I believe I will serve fish on Friday.

PTSD Day Three.

I'm taking my kids on a mini-vacation next weekend. When I planned this a couple of months ago I was going to tuck in a visit to Therapist while we were there, but I've been feeling like I want to wait until May. I'm not sure why May has become the magic month, it just is. Yesterday though, I started thinking maybe I needed to see him now.

But I don't want to. And I keep coming back to this:
1. Why do I want to see him? Answer: Because I feel miserable.
2. What do I expect from him? Answer: I want him to tell me I'm not crazy. I want him to remind me of what I need to do to make it through the PTSD episodes. I want him to tell me all the reasons I'm still okay. I want him to make this feel better. And he will. He always does.
3. If I go see him, does that mean I'm depending on his help when I should be using all the things I've learned both from him and on my own, to get through this independently? Answer: Yes.
4. Do I care? Answer: Yes.

So--not going to see Therapist--I'm waiting until May. And while everything in my life right now feels painful and impossible and sort of sucks, I'm not dead nor dying.

I was going to get retested this morning to check my Vitamin D and Iron levels, but I had a meeting I couldn't cancel. And Tabitha needs a blood test, as well, so I think we'll do it next week. That was random. Not sure why I just wrote that, but as this is my blog and I can be random if I want to--I will.

And as long as I'm being random, I had this text war with Adam recently:

Adam text: Hey, i've got a quesrion. would an allergic reaction to my shampoo cause arash on my hands? (Obviously he didn't inherit my need for correct spelling and capitalization--which is good. This way he won't be ostracized by his like-minded peers.)
me text: Not sure. I'd have to see it.
Adam text: K i'll show you when i get home
Adam text: i just remembered i have a camera. it looks like this

me text: If it gets uncomfortable or you need to come home let me know.
Adam text: Well, it started itching yesterday, but it wasn't a bige deal til i realized that it's spreading on both my hands now.
Adam text: It's starting to burn a bit now. do you think it's an alergic reaction, or something else?
me text: I don't know.
Darrin intervention text: Adam, stop texting your mom. She's loaded down with work right now and doesn't have time for this. If you need help go see the school nurse; otherwise, stop worrying about it and get on with your day!
Adam text: K

I came home from a rehearsal around 1:00 to find Adam sitting on the couch.
me: Did you check yourself out of school?
Adam: No. I forgot
me: Adam, you can't just leave without telling anyone.

I made a phone call for my truant son, then asked what was going on.

Adam: I just think I should stay home today.
me: Why?
Adam: I'm concerned about this rash. It's all over my hands and going up my arms.

I looked at the accused rash which consisted on a couple of spots on his hand--nothing on his arms.

me: Adam, it just looks like you've been exposed to a fragrance or something in a soap or shampoo that your skin doesn't like. It happens to me when I try samples from Bath and Body Works. It itches and sometimes tiny blisters form, but it only lasts a few days then goes away.
Adam: Are you sure?
me: Yes, but we can take you to the doctor if you think it's something else.
Adam: Well, I googled it. 
me: That is always a very bad idea. What did you find?
Adam: There was this page and the pictures of the rash looked just like mine and then after about a week of the rash the bones came through the skin.
me: See what I mean about "very bad idea"?
Adam: You don't think my bones are coming out of my hand?
me: I know they're not. Whatever you found--that's not a skin rash. It's some sort of rare and dreadful disease and only three people in the history of the world have ever had it and it can only be contracted through the bite of some now-extinct animal.
Adam: You're exaggerating.
me: Yes. You don't have whatever-it-is. You have a minor skin rash. We're going to put some cortisone cream on it and it will be gone before Friday.
Adam: You're sure?
me: Yes.
Adam: Well, if it's okay with you, I think I'll stay home from school today anyway. If my bones come out of my skin, I'd kind of like you to be around. 
me: Fine. You can clean the bathroom and do laundry while you're here.

Which he did.

And his bones did not come out of his hand.

And the rash went away.

I love Google.

Wow--so incredibly sleepy right now.

Today was sort of ugly. I knew it was coming yesterday afternoon, and when bedtime hit I couldn't sleep for a long time. When I finally was able to sleep I had dreams I would rather avoid. So I wasn't surprised when I became angry for no possible reason very early this morning. By the time noon hit, anxiety was through the roof and one hour later panic attacks began.

I'm not sure anymore what I want to do with the PTSD symptoms.

Here is what I don't want:
1. I don't ever want to become dependent on someone to help me through them. I've been there. It's a beautiful place. It feels secure and safe. But it can't be permanent. While I would love to be able to call someone and say, "Talk to me, please--I'm not doing well right now," I can't always do that. I used to have a list of possible contacts. I've disposed of it. It's impractical. There may be times when I absolutely need to talk with someone, but I need to learn to take care of myself.

2. I don't want to waste time worrying about dealing with symptoms in "proper" ways. I want to be able to recognize and move through them. Sometimes just knowing they're on their way is enough to trigger them. I'm tired of that.

Okay, I was going to make a longer list but my train of thought has moved on without me, so I won't.

Tonight we took Tabitha to see Tangled for her birthday (her choice). It's a lovely movie--enjoyable and fun. But there is one part that's still in my head right now. At one point Rapunzel is about to have her lifelong dream fulfilled--and she's afraid; what if it doesn't measure up...or more stressful still, what if it does? Then what? Rapunzel's love interest tells her that if her dream is everything she had hoped--if it's fulfilled--she gets to have a new dream.

I've been there.

Not that my dream was fulfilled in any way close to what I wished, but parts of it were. I wanted to be able to be close to people, to connect with them, and to feel they reciprocated that connection. This has happened.

I wanted to be able to touch someone without being nauseatingly afraid. I wanted to allow myself to hug people--not because I was avoiding shaking hands, which would involve touching their skin, but because I truly wished to be held by them, and I wanted to hug them back. This has happened.

I wanted to be able to touch someone's hand without panicking. I wanted to be able to do it spontaneously, naturally, to reach out and shake hands with people like everyone else does. I wanted to allow my skin to be touched without wanting to run away, without shuddering, without feeling that I might scream or cry if the touch didn't immediately cease. This sort of happened. There are only a few people with whom I can accomplish this--but a few is more than only one (Darrin), so I'm counting it.

I wanted to be able to talk. I wished to be heard. I needed to tell my story over and over again until I could say it calmly, unworried that whomever was listening would never speak with me again. This has happened.

I could list more, but the bottom line is: I think it's time for me to have a new dream.

It's going to have to wait awhile before I can figure out what it is. Right now I'm a little tired. And today has been more than a little difficult. But I'm pretty sure it's time to switch gears. The truth is, my old dream was about capturing new moments, using them to help me heal, filling needs I've had for a very long time. But moments pass away, and once healed one must become strong again, and most needs change with time--or they should. Mine will, too, no doubt. Life remains in motion and nothing can stay. All dreams eventually fade and are replaced.

Tomorrow I will regroup. I'll remember what is real and what is fabricated by PTSD symptoms. I'll run again and meditate and pray and do all I can to replace destructive thoughts with more authentic, positive ones. I'll take deep breaths and concentrate on managing stress and panic. And I'll keep working. Hopefully by Thursday I'll stop feeling numb, I'll try connecting emotionally with people I care about, and the urge to isolate myself and abandon every part of my current life will have waned.

Okay, I need to stop writing because I feel an overwhelming desire to feel sorry for myself right now--and that feeling is spreading to a need to apologize for being alive which I refuse to buy into. I'm going to go sleep. If I spoke with you today, though, I will apologize for that. I was having difficulty focusing, I didn't really want to talk to anyone, and I probably don't remember much of what we discussed. My memory of a couple of conversations is that they were strained and difficult, but I'm thinking that might have been just my perception. Conversation was a chore today--as was any kind of social activity.

Ack! Stopping talking right now. Good night!

I feel compelled to keep talking about this:

Okay--that last post was very subdued in comparison to how I feel about what I wrote...the part about talking about the things that have happened to me.

I told Darrin this morning, and then I hugged him and cried.

Four years ago telling the nurse practitioner those particular personal facts would have had the following effects:
1. I would have started shaking--no telling when that would stop.
2. I would have left the appointment certain that I was some sort of ugly, filthy monstrosity and Nurse Practitioner would be very glad I was gone.
3. I would have gone home and hidden for at least three days while I tried to gather enough common sense to recognize my responses and thoughts were exaggerated and probably incorrectly assuming things about how others feel about me.
4. It's very likely I would have thrown up even though I would studiously have avoided food for at least two days.
5. I have been known to have a minor car accident(s) while panicking about sharing personal information.
6. I would be certain that when people look at me they were wondering why I ever allowed myself to be raped and abused--didn't I know better than that?
7. I would experience feelings of revulsion when my skin was touched by anyone.
8. I would feel panicky and faint for as long as a month.

And none of those things happened. Not one.

Did you hear me??? Not even one!!!

I want to alternately weep for days and stand on my roof while I scream to anyone who will listen: "I'M BETTER!! I'M OKAY!! YOU DON'T HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT BUT I DID SOMETHING AMAZING AND I THINK YOU SHOULD BE COMPLETELY STUNNED AND BESIDE YOURSELF WITH HAPPY FEELINGS ALL FOR MMMMEEEEEEEE!!!!"

I won't. But I want to. And I want to tell everyone I meet: "Hi. I'm Sam. I have PTSD, but I did something I've never done before yesterday. What? You gave birth to healthy, full-term sextuplets today? Seriously, compared to what I just overcame--that's very nice, but doesn't quite bear the magnitude... I mean, you popped those babies out after nine measly months. I've been working on this for years--for YEARS, I say."

Okay, I admit it's not quite as amazing as full-term, healthy sextuplets (especially considering the fact that I've never been able to make even one of my babies stay inside for more than 35 weeks--not full-term), but for me it's fairly magnificent.

Today I feel real. For the first time in my life I don't feel that I have to apologize for being alive. I'm not less than anyone else. I'm not filthy or contagious.

I
am
acceptable.

That's right. Perfectly, beautifully, completely acceptable.

And if you happen to run into me today, don't be surprised if I tell you so. There is something wonderful about finally being about to say it...to feel it...

On second thought, I just might go up on my roof today. There are some things that must be shared.

"...sometimes, when you fall, you fly..." ~Neil Gaiman

Tabitha's anxiety disorder has expanded into depression. It's not debilitating. It's not constant. But she feels the depression more often than is optimal. So at the suggestion of our pediatrician, I made an appointment with a pediatric nurse practitioner who also has a bajillion other degrees and specializations, one of which includes knowing which psychiatric medications work best for teens.

I've actually been trying to get an appointment with this person for two months. Not easy.

However, I was pleasantly surprised. She spent about an hour with us, asking questions and taking Tabitha's history. She asked me to briefly give my background, as well--trying to determine if Tabitha's anxiety and depression were genetic. And she spent about ten minutes alone with Tabitha, during which time she asked about drug and alcohol use, sexual activity, and any other situations Tabitha might not be comfortable discussing with me present. Tabitha answered her questions and said, "You didn't have to send my mom out. She knows pretty much everything that's going on with me. I tell her," at which point the nurse practitioner invited me back in.

The NP asked me how I was able to get Tabitha to talk to me so much. I've never really thought about it, so I couldn't answer the question. Tabitha said she talks to me because I listen--and I make sure we're in a place where we won't be interrupted (on a walk, driving in the car, in her bedroom...). Also, she said she's not afraid to talk about anything because I don't get angry or act shocked or disappointed (which isn't completely true--I do, Tabitha just doesn't notice). And, Tabitha said, she knows I love her no matter what, and I let her make her own decisions most of the time.

Interesting. I didn't know Tabitha felt that way about her relationship with me.

So that was a positive experience I had not expected.

Also positive:

1. When asked to talk about my past, I revealed that I'm a rape survivor. I used those words. I didn't flinch. My voice remained steady. And inside, I didn't feel that I was dying and somehow freakish and ugly. I'm a rape survivor. It happened to me. It is not who I am.

2. I told her I was a survivor of emotional and physical abuse until I left home at 17. During Tabitha's private interview with the NP, she adamantly stated that she has never been abused by me in any way and that I've never even spanked her (not true--I've swatted her behind once or twice when she was a toddler, to get her attention--it was never enough to cause pain or make her cry). NP told me that's unusual. Many adults who were abused as children will perpetuate the cycle--even if it's to a lesser degree. She said it's common for most adults to resort to how they were treated as children when it comes to parenting. I said I'd chosen to parent differently and I had to do research and take classes and read and pray...and I still do. She said she was impressed with my efforts and pleased that I had the foresight to get help when I needed it.

She doesn't understand--there was no other option for me. I cannot cause harm to people I love. It hurts me in ways I can neither describe nor endure. This means I will initiate difficult conversations to find solutions which will help my relationships thrive, I'll forgive almost anything, and I'll try constantly to make certain healthy boundaries and mutual respect are in place and continuously fostered. However, even though I couldn't explain to her that, yes, it was a conscious choice to stop the cycle of abuse when it came to parenting my children, it was also the only possibility for me.

3. I talked about flashbacks and PTSD and my own anxiety, and answered all her questions without feeling attacked or less human because I have all those things. I told her I've had no flashbacks since August 2nd, I'm still learning to manage PTSD, I have difficulty sleeping when nightmares come, I have panic attacks which sometimes last a couple of days. I told her I'm unmedicated. NP said it sounded like there was no link between what I experience and Tabitha's symptoms. She feels, as I do, that my symptoms are situational not genetic and the fact that I'm able to function well without medication supports that supposition. But I talked about those things--and I was okay.

I know there are many people who have endured greater challenges and tragedies than I have. But for me, the things that have happened were daunting and traumatic. There have been many times in my life when I felt I could not live one more day knowing the things that have been done to me, understanding how helpless and aching I was left, recognizing there was no way to change that. In those moments I simply chose to not have those experiences anymore. I was not a rape victim. My mother did not mistreat me. I lived a boring, normal life, just like every other person on the planet.

Today I can say what happened. I can talk about it as needed. It no longer eats my soul. I am Samantha--entirely whole. I can be sad about the sad parts, but also feel joy as I recognize the depth and beauty I experience each day.

One day, a long time ago, I asked Tolkien Boy if he believed a person could be hurt beyond the ability to heal. I don't remember exactly what he told me but today I can answer that question. For me, the answer is that if indeed, people can be hurt to that extent, I am not one of those people.

I was raped and abused. I was hospitalized because I wished to die. I stopped eating in the hopes that I could discard the body which I believed had betrayed me somehow. And then, one day, I decided to live.

I don't know that I'll ever be completely free of the memories and aftermath of those experiences. Perhaps it's good that I remember. But remembering does not keep me from becoming lost in a sunrise or singing or writing terrible poetry or laughing just because I'm happy. It doesn't hamper my determination to grow and learn and overcome phobias and try new things. It doesn't isolate me from people I love or make me stop trying to learn about relationships.

Remembering helps me know I'm real. Knowing I'm real allows me to seek out people to love who will love me back. Giving and receiving love helps me remember that I am more than that which was done to me.

I am more.

Celebrating!

Today I danced in my kitchen. And before you laugh at me, take a moment and admit that you've done the same thing--if not in the kitchen, then in some other room. I had a reason for my happy dance.

I've mentioned a few times that I hurt my knee last year during a rather disastrous fall while I was distracted by nearby wildflowers. The road curved and went steeply downward and I did a head-over-heels demonstration, ending up with gravel embedded in my knees and elbows and stomach. I finished my run (two more miles), ignoring the fact that my legs were covered in blood, because I was in the middle of nowhere and I never bring my cell phone with me (just imagine the Darrin lecture I got when I arrived at home). I noticed at the time that my knee wasn't working quite right. 

It's possible that everything would have healed up in a few weeks, but I fell again. And then again. And just for good measure--one more time. Yeah...I have some issues with blood sugar. The first fall was sheer idiocy on my part. The subsequent ones were the result of poor nutrition. Sigh...

So by the end of July it was clear that I'd done some damage. I researched all sorts of medical articles, trying to determine if this was something I could deal with on my own or if I'd really hurt myself badly enough to need a surgeon's help. And I pondered this for a good long time--about six months, during which I dealt with swelling and a great deal of pain. But since I couldn't decide whether or not I needed a doctor, I didn't go to one. 

Finally, last month I began feeling relief from the pain and three weeks ago I felt the knee start functioning as it should; no more pain or stiffness climbing stairs, no wishing I was dead after running, no more swelling. I think it's better!

Hence, the happy dance. And I'm not going to tell you that during my dance I slipped and fell. Nope, not talking about that part at all. Just glad the knee's all better. Yup.

Oh my goodness! I need to fold laundry!

Therapist once told me when I got to the point when I stopped "collecting" people, and allowed them to stay in my life as long as they chose then pass through and leave while I wished for their happiness, I would know the dependency I was so afraid of was gone. I let his words remain unanswered because I was unwilling to discuss the topic at the time. But here is what he doesn't know:

1. With possibly one exception, the only person on whom I have ever been emotionally dependent is Darrin. I have worked through that, I'm in a much better place and I don't believe it will ever happen again. I'm just not the type of person to feel comfortable depending on anyone except myself. I'm not saying it won't happen, just that circumstances would have to be unusual and I would have to be considerably weak in order for that to take place, therefore--unlikely, leaning toward impossible.

2. I've never asked any person to stay--ever. I may have said I wished they would, or I loved having them in my life, but I have never coerced them in any way. Emotional blackmail is not my thing. I much prefer telling people what I think or feel, and letting them know what's happening in my life to avoid misunderstandings and avoid regrettable situations. Not everyone I love reciprocates these things for me, but people deal with life in their own ways. In fact, I would have to say that when any person has indicated our friendship (or other "-ship") has become uncomfortable, I have suggested it might be time to do something different. The last thing I wish is for someone to remain in my life out of social habit, a misplaced sense of obligation, or pity. We both deserve better.

3. If I "collect" people, it's by choice not compulsion. People fascinate me. I like them. I like to find out what makes them happy or sad, what they're interests are, what foods they like or dislike, what they see when we're both looking at the same thing...I don't just find someone because I need an emotional sponge or I'm dying for a new audience to tell all my secrets. Most people would say they don't really know that much about me unless we've been friends for at least a year (or more). There was once a person with whom I spoke sporadically--I considered him my friend. But fairly recently he was having some difficulty and I was trying to help. I mentioned my love and support for him. He baldly stated that he didn't even know me. Good point. The fact that I love him is obviously suspect. Not everyone understands that I love haphazardly and I rarely consider that other people actually like to have some sort of relationship before they love someone. Point taken. I don't tell him I love him anymore--in fact, I don't think I tell him anything anymore.

4. I always want happiness for the people I love. And I allow them to define what happiness means to them without input from me. And if they find it, I will be the first person to be happy for their happy. As for letting go, I practice it all the time. I prepare for it. I try to discuss it, but I find most people are unwilling to talk about it--which I do not understand. It's a fact of life. If we could talk about it, think about it, get ready for the time when we're no longer as important to each other, it wouldn't hurt so much when it happens. Unfortunately, logic does not seem to penetrate emotional situations. Most people think I'm trying to encourage them to leave (I'm not), or they're insulted that I even suggested it might happen (ridiculous--it always happens--even in marriages there are times of closeness and distance, children are born with the idea that one day they'll leave, friends...well...anyone who talks to me knows how I feel about the staying power of friendship, or rather, the non-existence of such a phenomenon).

So why am I afraid of dependence? This is the last thing I haven't told Therapist: I'm not afraid of it. I am afraid I'll depend on the wrong person. Co-dependence is highly unlikely to ever be a problem in my life. Misplaced dependence is definitely something I fear. I indulged in it once and ended up getting raped more times than I can count. I think I can be forgiven of that--I wasn't yet twelve, and adolescents don't always have enough knowledge to make good choices. But I'm not twelve now. And I don't believe I'll ever be in a situation where I'll be that vulnerable again. But I still wonder about dependence. Part of me is dependent on Darrin--he's my husband--that's appropriate. But someday we'll be separated by death, and I have a feeling I'll be the one left behind. What to do with that dependence then? I have no idea.

Perhaps I'll put this on my list of topics to discuss with Therapist in May. Then again, perhaps by that time I'll no longer care. Good thing my list is written in pencil.

Yeah...random title. I have a knack for choosing words which have nothing to do with the topic at hand.

Tomorrow will be Friday

It's been a tough week. As my work week is six days long, we're now on the downside and I have only two more days before I can rest. What made it difficult:

Monday:  For whatever reason, my dad decided I needed to spend the day working in his office. I had scheduled two hours. I saw a bunch of clients, finished tax returns, did some bookkeeping and listened as my father discussed the value of buying toilet paper in bulk. Then my mother decided to let me know just how difficult it is to tie shoes while one arm/hand is in a cast--which made no sense whatever because my mother rarely wears shoes with laces. She also found a number of Christmas gifts she had hidden away three years ago and offered me mine, which I opened and thanked her for. It was a pair of pajamas...size 1X. She mentioned they might be a little large because she was unsure of my size and wanted to be sure not to get them too small. For any reader who is unaware of the sizing of women's clothing, they start at size 0 and go in even increments to size 22 or 24, I believe, at which point they start "big" sizes at 1X. I believe those sizes end at 3X, but I don't know for sure. I wear a size 4. Do the math. She bought me pajamas eleven sizes larger than I wear. Eleven. I'm still blinking in disbelief. I'm thinking I'll make quilt blocks out of them.

Tuesday: One of my work sites was down for most of the day. I made up for it by working extra hours at another job. One of my rehearsals was a complete waste of time. I'm pretty sure at least one person was sight-reading her part (inexcusable--we've had the music for two weeks). I left half-way through and told them it was unfair to charge them for a complete rehearsal when they hadn't adequately practiced. Tabitha swore her homework was finished, had a friend stay for dinner and a movie, then informed me that she completely forgot an assignment--which she worked on for 90 minutes, then lost because her computer froze and she hadn't activated the autosave in her Word program.

Wednesday: My office is in our garden level basement. I was trying to work, but a cat kept hurling itself at my window. I shooed it away, but it came back and began launching itself once again. I don't know about anyone else but for me, hearing a cat body thump against my window at regular intervals is a little bit stressful. I finally left and went for a walk and it was gone when I came home. Tabitha and Adam got home, relaxed for about fifteen minutes, then began screaming at each other. This never happens. I blame the cat. I decided to go for another walk, instructing them not to draw blood and to be hugging each other when I got home. They weren't, but Tabitha was doing homework and Adam was making dinner when I returned which is a step in the right direction.

Thursday: I went to bed early last night but woke feeling exhausted. The thought of work makes me want to throw up so I'm blogging instead (however, I was up at 5:30, so I've gotten in three hours all ready). In forty-five minutes I'll meet my rehearsal buddies who have let me know they've repented and practiced and are ready to pay me (which is good since they perform next week). Darrin said I look exhausted and made me breakfast. When he wasn't looking I ate cookies instead. I was supposed to work at my dad's office yesterday, but got derailed by the cat and my kids--two long walks ate up my finance work time, so I'll try to get some of that in today. If I can't, I'll do it tomorrow and Saturday. So I sort of feel drained and weepy today. Maybe I'm tired.

The problem, possibly, is that I haven't really spent time with anyone or anything except work for awhile. I know I talked to Tolkien Boy on the phone sometime last week (I think it was last week--possibly the week before), and Brozy has caught me online several times lately (Thank you so much!), but I've had no time for conversation with Darrin or any other responsible adult (I don't consider the toilet paper conversation with my dad or the pajama fiasco with my mother responsible adult conversation). The funny thing is, five years ago I didn't care. I'd just immerse myself in a book or take another walk. Now I sort of feel like something's missing. Does this only happen to me? I wish I understood why things are different now.

On the bright side, tonight I'm experimenting with sweet potatoes, plantains, hot peppers, coconut milk, and red curry. I might add some chicken (feeling a protein deficit today). Should be fun...want to join me for dinner? It will only cost you 25 minutes of conversation interspersed with insane giggling. And I might ask you to stir something.

Apparently only woman lives by bread alone.

There are times when I like to pretend I don't have low blood sugar...as in, I like to pretend this every moment of every day. So last night I decided it would be okay to go work out at seven and eat dinner when I got home. I have no idea why I made dinner so late. It's not like me to do that. When 5:00 rolls around, we're busy making food, but that didn't happen last night. I blame President's Day.

So Tabitha and I were being buff and lifting tons of weight and working our abs and arms and legs and behinds and trying not to whine that it hurts and makes us a little bit cranky, while at the same time feeling powerful and not noticing how the large man in front of us is whining less while lifting three times the weight (except in the leg press--I did just as much weight as he did because my thighs are freakishly strong which only makes the rest of me feel wimpy), and after about an hour my blood sugar dived.

If I'm at home reading or working at my computer when this happens, it's an easy thing to just go get a snack and ignore the fact that I feel simultaneously faint and nauseated. But at the gym, lifting stupid weights, feeling cranky and whiny, if my blood sugar dives--well, let's just say a quick exit is preferable to trying to explain how I can possibly lose consciousness while working out, and with my luck I'd somehow end up hurting a vital part of me while crashing to the floor.

So Tabitha and I opted out of our usual run which we do during the second hour of our workout, and got water and Gatorade and drove home to eat. And Adam laughed at us because he doesn't have low blood sugar and I don't love him right now but I will tonight when he comes home from school.

Sigh...

We'll try this again tomorrow night, but for now, I have a date with some running time. Bye!

"I too have known joy and sadness, and, on the whole, I prefer joy." ~Ashleigh Brilliant

There is still sadness but it's not new. Periodically I feel it pushing at my soul, reminding me that there have been inexcusable abuses--but it's old. Oddly, I can feel that these are not emotions from the present. They reek of loneliness only a small child can feel, or intense, consuming anger conjured by a teen, or confusion and loss felt by a terrified, aching adolescent. I was sad. I'm not sad now.

Still, the tears come. It doesn't seem to matter that I'm all right now, or that I'm safe, or that life has become joyful. I must still weep for those long past feelings and experiences. I must feel the emotions too large for me to endure when the experiences occurred.

Long ago I believed someone would save me. Bitterness and cynicism became my best friends when no savior came. I have laid them to rest. Bitterness hurts my heart, and I have had enough pain. Cynicism cankers my soul, eats away all that is beautiful about Samantha. The losses, if allowed, will devour my future joy and bring me nothing, continuing the cycle of destruction and pain which grew monstrous in my youth. But I am an adult now. No matter how great the required effort, I will choose to contain the monster; I will choose my life; I will choose joy.

Therapist says the sad feelings are important. Eventually, I will understand and embrace them for they are my personal responses to the painful, unacceptable situations in my life. He believes the sadness might return periodically throughout my lifetime, but I will recognize it, allow it, and move on without becoming overwhelmed by it. He says to feel nothing, to ignore the abuses, allows them continued power. As I weep for my losses, for the hurting child and subsequent aftermath throughout my teen and adult life, I allow those things to heal without disregarding their importance, without denying the existence of events which intensely harmed me, and with that acknowledgement I take control of protecting myself in healthy ways. I begin to understand where the guilt and blame lies--and it does not lie with a vulnerable child, ever. And someday I will be able to say, "This happened. It makes me sad--it should sadden any person who knows of it because any time a child is abused or molested, humanity suffers. But while it happened to me, it is not who I am. It has harmed but not consumed me. It affects but does not control me."

Therapist believes that while I might feel pain in varying degrees caused by my past, throughout the rest of my life, he also believes that learning to share that pain with people I love does not harm my loved ones, but rather, helps them to bear my burden and increases the love and caring they feel for me. I don't understand this yet. It seems that a person who is repeatedly bringing the same problem into conversations, or who can't seem to overcome her past, would be someone to run from. People like to help, but only when they can see that their aid is effective. If a person keeps saying, "Hey--remember last month when I was sad and I asked if I could tell you about it? You know, like I did the month before, and two weeks before that, and every day the previous week...well...is it okay if we do all that again for the millionth time, because I'm sad again?", it just seems prudent to avoid that person and allow them to wallow in their chosen pain alone.

Did I choose this?

That's the question Therapist keeps asking. Then he reminds me that I don't really wallow. The past doesn't change but I do. I keep searching for new ways to manage the aftermath of a horrendous situation. And he says that I might keep talking about the same things, but my sole focus is not to find pity but support as I seek for ways to grow and find happiness. That, he says, is much different from someone who just wants a complaint audience. He also reminds me that I do similar things for the people I love and I don't resent it nor do I wish to run from them. He says I need to give people credit and allow them to love me--believe they are capable of loving me--just as I love them.

Sometimes Therapist lectures. Usually what he says is right. Always, I bristle and argue and feel misunderstood. And in the end I believe him--which doesn't mean I can magically do what is difficult but helpful, but does mean I will try.

Still, it's nice to know I'm on the right track. And I'm grateful that finally I can encounter the ancient sadness without wanting to lie in a corner and bleed to death. In fact, I'm at the point where, when it comes I think: This is sad. I wish it hadn't happened. I wish I could change things--but--I'm still here, and I'm happy. I haven't stopped loving life or people or me. So I think I'll just take a moment and cry a little bit, and then if friend is online or nearby I'll talk to them for a little while because that helps me remember I'm loved. And if no one's around, maybe I'll take a walk or sing or dance or turn a cartwheel--because I can. I'm not destroyed, I'm very much alive, and this feeling won't last forever.

It's a long thought process and someday I think it will reduce itself to a simple acknowledgement. I'll notice the sadness fleetingly, remember its importance, and continue whatever it is I'm doing. But for now I need a little time. I think that's okay.

I have zero time because I'm supposed to be at a family gathering...

I've been thinking a lot about DJ.

I know it's good that he's independent, living on his own, and happy. Adam says DJ inherited my naturally happy genes. I'm not sure that's genetic. I love that I'm feeling the happy again. It's wonderful.

But I miss DJ. It's not like I don't see him--he comes over for dinner a few days weekly and he'll be going on a mini-vacation with me next month. It's just that he's not here anymore. I can't kiss him good-night, or make sure he's not eating junk food, or help him with his laundry, or listen when he needs to talk.

And I miss that.

I miss him.

I'm very good at letting people live their lives without me. I'm very bad at not missing them.

Good night

There is an incredible lightness inside of me. I've not felt like this for nearly two years.

No flashbacks for nearly seven months. No more depression. My Wonder Woman boots are alive and well.

We had a pink moon in the evening sky a couple of nights ago. It was beautiful.

For a long time I yearned to share what I saw with someone else who understood. Now I think it's okay if no one ever understands me. I know who I am again.

If I have leaned on you, metaphorically or otherwise, during the past couple of years--thank you for allowing it.

The Plumber, revisited

I posted the video clip in my previous post because we actually were visited by a plumber Thursday. He arrived in the morning around nine and stayed until 2:30 p.m. He replaced our kitchen faucet and fixed leaks in the sink and shower in our master bathroom. The kitchen repair went quickly and smoothly. The bathroom repair did not. Shortly after noon Plumber's pager began making noise which continued periodically for about ninety minutes, at which point he left and came back with reinforcements. Between the three of them the drippy sink and shower were finished in an hour.

So now I have a new kitchen faucet and formerly drippy bathroom near my bedroom is no longer keeping me awake. I should be completely happy--and I am--except...

THEY CHANGED THE DIRECTIONS THE FAUCETS TURN!!

And don't tell me this is not a big deal because it is. All three sets of faucets now turn on and off differently from how they did previously. And it's not consistent. It's not like Plumber just reversed everything. That would be logical and I'd get used to it in a day. But no--he had to go and be creative. Every set of faucets is directionally unique and it's frustrating!

Darrin says I'll get used to it.

Darrin says it's not a problem--you're just turning the water on and off.

Darrin says he could probably change it back to the way it was, but maybe that's the only way Plumber and Friends were able to stop the leaks in the bathroom and then we'd be right back where we started from.

Darrin says, if I'd like him to, he'll quit his job so he cans stay home and be the person who turns the water on and off for me when ever I need it. That way I can stop shrieking and cursing poor Plumber.

Sometimes Darrin is a bit beastly.

Sigh...

When Adam was very young we recognized that he was a creature of habit. He became agitated if things were not in a certain order or if something that was normally in one place was moved to another. When he was about two years old his collection of Duplos had grown enough that it needed a larger container, so I switched the Duplos into a container more accommodating to their number and placed it on the toy shelf.

Later that day, Adam decided to build something. I heard a whimper come from his bedroom and went to investigate. He was standing in front of the toy shelf looking unhappy. The whimper increased to a howl, at which point he sat on the floor and wept. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I asked Adam what was bothering him. He ignored me. I placed toy after toy in front of him, hoping for distraction. When I picked up the Duplo bucket Adam's weeping became a full-blown tantrum. Adam never had tantrums.

Not knowing what to do, I cleared a space for Adam and left the room, thinking the tantrum would wear itself out eventually, which it did. About five minutes later Adam appeared at my side, glaring at me. I asked if he wanted a snack. Sullenly, he continued to glare. He mutely followed me through the house. I was cleaning, but I figured if he was quiet, I'd keep going. We went to the kitchen and I began to empty the trash can. As I pulled the overflowing liner from the can, Adam made a very odd noise, ran to me and attempted to pull the bag away from me.

Adam was not a naughty child. He was often in trouble because he climbed and ate everything in sight and believed that Tabitha was his personal belonging, but he didn't make messes and he was generally very compliant. I was at a loss, watching him mutinously pulling at the trash bag I was holding. I decided if he wanted to look at our garbage before I took it out of the house it wasn't really a problem, so I put the bag on the floor and opened it towards him.

He reached inside and dug a tiny bit while I cringed and longed for him to finish so I could wash his hands, then emerged, grinning, holding the former Duplo container. I said, "Is that all you wanted? Let's go wash it and you can play with it." I washed his hands and let him stand next to me on a stool as I washed and dried the container. I handed it to him and he disappeared happily into his bedroom where I could hear him playing with toys and jabbering to himself. I waited about fifteen minutes, then went to check on him.

The new Duplo container sat empty in the corner of the room. The old one, now over flowing with Duplos, was back on the toy shelf. Adam was happy.

He hasn't changed. Now a teen, Adam still has methods and rituals and a certain order in which things must progress. When family members leave for more than a day, Adam becomes stressed. If they're gone more than three days, he he begins calling them every couple of hours to make certain they're okay. His daily routine rarely varies. Each of his shirts has its own day on which it is worn. Piano practice always follows a specific order. The route traveled to and from school each morning never varies.

Darrin blames me. He says he has no similar habits and my neuroticism over the change in faucet direction supports the fact that Adam's quirks are learned or inherited from me. I'm not arguing. I definitely have certain habits that are similar to Adam's. And I'm allowing Darrin his delusion. I'm not pointing out that he has to have his tools stored in a certain order, or that he has to brush his teeth before he can wash his face before bed, or that he sits at the table before every meal and moves his fork from one side of the plate to the other, or that he cannot pass a pot on the stove without stopping to stir it, or that when he's dressing he has to put on his socks before he'll put on his underwear...

Poor Adam. There's no hope for him.

Plumber

Some amazing person who has actually read both my "Samantha" blogs for the past five years sent me this today. My phone number is nearly identical to that of a local plumbing company, so I often get wrong number calls asking me to help with some plumbing problem. I'm thinking of changing my occupation, as I already seem to have clientele.

This clip, however, got me started watching other clips from the Electric Company series. I think the writers were on drugs, but I also think I want to keep watching the show. I sort of wish it was still being made.

Here's one more for your viewing delight. I think I'm in love with Electric Company:

"For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my fate with kings." ~Shakespeare

Today is Valentine's Day. Much has happened in the past week.

Darrin has his blood tested every three months. I do it annually, partly because I think it's good to have an idea of what's happening inside me and for a baseline comparison should anything go awry, healthwise, and partly to keep Darrin company. We went to have our blood drawn two weeks ago. On a whim, because I had heard there is a link between low levels of Vitamin D and depression, I had them take an extra vial of blood to check my levels. I also noticed my blood was not the dark purplish color it normally is, but rather a lovely shade of bright red.

My tests came back, showing me to be one of the healthiest people on this planet--except for a couple of things:
1. I'm anemic.
2. My Vitamin D levels are alarmingly low.

And so I have been prescribed a daily dose of Vitamin D which I'm certain is toxic. I was told I should feel a difference in a number of odd symptoms I've been experiencing within a couple of days. I felt a difference in a couple of hours.

For the past five days I've had such a drastic decrease in depression that today it has become difficult to remember how it felt. I've been experiencing muscle cramps for nearly a month which have now become non-existent. I'm finding it easier to focus and concentrate. Today I'll begin taking ugly iron doses which will leave me feeling nauseated and sort of miserable, but if I continue them consistently and alter my diet to include more foods with Vitamin D and iron, in a month I should be completely healthy.

Which reminds me...

That eating food part is problematic. I haven't been doing that very well lately. In fact, I would have to say the weight loss experiment was a complete failure. Two days after posting about it I was no longer able to manage the stupid anorexia on top of the PTSD and depression. All the weight was gone within a week, plus a bit more (my target date for completing the weight loss was tomorrow). Sigh... Maybe I'll try again next year.

However, I feel better--so much better! Panic symptoms are still alive and well, but those are annoyingly familiar and I know how to manage them.

And so today I just have to say a few things about love:

About three years ago one of my friends accused me of being insensitive to people who are single on Valentine's Day. He said that randomly sending wishes for a Happy Valentine's Day only magnifies the fact that they have no one special with whom to celebrate. I have always loved Valentine's Day. I loved the mushy decorations, the cookies and candy, the grins and the blushing. I loved making elementary school Valentine boxes and signing cards to put into them. I loved the class parties. I loved giving silly cards gifts to my high school friends. But mostly I loved this holiday because it was one day out of the year when my mom selected a card and wrote me a note saying she loved me.

I knew the card was hand selected just for me. She always chose one with a cute brown-eyed girl and a poem about a daughter. And I have kept every one. For just one day I would pretend I was loved by my mom--that the words in the card were absolutely true--and that tomorrow when the abuse began once again, I would have a tangible reminder that just for a moment my mother loved me.

When I became a teen, naturally the cards seemed like hypocrisy and became one more reason for me to hate my mother. But a part of me buried deeply inside, clung to the hope that she really did love me even if it was only one day out of the year, and I still kept each Valentine signed with love from her.

Every year for my entire life my mother has made special cookies for Valentine's Day. They're like a sugar cookie, but the dough is extremely fragile and flavored with butter and rum and vanilla. It has to be refrigerated and kept cold while rolling and cutting with a special heart-shaped cutter. The cookies can only be baked four minutes or they're overdone. Then an amazing pink frosting is sandwiched between two of them, they're frosted on the tops and sides and rolled in coconut (sometimes tinted pink, sometimes left white), and allowed to sit for a day, during which the cookies soften and meld with the frosting. My mom calls them "Valentine Cookie Cakes" which is apt, if not imaginative.

I love these cookies.

When Darrin and I were engaged my parents wanted us to get married as quickly as possible. I think they were afraid we'd have sex before marriage or something. Obviously they didn't know me at all. Sex before marriage was the last thing I was likely to engage in with a man--fiance or not. However, to humor them, we said we would choose the first three-day weekend during our spring semester of college. It fell on President's Day in February, which also happened to be Valentine's Day. And so as luck or coincidence or fate would have it, I ended up getting married on my favorite holiday (no, not President's Day--that was just a matter of convenience).

I asked for those cookie-cakes to be served at my wedding, and I've made them every year since. I deliver them to nearby friends. I also give some to my mom. She always laughs and reminds me she's made dozens all ready, then hands me a plate for my family. I don't care. I make them for her anyway.

Valentine's Day for me, has never been about boyfriends, or lovers, or romance. It's a day of love. One day throughout my life when I believed I was loved, when I received tokens of love and friendship. One day when I feel free to share that love with everyone who owns a piece of my heart. One very special day...

So if you're offended by my wishing you a Happy Valentine's Day, remember, I'm not being insensitive--I just love you. And if that's a problem for you, you're going to have to discuss it with my heart. It has its own ideas; I just go along for the ride.

I hope your day is filled with love, and if  you know me, know also that I love you.

It's cold today.

I'm thinking of taking a break--from blogging, but also from everything else. More than one reason exists for this pondering, but the largest one is that for the first time in my life I'm battling debilitating depression. There. I said it.

Apparently it's not normal to cry all the time, nor is it normal to wake up sad and spend entire days waiting for a moment when you won't be sad--except that moment doesn't happen so you go to bed sad hoping to wake up less sad--only you don't, so you spend another day waiting for the sad to go away...and another day...and another...

There are times during the day when I can't decide whether to cry again or just throw up, which adds variety. That's something.

Ambrosia, Tolkien Boy, and AtP chatted with me briefly yesterday, which was helpful. The distraction of having someone talk with seems to buoy me up when I'm feeling like I'm drowning. Honestly, I'm not really trying to be so melodramatic--that's just how it feels.

I've been trying to channel my energy into positive things. I spent a couple of hours at the gym with Tabitha last night. We lifted weights for about an hour, then ran for an hour. I was hopeful this would be a healthy fix which would leave me feeling better emotionally. It didn't, but Tabitha had a wonderful time. She was still feeling happy about our time together when she got up this morning. I love that girl.

Last night my Therapist-prescribed bedtime hit and I just couldn't go. Darrin was working late and I didn't want to be alone. I checked my chat list. Thankfully, Jason was there. Sometimes I hail him at inopportune times. I'm really glad last night wasn't one of those times. Lonely and Sad is a more unpalatable combination than just plain sad. We had this conversation:

Jason: So, I saw you've been having panic attacks.

  That's no fun at all.

 me: They're stupid. They make me very cranky.

 Jason: With good reason!

 me: I told a friend I was experiencing panic attacks. She said, "I never would have guessed--you're so normal!" I don't even know what that means.

 Jason: It means you're fun and delightful and say clever things and smile a lot ;-)

Except, I'm not fun anymore, I rarely say clever things--I rarely say anything--anymore, and I don't smile anymore.

I could come up with hundreds of logical, valid reasons why I'm feeling depressed right now. It is unhelpful to know whether or not depression is reasonable. Reasonable does not make depression go away.

So I'm thinking it might be time for me to just spend some time away from everything; concentrate on work, maybe, and do some reading in my down time; just have some alone time to see if I can get on top of things again.

I don't know. There doesn't seem to be a correct answer. Maybe there isn't an answer. After all, I don't remember asking a question in the first place.

Anyway, I'll be back when I feel better. Talk to you later.

If you eat a frog in the morning, it's the worst thing that will happen to you all day.

There are times when I feel guilty posting about my inner angst--which is completely silly given that this is a blog and I'm really bothering no one by putting those things here. It's just that in person, I'm a lot of fun. I laugh and trade banter and have great conversations. I've been known to act like a teenager when I'm turned loose in an amusement park. I dance and turn cartwheels and climb trees. I play board games and card games and sometimes I win. I smile most of the time--lots of people smile back at me. I'm not a sad person.

Today, though, I feel sad. I'm recognizing this happens as a matter of course after a day of high stress or panic attacks. I've also realized that I've somehow learned how to put those things off--in the same way I used to put off reactions to flashbacks--and when I have down time, or I'm in a safe place, my subconscious finally allows those things to happen. Yesterday was panic attack day.

It didn't begin until about 4:00 p.m., which is nice because I enjoyed my morning. So when the attacks began, I cleaned and made cookies and took a walk and paced and cleaned some more. The panic was still hovering at bedtime and at that point I was cranky, as well. I told Darrin I didn't want him to go to sleep because I would be the only person awake in the whole world. He stayed up with me for awhile. 

I didn't awake feeling sad this morning. I love mornings. I got up with my kids at 5:30 and worked for awhile. After they had gone to seminary I felt the sadness begin. It's grown into sadness and loneliness. I've been trying to work but I'm finding it difficult to concentrate--and so--here I am--writing about something I can't seem to manage.

Last night I asked Darrin to say all the ways he believes I've become "better" over the past five years. I fell asleep while he was talking, but I know he listed quite a few things. And he's right--I've worked through many difficult things and I'm handling life in different, more healthy ways. I just can't feel that I'm making progress, and I've been tired for a long time.

Sad makes me cry now. A long time ago I didn't know how to cry. There are advantages to that. I'm fairly certain the tears are a reaction to the panic attacks of yesterday. That doesn't make me like them.

And now it's time for me to go back to work. In an hour I will go running. Later I will meet with tax clients, work on their returns, do more work, and then teach piano lessons.

Two weeks ago Darrin suggested I needed to do something that will take me out of the house--something I enjoy. So I purchased a limited membership to a fitness club. Tabitha and I will go there for a couple of hours tonight while Adam is at class. She hugged me this morning and told me she was really excited to go work out with me. I think that's odd (teenage girls are not supposed to love spending time with their mothers), but sort of wonderful. I'm looking forward to it, too.

Hmmm...my house is full of cookies. I think, however, I need to make some more before I go back to work this morning. If you want chocolate-chocolate-chip cookies, you know where to find them. :-)

Update:  Cookies made...and now I need a new cookie dough scooper...oops...

"The hardest battle you're ever going to fight is the battle to just be you." ~Leo F. Buscaglia

It's been about two weeks since I've written anything here. During the first week I didn't even think about it. I was having difficulty navigating almost every area of my life and blogging did not occur to me even once. This is a little bit odd since, for the past five years, I've used this as a place to unwind, look at things rationally, spew self-pity and melodrama, and record ideas and experiences. Writing has been a coping device. Two weeks ago, I forgot it.

The level of disinterest in people I love and in my life, in general, has increased dramatically in the past fourteen days. I've been trying to "fake it", as instructed by Therapist (Faking it = continuing normal interaction with those closest to me including initiating conversations and allowing physical closeness, and pretending I like and have interest in both those things). I've been trying to be honest with those closest to me. This is what I've learned from doing those two things:
1. Faking it makes me cranky.
2. Faking it makes me stressed.
3. Faking it causes intense panic attacks.
4. Faking it is increasing the non-interest and numbness I feel toward people.
5. Faking it is a very bad idea.
6. Most people don't like it very much when a spouse or parent or best friend is being honest and says she doesn't really care about them anymore.
7. Most people are sort of stunned/hurt/angry when such honesty is imparted.
8. Most people don't really know what to do next when I honestly tell them what is happening with me and they don't address it ever again...in fact, they don't really want to address anything with me anymore.
9. Honesty, in this particular case, might possibly fall under the auspices of Too Much Information.
10. Honesty might be a very bad idea.

I'm doing those things anyway, bad ideas or not, because I don't know what else to do.

I talked for a long time with Tolkien Boy a couple of weeks ago. I have to hand it to him. He allowed me to rant and argue and try to explain all the reasons why I just need to give in and let this happen (translation: stop fighting this overwhelming disinterest and apathy toward people I'm supposed to be in love with). Then he told me how he felt about my current emotional state. Funny, I forgot that he might feel something about this situation. By the end of our very long conversation I felt almost "normal" (my normal, of course, which is still wildly abnormal, but I was feeling like maybe I could have deep feelings for people again without internally combusting).

But then I didn't talk with anyone again for awhile.

And I spent tons of time alone.

Although, I do have to admit, I tried to contact people. Apparently my social availability schedule does not coincide with anyone else's.

Thursday I decided it had been too long since Jason and I have talked, so I called him. I didn't want to, but I rarely want to do anything lately--nothing new there. And I told him about the newest developments inside me. This time though, I didn't feel concern about offending him with my "I don't really care about anyone--you're included in that global feeling, or lack, as the case may be), as I had when I talked with Tolkien Boy. And it had nothing to do with Jason being someone different--it's just that that's how far the numbness had progressed.

Thursday night I finally talked about this with Darrin. He just stared at me and didn't say anything. Finally he asked what I wanted to do about it. I said nothing. He said that didn't seem fair to anyone who cares about me. Sigh...  fair...

Two days ago I realized I haven't checked the email address connected with this blog for more than two months. So I did. And I found a lovely comment for my blog that needed to be published (thanks, Debbie), and some personal emails from people I've never met before who have visited me here. 

This morning I decided that regardless of how I might be feeling, it's rude of me to not respond to emails, so I sat down and read them again. And I wrote back. 

I'm not sure what happened during that process. It could be that I realized some people have difficulties exceeding my own; or maybe I realized that one sweet wife loves her SSA/abuse survivor/PTSD husband so much that she has spent months reading my entire blog, hoping to find answers that will help sustain their long, beautiful marriage; or maybe a bit of the love those writers have for the people struggling in their lives made its way into my own struggling heart--I don't know. 

What I do know is that I found myself weeping, understanding the hurt and the loneliness, recognizing that people who love me would probably express similar words about wishing they could help me, strengthen me, comfort me--somehow guide me through the latest stress that is turning my life upside down. And something inside me reminded me that I'm not a spouse, or a mom, or a friend because people just grant those things freely. I've worked with the people closest to me to build relationships, to grow love, and to learn how to receive it (still working on it). 

I'm not ready to lose that. I'm not willing to give in. I'm not going to just not feel.

Sorry PTSD. You lose.

What I haven't been talking about

During the four weeks when the PTSD symptoms were gone I had relief--a lot of relief. I felt more energy and I accomplished things I'd been putting off when I was too overwhelmed to address them. I also experienced a complete lack of connection to people I love, including Darrin and my children, and I felt no depth of feeling for anything in my life. Everything was just...fine.

It was unsettling and a little frightening. I don't like being overwhelmed by emotion, but it's nice to feel positive things. Places I go to find joy and peace ceased to exist. I saw gorgeous sunrises and was unmoved by them. I couldn't even be excited that it was Christmas Day and my pansies were blooming, which they have never done before. I would get up in the morning and feel no excitement for my morning run, no gladness at greeting Tabitha and Adam, nothing.

After about three weeks I asked Therapist about it. He believed it to be temporary, perhaps triggered by my fatigue and stress. So I waited.

PTSD symptoms returned about a week ago. All my negative feelings returned with a vengeance. There was a slight return of positive feelings, but nothing like what I normally experience. Friday I felt a release from the symptoms. Today they are gone. I've returned to the state where there is little feeling, little caring.

I do feel a loss. I feel sad that I can't feel as I used to. I don't feel love piercing through me when I'm communicating with someone close to me. I don't feel absolute joy when I see something beautiful. I don't feel delight when something surprises me. I just feel sadness. I know what I'm missing. I don't know what to do about it.

Therapist says to be patient. He says to keep trying to allow feeling to happen--but it doesn't. He says he believes my body is learning how to manage PTSD feelings so that they can occur with less intensity and frequency. He says not to panic.

I'm not panicking. I'm not...anything, really.

But it will be nice to have relief from the PTSD symptoms again. It will be good to rest. I can't deny I'm grateful for that.

I hope Therapist is right. He says he knows he is, because I'm the one who proposed the possibilities in the first place--he just agreed with them. And he says when it comes to things like this, I am rarely wrong. It's good to have someone who has faith in my self-diagnosis. I'm just not sure what to do next.

Make cookies, maybe?

"...why the sea is boiling hot -- And whether pigs have wings..."

I usually get up in the mornings between 5:00 and 5:30 a.m. Then I put in some work hours, go running, and make sure the kids get to seminary/school. Between nine and ten o'clock I start feeling tired, but I hate naps so then I'll go practice or switch jobs, or clean. Yesterday I couldn't do it--I needed to sleep. So I set my alarm for an hour and crawled into bed at 9:30 a.m.

And I couldn't sleep. I waited and waited, but sleep did not come. I was aggravated, but I waited some more.

Then I went to visit Darrin's aunt who lives on the East Coast. Turns out she has a mall mansion. We shopped a bit and she pointed out a person at the ATM whose card number was being stolen by two lurkers who took pictures of the card and then filmed the pin number as it was being entered on the key pad. I asked why we didn't report the incident. Darrin's aunt solemnly told me that the theft was being committed by members of the mafia. I looked back and one of the scary card number stealing mafia people made eye contact with me.

Fortunately, at that point we reached the secret invisible wall entrance that led to The House part of the mall. Darrin's aunt showed me to my spacious room, then let me know that my roommate was Paula Abdul. 

Paula was taking a bath. She called that I should come in and chat with her so we could get to know each other, so I did, fully expecting the tub curtain to be closed, which it wasn't. So I sat and chatted with naked Paula while she finished bathing. 

After she was dressed, Paula decided we should do a little shopping in Darrin's aunt's mall house, so we left. While we were on our way to the secret invisible wall exit from The House part of the mall, Paula let me know that I really need to expand my circle of friends to include more ethnically diverse people. Then we went to the ghetto so I could find more ethnically diverse friends (Paula's idea). I suggested we could find ethnically diverse friends outside the ghetto, but Paula wanted to show me the house where she grew up which apparently is in the ghetto.

I never did get to see the house because then my alarm rang. I sat up in bed, still aggravated that I never got a nap...then realized what I had been dreaming. 

I hate naps.

Preamble to a New Day

So--yesterday was a complete and utter failure in pretty much every way. This doesn't happen to me often.

1. I made a mistake in one of my jobs that had me sifting through previous work for nearly two hours trying to fix it.

2. A client texted me and I didn't have her number in my database. She's not from the US, so her text sounded very much like a spam text. Fortunately, I sort of recognized the number so instead of texting back: "STOP SPAMMING ME! YOUR NUMBER IS NOW BLOCKED!", I sent this message: "I don't know who you are." So she reminded me and I felt incredibly foolish because she's been my client for six year now. Not good for client relations.

3. I ate something that made me feel ill. I'm not sure what it was, but it kept me from being productive as I was emptying the contents of my stomach every half hour for much of the afternoon. Thank goodness I work at home.

4. I forgot that Adam was returning from All-State and I was supposed to pick him up, so when he texted that he'd be home in ten minutes, I was just out of the shower and blow-drying my hair. I did a record-breaking straightening job (13  minutes--dang! all ready late!), flew into my clothes, and ran to the car--only to find it covered in ice and snow. I scraped and brushed it and got in to drive, accidentally hitting the wiper lever in my hurry. The wipers flipped up and down, and I couldn't help but notice one of the blades was gone. I am not good with wipers...well...with anything car related, for that matter (I know what to do, I know how to fix, I just hate doing it, talking about it, thinking about it...). So I fixed the blade and headed out, fifteen minutes late. Fortunately, Adam was sleep deprived and numb and didn't really notice he'd had to stand in the cold for a long time. He just wanted to go home and sleep.

5. I forgot that I was supposed to go to New Beginnings to help welcome the girls turning twelve this year into our young women's program. I took Adam to his class (he's taking classes at the university at night--WHY??? He doesn't graduate until next year! There is something wrong with my children), flew back home (did I mention the roads are covered in black ice?) and into my dress clothes, and Tabitha and I went to our meeting.

6. Tabitha needed to go to the store. At this point bedtime was eminent, so I said we could go before we picked up Adam from class. She didn't realize I wasn't planning to go home and change out of our dress clothes first so when that became clear, she had a temper tantrum. Yay. Not willing to press the issue (translation: tired beyond all reason), I drove home changed clothes again (needed something to do while Tabitha changed) and Tabitha and I drove to pick up Adam.

7. For some reason, while Tabitha gathered her school supplies at the store, I decided we needed chocolate covered popcorn which I purchased and ate on the scary, icy drive home. This was a mistake (see number 3). I went home, tried to get the kids into bed (not successful), and worked (half-heartedly) in between sessions of bathroom time necessary to empty my stomach of delicious popcorn.

8. Talked with three friends online. Ended up feeling like I said everything in the world wrong and knew this was entirely my fault and I should not EVER talk with people when I'm having a day such as this (No Therapist, you are completely wrong about this--I really should not talk to people--stop telling me otherwise).

9. At midnight I concluded that there was no way I could ever make this day better (mostly because it was over and it's impossible to improve something that has disappeared), so I said a graceless good night to my last unfortunate chat buddy (seriously, if you talked to me yesterday, I'm so sorry!), brushed my teeth, talked to the Big Guy (who fortunately does not mind when I'm a conversational mess), kissed Darrin and crashed.

Today is not starting out well, however, we have lots of sunshine and I am going to go run right now. That's a step in the right direction.

P.S. To the telephone person who does not read my blog but keeps calling me even though he knows he's dialing a wrong number: I'm sorry. Probably it was out of line for me to suggest that the phone book would be a good place to spend some reading time, and I know you're not illiterate. Again. Sorry (but honestly--you called me FIVE TIMES which would even try the patience of a not-sick, sane, rational, normal person).

Rainy Days and Mondays

This morning I took some time to be alone. I read a book I've been putting off. I ran a few miles. I cleaned. I went for a walk. Our weather decided to try all its options before settling on one condition today. It began early this morning with rain which turned into a five-minute blizzard which dissolved into sunshine and periodic gusts of wind. Fortunately, my walk took place when the wind was calm and the sun was abundant.

PTSD symptoms returned a couple of days ago--but not with overwhelming force. I find myself wondering where I fit in this world full of people, and being grateful for times when I can be alone and quiet. Therapist would tell me this is when I need to seek people out. I can't do it. 

I told Tabitha that even if the symptoms came back--even if the flashbacks began again, I'd still feel that I'd made progress. In a couple of weeks I'll be at month seven without flashbacks. Seven months. That's a very long time--and nearly a whole month free of PTSD symptoms--that's amazing, as well. But when the symptoms actually did return I felt defeated. I was very angry. 

Today I'm not angry anymore and the symptoms are slowly subsiding. Sunday was difficult, but it's over. Tomorrow will hopefully be better. Therapist checked in with me today. He reminded me that talking to someone is better than being alone. I told him I don't have anything more to say. He suggested I make a list of things to talk about when I have nothing to say. I understand the worth of this and also why he urges me to find someone to talk to. Sometimes, though, I just don't want to--and sometimes, too, I can't always find someone. I told Therapist that people have lives and can't always be available. He asked where Darrin was. Darrin works odd hours now. He's asleep in the morning and works from about noon till midnight. I don't see him very much anymore. 

Therapist asked me if I was feeling depression. I'm not. He asked if I was getting adequate sleep. I am. He asked when I last made cookies. I don't remember. He said that was unusual. I think there are a few unusual things happening to me right now. Cookies are the least of my worries. I told Therapist things are fine, and thanked him for checking in--and I told him it's okay if he doesn't check in for awhile. I'm okay.

I think I was more disappointed than I thought I would be when the symptoms returned. They surprised me. I was feeling very much like life was going in a positive direction. The lack of symptoms had allowed me to explore some feelings I've not been able to before and I had discovered some wonderful things happening inside me. Those are all gone now. Therapist would tell me they'll come back, and I'm sure he's right. It's just that right now I'm feeling sad that the progress had to stop so I could deal with the nastiness PTSD always brings with it. 

I suppose I'm wallowing. Therapist says I'm not the self-pitying type. Tonight he is completely wrong. 

However, now I'm going to bed. Tomorrow I've made a list of things to keep me busy when I'm not working. I'll run again and I might take Tabitha to a movie tomorrow night. And maybe I'll take a walk again. And there's always something to read. I'm going to work on managing the symptoms and hopefully they'll be in control in the next couple of days and I'll be better again. 

One month of completely managing the symptoms--to the point where I didn't even feel them at all--that's a good thing--something I need to remember. 

Six months without flashbacks--that's amazing--something I need to cling to.

Tomorrow I think I will write a happy post.

This sentence does not count as a title--notice the incorrect capitalization and the period at the end.

There are many conversations I have with Therapist which I do not post because they expose parts of me I do not like--at all. They showcase weaknesses or dependencies I wish were not mine. And the thought of putting those where they can be seen does not appeal to me in the least.

However, there is sometimes of sense of closure when I write about challenges which once troubled me but have now become background noise. Most of the time when I get around to posting them I no longer feel embarrassed or shamed by them. They're just things that happened or emotions I felt. What I am posting today however, still feels uncomfortable. The knowledge that I have tendencies which weaken me or are unhealthy frustrates me. I'm not talking about wanting to be perfect--I'm talking about wishing I was normal. While I understand the impetus behind those tendencies, the experiences and drives which cause me to feel things with abnormal intensity, such understanding does not negate the desire to have healthy relationships untainted by my past.

I talk a lot about relationships. Those entities are my Achilles heel. I want them, I work for them, I spend time analyzing, regrouping, making certain I'm feeling the things I should feel in order to keep my part of the relationship healthy and fulfilling and I definitely enjoy them. But if I am completely honest I have to admit that even my closest, most joyful relationships are fraught with stress and the fear that something obsessive or emotionally unhealthy will creep in, unnoticed by me, and undermine or destroy those relationships I've worked so hard to maintain. This is not about having faith in the participating parties. This is about understanding my own weaknesses and tendencies and knowing I don't always have the strength to manage them competently.

I suppose that's where my need to write about this comes from. If I hide it, it exists but even I avoid looking at it. If I expose it, I can look at it along with anyone else who happens to see. I can apologize and move forward instead of living in fear that someone else will discover and unkindly point it out. I don't know how much sense this makes but I understand--and as this is my blog...  :-)

Therapist: So--a breakthrough, sort of?
me: I don't know. I'm not happy about it, but I guess so.
Therapist: Sam, everyone has moments when they understand that the reality of a relationship is not what they had thought or hoped.
me: I know.
Therapist: So what bothers you?
me: I should have known before.
Therapist: What makes you think you didn't?
me: I'm not sure what you mean.
Therapist: You're pretty aware of what you're feeling in any situation. You monitor yourself closely and you work on directing your feelings if they seem inappropriate or unwelcome. You don't feel sorry for yourself when things don't work out exactly as you'd planned and you're good at allowing others to have autonomy in your relationships with them.
me: I'm not sure you know me well enough to say that.
Therapist: Really? How long have you been seeing me?
me: I mean, you only know what I tell you. I could be lying.
Therapist: Actually, Darrin has accompanied you to several of our sessions, and so has Tolkien Boy.
me: Twice. Tolkien Boy has only come twice.
Therapist: Really? I thought he'd been here more times than that.
me: Nope. And he doesn't say anything when he comes.
Therapist: True, he doesn't say a lot, but you talk to him, and talk about things that have happened that involve him, and he corroborates all you say. And I learn a lot about people by watching how they interact with friends and family.
me: Okay, I've been seeing you for a few years, and I drive hundreds of miles to do so, so obviously I have confidence in you as a therapist, but still--I don't know...
Therapist: What's on your mind, Sam?
me: What can you tell when you see Darrin and I together a couple of hours a month?
Therapist: All right, here's what I've seen: You and Darrin care deeply about each other, you have good communication skills (but I'm guessing you have your share of disagreements), you enjoy being together and are good at supporting one another. You converse well even after being together for many years (not something every couple can say). You make each other laugh. You hold hands and touch each other often. Sometimes you aggravate each other. You worry about one another. You're in love.
me: Okay, that's all true. What do you see when Tolkien Boy comes?
Therapist: That one's more difficult because when you're in therapy (and you've actually said this), it's all about you. You're very focused. You do talk to Tolkien Boy, and ask him questions, but it's clear that you have a purpose and you want to accomplish it. Tolkien Boy respects that and seems unoffended by your need to concentrate on therapy tasks even when he's present. There is a deep sense that the two of you know each other well and enjoy the friendship that you share. But you also have a connection many friends don't, that's deeper and more affectionate. Tolkien Boy watches you, takes cues from your body language, responds to you empathetically. You, on the other hand, rarely make eye contact with him, but you seem to have an awareness of where he is and what he's doing. I'm guessing this is the case with all your friends--little eye contact, but intense awareness of physical proximity. You have clear boundaries you don't wish to be trespassed and they know what those are. I'm guessing from the way you and Tolkien Boy understand each other, that you talk often and about many things. I also believe that some of the deep bonding the two of you feel stems from his accompanying you to have lunch with your cousin (an emotionally dangerous situation), and your allowing him to stay with you afterward when you were extremely vulnerable and in need of some care.
me: He didn't have a choice, you know. We took my car and I was in no condition to drive him home and then go back to my hotel.
Therapist: Well, there are other ways to get around. He could have called a family member to come get him, or taken a bus or cab, I'm guessing.
me: Maybe.
Therapist: You still haven't told me what bothers you about this latest revelation of yours.
me: I don't like the fact that I wasn't realistic about my friendships.
Therapist: How were you unrealistic?
me: I guess, simply put, I wanted more.
Therapist: "Wanted more"?
me: Yes. I'd like to say I was completely healthy and balanced and all my current friendships have evolved naturally and beautifully and, in spite of any difficulties, have been just really great relationships.
Therapist: You don't think they are?
me: Not if I'm honest, no.
Therapist: Okay, what's out of sync?
me: Me. I wanted more. I wasn't satisfied with the friendship "norm". I wasn't happy with being someone people thought about every once in awhile--someone convenient who just happens to be online all the time because that's where I work, or who is fun to visit once or twice a month, or who you go to when you feel lonely but no one else is around.
Therapist: Sam, I don't think that's how people perceive their friends.
me: No. I'm sure they don't. But it is what happens, even if no one thinks about it in that way. Friends are the people who are around when you need someone--but you don't usually seek them out just because. There's a need of some sort.
Therapist: I'm still not sure I agree with you, but tell me what "more" you wanted.
me: I wanted to be someone special.
Therapist: Everyone wants that, Sam.
me: I know. But I'm upset that I wanted it. It's not appropriate. I'm someone special to Darrin and my kids. I know that--and that is appropriate, but I wanted to be someone special to other people, too.
Therapist: Why isn't that appropriate?
me: Because it's friendship. And I'm not saying friends aren't special, but they're not like family, and everyone seems perfectly fine with that--they don't want to be family, they just want to be friends.
Therapist: Sam, I think this is old stuff coming back to haunt you.
me: Say more?
Therapist: Well, other people grew up in an atmosphere where they felt unconditional love from parents--which doesn't mean it was perfect or that they never felt rejected by their parents. But they had many moments when they felt accepted and loved--you didn't. I think you're trying to recreate that type of love and acceptance in the friendship venue.
me: Yes.
Therapist: And--you just agreed with me. Scary.
me: No. That's exactly it. That's why it's inappropriate--why it embarrasses me--why I'm ashamed of myself. That shouldn't happen. I was twisting something normal and healthy (or trying to) into something warped and misplaced. And the people involved in friendship with me deserve better.
Therapist: Are you sure this isn't another level of your feeling that you shouldn't be with people?
me: I'm sure. I actually want these relationships. I just feel badly that I can't seem to navigate them without allowing my past to creep in and make things complicated and wrong.
Therapist: Sam, have you discussed this with any of your friends? or with Darrin?
me: With Darrin, yes.
Therapist: What does he think?
me: As you said, he's in love with me. He thinks anyone who has the "privilege" of being my friend should be aware of my past, understand that I'm working through a lot of stuff right now, and just enjoy the fact that I love them and want to spend time with them. He's not impartial--and that's a huge understatement.
Therapist: Well, he's also correct. Those things are true.
me: I don't think so. I think people have the right to expect that their friendships can be simple and uncomplicated. I want to be able to offer that.
Therapist: I'm not sure you can do that without staying emotionally unattached. Human bonding is complicated for you. You're trying to learn, as an adult, what most children learn over the process of many years, and you're trying to learn about love and relationships with people who feel safe. Don't you think your friends are aware of that?
me: Yes. But that's the point--they shouldn't have to be.
Therapist: Sam, you can't really say, "This is how it should be. I'll make it happen."
me: I know. And I won't. But it's still an uncomfortable realization when you wake up one day and say, "Oh--how about that! That friend I've always been afraid of--the one that's needy or maladjusted--I'm her!"
Therapist: I don't think your friends see you as either of those things.
me: They probably don't. They are very forgiving. But here's the thing: I'm finally there. I'm finally to the point where I can accept what friendship is, what it has to offer, and be okay with it. I'm fine being the online friend who helps pleasantly pass the time, but isn't really more than that. It used to make me sad to know I was an interim person. It doesn't anymore.
Therapist: Interim person?
me: You know--the one you have lunch with and maybe talk about some of the things on your mind, but then you go home to the real relationships; your spouse and your kids, maybe your parents, too. And the friend people are just fine being friends and not trespassing that boundary. I'm okay being that.
Therapist: Ah--I think I finally understand.
me: Good, because I'm getting tired of trying to explain.
Therapist: You used to want to be more--to be the one the people you love went home to.
me: Yes.
Therapist: And you understood that was not the expectation nor the desire of your friends.
me: Yes.
Therapist: And  you were embarrassed because you didn't understand why you wanted those things, and you didn't know how or where to redirect those feelings.
me: Yes.
Therapist: Sam, for someone who has experienced the things you have, those feelings were not inappropriate or abnormal.
me: They were.
Therapist: No. They were completely understandable.
me: Still--misplaced and inappropriate.
Therapist: Did you ever talk to your friends about them.
me: Sort of. I tried to. I always ended up ranting about how much I hated friendship. I called it the F-word. I think, once or twice, I told people I hated friends or that we were something different from friends--something better. It was pathetic, I admit.
Therapist: How did they respond.
me: They're very sweet. They humored the crazy person.
Therapist: What do you suppose has happened to help you accept the friendship boundary, finally?
me: I grew up. I recognized the impossibility of getting what I wished--especially because I still don't know what that was. I have no idea what I expected, I just know I wanted something more.
Therapist: You know, this isn't the end.
me: What does that mean?
Therapist: You say you've accepted the friendship boundary. You've analyzed past feelings and labeled them as unacceptable. But the truth is, you still need those bonds with people that signal unconditional love, constant welcome, and a place in someone else's life. And you need more than just Darrin. People need more than one person, which is why we have parents and grandparents and sometimes really close sibling relationships--and very special people who are sometimes more than just friends.
me: I don't want to hear that last part. In fact, I'm ignoring it. I've worked very hard to get to the point where I wouldn't want more, but the yearning is still there. I don't want to engage it.
Therapist: Sam, maybe talking about this with people you're close to would be a good idea. Let them know what  you've been feeling. See what they say. I'm proud of you for trying to make sure you don't monopolize, or use emotional blackmail, or do anything possible to garner attention or bind people to you unhealthily--which is sometimes what happens when people have attachment issues. But I think it's always a good idea to see how other people are feeling in relationships instead of just determining that you're making all the mistakes and trying to fix everything. You might not be making any mistakes at all. There might be a friend who welcomes that closeness you crave and who can offer it to you in healthy ways--whether that means calling you fairly often, or putting an arm around you when you sit beside each other, or giving really great hugs, or waiting for you to come online because they just love talking with you. Sometimes closeness it not an intrusion--often it's not. But you can't know unless you talk about it.
me: I might.
Therapist: That means you will, right? when you're ready?
me: Probably.
Therapist: Sam, I'm going to give you an assignment.
me: I don't know that that's a good idea. I'm already a year behind on my assignments.
Therapist: Fortunately, there's not a deadline of any kind on my assignments.
me: Okay.
Therapist: I want you to try to view yourself as someone people want to have in their lives--someone they think of often and maybe even plan to spend time with. Someone who offers them a great deal of love, compassion, and joy--a person they can laugh with and someone who makes them glad to be whomever they are. Because I think you are a person who allows people to be completely themselves. You are someone to be sought after and valued.
me: That assignment is too long.
Therapist: Which means it seems overwhelming?
me: Yes.
Therapist: Spend some time thinking about it. Ask for help if you need it. Take your time.
me: Okay, I'll think about it.
Therapist: And Sam, you really don't need to feel embarrassed about wanting more. There is no shame in wishing for deep connections that are reinforced often and are enduring. And quite honestly, I don't believe you were out of line to look for those things in the friends you feel closest to.
me: I'll think about it. But I'm not backtracking.
Therapist: Agreed--no backtracking--but entertain the idea of tweaking things a bit?
me: I'll think about it.
Therapist: You're repeating yourself.
me: Yes.
Therapist: Okay, I'll let it go for now.
me: Thank you.

One should never experiment on oneself--the result is dreadful.

I gained fifteen pounds. On purpose. This sounds crazy, I know, but for about two months now I've been feeling like I'm finally in control of the anorexia, instead of vice versa. So--I decided to test that feeling. No, I did not consult Therapist.

First--gaining fifteen pounds is difficult. I don't love eating lots of food and I do like running lots of miles, so I had to stop running as much and eat more. I hated this.

Second--fifteen pounds on someone my height is a lot--A LOT, I SAY!!! I weighed as much as I did when I delivered my babies. It felt like I was whale-ish even though I probably didn't look whale-ish. Since I could still wear my clothes, I'm guessing I'm probably the only one who felt like I'd gained millions of pounds.

Third--I did this because I wanted to see if I had enough self-control to lose weight in the normal way (i.e., through sensible eating and an average amount of exercise), rather than not eating or being extreme in my calorie restrictions until I lost the extra pounds.

And as of today, I've lost five of the fifteen pounds and I took two weeks to do that...and I hate this. It's much easier to just stop eating. I find myself grinding through meals, hating every bite. I stop running before I'm ready, hating the fact that I've only run four miles when I want to run twice that. I'm reminding myself that this is the healthy way and I want to be healthy. I can't stop thinking about the fact that if I went back to my old habits, I'd lose all the weight very quickly. This is HARD!

But--I'm going to persevere. Two pounds a week--that's all I'm allowed to lose. So those fifteen pounds won't be gone until Valentine's Day, and then I will know I'm no longer at the mercy of Anorexia Nervosa. It's possible I'm crazy and this is not proving anything, but in my head, it is. No more starving myself--for any reason.

Memories:

I'm walking in the mountain behind Grandma's house. Each breeze brings a shower of small gold aspen leaves, brushing my arms and catching in my sweater. I love autumn. Fat bushes have turned fiery red and orange, and some burn with nearly florescent pink. I want to gather every leaf, save them somehow... I hear a disturbance behind a nearby tree and pause, curious. A blue grouse struts from behind it, followed by her four nearly-grown babies. They cross my path, oblivious to my presence, and disappear into the the dense undergrowth. 


My cousin from the city is making fun of us--hicks, we are. We listen to him, calmly allowing his jeers to float about us. Our clothes are unfashionable (well, yes, these are clothes we do chores in--our school clothes are fine), we eat stupid food (we eat what we grow--fresh strawberries, green beans, new potatoes...they're not Twinkies or Ramen Noodles, but they taste wonderful), we don't listen to the best music (we could, and we do when we choose--we just feel like making you think we only know about the Classical Masters, and that we believe Elvis is still alive); and then we invite him to go on a delightful horseback riding expedition. We give him the best horse (the one that bucks when it sees a pebble or a tiny bug on the trail), and the most comfortable saddle (the brand new one, stiff and shiny), while we ride bareback (allowing our legs and hips to conform to the horse's movement). We take City Cousin sixteen miles into the mountains, complimenting his ability to stay on the horse as it bucks and shies, telling him what a fine rider he is. When we get to the top, we encourage City Cousin to dismount, walk about, enjoy the beauty. He says he's hungry. We say we'll go home soon (after the muscles in his thighs have tightened and his rear end begins to complain about the bumps and bruises). We mount our horses. City Cousin shrieks as his body tries to adjust to the horse's back. We ask if he's feeling a bit saddle sore. He rolls his eyes. We begin the long ride home. Our mounts are old and staid, while City Cousin's is spry and skittish. Our horses know the way without guidance; City Cousin jerks at the reins, trying to keep his horse on the path with ours. We do tricks: standing on the horse's back, riding backwards, lying down (mostly because we're a tiny bit saddle sore, too, but also to taunt City Cousin). City Cousin dismounts and walks the final ten miles. We slow our horses to keep him company. When we get home, City Cousin is sore, grumpy, and hungry. He eats our stupid food. He notices that his fashionable pants have a large tear where a tree branch grabbed just as his horse bucked. We suggest a nice long bath. He accepts. We stream our classical music into the bathroom. City Cousin falls asleep in the tub. We only have one bathroom. This is a problem. Stalemate.


C tells me he wants the vine growing on the side of my house. I blink at him. He says it's lovely--bright green in spring, dark red in autumn. I pull off a small, leafy branch, and hand it to him. He says no, he wants to grow it by his house. I tell him I'll see what I can do. Then I give him a kitten instead. C strokes the cat and asks if he can take it home. I say, of course. We have lots of kittens. C names the kitten, Henry. I tell C it's a girl. He says Henry is a girl-cat name. Then he goes home. I notice C has left the vine branch I gave him. It's on the ground, uncrumpled and fresh. I take it into the house and place it in a glass of water.