Posts Tagged ‘quotes’


Where IS My Sanity…

May 19, 2010

and WHAT is sanity???? I often crack jokes about sanity. It is my way of trying to keep a hard life somewhat lighter.

I will sometimes ask if anyone knows where my sanity is because it ran away! Usually, someone will respond with the fact that, if I find mine, I might find theirs, too. Then we both laugh and agree that, if we find our sanity, we will send the other one’s home. Or we joke that they are probably out partying together or something.

When the subject comes up of going crazy…or losing sanity…I comment that I cannot lose what I have already lost. Or, that I cannot lose what I never had.  And then I laugh.

Sanity…that fleeting thing that I think all of us want, but also that an awful lot of us question whether we actually have it. Or question if we ever did considering that our abuses often started at such a young age…even in infancy.

What is sanity? I have heard what it is not. “Insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.”  (Albert Einstein?) So…what is sanity? Is it changing what I do in order to make changes in my life? I can see where that might be part of it…but, somehow, I think there is more to it than just that.

Is it being able to hold a coherent conversation? Oh, boy. If that is a criteria, then I am definitely not very sane some of the time. But then…perhaps it depends upon WHY I am not holding a coherent conversation…doesn’t it? I don’t know.

Does it mean handling what life throws at me without crumbling? Does it mean not “losing it” inside? Does it mean that I continue to function…no matter how much I am shaking? Does it mean not having a foggy mind? Yet…all of those things can result from PTSD being triggered. Is a PTSD episode a temporary loss of sanity? Hmmm. defines it thusly: The condition or quality of being sane; soundness of health of body or mind, especially of the mind; saneness.

Sane is defined thusly: Being in a healthy condition; not deranged; acting rationally; — said of the mind.

Mentally sound; possessing a rational mind; having the mental faculties in such condition as to be able to anticipate and judge of the effect of one’s actions in an ordinary manner; — said of persons.

There is quite a bit there to consider. “A rational mind”. “to be able to anticipate and judge the effect of one’s actions in an ordinary manner.” When I am triggered…I would not say I am “rational”. I am experiencing something from the past. I am “rational” in the past…while living in the present. That makes is very difficult to “anticipate and judge” in the moment.

I would love to hear others’ thoughts on “sane” and “sanity”. What do they mean to you? Is it even possible to be “sane”? Or to be sane all the time? Perhaps it is something we move in and out of?

I think part of being sane is being able to roll with life and recover when it hits you. To be able to live in reality and not in a make believe world. I don’t know.

What do you all think? I will finish with some quotes I found on sanity.

When dealing with the insane, the best method is to pretend to be sane.  Hermann Hesse

Part of being sane is being a little bit crazy.  Janet Long

A neurosis is a secret you don’t know you are keeping.  Kenneth Tynan

It is said that power corrupts, but actually it’s more true that power attracts the corruptible. The sane are usually attracted by other things than power.  David Brin

All I kin say is when you finds yo’self wanderin’ in a peach orchard, ya don’t go lookin’ for rutabagas.  Kingfish

Hitherto the plans of the educationalists have achieved very little of what they attempted, and indeed we may well thank the beneficent obstinacy of real mothers, real nurses, and (above all) real children for preserving the human race in such sanity as it still possesses.  C. S. Lewis

I am beginning to realize that “sanity” is no longer a value or an end in itself. If modern people were a little less sane, a little more doubtful, a little more aware of their absurdities and contradictions, perhaps there might be the possibility of their survival.  Thomas Merton

Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination.  Mark Twain

No man is sane who does not know how to be insane on the proper occasions.  Henry Ward Beecher

Insanity is often the logic of an accurate mind overtasked.  Oliver Wendell Holmes


Some Quotes…

May 2, 2010

The Vague Collective…on their blog “The Search for Clarity” has three quotes that I really like. Well…actually she has more than three, but these three are what I want to share right now.

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” – E.E. Cummings So true. It seems like there are so many out there trying to mold us into what they want us to be…which may be entirely different from who we really are. hasatan in the garden tried to mold Adam and Eve into something they were not. His attempts brought sin into the world. He is still trying to mold us. Our parents tried to mold us. Our abusers tried to mold us. Bosses, neighbors, siblings, teachers, etc. …all tried to mold us.

There is only One I want molding me…the Creator of the universe. I want His Ruach/Spirit dwelling within me to mold me. I want Yeshua/Jesus to mold me through what He did for me. I want my heavenly Abba/Father to mold me into the image of His Son…who is an image of Him. I don’t pretend to understand it all. In fact, the more I learn, the more I realize I do NOT know or understand. But I do understand this…Yeshua took on all of my blow-its…all of my ugliness…all of my failures and sinfulness. He paid the penalty so that I would not have to. He opened the door to forgiveness…and freedom. He kept me alive. He keeps me alive. So much of my healing comes from and through Him. He holds me together when I cannot take another step.

As hard as it is…I like being molded into what He created me to be…the me I really am.

“You don’t have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.” – C.S Lewis   I really like this. I am not my body. And just as I am not my body…I am also not the things I have done…or the things that have been done to me. I am a Soul. That Soul is unique to me…it makes me who I am…different from every other Soul that has ever existed. My Soul is eternal. My body will fade away…just as my past will fade away…and all the things I have done or that have been done to me will fade away. I am a Soul! I have a body. I like that.

“Love means to love that which is unlovable; or it is no virtue at all.” – GK Chesterton (…and that includes usselfs!)  I agree with Chesterton and I agree with the Vague Collectives add-on. Love that comes easy isn’t really a virtue. There are times in my life that I have not been very lovable. I am so grateful for those people who loved me anyway. They are the truly virtuous ones!

Thank you, Vague Collective, for these quotes!


The True Nature of Home

March 2, 2009

I get these quotes in email. They are enjoyable to read and are usually thought provoking. Some of them really speak to me. They hit me right in the center of my own life. Sometimes, they stir up great sadness. The following is one of those.

This is the true nature of home – it is the place of peace; the shelter, not only from injury, but from all terror, doubt and division.

— John Ruskin

What a home that describes…and how far from my growing up home it is.

Place of peace? I have some scattered  memories prior to the 7th grade, but not a whole lot…not like from the 7th grade on…the grade where my father rejected me as his lover and made me become my younger sister’s trainer. I was 12. She was four. (Four seems to be significant in our family line as it was the year my youngest turned four that my parents managed to move into my home.)

I don’t really remember when I started to feel uncomfortable in my home. I have had flash backs of as far back as infancy. They started out third person, but seem to be shifting more into the first person. I already had a first person toddler flash of memory. It seemed to be of my mother being raped on her bed (or some bed) whilst I stood in my crib and saw. I have never figured out if it was done by my father…or by someone else.

Shelter? Hardly. I was incested in my home. I was subjected to cruel “discipline”. Since this is a discussion about the home, I won’t even go into the things that happened outside of that physical place.

I remember little to nothing of discipline when I was younger, although I do recall being spanked by my father a couple of times.  I do not know why, but I remember being afraid of being spanked. From what I remember of them, they were controlled, with his hand, and “short”. I only remember being spanked by him once or twice. That does not mean that it did not happen more than that, just that I don’t remember it, along with all the other things that are still buried deep inside. Could I have simply been afraid of his size and the fact that it would hurt? He would bend me over his knee and, if I recall correctly, spanked either my bare bottom or my underwear covered bottom. I really don’t remember very well. It is like I have this flash of being spanked. Ironically, it is a third person memory. Most of my scattered early memories are…with only a couple of exceptions. That tells me something right there. For so many memories to be third person, especially when it is simply a spanking, something had to be horribly wrong.

My mother, on the other hand, was different. I do not remember any of her earlier discipline. What I do remember starts  in the 8th or 9th grade. Then I was “disciplined” with metal hangers and the narrowest belts my father had. I was “disciplined” until my mother’s anger was spent. If I cried out or asked her to stop, her fury would be kindled as she would wield whatever was in her hand even harder and longer whilst telling me to be quiet. I do not recall the when or the how of that stopping. I just know that it did. I also do not know what I did that warranted such fury from her.

By at least the time of high school, I would pray every night for God (Yahweh I call Him now) to please take me home to heaven…to please let me die before morning. On Saturday’s, I would stay in bed as late as I could get away with it, unless I had somewhere to go. When I did have someplace to go, I stayed away as long as I reasonably could. I would pretend to be someone else…or somewhere else…even when I was of high school age.

In my home, there was injury of soul and spirit…of emotions and mind. Although there may not have been visible physical injury…no broken bones…no black eyes…the damage in heart and soul was definitely there. Who knows what I still have buried deep within? Yahweh knows. Someone in the system knows.

“Free from terror, doubt and division.” Not in our family! I was terrified…a lot. Between the horror movies my parents insisted on taking me to that caused me no end of fear…fear that lasted into adulthood…to the simple horror of living in the family. Thing is…I was not conscious of what was happening. The few things I do remember about growing up…I was not conscious of my parents being so scary. I think I transferred the fear onto other things…like aliens and monsters in the night. I think, too, that others did a great job of holding the fear and scariness inside where it could not touch “me”.

Doubt? I don’t remember ever really being able to be sure what would upset my mother and what would not. In the 6th grade (or maybe the 5th), she told me that, if the men in the white coats came to take her away, it would be my fault. I guess I was too naughty or uncooperative? I don’t remember the reason she gave specifically, but I do remember the message…loud and clear…more than once. I don’t particularly remember trying to buck her. I remember trying to be an obedient child. Obviously, I was not perfect…no child is. I just know that I was made responsible for her sanity…for her happiness.

Division? I have every reason to believe that my mother knew about my father and I. Was that a cause for hatred? Or disdain? Or??? I don’t know.  Again…I am not sure about much regarding my growing up. I just know that, somewhere along the line, the child that was my mother’s pride and joy became less than that. Somehow, I seemed to have fallen out of favor. Although, in actuality, the idea that I was even really in favor came from my mother. It was a bit of a shock to suddenly realize as an adult that all my early childhood memories were really just photographs from the family album augmented by stories my mother told me. Actual moving memories? Next to none.

What a home we had. I am not sure I would call it a home, actually. It was a trailer, an apartment, a house, a building, a dwelling. I can call it those things…but a home? Nah…I don’t see it as a home.

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