Scar Tissue

        Sometimes, I’m reluctant to write about something because I’m afraid of where I’ll go. Uncovering old wounds that have scarred over can create a great deal of pain. But those wounds need the air and the light of day that writing provides. So eventually, I push through my fear and put it to the page.
        Scar tissue, around a physical or emotional injury, is our last ditch effort to protect the place that got traumatized. It’s a wondrous system that lets us keep going. But the scar remains. Physically, and emotionally, the scar reminds us of what happened.
        I have some scars on my body. And I wouldn’t want them removed for anything. I’m a very physical person, and like a lot of men, I wear my scars proudly as badges of honor. Each one represents a battle, of one form or another, that I survived. It’s a guy thing.
        The most significant scars are the two on my lower back They remind me that in 1998, when I was thirty-five, I had back surgery. My post operative recovery was a horror show, and it was almost a year before I felt like myself again. Like I said. Survivor of a battle.
        When I see myself today, ten years later, in the best shape of my life, never looking or feeling better, the scars are a beautiful reminder of how much my body has healed. The scars tell me that that my body used to be somewhere else. That I used to be somewhere else. They reiterate the fact that I’ve clawed my way back to health. That I’ve driven myself well past where I used to be, and onto where I am today. The scars tell a story of my past, and in doing so provide a context for my present and for my future. So I thank those scars for what they give me.
        Emotional scars are a little different. Maybe there’s a gender aspect to it. Most women I know don’t dig physical scars on their body the way guys do. But many women see their emotional scars as signs of strength and toughness and perseverance. Kind of how a guy looks at the ones on his body. Most men probably look at their emotional scars as defects, or weakness’s, just as a woman may see her physical scars as flaws.
        Which brings me to another reason that I sometimes have trouble writing about something: I’m afraid that showing these emotional scars is a sign of weakness. That, unlike my physical scars, these emotional ones make me less of a man; just as many women feel that physical scars make them less attractive. Less feminine.
        I can be guilty of having a double standard for myself, as many of us do. Whereas I see the emotional scars of others as tender, beautiful places that need love and attention and healing, I often have trouble seeing my own emotional scars with the same compassion. I all too often see them as flaws. The big, deep ones, I can see as horrible defects that render me unlovable.
        If I fall into that trap, however, I’m being run by my ego. I’m not walking the walk of self love. To view my own scars as tragic defects is to succumb to the very thinking that’s kept me prisoner. By not embracing all of who I am, even the parts that are still in pain, I’m effectively betraying my self.
        And every emotional scar, like every wound, contains a gift. Even if I can’t always see that or believe it. My wounds help tell my story. They are unique to me and thus differentiate my story from anyone else’s, and at the same time connect me to everyone on the planet. My scars remind me that I still have work to do. And through that work, I grow and change and recover my authentic self. They show me my path. Where I need to go to heal.
        I’m proud to say that I’ve shared some of my most personal joys and pains through this website. I’ll continue to do so.
        I thus bare to you some scars that have not completely healed, even though the knife that created them was wielded some thirty-five years ago. I’ve been working on these scars for years, and I’m making progress. But I’ve never shared some of them through my writing. They go deep. As deep as they can. They cut all the way into me, which is why I’m still working on them.
       

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a scarring amount of Wrongs) Reserved.

Building A Better Mousetrap

        A few weeks ago, I did a post called “Fuck You God”. In terms of reader response per word written, I got more bang for the buck from those three syllables than anything I’ve written on this website.
        I guess I hit a nerve. Honestly, that wasn’t my intent.
        My intent was to share what was happening for me that morning.
        After screaming that phrase for what seemed like hours, but was in actuality about twenty minutes, the thought occurred to me to post it. Initially, I rejected the idea. Way too over the top. Way too offensive. Way too indulgent. Way too...pick your poison.
        But then I thought, “Is it real?”. Fuck yeah. As real as it gets. And that’s what sold it for me.
        I had no idea what kind of backlash there would be. Or what kind of support I’d receive. I couldn’t worry about that. Not if I’m trying to be real. Whatever consequences arise from being real is just something I’m going to have to deal with.
        After all, how often are we not real because we fear the consequences of being real?
        While I was screaming, I thought of that scene in the movie Forrest Gump. When lieutenant Dan is on the top of the mast during a hurricane, daring god to kill him. I was actually jealous that I myself wasn’t in a dangerous place in the middle of a violent storm, just like he was. I wanted the full effect, damn it. But doing it in the privacy of my own home would have to suffice. So I settled for blowing my voice out, going house on my punching bag, and working up a drenching sweat.
        Although I had been struggling with how I felt since the previous night, the tirade was actually triggered by the innocuous decision to make fresh juice that morning. Fresh juice which I promptly spilled all over the counter. That’s actually what made me snap. Isn’t that always the way it happens?
        So I lost it, for the first time in over half a year. When it was all over, I realized how long it had been since I was that angry, and I actually smiled. Because it underscored how much anger I’ve released in the past seven months, and how much lighter and happier I am as a result. So getting that angry thus reminded me of how infrequently I go there now.
        And Lo and Behold, after blowing my smokestack and then talking about it with my sister, a small miracle happened. I was able to thoroughly enjoy the rest of my day.
        “How did that happen?”, I asked myself. This was a relatively new experience for me. I wasn’t stuck in the feeling anymore. Just as important, I wasn’t beating myself up for feeling what I felt and thinking what I thought and doing what I did. Yowza. This is much better than the way I’ve been doing it for most of my life.
        In a nut shell, I had allowed myself to be completely real, and then gave myself permission to express that. Full Tilt. That may not sound like a big deal, but consider where most of us go when we have incredibly intense, sometimes disturbing, thoughts and feelings. Often, we immediately negate them and stuff them back inside. Sometimes, we have to, because to express them at that particular moment or in that particular situation may be totally inappropriate. But all too often, we then convince ourselves that we didn’t feel that way. That’s denial. Or we mercilessly criticize and judge ourselves for feeling or thinking it. That’s shame. Or we forget about the feelings, cramming them so far down that we can’t get to them again. That’s disease.
        Build up years of that, and you create within yourself actual physical ailments. You manifest depression, anxiety, rage, obsessive compulsive disorder, and just about any other challenging personality trait you can name.
        It was precisely because I was able to accept and release these very disturbing thoughts and feelings that I was able to move through them. I was fortunate enough to be able to do it right then and there. With reckless abandon. But if circumstance didn’t allow me to do it that way, I would still need to find a time and a place to express what I felt. Somehow. Someway.
        I could have chosen music. Or exercise. Or picked a time and place to lose it when I could be alone. How we choose to release such intense emotions is up to us. But the key is that they get released. The key is they get dealt with. If not, they eat us alive from the inside out.
        Before, when faced with a challenging emotional situation, especially pain, my options were to get angry or to shut down. I vacillated between these two stressful extremes, which were themselves already on a dubious emotional continuum. An emotional continuum that I had created through years of not knowing what to do with what I felt.
        Anger and disconnect. I certainly had other tools in my toolbox. I just didn’t use them. Now I do. And like a carpenter who gets better at building the more he builds, I’m much better at feeling, expressing, releasing, and moving through emotions. “Simply” because I completely honor my process.
        I still have intense emotions. I’m an artistic, creative, imaginative man. A passionate man full of life and energy and intensity. A strong man who isn’t afraid to feel. It’s what I do with these feelings now that’s made all the difference. I actually allow myself to feel them. Then I choose how to express them. How to deal with them. Then I release them and move through them. My life all the richer for it.

©2009 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and lifetime of Wrongs) Reserved.

When Opportunity Drop Kicks

       For many years, I was afraid to open up to my feelings because I was afraid of where I would go once I did. Of what would happen to me if I truly felt all of this pain I had stored inside of me. I was afraid I would become terminally depressed, or worse, suicidal. The thing is, I was already depressed. Because I wasn’t dealing with all of this hurt. I inaccurately calculated that if I brought on more pain, I would become more depressed. Which would bring my life to a standstill. As it was, I wasn’t moving in the direction I wanted to. Descending into pain would, I thought, bring my life to a grinding halt. And I’d be the one getting grinded.
        It was the same reason I wouldn’t risk having my heart broken. The pain of that first heart break, and the truckload of issues that went along with it, were still living inside of me. Because I had never faced it.
        As much work as I’ve done on myself since my mid twenties, I avoided delving into the truth about my relationships with women. Not in therapy, or workshops, or seminars, or on my own, say in my writing. My first heartache was, in a way, still happening to me. I let it stop me from ever letting anyone get too close.
        I wasn’t phony with my lover, or anybody else for that matter. Even people who don’t like me would say that I’m a straight shooter. So I shot straight. But the six-gun of my life was only firing a few of it’s bullets.
        My feelings were apparently the problem. They had seemingly caused me an inordinate amount of pain. Yes, there was joy. Lots of it actually. But far more pain. So, I rationed, if feeling primarily creates pain, then limit feeling. Do that, and I limit the pain. That sounds nice. Who doesn’t want less pain?
        Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. If I restrict my feelings, eventually, I lose the ability to choose which ones I feel and which ones I don’t. That ability is suspect to begin with, but the illusion of it is easier to maintain in the beginning because initially, life feels better. After all, I’m in less pain. Wow! Less pain! That means more joy! More happiness! So I’m happier! Aren't I? And all I had to do was clamp down on my feelings? This is the ticket baby!
        The whole paradigm was off. It’s not a matter of getting to a different point on a continuum. It’s about creating a whole new continuum on which to operate. To do that, I had to open up to my feelings. I had to deal with all this hurt that I had shoved down deep inside of me. That was the scariest thing I could imagine. So I avoided it. Even though, somewhere inside of me, I knew that would save me. Thus my greatest fear was also my greatest salvation.
        At forty-five, I was ready. In May of 2008, I was coming out of My Dark Ages, the most painful period of my adult life. I could feel myself starting to open up. After months of apparent stagnation, all of my work started to crack the vault I had constructed around my heart. Around my true, whole self.
        But I was still not going to chose to dive into this ocean of hurt.
        Well I didn’t have to. Because it chose me.
        Opportunity is said to be the juncture of circumstance, timing, and preparation. I was ready for a breakthrough. When my last girlfriend broke up with me, it triggered an avalanche of hurt that I had effectively corralled my whole life. Losing her was a pain that was six inches in front of my face. I couldn’t hide from it. I couldn’t out run it, out think it, out maneuver it, out fight it, or out fuck it. I had only one option. I had to feel it. I had to face it.
        When I started to deal with the immediate, in your face pain of not being with her, the world of hurt I had kept inside just exploded. The process of release began. The process of rebirth. And like all births, it’s painful. And like all births, it means freedom. This shit had been keeping me prisoner my entire life.
        I would never have chosen this particular path that began on June 12, 2008. Never. I don’t care what you promised me in exchange. So I didn’t have to chose it. Instead, it was forced upon me. Because it’s what I needed. To finally shift to this new place. This new place where life looks different. This new place where I’m more likely to see opportunities instead of obstacles, hope instead of despair, faith instead of fear, joy instead of pain, love instead of hurt.
        And instead of strengthening my subversive cynicism, this experience has deepened my spirituality. I see that the universe gave me what I needed because I could not give it to myself. I never would have given this to myself. I couldn’t. When I was ready to face this, the opportunity presented itself. And I took it. What a wonderful example of how I co-create my life with the universe. With divine forces. I stepped up to the plate big time, for sure. But I didn’t put the plate there. Or the ballpark the plate is in.

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and an opportune amount of Wrongs) Reserved.

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It's A Wonderful Life

       This is admittedly a bizarre time to post. But a combination of circumstance and inspiration has found me with some time to kill before I head to a friend’s house for Christmas Eve.
        While watching It’s A Wonderful Life, it occurred to me: How many of us are like George Bailey. Specifically, how many of us don’t ask for help when we desperately need it?
        During My Dark Ages, that was me. Although I was doing certain things to help myself, my attitude was that I was doing it all alone. That attitude wasn’t based on reality, but on my belief that I just wasn’t worth asking for all the help I really needed. I was unable to fully admit how positively awful I felt inside, because I was afraid that if anyone knew the truth, the Whole Truth, they would, in the words of Henry Potter “run me out of town on a rail”.
        That fear of complete alienation because of what was happening to me, because of how I felt, was real. As real as it was for the character George Bailey.
        But I’m not there anymore. Like George Bailey, I had an epiphany, an awakening. Through the actions of another, I was lead down a road, that I chose to take, that changed my life. So on this, my favorite night of the year, I say thank you. To the universe. To my higher power. To her.
        Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.
        And Happy Holidays once again...

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a wonderful life full of Wrongs) Reserved.

Clint's Mind Fuck Tours, Inc.

Note: I wrote this several days ago. It was going to be yesterday’s post. But the Dark Side was strong in me yesterday, and I was compelled to do something different. When I can articulate where I was at when I posted yesterday, I'll share that. Thanks for reading.

        Another bout of mental necrophilia. This time about something completely different. And like a bus that lies about where it’s going, when I hop on this mind fuck tour, I think it’s about somebody else. Or something else. So off I go, and before I know it, it’s clear that this is about me. So I end up in a different place than I thought I would. The destination is never the one that flashes on the marquee on the front of the bus. And as many times as I take this trip, I’m always surprised by that.
        Clint’s Mind Fuck Tours, Inc. has been around for as long as I’ve been able to think. I’ve tried to take this line to solutions a million different times, and it always fails me. It promises me a safe trip in the form of guided action. It guarantees resolution through adept problem solving and analytical know how. But once I get on, it’s a nightmare. And where it takes me, if I let it, is hell.
        Maybe it’s time to change bus companies.
        I’ve made progress in that area. Before, I would get on this bus and ride it until the end of the line. Sometimes the trip would take weeks. And when I reached my final destination, I would have no idea where I’d been. Worse, I’d have no idea where I was. So I would convince myself that the trip was a good one, and that I ended up where I wanted to be. I had to do that then. Because I wasn’t aware enough to understand what had happened. And I wasn’t strong enough or wise enough to admit that I had just made a colossal blunder by taking this fuckin’ bus. Again. Denial was my only option then.
        It’s not now. Now I’m learning that this ramshackle tour company is not the way to travel.
        Clint’s Mind Fuck Tours, Inc. is therefore going out of business. But as much as I want it to, it’s not going away overnight.
        I still take it far too often. But I don’t stay on as long. I know now where this bankrupt operation is taking me, and I get off quicker.
        Previously, I was just a passive passenger on this juggernaut that was speeding through life, running over whatever it had to to get where it wasn’t going. And whatever it couldn’t run over, it just swerved around. Just like in the movie “Speed”.
        When I let my reckless mind take me on this ride, it’s an awful trip. It’s painful, and disruptive, and it takes me out of my current life and into my past. My very painful past, where I didn’t have the tools or the support I have now. Where I was a different person who did life differently. It sucks me back in and does everything it can to convince me that I’m back at camp, or alone at school, or any one of a million different traumatic scenarios that are no longer applicable. My mind does not want to recognize that I have grown beyond that. It wants to keep me stuck there. And sometimes I let it. And when I do, it hurts so much I can get lost in the pain. Completely lost. “Gilligan’s Island” lost. “Lost” lost.
        My mind also loves to predict the future, but it’s usually wrong. Does that stop it? No way. It actually encourages it, because it wants to eventually be good at predicting the future and therefore get it right. Because my mind can’t stand failure. So it tries even harder. Gathers more information, devotes more resources to figuring it out, takes up more space. All of which generally just takes me out of life and fucks me up.
        When I catch myself and choose to step off of this nightmare bus ride, I have the opportunity to connect to something else. I give myself the chance to connect to something that can take me where I need to go.
        Deep within me, there is a center that knows where I need to be and has what it takes to get me there. That’s Clint’s Heart and Intuition Spiritual Tour Bus Line. But getting on that bus is not easy for me. Not yet.
        That bus is still sometimes hard to find. I have to first get on the Mind Fuck bus and realize that I’m going nowhere fast. I have to go through all of this pain to realize that I’m on the wrong path and that there’s another route available.
        I’m in transition between these two routes right now. Letting go of the old ways is still very difficult. Sometimes it feels impossible. Like an addiction. I’m not used to the route yet. It’s still a great unknown. And as much as I know it is the way, I don’t completely trust it.
        That’s why I keep getting challenged to trust. I keep being presented with opportunities to do it different because, fuck, I need the practice. I’ve got forty plus years of doing it the old way. If I’m going to get better at taking a different path, I better learn to travel down it, and travel it as often as possible. I hate that about this work, but I know it’s true.
        So here I go, closing one company and starting another one. A better one. One that can take me where I want to go. One that enriches my life, instead of distracting from it.
        And just like starting a new business on the outside, starting a new one on the inside takes a lot of work. It takes the support of those around me. It involves taking risks, sometimes incredibly big, scary risks. It takes faith in myself. It means following my true inner voice, when other voices inside of me and outside of me tell me that I’m crazy.
        And it takes love. Love of self. Love of others. Love of life.
        Amazing to me how it always boils down to that.

©2008 Clint Piatelli. All Rights (and a bus full of Wrongs) Reserved