Christmas hijinks at my house

Despite being hold up in the manger bunker, the camel, ass and one wise man bit the dust under the relentless assault from the dinosaurs.

Watch out Joseph! Tyra is flanking your position!!

Ten extra points if you can find Locutus of Borg in the above picture, 20 extra points if you spotted him right off LOL.

I'm not too worried about the gang in the manger. I think they will win this. A few years ago they successfully repelled a joint Klingon, Romulan and Borg invasion.

Though the angel there did get assimilated...

Merry creeper Christmas from my family to yours.

oh and its not my son's toys invading the manger, my daughter's been playing that game for quite a while this evening.

the last light out

Working nights all those years, I got to see something that goes unnoticed by most people. Each year, around this time, the dark night would suddenly be lite up with the first of the Christmas lights. A breath taking moment when the darkness gave way to magic.

One, then two then three the little colored lights would spread like chicken pox from house to house till the night was ablaze with color.

Then in January they slowly would blink off. The bright night slowly getting darker and darker as people turned the lights off for the season.

There was always one hold out. The last ones to finally turn them off, and return the night to darkness.

That night would always make me cry, something about it just leaving me with a profound sadness.

Well the lights went out early for me this year.

November 26, 2014, CMS died. She is the mother of the farm child KSS I have mentioned on here so often. She was 13 when I met her. I was 17. We were just children.

I was incredibly blessed to be allowed to be apart of her family. To watch her grow up, and become a mother herself. To be trusted with the one thing she loved above all others, her daughter KSS.

CMS was a genuinely nice person. So sweet and kind and gentle. She had her own light that dazzled everyone. Beyond her beauty, was a heart of gold.

She didn't deserve any of the hardships that plagued her body. She didn't do anything to anyone to deserve that kind of pain. I want to kick God in the balls and angrily demand why he allowed that much pain to hurt her.

She had the most peaceful smile. It radiated with the calmness she seemed to always have. She was just a bright little soul who sparkled. I am so lucky to have known her and enjoyed her company for the last 31 years.

I went looking for pictures of us after I heard the news. A search that revealed only two pictures.

How do you know someone 31 years and only have two pictures of you together?

Simply, because I was always behind the camera taking the pictures. Never realizing that shots of us together would some day not be possible.

CMS left the world a better place. Not many of us can claim that. In her short life she passed on her inner light to this sweet child.

 

KSS.

 

Who grew up to be this spectacular light. 

 

 

 

Who reflects her mothers good heart, kindness and beauty, and will continue on blessing the world as much as her mother did.

 

I am so glad. So glad. That my life's journey took me to a path that we could walk together for a spell. She will be missed indeed.

Frozen flashbacks

February 2012

(c) P R

 

* * * triggery for discussion of childhoods abuse / flashbacks * * *

 

We tend to get frozen in time when it comes to abuse. Like little deer caught in headlights, victims tend to freeze and leave "photographs" hardwired in their mind of the abuse.

 

Something triggers the memory and instantly the image will be displayed in your mind. Flashbacks are like a haunting old slide show that is no fun to watch.

 

The cruel thing our minds do/did, is that victims also hardwired in the EMOTIONAL aspect of the incident also.

 

So BAM you are blindsided by a flashback or a trigger causes you to go to that dark space in your head and then the second punch hits you...you are not experiencing it as the grown up you are right here and now....but rather your mind reacts as if you age regressed back to that day.

 

When they happen suddenly everything is giant and you feel small. That is a normal reaction, your mind/body instantly returned to the last hardwired memory.

 

As strange as this sounds....you can't work through being abused as a child as an adult. You are not in the same head space any longer. You have many more life experiences then you, the abused child, did.

To heal you have to undergo some unpleasant digging into your past and looking at it from the child perspective. You will have to reconnect those frozen photographs into the movie format of what is your life story.

You have emotions to uncover and reconnect with.

The healing journey is painful in the beginning. People off doubt they will heal when faced with the hard work and uncomfortable emotions they have to churn through. Don't give up its very much worth the effort to put your past into perspective and get to a place where the memories no longer hold power over you.

Healing and thriving are possible no matter how long ago the abuse took place.

"healing" is not the right work for the process...Nothing will change the fact we were abused. So in a sense that work doesn't accurately define what happens. For me at least the "healing" is like this:

(prior to therapy)

I have to walk by a vicious barking dog each day and as I approach the fence the mad dog lunges and barks and tries to bite me. I flinch and jerk away and run in fear past it. Unable to even look at it.

(during therapy)

Therapist and I go stand a safe distance away from the fence and look at the dog, and talk about all the experiences and feelings that come up.

Therapist teaches me how to walk past the dog and how to deal with my emotions and physical reactions to the dog. Basically how to take back my power. We practice until I am back in control and empowered.

(post therapy)

I get back on with my life and while the events did leave a scar on my soul and mind, I am able to go on and keep living my life without the crippling emotions/memories of the abuse disrupting my life to the degree that I am non-functioning.

I still have to face the vicious dog each day, but I no longer flinch or look away. I know it is chained and though it once hurt me, it can no longer hurt me. I have taken my power back and can deal with it in my adult mind vs my child mind, most of the time.

Past a puddle

My past is a puddle.

 

As I grew up the puddle dried up.

 

But I kept refilling it with my tears,

 

keeping the hurt fresh.

 

Its time to leave the puddle,

 

time for it dry out.

 

To make statues with the mud that's left behind.

 

To live here and now.

 

To use my tears to show emotions of present day things.

 

Rather then to weep over things long gone and unchangeable.

 

to weep a ocean of happy tears

 

and a fresh tears of sadness to wash away the dust of day to day life.

 

to walk on and away.

tears of goodbye to freshen the way

water for the cats

what a dark story that is.

Haunting.

searing.

a little girl who's job it was, to twice a year, drown all the newborn kittens born to the barn cats.

To go to the pump and fill the milking pail with water for the cats. Her lean frame struggling to carry it back to the barn doorway.

How do you reconcile with that kind of pain in your young soul?

How do you walk amongst the sunny people and not reveal your dark shadow?

How do you live with such a secret?

How do you shut out the sounds of those tiny, tiny claws frantically scratching on the milk pail sides?

What a horror show peoples lives can be.

What a evil place the heart of man is.

Oh yes indeed.

Why did she confess this horror story to me near the end of her life?

Why was I chosen to share this pain with her?

Did she know her words were being spoken to a writer?

To one who could not unhear them?

One who would forever be burdened with carrying the image and the weight of it?

...one who would some day weave that horror into writing and leave it  carved into the fabric of life, so everyone could bear witness to her pain?

Shouting her secret aloud.

till everyone hears...

and carries it too.

old enough

*********************************************************************
I totally feel like blogging some fantastic story, turning the inner writer off her leash and getting lost in a story for hours. But its so hard to sit here in this pain and focus.
**********************************************************************

When I was injured in the OJI that ended my career as a CNA, The orthopedic doctor came in and sat next to on the exam table.

Right away I knew the news was bad.

You sit with the patients when you are about to club them with bad news.

Shit.

He explained the results of my MRI and told me I quote. "Your too young to do anything surgical with  this injury." He paused then hopped off the table and added. "Your going to be in a lot of pain, your just going to have to learn to live with it. Your too young to medicate for the pain."

Oh, I see...that's good to know.

I have waited patently as the years have passed to be "old enough."

This magical age where I will not have to beg for pain meds and muscle relaxers.

Each year the pain increases and I limp forward. There are days the pain is crippling. Days jumping in front of traffic would hurt less then what my body is feeling.

I take my aspirin.

I struggle.

and I get bitter and angry.

Damn it...I will be 49 in a few days, please tell me that is the magic number. That I will be old enough to finally be able to get the medication that will ease my suffering.

And that orthopedic doctor that delivered that cheer news to me...

He took a cast saw to his neck and ended his pain a few years after that.  His depression and physical pain consuming him till he broke.

He knew. He new the hell I was in as he was in it too.

That bastard.

My left sacral iliac joint has been burning non stopped for the last 3 days. That sensation always precedes it slipping out of alignment. Its a matter of time before it will set my whole back "off" and I will be rendered immobile.

I always think of old Doc C and the cast saw when my SI joint hurts like this. How long did he linger with the running saw in his hand before he put it too his neck?

How much pain is too much?

I also think of Doc R and his prediction that I will be in a w/c by the time I am 50.

It makes me struggle to my feet. Not yet...not yet Doc R...I'm not old enough yet.

I have an appointment to make the annual winter pilgrimage to beg for help, to see if I am old enough yet.

All I am asking for is "1/2" a Vicodin for those days the pain is so great I want to put a cast saw to my neck. That is all.

Or a new spine/pelvis...either one would be fine with me.

Healing or choosing not to heal

Is the ultimate goal of going into therapy to heal?

Or is it more complex then that.

Guess first we need to define healed.

For me I don't think its is possible to be healed. But rather to be healing.

Healed to me = finished /completed.

So I can't see that to be the goal of therapy. People will always be affected to one point or another by the events of the past. It has sadly left its imprint on us.

The goal of therapy is my head...is this:

To learn to live with what I carry. To drop what I don't need to haul around and to practice the art of healing. (ie self parenting and using healthy coping skills.)

I left therapy in my 20's thinking "I'M HEALED."

as I grew and got more life experience under my belt and aged into a different head space I discovered, ...I need to heal again.


That I am now ready to tackle some of the deeper issues in my soul. I am now able to peek under some more rocks in my head.


Something I couldn't do in my twenties. That is when I realized its a healing journey. That it doesn't end, that it will ebb and flow like the tide...and my job was to learn to swim in it or learn to leap the waves.

A friend recently mentioned they were choosing not to heal. I honor and respect that. In a way holding it is standing your ground and saying, I would rather stay here in this place of familiar pain then leave and be subjected to a new pain I am not familiar with.

Its saying "I known the rules of this madness that was inflicted upon me, and as strange as it may sound...this is where I feel I belong."

and there is nothing wrong with that choice. It is after all you standing up to the lack of control in your life/body and saying firmly. "I get to choose now."

That choosing brings power and control. That is a necessary component to finding peace within your self.

Healing? peace? how about just having "life" within your soul, the ability to breath and not have to hurt 24/7.

Sometimes the goal of therapy is just to learn to breath.

What end goal you strive for is personal. What plateaus you reach only you will know, what will trigger you to work on your healing journey again in the future? only the future knows.

Realizing you are where you are supposed to be right now and not rushing yourself to be somewhere else is a strong lesson. As is realizing your back pedaling to avoid going forward.

Even if your journey is marching endlessly in the same spot till the ground is packed and hard, you are still on a healing journey.

Each of us must decide for ourselves where we are going and when its time to stop and rest and when its time to get up and run.

Three

My mama has had some strokes. She is slowly leaving us in her mind. The vascular dementia is eroding my mama of the past away.

 A few years ago when I showed up at the house it took her a few second to recognize me. I had to prompt her. I was tempted at the time to tell her I was my older sister and see if that would fly.

I always make sure to label everyone when we go over and use their names often.

"Hi Mama it's P and JUR and Hansolo here to visit you!"

It alleviates the stress/anxiety for stroke victims to rely on  their compromised brains.

Yesterday we finally got to make a trip over to see her. Its been a while.

My father called while we were there and asked who had come over.

She got flustered and couldn't remember my name. She glanced up to the wall of family photos and scanned them trying to get her broken mind to cough up the answer.

I called out my name but she didn't hear me.

"Its three." she kept telling him.

I have become three now. I am her third child.

In a while I will be just a kind face that comes to see her.

I have seen this progression  a thousand times in my line of work.

I have watched a lot of minds dimmed by strokes, Alzheimers, dementia.

Its...

a strange thing to be aware of and witness.

The absolute worst I ever had to endure was a elderly doctor. He would stay up late at night being haunted by the babies he had lost in his practice. I would come on shift and find him sitting in is rocking chair cradling a wadded up blanket. Rocking it.

I would go in and touch his shoulder.

He would open his papery eyes and look up at me thought a puddle of tears and whisper. "I couldn't save him."

"I know." I would whisper back, and gently take the bundle from his arms.

I would put him to bed, but in a few hours I would find him kneeling over the bed doing "autopsies" on the babies who haunted him.

He once gabbed my hand as I went to remove the blanket from his arms. His eyes clear and sane for just a moment. "Tell me, is it wrong to pray for an early death?" he asked in a painful tone.

"No." I answered back and hugged him.

How awful it must be, to be just aware enough to know your loosing your mind.

What an frightening place that must be.

I took the "baby" from him and tucked him in bed.

Not long after that night, I walked into his room and he was sitting in the rocker as usual, but no blanket baby in his lap.

I touched his shoulder, and he looked up at me. There was only a quiet dull expression in his eyes. And...just like that the dementia had consumed him and his mind was separated from the painful past.

No more autopsies...

....and now no more P's.

Just me, Three, is left.

someday soon Three will be gone too, replaced by the kind face who stops by to visit....one day, the dementia will erase me completely. All she will see is a distant reflection of herself in my face.

That's a issue when you resemble someone so much. When her mother, my grandmother died, she was a patient in my nursing home.  Her illness giving her rapid onset of dementia like symptoms. I would sit with her on my breaks and she wouldn't see me either, she only saw her daughter, and she told me a thousand things as if she was confessing and unburdening her soul to her daughter.

I got to hear all the apologies, explanations and sorry's that my mother spent her whole life wanting and needing to hear.

I wonder who will get to hear that stuff from my mama.

Interesting.....

Running on no sleep last night at work my mind started writing.

What it choose to write was a will.

I haven't written a will in over 10 years.

Prior to marriage I averaged 2-3 wills a year.

Prior to therapy I averaged 3-4 a month.

Had I saved them all I could print a book of wills.

I found it unsettling that is what my tired mind choose to write/think about.

When I am suicidal and wanting to off myself...I don't usually think about leaving a will. I just want the bleep outta dodge.

What makes me want to leave a will today is...physically feeling like I'm going to die. This strange aura of ....unexplainable weirdness inside that only crops up occasionally. Like I have been recalled by the cosmos and my visa has expired and I have to go back.

Dissociative disorder side effect? Another level of the PTSD/anxiety combo?

Yet part of me is comfortable with this feeling/state.

and I wonder if its not unlike what hibernating animals must experience as they shift from here...to there.

hummm lots of mental gum to chew on today.

well that deteriorated rapidly!

Holy smokes!....the last three blogs do more to demonstrate I actually do have S.A.D. (Seasonal affect disorder) and a sensitivity to medication then any thing I have seen in a while.

My mood always take a drastic turn when the weather/season change every year. This year it went from 0-60 in a heart beat. Then to counter that I took an as needed Ativan....which was from a new prescription and a different manufacture then what I have been taking...and waaa-LA! a very, very nearly fatal, bad day happened.

*Smacks forehead with my hand*

Very thankful my husband was there to take 100% control of the house/kids and keep an eye on me.

I was going to delete those entries but have decided to leave them.

I am no longer sick. I am feeling better, centered, grounded, dare I say, sane?

I also have been blessed with an extra day off this week.

After I clean the house and get all caught up...how does a non-psycho blog post sound?

Oh? Having a guest blogger step in?

Be quiet you! LOL.

Even with ativan in me

I have spent the last few hours trying to decided where to burn myself.

Where can I burn that new work will not see and still give me the release I need.

my son just read me his English paper draft where he  classifies me as "a fat lazy sleeper."  :(  hard not to be angry when I am working 10 hour shifts to help give him a better life.

Not what I needed to hear on top of the urges to go ballistic and burn the shit out of my selves.

woooooo, this is going to be one hell of a night.


10-17-14 AM Edit: I just went to bed and pulled the covers over my head and slept till it was time to go to work. There my mood lifted and the urges to harm went away. I feel better and back in control this morning. gaaaah yesterday was really really scary.

weather torture

My pain levels got to 10/10 this morning. Ack it was awful. Sometimes the pain get so bad I don't realize that is what is driving my mind to the "I wanna die" levels. I am sadly so used to be being in a lot of pain that its normal.

It took all morning and everything I had at my disposal, but I got the pain to ease up.

The weather this time of year just does a number on my arthritic old joints...and boy howdy do I have a lot of those.

anyway...feeling better, as far as my mental health goes. Still coughing up crap...and was running a fever again today. No I haven't traveled to Texas or any where in Africa lately.

death

TRIGGER WARNING

Its now been 18 hours since I wrote the drivel I'm about to post. I have gotten some sleep and it has helped a little bit. I still feel irritated and hostile, but I think that's normal for me an more. Some questions rolling around in my head today. Am I in the right job? Do I need to find one with different hours so I can get the kids off to school? Can my body hold up? Am I too old to do this job anymore. I am feeling the onset of the winter weather as the cool nights settle in my joints and aggravate my arthritic old bones.

I think of my neighbor who worked as a cashier though her chemo treatments, never missing a day. How do people do that? What gives them the strength to keep going? I do not have that strength. I feel like my body is failing me. That I'm an old race horse being ridden hard with the whip cutting into my sweaty flanks.

I went shopping today and got food. I am hoping eating better will help me recover from this head/chest cold. I am on day number 11 of snot and coughing up phlemmy blobs of goop.

I try not to post the really whiney temper tantrums here....but figured what the hell. After purging my rage last night I took an Ativan and went to bed.

Here's a peak into my darkness last night.

TRIGGER WARNING:


every have days you just wanna die? When life holds nothing for you, and your done. Really done.
Where a terminal diagnosis would make you sigh with relief that this is all over?

gaah...fighting that head space these days. Its not winter rolling in, or the onset of the cold weather. Its just...I'm done. I'm ready to die. I am tired of living. So tired of living. Tired of fighting to exist, to be here on this planet, to continue to move forward.

I don't even have the strength to care that I don't care. I am having visions of running away and killing my selves.  Its never any good when I go straight to wanting to be dead vs wanting to hurt my self.

I don't even care.

Life just is so overwhelming right now that I want to check out.

Trying to work with my son to get caught up and back on track with school work. A 12 year battle with him. He will not learn from me. Trust me I have tried. Middle school has handed him more responsibility then he can handle, and he's fighting me to do the 70 min of homework each night.

Know what? I don't give a shit any more. I have been fighting him for 8 years now about school work. Its a no win battle. I should just let him quit and teach him how to make meth and get him hooked up with some crack heads and drop him and a sleeping bag off under the over pass.

crappy mother of the year, yeah I know, gun to my temple blow my brains out just to get away from my life. Can't even take care of me.

waaaah, freaking pity party. Sick now for 10 days. Can you tell its eroding my sanity? Two hours of sleep today, great recipe for making me a bitch.

How do I help my son? His speech is deteriorating again too.

I worry about him. He has a genetic "gun" pointed at his head that is a constant issue that I worry about. Makes me question if any of this is worth it? Is all this tension and heartbreak moot in the end?

Fuck me. Two hours of sleep and over a week of snotty head cold-hacking up globs of phlem and I am sooooooo crabby.

No wonder death looks so inviting. done. so. done. burnt out. fried crispy burnt out.

no gun to kill my self with. Not enough drugs to OD with. Husband has the truck for that is not an option. Guess my only escape tonight is sleep. If the world was a benevolent place, I will die peacefully in my sleep tonight of crabby-ass-itis.

I don't feel good and I can't take care of my family. It makes me want to claw my skin off my face....smash my head in with a crow bar. I'm failing right and left, my guts spilled out getting tangled around my feet, tripping me, falling in the bloody gore, too weak to get back up.

Can't shake the thought that killing my self would help my children. Maybe there next mother would be better then me. She would be able to reach and help them.

gawd, I just re-read over this vomit, and I think I might be a tad bit depressed on top of everything else. Ativan on tap and to bed in 30 minutes, before I do something stupid. I have a lab appointment in the morning to see if my thyroid if off again. (ya think?)

barf.

bed, I am going to bed soon.

hope I don't wake up.

short update

Not long ago I went to water Stickrod and found his leaves turning brown. At first I thought Mr. Stickrod was dying of the illness that killed his predecessor Treesie-weesie. I was upset that our new tree was going to die even before he was a year old.

I know I am a plant killer but common!

September was such a whirl wind of chaos that most of its is gone in a stress filled Ativan haze. My work hours/schedule was a nightmare. 11:30 pm to 9:30 am in random days sometimes numbering up to 5 in a row. So my brain was not thinking properly.

So I didn't do anything rash with Stickrod.

Which was good cause once I got some sleep and things calmed down a bit, it occurred to me that.....hello....Stickrod was a deciduous tree! (i.e.: his leaves are suppose to turn brown and fall off in the winter! LOL.)

darn tree almost got a premature burial due to sleep deprivation psychosis diagnosing.

(That is his pot friend, some Chinese flower plant that looks like its trying to strangle Stickrod as it grows its tentacles, errr vines.)

The scheduling gods have given me a reprieve this week and put me on a civilized 4 on 3 off for the next two weeks.

The flu gods however have decided that a massive head cold would make the last three work nights a bit more challenging so I have been sick the last 4 days.

Since I went back to work, every morning when I walk into my house I always have the same reaction..."Oh my gosh we have been ransacked and robbed!!!

then I realize that nothing is missing, except me there to do house work. LOL

Now that civility has returned to my schedule I will be working on diving up the work between me and the family so we can get a handle on that aspect also. They have been such troopers through all of this. Hubby taking on the chore of getting the kids up and off to school alone. As well as dealing with an exhausted crabby wife who can't sleep. The kids have stepped up also and put themselves to bed on Monday nights while Dad is at chess club and I am sleeping. They are a good bunch of eggs.

For now I am enjoying the flowers on Stickrod's pot friend. They seem to only bloom for me. They are a welcome little smile every morning as I crawl home to go to bed. In the afternoon as I drag myself to go pick up the first child, they are wilted and gone.

Looking forward to health and being able to write again without the sleep deprivation side effects.

The far away right next door girls

 

I found your lantern near where I kicked mine..
ill hold it until you are ready for it back?

 

 

 

My feet pound out an ancient rhythm as I sprint through the rich darkness of the forest. My long hair streams behind me gathering moss and twigs as the foliage tries to slow me. My naked body casts no shadow as I leap over the churning stream.

 

The only sound is my song that seems out of place in the lulling hush of the forest. I toss my head as I slow to a trot. Head back I dance in a circle as the dappled sunshine tickles me. My voice like crystal rain drops nourishing the forest.

 

I live.

 

I breathe.

 

I sing.

 

Because of this eden.

 

I at last fall into the embrace of the trees. The rich red bark nourishes me. Rejuvenates me, renews me.

 

Like a snake shedding its skin, I feel the weight of life slough off of me. The pure childlike energy infuses my parched soul.

 

The wind pokes at me, with the near by ferns, asking for my attention.

 

Her cries, cut through the calm.

 

Like a lost kitten's soft mews.

 

I peel myself from my red mother's embrace and go searching for the source of the sound.

 

I find her under a log wedged in deep.

 

Her eyes even deeperly wedged in.

 

I lay down and stare at her.

 

She stares back.

 

I close my eyes at last and painfully mew a deep guttural sound, then begin to sing. "I am lost. I am so lost here."

 

Her eyes light up.

 

I roll over onto my back and stare at the sky through the wafting canopy. I take a deep breath and sing louder to the sky. " I don't even know what I am doing here."

 

I here a scratching sound in the dirt as she shifts and edges closer.

 

"My existence here is meaningless. I have no purpose here. I want to stay here in this eden forever..."

 

"...and slumber with the trees." she concludes. Rolling out to lay next to me.

 

I sit up slowly and look at her legs. They are bruised and still carry the remnants of the chains that bind her, and enslave her. "I know this pain." I offer gently touching her chains. I know this pain."

 

She startles from my touch. feeling awkward and exposed that someone can see the stuff hidden in her heart.

 

I softly take her hand and hold it. "We are the far away right next door girls. Bound by a shared past of pain and mistrust and hurt. So great this cosmic link that it will seem like I am reading your diary. That I am inside your head."

 

She draws back as fear clouds her eyes.

 

"I will not hurt you, " I continue "I will only listen and validate you. You can always be yourself with me. my place in your life is to just be your refection in the mirror. I will always be there if you need me. A far away member of your life team..." I tap her heart gently. "I am always here if you need me."

 

I let go of her hand and slowly rise, shaking the forest floor from my backside.

 

"Will you ever need me?" she asks sitting up.

 

I smile and cup her face and kiss her forehead. "why do you think you came into my life? I needed you as well."

 

She smiles. "You touch me deeply with your voice. Thank you for your songs."

 

I touch my heart, and smile down at her. "thank you for your ears. It's so nice to be heard...and to share the journey, pain and all. Its nice to have someone who walks a little slower to travel with."

 

she retreats under the log, with one last smile.

 

I turn a pirouette and extend my arms and reach my voice again to the sky, as my song fills the forest. My feet again take to the dance and begin to pound out the ancient rhythm as I fade into the richness that surrounds me.

Put your tray table up - TRIGGER

Turbulence ahead.

ack.

I am triggered.

if you are not safe stop reading right now.

I'm going to write to the pain and see if I can purge it without harming my self.

I do not want to harm you either.

But if you got yur feet unda' yah, by all means stick around and watch the show. This is another unflinching look into what my mind is like. What lurks behind my blue eyes. What gives my writing its depth. What its like to live with depression and suicidal thoughts.

words fail me at times.

what should be here is cut flesh, spewing fountains of frothy deep

deep

dark

red blood.

Ambushed.

A mouse gnawing at my soul.

a dull knife sawing back and forth at the rope.

the quiet sound of chaos cutting out as the wheels leave the road.

Had I gun, I would place the muzzle to the under side of my chin and angle it so the blast would take out my brain stem....and then pull the trigger.

Had I a knife, I would slice my neck open and lay down and bleed out into a warm frothy pool of my own blood.

Had I the drugs, I would crush them and take them, all of them, and go pull the covers over my head and fall asleep to the sounds of my own sobs.

Had I no children, no husband, I would be on a ledge somewhere with the night wind tousling my hair as I stepped out into the darkness.

I am tired of living. TIRED OF LIVING. SO FUCKING TIRED OF BEING ALIVE!

I want to burn all my flesh off my arms, till there is nothing but raw bloody stumps there. I want everyone to see the discomfort and pain I am in.

my pain levels are off the chart today. I have spent the last few weeks in a stress filled overdrive living on a few hours of sleep grabbed when I could. Pushing my aged body beyond its limits.

Had the last two nights off and was not able to sleep soundly. My pain keeping from going into deep sleep.

Dreamless sleep does me no fucking good. I wake, not rested. I awake irritated and my tolerance for ever day life gone. Sleep deprivation psychosis. Hyper-stressed vigilance. Unable to let go and sleep. Really sleep.

It'll mess with ya' mind it will.

Course my mind is already a mess...

I need to sleep. Sleeplessness fuels the suicidal urges. Pain fuels the urges. NO FUCKING END IN SIGHT FUELS THE URGES. KILLING MY SELVES WOULD PUT AN END IN SIGHT.

I

JUST

WANT

EVERYTHING

TO

STOP

FOR

A

SECOND

so I can catch  my breath...

I want to kill my self...not necessarily to be dead, but for just a moment to be pain free.

stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop

I can't turn off my mind, it whirls endlessly as I try to sleep. I didn't have this issue prior to the RAI and going on they thyroid replacement. I am no stranger to night shift and nutty schedules...WHY CAN'T I ADJUST TO THIS NEW ONE????? Its causing me to fracture out to extremes to cope with the new schedule.

I HAVE TO WORK. I HAVE TO WORK. I HAVE TO WORK. I need to work, I must work. I am working 11:30 pm till 9:30 am five days a week. This is a lot for me, coming off years of a part time job with a 90% flexible schedule.

I feel like I'm trying to row across the Atlantic in a rickety old row boat taking on water. I'm not going to make it. Physically my body is trashed. Not being able to recover after two days off is a bad sign.

I love my new job.

Really, really love it. Its so nice to totally luck out and find a place that fits me 100% right off the bat.

They are so excited to have me too. Its a blessing to be so appreciated so quickly. To every shift having people come up to me and say the nicest things about my work. Words like, Amazing, incredible, wonderful...We are so happy you joined us

(......that did it...just felt the pressure ease off, and here come the tears...)

.....You know in the old days tonight would have ended with me bloody/bruised/burned. I would not have been so easily able to write and tap into the issue as I just did. SIV is about communication. Not being able to express yourself verbally or in writing - leads to the use of other media, like blood.

I worked my ass off to learn what helps me cope. WHAT DO I NEED TO DO? to help my self, re-direct and cope/deal with the internal pain.

I know if I can make me cry, the urges 90% of the time will dissipate.  Headphone on, crank Journey's Don't Stop Believin', and write until I cry.

so now is when I either mop up the blood, and put on a bandage, or I make plans. I do not allow myself to just go to bed in this state. I maybe on level ground right now, but I am still at risk.

What do I need to do to follow up?

I re-read what I wrote while stressed, looking for clues that will help me. I am seeing the word PAIN a lot. I need to address my pain levels and the lack of sleep.

Plan for night before bed. Aspirin, ace wraps and ice.

Plan for the morning. Call my Doctor and report that my pain levels are out of control, and request/beg for something to help.  Maybe 1/2 pain pill will cut the physical chatter in my old bones enough for me to get some sleep.

Thanks for reading along, joining me in the rollercoaster that is my mind.

I hope I can sleep tonight.

I really

really need some sleep.

Panda and Piglet

This is a true story. I am piglet. My boss from a long time ago is Panda. I got my nickname cause I had little Poop at the time. (no not that kinda poop, Poop Outside... my baby piglet at the time.) I have no idea how she got her nickname....

We had more fun at work then humanly possible. I absolutely lived to make her laugh. Her smile and giggle just light up a room. We had so much fun in that office. We worked together ~6 years.

So last month I ran into Panda at KFC.

I start to say "I quit my job..."

She cuts in, "I know, I read your blog."

"I'm taking the summer off and then loo..."

"I know, I read your blog." She says.

Well fine! pppbbbbttt!!! then we have nothing to talk about!

It was amazing to see her. I just love her so much.

She was alone in Medical Records, and off on a vacation when it was determined I was officially "permanently partially disabled" and unable to return to my job as a nurses aide. Work had to do something with me so they stuffed in in med records to help her.

Now imagine going on vacation and coming back to find a strange insane person in your office with no experience and you get told its your job to baby sit train them.

In an interesting side note, Panda never took a vacation again...LOL, I guess one surprise piglet stuffed in her office was enough for her to never to make that opportunity available again.

Keep in mind I had spent the last 9 years on a locked geriatric psych unit, working night shift. I was post therapy but I had the social skills of a snow shovel. I was absolutely neurotic being up and about during the PM shift. It was very strange to be around that many people.

At first she only trusted me with opening and closing the file cabinet draws.

Even that was too much trust in me. She underestimated my ability to be a nincompoop.

The very first thing I did was lock the file cabinet by the door.

"Where is the key to the file cabinet?" I asked quietly, after I locked it.

She was busy writing and replied without looking up. "If we have one, it's in the top draw of the cabinet."

Bwhahahaha!!!! oh geeze, I pondered my predicament and tried the drawer, hoping to find it unlocked. Sheepishly I turned around and faced her. "Um, I accidently locked it."

Her look was priceless. A cross between disbelief and trying to determine just what kind of a boob had been pawned off on her.

A frantic search of all the keys in the desk drawer yielded the cabinet key.

She didn't give up on me after that and slowly began training me.

It was discovered I had rain man like skills as far as medical records went and in no time I was up and running full speed.

Of course, being up to speed lead me to have free time to get into trouble with. Bwahahaha!

I started writing notes with goofy animations to go along with them. She loved them. So of course than the game was on. The notes eventually evolved into notes like this:

Which I left on her desk. Before too long everyone was reading and solving my notes. It sure helped pass the dead time, on my shifts to think up and draw the notes. Panda still has all my notes. I have all of hers to me. Mine I keep to re-read cause they always lift my heart. She keeps mine to sell someday on Ebay. LOL.

(I wanted to dig some out and post them here, but there has been no time with the new job. Her replies to me are just as funny as my notes.)

Why was I not working at those times? Well cause it takes a LOT of work to keep me busy. I have this ability to ....hmmm...be at six places at once and fold space. Over the years work tried to stump me with more work then could be humanly possible to do in 8 hours, and they always found it done the next morning.

My favorite was when we absorbed another nursing home and had to "admit" them plus the staff into our system.  It was a huge job, involving a lot of paperwork. The new Director of Nursing was talking with the Administrator and lamenting that the just running and preparing all the paperwork would take someone two days to collate.

He looked past her to me and said "P will have it done tonight."

She glanced at me then back to him. "She'll need help!"

He glanced at me again, then at his watch. "She's probably already got it on your desk."

It became a huge game. Try to give P more work then she can do. I loved the challenge.

Panda's lessons were wonderful and gave me a lifelong skill that has made me a valuable employee.

But beyond that....her friendship and attention to me helped me grown into the person I am today. It was the perfect follow up to being in therapy. It was like 1:1 social lessons.

She is more then a co-worker/boss/friend. She is my panda mother. I owe her more then I could ever explain.

We parted work company under bad circumstances. It broke my heart. The company forced her out, by making the environment hostile. I was left in the middle, wanting to support her, but being forced to choose sides.

I should have left with her.

Work was never the same after that and the light went out of it.

When I did leave. I collected my things and stood for one last look at my office. I laid my keys on the desk and then walked over the file cabinet, took the key out of the lock, opened the top drawer and tossed it in on top of the files. Shut the drawer and pushed the lock in. Checked it to make sure it was locked. "That's for you Panda." I said aloud, and them doubled over in piglet laughter.

It's all Mrs Pebble's fault

I was assigned to Mrs. Pebble in sixth grade.

Hideously shy and out of sync with the rest of the planet, I would have skated through her class lost in the shadows if she hadn't took and interest in me.

She announced one afternoon that our collectively the classes handwriting was atrocious and we needed to work on that.  So we stopped the regular class and she taught us calligraphy.

It worked in helping our handwriting become legible!

I, at the time, was in the infancy of my cartooning skills. I was drawing eyeballs all over the margins of my papers instead of doodles.

The calligraphy pen assigned to me had purple ink.

And the rest was history. My writing became legible so others could actually READ my stories, and with a new pen to mess with I started adding eyebrows to my eyes.

Her laughter at my eyeballs and the sudden attention of a kind wonderful soul, helped me to want to reach out to get positive attention from others. She was among my first fans. It's her fault I kept drawing and didn't give up.

Her smiles and laughter lead the charge of wanting to make others react to my writing/drawings.

She awarded me this award. By doing so she gave me one of the greatest gifts I have ever received. Acknowledgement that I was indeed unique and one of a kind, and more than that, it was perfectly okay to be so.

Then why do I still have issues with SIV?

Yesterdays blog made a thought crop up that I haven't touched on in years.

If I have all this insight into self inflicted violence...then why do I still self injure?

Why at 48 am I still at risk for self injury.

Why do I currently have non-faded 3rd degree burn scars on me? (it take one year for them to fade from red to white)

If I know so much about SIV...why do I still do it?

Am I "healed?" or just fooling my self.

I have been working on this issue since I was 22.

TWENTY SIX YEARS, I have been working on stopping the SIV.

I have been living with it for 45 years.

Yes that is correct. I have been a self injurer for the last 45 years.

And I will be a self injurer till the day I die.

For me I will never be able to stop 100% and never go back.

Total cessation of the negative coping skill is just not a feasible goal. I no longer even try to reach for that.

My goal is to try to use healthy coping skills. If that fails, then to reach for and use non-scaring forms of SIV. Last resort is scaring forms of SIV.

I can go years without injuring in any format. I know this, have done it. Pleased as punch that for those time frames I was able to handle things.

When there is a sudden return of SIV in its graphic-horrific-bloody-burned format, then the alarm bells go off in my head and I reach out for help. It means something is NOT RIGHT in my life/head and requires immediate action. I work on my issues.

The core reason I will never be 100% SIV free is my depression.

I have been suicidal my whole life. ALL OF IT.

When my head says its time to die and nothing is talking me out of it, there is one thing that will, an can re-direct me, and save my life.

SIV.

You can bet that I will use that coping skill if it came down to that.

I don't live my life thinking "I am a person who lives with SIV." I simply live my life. I no longer have to put in daily, hourly work into keeping an eye on my urges to self injure.

I have healed enough that its no longer a high priority to keep in my consciousness. The urges have faded over time, and with effort to recognize/and deal with the triggers.

Most time I even forget I am a self injurer.

Starting my new job I was suddenly asked numerous times about my scars. The first question kinda made me step back and go whoa! I had forgotten the scars were there. I am so used to seeing them that I don't see them (if that makes sense)

I am healed in that sense. At peace with who I am and why I SIV. I use my writing to help others learn more about the topic. I like being able to help others not feel so alone.

I will never stop fighting my self over the SIV. If I do then I will slide right back into the easy comfortable negative coping skill. Not all of me wants to stop.

I am nine months burn free. I am three months SIV free.

But I look at the big picture....I am 48 years alive.

The invisable trigger. (discussion of SIV)

People who  have endured abuse/challenging childhoods can be triggered by many things that remind them of their traumatic past. Sounds, smells, looks, tastes, emotions, touch, the list can be endless.

They learn to recognize and deal with them.

But there is one trigger out there that doesn't look like a trigger. So much so that it is often the source of those " I have no idea what triggered me" episodes.

When I was in the beginning of therapy and working hard on stopping the self injury, I was documenting all my episodes. To try to find a common thread, anything that would help me get a handle on the, at the time, out of control injuring.

In short order it we discovered...life triggered me.

It was frustrating.

We stopped focusing on that and worked on just getting me grounded, and centered and healing.

Slowly over time the rate of self inflicted violence (SIV) dipped down, slowed then stopped for about 3 months.

At the time I was VERY excited. Three months of no injuring was HUGE for me.

Then one night I blew that record. I wrote down everything that was going on and took it with me to therapy and we discussed it.

Literally, NOTHING triggered me. there was no tangible cause. No reason for me to harm my self.

That was followed by a 4 month stint of non-injuring. Then another bout of SIV, that left me with a nasty new scar.

"THERE IS NOTHING TRIGGERING ME!" I half hollered at Richard. " This is soooo frustrating not to be able to find the cause of this unrest!"

"What were you feeling just before you picked up the matches?" he asked in his quiet voice.

I closed my eyes and rolled my self back to that moment.

"I had been illustrating one of my books. I was feeling very calm. Very relaxed. I felt safe....then I felt the dissociative aura trickle in and I watched my self go dig out the matches."

He didn't respond. His brown eyes waited, patiently.

grrr. I know that look. That look of: 'common P the answer is RIGHT there, put it all together.'

I sigh a snort and then lean back in my chair and return his stare as I think some more. Finally I sit up and start listing the emotions again. "I was drawing and feeling at peace, very relaxed, very calm, very happy, very safe, very....very....normal."

"How did you feel once you injured?"

"Relieved." I responded without thinking. "Relieved?"

"Relief from what?" he prompted.

"Hell I dunno, that was what just popped into my head!"

He sighed, set down his pen on his clip board and leaned forward in his chair. A action that I knew by now. It meant he was going to lob a fast ball at me. "Relief from what?"

"I don't know!...relief from...." I try to summon up the words. "...waiting?"

"Waiting for what?" he pressed me.

I felt my insides fall inwards as I frantically tried to answer him. " I dunno! I was feeling good, deliriously happy and content and at peace and safe, hurting my self felt right...I don't know...it felt like the normal thing to do...like that is the answer to that equation, happy + safe = hurting."

It only took a few seconds before the realization choked me in the throat and punched me the gut. I double over in the chair and exploded into sobs.

It was the feeling of peace, happiness, relaxedness, the calmness, the feeling of safety. That was the trigger. My injuring put those feeling back into cold storage, and returned me to the state of mind I was used to living in.

When I calmed enough to be able to talk, I demanded and answer from him. "WHY!? why would feeling those emotions cause me to hurt my self?"

The kind old soul look returned to his eyes as he leans back and thought for a few min as I collected my self. "Children who live in a world without boundaries and chaos, get used to living in a state of flux, you expect to be hurt and when it doesn't happen..."

I cut him off. "I , I inset the hurt! I injured because my life pattern is anytime I was happy, shit happened! I no longer can feel safe without feeling like someone is going to pull the rug out from under me...I am waiting for the bad stuff, and the longer the wait the more anxiety builds up...no abusers in adulthood so I insert the abuse and the anxiety of feeling safe goes away."

His subtle nod tells me I am on the right path.

The horror of my next thought drains the color from my face and causes him to perk up as he watches me concernedly.

"I'm the abuser now." I whisper. and look slowly down at the bandage on my arm. "I am safe now...but I still keep the pattern cycling."

"P, " he says reaching for me with his voice. "You are the abuser right now, but you are also the abused. We can work on that."

I focus on his hands, as my head swirls, and the room spins. "Together?" the small part of me asks.

"Together." he affirms.

The weight of the task seems too great, and the numbing dissociative state sweeps over me, and I shut down.


We did work on it together and were successful in separating the two. It took time and effort. As the years passed, I grew and learned to co-exist peacefully with feeling safe and not feeling the need to injure. That is okay to go long periods without waiting from the rug to get jerked out from under me.

Most importantly, that I don't have to be the one to jerk the rug. I have learned that it is safe to feel safe

To acknowledge that the feeling of safety and relaxation is a trigger to watch out for.

For a long time I had to verbally coach my self with stuff like,  "It's okay to feel safe", "Safe can equal safe, and not impending trouble." Also notes were hung up to visually cue me too. "Safe here"

Heck, even to this very day a part of me will whisper to my husband as we spoon, "safe here?". It been a long road to fix the damage.

To name and face the invisible trigger that was so hard to recognize, helped me along the way in my healing journey. I hope it helps others to know its there too.

Bittersweet two

slowly getting back on track...no serious writing until I have fully adjusted to the new night shift schedule....I want the subjects I was discussing to have my full attention and not have any loopy thoughts tossed in there. I am having issues sleeping with one of my medication so most work days I am functioning on 2-3 hours of sleep.

We hit the fair in my home town in August.

and ....much like the camping trip, it was, very bittersweet.

A sad reminder that, that time in my life has passed. It took a powerful physical toll on me. I hurt something fierce for quite a while after it.

I think they might be serious when they say: "people with neck and/or back injuries shouldn't ride the rides."

The attendance was very low, so we again basically had the run of the place. It was fantastic.

I started the day off riding this ride with both kids.  I have been on it before but they hadn't. So when I told them, it takes you up and then drops you my daughter had no idea. In hind sight I should have used the term "fall" instead of drop.

Scared my daughter to death. She thought she was going to die.

*plinks 20$ into her future therapy fund*

For a few hysterical moments after I thought the day was done. But they recovered and off we went.

 She can ride all by herself now. She pasted that magic line.

 We spent a lot of time here, tilting and whirling.

 Screaming ourselves silly.

The rock club had a name the pet rock contest. Brilliant!

 My kids are rock hounds like the rest of their family.

Love the wheel! We always play it least twice. This year we won glow in the dark rock slugs.

 I refuse to do "clown town" It just kills my back.

 He is such a blessing, that son of mine. Here he is helping little sister.

 Goats who stare at women.

 He can drive her now, and she can drive if he does the peddles. They would goof off and "auto pilot" and drive with no hands on the wheel. It felt weird to drive by my self. Mama-bumper-car-chauffeur, now obsolete.

 This was as busy as it got. Love the small town feeling.

 Goofing off on the tilt-a-whirl. I finally had to stop riding it, it was doing a number on my poor neck.

 Missing their co-pilot.

Oh, my beautiful son, may you attend fairs and ride rides for a thousand years. May you always find smiles and laughter in this life. Hang onto the memories and special things that make fairs exciting to you. May someday you take your own children and your crippled old mother in her wheel chair to the fair. Because I will always want to go. Always, even if I can't ride the rides, I will still want to go and soak in that essence that makes fairs so magical....and spin the wheel.