Homeostasis

HOMEOSTASIS:  noun
1. the tendency of a system, esp. the physiological system of higher animals, to maintain internal stability, owing to the coordinated response of its parts to any situation or stimulus tending to disturb its normal condition or function.


2. Psychology. a state of psychological equilibrium obtained when tension or a drive has been reduced or eliminated. _________________________________________________________

I NEVER noticed when I passed that mark in my new life, the one that separated the craziness that came before from the new balance that we now share.  All I knew was that the pain, fear and insanity had gradually begun to fade into the past; the more distance that time put beween us and the past the more it faded. 

What I did notice was that I began, slowly but surely, to feel better.  Not stressed all the time.  No fear when I was away from home that something bad might be happening while I was gone.  No wondering what new calamity awaited when I walked in the door at night.  No screaming.  Ah, God...all the screaming, all the time.

In that new environment I watched my children settle, and begin to grow.  I didn't notice that I was growing too. 

For a long time I spent every waking moment buried in B; living and breathing him.  I felt like I couldn't exist if he wasn't inside me.  I don't mean that in a sexual way (although there were a great many nights spent absolutely intertwined, as if neither one of our hearts could beat if they got too far from the other.)  In the beginning we had to spend a great deal of time in absolute physical contact.  We are each others' touchstones, and we had a burning need to touch frequently, like an antidote to the outside world.  I always felt like B would disappear if I left him for long.  I remember in the beginning the PD weighed heavily on my heart.  I was frantic all the time, cramming as much into a short time as I could, afraid that it woud all be taken away.  I have never been so aware of my own mortality as I was when B and I joined our lives together. 

Now that things have settled down, and we are sure of each other's permanence (or as much permanence as we are granted by the grace of God), we've been able to do our own growing.  We did a lot of changing in a short period of time. I don't remember ever growing this much, in all my life.  It sounds funny to say, but it's true.  I think I've shed a hundred skins in the last two years.  I feel like an onion.  The further down I peel, the closer to the heart I come.  The old and tattered falls away, leaving clean and new.  It's ironic - like the onion, the more layers come off the smaller I am left.  Eventually I will be left with nothing but the center - just the soul I came into the world with, with no tangibility or care to weigh me down anymore. 

It's had a calming effect on all of us.  I did not know how much I had changed until I picked up the phone today.  It was my ex, looking for some advice on a paper he was writing.  I spent thirty minutes on the phone with him, during which time we made absolutely normal chitchat, and when I got off, I was amazed at how stressed I was. 

I realized something that I had not realized before:  my ex yells EVERYTHING.  His normal speaking voice is very loud, insistent, and intense.  My blood pressure skyrocketed after just a few minutes, not because he was being rude or confrontational, but simply because of the way he interacts.  I could hardly wait to get off the phone with him. After I hung up, it dawned on me that I had lived that way for twelve years.  My teeth were gritted, my hands sweaty, and my concentration totally shot; with one little phone call I was lost in PTSD. 

"What was that all about?"  B asked, passing by my office. 

"I feel like I've been raped in the ear for half an hour."  I said, astounded.  "I didn't know how bad it was until I had something to compare it to!"  And it's true - for twelve years I thought that was normal.  The arguing, the fighting, the sarcasm, the put-downs, the barely controlled hostility that ran like a poisoned river beneath all of the communication, even when he was happy. 

B just smiled, and just that smile put things to rights again (that and a few laps around the office complex to stretch my legs and reset my brain).  I never realized how quiet life had become until I heard loud again.  I can look back now and see that line that we crossed into sanity.  We never realized we were crossing it at the time, carrying the remnants of all of our baggage with us to peel off on the way when we finally figured out we didn't need it anymore.  We are naked and clean, like the onion, and with every layer we peel the clarity gets better.

Life has finally found a balance.  It took a while, as things always do, but we have found equilibrium.  We have been able to back slowly away from the center of the teeter-totter where we were clinging, slowly edging out to the ends, in tandem.  He takes a step, then I, and we may move up and down a little but the balance stays put. 

Recently we have been expanding our circles to include other things.  It took excising all of the things that weren't working to find room for the things that did (including not taking phone calls that might be unproductive).  B is taking a tai chi class on the weekends that he is enjoying, and I have not only been taking a dance class that I'm having a blast in, but have taken up writing again, and have hooked up with a local writer's group.  It has given me back dreams that I thought were dead.  I always wanted to be a writer, but never had the faith to pursue it.  With B's encouragement, I'm beginning to fly.

I look down and realize that maybe it's time to draw another line beneath my feet:  the line between the old thought and the new.  I can do this.  Watch me fly.