The longest hiatus since the last long hiatus...

Well, that was certainly a long break, even though it was nothing like anything that would even closely resemble a "break". Where have I been? (asked no one, ever.) Eh, I've been around. In all honestly I've been sitting right here, in this very seat. So close. So very, very close and yet so fucking far away.

I wish I could say it was something exciting and fabulous that kept me away, but unfortunately, it was work. A lot of it. I worked days, some nights, and most weekends since the end of October. It was a nice run, but with Christmas, and winter and extra bills, I sit here today, two days before Christmas with nothing left to show for it. I'm trying to not to let it feel like it was all for nothing, but...well, it feels like it was all for nothing. *sigh*.

In other news, I finally broke down and made "the call" to my parents. Not before I had sent a second email, once again, trying to... I don't know... break through a brick wall? The response was generic, completely ignoring the issue at hand. If it wasn't for my Father's Birthday being at the beginning of December I would still be resisting contact. But my old friend, Guilt, stopped by for a visit and I had a hard time resisting his argument. I made excuses like, it's not his fault he can't stand up to her...and he's old now, he's set in his ways. He's from a different time. A time when parents didn't know anything. That last one made me laugh. Mostly because it's kind of true. So, anyway, I did the right (right?) thing and called to wish him a Happy Birthday after sending him a card with some Birthday money. I also spoke with my mother. After nearly three months of no contact, She acted as if nothing had happened. She addressed nothing I had confronted her about in my emails and she was almost cheerful. It was a difficult call for me for a few reasons. This "pretending" she does isn't new. This has gone on my whole life and was confusing at best, crazy making at it's worst. I dealt with it though. I put on my mask and pretended right along with her, talking about nothing of any real importance and only offering bits and pieces of information. Nothing more than I would share with a complete stranger. This seemed to make her happy. A week later her Birthday rolled around, so I repeated this same act of sending the card, money and making the call. The incident was almost identical to the one before, except for the part where I had to pick out the card. 

Mom, even when I was younger, I knew these things for sure...

We have such a special connection, Mom.

Mom, I love how easy it is to talk to you.

Happy Birthday to a good listener, a great friend...

You're incredible, Mom.

I've learned a lot from you, Mom...just by watching how you do things and how you approach life...

What is a Mom? She's words that encourage, hugs that care and hands that help when you need it the most.

Mom, what would I do without you? Who would I call when I'm having one of those days?

And on and on they went, one sappy card after another, filled with words like trust and love and talking and listening and closeness. I couldn't find anything at all that said..."Sorry we don't connect. Happy Birthday anyway!"  I finally settled on something I could have sent my elderly neighbor, along with Christmas cards and more money. 

That was a week or so ago. It's now two days before Christmas and I've yet to receive a Christmas card for either myself or my son. Should I be surprised?  No.  Of course not. I'm am not a stupid woman. I swear to you I am not and to prove it, I've decided that in 2014 I'm going to stop acting like one. 

Drink and be Festive! (My new Holiday wishes designed to offend only recovering alcoholics)

Hope, who only had this time to write because it got too dark to paint. Thank you, daylight savings time. 

One tiny step for me. Mankind won't even notice.

Bonjour, mon petit poissons!  As you can tell, High School French didn't take me too far.

I am finally on the mend physically, I think. I'm finding some wood to knock on as we speak. After my first bout of sickness, I dove straight into a second, which has lasted much longer. If there was ever an argument against getting a flu shot, I would be it. I still have a little ways to go to be back to "normal" but the coughing has subsided and I'm sleeping. Can't really complain about that. Friday will tell if I'm in need of something stronger than just time to heal my raw and tired lungs. 

On the mental front, I'm still far from being mended. My stress level rises and falls with the tide it seems, but I'm sure it's because the situation with my parents is still unresolved and I still have no desire to think about it, let alone take action. 

Today, in therapy, we finally discussed another topic that has consumed my thoughts over most of this year, and has also seemed somewhat unresolved. Up until this point we have focused mostly on the anxiety and what causes it and what revolves around it and how to deal with it. Today, we finally talked about Asperger Syndrome. I've gotten to the point where I do feel a certain level of trust with my doctor and I value his opinion as a professional as well as a person. When he thinks something is bullshit, he's not afraid to say it. 

The subject was brought up originally in relation to Jack, because although he is doing much better this year at school and in life in general, than he was when we made and chickened out of the appointment with New England Mental Health, there is always something. That little something, in what he does, or what he says, or in what upsets him...that always brings it back to forefront. Not necessarily negative things. Just things that bring it all back and leave me questioning if I really am doing the right thing, by essentially, doing nothing. This weighs on me heavily, and I'm sure adds an invisible layer of stress and anxiety even when I'm not fully aware of it. Mostly I just needed an opinion. A professional opinion for once, to help me with the constant internal debate of " to diagnose or not to diagnose."  What I got was some long awaited peace of mind. 

Although, the discussion began with Jack, I could see the pieces of the puzzle falling together for him, almost the same as they had done for me months ago. To be honest, that didn't surprise me. What did surprise me, was his negative opinion of places like New England Mental Health, that focus their whole evaluation on deficits and problems and looking for what is "wrong".  This was one of the main reasons we backed out of the eval in the first place. I couldn't stand the thought of putting my child through that and somehow making him think there was something "wrong" with him. It really helped me to feel better about the decision to forgo the appt. Up until now I've felt like we just kind of "dropped the ball" and maybe did the wrong thing out of fear. After today, I don't feel that way anymore. I feel like we went with our "gut" and we made the best choice at that time. 

After giving him some of the background information as to why I've suspected it on and off since he was two, we talked more about how and when and if to make the decision to diagnose. What are the negative aspects? What are the benefits? Is it the end of the world if I don't pursue it for him now? I can't say I walked away from today's appointment with any information that I didn't already have, but I can say I walked away feeling much more confident in my instincts and my gut feelings. I walked away with a much lighter cloud hanging over my head.

My doctor did say, as I've already figured out myself, that one of the benefits of having a diagnosis is gaining knowledge to help you understand yourself better, and to help others understand you. To which he added, "But YOU already see things through that lens. You are helping him understand himself better than any team of therapists." And there it was. That was my answer. And that was my permission. My permission to stop doubting myself, and to keep on keeping on.

Hope, who feels validated and much less like a Crazy Muthah, after all. 

The Mind Body Connection

This past week was a real pain in the ass. I reached a critical point in my anxiety where my mind basically took control of my body. Aside from feeling sick and not being able to stay hydrated. I had head to foot muscle tension, tightness, pain...basically they were hard as a rock and tightening everywhere. From my legs, to my back to my head to my chest (making it hard to breath), to my throat (making it hard to swallow.)  To say that it sucked doesn't give it justice. I'm 90% sure this was a result of the past months activities and is proof that healing or sickness really does begin and end in the mind. My doctor believes it is possibly Myopathy, which doesn't dismiss the fact that it was brought on by chronic anxiety.  She also mentioned Neuropathy, Fibromyalgia, Rheumatoid Arthritis, other Autoimmune Disorders, and My Thyroid. All of which, in my opinion, can be exasperated by chronic stress. In any case, blood work is being done to at least find out once and for all what is going on. I tend to link everything to anxiety, and then once in a while I will think..."but shit...what if it's not?" I have real physical pain here. What if it's something else?  What if it's something that may even produce feelings of anxiety?  I try to keep these thoughts at bay because it ends up becoming a "What came first? The chicken or the egg?" scenario. So hopefully, answers will be on the way soon.

Ironically during this pain in the ass week, I was really attempting to help myself, or at least help my body. Green drinks, eating well, Yoga, walking. Perhaps I sent my own body into shock and it was all, "what the fuck!?  Where's my cake and Starbucks?"  And then it just got so pissed it just decided to attack me. That's a real possibility, so I've slowed it down a bit. Still marching forward with what's good for me, just doing it at a slower pace, to maybe let my body acclimate.  Time will tell, I suppose. 

As for my mind...still crazy. I'm at the point where I almost need to shut it off. I think that's the only way to regain some balance and good physical health. And that means medicine. UGH. This the exact point I get to every time I decide to go back on the one pill a day regimen. I know I'm better off not resisting but I still can't help but hate the fact that I can't be like other people. That I just can't "calm down". That I can't "relax" and "stop thinking" and "stop worrying" and just be fucking normal for Christ sakes! Yeah. I hate that. And by normal I just mean...the NORM. That baseline place where people are people and they get to have good days and they get to have boring unimportant days and they also get to have stressful days when they are called for. I want that. I mostly only have the latter even when it is not called for.

On the family front, I have still done nothing. I'm still angry so I suppose that means I care? But I'm also in a delete and repeat mood. This can be a dangerous mood for me because it's when I tend to just cut ties. I will try to rationalize it so that it makes sense to other people. I also have this sudden urge to purge my facebook friends as well. It's almost like cleaning house. Most people hate to clean house, but ever since I was a child I actually liked to clean and organize. In fact, when I had to eat all my dinner, I would imagine the food was my room and I had to clean it. The food alone did nothing to entice the eating. The cleaning of the plate was my motivation. Clean Plate. Clean Slate? I feel the same way about a lot of things in my life. I hate too much stuff. I purge often. And I feel the same way about people in my life. This may seem cold. Maybe even mean? But it's not. There really is no bad intention here. It just is. Where the rest of the world (generalising here) seems to get off on having the most friends and knowing a lot of people and adding more and more people to their lives or their lists...I am the opposite. More people always seems to equal more stress. More unknowns. More interference. More pain. More disappointment. This might not be true for everyone, or maybe it is, but they have these magical things called coping skills? Not sure. For me, though, less is more. And the older I get the more I'm realising this and the more power I seem to be giving myself to make my life more like the way I want it. I remember riding in the back of the car on the highway as a child. I would always imagine myself jumping out of the car and running into the woods and staying there and living there forever. In high school, when I read, Walden by Henry David Thoreau, I was blown away. I thought it was the most fantastic brilliant thing in the world. So, this desire for less people isn't anything new. What's new is, for the first time in my life, I have no desire to pretend to fit in with the masses. I have no desire to pretend to be more social than I actually am. I have even less desire for approval. This is a good thing, because I'm getting very little approval from people in my life and expect to get even less as I continue this journey. This can also be considered a good thing because they are, in a sense, weeding themselves out before I have to do it. 

This past month isn't one I'd want to relive by any means but I did learn a few things. I learned the most important thing I have to do is to take care of myself. I learned that I get to put myself first and deserve consideration from the people in my life. I learned that if I don't get that consideration or respect or honesty then they don't have to be a part of my life. I learned that I have a choice. Not in the sense that "I have a choice to make", but that I have a CHOICE. I get to choose who I want to invest my time in and give my love to. And I get to make these choice without guilt, without remorse, without regret. I get to make choices that are good for ME and I also get to be happy about that. 

Hope, who is signing off now before my body catches up with my mind...

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.

Writing Project

In a addition to my time spent in Bloggerville, I've also started writing bits and pieces elsewhere in hopes that it will amount to something. Someday. Maybe. I thought instead of an actual post,  I would share a piece of that here today. So...here goes...


"Did you get hit often? Witness a lot of violence?" , the doctor asked. It wasn't exactly a question per se. Not the way he asked it. It was more like a confirmation.

I was used to this kind of assumption, yet still, I found it slightly annoying when people looked at me with sympathetic eyes and spoke in an understanding tone, when they rarely understood anything at all. 

"No." I answered. "My mother never laid a hand on me." This was true. Never. Not even once. There were fights, of course, and some of them violent. There was a lot of anger when my mother was drinking, but none of it was ever aimed at me.

"Really?" he asked, almost disbelieving. "What kind of violence did you witness and who was the anger aimed at?"

"Boyfriends mostly." I replied, although really I should have just said Men, as none were boys, and none were friends, and none ever stuck around long enough to be. "There was a lot of yelling. Once one of her boyfriends took all of our clothes out of the bedroom, threw them in the bathtub, and then lit them on fire."

He let out a laugh. "He did!? Why did he do that?" Shit. He's laughing. How the hell do I know why he did that, I think, and why is that funny? I decide, once again, that I will never understand people. 

"I don't know." I answer. And our time is up. Thank god. It wasn't my idea to dive back into the past today. I had assumed after my brief but factual outline we would be done, but for some reason he wants to keep going back. 

He's looking, I suppose, because that's his job. Again, I suspect he's looking for something that isn't there. If he wants the truth he doesn't have to look that way. I can simply give it to him in words. These words. Yes, my mother was an Alcoholic. No, she never once hit me. Yes, she neglected me and exposed me to situations and people I should have never been exposed to. My adoptive mother hit me and called me a bitch. My alcoholic mother called me the most beautiful girl in the world. Who was right and who was wrong? It's doesn't matter, because that's not the point.

The truth, if he wants it, is that she drank to cope. She quit school at the age of sixteen because she was incredibly shy and unable to relate. When she was sober, she was quiet, reserved, lost, and hardly ever smiled. She suffered from seizures as a child. She trusted no one and spent most of her time alone. She didn't like loud noises or commotion or things that stunk. She never came to the amusement park. She never got her drivers licence. She had horrible nightmares. 

The truth is that the real problem lies so far beneath the stereotypical "Alcoholic Parent" that everyone keeps missing it. The truth, is in the pattern.

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. 

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.

Sensory Overload... or Why I Love Quiet.

I have some updates, but will probably not get to them today due to the fact that I am crazy busy. In the meantime, though, I just found this video that was posted in a group I joined and wanted to share. It's probably the most accurate depiction I have seen yet of Sensory Overload. Even at half the volume this is what it's like to have overly sensitive senses and hear and notice everything. (there are usually smells involved as well, but until scratch and sniff video is invented those will be hard to depict.)

Personally, for me, it is worse during times when I'm already stressed. I particularly identify with the street noises, the mixed noises of voices/laughter, the tapping of the pen and feet and clanking of the dishes.  It's only recently that I've been able to link these seemingly unimportant and unnoticeable (to most) things to my own anxiety/panic.

Medications like Zoloft and Wellbutrin amplify this for me. Medications like Celexa (for the most part) and Ativan dull or numb my reaction to it. As does Alcohol.






Hope, who sometimes forgets, but after watching that video, is feeling grateful that I am able to work from home.