Most people are psyched about the New Year, and all of the resolutions that they have planned. While I have a slew of goals and plans (not to mention some significant early weight loss...nine pounds, whoohooo), I find myself feeling a lot more cautious than perhaps I have in past years.
I slept through the New Year like I normally do, I am definitely a grinch in that aspect. I found myself quite irritated one year when I accidentally fell asleep, only to have my phone go off at what seemed to be ten-minute intervals until dawn, from all the well-wishers in my life. I (think I) kindly let them know not to wish me happy new year until the following morning in future. That was back when I actually got to sleep late.
The holidays were hard. I struggled with things that I thought I had left far in my wake; I spent this year alone, and there was one point when I was tired in a way that you should not ever feel. This type of weariness takes people from this earth far too early; I lay in bed and stared at the bottle that could very well have taken me out of my son's life. While I often feel like he is the only person who would be impacted by my death, I know that is not true, and if I achieve only one goal this year, I want it to be that I will come out of this shell I have buried myself in. Because the loneliness is killing me, and even though the pain is intense, I cannot help but be ever aware of the child in my life who didn't ask to be here. A long time ago a little girl was brought into this world unwanted. She didn't ask to be here, either. Yet she was always treated as if this were a conscious choice that she made...and I am still living with those scars. Some days I just hang my head and think that I will never escape this, the wounds that stem from what it means to be raised with little to no love. I would give anything for my son not to be me; his formative years have already been messed up enough. So, I guess the bottom line is that I no longer live for myself. If what you can call what I am doing living.
Hopefully the end of this year will see me a divorced woman. If I learned anything last year, it was that perhaps my definitions of "what is supposed to be" are not as concrete as I thought they were. I married my son's father, in spite of his abusive ways, because my parents hurt me so badly by their divorce. I felt that they could have worked through their problems, for the sake of the children who needed them. Especially me. My parents finalized their divorce before they ever said a word to me, and left me with few explanations. The years that followed were filled with the sound of my father's absence, and the pain of my mother's rage.I thought that the worst thing I could ever do to Steven would be to give him a life in which he was being passed from one parent to the other. It turns out that his father and I fought so much that the poor child prefers us being apart. I cannot forgive myself for that.
I left Steve for the final time on what was his 41st birthday. The apartment reeked of alcohol, and I got tired of looking at this person who was not the person who initially pursued me. I mean, sure, people change...but this change was too much, far too drastic. I was tired of the dance of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. I had had enough, and that day as we left, Steven held on to my mother for dear life. I don't want my son to grow up scared. He's been resilient, but it's time for me to stop testing that.
I have learned some very bitter lessons about what it means to be the victim of domestic violence. I have learned that the justice system will grant your abuser parental rights until he or she does irreparable damage to the child or children you have in common, that a threat to YOU is not enough to warrant your abuser not having access to your kids. So guess what? Your abuser still has access to you, even if you take out a protective order. That order really, truly is only a piece of paper.
I have learned how much women judge. The women at Steven's school, the teachers, the admins. So many people staring at me, so many whispers. The penniless woman with the special needs child, who just couldn't seem to leave her husband. So many indignant, ignorant women who just do not understand that it's usually not a case of loving this monster you are with. Me, the only place I had to go is somewhere I do not want to be; homeless shelters have waiting lists here, and I have to place myself in a position to keep Steven's educational situation as stable as possible, no matter what it does to me. I cope by withdrawal and sarcasm. My reputation in my family is that of a person who does not like others at all, but I'm simply hurting too much right now to answer prodding questions.
I have tried to tell the women who judge me for going back twice that what happened to me could most definitely happen to them, that it's not as cut and dry as they seem to think. Domestic violence is not always a knock-down, drag-out fight with the kids either watching on the couch or cowering in their rooms, with their hands over their ears, trying to block out the screaming. The violence can be so surreptitious that when the woman flees, her children may not understand...which can lead to parental alienation. The abuser will use the anger of his children to further control his wife. It happens, and despite all the testimonies to this, the courts still turn a blind eye to what is happening. The court system is a minefield for the victim of domestic violence.
Shelters are ALWAYS full, so you will not be taken until you are bruised, beaten, or worse. The court system will say that most all evidence is "heresay", and that very few things short of physical injuries or you magically managing to record your abuser abusing you (how in the hell...seriously?) will stand up in court. It's not cut and dry. I dropped a protective order last year, because the judge denied the preliminary order (in spite of what was already on record), and my lawyer told me that the case was shaky. He also told me that if I were to lose the case, that this could be held against me when it came time to file for custody. I understand that he had an obligation to be truthful with me, but none of these things gave me the confidence he wanted me to have for this case. I was asked to involve a woman with less protection than I, to risk her safety and that of her four kids so that I could have a piece of paper that would most likely just ensure that if it were violated, I would not live to be able to testify to what happened. Somehow, throughout all the fear, throughout all of this, I was supposed to muster up some sense of indignation and just walk out with my child to nothing....because that was what we ended up with each time we have lost our home. No, I am not going back. I only went back for my child, love didn't enter the equation after the second time he lost his mind. When he started threatening to kill me in June of last year (three times when sober, so claims of alcoholism are obsolete as far as I am concerned), hatred started to build once the fear died down. Seriously, it's not as easy as many women seem to think. I'm glad they have such high self-esteem, but ALL of that will flee the first time that man hits them. It will. They just don't know it yet.
I look back and see the red flags I should have picked up, the situations that should have given me pause, and I grieve. But grief is something I can only indulge in for a moment when it comes to my failed marriage. I should never have said those vows in the first place. However, had I not given this man the time of day, I would not have my child...and as a result, I would not have my life. That boy is my heart with limbs attached to it, and though I spend most of my day tired and gruff, I know that he knows that I love him.
How am I supposed to make a life out of the ashes that surround me? I have no idea. Illness, lack of formal education, a career that has stalled. No home, no money, and only a gigantic spectre of fear in front of me when I contemplate my future. Something has to give, break, materialize...for my son's sake it has to. I cannot carry this child through life on nothing. And while that which I have been surviving on for so long (hope) is a beautiful thing for him to have on his own, it cannot provide a roof over his head, food on the table, or something to enjoy at Christmas. All of that is up to me.
I sit sometimes and wonder if my life in particular is a self-fulfilling prophecy, or if I have a particular gift of premonition. These days I try not to dwell on my fears much at all, because I sit in a situation where the fears of my youth have come true in a frightening way. I feared being the age that I am, with a life that I could not be proud of....alone. For while I am surrounded by people, no one reaches me. I live out my days inside my head, my imagination tucked around me, because at least my illusions cannot hurt me. I cover my eyes and shield my heart, for in here no one can touch me. But I know that if I ever wish to truly live...I have to come out.
I am terrified. But it is a new year, and so I will emerge, bit by bit. I just hope that this year does not bring more pain. Yes, I have a high tolerance for it, yes I am resilient, yes I am strong. But one day I will break. What then? What about my son? That's the one thing that haunts me night and day. No one around me has the capacity to care for my son like I do, because due to their dislike of me, they never bothered to learn. What would his life be like in a world full of people who never sought to learn how to even talk to him?
And I am undone. My son just came over, took me in his arms and held me. There is something in me that knows it's okay for your children to see you cry; how else will they know it is okay for them to show emotion? But my four-year-old non-verbal child should not be comforting me. Still, he did; he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead, as the tears fell down my face. If I know no other deep love in this life, at least I have his. And in that I am blessed.
It is a new year.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Monday, November 19, 2012
Transparency
I wish that there was someone I could just sit down with in real life and tell just how scared I am. I try to be strong for the sake of Steven, but my fears just keep coming out in the form of frustrations he does not understand. He doesn't deserve them, either. I just feel so weak sometimes, and terribly frightened. No one is around enough to learn about what my son needs, so what happens when I'm gone?
I know that those around me would say that I speak of my mortality too much, but outside of my son, my life has not been one that I would say is worth living. I've had enough disappointment, abuse and pain. I have buried enough dreams. I have stifled enough tears. And I could care less about what people would have to say when I'm gone, because I'm here...and I don't hear you. Nor do I see you.
I think that the loneliness is the hardest part of this whole situation. During the weekday, when everone is gone, I sit here and think about the world passing by outside my window. It's a bit easier when I actually have somewhere to go, and something to do, but most days are not like that. And I feel judged by those who watch my "drama" unfold. It's like I have leprosy, too many issues, too many problems for anyone to want to come close.
In the past I have tried to hang onto my spirituality to keep afloat, but that part of my world has been rather empty as of late. I understand that rain falls on the just and the unjust, but I can't help feeling like I'm being punished for some mistake that I don't realize I've made. And I get irritated with the people who try to tell me that my situation is not all that bad. You are not here. I'm not saying that my problems are the worst in the world, but they are prolems, and they do burden me.
I must admit that deep inside of me lies the hope that one day, even if it's just one person (and that's all there ever is), someone will look and actually see me. And in spite of all my shortcomings, wish to stay around longer than a few minutes. Because I honestly feel like I will be crushed by this situation sometimes. Since it's not just me that depends upon me anymore, giving up is out of the question.
I'm only human, though. Has anyone ever thought about that?
I know that those around me would say that I speak of my mortality too much, but outside of my son, my life has not been one that I would say is worth living. I've had enough disappointment, abuse and pain. I have buried enough dreams. I have stifled enough tears. And I could care less about what people would have to say when I'm gone, because I'm here...and I don't hear you. Nor do I see you.
I think that the loneliness is the hardest part of this whole situation. During the weekday, when everone is gone, I sit here and think about the world passing by outside my window. It's a bit easier when I actually have somewhere to go, and something to do, but most days are not like that. And I feel judged by those who watch my "drama" unfold. It's like I have leprosy, too many issues, too many problems for anyone to want to come close.
In the past I have tried to hang onto my spirituality to keep afloat, but that part of my world has been rather empty as of late. I understand that rain falls on the just and the unjust, but I can't help feeling like I'm being punished for some mistake that I don't realize I've made. And I get irritated with the people who try to tell me that my situation is not all that bad. You are not here. I'm not saying that my problems are the worst in the world, but they are prolems, and they do burden me.
I must admit that deep inside of me lies the hope that one day, even if it's just one person (and that's all there ever is), someone will look and actually see me. And in spite of all my shortcomings, wish to stay around longer than a few minutes. Because I honestly feel like I will be crushed by this situation sometimes. Since it's not just me that depends upon me anymore, giving up is out of the question.
I'm only human, though. Has anyone ever thought about that?
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Apparently it's not all in my head.
For most of my life I have avoided crying in front of people. It wasn't something that my mother looked kindly upon, especially when she was beating me. But don't mention that to her, we're not supposed to talk about all of that. The subject of my parental limitations is definitely to be brought up, but the years of systematic abuse...no. I live amongst people who seem to think that goodness and wisdom come from age, rather than from lessons learned in a positive way. Oh well, I give up on trying to address that. It no longer matters to me whether or not these people acknowledge what I feel.
So it's been three weeks since my doctor told me to see a shrink (and that my current one must not have been doing a good job). Had I not cried in that office, I probably would not be on the verge of a legitimate diagnosis. What I do know is that the issue is an autoimmune disease. It seems that my body is destroying my red blood cells. I ache with every movement. It's no longer just "you're fat," or "you're depressed." Um, you're damn right I am! You would be too, if you felt like this!
I went from being just another hypochondriac to being "my dear" and "my friend". All of a sudden I'm treated with solicitousness. I don't know whether or not to be scared. I do know that what I'm about to learn is going to change my life. Especially as a parent. I just hope that I can be independent in spite of all of this. I'm going to try. I honestly believe that living alone (with the boy in tow) would be good for my health. If it is true that suppressed rage causes illness, then I need to separate myself, because I'm quite angry with the world around me. I might as well go on and admit it. I don't dwell on it a lot, but I am angry at the people who have used me as a target all these years, as well as those who have come to snap judgments based upon their own shallow nature. I will not stop holding both myself and those around me to a higher standard when it comes to how to treat people. I am a human being. Treat me like one. My pain, my illness doesn't lessen the fact that I bleed just like you when cut.
I fear for my boy. Who will care for him when I'm gone? Because I accept that I will not be an old lady. People always tell me not to speak that into existence, but I feel that this is just a form of denial, one that I wish those closest to me would not fall into. So far, only two people have actually sat and listened to my concerns or need to make plans. I will not be blindsided by this. While my prognosis might not be death within a few years, there is a good chance my son will be young when I go. Can I please go knowing he won't be alone and confused?
At least today I know that it's not just depression. The blood work says that a heart attack is imminent. It says that my disease is chronic, and it's destroying my body. It says that what I've been trying to get someone to see for years, is actually there. I haven't been lying. I'm not a drug seeker (though they do work...shoot me).
I am ill. And I didn't make it up. I just wish I had a support system nearby. The love of my family that is distant keeps me going on the darkest days, but it is very hard knowing how many people are right up the road, who don't pay me a single thought. It's like I'm not worth anything to them.
So it's been three weeks since my doctor told me to see a shrink (and that my current one must not have been doing a good job). Had I not cried in that office, I probably would not be on the verge of a legitimate diagnosis. What I do know is that the issue is an autoimmune disease. It seems that my body is destroying my red blood cells. I ache with every movement. It's no longer just "you're fat," or "you're depressed." Um, you're damn right I am! You would be too, if you felt like this!
I went from being just another hypochondriac to being "my dear" and "my friend". All of a sudden I'm treated with solicitousness. I don't know whether or not to be scared. I do know that what I'm about to learn is going to change my life. Especially as a parent. I just hope that I can be independent in spite of all of this. I'm going to try. I honestly believe that living alone (with the boy in tow) would be good for my health. If it is true that suppressed rage causes illness, then I need to separate myself, because I'm quite angry with the world around me. I might as well go on and admit it. I don't dwell on it a lot, but I am angry at the people who have used me as a target all these years, as well as those who have come to snap judgments based upon their own shallow nature. I will not stop holding both myself and those around me to a higher standard when it comes to how to treat people. I am a human being. Treat me like one. My pain, my illness doesn't lessen the fact that I bleed just like you when cut.
I fear for my boy. Who will care for him when I'm gone? Because I accept that I will not be an old lady. People always tell me not to speak that into existence, but I feel that this is just a form of denial, one that I wish those closest to me would not fall into. So far, only two people have actually sat and listened to my concerns or need to make plans. I will not be blindsided by this. While my prognosis might not be death within a few years, there is a good chance my son will be young when I go. Can I please go knowing he won't be alone and confused?
At least today I know that it's not just depression. The blood work says that a heart attack is imminent. It says that my disease is chronic, and it's destroying my body. It says that what I've been trying to get someone to see for years, is actually there. I haven't been lying. I'm not a drug seeker (though they do work...shoot me).
I am ill. And I didn't make it up. I just wish I had a support system nearby. The love of my family that is distant keeps me going on the darkest days, but it is very hard knowing how many people are right up the road, who don't pay me a single thought. It's like I'm not worth anything to them.
I'm tired of being ignored...
I often tell my therapist that one day I'm going to write a book. I no longer write in journals, because it just seems like I am doing little more than talk to myself. I only do it these days when I feel as if I'm going to explode.
I'm just baffled at the level of insensitivity that seems to pervade society these days. Are we that selfish? I try so hard not to be, but it's like I don't really exist anymore. From what I'm reading, it's a by-product of chronic illness; you lose the life you once had, you lose friends. Problem is, I feel like everyone walked out of my life, with the exception of those who make me even more ill by being around. It would be nice to have a friend come visit. But they're off living their lives. I don't mean to sound bitter, but I tried to be an asset to my friends before I got sick. You would think after all I've done, I would be worthy of some positive attention.
But no, I'm the drama queen. I attract trouble. Never mind the individuals around me with their own issues, who feel that it's okay to press them upon me. I want nothing more than to simply live a peaceful life, but I'm surrounded by adult children who don't want to deal with their past issues. Hopefully one day soon they won't be a part of my life anymore. I don't deserve to be abused by you, I don't care what happened to you. I have not taken my grief out on you, don't take yours out on me.
I don't get that, this idea that when you are having a bad day, or a difficult stretch in life, it's perfectly okay to walk around with a chip on your shoulder. Most of my life has been full of abuse. I didn't fight back, I internalized it all, and had to eventually un-learn all of the negative messages that were given to me. It was a long journey, it was terribly hard. I still flinch at times when I reach out, and it's like I'm totally ignored. But there is a peace that comes with not basing your self-worth upon the opinions of others. Sure, plenty of people in the world say they don't care what other people think, but if all of those "other people," their friends, family members and colleagues walked away, they would be crushed. I've had that happen to me, and I'm still here.
I'm tired of being ignored. I'm tired of being written off. I'm real. My story is real. My pain matters. Just because it's immense doesn't mean that I deserve to be left alone. I have yet another burden to bear, finally a diagnosis for what has been plaguing me for years. No support system for my son should I die, because there is none for me. Yet I still keep going. Wondering what will happen to my boy when I'm not here, because I cannot channge what will be.
And all because society is too fixated on pleasure to deal with the inevitability of pain. I am to be ignored because all I've ever known, with the exception of the joy that is my son, is pain.
I do not see how that is fair. And I hope that when I'm gone, judgment is heaped upon those who have been too busy having fun to notice me.
I'm just baffled at the level of insensitivity that seems to pervade society these days. Are we that selfish? I try so hard not to be, but it's like I don't really exist anymore. From what I'm reading, it's a by-product of chronic illness; you lose the life you once had, you lose friends. Problem is, I feel like everyone walked out of my life, with the exception of those who make me even more ill by being around. It would be nice to have a friend come visit. But they're off living their lives. I don't mean to sound bitter, but I tried to be an asset to my friends before I got sick. You would think after all I've done, I would be worthy of some positive attention.
But no, I'm the drama queen. I attract trouble. Never mind the individuals around me with their own issues, who feel that it's okay to press them upon me. I want nothing more than to simply live a peaceful life, but I'm surrounded by adult children who don't want to deal with their past issues. Hopefully one day soon they won't be a part of my life anymore. I don't deserve to be abused by you, I don't care what happened to you. I have not taken my grief out on you, don't take yours out on me.
I don't get that, this idea that when you are having a bad day, or a difficult stretch in life, it's perfectly okay to walk around with a chip on your shoulder. Most of my life has been full of abuse. I didn't fight back, I internalized it all, and had to eventually un-learn all of the negative messages that were given to me. It was a long journey, it was terribly hard. I still flinch at times when I reach out, and it's like I'm totally ignored. But there is a peace that comes with not basing your self-worth upon the opinions of others. Sure, plenty of people in the world say they don't care what other people think, but if all of those "other people," their friends, family members and colleagues walked away, they would be crushed. I've had that happen to me, and I'm still here.
I'm tired of being ignored. I'm tired of being written off. I'm real. My story is real. My pain matters. Just because it's immense doesn't mean that I deserve to be left alone. I have yet another burden to bear, finally a diagnosis for what has been plaguing me for years. No support system for my son should I die, because there is none for me. Yet I still keep going. Wondering what will happen to my boy when I'm not here, because I cannot channge what will be.
And all because society is too fixated on pleasure to deal with the inevitability of pain. I am to be ignored because all I've ever known, with the exception of the joy that is my son, is pain.
I do not see how that is fair. And I hope that when I'm gone, judgment is heaped upon those who have been too busy having fun to notice me.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
"It's all in your head."
They say that depression is anger turned inward.
Does this mean that I would be in optimum health right now, had I simply beat the crap out of the people who have abused and disenfranchised me during this roller coaster that is my life? Would I honestly be better off if I had opened my mouth and fought back? I have struggled not to act upon the desires to retaliate all my life, thinking that wasn't the way to go. You mean to tell me I'm sick because I just didn't "wild out"?
I look at my life, and I wonder why I even bother. Honestly, the only reason I am still alive, is because of my son. I don't want to leave him. His love is what keeps me from giving up, and I hope that as he gets older, I will not be a disappointment to him. He is truly one of the only things that I can put a smile on my face. Him, and dark political humor. I find the antics of teapublicans extremely amusing...except when they're on a mission to my uterus. If my yearly check up makes me uncomfortable, what the %*^&; do you think I want you up there for? GO AWAY!
Anyways...
For the past five years, I have not been feeling well. My head has ached constantly all this time. There has been no break in that pain. My joints ache intermittently. I catch every cold and flu that comes through the community each year. I have been diagnosed with silent seizures, which have been difficult to treat. I have lived through a stroke. Been hospitalized several times. Most days I do not leave the house, and I do not get out of bed, except to clean and cook. I can sleep for eight hours, and still wake up tired. The actual feelings of sadness over my condition do not surface often, but they're there now. Thanks Doc, for calling me a mental case. I appreciate it!
While these symptoms can be attributed to depression, the stroke cannot. Yes, your health declines due to stress. That is a proven fact. And goodness knows, I have seen a lot of stress and grief in my life. I've been forced to hold my true feelings about my experience inside, or write in a journal, because I was vehemently blocked from telling my truth. Most of the people who have hurt me don't even know they have. Either that, or they don't care. The idea that I was "crazy anyway" has caused many people to legitimize their treatment of me. My journals hold my hopes and fears, the feelings that I have longed to shout to the world all these years. And while some people paint me to be this belligerent, angry individual, they have not been responsible for their actions the way I long for them to be. No one has ever confronted them on the accusations leveled at me. Accusations of driving my father to his grave, being sick enough to solicit my stepfather for unspeakable things, doing drugs...just to name a few. I have never broken the law, I have always striven to be seen as a "good girl". I thought that perhaps this would make my detractors love me. Boy, was I wrong.
Still, while "depression hurts", chronic illness can cause depression as well. Depression is a beast I have been waging war against since I was a child. My short-term memory may be crap, but my long-term memory is fine. I know how I have felt both physically and mentally over the years (I kept a written record!), and prior to March of 2007, I did not feel the way I do now. I used to walk 4 miles a day, come home and do an hour of yoga, then slip on my point shoes to dance. I had an active social life, I sang. I lived. Emotions aside, if I had the status of health that I had back then, chasing my son would be no problem. I would not fear losing grip of his hand and not being able to catch him before he ran into the street the way I do. My body broke down five years ago, and I feel like I've been run around by physicians who can't explain to me why the stroke happened. Since they can't come up with an explanation, all of my symptoms are now "psychosomatic". And good lord, do not ever use a medical term with these arrogant people, they think that you are a hypochondriac. Whoops, another "big word", that us folks should avoid, who haven't been through medical school. No, I'm not a malingerer (there I go again). It's just that when all this started, you never explained in lay terms to me what words like "venous thrombosis", or "sub-arachnoid hemorrhage" meant. So I had to look them up. And they scared the shit out of me. And I use these words, because I don't want there to be any mistake with regards to what I'm feeling or what has happened.
And forgive me for this unrelenting pain in my head. I wish it upon them. Let's see how they move around, think, function. I'm sorry that the only thing that calms the pain once it flares every six weeks or more, are pain meds via IV. You don't have to whisper about me as I walk through the ER. You don't have to make jokes that you think I'm too dumb to understand.
Perhaps my current pain really is anger turned inward. I have tried to be polite, thinking that if I was, I would be treated with dignity. But now I see that many people are just selfish and cruel, and perhaps I need to let the other side of me out, and snap at a few people, show them that I'm not dumb, and not to be underestimated. Perhaps they will straighten up and fly right, and treat me like a human being.
But to just say that all of my experience has been due to depression, is unfair. I did not cause my depression. I didn't cook it up to get attention. I have been called "mental" all my life. This is the tool my abusers have used to cover up their deeds. It's called "gaslighting", look it up. It took me up until a few years ago to stop entertaining the thought that I really was a basket case, and all my memories were false. The thought of that possibility was really scary. But I put that behind me now. My memories are consistent and real. And I am not the cause of my depression.
But if my depression is the cause of my health problems, if my life has been stunted by these health problems, then I'm sorry, but that's really crappy. My whole life, and the plans that I made for it have been stunted by this illness. I have a graveyard of dreams in the back of my mind. I don't visit often anymore, but it's there. And yes, depression is an illness. My hopes, my dreams...all undone by my inability to heal from the maltreatment of others.
So at this juncture, it's "all in my head". And I don't know how to really react to that. I know I need to seek out a second opinion, but the medical community has really hurt me at this point. You label me as an addict because occasionally I need pain meds. I had no idea that receiving a pain injection once every six weeks to three months made you an addict. It must also be because I don't flinch when you stick a needle in me. Firstly, I think it's ridiculous for a grown person to be blubbering and fainting over a damn needle. Secondly, do you see tract marks? No. So I'm not an addict.
Oh, and the visits. It's not a life-threatening emergency, so I should just go home and sit in pain.
Had I done this for the past five years, maybe I would be taken seriously now. Instead of being labeled as just a mental patient.
I'm kind of blown right now.
Does this mean that I would be in optimum health right now, had I simply beat the crap out of the people who have abused and disenfranchised me during this roller coaster that is my life? Would I honestly be better off if I had opened my mouth and fought back? I have struggled not to act upon the desires to retaliate all my life, thinking that wasn't the way to go. You mean to tell me I'm sick because I just didn't "wild out"?
I look at my life, and I wonder why I even bother. Honestly, the only reason I am still alive, is because of my son. I don't want to leave him. His love is what keeps me from giving up, and I hope that as he gets older, I will not be a disappointment to him. He is truly one of the only things that I can put a smile on my face. Him, and dark political humor. I find the antics of teapublicans extremely amusing...except when they're on a mission to my uterus. If my yearly check up makes me uncomfortable, what the %*^&; do you think I want you up there for? GO AWAY!
Anyways...
For the past five years, I have not been feeling well. My head has ached constantly all this time. There has been no break in that pain. My joints ache intermittently. I catch every cold and flu that comes through the community each year. I have been diagnosed with silent seizures, which have been difficult to treat. I have lived through a stroke. Been hospitalized several times. Most days I do not leave the house, and I do not get out of bed, except to clean and cook. I can sleep for eight hours, and still wake up tired. The actual feelings of sadness over my condition do not surface often, but they're there now. Thanks Doc, for calling me a mental case. I appreciate it!
While these symptoms can be attributed to depression, the stroke cannot. Yes, your health declines due to stress. That is a proven fact. And goodness knows, I have seen a lot of stress and grief in my life. I've been forced to hold my true feelings about my experience inside, or write in a journal, because I was vehemently blocked from telling my truth. Most of the people who have hurt me don't even know they have. Either that, or they don't care. The idea that I was "crazy anyway" has caused many people to legitimize their treatment of me. My journals hold my hopes and fears, the feelings that I have longed to shout to the world all these years. And while some people paint me to be this belligerent, angry individual, they have not been responsible for their actions the way I long for them to be. No one has ever confronted them on the accusations leveled at me. Accusations of driving my father to his grave, being sick enough to solicit my stepfather for unspeakable things, doing drugs...just to name a few. I have never broken the law, I have always striven to be seen as a "good girl". I thought that perhaps this would make my detractors love me. Boy, was I wrong.
Still, while "depression hurts", chronic illness can cause depression as well. Depression is a beast I have been waging war against since I was a child. My short-term memory may be crap, but my long-term memory is fine. I know how I have felt both physically and mentally over the years (I kept a written record!), and prior to March of 2007, I did not feel the way I do now. I used to walk 4 miles a day, come home and do an hour of yoga, then slip on my point shoes to dance. I had an active social life, I sang. I lived. Emotions aside, if I had the status of health that I had back then, chasing my son would be no problem. I would not fear losing grip of his hand and not being able to catch him before he ran into the street the way I do. My body broke down five years ago, and I feel like I've been run around by physicians who can't explain to me why the stroke happened. Since they can't come up with an explanation, all of my symptoms are now "psychosomatic". And good lord, do not ever use a medical term with these arrogant people, they think that you are a hypochondriac. Whoops, another "big word", that us folks should avoid, who haven't been through medical school. No, I'm not a malingerer (there I go again). It's just that when all this started, you never explained in lay terms to me what words like "venous thrombosis", or "sub-arachnoid hemorrhage" meant. So I had to look them up. And they scared the shit out of me. And I use these words, because I don't want there to be any mistake with regards to what I'm feeling or what has happened.
And forgive me for this unrelenting pain in my head. I wish it upon them. Let's see how they move around, think, function. I'm sorry that the only thing that calms the pain once it flares every six weeks or more, are pain meds via IV. You don't have to whisper about me as I walk through the ER. You don't have to make jokes that you think I'm too dumb to understand.
Perhaps my current pain really is anger turned inward. I have tried to be polite, thinking that if I was, I would be treated with dignity. But now I see that many people are just selfish and cruel, and perhaps I need to let the other side of me out, and snap at a few people, show them that I'm not dumb, and not to be underestimated. Perhaps they will straighten up and fly right, and treat me like a human being.
But to just say that all of my experience has been due to depression, is unfair. I did not cause my depression. I didn't cook it up to get attention. I have been called "mental" all my life. This is the tool my abusers have used to cover up their deeds. It's called "gaslighting", look it up. It took me up until a few years ago to stop entertaining the thought that I really was a basket case, and all my memories were false. The thought of that possibility was really scary. But I put that behind me now. My memories are consistent and real. And I am not the cause of my depression.
But if my depression is the cause of my health problems, if my life has been stunted by these health problems, then I'm sorry, but that's really crappy. My whole life, and the plans that I made for it have been stunted by this illness. I have a graveyard of dreams in the back of my mind. I don't visit often anymore, but it's there. And yes, depression is an illness. My hopes, my dreams...all undone by my inability to heal from the maltreatment of others.
So at this juncture, it's "all in my head". And I don't know how to really react to that. I know I need to seek out a second opinion, but the medical community has really hurt me at this point. You label me as an addict because occasionally I need pain meds. I had no idea that receiving a pain injection once every six weeks to three months made you an addict. It must also be because I don't flinch when you stick a needle in me. Firstly, I think it's ridiculous for a grown person to be blubbering and fainting over a damn needle. Secondly, do you see tract marks? No. So I'm not an addict.
Oh, and the visits. It's not a life-threatening emergency, so I should just go home and sit in pain.
Had I done this for the past five years, maybe I would be taken seriously now. Instead of being labeled as just a mental patient.
I'm kind of blown right now.
Saturday, September 29, 2012
Weak Parents
I have decided that I am not cut out to do daycare these days. The amount of spoiled children I see screaming in stores and trying to convince their parents that they absolutely need this toy (who then break down if....IF they hear the word "no"), guarantees that I will have one of these monsters in my home, tormenting my child and raising my stress level.
It surely is not what it was when I was a nanny. I cared for indulged children, but they understood the concepts of rules and obedience. These days children have no fear of repercussion from their parents, and it shows.
For about a month I watched a neighbor's child. He showed up bawling every single day. He never spoke, refused to eat, and I had to make him go to the bathroom. But the parents swore up and down that he'd talk, he'd tell me when he had to go potty, and he was a generally happy guy. I never saw any of that. This kid felt it was okay to play with my son's toys, but would not share the ones his parents brought each morning to pacify him. Had this been a real daycare, he would not have been allowed to bring those toys, and if he didn't participate with the other children, he would have sat out. My son would try to hug him to ease his crying, and he would push my son away. And the kid's biggest gripe? I made him eat the food his parents left for him every day.
His parents came down last night and told me that his mother was now working nights with her job. As a hotel housekeeper? Yeah. Okay. But you know what, their lie saved me from having to tell one, because I was getting rid of that kid.
Children these days are pampered left and right. I understand wanting to give your kids a better life, but to me that means two doting parents, chances to go out and play, and a place where one need not feel fear. NOT tons of toys, giving in at the slightest whine, and definitely not skimping on the food issue. The child I was watching had poo that was white. That's a nutritional deficiency! You're so weak a parent that you can't manage to get your kid to eat? You need to lose them.
Parents of neurotypical kids these days really irritate me. My son is developmentally delayed and behaves better than these kids who at his age are talking a mile a minute, potty trained and able to deal with simple reasoning. Instead they are using their reasoning skills to con mom and dad into buying the latest thing they see, playing with all their gadgets, and falling out in the store. And what does mom and dad do? Nothing!
Please stop saying that the government won't allow you to discipline your kids. It is not against the law to discipline your kids. Stop saying you're afraid of CPS, let me give you a heads up. I had them called on me for a bogus reason. The worker saw that it was a bogus reason, and closed the case. Fear of CPS is not an excuse for letting your brat run wild.
My son has what seems to be unlimited energy. My body constantly aches, and I have no energy. Yet I keep up with him....every day, as he gets up at dawn. I'm constantly in pain, but I lug him and tons of groceries and other sundries around ON THE BUS, while parents of these screamers have minivans to load all their crap in. My son thinks that my every movement initiates a game of chase, and just trying to get to him to change his diaper is an event. I manage to get fruits and vegetables into a child with serious food anxiety due to his autism. What is your excuse, mom? Make a damn milkshake and take those gerber or beechnut pureed fruit veggie thingines and mix them. Serve cold to your brat.
Please be parents, not pussies! Seriously! If you have given up on trying to get your kid to eat, wear something decent to school, do chores, listen to you, and all you keep doing is buying things, then the problem is you. STOP it with all the purchases, find a creative way to involve your kid in the day to day workings of the home and stop making excuses. I read where one lady said it was tough to be a kid today. WHAT? She went on to say that it was easier to just not have them do chores because the effort you had to put into it would wear you out. Lady, maybe you need to just block out yours and your kids' "busy schedules" (they don't need to be in lacrosse, ballet, volleyball, tae kwon do and tennis all at once), and spend several evenings and weekends working on their chores. They bumble it? They fix it. They don't want to move, you fire up that butt, and they will move. Make them understand that YOU are the parent, and stop being so concerned with whether or not they like you. I don't care if my son likes me, he loves me. That's what's important.
My son does not like me when I make him try a new food. He does not like me when I take him in from the park out back because it's time for me to start dinner. He does not like me when I am sluggish when he wakes up at dawn every freaking morning, and I make him lay back down for 30+ minutes. Of course he doesn't like me. So what? I discipline my son when needed, and I do my best to keep up with him. I hold him down to get his medication, and I communicate daily with his teachers. My son hugs and kisses me, and it's not because I give him all these material things. Stop trying to buy your kids' love and approval.
I'm glad the little mongrel is gone. And the ones before him, who peed on my floor, dropped food on my floor that they didn't want to eat, fought like animals, apparently never bathed (because they hated water...um, so? DEAL WITH IT, JEEZ) and loved to have "who can eat the loudest and nastiest" contests.
I think I will stick to my kid. The parents of kids like the ones I watched do not have any real challenges. Stop using income as an excuse. Stop using single parenting as an excuse. You're a parent, you're supposed to be tired. And if you're cash poor, stop buying brand name, stop buying every little toy. When we get our son a toy, he is enamored of it for a very long time, and comes back to it regularly. That's because we're not shopping every weekend. When we do get him something, we tell him it's because he's been a good boy. And we only do it then. We do not reward falling out in the floor, throwing food, pooping in the tub (sensory issue), or general refusal to listen.
Why is it that we have a disabled child who behaves better than most neurotypical kids his age? Why? Steven hardly ever screams in the store. I can count one or two times in his almost four years of life. But each time I go somewhere, someone's brat is screaming bloody murder in aisle three.
Um, take that kid to the car and get an understanding between you. And at home, stop giving in! You subject these kids on the general population and it's because of YOU that so many people want kids banned from public places.
BE A PARENT, NOT A PUSSY. This has been a public service announcement, courtesy of Sam.
It surely is not what it was when I was a nanny. I cared for indulged children, but they understood the concepts of rules and obedience. These days children have no fear of repercussion from their parents, and it shows.
For about a month I watched a neighbor's child. He showed up bawling every single day. He never spoke, refused to eat, and I had to make him go to the bathroom. But the parents swore up and down that he'd talk, he'd tell me when he had to go potty, and he was a generally happy guy. I never saw any of that. This kid felt it was okay to play with my son's toys, but would not share the ones his parents brought each morning to pacify him. Had this been a real daycare, he would not have been allowed to bring those toys, and if he didn't participate with the other children, he would have sat out. My son would try to hug him to ease his crying, and he would push my son away. And the kid's biggest gripe? I made him eat the food his parents left for him every day.
His parents came down last night and told me that his mother was now working nights with her job. As a hotel housekeeper? Yeah. Okay. But you know what, their lie saved me from having to tell one, because I was getting rid of that kid.
Children these days are pampered left and right. I understand wanting to give your kids a better life, but to me that means two doting parents, chances to go out and play, and a place where one need not feel fear. NOT tons of toys, giving in at the slightest whine, and definitely not skimping on the food issue. The child I was watching had poo that was white. That's a nutritional deficiency! You're so weak a parent that you can't manage to get your kid to eat? You need to lose them.
Parents of neurotypical kids these days really irritate me. My son is developmentally delayed and behaves better than these kids who at his age are talking a mile a minute, potty trained and able to deal with simple reasoning. Instead they are using their reasoning skills to con mom and dad into buying the latest thing they see, playing with all their gadgets, and falling out in the store. And what does mom and dad do? Nothing!
Please stop saying that the government won't allow you to discipline your kids. It is not against the law to discipline your kids. Stop saying you're afraid of CPS, let me give you a heads up. I had them called on me for a bogus reason. The worker saw that it was a bogus reason, and closed the case. Fear of CPS is not an excuse for letting your brat run wild.
Please be parents, not pussies! Seriously! If you have given up on trying to get your kid to eat, wear something decent to school, do chores, listen to you, and all you keep doing is buying things, then the problem is you. STOP it with all the purchases, find a creative way to involve your kid in the day to day workings of the home and stop making excuses. I read where one lady said it was tough to be a kid today. WHAT? She went on to say that it was easier to just not have them do chores because the effort you had to put into it would wear you out. Lady, maybe you need to just block out yours and your kids' "busy schedules" (they don't need to be in lacrosse, ballet, volleyball, tae kwon do and tennis all at once), and spend several evenings and weekends working on their chores. They bumble it? They fix it. They don't want to move, you fire up that butt, and they will move. Make them understand that YOU are the parent, and stop being so concerned with whether or not they like you. I don't care if my son likes me, he loves me. That's what's important.
My son does not like me when I make him try a new food. He does not like me when I take him in from the park out back because it's time for me to start dinner. He does not like me when I am sluggish when he wakes up at dawn every freaking morning, and I make him lay back down for 30+ minutes. Of course he doesn't like me. So what? I discipline my son when needed, and I do my best to keep up with him. I hold him down to get his medication, and I communicate daily with his teachers. My son hugs and kisses me, and it's not because I give him all these material things. Stop trying to buy your kids' love and approval.
I'm glad the little mongrel is gone. And the ones before him, who peed on my floor, dropped food on my floor that they didn't want to eat, fought like animals, apparently never bathed (because they hated water...um, so? DEAL WITH IT, JEEZ) and loved to have "who can eat the loudest and nastiest" contests.
I think I will stick to my kid. The parents of kids like the ones I watched do not have any real challenges. Stop using income as an excuse. Stop using single parenting as an excuse. You're a parent, you're supposed to be tired. And if you're cash poor, stop buying brand name, stop buying every little toy. When we get our son a toy, he is enamored of it for a very long time, and comes back to it regularly. That's because we're not shopping every weekend. When we do get him something, we tell him it's because he's been a good boy. And we only do it then. We do not reward falling out in the floor, throwing food, pooping in the tub (sensory issue), or general refusal to listen.
Why is it that we have a disabled child who behaves better than most neurotypical kids his age? Why? Steven hardly ever screams in the store. I can count one or two times in his almost four years of life. But each time I go somewhere, someone's brat is screaming bloody murder in aisle three.
Um, take that kid to the car and get an understanding between you. And at home, stop giving in! You subject these kids on the general population and it's because of YOU that so many people want kids banned from public places.
BE A PARENT, NOT A PUSSY. This has been a public service announcement, courtesy of Sam.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Burnout
Lately my therapist has been bringing up the subject of me isolating a lot more than she usually does. In the 16 years that I have been talking to someone about my family issues, I have never felt the urge to flee the way I do now. I just don't want to talk about it. The suggestions I am given about how to "solve this problem" are glib and useless to me. I honestly want to be alone most days. I sometimes think that it would be for the best. I am not happy with the amount of short change I have been dealt in my life, but I do not know how to change that short of keeping to myself.
Last night I had a hard evening with Steven. I am not proud of myself when I lose patience, but it's not like there's anyone around who is supportive. Steven signs and communicates at school and at daycare when he goes. But with me, he refuses to do anything. I spend most of my time with him pulling around dead weight. And when I'm already not feeling well, it's even harder. The reactions I get are usually ones of amusement. Of course it is funny to you...it's not happening to you. But when it does, I get to watch you drop F bombs on my son (oh, he's yours so it's okay....NOT), or spank him for peeling a sticker off the window. However, the exhaustion of his primary caretaker means little.
I cried last night. I cry many a night when no one is looking. Either that, or I pull back into myself and just think. I feel like the only life I have is the one inside me, but in honesty it's always been that way. I was not encouraged to show or have feelings when I was young. I got slapped in the face if I so much as looked like I didn't agree with the things that were being said to me. So I hide a lot. But last night I could not. My sweet son just started kissing me. Even after I lost my temper with him. I love my son. I wish that my critics could see that. I wonder if they were in my shoes, if they had been in my shoes in the beginning, how they would have acted. What choices would they have made?
Sometimes I feel like it's expected of me to remain invisible and subservient. I'm just here to be a buffer for other people's needs and selfishness. But now that I'm pushing back, there's a problem. I'm sorry, but I'm a human being. I have buried dream after dream, dealt with more than my share of abuse, manipulation and dishonesty. I am ready for that to change. And if it means that people are going to think that I'm mean, so be it. I think they're mean. I think they're selfish. I think they're dishonest. I think I'm tired of putting up with their mess.
I hope that one day before I die, that I will have a few moments of the life I wanted for myself, instead of a life that is the product of other people's manipulation of me.
Last night I had a hard evening with Steven. I am not proud of myself when I lose patience, but it's not like there's anyone around who is supportive. Steven signs and communicates at school and at daycare when he goes. But with me, he refuses to do anything. I spend most of my time with him pulling around dead weight. And when I'm already not feeling well, it's even harder. The reactions I get are usually ones of amusement. Of course it is funny to you...it's not happening to you. But when it does, I get to watch you drop F bombs on my son (oh, he's yours so it's okay....NOT), or spank him for peeling a sticker off the window. However, the exhaustion of his primary caretaker means little.
I cried last night. I cry many a night when no one is looking. Either that, or I pull back into myself and just think. I feel like the only life I have is the one inside me, but in honesty it's always been that way. I was not encouraged to show or have feelings when I was young. I got slapped in the face if I so much as looked like I didn't agree with the things that were being said to me. So I hide a lot. But last night I could not. My sweet son just started kissing me. Even after I lost my temper with him. I love my son. I wish that my critics could see that. I wonder if they were in my shoes, if they had been in my shoes in the beginning, how they would have acted. What choices would they have made?
Sometimes I feel like it's expected of me to remain invisible and subservient. I'm just here to be a buffer for other people's needs and selfishness. But now that I'm pushing back, there's a problem. I'm sorry, but I'm a human being. I have buried dream after dream, dealt with more than my share of abuse, manipulation and dishonesty. I am ready for that to change. And if it means that people are going to think that I'm mean, so be it. I think they're mean. I think they're selfish. I think they're dishonest. I think I'm tired of putting up with their mess.
I hope that one day before I die, that I will have a few moments of the life I wanted for myself, instead of a life that is the product of other people's manipulation of me.
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