Post-Apocalypse

I'm just recently (as in an hour or so ago) recovering from a complete meltdown of sorts. Full on panic, dread, doom, numbness, dizziness, shortness of breath, tears, and the feeling of wanting to be out of my own skin. It's a feeling that is so hard to describe, so that anyone who has never experienced it, could actually get an idea as to what it is like. Saying it is awful isn't enough. Saying you start bargaining immediately to make it go away isn't enough. I will quit smoking. I will take better care of myself. I'll go back on Celexa. I'll do yoga. I'll meditate. I usually wind up being mad at myself. Angry that my brain is in control. Angry that I can't control my brain. Long story short. I took an Ativan and a long hot shower and it has subsided. Just like that. As quickly as it came. This particular attack wasn't unexpected. I'd been waiting for it. I knew it was coming and as I sit here now, feeling somewhat okay, I know there will be more.

The latest and the greatest in the Parental visit saga is that they are safe and sound now back in Las Vegas. As it should be. The whole two weeks was emotionally draining and extremely nerve wracking, and the night before they were leaving the Time Bomb that is mother went off. Boom. If you knew my mother you would know a few very basic things about her. You would know that she is loud. Not only loud but abrasive. Like an S.O.S. pad only less soapy. She talks a lot. She's a bit selfish and only knows how to "give" by using money. She is bossy and she contradicts herself constantly. Sometimes within minutes. I'm not sure why that is. I'm not sure why any of it is. But it is. I had learned over the years that it was safest to mostly sit back and shut up, but if you know anything about me, it's that I don't always do what is safest. I also tend to zoom in on the details, and if there is a contradiction, I will be drawn to it like a magnet.

On the day before they were leaving we had a phone conversation that was basically to set up a time for them to come over that night to say goodbye. (Originally they were planning on another Auction night but had decided not to go. I won't lie. The fact that visiting with us was an option and not a definite was a confirmation that felt like shit.) Anyway, I thought they could come over and visit with Jack after he got home school, then maybe we could order take out. NO. No? No we don't want to eat anymore food. Ever?? Weird. Anyway. Her first plan was they would come over after Jack did his homework around 4:00. Okay. BUT, they have to print out their boarding passes at exactly 5:00pm. Exactly?  Yes not a minute later. At this point it dawns on me, I need ink for my printer, so I say I will go out and get ink for my printer. NO. No? NO. We'll just come back here and print them. My mind is calculating, which sucks because I hate math...but...basically that means they will visit for a half hour. On the night before they leave. Breathe. I'm getting a little annoyed by this point. The refusal to eat with us. The insistence on printing the boarding passes, and I realize that if they had gone to the auction as originally planned there would have been no printing of the damn boarding passes until they had returned home. In my mind I'm thinking so why not just come and stay longer, you're going to have to eat at some point, and print them when you get back to my Aunts. Boom!  BOOM!!!

BOOOM!!!!!

She exploded. Like a stick of dynamite. Looking back, I think it was the fact that I pointed out the boarding pass situation. How she wouldn't have been able to print them if she had stuck to her original plans, so why is it so important that she do it now? (In my heart of hearts I think I know why. She didn't really want to come to my house and any excuse to shorten the trip was usable) In any case, she yelled and she screamed. I could barely get a word in edge wise. I'm sure my Aunt and my Father who had to have been close by listening were confused as to what the hell I might be yelling about on the other end of the line. Only I wasn't yelling. Except for once. To tell her to stop yelling at me and that I wasn't going to fight with her. I never raised my voice prior. I simply said something she didn't like. Something that exposed her motives. I hardly remember all the words she said during her tirade except when she accused me of being selfish and wanting everything to go my way. Irony? Or just plain sickness? I think I might have laughed then because it was so completely ridiculous I could hardly wrap my brain around it. She said a few more things that made about just as much sense  and then she handed the phone to my father. We both just sat there like...hey. Hey. Neither of us sure what to do with any of it. After about a minute she calmed down a little and said they would come over after they printed their boarding passes, so a little after five. After I hung up my head was literally spinning. What the fuck just happened?

As crazy and unpredictable as her outburst was, it was nothing I hadn't experienced in the past. I think that maybe I might have thought this kind of behavior was over. Done. That it used to happen, but it doesn't happen anymore. Needless to say, my brain linked on to the pattern, and the floodgates of my memory opened wide. It wasn't pretty and I'm still having a damn hard time shutting the door.

But as if that unwelcome drama wasn't enough... there is more. The icing on the cake so to speak. After winding down from the phone call I pretty much went about my day. Jack came home and did his homework. I told him Grandma and Grandpa were coming for one last visit tonight. He got excited and started picking out all the things he wanted to show them but forgot to show them the one time they came before. BF came home from work. Because I kept getting a very loud NO regarding eating with us, I ordered take out for us three only. And we waited. When are they coming? Are they here yet? Didn't they say a little after 5? 

At 6:30 I pick up my phone and call. My mother answers. Hello?  Hi. Are you guys coming?  NO. No we're not. We talked about it and we're not. Wait. What!?  My mind is a little bit blown by this point but I manage to ask the question. "Were you going to call me and let me know?"  To which she answered. "No, I wasn't."  I had to ask again."Okay. Wait. You decided you weren't coming to say goodbye and you weren't even going to call and let me know?"  No. No I wasn't.  She started saying something else here, but I simply said "Goodbye." and hung up. Then I kicked a bucket that was in my driveway clear across to other side.

Again, my head is spinning. My son is asking are they coming. No, they aren't coming. Why??  Did you call them? Call them again. Tell them I want them to. My hands are shaking as I send one last text message to my mother letting her know that her grandson had been waiting since he got home from school to see them and basically that was one shitty move on her part. How do I explain to my son why they aren't coming when I don't even fully understand it myself?  I now feel guilty. I feel like, because they don't want to spend time with me, I'm cheating him out of Grandparents. I dismiss this thought immediately. Fuck them. They should feel guilty. I tell him the truth. Not as harshly as I do here. I tell him that sometimes people don't do what they say they are going to do and we get disappointed. Sometimes we know the reason why, but somethimes we just don't.

That night was a sleepless one for me, with my own life movie playing on the screens behind my eyes. I wasn't dwelling. It was on automatic play. Like experiences attract like memories. They don't play like movies for everyone, but they do for me, and what I saw I didn't like.  It was a fact facing night of finally accepting that they (my mother in particular, because my dad does nothing on his own) aren't good for me. They are hazardous to my health. By the time I went to sleep I had convinced myself that there wouldn't be anymore contact. That I had to shut them out completely.  I'm not sure what I think now. I'm still processing.

The next morning I received a text message claiming to "just be getting your message now". There was an apology and an I don't know what happened.  A second message came through right after saying they'd like to see me, either at my aunts or at my house, and that they were leaving for the airport at 1pm. I didn't respond.  Instead, I shutdown, grabbed my new CD and headed out. I went to breakfast alone, I went shopping at few places, I drove around, got a coffee, had lunch, and was sure to return home after 1pm. It was actually a good anxiety free few hours.

Later that night I got a call and let it go to voice mail.  In listening to message, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. Nothing made sense. Her voice was small and quiet, almost childlike, and her words were soft, somewhat matter of fact, with a We Love You at the end. This message surely wasn't left by the same woman who just the day before couldn't have cared less.  I didn't call back. Instead I got angry again.

This afternoon I got an email from her. (This is where the above panic attack came in to play) I haven't even read it yet. Just seeing it in my inbox was enough to set me off. I definitely have no desire to speak to either of them right now. Maybe that will change. Or maybe I won't let myself get sucked in again, because it's too fucking much. I know she knows she was wrong. I know that's why she's playing all meek and mild and tossing out I love yous like they actually mean something. But it's not an excuse. It can't be an excuse anymore.  If someone attacks you physically, treats you like shit, and then tells you it's your fault, does a sorry make it okay? No, it doesn't. So it shouldn't be okay for someone to attack you like that verbally either.

This was a long ass post. I apologize. Mostly I wrote it for me. Also sorry for the all the bold and italics. And spelling?  I have a get out of jail free card for today.

Hope, who is going to get her money's worth out of therapy tomorrow.

Back to Reality.

Last week I got to escape for a mini vacation with the BF. It's amazing what a little sand, sea, and ocean air can do to calm the nerves. Aside from the 100 degree heat plus humidity, which gave me some serious cankles on the second to last day, it was a nice break from reality. If only I could have taken the sand, sea and ocean air home with me...

My first day back was filled with some mysterious stomach ailment, a panic attack, and physical exhaustion which had me asleep by 2pm. Switching gears is not only difficult for me, but also time consuming, as the only way it seems to work out well is if I take the slow and steady approach. Being home seems to have brought on this bizarre feeling of impending doom. It doesn't make sense and I can't often rationalize it with thoughts or words. All I can do is feel it. And when I do, it feels like shit.

I had my umpteenth (only because I can't remember what number this is) visit with The Head Doctor this afternoon, and I do feel slightly better, which is good because maybe that means I'm getting my money's worth. We touched on a lot of things so far, which makes it difficult sometimes to remember them all. Today the gist was more on why I feel this impending "doom" and why I feel this crazy need to leave, run away, start over etc...every three years or so.  Three years does seem to be my limit. I think Doll Making is the only job I've ever done that has lasted longer than that. Most everything though, work, relationships, place of residence, all have a three year shelf life. Even if they've actually lasted longer, three years is when it all starts that downward slide. It's like a three year itch, and I think part of my recent unsettled, anxiety ridden, and irritated state may have something to do with the fact that for the first time in my life, I'm not scratching that itch. I'm not impulsively quitting my job and jumping into something unpredictable. I'm also not ending a relationship, selling all my belongings and moving to another state. I'm just sitting here, doing this. You know what it feels like when you have an actual itch? Have you ever tried NOT scratching it? It'll just about drive you up a wall. Right now, I'm about half way up.

We also touched on that feeling of not belonging. Ironically, I didn't have that or the feeling of doom, while away. In a place that was mostly foreign to me, I felt calm and safe. Mostly. It wasn't until I got home that I felt as if I had woken up in a place I didn't belong. It was like one of those dreams where you suddenly realize you were supposed to go to work and you never did. Your heart sinks into your stomach, and the adrenaline starts to flow, causing your heart to beat out of your chest. Only it's not a dream, and I really have no idea where I'm supposed to be, only that I feel like it isn't here, and here isn't safe.

Somehow, these things are tied together. It could be because I'm so stuck on the pattern of things that I can feel deep in my bones that this... this, is NOT MY pattern. This is not how I do things. It could be that staying put, rather than stopping, running and reinventing, is throwing my whole being off kilter. Or it could be something entirely different. Either way, it's pretty obvious that if I'm not going to keep repeating that pattern, that I have to do something else. I'm not sure what yet though.

My homework is to pay attention to those times that I do feel at ease and like I'm right where I'm supposed to be. And also to pay attention to those times that I feel most uneasy and most like I don't belong. Seems simple enough, although for me it probably won't be. Patterns are easy. Linking and connecting is not. I don't always have the easiest time identifying my emotions or showing them appropriately, never mind trying to actually connect them to a real life event. Homework is hard, and as a dear friend said just recently, so is living.


Hope, who is still moving forward but at a snails pace...slow and steady.

Humidity and I probably should have taken an Ativan...

As usual, I should be working right now, but with the humidity (impossible to dry paint) and the shaky hands (impossible to fucking paint), here I am. Which is good, I guess, because this is where I belong. Or this belongs to me, I'm not really sure which.

As predicted, the mini vacation was stressful. For me. There were parts that were fun, but the underlying "tone" kept reminding me that I'm a square peg, trying desperately to fit into a round hole. In short, I just don't fit. It sucks, and it sucks to keep being reminded of where my place is, and how no matter how hard I try or how much of my own comfort I sacrifice, I just can't seem to get pass that huge glass wall that separates me from, shall we say, the "normal" people. Yeah. That's what we'll say, because when you break it all down, that's what it is.

This morning was the first day of the Summer Youth Program at the lake. It's only three days a week for three hours each day. I knew Jack wouldn't be thrilled about it, but the price was right, it gets him off the video games and interacting, and it gives me a little free time to do...whatever, work, buy food, this. I had to "make a deal" with  him to even attempt the first the week. Forever the negotiator, he decided for a mini figure of The Flash, he would be willing to give it a shot.

We pulled up at about 5 minutes to 9, not sure they would even be having it due to the weather, but luckily (or not) it was still on. I talked briefly with the "Director" who is well, basically a teenager, and then the other Mom's and kids started to show up. I stood there watching my son pick at his nails knowing exactly how he felt, and all the unknowns that were running through his head. I knew he wanted to back out, but because he "made the deal" he would stay and keep his word, no matter how much he wanted to run back into the car. Seeing this hurts me on so many levels. I had to keep reminding myself that he needs this push and he is able to adjust. As we stood there, I purposely attempted to make eye contact with other Moms. I say attempted, because although I looked, they never did. I asked a question about pick up if it started raining, and the young teenage girl was the only one who heard/answered me. The standing there while the other Mom's chatted away last for maybe 10 minutes, although it felt like 10 hours, and not once did any of them glance my way. Not once.

As I got in my car to go, I was immediately tossed back 20 plus years and flooded with thoughts about wanting nothing more than to leave this town. I didn't allow it to last too long, because god knows, I don't need the extra push. But honestly this particular scenario isn't unusual. This is the way it is. Especially here. I have lived other places where it was easier and people have been more open an accepting. I liked living there better obviously. But this is where I am now, and this is the way it always plays out. I can make myself crazy trying to figure out why. Is it me? Am I just unapproachable? I'm too quiet. I'm not forward enough. I'm ugly. So ugly in fact they can't look at me. Or maybe I really am invisible. The thoughts go around and around and always end up in the same place. There is something wrong with me.

I think, intellectually, I know the why's better now, but it still doesn't do anything to stop the initial railroading of internal questions and feelings. I have to remind my myself that it doesn't matter. It's not like I want to stand there and chat mindlessly with these women. A simple hello or introduction would be nice, but aside from me throwing myself in their faces, that's just not going to happen.

On Sat, we were invited to a BBQ. I chose to bow out, due to the fact that the entire week had been overwhelming and the thought of standing in a humid 90 something degrees with people I didn't know, where this same incident would play out over and over again, was too much. I'm sure this came off as me being selfish or anti-social. On one hand, I hate that, and feel the need to explain. On the other, I've tried to explain and receive no understanding, so fuck it.

I did, however, make several attempts to connect with people and extended invites over the past week. None were accepted. In fact, some never even responded. Once again, square peg, round hole. There is no fixing it. If it were another time, another place, I would be moving on. I would be initiating my own change. Wrong or right, I would just do it, in order to feel something good.

Right now, I do feel like I'm on the verge of something. Hopefully not a breakdown. Because that would fucking suck. I'm hoping it's more like, finding my own way. Eliminating undue stress is on top of my priority list. This means saying no. This means pissing people off and dealing with more misunderstandings and eye rolls. I wish it didn't, because that in itself is also stressful. (You see how the cycle goes?)

Hope, who feels incredibly homesick, but still can't find her way home.

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. 

Spring, Moonshine, and Living in a Literal World.

First, I'd just like to say Spring is here. Finally. It's not in full force, but it is here none the less. I spent the morning cleaning out the flower beds and dumping the sticks and leaves and debris that Winter always leaves behind. Considering my green thumb has been virtually non existent for most of my life, I'm pretty damn proud of myself.

Okay, now that that's out of the way...back to business. During all my research over the past few months, I've learned that people with Autism or Asperger's (soon to become one) are just as individual and unique as anyone else, and more often than not you will not be able to tell by just looking at them.

But, having said that, and agreeing with the sentiment "If you've met one Aspie, you've met one Aspie", I have noticed a few key traits that seem to be universal, so to speak. One of those key traits is being Literal. Upholding an exact or primary meaning of a word or words. For example, you're invited to a dinner where everyone is asked to bring a dish. And you bring a dish. Just a dish. I don't think it is always that extreme, but you get the idea. Falling under the catagory of Taking Things Literally is also ... not getting the joke. Or not being able to tell when someone is joking, by missing the clues, like facial expression, tone of voice etc...

My son was always very literal, but given the household he lives in now, and my love of sarcasm, he's learning to get it. Not always, but he's only eight. He's got time. He still struggles with knowing when someone is joking. I, myself, was very literal as a child, but honestly feel that due to my interest in figures of speech, idioms, and word origins, I'm cleaning up in that area. ;)  I do, however, still see the visual or movie in my head every time. For example, if you say "Stop beating a dead horse.", I will instantly get that visual. Kind of gross. I was also always famous for missing the joke. Being a blonde, that won me the title of Ditzy.

Apparently I'm still missing the joke. Being undiagnosed at this time, I can only attribute it to me, being me. Which is fine. Sometimes, being me is awesome. Funny, even. My tendancy to grasp on to ridiculous details, even made me laugh today.

My BF has developed a love of Hillbilly Shows, as I call them. One of those shows being Moonshiners. He will seriously watch them back to back for hours. I even bought him one of those nifty Turn Juice into Wine contraptions to play with for Christmas.  About a month or so ago he say's to me, "Save these gallon water jugs for me to put my Moonshine in when I make it." That's what he said. I think that was all he said. I may have rolled my eyes or something, thinking..."Oh god, here we go." but preceded to save the jugs. Every time I emptied a gallon jug of water I made sure not to throw it in the recycle bin and instead save it for his Moonshine. Save the jugs. Save the jugs. Save the jugs. Detail.

                                                 (Ignore the skull. It's plastic. I swear.)

Today, while I was playing in the dirt and the leaves, he walks out of the garage.

BF: "Are you really saving those Gallon water jugs?" (smirking)

Me: "Yeah. You said you wanted them."

BF: (laughs)

Me: "What's so funny?"

BF: "You were really saving those jugs!"

Me: "You said you wanted them. Why are you laughing??"

BF: "I'm not really going to make Moonshine. I was just kidding. You thought I was really going to make Moonshine!" (laughing)

Me: "No you weren't! You were kidding?? Really? You said you wanted them. I've been saving them because I really thought you wanted them!"

BF: "It's okay, it's funny."

Me: "I can't believe you were kidding. Here I was thinking I was being supportive of your crazy idea."

BF:" "I know. That's cute."

So, yeah. I finally laughed. And every time I think about now, I laugh again. But the truth of the matter is, I know this man fairly well. Maybe, better than I've known anyone, and still I miss the clues. I can see why ditzy might fit, or even gullible, but I don't really believe I'm either. I just suck at reading between the lines. This isn't the first time. It certainly won't be the last.

In my defense, though, this very same man that was joking about Moonshine, is attempting to grow a pineapple in our kitchen. A pineapple that will take two years to actually grow.

At least, I think he is...

Hope, who can still laugh at herself so that must be a good thing.