I recently started reading from a website called What’s Your Grief? I need a lot of the articles right now as I struggle with my brother and mother….. I hope every February and March from here on won’t hurt this much.
In an article about Sentimentality & Holding Onto Items the writer talked about dolls that her mother purchased each year for her. Being a doll collector my interest was piqued. For me, each doll I collected had some connection to a part of me that was lost to abuse and neglect. I knew on some level that I was trying to regain these things but it took years before I could look at the dolls and say, she has this quality in her dress and facial features that reminds me of this particular moment of loss.
Not everything has gone as planned. Things changed very quickly with accusations flying when I requested 30 pain pills to last 90 days.
Let me start from the beginning. I saw Dr. Yes Wednesday evening. He wanted me to see a pain specialist. I said okay. I called the people Friday morning to talk about an appointment. When she started talking about therapy and injections and another MRI with this and that test I stopped her. I explained that I’ve been through all that many times with no real results. I said what I really need is a doctor who understands that there are going to be flares I need help getting out of. I said, the steroids, though horrible, do help me but there are also times when my pain level is getting out of control and I need to take the edge off. I said, that’s why I’m requesting a script of 30 Vicodin every 90 days. Talking to Dr. Yes’s office Friday morning took a nasty turn from there.
Jane remains relatively healthy. She’s 15 but she still loves catnip and paper. She is so funny chasing imaginary things. Her favorite toy is a green fish that she got about 2 years ago. She’s got a decent amount of toys but I only leave a few out at a time to mix it up and keep her interested in them. The other day I got a box in the mail with a bunch of paper, paper being her favorite thing. She put a thousand holes in it and then nested for a bit. Although Janie has claws, she’s not destructive. She doesn’t shred the paper or scratch the furniture or anything like that. The paper gets holes in it because she’s still got her claws.
I keep hearing a little girl cry. It happens every single time I get extremely triggered. I know she’s not really there but I can’t help but go looking for her. It takes a lot to resist the urge to go looking for her.
She can’t do it. She can’t call me by my name. The best thing I ever did leave that family and change my entire name. Changing it gave me a way to buffer their abuse, to separate myself from the burden carried with my birth name. She can’t stand that I’d choose something so positive to call myself. According to her, I’m a host of unmentionables. It was hard to hear past those things and try to figure out what to do and say to calm her down and get her to speak to me like a human being. It was as if I stood before my mother trying to get her to calm down, listen through the insults to figure out what she really wants from me. In the end it just seems like she’s tired, angry and lost.
I picked up the phone with my therapist 30 seconds after my sister told me that I’m a terrible person and not needed. I learned a few things that I didn’t know. I began to question some of what was being told to me by my Aunty S because it didn’t make sense. My sister was forthcoming with information that I wasn’t ready for…another blast! I can’t believe I actually said to my Aunt, thank you for having cared for my mother!!! That is so disgusting, now that I know what really took place, that is so disgusting. And I’m happy I didn’t sit across the table from her and have coffee, yuck!!!
An owl’s sight is superior to humans because it can see past the nose on it’s face. It can scan an area and see from multiple angles, so why can’t we? Its ears are primed for ultimate hearing, hearing that will give it better perspective. Why can’t we listen to more than the old tapes in our heads? And why can’t we sit lofty in our homes with beauty and splendor? Why do we have to tear each other down and devour one another as if we were wild things? We are not wild things.
You are my sister and we are not wild things,
It threw me for a loop to get that response. There was more flaming anger than I expected. If paper could ignite from the words written then your note would have been devoured by flames. It was palpable, painful, angry.
I have not failed to see your side. I haven’t.
I was flabbergasted to see you write that you have nothing. You have nothing? And then you questioned that there’s anything you have that I need. I am very visual so I could see me standing in front of you with overwhelming anguish and a rage that you’d vomit at me until I fall dead. I mean that letter was stinging. It was a punch I wasn’t ready for, especially after the night I had and the physical therapy session I had, but as we know, life doesn’t just hand us roses because we’re having a bad day.
Growing up in a toxic household I found myself playing a role for which I never auditioned. We don’t get to choose which role we’ll play, we’re cast and then put on stage. It’s another realization of just how powerless we were as children and young adults.
I made her laugh. I looked away when that was called for. Most of all I never showed true emotion and never even knew what it was until well into my adult life. When I was a in her home I did whatever I could to survive the impossible.
A Jester or clown puts on a false face, parades around and makes a “fool” of himself to get a laugh. He distracts people from the real world around them and for just a tiny bit they forget. I hate clowns for that very reason and yet I’ve been compelled to paint them. Continue reading →
I read a few blog entries by a young woman just like me. I wanted to beam over to her, put my hands on both shoulders, look her in the eye and say, “Stop running. No more running. If you need to collapse and cry then do it. If it takes a week to cry yourself into a better mental state, then do it. But, no running.”
I know how it feels when the sky falls and impulsive decisions are made. I know the fear, anger and self loathing that comes with trying to live as many. I also know how hard it is to resist the temptation to believe that everything is ok, I just need to get myself together and I’ll be ok. That’s not true. Unfortunately, it’s not true.
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The original sketches are 6 x 9 on paper in black ink.
Artwork by Robert
I want to talk about my understanding of time. Basically I don’t have one. I just don’t get it. I have no concept of it. I can’t tell how long 5 min is or how long 5 hours is. For me they’re one in the same. This becomes a problem when I go out to the store. It’s not unusual for me to return 3 or 4 hours later. I might think we were gone for just an hour or so but Betty says no, we were gone much longer. I wish I knew how to fix that. Continue reading →
I went to the physical therapy center today. I was surprised at how open it was, that I was laying next to someone else who was being worked on. That nervousness quickly dissipated as I became familiar with my two specialists. I like both. One is male, the other female. I don’t go back for two weeks but when I do it’ll be me and the male physical therapist who has been nicknamed Buttons.
When I first saw the male physical therapist I blurted out, “What are you, twelve?” He said he tries to look older by wearing a beard. I didn’t say what I was thinking. …..F.A.I.L…… Later in the session I said, with you being 9 years old, did you color in your degree? He said yes and that he stayed in the lines when coloring homework. I said, I can’t believe they’re handing out degrees to 7 year olds. He said, how come I keep getting younger? Who am I, Benjamin Buttons?
When I return in two weeks to start the process of healing this neck and spine of mine, Buttons will be my physical therapist. I look forward to it.
When I go to the doctor I don’t always tell them about the multiple personality disorder (Dissociative Identity Disorder) because it’s not always necessary. They know I have PTSD but that’s all they need to know. Sometimes less is best. When cognition issues arise people assume it’s Lupus or Fibro fog. I don’t correct them. The issue is cognition, the root cause doesn’t need to be pinpointed at that time. I may need longer to process what’s said to me. Period. I’m not going to say, “I’m sorry. I have multiple personality disorder and sometimes I…….” …….Nope, not doing it. … Sometimes the doctors need to know, most times they do not.