No tears (Trigger for suicidal thoughts)

The Cymbalta has stopped my tears.

I started taking it when my head reached a peak that it was going to kill me.

Year and years ...a lifetime of my brain running from the part of itself trying to snuff me out, finally reached the end of its ability to cope.

The lurch off the track was sudden and abrupt.

The will to fight, just snapped and gave... I felt my soul yield to the pressure...

...free falling into the calming quietness of nothingness...

I felt Richard's ghostly hands reach for me...

I heard Nola and Iona's magical voices singing to me...urging me to go on...

My husband's strong hands caught me.

but

the pull of the night was now at a fatal level.

I called for help.

I, that messed up damaged child, wounded and broken.

Called for help.

The Children of Starr, reaching out in unison.

help. me. my. depression. is. going. to. kill. me.

Cymbalta: has entered the game.

and just like that.

the tears stopped.

I turned my brain off instantly.

I turned my emotions off.

Since starting it over a year ago I've cried like 3-4 times.

for no longer than 20 seconds.

That is strange to me ....who cried daily, and often having 30 minute long sob fests for most of my life.

Alive.

but

missing the full richness of the dark emotions that I swam in all my life.

the water is clear and warm now and there are no monsters hiding below.

I still look for them.

let me grab onto your raggedy top fin so you can drag me down into the creative darkness that births my writing muse....

Richard reaches for me again..."Paja it sounds like your happy."

"well, I don't like it! It feels so weird and uncomfortable. Ra, I miss crying. I miss the release of emotions and the pain."

Nola and Iona but in... "three...two...one....open the door..."

I do as I am told and walk into the day light...and back to my little family that I love so much. My family that I fight depression for. 

Stickrod saga

 I have been a bad blogger. I left ya hanging on the saga of our tree.

This video was taken in 2021.

Anyway, My Stickrod outgrew his pot. I, being a serial plant killer, decided the best bet for his survival was to rehome him. I posted a video looking for a new home for him,.

Sticky didn't take to that idea and two weeks after me posting that inquiry, and in the middle of July just turned brown and dropped all his leaves.

What the hell dude!! 

He would rather die than be rehomed to a place he could be planted and grown?!

Okay FINE! you crazy tree you can stay with us.

Fast forward to 2022.

We were hit with the devastating news that this little killer was now in Oregon.

"Emerald ash borer is an invasive species that feeds on all ash species and some closely related plants. The adult is a small metallic green beetle and the larva is a flat headed borer. Larvae feed in the cambium of ash plants and are 100% lethal for untreated ash trees."

So serious the threat is that they are collecting as many varieties as possible of Ash tree seeds. Hoping to replant the native species once tree-magedon is over.

I know understand why Sticky wanted to stay with us. It must be frightening to be on hospice and not be near your family. I decided I would follow suit and collect his seeds this spring. 

Cause I can just imagine me planting a whole army of baby sticks! The thought of re-populating the state in murderous Stickrod clones would be just too much fun.

Welp, I guess he is still mad at me for trying to rehome him, because he put out ZERO seed pods this year. ZIP, NADA, NIL. 

Okay FINE be that way sir. 

 

By Fives (2022 edition - incomplete draft to be finished in 2025)

By Fives (2022 edition - incomplete draft to be finished in 2025)

Gota jot this down while I can still remember stuff...stinking menopause, aka the killer of my writers brain.

By Fives



I was born on the kitchen table
tumbled down sixteen stairs
attempted suicide
and placed second in a beauty pageant
all before I turned five.


I've eaten yellow snow on a dare
snorted grape soda up my nose
melted army men on the stove
learned the secret to catching lightning
got lost in Disney Land
watched three of my brothers die
and froze my tongue to a stop sign pole
all before I turned ten.


I danced naked as snow fell in the redwoods
felt dirt shoveled down upon me
as Ro____ buried me alive
wore the jewels of the Princess of Lippy Germany
held séances in the dark
Disfigured Ri___'s face with a pickaxe
eaten fire and grazed like a cow
and completed a novel
all before I turned fifteen.


I've felt the hand of a demented man cuff me across the face
flunked English 121
discovered Halloween candy I hid when I was seven
stared deep into the emerald green eyes of a panther
her warm breath on mine
and held the hands of countless people as they have died
all before I turned twenty


I've delivered puppies in the backseat
while parked at Shop n' Kart
journeyed into the dreamtime
got lost again in Disney Land
grew hair on my neck
crushed myself in my car
kisses a hog
and hung candy canes in the forest
all before I turned twenty-five


I've danced sacred dances
with eagle feathers in my hair and doe's skin on mine
began dreaming in Japanese
taught my son the secret to catching lightning
felt the bay mare rear and flip....
caught her in my lap
and fell in love with my friend John
all before I turned thirty


I've nursed piglets
watched three friends die of brain tumors
pieced my nipple
castled kingside and opened a door to a whole new world
accepted a proposal in the park
joined the Russell clan
all before I turned thirty-five


I've switched my mind off and hibernated
got lost in cyberspace
sold my childhood on EBay
gave birth to a son who almost died
got out of debt
and then right back in
all before I turned forty


I've been kissed by a sea lion
fought with my daughter
before she even left my uterus
swallowed radiation
got lost in Norrath
got lost in my own head again.
set sail on the seas of depression
all before I turned forty-five


Threw away my novel
Started a blog
Taught the internet the secret to catching lightning
got crushed again by a car
switched from LTC to ALF
won a game of chess against a Fide Master
Got put on the right medication for my head, and
learned to play Mahjong
all before I turned fifty


Watched my son almost die again,
joined a cult on YouTube
stole the light of a thousand stars,
and fed all of it to the darkness in my mind.
developed a rare disease,
avoided Covid 19.
Became one with the Floor
and watched my daughter become a serial killer,
all before I turned fifty-five.

Watched my daughter steal my boat

and sail away into the darkness, 

Stood firm on the dock and hauled her back in.

Mama and Daddy joined my brothers in the ocean,

Became the wife of a college student, and graduate.

caught covid 19

Finally got old enough for pain medications.

survived 40 years in long term care.

Went shopping in China,

and bought mysteries and wonder for everyone.

Fulfilled an ancient promise,

Skinny's with a side of ashes...

all before I turned sixty

(c) Jan 9, 1992 - original

vaccine

  My Great-great grandma survived polio. She was lucky she didn't end up in an iron lung. Back then fear was rampant. No on new how it was transmitted. My mother remembers her mother carefully pealing every last sting off the banana's because they though polio could be caught from banana "strings." 

When the polio vaccine came out, it was no different than it is now. People were afraid. Very afraid. 

 But they did it. 

They did it to protect their children and everyone else's child.

My oldest memory is sitting on my mother's lap watching as thick grape syrup was poured on a sugar cube, and then popped into my mouth. I bet my mother was nervous knowing that her little one was getting live polio vaccine...having watched her grandmother live with the aftermath of polio her whole life.

But she did it.

That picture is of  me. I am 6 months old and failing to thrive. I am in a doll dress tied up in the back because back in 1966 there wasn't any clothes that fit me. That is my small pox vaccine scab there on my wee little six-month-old arm.

Last time my people and the government and small pox came up together in the same conversation it was to give infected blankets to those on the reservations to kill them.

Yeah. there was zero trust, but everyone did it anyway.

2020, locked down rolled in....and issued in a hell I hope to never have to visit again. Watching the elderly in my care mentally stew in anguish ..."My daughter doesn't come visit me anymore...is she mad at me?" breaks into sobs. 

Me unable to hug her and comfort her crying behind my mask. Night after night, turning into weeks after weeks, until it was too late and she went to her grave thinking her loving daughter abandoned her.

Watching my own child plunge into a depression as the isolation physically separated her from her mates.  Online schooling and therapy were a poor substitute.  But at least she was in a safe place. She had a home, food and an abuse free environment.  The huge decrease of reported cases of child abuse...tells me many children gained the title of survivor.

I took that covid vaccine for my residents so they could have those unreplaceable moments with their families again. I took it so my children could once again go out and get on with life. I took it for those children who NEED to get out of their houses and into school where they have a chance to report what is happening to them. 

I did it...for all of us.

Seen *Trigger warning*

 Whoa its been a hot minute since I've blogged. Menopause is evidentially kryptonite for my writers muse.

Common cough up something old woman.

***************trigger warning - abuse aftermath discussion*********************

Twice recently I was pointed out and honored for the work I do in my job.

My soul glitches a bit, like a dog petted the wrong way when the spot light swivels and catches me.

I like to be invisible. A quite person gliding through life unnoticed.

Why? 

That easy.

My past has left permanently scarred.  If I was seen...I was visible and the abusers could find me and hurt me. School hood bullies couldn't torment me if I was inviable in the shadows. 

Being invisible was a coping skill.  Imagine being in chronic mental pain from abuse and no one seeing you.

no one seeing the pain that you were in...

No one stopping to notice the blood weeping from the cuts on your arms. All those little red mouths in your skin screaming and no one hearing anything...

lost and alone, while everyone around you not seeing you ...ignored you, until they had need of your body.

It doesn't start as a coping skill. It starts as a wickedly painful realization. No one can see the pain your in....and worse no one is going to come to help you or save you.

no one cares your soul is fracturing and dying agonizing deaths.

oh make no mistake we want to be seen. We want to be helped, we want to be saved, We want the danger to away. To have the free floating feeling leave our hearts, we want to be grounded and planted and be accepted as a member of the human race.

and when we try to be we are savagely brutalized, and used like trash.

Abuse victims just come to the understanding.. we are invisible. This brings a calmness to the chaos.

If we are invisible, people are suppose to ignore us, not see us, leave us alone.

as simple as that, our young brains add order WHERE NONE SHOULD BE. 

I know for me I skirted and dodged recognition like a gold medalist. In the years Richard and I worked together a frequent thing I heard him say was, "Paja, you are the hardest person to give a complement too." 

I was too. I didn't like how it made me feel.

It made me feel ....seen.

It was disturbing to suddenly materialize in the sunny world from my dark shadowed world.

We never dissected that and look at it deeper, he and I had more pressing things to do. Like keep me alive.

I would work on that later on the message boards, and in helping others with the same issue, I learned why it ruffled me so.

At the very, very primal level, being complemented pinged the hidden part of me that claimed I was invisible. A bright blazing light screaming down into my soul burning that thought from my head; and replacing it with a new one:

You are not invisible ...you never were, people saw what was going on and they CHOOSE TO DO NOTHING.

This is why I would cringe and skirt complements/acknowledgement. Shrug them off and refuse to accept them.

you're telling me the sky is blue after I spent my whole life thinking it was green? 

I can't breath in this world where I am seen.

I. 

can't .

breath.

no one is coming for me...I am left here to linger in this dark place ...they are looking riiiiiight at me and choosing not to see me.

Iz onwee four.  to widdle to safe my selfs. Weft in the darness wif no lanturn.

Weeve us be. weeve us unseen...it hurts less.

But no.

Life continues to see me. Occasionally, quietly laying awards and recognition at my feet.

I no longer flinch away or feel that lost ancient pain.

It was a quietly understanding one day not long ago.

That the people honoring me....were a different bunch. These amazing people with the brilliant hearts and their kind words...they belonged to the tribe of people WHO WOULD HAVE CHOOSEN TO DO SOMETHING. 

Seeing me now, validates me all the way through my system to the blubbery-sobby-snot nosed messed up little one at my core.

And I perk up rather than cringe away... taking another step on my healing journey.

PPE 2020

I think I handle having to use PPE (that's personal protective equipment) better than most of the new to healthcare workers, because I was there when the AIDS epidemic happened.

At that time we were all working bare handed. There were no gloves in nursing homes.

We had nothing to use and no idea how the HIV virus was being transferred. That fear of not knowing when that virus was going to gobble us up, was terrifying. We faced that virus bare handed, no masks to gowns no face shields.

It was a lot.

I'm not as alarmed this pandemic. I just know what I need to do and that's protect myself, my residents, wash my hands don't touch my face and don't touch any body fluid that isn't mine.

The fear isn't there, I went through that the last time, I know this time just focus on prevention.

Stressing and worrying doesn't help. When you can't see your enemy, just fortify your castle walls.

By the numbers * *TRIGGER FOR SELF INJURY DISCUSSION* *

As I jotted down the hash marks in my therapy journal...I wasn't completely honest... mostly because I didn't want Richard to think I was a lunatic...even though I had told him I needed to be in therapy because I was a lunatic.

The X's represented episodes of self injury for that year.

Mind you, in the dark days the self injury was constant. 

Like daily, all day, during the waking hours. 

I can't even stress how much self inflicted violence I inflicted on my self over the years. 

It is STAGGERING.

I have hundred of burn scars. 

HUNDREDS.

But the numbers have no meaning. 

It's not the number of injuries that counts in the end, its the number of times I didn't.

I had started working on roping in the SIV (self inflicted violence) long before I headed out into therapy.  As I aged and got further and further away from what triggered the behavior in the first place, I could see I needed to change.

To show Richard how often I was injuring I jotted down that list you see above. 

Keeping track suddenly became a thing. Prior to this I didn't keep track. It was a very helpful too l for me to SEE it on paper like this.

Also for me to kinda track my progress as I learned healthier coping skill and put them into place. It became a sad thing to have to open my therapy journal and add a new x. I focused on those stinking numbers some days. Wondering ...have I lived like this so long I can never heal?

Time rolled on and did my 3 month stretch of no injuring. First time I had even been injury free for that length of time in forever. Bounding off that I set the goal of one year.

I recorded my wins along side my losses.

That X  list ends in 2000.

Life had smoothed out and I was in a loving safe environment and my non-injuring streak made it up to seven years before I again burned.

I dug our my old tattered therapy book to add that episodes X.

I stared for a long time at that page. My mind milling over old memories...old numbers.

But the numbers have no meaning. 

It's not the number of injuries that counts in the end, its the number of times I didn't.

I capped my pen and shut my journal without adding the new X.

Later when my burn was cleaned and bandaged, I grabbed a piece of paper and began dissecting the events that lead up to and contributed to the SIV episode.  

This injury wasn't a sign of failure. It was a sign there was still some work to be done.

I no longer keep a count of length between injuries either.

I no longer need that. 

I will always live with SIV. When it crops up I slow down and look to see what is off  and needs addressed in my life...what I need to do to put that old dusty coping skill back in it's mental box in the back of my head.