Monday, September 22, 2014

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.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Put your tray table up - TRIGGER

Turbulence ahead.


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



red blood.


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 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.










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.


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.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

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 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.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

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.

Friday, September 12, 2014

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.


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.

Thursday, September 11, 2014

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 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 felt like the normal thing to 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 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.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Bittersweet two

slowly getting back on 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.

fight me *trigger*

She swings at my head.

Too tired to move, I let her fist connect.

I reel back and shake off the scrambled sensation.

Groaning I return to my task. FOCUS. I say deep within my head. "Common little one focus, we have to get this done."

"NO." She balks, and balls up both fists again.

I shake my hands to refocus them. Opening and closing my aching fingers a few times to stretch them. I take a deep breath and exhale.

I close my eyes for a second...just a second to escape.

her fists tattoo my arms with so many punches I almost just keep my eyes closed.

Anger rises with the heat in my face.

I erupt from my chair and stand over her. She nimbly flees me. I am forced to chase her.

"fight me!" she gleefully calls as she weaves about darting from mirror to mirror.

I can't.

I won't.

I stop.

My feet are heavy as I walk to the bathroom and tip the tap up.

Standing there letting the cold water numb my hands and wrists.

"fight me?" she pleads softly.

I drag my eyes up to met hers in the mirror.


Angry she begins to throw temptations at me. "there are bandages under the sink. Razor blades there too."

"NO." I say closing my eyes and leaning my head back. I place both cold wet hands on my neck, and sigh deeply.

"matches?" she pouts.

I lean in and open my eyes and stare into hers. "We are not injuring ourselves."

Time freezes and we stare blinklessly for an eternity.

I stare her down until only my reflection is in the mirror.

"no, you fight me." I growl. "lines were drawn years ago. We are working on stopping the self injury. We fight the urges. We keep trying. Do not allow those thoughts to sway you."


fight me.

I'm not backing down.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

post it

How stressed I am is proportional to the amount of stickie notes that amass on my desk at any given time. I think I just hit a new high record...

I'm living on adrenaline and stickie notes LOL.

Tonight is my day number 5. I have now been running in sleep deprivation-mode and intense stress-mode for 5 days.

I am loving my new job...really freaking loving it!!

Can't wait to have the time to tell you all about my adventures.

I think things are slowing down, and returning to a routine because, today my mind isn't racing trying to remember 1,000 things at once...its starting to think about blogs.