Thursday, May 17, 2018

Dark rain

Having a day of dark rain.

Where ever parenting failure I have ever made falls like rain through my mind.

Emotions blow like wind through my soul.

Pause

sun starts to break through

greyness brew again and the dark rain

pelts me with its damaging blows.

Life lightening starts to bolt me as well.

So many failures as a human being...

days like this

make me want to stand in the center of the storm and open my mouth and let the rain drown me.

so much pain

so

much

Monday, April 16, 2018

Supporting self injurers (triggery)

(omg guys, LOOK what my blog coughed up! so excited!!)

You can offer support to self injures as they work on healing.

It's very possible..

You also can totally sabotage and undo their hard work as well.

It's a fine line.

First you have to admit that YOU ARE NOT QUALIFIED TO HEAL THE SELF INJURER.

(unless you are their therapist...and then you had better be sure as shit you know what your doing so you don't do more damage)

Important to keep in mind....it's SELF injury. It isn't called everybody injury, or us injury, it is self injury.

Accept that it okay not to under stand self injury. Heck even self injuries often don't understand why they do it. Sometimes is trial and error to discover what is helpful after a episode.

It normal to want to help a self injure. It's hard to see wounds without getting a gut ping of compassion and wanting. If it is someone you love, you want to rush in and hold them. Like a mother to a child who has fallen and scraped their knee. You want to hold them close and tell them it's okay.

It is also normal to want to run and not deal with it too. Like you've come across a horrific accident scene and the gore repulses you. You stand for a second witnessing then you turn away.

It is also normal to be angry. Someone hurt your friend/loved one. If someone is abusing your person you want to hurt them. If someone hurt my child you can bet the thought of punching them in face is going to cross my mind.

It's very normal to feel all of this in the same moment. People don't really know how to react to seeing fresh injuries on a self injure.

It might help  to know what may be going through their mind post injury.

After I have injured, I am dissociated to the gills. I am so far away in my head I need binoculars to see the surface.

I then get waves of disappointment and anger. Why have I done this again? Why? why? why?

I am also experiencing urges. I should have burned more, I should have made that bruise bigger, the self injury didn't work, I am still triggered and need to do more.

I am experiencing unsettling fear. OMG people are going to see my bandages and think I am crazy. People are going to see and think my husband is abusing me, uugh, people are going to SEE me.

I am feeling very visible. I am not sure how to react to others questions, when I am in a state of turmoil/emotional pain, and don't really have any answers even for my self.

Basically for me, there is not much you can do for me until I have processed through the crisis state and my feet are back on the ground. Then and only then, am I even reachable.
I will at that point usually reach out to my support system and finally be able to vocalize what is going on with me.

That is just me, I can't really speak how others process through it.

In general I think these are universal things we can do for all of us:

Keep things normal. Keep the world turning. 

Don't hide the knives, lighters, etc. (truth be told any self injure can do damage with any object...you can never pick up all the potential weapons.)

Don't be angry and belittle the injurer if you see the wounds. They have already raked themselves over the coals, they don't need a verbal dose your shit too.

(hahahahaa, okay. I may just still be a bit pissed off about the time my FNP did that to me.)

Don't change your level of physical connection you have with them. If you have always hugged them when you see them, don't change that pattern.

(I wrote this once after a SIV episode and it still hold true for me today,
"Hug me but don't hold me.
Hold me but don't touch me.")

Listen if they want to talk. You don't have to have the answers, just bare witness to there pain. That is all they want/need.

DON'T pry for details or to view the injuries.

Offer to get bandages, medical assistance if they want it.

I'm not listing "encourage them to get into therapy" here because after a recent episode of self injury isn't the time to have that conversation. Trust me. This is a conversation to have later. like after the wounds have healed.

It's okay to pretend you don't know the person is a self injure too. Time and trust will eventually open that conversation up for you if its meant to be.

It's okay to inquire, "I see your in pain, is there anything I can do?" 10 times out 10 I bet they will tell you "No." But what happens is you are seeing the person, you are acknowledging their pain, you are validating them, and no matter how they may squirm and shrug you off, your concern is wanted and needed. Your simple compassion is a band aid to their soul.

And that is the best thing you can offer.

Friday, April 6, 2018

come on blogger, burp it up...

I am living in denial. I like to think that the post my blog ate will mysteriously surface and suddenly appear in the published queue.

I really hate it when technology eats my writing.

I write mostly off the cuff, once its out of my brain onto paper/the screen/etc. It is COMPLETELY gone from my brain.

Oh sure I can re-write it and capture fragments of the original intent, but I can not recreate it. Anything rewritten looses the original oomph I gave it.

I am stalling because I HATE having to redo things....and I usually don't even try.

But this one I have to.

It was a post about 'how to support self injurers.'

I had spent quite a bit of time working on it, and apparently the blog gods weren't please and have deemed I do it again. LOL.

So as soon as I am done pouting about it, I will start over again.

Tuesday, April 3, 2018

repeating ruminations

My mother hates me.

I'm not just making that up, geesh. I have a life time of proof.

I got on her bad side the day I was born. I had the audacity to be a rerun. Her first pregnancy was exciting and magical, no ultrasounds back then, so lots of dreaming and hoping for what ever gender her heart desired. But no mater what she would get a baby, SO EXCITING! She got a girl! 

Second pregnancy stressful and worrisome with bleeding all through it. More hope and dreams of having a boy. And she got a boy!

Third pregnancy she had no choice, there was nothing else to have. I disappointed her by not coming out some new and exciting gender.

She demonstrated her ability to ignore me even before I was born. When she was 8 months pregnant I came to her in a dream and told I wanted to be named Paja.  She decided if I was a boy she would call me Rajah.  

um, I told you I was a girl by the P in my name mama. 

I also was born with a dime sized mole on my butt. Inherited it from my father. I at the time as a infant didn't know how much that bothered her. It wasn't until I watched my other sibling come into the world, and saw how she carefully looked each of them over that it put everything into perspective as my youngest sister was found to have a stork bite birthmark on the back of her neck. I saw that look on her face. That look of something awful rolling around in her brain. 

I pissed her off something fierce when I was little and that was the end of her seeing me. She never looked AT me again, through me, yes, but never AT me again.

I tried for year and years to get her love. I would kiss her goodnight, night after night. She wouldn't turn away from reading the newspaper. Icy cheek.

I finally stopped and accepted my banishment. Accepted I would never have a mother like I saw everyone else having.

When I finally got the nerve to stand up to her one day as an adult and told her: "FUCK YOU!!" during a heated conversation.

I was exiled once gain and forbidden to see my younger siblings.

Sigh.

bitch.

In therapy while Richard was trying to SAVE MY LIFE he tried to get me to open up communication with her. I told him I was afraid of her. That I didn't know how to talk to her, we were complete strangers.

I finally agreed and asked her if she would come to a session with me. 

Her response?

"No, I will be ganged up on and  blamed."

ah, put down your dukes there Mama. Your sounding guilty.

Richard, bless his heart, even tried. He called her and I could hear her ever so polite plastic phone voice telling him that my life wasn't worth her even spending a few minutes of her time to talk to me.

Richard was able to get me to put down my rabid hatred of her and just let her be in my head/heart. To see her as a person rather then my mother.

I spent my childhood hearing the tale of how my father was sold as a baby. I used to wonder, why didn't she sell me? She didn't want me. I feel like an adopted child who mother gave them up. Except, she kept me. I lived in a house where I knew I wasn't wanted.

She once sent me a letter out of the blue, where she wrote to me as if we had a deep long mother/daughter friendship. It gutted me. I DON'T KNOW WHO YOUR TALKING TOO HERE BUT THAT DAUGHTER NEVER EXISTED. STOP JABBING ME WITH YOUR WORDS, I GET IT MAMA YOU HATE ME.

All this damaged me.

It still damaged me even to this day. I don't see it but BOY, when I get triggered, the flashback vault will wretch up horrific things.

A couple of years ago my sister sent me a picture of Mama hugging one of my siblings as she kissed their cheek. The pain wheel turned and twisted my gut as I slid to the floor crying.  She never loved me like that. why?

Why was I so repulsive she couldn't hug me?

I grew to understand her more as I aged and became a mother myself.

But it does little to temper the pain.

I am strong enough now to confront her and have deep discussions with her. But she has fled into dementia. She takes all the answers with her.

I work on all this crap occasionally. Self therapizing. Because I know that one day she will die, and when she does, its going to set me off. That little child in me that wanted and needed a mama is going to cry endlessly, because Mama's death means the end of any chance of having a mama.

I realized as I was working on all this crap last month, that ....Mama is so shut off that I don't think she lets anyone love her. 

Oh she loves certain people, but no one can love her. 

And I was a fool for ever trying.

Her own past damaged her to the point that she deemed herself unlovable and she rebuked anyone who tried. 

My wanting to love her, must have really REALLY FUCKING PISSED HER OFF.

No wonder she hates me.

Wednesday, March 28, 2018

Wednesday, March 14, 2018

Fear

Sliding.

sliding down a slope I can re-climb.

The polymyositis is kicking my ass.

A few years ago the changes were minor and came and went.  Now there here and worsening at a frightening pace.

My thigh muscles are so bad that I can't get up from the floor or a squat without having something to pull my self up with. My arms are worsening also.

You can't see the muscle damage, you can't see the muscle wasting.

I walk close to the walls. I fall into them like a drunken sailor. Without them I would fall on a daily basis. My left thigh muscle is wasted and unresponsive. I do anything physical and its hours of muscle weakness.

All I did today was slowly and with lots of breaks, clean my daughters room and wash the house windows.

My arms are weak and floppy tonight. I have no strength in them.

My biggest enemy in all this is fear.

Fear of the unknown.

But it's not unknown. I've worked in long term care for 35 years. I KNOW MY FATE. I KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHEN MY MUSCLE TRAP ME IN A WHEEL CHAIR.

I KNOW.

I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS TO PEOPLE WHEN THEY HAVE TO RELIQUISH CARE OF THEMSELVES TO OTHERS.

and I don't wanna go there.

My children are struggling to understand my illness.  They can't see it. Polymyositis is an invisible illness. I look okay on the outside.

my heart breaks and the fear creeps in.

I took care of a lady with multiple sclerosis. Another muscular disease. She had scars on her thighs. She told me when she first got sick, her daughter thought she was faking and stabbed her in the thighs with forks.

My kids can't understand that by the time they have their own kids, Grandma Pee won't be able to hold them. Hell if they had babies right now, I couldn't hold them.

My labs are changing too. So much so they increased my prednisone.

My ability level has deceased too. So much so I had to tell my employer I needed to modify my work.

That broke me. Broke me.

Once you loose things, you don't get them back.

And I inch closer to that wheel chair.

'Cept it no longer feels like I am inching toward that looming wheel chair.

Now days it feels like I'm tumbling head over heals down a steep cliff and the chair is there waiting for me to cartwheel into it. This is happening a lot faster then I am prepared for.

I'm frightened.

Sliding.

sliding down a slope I can re-climb.

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Eating with little feet

My son and I ditched the other two sick family members and went out to Denny's yesterday.

I enjoy it when my son spends time with me. We get into deep discussions and I get to see into the mind of this amazing human.

After we order he looks around and comments, "I think this is the first time its just been me and you at Denny's alone."

I smile as wave after wave of nostalgia washes through my mind. "No." I say. "We have been to Denny's many, many times, just the two of us."

He cocked his head and gave me a quizzical look as he searched his memory.

"You would usually get under the table and drive your hot wheels. I ate quite a few meals with your little feet across from me and you laid on the seat playing. I can still recall the looks of people who would glance over and see me talking to the empty booth."

He grinned sheepily. "I kinda remember that now."

It's a really shame, he doesn't remember all the time we spent together, and all the things we did. We had so much fun. Just him and I.

Such a little light he was, as I showed him this great big world and all its wonders.