Thursday, January 29, 2015

sorry to leave you hanging...

Messing with my buspar dose this week and the 2.5 mg increase has given me a headache.

2.5 mg is a minuscule dose increase.

The normal daily dose for normal people is 30 mg.

We have covered that I am not normal right? I am on 5 mg once a day. I am that sensitive to meds. Sigh.

We bumped up the dose to 10 mg once in the beginning and I developed EPS symptoms.  Those are not fun and have the ability to be PERMANENT, even if you stop the medication.

What is sparking the second attempt at increasing the medication is an massive increase in the anxiety that is fueling and increase in the suicidal thoughts.

I have now been on the increased dose for 2 days and other then a headache and the sudden onset of mania about 15 minutes ago, I have been feeling sooooo much better. No sign of the EPS symptom that happened last dose increase.

I will get back to our story as soon as I can. Cause if I tried to write now it would look like this:

Andthensheranthroughtheforestandjumpedtheriverthewindpartingtomakewayforhershelandsonherfeetin
thegrassandsumersaultstoherfeetetcetcetc.....

Hopefully I will be stable enough to write next week.

Right now I am just treading water and focusing on me for a few days.

Only thing on the agenda besides work right now is my family heading to a local motel to watch the Super Bowl this weekend.

Go Seahawks!!

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Tear in your hand

Gather around little ones...

It's story time.

Wiggly-one jumps up and claps her hands "Oh! oh! oh! tell us a forest story!"

"No tell us a story with drums and wild Indians!" Giggly-one interjects.

Quiet-one slowly lifts her heavy eyes, "please retell us the story of the purple wings."

"YES!!!" everyone cries in unison.

I settle down  in my chair. "alright."

I open the book in my mind and draw back the worn pages carefully until I find the one marked by a single feather.

A lone glittery purple one.

I twirl it slowly as the story calls to me with each twinkle of the glitter.

Of a girl,

lost...

...lost in a dark forest.

I lived in this dark place for many years, an angry hurt girl, full off rage and mistrust, my fists always tightly clenched. Lost until I stumbled across a man named Richard who sat with me on the damp ground. We talked, and talked and talked for years. He eventually got me to get up and walk.

I stumbled blindly, my eyes still couldn't see in the darkness.

In the cool, dew slicked bark was my braille tablet. The towering trees my protectors....and my prison guards blocking out the sun light.

Richard took my hand and led me to two ladies, who let me curl up like a cat on there couch as they talk and talked with me.

All this talking wore a chink in my armor.

There syrupy voices undulated in the silence of the forest and I felt safe enough to one day unclench my hand.

With a searing pain a small hole tore in my palm, and as I held it up to look at it....

....light shown through it into the darkness of my lostness.

The love and care of three people.

Changed me. redirected me to find my footing on the healing journey.

They put the lantern into my hand.

...I, in turn, put in her hand.

She refused to take it.

It dropped with a clunk to the forest floor.

She didn't want to have hope. She didn't want to join the others. She wore the ancient pain like a damp cloak of moss heavy with dew.

It gnawed an ate at my soul. This little girl who was both lost and right where she needed to be.

"This way." I pointed.

"why?" she asked.

"The way out of the forest is this way."

"No, I am fine here." she said snuggling into the dirt.

I reluctantly head down the path and leave her behind.  Off on my own journey. Running over the well worn trails that used to make me stubble and get lost.

Others come and go. We share words. We hold hands. We go forward. We go back. Always heading to the edge of the dark forest.

...to some place most have ever seen. A place I had journeyed to years before.

I know she is still there. Skirting the edges of my peripheral view. Periodically I stop and stare back into the darkness. I hold up my lantern.

...can you still see my light Little Tear? I ask with my heart. I know you are out there dear one.

This way.

This way little one.

Sometimes I trek back and find her. Calling her out of her cocoon.  Gently prying her fingers open and placing the lantern in her hand.

It always tarnishes and rusts in her hand.

Sometimes she will hold it, sometimes she will blow out the light, and more then once she has sent it whizzing past my head to land in a crumpled up heap.

I patiently smooth out the dents, and relight it.

With a powerful will she blows it out.

determined to journey in the dark.

One day the forest gives way to a massive river.

I stare at the swift current and crashing rapids.

Across the water, something new.

an long meadow of rich green grass, that lead to a lighter forest.

There are many travelers sitting on the bank starring lost at the river.


*******************************************************************************
 To be continued.

yup, trilogy time again.

Monday, January 19, 2015

Can't start with #3

I need to first examine....Why I think I'm a bad parent. Too see if that is a true statement or just the depression talking.

Have I actively strived to teach my children the skills they need to survive in this world?

 
  "Always two there are, no more, no less. A master and an apprentice."

Are their basic food needs met?


Green dye #4.

Given some toys to play with?


Safe environment for kids?



An active father in the picture?


Shelter?


love?


Discipline?



I meet all those requirements. So why do I think I am a bad parent?

Who set the standard within me?

My mother did.

Above all I wanted to be a better parent then she was. I know perfection is an unobtainable goal, but I just wanted to do a better job then she did.

and I have failed...

failed

failed

failed.

I hold my selves to a higher standard. I cut my self no slack. I know how  messed a person can get when they are not raised and cared for right. I see her everyday in the mirror.

As the years of my twenties unfolded and I enter therapy and was re-parenting my selves, one thing came up. Why didn't my mother get me help with my depression and anxiety? I, with adult eyes can clearly see that she suffered too. Why did she never talk with me about it and pass on some coping skills?

Do I do that with my children? Yes. I try to help them learn healthy coping skills, if I can. I don't want them to have to wait till they are adults before seeking help. I keep their doctor in the loop. The kids and I talk about depression and anxiety and the other stuff they might be facing.

I work hard in that area.

I had dreams of being my son's teacher when I was pregnant with him. I couldn't wait to teach him and be a strong advocate in his education.  He absolutely doesn't like to learn form me. I used to sing the ABC song to him while breastfeeding. The first thing he did once he got use of his hands was to reach up and cover my mouth.

shut up mama...

Tried to teach him so many things. He shut me out.

Hells bells I couldn't even teach him how to talk for heavens sake. I could see the intelligence in there, but the profound speech delay just robbed us of so much communication.

I had to at some point let go of the dreams of being a creative fun teaching parent. I had to learn to be the parent of the child I did have.

That was hard. That wasn't the parent I wanted to be.

When my daughter rolled into the picture I again had to wrestle on a deep, deep level. I wanted two boys. I didn't want to be a parent of a girl. That one took some work. Soul draining work.

Two children and neither one wanted or needed the parent I was all prepared to be. I had to adapt. To take my cues from them and re-invent and become the parent they needed.

...that is why I feel like a bad parent.

Maybe I not a bad parent, maybe, the word I am looking for is..._____?

I do know that at 49 its tiring to parent. My farm kids got the best years of my parenting. I was young and physically mostly all there. I wish I could be the athletic parent I was with them.

Parenting is sure different then I imagined and dreamed. There I times I want to give up, the work load is too great. Times I have renewed patience and strength. Times I realize that the things the teachers compliment about my kids is nothing I taught them or gave them....its just who my kids are.

Last summer when I was jobless, my family got 100% of my attention. The difference in my parenting was amazing.  For the first time EVER I was able to give my kids 100% of my attention every day. No work stress, no watching the clock cause I had to go to work. It was a blessing to just be able to flow with them and do things. Much easier to do my primary job with out juggling so much.

I wish I could find a way to pull that parent in me forward.

I still want to change the parent I am. I am not at peace where I am.

I want to give my kids more.

Thursday, January 15, 2015

I'm not afarid of you, I will answer you.

The last post was authored by the "I've-given-up-depression-that-eats-at-me-during-the-cold-winters."

Do you ever consider all this?

Hell yes, then I give it the heave-ho.

I will not dwell there. I WILL NOT get comfortable in that headspace.

That path leads to suicide attempts, to self injury bouts, to endless tears...to more pain. It leads the wrong way.

I recall in therapy finally getting up the nerve to bring up this HUGE list of  things that was evidence to the fact I was crazy. Like rubber room crazy and not worth saving.

Richard let me read the whole list, then after I was done he said nothing, just watched me.

"I'm insane, aren't I?" I finally whispered unable to stand the silence. "Like really crazy."

"Are you worried about that?" he responded clicking his pen as he leaned back in his chair.

ugggh, I hate when he answers me with more questions. I burst into tears. "Yes I worry about that!"

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "You P are not insane. You are not crazy. The fact that you ask those questions points to your sanity. If you were insane you wouldn't be questioning all this. "

I wipe my snotty nose on my sleeve. "If I am sane, then why am I so miserable here in my head? Should I just stop fighting my headspace and learn to make peace with living with depression?"

His head wobbles 'no' instantly.

"Help me make sense of all this madness." I whimper defeatedly, as I let my therapy note book side off my lap to the floor. The loose pages spill out.

"I can't do that." he says.

The blow crushes my chest...I knew it I am beyond hope... I gasp for breath. I can't live like this...

"What I can do for you is to help you learn ways to be healthier. Skills you can use to change things with."

Thought the tears I say, "That sounds like a lot of work for you."

"The therapy ratio is 95% to 5%, I do 5% of the work and you do 95% of it."

I meet his brown eyes and we stare at each other. I wonder if this man has what it will take for me to let go of my death grip  on the floor and reach up and take his hand and let him help me try for a better life.

What choice did I have at that time? The path I was on was quickly winding down to a planned attempt on my life. I feel my inner components all lean inwards in a collective sigh.

"Will you go for 50/50?" I at last say gesturing with my eyes to the massive list I had just read to him.

His eyes crinkle up into a smile.

...So is it possible to make changes in the grand scale of things? We are talking life changes not new years resolutions changes.

Yes. Absolutely.

Some things I gleaned from my guide.

1. You have to have a desire to want to change.

2. Open to change.

3. Slowly. pick one small thing. You will not morph into some super being over night.

4. Expect detours, delays, and obstacle's.

5. Learning to realize when you are butting your head against the obstacle's is a handy skill.

6. Set realistic goals, write them out. You are learning a new skill, use the three ways people learn best...hearing, doing, by seeing.

7. Self checks. Check with yourself or others, "how is my progress? can you see the difference?"

8. Keep trying. Keep trying. Keep trying. (it took YEARS to get the self injury under control)

9. Encourage yourself. Rewards are awesome. No one likes to do endless hard work without a reward at the end.

10. Share your progress with someone. (This was a challenge for me. You know what I finally came up with? a secrete code. I would catch the eye of a random stranger and give them a smile. Which in turn had the unexpected side effect of helping me reconnect with humans.)

It is once again time in my life to take stock of where I am vs where I want to be. I like to do that at the bottom of my depression cycles....partly because once there, the only place to go is up.

I want to be a better parent.

*cry*

I am lacking in that area. It is an area I struggle with.

I find it hard to parent, when I, my self am still in need of parenting. Yup, I got my work cut out for me.

#3 P, start there...

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

answer me

have you ever just considered that YOU are a special needs individual? Incapable of being anything more than what you are right now?

That being the perfect parent isn't going to happen, because you can only give what you can and that will never be enough in your eyes?

That you will never be the perfect spouse, because of the past and how it has tainted you?

have you ever considered it was miracle you functioned at all in your early years alone? That kind people looked after you until you found the one who would be your care giver as well as your lover?

That your age doesn't equal grown up, it just equals the years you have breathed.

Ever consider that those around you that you think are striding gainfully on a path to something wonderful, are just as lost as you? They are just too afraid to stop and ask directions.

Ever stop to consider that the most damaged individual that you know...doesn't see themselves as you see them?

Ever consider its not your place to know the answers...its to ask the questions?

Ever consider that you are trying to be someone else? That you will fail...because it is not who you are. Fundamentally who you are right now, is the clay you have to work with.

That the task at hand is to find a balance that allows you to breath, and keep living. Allows you to deal with the physical pain and the roller-coaster of mental health issues.

Ever consider that you are who you are going to be....that you will grow up no more. That your body will age, you will gain more life experiences, but this is it. You will not change into that magical person other want you to be, or you might have dreamed you would be.

Now it up to you to fine tune what you have. Strengths, weakness, it all.

answer me.

Do you ever consider all this?

I do, it's my life and it scares me to realize its all true.

Every blog I write today

fizzles out....

I just can't summon up enough of anything to force my writing to flow. Unable to focus and force my craft to produce anything.  Hell even my grocery list today was a literary disaster.

Definitely not writers block, I have a staggering number of "drafts" in the queue that need finishing.

Been chasing an idea today that ducks and dodges my lasso. Frustratingly difficult.

Sometimes my greatest writing comes from a place in me that feels like a conduit just opens up and a subspace rift shoots though and take over my hands. I feel an energy in my hands and I write until it dissipates.

gawd if I could just harness that....to be able to open that headspace at will.

I dream some days that, just maybe, my words will have the power to heal someone. That I could weave my personal pain and madness into a life preserver that I cast out into the cosmos and someone will find it and it will save them.

There has to be a reason for my pain.

Right?

Email from my good man Trent in response to yesterdays blog. "Why do you work in a depressing field and deal with death when you, yourself are seriously depressed and suicidal?"

Oh my friend., damn good question.

Its hard at times. Very hard. More then I care to count I have had to take a break after I locked the door behind the funeral van. Bitterly angry and jealous that death took that person and not me.

I give a higher quality of care to my residents because I am able to understand their physical pain better then the other caregivers who don't deal with chronic pain.

Should I be in the line of work?

yes.

Because its therapeutic for me.

Its a riddle I am trying to decipher, and I haven't found the answer yet.

Monday, January 12, 2015

Death and energy dampening.

I have so much to write about.

Blog ideas flowing like a waterfall in my head.

But my energy is dampened by two recent deaths this year. I need time to recover emotionally. One death was a hard one. Gawd I hate those.

The kind where you realize that humankind is a damaged unit beyond the simple concept of compassion. We euthanize suffering animals. Yet we allow our loved ones to die in agonizing suffering. We don't all drift off to sleep and die peacefully in our sleep.

The last one was emotionally very hard. Their grown child was there with them. Beyond compassionate attentive care to the dying, I supported and offer care to the living. How do you make the worst night in someone's live, less worse?

You don't even try.

You listen and hold them and just be there for this moment in their lives.

Then go drive home bawling your eyes out.

My goal is blog each day I'm off this week and see if I can't leave some great words of wisdom or other such nonsense in cyberspace.

Friday, January 2, 2015

Star Wars 2015, please give it back to us J.J. Abrams

Dear Mr. Abrams,

After seeing how you handled the Star Trek re-boot, I must say how impressed I am with your ability to capture and give us the pure magic of the show.

I am eagerly awaiting your re-boot of Star Wars.

So much so that any plans I may have to off myself this year will be rebuffed within by simply saying "Dec 15th." Yes, that is how much I am anticipating the re-boot. My motivation to remain alive this year, is because I want to see your work.

Star Wars captured me many many years ago, as it did all of my generation. Its the only film I have seen in the theater over 10 times. That doesn't count that I have seen it on tape and DVD +75 times.

As a writer, I understand that once my work  is published it no longer belongs to me. Its is written and given to my readers, and it becomes theirs. I think Mr. Lucas didn't take that into consideration. His pre-quells and tampering with the original version of IV, V and VI, were an intrusion into the story he gave us. He muddied the magic and slapped a dull coat of CGI paint over the masterpiece he originally painted.

When Mr. Lucas made Star Wars, it was pre-CGI and all the fun stuff. He was forced to tell us the story in a different way. That is what made it so good. Once he had CGI....the story died and the effects overwhelmed the story telling.

Episodes I II and III would have been so much better without CGI. He would have focused and told us a better story.

He ruined it by adding in the Midichlorians. My gawd George...we didn't need that crap. You had us at hello.

We all bought and embraced the explanation that Obi-Wan gave Luke in 1977. "It's an energy field created by all living things, that surrounds and penetrates living beings and binds the galaxy together."

Boom. Done end of story. Please J.J., take note of that...we don't want any Midichlorians in your work.

Oh and you do know we are all using the force the get you to release this movie the second its done, There is no need to wait till the official release date. If you want to spring it on us in September, go for it.

I hope the theaters just clear their plans to show anything but your movie on all their screens. Cause the world is waiting for you to give us back Star Wars.

So J.J...you have in your hands the hopes and dreams of so many people who love the story and eagerly await to see if you will be returning to us the original magic of it.

We are easy to please, just tell us, "I've got a bad feeling about this..." and then kill Jar Jar in a glorious hail of lens flairs.

Thursday, January 1, 2015

No line...no order

uugh, frustrating. I have time to blog and the unruly horse within me has grabbed the bit and is refusing to yield to my demands to prance to the sounds of my fingers tapping the key board.

Have stories to tell and my mind is so disconnected from my emotions that I can't reach inside and connect them.

Tried triggering me to write tonight and was unsuccessful.

Nothing is working,

Not even music.

Great, my blog is broken. Sigh.

Restarted the Lyrica yesterday for the neuropathy I am having in all four extremities. Hopefully that is not causing this listlessness and generally just dun'tgiveasheet attitude.

I am having a nerve conduction study done on all four extremities in February. Then they can do an MRI and see what is going on. Last time they did this they only did my left leg and I have nerve damage over my thigh.

And if being me wasn't challenging enough, I have developed a mean case of plantar fasciitis in my right foot. Sigh.

You know, just maybe, ignoring multiple medical condition for 40+ years, isn't such a good idea.

heh.

Sigh.

*Jerks the lead rope and swings the knotted end at the inner horses head.*

He shies back and give me the one eye framed in white as he quivers, awaiting my next move.

*WRITE DAMN YOU!!*

Nervous hooves clack on the pavement as he dances around me, nostril's flaring, lips quivering.

*Give the release writing gives me!* I demand. *Don't leave me trapped in this limbo of needing to write but having no words!*

no line...no order....

Frustrated I yank the lead rope again, this time so hard the halter comes off with the recoil. The horse half rears and spins kicks at my head, then disappears into my mind.

I tumble to the dirt.

sigh.

What if....what if the tests shows there is nothing wrong with me and the pain is all in my head?

uugh.