Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Hold on to that Hunk of Peace...

This is the first time that I have written a blog entry without knowing the title before starting...
There is so much to say and yet it is hard to say, hard to think about so many things this time of year.
I have survived the first anniversary of voluntarily euthanizing my physically healthy but mentally damaged horse.  I miss him and will forever...I am still heartbroken.
I am blessed to have my sons home for the holidays....but I have been reminded of how the flippant and righteous words of even a grown child can eviscerate...this reminder cutting through all of the hard work I have done to piece together a 'life worth living', cutting through all that I don't remember about the time before my suicide, cutting and cutting and cutting....I am still heartbroken.
I am blessed that I made a little bit of money this year and finally could feel like I could take care of my own 'expenses', i.e. the horses, knowing that the resentment my husband did and still does hold toward these 'expenses' impacted my pre- and post-suicide relationship with him.  I let him borrow most of this money and I am terrified that he won't pay me back, putting me right back where I was two years ago....helpless, hopeless, seeing no way out, no good answers or outcomes....I have tried to relay this to him, and I don't know if that was a good idea, as I also know that he would still be happy to have the pre-suicide wife-bot 'back', back the way it used to be....I am still afraid.
So I am feeling a bit fragile, and mad at myself for being fragile.  I have considered 'going through the motions' in lieu of being my authentic self, just to make it through this time without causing anyone any problem or reason to hurt me, to cut me any deeper, push me any farther down into myself.  I spent a lifetime going through the motions and I know that this is something that would be too dangerous for me to try to do ever again....I am more than a little afraid, and more than a little heartbroken.
No, I am not interested in taking my own life....or in homicide, either.  I don't know if there are words for 'where I am' or whatever you want to call it.  I guess that two years later, we are each (my family members and myself) still trying to figure things out, trying to grow up, trying to find a way to be comfortable with each other and these different relationships that we have with each other, looking at then, now, and into the future.
It is hard, and scary, and heartbreaking.  I get weary of everything being so hard, of being afraid and feeling so very alone, and of all of this pain: the physical, mental, emotional...I feel like I am constantly a part of some kind of test or study, one to see how much a post-suicidal person can take before they break.  I guess it is stupid of me to think that there will come a day when I will be somehow released from all of this shit and I will be pronounced to be 'okay', or 'normal', or 'no longer a threat'.  I guess it will be up to me to toss away the parts that I no longer need and make my own load lighter to carry.  I guess...I don't know...can only guess....
I am holding on to a big hunk of peace, keeping it close to my heart....keeping myself quiet and safe. Hope you can do the same...find yourself a hunk of peace and hold onto it, for dear life, hold on!!

Monday, December 10, 2012

That Smell....

I am in a rush, but wanted to share something.  Last evening my husband made himself some soup and a sandwich for dinner, and to me it had a strange and offensive smell.  I remembered to post this today because it is still lingering faintly in the house this morning.  It has been a good while since this has happened, but it happened frequently the first year after my suicide...there is a smell, sometimes a taste of a smell, that takes me back to the hospital, to the food, and how it all tasted wrong and bad and somehow 'disinfected' to me.  The smell has such a memory attached to it, it is a little shocking that here I am, my second birthday is drawing nearer, and there came that smell.  I couldn't figure out what about it was offensive until it dawned on me where I had smelled it before (the hospital).  I guess it will never leave me, and will be one of those triggers that makes me remember that I was there, that IT really happened, that out of so much that I will never remember, this fucking smell is going to be sticking with me, maybe forever.  Once I realized what was at the root of this encounter, I was okay.  I couldn't make the smell go away, but I knew why it bothered me so, and I could let it go (yes, progress comes in the strangest forms).
Now that I have shared this bizarre olfactory event, I must leave you...I have to go to the pharmacy and raise hell about my new fibromyalgia medicine, which my husband attempted to pick up yesterday and there was something wrong about some kind of authorization...I hope by the time I get there, they have gotten what they want or need and I can get my meds, unbelievably priced as they are, I want to see if they will help me, because I know the alternative is relying on opiates or steroids, neither of which will be a pleasant way to live.  Keep your fingers crossed for me....send me your mojo, if you have some extra to send....I have so little faith in the system; it has disappointed me too many times.  I do know that I have the right rheumatologist, though...I called them at 8 am and they called me back within an hour, and had already called the pharmacy, and I have a REAL PHONE NUMBER to call them back if there is trouble when I get to the pharmacy!!  So I am off....keep the peace....I'll be back!!

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

The State of Things...

I guess time has just gotten away from me.  Sorry it has taken me so long to get back to blogging.  I have been in an odd place...I am content, in the face of the impending winter, one of my sons leaving for the other coast, the anniversary of having to put my beautiful Promise down, the holidays in general, the anniversary of my suicide not too far away.  I am content.
I guess it goes to show that happiness, contentment, peace, and joy are all there inside of us, if we just figure out how to access them.  Now, the problem is that these wonderful emotions live right next door to anger, sadness, self-loathing, anxiety, depression, and fear.  They are all there, always.  What I am learning is that it is okay that all of these emotions have their own little cubbyhole inside of me.  They are the yin and yang of my life...they are the yin and yang of your life, of everyone's life.  Some are internal, personal; some are made to share.  It has taken me a while to realize this, and to realize that it is my choice, always; my choice on how I wish to approach events in my life.
DBT therapy has taught me that I can slow down and give myself time to decipher an event, an emotion, whether to respond or not, how to respond, etc.  It is something I highly recommend to any and everyone.
It has given me the tools to take control rather than let something or someone control me.  It has given me the advantage.  And this includes the advantage to know when to turn and walk away, because it is what is best for me.
So I have been deep into my life, my current life: sewing, mucking....and well, sewing and mucking.  Two activities that give me time to think, to ponder, and this is what I know today:  I am happy.  I am content.  I am okay and at peace with the state of my relationships.  Yes, I am a little sad, too.  I have lost a lot, paid my karmic dues.  I will carry that loss, that sadness, with me forever.  This is okay, too.  I have good memories to go along with the sadnesses.  I am able to keep things in perspective.
I realize that I am a miniscule dot on the landscape of this earth.  I have a warm, dry, safe and comfortable home.  I am not in any physical danger.  I have good food and clean water, indoor plumbing, furry friends to pamper.  I have a husband that has accepted the position as my friend.  I have two wonderful grown children; they believe that they can do anything if they put their energy into it - I taught them that!  I am so proud!  I have friends that truly love me, as I truly love them...I am content..
So, this is the state of things at the present.  I will not let so much time pass before I get back here again.  
Until then, much peace to you...

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Doctors....They Make You Want to Kill Yourself!

Yep!  Yesterday I went to meet the new GP that is taking over patients for my exiting GP.  I wish I could say that I like her, loved her, felt confident in her abilities to help me make wise health choices.
No...Not really!!!
She made me wait an hour and spent 8 minutes with me....during which time she 'examined' me (eyes, ears, throat with the light thing), went over my medications (which I had done with the nurse and hour before), asked why I saw a psychiatrist, which led to my suicide, which led to a lot of stupid questions that required (thankfully) one word answers.  She thought I should go to a pain doctor after I told her about my poor experiences with pain doctors...yes, really!
She offered me nothing, other than to call if I change my mind about the pain doctor, and to come back in oh, I don't know, three months....NO!
On the bright side, I did get my flu shot, which was one of my primary reasons for going in the first place.
So I am in the market for a new GP, if my rheumatologist feels that I need to have one.  I trust her, she is a real doctor, and I pray that she never lets the 'system' corrupt her into becoming a clock-watching, script-pandering, small-minded robot.
I am grateful for her, as well as my psychiatrist and therapists.  They never neglect to keep my best interests at the forefront of my treatment.
 It is hard enough to be a suicide survivor....I don't think it is a good idea to have a doctor that makes you want to kill yourself!
At least, at this point, I feel liberated from the 'system'...the 'system' has failed me too many times to count in the past year and a half.
It gives me a strange feeling of peace to know I don't have to go back there, where so many incompetent things transpired....so, like I've said before, don't settle for a doctor that isn't helping you or doesn't seem to be taking you down paths that are not in your best interest.  Doctors are as plentiful as lawyers these days, and you are the customer, you get to choose...otherwise you might as well go to your county health department...you will probably have better luck there!

Monday, November 5, 2012

Paying It Forward....

When i tried to kill myself and awoke a different version of myself, i had great support from certain people, who were there for me for whatever they could do to help.  It was good to know that i was not alone, and that i was loved and people were glad that i was still around.
I have a friend staying with me right now....she is bipolar and having trouble with her meds not helping and having to change meds, etc.  She called me last week to please come and see her, which i did, and i told her to pack up, that she would be coming home with me, that she can stay here until she feels ready to go back home.  She lives alone, except for her adorable dog, louie...and they are a part of my household now.  I am so glad to be able to help her, to be that friend, not for credit, but as a way to spread the love and light, and a way to give back to the universe for my good fortune, my mental stability, i could go on and on!
you may know someone that is in need of a hand, or a place to stay, or a loan, or some food....so many things that can be lacking and needed.  you have a choice....help however you can, without worrying about how it might make your life a little more difficult or less comfortable, or beg off, make excuses, simply ignore the cries for help.  It is really your choice, because if you can't help, can't sign on for the duration, then you probably should not.
When I was in the Psych ward and getting calls from friends and family daily, it meant everything to me to know that out there were people that loved me and would help me figure out what the hell happened.
But there were certain people who really let me down, blew me off, didn't want to stand by me because it didn't make them look good....if i had been diagnosed with cancer, they would have been right there, making a show of their support, instead of a show of support.  It damaged relationships, for sure.  I will never forget those people that showed me the love and those that made other choices.  And that is their right, their choice.
I choose to stand by my friend in this difficult time.  I choose to share the love, share whatever I have that she might need.  At first I worried that I was being a caretaker again, like what got me dead...but it isn't like that now,  it is just my compassion, healthy compassion, healthy is good...
Do what you can for who you can when you can....in such scary times as these, we can choose to be alone and aloof, or we can choose to open our hearts and hands and reach out....I know for me the more selfless i become the more the universe smiles upon me, and sends me the people who are supposed to touch my life and help me to continue to grow.  It is good....peace to you...

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Just a Quickie!!

I just wanted to tell everyone, anyone....don't be satisfied until you find the right doctors for you!  After waiting five months for my ex-GP to refer me to a rheumatologist, I had a serendipitous occasion to change doctors.  On that day, my new doctor referred me to the rheumatologist that I had seen years before and wanted to go back to.  That was a Friday afternoon, and on Monday afternoon, the appointment person called to set up an appointment with said rheumatologist, which I was lucky enough to get within the same month.
My appointment was yesterday.  My rheumatologist spent probably 45 minutes with me, talking, listening, and believe it or not...caring!  We discussed my trajectory of getting off of the oxycontin/codone train, which is a miserable and painful trip...but I'm more than halfway there now.  After this week things should be easier, but this week will suck!   But she was very happy to help and to support me in such an honest and caring and knowledgeable way....giving me a plan A and a plan B....I was like, wow!, options!!!
We discussed changing my fibromyalgia meds once I am clear of the narcotics.  A couple of them also have antidepressant and/or anti-anxiety benefits along with the physical benefits.  She asked if she could talk to my psychiatrist about her opinion and so that they could work TOGETHER (yeah, shocking, huh?) to head me in the right direction with the meds.  And here is the best part....the rheumatologist's assistant called me yesterday ( yes, the same day as my appointment) to verify info on contacting my psychiatrist.  Even though my follow-up isn't for a few weeks.
I am so very impressed!!  So very happy and relieved and I just want to share that with you, because the old me wouldn't even be trying to get off the oxy's; she'd just get more and try to stay as numb as possible...
and while numb sounds fantastic right now (my skin hurts, if that helps explain how it is) I know that it won't always be this way and that I am doing the right thing for my body and myself.
I am thankful to the Universe for whatever part it has played in clearing this path for me...one of several paths that have been cleared for me recently as I journey through my year of healing.
So if you aren't getting what you want or need from your present practitioners, change them...you are not just a patient, you are a customer, too!

Monday, October 15, 2012

Trying to Stay Calm and Lay Low....Patience...

I feel like I"m two different people.  The one who lives in the cartoon, hanging out on the farm and watching tv with my husband.  It all looks so normal, but it feels foreign as hell.  Especially if I take my blinders off for even a second and look around at all of the unfinished, overgrown, falling down messes.  This farm was so pretty and well-kept, but after my suicide and the riding accidents, it was let go....I was the one that made sure things were done, whether I did them or asked someone else to.  I guess its that there are two sides to not caring any more about the disposition of the material things that comprised my old life.  I don't care but I do care.  I really just want to put it behind me, and I will.  I will be glad to be just one whole person.
The other person is trying desperately to get things together, and to get healthy and well and energized.  It can get frustrating.  I've never been this physically fucked up before.  It just sucks!!!  I do go to a rheumatologist next week and hopefully we can get my physical issues under control.  My emotional issues should improve with that, too.  I just get so tired of being two people...being disassociated.  I know that this is how I was able to kill myself, this separation.  Its a little unsettling that I can fall into it easily.  But I know I'm doing it now.  I have little recollection of my other self before suicide.  She was strong and smart and more the real me than the other person that was run over and run down and wanted to run away.  I am her now.  The me that I used to be, only in a 51 year old, fucked up body.  But I have spirit and faith and confidence.  It is good.
And one more thing.  It has been interesting that since I remembered about the sexual and deeply emotional relationship that I had with my cousin from the time I was 7 to 17.  It has given me a liberated feeling to know that it happened and remember all about it.  I can understand more and more how it shaped my life at the time.  And I can let it go...set it free.  That little girl, that young woman, she didn't have the same map that other people had to find their way.  She did the best she could.  What else could she do?
I have been left with a lingering peace.  It is more than a little strange, but I'm going with it.  There are things on the horizon, waiting.  I'm not ready to deal with them, even though these things could be so life-changing, life-saving.  I'm not ready yet.  I have things that I have to do.  I will do them in peace, do them with love.  I will take it all as a blessing.  I will put my blinders on and go about my business.  I am supposed to do that right now.  Patience....peace...yeah...
Sorry if this is a ramble.  Sometimes that is just how it comes out of me.  The disparity between my mental self and my physical self is just hard to take.  But it won't always be this way....patience....peace....

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Sharing...

It has taken me a long time to reach out and share my story.  Yes, I write this blog, but not that many people know that it even exists.  I finally feel strong and able enough to share the fact that I am documenting what happened to me, what I continue to learn about my past life, and how I feel about having a chance to be whole and adult and confident and happy.
I find that most people aren't really sure why I'm happy, with all of the hardships and accidents and heartbreaks that I have endured since my suicide.  I am happy in spite of those things. So many not-happy things happened and I have managed to learn and grow from them and turn their energy into happiness.  That doesn't mean that I have forgotten anything or been dismissive.  I just choose to be happy.  It isn't nearly as hard to do as trying to be perfect so everyone else can be happy.  Other people are not my problem, in that their issues are their issues, not my issues.  The teflon philosophy in action, I guess.
I have learned that I can gain strength from sharing my story.  I go to therapy every week, I got to group therapy every week, and I go to see my psychiatrist once a month.  I share with them all of the things that have been going on in my life, from remembering a past that anyone would want to forget, to relating how the different people in my life are relating to me, to admission of my bad days, days I cry and feel sorry for myself, mostly because I can't leave. Not yet.
I am fortunate that I know so many incredible people that are willing to share their stories with me, too.  We all have things to learn from each other's experiences, good and bad.
And recently I have begun a Servant Leadership class, where I share my 'wisdom' with other people, younger and older, and we are each fortified from the positive energy and pure love that we generate as a group and each take with us as we go about our week.  It is incredible so far, and I am supposed to be there, there is a divine reason that hasn't been revealed yet, but it is there.  It is kind of wild to be in a class for two and a half hours and feel your heart radiating outward the entire time, even while I'm driving toward class, I feel a pull, a force that is propelling me.
I hope that over time, people will feel enough at ease to share their stories with me thru this blog.  I consider this a huge part of my healing process.  I would love to be able to help others find their path toward healing.  Maybe I already am and just don't know it.  We all touch so many lives and share little bits and pieces that may not seem important to us at the time, but speak volumes to others.
So share, it is scary but if I can do it, you can too.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Contemplations About the Future...

Please excuse any abnormally bad typos...i am typing on a laptop, and we don't really get along. I'm enjoying having a couple of days and nights alone, off the farm, where i can work and enjoy just being.  on my drive here i was so focused on the beauty around me, and i realized that i was truly just being, present and in the moment, moment to moment, just driving along with a little smile on my face.   It was wonderful, and wonderful to be able to know that i have come this far.  
Ah...back home on a real keyboard....as i was saying...it is wonderful to know that i have come this far, and that I will not allow myself to ever go back.  With all of the horrible things in the world and all of the horrible things that have happened in and around my life, i am happy!  I can't help it, i'm just happy.  I am only a few dollars away from permanently camping somewhere, but it doesn't matter, or it does, but i won't let it rule me.  I won't run around chasing after something that only becomes more elusive the harder it is chased.  I will sit here and smile and enjoy each and every new day...because it is what i'm supposed to do.  I work of course, but my work is my passion and every day is new with my work, too.
I am constantly learning about myself, about what i'm made of these days.  I think about the future, too, but not too hard.  I could go with the Mayans.   Time on this earth could be that short.  I think that if the world doesn't end in december, there will be some new prediction of doom.  and another, and another....
I do know that I am meant to be alone, on my own, somewhere, somehow.  It will be hard, probably.  But deep down it is what i feel...what i look toward, if i look toward anything.  I am actually happy about it.  I hope i will find a way to live on my own and do so without having to live in a cardboard box or in my truck.  I would like to have my own little place someday.  maybe even a loft over a shop.  ah, i'm quite a dreamer for someone that wanted to die.  I wanted to die because i had ceased to have any dreams, any aspirations, any hope.  There was no light at the end of my tunnel or knot on the end of my rope.  And i still tread gingerly into dreaming territory....but i tread, i hope, i dream.  i am glad to be here...and i am supposed to be here and i am supposed to do something special, or monumental, or something....i don't know what that is yet, but it is in here and it will come out when the time is right.  i am okay waiting where i am, enjoying each passing moment, living smack dab in the middle of each and every one!

Monday, September 17, 2012

Living Without a Generous Heart...

I have tried and tried to reconcile why I do not want to stay married to my husband.  I believe in forgiveness, and I feel like I have forgiven him for many things, as he has forgiven me, I'm sure.  But the truth of the matter is that I resigned myself to live with certain parts of my husband's nature, things that can't be changed by anyone but him.  As I have come out of the fog I have realized that the thing I can't get past, and the thing that used to drain me of energy over and over, trying to neutralize the effects....he does not possess a generous heart.  He is stingy with what he gives, and ravenous for whatever he can get his greedy hands on of others' offerings.  I think of all the things that I gave up, willingly, to keep my family going...things I cherished and will never see again.  He has not given up anything.  He has hoarded the things that he feels are valuable, even things to which he has no sentimental attachment.  
I cannot live with this much longer.  I lived with it for decades, in my old life, and it dragged me into abyss after abyss.  Now, I see him itching, seriously, to get a little of what I have worked so hard to have.  He slowly talks about how broke we are in that vague way that I now know is just a manipulation on him part.  He pauses to see if I will interject and ask how I can help....I have nothing to say, I take care of what I need to, but he will not touch what I have.  For a time I weakened, but no more.  I have learned that you can never satisfy someone that is not of a generous heart....they are a bottomless pit, and enough is never enough.
I had to die for this realization to sink in....I thought it was my fault, of course.  I tried to fix it so many times, when it was never mine to fix.  Now, I just have nothing to say.  I will not let his black aura of greed and need get on me ever again.  As I have learned in DBT group, I am teflon, and none of that blackness will be sticking to me.  I can watch and be amused, even.  And unfortunately, he can never make it up to me.  He can never fix this, and in fact, he probably doesn't even realize that it is there to begin with.  Because it is part of who he is, just like it is part of who I am to open up and give of myself, my things, whatever.  It means more to me to see the happiness I can bring and the goodness that I can pass along by giving than it means to hold on to it for myself.  I am happy and I am good and I am teflon....yeah...if you have someone out there that is draining all the energy, all the good, all the life from you, refill yourself, and from that moment forward, be teflon, imagine an invisible shield or bubble around you, keeping others from being able to tap in to your reservoir of happiness and goodness and love.  just repeat after me.....'I am teflon'....

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

September 11th....

I think we all have our memories and feelings regarding the events that took place on 9/11/2001.  I remember it...I was at home and we had no TV and bad dial-up, and my mom called me from her work to tell me what was happening...at this point it had just begun unfolding...the first tower had been hit....I got in my car and drove from the north end of the county to her house on the south end of the county, so that I could see what was happening on TV.  I got there in time for the rest of it.  I thought it looked like a movie, one of those action things with great special effects.  But it was real.
The impact of seeing those people jumping out of windows and the towers falling, the pentagon burning ( I had several good friends that worked in D.C. and couldn't reach them, wouldn't know what happened to them, for many hours.  It took a long time, or seemingly so, to grasp it all, all of the components of these heinous acts: those planes were real, regular old airline planes, full, FULL, of people and full of fuel...flying bombs; those buildings really fell down, buildings that I had actually been in and been to the top of, back in 1988.
In the aftermath of 9/11 I decided that if there were things that I wanted to do or try that I should get to it, because none of us had the promise of a minute...anything could happen...  I taught myself how to play the guitar, I started singing and playing in front of people, in microphones, made recordings, got paid to do shows....crazy, crazy for someone like me, with no self-esteem or confidence.  I used to feel like I was going to throw up when I would get up to the mike, and my mouth would go dry mid-song, so I'd have to stop and drink some water.  It became a big part of my life for nearly 10 years, culminating with having a band that included myself, my husband, my two sons, and one or two honorary family members.  It was awesome...it was such a special thing to me, and I never took it for granted.  We disbanded (pardon the pun) the fall of 2010, three or four months before I committed suicide.  I know that it ending had its own part in my decline.
But I did do something, learn something, make my mark, and fulfill the promise to myself that I would do something that I always wanted to do and never thought that I would.
In my aftermath, here in the fall of 2012, I am inspired by the people that survived, and the people that lost someone very close to them, and how they go on.  We all go on, the best way we can....even suicide victims and their families, we all go on.  If I was who I am now, and I experienced 9/11, I would feel the same way about wanting to make the most of my time on this earth.  I would be trying to make a difference in the lives of others, though, instead of my own.  And I would know true fulfillment....true love....

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Red Flags...

So much and so little have happened since my last post, which was on my son's 26th birthday.  Still haven't seen him to hug him, talked to him on the day after his birthday and he was just spouting out more riddles and jibberish.  I started talking about my stuff, my business and what I have been up to, and pretty soon he had to go, which was okay, too.
I've been being careful, sometimes too much so.  I caught myself last weekend trying to put back some items that I had picked out in a store.  I was with a friend, and I started deliberating about these items, when it came to me....I was worrying about spending money for something for myself....like I did BEFORE!!!  It freaked me out to realize that, too!  Because I've gotten too comfortable, or lazy, or something....all the red flags that I have in place....and there was no warning this time!  Usually anything in any way that could be construed as from BEFORE....brings on that 'danger Will Robinson' (from 'Lost in Space') in my head, warning me that I had to be vigilant and not allow whatever to revert back to BEFORE.
So I caught myself and chastised myself and told my friend not to let me do that, and if she was with me and I started doing that, feeling guilty for wanting or even needing something, she needed to give me a little slap and WAKE MY ASS UP and remind me how I got dead and why I got dead!
Needless to say, I purchased the items and ignored my elevated heart rate when I pulled them out of the bag, because it is my right to have things.  I am worthy!
I have been trying to reinstall the red flags that were out of order....maybe they ran out of batteries....it was a long and tiring weekend and week and weekend again.
If you need any red flags, get them, use them, stay out of danger....don't get too comfortable to remember why!  Whatever your 'why' happens to be.
I will tackle another post tomorrow...till then I bid you peace!

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Why Can't I Fix It?

Today is my eldest son's 26th birthday.  This is the first time in his life that I don't know where he is or how to reach him....and I don't mean calling his cell phone.
I know that when I tried to kill myself he was really lost, and he tried really hard to cover this up by acting overly-confident and aloof.  He was angry for a long time and I thought at one point that I had reached through that anger and that we were on better ground.  But he is back in dangerous territory and I would give my right arm to help him, but he doesn't want my help.
I have taught myself to deal with the immense fallout from my suicide by treating it as payment for this life, this new life that I love, even after all of the horrendous things that happened last year.  I could blame myself for everything, but that wouldn't be very correct or productive.  I did that in my last life, and it didn't work out too well for me.
On days like this, I feel so powerless all over again.  Maybe this is normal; I don't know, since I don't have any idea how to define 'normal' and I have a very different view of feeling powerless these days.  I just want to see my son, hard as it will be, uncomfortable as it will be, just downright tedious...I want to hug him, that's all.  I know that my words just anger him and his words just anger me, so I just want to hug him.  I have no idea if I will get that opportunity...
I just hope that he will find his way, and get out there and do what he says he wants to do, and figure out who he is, his authentic self. And then learn to love that authentic self....its a tall order for this one...keep your fingers crossed for him, will you?  He needs all the love and luck that he can get.....

Friday, August 17, 2012

Where Were All the Grown-Ups?

I have finally unraveled my deep, dark secret.  It is much worse, much sadder than being 'abused' in the usual sense, because it took my trust and my belief that I could be safe and smacked it down over and over and over again.  Now that I know, now that I have let myself remember, I have to keep repeating to myself that 'you were just a little girl, it wasn't your fault' and to a large extent, 'it wasn't his fault, either, he was just a little boy'.
I don't know at what age this all started but probably around the time I was 7 or so. My male cousin, also an only child, was two years my senior.  I looked up to him like a big brother.  Even when he got me in trouble, or trashed one of my toys, I still loved him.  And the adults around would usually just let it go, because they felt sorry for him, with his alcoholic mother and perverted, abusive father.  He was rarely punished, and usually when he was he retaliated in some way.  I was punished on a routine basis, for things wasn't even in the room to do. I was as innocent and gullible as they come.  I always looked for the good....I realize that now, even though I wouldn't have been old enough to recognize it then.
Anyway, my cousin began touching me, asking me to touch him.  I didn't know any better at the time, and as I said, I looked up to him.  This was an ongoing theme throughout my childhood and teenage years as well.  The worst part of it all was what it did to my view of myself, and consequently, how others responded to me.  Self-worth, trust, self-esteem, right, wrong, all of it....very much a mess.  I touched other children....sometimes they touched me back, sometimes they told their parents, sometimes both.  I was rewarded and punished for my behavior, and never once did I admit where I got such ideas.  I'm not sure anyone ever asked.  I don't think they wanted to know.  I see now that I was never able to have a normal relationship....I was so confused about love and trust and sex.  I spent most of my youth 'belonging' to my cousin.  Because at some point, I quit looking for the adult to come and save me....I realized it was never going to happen, and this was just the way it was going to be until I was old enough and strong enough to change it....about the time I was 17....so for 10 years this was going on, and nobody said a fucking thing.  In fact, there were many times that we were just thrown together, to sleep together, to live alone together, etc.  At one point we talked about getting married or pretending to be, since we didn't think anyone would want us...we realized that we were too messed up to have normal, loving relationships.
I can't begin to tell you how far down I had stuffed this.  When I was touched inappropriately by my father and then by my step-father (I was 18 by then), I absolutely did not allow anything to happen.  Yet I would use these two instances as reason for my subsequent self-abuse.  I didn't consider what happened between my cousin and I as wrong or a reason for me to be screwed up, in comparison to what I now consider 'the dads' disgusting behavior.  I think the reality is that 'the dads' supplied the last two nails in my coffin....leaving me standing there with nothing to do but try and fuck over every man I could.
But enough for today...Seeing this written in words is very validating for me.  I was just a little girl, and I swear, I can't tell you where the grown-ups were or what they were doing that allowed such a thing to start and continue for a decade.  Kind of amazing, wouldn't you say?

Monday, August 13, 2012

..And I"ll Take a Big Bowl of Self-Esteem....

Now, should I have that Self-Esteem as a side dish or as my entree, appetizer or dessert?
My old life didn't even include Self-Esteem as a garnish.  If you had met me, you would have believed that I was fine, had a fine view of myself, and the confidence to do anything.  I knew that something was wrong, but I didn't let that ruin my pretense as a normal person.  But even as I excelled - at music, at motherhood, at friendship, at my equine-related businesses, at cooking, you name it - I never could shake the feeling, deep down inside, that I was a failure, that I was a fake, that nobody loved me, and on and on and on.  I never felt that my work would be considered good enough, so I was feverish in my efforts to be 'the best' and to be seen as a tough, accomplished person.  Yet it only took one comment, one person's doubt, one bully, one harmless mistake, and I could be sent into a tailspin of self-loathing and negativity, all held deep inside, where it festered and ached and caused the tiniest of hairline cracks in my 'image' of myself.  I spent my first 50 years living this life, until I couldn't bare to live it any longer, and those little hairline cracks all got together and shattered that 'image' forever.
The best thing that has come from my suicide, by far, is the chance to shed the layers of soul poverty and emerge a whole person, a happy, self-confident, learning-to-be-self-reliant person.  For all of the pain and all of the loss I know that who I am now is stronger and kinder and wiser.  I have self-esteem for the first time ever.  It is mine and can't be taken away from me.  It is a beautiful thing, too.
It is an awesome thing for me to accept accolades for my work, without acknowledging or validating the voice of self-doubt that would like to turn earnest compliments into twisted put-downs or shallow pacifiers.  I feel whole and alive, not just going through the motions of living.  I didn't know it could be like this, just like I didn't know that I was a lifetime victim of abuses.  I thought that was normal.  And I'll explain more about that in a future installment of this blog.  Suffice it to say that I am starting to understand my past life and why I had become what I had become.
Now I don't cook much these days, but its okay, because I find that I like my generous helpings of Self-Esteem served at room temperature or slightly chilled, with a sprinkle of cinnamon, maybe a little butter.  All good stuff....it is good.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Baring the Soul...Not Always What You Would Think...

I had a very raw conversation with my husband this morning.  I asked about the missing pages in my journal, showed him the journal, where the pages were carefully torn out, the time line of the missing entries.  He said he didn't take them, and I believe him.  I know who took them, and why she thought she was entitled to do so.  I hope she finds joy and comfort in my recorded misery, as she is no longer in my life, and those pages, however dear they were to me, are all she has left of me.  No, I'm not bitter, and hope I don't sound that way.  When your mother betrays you, while already in the act of betrayal, what can you say? what can you do?  Nothing, but wave her on.  The good news is that she can't hurt me anymore.  She has lost that power that I allowed her to have over me.  I am happy to say that in her betrayal, the one where she was acting like my mother for the first time in my life, was a wonderful feeling for me.  I at least got to know what it would be like to have a real mother, who loved me unconditionally and knew that no one could take her place in my life.  It was quite an experience for me, and I am grateful.  It was short-lived, unfortunately.
Back to the morning's conversation; as i began talking to my husband about those missing pages, those first epiphanies after my suicide, i found that i was able to open myself up and tell him what i had been remembering lately about my past self, from childhood, teenhood, adulthood.  I let him know that i could now understand, remember that i was fucked up from childhood - socially, sexually, and all that came with it.  I told him that I was already completely messed up by the time we met.  I spent our marriage trying to compensate and be all the things that 'normal' people were, a good wife, mother, friend, worker, housekeeper, daughter, whatever.  I was vigilant in my facade.  I believed it was real, too.  I had to believe in order for everyone else to buy it, i suppose.
So this morning I bared my soul and my self to my husband, talking about things he couldn't have known.  I did ask him why he never questioned how i could just simply let him fuck me.  i realized that he probably didn't know any better, as he was inexperienced sexually.  I had lots of experience, just the wrong kind, so i could never connect with him, never allow myself to feel good or feel at all.
I encouraged him to use his therapy sessions to bare himself to the group; that it would be the safest place, as nothing from there leaves there.  I hope he will find the courage to let things out, take them out and have a good look at them, finally.
I don't need those pages anymore.  I can remember enough from that time.  I am saddened that someone would take them, and be so deliberate about it.  I am not the only crazy person in this story.  I am not going to allow such an act to make me feel like a victim.  I used to be a victim, with a V on my forehead.  NO MORE, though.  She is dead, that victim.  I left her in the ambulance, or the ER, wherever it was that I flat-lined.  She is dead, and I have paid for her sins and her demise.  Life by suicide is not cheap.  Realizing that parts of yourself are broken beyond repair, that's a hard thing to accept, and a hard thing for other people to accept, especially if it has anything to do with their relationship with you, be it past, present, and/or future.
I watch my husband, who victimized and betrayed me and who betrayed and victimized himself, as I say the things that we both have to hear and understand.  as we move past 'it's broken' to 'this is why it's broken' and 'this is how it got broken in the first place'....as we try to find our places, our roles, in this new life...as we bare our souls.

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

away from my trusty computer

just a note....i'm working on a laptop and i don't like it....i will have my desktop back in a couple of days and i will check in then....thanks

Monday, July 23, 2012

What's Missing...

I decided to finally crack that first journal open and start reading it from the beginning, which starts right after I got home from the mental ward of the hospital, which was January 25, 2011.  I will share some of my experiences from that time in a few....because first I have to say that I am perplexed....there is a huge gap of empty space, with the carefully torn-off stubs in the notebook, which is a gap from an entry on 3-9-11 to an entry on 11-30-11, so someone took a whole bunch of pages out of this notebook.  I don't know who or why, even racking my brain to think if I did it for some reason.  very weird and unsettling.  i can't find the missing pages anywhere.  more than a little freaky, that's for sure.  well, i will say that there were good things and bad things...the stronger i got physically the more i realized that things were very, very bad...my marriage was dead, my children, mother, all lived through me or did things because of me or to spite me, you name it. i spent all of my time trying to make everyone happy before my attempt.  and at first, after my attempt, i spent a good bit of my very limited energy trying to reassure everyone that i was okay, that i didn't need to be watched, that it was all just a little bump in the road.  ridiculous....then it hit me what i was doing, falling right back into the life i had done my best to leave - and my family, they were happily letting me do just that.
When i started going to therapy, which was, in journal time, shortly before the gap of missing pages, or the middle of march, 2011, it didn't take long for me to realize that i was not crazy, they were crazy.  They had sucked the life right out of me, each in their own way.  and i had to tell them that, and i did, eventually.  of course the blameless denied, the passive aggressive said it was all their fault, in an effort to get me to disagree and take the responsibility.  it was so strange, as i learned to step outside of my world enough to see my former life and my new life and the timeline of it all  laid out for me to review.  I could see why my childhood had started haunting me....i was never good enough, or jewish enough, or christian enough, or short enough, or pretty enough, or dumb enough.....i never fit into the world that i had to live in.  i tried to fit, and i was berated, and  i tried to be my own person, and i was ostracized.  it didn't end with school, either.  my work life was the same, most of the time.  my relationships as well.  it all makes sense from this side of the timeline.  
but there was a definite pattern and a simple explanation why i spent almost 30 years trying to be a perfect wife, mother, friend, daughter, person. why i was determined that everything could be okay...i could be both parents to my sons and a mother to my mother and my husband.  i was stretched a wee bit thin.  when i started group therapy i was totally unprepared for the people that i would encounter and feel a great camaraderie with.  i think i really felt like i belonged for the first time ever.  considering the very different existences that we all had, we had great commonalities as well.  I was amazed mostly at the power that the mothers had over almost every one of these people, all who had been in therapy a long time.  I was feeling rather normal...don't worry, that didn't last!
I will search for my missing pages....they tell the real story, from what i recall.  that may be why someone absconded with them.  but they have to be somewhere, and i will ferret them out if they still exist.  they must be pretty damning to someone...or someone's proof that i'm crazy or something....we'll see!

Monday, July 16, 2012

Well, Not Yet...

I think that I know too much about what I thought when I first started writing my thoughts down, and how that my first journal contains some huge shifts in my universe.  I guess I'm not ready to look at that quite yet.  I will get there.  I have learned many lessons, sometimes been bludgeoned with them, repeatedly.  There is a long range ripple effect caused by a suicide, even a failed attempt.  I think maybe the failed attempt is so different from someone actually ending their mortal life, in how it ripples out to others close to you.  I am still seeing the damage incurred by others.  I see my oldest son, and adult, at least in physical years, and I know that the problems he is having now, didn't start now, but started after my suicide.  It has changed his relationships with other people, and not in a good way.  He has, in some way that I'm not privy to, alienated and hurt people, caused them to push him away.  I have tried hard to understand him and this huge 'thing that can't be named' that has come about in his life.  He is not going to let me in, at least not any time soon.  One of the many things I have to live with, carry around with myself.  Now he is leaving behind his worldly possessions, cutting ties, and hitting the road with a backpack to find himself out there.  It terrifies me, but I know he has to do this.  I will likely see him for the last time in a long time today.  It doesn't seem real, but it is and I have to support him, even as I ache inside at the thought of something bad happening to him.  I was raised on fear and I did not do that to my children, but there is still a little of it left inside me, even after suicide.  I am not afraid of death, I'm afraid of loss.  Afraid that the universe isn't finished exacting payment for what I did.  Well, I will be strong for myself today...I will cry later.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Journal #1: Not Just Yet....

I admit it...I'm a little bit chicken about cracking open that first journal.  I will, and soon, just not today!  In the meantime....let me tell you more about the hospital...more about how I got there...
I wasn't supposed to live.  I took an incredible amount of drugs and if my husband hadn't arrived home uncharacteristically on time, my suicide would have been a success.  Just a few more minutes would have made all the difference.  I don't remember the actual drugging...I remember little bits and pieces....I have a vivid picture of mixing up the drugs with water and vodka, a white mixture, trying to get all of the pills to melt.
I kind of remember that I wrote out a will and notes to everyone in my family....I don't remember doing it so much as just know that I did...I remember that I made sure everything was done: all of the animals were fed, the house was straight, etc.  I remember that I had decided to lay down to die in the spare bedroom, so as not to make it uncomfortable for my husband to sleep in our bed.  I was very accommodating right to the end.  I tried to make what was to be my death as simple and comfortable for everyone as I could.  Isn't that crazy?  I had lived that way for so long, so many years, that I wouldn't think of inconveniencing anyone with my death.  I just wanted to be gone.  I did not want to live the life I was 'living' any longer.  And I had completely convinced myself that the ONLY way to fix my problem was suicide.  I felt that I didn't have the money or any place to go where I wouldn't be 'inconveniencing' someone.  I made myself believe...and I also felt that some of the things I would be facing soon I would just rather be dead than have to go through.  There is a huge amount of irony regarding that, and I will get to it a little later.
Its funny, it seems like some crazy story now, I have no physical scars or real memories to make me believe it happened.  I do know what happened to all of my family and friends, however.  Believe me, they let me know.  When I woke up, I thought I was upside down, laying upside down, but they say this isn't so.  My family and friends came in two by two to say hello to me....at this time I was still tied to the bed and intubated (?), so I couldn't move really or speak.  It all seemed like it happened in a couple of minutes, but I'm told that this went on for hours, because I went in and out of consciousness.  I do remember two young psychiatrists-to-be that came in and started yelling at me...things like 'why did you do this?' ' what is wrong with you?' ' don't you know what a horrible thing you did?'   They totally scared the hell out of me....I didn't know what they were talking about, so they freaked me out.  They were later reported to the head of their department for their 'bedside manners' or lack thereof.  I don't really know how long I was in there once I woke up.  I know at some point they took the tube out from down my throat, and took my catheter out as well so that I could go to the bathroom in a chair thing in the ICU while being watched and helped (I was extremely weak)  It was only the beginning of the indignities that I had to suffer in these early days of my re-birthing.
I'm tired now....I'll try to add another installment soon....thanks for your patience and understanding.

Journal #1: Not Just Yet....

I admit it...I'm a little bit chicken about cracking open that first journal.  I will, and soon, just not today!  In the meantime....let me tell you more about the hospital...more about how I got there...
I wasn't supposed to live.  I took an incredible amount of drugs and if my husband hadn't arrived home uncharacteristically on time, my suicide would have been a success.  Just a few more minutes would have made all the difference.  I don't remember the actual drugging...I remember little bits and pieces....I have a vivid picture of mixing up the drugs with water and vodka, a white mixture, trying to get all of the pills to melt.
I kind of remember that I wrote out a will and notes to everyone in my family....I don't remember doing it so much as just know that I did...I remember that I made sure everything was done: all of the animals were fed, the house was straight, etc.  I remember that I had decided to lay down to die in the spare bedroom, so as not to make it uncomfortable for my husband to sleep in our bed.  I was very accommodating right to the end.  I tried to make what was to be my death as simple and comfortable for everyone as I could.  Isn't that crazy?  I had lived that way for so long, so many years, that I wouldn't think of inconveniencing anyone with my death.  I just wanted to be gone.  I did not want to live the life I was 'living' any longer.  And I had completely convinced myself that the ONLY way to fix my problem was suicide.  I felt that I didn't have the money or any place to go where I wouldn't be 'inconveniencing' someone.  I made myself believe...and I also felt that some of the things I would be facing soon I would just rather be dead than have to go through.  There is a huge amount of irony regarding that, and I will get to it a little later.
Its funny, it seems like some crazy story now, I have no physical scars or real memories to make me believe it happened.  I do know what happened to all of my family and friends, however.  Believe me, they let me know.  When I woke up, I thought I was upside down, laying upside down, but they say this isn't so.  My family and friends came in two by two to say hello to me....at this time I was still tied to the bed and intubated (?), so I couldn't move really or speak.  It all seemed like it happened in a couple of minutes, but I'm told that this went on for hours, because I went in and out of consciousness.  I do remember two young psychiatrists-to-be that came in and started yelling at me...things like 'why did you do this?' ' what is wrong with you?' ' don't you know what a horrible thing you did?'   They totally scared the hell out of me....I didn't know what they were talking about, so they freaked me out.  They were later reported to the head of their department for their 'bedside manners' or lack thereof.  I don't really know how long I was in there once I woke up.  I know at some point they took the tube out from down my throat, and took my catheter out as well so that I could go to the bathroom in a chair thing in the ICU while being watched and helped (I was extremely weak)  It was only the beginning of the indignities that I had to suffer in these early days of my re-birthing.  
I'm tired now....I'll try to add another installment soon....thanks for your patience and understanding.

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Let Me Introduce Myself

I committed suicide on January 14th, 2011.  Trouble was, i woke up in the Trauma ICU three days later (give or take a few hours) completely confused about where i was and why i was there.  I have been writing a journal since i allowed myself to be committed to the Psych ward on January 18th, 2011.  I will be using the journals, as well as information given me by family and friends, to reconstruct the death of one life, the birth of another, growing up at hyperspeed, and all of the ironic events along the way.
I would love to hear from anyone who has had a similar experience.  I know i'm not the only one out there in the world to whom the universe granted a 'do-over'.