I have a level of anxiety that few people can understand or accommodate for. The long distance staring I do several times a day for many years now is my way of processing the anxiety laden thoughts I have running through my mind all day long, every day.
I can't escape these thoughts. I can't simply redirect my mind onto a new and better flow of emotions with a simple thought or change of pattern of behavior. These thoughts have never left me since my teenage years and as an adult, I've learned to cope with them in ways most people can't understand.
With my mental health problems, which include Bipolar Disorder Axis II, PTSD, generalized severe anxiety disorder, insomnia of unknown origin, post-partum depression and self awareness issues, being a parent of an ADHD child and having another on the autism spectrum becomes a daily feat of willpower for myself and my two daughters.
My youngest has impulse control issues and ADHD. I fight with her and redirect and console and focus her attention more times per day than I could count on hands and feet. I try my best to not let her get to me, not let her sheer stubborn and unafraid personality take control of the situation.
I'll admit, some days I lose that battle.
My oldest is definitely on the autism spectrum but she is a brilliant, free spirited and intelligent child who will one day amaze me with her ability to change her surroundings to fit her needs without interrupting the needs of others.
She is smart....crazy smart. I do my best to nurture and boost that self esteem she has and try to open her eyes to the world around her so she can be more open about what life has to offer her besides what is in her head.
It's a daily battle to get her to redirect to reality instead of the usual wandering off into her own world inside her head.
I try, I really do try. I try so hard every day and battle my own demons constantly, hour after hour, minute after minute, my mind telling me I'm not good enough to be a human.
Throw in the toddler daughters and the ADHD and bipolar husband and we have a sweet mix of crazy going on in our home.
It's rough sometimes, I will be the first to freely admit such a thing. At the same time, I am ashamed I can't be a normal mother with organizational skills, a busy schedule that isn't considered a hindrance and the ability to socialize and the WANT to do so.
Yet, I cannot change who I am, who I am chemically balanced to be. And with that chemical imbalance comes a need to stop and process the thoughts that are, literally, running a million miles a second through my mind and let the process of retention and attention and action and memory all make their way into the string of running thoughts and line them up, put them into neat categories for me so I can finally focus on the task at hand again. To do this, I stare off into space, it's not a particular thing I focus on, I just stare while I let my thoughts flash before my eyes and get neatly categorized and organized as needed. Once it finishes, once the thoughts and ideas start to slow and be less of an affront to my prefrontal cortex, I can start to function again.
It's tough to get the time in to do this particular technique of mine...and on some days, I really just can't do it. Those are the days when my high energy daughters and husband really start to grate on my last nerve and Mommy starts to lose her shit.
In other words, I have so much going on in my head that having any input from the outside world makes me start to lose focus, I get overwhelmed, frustrated, thoughts start moving so fast I can't breathe or organize anything and then it goes blank in my head....
and the anger and frustration roll in.
So, the long distance staring is beneficial. It's NECESSARY for me to actually function and cope throughout the day.
Now I just need to get it down to a shorter process so I have the time to do so with my rambunctious family of ADHD diagnosed individuals.
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Sunday, October 22, 2017
The Mind is Willing But the Body is Not Lending...
I wander lost and lonely, unable to heal my soul on my own. As hard as I may try, my mind plays tricks on me, repeating over and over how terrible a person I am, how no matter what I do, I will never be enough or be able to do enough to make my existence worth while. Everyday, every single fucking day, my mind tells me I am not worth the flesh I am printed on, the stardust I am made of is worth more than my self is and that despite my best efforts and big hearted ways no one will remember or miss me.
A deep depressive rut of existence...a mere chemical imbalance in my brain causing me to swing from thoughts of suicide to thoughts of homicide is what makes me so sad. I can't control it. I can't deny it. I can barely hide it.
And I can't escape it.
It's a difficult reality, when you really think it through. I can barely rely on my own body to do as my mind asks it to and then for my mind to tell me the thoughts I have to move and do things and be something are worth nothing at all.
The mind is willing and wanting but the body refuses to be lending. Daily, I struggle with being a mother who can barely remember to care for herself but teach my daughters to be strong and confident and real and humane.
I make a point to ask them not only if school was good but if they were good people at school today. I often have my toddler remind me that she has trouble not fighting when people make her angry. It's like looking in a mirror and my own coping mechanisms of disassociative behavior isn't a healthy road for her to go down. I know from personal experience she needs to learn to grow and remain calm and center herself before she lets her ever broadening strength of emotion lash out and react.
Think first. Act second. Speak third. I tell them both this, every day when they get home from school.
Then I struggle to be a reliable partner in a relationship where we went from having sexual intimacy multiple times a day to we barely get one or two good ones in during the week. My sex drive has not diminished but the amount of pain I've had to deal with has changed....it's risen exponentially and it's become harder and harder to function. Just to be. I can't expect my husband to do everything needed around the house and take care of our girls AND me.
I feel selfish and indignant every time I have to admit defeat and just lie still on the couch, hoping for a better day, a burst of energy, something....ANYTHING to make me feel more like the me I remember being before this.
I recently in the past month or so found out most of my menstrual health issues have been from an infection of my endometrial lining that I apparently acquired not long after my second daughter was born...that was four years ago. I finished the antibiotics for it just yesterday and I already feel more "normal", more me, than I have in years.
This was shocking news and a painful truth to swallow and deal with. The medication to heal me made me feel even worse. 10 days of taking a drug that causes such a horrendous taste in your mouth you don't even want to swallow your own saliva. It's truly a ghastly taste that shouldn't belong in your mouth for any reason but there it is. Then the stomach ache, the nausea, the sheer will to NOT vomit is what helped me make it through the entire course.
I have my menstrual cycle going on again and it's more regular than it's been for so long. I hate it so. It drains me. It lies to me. It tells me I'm feeling better, the pain is subsiding, get up and do something while you can. Or at least while you feel like you can. Then your legs almost give out on you and your husband is so fearful for your health he is offering to call 911 or a best friend to take you to the ER on a painful Saturday night.
I told him no. I explained to him that this was my normalcy for my cycle and that it hasn't been this way since BEFORE I met him. I even told him to call my mom.
I know he worries about me in ways I feel I can only worry. I mean, fuck, I worry about myself when I'm alone or trying to walk across the kitchen with hot coffee. I don't want to burn myself by spilling just because my body doesn't always react when I tell it to. It doesn't always do what my brain tells it to do. Add in a lack of sensation in my right foot and most of my outer lower right leg is numb when I stand.
It's a scary reality to live in, one where you can't even be sure that you are in control of yourself, both mentally and physically.
My mental health has taken a turn for the worse because of the pain and frustration and aggravation caused by my uterus that has somehow spread to every other aspect of my life. I feel cut off and alone. As though I don't exist.
No one talks to me. No one says anything to me. No one calls or texts or messages just because they're checking up on me just because. I really honestly thought I had good friends....all those years I wasted. All that love I poured out with no rhyme or reason or possibility of return. I lost a piece of myself over those years.
And I can't be sure I want to get it back even if I could. I was so naive and let myself be. Just another reason to hate who you are, right?!
My relationships are strained, I can barely stand up straight and I'm anemic from fighting a four year uterine infection.
I'm weak and worn down....and just want someone to hug me and hold me and tell me it's going to be okay, eventually....just be patient.
See, the rational portion of my brain knows I will have good days again, that it will be okay again. But the irrational part of my brain has a much louder and more pronounced voice when it speaks to me about my failures, misfortunes and bad choices in my life.
I can never win. I can fight and I can try but winning isn't what I'm after. I'm after longevity. My father left me, WILLFULLY, a month before my 16th birthday after making a promise not more than a few months prior that he would do anything to be there for my graduation from high school (first and only daughter of four who graduated high school....with honors...still to this day).
I've told my daughters repeatedly that I would not leave them willfully...ever. I promised them both when they were born...I will always try for them.
My husband tells me I haven't failed him because I AM still trying and I haven't given up, yet.
Some days....in all fairness, I'm closer than I should be and other days, I'm not close enough to care.
When the mind is willing but the body is not lending it causes certain grief of ones self. Grieving the loss of what you used to be and do before your disease took over and robbed you of everything you had ever hoped for...
For yourself, anyway.
A deep depressive rut of existence...a mere chemical imbalance in my brain causing me to swing from thoughts of suicide to thoughts of homicide is what makes me so sad. I can't control it. I can't deny it. I can barely hide it.
And I can't escape it.
It's a difficult reality, when you really think it through. I can barely rely on my own body to do as my mind asks it to and then for my mind to tell me the thoughts I have to move and do things and be something are worth nothing at all.
The mind is willing and wanting but the body refuses to be lending. Daily, I struggle with being a mother who can barely remember to care for herself but teach my daughters to be strong and confident and real and humane.
I make a point to ask them not only if school was good but if they were good people at school today. I often have my toddler remind me that she has trouble not fighting when people make her angry. It's like looking in a mirror and my own coping mechanisms of disassociative behavior isn't a healthy road for her to go down. I know from personal experience she needs to learn to grow and remain calm and center herself before she lets her ever broadening strength of emotion lash out and react.
Think first. Act second. Speak third. I tell them both this, every day when they get home from school.
Then I struggle to be a reliable partner in a relationship where we went from having sexual intimacy multiple times a day to we barely get one or two good ones in during the week. My sex drive has not diminished but the amount of pain I've had to deal with has changed....it's risen exponentially and it's become harder and harder to function. Just to be. I can't expect my husband to do everything needed around the house and take care of our girls AND me.
I feel selfish and indignant every time I have to admit defeat and just lie still on the couch, hoping for a better day, a burst of energy, something....ANYTHING to make me feel more like the me I remember being before this.
I recently in the past month or so found out most of my menstrual health issues have been from an infection of my endometrial lining that I apparently acquired not long after my second daughter was born...that was four years ago. I finished the antibiotics for it just yesterday and I already feel more "normal", more me, than I have in years.
This was shocking news and a painful truth to swallow and deal with. The medication to heal me made me feel even worse. 10 days of taking a drug that causes such a horrendous taste in your mouth you don't even want to swallow your own saliva. It's truly a ghastly taste that shouldn't belong in your mouth for any reason but there it is. Then the stomach ache, the nausea, the sheer will to NOT vomit is what helped me make it through the entire course.
I have my menstrual cycle going on again and it's more regular than it's been for so long. I hate it so. It drains me. It lies to me. It tells me I'm feeling better, the pain is subsiding, get up and do something while you can. Or at least while you feel like you can. Then your legs almost give out on you and your husband is so fearful for your health he is offering to call 911 or a best friend to take you to the ER on a painful Saturday night.
I told him no. I explained to him that this was my normalcy for my cycle and that it hasn't been this way since BEFORE I met him. I even told him to call my mom.
I know he worries about me in ways I feel I can only worry. I mean, fuck, I worry about myself when I'm alone or trying to walk across the kitchen with hot coffee. I don't want to burn myself by spilling just because my body doesn't always react when I tell it to. It doesn't always do what my brain tells it to do. Add in a lack of sensation in my right foot and most of my outer lower right leg is numb when I stand.
It's a scary reality to live in, one where you can't even be sure that you are in control of yourself, both mentally and physically.
My mental health has taken a turn for the worse because of the pain and frustration and aggravation caused by my uterus that has somehow spread to every other aspect of my life. I feel cut off and alone. As though I don't exist.
No one talks to me. No one says anything to me. No one calls or texts or messages just because they're checking up on me just because. I really honestly thought I had good friends....all those years I wasted. All that love I poured out with no rhyme or reason or possibility of return. I lost a piece of myself over those years.
And I can't be sure I want to get it back even if I could. I was so naive and let myself be. Just another reason to hate who you are, right?!
My relationships are strained, I can barely stand up straight and I'm anemic from fighting a four year uterine infection.
I'm weak and worn down....and just want someone to hug me and hold me and tell me it's going to be okay, eventually....just be patient.
See, the rational portion of my brain knows I will have good days again, that it will be okay again. But the irrational part of my brain has a much louder and more pronounced voice when it speaks to me about my failures, misfortunes and bad choices in my life.
I can never win. I can fight and I can try but winning isn't what I'm after. I'm after longevity. My father left me, WILLFULLY, a month before my 16th birthday after making a promise not more than a few months prior that he would do anything to be there for my graduation from high school (first and only daughter of four who graduated high school....with honors...still to this day).
I've told my daughters repeatedly that I would not leave them willfully...ever. I promised them both when they were born...I will always try for them.
My husband tells me I haven't failed him because I AM still trying and I haven't given up, yet.
Some days....in all fairness, I'm closer than I should be and other days, I'm not close enough to care.
When the mind is willing but the body is not lending it causes certain grief of ones self. Grieving the loss of what you used to be and do before your disease took over and robbed you of everything you had ever hoped for...
For yourself, anyway.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
Why am I a "survivor"? Why can't I just be me?
I had a conversation with an acquaintance not so long ago. This conversation went down a road that I often am very uncomfortable to travel despite knowing every crack, crevice, bump, curve, hill and valley of this horrifying path of past tragedy I can't seem to get away from no matter how hard I try.
It isn't as though I'm terribly uncomfortable reminding myself of what it is that has made me who I am today, what I, apparently, "endured" to become myself. It's the endless heartfelt sympathy and empathy that pours off of people when I tell them about my sordid past and everything it is I am supposedly so very brave and strong to have come through and become, in spite of it all.
I don't see it as enduring. I don't see it as being a survivor? I mean, yes, in the sense of the definition of the word "survivor" I would probably be a poster child for anyone wanting or needing to learn that word. My picture mine as well be put right next to it in the dictionary.
But that isn't how I feel. Survive, yes, you do what you have to do to survive when you're forced into situations that are less than ideal for your sanity and well being growing up and developing into an adult. There are things that no child or young adult/teen/preteen should ever have to be a part of or be involved in but when you are that child, that young adult and you are forced into such a situation you either learn to survive and eventually thrive or you die. And I don't mean that figuratively. Adults who were children of dysfunctional families have an increased risk of suicidal tendencies than those of rather normal social standard upbringings. And yes, it really is that simple. You either learn to live through that kind of daily and routine mental and or physical and or emotional trauma or you end up dead, on the inside or entirely ceasing to exist. It's that simple. And to be honest, if you have a will to live, be it from an outside source or your own internal drive from dreams and aspirations you have, you learn to survive so you eventually can thrive.
You learn to cope and to live. No, the coping mechanisms are NOT always healthy and yes, sometimes we can be led astray and get caught up in illicit drugs or illegal dealings but given the right guidance, the right hand to hold...we can find a healthy and productive path in life to become what we really truly are and not just be a survivor.
Don't get me wrong. I am proud to be known as a survivor given my long frustrating, abusive and often mentally detrimental family history but I wouldn't change any of it for the world. Everything I went through made me into the person I am today. The beautifully strong and capable, independent, loving and slightly crazy person I am today.
There have been times where I didn't want to have to deal with the memories. I had wished for a different past, wished and wanted and prayed for a different background, a different upbringing, a better start to life but thinking back now, as an adult, where would that have gotten me? Where would I have ended up if I had been given so much more than what I had been given as a child and young adult growing up?
I know for certain I wouldn't be the strong and mostly confident woman I am today. I wouldn't be the gentle mother who is doing everything she can to nurture her children and help them grow in positive and productive ways. I wouldn't be the woman who is trying her damndest to make her marriage work despite all the rough and tumultuous times we have already been through in our only six years of being together.
I wouldn't be me!
I guess, the thing I'm trying to get people to understand is, don't show me the significant amount of empathy and sympathy you have for me when you find out who I am and what made me who I am. Don't remind me of how terrible it really was. Show me how PROUD you are of me for going through it and still being here. Be proud that I haven't turned to murder or addictive drug abuse. Show me that, not the sadness you feel as soon as you hear my tale.
All that does is make me cry inside, it makes it hurt inside in places I don't want to hurt again. Reopening wounds is never fun and when someone you're talking to shows you such sympathy and sadness and true regret that anyone could treat such a soft and gentle person as me with such outright hate and anger and meanness show me how happy you are that I am happy.
Seeing you cry, makes me cry and sadness brings me nothing when I'm trying to show you how brave and strong I really am. Show me happiness and don't be wowed by the amount I've survived...don't show me that. The shock doesn't help me any.
Just show me love and pride and happiness. I know I'm a survivor already. I know it sucked and was hell to go through...I was there remember?
Show me love. And I'll show you how I learned to love with every ounce of my being...yes, in spite of it all.
It isn't as though I'm terribly uncomfortable reminding myself of what it is that has made me who I am today, what I, apparently, "endured" to become myself. It's the endless heartfelt sympathy and empathy that pours off of people when I tell them about my sordid past and everything it is I am supposedly so very brave and strong to have come through and become, in spite of it all.
I don't see it as enduring. I don't see it as being a survivor? I mean, yes, in the sense of the definition of the word "survivor" I would probably be a poster child for anyone wanting or needing to learn that word. My picture mine as well be put right next to it in the dictionary.
But that isn't how I feel. Survive, yes, you do what you have to do to survive when you're forced into situations that are less than ideal for your sanity and well being growing up and developing into an adult. There are things that no child or young adult/teen/preteen should ever have to be a part of or be involved in but when you are that child, that young adult and you are forced into such a situation you either learn to survive and eventually thrive or you die. And I don't mean that figuratively. Adults who were children of dysfunctional families have an increased risk of suicidal tendencies than those of rather normal social standard upbringings. And yes, it really is that simple. You either learn to live through that kind of daily and routine mental and or physical and or emotional trauma or you end up dead, on the inside or entirely ceasing to exist. It's that simple. And to be honest, if you have a will to live, be it from an outside source or your own internal drive from dreams and aspirations you have, you learn to survive so you eventually can thrive.
You learn to cope and to live. No, the coping mechanisms are NOT always healthy and yes, sometimes we can be led astray and get caught up in illicit drugs or illegal dealings but given the right guidance, the right hand to hold...we can find a healthy and productive path in life to become what we really truly are and not just be a survivor.
Don't get me wrong. I am proud to be known as a survivor given my long frustrating, abusive and often mentally detrimental family history but I wouldn't change any of it for the world. Everything I went through made me into the person I am today. The beautifully strong and capable, independent, loving and slightly crazy person I am today.
There have been times where I didn't want to have to deal with the memories. I had wished for a different past, wished and wanted and prayed for a different background, a different upbringing, a better start to life but thinking back now, as an adult, where would that have gotten me? Where would I have ended up if I had been given so much more than what I had been given as a child and young adult growing up?
I know for certain I wouldn't be the strong and mostly confident woman I am today. I wouldn't be the gentle mother who is doing everything she can to nurture her children and help them grow in positive and productive ways. I wouldn't be the woman who is trying her damndest to make her marriage work despite all the rough and tumultuous times we have already been through in our only six years of being together.
I wouldn't be me!
I guess, the thing I'm trying to get people to understand is, don't show me the significant amount of empathy and sympathy you have for me when you find out who I am and what made me who I am. Don't remind me of how terrible it really was. Show me how PROUD you are of me for going through it and still being here. Be proud that I haven't turned to murder or addictive drug abuse. Show me that, not the sadness you feel as soon as you hear my tale.
All that does is make me cry inside, it makes it hurt inside in places I don't want to hurt again. Reopening wounds is never fun and when someone you're talking to shows you such sympathy and sadness and true regret that anyone could treat such a soft and gentle person as me with such outright hate and anger and meanness show me how happy you are that I am happy.
Seeing you cry, makes me cry and sadness brings me nothing when I'm trying to show you how brave and strong I really am. Show me happiness and don't be wowed by the amount I've survived...don't show me that. The shock doesn't help me any.
Just show me love and pride and happiness. I know I'm a survivor already. I know it sucked and was hell to go through...I was there remember?
Show me love. And I'll show you how I learned to love with every ounce of my being...yes, in spite of it all.
Thursday, July 6, 2017
How Do You Explain Pain?
I'm in more pain than I have been for years, most of which is stemming from my low back. I have a deep aching burn that is sharp and irritated with every bending, turning or twisting motion, every single position change, every movement that requires a pivot in my lumbar region of any kind causes this pain.
Some days are worse than others of course. Some days I can't even THINK about bending down to pick something up. It's bad enough my daughters and husband have begun to notice my bad days because I will literally stare at something on the floor and have to will myself to bend over and pick it up. Those days suck....so bad....
A frequent phrase I utter, "Bending is so overrated".
It's become almost imperative for me to be able to pick up even the smallest or slimmest of objects with my toes so I can bring the object up to the level of my hands without having to bend in the middle. My girls think it's a fascinating super power and have tried numerous times to copy my movements but they haven't got the dexterity down in their toes yet.
My husband thinks the amount of dexterity I have in my toes and the fashion in which I use them is a little disturbing.
Disturbing? Maybe. Super power? Definitely not. Unusual use of toes? Probably. Useful tool? OMG YES!
I have noticed a change in my lifestyle over the years due to having to adapt from pain issues.
I no longer sleep on my back, I will wake up almost instantly if I happen to roll into said position during sleep. I have myself positioned to reach to my right most of the time because leaning/reaching to the left is more painful. I am usually hunched forward to alleviate back pain.
I've learned to adapt to my surroundings and have my surroundings adapted for me. I try REALLY hard to NOT keep important things in low cabinets, drawers, shelves and such, things I use regularly and often become irritated when I have to bend for the umpteenth time to get are put in a position I can easily reach without issue.
My husband has noticed this and adapted his own living arrangements and lifestyle to help coexist better with me. My daughters know better than to ask mommy to grab something off the floor for them and noticeably offer to pick things up for me without my having to ask.
My sex life is lacking from when we first got together and not because of our kids. Today, in fact, I told my husband that I feel like a shitty human being because I can't keep up with him and the kids. I just haven't the energy at the end of the day to get sexually excited because that's a physical feat most people my age don't understand or even notice. It requires so much more energy than I feel I have most days and my hubs is trying so hard to be understanding but a big part of our lives is the hypersexuality from the bipolar we both share diagnoses of.
I'm at a point in this pain filled world of mine I often find myself hating my body and I will tell it as much. I hate that the neurological disease I have is making it so my hands don't always work, I drop things often even if I had a tight grip on the object only a few moments prior. My right foot doesn't always respond to lift up when I'm walking and I have tripped and fallen so many times because of this. If I don't really focus on walking I will trip and fall. It's infuriating. I can't feel most of the top portion of my right foot, from toes to about the middle of my foot....it's mostly numb.
I lost sensation in my right big toe years ago and was told after my spinal surgery to remove the cyst I had on my right sciatic nerve root that perhaps the sensations would come back and that, in fact, I had a very good chance of that happening....and yet the numbness continues.
I have a creepy crawly, almost like little bitty ants crawling up and down my legs, feeling on days my nerves are super inflamed from weather, fibromyalgia or whatever that day brings me.
I moved an hour and a half north of my hometown in Milwaukee back in April. I have had to continue to see my regular physician down in Milwaukee because he and I cannot find another physician within a half hour's drive from here that not only takes my insurance but will also continue my care for me so I don't have to have an epic long day of traveling just to see my doctor every month.
My case isn't that horrendous and I've been seeing the same physician for almost two decades with no issues. And why? Because of all the crazy ass changes to our health care systems over the last two years many physicians are refusing to treat patients who have been on long term opioid pain control.
I've been using opioids for chronic back pain for almost 15 years and never have I lost a prescription, had a positive urine drug screen test for anything other than what I'm prescribed.
I have friends who think it's this great thing that I get pain medication like that and comment on how I am "lucky" or how great it must be to get to use it every day.
No. I don't get a chemical high from it. It's not some fun party drug I get to take and then enjoy the ride. No. It's a medication that if I DO NOT take it I CAN NOT function. It hurts too much to even move.
And I wouldn't consider myself fucking LUCKY. PLEASE?! What a fucking joke. Yea, I'm super lucky to have such a difficult pain control issue that a drug is the only thing that helps me feel well enough to be me.
Yes, my body is physically addicted to them to a degree but that's unavoidable. My dose has gone up and back down over the years but I've never been without them completely and I hate it.
I hate how I have to rely on this stupid man made form of heroin so I can feel "human" enough to function and take care of the daily needs and wants of myself and my family and friends.
Only those really close to me know what my bad days are like because when I'm having those really bad days, I don't interact with people outside of a small group of super close friends and family members.
Even my in laws don't know what it's like for me on my really bad days. And trying to explain all of this medical jargon to people who genuinely have little to no history or background or relative knowledge of medicine and physiology is more difficult than most could imagine.
I almost want to write it all out in pamphlet form and hand it to them and be all, "Here! Educate yourselves!". LOL
That might be rude or at least, considered rude. I wouldn't know. I wish I did.
How do you explain to someone that every day is different for you to such a degree that you really can't make express in advance plans.
It tires me out to explain this all to people and in the end, I don't even know if it helps.
All I know for sure, tomorrow is a new day.....
Some days are worse than others of course. Some days I can't even THINK about bending down to pick something up. It's bad enough my daughters and husband have begun to notice my bad days because I will literally stare at something on the floor and have to will myself to bend over and pick it up. Those days suck....so bad....
A frequent phrase I utter, "Bending is so overrated".
It's become almost imperative for me to be able to pick up even the smallest or slimmest of objects with my toes so I can bring the object up to the level of my hands without having to bend in the middle. My girls think it's a fascinating super power and have tried numerous times to copy my movements but they haven't got the dexterity down in their toes yet.
My husband thinks the amount of dexterity I have in my toes and the fashion in which I use them is a little disturbing.
Disturbing? Maybe. Super power? Definitely not. Unusual use of toes? Probably. Useful tool? OMG YES!
I have noticed a change in my lifestyle over the years due to having to adapt from pain issues.
I no longer sleep on my back, I will wake up almost instantly if I happen to roll into said position during sleep. I have myself positioned to reach to my right most of the time because leaning/reaching to the left is more painful. I am usually hunched forward to alleviate back pain.
I've learned to adapt to my surroundings and have my surroundings adapted for me. I try REALLY hard to NOT keep important things in low cabinets, drawers, shelves and such, things I use regularly and often become irritated when I have to bend for the umpteenth time to get are put in a position I can easily reach without issue.
My husband has noticed this and adapted his own living arrangements and lifestyle to help coexist better with me. My daughters know better than to ask mommy to grab something off the floor for them and noticeably offer to pick things up for me without my having to ask.
My sex life is lacking from when we first got together and not because of our kids. Today, in fact, I told my husband that I feel like a shitty human being because I can't keep up with him and the kids. I just haven't the energy at the end of the day to get sexually excited because that's a physical feat most people my age don't understand or even notice. It requires so much more energy than I feel I have most days and my hubs is trying so hard to be understanding but a big part of our lives is the hypersexuality from the bipolar we both share diagnoses of.
I'm at a point in this pain filled world of mine I often find myself hating my body and I will tell it as much. I hate that the neurological disease I have is making it so my hands don't always work, I drop things often even if I had a tight grip on the object only a few moments prior. My right foot doesn't always respond to lift up when I'm walking and I have tripped and fallen so many times because of this. If I don't really focus on walking I will trip and fall. It's infuriating. I can't feel most of the top portion of my right foot, from toes to about the middle of my foot....it's mostly numb.
I lost sensation in my right big toe years ago and was told after my spinal surgery to remove the cyst I had on my right sciatic nerve root that perhaps the sensations would come back and that, in fact, I had a very good chance of that happening....and yet the numbness continues.
I have a creepy crawly, almost like little bitty ants crawling up and down my legs, feeling on days my nerves are super inflamed from weather, fibromyalgia or whatever that day brings me.
I moved an hour and a half north of my hometown in Milwaukee back in April. I have had to continue to see my regular physician down in Milwaukee because he and I cannot find another physician within a half hour's drive from here that not only takes my insurance but will also continue my care for me so I don't have to have an epic long day of traveling just to see my doctor every month.
My case isn't that horrendous and I've been seeing the same physician for almost two decades with no issues. And why? Because of all the crazy ass changes to our health care systems over the last two years many physicians are refusing to treat patients who have been on long term opioid pain control.
I've been using opioids for chronic back pain for almost 15 years and never have I lost a prescription, had a positive urine drug screen test for anything other than what I'm prescribed.
I have friends who think it's this great thing that I get pain medication like that and comment on how I am "lucky" or how great it must be to get to use it every day.
No. I don't get a chemical high from it. It's not some fun party drug I get to take and then enjoy the ride. No. It's a medication that if I DO NOT take it I CAN NOT function. It hurts too much to even move.
And I wouldn't consider myself fucking LUCKY. PLEASE?! What a fucking joke. Yea, I'm super lucky to have such a difficult pain control issue that a drug is the only thing that helps me feel well enough to be me.
Yes, my body is physically addicted to them to a degree but that's unavoidable. My dose has gone up and back down over the years but I've never been without them completely and I hate it.
I hate how I have to rely on this stupid man made form of heroin so I can feel "human" enough to function and take care of the daily needs and wants of myself and my family and friends.
Only those really close to me know what my bad days are like because when I'm having those really bad days, I don't interact with people outside of a small group of super close friends and family members.
Even my in laws don't know what it's like for me on my really bad days. And trying to explain all of this medical jargon to people who genuinely have little to no history or background or relative knowledge of medicine and physiology is more difficult than most could imagine.
I almost want to write it all out in pamphlet form and hand it to them and be all, "Here! Educate yourselves!". LOL
That might be rude or at least, considered rude. I wouldn't know. I wish I did.
How do you explain to someone that every day is different for you to such a degree that you really can't make express in advance plans.
It tires me out to explain this all to people and in the end, I don't even know if it helps.
All I know for sure, tomorrow is a new day.....
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Opportunity knocked.....
My daughters, husband and I have been living with my two aunts, uncle and three cousins for about one year now. We were basically shut off from all of our friends because my aunts felt all of my friends were bad influences and drug dealers so they couldn't visit and since I had no vehicle to call my own and use at will, I never got to see my friends and therefore rarely got a reprieve from the insane ruling over my life by my aunts. It made for me and my husband and our girls to be cranky, moody, uneasy and dying to get away from it all at whatever cost I could afford.
Abruptly after an argument with my eldest and forever single aunt, DM we'll call her, I received a message from my youngest and married with two of her own children and one adopted daughter whom they were basically given by my only uncle on my mother's side, their own brother when she was still a baby, aunt whom we shall call AJ.
In this message I had been informed that I was a "lying and selfish little bitch" who was leaving her mother in her time of need (my mom is having total left hip replacement and I'm moving my family up to the Sheboygan area right around the beginning of April for both things). I was an unfit parent who could barely bathe, clean up after, feed or take care of my two daughters and should just let my aunts take them now so I don't fuck things up and get them taken away from me....
I have no history of this kind of negligence in any sense....this is entirely made up bullshit by DM just to get a rise out of me and my aunt AJ and therefore cause enough strife for me to be forcibly evicted from my home.
All of this began because my aunts asked if I had a place to move to and I informed them that my husband's parents had bought a home they were willing to rent out to us because in the last 18 months I was evicted, forced to live with my aunts, moved out of there and got all excited about moving back to Sheboygan, only to have my friend whom we moved to help out, bleed us dry of our entire savings which forced us to move back in with my aunts and wait for my husband's tax returns again because obviously my best friend had no intention of ever repaying us.
They were furious that I could not provide an address to said home. I was told I was a terrible parent for telling my children that we had a home to move into but it wasn't "real" yet and I was getting their hopes up and hurting them.
In the end, they "packed up" all of our belongings from our room the four of us shared in their basement into plastic garbage bags with no sense of organization or respect for our belongings. I had received one bag with nothing but glass objects all thrown into the bottom of the bag and then a collection of my books and other heavy things were put on top.
I have most of my belongings in a storage unit. I'm being told by my own family, my own blood, that I have a responsibility to take care of my disabled mother and be there for her every need now that she's having hip replacement surgery. This includes paying her back rent so she doesn't get evicted and affording whatever other things she may need be it food or whatever. I have to pay to have her bathroom redone, despite her having more than an adequate amount of money to do so on her own last December but instead of taking care of her bills she decided to go on a shopping spree for needless materialistic items. She also let my autistic sister go on an insane Yule shopping spree for my daughters and literally, spoil them to pieces with trinkets and other meaningless crap.
I can't do it. I won't do it. I can't sacrifice my entire family, the daughters I made with the husband I will always love just so my mom doesn't have to figure out how to budget her money right. Just so my aunt doesn't have to pay a little extra to take care of her nearly 12 year older sister who took care of her and her other younger sisters in a motherly way as soon as she was capable of it because her own mother, my grandmother, didn't want to have to "deal" with her children.
My mother was a live in caretaker and babysitter to her younger siblings from the time she was eight to the time she finally moved out of the house at 22 years old.
Explain to me how any of those women could possibly think it is my sole responsibility to care for my mother when I'm still trying to get a consistent life down for my OWN family?!
Why do they think that they have no reason for inputting any financial interest in taking care of their elderly and disabled sister? My mother has loved and cared for her sisters for years and suffered their terrible treatment and abuse for years....before she finally moved out and started her own life.
I have found....I have a need to do the same. With a heavy heart I must admit, I haven't spoken to my mother in nearly four days.....
this is very unusual and hurts me to say. But what pain should I suffer? Which pain is worse? That of my daughters not being raised in a stable home environment? Or allowing my blood relatives to hate me and use me as their negative scapegoat for all their worries and woes because I moved my family one hour away to a stable environment and life?
I can be hated......but seeing my girls and husband this happy makes me see the silver lining of this entire experience.
Freedom. Freedom to live. To flourish and to thrive.
Abruptly after an argument with my eldest and forever single aunt, DM we'll call her, I received a message from my youngest and married with two of her own children and one adopted daughter whom they were basically given by my only uncle on my mother's side, their own brother when she was still a baby, aunt whom we shall call AJ.
In this message I had been informed that I was a "lying and selfish little bitch" who was leaving her mother in her time of need (my mom is having total left hip replacement and I'm moving my family up to the Sheboygan area right around the beginning of April for both things). I was an unfit parent who could barely bathe, clean up after, feed or take care of my two daughters and should just let my aunts take them now so I don't fuck things up and get them taken away from me....
I have no history of this kind of negligence in any sense....this is entirely made up bullshit by DM just to get a rise out of me and my aunt AJ and therefore cause enough strife for me to be forcibly evicted from my home.
All of this began because my aunts asked if I had a place to move to and I informed them that my husband's parents had bought a home they were willing to rent out to us because in the last 18 months I was evicted, forced to live with my aunts, moved out of there and got all excited about moving back to Sheboygan, only to have my friend whom we moved to help out, bleed us dry of our entire savings which forced us to move back in with my aunts and wait for my husband's tax returns again because obviously my best friend had no intention of ever repaying us.
They were furious that I could not provide an address to said home. I was told I was a terrible parent for telling my children that we had a home to move into but it wasn't "real" yet and I was getting their hopes up and hurting them.
In the end, they "packed up" all of our belongings from our room the four of us shared in their basement into plastic garbage bags with no sense of organization or respect for our belongings. I had received one bag with nothing but glass objects all thrown into the bottom of the bag and then a collection of my books and other heavy things were put on top.
I have most of my belongings in a storage unit. I'm being told by my own family, my own blood, that I have a responsibility to take care of my disabled mother and be there for her every need now that she's having hip replacement surgery. This includes paying her back rent so she doesn't get evicted and affording whatever other things she may need be it food or whatever. I have to pay to have her bathroom redone, despite her having more than an adequate amount of money to do so on her own last December but instead of taking care of her bills she decided to go on a shopping spree for needless materialistic items. She also let my autistic sister go on an insane Yule shopping spree for my daughters and literally, spoil them to pieces with trinkets and other meaningless crap.
I can't do it. I won't do it. I can't sacrifice my entire family, the daughters I made with the husband I will always love just so my mom doesn't have to figure out how to budget her money right. Just so my aunt doesn't have to pay a little extra to take care of her nearly 12 year older sister who took care of her and her other younger sisters in a motherly way as soon as she was capable of it because her own mother, my grandmother, didn't want to have to "deal" with her children.
My mother was a live in caretaker and babysitter to her younger siblings from the time she was eight to the time she finally moved out of the house at 22 years old.
Explain to me how any of those women could possibly think it is my sole responsibility to care for my mother when I'm still trying to get a consistent life down for my OWN family?!
Why do they think that they have no reason for inputting any financial interest in taking care of their elderly and disabled sister? My mother has loved and cared for her sisters for years and suffered their terrible treatment and abuse for years....before she finally moved out and started her own life.
I have found....I have a need to do the same. With a heavy heart I must admit, I haven't spoken to my mother in nearly four days.....
this is very unusual and hurts me to say. But what pain should I suffer? Which pain is worse? That of my daughters not being raised in a stable home environment? Or allowing my blood relatives to hate me and use me as their negative scapegoat for all their worries and woes because I moved my family one hour away to a stable environment and life?
I can be hated......but seeing my girls and husband this happy makes me see the silver lining of this entire experience.
Freedom. Freedom to live. To flourish and to thrive.
Friday, April 7, 2017
I Couldn't Ask For More....
I have encountered so many people of different creed, color, religion, sexual orientation and whatnot throughout my life and so many of them have put themselves so deeply into my heart that I can't NOT feel for them to some degree regardless of the ways they have loved me...and wronged me.
I have a deep seeded need to help people. I have worked as a CNA, a medical receptionist, a medical transcriptionist, a customer service representative, an administrative assistant at a nursing home...the want I feel to help people in any way I possibly can runs deep in my veins and I feel as though it is hardwired into my genetics.
I would, literally, give someone the shirt off my back if I felt they absolutely needed it...without thinking twice about the consequences I would endure after.
Self preservation is something I lack. It is something I know very little of and have been working on with my therapist as of late.
It comes from my background, my upbringing, the way I was raised and the need I had to adapt to my surroundings as a young child so my sister and I could thrive, to some degree, in the hellish, nightmare of a world we grew up in.
Everyone comes before myself...the needs of my family and those I surrounded myself with as a younger adult always came before my own. And those around me saw this in me, saw this raw need to be a pure human being who cared for others to such a degree I worried about myself almost never, and exploited it.
Used, abused, lied to by my own family, my own friends, my own blood only to have them throw back the remnants of what they could not use of me as though I was a carcass on the savanna left for the carrion birds....useless as a living organism but enough to sustain another user....another abuser.
This vicious cycle repeated itself over the course of the last 20 years or so and then, I met my husband. He saw in me what everyone else saw, a love for helping people, a want to be needed, a desire to make people happy and heart so big and so full of love still....despite the heavy footprints set across it by the numerous takers I had had run through my life.
Instead of using me...he has nurtured me. He has helped me grow and shown me how useful and loved and wanted and important my "self" really is. He has loved me and accepted me fully and completely from day one.
Six years later, despite my trepidation but amid the excitement, I have moved one hour away from all the users and abusers I used to call family....some of whom actually are family.
This move has been years in the making, the reality of it has set in, I have seen my new home, I have cleansed it and filled it with light, love and positive energy. The pantry is stocked, the fridge and freezer are, too. Our beds are in place, set up and have sheets. The windows have curtains, the walls are the colors I would choose for myself, the yard is small but delightful.
And tomorrow, we are moving in.
My daughters have been anxiously awaiting this day, we have talked about it for weeks and the time is finally here.
I have surrounded myself with people who love me, people who want nothing more than to see me succeed in life and support me with helpful encouragement and even difficult to give advice. My mother-in-law is teaching me how to appropriately budget so we can actually have savings, my father-in-law refuses to let me help move because of the ever decreasing physical ability I have.
I have two brother-in-laws who are helping my husband and my father-in-law to move all my things after they drive nearly two hours to get my things and one hour to get to our new home and then another hour back home...and they offered their assistance out of sheer kindness and love.
I have said thank you to my "Dad" (we'll get more into why he deserves that title in a different post) so many times he has asked me to stop because he knows....he says so jokingly but the depth of my gratitude is hard for him to grasp.
This house they have rented to us is a once in a lifetime opportunity for myself, my husband and our daughters. The details of this rental are so unique....I can't even begin to describe them. I will have a home for my children, a place to feel safe again, an altar for my religious needs and a kitchen, living room, bathroom, nearly finished basement complete with art room for yours truly for the first time in my 34 years of existence.
I will finally have safety and comfort, again.
My family, my blood would never have done this for me. Not in a million years. No one ever taught me how to properly budget, no one ever showed me how to balance a meal plan for two weeks at a time, shop the ads for great deals, by store brand whenever I possibly can....these are all things I've had to learn for myself and my learning curve has been great.
My husband and girls are the most important reasons for me to begin this new chapter in my life. They are the reasons I had no trouble saying goodbye to my hometown of 20+ years and moving into a city I barely know but have grown to love.
At this point in my existence I really honestly and truly can say....there is nothing more I could ask for right now....
except maybe world peace. LOL
Love truly does conquer all.....even my chemically imbalanced brain can see that love really is something that should not cost you a dime....and if it does, it's not real love. Blood relative or no, I had people in my life I wouldn't trust with my new Van sneakers, let alone my or my husband or my girls lives and emotions.
I could not ask for more right now...and I never would.
Sunday, April 2, 2017
The End is the Beginning and the Beginning is the End
I won't deny that every now and again, a thought pops into my mind such as, what would it be like if I could just start all over?
Throw out this version of myself and all the shit I've been through and all the crap I grew up with and everything that's "wrong" with me and just start over...
Blank canvas, clean slate...whatever you call it, I have the need for it every now and again...just reinvent myself. Go somewhere, where no one knows me, knows where I'm from or what kind of past I have, so I can be me, no questions asked.
The strange, yet beautiful, side of my life that people here (meaning the state I live in, basically) aren't really wanting to understand or try to be open minded about it and it's a very precious piece of who I am. It holds a spot in my heart that no one has ever touched and is always there in my personality, hiding in the undertones of my sarcastic sweetness.
Sunk into the abyss of my adulthood and emotional baggage from years of verbal and mental abuse by people whom I am actually blood related to, there's a sweet little woman who wants a house to decorate with cute skulls and crossbones and fancy window treatments made of black and red, a family to call her own which includes dressing my baby girls in goth lolita outfits, a place to be herself, a place where being who I really, truly, am inside won't scare away half the population and cause my family members to jump on my already painful back.
I want people to see ME.
I am 34-years-old and this is the first time, in my entire life, I have moved away from my family to do things and be things they refuse to accept or be part of.
One hour, one hour north and I have been told it is too far. They won't visit. They won't accept it. They want nothing of it.
They have accused my husband of spousal and child abuse, which brings tears to his eyes to think about. It hurts him deep to have my family think such terrible thoughts about him.
My mom and sister, they love Adam. They accept him for who and what he is and adore how he dotes on and shows love and affection towards our two daughters and myself.
He is my partner in crime, my best friend, my most trusted confidant, the love of my life, the father to our beautiful little girls and the rationality in my crazy chaotic bipolar world. He is the reason I have not yet left this world.
My husband has given me so much strength, support, love and guidance over the past six years we have been together, so much more than even my own family have provided. He has accepted me wholly and completely for who I am. He has taken the time to get to know every little nuance and detail that makes up the entirety of my self. He loves every curve, every imperfection, every freckle, stretch mark and scar both inside and out...he truly loves me.
Adam is the first person I have met who accepts my whole self and respects my whole self and loves my whole self, crazy and all, he loves me.
And, as I remind him daily, I love him so much more than he could ever know.
Our daughters are little versions of each of us, wrapped up in deceitful cuteness and unabashed curiosity, they are the reasons we get up and keep going every single day.
I want my girls to know all of this, to know my past, my husband's past, our families and their pasts...I almost need them to know this, so they can be better people, better human beings for this world and all of its inhabitants.
My eldest shows a love for animals that can border on obsessive and often be painful if she isn't reminded to be careful and gentle, which one day she will remember all on her own.
My youngest requires constant engagement, supervision and reminders to be patient with not just the people around her but herself, as well. And I know, she too, will one day remember this on her own.
We teach them manners on a daily basis, remind them to share, redirect their curious little brains from danger to safety.
We teach them to love the Earth, love their fellow human beings, love the animals and plants the gods and goddesses have provided us with, love the weather we are blessed with, even the nasty kind because each in their own right, has a purpose and in our religion, respecting that purpose is the best thing you can teach someone.
Respecting anyone and anything for their purpose is something more people should be taught at a young age.
I have caught flack for teaching my children our religion, Paganism, from my own blood.
All of this lack of respect, this lack of acceptance for difference, is the main reason leaving my hometown was not a big issue for me.
Leaving my mom and sister, starting something completely new and different with my husband and children is both exciting and downright terrifying. My comfort zone is gone. I know very little of the layout of this city and it has been years since I have been a part of it...
But my want for returning here is still so much stronger than I ever expected.
I know now, looking back at all the strife my blood relatives have caused me over the years and deciphering their nonsensical psychotic ramblings, they will never change, they will never accept me and nothing I do will ever be enough.
So it is time to close this chapter of my life and start a new one.
And maybe, just maybe, I won't need to end a chapter of my life like this, ever again.
I know this is a whole new start for us and I want to take full advantage of that fact.
To new beginnings.....
Throw out this version of myself and all the shit I've been through and all the crap I grew up with and everything that's "wrong" with me and just start over...
Blank canvas, clean slate...whatever you call it, I have the need for it every now and again...just reinvent myself. Go somewhere, where no one knows me, knows where I'm from or what kind of past I have, so I can be me, no questions asked.
The strange, yet beautiful, side of my life that people here (meaning the state I live in, basically) aren't really wanting to understand or try to be open minded about it and it's a very precious piece of who I am. It holds a spot in my heart that no one has ever touched and is always there in my personality, hiding in the undertones of my sarcastic sweetness.
Sunk into the abyss of my adulthood and emotional baggage from years of verbal and mental abuse by people whom I am actually blood related to, there's a sweet little woman who wants a house to decorate with cute skulls and crossbones and fancy window treatments made of black and red, a family to call her own which includes dressing my baby girls in goth lolita outfits, a place to be herself, a place where being who I really, truly, am inside won't scare away half the population and cause my family members to jump on my already painful back.
I want people to see ME.
I am 34-years-old and this is the first time, in my entire life, I have moved away from my family to do things and be things they refuse to accept or be part of.
One hour, one hour north and I have been told it is too far. They won't visit. They won't accept it. They want nothing of it.
They have accused my husband of spousal and child abuse, which brings tears to his eyes to think about. It hurts him deep to have my family think such terrible thoughts about him.
My mom and sister, they love Adam. They accept him for who and what he is and adore how he dotes on and shows love and affection towards our two daughters and myself.
He is my partner in crime, my best friend, my most trusted confidant, the love of my life, the father to our beautiful little girls and the rationality in my crazy chaotic bipolar world. He is the reason I have not yet left this world.
My husband has given me so much strength, support, love and guidance over the past six years we have been together, so much more than even my own family have provided. He has accepted me wholly and completely for who I am. He has taken the time to get to know every little nuance and detail that makes up the entirety of my self. He loves every curve, every imperfection, every freckle, stretch mark and scar both inside and out...he truly loves me.
Adam is the first person I have met who accepts my whole self and respects my whole self and loves my whole self, crazy and all, he loves me.
And, as I remind him daily, I love him so much more than he could ever know.
Our daughters are little versions of each of us, wrapped up in deceitful cuteness and unabashed curiosity, they are the reasons we get up and keep going every single day.
I want my girls to know all of this, to know my past, my husband's past, our families and their pasts...I almost need them to know this, so they can be better people, better human beings for this world and all of its inhabitants.
My eldest shows a love for animals that can border on obsessive and often be painful if she isn't reminded to be careful and gentle, which one day she will remember all on her own.
My youngest requires constant engagement, supervision and reminders to be patient with not just the people around her but herself, as well. And I know, she too, will one day remember this on her own.
We teach them manners on a daily basis, remind them to share, redirect their curious little brains from danger to safety.
We teach them to love the Earth, love their fellow human beings, love the animals and plants the gods and goddesses have provided us with, love the weather we are blessed with, even the nasty kind because each in their own right, has a purpose and in our religion, respecting that purpose is the best thing you can teach someone.
Respecting anyone and anything for their purpose is something more people should be taught at a young age.
I have caught flack for teaching my children our religion, Paganism, from my own blood.
All of this lack of respect, this lack of acceptance for difference, is the main reason leaving my hometown was not a big issue for me.
Leaving my mom and sister, starting something completely new and different with my husband and children is both exciting and downright terrifying. My comfort zone is gone. I know very little of the layout of this city and it has been years since I have been a part of it...
But my want for returning here is still so much stronger than I ever expected.
I know now, looking back at all the strife my blood relatives have caused me over the years and deciphering their nonsensical psychotic ramblings, they will never change, they will never accept me and nothing I do will ever be enough.
So it is time to close this chapter of my life and start a new one.
And maybe, just maybe, I won't need to end a chapter of my life like this, ever again.
I know this is a whole new start for us and I want to take full advantage of that fact.
To new beginnings.....
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