Tag Archives: Triggers

PTSD, Triggers, Keeping Silent And Remembering Trauma

The smallest things will trigger a response from me. A loud male voice behind me at the grocery store, the smell of beer and leather, bright lights and loud music, aggressive men in general, and even the way my Dad calls my name sometimes startles me.

Deep in the back of my mind I think I still resent my Dad for the way he handled everything. For the way he shook his hand and thanked him for bringing me home. For the way he called me a “drunk and a liar” as I was on the floor covered in blood in and out of consciousness.

I told myself I deserved it for many years. I allowed other men to treat me just as bad. Mostly because I was told by my own family that no one would believe me. I shouldn’t have been there. I shouldn’t have been drinking.

It wasn’t the first time it was just the worst time.

REMEMBERING THAT NIGHT

I don’t remember the day. I don’t remember the exact year. I remember the apartment because I was there everyday. I remember the person because we had been as close as two people can be for over 10 years. We were both alcoholics. The only difference was I did my drinking between 4pm and 3am. I never drank during the day and I never drank alone. He drank whenever, by himself or with other people.

Over the years I had seen him be cruel. He had been physical with me on a fee occasions but I wasn’t a small girl and always thought I could handle him. I admit to drinking to the point of blacking out and having no memory of the previous night. I know during these times some things happened without my permission. I only know this by how I looked when I woke up and where I woke up.

I was undiagnosed Bipolar and doing anything I could to not feel emotions. My alcoholism eventually made this a million times worse. I also admit I wasn’t always nice while drinking. I could be obnoxious, jealous, and petty.

I would try to stop or slow down my drinking many times.

One night I took my cousin to the apartment with me, I wasn’t drinking. Someone thought it would be funny to put Rum in my soda. I took a big gulp and that was it. He was pissed and said “You better not get drunk because you’re not staying here tonight”. Of course this pissed me off and I thought “Who the hell is he to tell me how much to drink? He wouldn’t even have groceries or clean laundry if it wasn’t for me.” So I drank and drank.

At some point we started to argue. I remember asking him what the big deal was. Over the years he always said to me “You always hurt the ones you love the most”. And he did.

I turned my back to walk away from him and he picked up one of the heavy oak chairs on wheels that came with a beautiful table that turned into poker table and hit me over the back of my head.

I think I fought back and angered him because he grabbed my hair and pulled me to the floor. He got on top of me with all his weight, pinning my arms down with his knees.

He started punching me in the face, he wore a skull ring. With each punch he said a word “YOU, STUPID, FUCKING, BITCH” I remember spit flying out of his mouth and my nose swelling shut.

The blood started to go down the back of my throat and I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t get any air and I couldn’t move. For the first time ever I was terrified.

Eventually he pulled me up by my hair. I noticed one of the bedroom doors open and a girl I had known for years looked out at me and hurried up to shut the door. I know I said “Help” but maybe I wasn’t loud enough. I had bleach blond hair at the time and it was soaked with blood. My clothes were soaked with blood.

He dragged me to his apartment door which was always open and threw me down the stairs. I don’t know how long I stayed at the bottom of the stairs.

The next thing I remember he’s trying to get me to a car and I fall on my hands and knees in a puddle.

He had his friend drive me and my cousin to my parent’s home. He carried me to the door where he told them I fell. I kept trying to tell them it was him and I didn’t just fall.

It might have been the blow to the head because I wasn’t able to remain conscious. My Dad took this as a sign of being extremely drunk.

When I could speak and told my parents as much as I could my Dad said no one would believe me. I shouldn’t have been there and I was a drunk and a liar. They told me not to go to the Hospital and that I would be fine.

I wasn’t fine and wouldn’t be fine for the rest of my life.

The heavy chair hitting my head had actually caused permanent damage. I found this out 6 months ago.

PTSD is bad enough. When you have an underlying mental health issue like Bipolar Disorder, Anxiety Disorders, and Substance Abuse Disorders, it can turn into something much more complicated.

Dealing with Conversion Disorder has been as bad as coping with Bipolar. I never really know what is going to set it off. It’s embarrassing to start stuttering and have people stare at you. To start shaking and have your hands tremor so bad you can’t count change. To have no control over your body.

My family doesn’t like to talk about any of it. He admitted to a bar full of people what he did. A friend of my brother’s was there. He also called my brother that night saying “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re gonna hear but it’s not true” None of this made sense and my brother called wanting to know what was going on. My parents said it was a misunderstanding.

Two years later he was arrested for Domestic Assault & Battery and was sent to counseling. He broke the woman’s jaw.

These are some of the reasons we stay silent. We’re talked out of it, told no one will believe us or we see that nothing is really done about it.ddc04855251fa6c0f0d2cc95d4f717f1

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TO TELL THE TRUTH WILL BE THE HARDEST THING YOU DO

My parents always lived paycheck to paycheck but did their best to make sure their children were loved and taken care of. When my twin sister and I were babies we were in cribs that had wheels. The wheels supposedly locked in place but my mom came in to check on us one night and my crib somehow was across the room and not where it was supposed to be. My mom was frightened and couldn’t understand how it had happened. She put it to the back of her mind. Except it kept happening. My parents finally realized I could pull myself up and I was rocking back and forth. I would continue this soothing behavior for the rest of my life. Whether it was side to side or back and forth I’ve done it since I could talk. What does that say?

I also bounced one leg like a jackhammer without even realizing I was doing it. Teachers would call me out publicly for doing so. Rocking side to side while standing in the lunch line in Elementary School didn’t help either. It’s surprising how many teachers feed into the bullying of someone who is different.

Anxiety started at such an early age I didn’t know what it was. I thought maybe I was dying, adopted, an alien, robot, a mistake, I never thought I belonged, I always knew I was different. People around me at some point or another made sure I knew it too. Little jabs and comments from relatives they thought I didn’t hear or understand. The kids at school, teachers, and now even Doctors.

I always had trouble being away from my Mom for any length of time. In my early teens I did cut myself occasionally to distract my brain. I’d have to deal with the actual physical pain instead of the mental pain for at least awhile. But I knew I couldn’t do it often because my Mom was the nosiest woman on the Planet and noticed everything. I think she really did have eyes in the back of her head.

Besides the rocking that started so early I also had nosebleeds that started at the same time. I’ve told the story before where a babysitter wasn’t told about my nosebleeds or how I could move my crib. When she looked in our room all she saw was blood all over the walls and my crib way across the other side of the room. Not a good night for her.

The nosebleeds continued until I turned 12 when a Doctor decided to take out my tonsils and adenoids. By that time I had my nose cauterized 3 times. If you’ve never had it done let me paint you a picture. In the movies when someone is stranded without medical attention and a wound won’t stop bleeding and they’re afraid of infection someone will heat a piece of metal/iron until it glows red. At that time they press it to seal the wound. In modern times they use a chemical version that’s shoved up your nose. It still hurts like hell. Again, no one bothered to find out why I was having nosebleeds almost everyday. No one bothered to find out why I was rocking either.

I talk about these things now because the brain is more complex than anyone will ever know in our lifetime. We can’t know why a person makes the choices they do because we don’t live in their head. We haven’t been through what they have. Not everyone can pray away their pain, talk away their hopelessness, when they don’t even know why they feel it in the first place.

Most of the time I asked myself “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you be happy like everyone else? If your own twin can do it so can you. Are you stupid? A mistake? What’s wrong with me?” Having a twin who is living a “normal” life is excruciating to watch and feel. It isn’t resentment. It’s regret.

While I was drunk one night I found out a person I cared about had said and done some upsetting things. He had called me names which I should’ve expected, he told everyone he was only with me to get close to my best friend W, he wouldn’t normally sleep with a “fat bitch” like me, and to top it off I walked in on him kissing W. I grabbed a knife from the sink and started slicing. I was pissed, hurt, and somehow thought it would show them something. What I don’t know. It took awhile for W to find me and take me to the Hospital. My parents weren’t called that time because W was there to back up my lie.

I slit my wrists one more time, overdosed twice, and jumped off the roof of a building (I was too drunk to realize how close to the ground I was). Anyone who fails that many times really needs to give up and accept there’s a reason why you are not succeeding.

I’ve been reading new research. It shows a link between women who had a virus while pregnant that passed to their baby’s brain. A neurologist told me my mother must of had a virus while pregnant because it showed where I had an infection in my brain at one time that caused continuous swelling. This is also linked to mental illness.

The Danish finished research recently where they found that between the years 1945-1995 92,000 Danes were diagnosed with a mood disorder, 36,000 of them had a severe infection or developed an autoimmune disease at some point before being diagnosed with a mood disorder.

The research is strong between inflammation and mental illness. I can’t overlook it considering I have Celiac Disease, Degenerative Disc Disease, Osteoporosis, Spinal Stenosis, Arthritis, and various other problems. There’s also a genetic factor and ethnic factor. It mostly happens with people from Celtic descent. This would be my Mom’s entire family. My Nanny’s side and Poppy’s side both. My mother’s maiden name translates to “dark stranger” from when the Norse invaded Ireland and settled there. Eventually the Norse name became my mom’s maiden name which matches the information we have about where my Grandfather came from in Ireland.

I think I’m off track. It’s almost 4:00 p.m. and my thought process goes downhill starting at 3:00 p.m. so I only have a little bit of time left.

What I wanted to really say is it’s nice to try to reach out to people who need help. If you do it the right way. Blaming someone who is already gone is pointless. When a person is spiraling downward in their own head you can’t get through, believe me I know this first hand. If Psychosis is involved and the person is hearing a voice telling them how useless they are, they’re a piece of shit, their kids would be better off without them so would their entire family, they hurt everyone around them they should just disappear, it’s almost impossible to make that person listen or to expect that person to call you and talk.

There’s nothing rational about suicide so expecting the person to act rational and call someone for help isn’t rational. That’s why it hurts everyone involved as much as it does. Even when the person survives an attempt their life is no longer their own. Trust is gone, relationships damaged beyond repair, no one knows what to say or do so they pretend you are no longer there as if you actually did die. That’s my experience from my life because I’ve lived it. I didn’t read about it in a book or watch 13 Reasons Why I live it and I’m still living it. But the key word in all that I’ve said is “live”.


TONGUE TIED AND VULNERABLE

My tongue is nailed down, a useless thing.

My jaw is locked and loaded, misfiring every shot.

My lips are sealed tighter than a goddamn drum.

You feel okay saying the hurtful things you say.

Why not? You know I can’t respond. So do your worst.

Expectations set too high I should’ve known better

Not one of you said a thing for me

You just watched as I retreated into myself

The damage done I couldn’t remember pieces of it

Just wailing and the feel of the cold floor for days

Twice you let it happen without stepping in

Twice I lost chunks of my sanity while taking the blame

I still can’t control it And you still don’t understand

What it’s like to be silenced by your own mind

Like a pressure cooker I will only take so much

Before the same happens again

Will you continue to watch as I lose everything

Or will one of you finally be my voice?


KIND OF ROTTEN AND INSANE (A Look Inside My Thoughts) *Enter at own risk

Lately I’ve been struggling with trying to use the correct terminology and phrasing so as not to offend anyone. This is exhausting and I will have Carpel Tunnel soon. I am Bipolar, I am an Alcoholic, I have a form of PTSD that is hard to explain, I have multiple health problems that even I don’t understand.

If I personally have what I’m discussing than I shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells talking about it. Too many people get upset because I say I am Bipolar. Implying that I let Bipolar Disorder define who I am. Doesn’t it? Really think about it. Due to recent information from my Doctor, “The Team” estimates that I probably started to exhibited signs of Bipolar Disorder as early as 9 years old. I hadn’t told him about rocking back and forth or banging my head when I was little until our last session. He actually wants to do some testing to make sure I have the correct diagnosis or if another diagnosis needs to be added. YAY!!

I’m tired of being a science experiment. My thoughts are always dark. They always have been. Don’t get me wrong, some are humorous, but still dark. Only I would find them funny.

Even my choices in Movies and TV are dark. I have a tendency to always pick Action/Drama/Revenge themes. Anything else I get bored. Give me John Wick, Banshee, Gladiator, Justified, Vikings, In a Valley of Violence, Happy Valley, The Magnificent Seven, Unforgiven, and it goes on and on. If there’s a dog involved like in John Wick, forget it I’m in.

Most of my favorite songs are dark. I never listen to “happy” music. I find comfort in the darkness of things. I don’t know why.

On the other hand I also feel too much and I hate it. There are times I wish I could rip my heart or brain out because the pain is so bad it becomes physical.

I walked in to the kitchen earlier to clean near the bird cages. I said hello to both birds like I always do. When I looked at our Sulphur Crested Cockatoo I saw she had a hole in her chest like she had been shot. I felt sick. I tried to keep her calm so I could get a better look at it. I needed to know if she did it to herself or if there was something in her cage. I told my dad who just sat there and did nothing. They are his birds. I understand he had dialysis today but if a guy came to the door wanting to show or talk pigeons you can bet your ass he would’ve gotten off the couch.

I have a magnifier with a light that I used to look at the wound. I didn’t need the magnifier just the light. When I was done I put my head on the table and cried. No, I didn’t just cry, I sobbed uncontrollably. I then went to my dad and told him “If she did that to herself, YOU WILL HUMANELY EUTHANIZE HER, DO YOU UNDERSTAND? And you will get up and look at the wound NOW!”. Do I like talking to my dad that way? No. But I refuse to let any animal suffer because of an owner’s ignorance or neglect.

When a bird plucks out it’s own chest feather’s it isn’t good to begin with. But she was doing okay. If a bird goes as far as self injury like pecking a giant hole in it’s chest, that is a completely different matter. At this point the bird is usually too far gone to be helped. This is my father’s fault. He won’t listen, he won’t let anyone else help him, and his pride will not only hurt his health but every living thing around him.

I feel like I need to do something away from this environment. But I might need a car. Priorities suck. Screw ’em. I’m not sure how much more I can take. My birthday is coming up, it’s never celebrated, just like Christmas wasn’t, the anniversary of my mom’s death is also coming up, the next few months are always my hardest and this year I’m not sure how I’ll do. Physically I’m not well and losing weight which means I’m not absorbing all my meds correctly. There’s a constant dull ache in my head and I have to tell myself to unclench my jaw every 20 minutes.

Oh well, Happy New Year! Here’s a pic of my cookies.img_20161230_110806_538.jpg


LOVE AND HATE~HOW THIN IS THE LINE?

W and I walked up a long dark staircase. I was a little nervous. I had never been there but she had. We were going to a guy’s house to hang out. His name was J. W knocked on the door and it opened like he had been waiting his entire life for us. To him we must have looked like fish or the freshest meat to come his way in years. We were 16/17, both blond, both had jobs, she had green eyes I have blue, the only difference was in our size. She was thin and I wasn’t. For some reason it didn’t seem to matter for awhile.

J was a gentleman, polite, and charming. He was around 6′ tall with a slim to medium build that would get heavier as the years went by. His hair was his pride and joy. You have to remember it was the early 90’s when we met. His hair was halfway down his back. It was shiny and chocolate brown. He spent more time on his hair than I did on mine. He also spent more time in the mirror. He had a weird instinct about people. He knew what they wanted. If he could provide it for them and gain an ally or money all the better for him. I don’t think there was one person in his circle that wasn’t there by his design. This included me.

When J and I first became friends I was attracted to him. I was young and never had anyone flirt with me. He knew this. He called me all the time and we fell into a routine. I took him to the laundry mat on Wednesdays and the market on Thursdays. We spent a lot of time alone together. I knew he always had a different girl every week. I ignored it. Sometimes he did more than flirt and I would think that there was more to our relationship.

One year J threw me a birthday party. I can’t remember how old I was turning. I know it wasn’t 21 yet. For some reason 18 sticks in my head. When I walked in there was a gigantic banner with “Happy Birthday Daner!”, there were balloons everywhere, and food. It didn’t end there. J had the entire football team from that town’s High School show up at my party. Just the Seniors really. One of them was probably my age and the Quarterback. He was friendly, attentive, kind, and handsome. There were so many people there I was overwhelmed. It was the first time I didn’t want to hide from my own Birthday Party. J made sure everyone knew it was my party and they were my guest. I’m not sure what he told people or what he threatened them with but it was my best Birthday ever.

That was the problem. J would be like that for a few months and WHAM! The next thing you know you’re on his shit list for something you didn’t even do. Or he’s just bored with you and feels like creating drama. Drama was his favorite. If he found out any type of dirt on someone he would wait for just the right time to use it. If W and I were having too much fun and he wasn’t getting enough attention he would try to sabotage us.

W and I always told each other that when we first had sex we would tell each other. I thought someone was her first. J knew from the guy that he wasn’t. J decided after I had a few drinks and before W arrived to say to me “Do you really think W is as good of a friend to you as you are to her?” my answer was “yes, why?”. He said “Because P wasn’t her first. She’s been lying to you the entire time. Doesn’t it make you think what else she’s lying about?”. Was I hurt that she felt she couldn’t tell me? Of course I was. I thought we told each other everything. If I hadn’t been drinking and if J hadn’t kept running his mouth I probably would’ve let it go. By the time W arrived I was worked up into a frenzy. It was an ambush as soon as she walked in the door. The one thing I remember is the smirk on J’s face.

We were sick of it after awhile. W and I decided one night as a joke but also because people kept trying to test our friendship to make a statement. W made a large sign saying “W loves D and no one else. D loves W and no one else.” She then hung it on the refrigerator. It caused quite a bit of emotion. Some were confused, some were excited because they thought we had decided to come out as lesbians, and others were pissed. Eventually “someone” set it on fire.

J was good at the punish and reward system. Sucker punch you with public humiliation and an hour later tell you he had to do it because he loved you so much and he didn’t want anyone else to hurt you. Blame you for something that was stolen while you weren’t there and then when you get out of the shower, wrapped in a towel he surprises you by coming into the bathroom to tell you how beautiful you look just like that. No make up, wet hair, and vulnerable. He then holds you for what feels like forever and says ” I love you”.

There was a time when I didn’t want to drink but went to J’s one night. I was drinking soda and I could tell J wasn’t happy. I went to the bathroom. When I came back and took a large gulp of soda there was rum in it. I looked across the table at him smirking. I kept drinking.

J and I would often just sit and watch movies together. We talked about everything. The only time we fought was when we were drinking which was daily at some point. There were times when just looking at him made me want to smash his face in. Then I would find myself defending him to someone and getting in a fight.

There was a guy who lived upstairs from J. He was very attractive, had a good job, I knew some of his brothers, but he was less than intelligent. Some of the things he would say made me laugh so hard I would have to leave the room. He did smoke large amounts of pot. If ever there was a case of what pot might do to the brain he would be it. He took W to a Carnival one time. She was worried about getting a sunburn because she has fair skin. He said “Don’t worry. When we’re on the rides the sun can’t get you because the wind blows it away”. I can’t tell you how many times I watched him spray himself in the face with something because he was trying to smell it. He had a theory about windshields and the sun also but I can’t remember it. He was also in a band that did pretty well. I bring him up because I heard him in J’s kitchen one night talking to a girl. The girl was saying what a bitch I am and that I’m mean. The guy from upstairs said “Don’t be fooled by what J tells you. D is one of greatest people I’ve ever met. She would give a friend the shirt off her back. She’s a beautiful girl inside and out she just doesn’t know it because of J”. First I didn’t know he could speak like that. Second I started to cry. I couldn’t let them know I was awake so I tried holding my breath to stop the crying.

I knew something had to change. Subconsciously I knew it wouldn’t unless the situation was forced. It was. With violence.

I have not98bc5ba62d6a0496d7318b8c786de35e seen or talked to J in about 16 years. I’ve seen pictures of him. W has a friend from when she was a toddler that she has maintained her friendship with. W runs hot and cold with her. She isn’t fond of many of her friend’s choices specifically because she has a child to consider. This friend knew J when we did but was married at the time. Now she isn’t and is dating J. I don’t care who he dates. What I do care about is the fact that W has been to his house recently and he’s been to her house. I asked her yesterday if she had any pictures of us from back then. She said no but knew who did. I asked her how she knew and she confessed that she had been there recently.

I don’t know why I detest the thought of him having pictures of me from over 20 years ago but it does. He’s the type to sit around drinking with his buddies and laughing at the “good old times”. Which to me means laughing at my expense. I’m not paranoid. I know this person well. I know how he thinks. We could communicate without speaking most times. That makes me ill also. I was at that low of a level of humanity I was thinking like a narcissistic sociopath. I went along with things he did to people knowing it was something I would never normally do. But as long as he was focused on someone else he was leaving me alone.

I take full responsibility for all of the things I did. Whether I was drunk or had an undiagnosed mental illness. I still feel guilt and that word I hate, shame. It never goes away. I also feel an anger that scares me sometimes. I hate that the only way I can express it is with tears. Why can’t I be like Jason Statham and do a roundhouse kick upside someone’s head? I know, because I would get arrested. And I’m not as flexible as Jason Statham. I can still dream.


PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE SUICIDE (*may contain triggers and adult topics)

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There are a million and one ways to die. To do so by your own hand is often seen as cowardly and selfish. Unless you have been in that frame of mind. The one where you sometimes have a painful static in your brain, an aching hole in the place your heart should be, a swarm of bees fighting one another in your stomach, every hour of every day. Then you understand why someone would think about it or do it.

What I described is just the psychological component. If you have a chronic illness that comes with it then you have physical ones too. Joint pain, back pain (like you’re being kicked in the back by a horse all day), muscle weakness, headaches, blurred vision, pelvic pain, bladder weakness, UTIs, nausea, dizziness, vertigo, high blood pressure, low blood pressure, a compromised immune system, etc. You will never be who you once were and the people you once knew will slowly start to disappear.

You will feel alone, unwanted, forgotten, and slowly go outside less and less.

This was my mother’s case.

My father has done the opposite.

Like I said, there are a million and one ways to die.

I have always wanted to leave this Earth in the hope that I would go somewhere better. I wanted to go somewhere where the sun would shine everyday, where wolves would walk up to me, a magical place, a place where later on I would see my mom and we would play Scrabble.

I never could get it right. I only attempted while drunk, slit my wrists 2 times the wrong way, 4 times I was sent to the hospital to either have the lovely charcoal or my stomach pumped and 1 time for a concussion, I thought I had further to fall but miscalculated.

When I figured out that I was lousy at trying to do it myself I started hanging out with worse people. I know, how much worse could they have really gotten? So I was put in some dangerous situations. Sitting alone in a van outside of a crackhouse in an all African American neighborhood at 2:00 a.m. surrounded by a group of men I didn’t know and completely drunk.  Another time I let 2 of the guys, (Paul with the tear drop tattoos and R. who had also done about 6 years at the ACI) take me to a bar in downtown Arctic. This place is like going to the white slums. A guy offered to buy me off of Paul for $10 which he was considering. R. was pissed and threw a dart in the guys foot because R. was a gentleman. lol Then a guy showed up with a gun and so did the police.

I would pick fights with Paul on purpose to see if he cared and to get rid of the pain. I punched him in the jaw once and his tooth fell out. To be honest they don’t have great dental in prison. I don’t think it was completely my fault. He never hit me. He threw me in a dumpster and made elephant noises at me, but never hit me. So I drank more, had more sex with different people, and tried to provoke more violent men.

What my point is, was that I was in pain and I was trying to find ways out of it that didn’t involve my doing it to myself. Sex, alcohol, violent men.

My mom chose food. She had a lung removed and had fluid around her heart. Her mother had passed from Congestive Heart Failure and she was at risk. My mom was on oxygen and couldn’t do anything she used to. She had always had depression but this was way more than that. She was spending all of her time in her room only coming out to get food. She would make 4 or 5 Bologna sandwiches with Mayo and bring them to her room. Liverwurst was also a favorite of hers. She was Diabetic and had to take shots of insulin but had stashes of candy everywhere. I watched as she became bigger and bigger. Her breathing  got worse and worse. She had given up.

I don’t know who brought the food in for her. I never bought that crap for her. I know she was good at playing my dad. All she had to do was make those big blue eyes tear up and he would do what she asked. That was a big part of the problem. What Anna wanted, Anna got. Whether it was good for her or not. Towards the end of her life she had somehow broken a bone in her back. The Doctors wanted to operate. I told her not to do the surgery, it was way too risky in her condition. She could barely breathe and she was having trouble with her heart rate. She had the surgery anyway. A week later she was dead.

I should also explain that my sister was pregnant with her first child at this time. I do not blame my sister. She is who she is. My mother is someone who was always involved in her children’s lives. Bridal showers (my sister and ex-sister in law), baby showers (my ex-sister in law, cousins, friends), she loved feeling useful and part of something.

This time around she couldn’t be involved. She was too ill. My sister went to her mother in law for everything and rarely called my mom. This hurt my mom. You’ll see a picture of her in the Hospital when my sister has her first child. My mother was already there they let her come down a floor for the birth of her grandchild. My sister’s mother in law is in the picture also.

 

My father was ready to die right after my mom did. He had lost his best friend. He didn’t die because he loves his pigeons and his kids. He also sees it as cowardly. When they told him his kidneys were shot and he would have to go on dialysis for the rest of his life he thought about it a lot. He wanted to give up. He didn’t because he loves his pigeons and his kids. He’s reached a point now where subconsciously he’s slowly killing himself. He will lift twenty 75 pound bags of grain and carry them down 10 steps into his bird area. When you have mesh graft on an aortic aneurysm and a fistula these are things you shouldn’t be doing.

I watched him scrubbing our brick walkway on his hands and knees for hours yesterday. It had just rained!! He’s making changes to his Prednisone dosage on his own. Lucky me. Living with a roid raged 73 year old who admitted to me last night that he punches himself in the head when he is too frustrated and angry. He doesn’t want to take it out on a person. I said ” Remember the stories we would see in the news about Wrestling Stars killing themselves and/or their families? That is because of the steroids. You are on a steroid. I do not want to be on the news. Get your shit together. Tell the Doctor tomorrow.” Did he mention anything to the Doctor today? Nope.

He wants to suffer. He thinks he deserves to suffer. This is the same man who doesn’t see his Grandchildren because his deceased wife can’t see them. He thinks it isn’t fair to her.

Lately my thoughts have taken a turn for the worse. I wouldn’t do anything but it’s almost comforting to think about staying under anesthesia tomorrow. What would I miss? My sister only wants to text me on her terms, my best friend doesn’t want to talk to me, my father is outside with the birds or doing something with his clocks, I have no other friends or family to talk to, retail store employees are starting to run when they see me, I may not be able to do stents and have to have tubes come out of my back, all I do is reminisce about sad things over and over. I try to color or do something else and my brain will flash to my mom holding my face in her hands, or her in her hospital bed with bloody foam that won’t stop coming out of her mouth. I flash to my sister and her husband removing me from my Uncle’s wake because they thought I was “acting weird” and everyone noticed. It was the first time I had been out of the house in a long time. There were very bright lights and for some reason a motorcycle gang showed up. Excuse me for being curious and looking around. I was fidgety. My dad didn’t notice a thing and neither did the rest of his family. I’m still angry about that. I found out later that they were supposed to meet friends at a certain time and that’s why they threw me under the bus so they could leave. It was my dad who pointed this out not me. I keep thinking I want to go home. The problem is I’m already here.

 


What Does Bipolar Depression Feel Like?

Most people do not understand what Bipolar Depression really feels like. It isn’t just the blues for a few hours or days. At least not for me. For me it is being in a deep dark hole I can’t get out of no matter how hard I try. I can watch a million movies, listen to a million songs, play with my puppy, and still feel a crushing weight on my chest. Sometimes it feels like an aching hole that will never be filled.

There will never again be laughter or light. It is gone forever. I feel useless, I feel like I’m moving but not going anywhere. Sometimes I am stuck in my own skin and I want to scream to get out. I want to sleep for days until it goes away. Unfortunately my body won’t allow me that escape. I daydream about not being here. I wonder if what the people around me have said over the years is correct.

I also wonder if it’s worth it to take all this medication. This medication that only stalls the inevitable. Eventually the Depression hits anyway no matter what anyone does. No matter what I do.

There are triggers to these episodes. I won’t lie. I have been depressed for quite some time. It just seems to get worse. This time of year is always bad for me. It will continue to be so until March. That’s if I’m lucky. It’s getting harder and harder to pull myself out. My support system, which is small, is growing impatient. I can’t blame them. Nights and mornings are the worse. Doesn’t really leave me with much time in between. I don’t want to eat, talk, clean, or go outside. I’m down to 120 pounds. Does it bother me? Yes and no.

Understanding me is complicated. Too much of an undertaking for the people around me. It’s easier to blame and spew stupid quotes at me. I really just want them to hug me and tell me I’ll be ok and they love me anyway. They never do. It’s such a simple thing.


Suicidal Ideation (Warning Triggers)

For the first time in years I have had thoughts of suicide. My veins are more visible now and as I stared at them today I thought how easy it would be to cut. I picture the blood everywhere and felt a sense of relief.

I thought of my brother in law telling me to take ownership of my actions. This made me think of all the things I’ve done over the years. Even though I’ve apologized to people I’ve hurt there are some things that I can never forgive myself for.

He doesn’t know me, he only knows what my sister has told him. My sister doesn’t even know everything. Hell I don’t even know everything. My brain won’t let me remember some things. What I do remember is bad enough.

I tore apart my family with my actions. I worried my parents constantly which probably put a strain on their marriage. My father blames himself no matter what I tell him. My mother’s last words to me were “I’m sorry I ruined your life”. Even though she was heavily medicated she still must have felt this way.

My sister blames me for not getting the attention she deserved when we were growing up. She believes she was the “good one” and was ignored because my parents were too busy worrying about me the “screw up”.

Maybe all of this is true. Maybe I have not taken responsibility for my actions. Maybe I am selfish. I’ve been too busy trying to stay sober and alive too see anything else.

But my sister would constantly call me crying about her husband. I would always listen. When they needed money I gave it to them. When she needed someone to watch the kids and I could I did. I ignored all the things her husband would say about my brother, my father, and other things I disagreed with just to keep the peace. One time he pushed my dog across the room for begging while he was eating. She yelped and limped for days. I was furious but said nothing because I knew it would cause a big argument.

I didn’t like it when he called my brother a “loser, drunk, pathetic, worthless asshole”. He had no right. He was drinking himself. He was no better. He didn’t know anything about my brother and what he had been through in his life. It was hard to keep my mouth shut and my sister agreed with him.

Here is someone who has never really worked a 9 to 5 job in his life. He has maybe worked 1 job on the books. He’s like Peter Pan. His parents have helped him through out his entire life. They helped them buy their house. He shows no respect for my father. My parents gave them what money they could. They didn’t have to have a huge wedding with an open bar and a 3 week Honeymoon. They smashed open the beautiful wedding chest my father spent months hand carving and engraving for them because they forgot the combination. My father had put gold hinges on it and gold trim. They destroyed it to get to the money so they could book a couples massage and a private dinner on the beach in the Bahamas. My father was so hurt.

To threaten me with Social Services is the ultimate blow. I never stick up for myself. This time I saw red. It was like I was drunk. I wanted him to hit me. I confess I egged him on and let it get to a point it didn’t need to. I reached my end. I had swallowed down enough and kept my mouth shut for too long.

Now I have ruined my relationship with my sister. I am no longer welcome in her life or her children’s. This kills me. I love them so much. My little munchkins. I have nothing left. At least it feels that way. I’m trying so hard to stay in control. How do you get anyone to listen or understand when they are not willing? I am completely alone. I better get used to it.


Being Positive is Overrated

I have been fairly negative lately and it’s hard not to be. There are certain triggers for me, movies, music, or just a bad conversation. I’ve watched several emotional movies over the past couple of days and that’s enough to bring me down. If you add in my health, my family, and lack of support you get the perfect storm. I have not been sleeping well either. My energy is at a zero. There is nothing that interests me.

It’s funny that for someone who doesn’t speak to many people I can’t remember who told me I have to think “positive”. That I have to change my “mindset”. I remember thinking to myself “shut up, shut up, shut up” but can’t remember the person. I probably blocked them out on purpose. It’s the biggest load of crap you can say to me. I also hate it when people ask me to repeat myself. It takes a lot of effort for me to speak in the first place so asking me to repeat myself is torture. I’d rather not talk at all.

My father does this constantly. I know he is hard of hearing in one ear. But most of the time it’s because he isn’t paying attention. Sometimes when he says “What?” I say I was talking to the dogs because it’s easier. I really wanted to have an intelligent conversation about what’s going on in the world but I can’t. I wanted his views on if we really belong in Iraq helping to fight a war that will never end because of what they are fighting for. If we should really be helping South Africa more because what they fight over is tangible and after watching 2 recent films I was so disgusted that we are not doing more there and wanted to know why. But there is no one to talk to about these things so I keep silent. It’s probably why some people are so surprised when I do speak intelligently on a topic other than hair and make up.

I’ve been on some spending sprees too. I feel guilty after. I try to justify my purchases but I really didn’t need a Keurig, a Smart Blue Ray player, a new Smart Phone, or a pair of boots. I do like the Keurig though.

Lately I feel fear constantly. It’s in the pit of my stomach. I feel life is going by and I’m sitting on the couch too tired and too afraid to do anything. I don’t like this feeling. I’m irritable and restless at the same time. I feel I’m doomed to be unhappy forever. I’m so used to being miserable I don’t know how to be anything else. This scares me too.

This wasn’t how my life was supposed to be. I was supposed to get married, buy a house, have children, grow old with my husband. I’ve never been on a real date. Even now I don’t look men in the eye. Unless they are my Doctor. Yes I’m having a pity party and I’ll cry if I want to. I’ve earned that right. In AA they would talk about “pity parties” and it would make me want to scream. Who the hell are you to tell me I can’t grieve the things I’ve lost or will never have? You don’t know me, you only know what I tell you here. A story for another day.

It’s time to check on the puppy from hell and maybe try to sleep. At least he makes me smile sometimes when he’s not pooping on the floor or chewing my new boots.

 


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