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...

One week later.

Today my doctor suggested I write. I haven't told him that I have a blog. Still, I figured I'd take his advice. He seems pretty smart and has an almost contagious bubble of "calm" around him. I'm envious of it. I long for it. I want to ask him if he's always been that way, or if he learned to become that way. I don't though because we're there to talk about me, not him.

In the past week I've managed to become broke ( again ), and sick. Both of which suck and don't get me any closer to a bubble of calm. I had a physical on Monday and my doctor ordered a (shit) load of blood work. Of course, I immediately got sick walking out of the office, so I still have that part to look forward to. Needles. They aren't my favorite. I could never be the kind of drug addict that shoots crap into their veins. I guess that's a good thing. 

She also increased my dose of Celexa. The Celexa I haven't been taking. So now I have to decide if I'm going back on it or not. On Monday I was sure I should. Now it's Friday and I'm not sure of anything. Typical. 

I still have done nothing in reference to my mother. It feels like its lingering, and yet when I start to think of how to proceed I get overwhelmed with thoughts and anger, so I shelf it. The problem is that if I don't address it soon, I never will. I will place it neatly in that box full of people, places, and things that I have, in a sense, turned my back on. Once it's in the box, that's pretty much it. No taking it back out. No do overs. So, soon, just not right now. 

My sixth sense seems to be kicking in and telling me something is wrong. I used to refer to this as a "shift". Something has shifted. Something is different. Something has changed. Only, I don't know what. Unfortunately that does little to stop the chaos it's creating within my nervous system. I suppose a normal person might say I'm just crazy, and they might be right, only not about this. I know this feeling well and it never fails to follow through. 

And lastly, because I'm such a Debbie Downer, ( I blame the sickness, pms, and the fact that I am most likely crazy) some good news: I joined Netflix. It is the most fabulous thing I've done in, well, forever. I know it sounds rather unimportant and I'm light years behind the rest of the world,as usual, but this was life changing. I spend most of my day, sitting and painting. Mindlessly painting. Which leaves my mind free to wander into very dangerous places, because it can't just sit there and relax. It needs to be busy. Always busy. And Netflix...is keeping it busy, and filling it up. Sure, some of it is garbage, but I love it. Movies are second only to Books, in my life. 

And in even better news, ( I guess this is really lastly now) despite my own recent crash and burn, my son is doing amazing! We had zero school anxiety all week. He's had a few hiccups but has been able to work them out on his own and has actually shown excitement about going to school. He's still being his perfectionist/ocd little self and insists he needs a new binder because all of his three rings don't line up perfectly, but so long as he's insisting it with a smile on his face, I'm happy. We also got his MCAS scores back from last year and he scored Advanced in Mathematics. Very proud. (He is, however, driving me nuts right now because he's monologing about some Star Wars lego game he is playing.) 

And that, as they say, is that. Until next time...

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.

A Weird Mind and Breaking up with Facebook

First off, if you'd like to read this entire post in a British accent, I won't stop you. I plan on writing it that way. I'm going to be jumping all around here, so I apologize but also urge you keep up.

Alright, a quick update regarding Youth Group. My boy persevered and conquered. I am very proud of him. It helped that most of the kids were younger. He didn't feel as intimidated and was able to relax and enjoy himself. So, yay!

I've mentioned in a previous post that I have Synesthesia, which is:  a neurological condition in which stimulation of one sensory or cognitive pathway leads to automatic, involuntary experiences in a second sensory or cognitive pathway. Thank you, Wikipedia.  Well, yesterday as we were driving my son says this : "I don't know why but in my brain, my favor color blue is seven. Reece's is six though. And eight is a pineapple and comes right after blue."  And there it is. He's mentioned a few things like this before but this was the first time he explained it with more detail. I, myself, have several different types, and never even realised until a few years back that this was not entirely normal. Hearing the "You're weird." comments from my own Mother wasn't that unusual, so I thought that it was only her that didn't experience this. She was weird. (Secretly, I still sometimes think that.)  I, personally,  love the fact that my child shares his "brain" with me, and weird or not, I love that I can understand it. Most of it anyway.

In other news, I woke up this morning to a rather annoying little whench (actually I don't think she was little at all) leaving nasty comments on the doll photos on my business Facebook page. It was really the first time (other than the one show I did) where someone, out and out, just said "yuck" in regards to my work. It's not the greatest feeling in the world, that's for sure, but I think I handled it well and in a professional (snarky) manner, resisting my urge to tell her to suck it.

While the incident itself was rather unimportant in the grand scheme of things, it got me thinking. Christ, not the thinking again. Sorry, it's how my mind works. While I'm not obsessing over it, I can't help but wonder why?  Yes, the everlasting, all encompassing Whys. I always need to know why. Why would someone take the energy and time  out of their day just to be nasty and hurtful?  She obviously wasn't there because she was enjoying herself. So why?  What is it that she accomplished or obtained by purposely leaving negative comments?  I can't figure it out, but I'm still thinking about it. I repeat, NOT obsessing. My personal thinking process may be a bit obsessive, I'll give you that. But it's simply how it all works. I need to make sense of things in my world to make sense of my world. If I can't it becomes very difficult to live in. I don't always find the answers, however, I don't think I ever stop looking for them.

And speaking of making sense of my world and difficulties, I think I mentioned previously that reducing stress and stressful situations was a top of my list. Step one on that list, I've decided, is to limit my access to Social Networking (aka Facebook). Social Networking is actually not even close to being the correct term anymore, as far as I'm concerned. There isn't much "networking" that goes on my personal page. In fact it's become more of a pain in the ass. More like, social avoidance, where people will read your messages and yet take forever to respond, if they respond at all. Where people don't respond to invites, or hide that fact that they are online so you can't see them. It's also a virtual meat market, as well as being a forum for people to spew their ignorance or hate, such as Miss Pissing Pants from this morning. My decision has absolutely nothing to do with her, however, it just happened to occur when I was already getting fed up. Honestly, there was a time when it was fun. When there was "interaction" and it kept me from getting bored while working at home alone. Now, however, I find I'm always "checking facebook."  For what?  Really. What the hell am I checking for? Nine times out of Ten, I log on to "check" and end up getting annoyed or worked up. It's not what you'd call a peaceful or relaxing forum. While I do enjoy the sharing part, and the virtual log the page creates, I think about all that wasted time, and how I could be doing other things that I actually enjoy. So, again, step one is to take a break from the old FB. I'm sure I will go back at some point, but for now, I need to limit the constant feed of negativity I see each time I am there. I tend to absord it, and given who I am, that's not a good thing. I have to keep my Business page and I will also keep my Blog page. Both of those I actually do enjoy and don't require having "friends" or the irrational "need" to keep "checking." I know I had a life before becoming a slave to scrolling the feed, and while I love the Internet and blogging (and will probably never give that up), I'm going to try to remember what life was like before I knew what everyone was doing all day every day. That kind of information overload isn't at all conducive to trying to simplify.

Hope, who is already looking forward to the extra minutes in my day.

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.