I have mentioned that I suffer from chronic depression, it seemed that my psychiatrist and I had finally found a combination that was working for me, but like any medications they have side effects, one of those effects is to decrease desire for physical intimacy. I struggle so much to feel and be present during physical intimacy that I decided to decrease one of my meds because I want to feel, so I decreased one of my meds. I usually do better as the number of hours the sun is up increases and the weather improves to sprinter(yes I called it sprinter) time, tulips are blooming, I don't go to work in the dark and come home in the dark, so I figured I could do it, it's not like I was going to quit taking them all together. While I am not as low as I can go I am once again tormented by the monster, I hate this balancing act between feeling too little in one way or being semi functional in the rest of my life.
I am not saying I can't find joy, I have plenty of things that I smile about, laugh about, and even want to do, but each of those things takes more of a physical and mental effort. Problems and upsets that are small feel like big problems and big problems feel enormous. If feels like carrying around a monster with several heads each whispering to you all the things about you that are not perfect, the things you see about yourself you don't like. That black and white thought process takes over and I feel frozen.
I want to be normal, whatever that is. I know life is not without ups and downs, there are too many ducks that don't stay in their rows for there not to be days that are better than others.
Enough for Now
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Jack Mormon
I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or in popular terms, I am a Mormon. I am not active by choice, I have become for all intents and purposes what we oldies call a Jack Mormon. I have no idea where the term comes from, but it means that though I am and will remain on the records of the "church" I am not living by the precepts I was raised on. When I was a child the way my parents talked about Jack Mormons I thought they were the same as the Boogey Man, whatever you did you didn't want to be caught by one of those, or be one of those, they were scary. It was okay if you were not Mormon, but to be a Jack Mormon was the same as being the devil, after all you were a member of the "church", you knew all the truths.
When I was young I thought I couldn't question, it was part respect and part fear of my parents. As a young adult I was raising children and couldn't question, if I didn't raise them in the "church" I would be forever damned. As an adult I couldn't question, I have some deep seated belief that I am responsible for everyone else's salvation if I am to get to heaven. As a middle aged adult I couldn't question, or could I, can I? Can I question the black and white thinking that is so ingrained into my being?
I know that the extreme black and white thought patterns I have came from being sexually abused as a child, but Mormons tend to be very black and white in their thoughts as well. Dare I break that habit and venture out into the world a bit and truly find out who I am for myself. I am daring it, one foot at a time, testing the thoughts and patterns made up of a lifetime. Many(my spouse Lee included) think I am having a mid life crisis, maybe, but maybe I am just maturing through the points that most go through in adolescence, the finding me stage I skipped since I was stuck developmentally in my black and white thinking, and because I was a teen parent.
So I have become a Jack Mormon, and along the way I am finding room in my life for friends I would have been afraid to reach out to before, I am learning tolerance and love, and I am just a bit rebellious, I don't want to be told I can't do something without a really good reason as to why. I am stretching myself, I sang karaoke at a bar, I drank shots with my friends, I have good days and bad, my ducks still won't stay in their neat little rows but I no longer think it is because I am not a good enough person. It's all just life, I still need counseling to deal with it in ways that are healthy, I fall back into black and white thinking when I am really feeling overwhelmed but I am better, even if I am a Jack Mormon.
Enough for Now
When I was young I thought I couldn't question, it was part respect and part fear of my parents. As a young adult I was raising children and couldn't question, if I didn't raise them in the "church" I would be forever damned. As an adult I couldn't question, I have some deep seated belief that I am responsible for everyone else's salvation if I am to get to heaven. As a middle aged adult I couldn't question, or could I, can I? Can I question the black and white thinking that is so ingrained into my being?
I know that the extreme black and white thought patterns I have came from being sexually abused as a child, but Mormons tend to be very black and white in their thoughts as well. Dare I break that habit and venture out into the world a bit and truly find out who I am for myself. I am daring it, one foot at a time, testing the thoughts and patterns made up of a lifetime. Many(my spouse Lee included) think I am having a mid life crisis, maybe, but maybe I am just maturing through the points that most go through in adolescence, the finding me stage I skipped since I was stuck developmentally in my black and white thinking, and because I was a teen parent.
So I have become a Jack Mormon, and along the way I am finding room in my life for friends I would have been afraid to reach out to before, I am learning tolerance and love, and I am just a bit rebellious, I don't want to be told I can't do something without a really good reason as to why. I am stretching myself, I sang karaoke at a bar, I drank shots with my friends, I have good days and bad, my ducks still won't stay in their neat little rows but I no longer think it is because I am not a good enough person. It's all just life, I still need counseling to deal with it in ways that are healthy, I fall back into black and white thinking when I am really feeling overwhelmed but I am better, even if I am a Jack Mormon.
Enough for Now
Monday, February 27, 2012
Redneck Notices and Ducks
So apparently my neighbors have had enough with the ducks at our house not staying in the neat little rows that they think we should comply with, so we got a visit from the county who left us a notice to get our ducks in the proper rows. I have always called these redneck notices, mostly because of the stereotype that people have of what a rednecks house would look like. In other words cars and and other stuff that respectable people don't have in their driveways, on their porches and in the front yard, of course in our case it really is more of a, you have too many teenagish boys living in and visiting your house kind of notice. You are allowed to have only one unlicensed vehicle in your driveway, we have three, you may not store water barrels in the front of your home and you may not have anything on your porch beyond something to sit on and maybe some yard appropriate decorations. I have all kinds of stuff on my porch, shoes, swimming stuff from summer, sleds, toys from my grandson, a Christmas tree stand, oh and the only approved thing, an outdoor bench. So we have until leap day to get our ducks properly in line so we are now trying to get all those ducks to clean up and make us respectable.
I also got another kind of redneck notice this week, we have the three dogs as I have mentioned before, and the Escape Artist decided that she needed an adventure and took the Hoarder and Snort along, more ducks not in their row, staying properly behind the fence, so we got a visit from animal control, and redneck notice number two. I take good care of my dogs, they get all their vaccinations, they are microchippped, they are loved, and fed and spoiled, but they are not licensed, it's just one of those things you think about occasionally and then forget. That works until, well, until the county gets a call from the neighbors saying your dogs got out, again, and then they show up at your door with your ashamed looking dogs in tow and that tell tale piece of paper. So now I am busy trying to force all the ducks in line before the 29th of February so that the redneck notices can go away.
The problem is the ducks never stay in line, just when I think I have them going the same direction, one of them decides that it has a mind of its own and it goes a different direction, so I spend all my time chasing ducks. I want order and I get the chaos called life. Every so often Horatio reminds me that they aren't my damn ducks, picks me up and sets me on my feet and off I go still trying to keep the ducks in line.
Enough for Now
I also got another kind of redneck notice this week, we have the three dogs as I have mentioned before, and the Escape Artist decided that she needed an adventure and took the Hoarder and Snort along, more ducks not in their row, staying properly behind the fence, so we got a visit from animal control, and redneck notice number two. I take good care of my dogs, they get all their vaccinations, they are microchippped, they are loved, and fed and spoiled, but they are not licensed, it's just one of those things you think about occasionally and then forget. That works until, well, until the county gets a call from the neighbors saying your dogs got out, again, and then they show up at your door with your ashamed looking dogs in tow and that tell tale piece of paper. So now I am busy trying to force all the ducks in line before the 29th of February so that the redneck notices can go away.
The problem is the ducks never stay in line, just when I think I have them going the same direction, one of them decides that it has a mind of its own and it goes a different direction, so I spend all my time chasing ducks. I want order and I get the chaos called life. Every so often Horatio reminds me that they aren't my damn ducks, picks me up and sets me on my feet and off I go still trying to keep the ducks in line.
Enough for Now
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Little White Lies
I went and saw a counselor on a more or less emergency basis, my work has it set up that you can't just decide you might need to go to counseling without going in for an assessment and telling someone you don't know your secrets in 20 min or less and then they decide if you need someone to give you regular counseling. My psychiatrist has wanted me to go to regular counseling for the last year but I have avoided it since I hate the process of starting over and with our system it means doing it twice. Spilling your heart to someone and waiting to hear their judgement is horrible, but I knew I didn't like where my thoughts were going, for the first time in months I felt like I couldn't take it anymore and wanted to be gone, I try not to give such thoughts a home but they can be insidious.
So I went and I sat and I told my secrets, sure enough she told me she thinks I need regular counseling, so I will get to start over again. She was a very reassuring person and I would have liked to see her as a continuing counselor but no one there is like Marcia was and skirts the rules that I can only see them three times and then I must move on. She asked if I was actvely suicidal and I told her the truth my thoughts were trending that was but that I was still in control, she asked if I was safe with myself and I told her yes I was. Then she asked what I would do if I wasn't safe with myself and I told her the truth I would lie. She was a bit taken aback by my answer and looked at me and said, wrong answer. So I told her what she wanted to hear, I would tell my husband if I was suicidal, I would check myself into the hospital, I would not hurt myself.
Part of what I said is true, I will not hurt myself, I do not want to die, I just want relief from the never ending battle that life presents. I want all "my" ducks to stay in a row and I don't want to be told they aren't my damn ducks. I want my dog to not have cancer, I want to be able to pay all my bills and have enough left over to not feel guilty doing things for myself, I want my sons healthy, I'm tired of the weakness of mortal bodies, of the endless pain.
I am going to go to a counselor on a regular basis, what she asked did I want my counselor to be like, hmmm, no one has ever asked me that, so I was honest, not too Mormon, someone who has experience with sexual abuse, not younger than me, I don't want a counselor my kids age telling me how to do things she learned in a book, needs to be female. Our time was done, she looked at me and said you are amazing look at everything you do every day, Now I was surprised, but she meant it, I get up, I take care of my grandson, I work as a nurse, I work in our tax business, I do laundry I breathe, I take care of a child with a chronic illness, I do what I have to, trying desperately to keep the ducks in line as best I can, even if they aren't my damn ducks.
Enough for Now
So I went and I sat and I told my secrets, sure enough she told me she thinks I need regular counseling, so I will get to start over again. She was a very reassuring person and I would have liked to see her as a continuing counselor but no one there is like Marcia was and skirts the rules that I can only see them three times and then I must move on. She asked if I was actvely suicidal and I told her the truth my thoughts were trending that was but that I was still in control, she asked if I was safe with myself and I told her yes I was. Then she asked what I would do if I wasn't safe with myself and I told her the truth I would lie. She was a bit taken aback by my answer and looked at me and said, wrong answer. So I told her what she wanted to hear, I would tell my husband if I was suicidal, I would check myself into the hospital, I would not hurt myself.
Part of what I said is true, I will not hurt myself, I do not want to die, I just want relief from the never ending battle that life presents. I want all "my" ducks to stay in a row and I don't want to be told they aren't my damn ducks. I want my dog to not have cancer, I want to be able to pay all my bills and have enough left over to not feel guilty doing things for myself, I want my sons healthy, I'm tired of the weakness of mortal bodies, of the endless pain.
I am going to go to a counselor on a regular basis, what she asked did I want my counselor to be like, hmmm, no one has ever asked me that, so I was honest, not too Mormon, someone who has experience with sexual abuse, not younger than me, I don't want a counselor my kids age telling me how to do things she learned in a book, needs to be female. Our time was done, she looked at me and said you are amazing look at everything you do every day, Now I was surprised, but she meant it, I get up, I take care of my grandson, I work as a nurse, I work in our tax business, I do laundry I breathe, I take care of a child with a chronic illness, I do what I have to, trying desperately to keep the ducks in line as best I can, even if they aren't my damn ducks.
Enough for Now
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
They're Playing My Song
Welcome to K-F--- radio! Playing all negative, all the time!
My friend Horatio calls it playing K-F--- radio when your head is endlessly filled with thoughts of how inadequate you are, what a screw up you are being, going over all the things in your life that are causing stress, things you can't change for the most part, like a childs' chronic illness, or your adult childs' choices. The thoughts are rarely rational, or helpful, serving only the purpose of self flagellation.
I know this but I still let K-F--- radio run through my head like the latest hit song until I'm sick of myself. Lately it is the only station I can seem to listen to, awake or asleep there is no escape, my thoughts even follow me into my dreams, often leaving me more exhausted upon awakening than I was when I went to bed, this is provided I can turn off my head long enough to fall asleep at all.
I haven't felt this trapped and depressed in a long time, I can usually remind myself that each day the sun shines a little longer before the darkness begins, but right now while I am in the middle of this bone deep sadness it is difficult to see that it will have and end, that I will feel better in time.I don't feel like I can share my feelings with others, I have learned that I lose the ones close to me if I burden them with my dark thoughts. So instead I put on my mask and go out and pretend I am fine, and I share here where I am anonymous, where the tears of my heart can be released.
My friend Horatio calls it playing K-F--- radio when your head is endlessly filled with thoughts of how inadequate you are, what a screw up you are being, going over all the things in your life that are causing stress, things you can't change for the most part, like a childs' chronic illness, or your adult childs' choices. The thoughts are rarely rational, or helpful, serving only the purpose of self flagellation.
I know this but I still let K-F--- radio run through my head like the latest hit song until I'm sick of myself. Lately it is the only station I can seem to listen to, awake or asleep there is no escape, my thoughts even follow me into my dreams, often leaving me more exhausted upon awakening than I was when I went to bed, this is provided I can turn off my head long enough to fall asleep at all.
I haven't felt this trapped and depressed in a long time, I can usually remind myself that each day the sun shines a little longer before the darkness begins, but right now while I am in the middle of this bone deep sadness it is difficult to see that it will have and end, that I will feel better in time.I don't feel like I can share my feelings with others, I have learned that I lose the ones close to me if I burden them with my dark thoughts. So instead I put on my mask and go out and pretend I am fine, and I share here where I am anonymous, where the tears of my heart can be released.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Holiday Holes
NO matter how much time passes by ther is a hole in our home that nothing can fill, no other time of the year save Fathers day leaves as much of a hole as Christmas time. Small things become reminders of the last Christmas that we spent as a complete family, Colley's Christmas stocking sits empty, family tradition is for each family member to receive an ornament from Mrs.Claus on Christmas Eve to be placed on the tree, ornaments meant to go with that child once they leave home to start their own traditions. My heart aches with the memories of the past, the bittersweet memories bring joy and pain. Colley's first Christmas when the children in our family get a very special teddy bear, his last Christmas, and all the times between. I so enjoy watching my other children and grandchildren and thank God they are here but nothing will ever make us whole.
Boo Helps Decorate theTree
I was over at Horatio and Nises' home with my grandson Boo and they had not yet got their tree up, not from lack of trying, one tree had been up for a brief ten or so minutes before their Rottweiler(named Meat, fierce name for a marshmallow) managed to break it. Nise was headed out the door to work in the wonderful world of retail shopping at Christmas time and so Horatio had orders to get a different tree and get it up or else the spirit of his wife's anger was going to visit him. Apparently this threat works at their house, Nise must have a better mad face than I do, so Horatio promptly got the tree up from the basement storage and plopped the box in the front room of their house. Nise left for work satisfied that the tree would be taken care of.
Boo who had been playing around the house was impatiently waiting for something to happen, Horatio didn't seem to be in a hurry to get going and so with my three year old helper in tow I began to put the tree together. While I was sorting the branches into the correct piles, Boo was happily rearranging the branches behind me so that what we ended up with was chaos. Horatio finally took pity on me and came out and between the two of us we got the tree up and all the branches into their proper place. While they had perfectly good ornaments and Boo had already starting decorating the tree, Horatio decided they needed a new "theme" and decided we needed to go to the local Walmart to purchase decorations. We took my car since I have the car seat and away we went.
Boo is very three, he wants to do everything his way and only his way, he refuses to sit in the grocery cart, and wants to touch, EVERYTHING. So imagine my surprise when Horatio placed him in the cart, I expected objections, there were none, Boo sat happily as long as Horatio pushed the cart, up one aisle and down the next and there he sat, not pulling stuff into the cart, not kicking the cart just to make noise, not trying to climb out, just sitting and chatting to Horatio in secret boy language. I was stunned.
Everything was going so well, Horatio had decided on his theme, blue and silver and Boo was busy pointing out all the ornaments, we were making record time. That was when I spotted the tree skirts, and decided that the theme required a beautiful silver, glittered skirt to finish it off, I proudly took it over to place in the cart and that is when things started to change. You knew it couldn't last.
"What's that", asked Boo, "A tree skirt. It goes under the tree" I replied. Promptly Boo disagreed, "NO its not! Its my dress". I learned a long time ago that you can't win an argument with a three year old and that sometimes it isn't worth it to try, so I agreed it was indeed his dress and we would put it on when we got back to the house.
Once back to the house Boo insisted that we find his dress and so we put it on and he danced happily around playing in his dress until we had the tree decorated. "Okay Boo, time to put the dress on the tree", said I, hoping beyond hope a battle wasn't brewing. I was wrong of course, I had to pry it off his shoulders to place it around the tree and three year olds have long memories, for weeks he asked where it went. I finally bought him two "dresses" of his own. He loves them but he still wants his dress back, the shiny silver twirly cape we placed under the tree.
Boo who had been playing around the house was impatiently waiting for something to happen, Horatio didn't seem to be in a hurry to get going and so with my three year old helper in tow I began to put the tree together. While I was sorting the branches into the correct piles, Boo was happily rearranging the branches behind me so that what we ended up with was chaos. Horatio finally took pity on me and came out and between the two of us we got the tree up and all the branches into their proper place. While they had perfectly good ornaments and Boo had already starting decorating the tree, Horatio decided they needed a new "theme" and decided we needed to go to the local Walmart to purchase decorations. We took my car since I have the car seat and away we went.
Boo is very three, he wants to do everything his way and only his way, he refuses to sit in the grocery cart, and wants to touch, EVERYTHING. So imagine my surprise when Horatio placed him in the cart, I expected objections, there were none, Boo sat happily as long as Horatio pushed the cart, up one aisle and down the next and there he sat, not pulling stuff into the cart, not kicking the cart just to make noise, not trying to climb out, just sitting and chatting to Horatio in secret boy language. I was stunned.
Everything was going so well, Horatio had decided on his theme, blue and silver and Boo was busy pointing out all the ornaments, we were making record time. That was when I spotted the tree skirts, and decided that the theme required a beautiful silver, glittered skirt to finish it off, I proudly took it over to place in the cart and that is when things started to change. You knew it couldn't last.
"What's that", asked Boo, "A tree skirt. It goes under the tree" I replied. Promptly Boo disagreed, "NO its not! Its my dress". I learned a long time ago that you can't win an argument with a three year old and that sometimes it isn't worth it to try, so I agreed it was indeed his dress and we would put it on when we got back to the house.
Once back to the house Boo insisted that we find his dress and so we put it on and he danced happily around playing in his dress until we had the tree decorated. "Okay Boo, time to put the dress on the tree", said I, hoping beyond hope a battle wasn't brewing. I was wrong of course, I had to pry it off his shoulders to place it around the tree and three year olds have long memories, for weeks he asked where it went. I finally bought him two "dresses" of his own. He loves them but he still wants his dress back, the shiny silver twirly cape we placed under the tree.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
But I Had a Flu Shot-Or The Martyr
So I have had flu shots nearly every year since I became a nurse, while I have had other viruses, I have never had the flu in any year I had a flu shot, until now. I like to believe I am one tough cookie, after all I have given birth to six children without medication, I usually have the dentist do drill work without numbing me and I am a mother.
So imagine my surprise when I get sick and it turns me into a shaking, weak, baby who could barely get herself to the bathroom, to say I was feeling sorry for myself is too mild. I am nearly 45 years old and I wanted my MOM, not that that was realistic, but I wanted someone to take care of me. That wasn't going to happen either, but the boys pitched in to take care of my grandson who we are raising so he got to preschool, my house on the other hand looks as though a tornado ran through it. I whined a bit to my friend, who told me to go to bed, the house was still going to be dirty when I felt better, that's what I was afraid of.
By Saturday I knew that I couldn't go to work, every time I got up I looked like a newborn giraffe trying to take its first steps, I knew I needed to go to the doctor but couldn't drive myself, and there just wasn't anyone in my household who was available to take me. Lee was running the snack bar at the local high school our children attend, and the others were in various places and at 14 my youngest son Morgan obviously doesn't drive. We have some very good friends, Nise and Horatio and since Nise was at work Horatio took pity on me and drove me to the clinic, Morgan agreed to watch his nephew and off we went.
It took the doctor less than five minutes to give a diagnosis, influenza, I told him it wasn't possible, I'd had a flu shot, he laughed, the flu shot isn't perfect, while it can't give you the flu, you can still sometimes catch the virus anyway, lucky me. I was so dehydrated he offered to have the clinic start an IV on me but I have this extreme resistance to having anyone be inconvenienced by me, even if I did want to be taken care o,f so I stoically(I can be such a martyr) turned him down. He prescribed an anti nausea medication, bed rest, and lots and lots of fluids, gave me a note for work saying I was not to work for the next five days, and sent me on my way.
Horatio asked if I wanted to go to his house, I turned him down(reluctantly), he has enough of his own responsibilities, and there is the whole I'm a big girl, I'll just put on my big girl panties and deal with it(can you say martyr)thing. So after taking me to get a few groceries, I wanted ramen and diet soda, he dropped me off at home admonishing me to take care of myself. Well what good martyr does that? As soon as I came in the door Morgan disappeared to a friends and no one else was home, the house hadn't magically cleaned itself and in fact I swear the dishes had had babies while I was gone.
I made ramen for me and Boo wanted a ham sandwich, while the ramen was cooking I started cleaning, feeling picked on of course because I was in martyr mode. Nise had pointed out one time that I sounded a bit like Eeyore, then she had her turn, so I decided that we needed an Eeyore so now I have a stuffed one in my car so that I remember that it is okay to be a bit melancholy but once in a while it gets to be wearing to be Eeyore if you take it too far. So I did something unusual, I stopped cleaning, took Boo and our food and went in and just rested, I didn't get on my computer, I didn't clean anything, I just watched sponge bob and let all the dishes keep multiplying in the sink.
You know what? The world didn't end, the house certainly didn't get clean, but the men in my life managed to make sure it didn't end up featured on the messiest house show.
I'm better now, still not quite up to speed, I'm back at work and when I find myself slipping into Eeyore mode I try to remember, the world isn't going to end if the kitchen isn't cleaned my way. I still would like someone to take care of me but I don't need to be a martyr about it.
Enough for now.
So imagine my surprise when I get sick and it turns me into a shaking, weak, baby who could barely get herself to the bathroom, to say I was feeling sorry for myself is too mild. I am nearly 45 years old and I wanted my MOM, not that that was realistic, but I wanted someone to take care of me. That wasn't going to happen either, but the boys pitched in to take care of my grandson who we are raising so he got to preschool, my house on the other hand looks as though a tornado ran through it. I whined a bit to my friend, who told me to go to bed, the house was still going to be dirty when I felt better, that's what I was afraid of.
By Saturday I knew that I couldn't go to work, every time I got up I looked like a newborn giraffe trying to take its first steps, I knew I needed to go to the doctor but couldn't drive myself, and there just wasn't anyone in my household who was available to take me. Lee was running the snack bar at the local high school our children attend, and the others were in various places and at 14 my youngest son Morgan obviously doesn't drive. We have some very good friends, Nise and Horatio and since Nise was at work Horatio took pity on me and drove me to the clinic, Morgan agreed to watch his nephew and off we went.
It took the doctor less than five minutes to give a diagnosis, influenza, I told him it wasn't possible, I'd had a flu shot, he laughed, the flu shot isn't perfect, while it can't give you the flu, you can still sometimes catch the virus anyway, lucky me. I was so dehydrated he offered to have the clinic start an IV on me but I have this extreme resistance to having anyone be inconvenienced by me, even if I did want to be taken care o,f so I stoically(I can be such a martyr) turned him down. He prescribed an anti nausea medication, bed rest, and lots and lots of fluids, gave me a note for work saying I was not to work for the next five days, and sent me on my way.
Horatio asked if I wanted to go to his house, I turned him down(reluctantly), he has enough of his own responsibilities, and there is the whole I'm a big girl, I'll just put on my big girl panties and deal with it(can you say martyr)thing. So after taking me to get a few groceries, I wanted ramen and diet soda, he dropped me off at home admonishing me to take care of myself. Well what good martyr does that? As soon as I came in the door Morgan disappeared to a friends and no one else was home, the house hadn't magically cleaned itself and in fact I swear the dishes had had babies while I was gone.
I made ramen for me and Boo wanted a ham sandwich, while the ramen was cooking I started cleaning, feeling picked on of course because I was in martyr mode. Nise had pointed out one time that I sounded a bit like Eeyore, then she had her turn, so I decided that we needed an Eeyore so now I have a stuffed one in my car so that I remember that it is okay to be a bit melancholy but once in a while it gets to be wearing to be Eeyore if you take it too far. So I did something unusual, I stopped cleaning, took Boo and our food and went in and just rested, I didn't get on my computer, I didn't clean anything, I just watched sponge bob and let all the dishes keep multiplying in the sink.
You know what? The world didn't end, the house certainly didn't get clean, but the men in my life managed to make sure it didn't end up featured on the messiest house show.
I'm better now, still not quite up to speed, I'm back at work and when I find myself slipping into Eeyore mode I try to remember, the world isn't going to end if the kitchen isn't cleaned my way. I still would like someone to take care of me but I don't need to be a martyr about it.
Enough for now.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
I Need to Live
It has been awhile since I last posted, I have been fighting my own demons of depression and pain, sometimes it is so overwhelming I can barely make myself function to do the things I absolutely must and so I took a break for a time. There were other life issues that have kept me away but none that I could not have overcome if this mortal body was not so fallible. Depression and the vertigo of menieres have left me exhausted and struggling to take each step that I must.
You would think after knowing the heartache of losing my own son to suicide that I would never let the thought of my own death at my own hand be a thought that crosses my mind. Unfortunately knowing that the death of a loved causes so much pain does not take away the thought that I want to die more often than I want to live. I try very hard to not give those thoughts a home but they are always there. I want to die, I need to live.
I need to live for those around me who count on me, I keep thinking that the time will come when I am not really needed and I can then check out of mortality without guilt and then something will happen and no matter what I tell myself I can't find a time when there isn't someone who needs me here. I am and have been the primary provider in my household for years. I used to believe that I was worth more to my family through my life insurance and death benefits at social security than I was as a working mother, but we no longer have as much life insurance, my death needs to be accidental for them to get more and my children are getting older and so the amount of social security that would come in would no longer support the needs. I need to live.
I can laugh, I can joke and play around and sometimes I even genuinely enjoy myself but the war inside my own head is always there. I have been to therapy, years worth, and many different types of therapists, I have been on MANY different types of medication, on them, off them, know I do better on them so I make myself keep going to appointments and tweaking and adjusting and on and on. It never goes away it is chronic and is worse in the winter as the daylight hours dwindle. Winter solstice has become a strange kind of goal, if I can just make myself live until then, when the daylight hours start to lengthen again, I can make myself live through till the spring. I need to live.
It is often said suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and that those who die at their own hand are short sighted, I don't believe that, people with chronic illnesses know that their disease is not a temporary problem. No matter what I do or how much counseling I get my disease is not going to go away. I try to control my thoughts so that they don't become actions but death does not scare me so much as living through the pain I feel in every part of myself. I have found the poem Just for Today from AA to be helpful, the first line is: "Just for today I will try to live through this day only and not tackle all my problems at once. I can do something for twelve hours that would appall me if I felt I had to keep it up for a lifetime." If a day is too much I live through an hour, a minute, a moment. I need to live.
It is interesting that I want there to be some kind of after life for the son I lost and yet for myself I want oblivion. I don't just want to have my mortal body die, I want to cease, I don't want to have an existence of any kind, living as a spirit seems like more punishment. I want my reality, I don't want the christian heaven, I don't want to be reincarnated, I don't want to be disembodied energy, I especially don't want the heaven that Mormons believe in. I want peace. I need to live.
Two other things keep me from killing myself, number one is that someone has to find me, I know that people never get over that, I have thought how easy it would be to die in the hospital where it would be medical people who found the body and I still hesitate. Someone has to find me and the worst person I know still would not deserve that kind of emotional pain. I have flashbacks of the day Colley died whenever I see magpies clustered together a certain way and I didn't find his body. The second reason is that I would be autopsied and they will not know the difference between scarring from a willing participant and a victim of abuse, there is still shame tied to the sexual abuse I have suffered at the hands of others, if I was absolutely sure there was nothing after this life it would not matter but I am not sure and I don't want anyone to think I invited that abuse. I need to live.
I still want to die, I need to live. Enough for now.
You would think after knowing the heartache of losing my own son to suicide that I would never let the thought of my own death at my own hand be a thought that crosses my mind. Unfortunately knowing that the death of a loved causes so much pain does not take away the thought that I want to die more often than I want to live. I try very hard to not give those thoughts a home but they are always there. I want to die, I need to live.
I need to live for those around me who count on me, I keep thinking that the time will come when I am not really needed and I can then check out of mortality without guilt and then something will happen and no matter what I tell myself I can't find a time when there isn't someone who needs me here. I am and have been the primary provider in my household for years. I used to believe that I was worth more to my family through my life insurance and death benefits at social security than I was as a working mother, but we no longer have as much life insurance, my death needs to be accidental for them to get more and my children are getting older and so the amount of social security that would come in would no longer support the needs. I need to live.
I can laugh, I can joke and play around and sometimes I even genuinely enjoy myself but the war inside my own head is always there. I have been to therapy, years worth, and many different types of therapists, I have been on MANY different types of medication, on them, off them, know I do better on them so I make myself keep going to appointments and tweaking and adjusting and on and on. It never goes away it is chronic and is worse in the winter as the daylight hours dwindle. Winter solstice has become a strange kind of goal, if I can just make myself live until then, when the daylight hours start to lengthen again, I can make myself live through till the spring. I need to live.
It is often said suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem and that those who die at their own hand are short sighted, I don't believe that, people with chronic illnesses know that their disease is not a temporary problem. No matter what I do or how much counseling I get my disease is not going to go away. I try to control my thoughts so that they don't become actions but death does not scare me so much as living through the pain I feel in every part of myself. I have found the poem Just for Today from AA to be helpful, the first line is: "Just for today I will try to live through this day only and not tackle all my problems at once. I can do something for twelve hours that would appall me if I felt I had to keep it up for a lifetime." If a day is too much I live through an hour, a minute, a moment. I need to live.
It is interesting that I want there to be some kind of after life for the son I lost and yet for myself I want oblivion. I don't just want to have my mortal body die, I want to cease, I don't want to have an existence of any kind, living as a spirit seems like more punishment. I want my reality, I don't want the christian heaven, I don't want to be reincarnated, I don't want to be disembodied energy, I especially don't want the heaven that Mormons believe in. I want peace. I need to live.
Two other things keep me from killing myself, number one is that someone has to find me, I know that people never get over that, I have thought how easy it would be to die in the hospital where it would be medical people who found the body and I still hesitate. Someone has to find me and the worst person I know still would not deserve that kind of emotional pain. I have flashbacks of the day Colley died whenever I see magpies clustered together a certain way and I didn't find his body. The second reason is that I would be autopsied and they will not know the difference between scarring from a willing participant and a victim of abuse, there is still shame tied to the sexual abuse I have suffered at the hands of others, if I was absolutely sure there was nothing after this life it would not matter but I am not sure and I don't want anyone to think I invited that abuse. I need to live.
I still want to die, I need to live. Enough for now.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Aftermath
How do I describe what the hours, minutes, seconds were like after the death of Colley, the police did come into the house eventually, Lee took them down to Colley's room. In my panic I had not noticed how carefully he had prepared, he had cleaned his room, put notes on various items as to what he wanted us to do with them, had lit a candle and had music playing in the background. I am sure he intended his father to find him when he went down to wake him for church, while I would have spared Todd's dad the agony of finding Colley's body, I am grateful it was not Lee or I believe I would have been burying two instead of one. Yes he left a note, the words are burned into my soul, "Please don't blame anyone, it's no ones fault but mine. Love you all, Colley".
I had collapsed after yelling at the police officer who told me my son was dead, I wanted him to take it back, it wasn't true, I wanted to throw up everything I had ever eaten in my life, I wanted to escape somewhere in my mind and never come back. My husband ran to me and I pushed him away, I told him it was his fault, not because he had argued with Colley but because the guns were too accessible and I had asked him less than two months before to get a gun safe, even as I said the words I wanted to take them back, I meant them and I didn't mean them, I loved Lee and hated him. I wanted to die, Oh how I wanted to die! How do you describe the agony of soul and body and mind and yet the world refuses to stop moving and keeps pushing, forcing you to make decisions that no parent should ever have to make.
Your home becomes a crime scene, photos are taken, some of Colley's belongings were taken along with his note, those few last words we were left with, documents must be signed, questions answered. Lee handled the questions, took them around to see what they needed to see, I sat, frozen, hoping to die, hoping to find this wasn't real. The female member of the sheriffs office who was taking photographs left with tears in her eyes, she is the only one I saw any emotion from and it touched me, I do not know her name, I wanted to thank her but I could not make myself move.
We wanted to go to him in the trailer, they wouldn't let us, not until he had been moved out of the trailer onto the stretcher and in the body bag. I could not see him that way, not in that bag, I know what they smell like, feel like, I have carried the little bodies of lost babies in those bags, we carefully swaddle those little babes and my son would not have that same care and I just could not see my son that way. My husband and my oldest son did go out to say a last goodbye before they took Colley away. When someone dies violently it becomes a case for the medical examiner and as a family you lose any right to refuse an autopsy, my precious son was going to be taken away and I had no power to control what was going to happen.
I donated Colley's eyes, I don't know why it became important but I needed some part of this make sense, I never thought I would be able to donate a part of my child but I wanted to have something good come from the loss of this part of my heart.
So much happened in the space of a few hours that felt like days, we were surrounded by people and yet felt alone, isolated, we had to find someone to clean the trailer, family needed to be notified, paperwork signed, we had to find a way to tell our younger children their brother was dead. I am not sure I could tell who all the people were at our house, I wanted to bring my other boys home, I wanted to wrap them up and keep them safe, I had to call work and tell them I would not be coming in. My son was dead. I had to make arrangements with a funeral home so that my son could be released once they were done at the medical examiners. People kept coming by, words must be said comfort given, food showed up, I couldn't eat. The magpies kept coming back. I needed to sleep and yet my brain would not allow it. A funeral must be planned, a cemetery chosen, Colley's friends needed to be called to let them know their friend was gone.
As on that day a brain can only take so much before it will begin to shut itself off trying to isolate the pain that is too much to bear all at once. Memories can be the same way, reaching a point where you must stop for a time or you must perish. I must stop, enough for now
I had collapsed after yelling at the police officer who told me my son was dead, I wanted him to take it back, it wasn't true, I wanted to throw up everything I had ever eaten in my life, I wanted to escape somewhere in my mind and never come back. My husband ran to me and I pushed him away, I told him it was his fault, not because he had argued with Colley but because the guns were too accessible and I had asked him less than two months before to get a gun safe, even as I said the words I wanted to take them back, I meant them and I didn't mean them, I loved Lee and hated him. I wanted to die, Oh how I wanted to die! How do you describe the agony of soul and body and mind and yet the world refuses to stop moving and keeps pushing, forcing you to make decisions that no parent should ever have to make.
Your home becomes a crime scene, photos are taken, some of Colley's belongings were taken along with his note, those few last words we were left with, documents must be signed, questions answered. Lee handled the questions, took them around to see what they needed to see, I sat, frozen, hoping to die, hoping to find this wasn't real. The female member of the sheriffs office who was taking photographs left with tears in her eyes, she is the only one I saw any emotion from and it touched me, I do not know her name, I wanted to thank her but I could not make myself move.
We wanted to go to him in the trailer, they wouldn't let us, not until he had been moved out of the trailer onto the stretcher and in the body bag. I could not see him that way, not in that bag, I know what they smell like, feel like, I have carried the little bodies of lost babies in those bags, we carefully swaddle those little babes and my son would not have that same care and I just could not see my son that way. My husband and my oldest son did go out to say a last goodbye before they took Colley away. When someone dies violently it becomes a case for the medical examiner and as a family you lose any right to refuse an autopsy, my precious son was going to be taken away and I had no power to control what was going to happen.
I donated Colley's eyes, I don't know why it became important but I needed some part of this make sense, I never thought I would be able to donate a part of my child but I wanted to have something good come from the loss of this part of my heart.
So much happened in the space of a few hours that felt like days, we were surrounded by people and yet felt alone, isolated, we had to find someone to clean the trailer, family needed to be notified, paperwork signed, we had to find a way to tell our younger children their brother was dead. I am not sure I could tell who all the people were at our house, I wanted to bring my other boys home, I wanted to wrap them up and keep them safe, I had to call work and tell them I would not be coming in. My son was dead. I had to make arrangements with a funeral home so that my son could be released once they were done at the medical examiners. People kept coming by, words must be said comfort given, food showed up, I couldn't eat. The magpies kept coming back. I needed to sleep and yet my brain would not allow it. A funeral must be planned, a cemetery chosen, Colley's friends needed to be called to let them know their friend was gone.
As on that day a brain can only take so much before it will begin to shut itself off trying to isolate the pain that is too much to bear all at once. Memories can be the same way, reaching a point where you must stop for a time or you must perish. I must stop, enough for now
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