Unwrap Gifts Disguised As Setbacks

My new video interviews with Tina van Leuven, from InnerDelight. You can find Tina on FaceBook, too. Click on either link highlighted in the last sentence to explore the beauty, and passion she has for creating JOY as a way of life, not only for ourselves, but for the entire world. There are three videos in this series. I am posting the first one, and if you go to Tina's YouTube channel, InnerDelight, you can find the other two we did, plus, many more delightful interviews with other guests.

Watch the video to catch up on what I've been up to, as well as seeing my dimples do their thang~

50 Foot Tall Woman

Quick update on how I'm doing after my surgery on Dec 29, 2010. I haven't felt this good in years, at least the last 2.5 years, that's for sure! Superman took me to my 2 week follow up with the surgeon this past Thursday. He had before and after picks of my "insides'... WOW! Now I can see why I was in such pain. There was a large web of scar tissue that had attached my liver to my stomach that also included my intestines and affected my diaphragm.

Dr. Onders, who also operated on Christopher Reeves to help him breathe independently, specializes in the diaphragm. I told him how much deeper I could breathe, and stretch especially on my right side. I had become fearful that I'd lost my ability to sing because I couldn't get enough air in to hit notes I'm used to hitting or hold a note for a long period of time. He said these adhesions would have definitely hindered my breathing and singing ability. He showed me a picture of before and after of this area. My diaphragm was pushed so far up into my chest and the after picture shows it freed up, and now its back in its rightful place.

I'm digesting food much better, and am able to stand up straight, completely straight. This mass of adhesions were directly around, below and above my belly button. They pulled me down, and to my right side, causing me to stand off kilter. I can see how this affected my posture, caused my back pain and making a disc bulge and why my knee was injured. Imagine yourself being pulled inward at your belly button like you have an invisible knot there, and every day the knot gets pulled tighter, and tighter, until it causes you to stand hunched over. You can't eat without your stomach becoming full of air, and then your stomach distends so much you can barely breathe. In a matter of seconds you can look 9 months pregnant. Imagine a burning, and often stabbing pain that never stops across your midsection, and hurts more if it is constricted in any way. That was me.

Now, I am the 50 foot Woman and I'm FREE! I'm Free! Free to stand tall, sleep without pain, sing like I have a built in mic, and eat food without fear. I am so grateful and thankful for my health, my surgeon, Dr. Onders, for my Superman for not giving up until we found a doctor who could "fix" me, and for each of you who've supported me, and prayed for me. Thank you all! Now I just have to find some clothes that will fit a 50 Foot Woman!

Just leave me a quick comment that says, "Work IT, girl! Work it!"

PS... leave me a comment, too, if you have your Hope Rocks pictures up on your blog so I can give you a shout out and link back to you! Hope Rocks has gone world wide peeps! People are responding like crazy... good crazy! If you are on facebook, please hit the Like button on the Hope Rocks page. You can click HERE to find it.

PTSD & Creativity for Healing Part Two

"Surrounded by Angels" by Lille Diane
Watercolor 11 x 14

Here's the final excerpt of my story PTSD & Creativity for Healing Part Two about how I'm using art to heal from post traumatic stress disorder I got after a bad auto accident. The story is featured on Michele Rosenthal's blog, "Heal My PTSD". Please feel free to share these links with others who may need a healing, helping hand to overcome PTSD, anxiety disorders or stress related illness. Just click on the picture. It will take you there.

(Here's the link for Part One if you missed it. Click Here.)

PTSD is not a disease that happens just to people in the armed forces, or police officers, or fire fighters. It happens to everyday people like you or myself who have experienced trauma of any kind. If you continue to isolate, or experience fears and/or anxiety about life or situations you feel are out of your control, please seek help. Michelle offers one on one counseling, support and has lots of free help for you or your loved ones. Her blog is a goldmine of resources for people seeking to heal from PTSD, depression, anxiety and stress related diseases. Her site is a safe place to begin the first steps to heal. You are not alone~

I'd love to hear your feedback on art, music, writing or any creative tools you've found that make your walk with life easier and how it's helped you. Your insights will help me & Michelle better help others. Leave me a message here or there. Thank you~

PLUS...

I've included some useful links in Part Two
to help you get started in using art to heal.

PTSD & Creativity for Healing Part One

'Love Grows Here' page in my Moleskine art journal.

Ink & Prisma Pencil

I'm excited to be a guest contributor at Michele Rosenthal's, Heal My PTSD website this week. My article "PTSD & Creativity for Healing - Part One" is featured on her blog today. Click on my article title to direct you straight to the story. Part Two will post next week.

Art is without a doubt healing lives everywhere. I'm seeing the theme of art healing lives everywhere I go. I am healing, too, because I found refuge in some paints, some paper, a empty journal book, a canvas, a pencil, a paint brush and a whole lot of freedom in expressing myself in a medium that has been an outlet since the cave man roamed the earth. Art tells a story. Art is meditation. Art helps a heart want to live again. Art is soul candy. Art opens dialogs that may otherwise be hard to talk about. Art can help set the captive mind free. Art has given me, and countless others, wings to fly above problems, confusion and fears.

Michele Rosenthal has been my friend, and treasured mentor, for almost 2 years. She is changing lives and opening the eyes of the world to learn how PTSD can strike anyone, anywhere and at any time. She's been there and she understands the pain being misdiagnosed. Her story is one of hope, and how she persevered by knocking on doors until she got answers, found help and finally, became healed. PTSD can be healed. Just ask Michelle. She is shouting from the roof tops, "There is HOPE! There are TOOLS! There is HEALING from PTSD!"

I encourage all of you who've been reading my blog who may be working through depression, anxiety, fear or PTSD to tune into Michele's blog. Heal My PTSD has free tools, and help for those struggling with PTSD and for people who have family members dealing with PTSD.

This next year I'm launching some art videos to help people work through anxiety by using simple art techniques that have helped me tremendously. The new videos will also help people with day to day stress find ways to unwind creatively. Stress is the number one cause of so many deadly diseases. In the meantime, please go read my guest post. Click HERE. I'm tickled beyond measure to be Michele's guest. Thanks, Michele, and all of you who have watched me heal one day at a time. By this time tomorrow I'll be healed. This I know for sure~

Let Art Heal Your Heart

Let art heal your heart. There is no right or wrong in creating art. There are only test drives. Draw with the freedom of a child.




Thanks to my friend, Lynn, for finding the last video.

***Caption Contest winners are Lily and Tera***

Kayak Therapy

This is my chill pill.
~My Bliss~

Being in my kayak on a lake
is my outdoor church.
This month, Leah Piken Kolidas,
founder of CED,
Creative Every Day,
asked us to share how we find our bliss.
Kayaking is one way I find bliss.

Yesterday I saw a turtle, approx a foot and a half in diameter, swimming close to the surface of the water as I paddled by. On the shore line we saw deer drinking from the cool blue waters. Multiple herons flew overhead, and we saw a pair of herons standing guard like soldiers indicating there was a nest nearby. Awkward goslings nibbled in the grass by their proud parents. The sky stretched out above us like a painting while the breeze kept us cool. We were as close to heaven as I've ever been.

How I started kayaking...

After the auto accident I spent a few months in physical therapy. I loved the therapy but every time I was in there it reminded me of the accident. I saw a few women kayaking on the lake. I was in awe of these women being brave enough to kayak, so I decided to get a kayak. I took a HUGE risk in buying a kayak without ever being in one. I found it was the beginning of getting my power back. Kayaking made me feel strong. It calmed my PTSD and anxiety attacks. I stopped PT and continued kayaking as often as possible. I guess you could say it was Kayak Therapy.

But then my "boat" got rocked
by an unexpected turn of events...

My regular readers know I moved away from my lakeside home, the Tree House, last August. I hadn't planned on moving but when my landlord rented the apartment below me to smokers--I had no choice. The smoke came up though the vents. I couldn't even sit on my lovely deck because they smoked on their deck. At the time it was heart breaking, and I wondered how I would ever get over not living in my sky high Paradise.

The lake I lived on was extremely beautiful AND huge. But it was also a very popular lake for all kinds of boats, and rowdy people due to all the bars on the lake. I spent a lot of time rocking in the wake of a boat speeding by me. I would kayak for miles to find a waterway that was out of the way of all the boat traffic. After moving, I wondered if I get to kayak again as much as I had before. I'm learning The Universe can turn bad things into good things if you allow it to.

Here's how God/Spirit/the Universe
turns ashes into beauty....

Last November I found my new therapist, Dr. Ed. He's helped me advance quickly toward my goal of being healed from PTSD. One day, while sitting in his office, Superman found a brochure about a woman who practiced Reiki in the same building. Superman called her and set a visit for me. It was the first of many healing sessions. She, too, has helped my body and mind heal from the trauma created by the auto accident.

She told Superman and I about the lake we just explored TWO days in a row now. The new lake is very close, and [insert HUGE grin here] it doesn't allow gas powered boats. [insert squeals of delight HERE] Only electric motors and watercraft with paddles can go out on the lake. Plus, the lake is huge. It's quiet. Peaceful. It is my church. The Universe gave me a new lake to kayak in again.

With more beauty, privacy, trees
and amazing sky lines.
No homes side by side
on every square inch of shore.

Everything happens for a reason.

And in due season
I believe I was given
my heart's desire
in finding this new lake.
I'm learning to see
that trauma, accidents,
and the things that
appear to be hopeless messes...
can be turned into the biggest blessings.

How have your upsets in life
been turned into
things of awe and beauty?

Prayer Request

Jake and Emery

My son's daddy isn't doing well. He's battling throat cancer. It's very hard for so many people right now especially my son, Jake. Please say a prayer, and send comfort, and peace to cover us all in a blanket of love.

And lastly, please pray for my Mom. The surgery on her back is tomorrow. The last 2 years have been really rough on her. I'm just sick that I cannot be with her. One day I'll be able to drive or ride in a car anywhere I want to go. I cannot give up hope that this will be a reality. It's times like this I feel so bad that I can't step outside my comfort zone to be with those I love when they need me like my son, and my Mom.

Thank you so much everyone.

Bronzed Knickers and Diamonds

About 10 years ago I was opening a bottle of wine, and as soon as I started twisting the wine opener into the cork I could tell something was not right. I was right. The cork was so dry, my twisting against the glass caused the neck of the bottle to shatter in my hand. In all the years I've opened wine bottles, I've never seen this happen to anyone. My ring finger was cut so deeply in the finger pad area, it required surgery, and stitches.

Shards of glass are still working their way out of my finger all these years later including a piece now. It's deep, and while it's not causing me much grief, I know eventually, I'll have to address it. I've had to go to the doctor several times in years past to have festering pieces of glass surgically removed. Other times, the glass pops through my fingertip like a sprout in springtime, and all I need is tweezers to pluck it out. Simple as that--all it needed was time.

I see this as a metaphor to having PTSD. On some days when a scary thought comes racing through my head, or a negative one, I can use my own mental tweezers to pull it out before it starts infecting my thoughts. But for the most part, I still need professional assistance to help me work through the layers of trauma. I've tried to hold these fears in, fearful I'd be judged for being scared to get in a car again, or judged for not just "getting over it". Heck, I've even barked at myself to suck it up, and to put my Xena Princess Warrior bronzed knickers back on my lily livered arse. That's the part of me that's over the car accident, but the larger part of me is still on hyper drive, or as Dr. Ed says, "my fears are on steroids."

Try as I may I cannot hold these feelings, and thoughts in forever. I'm only making it harder on my body, and my recovery, when I do that. This is why my tummy troubles have kicked into warp speed. It's all connected to my body's injuries, and my tummy's the place I hold my stress. I've been having some of the worst panic attacks I've ever had these past few weeks, hence, the worst pain in my abdomen for a long time. Dr. Ed says I need to let it out. I won't break into a million pieces of glass if I do. If I allow it all to come to the surface like that sliver of buried glass I won't go comatose and die in the prenatal position--even if my body tells me I will. And it has told me that.

He asked me if I ever knew anyone who had cried themselves to death. He said a human can physically maintain a good crying jag for about 15-20 minutes before they wear themselves out. I instantly thought of my son when he was little, and after a tantrum or a bad day, how he would cry himself to sleep. I suppose I thought I "should" be past crying at this stage of my PTSD. Perhaps a healthy crying session will clear the way for more healing, and will create less stress on my tummy.

The glass bottle in the picture is full of sand, and pieces of broken glass that I picked it up in a parking lot after we finished the 5k Race for Hope (to raise money and awareness for brain tumor research) in Washington DC the day of the accident. I remember asking everyone to wait for me while I squatted like a kid in a sandbox, scooping up the brightly colored pieces of glass mingled with sand on the hot asphalt. It was from a mosaic pattern that adorned this particular parking lot in downtown DC, and time and traffic, had caused it to crumbled pushing 1000's of tiny sea-like glass free. To me it was a candy store of recyclable treasure, and I would have stayed for hours collecting this wind fall of potential art material if I'd been able to.

Time always has a way of giving me answers in unexpected ways much like this bottle has been a visual lesson to me. I never once shook the bottle to make the pretty colored bits and pieces of glass rise to the surface. Time did that all by itself. Just as the slivers of glass in my fingers cannot be squeezed or forced out of my finger before it's time, neither can the PTSD shrapnel in my head. It's working itself out at a pace I can handle. Time is what I need for things to shift into place so I can heal properly.

I've been called Diamond Lil my entire adult life. Why not now, too, even if I feel like a diamond in the rough most days? Diamonds come from coal, and it's pressure that creates diamonds. Poets have long compared tears to glistening diamonds. Who knows, maybe a diamond sheds a tear to free itself from the dark sheath of coal, and darkness. Or perhaps all I have to do is open the lid on this bottle to let the miracle out... Time will show me, of this I am sure.

Fire and Ice

"Fire and Ice"
16 x 2o Mixed Media

I just finished her a few days ago. I'm taking an online class with Suzi Blu, "The Goddess and the Poet".

I haven't been feeling that well. I'll keep you posted. It's related to the scar tissue in my abdomen. Send me some hugs and hot cocoa. I'm praying I won't need another surgery. I hope this guy will be my surgeon if I do. He looks wise and I'll bet he's wearing his Monkey Pantz.

Dr. Emery to the rescue.

Not Weighting Any More

Good week. Great results, plus lost some of me along the weigh. OK the barium was... Ummmmm, shall I say weighty. I believe that crap is closer to being like cement than glue in your pipe-a-roos---gross stuff. But it was kind of fun watching it pass through my physical pipes on the "big screen"... Between taking X-rays, the tech pointed out what everything was inside of me as the chalky, white, alien, tar baby first lit up my esophagus, then my intestines, and finally my large intestine.

I twisted my brow in a knot a few times asking her, "What IS that??" Think about it. We don't really get to see what is inside us. We only see the outside, and inside is an awesome machine we rarely even think about as it functions around the clock....24-7... keeping us alive. Plus, I'm curly, and curvy on the inside. Fluffy. Billowy. TMI?? Sowwy...

Please note:
Being off of sugar can make you feel giddy... stoned like. So a lot of this ramblin' sh*t ain't my fault....

This is how I felt when I quit smoking cigs last December, too. I got a head rush when the oxygen finally hit my brain after my blood veins became unclogged from all the nicotine, and tar. Plain oxygen gave me a buzz. A whole new twist on being an airhead... Some of you who have quit tobacco know just what I'm talking about, and now that I'm giving sugar the ole' stink eye... I've been babbling back and forth to myself like Cheech and Chong in a 70's movie. I guess detoxing has its perks. Anywhooooo... where was I??

Something about weight. Let me think a minute. Oh wait it was about my pipes. I was going to say.... no one tells you how freaky it is to see barium come out the "other" end. It's white with a grayish tint to it. Pasty gray. I felt so alienish. For freaking days. Sowwy, another sugah rush gone bad. I'll clean up my potty mouth.

More weighty matters??? Yes, what was the weighty matter this week?

When I weighed in at the doctors 1.5 weeks ago I weighed 191 lbs. I can barely breathe after typing that. Now that is the alien in my body--the extra weight. Those lines around my eyes--aliens, too, dang-it! I look at myself sometimes, and can't help but think of that Bonnie Raitt song, Nick of Time" where it says:

"I see my folks are getting on and I watch their bodies change
I know they see the same in me and it makes us both feel strange
No matter how you tell yourself, it's what we all go through
Those lines are pretty hard to take when they're starin' back at you
Scared to run out of time

When did the choices get so hard,
there's so much more at stake
Life gets mighty precious
When there's less of it to waste
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Scared to run out of time"

I'm not here to have a pity party about "aging". I earned this right of passage. And I know for sure after going off that embankment in the accident I'm especially grateful to be alive, let alone any age, even if some people consider my age to be old. That inner "you" still expects to see "you" looking back...not that old girl-guy?! Friends, what I know is this;

I'm at a cross road in my life regarding my future health, and I need to take better care of myself while I still have a self to take care of...

Most of you reading this are probably baby boomers. Right? So you may understand how I feel when I say I don't want to waste any time making some positive changes in my personal health. I have this wild child inside me that thinks she can keep eating bad foods, and get no exercise and not have any repercussions from it. I think it's time I told myself, "Girl, you got yourself into this out of shape mess and you're the only one who can get you out of it." I want to feel vibrant inside and look vibrant on the outside! I want my zest back!

Who doesn't want to get an instant skinny fix simply by reading that article about crunches in Absmopolitan.

You mean, "I gotta work for it? But...."

[But... but.... butt bigger butttt....]

I am the only one who can fix me whether it's losing 5 pounds or 105 pounds.

My weight loss goals have everything to do with feeling good, and having great health. Looking good, and feeling good about one's self are light years away from each other. I don't have to tell you that one. I have to tell myself that, and somewhere in the middle, I want a firm grasp on both of those. I had so many of you JUMP UP and say, "I'm going with you, Lille!!! I'm losing my fluff with you, too. I want more energy. I want to get in shape. I want to lose some poundage~~~

Sah-weet-sassy-molassy-monky-pants!

So who wants to know my weight loss this week??? I have news. Weighty News.

I do need to address one thing first though. I had to change my starting weight. I weighed myself when I got home on my digital scale [God, I love this scale as much as I love a skinny mirror in a lingerie store] and it said I weighed 188.5--not the whopping 191 my doctor's lying hunk of junk scale said I did. I weighed myself two days in a row to make sure I had a steady starting weight. Psssttttt.... We all know a doctor's scale makes you weigh as much as an entire mini van with 18 bags of groceries in the back seat plus a zebra .... or two strapped on the bike rack in back. Ahem... **cough***cough**

4.5 pounds. I lost 4.5 pounds!!!! This was not painful, people. I actually ate more than I usually do. My choices were better though. Cutting out sugar was huge. Plus no cream my coffee. I wanted to slit my 'caffeine filled-with-cream-n-sugah' veins just thinking of the deprivation of having no twins in my java. I got over wanting it in under 3 days. I am in shock! Coffee actually tastes good nekkie. WTFrappucino! Who'da thunk it?

A quick question for you.

How many of you would be interested in meeting here with me for 5-15 minutes for a live vlog? A little fun so we can put the wag back in our scally's. A little silliness and motivation for those of you who'd like to do this together. Just think you'll all get to see me 'weighs-ting away to nothin' before your eyes... and you will be, too.

A time suggestion might be good, too. Mornings? Noon? Afternoons? Evenings? More than once a week perhaps?? Mix it up?? Let me hear from you... Who's in and when?

[insert 3rd grade girl giggle here]

A Magic Capsule

I may have found a miracle in a capsule. I'm in disbelief that it may really be possible. I've secretly, and openly said, "Wow, wouldn't it be great if a pill could fix this or that?" Who doesn't want to "take a pill" to make it all better? Especially if you've been dealing with chronic pain, emotionally or physically, for a long time. I'm learning from Dr. Ed that either type of pain directly effects the other.

I also just learned that the pain I've been having in my abdomen may be due to scar tissue forming from the blunt force trauma from the accident. Apparently some people's bodies make more scar tissue than others. It looks like I'm one of "those peeps" with scar tissue built up not only in my mind, but in my body as well.

I've been in serious denial that I hurt nearly 24/7. I didn't want to give it "life" by admitting that fact. But the truth is; my guts feel like they've been attacked by a shark, chewed up, and then spit out. I'm left with the bruised, and battered pieces as my pipes for digestion. In denying these feelings to myself, I've neglected the fact that I need some real medical attention. I had some damage done by a surgeon in the early 90's to my body that has caused me lots of pain and suffering through the years--so I've put off getting help. I'm afraid of surrendering another piece of my flesh to people who are "practicing medicine". Denial doesn't make things go away. Imagine that?!

I couldn't take the pain any longer so I made an appointment this last week with a doctor that came with the highest recommendations in the G.I field. When he walked into the examining room, I immediately felt a sense of hope, and calmness. It felt like I was in a safe place just like it did when I walked into see Dr. Ed, my new PTSD specialist, for the first time.

After examining me, he told me he thinks the scar tissue in my body may be twisting and tweaking my intestines, and other organs. This may have caused a blockage somewhere and it may require surgery. We'll know more after he gets the blood work back, and the next round of tests scheduled for next Wednesday. [I'm gonna be lit up on the inside like a Christmas tree...]

He told me there will be nothing easy about what we need to do, and asked me if I understood that. Weird thing in hearing him say "this will not be an easy fix" is that it made me feel better. Why is that????? Because it's the truth, and I needed to hear that. There is freedom in truth. Dr. Ed is helping me see that. This is huge!

The doc then prescribed a new medication, Kapidex, for me to try. It seems to be working. None of the other meds I've been prescribed have worked. For the first time in a year and a half, a "PILL" has drastically reduced the pain in my stomach. I keep touching, and poking myself as if I'm in a dream!

My next adventure will be seeking out a magic pill to take off the 30 + pounds I've gained since the accident. That was the "real" shocker of the day getting on that dreaded scale but I have a feeling having more energy will be a key in changing this, too. Chronic pain, emotional or physical, can drain the life right out of you.

I have another feeling my Sassy Pants
are about to become
my underwear of choice
underneath my Monkey Pantz!

It's amazing what having a little relief can do for a girl's "tude"!

****Just for the record, I'm not in any way shape or form saying Kapidex or any pill is magical or will be the pill for you. I'm just stating what seems to be working for me at this point in time in my life. You should work with your doctor to find what works best for you.****

Crashing Into Me

Sorry to post such a graphic picture. Please read on. I need your support for the next leg of my healing journey.

I've never posted a picture on my blog of the vehicle from my accident (R.I.P. you died so we would live) but I have to vent. I felt much like our van looked like after the accident when I left my psychiatrist after my visit last Friday. I left feeling broadsided by his words, crushed, and waiting for a tow truck to haul my carcass off to the graveyard.

My body took a hit from a car speeding at 70 MPH with such a force I still feel it in my body 1.5 years later, plus I also took a brutal hit to my mind; fear, stress, anxiety, and trauma. It's shaken me like a rag doll with razor blade teeth, and still howls at me every time I get into an automobile. But I think there is nothing worse than effects of words by a calloused soul who has no ability to connect, and apparently has no desire to even if he could.

The medications prescribed to me have been nuclear powered. They've also had volcanic side effects: major insomnia, major intestinal and stomach problems, agitation, panic attacks, extreme anxiety, heart palpitations, night sweats, apathy, numbness to life, neither joyful or sad, sluggishness, lethargic, decreased sex drive or ability to orgasm... Up, and down... up and down... I could go on, and on about the side effects. Some of you know exactly what I'm talking about. I am in no way telling people to not take a prescribed medication but my LORD what is the sane thing to do????? Either way I have the same symptoms. PTSD or Side Effects.... so what do I do?

At first I pushed through taking each medication as prescribed, ever hopeful I'd been given a "magic" pill. But [for me] there is no magic pill. All the various medications had the same bad side effects when I took them. Later I started saying no, and asking to try to something else. My psychiatrist begrudgingly agreed each time but would always coax me back to another heavier type of medication.

What's made this entire process an even worse pill to swallow is that this man never looked at me when I sat at his desk. He just looked at his computer screen clicking away. I rarely spent more than 5 minutes in his office. I hated to go but didn't think I had a choice. Then for a few months I had some relief when he set me up to see one of his counselors, and she had such a genuine compassion for people, I continued to go once a month or more as needed. However she was pregnant, and never returned after she had her baby. I was crushed hearing this, and wavered whether or not to go back at all.

I asked Superman to go in with me, which of course, he valiantly agreed to. He was as appalled as I had been at his lack of "desk-side manner". In fact, the doctor seemed a bit agitated I had asked Superman come in with me. That should have been a huge CLUE to get help elsewhere. But instead I procrastinated about going back in again. The sudden move, my Mom, and needing to see her before her surgery, etc, etc.... I validated every reason but the truth is I HATED how I felt being around this doctor. But eventually I needed to go back so I made the dreaded appointment which was this past Friday.

He scolded me for not coming in to see him for 2.5 months. I explained about the move from the Tree House , and that I also depend on Superman to take me to my appointments, and sometimes it's hard for him to leave his business to help me. Blah...BLAH, blah.... When asked about another medication he'd prescribed me and how I was doing on it---I told him I was too afraid to take it for all the side effects which pissed him off. It was the drug Ab----y. You've seen the ads...."If your anti-depression medication isn't working for you... you may need another pill to boost your antidepressant." Then the last two thirds of the commercial lists all the frigging side effects. Oh YES please I want a whole f....king gallon of those!

I asked him if he'd ever been in a bad auto accident.... which he answered he had. He told me he totaled his car, called his insurance company, got a rental car in 5 minutes, and he drove off happy as a bee. [Well goody for you!] Next he told me he had patients he had "healed" from various "prestigious" companies [he proudly named them off like a list of personal credentials] within 3-6 months. I asked him if their jobs included an intense driving schedule like my job had, 2500-3000 miles per month. He said that didn't matter but because I'd asked him, he told me.

Then he told me not to come back.

I know it's not entirely his fault. It is the way we do business here in America. The drug companies dictate what incomes/kick-backs the doctors make, and so on, and so on. I know there are good doctors , and bad ones. I also know it's MY body, MY mental health, and MY responsibility to take care of myself. No one else will. So this is why I've decided to undergo treatment from a specific PTSD psychologist I told you all I was going to go see.

The meeting went well. I really, really like this guy. He told me it will be hard at times, and I will probably hate him on some days..... But I want to get well. I am willing to do whatever it takes to get my life back, my mind back. PTSD is just now being recognized, and talked about, as the beast it is. Our soldiers are coming home from the war, and our Vets, from previous wars, have been neglected so horribly. [don't get me started on this one...grrrrrr] But PTSD also happens to regular people just like myself. Trauma is trauma. Bottom line.

I begin what will be an intense program next Monday night. He's supportive of my choice to try to do this without heavy medications, and eventually none at all. I feel so free now. I believe I found a tiny opening in the Universe to squeeze into a window of recovery, healing, and wholeness again.

The pic above shows the narrow spot our van hit on the guard rail on the overpass before it flipped, and went down a steep, rocky hill. A few inches either way and we would have hit concrete. Those inches were just many of the miracles that happened, and allowed us to live that day. The divot you see in the rocks is where the van landed [my side, shotgun] after it flipped. I still feel the impact in my bones, my cells, my memories, and my dreams.

Maybe, just maybe.... I've crossed through another narrow passage way to a miracle. I have to believe it to receive it. And........

I will get well.

55 Miles Away From PTSD

I spent most of yesterday editing the pics from Tuesday at Dorri's farm. In the middle of the editing I had a revelation--one of those revelations that stop you in mid thought, and demand you ponder it.

The trip out to the farm was the farthest I've been in a car
since January 1, 2009, the day my grandson was born.

In spite of it being the happiest moment in my life being there for my son's first child to be born, the back and forth trips from the hotel and hospital on busy, confusing freeways with narrow lanes triggered a major setback with my PTSD. Superman could barely peel me out of the car one night to just get me inside to our hotel room--it was that bad. After 8 months of battling PTSD from the car accident, that episode put me over the edge, and on a long term disability leave from my beloved career.

I have not been back there since. My son and his family live approximately 120 miles from me. It may as well be 2500 miles in my mind. I have shed a barrel of tears over not being able to just get in the car and drive to see them. I've wondered sometimes if they thought I just didn't want to see them. I look fine from the outside but PTSD is something you can't see. There's no bloody gash on my forehead. But I can tell you there may as well be. My kids post pictures regularly of my grandson, and themselves. This has been like a carrot for me to keep trudging ahead.

I didn't actually drive out to the farm. I was a passenger. It really doesn't matter with PTSD if I'm riding or driving. Every time I anticipated going out there, I'd freeze up mentally. It was too far. At the end of last week I sent Dorri a message requesting to come and shoot some pictures of her parents before their grand celebration planned in 2 weeks for their 50th wedding anniversary. Of course she agreed. Dorri loves her parents as much as I love mine. She still calls her mother, Mommy--just like I do with my Mommy.

I had some fears about making the drive--actually any drive. My normal mode of operation [which is actually my abnormal mode] is to chicken out before the day comes of a function, outing or event I have agreed to attend, and cancel. My mind has been so tweaked with fear that I can actually get sick, physically ill in anticipation of leaving the house. So in actual fact, PTSD has chained me not only in my mind, but also inside the four walls of my tree house. The very fact that I kept the date and went the distance is no less of a miracle than me surviving plunging off that 70 foot bridge nose first.

On the trip over to the farm we went the back roads. It's always calmer for me on back roads but at times I can still work myself into a fear frenzy. On the trip back we went on the freeway. NOW this is a major, major accomplishment. I had a few moments of my head jumping into the beginnings of a panic attack. My faithful co-pilot, Dylan, patted my knee, and arm, whenever I expressed a vehicle scaring me. She spoke calmly to me, and assured me we were fine. You see we've both come a long way together since the accident. We hold each other up when one of us feels too weak to stand.

If you haven't looked at yesterday's post yet, please do. It's mostly pictures so it's an easy read. So many of you who have been faithfully following me [thank you from the bottom of my heart] commented on how much fun we [me] were having. Those pictures really said so much. I was more relaxed on Tuesday than I've been in a very, very long time. [and it wasn't just the wine....] I'm getting better people. I'm really, and truly, getting better.

The revelation: I'm almost half way there [riding or driving] to my son's house.

THIS IS HUGE!!!!

Because I know when I get ALL the way there I'll get to put on my monkey pants and a monkey hat to play with this little cupcake.
Yes, I'm 55 miles away from PTSD and 65 miles closer to smooching some baby belly!!!

Shhhh... the stars are singing....

We all have a song in our heart that is ours alone; our own unique harmonics and vibrations. Yes, everyone. Even babies sing. We call it cooing. I think we just forget how to let our songs flow as we "grow-up" or because we get bogged down in life, and by life. Some people's songs are sung out of tune, from their toes, from their bellies, loud and free. I love to hear songs that are sung like this from the heart. And I've always loved people who sing or whistle freely, like no one else is around or they don't care if anyone likes it or not. They sing because their hearts cannot contain their inner joy. If we could only bottle that pure rush of joy, or burst of happiness singing brings, our world would be a better place.

I have always loved to sing. But I, too, am guilty of burying my voice under the burdens of day to day struggles of trying to survive. I stopped singing professionally 11 years ago. It was not planned; it happened abruptly as my life took a necessary turn down a different road. I grieved its passing as a death. If you'd have asked me prior to my singing career coming to a halt how I'd feel about that happening, I would have told you I'd shrivel up and die without being able to sing, perform, or live my musical dreams. But I didn't. I'm still here. I still have a song in my heart. And I believe I have a new song rising up to meet me. I'm humming again.

My daddy played guitar, and sang, with Johnny Horton, Hank Williams SR, and Hank Snow. My mother sang back up. My family on both my mother and father's side were musical, and talented.
I guess you could say I was born with an orchestra playing in my heart, and a choir of angels pounding out a tune with each heartbeat. My son carries the musical torch now. And he does it brilliantly. I could not be prouder.
Jake writes, plays guitar, [lead, rhythm and bass] drums, some keyboard, and sings. I believe my greatest accomplishment in life was giving birth to him so his gift could be experienced by all who hear him or read what he's written.

Lately I've been hearing a chorus chirping in my soul, and have felt a longing to write the melody I hear floating to the top of my heart. This is good, people, because it means my spirit wants to clear the pipes, and let a rusty, scratchy but sWEEt note reverberate from its core.... even if it's only for me to hear~

I know some of you will say, "Oh, I can't sing a note." Or, "I wish I could sing." But you can, and it's not the ability as much as it is the availability to let your heart rock and roll as free as a bird. If you listen to birds many of them were not born with a voice of a canary. They were just born with a song larger than their tiny, feathered frames. I wonder if we all woke up singing like the birds do if there would be so much illness, and wars, and depression, and hatred, and intolerance, and abuse.....etc., etc., etc.... Music builds bridges, and heals hearts.

So, I say.... Sing while you're driving as Loud as possible. Put your sun glasses on, and don't look to see if anyone is watching you in the car next to you. If they are, they're probably enjoying seeing someone tap into something fun [rather than road rage] and probably wish they could do the same thing. Who knows you may be the nudge from the Universe they needed to let er' rip.

When I'm singing out loud it's a good indication that I'm feeling good,

and when I'm not feeling well, I probably need to sing louder.

When Jake was about two years old he said the most profound thing [as babes often do]... We'd been out for a walk one evening, and as we walked down the driveway he suddenly spoke up,

"Sssshhhhh. Listen!! The stars are singing!"

In the fields surrounding our house we heard the sounds of crickets, and frogs-- humming in tandem with each other--loudly, and sweetly at the same time. Yes, even the stars sing, and their song is the most beautiful song I've ever heard.

~~FYI~~ I'm feeling so much better.
AmaZingly better, my friends.

~~~Thank you all for your words of encouragement, and written hugs while I tuned up my spirit and body--all of which was like a concert from you to me. You all rock in my eyes!!!!~~

Flicker of Sunshine at the Tree House

I know you all must think I fell off the face of the earth. I mentioned a few weeks ago that I was not feeling up to my usual sass. I'm still working on finding a big jar of, "Sass In a Glass".



Please hang in here with me. My body and I are having a tug-o-war. I'm muddied up a bit but I'll be back very soon with my dimples flashing a neon smile. I just needed to take some ample time to allow myself to mend. Sometimes that's the hardest thing to do. I want it yesterday.

I also want to apologize for not getting over to everyone's "place" to see whats' been going on in your wonderful worlds. My poor brain has had the hardest time even reading, let alone comprehending what I've just read. This, too, has been hard for me. I so enjoy visiting all of you. So please keep the welcome mat out for me. I will be there soon with a huge dollop of cheer.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.....

Hugzzzzzzz.......

My dream's interpretation from A Dreams-Teller for this time tomorrow

Hello all...

Here is the interpretation from my dream of the rainbow trout I posted a couple of days ago.

A Dreams-Teller said...

HELLO LILLE DIANE,

Nice to have you visit the dreamer's site and leave one of yours. Let's have a look to see what it means:

THE RAINBOW TROUT DREAM

You walk on the beach feeling in the pink. Everything for you is calm and serene at sunset. So night is approaching (in the dark). The cliff looms over you to your left (the heart side). May symbolize a decision you are struggling with which causes emotional issues and feelings. You may be thinking you need to strengthen your resolve, let go of sentimentality and become firm and solid like the rock.

The fish "trout" is out of water. Could suggest the way you are feeling in waking life in a current situaton. Or you may be looking closer at beliefs, attitudes of yours that lie beneath the surface that are being supressed yet arise anyway. They taunt you, you choke them back. The neck of the small animal (a very vulnerable part of the body in animals and humans) means exposure, taking a risk, trusting yourself or someone else and maybe more communication (vocalization) is needed before you proceed.

MY BEST INTERPRETATION...YOU MAY GET SOME INSIGHT FROM IT.

Lille Diane said...

Thank you, so much. I wondered why it impressed me I was walking south and noted the cliff was on my left.

I struggle (daily) with PTSD from an auto accident. Many times I feel childish or small for feeling so vulnerable on the highway driving or even riding in a car. I don't let on most of the time how scary driving is for me.

If you have time, please, read my post from a few days ago, I talk about an incident over the weekend that left me feeling completely choked and I'm in shock how the accident still affects me. I never screamed once during the accident. Maybe I just need to go somewhere and scream. I've choked it back too long.

Amazing to me as well is the fact that I had this dream last week before this recent event.

I'd like to post your response to share with my readers about your gift, and also to bring you more readers. I posted my dream on my blog and linked it to your blog. There are so many people out there who have PTSD like I do, and I feel I'm helping them---just like they are helping me. Blogging is such a powerful tool.

What you are doing is truly a blessing. I know the blessings will come back to you for all the generosity you've shown so many. Thank you again.

Thu Jun 11, 05:49:00 PM 2009

A Dreams-Teller said...

HELLO LILLE DIANE,

FEEDBACK ON TROUT DREAM

Thank you for your feedback. It helps immensely to hear back from dreamers. As a result, more people learn about this site and find help.

I do believe that understanding our dreams releases fears we often hold onto far too long. Dreams may seem nonsensical but that is the nature of dreams, as they do the job of refreshing the dreamer's mind clearing out all the cluttered thoughts and emotions.

I wish all my dreamers...

SWEET DREAMS!

Fri Jun 12, 10:40:00 AM 2009

Thank you so much, A Dreams-Teller!

Flashbacks of yesterday, full moons today, this time tomorrow I'll be okay...

I didn't post anything yesterday. I wasn't sure I wanted to talk about an experience I had Saturday night. Most of you who have been following me for awhile now know I just celebrated the one year anniversary of a moment I can never forget. It's a vivid moment like these shots of the moon I took tonight.

Sometimes memories will shine down on one's heart and create a ripple effect just like the reflection of the moon on the water. You may not see a full moon if it's hidden behind clouds. But once the moon slips out from behind the cloud cover there's no denying it's presence.

PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) is kind of like that. It's like having a wound that no one can see until various reasons or situations, some of which make no sense at all, cause it to start bleeding. I had a sudden, severe bout 0f PTSD Saturday night driving home from a really great evening. Suddenly the memories, the reflections, images, sights and sounds of the auto accident I'd been in over a year ago crashed into me again. Suddenly, and with no mercy. As suddenly as the car that hit us---the thoughts were back---triggered by some young guys driving erratically. The sounds of their speeding motorcycles, and cars zooming past our car felt like a thousand shards of glass piercing my body.

I was instantly reduced to a sobbing, terrified hostage to my thoughts, my memories, and my worst fears. I couldn't breathe, my throat closed up, my pulse and heart rate increased dramatically. I felt caged; I felt trapped. One hand instinctively reached to cover my eyes, and moved as quickly to cover my mouth to hold back a scream. That scream got stuck in my throat like a jagged rock. In my other hand I held a beautiful mason jar full of flowers I just been given by two beautiful sister's at one of the art galleries we just come from.



Bleeding Hearts, Queen Anne's Lace, and some other fairy garden varieties with perfume spilling out of them like heavenly scented clouds. I gripped the bottom of the Mason jar so hard I'm surprised I didn't break it. My hand ached from the imprints the jar left on it.

In an instant a wonderful evening was tweaked by an unwelcome flashback. I'd not had one that severe for awhile. It crushed my previous notion I was out of the woods, and finally free from panic-anxiety attacks. I was blind-sided...unexpectedly just like the car accident.

I'll need to smell these lovely flowers a little more intently. Gaze at the moon for hidden messages of hope, and encouragement. Write about my fears out in the open to give them less room to breed inside my heart. Blog about it to my dear blog friends... Vent, and humbly ask for a couple of "Go get em' Lille!!" "You can do it" You're not a big baby. Moments like these will become less and less..."

For more understanding about PTSD, I suggest you read Rain at "Mountain Mamma" or Owen at Magic Lantern Showen . These two people have helped me tremendously to gain insights to recovery, "am I normal???" questions or is it normal if this... or this.... or that happens... I receive hope, and insight from them just by visiting their blogs. Thank you, Rain, and Owen.

If you are newer to my blog, read more about why I started the blog or about the accident listed in the labels....

And thank you dear friends who faithfully come by the tree house to visit. I love how you all make charming, encouraging and down-right funny comments on my blog.... Thank you~~

The Duel between the Perfectionist and the Procrastinator. Maybe this time tomorrow I'll have it all done....

Somehow I think this may be a hard task to finish or accomplish or keep that way. I believe the perfectionist in me will lie to the procrastinator I'm trying so hard not to be. And the procrastinator will always want to take a nap if it isn't perfect to begin with. And so my journey creating my dream studio begins...... here are some before pics. The after pics will have to happen after it's finished. LOL




First project on my list is my studio. I'm beginning to believe a studio is a work-in-progress, too—just like me. I've only just defined a space as the home for my creative treasures, well, a physical storage-work space.

My brain is my permanent house for my studio. It's taken me awhile to figure out where to set it up and I have had it in a few places—but never finished.

I live in the perfect place for creativity. On a lake—actually on an island. I have had to deal with some rough places as a studio space in during my life but my challenge here on the lake is I have too many places to set up my studio. Challenge? Yes, too many choices can be hard. Too many places to get trapped in perfecting the spot instead of perfecting the craft. There's such a thin line between procrastination and perfecting something. I can get totally stuck in the getting everything just right before I can cut myself loose to start playing. One of these days I'm going to just cut loose and play anyway... (see I'm procrastinating)

My boyfriend, Superman, just helped me tremendously this past week. I needed him as a sounding board. I pointed out all the pros and cons of various locations to set up my studio in the Tree House (what I call my home). All had potential, promise, and all posed problems. All had bits and pieces of my art supplies strewn about like clothes in a teenager's room. Well actually kinda like my bedroom. (hehe) He liked my ideas and told me they made sense. I needed some validation. I also need a strong arm... He gave me some guide lines to work under. If it is not creative—it does not belong in my studio. Sweet! I can work with that.

Here's my usual pattern. One room, one space in my world has always been the dumping ground, the holding tank, the clutter catcher, the junk room, the room you keep the door shut at all times and pray no one stumbles upon it looking for the bathroom, “Fibber MC Gee's closet”, my shame, my lack of perfection. My nemesis. My undoing. The proof I do not have things together. I am and always have been very hard on myself about this. It seems if I had it all together, I would be perfect but to get there everything must be perfect. I hear screaming.... Oh, never mind... it's just me.

Plus, I do a bit of hoarding. Holding on to things, so to speak. “I might be able to use this sometime.” Sentimental alley. Broken babbles, and stacks of papers. I do not know how to toss things. Throw it away? Yikes!!! I have dried out paint bottles for heaven's sake! Scraps of paper that was trimmed off of something. Buttons that belong to a pair of pants or blouse I no longer own. It's a cluster fuck in my mind and world. “What if I need this?” “How could I use this?” This is a project waiting to happen.” “Wow, that would make the perfect ____, or _____, or you fill in the _____. Blankety, blank....

I have stood in the middle of one of my storage tanks of creative possibilities and been so overwhelmed I left the room, garage, etc., and took a frigging nap. I've turned in circles like a ballerina with no choreographer. My toes are raw. My mind is weary. Where do you start??? I need the peace of finishing a room, especially my creative space. It's usually the place that sits in the most chaos, and it's the place I need to be in the most to heal. I want a studio where I know where everything is. I can reach for a tool I need. I can walk in and simply begin creating.

I just want to paint and maybe that's the trick to all of this.... Just Do IT!!!