Traitor

Wow. Just go see it.

Feelings

I would suggest to all who are inclined to suppress them...don't.

I understand that PTSD amplifies everything, but if I hadn't suppressed every scary emotion for millions of years, I have a feeling that there would be less to amplify in the here and now.

It comes in waves. I never know if I'll laugh or cry, be angry or frustrated, or just overwhelmed -- but there is no doubt that emotions are washing through me at an inhuman pace. It used to be helpful to talk about this, but now, if someone tries to help me express, invariably I turn the emotion toward that person and it's always messy within fifteen minutes. Moral: If you try to help a trapped bee escape, more than likely you'll get stung.

I'm not sure what the solution is. I thought a cave might be a good idea, but Darrin says no.

In the meantime, I'm about as fit, cardiovascularly, as I've ever been. Running brings lots of relief. There's a possibility that I might be overdoing it--my hips and feet have been complaining a bit, and I'm on my fourth pair of shoes in the same number of months--sort of expensive--but it doesn't feel good to run with holes in the soles.

When the PTSD episodes are over (and it happens almost in a moment--I'm overwhelmed--and then I'm not), I have about three days when I feel very little. I don't particularly care about people or things. I'm a bit caustic and have even been called rude by sensitive individuals. Bummer.

On the upside, that happened yesterday. Today I'm still feeling the benefits of not caring--and this is good because my mom showed up at my house and invited me to go on a walk. This means she wants to talk to me--which she hasn't done for the last two weeks, because she's been upset that I got rid of all the mementos she so lovingly saved from the fire pile when I left home at age 17.

Predictably, she told some supposedly heart wrenching story about her neighbor who has been put in an assisted living facility because she has dementia. The story progressed to a supposed conversation my mom had with neighbor lady's son when he came to take care of the personal effects before the house was sold. Apparently, neighbor lady saved everything and he was incredibly grateful because "photos are priceless, just priceless." Not only that, he was able to contact his step-sisters and return their father's military uniform and medals to them, and "they just wept. They were so grateful. They said they thought they'd never see those things again."

So...yay. She got to say, in her parable, that I had messed up when I threw away the things she saved for me. But, sorry Mom, I don't really care. At all. Stupid man, hoarding all the junk his mother was too crazy to deal with. Silly girls--they'll box up the uniform and wonder where to store it because guilt won't let them say, "It fits none of us--why are we keeping it?" And as for photos--sometimes it's okay to let them go.

Did I say those things? Nope, because quite frankly, I don't want to waste my time, and she'd probably cry again. So, I let her talk, said I was glad neighbor lady was getting the care she needed, and changed the subject. Mom will believe that I'm riddled with guilt, which will make her feel better, and I will be relieved that the subject is closed and let it die. Not that it will actually die until a few more parables are shared, but seriously, if it makes her feel better, I'm fine with that. I just hope she spaces them out because if she tells them in a small space of time, I might have to throw up because they're so obviously contrived and I have little tolerance for people who drop hints rather than just saying what's on their minds.

I'm guessing that by Sunday I'll start to feel something again--until then I just have to say I'm loads of fun. Nothing bothers me, I have a delightful sense of humor and life is good.

Warning: This next part is explicit--I don't really care if it bothers anyone, but I do have good manners, so I'm letting you know you might not want to read it:

On a side note, the day that Adam pitched a fit in the doctor's office, I escaped, went to the front desk and scheduled a physical for myself. This will be my first in over ten years. Yeah--I have an extreme aversion to having men other than Darrin touching my breasts and vagina--even if it's in a medical vein. It sort of inspires all sorts of panic attacks and flashbacks and usually involves vomiting when I get home. And not being the largest of people, the speculum just hurts. That's the only way to describe it. Even if the small size is used. And I wasn't able to get an appointment with a female doctor, which means I get to endure larger hands--again--ouch. And I hate it when they say pap smears aren't painful. No, they're not excruciating, but take a sharp something and scrape off a bit of the inside of the your mouth--not painful? That's comparable to what it feels like to me.

Yes, I know this is preventative and could help me for the rest of my life. I'm still dreading it.

AtP said he'd come with me. So did Tolkien Boy. I really wish they could--modesty be damned.

In honor of the first week of school...

...ans also, just because I think it's funny.

Okay...you're out of control...you have to stop...

Thanks to all of you who have been searching for my blog with endless creativity and snarkiness. I've loved all the entries.

However...

Can't we just communicate again? Send me an email? Write a comment on a blog post? Chat with me? Call me?

And yes, I admit it, some of them were pretty funny, but JB wins the prize for searching "samantha stevens is my favorite blogger." And I'm pretending that's true, regardless of whether it is or not, because every blogger should be someone's favorite.

Thanks for the giggles.

Now--stop it. I mean it.

Oh my goodness, YAY!!!

In keeping with the theme of my last post, I had a visitor from the Sacramento area who found me by Googling these:

1. why is samantha stevens friends with mr. fob who is very cool
2. is samantha stevens as cool as mr. fob?
3. who is sexier samantha stevens or mr. fob?
4. is mr. fob samantha stevens' favorite married gay man?
5. samantha stevens has a crush on mr. fob
6. samantha stevens thinks mr. fob is sexy
7. samantha stevens is really tolkien boy

Now, the IP address of this particular visitor places him very near Davis, CA (in fact, I actually have a street address for this one), which is about where Mr. Fob likes to live now, so this raises two possibilities:

1. Mr. Fob wants to join in the fun and give me some hilarious search results (and I wouldn't put it past him--please note the apostrophe in number four--who does that? not a normal person...).
2. Someone really, really likes Mr. Fob and feels threatened by the fact that I love him, too.

So if number one is correct, ummm....Mr. Fob, please stop it--or find a topic to search that's less weird.

And if number two is correct, well, no one can ever, ever, ever compete with FoxyJ, so the searcher is just out of luck. However, just for the record, I'll satisfy the search queries:

1. Because I'm very cool, too, and Mr. Fob and I like being friends with each other.
2. Absolutely, perhaps even more cool because I can do cartwheels better than he can.
3. Me. No question about it. Tolkien Boy told me so only a couple of days ago, so I know it's true (actually, he told me I was sexy, not sexier than Mr. Fob, but I'm extrapolating meaning to make it fit the situation).
4. No. But I don't have a favorite married gay man. And I could never choose Mr. Fob over Jason, or Beck, or Boo's husband, or Sir Ken, or The Great -L-. I love them all. I have difficulty choosing a favorite color, too. Bummer.
5. Of course I do! and on everyone else in my life. It's a personal weakness. I'm working on it.
6. Naturally, who doesn't?
7. Rats. You figured it out.

Thank you so much for your visit today. Come back again soon!!

Keyword Analysis

I love the fact that a certain percentage of my blog visitors come because of the results of an online search engine. Most of my hits through this venue have been to this post and I hope the visitors stop there, because they're obviously interested in planting flowers, not in abuse or homosexuality, or my therapy self-pity crap. However, there are other searches I find interesting, and some just crack me up. I find myself wishing some of the visitors would come back so I could find out what was on their minds when they listed the search (although sometimes it's pretty obvious).

So today, for your enjoyment (okay, mostly my enjoyment), I'm sharing some of the searches through which new cyberfriends whom I have not yet met, have found my lovely corner of the bloggiverse (all searches listed exactly as they were input by their originators).

Gardener friends:
1. perennial asylum flower
2. purple snap dragons.jpg
3. pictures white alyssum and pansies

Romantic friend:
1. wedding lines

Platonically curious friends:
1. is kissing someone on the cheek platonic?
2. platonic kissing
3. non-sexual touch
4. importance of non-sexual touch
5. non-sexual hugging

Anger management friends:
1. i don't want to be angry anymore
2. being raised by angry mother anger
3. we're not angry anymore angry anymore
4. happy not angry

Friends with very good taste in women:
1. dara torres latin roots

Confused friends:
1. i went beautiful lines words about someone to care him
2. mixed orientation marriage and negotiating
3. merrily, we roll alone

Porn star seeking friends (yup, I named my daughter after a porn star--not intentional, mind you, but what can you do?):
1. tabitha stevens blogspot

BEST SEARCH EVER!!!!!!! :
1. why is samantha stevens lds and an ssa lesbian who likes atp?

I'm not kidding--someone really searched that. The searcher has a Mac and was searching from the BYU campus, but not using a campus computer, in the general vicinity of the HFAC (which could mean anywhere--bookstore, library, parking lot, whatever), IP address: 70.103.229.162.

I'm hoping that last friend comes back. I'd really like to know him/her.

Oh, and the last part of that search is completely wrong. I don't like AtP. I adore him. Forever.

Odd Conversation

Me: I've been blaming bad timing, but I think that's wrong. I never really had good timing--it's just glaringly obvious right now.

Friend: Why is it a big deal?

Me: I keep saying and doing the wrong things.

Friend: If people really care about you, it won't matter. They might get pissed occasionally, but that's kind of their problem.

Me: It's my problem, too. I don't know how to deal with people being upset with me.

Friend: How would you deal with it at work?

Me: It's not a problem unless I care about the person. At work, I'd just say something diplomatic and wait for the other person to cool off.

Friend: What if you're the one who caused the problem.

Me: Then I'd probably laugh, apologize, and do what I could to make things right.

Friend: You'd laugh?

Me: Reflex. It's what I do.

Friend: And do you laugh when someone you care about gets mad at you?

Me: I don't know. It hasn't happened enough.

Friend: It happened at least once. Did you laugh?

Me: Why is this pertinent?

Friend: I'm just wondering.

Me: No.

Friend: What did you do?

Me: I don't want to talk about it.

Friend: It could help.

Me: I'll just feel miserable.

Friend: I still think it might help to tell someone.

Me: I had flashbacks.

Friend: Why?

Me: That's the question of the day. Why do I have flashbacks?

Friend: I wasn't being mean. I just meant, what was the connection that caused the flashback?

Me: I don't know anymore. It seems whenever my emotions aren't under control, they happen.

Friend: What did you do after the flashback?

Me: What I always do when they happen lately, because I'm stupid, and weak. I cried.

Friend: It's not stupid.

Me: It IS!! It's not real. It's not happening. There is no need to cry.

Friend: I don't think you're crying because of the flashback. I think it's something else.

Me: What else?

Friend: I don't know, it's like lots of things have been bothering you lately. Things that wouldn't usually.

Me: You know what? Sometimes I want someone to cry with me. Darrin can't. He just gets mad and wants to kill everyone who hurt me. He's not sad, he's angry. I want someone to just feel what I feel. Tolkien Boy says I can't ask that, but I still want it. And I want to know someone feels sad that I hurt. I want to touch their tears. Most of me feels guilt for wanting this, and I know if I wait long enough I can put it all away and not want it anymore. But right now...

Friend: People don't feel or cry on cue.

Me: No.

Friend: I think it's good that you're finally feeling it.

Me: Yes.

Friend: I think you'll feel better when you get all the sadness out.

Me: Yes.

Friend: Some thing's really bugging you about what I just said.

Me: Maybe.

Friend: What?

Me: It's just that I went through everything the first time, all alone. And now that I'm going through the feelings, I have people who know, people who love me, but I still have to cry alone. It would be nice to have someone hold me, or at least hold my hand.

Friend: You don't like people to touch your hands.

Me: I've come a long way, baby.

Friend: Maybe this is all part of of it. Some things we just have to do alone.

Me: Yeah. I hoped I could change that. Like everything else, I can't. Just not magic enough, I guess.

Friend: I think you're magic.

Me: Delusions are not helpful.

Friend: And I love you.

Me: I love you, too

Phobias

Adam has one. He hates needles. He becomes absolutely, irrationally, afraid when one is going to be poked into him.

So--he had to have immunizations before school, which meant three shots. I told the doctor it wouldn't be easy.

In the end, after hauling him out of the bathroom, insisting he sit down, explaining that there was no other way, denying him the privilege of administering the shots himself, it was time.

DJ restrained one leg. The doctor restrained the other. I held Adam's hands and arms in place. One nurse perched above him on the exam table, another knelt next to him on the floor just beneath the exam table nurse, and a third stood on the other side of him.

Adam was allowed to count to three. On three all the nurses injected him at once while DJ, the doctor and I held Adam in place.

As I drove out of the parking lot, Adam said, "That didn't even hurt."

I'm thanking God I don't have to do this again until next year.

This can't go on forever, right?

I sort of feel that I'm coming to a milestone.

Don't ask me what that means because I still haven't figured it out. But I see Therapist in about three weeks, and for the first time I feel completely out of control. I can be overwhelmed by tears at any time, for no reason. I never know how I'll feel about anything or anyone. I cannot seem to work out logical solutions for anything in my life anymore. My graphs make no sense. My polls have unusable data. I am, in short, a mess.

I'm distraught over the fact that there are holes in my life that I cannot remember. Important people I do not recall. Complete blanks in reference to names, places, and events. It makes me uneasy and frightened. Why won't I remember?

Anyone who knows me has had opportunity to witness one of my unique gifts--I have an unusual memory. I rarely forget things, especially things I've read or written. To have no memory, not even an inkling, means I gave myself permission to forget. It was intentional. Why?

In the meantime, I'm overwhelmed with seemingly random thoughts and emotions. It feels very much out of control. I was telling a friend about it recently. She said, "Sounds normal to me. I think most women feel that way. It's how our brains and hormones are wired." All I can think is, please let her be wrong! This is not how I wish to spend the rest of my life.

I'm still trying to figure out the relationship thing. But at this point, I've figured out how everyone I love fits into my life--I just don't understand my part in theirs. It's difficult to fathom how people feel about me. My former paradigm said, "Sam is funny, entertaining at best, stubborn at worst, nice to have around occasionally, but it's okay if she doesn't stay because there's really no permanent place for her in anyone's life--she's welcome to visit occasionally, though, if she doesn't stay a long time." Now I'm beginning to feel that paradigm's wrong. Some friends have told me they wish for me to be in their lives indefinitely--they've actually said words to that effect. I don't understand how that works.

In the meantime, it's gratifying to know there's always someone on my side. Sully and I were taking a walk a couple of days ago. I was talking about our trip to my childhood home. I was trying to tell him how unhappy I was that I had difficulty going upstairs to the room that used to be my bedroom just because of... I started stammering and searching for words--nothing was coming out right. Sully interrupted with, "...some asshole..." which seemed exactly right in describing my cousin in reference to the many times he raped me And regardless of the rights and wrongs of it, my heart was grateful that I wasn't the only one in the world who sometimes had disdainful thoughts for another human, especially one who had mistreated me in such hideous ways.

I'd love to wrap this up in some brilliant, thoughtful way, but the truth is that I haven't had thoughtful clarity in some time now. I hope it returns soon. In the meantime, I guess I've said all I want to say.

You should take this quiz...

Not because I believe it's accurate, but because the pictures are amazing.

Your result for The Perception Personality Image Test...

NBPC - The Daydreamer

Nature, Background, Big Picture, and Color

You perceive the world with particular attention to nature. You focus on the hidden treasures of life (the background) and how that fits into the larger picture. You are also particularly drawn towards the colors around you. Because of the value you place on nature, you tend to find comfort in more subdued settings and find energy in solitude. You like to ponder ideas and imagine the many possibilities of your life without worrying about the details or specifics. You are in tune with all that is around you and understand your life as part of a larger whole. You are a down-to-earth person who enjoys going with the flow.

The Perception Personality Types:

Take The Perception Personality Image Test at HelloQuizzy

Loving the Olympics

I'm watching men's beach volleyball, and one of the teams has the word "BRA" on their uniforms.

Darrin's explanation: They're from Brazil, and that's just an abbreviation for their country.

Sam's explanation: They're jealous that the women's beach volleyball teams actually get to wear bras, and they wish they had the same privilege, so they put it on their tank tops to make them feel better.

I'm right, of course. Who would live in a country abbreviated BRA? That's a place you only visit during spring break when you're between the ages of 18 and 27. Or perhaps that's called BRA-LESS.

Also, as a final announcement, men's beach volleyball team USA just won gold.

Men's beach volleyball team BRA won silver. Perhaps, had they been allowed to wear bras, as they wished, they would have taken gold. It's shameful how conventions stifle people and take away their dreams.

Apparently, I am famous...

...or infamous...


(Hint: Look in the "Blog Articles" box)

What/Who I am missing tonight

1. AtP hugs--because they're amazing.
2. Darrin--because I want to go to bed, but he's not home yet, and it's just not the same without him.
3. DJ--because he's playing with friends, and someday he won't come home anymore because he'll live somewhere else.
4. The sunset--because it was breathtaking tonight and didn't last long enough.
5. The Boomerang--because it's my favorite amusement park ride, and I have a yen to be on it tonight.
6. Strawberries--because someone ate the last of them and I want them now.
7. Tolkien Boy--for no particular reason, but maybe because I always feel like we only talk when we're both too busy to really say anything.
8. Jason--because we talked on the phone tonight and that always makes me miss people even more.
9. Ambrosia--because I made a spinach salad tonight and I thought of her because even though she doesn't like spinach, she's been sweet enough to eat my salads without complaining.
10. Sully--just because I miss him perpetually.
11. Edgy--because it seems like forever since we had lunch.
12. O.M., J.B., and Pinetree, because they all started new word games with me and I didn't even have to give them cookies.
15. Tomatoes--no reason, I just do.
16. Running in the dark--because Darrin has asked me not to do that anymore. It makes him nervous.
17. Underdog the Cartoon--which I don't really remember, but I've been told I watched it as a toddler, and I think I must have liked it.
18. Playing duets with my dad--which I haven't done since I was nine. Weird.
19. Homemade Root Beer--because I really like it. I don't know if it's the dry ice smoke or the taste, but I suspect the former.
20. Me--because lately I haven't been certain who I am, and I'd really like to know. I think that's important.

True Confessions

I love words beyond what is considered acceptable in mixed company. And I have no idea what that last sentence means, nor do I care, as long as it expresses the fact that I'm so much in love with words that it is an obsession. Tabitha hates the vocabulary part of English--something I cannot even begin to understand. I adored learning vocabulary--not the stupid workbooky things, but just finding more words one could use to express different things. One of my teachers taught us Latin roots and then we'd find related words and guess their meanings based on the origin. I was in heaven.

For awhile I tried actually using my new words in common conversation. Most of my responses ran along the lines of, "Huh?" or "What did you say?" or "Is that even a word?" So, naturally, I gave up. The purpose of talking is, of course, to aid in communication and if the person with whom one is trying to communicate is not a logophile, well, it's best to stick with the basics. But while I curtailed my urge to share my love of words, I continued to avidly seek out new and unusual letter combinations which made me swoon. And, yes, I still do.

In tandem with this love of words has come the love of word games--all of them. I adore them. But the problem is finding someone who wishes to play with me. I've cajoled several friends into playing Scrabble and Boggle (under their real and fake names) with me online, but they lose interest after awhile. Only Edgy voluntarily continues our perpetual Scrabble game, with an occasional Boggle. Original Mohomie will humor me occasionally, but I believe AtP just rolls his eyes when I suggest we play. He's even allowed one of our games to DIE!!! I seriously considered cutting off all contact with him when that happened. Jason plays with me occasionally, but admits that he cheats (I still don't see how that can be fun--come on!!--we're talking about WORDS here!).

Scrabble presents the element of chance to our games, so it's highly possible that I will lose. Regardless of how many words I know, if my letters don't cooperate, or my opponent is able to use those cute colored squares to add bonus points to the words played, well, knowledge can't trump luck, can it? Boggle, however, presents everyone with a level playing field. All the letters are of equal value and you earn points simply by finding the words. I love it. I've been slacking off on my Boggle games lately, though, because I've been playing while I chat with clients at work. This is a bad idea. The game is timed, and often I forget I'm playing if my client is sufficiently distracting. Result = loss. Which also messes with my rating.

So last weekend I devoted all my attention to my online Boggle games. This has brought about a couple of results.
1. My online rating has increased dramatically as I've consistently racked up high scores.
2. No one wants to play with me anymore. My customary thirteen games, which normally move smoothly from turn to turn, have been stalled for about two days. This is not good.

So, today I returned once again to playing while I chat with customers, because, let's face it, it's sort of impossible to play without an opponent. Even the live games with strangers aren't as fun, because I like playing with friends.

And just because I want people to come back and take their turns, I'll give you a hint. Look for these words:
ootid
ulu
aerobe
teazle
acquaintance

Okay, fine, I know that won't help because the board is different every time, but really, don't let our games die!! I appeal to your finer sensitivities...Do I have to make you cookies?

Here we go again...

Dear Concerned Email Person,

No, it is not inappropriate for me to announce on my blog that I have a crush on someone other than my husband because:
1. Just because I'm married doesn't mean I feel nothing for other human beings.
2. It seems you missed the part where I said I'm attracted to members of the female race. No, this does not make me evil. No, this does not make me disgusting. It simply means I'm wired a bit differently than my heterosexual counterparts, who, by the way, I might be attracted to occasionally.
3. He knows. It's not like I'm sneaking around falling in love with women all the time. I'm quite certain he understood what I meant when I said, "Wow. She's amazing," about 20,000 times. Also, I told him, and he laughed with me.
4. I also understand that my husband can develop crushes on other women. It's called being human. However, I'm quick to remind him that the person he's looking at is not as smart, sexy, or beautiful as I am--and he agrees. Really, she doesn't stand a chance against me (not because of the above things, but because my husband really is in love with me--as I am with him).
5. DANG IT!! IT'S MY BLOG!! STOP TELLING ME WHAT I SHOULD AND SHOULD NOT WRITE!!
6. It's funny. And no matter how much you click your tongue at me, and disapprove, and judge, you still have to admit that it's funny. And I believe you're laughing when you think no one's looking. Don't bother to deny it. You know it's true.

Bottom line--there is no implied infidelity. Just me, expressing the oddities of my life and not feeling guilt for having feelings. Darrin feels no threat. He knows that no matter how hot Dara is, he and I belong together and my heart will always be his.

Next time, I think you should just giggle with the rest of us and be tickled by the realities of life, instead of becoming upset over nothing. And no, I don't think I need to discuss this with my bishop. Remember, Darrin is a bishop. I've discussed it with him. We think it's pretty silly.

The End.

Thank you Word-entry mode

Actual text message conversation (all apparent typos are real):

DJ: Are you guys home yet?

Me: Not even close. Your dad decided he needed to go shopping. :)

DJ: So where are you guys at now?

Me: Rock Springs.

DJ: So, like 3 hours away? did you get me c present?

Me: Yes. No.

DJ: Cool. Dang. I have meat.

Me: I don't even know what that means.

DJ: My boss at the bank buys a 4H any every year and divides it up between the employees. Hence, I have meat.

Me: What's a 4H any?

DJ: Any = cow which is what I meant.

Me: Okay. Um...yay?

DJ: Not really. I'm giving up meat for a while. But I thought dad might be happy.

Me: Dad says Yay.

DJ: K. I will see you tonight.

Me: Okay. I love you.

DJ: I love you too. Tell everyone hi for me.

Okay, I'll admit it...

I have a crush on Dara Torres. I can't help it! She's fit, she's beautiful, and she looks amazing in silver. And, come on!! an Olympic medalist at 41!!

Admit it... you kind of have a crush on her, too...

Fragments

I went back to the home where most of the abuse in my life took place.

My mother told me there were a couple of boxes of my things there she would like me to go through.

Darrin, Adam and I walked upstairs to the room where I was raped more times than I remember. I made it to the doorway, then turned and ran. Coward!

I threw up twice. Stupid!

I went back up to the room with Darrin and Adam and spent 15 minutes looking through the boxes before I got sick again.

I didn't sleep that night. I got up at 6:30 and went running. It was beautiful. I ran eight lovely miles. On the way home I started feeling weird. I was running in the same place I ran as a teen trying to relieve stress, trying to stay alive.

I woke my family and we left to go fishing. I saw an old man working in his yard. We stopped. I walked up to him and said, "Do you remember me?" He smiled, opened his arms and said, "Samantha, I would know you anywhere." Then he hugged me. I introduced him to my family. He told me I looked beautiful. Then he showed me the car he bought for his 90th birthday. He's 90. I haven't seen him for nearly 15 years.

We stopped to buy fishing licenses. A woman came to help us. She said to me, "Why do you look familiar?" I said, "Because you're my mom's cousin. I'm Samantha." She laughed and hugged me, too. She asked why I haven't been home, why I've not attended a family reunion, for so many years. I said I'd been busy.

We drove away with our fishing licenses. I wanted to cry. So many years I've avoided family members and people I love because I didn't want to encounter memories...or my cousin. Why do I look familiar? Where have I been?

Darrin left Tabitha, Adam and I near the fishing hole that was my favorite 15 years ago. I baited their hooks and showed them how and where to cast their lines--and caught a trout immediately. Each cast brought another fish. This is why I love to fish here--I used to read the river, watch where the fish jumped. I used to catch fish all summer long. My family ate them--I didn't. We soon caught our limit. Darrin joined us and caught his limit. Tabitha told him next time he should stay with me--I knew where the fish were.

We went home. Darrin cleaned the fish while Adam, Tabitha, and I showered. Then I fixed lunch while he showered. I made the traditional meal my family always made when I brought home fish: trout, salad, fried potatoes...then I cut up a cantaloupe, knowing I'd eat neither fish nor potatoes.

We ate. Adam ate nearly all the potatoes. Tabitha picked most of the avocados out of the salad. I thought about the boxes of memorabilia upstairs.

We played games for a few hours. Then I went upstairs by myself and retrieved the boxes. Tabitha, Adam, and Darrin continued to play games while I went through the boxes. They left and went on a walk. They came home and fixed dinner. I stayed where I was, reading papers I had written, looking at pictures, going through stacks of letters.

I threw nearly everything away. I hated the memories. I didn't want the cards or the letters. I was highly upset. There were letters from people I don't remember--not just one, but years of correspondence from people who obviously knew me, spent time with me, were concerned about me. They said they missed me and loved me. I don't know who they are. I threw the letters away.

I didn't sleep that night either.

I got up the next morning and told Darrin I had to leave. He suggested we go to Utah, have dinner with some friends who were planning to meet us at my old home but had been unable to make the trip, and then spend the night with my sister. So we did.

But I'm still freaked out and feeling upset and miserable inside.

And when I told my mom I threw everything away, she started to cry. She said I should have saved the things I wrote. She said I shouldn't have thrown away the pictures. She said, "Why would you do that?"

I just told her I didn't want them anymore.

Ugh.

I don't fight with anyone--ever.

I don't goad people.

I don't issue ultimatums.

I don't make people angry.


And yet, somehow, I've managed to do all those things in the space of three weeks--to more than one friend.

This is not me. I have no idea who it is.

I have tried to make peace with the people involved in the unfortunate situations above, but there are problems...

1. I still think that in more than one case I needed to express myself. I don't agree with the way I did it. I believe I was being self-centered and ugly. But I can't give up the thought that, somehow, what I was feeling needed to be discussed.
2. There were things said to me that were hurtful. I don't believe that was the intention--which doesn't change the fact that it still hurt. Two years ago I would not have cared even a little bit. Today, I do.
3. Much of what I said was misconstrued, which leaves me feeling that I should never have made the communication attempt in the first place. I dislike being misunderstood, even if the misunderstanding is purposely stated simply to make a point.
4. I don't like anything about this. Everything that happened is completely out of character and I'm having difficulty getting past it--any of it. I can't reconcile the fact that I let myself lose control of my words and emotions in a situation where I could hurt others and I could also be hurt. I don't do that. I can't seem to forgive myself. And forget trust altogether--it doesn't exist.

How did I let this happen? I feel very much like screaming.

Time Out

Probably it's not that noticeable. I notice because it's my blog, of course. But I haven't been writing as frequently lately. It's not because I don't need it, or because it's not helpful. It's because some things have happened in the past couple of weeks that have made me feel less inclined to talk. A giant step backwards? Perhaps.

Sometimes I wish there were great big holes for people to jump into when they feel as I have lately. And we could all just stay there for as long as it took for the feelings to wear themselves out. We wouldn't have to worry about saying or doing stupid things that normally we would never think of doing or saying.

Unfortunately, that's not the way life works. So, I'm trying once again to convince myself that the world is a better place because I help make it that way. Bawb asked me where I would live if I could choose--and I told him "Northwest Territory," and then I laughed. But I truly meant it.

None of this post makes sense unless you've lived in my skin this month.

It's not like this has been an all bad month. Lots of good things have happened. My favorite sister came to visit a couple of nights ago, and Ambrosia and Bawb came for a day. I love it when people are with me. It's just that this has been a month when I've not been very good at managing the crap inside me. And I said some things I wish I had not. Still trying to make my way past that. It's not easy.

I thought I was ready to blog again, but it seems I might need more days to think.

Wow!

Last night Darrin decided to be domestic and try his hand at making homemade chocolate pudding. I heard him exclaim, "Oh, Crap!" and went upstairs to find that somehow the can of cocoa had exploded all over him. I was delighted, of course. My two favorite things, chocolate and Darrin, all mixed together, and I told him he had never been sexier even if his hands looked like they belonged to an Oompa Loompa.

He didn't think I was funny.

And he didn't let me lick off the chocolate. Spoilsport...

Well, of course!

Your result for The Personality Disorder Test...

Perfectly healthy

-1 Histronia, -2 Paranoia, 1 Antisocialness, 2 Narcissism, -2 Schizoidism and -2 Dependence!

As your scores indicate, it is likely you would not be diagnosed with any of the personality disorders tested above...congratulations.

Take The Personality Disorder Test at HelloQuizzy

Because, after all, HelloQuizzy is the bottom line when it comes to predicting personality disorders...but hey...I'll take it...

Picture me giggling...

Edgy did it, and so can I ...

I have never posted a meme on my blog before, although I have participated, nor have I tagged anyone. And that is all about to change. I hope you'll play. This one looks like fun.

How to Play

1. As a comment on my blog, leave one memory that you and I had together. It doesn't matter if you knew me a little or a lot, anything you remember.
   
2. Next, re-post these instructions on your blog and see how many people leave a memory about you. If you leave a memory about me, I'll check your blog to see if you are playing, too. If you are I'll come to your blog and leave one about you.

By George, I think she's got it...

There is a distinct possibility that I might be on to something. Maybe. It's not scientific. I'm certain no psychiatrist will endorse it, but it seems to be starting to work. Maybe. I'm putting it all together, I'm using everything I've learned in the past couple of years, and something is happening. Maybe.

I'm not really a witch...but...

I want a snake.

And some lizards.

And I once had a bat which I adored and even took to school. My teacher made me let it go. It was very cute and I miss it.

And I think spiders are pretty and make incredible webs.

Stop shuddering...and judging me...

People are the same

I don't know that I believe people change. I think I believe trust levels change which allow a person to feel safe even when vulnerable, or belief paradigms shift allowing us to expose that which we previously protected without stress or guilt or some other previously present emotion.

For instance--a public figure suddenly writes a book about his years of drug addiction. The general public now knows this person is a user. Why did he tell? Because he suddenly realized this was a part of his life and hiding it was offering no safety to him. He has decided that he has more to gain by sharing the truth than by living with the fear that he will be discovered. Has he changed? Nope. But the public perception of him has shifted dramatically. Some will identify and commiserate with him, some will feel betrayed, some will call him weak or hypocritical... but he's still the same person.

I know behaviors and beliefs change, but I still think people remain the same, and I've never bought into the myth that behaviors and beliefs define a person. There's so much more. I suppose I'm trying to understand why relationships change...or become less intense...or just end.

Connections between people are made on so many different levels. I have a friend with whom I could talk all day. We make each other laugh. We agree about many things. We have a wonderful time together. But we aren't close friends. We go to lunch. We chat. We wave when we see each other--and then we're finished for a few more months. We've known each other for about 20 years. We've watched our children grow up together--Darrin changed her youngest son's very first diaper. We have extended family connections. There is every reason for us to be very close. But regardless of the fact that we're compatible and we enjoy each other, we're not. I think it's because, somehow, we haven't developed the trust relationship which will allow us to become so.

Then there are the people we've felt we could never live without. We've told them things no other person knows. We've had emotional experiences with them. We feel we understand their thoughts and dreams, and we want the very best for them. But somehow, sometimes without anything happening to catalyze it, the compulsion to share the parts of us that we protect the most begins to wane, sometimes we feel awkward because we shared what we deem to be too much, sometimes time and space stretch between us and we wonder why we were close in the first place--which isn't to say we don't still enjoy their company. We see them after months or years of little contact and feel kinship and camaraderie, but we know as soon as the visit is over the contact will be suspended again and the closeness will become a memory. What has happened? I believe, somehow, our trust levels shifted. We became aware that the friend's priorities changed and somehow our close friendship was excluded from the list of priorities. Even when we understand, even when we agree this is right, there is a level of trust which is lost which in turn, changes the intimacy level of the friendship. I don't believe we stop loving that person, nor does the love decrease, we simply restructure their place in our lives and change the depth of what we share with them.

I suppose I have realized that when I boxed myself up and shared myself only with Darrin, there is a a part of me that has yearned for connection with other people. That makes me vulnerable--which is intolerable. It also puts me in a position such that when I find someone with whom I feel safe and connected, I'm prone to sharing things I probably should keep to myself. Sometimes the things I share are awkward and funny. Often they're inappropriate and uncomfortable. Sometimes they're ugly and revolting. I have a lot of bad stuff inside me, I suppose. I believe there is a part of me which uses the information as a testing ground--will you still want to be with me after you know all the crap I've experienced, all the nastiness I still agonize over, all the misery that keeps me awake at night? But also, I think for many years I've wanted to say--hey, I think I need to talk about some pretty icky stuff--do you love me? will you listen? will you recognize after you know all that stuff, that I'm still me? I'm still the friend you wanted to be with because I make you laugh and I love you forever? will you still trust me enough to share your life? or will you back away because I'm not whole, I'm odd, I'm scary...

I have many things in my life which were unfortunate--but some of them were beyond my control and I refuse to apologize for them. I also understand that the most recent period of my life is one which is emotionally intense and not all people are strong enough to hear what I say when I need to say it--they're wise enough to refer me to my counselor and get out before they become overwhelmed. I understand that some people need a friend who has less going on inside and can lend a greater listening ear than I can. I understand that some people will want me to be something I'm not, an expectation I can never fulfill. I understand that even when the friendship is wonderful, things happen to alter trust levels--sometimes things beyond our control--and that friendship will move to a less intimate status to accommodate life.

In the midst of all this I find myself thinking that perhaps most people go through this when they are between the ages of 7 and 25, and I'm a severely late bloomer. Perhaps that's why the ages of my friends are somewhat lower than my own. Everyone my age has it all figured out, they've established their social supports, they've grown beyond the need for acceptance and understanding which it seems I still crave. Perhaps in the next 20 years I'll mature emotionally and be able to look fondly at all people without wondering who they are inside, and trying to find out. Perhaps, as people move in and out of my life, I'll be content to let them come and go as they please.

It is easy for me to imagine a time when people will become tired of me and move on. I cannot conceive of the reciprocal, though. Those who are closest to me are there because I want to know about them. I want to understand what hurts them. I want to hear what interests them, what makes them laugh, what brings them joy. I want to hear about the details of their days. I want to help when they're sad. I want to be with them when they have time for me...hmmm...I am truly a stalker at heart.

At the end of the day, I suppose I must acknowledge that regardless of how people feel about me, I have never truly changed. I'm still the little girl who giggled easily and longed for a mother's embrace, the youth who stared with wonder at the beauties of nature while she wondered how to stop hurting inside, the teen who was reckless, curious, and sometimes vindictive, the adult who has never stopped questioning, researching, working...and the woman who wonders how love works, how friendships stay, how to be everything she is all at once.

Scratching my head...

AtP and I have been grocery shopping...a lot. I shop nearly every night before dinner because, well, I like to use fresh produce and I'm not good at deciding what I want to eat until about 3:00 p.m. each day.

So we decided we wanted to make a salad with spinach and baby mozzarella, and tomatoes, and basil, and olive oil, and balsamic vinegar...sounds good, yes?

So we went to the store and we were looking at tomatoes, and discussing which ones were the best/prettiest/most ripe...

And DJ kept laughing at us which isn't unusual given that he does that often...

But then he said, "You guys don't even see it, do you?"

See what?

This:


Now what are those doing there?

Someone wants to keep the tomatoes salmonella free--and what better way to stop the spread of disease than through the use of a condom? Or a few condoms?

And I'm wondering why AtP and I totally missed it...and we almost touched it about a million times.

Katrina and Jared have a new baby!!

And he was full term in spite of efforts to make an early appearance.

Yay!!!!!

Update

AtP has been living with me since Friday. Notice I said "living," not "visiting." Because if you come see me WYSIWYG. My house looks like people live in it--not like I have hotel maids, I make regular food, we don't do something fantastic every day (so it's possible that there might be a moment or two of boredom), and my kids are an integral part of your stay with me. Basically, when you're with me, you're a member of the family and I'm not above giving you jobs around the house or asking you to move if you're in my way. Oh--and if you bring a spouse you might be sleeping on an air mattress, as Adam's room doubles as our guest room and he only has a twin bed. But if you're small and like cuddling together, perhaps a twin bed is adequate. Darrin and I did it once or twice shortly after we were married. We didn't really notice the possible perils of falling off the bed. I suppose the crux of this paragraph is to let the world know that I am not in the running for Hostess of the Year--and I'm perfectly okay with that.

There are perks, however, to coming to visit me. Last night, after two years of friendship, AtP was initiated into "Friend For Life (FFL)" status. This process involves watching one of my favorite movies of all time. In fact, there are a few movies one must watch in order to complete the initiation. If your reaction to the first movie is satisfactory (and in order to ascertain this, one must discuss the movie in depth for at least an hour after watching every second of it--including the credits), I entertain the possibility of allowing you to move to the next step, or movie, in the FFL process. AtP's reaction was not only acceptable--it was infinitely rewarding and I might even decide to let him skip a few of the necessary steps. He is definitely FFL material for Samantha.

Also, Ambrosia, you will be happy (or perhaps nauseated) to know that AtP and I finally fulfilled our urge to bite the butter. And it was as wonderful as we assumed it would be. We repeated the process several times and each bite brought great joy. It might become a habit. However, we forgot to explain the butter biting rules to Sully and Adam, who wished to join in the experience. They not only bit the butter--they ate it. And they didn't look well when they had finished. I believe their joy was not equal to mine and AtP's. They were very good sports about it, though.

Saturday we had the Day of Days. We went to an amusement park with ten other people. List of attendees: Darrin, Samantha, DJ, Adam, Tabitha, AtP, Sully, Brother of Sam, Favorite Sister-in-Law, Tabitha Friend One, Tabitha Friend Two, and Friend of Adam. The Girl Car transported Favorite Sister-in-Law, Tabitha, Friend One, Friend Two, and Me. The Boy Van transported Darrin, Brother of Sam, DJ, Adam, Friend of Adam, Sully, and Atp. The Girl Car was cuter and much more fun. Boys are yucky.

At the amusement park I managed to bond with my seatmate, Sully, as we immortalized our ride on my favorite roller coaster of all time, with a photograph. The delightful picture also features DJ and AtP who sat behind us. All four of us managed to scream like girls (I did it the best) as the picture was snapped. Okay, I'm lying. Only DJ, AtP, and Sully screamed like girls. I was laughing too hard. But Sully and I further cemented our bond by cuddling for 10 seconds during the subsequent trip to the Imax to see the Dark Knight. We tried to extend the cuddling session--but let's face it. I'm not that great at cuddling with guys. And besides, it made me sleepy. AtP circumvented all cuddling by putting the arm rest between us, so now he will never know the joy of a 10-second Sam cuddle.

After the movie Tabitha decided she was feeling ill, and I was very tired because I stayed up until 3:30 a.m. the night before, talking on the phone with Jason. This was a bad choice. I would do it again. It was fun.

Given my fatigue and Tabitha's illness, the Girl Car lost its gender specific status as Sully took the wheel and drove us safely back home. We arrived, finally, in spite of the fact that at one point after a potty break, he tried to return to Denver because his sense of direction became confused. We set him straight. I believe he has filled his lifetime quota of riding with three loud, giggly thirteen-year-old girls and Samantha. Except he has to ride to Utah with me tomorrow. We'll take AtP with us instead of the girls. His giggle is nicer.

This is now day ten of lack-of-sleep Samantha. Although I got about five hours last night. That's more than I've had in a long time. If I ever get more sleep I believe my posts will make more sense. I could be wrong, though. Perhaps they've always been a little odd.

A short post

I see Therapist on Tuesday. As usual, when the time to see him gets close I begin feeling anxious and sort of cranky. I realized today that in the midst of all of this is a feeling of peace. I awake in the morning feeling it. It is amplified when I run and when the stress begins to rise I'm finding it easier to move to the peaceful feelings within a few moments.

Why am I anxious about seeing Therapist?

Part of me is still tired. I've worked hard in the past couple of years. I'd like to stay where I'm at--it's a pretty nice place--and just relax for a month or two. But I'm not made that way. I don't know how to stop and rest. I've also discovered a couple of things that will help me grow a bit and I'm pushing myself to get on with it. The more I do, the sooner I'll find resolution.

But for tonight, I'm going to sleep.

My kids are severely in need of attention

DJ and Adam walk downstairs while I'm at work on the computer. They are wearing adhesive metal brackets on their foreheads.

Me: What are you doing?
Adam: We're being bulls.
Me: You just look like silly kids with metal things on your heads.
DJ: Yeah, but we like to pretend.
Me: How old are you?
DJ: You know you want to laugh.
Me: I'm not going to.
DJ: Do you think it hurts to get your nostrils waxed?
Adam: I think you need to try it.
DJ: Be quiet. Bulls can't talk.

More Trivial Knowledge Enrichment

Sam: Darrin! Stop! There's an owl on that building, I swear it's true!

Darrin drives back around the building and sure enough, there's an owl. Sam jumps out of the car and tries to take pictures with her phone, wondering how all the other car people can possibly not see the owl.

Later, Samantha excitedly tells everyone at a family picnic about her owl.

Sam (yelling): There's an owl on the top of the Holiday Inn! I have pictures of it on my phone!

Brother of Sam: Yeah. There's an owl on the top of every Holiday Inn. They're fake.

Sam (yelling): Yay! There's a fake owl on the top of the Holiday Inn!! I have pictures of it on my phone!

Darrin: It's a scare-owl. It scares away...things.

Sam (yelling):Yay! There's a fake SCARE owl on the top of the Holiday Inn!! And I have pictures of it on my phone!


I did not know the Holiday Inn put scare-owls on their roofs. Did you? (and I'm supposed to be the trivia queen)

The Bishop's wife loves summer

Because...

1. All the student wards meet together and Darrin is only responsible for one month's worth of meetings.
2. Darrin is only gone one night each week (for interviews and meetings) instead of six.
3. Darrin goes to Sacrament Meeting with me and I get to sit with him. Yay! This hasn't happened for over six years, and is especially good because when they turn on the air conditioning in the chapel it's about 40 degrees in there. Darrin is nice and warm, and agrees to let me sit very close to him. And he likes it. :)
4. Darrin will take walks with me sometimes.
5. Darrin has agreed to go on vacation with us--FOR A WEEK!! This would never happen during the school year. I love summer.

Conversations and Dreams

My awareness of stress acceleration is becoming more acute--which means I can recognize it before it explodes. Most of the time I'm able to circumvent the explosions by making time for a walk or a run by myself. The alone time seems to be the key which is not what I was told in the hospital. There I was instructed to not be alone--even if that meant contact online or through the phone. But what I find is that I either begin venting to that person, which makes me feel horribly guilty and even more stressed, or I am listening to them, and while I enjoy listening to others, the moments when I'm feeling out of control are not the best time to be a good listener.

For awhile the "talking" thing worked. The problem is that I have nothing new to say. There are few people who wish to hear the same thing repeatedly. There are also few people who will hear what I'm saying, validate me, but recognize that most of what I'm saying is not reality, but rather me expressing the extremity of what I'm feeling. And much of the time I don't really mean what I say beyond the moment. Today I had an unfortunate conversation. I was talking to a friend about feeling overwhelmed by the sadness of another person--whom, in truth, I don't feel overwhelmed by. Basically, I was talking, and that came out. This is not a case of subconsciously speaking the truth--it's me allowing stress to exaggerate the tiniest aspects of my life. The truth is, the friend in question does not cause me stress--ever--in fact, being with him makes me feel joyful and calm. So the fact that I was saying otherwise is proof that I am unable to interpret what I'm feeling in a rational way:

Chat Person: It can be draining to be with people we love.
me: I hate that! I don't want people to feel drained if I'm with them. That's why I'm hating this so much. If I feel this way about someone, and I adore him, I can't imagine how I've sucked the life out of every person I've been with for the past couple of years. I would seriously rather have been alone.
Chat Person: You would choose not to be with your friend? He's not worth the effort?

(long pause as Sam refuses to answer)

Chat Person: Well, it's obvious that's not the case. And I guess you have to let other people make that decision about you.
me: I'm tired. This is not what I should be saying. This fatigue--frustration--I feel toward my friend--you have felt it toward me? When I was overwhelmed emotionally and I came to you?
Chat Person: Well, I don't know the caliber of fatigue/frustration you're feeling, but there have been times when I've felt fatigue and frustration, yes.
me: I think that should not be.
Chat Person: I personally would distrust a relationship that required nothing.
me: You asked if I would choose not to be with my friend--if he was not worth it. There are times, when I wish he was not part of my life, yes. I wish that about everyone occasionally, especially when I'm overwhelmed. I don't particularly care what that says about me. I'm well aware that I'm not the poster child of good friends. And, quite honestly, I don't think that will surprise you. However, as to whether or not he's worth it...that's something different altogether. And like it or not, I fell in love with him. Once that happens, I'll pretty much donate all my organs for the person I love. I can't help it. So--there is your answer.

The truth is that 30 minutes after this conversation, I was feeling no more antagonism toward anyone. It was a fleeting thing which I should simply have waited out. As the day progressed my stress levels increased. By dinnertime I was unable to eat, on the verge of laughing (or crying) hysterically, and absolutely irrational.

So--I went for a walk. I walked outside the city limits to a place where there are fields and dirt roads. The fields were green, the sky an incredible blue, the clover was in blossom and it smelled lovely. I walked for an hour and a half, and came home feeling much better.

Tonight I'm calm, but still wondering if I should avoid people for awhile. I feel poisonous when I talk during a PTSD episode. There is still random anger floating about inside. It seems to direct itself toward everyone I love, especially the person kind enough to spend time with me.

I had a dream last night. I was talking with a loved one in the manner I was speaking today. I was vicious and spiteful. He waited until I was finished with my unkind tirade, then he walked over to me, put his arms around me and said, "You're hurting again, aren't you." I said no. He hugged me and said, "It's okay. I'll just stay here until you feel better."

I woke up crying. I realized that many times in my dreams I allow people I love to act out what I wish had happened when I was hurt as a child and teen. It feels wrong to do that, somehow--to put them in a situation where they act differently from how they would in real life. And I feel guilty that I allow it to happen. But there is also a part of me that, for just a moment, feels absolutely safe. It's a rather remarkable feeling.

Someday, when everyone knows everything, and those friends find out that in my dreams I let them hold me when I was hurting, I hope they'll forgive me.

Michael Penn - Brave New World

I just like it. That's all.

Green Thumb

A student came for her lesson this morning, but didn't come inside. I finally went out to see what was keeping her. She said, "I love your flower garden."

I love my garden, too. I am not a gardener. I mentioned my gardening method last year.
1. Load Tabitha and Adam into the car.
2. Drive to the greenhouse.
3. Allow them to choose six or seven flowers each (any kind--whatever they think is pretty).
4. Choose five tomato plants and several herbs (basil--at least three plants, oregano and mint if I happened to kill the perennials that were previously thriving, rosemary, summer savory, lemon basil, lemon balm, lavender and anything else that looks or smells lovely).
5. Come home and think about planting.
6. Put it off for a couple of days.
7. Drag Tabitha and Adam to the garden plot.
8. Dig holes and stick in the plants. Try to keep the taller ones toward the back and mix things up as much as possible.
9. Put all the herbs next to the stepping stones so they are easily accessible.
10. Clean up, go into the house, and pray that everything survives (note: if they don't survive, start over and try it again).

So--my garden is a success. My piano student thinks it's lovely. And she even thinks it's lovely with the two dead plants hiding in the back which shall shortly be replaced when I remember to go back to the greenhouse. Just don't ask me what's in it. I have no idea.

"There is something beautiful about all scars of whatever nature. A scar means the hurt is over, the wound is closed and healed, done with."

I'll admit that there is a bizarre part of me that doesn't want the wound to close. It took a huge effort to start talking after so many years. It was both shocking and soothing to find people accepted me for who I was in spite of what had happened to me. I've spent nearly three years now looking at reality and no longer flinching from it.

And still, allowing it all to return to the past makes me feel that somehow there was no point to all that I have done.

I am an incredibly strong person. I know this. And yet, in spite of that strength, the things I faced brought me to my knees. I ended up in the hospital. I spent months wishing to be anyone but me. I hated myself--everything about myself. I saw all my unmet needs and wondered how someone as capable as myself could possibly be so emotionally inept. I despised my "weakness."

About a year ago I looked at pictures of myself as a child. I posted some of them. I confessed to a friend that I could not understand how a mother would not want me. I understood that everything lined up just right so that I was resented rather than cherished. I understood that what my mother had been through was horribly draining. The understanding brought no comfort. I told my friend that I could not understand how I was unloved and unwanted. It felt agonizing to know the truth, but be unable to apply it to myself. I've always known people should not love me or want me in their lives, but I've also never believed that. I know. That makes no sense.

My friend exclaimed that he loved me, and that he wanted me. In retrospect, there are all sorts of ways to misconstrue what he said, but my heart at that time needed to hear those words. I had no reason to disbelieve him, and I was in a moment of weakness. His words sustained me through a few more hellish weeks in which I belittled myself and told me all the ways that I was unworthy of love. In the subsequent months our friendship has morphed into something less intense and certainly more logical. I don't believe he could be paid a large enough sum to ever repeat the words again, regardless of my need. Sometimes I'm grateful for late night chats in which people lose their sense of reserve and I hear what I need to hear.

Ninety-nine percent of me wishes to close the book I've written and move forward without the impediment of my memories and my past. The remaining one percent screams that I'll be forgotten, dishonoring something I survived with as much dignity and grace as I could muster. It tells me that I'm still crying inside on many levels, and that I've solved nothing. I respond that I hear the cry, but I have no way to still it. The impossible task of finding comfort has brought more agony than peace. At some point one has to simply say, "This is how things are. It would be nice to have a 'happily ever after.' That's not going to happen this time." And then one goes through the damnable acceptance exercises, hoping that one day those will actually "stick" and it won't be necessary to keep repeating the same motions forever.

Today I thought, what do I want people to remember about me? I want them to remember that I laughed. I want them to remember that my life was joyful. I want them to remember that I found delight in simple things. I want them to remember that I was happy most of the time and that when I loved it was with my whole soul.

So why do I worry that the nasty parts will be forgotten?

I suppose, in the end, they won't be, as I sport a multitude of beautiful scars. But truly, that wasn't part of my list of preferred remembrances in the first place.

Follow-up

Okay--that was fun and I think you should all visit more often--and I should visit back. I'll work on that last part. And if you're being stubborn and not saying hello STILL, well, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and pretending your internet connection is spotty or because of my previous posts, you've been too afraid to read. I think that's reasonable. But when you have internet again, or you stop being afraid of me, I still think you should come say hello.

P.S. In case you haven't noticed (and I know you haven't), Tolkien Boy no longer visits me. This could be because he no longer visits anyone--but since I don't stalk him anymore, I don't know. However, as someone pointed out to me, his absence is making Mr. Fob's belief that I am a figment of TB's imagination seem somewhat flawed. And so I will publicly admit that I am NOT his figment, nor have I ever been. Truthfully, even though Tolkien Boy's imagination is marvelous, even he could not dream up a person as conflicted as I am--and if he did, it would be a man. You know I'm right, Mr. Fob. Let's face it, for the most part, TB's female figments are seriously two-dimensional and not even close to being as lovely as I am. In fact, they rather frighten me in their austerity and shallowness. I have little love for the female figments of TB's imagination. However, in fairness, last year for a short time he worked on making them more appealing and was somewhat successful once or twice. They were much nicer, if a little bit short on IQ points. BUT...none of them turned into me. Conclusion: I must be a figment of someone else's imagination, which is a pity. I like TB.

You're all lazy

I'm not kidding. You read this on your Google Reader, or on Bloglines and you never visit anymore. I'm starting to feel sorry for myself because I serve the purpose of a television set--you read but don't connect--

And don't tell me you have nothing to say!! I've met many of you--you talk incessantly.

And it doesn't matter if what you say has anything to do with my post, either. Just come say hello.

Come on...you can do it...you know you miss me...click the link...just come say hi...


And I promise I'll talk back if you do. It's time for some quality etime, some genuine virtual dialogue, some textual visibility.

P.S. If you comment regularly like JB, Ambrosia, AJ, and others who talk to me, this is not aimed at you--but I still want you to say hi. :)

" ...make whole again the little girl, who clings to sonnets & sobriety."

As usual, I'm avoiding sleep.

It seems I have set in motion a chain reaction inside myself. I continue to make connections and draw conclusions. I am allowing myself to let go--but it hurts dreadfully. There is still a part of me that is certain when I am finished nothing will have been solved--I will simply forget. And I will have made all this fuss for nothing. There is still a certainty that no one truly cares about something which happened so long ago that it doesn't really matter.

I asked Darrin last night if I was important to him. I asked him if he missed me when I was not with him. He hugged me and said, "Yes," to both questions.

Why can't I believe?

Why am I certain that if I stop talking, and hurting, and digging about, that once again I will disappear behind the mask I once made to protect all people from me?

Why do I think that when I let all this go there will be nothing left of me?

I need to answer those questions, and soon. Because I am letting go, and I cannot keep talking about the same thing forever. And this seems to be the bottom line--I can't seem to understand that Samantha is not some colossal mistake. I can't seem to make my heart truly believe what my head is saying.

And it's silly, really. People who love me remind me of that often. I don't think this is happening because I despise myself--because I don't. I think it's that trust thing once again. I do not know how to trust.

So I guess I'll throw myself into whatever is happening inside myself, and believe it will make me feel better in the end. And I'm going to hope that those people who have expressed love to me really meant what they said.

And tonight I'm happy and sad. Happy, because I think I'm doing the right thing. Sad, because for whatever reason, I don't want people to forget the unwanted and aching little girl who used to be me. It's selfish, I know. Still, tonight this is how I feel.

Rhapsody Rabbit

Favorite cartoon #1.

Today

I used to believe if I accepted all that had happened to me and allowed myself to be healed, that I would cease to be me--I would become someone different. I believed that new person would be weaker and would have lost all dignity and integrity. Somehow, I felt that by continuing to rage against my past, I was somehow honoring myself.

In a way, I was right. I have become someone different. I once described myself to Tolkien Boy as "tall and fierce". I am neither of those things. Perhaps, at that time I was fierce about many things. Now I am short, as I always have been, and tired.

There is no honor in continuing to rage at my past. There is no dignity in insisting that the only way I can heal is to take away the things that have hurt me. And I no longer have the energy to be fierce.

And so, today I am laying my burden at my Savior's feet. I can no longer carry it. And I've promised to change the course of my life as He sees fit--not as I would insist. It has taken a very long time to wear me down, and I've been humbled more often than I would like. It seems unfair that there is no visible, immediate recompense...but then I reflect on the incredible blessings I've enjoyed during the past two years, and I cannot complain.

I wished for a voice--this venue was opened to me. I talked more than I have ever talked in my life. I said things I didn't think I would ever have the courage to say. I screamed and laughed and cried--electronically.

I wished for understanding and empathy. It was here in abundance. Even those who could not understand tried, and when someone came to my world to mock, attack, or undermine, many came to my defense--something that has not happened in my life before.

I did not wish to face my demons alone, but my family and husband were too closely linked to me to avoid personalizing my issued. Indeed, there have been times when their feelings have threatened to overwhelm my own, effectively stopping my progress. An online community of friends allowed me to have companionship without personalization, and some of those virtual friends became corporeal ones--which opened up new challenges to one like me, who traditionally avoided close contacts of any kind. But I have not been alone, spiritually, nor emotionally, and sometimes even physically, as I've walked my difficult path.

I wished to be held. I wished to be loved. I wished to be respected. I have received those things -- from unlikely sources, it is true, but I have still received them. Time after time I have been validated as a person until, finally, I understand that I am not a victim of circumstance, but rather, a person of worth. I could not proceed until I reached that conclusion.

Every need that I have expressed to the Lord has been filled in ways I could never anticipate. He has provided for me, stretched me, made me work, and asked me to serve in return.

I am realizing that accepting His will means that I will allow myself to give up many things, and that I will, indeed, change from who I was. But that has always been the case. There has never been a time when change was not present in my life. The difference now is that I am allowing the Lord to tell me what to change, instead of adhering to my personal whims and ideals.

And today, I am tired. But I will run in the place which brings me peace, and I will have a beautiful day. And I will think about loving the things the Lord loves, wanting the things he wishes for me, and learning that sacrificing my own wishes is really no sacrifice at all. Because he knows me better than I know myself.

This is not easy.

Not Angry Anymore

There's a line from a Matchbox 20 song: "...and it's good that I'm not angry...anymore..."

Anger is an emotion I run from with all my might. I've never found anything redeeming in the emotion and I always end up throwing up when I feel it. I'm certain it's because I don't really remember a time when my mother wasn't angry. There were short moments, but the anger always seethed beneath the surface. I was afraid of her anger.

Unfortunately, I've had to allow myself to feel the anger that has been stored up inside me for many years. Allowing that emotion was horrifying to me. As I knew it would, the result was that I was ill each time the emotion came. I found it creeping into situations unexpectedly, accompanied by self-pity at the misery I had been forced to endure.

The anger tainted my ability to reach out to others. Many times in the past two years I have been approached by people who had experienced things similar to the abuses I have felt. They wished for empathy. I had none. They wanted to talk. I could not listen. It was too much. The rage I felt for them and for myself threatened to consume me. I was left feeling horrible guilt as I let them know that now was not a good time for me to be of support to them, and referred them to whatever other source I could think of.

I was afraid I would be in this state forever. I realized last week that I won't be. I had a visitor to my blog. She, too, was not valued by her mother, and suffered emotional abuses which have left her hurting and sad. For the first time, I responded to this type of visitor by stopping by her blog. I wanted to say something--but there seemed nothing to say. Truly, can words help? I knew there were many times I found comfort in the words of others, but there were also times when words, intended to be loving and supportive, actually were harmful, sending me into despair. I didn't want that.

I read the blog of my visitor. She told of an experience where a person in her life tried to molest her. She told of how she was spared. She knew it had been through the intervention of the Spirit. A year ago, I would have been very upset to read that. She was spared--why wasn't I? Did God hate me as much as my parents did? Why would he not save me? Why?

This time, as I read her account, I wept. I was truly happy that she had not been hurt as I had been. No one should feel what I have felt--I have said that many times. And if she was the only child spared that agony, then life has goodness, for one innocent child didn't suffer. But the truth is, there are many who are spared, and that gives me hope.

As I watched the confirmation I mentioned in my previous post today, something else happened. At the end of the blessing, the tiny eight-year-old (who in stature was about the same size I was at her age), turned to her father with her arms lifted up. He picked her up off the ground so that he could cuddle her close and then he kissed her. When he replaced her on the ground, she turned to her uncle, who repeated the gesture, as did her grandfather and a close family friend. They were unashamed at the physical manifestation which demonstrated their love for her. I thought, I don't remember anyone kissing me as a child. I don't remember being held like that. Once again, I felt tears, because instead of the expected anger and agony, I felt joy for that little girl. I was so happy that she is being raised in an environment where she is comfortable being held and embraced by men and women. She expects it--as every healthy child should.

My thirteen-year-old daughter, in response to the spectacle, cuddled next to me and kissed me on the cheek. She, too, understands that love should be expressed. For the first time I understood why Therapist said that in stopping my family's cycle of abuse with my own children, I have done something monumental. My daughter isn't afraid of me. She loves me. My sons, now teenagers, still hug and kiss their dad and I.

And in the midst of all this, my anger is spent. I no longer feel pain as I watch others receive what I did not. I just feel happy, grateful that there are many who will not feel what I have felt.

That's a good thing.

A constant companion

I'm the Activity Days leader for the girls age 8-12 in our ward. This week a young lady joined our group by virtue of her 8th birthday. She was confirmed in Sacrament Meeting. I was struck by the words her father said as he conferred upon her the Gift of the Holy Ghost. He mentioned that personage of spirit, the third member of the Godhead, could now be her constant companion. He would be with her always. He would comfort her when she mourned, guide her when she made choices, and rejoice with her when she was happy. It was the last part that I heard.

In my agonizing process of trying to understand how friendships and human relations work, I've often rejected the companionship of the Holy Ghost. Not that I've sent him away, I've just not acknowledged his presence. I know he's been there. Time after time, when I was frustrated, lonely, or confused, I've felt him soothe my soul and bring me peace.

I've written many times about the joy I feel when I'm alone, when I'm running or practicing. But the truth is, I'm never lonely in those times--because truly, I'm not alone. I see things more clearly, I find joy in my surroundings, I come home ready to deal with any problems of sadness I might face during the day--because I've just spent at least 90 minutes experiencing joy, and somehow, knowing that the Holy Spirit has rejoiced with me helps me understand why I return from those moments feeling healthy and whole. He rejoices with me when I am happy.

There have been times when I have lamented that no one understands the things which are so important and vital in my life. I've longed for someone to share the things that bring me joy. Darrin doesn't run--nor does he understand my need to connect with nature. He indulges me, but that isn't the same. Sully comes close to understanding. He sometimes goes to places of beauty which I've shared with him. He says he thinks of me in those times. But I've often just wanted someone with me right in the moment, so that we might share joy together--and I've always had that, I just didn't know.

Sometimes I miss people. Jason rightfully accused me of becoming very attached to people I love. Somehow that feels like a flaw in my character, but I have no idea how to keep the "attachment" from happening. So when I miss people, I put on my running shoes and I run until the feelings go away. I had this conversation with Tolkien Boy about it:

TB: You missed people, so you ran more?
me: Yes. Doesn't everyone? :)
TB: I assume these were people who were not nearby.
me: Not necessarily. But mostly, yes. I don't like missing people. It makes my stomach hurt.
TB: Would there be a way to interact with these people?
me: Tolkien Boy, I'm still trying to figure out how to say, "Hey! I miss you!" without feeling that I'm intruding in a life where I have no place. It has nothing to do with how the other person perceives me, but rather, how I perceive myself.
TB: So, running is part of your practice.
me: Yes. I run till the "missing" goes away.
TB: Well, when you're ready, perhaps you'll start using other strategies.
me: Such as?
TB: I suspect they're things you have to discover for yourself.
me: Right. Sorry I mentioned it.
TB: I didn't mean to sound as if I'm brushing you off. I just don't know if any of the things I do will help you. Would you like to hear them anyway?
me: That's why I asked. :)
TB: Well, when I'm missing someone, I call them up. Or write them a letter. I do this more often, because people love to get letters or emails. Sometimes I just think of the things I like about them, and why I'm missing them. Write about them. Lately, I make little photo montages. That's been fun, actually, if a bit cheesy.
me: I feel stupid when I miss someone.
TB: Why?

I didn't answer him. I was distracted by a sudden thought. TB doesn't miss me. But I miss him. That's why I feel stupid--because I feel something I have no right to feel. TB can't miss me--I talk to him several times a week. It's like the line from the Homer and Jethro song: "...Oh, how can I miss you, If you won't go away..."

I'm digressing.

The point I'm making is that in the midst of all this, there is always someone who wishes to be with me--all the time. And he wants only what is best for me. He loves me. And so I lament what I don't have, without having gratitude for the blessing of my constant companion and friend. There are times when he has to leave me because I'm choosing things that make him uncomfortable. I miss him when he's gone, but I think he misses me, too, and he waits until I'm able to put things right. Then he comes back as soon as possible, helping me heal, comforting when I mourn, rejoicing with me when I'm happy.

And today I'm so thankful for his presence in my life, because I listened to him for the first time in far too long--and I learned things, and I gave service where it was needed, and I knew I was doing what was important for me right now.

I love him. What an incredible gift. I am so blessed by his friendship, love, and concern for me. He is truly one who knows all about me, loves every part of me, understands and participates in the things which bring me joy and are so important to me.

How about that? All this time I've been seeking for something I have always had.

Why I don't like to answer the phone while Darrin is a bishop

Woman: Is this the Bishop's house?
Me: This is were a bishop lives, yes.
Woman: Let me talk to him.
Me: I can't.
Woman: Why not?
Me: He's not here.
Woman: Where is he?
Me: Out.
Woman: Oh. Well. I need to talk to him.
Me: I assumed that when you commanded me to let you talk to him.
Woman: When will he be back?
Me: I don't know.
Woman: Who are you?
Me: Who are you?
Woman: I'm here with my son. I need to know where and when his ward meets. And I need to talk to the Bishop.
Me: Oh. Well, I can probably tell you when the ward meets, but I need to know your son's address so I can put him in contact with the correct bishop.
Woman: Well, actually, I'm the one who wants to talk to the Bishop, not my son.
Me: Okay. Tell me where you live, and I'll tell you what ward you're in and who your bishop is.
Woman: That's complicated.
Me: It is?
Woman: Yes.
Me: Why?
Woman: I live with my son.
Me: I assumed you did. Where do you live.
Woman: Uh...in the dorms.
Me: Okay. I think you're in Bishop S's ward.
Woman: Is that a family ward?
Me: Yes.
Woman: No. I want to go to the student ward.
Me: I see. You know what, I'm going to give you Bishop S's number anyway. I think he can listen to your situation and advise you much better than I can.
Woman: Well, I guess that's okay.
Me: I think so, too.

First problem--moms are not allowed to live with their sons in the dorms--mostly because the dorms are divided by gender.
Second problem--Unless the mom had the son when she was 12, she's too old to attend a student ward.
Third problem--Why? Either she's a weirdo psychopath old woman who preys on younger men (or I suppose she might like younger women--anything is possible), or she's an overprotective mom who followed her son to college, is living illegally in his dorm room, and wants to watch his every move and thus, must attend church with him.

Whatever. It's way too weird for me. I'll let Bishop S. handle it.

To enrich your trivial knowledge

Fish do not have a uvula.

In-Therapy Samantha

In November of 2005 my mother called me. She told me that cousin David's wife had died. I was completely unprepared for the emotions that engulfed me. I felt wildly triumphant that something bad had happened to the person who had hurt me. I felt shocked that his wife, whom had always been friendly and kind to me, was dead. I felt sadness for the two teenage boys now left without a mother. After years of controlling my emotions, suddenly I had no control.

I asked if the death was suicide. My mother replied that no one knew for certain. The cause of death was a drug overdose. In my mind there was no doubt that she had taken her own life.

I thanked my mother for the phone call, declined her invitation to go with them to the funeral, and hung up. Then I went online to check the newspaper obituary. I read the article, then clicked on the link to sign the online guest book for her. I left a short note expressing sadness and sympathy and signed my name. Then I closed the page and very carefully forced myself to think of something else. As far as I was concerned, the event was finished.

One month later received an email from Sister 1. My father had planned a family gathering the weekend of New Year's. We were going to gather at Sister 3's home and watch all six Star Wars movies, then ring in the New Year together. A video call to Sister 5 in Germany was also planned. I had no interest in the movies, but thought it would be fun to spend time together and I was looking forward to the reunion.

Sister 1's email let everyone know that she had invited cousin David and his sons to join us. I knew she and David had been good friends throughout the years, so I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. Suddenly all the emotions were back. For the first time in many years I found myself crying and hysterical. Darrin asked what was wrong. I told him I couldn't go to the reunion and explained why. He said that was fine, we'd stay home--but I still couldn't stop crying.

Two hours later, Darrin led me to the car and drove me to my parents' home. He said we had to talk to my father and tell him the problem. I said I couldn't. Darrin said it was time.

We found my dad in his office and I incoherently and hysterically told him I wouldn't be attending the reunion and why. Even after all the time that had passed, I was certain he would be angry with me. I waited for him to express that. Instead he began to sob. He asked me repeatedly why I had never told him. I tried to explain--and did so very badly. After a rather horrible hour, my father assured me that I needed to be with the family and if he had his way, there would be no contact with David again. I told my dad I didn't want anyone else to know. He said that was up to me. He also said he wanted me to see a counselor. He said this was not something I could deal with on my own anymore. I was too tired to argue.

Over the next couple of weeks my father pumped me for more details. I gave some but not many. I couldn't admit to myself the depth of what had happened, let alone share that with my dad, whom I somehow still felt that I had let down. The reunion came and went--it was a lot of fun. I slipped back into my work routine and forgot my promise to see a counselor.

The first week of February I received a phone call from Counselor the First. She made an appointment to see me that week and I began the journey that still continues. I thought, initially, that I would "finish" in about three months. I am now in my third year.

While with Counselor the First, I learned how to talk about things I had not discussed before. Granted, I used very general terms, and was unable to look at things realistically, but it was a starting point. Counselor told me it was not necessary for me to look at things closely, simply to acknowledge what happened and allow Christ to help me heal. I tried desperately to make that happen. It didn't. Within four months my eating disorder had escalated and my therapy sessions were becoming extremely stressful. I had tried many things--nothing was helping. I finally stopped going. My father was concerned. I said no therapy was better than what I was currently receiving.

It became apparent within about six weeks that I was desperately in need of help. I finally agreed to see a male counselor--the same one my father had been seeing. I was not comfortable with the situation, but agreed because I knew I was in trouble. I began meeting with Therapist and within two visits I realized that this was a person who could truly help me. In addition to finally finding a counselor who seemed to know how to tap into my strengths and allow me latitude to make my own choices, I had found an unlikely online support group made up of people who had encountered my blog and who were willing to allow me to talk with them. Four, in particular, had regular contact with me.

For about nine months I met with Therapist. In that time I learned how to say exactly what had happened to me without throwing up. I met with my cousin, David, and had lunch with him. I did not confront him. My purpose was to see him as he was, so that my fear might subside. My nightmares had become frequent and overwhelming. I worked with a friend to help control those and had success in that, for the most part. I was feeling strong and capable when Therapist let me know he had been transferred to Utah. He asked me to let him refer me to another counselor. I said no. I was finished. Therapist knows better than to argue with me--so he didn't.

One month later I was admitted to the mental health unit of the hospital under suicide watch. During my stay there I was evaluated by a few psychiatrists and did copious amounts of psyche testing. I did hours of therapy. The diagnosis: I was not clinically depressed--in fact, I didn't have any symptoms of depression apart from my wish to die, which made no sense. I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder which was only now beginning to emerge. As I allowed myself to remember, to talk, to acknowledge the abuses in my life, the PTSD was becoming unmanageable. I watched educational videos which recommended that I work on getting my drug and alcohol addictions under control before I began working on managing PTSD--that was easy enough. :)

I left the hospital with lists of healthy coping resources, pamphlets about what I could expect to experience when the disorder became full-blown, and a prescription to get back into therapy immediately. I ignored all of them.

One month later a counselor was calling me again. Apparently, while at the hospital I had signed a release allowing one of the psychiatrists to follow enroll me as a client at a local mental health clinic. The counselor scheduled my first appointment and I began seeing her. For three months I worked with her, always feeling that I was spinning my wheels and that nothing was getting better. She did, however, help me begin to work on my feelings about the abuse I had received from my mother, but the result was that my PTSD symptoms began increasing in frequency and acuteness. Finally, I went to my father and asked if he thought it would be worth it for me to drive 350 miles monthly to see Therapist once again. My dad said I needed to do whatever was necessary, and if I felt Therapist could help me, that was what I needed to do.

So I began seeing Therapist once again. And once again I felt I was moving forward. Unfortunately, the reality was not what I had been working toward. I wanted, somehow, for my therapy sessions to help me nullify everything. I wanted to be able to make a "happily ever after" for myself. When I realized that was never going to happen, I felt betrayed somehow. I felt I had been tricked into spending two years discussing the things that hurt me--and that hurt all over again. And the process seemed purposeless. I spent nearly eight months wallowing in misery. My sessions with Therapist served to keep me from being despondent, but I was struggling to find momentum again. I had times when I thought things were moving forward, but I couldn't see any progress. Therapist insisted I was still progressing, and he would tell me the ways, but I felt miserable.

I had investigated what it meant to mourn, to acknowledge, to accept--it all seemed rather horrible. My flashbacks and PTSD episodes seemed to control my life. I could see no good outcome to the mess I had begun two years before.

When I visited with Therapist last week, he mentioned that I've made slow steady progress over the past three months, at learning to live with and cope with the stress symptoms of PTSD. My behavior had been erratic and unpredictable in that time period--so I knew he was crazy. He admitted that I had acted in atypical ways, but then said, "What have you learned?"

What had I learned? I learned that I can't count on myself to act correctly when I'm overwhelmed by stress. I learned that sometimes I might yell at my kids--even though I had not done that before. I learned that I'm miserable and insecure when the episodes come. I learned that I sort of hate myself.

Therapist said, No, that wasn't what he meant. He asked me if I'd learned anything else. How had people responded to me? What would I do differently in a similar situation? What did I do to help alleviate the stress?

What did I do to alleviate stress? I talked with my kids, specifically Adam, as he seemed to trigger more negative emotions simply because he was nearing the age that David was when he hurt me. We discussed behaviors they have which trigger flashbacks or leave me feeling attacked and talked about alternatives when situations arise that in which those behaviors might be exhibited. We talked about things we could do to build our relationships, so that we felt safe enough to talk about things without attacking one another. Mostly, I just made sure they know I love them. And Darrin and I agreed that we need to spend more time one-on-one, so he knows where I am emotionally and can help as needed.

Side note: This discussion made me feel inadequate as a parent and completely miserable. My children are not responsible for my PTSD. It makes me angry that it's a part of their lives.

What would I do differently? I told Therapist I'd like to dig a PTSD hole and just stay there until the symptoms pass. He suggested that would be ineffective. I said I still needed to think about this question.

How had people responded to me? With more love that I deserve, certainly. There was a great deal of kindness given me. No one was angry.

Prior to visiting with Therapist last week, I returned to the assignments I had been putting off because they were uncomfortable or scary. And I did quite a few of them. The result of this brought realizations I had been avoiding, but which needed to be acknowledged.

And so, I am here, once again. I see Therapist for a three week check in about two weeks. I'm unhappy that I still need him. I'm unhappy that I still need anyone. But I'm feeling positive about this for the first time in many months. And I'm on my third week of few or no PTSD symptoms.

And now I'm tired. I'm going to bed.