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Resigned

What is this new feeling I have lately? It seems to be a new flavor, a mixture of several. I’m feeling calmer, not exactly at peace, but not so turbulent either. The sadness is still there, a deep underlying sadness that I’m sure will always be there. I have less anger.  I have less ambition and determination, less fight in me. I think this is a good transformation, or if not good as I don’t like weighing in with good and bad, lets say a necessary transformation, though it feels odd.

I think perhaps my spirit is finally broken, tamed, like a wild horse, I have been broken. Even more, I’m the wild horse forced to live out its days on a carousel. carousel-1703273_1920.jpgI am resigned to live my new life, accepting the constraints of the saddle and bridle and staying within the limits set upon me. I’ve been trying to be free for far too long. I don’t need freedom to do good. There is much I can do from here and it will have to be enough. I can be grateful to keep moving, if only in circles.

I searched for words for this feeling and I read the synonyms for resigned, I feel this is exactly where I am right now. Look at this list…tame, agreeable, long-suffering, stoical, patient, tolerant, gentle, quiet, ready…I could describe how each of these words fits me.

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A few days ago this feeling settled in and said hello. I’ll describe that day here, because it has taken me several days to say hello back.

I can’t rely on my memory any more. When smartphones first came out I ridiculed people for spending so much money on a device. Now I can’t live without mine, as it truly thinks for me, reminding me all day long about what I’m supposed to be doing. So I check it as usual and see kiddo has a baseball game. No problem. No other conflicts. I know I may have to drive him, so I plan my time so that I am rested.

When he gets home from school I look again and see it is an away game at a ballpark I am unfamiliar with..and I map it and see it will take nearly an hour to get there. I remain calm as I tell kiddo we have to leave very soon. He asks for his uniform. Crap. I forgot to wash it. All my checking on the game and calendar nothing jogged my memory for this detail. So I add “wash baseball uniform” to my calendar so I don’t forget again and he has to wear it dirty for this game, luckily he didn’t do much sliding it didn’t look terrible.

I throw away my feeling of failure, no time for that. I feel calm again. Kiddo needs a snack. Make him a sandwich to eat in the car, except I forgot to go shopping, used up the bread this morning. Crap. quickly slice some cheese and grab pretzels. That feeling in my stomach again, like I should be doing better, but I have to ignore that. I make coffee while he gets dressed.

Out in the car my phone wont let me get the address for the gps. We are already late. I can’t think clearly. I call hubby from the driveway for the address. I enter it the address and pull out while it it loading. But then I can’t see the screen on my phone. I hand the phone to kiddo and ask him to adjust the brightness, I had it turned way down and couldn’t see it in the sun. He didn’t know how. What? How does he not know this, its just just his kindle, but I have no time to feel irritated. At the next red light I adjust the phone myself and see the gps is still not loaded. I know I have to get on the highway but I have no idea where to go after that. Anxiety is rising. Breathe. Its okay. I pull over and really look at my phone. I notice the cellular data is turned off…oh yeah, I did that at his last game when I was playing a game on my phone and didn’t want to use data. Crap. That has been off for 3 days.

I turn data back on and my phone blows up with all the queued MMS texts that could not come through. Crap. All that missed info – yup, thats why I didn’t know his last practice was a different time, and so much from school, but no time now to feel stupid. GPS is loading finally so I get back on the road. I don’t look at the clock. We are late, I already know we are late, and the clock won’t change that and I don’t want to feel nervous while driving. Kiddo is chatting about his school day. I can barely understand him, my head is racing and I have to focus on driving, but I say “uh-huh” a few times.

We make it off the highway, and into these terrible, but beautiful, twisty turny hilly roads. I’m getting motion sick and driving slower than the speed limit. Crap. We are so late and I can’t even drive full speed. We go through forest lined roads, past green mucky ponds, further into the valley. We make it to the ballpark, and can’t find his team, there are several fields and games. We spot his uniform color and I see the closest parking lot is full, so I continue on. We got there. Sigh of relief. He grabs his gear and heads to the field. I stay in the car.

Why do I stay in the car? So many reasons, where to start.

  1. my limp. Okay so this place is full of steep hills and slippery gravel. I did not want to attempt that steep hill and the only other way that was not so steep was about a quarter mile away and through the grass fields, still difficult. Even with my walking stick and new knee brace, these distances look like miles and miles to me, it is just so difficult to walk across. And I feel stupid, like everyone must see me coming.
  2. neuro issues. It was hot out and no shady places to sit even if I did manage to get myself down there, so I stay in car with AC running, my meds make me dangerously heat intolerant on top of the struggles I have to self regulate due to nerve damage. Sitting in full sun also triggers migraines
  3. my limp and social issues. no places to sit at all, I would have to carry my own chair which would be very difficult on the already difficult terrain. If I had ever spoken to the other parents, yes I’m sure one of them would carry a chair for me, but then I feel like I would be stuck sitting with that person and forced to be social. I can barely manage my own life I don’t want to hear about theirs, it is too much, never knowing what people might share or ask me.
  4. anxiety. If I managed to get myself down there and find a place to sit, I didn’t see any place to be quiet. Some of his games I can put a chair at the end of the line of parents off by myself enough that I feel I have my own space. But here with so many games going on at once, cars and people constantly coming and going, There was no way to position myself safely, I’d be jumpy and startled the entire time, and I can’t do that – I have to drive back home
  5. mental fatigue. I can’t pay attention to the game. Sorry kiddo, I’m proud of you for working hard, but baseball is dreadfully boring and I have no clue what is happening even when I do try to focus it makes no sense and my mind wanders. I usually bring my camera when I sit near the game but in my car I can close my eyes, read a little, play a game on my phone. And they last for hours, too exhausting to pay attention that long to anything. So I try to watch for when its his turn at bat and a few key plays when I hear the crowd get excited, otherwise I reserve my energy for the return drive

Thats about it I think, though I think I jumbled them up a bit even though I tried to organize it in a nice numbered list, hope it makes sense.

I’m just trying to illustrate how this simple task of getting my kid to his game is not simple for me. I can barely do it. I try to be grateful that I can still do it, at least be useful and get him where he needs to be. But it is difficult to watch the other healthy parents, hooting and hollering, running down that gravel covered hill like its nothing, carrying chairs and coolers, sitting and chatting with their friends, they seem to really enjoy the experience. I don’t know this, of course. I’m only giving my observations and they seem to enjoy the game and the social time with the other parents. I’m not a part of that world. I live in a different one. Am I jealous of the other parents? In some ways, yes that is likely what I am feeling. Anger that my life is so difficult. But I can’t stay there long or it festers. Acknowledge and keep moving because life does not slow down for me.

My life is often surreal. Like I’m in slow motion or everyone else is on fast forward. They walk and talk and think faster than I can. I am no longer trying to keep up.

I am resigned.

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Behind Sad Eyes, Green Eyes, Blue Eyes

I’ve had the echo of a song in my head for days and was struggling to place it. My memory gaps have hit especially hard in the musical and lyrics area. I can no longer sing along to songs I’ve known my entire life. I kept getting the phrase about sad eyes and this haunting melody, and thanks to the miracle of google I figured out it was The Who “Behind Blue Eyes”. Makes sense I made it sad in my memory since this song expresses such pain. My eyes are not blue, they are green, but they are sad, always sad, even when I smile and laugh, the sadness never disappears. I see it in the mirror, I see it in every picture, others see it too – if they actually look.

I wanted to share the song here, and I found a lovely cover instead, by Janet Devlin, who may be a magical Irish elf, her voice gives me chills. Be sure to check out her other songs when you get a chance. Her singing this song gave more meaning to me. I look a bit like her. Or I used to, a few years ago. When I visited Ireland everyone thought I belonged there, finally no one thought I was too pale. My hair was redder before the whites took over and I had to color it browner than my natural shade, because I’m allergic to red dye, of course.

Anyways, here’s the song, have a listen, then I’ll talk about why its on my mind.

I am not well. I am not doing well. I am not feeling well.

I need to find a way out of this hole. I’m not sure that this is depression exactly, as I’m eating well, exercising, have good hygiene, going through all the motions that usually stop when depression hits. Some of the grief has lifted for losing my parents so that has actually improved.

But my attitude is terrible. I’m angry, irritable, annoyed at the world. I really don’t want bothered. I’m finding every human to be a huge nuisance and I keep them as far from me as possible.

My life is difficult. I spend my days doing physical therapy, brain rehab, and vestibular balance exercises – all to keep from getting worse – nothing seems to be improving. I’m tired from this constant effort and getting nowhere. But if I stop I do decline rapidly, so I know its important. My knee complaining in its brace and my new sciatic pain is proof of that. I have to keep up my strength and flexibility or I hurt myself when I try to do something so outrageous, ya know, like walk on a slightly uneven path to take a photo of a wildflower. That was over a week ago and I’m still in so much pain I can barely walk across a room. I am waiting to see an ortho for the nice popping sound my knee is making.

Yes I’m complaining. I’m in a sorry state of mind, a dark, foul pit. I don’t like it here. But I can’t pretend I’m not here and conjure up some rainbows.

I stopped at the liquor store the other day, held the bottle in my hand, put it back on the shelf, and went back out to my car to cry. I have not used alcohol to escape or hurt myself in years. I was very close to it. I wanted some freedom to not feel like this. But I know it will hurt me, cost me loads in recovery, and cost my family too. So I put it back.

It seems my only tool is distraction in the form of video games, netflix, and sleep. I can’t keep up on the video games any more, so I play them and try not to care that I don’t do well, my reactions are so slow now, my visual processing delayed. I exist in this zombie state of tv and light sleep mainly that passes the time when I can’t do anything else.

I actually hate my life. I do not look forward to anything. I hate that I wake up each day. I try to be grateful and feel horrible that I genuinely am not. I don’t want this. Yes I know it could be worse. I could be blind or deaf or in a wheel chair. I don’t feel grateful to sort of be able to kind of walk a little.

My daughter was being silly this morning, and for a normal human this would have been silly. They were ringing a bell and placing it on each other. She got it ringing and came up behind me and touched it to my ear. I screamed in pain and lost my balance, barely catching myself on the counter. It is hours later and I can still feel the fullness in my ear, the tingling in my face, the pain in my head, and the after effects of that much adrenaline. I nearly blacked out. From a random sound near my ear. Yes the doctors have documented all sorts of abnormal acoustic reflexes for me that activate my central nervous system. No the doctors can’t do a damn thing about it. My daughter was scared to death by my reaction and I had to minimize the pain I actually felt, try to gather myself together, recover, and get them off to school with partial tunnel/slanted vision. Sometimes I’m not sure I should be driving like this, but I seem to be able to see through it as long as I’m careful. I never take chances, I wait until no cars are there before I pull out. Sometimes I can’t see well enough, and then I don’t drive. My ears are still ringing, screaming from this morning. My nerves have otherwise mostly calmed back down.

I hate living like this. How am I suppose to heal from PTSD when my world is actually hazardous to me, when ordinary objects: sights, smells, sounds – can overload my brain and ruin my day in a second? So yeah. I am paranoid. Looking for things that will hurt me, make it so I might not be able to walk or drive home. I have gotten stranded too many times. I have people relying on me, with schedules, or it might not be so bad to be patient and wait it out.

New doc adds chronic pain syndrome. Basically means I’m a nervous wreck. Yeah seems to fit.

I’ve just been stuck here too long. 3 years now since I stopped working. I’m in the middle of applying for disability which is not a fun process listing everything wrong with you. I know that’s part of this dark mood, that horrible paperwork.

Another part I still the constant stress from Hubby and this broken relationship. Most days right now my dislike and resentment for him border on hate. I have repeatedly told him I have no feelings for him and he continues to try to get affection from me. I have no where to go, no money, no family. I can’t leave him and he won’t go, so I am stuck in this house with him. We try to be good to each other, make a pleasant home for the kids while giving each other space. But then he gets lonely and “forgets” some of my biggest triggers, like touching me while I’m sleeping. He did it again this morning. Maybe another wife would like to be woken up with a foot rub, but for me it is terrifying, and I hate having to tell him to stop, and I hate the mental workout it takes me to be able to say stop, and I hate the anger I feel, and I hate the fear, and I hate the fatigue that comes afterward. Just leave me alone.

I feel like other people get a break from stupid life, get to enjoy things like games, concerts, movies, festivals, amusement parks, sports, camping, boating, painting, writing, reading.

I have nothing. I can’t tolerate anything for long. I lost my ability to create, and I can barely experience what others have created without causing myself pain. I’m trying to find balance….trying….but these scales seem tipped, not in my favor at the moment and I don’t know if my rotten attitude is blocking the solution or this is how it has to be.

I scream everyday

I am not a thrill seeker, not an adrenaline junkie. I have too much adrenaline in me at all times. It never settles down. My body and brain are always on high alert. Nothing I do can change that, it seems.

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I scream everyday. I don’t mean I raise my voice and yell or lose my temper. No that isn’t. I speak in barely audible tones actually. I mean I scream. The scream of someone who is startled, frightened, sent into panic.

My kids are used to this response and are careful not to sneak up on me, but it doesn’t matter, no one can be careful enough. I am still going to jump and scream about something.

Generally it is when my back is turned and someone says something I don’t expect behind me. That will get a short AHHH, my heart racing, I nearly fall over, brace myself on the counter or wall or chair or whatever is near. I can’t see for a second as I recover, then when I see it is my dog, or kid we all laugh it off. I have learned to laugh, although honestly I don’t find it funny. The fear I feel is real. I laugh so the other person doesn’t feel badly and take my condition too seriously.

If someone unexpectedly touches me, my reaction is even stronger. I scream a bigger, longer, louder scream almost like a howl AAAOOOOHHHHH and I move, run, duck, lash out or some other defensive move. I have hit Hubby – good thing I am not strong. I have pushed the kids away, thankfully never hit them, as I retreat. I have hurt myself, bad scrapes and bruises, as I retreat so quickly. I have bumped into objects, like walls, chairs, railings, bedframes, whatever is between me and the scary thing that touched me. I have lost my balance and fallen too.

I don’t feel like I am anxious or near panic before these events happen. There is not time to breathe and prevent this reaction, they are over so quickly. Like when someone jumps out and says BOO or a snake suddenly crosses your path. You react. I do this all day long, every day, in my own house. I can’t remember not doing this.

But here is something interesting. I remember my mom doing this.

I remember my mom being jumpy. Screaming at silly things, startling if you walked into the room, even if you didn’t say anything. I remember my brothers picking on her, actually playing tricks to make her scream, like bringing in tree branches and saying “look mom, a snake!” I never thought those tricks were funny. I was always careful to be quiet and say “Hey Ma” as I came near so as not to sneak up on her. I hated when she screamed.

But I never thought much about this, about these memories of her until now. I am now of course thinking that she also had PTSD, when she was the age I am now. That she was worn out and frazzled by her abusive husband and whatever else happened to her that I don’t even know about.

I’m also thinking, I wonder if this can have a genetic component. Because not everyone gets PTSD. Some people can endure torture and recover without flashbacks and nervous breakdowns and excessive startle responses. Maybe our nerves were already wired to be sensitive. Maybe I would have always had migraines and ulcers and a high stress body but the repeated traumas put us in full blown PTSD. I don’t know. No one knows. Just some thoughts I had.

Letting go of Guilt – Telling my truth

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Guilt is heavy and can squash us. I carry so much of it for a multitude of reasons, many that are not my guilt to carry. I have been carrying this guilt that I was unable to visit my mom while she was sick, before she passed away. I wanted to. I tried so unfathomably hard. If you don’t understand, then you don’t you understand how one tries and fails at seeing someone. But I did. I didn’t have enough time to work through the anxiety, the deep dark hole of depression I was in at that time.

This is so humiliating to describe how I existed after my release from the psych ward. I was completely agoraphobic. I had complete and total social anxiety. I did not speak to anyone other than my husband and children and some days even that was difficult and I barely made eye contact with them. I did not make phone calls, could not call the pharmacy or order a pizza. I did not answer phone calls, texts, or God forbid, knocks at the door. I hid while panic flooded me. The panic that would rise in me was overwhelming at the very thought of any human interaction and I went numb, disappeared into myself. The world was terrifying to me.

I was alone. I was broken. I could not think or function. Light and sound hurt me. I spent my time in a darkened, quiet room unable to concentrate. Not really living. Partially from the severe migraines, partially from the terrible pain in my back and leg, partially from the severe anxiety and depression from PTSD and a total nervous breakdown. I generally did not move. I remember this, sort of, it is blurry though, like that year was a nightmare, not my real life.

I was in that state when my brother texted about my mom’s surgery and cancer. At first it did not sink in. I did not know what to do. I froze. I wanted to move, to act, to call her, to drive up there, but I was stuck. I had not spoken to her in so long, maybe over a year at that point and it all seemed impossible.

I finally was able to tell all of this to my oldest brother. I went to his house for the first time in years. They accepted me and understood. They did not hate me or think I was a horrible person. They could see my pain and let me cry –  many times. I was given kleenex and ice water and allowed to talk.

That may have been enough to let go of some guilt, but there was more.

My brother deemed me strong enough to fill me in on some of the story I missed while I was mentally away. He tried to contest my dad’s will on my behalf, saying it was cruel and that my pain and suffering was costing me all these medical bills and that I deserved some of his estate. He said that he contacted the lawyers and that I would have had a case. He said he wrote letters detailing what he knew about the abuse, my pain and suffering, and my medical costs to the lawyers and my dad’s siblings, the other heirs.

The lawyer told him I would have a case if others were willing to support me as well. If my mom and other brother and my husband were willing to support me.

If.

Yeah well they would not submit statements to the lawyer on my behalf. They all said no.

So I took that part in and he added another level. He said he could have built my case without that based on the police report or records from when I accused him and moved out when I was 16. My brother checked the records and did some digging and could not find anything. He asked my mom what year that would have been and she told him she never filed anything, she never pressed charges.

My head was spinning at that point as I tried to recall being 16, being interviewed by child protective services. I guess it stopped there, nothing criminal, nothing public.

Then there was more. Another punch in the gut.

My mom and other brother said they never believed me. It wasn’t that bad. My mom and other brother had actually supported my dad all these years in telling everyone I was a liar and a troublemaker. I always felt that…I always felt that in my heart but to hear this as fact was something else.

She never pressed charges. I always thought there was at least a ding on his record, some little bit of my voice saying what happened. I had no idea. I am betrayed by her all over again, that she would not stand up for me – ever, not then, not a year ago.

I have never cared about money or attention. But oh my god does this hurt. That this other brother got over $50,000 reward money for protecting a pedophile, and I think he thinks he has done the right thing, because mom told him I was lying. Why should he believe me? Well why shouldn’t he? Why would I tell these horrible stories, what benefit has it brought to me? It does not get me attention when I am isolated in my dark, quiet room. It does not get me fame, glory, money, or anything that anyone would desire. It is difficult to get angry with him when he was a victim in my messed up twisted up family too. It really just makes me sad. It is so effed up.

So my oldest brother wants me to speak up now and I am going to. I don’t think it will get me any money, but I feel it is time to insert my own voice and detail the abuse I endured from this ‘generous’ man. My brother is going to help me write a letter to that lawyer stating that I have been so disabled and dysfunctional that this is the first time I have been able to contact him since I received the will. I want to notify the other heirs, my other brother, my aunts and uncles, that I stand firm on my ‘story’ because it is my truth and it has devastated me, and nearly taken my life several times. I thought it was better not to bother anyone. Now I’m thinking they all need some bothering.

I called child protective services to get my records of my accusation and interview, and basically hit a dead end there. They could not guarantee the record still exists after 24 years, and if it does, since no criminal charges were made and nothing in the court system to make it public record, I would need a subpoena to release the file that may have been destroyed. I don’t think I will be pursuing this. A quest for truth is one thing, but spending my money on a wild goose chase seems silly.

But I do feel ready to do something more. I figure my parents are gone now. I am safe to speak up publicly, and my brother already started it for me. I am so grateful to him. He also lost his inheritance, as punishment for sticking up for me. Because in my world, the good, the kind, the ones who tell the truth are stepped on and spit on and ridiculed and hated.

As hurtful as all of this information was to learn, it has lifted some of my guilt and grief, validating me for where I was and how I got to be in such a state. I know I tried and that has to be good enough. Knowing that I tried so hard for all of them. Knowing that I loved all of them. And now knowing that even when I begged them for help and thought they did the right thing, they did not. Of course not. How stupid of me. That story would have gone public. How shameful. How could mom deny it if she pressed charges? Much better to say her daughter was insane. It actually makes sense now, for the type of counseling I received when I was 16. I bet mom told them I was a liar and needed ‘help’. I never got counseling for the trauma, help with processing, only stress management and relaxation and it was so patronizing.

It all makes sense now.

Of course I am still grieving her loss, but somehow knowing mom never believed me and would not speak up for me has lessened my pain. I was torturing myself thinking I was horrible to stop speaking to her, horrible to not make it up to see her before she died. I don’t feel so horrible now. I can see the events with more compassion as they actually happened and know I was struggling and doing the best I could. And that my best never intentionally was trying to hurt anyone, which I cannot say about her actions. She knew her actions were hurtful and chose to do them anyway. I think I understand why…but that is for another post.

Sadly, Hubby was also not willing to stand up for me last year when my brother asked for his help. I am still processing this information. I confronted him about and it was not a pretty conversation. I asked why he refused to talk to my brother? He said he didn’t want to cause me ore stress. I said how would him talking to my brother cause me stress? I think he didn’t want to cause himself stress, that he was avoiding the situation, that he didn’t want to deal with it. Like with so much of my illness, it is easier to pretend I am fine, and not sitting alone in my room with suicidal thoughts. It is easier to take no action or yell at me for being frustrating than it is to comfort me, offer a strong shoulder to lean on.

I am feeling like he turned his back on me when I needed him the most, when the darkness was swallowing me up, when I believed I was unlovable, that he was fine with my public shaming and felt no need to stand up for me when I had no ability to do it myself. This is no longer a man I feel good about. I have asked him for an in house separation, to leave me alone, give  me peace while I work through all of this. He has not even been acting as a friend to me, let alone a husband. Although sad, this distance has made me feel stronger. If I am released from obligation to keep trying to be a good wife, to fix a broken relationship day after day, maybe I can use my teeny bit of energy I muster up for each day more wisely.

 

The cost of healing part 1

Healing costs more than money, and I have been paying the price for years. But somehow this year seems to be costing me the most.

Let’s talk about money first, because it is easier.

I had a full ride scholarship for biomedical engineering to an elite college, $50,000 a year. I worked so hard to get myself there and had big dreams. That was the time PTSD first hit me, when I left home. The migraines became daily, I became suicidal, unable to sleep or think, nightmares, social anxiety, startling easily. My confidence vanished. Every skill I used to get myself there – poof – gone. By the end of the first year I was forced to withdraw, lost my scholarship, lost my dreams, my hopes, forced to change to a less expensive school and a major I did not want. I was forced to take out student loans for the entire amount, well I thought I was forced, I did not clearly understand what I signing with Sallie Mae at the time. They said sign here and you can go to school, so I did.

I did not care much any more, I felt empty, but I kept going.

The migraines and depression were a constant battle but I graduated with honors, easily got hired. But the stress was building. My new marriage was sad and distant and lonely. I had no friends. I was not challenged in my job, only by the social anxiety and panic attacks. I became suicidal again and was forced to resign.

At that point we had bought a house based on my income. Losing it suddenly was devastating. We could no longer afford two cars, cable, eating out. We also lost my insurance. The psych visits and meds were staggering. We kept adding to our credit cards for groceries, meds, doctors, even getting advances for the mortgage. Until we couldn’t.

Hubby convinced me to cash out my 401K that I had been paying into since I was 16. All my hard work, all that planning working in government jobs and we had to flush it away at age 25. I still regret that, especially since the following year we declared bankruptcy anyway.

That’s when we decided to start a family. No job, me sick, no money. Such idiots. It is amazing we are all still here really. But I had my reasons.

I healed enough to work part time and hubby got a new job, where he is now finally making a decent average income. When we both worked it was okay. On only his income we struggle and cannot pay every bill each month, we have to pick which ones to delay, slow pay, or skip a month.

I tried working full time. I am not sure if that was my mistake, or that I worked with a horrible CEO, or that it was bad timing too with AF’s death. For a year or so we had more money than we needed. It was amazing. We paid off every credit card and started making repairs around the house with new windows and such. But I crashed. The migraines returned, but with an evil twist, hemiplegic this time. I became suicidal again due to the anti seizure meds given to me to control the migraines. I was hospitalized, in a psych ward for two weeks. I was given ECT treatments and more meds than I can recall. It was horrible. I still haven’t written much about it here, might be ready to do that soon.

My hospital and medical bills are staggering, even with insurance I owe about $500 a month to various locations. My pharmacy bill is about $200 a month.

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Today is pay day. Before his pay came in, we had $48 left. Nothing in savings. A credit card maxxed out. No wiggle room. The stress of this hurts my stomach. And it all feels like my fault.

I need to work. I want to work. But I can’t yet. I am not well. Most of the time I sit and stare at the wall, or I turn on the tv and stare at that so it feels better to stare at something that makes sense to be staring at, but I don’t absorb what is happening. I have tried taking tests for jobs and I can’t pass them. I get confused, I can’t remember, I make mistakes. I am not well.

Money may not buy happiness but it does provide security and options and lower stress levels. I hate that creditors call me a dozen times a day. I would love to pay them. I am an honorable person. But I cannot pay them all, I have to choose. So I choose water, electricity, food, meds, school fees, lunch money…please be patient I will gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.

Part of the reason for this post is venting as usual, but part of this is to raise awareness. People don’t know how hard we work and what daily life is like. I hate money. I hate that we need money and that we need things. But we do.

We have never gone on a real vacation. We have saved up and gone to amusement parks for a day. We do not have nice new clothes, we shop at goodwill and walmart for the kids and most of my clothes are at least 10 years old, some even older. We all have 1 pair of shoes for each season. I have 1 purse. We eats lots of plain rice and potatoes and noodles. We do not go out to restaurants or movies or skating or skiing or golfing or whatever else might be fun because it costs money. We do free things at the library, parks, museums.

We do not qualify for welfare or free lunches for kids or food stamps or food cupboards. Our income is too high. But they do not look at our bills, that there is nothing left.

So kiddo says his knee hurts, he can barely walk. I take him in for an xray, they say not broken, likely a sprain, keep it iced and wrapped and gave him a note for no gym or recess. Dr calls me back and says they reviewed the xray report and kiddo needs an ortho specialist, there is some sort of bony growth abnormality.

I thanked her, made the call, and hung up and cried. I freaked out. Then I cried some more.

I don’t want to think about what might be wrong with his knee, does he need surgery? my poor baby is only 8. I have to be strong for him and I am so not feeling strong. Trying not to pre-worry but that isn’t going well today.

And then the money. I have not yet paid for that xray and I had to make more appointments that I know I can’t pay for. What choice do I have? He needs this. I’ll pay them eventually, or I won’t and the debt collector will call me for this too. I will do my best.

This life is effing expensive, and really effing hard.

Preparing for triggers

Tommorrow will be a day full of unavoidable triggers. And other stresses too. I am taking my daughter to the back specialist. Upon my insistence, I asked pediatrician for an xray. She has mild scoliosis.

Breathe. It is mild. It may stay mild. 

Because I want the best for her, I am taking her to the same place I went. Recently and as a child. But now we get to go to the pediatric office, the actual same place I went. Even better, better for her, worse for flashback potential, her Dr is the the son of my Dr back then. Same name, same floor. I lost it a few months ago when I had to go to the same building for radiology. 

I have to keep myself grounded and present. My daughter may see a full blown panic attack or flashback for the first time. But I have to be there for her. It would have been better for me to choose a different dr, but not best for her.

So I can do this. Somehow I can do it. I already feel sick, a migraine. Nightmares for days have kept me from resting. I am so tired.

Then other stresses combined as usual to make this week even harder to manage. And yet I must. More later on the other stresses, too much to write now

Stop it, I’m not attacking or controlling you, just talk to me

 

 

Yesterday started and ended ok. I told hubby I was thinking about getting our backyard picnic shelter cleaned up and work on my agoraphobia by starting to feel safe in my own yard. I said I’d like to work on this as my project this summer, something to do while I’m outside to keep myself busy and reduce my fear.

We were just about to head outside together to assess the shelter together when a text from my oldest brother came. (Cue Dun-dun-dun)

My brother for unknown reasons asked if I had received my $10 inheritance check from AF’s Will yet, informed me that my middle brother with schizophrenia had moved in with my youngest brother (instead of living alone now that mom passed), and reminded me that he wanted me to come to a family picnic soon.

I could hardly breathe. That was a lot in one little text. I handed my phone to Hubby so he could read it and I headed upstairs for a moment, because, well, I had to run away from that phone so I could breathe. With some distance I did some rescue breathing, in through my nose for 4, out through my mouth like I am blowing out candles. Then I did some grounding, pushing my feet into the floor, my hands into the wall, feeling the pressure and texture, using mindfulness. I ran cool water on my wrists.

I came back down in a few minutes and Hubby was standing by the back door, asking if I was ready to go out now. I looked for my phone, he had set it down on the table. I said something like, I don’t think I can go, and felt so sad and misunderstood as I sat at the table. He sighed loudly, showing his impatience and frustration and he says, “I thought we were going out to work on the shelter?”

“Didn’t you read that text?”

“Yeah…but I thought we were going to go outside.” He comes in finally and sits at the other side of the table from me.

“But I’m going to have to respond, and this has already affected me, so maybe if I do that now it might be better. Don’t you think? Don’t you have any opinions about what he texted?”

He actually got up then to check the mail and called from the other room, “There’s no check here”

My jaw dropped. As if that was the important part of this. Couldn’t he see I was shaking and scared earlier? That I had been triggered, forced to think of AF’s horrible will, my being unlovable and only worth $10. That I was worried about My brother’s kids now …those kids need stability…but it looks like that will never happen and since that brother won’t speak to me, I don’t even get to express my opinions. And the picnic? Yes it was nice to be asked…but oh man the anxiety that produced to think of such an event. I’m not ready for that. My head was spinning. How do I let my brother know I am open to him but he needs to back off a little? I didn’t want to hurt his feelings and hurt our delicate relationship.

Hubby sat back down impatiently, still saying nothing while I stared at the text. He keeps tapping his feet and making huffy sighing noises.

“Don’t you have any thoughts or opinions about this? Any reaction at all? Any guidance on how to respond, or am I just bothering you?” I’m getting annoyed that I have to keep asking for a reaction.

“What??? Of course I have thoughts, I didn’t know you wanted them right now, I thought we were going outside, so I’m just waiting. I didn’t know you wanted to respond right away or that you wanted help with it. I don’t think your brother living there will be good for those kids or for him. I don’t know what else you want”

Now I sigh. I’m so sick of him acting confused all of the time. Nothing was confusing here. Why do I have to beg him to talk to me and see I’m upset? Why can’t he see that this would be an upsetting text for anyone, not just for me? I would have accepted nearly ANY form of comfort, support or connection. ANY reaction. What I’m having trouble accepting, again and again, is his confusion, frustration, and impatience. I really just needed a friend. I had managed the trigger and anxiety myself.

I responded to my brother, explaining I had not received a stupid check, that I thought my brothers living together was a bad idea for all concerned but I hoped it works out, and that with my back pain and extreme anxiety I was not yet ready for a picnic, and that I was back in counseling 2 days a week though. That’s when my brother responded with the lovely and amazing “take time to heal”. His response came much later and made me all warm and fuzzy, erasing some of the hurt dealt by hubby.

I attempted to explain to Hubby why this was a high distress moment. I reminded him about what I was working on in counseling, my distress list, and I said he never asked to read it….

That caused him to blow up before I could finish my sentence. I was going to say..so he doesn’t know that texts from my brother are very high on the list because they instantly trigger me, sending me back to a childhood world of memories and chaos (which I’m thinking ‘duh’ shouldn’t that be obvious). Instead he started ranting how was he supposed to know I wanted him to read the list, it’s just one more thing he screwed up this week…that was not what I was saying at all and I’m getting angry that he is making this about him. Then he said, “show me your list now then, we are already here talking, I can read it now since we are apparently not going outside” He didn’t say the word stupid, but it felt like he said show  me your stupid list and let’s get this over with….

What?? I’m thinking, are you serious hubby? You want me to share something that intimate with you while you are barking at me? But fear creeps in, I’m starting to feel unsafe with him now. Not in a dangerous way, but emotionally unsafe, too vulnerable, he is being too harsh and hurtful I can’t possibly open myself up to him. His hand is out to me as he demands I give him the list. I’m angry too, but I can’t be. I’m in personal conflict, a bit like a short circuit, and I need to get away. I can’t show him my anger. My stuck points say I’m not allowed to be angry and the fear grows. The voice in my head says I’m now unlovable and bothering him. I’m unimportant and a silly girl. I need to get away.

I refuse and mumble something about it not being a good time for it, let’s do it later. He looks visibly relieved. I get up and head to the kitchen. He asks if I’m coming outside. I say no, I’m going to wash the dishes. He goes outside by himself. I feel very, very sad and alone – again, but also relieved that he goes outside and this conflict is over and I’m alone and safe now. Alone is both good and bad.

Hubby cleans out the shelter by himself. OH! He did a nice job, but he clearly missed the point that I wanted a project to do myself. He was so proud to do it for me so I had a place to sit, I just smiled and said it looked great. What he did in two hours likely would have taken me most of the week, but I would have accomplished it myself, been outside the entire time, and it would have made me stronger. I guess I’ll have to think of something else to work on.

Later that afternoon in couples counseling, He said he felt controlled by me earlier, that he was only cleaning the shelter because I asked him to, and then all of a sudden I changed the plan and wanted to talk instead and he never knows what I want and it can change in an instant.

What?? I was internally fuming. Is that really how he saw it? I didn’t even want him to clean it, I wanted to do it myself. And I didn’t change the plan, I didn’t ask my brother to text, that just happened. Sometimes life happens and we need to react. Does he blame me for this?

The counselor had his own agenda for us and would not let us go into this topic, so my anger was building for him too. I felt like my time was being wasted. We spent an hour on a topic we didn’t need instead of this issue we obviously needed help with. I started to lose it by the end of the session, unable to hold it in any longer. I asked the counselor what is reasonable to expect of Hubby in any given moment, because we seem to have very different ideas. He said we could explore that next week.

In the hall after the session, Hubby asked if I was ok and put his arm around me. I pushed it off, and said “no…are you kidding me? now you ask me? No I’m not ok. And now you can’t comfort me, not when you are the one I’m mad at. I needed that from you earlier, not now. Why don’t you know these things? Anyone would know that.”

I snarled then. Something in me let go. I was no longer afraid to be angry there outside the counselor’s room. I told him “I am afraid my expectations are too high for you and that you seem incapable of changing, that you have no empathy or emotional intelligence whatsoever, that you can’t respond with a basic human connection and emotion in real time, that I tell you day after day and you still don’t understand, and that I’m tired of being so endlessly gentle and understanding with you, tired of coaching you on what to say and do, how to react or respond, tired of waiting and hoping that one day you will be there for me when I never get any response at all and I’m tired of feeling invisible or like I don’t matter, or I’m a bother to deal with.”

Ouch – I know. But I was really feeling that way. All of these lessons and counseling and I can go to him and something like this text can happen right in front of him or I say my anxiety is at an 8, and he simply walks away from me, not a word, no reaction, leaves me alone to deal with it myself. He does not check on me or support me in any way. And it isn’t that he doesn’t know how. He really should have a clue by now. We have a binder full of skills, statements, breathing exercises, mindfulness, etc and have practiced together in counseling. So I keep thinking he will be there when I need him, but he is only available 1 hour a week during counseling. At home nothing has changed, he is still distant, aloof, avoidant, oblivious – and I don’t know why. It is really starting to hurt, so I blew up.

His response was “So I’m just an A$$hole and our marriage is $hit”

What?? I didn’t call you that. I didn’t say that. At all. I said I don’t understand why you continue to not respond to me, that we have no connection, that I feel all alone, and I am getting worried that it will never change.

I tried explaining to him how it feels to constantly be ignored.  I keep waiting for him to come to me. Show an interest. Want to talk to me. Want to work on it. We are supposed to spend 20 minutes every day working on  exercises from couples counseling. He won’t do it. I keep wondering why he even goes to counseling at all if he won’t put any effort in at home. I’m trying so hard to continue to be patient, but this week I ran out. I reached my limit and I exploded. No more Mrs nice girl. Sorry honey.

It’s not me – it’s you.

Then this morning another defensive reaction from him, lashing out at me. We move our mattress last night and find the bed frame is full of fleas! We’ve been battling fleas for a few months now. We vacuum and spray. This morning we spend a few minutes talking about fleas and what else we need to do to get this under control. Boring informational talk.

He then has to go to work. I say, “Aww, I didn’t want to spend our morning talking about fleas”

He blows up and yells, “Sorry for ruining your morning” and storms out of the room

I was shocked, like he had hit me. WTF?

Appropriate responses he could have had:

“No, me either, stupid fleas” (common enemy)

“No, I’d rather spend it in bed with you” (flirty)

“Really? I love talking about fleas” (sarcastic)

“Yes too bad I have to go to work now” (understanding)

I told him that was a horrible thing to say and that he needs to control himself and stop lashing out at me. I’m not attacking him or saying mean things. When he says things like “So I’m an A-hole then, or I’ve ruined your morning” it devastates me, particularly in the middle of a calm, dull conversation to get a defensive reaction out of nowhere.. I do not call him names or put him down. I can’t predict what he will take as an attack, and I can’t live like this, the environment is too volatile here. He needs to get it figured out and fast. I no longer accept that it is my fault.

Then last night I log into a site called Relate To That, an online support group I joined, and another member actually posted a quote that seemed as if he was listening to me outside my car, and that he understood everything I was trying to say to hubby. I’m going to share that in the next post so that I can see it separately from this one, but please read it too so you can see how amazingly connected the universe was to me yesterday, even if Hubby was not.