Welcome back, my friend

After a long hiatus, I have realized that I need to come back to writing.  Not for the sake of those who might stumble upon what I have written, but for myself. I have yet to decide if I will write here, or the old fashioned way–you know, with actual paper and pencil.

It has been over a year since my husband was detained and released 27 days later.  Despite my training in trauma and its effects on the psyche, I still find myself surprised when the sight of a dark blue van with tinted windows causes my heart to race.  This was the type of van my beloved was forced to sit for hours, chained but not seat-belted, as he was transferred from one county jail to another, sometimes upwards of 8 hours away.  I shouldn’t be surprised that my mind jumps to an imaginary car accident, where my beloved is condemned simply because of protocol.  The imagery comes suddenly and my heart begins to pound.

Nor should I be surprised when my beloved gets quiet, irritable, or withdraws emotionally at random stages.  I shouldn’t be surprised when his nightmares wake me in the middle of the night, or he simply needs to get out of a crowd and go home.  Watching my beloved suffer is at times more and less difficult than my own experiences.  I desperately wish I could take it away.  I want him to let me into his world, to share with me his memories and help him to process the 27 days of fear, uncertainty, loneliness and depression.  I struggle to help him understand his reactions as normal ways to process an abnormal event, while, at the same time, remain his wife, not his therapist.

For over a year, I have struggled to put my thoughts, feelings, and memories on paper, or screen.  I sit down to write,  an attempt to process my pain, organize my memories, and share with the world the reality millions of immigrants face at the hands of a largely unknown agency acting on extremely complicated laws and policies. I can’t count the number of times I have sat down, paper or keyboard in front of me, and found all of the memories that were so vivid a few minutes ago, vanish.  Or, to relive the experience so deeply, so fully, that I simply cannot put it into words. Perhaps, if I make writing habitual, the story will come piecemeal, in much the same way my beloved and I have experienced the aftermath of our ordeal…one frantic, terrifying memory at a time.

Confessions of a (sick) workaholic

So I’m sitting on my bed, well, it’s more like reclining on my bed, feeling guilty for not being at work.  Why?  because I’m “sick.”   Not “sick” I just didn’t want to go in today, but rather “sick” slowly recoverying from perhaps one of the worst 72 hrs I can remember (my roommate is astonished I actually remember those 72 hours…I do…all 15 I was awake for.)  It’s the “sick” that when I wake up in the morning, the sun is shining and finally, finally I feel normal.  Well, at least almost normal.  But as I go through my mornig routine, almost turns to kinda turns to not really.  In the space fo 3 hours that feeling of “I’m back!” turns to “ug”–no engery left even for the slient h.  And thus I retreat, defeated, exhausted, back to bed.  And down for a nap I go.  But I’m not a nap taker and I’ve done nothing BUT sleep (or lie in a semi comatose state) for the past 3 days…So of course I don’t sleep.  Which brings me here.  I’m sitting (kinda) on this bed of mine, attempting make use of this time by catching up on the school work I had planned to do over the weekend, feeling guilty that I’m not at work.  I mean, I’m doing the same thing here that I would be there: sitting (kinda) in front of a computer.  My job’s not terribly strenious…of course…it does involve that whole people interaction bit.  Which tends to come back after the capacity to sit up straight.  And since I haven’t quite mastered that whole sitting up bit, I guess I’m stuck here…in bed…feeling guilty ’cause I feel fine (kinda).

Observation from the middle…

I can’t resist…I feel I must comment on the yesterday’s election as well as today’s reactions.  Honestly, I found it fascinating.  It was interesting to sit on the fence, watching the reactions of both sides.  I realized that no matter who won this year’s election, someone was going to believe it was the end of the world as we knew it.  Conservatives, liberals, republicans, democrats…it didn’t matter.  People were especially passionate about the election this year.  Even though history projected that the democratic candidate would win.  Honestly, I don’t know that it had much to do with Obama, Biden, McCain or Palin.  It had to do with the fact that people don’t like where the country is right now.  Economy, foreign policy, health care…you name it, we’re not happy about it.  Usually, this means a change of leadership in the next election.  Particularly when one party’s been in power for 2 terms.

And yet…my conservative friends are in shock at the state of our nation’s morality.  My liberal friends are rejoicing in signs that our nation is overcoming its racial barriers.

I watched last night as friends and aquaintances watched the results come in, I saw the concern and anxiety both felt for the nation should the “wrong” man be elected.  And honestly, I wonder…is there such a “wrong” man?  Each man would appoint an administration to provide counsel to the best of their ability.  Each man would make decisions based on what he thought would be the best for the country at the time.  Each man woud make mistakes.  Neither man would hold the power to live up to his promises, after all, he must run the majority of his decisions and initiatives by Congress.

I’m not saying the presidential election doesn’t matter.  I voted for who I believed represented the better overall set of ideas for this nation’s future.  However, I recognize the limitations of one decision and one man, particularly in a nation that values its checks and balances.  I also recognize that this nation is filled with people who will not easily give up that which is dear to them: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  Some things will not be changed in 4 years, or even 8.  And after that…the leadership will change and much of life will go on.  America will still be America, ever changing but still inherently the same.

And for this, I am thankful.  I am thankful that we can elect a leader without fear of nation wide riots or political coups. I’m thankful that I could go to sleep last night and wake up this morning to life as it has been.  Nothing radical has changed.  Nothing radical is likely to change come January. I will continue to pray for the nation as I do now.  No more or less furvor.

Put not your trust in princes or sons of men, in whom there is no salvation.  For when his breath departs, he  returns to the dust, and on that very day his plans perish.  –relax, breathe, and realize that life is not over.  It is just beginning.  And this reality would have been the same had the other guy won.

VP debate:

I think I could do this all night…sitting here, watching/listening to Biden & Palin, watching facebook statuses change, IMing friends-about the debate…  Here are some themes of the night:

Palin: Say it ain’t so, Joe!
winking (something in that eye, Palin?)
maverick
Let’s talk about energy!
nuculear…nuclear
ignore the question…then acknowledge you’re ignoring the question
turpitude
certitude

When life slows down…

It’s amazing what an evening “off” and the ability to sleep until I wake up can do to my mental health and overall outlook on life.  I become less stressed, more able to focus, and over all, a much happier person.  😉  As a result, I am able to work productively, instead of simply staring at my computer with frustration because I have no direction.

I am constantly learning.  Today’s lesson:  The creative process is not conducive to stress and exhaustion.  At least not for me.  Some people thrive off of the life I’ve been living (or surviving) over the past few weeks.  But I get so busy I can’t think straight.  And most of my “creativity” comes from my thoughts… I need time to sit and think.  My mind is usually always working, always thinking, always solving problems: project oriented, people oriented, it doesn’t matter.

And I’ve been unable to do this.  Unable to think.  It’s driving me crazy.  I’m realizing (ok…I’ve realized long ago, but am dense and need constant reminding) that part of my mental health routine must include time to think and process life.  Usually I make myself do this after I’ve crawled into bed.  My journal is often filled with ramblings about current issues, thoughts, and conflicts in addition to a general rundown of the day.  However, over the past few weeks, I’ve crawled into bed utterly exhausted, able to think only about the quickly diminishing time I have to sleep until my alarm beckons me to begin yet another long and busy day.

So I write here.  Take time to process.  To think.  And hopefully, to dissipate the anxiety that so quickly builds up inside of me, and to create, even if it is merely internally.