When the water backs up...

We've had plumbing issues for a week. After dumping gallons of environmentally unsafe chemicals down the offending orifices, we finally called a plumber. He's coming today in about fifteen minutes. My regret: It's not George, so I can't ask him if he'd like to pay me to be his answering service for all the wrong number calls we get.

Ah, well...chances are our pipes will back up again someday and maybe when that happens, George's Plumbing will be the business of choice for our landlord--which means opportunity will be knocking for me. Yay!

Spring

Spring has been a long time in coming. This week I noticed leaves on my currant bushes and the grass is no longer brown. I'm busy, as I usually am, with additional rehearsals and performances that come with this time of year.

I didn't teach this school year. I will do so in the fall. When I look back at the past seven years, I realize that while I went on a journey to discover myself, nothing has really changed. I still have anxiety problems and panic attacks. I still have no idea how to navigate people or relationships. I don't know why the people who are present in my life continue to stay. But I suppose at some point most people take a good look at who they are and learn to accept that person. I have done this. I don't like it. There are so many things I wish were not a part of my past. It remains to me to decide how I will live in the future.

I can walk again. I thought, for a little while, that I wouldn't be able to do that again. With Therapist's help I have learned to recognize pain. It's not something for which I'm grateful, because I'm in nearly constant pain now, but it's real and it belongs to me.

For awhile now I've been reliant on other people to help me through emotionally difficult times. That has to end. I choose now as the time to work toward independence in this area. I have often said that people are beautiful and wonderful, but the have lives that take precedence over me, and while I believe that is appropriate and right, there are definitely times when I wish I didn't have to be alone. However, being alone won't kill me. One thing I have learned after all that has happened in my life--I will be fine.

As I see signs of springtime approaching I wish I had a plan or a goal for this year. I don't. Recovery takes precedence over wanting to DO things. And I don't know what will happen when Tabitha comes home. I'd like things to be better, but there really is no guarantee that they will be. Also, Tabitha has chosen to have my brother contacted and notified that a report against him has been filed. I can't even speculate about what he will do to retaliate. I suppose it doesn't really matter. If he becomes threatening or dangerous I will file a restraining order against him, my family interaction (such as it is) will become  infrequent if he is invited to gatherings, and life will go on.

I have moments now when I am happy again. I believe those times will multiply simply because that's what I want to have happen. And if it doesn't, I'll live with what occurs. It's difficult to feel anything about this.

My life has not unfolded as I planned or as I wished. Still it's mine and I'll take it as it is--there really is no other choice, and I'm okay with that.

"Organizing is what you do before you do something, so that when you do it, it is not all mixed up." --A.A. Milne

There are days when I feel I'm really starting to get on top of things again. Then I have days like today.

There are a bazillion boxes waiting to be unloaded. They were packed more than a month ago so that we could have paint. They remained packed so that we could get carpet. They are still packed.

It's not like I don't need the contents. I've been teaching in a studio without the resources I usually have. I just say, "Okay, I'll look for that (whatever it is I need) during the week and have it for you at your next lesson." But it's been two weeks and the boxes remain packed and I made the same promises again this week. I did make progress. The boxes are now out of my spare room and reside in my living room.

I'm sitting at my desk surrounded by paper. All my organizing stuff is also in a box. And I have no excuse for not using it. The box is 24 inches from my right elbow just waiting for me to unpack and get organized.

It just seems overwhelming.

However, I did pay bills today--except for the gas bill because the site was down. I'm hoping it comes up today because I'm not sure I'll be in billpaying mode after 24 hours have elapsed.

I have to say, though, new carpet is very nice and definitely worth the hassle. And Darrin hasn't started hanging pictures yet, which makes Adam and me very happy. We love bare walls. They're soothing.

Maybe tomorrow I'll put the books back on the shelves. Or the next day.

Sometimes I sweat when I run...does this make me less feminine?

Also, I ate the last of my chocolate Easter bunny for breakfast because I wanted to. It was made of Lindt chocolate which means it is appropriate breakfast food. And while I'm talking of food and chocolate, Kozy Shack makes a lactose free chocolate pudding that I was living on and loving until I came home from Utah and found it completely gone because Adam has been using it for tortilla chip dip. Sigh...I can't have anything nice.

There is a car in our neighborhood very similar to the one we purchased for Tabitha and Adam to drive. It's a 1985 Toyota Tercel (hatchback, red). I'm pretty sure the only two running specimens of that particular make and model live in our neighborhood. However, they aren't twin cars. Ours is a four-door, and the other is a two-door. This is not a readily apparent difference when one is passing each other, unfortunately, and to the consternation of the two-door owner, Darrin and I wave enthusiastically each time we see an ancient red Tercel approaching us. We are, after all, supposed to be embarrassing our children at every opportunity.

Today, as I drove home from the gym, drenched in sweat with really great hair, I saw a red Tercel approaching me and I waved with gusto, as is my tradition. I noticed that the poor boy who drives the two-door, now ducks a bit and refuses to look at me as I pass. This causes a bit of concern as he turns completely sideways to avoid looking at me and often swerves all over the road. So far we've only met in the sparsely trafficked neighborhood in which we live, but I have no hope for a jogger who might be in his path as he pretends I don't exist.

So when I got home I called Adam to have a powwow:

me: Adam, will you be offended if I don't wave at you when I see you driving?
Adam: Mom, don't you want to go shower?
me: Yes. Shall we continue this conversation in the bathroom?
Adam: NO!
me: So? Will you?
Adam: Will I what?
me: Be offended?
Adam: You woke me up to ask me that?
me: It's 9:30 a.m. That's hardly the crack of dawn.
Adam: But I was sleeping.
me: Yes.
Adam: I think you should go shower, and I should go back to bed.
me: Does that mean it's okay if I don't wave?
Adam: I won't see you anyway. I'll be asleep.
me: While you're driving?
Adam: What are we talking about?
me: I have to admit, I don't really know anymore.
Adam: So can I go?
me: I suppose so.

I'm very glad our communication improves after noon.

April is the cruelest month...

Especially where I live. April can never seem to decide whether or not to allow the warmth of springtime to seep into the world or to blast us with one more blizzard. The past two weeks, April has chosen the blizzard thing. Sometimes the wind would stop and large, sleepy snowflakes would float down. It was lovely--but I think if we're going to have this much snow, we should also get Christmas again. Today the sun is back, but it will be windy and cold.

The birds don't quite know what to do. It's too cold to nest and the snow gets in the way, but they seem very happy--and noisy! Yesterday a flock of blackbirds covered my leafless crabapple tree, singing with such gusto I was certain they were inside the house. They left when I opened the door to go to a rehearsal and haven't been back again. I'm hoping they'll visit today.

I have been riding an emotional roller coaster for too long. There are moments when I feel I'm in front of the roller coaster, trying desperately to stop its motion, only to be run over and at the last moment, flung into a seat--usually in the back where the motion will feel most intense and I can't see what's ahead. Nightmares are, as usual, fairly unmanageable. There have been moments when I've wanted to give up or give in--to just allow the feelings to dictate my life to me. The problem is that many of those emotions are old, created long ago and then ignored. They no longer have relevance. I don't feel the same way today, but the ancient memories clamour for expression still.

Today, however, I have no time for sentiment or validation of those past feelings. And, quite honestly, I'm tired of them. I've given them space and credence and allowance for more than five years. I think that's quite long enough. It's likely that for the rest of my life counterfeit emotions will present themselves. They may be strong enough to cause me tears, or make me feel at odds with life for a moment. They may interrupt my day or confuse me a bit. I may be resentful of them when they come, but I refuse to spend more time than necessary on this. I have a life to live.

A tiny bird is sitting on the rose bush near my window. Its song is a far cry from yesterday's chorus in my trees. It points its tiny beak skyward the softly rounded body quivers as the bird warbles. I wish to borrow from my visitor the ability to live in the moment, to sing because that's what I wish to do, and to allow that song to fill my whole body until it quivers with sound and joy.

Dear PTSD,

I've learned much from you over the past few years. Now it is time for you to learn from me. You came to me uninvited. You may stay as long as you behave yourself. If you misbehave, I will train you to act differently. You are a part of me, but you are not me. I will live my life as I choose. You might disrupt that life occasionally, but understand this: Interruptions are rude and unwelcome and will be dealt with swiftly and quietly. Please feel free to enjoy our time together, but remember your place. You are a byproduct, not major part of who I am and I have a great deal to do with the rest of my life.

Love,
Sam

My life has been as Cruel April for awhile--spots of sunshine and warmth, interrupted by unwelcome storms and frigid temperatures. It's time to prepare for growth, to leave behind the parts that keep me painfully shivering. I'm ready for the flowers to bloom.

"The longer I live, the more beautiful life becomes..." --Frank Lloyd Wright

I have two friends. Each of us has a daughter near the same age. Each daughter has spent time in an extended care facility because of suicidal depression brought on by bullying and other childhood traumas.

And today those young ladies are alive.

I don't know what the rest of their lives will bring. As parents, none of us will enjoy retirement--those funds, carefully put away to provide for us when Social Security will bring in an income that places us in poverty, have gone to pay for the $10,000+ per month price necessary to keep our daughters alive. I was able to procure help from the church when we were sunk so deeply in debt that we had no other option, but even that came with an extremely high emotional cost as Tabitha was required to endure more testing and interviews with people who wouldn't accept the years of medical records as evidence that she was in dire need. And for awhile there was talk of rescinding the funds after two months because that was determined to be the amount of time necessary for her to become whole. Had the funding been rescinded, I have no doubt that Tabitha would not be alive today. It was only after twice that amount of time that she was able to divulge to her therapist that she had been molested by my brother.

I spoke with my friends recently. None of us cried. No one bemoaned the lengthy, agonizing, horribly painful days of wondering how to care for our distressed daughters. No one talked about the emotional toll the experience had taken or how we still deal with our own extreme anxiety.

My daughter was present during the visit. We watched her talking, smiling, just being beautiful.

My two friends and I have nothing to offer one another. We are completely spent. Only understanding and sympathy remain and we feel dreadfully, incredibly old and tired. Our husbands stood next to us, sharing their own brand of exhausted empathy.

So we smiled and laughed a bit because what else can you do? Then we talked about how people ask about our daughters and we smile proudly and tell about how they've been working so hard to get better--and they ARE better--and we're very glad for that. But no one asks about us. No one wonders how we survived trying to support and help our daughters as they cut themselves up and tried to kill themselves. No one talks about our nights of wondering what we did wrong, or begging for help from a family member who told us everything was fine--she was just a difficult teen, or being so exhausted we wished for our own lives to end.

The final truth is that our daughters are alive--and they will continue their lives in a society that is sick and decayed. One in which children are allowed to brutally batter each other physically and verbally and emotionally until they finally end their lives before they've lived even two decades. One in which adults use children sexually and then discard them, and sometimes the children use other children in the same way because they don't know how else to express the anger and frustration and confusion and pain. One in which, statistically, our daughters' daughters (and maybe their sons) will be bullied or raped or harmed in some other way by people who should be protecting them and helping them learn to become healthy, well-adjusted adults. And no matter how much people like me try to keep that from happening, in the end, unless we keep those children with us 24/7--nothing is 100% preventable. And it is healthy for no person to be in such an overprotected situation.

I don't know what to do with that truth.

My blog is now read by my dear friend, Ambrosia, and two Google bots, so what I say next will reach none but them. But maybe Brozy will tell someone who will tell another. And maybe the Google bots will find one person browsing blogs who will read this and share it with someone else--so I will write the following words today and hope they will help someone:

Take care of your children as if they are the most precious gifts you have ever been given.

Cherish the moments when they try your patience and have embarrassing tantrums in the store and scream every time you strap them into their car seats.

Remember that you don't know everything about the lives of family members and trusted friends. Check on your children frequently, even when you believe they are safe.

Teach your children that you are strong and that nothing they tell you will hurt you--even if someone scary threatens you or them if they tell. Teach your children that you can protect them. Help them understand that if someone does something to harm them, the first thing they must do is tell you, and if/when they do, make certain they understand the steps you are taking to remedy the situation and make them a part of it. If the event was traumatic, don't be silent. Remind them regularly that the danger is past and that they are safe. Don't ever let them forget that you are there for them.

Tell your children daily that you love them. Hug them. Read to them. Give them snacks. Make sure some of those snacks have chocolate in them.

Take your children outside. Show them the grass, butterflies, make pictures with the clouds. Talk about the good things bugs do. Help them see each unique snowflake shape. Climb trees and roll down hills with them. Sing songs and teach them poetry.

Make cookies with your children and let them eat some of the dough because that's the best part--especially at the beginning before the flour is put in, when it's just brown sugar and butter and vanilla.

Let your children know that you appreciate them. Help them make good choices, set healthy boundaries, and deal positively with disappointment. Celebrate who they are and look forward to who they are becoming. Give them age-appropriate chores and responsibilities. Help them learn self-esteem as they learn to care for themselves independently.

I know. Who am I to dish out advice? My daughter lives in an extended care facility, so clearly I am not the world's success story when it comes to parenting. But I have one more tidbit left to impart.

Understand when a situation has exceeded your ability to provide help and support. Recognize that sometimes things happen that are beyond your control. Believe that you must always do what is best for you and your child, even if that means allowing someone else to teach her the things you wish you could teach her yourself. Let her go, even if you miss her like crazy--because that might make the difference between her life or her death.

Finally, before passing judgement on another parent, reach out a hand to help. You never know. You might be giving them hope when they believed none was left. You might be allowing them to rest for just a moment. You might be allowing that parent to remember they're human and sometimes bad things happen, but they're not alone.

I started this blog a very long time ago. And before this blog, there was another one. And there were many in-between. Each blog served a purpose. I don't know exactly what that purpose was, but Therapist does.

Therapist believes that these blogs of mine served to assuage my need to fragment. Even though thinking of this makes me cringe and ache and want to scream, I know he's right.

I have spoken a few times about dissociation. I understand it's a necessary tool for many who experience extreme trauma. I have never viewed myself as one who experienced extreme trauma. I lived in a household where I often felt unwanted and where abuse happened, but I wasn't molested by my father, I don't carry physical scars, and who can say if emotional abuse is extreme trauma. I've never believed it was. It made me unhappy. There are worse things than unhappiness.

I was molested as a child by strangers. It happened twice, that I remember. The first time I was so young that I barely remember what happened and I don't attach any feelings to the incident. The second time I was almost 8. I remember it vividly. I acted appropriately. I screamed and kicked and ran. More traumatic than being molested by a stranger was the feeling of abandonment by my father as he ran to take his anger out on the man who touched me. So I wasn't held or comforted. None of this is extreme trauma.

I had a cousin who touched me inappropriately when I was nine, and later raped me when I was not quite twelve. I think that was traumatic. It caused me a great deal of distress over a long period of time. I became depressed. I had moments when I wished to die. But I lived and I grew up and I became Samantha--and in becoming Samantha, I left behind the person I had been. I became fragmented.

Time and therapy have shown me that this was not the first time I had allowed that to happen. I suppose that's where my confusion comes from, and perhaps my shame. I don't understand why the other times happened. They seem minor in comparison to the abuse experienced by so many other children. I wonder if I was born unbalanced and the slightest discomfort tilted the scale into insanity. I see the need for others to use the dissociation coping mechanism. I find no reason for me to do so.

When I research it I feel overwhelmed by shame and defiance. I don't understand where those come from. I want to feel happy that I was able to experience some success in integration. I want to look at what happened and say, "It's okay. Clearly I needed something to help me live, and this did the trick." But in the back of my mind there is a voice that says, "Hey, Sam, don't you think you're overreacting a bit? Isn't dissociation a little extreme? Maybe you're crazy and none of this is real, after all. Maybe one day you'll wake up and you won't remember anymore." It's a little upsetting. It's more upsetting when a second thought comes unbidden: "I wish I could forget."

I don't know what I want to forget.

I have spoken briefly of the mass exodus from my life by people who used to have interest in me. These include close friends and family members. I suppose I have only one thing to say about that: I don't blame them. I suppose that's what dissociation is all about, really. Leaving someone behind because they have become (or their lives have become) too difficult to cope with, and I completely understand why people leave. I wish I could leave me, too.

But Therapist says I need to remember that I have other ways to cope now. Healthy ones.

I remember. I don't want to, but I do. And I'm not having extreme trauma--perhaps I never have--so I don't need to leave Samantha behind. I need to be her even when it hurts.

Happy Easter. :)

The Power of Pain

It is not unusual for abuse survivors to develop the ability to disregard pain. It's a coping mechanism necessary for them to continue living. I believe some people actually do not feel pain, or they feel it momentarily and then dissociate from it so they feel it no more. My experience is that I'm aware of the pain on some level and it manifests itself in ways other than actual "hurt".

This means that I've never completely lost the ability to feel pain which is, according to Therapist, a very good thing. Pain is important. It tells us when something is changing our beings and needs our attention--and that includes both physical and emotional pain. Notice, I said "changing." Pain involves change. It is impossible to experience pain without some sort of impact. If we disregard or dissociate from the pain, the change still occurs, often without attention which can cause a great deal of harm. This is not always the case. Small injuries can heal on their own, but will probably heal more quickly if we acknowledge and care for them.

You may read the above paragraph metaphorically, should you desire, but today I'm speaking literally.

I've been working in therapy to learn how to feel pain more naturally, acknowledge it, and tend to its needs. And in the past six months I've become wildly successful at this. It sucks.

When one is used to expressing pain as mildly annoying crankiness, feeling the actual physical manifestation of pain is a little shocking and very unpleasant. I have iliopsoas tendonitis. Roughly translated for any who have not experienced this, it means that if I lift my right leg (to put on pants, get in a car, walk up or down stairs--you get the picture--basically anything you have to do every day of your life), piercing pain runs through my groin and down my inner thigh. It takes my breath away. When I told Therapist I was feeling it I thought he would do cartwheels, and then I got a huge speech (while he did a tiny happy dance) about how wonderful this was and three years ago I probably would have noticed something didn't feel quite right, and then I would have gone running. I didn't like him very much in that moment.

The point he was making was that I would most likely have experienced further injury or exacerbation of the problem because I didn't recognize it was hurting me. Pain is good, he says, it helps us get better. I'm not yet on his band wagon.

What I know is that I am getting better, but I'm also feeling a great deal of depression and discouragement. Therapist would tell me that's a wonderful thing, too. Hearing that I understand what I'm feeling and acknowledge it, would send him into another, larger happy dance, so I probably won't tell him. That's just an awkward thing to witness.

But I'm not sure what to do about those feelings. The physical pain is intense, and the physical therapy I'm required to do adds more pain at a different level, but I understand that's all part of healing and it's temporary. I'm still discouraged. I feel powerless and wimpy and out of control. Controlling my body has always been important to me (hence, the years of running and the bout with anorexia). Yielding that control is horrifying and scary. I spent much of yesterday in tears and today doesn't look better.

Therapist would tell me again and again that I'm getting better. Maybe I need him to tell me. Maybe I need everyone in the world to tell me, because I'm sad and afraid and in more pain (emotional and physical) than I want to think about. Sleep is difficult, too, because I have the added delight of that cracked tooth. It hurts a bit, as well.

For a few days I could self-soothe. I would do things that made me feel cared for and loved. That was helpful. I've reached a threshold, however, where I'm unable to do that by myself anymore (read: even more loss of control, more vulnerability, more desperation and discouragement), and asking for help feels so silly.

"Dear Person-to-whom-I-am-reaching-out:
I'm finally doing what everyone else does every day; I'm feeling pain. It sucks and I'm not dealing with it very well. I want to curl up in a ball and die when I get a hangnail. When you're finished laughing at me, will you please give me a hug and NOT remind me that I'm just doing something normal and trivial, and instead pretend that I'm amazing for going through this in the first place? We'll both know it's a sham and most people go through this on a daily basis without doing more than saying "OUCH!" and showing the owie to someone nearby before they finish climbing Mount Everest, and I'm inanely making my own mountain of a molehill, but it would really help me if you'll just coddle me for a moment and tell me I'm going to be okay.
Thanks so much.
Sam"

See--very silly. Still, today is sunny and there's no wind and my leafless trees and shrubs are trying to make leaf buds and the sky is so blue you could swim in it. Maybe things will feel better today.

Time for me to go to the gym and feel a bit of pain. I can't wait!

Sometimes I Confuse Me

Loneliness is an interesting phenomenon. I spent the majority of my life refusing to allow myself to admit feeling it, and when it felt overwhelming, I simply refused to look at it. I did other things, usually tasks requiring physical effort or creativity, and extra practice hours were high on the list of distractions. There were moments when I could not deny the piercing loneliness I felt, but they passed. I felt a great deal of power in denying my need for connection with people. I did not want them.

I suppose now I recognize that it takes so much more stamina and self-control to maintain relationships than it does to simply not have them. I know the rewards of being with someone with whom you share love are worth it, but the truth is, relationships are work. They become work because we have expectations of the roles people fill in our lives and sometimes those expectations are not met--in fact, often they aren't. The work comes in recognising whether or not the expectation was reasonable within the context of the relationship and, if it was, talking with the other person and trying to come to some sort of compromise or allow recompense, if necessary, or revamping our perception of the relationship if the expectation was not reasonable.

The work involved is sometimes messy and emotional. I don't like it. I would rather not do it at all, and in the moments when I have to decide if I'll move toward understanding, sometimes I think I'd like to just forget the person and not have the relationship at all. I feel that impulse deeply and I remember the freedom of not having any meaningful ties to people and only needing to take care of myself. I make believe that I easily filled all my needs with my many activities, my love of nature and the outdoors, and time spent with myself. Then I sigh, because somehow the person who shares the relationship has gotten stuck in my heart in such a way that I don't know how to live without them, so the only possible resolution is to do the necessary work.

Fortunately there are benefits attached. I'm not always cognizant of them until I'm in the midst of a panic attack, Darrin is teaching and not answering his phone, my kids are in school or at work, and I remember I can call one of those people with whom I spend time and whom I love. And when they answer, I realize the work isn't really as difficult as I thought it was, especially when I feel loved and validated by someone I love back.

Am I making any sense? I think I'm probably not. But the bottom line is that today is one of those days when I want to throw in the towel when it comes to people. No one has done anything to upset me--in fact, I had a really wonderful conversation wtih Brozy last night and I unblocked one of those people who were causing me stress a few months ago and it didn't bother me a bit. So I don't know why I'm feeling this way. I'm ridiculous.

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before--but I'm going to again. I once had a friend visit and I took him to a place near my home that is known for its rocky cliffs and formations. I think it's fun to visit because you can climb around on the rocks and jump from place to place and it's novel. However, on that particular day it was windy and stormy, but we decided to go drive there, at least. In the end, we all got out in the nasty wind, to climb the rocks. As we approached one formation, my friend said, "These are amazing! I wonder how they were made." I began to tell him the geological history of the place, but he stopped me, saying, "I don't really want to know. I just want to think about it."

I realized when he said those words that I also have a number of things I like to think about, but I really don't want to know the answers. I'm guessing most people have those if they're completely honest. I'm writing some of my please-don't-tell-me-the-answer ponderings today.

1. Spacing out--I wonder why it happens, sometimes even when we're interested in what's we're doing or the current conversation. I wonder about the nerve synapses that take place when we suddenly fixate visually on something or nothing and have difficulty tearing ourselves away. I wonder if everyone feels the same things when it happens or if people experience it differently.

2. Deja vu--it happens to me often. I remember it happening when I was a child. For a long time it made me very uncomfortable. Now I just try not to think about it. If I get the sensation that I've done something or been somewhere or met someone before, I've decided to just believe that I have--even if I know I haven't. It makes life easier, and speculation about why it happens just frustrates me.

3. Why people like to touch things like soft hair or animal fur--I can't figure this one out, and it's not because I don't like to touch those things. I do. But sometimes I think about how cat hair is covered with saliva, and no one knows where that dog has been, and human hair has sebum and hair product and various other things--yet I still want to touch them. It makes no sense.

4. Why I feel compelled to fold laundry a certain way--and it's not because my mother taught me and I just do what I was taught. There is a specific shape or flatness that happens before I can consider any piece of laundry folded. It drives my children and Darrin crazy because I've been known to re-fold things that don't seem quite right.

5. Watermelon--I like the taste but hate the texture. The color bothers me, as well. In the summertime I cut the fruit into cubes and freeze it, then add it to smoothies. Darrin says it still has the same texture because it doesn't completely blend. I only know it's more palatable after it's been frozen.

I suppose I also have to admit that I'm as guilty as my friend when it comes to thinking about those rocks and their origins, and imagining many different scenarios. I've been know to drive there in the summer so I can sit on a sun-warmed rock and read a book, but mostly I'm not reading. I'm daydreaming. So even when I know the answers, I think I still like to wonder a little bit.

The stuff of my life

Once written, I never read my posts. However, this morning I started glancing through them (why? I do not know) and I kept thinking, "When did I become a victim? I'm whiny, and intolerant, and I don't really like the person writing here."

I think it's time for a change of attitude. I also think it's time for me to stop focusing on all the things I dislike and start finding things in life that I love.

So today:
1. I love the fact that I can walk again.
2. I'm very glad that I get to go to the gym and work out this morning.
3. I'm making dinner with bok choy tonight. I've never done that before. I think it will be fun.
4. I'm almost finished with tax prep for the year.
5. Soon I will have new carpet in my house--and since I've been wanting this for more than a decade, it's very exciting.

Wait. I just thought of something else I want to write about.

Yesterday my sister posted a picture on Facebook. It was taken a long time ago and all my sisters were in it. I look like I'm about fourteen, and if my hair was white, I could pose for a barrister in Britain. Also, the clothes were absolutely delightful. I laughed when I saw it and tried to share it (unsucessfully, because my Facebook settings are ridiculous about privacy right now) with some close friends...

If you know me at all, you will understand why this is monumental.

If you know me at all, you will know that I have not shared photos showing me between age 12 to the present. I began showing current photos online about six years ago. And if someone else posted a picture of me taken prior to that, but after I was twelve, I removed the tag and refused to let it be seen publicly.

It had nothing to do with being ashamed of how I looked and everything to do with not being able to look at myself. It made me uncomfortable. My brain would say, "That's you," but I couldn't feel that it was true. The person in the picture was a stranger--a person completely detached from me, and her life had nothing to do with mine.

But my sister posted the picture--and I REMEMBERED! I remembered being that person and having that hair and wearing those clothes. I don't really recall much more about that time, but when my brain said, "That's you," I responded, "Yes! Yes, it is! Look how funny I was! Look at my sisters! That's a picture of me with them!"

And then I cried, of course, because it was a little confusing and overwhelming and sad and happy all at once. I'm pretty sure all this sounds ridiculously trivial, but to me it's enormous because I saw myself and I knew it was me--and I wanted to share that part of me with someone else.

It's a pretty big deal. You can take my word for this.

Listening to "Breakfast in America" because it seems appropriate today...for no reason.

DJ is making spudnuts tomorrow. He invited my brother and family, and Adam to come to his apartment to help with the making and eating. I am not invited.

This is not because DJ doesn't love me, nor because he doesn't want me to come. It's because he knows I don't like donuts. Adam said I could come anyway because it will be fun. I thought about it, then I realized: I don't want to.

Five years ago I would have crashed the party--invited or not. And I'd have helped with the making and even tried some of the eating. Today, I recognize I'm just too tired. While I've definitely been recovering and feeling more like myself, that happiness draining emotional fatigue still lingers. My tolerance for people is not what it used to be. And my ability to give support is pretty much nonexistent. When I'm with people I want to be held and coddled and taken care of.

Yes, I have become that annoying, icky person.

Yesterday I called a friend and cried because I was having a bad day. Did I ask about his day? No. Did I make sure he was having a good day before I dumped on him? No. Did I care? I would like to say, "Of course, I did! He's my friend and I love him!" But probably the truthful answer, in that moment, is,  No.

I'm not sure how I feel about this, what to do about it, or even if I want to do anything about it.

Still, I don't feel sorry for myself when I'm not invited to family things. Instead, I feel relief, so clearly I'm not offended. I increasingly desire alone-ness (which would not tally with the things I told my online chat person last night--but that was then--it's not last night anymore).

This could have something to do with the following:
1. My house is in complete disarray. We had to move all the furniture and box up my studio so that we could have the main rooms painted three weeks ago. And everything is still boxed up and moved weird places because now we're waiting on carpet to be installed. Yay for new paint and carpet. Boo for disarray.

2. I'm doing enormously difficult therapy crap right now. And if you're thinking to yourself, "Is this person EVER going to stop needing therapy? This has been going on for years!" the answer is, I will probably be in therapy for the rest of my life because I'm that messed up and it's 50% due to things that happened to me during my life, and 50% due to just being Samantha. And if you know me at all, you understand exactly what I'm saying. And Therapist said no one works as hard as I do to learn ways to live with being someone like me--whatever that means. Regardless, please don't judge and just remember, I'm trying my best to be as normal as you are. It's not easy.

3. Tabitha is coming home for an extended stay next week. She'll be here for seventeen days. I feel many different things about this, but mostly I'm fighting myself every second so I don't stack up work project to do while she's here because that's my impulse. Make what you'd like of that. I love my daughter. I'm excited to see her. I'm also very stressed about spending that much time with her. I know she's ready. I'm not. It doesn't matter because this is going to happen. Next week.

So today I'm doing things for me. It's selfish and I don't care. I'm going to the library and I'm going to find several books where everything ends happily and maybe I'll read them all today. I will play Chopin and Beethoven and Debussy and Prokofiev until I'm tired. For dinner, I will make fun to eat food that's colorful and delicious. Tonight I will watch one of my favorite movies...or maybe Scooby Doo cartoons...or maybe I'll just play Facebook games.

But first, I have to work. And doing work is a much better option than wandering around my house, wondering what's wrong with me. Much better.

"Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious." ~Brendan Gill

I suppose it's fair to say that I haven't written for awhile because I've been experiencing some things I would rather not. It's also fair to say that some of those things are just BAD, but others, while they might not feel great, are probably important.

BAD:

1. I had my second set of injections in my iliopsoas tendon (Who knew I had such a thing? And good luck pronouncing it or using it in common conversation with a non-medical person). There was some relief but nothing like what was hoped. Then I started physical therapy--the thing my surgeon was thrilled to have me choose, but also warned me that most people opt for surgery over the PT because it HURTS. He wasn't kidding. Not only that, but after a few weeks I noticed no improvement and marked UN-improvement. I sort of lost the ability to walk more than a few feet and sleeping at night was not happening.

2. I had a tooth crack down into the root. And then it got infected. So I had a face and a half. And a very, very large half of neck. And a fever. And enormous pain. So my dentist gave me antibiotics and took and x-ray and said, "We'll take that tooth out when the infection's gone (which will be in a month), and then we'll do a bone graft (bone graft?) from a cadaver (CADAVER???), and then we'll wait a few months for that to grow into your jaw. Then we'll give you an implant (Does this mean I'll be without a tooth until then? Yes. Yes, it does. So I can grow dead person bone into my jaw)." I'm a lot horrified, in case you cant tell.      

3. I've been struggling with maintaining the integration I worked on so intensely for more than a year. The impulses that drive dissociation keep popping up. They cause me confusion, aggravation, and stress--but mostly I'm embarrassed by them because it seems I've been pretending, post-integration, that the dissociation didn't exist--that this is not a part of my life--that I'm "normal" in the sense that I never used that particular coping device. Apparently, denial triggers unwelcome dissociative symptoms. And please don't even ask me to explain because I don't think I can and it makes me feel even more embarrassed, uncomfortable, and freakish. Therapist gave me some homework designed to help me work through this and promised to call me if he doesn't hear from me in the next five years. Awesome.

Important:

1. I have hyper-mobile joints. There are advantages to this; for instance, those glucosamine and chondroitin supplements that people ingest to keep their joints healthy and lubricated--mine produce that in abundance and keep me from having things like arthritis and joint pain. And I'm freaky flexible even when I'm injured. It seems, however, that this lovely condition of mine is what has been causing my tendonitis--not the repetitive motion exercises (like running and walking) which are the usual culprits. My savvy physical therapist was the person who figured out the mystery and this is why I've not been responding to the PT we've been working on. And it also means that my hip has been out of place for an unknown period of time (because that lovely flexibility allows my stable joints--like my right hip--to become unstable under unusual circumstances--like falling down an large hill and having to have surgery) and today's activity of putting it back into place was more pain than I wish to think about ever again. However, now I have a different regime which includes elliptical training (which makes me happy) and intense weight lifting and other highly uncomfortable and obnoxious exercises (which do not make me happy and some of which I still haven't done today) designed to stabilize the hip and allow me to run again. Yay!

2. My dentist was nice and prescribed a very large amount of sedative/pain pills for me to take at night for the next month so I'll be able to sleep until the tooth is removed and the bone replaced, at which point he'll prescribe a stronger pain killer because apparently this is really going to hurt. Yay!

3. I started the integration maintenance homework and hated every part of it. But I'm blessed with a few friends who don't think I'm a freak and who allowed me to talk about it. They also reassured me that they like me no matter what. I believe Tolkien Boy's words were, "Well, whoever you turn out to be, I like you very much." That's nice to know. I'll probably ask him to say it again. Fortunately, neither of us seems to be annoyed by repetition which is why our conversation has lasted nearly seven years. And Brozy sent me chocolate. All kinds of chocolate. Some was very nice, some was interesting but sort of weird, and one kind was just terrifying. Who thinks of Beef Jerky Chocolate? Who? However, she assures me that chocolate is the best fix for tooth ache and I must admit that even the Beef Jerky Chocolate sounds better than a cadaver bone graft. Yay!

So things are going. Don't ask me if that's good or bad. I don't know the answer.

I Don't Need You Anymore

I know. The title is obnoxious. However, it is also, in some ways, true.

When I began therapy more than seven years ago, I didn't need anyone. I believed if Darrin left me for any reason (and I really did believe he would) that I would be fine. Not at first, of course, but with time  life would continue, I'd find things to fill my time everything would be all right.

One year into therapy I confessed to Darrin that I actually WOULD NOT be fine if he left and he, very surprised that I even thought about that, assured me that he wasn't going to. Then I began to make connections with other people in my life. And as I did so, I felt myself bonding with them in ways that felt essential to my daily living.

Some of those people stayed for awhile, then bowed out of my life, causing me all sorts of aggravation and turmoil. Others stayed longer. A few are with me still.

For a few years (I estimate three or four), I felt that I couldn't manage most of what was happening in my life without having some of these people to lean on, to talk to--I depended on them to help me through most of the stress and agony I was wading through. Each filled a unique and important need even if their time with me was fleeting.

Last year I realized how dependent I had become. And I hated it.

I am actually a very independent person. While I understand how unhealthy it was for me to live for a long time without making intimate connections with people, I also loved the way I felt about myself. I didn't have to worry about how I was treated. I never wondered if someone would snub me or leave me out or abandon our relationship--because I had none. It was an infinitely safe emotional state of being. I found myself longing for a return to that in recent months.

Then I remembered a couple of incidents that brought my reality into focus. I remembered years ago, when Darrin was often gone for long stretches of time for work, feeling a gnawing emptiness I could not identify. And one day, when the gnawing had become all-consuming, I fell to my knees and cried out loud, "I'm lonely. How can I be lonely?" and I experienced in that moment an extremely rare occurrence of weeping. Then I got to my feet and cleaned my house because that's what I did when life felt out of balance, and within hours I was myself again.

I remembered watching small groups of women shopping together and wondering why they were doing that, and I recalled an incident when I was an elementary teacher, watching a colleague as she distributed small envelopes to some other teachers--the kind of envelopes that contain invitations to parties--and feeling a sharp pain inside when I was not included. Then I realized that I was always invited to many parties, showers, get togethers (attendance at which I never enjoyed--but I went anyway and was delightful--because that's what you're supposed to be when attending a social event) and there was no reason for the feeling, especially when I found out later that they were assignments for our next staff meeting. My envelope was sitting on my desk. I was left feeling confused and upset at my irrational reaction.

So as I thought about the dependency I was feeling, I decided maybe it's okay to rely on people you love to a small extent, but it needs to be a reciprocal relationship. I suppose that's what led to the recent discontinuance of a few relationships in which it was clear I needed those people but they no longer had need for me. What I believe is that people who don't need each other tend to associate, but they don't really connect. I need connection.

As I've grown stronger in the past few weeks, I've felt my need for the people I love fluctuating. There are days when I want them with me constantly (no, I don't follow up on this--I'm not stupid), or I don't think about them at all. I believe the times when I don't think about them are a response to my need for independence. I don't see it as a healthy thing, but I do see it as necessary.

Today I realized that I feel more level. I'm no longer vacillating between "AHHH! Don't leave me! I need you!" and "Go away, please. I don't want you anymore." I also recognized that I don't feel stressed when no one is talking to me. I'm not waiting for someone to come online or call me or send me a text. In fact, I'm not waiting at all. I'm just doing my work, playing Scrabble, singing randomly, and thinking about things that make me laugh.

So....I really don't need you anymore, at least, not in unhealthy ways. I think I'll always have needs that only certain people fill, and when life becomes crazy I'm sure I'll need to talk with the people closest to me and ask for their support and love. Right now, however, I'm okay just spending time with me.

That being said, interruptions from the delightful people who share my life and love are always welcome.

"The great thing in the world is not so much where we stand, as in what direction we are moving." ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

The birds are migrating through out town once again. They pause in my yard to eat the old crab apples and rose hips and the noise is heavenly in a cacophonous way. It reminds me that spring is coming, although I still must wait at least six weeks to see any signs of it.

I have been unceasingly cold this winter. Adam gifted me one of his heavy sweatshirts to layer over my own, which is good because without it our heat bill would become enormous. Darrin says it's because my metabolism slowed when I stopped running every day. He's probably right, but that is definitely not something I want to think about. I just want to be warm.

During the past year I have been fighting a number of things in my life I don't remember encountering before. I've been increasingly disinterested in most everything--even things that ought to be alarming or upsetting. I've felt no drive to work or create or do anything beyond getting up in the morning. I've had days filled with exhaustion. But the worst has been the feeling that I might not be good enough or smart enough or skilled enough to complete the tasks I've done for years. These all feel odd and uncomfortable. I'm unused to any of them and I don't like them.

In November I began feeling stirrings of needing to work more hours. For me, this is not necessarily a healthy thing, but it's also normal. I recognized that some of my stamina was returning. I had told my tax clients I would not be preparing taxes in 2013. I had trimmed down my jobs to only two part-time (approximately 10 hours weekly), and I had only five piano students.

When my strength began returning, I changed my mind about tax preparation and registered to take the necessary IRS exams. This meant studying through December and taking the exams the Saturday before Christmas--and I was still very tired. The stress of this caused me some uncomfortable moments when I was visiting friends prior to Christmas, but I survived, and I took the exams, and I passed.

I also applied for an online job similar to the one I lost in August due to my inability to concentrate and complete productivity/quality requirements. The new job required me to read and ingest information from their 200+ page guidelines, then pass two very long (oh--so long) exams. Again, passing the exams and remembering the information was a struggle, but I did pass and land the job.

In January I contacted five students on my waiting list and added them to my studio. For now, 10 students is enough. Last week I contracted to teach a class at the university in the fall.

It sounds like I'm doing the workaholic thing again, and there is definitely an element of that. But for me, what this says is that I'm getting better. I'm excited to begin teaching my class in a few months, and I finished all my corporate clients' tax returns last week (and the deadline isn't until March 15th!), plus a few non-corporate tax returns. I'm enjoying my online job--it's not causing me stress. I love my new students and am enjoying the accompanying jobs I've taken. I've actually worked with the clients in the finance business I share with my dad (Bless my father! He took over everything a year ago and has continued to allow me to draw a salary while doing very little--and he's never said a word to me about not coming to the office or being late on some commitments I've made to him. He's amazing and I adore him!), and finished up several tasks I had left behind last year. In short, life is beginning to feel like life again.

This week we'll go visit Tabitha for her birthday, and I have painters coming on Thursday (I'll be gone, but I have to make sure the house is ready for paint), so I've crammed my work week into three days. Four months ago this would probably have made me comatose. Today it feels fine--notice I'm blogging this morning when I have a bajillion things waiting for me and I'm not having a panic attack.

For the first time since August, I'm excited to see my daughter without the added anxiety I've experienced in the past months. It feels simple and uncomplicated and also for the first time, I've found myself making mental preparations for when Tabitha comes home. Prior to last week, the thought of having her come home made me incredibly stressed and panicky. Today it feels natural and right. I believe in the coming weeks, I'll even experience anticipation for the time when she returns to us.

I will admit, even recently there have been long stretches of time when I didn't believe I could ever return to the person I was. It seems I was wrong. This is one of those rare times when I'm very glad to be wrong.

Hope is the dream of a soul awake. ~French Proverb

Today, for the first time in two years, I left work this afternoon and I was not exhausted.

I know--no big deal. People do that every day. But I've been so tired emotionally, that any kind of exertion leaves me depleted. Well, it used to.

I've been feeling this coming, but not counting on it because for the past couple of years I've tried to rebuild and reinforce, only to be hit by one more thing. Not today, though.

I wanted to call every person I know and tell them about it. Fortunately for them, I restrained myself.

I even made dinner, went on a date with Darrin, then came home and worked for a couple of hours and I still feel okay.

Maybe my super powers are returning. It's not impossible, right?

Rant

George Takei posted this on Facebook tonight:
"The only thing that could make the Oscars gayer, Seth, is if I hosted them."

And of course, all the George fans had to comment and get excited and I even liked one of the comments. So why am I ranting?

Because of this comment:
"I.m. Ulysses George, you might be gay, but you're not 'that' gay. It's weird, I know, but there are those who are consumed by their homosexuality and those who just accept it as part of who they are. While I'm as morally opposed to homosexuality as I am any other sin, I really believe that as an actor, or a person, you cannot market yourself as 'the gay actor' anymore than you can market yourself as 'the gay administrator' or even as 'the japansese actor' or the 'japanese accountant.' Be good at what you do, FIRST, and gay people and straight people won't care what you do in your private life or what yoru ancestry is. That's why, to me, you're not 'gay George Takei' or "Japanese George Takei', you're George Takei, Mr. Sulu, and all the other roles you've done. That's what matters. AS for the Acadamy Awards, a bunch of self-congratulatory, have drunk millionaire congratutlating other half-drunk millionaires. Who really cares? I have my Star Trek TOS, a tv and dvd...much better entertainment! Cheers!"

I honestly don't understand why anyone has to insert their beliefs into every comment. And why would anyone ever take it upon himself to lecture George Takei about geing good at anything? Does this commentor really believe George cares about his opinion?

Also, homosexuality is not a sin. Period. It is a sexual orientation.

Actually, there is nothing at all redeeming about this person's comment, it's just crap. I think the thing that made me upset is that another person LIKED it. It's one thing to be a bigot and just plain boorish, but now there are TWO of them.

I want to say so much more about the irredeemable nature of this stupid comment, but then I would be spending time on that instead of the really important things I have to do...like staring at the wall...or blinking...or thinking about my elbows...

Okay, I know this is not the first, nor will it be the last time someone stupid says something that lives up to their IQ, but I'm hoping with all my heart that I encounter it less often. Probably if I stop reading Facebook comments made by complete strangers, it will.

But if  you are someone I know who finds nothing offensive in the above comment, please don't tell me. I don't want to know. And if you agree with it, I REALLY don't want to know. So if we happen to be conversing, try to avoid inserting phrases such as, "consumed by...homosexuality," or "morally opposed to homosexuality as...any other sin," or "you're not...gay," or "straight people won't care what you do in your private life." Just don't say things like that. Use a bit of common sense and courtesy. Pretend I never refer to your heterosexuality or my judgement of that, okay?

And now I will go scream a tiny bit.

"Promise me you'll never forget me, because if I thought you would, I 'd never leave." ~Winnie the Pooh

I said good-bye to some people during the first part of February. It wasn't strained or highly emotional, nor was the experience tainted by fatalism or martyrdom. Nor was it mutual.

I sat down with myself and realized that there are some people who have been of great benefit to me during the past few years who no longer show interest in being in contact with me. Or, if interest is shown, it's overshadowed by things in their lives of higher priority.

This is what I've been saying about friendship for a very long time.

However, what I noticed was, while I would prefer to have those people still actively involved with me, I'm comfortable allowing them to leave. It doesn't feel personal.

I suppose part of this is that I'm convinced that I'm a worthwhile person. I believe I bring a great deal to any relationship. And while I understand that I also bring my share of stress and baggage, I think I'm worth it.

I have always clung to honesty and I cannot speak true things about myself without acknowledging the good with the bad. So I made a list of cons and pros about relationships with me:

Cons (because they're the easiest for me to spot):
1. I have some emotional deficits.
2. There are times when I don't understand the intent behind your words, and it's possible that I'm not capable of such understanding.
3. I have PTSD which can make me moody or grouchy or scarce at times. Those times might not be convenient for you.
4. Sometimes I argue for no reason at all.
5. Sometimes I will be afraid of you.
6. I ask questions about our relationship constantly, I'm always evaluating it, I'm paranoid about the emotional health of our relationship.
7. Sometimes I cry.
8. Right now I'm not physically healthy and I can't do many of the things I used to love.
9. Sometimes I don't want to talk. I just want to sit quietly.
10. When I become upset, I'm completely irrational.

I think 10 is enough. As I'm trying to balance with "pros", I want to proceed without a great deal of difficulty.

Pros:
1. I'm interested in you. I want to know what makes you happy and sad, what you like to eat, where you like to spend alone time. I want to hear favorite songs and share your favorite books and poetry. I like to hear about your past, your family, your romantic interests, and your dreams.
2. I'm funny. Probably I can make you laugh even when you're sad. This is because that's how I deal with life. It makes me giggle most of the time, even when I'm crying.
3. I love indiscriminately. One moment I will be in love with the bug I'm watching, the next moment a plant in my garden has taken my fancy or snowflakes in my yard--and always, without fail, I'm in love with you. I can't help it.
4. I like to do fun things. I play games, visit people, orchestrate dinner parties, or just sit and chat. I've been known to stay up all night just to maximize time with the people I love.
5. I'm safe. I will listen to what you tell me without judging you and I'll love you more for knowing you could confide in me.
6. I will tell you what I think. Some people don't like this, but I believe it's best to let people know how you feel. If you make me upset, probably I'll let you know within 30 seconds. If you make me happy, bet on a hug. If you do something that scares me or endangers yourself, I'll probably have something to say about that, as well.
7. I'm always happy to see you--online or otherwise. Always.
8. I'm loyal. If you're my friend, I will take your side in any situation (although, if I believe you're wrong, I'll still take your side, but I'll tell you I think you're wrong).
9. I'm happy most of the time. And when I'm not, I'm looking for happy. I'm not a person who loves wallowing in self-pity.
10. I don't believe I know everything--or even a great deal. I love to learn and I like it when you share your knowledge with me.

As I look at my lists, I believe I'm an average to good friend. I see the drawbacks, but I believe those are balanced by some very nice attributes. Therefore, if those people who used to be present have become absent, I'm led to believe I no longer fill any needs for them. And that is a perfectly logical reason to seek different company.

I realized that I was waiting for them. I missed their support and care. I wanted to find out what was happening in their lives. I missed THEM. And so I allowed myself a few days to miss them, to think about all the reasons I love them, to wish things were different...and then I took steps to help me move on.

If they were previously very close to me, I made certain I tried one more time to make contact. I offered to call or I tried to chat or I left Facebook messages (or any combination of those). I thought about what it would mean to allow myself to let them go. I let myself cry a bit. And then I made peace.

And I blocked online communication and removed them from my phone lists.

That might seem extreme, but to me it was simply allowing the ball to be in their court. I attempted contact. It was not reciprocated, so I removed any temptation which might move me to keep intruding in lives that had certainly become too busy to accommodate me. And in doing so, I felt a sense of relief. I don't have to wonder anymore, if these people will continue with me through life. They won't. Someday they might attempt contact again, which I will welcome, but our paths have diverged.

Therapist would be proud of me. He will see this as progress. I don't, necessarily, but I do see it as practical and helpful. And in a way, it's me participating in the social networking puzzle of life. Successfully.

I suppose the greatest triumph, for me, is that I acknowledge my loss (because I love them) but I also believe part of the loss is theirs. I grant myself worth. I don't know if that's self-centered or self-preservation. To me, it's simply what is.

Snow Boots are Optional

Last week was my anniversary. Darrin and I both had too much "busy" to celebrate, and as last night opened up (first open night in two weeks), we decided to go out to dinner. We were sitting at our table and every time the door opened for patrons, I would get a draft of frigid air on my legs. Darrin very gallantly gave me his coat to put across my lap.

Two young women were seated at the table next to us. They immediately removed their coats (I was still wearing mine) and made themselves comfortable. My eyes met Darrin's and we both shook our heads in disbelief. One young lady was wearing a low-cut halter dress--yes, that means bare arms and shoulders, as well as bare legs--and the other was wearing a thin satiny dress that stopped at mid-thigh. The only thing she wore on her feet were dressy flip-flops (did I mention all the snow we have on the ground right now?).

Darrin and I finished our meal and left. As we drove by a bank we noted the temperature: 5 degrees. What were we thinking? Clearly, we were overdressed for such balmy temperatures!

Only where I live is summer attire appropriate on a windy, snowy night with temperatures in the single digits. Darrin and I went home and made hot chocolate and I threw on a warm sweatshirt. We've never felt the need to be trendy.

I'm seeing Therapist in a couple of weeks. In truth, I think I've weathered recent storms fairly successfully and I'm managing most of what happens to me with equal success. That's not why I'm meeting with him.

I told Blueyedane, during his recent visit, that I'm not really using my current life experiences to gain wisdom or strength--I'm just taking the hits. There have definitely been times when difficult things have presented themselves to me, where I have learned lessons or gained empathy or simply become stronger. That isn't happening anymore.

I told Darrin that "endure to the end" means waiting for the next awful thing and letting it happen, breathing for a moment when it's over, then waiting for the next awful thing all over again. I said I think I've done enough enduring and I'm ready for the end. I laughed when I said it, but I wasn't kidding.

I told Tolkien Boy that I don't really care anymore about life or joy or anything, really. He knew, at the time, that I was having a bad day, and assured me things would get better.

I'm seeing Therapist because no matter how much I smile and go to work and try to show love and help others, the truth--MY truth--currently lies in the statements I made to those three people.

The truth: I don't care anymore what happens. If it's bad, it doesn't matter. I'll take the hit and get up and go to work again.

I'm seeing Therapist because I'm pretty sure that's not how I want the rest of my life to be, and if it is the way the rest of my life continues, I want the rest of my life to be over soon.

I'm seeing Therapist because this person I've become is not really Samantha. She's a reaction to hit after hit with no time to heal or rest. She's someone I dislike and don't want to spend time with. And I can't find the person I used to be. Therapist will tell me I need to take who I am and become who I want to be. I will tell him that's a bunch of crap and I need REAL help.

The truth: Unless I'm able to find relief from all that has happened in the past two years, I can't maintain any of the therapeutic management I've been putting into place since 2006.

I'm seeing Therapist because I need to be reminded of what must happen for me to continue life, not existence.

I'm seeing Therapist because I have, once again, taken on way too much work in an effort to avoid dealing with emotions and pain.

I'm seeing Therapist because I find myself referring to Samantha in third person--in the same way I have done in the past when I became someone different. And I hate this part of me. I don't like her at all. This is the part that tells me when I must let go of who I was and never speak of her again. I must not remember people or experiences. And if I do this, I'll feel better. I'll be all right. I'll be able to live again.

The truth: I'm seeing Therapist because I feel that I have failed in every way. I'm an amazing musician (I have three concerts this week). I can prepare your taxes and your corporation's taxes, too (I finished six returns this week). I can teach you to play the piano, prepare a fun, innovative dinner for you, and love you with my whole soul. But I can't succeed at being a person, having feelings, learning to connect with people.

But I'm seeing Therapist one more time because one thing I have learned in the past seven years is that if you don't at least try to get help, probably nothing can change. I would prefer to learn again how to live, how to work through difficulties, how to find joy, how to be Samantha--the one I used to be--the one I am now--the whole person.

Please tell me that's not failing. I need to not fail at at least one thing.

"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." 2 Timothy 1:7

I memorized this scripture when I was very young. It wasn't an assignment and I didn't read the Bible at that particular time in my life, so I'm unsure how I encountered it. Regardless, it made an indelible impression in my brain.

Yesterday I was thinking of all the things I'm afraid of:
1. Emotional pain. I think everyone fears this. It's beyond physical pain and often, when we believe ourselves healed, it pops up again to remind us there are still parts that continue to bleed in the background. It's obnoxiously difficult to address because it involves accepting weakness and vulnerability and forgiveness of self--all of which are things I would like to avoid.

2. People, in general, or perhaps more accurately, my feelings about them. I'm afraid of the intense love I feel for those closest to me, and also afraid of the depth of my desire to keep them in my life forever. I'm afraid I'll want too much or ask too much or just BE too much. I'm afraid they don't really know how to love someone as messed up as I am, so at some point they'll give up and move on. I'm afraid they'll stay and I won't understand why.

3. PTSD. I don't want to be afraid of it, but I am. It's unpredictable and seems to know me better than I know myself. It waits until I'm weak, then pounces, leaving me breathless at its ferocity. Just when I believe I understand what to do, and how to cope, its tactics change and I am back at square one, facing the exhausting task of trying again to understand my PTSD tainted life when I am already tired.

4. Myself. When I lay myself out--neatly labeled, diagramed, and charted--I don't understand half of what I see. I find myself masking most of my reactions because I'm uncertain whether they're socially acceptable, or even acceptable at all. I find my feelings unreliable and often false. I'm not always certain if my thought patterns are sane. At the core I am unpredictable and erratic.

5. Sleep. I never know what I'll find there. Most of the time it's stressful to find sleep in the first place, and once achieved, it continues to cause me stress. I'm very glad to greet the morning. Often I look for it before it's ready to reveal itself simply because I'm tired of courting sleep.

I remember when I encountered the above scripture, thinking about God-given powers. I read the ones offered in that verse and understood that these are things I would seek for--have sought for-- in my life. Those three things--power, love, a sound mind--are what I would use to define myself forever.

Power is something I've wished for since the day my personal power was stripped from me. It was taken as a tiny child by a parent who wished to control every aspect of my life and my self. It was taken by my cousin who caused me pain in ways I had never before imagined--ways I wish to never again encounter. I do not wish for power over another. I do not wish for power that will gain fame or fortune. I wish for a power to know who I am, to govern myself and accept my emotions, to live each day of my life certain that I will be able to manage whatever might befall me. I wish for the power to process sorrow, seek joy, and accept love. If God has given me this "spirit of Power," I want to be able to recognize, accept, and utilize it.

I believe I know something of love. I feel it, certainly. I understand that love occurs with differing depths and frequencies. I do not predict when it will happen and attempt to embrace it when I notice it. I longed for love from a parent who could not feel connected to me. I believed in the counterfeit love offered by my cousin. I tried without ceasing to love those who entered my life without limits or conditions. My experience with love, however, is that it is accompanied by pain--often with a depth and breadth that encompasses the existent love. If God has given me this "spirit of Love," I hope one day that my need for it will be filled to the extent that I give. I long to be able to accept love from others "without limits or conditions." I wish to be able to balance the pain with the joy.

My mind is not sound. I know this. It is tainted by my past, by fear, by a stress disorder. But I am intelligent and inherently logical. One day, I believe I will gain mastery over the thoughts that stem from irrational experiences. One day, I believe the PTSD monster will become familiar and less fearful. One day, I believe the person inside will be clearly evident as I live the reality of my life with honesty and integrity. If God has given me the "spirit of a Sound Mind," there is no reason I cannot achieve my desire to think with clarity and one day leave behind the chaos and distress connected with PTSD.

I understand that while I may not have access to all those things today, one day I will.

I believe this.

There are times when I should be banned from speaking.

I was just very rude.

Sigh...

Our insurance offers support benefits to us as part of their wellness program. Somehow Tabitha has ended up on the list of needing this support. We were called repeatedly for nearly two weeks. Messages were left, but we were busy. Finally a call came when I could answer it--so I did. I answered questions about Tabitha and her needs for nearly thirty minutes. I let them know Tabitha is not in our home and asked that the calls stop.

They didn't.

Adam answered one and said Tabitha was not in out home and would not be back before June. He asked them to stop calling.

They didn't.

This morning I had had it. I'm feeling miserable because of panic attacks and localized anxiety. I have a great deal to do. I alternately feel the impulse to call every person I know and say, "Hey! Please tell me you love me, okay?" and the one where I block every person online, disconnect my home phone, change my cell number, and move somewhere I can never be found. And since I can do neither of those, I'm left feeling frustrated, lonely, and very upset.

So when the call came this morning, I answered it. After the two minute introduction, I answered the question that, yes, I was Tabitha's mom. Then I said, "We've been receiving these phone calls for more than three months now and we're beyond feeling harrassed. Please stop calling." The woman apologized, then began to state why she was calling. I interrupted: "I know why you're calling. I hear it every time one of these calls comes. I don't want you to call anymore." The woman apologized again and tried to continue with her scripted call. No longer able to maintain any semblance of patience, I shouted, "You're not listening to me! I don't want to talk to you! Stop calling me!"

And I hung up.

And now I feel badly because she was just doing her job.

But I'm tired of feeling ignored and irrelevant. I want people to hear what I'm saying. I want to stop repeating myself.

Probably that's not the problem at all. Probably I've had two weeks with no feelings--which included PTSD crap--and even though I said I knew all about managing those feelings now that they've returned, probably I don't.

Probably that was a really mean thing to do. I'm not usually a mean person.

I'm guessing, since I didn't listen to her name, I can't call her back and apologize.

Sigh...

Laughter is the best medicine.

No. This is not a funny blog post.

My adverse reaction to the flu shot left me with fluctuating blood pressure. It would plummet, leaving me dizzy and nauseated, then skyrocket into stroke territory. My physician was more stressed about it than I was. I assumed when the serum from the vaccine distributed itself or worked itself out or whatever, I'd be fine again. In the meantime, Physician insisted on dosing me with two medications which left me even more dizzy and nauseated, but also had other nasty little side-effects:

1. Sleepiness--and because it was a timed-release medication I might be in the middle of a rehearsal when the overwhelming need to sleep would hit. I know of at least five times when I caught myself nodding off while accompanying. 

2. Fatigue--I didn't want to do anything. This included physical, emotional, and mental fatigue. My work stats for the past couple of weeks have been lamentable. I also had company and all I wanted to do was sit and stare at the wall. If you've visited me, you know this is not a normal state of being. I'm almost always doing something. Fortunately, my visitor was delightful, and content to explore and relax without being attended by me. 

3. Emotional Flatness--I felt pretty much nothing. Fortunately this allowed me to sort through a couple of things that have been bugging me for years in at least one of my relationships, and address those things. If you were the recipient of one of those conversations, I probably said something like, "Wow. I don't think I've been able to talk about this before." So maybe it's good that the drug left me void of emotion. Or maybe not.

4. No nightmare recognition--The drug prescribed is also used in PTSD patients to control nightmares. The nightmares occur, but they aren't accompanied by the heart palpitations, panic, and cold sweats that normally visit with those lovely dreams. However, now that the medicine has been taken away (foreshadowing--how about that!) I've been waking my family with my vocal reactions to the nightmares, and sleepwalking a bit. Poor Adam was scared out of his wits when he heard me moving about in the living room, went down to see what was happening, and noticed me putting on my coat, taking the car keys and attempting to leave. I told him the next morning I probably would have awakened when I stepped outside with no shoes on, but now he's convinced I need to be tied down in my bed at night--which is NOT happening.

As I mentioned, I'm no longer on the foul medication. I went to my appointment on Friday. They monitored my blood pressure for an hour, during which time it stubbornly stayed at 86 over 45 and I wanted to lie down on the exam table. Physician said, "Hmm...it might be time to change that medication." I said (slightly caustically), "Hmm...ya think????" because I've been asking him for elimination or a lower dose of the medication for over a week. 

It took the rest of Friday and all of yesterday for the effects of fatigue and dizziness to leave, although the dizziness might be attributable to the low blood pressure. Today I'm feeling better. 

As this seems to be a health update, I've had a return of the tendinitis I was trying to cure about a month ago. We're going to try the lovely injection thing again and pair it with intense stretching in physical therapy. My surgeon tells me this will probably be very painful, but if I'm up for it, he'd rather try this than surgery and give my body a chance to heal itself. I'm up for it.

One last thing, as I'm talking about health...as the blood pressure medication was leaving my body, I felt an enormous return of PTSD symptoms. I have to say, while they're uncomfortable and sometimes they make me want to scream, I almost welcomed them. I'm familiar with what to do. I know what to expect, and I'm ready to begin management again. However, until I'm able to manage them, it's a good idea to leave me alone. I'm cranky, maudlin, intensely lonely, and easily offended. I don't expect this to last beyond June.

Love Lists: Day Fourteen (Final)

I started posting love lists on February 1st. My intention was to write a list every day until Valentine's Day. Apparently, however, if you hit "Save" instead of "Publish" when you're done with a post, Blogger just saves the post and it doesn't appear on your blog. Imagine that! So now I'm publishing the final two lists and hoping that yesterday everyone received a great deal of love from people in their lives. I was lucky enough to have Danish Boy in my home, as well as my sons and Darrin. It was a very busy, but wonderful day.

Things I love about my Valentines:

Here's the thing: I've never considered Valentine's Day exclusive to romantic love. If you're someone who is close to me, you know that because I give you chocolate or cookies or both, and sappy or hilarious Valentine cards and I tell you I adore you and want to keep you forever. And I don't care if it embarrasses you or you want me to stop. I won't. So...eat the treats, laugh at the card, and be glad I'm in your life and I love Valentine's Day. There really is no other option if you like having me around. Everyone has their quirks--this is mine.

1. Darrin: Of course I have to talk about him. He's the person I see first every morning and kiss each night before I sleep. I push him off the bed when he snores and he forgives me when we make love. He believes I can do anything and if I told him tonight that I would like to sprout wings and learn to fly, Darrin would begin drawing schematics and doing research to help me accomplish that. He loves everything I cook, likes to go on dates with me, and laughs when I tell stupid jokes. I love him.

2. DJ: The day he was born, my life became filled with perpetual sunshine. DJ has always been sweet and caring and his smile makes me feel that nothing bad can ever happen. My son has never been embarrassed to kiss him mom in public, even when I happened to drop by the high school unexpectedly. In the middle of the hallway, in front of all his friends, I received a kiss on the cheek and a bear hug as only DJ can bestow. He has a beautiful heart, an incredibly creative mind, and is impeccably loyal and dependable. I love him.

3. Adam: This person is very much my child. He told me recently that I'm his favorite person to talk/argue/debate with. He wishes with all his heart that he could beat me at Chess, loves making up new recipes with me, and will accompany me anywhere just because he wants to spend time with me. Adam is inventive, very smart, and completely lacking in common sense. Someday he will end up famous or in jail or both. I love him.

4. Tabitha: My little girl has turned into a beautiful, strong, delightful young woman. She was born with determination and courage that rivals anyone I've met. She's still trying to figure out who she is and how to live with the hand life has dealt her. I enjoy every moment I spend with her. We share a similar sense of humor and often no one has any idea what is making us giggle. my daughter once told me she wanted to be just like me. I told her she needed to be just like Tabitha because that person is unique and incredibly wonderful. She looked at me for a moment, then laughed and said, "Yes. Just like you." I love her.

5. Ambrosia: I have to include her because for nearly seven years, she and her family have made room for me to stay with them when I have traveled to Utah for therapy. She allows me to cook in her kitchen, takes time to talk with me, and shares her life with me, just a little. Also, she reads my blog and has for many years.  That's dedication. I fell in love with Ambrosia when her blog was public. I told Darrin: "You have to read this person's blog. It makes me laugh and I want to meet her." And so one day I did meet Ambrosia. The real person was better than imagined. I love her.

6. Boo and her family: What can I say? I have a thing for redheads. When Tabitha went to the care center, I was an overnight visitor with Boo nearly every month and there were a couple of months when I was there more than once. She lives very close to where Tabitha now resides and was willing to allow us access to her home to come and go, as necessary. We've always enjoyed spending time with Boo and her husband (who used to call me and talk for hours--I miss that!), but now that they have an adorable toddler who remembers my name, well, that's a little bit irresistable. Also, Boo allowed me to help straighten her hair last Halloween. Nothing seals love like two girls bonding over an event involving hair. You can take my word for this. I love her.

7. AtP: We met about eight years ago online and fell in love. Well, at least I did. AtP and I have spent a great deal of time together over the last few years. I've watched him grow into adulthood and been very honored to call him my friend. I love his sense of humor, his ability to allow himself to grow and learn and accept differences. I'm very glad that when our lives diverged he still wished to remain a part of my life, and allowed me to be a part of his. I've not been able to spend a great deal of time with AtP over the past year and I miss that one-on-one time. I love him.

8. My dad: He wasn't a perfect parent, but I've always been glad he's my father. I learned more from him about loving and living honestly than from any other person. He was always delighted when I accomplished something, and terribly disappointed that I'm so incredibly bad at sports. Still, he spent every summer with my siblings and me (all eight of us), teaching us to play softball, and work-up, and never once told us we were terrible at the games. He loved playing Kick the Can, and Piggy Wants a Signal. We went camping every Memorial Day (insanity--there was always rain or snow), spent hours working on the farm, and many evenings singing as he played his guitar. He's still someone I turn to again and again for comfort and advice. I love him.

9. Tolkien Boy: Anyone who has read my blog knows I adore this man. He told me last night he wasn't adorable, but he's wrong. He stole my heart long ago and has spent time with me nearly every day since September 7, 2006. He allows me to be disagreeable and insecure and appallingly self-centered and still says he loves me. I never tire of our conversations, love to read everything he writes, and would choose a day with Tolkien Boy over a week-long vacation in the Bahamas. He encourages me when I feel too tired to keep trying, believes I will succeed when I have failed repeatedly, and when I do or say stupid things (on an average of once every three seconds), he forgives me relentlessly. I love him.

10. If you're a part of my life and I didn't mention you by name, it's not because you're less important than those listed--just less frequently with me. In truth, this list was made on the basis of how much time I've spent with individuals recently. Therefore, I challenge you to make the list next year. Come see me, call me on the phone, have an online chat with me, or send me an email. Remember that I'm incredibly blessed to have you in my life, I love spending time with you, and I think you're beautiful inside and out. I love you.

Love Lists: Day Thirteen

Types of chocolate that I love:

1. I don't necessarily love Cote d'Or chocolate, but this one makes me rapturous: 

2. I love all Lindor that do not have white chocolate, but hazelnut is exceptional:

3. There's nothing special about these. I just like them:

4. I'm not a huge fan of Ghirardelli chocolate, nor a huge fan of salt. However, this particular combination is amazing:

5. Darrin loves Ferrero Rocher. I think it's fine, but when Ferrero introduced these, they got it just right:

6. Dove Truffle chocolate is seasonal. You can get the eggs at Easter time and the hearts for Valentine's day. I suggest stocking up:

7. Cadbury Mini Eggs. That is all:

8. I like the cherry version of this. It's not my favorite, but the sensation of chili is amazing. At Christmas this year, we bought the plain chili chocolate by mistake. It sat on our counter for about a week while we halfheartedly nibbled at it. Then I paired it with pomegranate seeds. Within minutes the chocolate was gone:

9. This was my first introduction to quality chocolate. When we met, Darrin couldn't fathom that I disliked chocolate and wouldn't eat it. Then he discovered that I'd only experienced American chocolate. He brought me a Lindor bar and I was hooked. At the time, Lindt was based only in Europe and was difficult to find. Now it's U.S. based and sold in stores like Walmart and Target. I still love the chocolate:

10. Okay, Godiva chocolate is expensive, and I'm not certain it's any better that some of the less expensive brands. That being said, I've been known to drop more money that I should for one of these (Also, Godiva chocolate cheesecake is incredible):