Grinding Gears

  "He (the Spirit of the Lord) has sent Me (Jesus) to proclaim that captives will be released, that the blind will see, that the oppressed will be set free, and that the time of the Lord's favor has come." Luke 5:18-19

  The prayer I wrapped in packing tape has found a way to be expressed through art. Drawing mandalas is calming and as the gear teeth took shape in this piece, it seemed appropriate to illustrate some of them as broken and worn down. As I outlined the initial pencil drawing in ink, there was an audible sound of gears grinding and catching. 

  It is also an illustration of passing time and the toll it takes. The centre gear is perfect. The outer ones, not so much.

  In being so hard on myself for what happened on Sunday, I'd forgotten one of the most important things. Trauma actually causes brain damage, similar to a stroke but without the symptoms of a stroke. I am thankful to be reminded of this again because it helps. It helps to remember my brain is what is broken here, not my emotions, not my soul, and not my spirit. 

  So the panic attacks are my brain utilizing automatic responses to stress. Stress ignites the fight/flight instinct. 

  Deer are always on the lookout for danger. They listen, eat a bit, look up and sniff the air. When a predator is spotted, the adrenaline starts to build, preparing their muscles for flight. They don't run right away, though. They only run when they are the ones being chased. They only run when they know what direction the threat is coming from.

  Experience has taught my brain that a threat can come from anywhere at any time so it constantly listens and sniffs the air so to speak. I think this is why I get so overwhelmed in crowds because the auditory and visual chaos is perceived as hiding a potential predator. Crowds are the long grass tigers hide in.

  The brain has mastered touch typing. I don't need to think about the letters in a word. My fingers find them without consciously thinking about it. It's the same as playing the piano. I see a written note and my hands automatically find it on the keyboard. It took time to learn these skills. And practice. But, now, these abilities are cemented into the neural pathways of my brain.

  It's a marvelous, amazing thing when you stop to think about it.

  Smile. I know I write about this concept frequently. I need to keep hearing it. It helps. Hopefully one day it will finally sink in!

  So maybe this isn't so much about fixing the broken brain, maybe it's about treating it kindly by being mindful of how much long grass I walk through.

  Maybe it wasn't a good idea to go shopping to multiple stores the day before playing at church. One (admittedly poor) night's sleep wasn't enough to give the hypervigilance/fight/flight/yellow alert time to settle down.

  My psychiatrist affirmed that most people with PTSD need considerable amount of downtime after going out into the world simply because it is exhausting.

  I think I have had an unrealistic expectation that this will go away once and for all, or will go away if I ignore the signs. This morning came with the realization I learned to type in high school. That neural network of a trained automatic response has had decades of solidification. It puts it into perspective, doesn't it?

  Lord? There is so much to pray for this morning. Thank You for helping not hate my broken brain...actually, it isn't broken is it? It's doing perfectly what it was created to do! (Smile...I just don't happen to like it.) Help me be patient with it when it goes into survival overdrive when I don't want it to. In Jesus Name, AMEN!