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I hate Lupus. Lupus is the devil.

I talked to Dr D over the phone for my session. We talked about the emotional toll of this hospitalization. We talked about how things change so fast sometimes that it's hard to keep up.

There's a revolving door of changes. I can hardly keep up. Many changes are good, others a disappointment. I just need to stay the course.

Because I am unable to do 3 hours of physical therapy a day, I have lost the coveted hospital spot. I cried and cried. Now there's a scramble to figure out where to put me.

I'll get accepted to a nursing home where I'll do an hour of physical therapy, but will I be well cared for? Will I spend most of my time looking at the ceiling, unable to move? Will they change me on time or will I sit in my own excrement for hours like I see on TV? Will I be physically safe? Will I sleep well or have to endure a roommate? So many questions.

There have been major improvements in my health in the last few days, things no one anticipated. Life will be easier in some respects bc I no longer have to take a shot in the stomach every day for the rest of my life. They've determined that I can take pill form, twice daily, for the remainder of my life. I still have to take prednisone forever but I feel I have good medical doctors who will look after my interests. I'll have this medical team looking after me and monitoring. That gives me comfort.

Today I sat up on the side of the bed by myself. I took a photo bc it's a milestone.

I'm on Morphine , Oxycodone and Percaset to ease pain. Morphine gives me nightmares but it helps so I take it.

Friday afternoon some friends are coming up to eat pizza with me.

People don't know what to say or do so I tell them to bring food. Bring lunch meat and Doritos, 7up and something sweet. We'll chat and chew through the awkward.

One visitor said he feared not knowing what to say to me. Sometimes a person's presence is more powerful than their words. Despite not knowing what to say, he's been here three times. Thank you for that!

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I am not one who can handle a lot of physical stimulation. I didn't want to be touched. Movement and sound scare me. However, in a vulnerable state I have had to allow things to happen even if I didn't think I could handle it.

Since being at the hospital I've allowed people who resemble my abusers to give intimate care. I've allowed African American men and women to remove the gown, adjust my legs as needed then wipe my intimate parts in front and back. I have had full bed baths and depends changed or had procedures that required mostly nudity. I had to allow it.

From where I'm laying, I generally can't see the entire person, and I can't get up. I am vulnerable and require their clean intentions. Not a single inappropriate comment has taken place. They have been respectful and put me at ease.

At one point a Doctor was asked to wait 2 min while the Techs finished my gown because credentials don't buy rights to my dignity either. I appreciated him waiting.

I was terrified at first. Someone had their hands between my legs, spread them, and I had to allow it. I was angry. I didn't sleep a lot. But as the positive, safe experiences continued, confidence grew, with unexpected healing as a result.

Faith

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The Pages Were All WrongDr. D and I discussed a situation with my sister that came up that required I stick to my boundaries, as hard as it is to do.

Despite my mother having gainful employment, we spent a lot of time living in the car. I have slept with frost over me, slept on the wet street and in the sweltering night. Homelessness for me is a huge trigger. It makes me recoil, makes my mind want to run and never think about the horrors of it, the way it strips you of dignity and humanity. The way people hate you, judge you and look down on you. Routine homelessness in my childhood and young adult life with my mother, has left a scar that opens into a wound during the winter time.

When I'm cold I can't breathe because I can see myself lying under a blanket in a broken down RV with no electricity, no water, no heat, no lock on the door. I could see my own breath, see the frost build up on my blanket and hear my sister cry curled up beside me. We were so close to one another I couldn't breathe. There with us should have been my teddy bear, the last possession I owned, but it was lost in the car we'd slept in that ended up being stolen. Homelessness is a horrible trauma I wish on no one at all, so why have I refuse to offer my home to my sister in need? ...continue reading "Therapy Review: Hard Choices and Boundaries with Family"

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This morning's nightmares are the straw that could break the camels back as I struggle with the emotional side of health and pain levels. In order to keep walking the line I need to take a moment to breathe.

I feel a bit angry. I woke up angry from dreams and memories that disgust me. There are the sounds of abuse that haunt me that will be drowned out by my choice of music and honestly a few tears. It feels important to take a moment, pause, let myself cry and then go forward.

During this breather I'm not answering the phone or texting but there will be a lot of emergency self soothing. I'm planning grilled cheese sandwiches and soup. I'm going to snuggle with my electric blanket that smells of lavender.

Today it's me, Super Clyde, my sketchbook and a big pot of tea. In a beautiful, hot, lavender and rose bath, I'm going to wash away every bit of last night's dreams and make sure I have enough inner strength to be productive.

Faith

 

Jordan's RiverAfter reading an entry about generations who didn't understand that they had been victimized, I was reminded of an old poem. Though not my best writing, it describes the 'good old days' when people didn't rock the boat, they just accepted their circumstances, their community guidelines and gender roles. And some didn't realize they were being conditioned to be a passive part of society.

I read an entry about three generations of women who didn't realize they had been violated in some way. What I read made me want to jump in the room of that situation and go, "Can't you hear yourself? Don't you understand you're describing a violation of your person?" But I wasn't there to say that. I read on, shocked, horrified and saddened for the individuals who live veiled by decades of community conditioning. ...continue reading "#Metoo and You Should Too"

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When I talked to Dr. D he asked how I did with him gone. I didn't want him to think I cared or needed him so I told him I did just fine. I told him I needed the vacation time too, which is true. I didn't want him to go for two weeks. The timing felt bad. I felt like I was in the middle of a medical crisis and really needed my therapist. He has this confidence that my friends will support me. My friends are confident my therapist will support me. I don't feel too supported with the depression and such lately. Someone else will do it, that seems to be the standard.

...continue reading "First session after vacation. Angry with the therapist."

There's something about having another living thing making noise that helps me feel less alone. Skip to 20 seconds for the start. His big performance is at 55 seconds. This is what Clyde does while doing his service dog duties of laying on my legs to help with the pain. He falls asleep and snores. Gotta love it.

There was one night when he snored so loudly that he woke me. I was groggy from medication and not clear who was snoring. I had to talk to myself to bring me back to 2017 where I do not sleep in a room with my sister. Usually his snoring doesn't trigger it, it makes me feel safe but some of the content of my therapy session concerning abuse got mixed up in current reality and grog. ...continue reading "Snoring. Dreaming of Flashbacks. Losing Mary Jane."

Family tree on my backColors speak louder than wordsI've thought a lot of my mother lately. In therapy Friday afternoon we talked about traveling, the orchestra, theater, opera and all the cultural things she loved. It's a strange contrast between the tyrant and the artist but there was in fact a contrast, one I loved. I recall my mother singing around the house. I knew when she sang it would be a safe day. For some reason when she sang all the vile went away.

One of my mother's favorite animals is the African Elephant which is why I purchased a notebook with one on the cover. I also liked the quote which says: Colors speak louder than words.

The loss is incredible.
Grant mercy please.
She left deep wounds, many questions, but no answers. I have to find resolution in wreckage.

In the notebook I've written letters to my mother, some kind, others telling her exactly how I felt living with her. These letters and drawings are just another step in healing from the war god I called mother. ...continue reading "Mother’s and Grey Elephants"

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I've tried to write this entry since Monday but I've run from it. I don't really want to write it because it hurts.

Therapy was hard, as usual. We went over the dream where the man was stabbed in the hallway. As I told Dr. D the part about hearing the man stabbed to death while hiding in the closet, Dr. D blurted out, "You know that's your brother, right?" I said, "Yes, and my sister." Here I am age 46 and I can still hear them both scream. I can still feel the fear as if I were backed in a corner watching, again. I told Dr. D that hearing my siblings abused or seeing it happen often felt worse than being abused myself. I remember it so clearly and I am certain it's what divides us to this day.  ...continue reading "Therapy Review – Slaughtering Peace of Mind"

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Entry Content: In some areas the dream was funny, strange and then ended violently. There is some sexual conversation, no abuse of children. Violent stabbing deaths. Mention of self injury.

Dream: I was standing in line in a food court with two restaurants serving my favorite food on both sides, but I was in a different line for a free hamburger. I stood in a very long line for what felt like forever. Finally I was at the front and ready for my order when a family of four walked right up to the front and began placing an order. I explained I'd been there and politely went on ordering but they kept talking to me. The family was so nice and talkative that I didn't realize while they talked to me, more family members arrived and ordered their meal for 15 people right under my nose. For my inconvenience, and much to my delight, the company gave me a free 13 inch sweet potato pie with my hamburger. ...continue reading "Dream Therapy: Murder and Powerlessness 1"

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