it's pretty hard to have my favorite [recent] therapist and her intern both leave at the same time. They have been so great to work with, and I am struggling with their departure. There is additional stress in that the new therapist will be 2 weeks away from beginning anew. 2 weeks is always hard for me to go without group.
I'm also healing from a small surgery, had a lump removed from my arm. It is probably just a fatty tumor, but the lab results have not come back yet.
I am squeemish when it comes to changing the bandages, and it is a bit sore, but not too bad.
Another thing worrying me; no food in the house by some time tommorrow.....
and no money for at least a 6 days or so. Stress is not new in this area, but continuous.
I'm not up to much tonight, so this is a short blog entry.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Thursday, August 18, 2011
depressed a lot lately
sometimes my memories really get me down, and sometimes it is a lot worse than that. I start thinking I really need something to look forward to, and nothing comes up.
I remember when I was 18 months old [less than 2 anyway, as it was summer] and we lived on Bonifant St in downtown silver spring maryland. Mom took me and my brother out in back of our apartment to the playground and left us there, with my 4 year old brother in charge, as she went back inside for a while. We were running and playing, and I tripped and fell and badly skinned my knee. my brother could not carry me, so we were calling out loudly for Mom. She finally appeared at a window and then came down and carried me back to our apartment. When she was cleaning my knee and putting tincture of merthiolate on it, her brother J.B. started leaving.
She had my younger brother in his crib, so she was basically having alone time with her brother while leaving 2 small children unattended outside!
I remember he was wearing his sailor whites.
I sure have some issues with my mother.
I remember when I was 18 months old [less than 2 anyway, as it was summer] and we lived on Bonifant St in downtown silver spring maryland. Mom took me and my brother out in back of our apartment to the playground and left us there, with my 4 year old brother in charge, as she went back inside for a while. We were running and playing, and I tripped and fell and badly skinned my knee. my brother could not carry me, so we were calling out loudly for Mom. She finally appeared at a window and then came down and carried me back to our apartment. When she was cleaning my knee and putting tincture of merthiolate on it, her brother J.B. started leaving.
She had my younger brother in his crib, so she was basically having alone time with her brother while leaving 2 small children unattended outside!
I remember he was wearing his sailor whites.
I sure have some issues with my mother.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
a dark void
the time lost due to denial and trauma are making me so very uneasy.
To have to face the fact that, verbal abuse and constant subjection to a huge lie by my mother and the way she micro-managed all of my time as a 12 year old, and older, really astounds me when I see how nearly totally my memory of the event of my son's birth was wiped out of my reality.
I say 'nearly totally', not because I was able to figure out what was bothering me at an early stage, but because the edges of memory were always there, and the puzzle always haunted me, day and night, decades.
I have to deal with the fact that, since my reputation as having a very accurate memory of most things from my past, people struggle to accept my blank spots as being valid now that I am finally able to put the pieces in place for the entire picture.
Imagine if you will, that you are seated at a table with a jigsaw puzzle to build, and as you work your way around the edges, your mind tries to figure out what the final image will be like, because the box had no photo to work from. You can identify clouds, bits of sky, tree tops, grass, water, etc., but until you get the entire middle in place, you have to guess if it is a neighborhood, or a zoo, or a park setting, or maybe a farm.
Now, imagine there is a huge hole in your own life like that. You remember the birthdays, the school days, the friends, the kids who bullied you, and you remember fear. Sometimes you remember being attacked, and every tiny detail of it blasts your mind like a Cinemax movie 3 stories high, with 3-D and stereo sound and smell........ the smells are the worst. You can't get rid of them with perfume or extra helpings of hot fudge sundaes.
Going for long drives in the country alone helps put things into focus, but you have to go home, raise the kids, do chores, deal with the simpering idiot-child husband........ and be ignored all over again.
Sometimes you drink too much. Sometimes you watch tv all day.
Sometimes you write a novel, but never finish it. Sometimes you rabidly and ferociously paint on canvas until your emotions spatter the living space. Sometimes you bake massive quantities of fresh breads and cookies and pies, so you won't burst apart in tears, and everyone thinks everything is fine.
Thinking back, you remember only seeing your face and hair and teeth in the mirror, and can't let yourself see what happened to your body.
You would choose your clothing by colors combinations, and always try to bring the focal point to your face, and, unlike other 12 year old girls, are forcing your every increasing girth into a girdle because your mother tells you you can't leave the house otherwise. When you were sitting at home in the living room, you were expected to ALWAYS clutch a big sofa pillow to your chest, like you need a security blanket or a teddy bear and there isn't one. Nobody knows your mother made you do that so your profile of large belly would be hidden.
I still hate to see my body in the mirror. I am dieting again. And exercising a bit. I want tent dresses and monotone dark outfits and jewelry that attracts attention upward, still, 44 years after the fact.
How hard would it have been for my mother to care how I felt?
She never gave me a moment to say. EVER.
To have to face the fact that, verbal abuse and constant subjection to a huge lie by my mother and the way she micro-managed all of my time as a 12 year old, and older, really astounds me when I see how nearly totally my memory of the event of my son's birth was wiped out of my reality.
I say 'nearly totally', not because I was able to figure out what was bothering me at an early stage, but because the edges of memory were always there, and the puzzle always haunted me, day and night, decades.
I have to deal with the fact that, since my reputation as having a very accurate memory of most things from my past, people struggle to accept my blank spots as being valid now that I am finally able to put the pieces in place for the entire picture.
Imagine if you will, that you are seated at a table with a jigsaw puzzle to build, and as you work your way around the edges, your mind tries to figure out what the final image will be like, because the box had no photo to work from. You can identify clouds, bits of sky, tree tops, grass, water, etc., but until you get the entire middle in place, you have to guess if it is a neighborhood, or a zoo, or a park setting, or maybe a farm.
Now, imagine there is a huge hole in your own life like that. You remember the birthdays, the school days, the friends, the kids who bullied you, and you remember fear. Sometimes you remember being attacked, and every tiny detail of it blasts your mind like a Cinemax movie 3 stories high, with 3-D and stereo sound and smell........ the smells are the worst. You can't get rid of them with perfume or extra helpings of hot fudge sundaes.
Going for long drives in the country alone helps put things into focus, but you have to go home, raise the kids, do chores, deal with the simpering idiot-child husband........ and be ignored all over again.
Sometimes you drink too much. Sometimes you watch tv all day.
Sometimes you write a novel, but never finish it. Sometimes you rabidly and ferociously paint on canvas until your emotions spatter the living space. Sometimes you bake massive quantities of fresh breads and cookies and pies, so you won't burst apart in tears, and everyone thinks everything is fine.
Thinking back, you remember only seeing your face and hair and teeth in the mirror, and can't let yourself see what happened to your body.
You would choose your clothing by colors combinations, and always try to bring the focal point to your face, and, unlike other 12 year old girls, are forcing your every increasing girth into a girdle because your mother tells you you can't leave the house otherwise. When you were sitting at home in the living room, you were expected to ALWAYS clutch a big sofa pillow to your chest, like you need a security blanket or a teddy bear and there isn't one. Nobody knows your mother made you do that so your profile of large belly would be hidden.
I still hate to see my body in the mirror. I am dieting again. And exercising a bit. I want tent dresses and monotone dark outfits and jewelry that attracts attention upward, still, 44 years after the fact.
How hard would it have been for my mother to care how I felt?
She never gave me a moment to say. EVER.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
depression
I am still suffering from the depression surge that occured when my doctor mistreated me. I'm not recovering as well as I had hoped.
it is really awful when a so-called caretaker/healthcare provider makes your life worse. usually, if I'm depressed, going online and playing games and sharing messages with friends helps a lot, but not tonight, I had to just quit.
it is really awful when a so-called caretaker/healthcare provider makes your life worse. usually, if I'm depressed, going online and playing games and sharing messages with friends helps a lot, but not tonight, I had to just quit.
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