I wake

from the liquid dream world
to the sound of my name
who is me calling me?
Husband asleep on my shoulder
my children don't call me by my name
just my title

Yet from deep deep in the dream time
someone calls me
P___
I jerk free of the heavy slumber tethers
lean up
shake my head
ear cocked

Who calls me
in my sleep
what part of me is calling me?

Had I wandered too close to the edge
of the abyss in my slumber?
was I playing in the cross roads?
Had death come in and taken my hand?

Or is it the rightful owner of the name
calling it back?
They have failed again,
I wake

and it is still mine.

still off line (trigger)

Boy, wasn't I funner to know when I was a mystery? Pre-blog when you just thought I was a mysterious moody eccentric woman? Back when you didn't know my head was a swirling vortex of inanity?

I am fighting a vicious upswing of suicidal thoughts tonight. The kind that gnaw relentless at me with ideas like, just stop all you medication....eventually the rising thyroid labs will kill you in a very, very unpleasant way...and no one will know you offed yourself.

Not one drop of blood spilled.

Big tears tonight. not the endless weepies, but just profoundly sad ones that roll slowly down my face and I realize, I will never be at peace. I can't be saved. I can't be healed.

I'm a fucked up mess.

My childhood has damaged me. No amount of therapy can undo the very real mental changes that happened. There are no happy pills to erase the damage done to me.

No amount of burning or cutting will excise the wounds from my soul.

I feel like I am free falling....just waiting for the rope to go taunt and snap my neck.

Wind rushing past me.

my life spiraling out of control.

The more pain I am in the worse it gets.

I can only fight one at a time.

My head or my body.

When they both gang up on me, I crumble. I fight internally and bits and pieces of me get snuffed and assassinated.

my husband is not home tonight. Clear on the other side of the state.  I need my keeper to come home and hold me. I need to fall asleep in his arms and pretend everything is alright. That life is worth living despite all the madness in it.

Ativan and to bed I go.

Another night wasted and washed away with tears.

Rage (trigger - I'm writing to the pain I am in)

Hurting something fierce tonight.

But do I take the last Vicodin I have?

No.

Do I call the doctor?

No.

Do I go to the ER?

No.

why?

If you're not bleeding, stop crying.

Ghostly words from the past.

I grew up watching my mother ignore everyone's pain.

To have her abuse me and ignore the injuries I came to her with.

Fell as a teenager on the oval round step stones in the front yard. Inch and 1/2 DEEP gash across my knee. In-need-of-stitches-deep.

She looks under the bloody wash cloth. Grimaces and says, "Yup, needs stitches. But it isn't going to show, so just tape it."

you wicked bitch...are you saying I am invisible? that no one can see me?

 I see that scar every day. EVERY DAMN DAY YOU BITCH. I DOES TOO SHOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Older sister twist ankle. Beautiful shades of angry purple-blue. Ace wrap and crutches.

not long after that I slip in the kitchen and wrench my foot in the arch area....I felt something tear.  I craw to her on hands and knees.

hands and knees

She looks at my foot.

"Its not bruising, so there is nothing wrong with it."

FUCK YOU DR. MAMA.....and your X-ray vision....I crawl away.

.....the torn ligaments never heal. My foot permanently jacked up.

I run 4 seasons of cross-country on that foot before a coach even stops to ask why I limp after practice. He looks at my foot and says. "Go straight home and show your parents."

yeah....yeah, right coach. She already said there was nothing wrong, and I just saw her make my father go to work in hideous pain.

I have had it pounded into my soul that the only pain one can be in is the kind you can see.

blood = pain.

Even then....shit....that is not enough.....a limb must be dangling by tendons.

I am afraid to go for help....

I am afraid of having the ER staff tell me they can't find a reason for my pain.

I AM AFRAID

I am afraid that I will let the pain get to the point I will take a crow bar and attempt to amputate my foot. I would rather face that then face a doctor echoing mama's words.

So I crimp around the house tonight in sheer agony. Tortured by the numb toes and plantar fasciitis in my right foot. Unable to seek help because of a ghost in my head. I am bleeping 49 years old and I can't even over come this. Why hasn't some evil organization drafted my mother into its ranks? Surely her brainwashing skills are the envy of all.

Sticks and stones will break my bones,

but words will never harm me. 

 

Wanna bet on that?

Soup

My brain is soup today.

I made it two days on the increased buspar dose. By the evening of day three, about an hour before I was suppose to take the dose the extrapyramidal side effects started up in my face again. Then I was hit with a sudden wave of hostility. Just out of control anger and aggressive urges to lash out.

Which sadly I ended up doing later that night. I was trying to nap before work and next thing I know I am bashing my face with the dumbbell I use to hold the curtain down.

Sigh.

Why do I have to be so sensitive to medications? why??

I had two days of peace and quiet in my head and then back to the chaos. The increased dose is where I should be. It was working. it was working damn it...

On the physical front, the nerve pain in my hand and feet is maxing out my ability to handle being in that much pain. It is nearing the "the hell with it I'm going to the ER range."

I have one Vicodin left that I am saving incase I can't function at work and need it to make it through my shift. I have requested a refill, but not heard back.

Today my toes felt like they were not getting any blood and were hurting like a bastard. My right hand was numb and having this weird sensation of electrical currents zapping though it. I couldn't take it and I took a Lyrica.

....and that made my brain turn to mush and the muscle pain in my jaw (extrapyramidal side effect, from the buspar dose last week) suddenly re-appear.  Which frightens me as those side effects can be permanent.

sigh....so ready for winter to be over. My old rickety joints can't handle this cold dampness.

Been cleaning all day to keep my hands busy and my mind focused. It ain't spring but I am going to pretend it is and do some deep cleaning. Feels good to have a clean house.

I will finish the story when my mind isn't soupy.

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!!

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.

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.