know all of the horrors of the orphanage where he lived for years before being adopted, but I imagine it was far from an ideal, nurturing environment.  He has lots of behaviors related to that trauma history and has been diagnosed with reactive attachment disorder.  These parents have struggled valiantly to provide a loving and nurturing home for these children, but it has been an uphill battle.  This book suggests an entirely new, love-based approach to dealing with attachment-

challenged children, and dispenses with the more traditional therapeutic view that advises parents to remain in firm control by the use of logic and consequences.  I feel sure that the methods in this book will help me help Alex and his sister in my classroom, but on a more personal level, the approaches the authors suggest seem applicable within the relationship between Tom and I.  I have mourned the connection that we used to have, and cannot seem to re-establish.  It does seem to me that there is some parallel between an impediment to intimate connection and what is, classically, an attachment disorder.  I am hoping that learning and practicing the sorts of responses outlined in this book can soothe the two of us through the scary places, and help us avoid the spiral into anger and fear that so trips us up.  So there is work to do, but at least I have some idea how to begin.

We've also begun to find some sort of comfort level around our more "switchy" dynamic.  Probably, I am the one who has struggled more with that.  I keep wondering what this new pattern of relating means for who I am.  I cannot seem to turn off the little niggling voice that pokes at me and chants, "not wife, not slave, not wife, not slave, not wife, not slave...," and yes, I do realize that is just silly.  I still struggle with the questions, and there do not seem to be any answers.  If I can let go of feeling like I need to have some sort of definitive identity with regard to that part of our life, and just relax into things, then it turns out that He and I can switch back and forth and spank and get spanked depending on who is where "head wise."  I think it is harder to talk about it here.  There are way more reactions to consider in the back and forth of mutual switching, but it seems to work for us at this point, and it is one of the places where we feel sort of light and playful.  So that is good.

I have one more day, and then it is back to the classroom.  I hope I am ready. It wasn't the summer I would have asked for, but I suspect it might turn out to be a summer that let us do a lot of work that will take us into the next part of our lives together.  That would be worth a lot more than all the painting I might have done -- and what the heck, I can always paint a bit at a time as the year progresses.

swan

PTSD

I did not write this:

How to Love Your Depressed Lover.

I wish I had.

This is the truth of life from my perspective.

swan

News Update

I know it has been quiet here lately.  That has become the norm rather than the exception, but I thought it would be good to fill you in on what is up with all of us.

I am in the middle of my summer break.  It has been wet and rainy here, so the days have been pretty calm and relaxed.

The BIG event of our summer is that T plans to have a revision to her gastric sleeve on July 16.  The original surgery, done four years ago, was deemed to be less invasive and less dangerous for her in light of her previous surgical history.  The sleeve gastrectomy was a relatively new procedure at the time, and seemed very promising.  However, it has proven to be less than optimal for most (if not all) gastric bypass patients, and our T is no exception.  She did very well in the beginning, losing about 90 pounds.  However, as time has gone on, she has gained all of that weight back.  That does seem to be the story for most people who have had the gastric sleeve surgery.  T is a woman of small stature, standing just 5'-2", and she carries way too much weight for her health and comfort.  We have decided it is time to try and address it before it becomes a major health crisis.  So...  back to the surgeon (Dr. K.) for a revision of the sleeve to a Roux en Y.  It is a big deal, and we are nervous, but also determined to see her through this one, and on the path to a long and healthy life.  She is in the lead up phase of preparation for that surgery, and on a very limited dietary regimen.  She is, however, calm and determined, and really doing wonderfully.  Keep her, and all of us, in your thoughts as we get ready for this big hurdle.

Tom is 2-1/2 years into sobriety, and is physically, quite well and healthy.  I think He has come to value the clarity of His mind, and the general well-being He experiences.  I do not think He misses drinking as such, and He seems clear that He does not want to drink again.  However, He still struggles mightily, and pretty regularly, with PTSD.  It is an insidious and tenacious monster that will not let Him go.  Some passages are very dark and very sad.  We have passed through one such time in the last number of weeks.  It does seem that, in the last day or so, He may be finding His feet again, and marshaling His resources to wrest the control back for Himself.  I feel pretty helpless in the face of the demons that beset Him, and seem only able to offer meager things like back rubs and soft caresses.  It is terribly scary and frustrating for us all.

I have some minor medical procedures scheduled this week.  Nothing serious.  Just the routines of maintaining this old body.

Beyond that, the garden seems to be prospering.  We have harvested our first zucchini.  The tomatoes and peppers are slowly maturing.  There are even a few cucumbers.

I have science lessons all prepared and in order for the start of school, and am working my way through the updated math curriculum.  The time passes too quickly.

I still hope to get some painting done before the school year begins, but it will have to happen around the other bits and pieces of our lives.

I hope all of you are well and happy.
swan

Making Space

On Marriage
 Kahlil Gibran

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you. 


Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. 


Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

We have, as He indicated, both started back into therapy.  We had a relatively calm summer, without many overt symptoms related to His PTSD, and with very little of the acute craziness that I am prone to in reaction response to that (which seems to have no fancy name, so let's just keep on calling it "my craziness").  The therapist (Judy -- as He has indicated) is clearly going to focus on the harms done to Him by His abusive mother.  With me, she seems focused on helping me negotiate my own craziness with strategies and "friendly advice" about how to cope in the event.  While she is clear that I have my own abusive history, it is clear to both of us that my really nutty episodes are wrapped around His.  In general, I'm level when He is, and I am totally nuts if He is mired in a PTSD episode.  I believe that much of what Judy will try to help me figure out is how to make "space" in my life with Tom.  

I admit that I am afraid that creating separation between us will forever push us apart.  She assures me that is not the case.  She insists that a healthy space between us is necessary for us to come together fully again.  I can hear that, and somewhere in my brain, it feels true -- and I am still scared of the actual doing.  

I have, for ten years, lived and breathed inside of Tom's energy.  There came to be, over time, very little of our life together that was not directly or indirectly influenced by Him.  I willingly (for the most part) shifted my physical and emotional world to conform with what He wanted, needed, directed.  A lot of that was my own wish, my volition, my desire.  I wanted to be close to Him.  I wanted His approval.  I wanted His love, and I wanted to live out the love I felt for Him.  It seemed right and good and natural and easy (usually) to move into being "His" in that intense and intimate way.  I knew, as we moved along, through the years, that I was losing my voice; losing my capacity to say "no" in even the most elemental ways.  I understood, that, while He loved me, there were places where He'd let me be desperately unhappy rather than abandon what He wanted in the moment.  I kept on believing that, wherever I would find myself struggling, with those realities, it was a failing in me -- and never about something that ought to be examined and changed between us.  

Now, it seems that if we are to ever find our way to something that is genuinely good and happy again, we are going to have to fashion a different sort of dynamic between us.  Judy believes that we will again feel deeply connected and play again with the power we share, but she is clear that we will have to do that with a new set of understandings.  I think the phrase she used with Him was "codependent psychosis."  Not sure that is a "real" diagnosis.  I think it probably isn't, but it may be an accurate description in my case.  The trick I have to learn is how to express to Him how much I love Him; have always loved Him; will always love Him -- while not getting dragged down into the muck and mire with Him.  How can I figure out a way to make a space to stand that is safe enough for me, without somehow giving Him the message that I don't love Him even as He struggles.  Because I do...  Love Him just the way He is.  

Over and over again, as I have worked with Judy, she has asked me if I would choose this life and this love even if...  Even if the sex went away and was never ever fantastic again?   Even if the spanking stopped forever?  Even if He never does feel sure and confident and secure enough again to take me in and hold me and tell me I am His?  Even if He and I never find the place where we step into the flow of our shared power and soar off together?  Even if...?  Over and over again, my answer has been "Yes."  Unequivocably.  Forever and always.  The rules seem to have changed.  Radically.  I changed them  He changed them.  Maybe they never really were rules to begin with.  I don't know.  I only know that I love this Man.

swan

Jumbled Up

I am tired of writing stupid ABC posts. I don't care, and I'm guessing no one else cares either. I can't be jolly, cheerful, upbeat, or hopeful here anymore. I feel like it is just bullshit -- a feeling that He confirms. So, blech... Here are the rest of the letters if you want to pursue it (but I am done trying to fill this space in that fashion)...

K

KINDNESS

L

LISTENING

LOVE

M

MEANING

N

NURTURING

O

OPENESS

P

PEACE

PLAY

Q

QUESTING

R

REVERENCE

S

SHADOW

SILENCE

T

TEACHERS

TRANSFORMATION

U

UNITY

V

VISION

W

WONDER

X

MYSTERY

Y

YEARNING

YOU

Z

ZEAL

And then, today, wondering what I could say here -- because it really does feel like there is nothing at all to say anymore, I found this poem (ironically, a popular piece for weddings), and it feels like the words speak about where life is right now...

Maybe..

Maybe…we were supposed to meet the wrong people before meeting the right one so that, when we finally meet the right person, we will know how to be grateful for that gift.

Maybe … when the door of happiness closes, another opens; but, often times, we look so long at the closed door that we don’t even see the new one which has been opened for us.

Maybe … it is true that we don’t know what we have until we lose it, but it is also true that we don’t know what we have been missing until it arrives.

Maybe … the happiest of people don’t necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.

Maybe … the brightest future will always be based on a forgotten past; after all, you can’t go on successfully in life until you let go of your past mistakes, failures and heartaches.

Maybe … you should dream what you want to dream; go where you want to go, be what you want to be, because you have only one life and one chance to do all the things you dream of, and want to do.

Maybe … there are moments in life when you miss someone — a parent, a spouse, a friend, a child — so much that you just want to pick them from your dreams and hug them for real, so that once they are around you appreciate them more.

I am scheduled to resume my work with the therapist this week. The shamanic work we got involved with seems to have lodged in my subconscious in a very pernicious way. I now have recurring dreams (every few days or so) that are about making a shamanic journey to the upper world. In the dream, I go through all the steps and stages of making that journey, and when I find myself there, I am standing at the top of a tall, red-brick building. It seems very ancient, and it is stacked up in layers -- like a wedding cake. Standing on the top of the building, I find a man. I can't see his face clearly, but he seems older than me. I ask him what I can do to heal my life and our family, and he tells me that the only way to do that is to kill myself. Then, he outlines the steps that I must follow to be able to do that. It scares the willies out of me, but it keeps coming back...

It is fall. Our summer, although focused intensely on His recovery from knee replacement surgery, was nice and relaxed. Summer ends, though, and the school year starts right on schedule. The PTSD that lives permanently in our household roars back to life and creates chaos and misery. I have to go back to work, and the long, lazy, days shift into the demanding routines of the academic calendar. He feels abandoned, and I feel torn. Then, October arrives, and all the "anniversary" stuff related to our crisis comes into play. I am, in October, the one who pushed us all over the precipice with a phone call. No matter what I might think we are about here, and no matter how well I think things are proceeding, in October, I am reminded that I am a betrayer and a traitor and a woman who can never, ever be trusted. It shocks me. It hurts me. It makes me angry. I know it isn't fair or right, and then I feel guilty anyway -- for all the many, many choices made through all my whole life ... for every broken rule, for every "bad" decision, for every missed mark. In the end, I begin to believe, for myself, that the voice of the man at the top of the building in the upper world speaks the truth. That it would be best for us all if I would die. Die. And, I know that is nuts. But life seems nuts, so why not?

Meanwhile, I come here, day by day (or week by week) and write drivel about justice and joy... Because the stats tell me that this blog is dying. Dying from lack of interest. Dying because the very reason for it to exist has vanished. Dying because I have nothing at all left to say about D/s or M/s or BDSM, or love, or family, or anything much at all. I bang around the Interwebs trying to think of an angle or an approach or a point of view that would be of legitimate interest here -- and I come up blank.
So. Here I am. What would you say here if you were me?
swan