This is post seven of my weekly musings on Taiji and how it’s helped me with life. Yes, that’s it. That’s all I’m doing. Just kidding. In the last post, I was talking about life in general and how messed up I was before I started studying Taiji. I mean, more messed up than I am now. Yes, I’m still messed up, but not as much as I used to be.
I was also mentioning how my teacher has earned my trust because she has been transparent, honest, and open about what she does and doesn’t know. We’ve reached the point that if she suggests something for me to try, I will immediately try it.
Here’s another reason why: She makes sure that anything she suggests will not hurt me. It may not help, but it’s not going to hurt. The most recent example surronds my difficulty with periphery. I’ve always had an issue with it (along with spatial issues, reflex issues, and more), and it’s only gotten worse since my medical crisis. I don’t like to drive on the freeway because of this, and I restrict my driving to local roads whenever possible.
This means that I have stayed with online classes rather than driving to them because I live north and she teaches in south. Before the pandemic, I would go to class in person and had to take two (or three? I don’t quite remember) freeways during rush hour in order to do so.
I never liked driving. I want to make that clear. I am bad at it, and I do it as little as possible. I failed the driving test three times and would have not taken the test at all if my mother hadn’t pushed me to do so. It’s good that I can drive, but it’s something I will avoid doing when at all possible.
I have been in all kind of scrapes with a car. As a driver, I mean. In part beacuse being a nervous driver was not good, but it also occurred to me MUCH later that I had periphery issues. I can’t see things to the side of me then I’m driving. Is this because of something physical? Or is it psychological? I don’t know, but it kept happening. And by ‘kept’, I mean once every few years, I would hit something with my car. Not at high speeds and not with much damage, but it wasn’t great. Obviously.I thought it was just me being a terrible driver. Which, let me hasten to add–I am. But there may actually be reasons for it other than just I’m a terrible driver.
Which, I want to emphasize, I really am. I know I tend to undercut my abilities 9as evidenced by more than one person telling me I’m better at From games than I think I am), but in this case, I am on point. I hate driving, and it’s probably one of my worst abilities. It doesn’t help that it’s always in the back of my mind that I could hurt someone at any moment while driving. And that there is so much stimulation.
Taiji has heplped my self-confidence tremendously, but that doesn’t mean it’s a panacea. Dying twice also helped me with my self-esteem (that is sutill a weird thing to write, but it’s true)–hugely. However, it’s been 2 2/3rds years since it happened, and this year has been a terrible year. Personanl life has kicked my ass, hard, and I can feel myself slipping back into that dark place.
I still don’t want to talk about what happened, but it was traumatic. Add to that the fact that my father is very near death, and that is a huge stressor. Not for the normal reason, though. I’m not sad about it (well, I am, but, again, not for the ‘normal’ reason), but it’s still a hard thing to go through.
I am depressed. Again. I can finally say admit it. It’s not as bad as it’s been in the past, but I’m struggling. I get up, do my Taiji/Bagua routine, painfully aware that I’m missing a limb, so to speak. I am numb, but under it, is a deep current of raw pain.
I struggeld to do things that I used to do fairly easily. Such as write. Well, I’ve been struggling with writing fiction since my medical crisis. I think it might actually be something physical rather than psychological.
I used to say that I would give up life before writing. Obviosuly, that’s not true, but it’s been so weird. I am used to having stories in my head al lthe time. When I want to write a story, the idea pops up in my head and I write it all out mentally. We are talking about murder mysteries here. I would know the victim, the perp, the reason why the murder happened, and the background of the main characters. The details might change as I write, but I have the outline there for me to refer to–mentally–as I write.
I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard since my medical crisis to write a novel. I have started and stopped several times. I have three different ideas for a novel, but I. Cannot. Write. It.
This is breaking me, slowly. I have been writing since I was seven. I started with poetry, but then I migrated to fiction when I was a teen. Late teens. I have been writing steadily ever since, but the muse is silent. Maybe she died instead of me?
I also want to write a memoir because of what happened to me. I’ve gotten further with that, but I still can’t pull it quite togetehr. I’m not as upset about that because I feel that truly is a matter of time.
For the first two years of my rebirth, I was just so damn grateful to still be alive. It was a wonder and a marvel, and I–was…happy? No. Not happy, but at peace? Not quite that, either. But I was the least depressed and the least anxious I’ve been in my life.
It’s only been in the last six months that this has started to slip. I know why it’s happening, but I do not know how to stop it. My sleep, which used to be terrible, was so much better after my medical crisis. I got a tight eight hours a night–which was unheard of for me. Then fucking daylight whatever bullshit happened in the fall, took me by complete surprise and fucked me all the way up.
I don’t like daylight saving, but it’s usually more of an annoyance that anything else. I have no idea why it hit me so hard this time. Well, I do. It’s the grief I’m experciencing. But, the point is that it’s so discouraging.
On the positive side, I’m still getting nearly eeight hours most nigts. On the negative side, my sleep schedule is all over the map. I had locked it down to going to bed at two and getting up at ten–which is fine. But now it’s more like go to bed at four and get up at noon. Which is what I used to do. And it’s been going to bed at six a few nights, which I really don’t want to do again.
I’m done for now. More later.