I had a dream you were real.
I saw you standing beside the dresser. You kept that spot. Your tears were as razors sliding slowly down my spine. To my amazement, you cried for me.
I was too heavy with sleep and admittedly afraid to look you in the eye.
I know that dress.
I know your voice and the training to utter no sound unless directly addressed. But what do I say, what do I ask that I don't already know?
What is your name?
Sometimes life is good. Despite the physical war, life is good to me sometimes.
I enjoy incense. I have a hanging incense holder which means fewer ashes and better distribution.
I'm better able to cope with anxiety.
The flowers are coming in and one of the trees has turned red.
I'm 30 min away from completing an amount of time I volunteered to give right here from home.
Snow and I talked a little about my therapy session on emotional abuse of self. The woman I see as elegant talks down to herself. Her husband So-and-so is quick to say, "Would you stop abusing my wife!"
I know self abuse is as common as other types of abuse. I personally feel self abuse is worse for me because I know which buttons to push and where to strike for the most painful, spirit slashing affect. When my head is spinning with personal insults I don't think to myself, be extra mean, push your own buttons, leave a nasty emotional bruse. I don't think ahead, I just do it, and well.
I had a decision to make. I made the decision. I explained my thoughts to all 3 people. Two agreed, one didn't.
My response to the third person was an internal one. Typical of me, my head started swarming with anger until finally I was like... No. Nope. Not today. I'm not doing this. Also typical of me is an exaggerated anger response. I go from 0 to 60 in no time flat. The other person has no idea because they can't tell by the look on my face that I'm ready to get ugly. My own therapist says it's difficult to tell when I'm raging that way because my body language doesn't show it.
I'm still struggling with the depression but I'm actively fighting it now.
I'm emotional. I'm raw and my fuse can be very short. It gets old apologizing for it, but I will because when the problem is me, it's me. I'm emotional, sometimes impulsive, opinionated and currently menopausal making me an even greater emotional mess. I feel strong sometimes and other times I feel as if I can't take another step. To ask it is cruel. I sometimes feel helpless and hopeless, defeated. I also feel a tiny little spark that wants to keep going. I don't have to guess as what my goal is while alive. I just need to stay alive long enough to meet that goal.
This depressive state and feelings of hopelessness are ones I have to actively throw off me. Yesterday I looked up several positive survivor stories where the person kept going despite feeling they had nothing but a tiny spark, if that. I need a little bit of flame for my spark. I need to throw off this depression because its so heavy.
One of the other things I'm doing is trying to stay out of my bedroom. My art studio is the other half of my room so I do need to be in there, but I don't want to live there like I did when I was almost totally bed bound. It was a hospital room. It's the room I was in when all I did was vomit, when all I did was cry and scream because my body would spasm and let go, spasm and let go. The light in there is different as well. I've got great windows in the living room and dining room. I love my windows. This spring the bedroom furniture will be adjusted, curtains changed out and the walls washed down. My feelings for the bedroom need to be washed away.
The furniture in the living room has been moved so I can sit watching the fish at night with my candles and tea, wine or brandy. There's an area arranged so I can paint facing the windows, facing outside. I can see my plants and Mary Jane can sit in the window and threaten the birds that fly by.
Dr. D and I talked about how I have a general practitioner who kind of reminds me of my sister. He acts like he doesn't even want to be in the room. The last time I saw him I was there about 5 min. When I came out Momma (Betty) stood up and said, "What's wrong?" I said, "It was a wham bam thank you ma'am kinda visit". He didn't look at me. He walked to the computer, had his back to me, asked me why I was there, signed a sheet of paper and sent me over to a orthopedic surgeon. Dr. D said, maybe he's like that with all his patients. I said, I heard he is, but I'm not talking about all his patients, I'm talking about me. He interrupts me while I'm talking, etc, etc, etc.
While talking to Dr. D I said that I'm afraid of him, of most people. I'm emotional. I cry. I'm shaking on that table. Fully clothed, shaking. And now I think to myself, maybe that's why he doesn't touch me that often. Maybe that's why he stands across the room.
Last time though, he shocked me. He was examining my shoulder and instead of asking me to move my hair back, that no good so-in-so flipped my dreads out of the way. Oh heck no!! I know you didn't!!! Ok. Do not...ever...touch....the dreads!! That should not happen tomorrow cause I have a feeling the Jordan will dry up and I will get ghetto. Oh...huh uh, I know you didn't. My neck will start moving, one hand will face him sort of limp like and ghetto Jordan will make a stand!
For awhile now I've considered wearing a sign on my upper body vest that requests that people please not touch me. I've worn the vest for maybe a year now and I'm comfortable doing so. Some people look at me like I'm a terrorist, others are bold enough to ask why I'm wearing the vest. Some mistake me for a policeman (stares blankly off in the distance). They think it's a bullet proof vest. I've commented, well, ya know, for a little bit there we were getting shot left and right. OMG. But the least of my worries are questions or being locked in the entrance of the bank waiting for the manager to clear me. lol. Oh ma lawd! My concern is what happened yesterday when I went to the store. A man did a back hand smack on my arm, twice, then asked if I was in line. I used the word smack because that's what it was, it wasn't a one, two tap. .......That was the moment when I realized something has to change.
I had a list. I stuck to the list. She suggested a stop at the bank which was not part of the original plan. The teller, a woman I know, asked a question about the Bible. I tried to explain and said I'd return with a better answer. When I got back in the car I asked Betty how long I was in the bank. Her answer? "Too long!" The way she said it hit like a slap in the face. It lit the fuse for the rest of the trip.
We went to the health food store and an employee asked if we wanted to try a juice. She said, "We can't, we're in a hurry." I asked why. In the tone ??? she said, "I told you...." I heard nothing after those words.
"I told you"
I started to walk to an item and she told me, "The spices are over here." I said yeah, but the honey is here." She said, tell me what's on your list and I'll help you.......
I was thinking about how many doctors have told me my body is resistant to treatment. Hearing that in my head made me think, well, if that's the case then I'd better get to moving along before this treatment is rejected. At this time I'm able to leave the house. This treatment allows me to be 50% of who I used to be, which gives me 50% to work with until my body rejects it.
I've been switching personalities quite a bit lately. I have such strong feelings of uncertainty. Strangely enough, my schedule is more stable than it's been in a long time, yet my focus is off, my ability to concentrate and complete one task is difficult.
I scheduled a tea party with Red but forgot Snow is coming over that day. I do need Snow's help. I need help getting my bed made and getting some laundry done.
I got out for a walk the other day and found some more moss for my 12 x 12 moss garden. I'm having a blast doing this. I like to watch things grow. I have grow lights.
Anxiety is intense right now. I want to get up, get my drawing pad and scribble some. I want to lay in the fetal position and rock. I want to go deep in my head where it might be quiet and where this anxiety isn't so intense. ...continue reading "DID. Anxiety. Art."
What's wrong with you?
I'm angry. Yup, I guessed that.
I'm wearing it like a blanket that I refuse to remove. What are you wearing under the blanket?
Skill. Love. Motivation. Ok, I wasn't expecting those things. I thought you were going to say exhaustion, vulnerability, etc.
If you ask me, those are the reasons I have chosen to keep the blanket on. Is it worth it?
My goodness, I'm so angry, and this depression feels like a garrote. I want to get up and eat dinner. I'd like a shower. What's stopping you?
I want to run my business and post art. I want to have my cat near instead of pushing her away. What's stopping you?
Listen, Faith, listen. Let's think about the last year, no, we're going back to the last 3 years. In the last 3 years you've had more physical pain than your mother put you through in the 20 years you lived with her. That is not an exaggeration. You have broken teeth from biting down so hard to endure what was happening to your body. During pain attacks your body responded in ways that the body responds when it is writhing. In those situations you've destroyed bedding, vomited on the cat and tore at your clothing as you screamed. You went mad Faith, like anyone else would. Do you understand that?