Saturday, June 29, 2013

More changes and a little Sharing.

After yesterdays post...Changes...there have been more. I think I've mentioned before my need for "down time" or "alone time" or "just leave me the fuck alone time."  Yeah. I think I have. Up until now I've have a pretty decent balance with my own child. (aside from summer vacation). Unfortunately, his Dad is being moved to second shift in a couple of weeks which means a few things. Jack loses about 6 nights per month with his Dad and vice versa. It also means I lose my free Wednesday and Friday nights. Not the end of the world, as I don't do much anymore anymore, but still, for the Crazy Muthah that needs her time to recharge...losing six of those nights per month, is kind of huge. Not the end, but damn near close.

Yeah. So, moving on. I found a  fucking fabulous posts last night that was absolutely perfect for the state of mind I was (am) in, and what happens to me. I can't always find the ways to put it in words, but I follow this woman...and trust me, she can. It was also perfect because now I have a child who have intrusive/obsessive thoughts and has for some reason decided I'm a Catholic Priest, and confesses everything to me.

I also found this:  and thought...holy shit. This could be me. It really could be. Maybe it's you?  If not, it's a pretty interesting read.

That's it for today. I'm beat and there are about five noises running in the background of my life, so focusing well, I am not. Sorry for the typos if there are any.

Hope, who isn't afraid to mix Ativan with whatever adult beverage might be hiding in my fridge. 

Friday, June 28, 2013


First, a week off from Blogging is not a vacation. It's more like being imprisoned in my own mind, which, by the way...scary, scary place.

Second, here I am, again. Since my last post, I've done some taking control of my own life. A little, I think. I thought I was letting go, as well. I was refocusing, I was attempting to live in the moment, and I was breathing. All very good things. Today, however, I feel like I'm back to square one.

With school ending on Monday, it's been a week of changes. Changes in schedule and routine. For me, this sucks. I can't really put it any other way. It just plain sucks. I try to wrap my brain around the change, and attempt to adjust. There are things I simply have to do, like work for instance, or we won't eat or have a place to live. So I do the best I can, but it is seriously, nearly impossible to focus if I am out of my familiar element.  I managed, with three panic attacks (is that even what they really are?) I felt them coming on (and feel another as I am typing) but I couldn't for the life of me, talk myself down. I couldn't breath through it. I couldn't make it stop, so I reached for the Ativan both times. I'm not sure what the trigger was. If it was the change, or the stress of the change, or both. What happens to my body physically, makes me want to crawl out of it. I've actually tried a few times, and unfortunately that's impossible.

Anyway, aside from having trouble getting my mind to adjust to sudden change, we are headed on a mini vacation bright and early Monday morning.

(I just had to take a little break, because my son just walked up to me, upset over a video game. His cheeks were bright red with scratch marks on them. I asked him how that happened and he said he did it because he was so mad he couldn't finish the level. I talked him down and explained how hurting himself is never the answer. This doesn't happen often, but it does happen, and every time it worries me more and more. )

Monday morning we leave to spend two nights, three days in Maine. Sounds great, right? Probably. To a normal person. But I think we've established I'm not one of those. I know that it is counterproductive to worry about all of things that could go wrong ahead of time. I'm not an idiot, I just suffer from anxiety. It's kind of what I do. I worry. I suffer. I write. I move forward, an inch at a time.

It's Friday. I've just spent the whole week attempting to do something that is nearly impossible for me. I've had NO quiet time. We are now heading into a Kid Weekend. And most likely a rainy one at that. This means being stuck in the house. This mean, not only no quiet time, but NOISE, instead. This means two or more people talking at once. This means television and electronic device noises simutaneously. This means fighting. This means bodies rushing up and down and to and fro. This also means my BF's behavior changes. Key word and trigger: Change. I'm not sure why this happens and we've fought endlessly about it, but still it happens. It actually started last night. It's almost as if he withdraws. He will forgo doing anything else that might need to be done and sit in the same spot on the couch for hours on end on his iPad. (Seriously, I could leave the house for a couple of hours and he wouldn't even notice I was gone.)The kids with run the roost. Grabbing food and drinks and leaving trash and wrappers and clothes on the floor. There will be little conversation between him and I. (Part of this, I admit, is because I, too, have started to withdraw, in an attempt to save myself. I can't sit on the couch all day next to a man who says nothing and in the middle of noise and dirty dishes and trash. I can't do it.) .So, yeah, this is kind of what happens, and what I'm sure will happen again, as it's Friday and I've already heard nothing from him all day. Change. 

Then, after all that fun filled excitement, we get to drive a couple of hours on the Highway. Another Trigger. The time away was actually something I was looking forward to. Now, however, it looks like rain the whole time. I'm not sure how we will compensate for that, given we had the Beach and Lobster Fishing on the agenda, but spending two days in a hotel room is not an option.

I honestly don't want any of this to affect me. I wish it didn't, but it does. I talked about it this week in my third visit to The Head Doctor. But because he's not a magician, and can't wave a magic wand, his take was less than helpful, basically telling me what I already know. That mixing oil and water isn't possible. You have to either accept that it's never going to blend properly, or you have to stop doing it. He suggested that perhaps I could explain what happens to me, and maybe we could reach a level of compromise or at the very least my BF would understand a little better. I laughed, and said I've been trying to that for a while now, but gave up and went with the therapy idea instead. He laughed. I don't think he thinks I'm unreasonable or crazy. My gut tells me he knows exactly what I am.

And that, is where I am at, at this very moment. Now that I've done a messy brain dump here, I'm going to do my best to once again, let it go. I will try to enjoy myself, even if that means Ativan and isolation. I will do my best to not predict disaster and roll with the punches.

Hope, who is realizing that Congnitive Therapy is work. Hard work. As is breathing...

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Even my subconscious is stressed out.

Yesterday was an interesting, and informative day. Last evening ended up being stressful and eye opening all at once.  Completely failed at those thought exercises, but in my defense I'm a novice and I'm dealing with some repetitive trigger inducing behaviors. By myself and others. Last night was full of nightmares. The kind that wake you up, but when you go back to sleep you're still there. The gist was I was surrounded by a bunch of people who just barged in in the middle of the night with very little thought or regard to anything except the fact that, well, they wanted to. They took over my home and my yard and starting making all of these changes. There were chainsaws, and loud music, and hammering everywhere I went. I was trying to get them to stop saying "this is my house, it's the  middle of the night for Christ sake!"  No one would listen. Everyone was saying. "Relax. You're over reacting."  I tried to tell my BF that these people had to leave and he laughed, rolled his eyes and walked away. I think I finally ended up pulling my hair and rocking behind a bush. Okay. So not your typical nightmare, I suppose, but it felt like one to me. It was also a pretty good depiction of what I feel is going on in my life right now. Noise, people taking over, no one listening, no respect, no consideration, the only communication I get from anyone is the same tired "relax".  To that, I have only this to say...fuck off, dumb ass dream people.

Anyway, I've often joke that I can predict the future. In certain instances I can, but it most likely related to my ability to latch onto patterns. Patterns of behavior in general. I end up eventually knowing that if so and so says they are going to do this, they are really going to do that. History is the best prediction tool there is. Honestly, I used to always, I mean always, take people at their word about everything. Big things, little things, unimportant things. All that did was teach me that most people's words are just that. Words. They don't necessary link them to anything real. Like an action, or even a promise. So now, I pretty much know better. Kind of. I still haven't let go of that nasty expectation though. Even though I know it won't happen, I often expect or at the very least hope, this time, maybe this time, it will. All this has done is make me a jack ass.

So what have I learned since last night?  It's time to take some serious ass control over my own life. It's time to stop expecting anything from anyone else. It's time to put more faith and belief in me, and realize that no matter what I do or say or beg for, I will never be able to change anothers behavior. Only they can do that, and only if they hear you, not just listen, but actually hear, and only if they have the desire to do so. Without desire, nothing ever happens. We all know that. I've also learned that communication with another person isn't always going to happen. Sometimes it never will, but that doesn't mean I have to stop communicating. It just means that particular horse is dead.

Letting go. Essentially that is what I am doing. It's scary for me because I'm an all or nothing type person. When I let go, I usually do it with both hands. I'm not really all that scared right now though. It's become scarier for me to continue feeling the intense anxiety, annoyance, anger, neglect, and indifference. It's scarier for me to lay in bed at night and for it take two hours for me to slow my own heart beat down. I know where this road will lead and I'm not willing to go down it. So it stops. Now.

Hope, who is putting herself first, because if you're not first, your last. Thank you Ricky Bobby.

Also, dumb ass typos fixed. I think...

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Hoarding and Possibly the Start of Something.

First off, a little confession.  I'm a paper hoarder. I admit it. As much as I need order in my home to have order in my brain, and as much as I hate clutter and knick knacks, I am a complete and total paper hoarder, and have been since I was a child. I still have every poem/story I ever wrote and every drawing and art project from my childhood. I have scrap pieces of paper that contain nothing more than thoughts or ideas or book titles. Once I had my son the obsession extended on to his paper as well. I notice it most at this time of year. School is about to end for the summer and I'm staring at that pile of school papers sitting in his basket in the corner wondering what to do with them all. I start off with very good intentions. I'll only save the best. The cutest. The most sentimental. Somewhere during the sorting process I realize I can't get rid of any of it. None. Just. Can't. Do it. Usually what I do is pack them up in a box and label it something like..."Jack, 3rd Grade."...and off to a closet or basement it goes. Not sure why this is, but I'm pretty sure it's not going to change, and my son now has developed an attachment to his papers as well. We just love 'em. Confession complete.

Moving second therapy session is complete. I feel slightly more optimistic this week than I did last week, and have some thought exercises to keep my brain busy and a recommended book to read. Mostly, though, I'm relieved because the hard part is over. Or what I consider the hard part. The messy, complicated, dark and dreary, dreaded past.  I'm sure it will be revisited, but the overview is over. Where I fit in my family and where I came from and how it all is now. It's a series of bumpy and winding roads in my brain. Roads with no stop signs. They just go on and on and on, one running right into the next. For me it's hard to explain. Even harder when I see the looks after each messy fact and detail. I usually just want to stop, but I didn't. I kept it pretty factual and brief so he could at least get a visual map of the maze that has been my life. For the most part, I think I did pretty well, only I laughed through the whole thing. I tried not to, and I wasn't laughing because I thought it was funny. Maybe it's just nervous laughter. Maybe it's "I know how ridiculous this all sounds' laughter. Or maybe it's that cross wiring thing I mentioned before. If he noticed, and I'm sure he did, he said nothing. Thank god.

Perhaps because my thoughts are so visual, I feel as though this whole therapy thing is a painting. Today we got the background filled in with muted colors and  quick broad strokes.  Next we get to work on the important parts. The details. The fine points.  All of the things that are up front and in focus. Sort of. In any case, it feels kind of good.

During my brief and factual outline of the "Life of Hope", he was able to pick up on my inability to connect with people. Most people. Not a huge eye opener for me, of course, because I kind of already knew that.  But the fact that he was able to get it from the words I was saying gave me a little boost, maybe?  Belief?  Belief that maybe someone can see me, after all.  I wanted to say..."yes, that's it exactly! A connection hardly ever happens, so on the rare occasion that it does, I don't want anything to change. I don't want to lose it!"  I didn't say that though. I did say that my inability to connect somehow extends to my own life though. When I talk about my childhood (laughing or not) I feel very little emotion. While I know my past has had an effect on me, when I go over it piece by piece, it's as if I'm describing a movie I once saw. I can tell you about the characters and the scenes and the events, but it's as if it all happened to someone else and I was simply an observer. The emotions only come when I place my own son in the role of the child. When I imagine any of it happening to him, I can then feel just how wrong it all was.

Next on the agenda, is to stop thinking about all of that, and to refocus. Along with manipulating my own thoughts, and reading, I've given myself another project to work on. I'm going to take some time away from everything and everyone else, each day for a week and do something I enjoy. Sounds simple. It won't be. First of all I have to identify what the hell it is I still enjoy. I'm going to start that now.

Hope, who is also going to attempt to slowwwww down. 

Monday, June 17, 2013

One more thing I don't understand.

I remember when I was a child my mother used to confuse the hell out of me. My adoptive mother. I would see how she was with me, her niece and nephew, my father, her mother, her sister, her sister-in-law, etc.., and although I was sure she was still the same person she didn't act like it. Her mannerisms changed, the tone, sound and pitch of her voice changed, and even the way her faced moved changed. With each different person she engaged with she became "someone else". When she was with her sister, she was loud, blunt, and had a thick Massachusetts accent. When she was with her sister-in-law her voice became quiet and she pronounced each syllable of each word to the point of annoyance. It was like this with everyone. "Why are you acting like that?" I'd ask. "Acting like what?" she's say. "Like you're in a play. Like you're pretending." I'm not sure she ever got what I was asking. I am sure she eventually got offended when I told her she was being fake. But, really, she was, whether she noticed it or not.

It's not that I was unfamiliar with the changes in people entirely, it was that I was confused as to why there were so many and why people couldn't just be who they were ALL THE TIME. My birth mother was probably the first person to introduce to such change. She went from Sober, quiet, and soft spoken to Drunk, loud, and angry and lastly to completely withdrawn. (A trait her and I seem to share, especially as I find myself more and more alienated as the years go by.) With her, though, I knew it was what was in the bottle that brought about the change.

As the years went by I realized that this is what people do. That what I see as being "fake" is actually how the majority of people interact with one another. They share with some, they hide from others. They swear in front of her and they keep their language G rated in front of him. This is what most people do and no one really gives a shit. Everyone accepts it. Or perhaps they don't notice the subtle differences?  I've learned this "art form" to a point. I know there are definite times I can't be myself completely. After having a child you are forced into censoring yourself to a point. For the most part though I'm more like my Birth Mother. I have the choice of being myself, letting the anger out, or completely withdrawing. That's it. I find myself, now, having specific times where these three options play over and over like a pattern. I can even tell you now when it will happen. If given a choice (and maybe I do have a choice after all?) I would just rather be myself. If how I am doesn't match whatever person you are deciding to be today then I guess that's too bad. If how I am doesn't fit into the world of ever changing relationships then I have to seriously consider the fact that maybe that is a world I don't belong in.

Relationships. Hard. Nearly impossible and always changing. If I hear one more time about how natural that is I think I might implode. We make a choice somewhere along the line to STOP giving of ourselves. We decide that for some reason it's not nearly as important as all of the other little distractions in our lives. Maybe it's because we get lazy, or maybe it's because we're simply just not that into it anymore. No one will admit that, of course. That's far too much honesty for the average relationship to stomach.  I'm mean, just because I take you for granted, doesn't mean I don't want you around.  Ridiculous. People like me don't play this game very well at all. I know this. I've known it since the first time I ever allowed someone else into my world and my heart. Is it rigid thinking? Maybe. Or maybe I just don't "grow" like other people do, and I'm doomed to stay lost in a fairy tale that never existed.

In any case, even at the ripe old age of 42, people still confuse me. I don't understand why now because of "that" we have to act like "this".  Because, damn it, after well over a year of continuously hearing that nothing was changing, things fucking changed, and apparently they are never going back to the way they were.

Hope, who has learned that even though she saw, heard, smelled, tasted, and felt the change coming, ultimately, nothing she did ended up stopping it. 

Friday, June 14, 2013

The long awaited update. Or me just talking to myself. Again.

Okay. I think I'm back. It's been quite a while since I've updated anything here. Not because I haven't had anything to say. Mostly because I've been busy trying to make a living, and finding the time to spend on things I actually enjoy is challenging at best. I'm going to try tonight, but there are three overly tired and somewhat hyper kids yammering in the background so concentrating won't be an easy feat. 

As you can probably tell, I survived the first visit with the The Head Doctor. My main reason for going is to attempt to get my own anxiety under control, and under control without meds if possible. That is my goal, so to speak, because apparently I have to have one. I'm trying to keep an open mind and remind myself it was just one visit and I can't judge the whole experience by that one visit. He did say a couple of things that I thought may actually be useful. (Is it normal for the doctor to talk more than you do?) For the most part, though, I can't help thinking that this man hasn't experienced what I experience so how the Hell can he possibly help me?  How do I know he doesn't suffer from anxiety?  You could call it a sixth sense...Or you could just listen to him talk, basically repeating the same words and advice you've heard for years from all the non anxiety sufferers in your life. I have a hunch that even though I'm the one looking for help, I still know far more about my own condition that he ever will. Still, I will try. And I will try to be open to the possibly that maybe I'm wrong about that. I will try. I'm not even thinking about mentioning my other suspicions at this point. Part of me feels like if he's legit, and actually listening, he'll figure it out. The other part of me kind of knows that's a long shot. In any case, this is where I am. I'm attempting something I have little faith in. I know I should be going about it with a more positive approach but, well, this is me we're talking about and that rarely happens. 

In other news, I had finally made an appointment for Jack, for a full evaluation. Both myself and his father were all set to go forward with it 100%, and finally find out once and for all what is going on. That was until I printed out the pages and pages of paperwork that needed to be filled out and started reading it. The first part that I wasn't crazy about was that I had to get the school involved. Does doctor patient confidentiality not apply to a Psych Eval?  I'm really uneasy about getting his teacher and school involved in anything until we have a handle on what is going on ourselves. It feels like an invasion of privacy, and yes, I realise how ridiculous that sounds given the fact that I'm writing about it here. Don't care. The next thing that bothered me was, in reading through all the questions, I could tell that this five pertained to my child having ADHD...these five meant my son was BiPolar...these pertained to Schizophrenia...those pertained to Depression and then these last few pertained to Severe Autism. If I were to answer all of those questions honestly (and I was a little annoyed that the way they were worded made it seem like all these children are "problem children") my son would be fine. Better than fine. Nothing to worry about. I saw very little that pertained to anxiety, which is the main symptom we're trying to manage. The questions relating to autism were ridiculous...Does your child line up over 100 items?  What!?  My child has been lining up toys/items for years. Never 100 or more. How many children line up 100 or more items?  What I got from that is they focus primarily on the severe/easy to spot cases. If Jack lines up 5 -20 items, he probably wouldn't fit their criteria. And lastly, after reading through everything and thinking on it for a few more days, I couldn't help but feel a tremendous amount of guilt. Guilt for putting him through something like that when I know in my heart and soul that he doesn't suffer from any of those other diagnoses. So, after all of that, and after talking with his father, we both agreed that we don't want to put him through anything unnecessary, and we're back to square one searching for the right doctor. We both feel the situation is unique in that Jack is NOT a problem child. In fact, he is the exact opposite of a problem child. He's good. Almost too good. You won't readily see the issues unless you know how and where to look. My faith in finding the right person to do that is dwindling, as I continue to read horror story after horror story of other parents ordeals. His father thinks that if we can  find him help with the anxiety the rest will fall into place. I don't think either one of us sees an AS diagnoses as good or bad at this point. I think we both know what we know and mostly just want to make sure he has the tools he needs to manage the areas that will be difficult for him. 

So, that is pretty much what's been going on in my bubble. Not all that's been going on, but I only have so much time, and these old eyes are now starting to see floaters. Until next time...

Hope, who knows she sounds like a complete nut looking for help and not trusting anyone to give it, but...that's the way it is, in this here bubble. 

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Waiting Room

I know classical music is supposed to be relaxing. At least I think I know that. But when it's too loud it's actually stimulating.  Like coffee. Maybe three cups. 

I'm currently sitting in the waiting room for my first head doctor (as I will call him) appt in 24 years. I'm nervous, and because I'm fighting to keep my thoughts in some kind of order I'm sitting here writing this. I'm afraid if I don't they will simply fly out of my head and I'll turn into a bumbling idiot.

He's five minutes late, by the way. Not that I care, but I did notice. I also noticed someone needs to vacuum and dust the waiting room. I noticed the toys, which is good, because if I get the "good vibe" I will ask him about Jack. 

Why am I here again? I have to keep reminding myself. My feet are numb. I'm not sure why. I purposely have been med free for a while now. Maybe not the best idea. I really want to turn the music down.

My turn. Update at a later date.

Hope, who's trying to breath.