It’s difficult to explain to children why their pet died, it’s equally as difficult to explain to juvenile alter personalities why their pet died. I remember when our brown mantid died, my child alters were devastated. They were so upset they swore they never wanted any pet other than a dog or cat again. They said this as if death is exclusive to insects and fish. I told them I’d finally get that aquarium we talked about for so long but they protested, “Why, they’re just going to die. What’s the point?” They were angry and hurt and had lots of questions. We ended up going online to review the life cycle of a mantid so they could see it wasn’t anything we did wrong. There’s a life cycle and she finished hers. Information helped a bit but not completely.
After we brought home Bruce the Betta Fish things sort of settled down. Every time we passed his then small bowl they checked to make sure he was still healthy. Later when he got a full size aquarium they checked on him even more. As promised I added more fish to the aquarium. We watch the fish swim around and show their individual personalities. We watched them get bigger and more confident in their environment. The last thing I added to the aquarium was a water frog named Froggy which the little ones take delight in watching. So we went on like this with our aquarium pets, our dog and cat moving further and further from the day my little ones swore off pets.
Continue reading ‘Grief and Inside Children’
When I think I can’t be shocked by these people anymore something new develops. This time it doesn’t involve me. Awhile ago Junior moved back in. I wasn’t sure where he was sleeping because I know this house is packed from end to end with Bratty Fife’s stuff. I found out yesterday where he’s sleeping…. in the garage!!! Instead of moving her crap out of the extra bedroom upstairs into the garage he’s in the garage. He’s sleeping outside in this hot weather.
When I think I can’t be stunned by the behavior of this family anymore I remember, there’s always tomorrow.
For them it’s easier to pacify this narcissist than to hold her accountable or rock the boat. They know if they rock it she’ll flip out and become physically or verbally violent. To control her rage they go along even if it means sleeping outside while her stuff is comfortable under air conditioning.
Austin
Published on
July 30, 2009 in
Humor.
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This could also be captioned: How to scare an underprivileged African child to death.
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You shouldn’t ask “Why me?” Instead you should ask, “Why not me?” That sort of reasoning burns me. To suggest that I should not question why things happen to me goes against everything I’ve learned about the importance of self worth. If I consider myself worth something then naturally I’ll question the justification of events in my life. What did I do to deserve this? What great badness did I pursue that warrants tragic events in my life? For many the answer is “I didn’t do anything,” and it would be true. I think it’s true for myself as well. I also think it says a lot about self worth to challenge unjust, painful or unfair life events. I think it’s natural to scream out when in pain and unnatural as well as counter productive to always suck it up and always be strong. With that said I’d like to do drag people through the emotional toll of chronic pain concerning my Fibromyalgia and Lupus. This is also a review of my emotional cycle as discussed in therapy today.
When a flair up starts I get quiet and begin to isolate myself. I don’t want anyone to see me flinch or wrinkle my face because of shooting pains. I’m ashamed of my condition. I don’t want to see sad, sympathetic or empathetic looks. I certainly don’t invite pity. When it first starts my pride is hit and I want to stay away from everyone. As the pain increases depression sets in. I may not recognize it as depression at first but the signs are there. Every act seems like a chore. Everything from taking a shower to eating, talking to people or opening my eyes seems like it takes more effort than I’m willing to offer. The other day I told my therapist that I don’t even feel like getting up to make toast.
Continue reading ‘The Emotional Toll of Chronic Pain’
The dream started out with me on the roof of a 21 story building, the same building I lived in before I moved here with Barney Fife. I was facing the sun as I painted on the roof top. The sky was clear, the wind was calm, by all appearances it was a nice day. Then from behind there was a rumble. A huge cloud of dust rolled up and consumed the building. The ground began to shake and the building collapsed under me. As I fell into the rubble I thought to myself, I could have avoided this death but I totally ignored the warning signs. The emergency siren had been blaring for nearly a half hour but I tuned it out. It had gone off before and nothing was wrong. I had grown accustomed to hearing the alarm cry wolf and thought nothing of it. I just went on about my day, my activities until it was too late.
Continue reading ‘Spiritual Rubble, A Dream’
When I go shopping I don’t even consider going to the women’s section. As I walk by it I shiver and a chill goes up my spine. I can feel my brow drop and my face tighten. I’m disgusted, angry, mostly afraid of what the clothing items represent for me. I want to get as far away from the women’s section as possible. I don’t want to bump up against anything. I just want to get out of there. That’s what I told Dr. D. I don’t want it to touch me. For the record, I added, I wear girl’s under clothes. If I didn’t, well, that would be weird. He laughed.
Of course he wanted to know what these clothing items symbolize for me. It’s kind of hard to pinpoint though. It feels like to put on a woman’s clothes is to put a target on my back. It feels like women’s clothing makes me weak and identifies me as someone who can be treated in any manner with no consequences what so ever.
Continue reading ‘In Women’s Clothing’
I got caught up looking at art on the net. I need to get off here and get something done today… but I just want to look at art. Can’t the cleaning wait? There are galleries to explore, colors to dissect, lands with texture and waters that roll. Can’t sweeping, mopping and dusting wait? Just one more gallery, just one more.
I can’t help myself. I have an art sickness for which I pray there is no cure.
Austin
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