A couple days ago, Brynn's kitten, Delilah, got out. I heard her yowling and checked outside and found her clinging to the door, her claws bleeding and blood coming from her mouth. She was cold and limp and raspy for over an hour, but I wrapped her in a blanket and snugged her, and between me holding her and Princess licking her face constantly, she came around. Got up, drank water, ate, played with Princess like normal.
Brynn adores this kitten and was upset when she got home and discovered something had gotten a hold of her and she had been hurt. She snugged and loved on her, and Delilah ate up the extra attention. Every day when Brynn gets home, Delilah comes running, climbs whatever is closest to Brynn and jumps onto her shoulders, then hangs out there, purring happily. She is wherever Brynn is when Brynn is home, sleeping in her bed with her, loving on her, being very un-cat-like and utterly devoted to Brynn.
This morning, I woke up super sick, throwing up, the whole nine yards. Princess always hovers when I am sick, so I was not surprised when she started doing her howler monkey thing while I was hugging the porcelain god. It did occur to me though, that it was unusual that she wasn't laying on my legs or whatever part of me that she could lay on. She was freaking out, running between me and the living room, so I followed her out and saw that Bunny had climbed onto the couch where she could reach the kittens tail. Delilah is always very patient with Bunny, never scratches or gets mad, just waits until she can escape, so I wasn't surprised that She was just laying there letting Bunny yank on her tail. When Princess jumped onto the back of the couch and kept crying, I went and checked on Delilah, who wasn't moving. She had passed. We did not know that she had something wrong inside of her, she had been acting so normal. Princess would not leave her side for two hours. Even after I wrapped her in a towel and set her in the garage, Princess stayed by the door and mourned her little friend. She finally came and laid in my lap, but she is still shaking and has tears in her little eyes. I haven't told Brynn yet, and I can't imagine how devastated she will be, she adores that cat as much as that cat adored her. Such a sad morning.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Hard descisions
Today I made a hard descision. Anyone close to me knows I have had some problems in my past. People joke about the 'bad touch uncle' in every family. The problem with the one in my family is that he has daughters. Some hate him for what he is, some pretend not to know what he is and some defend him. How do you deal with a situation like that? Well, for me, I didn't talk about it for years, pretended everything was ok, even though I had 30 years worth of nightmares. I remember that day so vividly. The other kids playing in the living room. My sister and my cousin Tia were close and rarely played with me, and my brother and my cousin Matt were close, both way younger than me, so I played alone a lot. That day, I was playing in my aunts master bathroom. She had these strawberry soaps she had as decorations and the sun coming in the little window was golden. I was having a pretend picnic on the bathmat with those strawberry soaps, I was about 7 or 8 years old. The he came in the door, saw me sitting there on the floor and turned and locked the door.
I still have nightmares to this day. When my mom called the police, some of his daughters got mad, they called me a liar and worse. Charges were dropped, but I never forgot. Years passed, it was never talked about. 30 years later, he got facebook. The first time he friend requested me, I got sick. I denied the request and looked up facebook rules about sexual predators and harrassment. A day later, one of his daughters suggested him as a friend to me. I know she did it out of malice, so I blocked her as well. This morning, I woke up to another friend request from him. This time, I accepted it. I carefully thought about what I should say to him. It wasn't eloquent, just angry, and I think my exact words were. "Fuck you, you child molesting piece of shit. I will never forget or forgive." Then I unfriended him and blocked him.
Did he assume that 30 years of silence meant I forgot him? That I forgave what he did? 30 years of nightmares will never let me forget. What right does he have to torment me, or any of his victims? Why is he still walking free? I don't even care if some of his daughters get angry at me, I don't have to forgive him, not ever. They can deny what he is all they want, but I know they all know the truth. They may be able to forgive him, or ignore it, deny anything is wrong, but I don't have to. I am allowed to hate the man who, to this day, makes me sick when someone mentions him, when I wake up from a nightmare about him, or even when a similar situation pops up on TV or media. I have a right to the anger still in me.
I still have nightmares to this day. When my mom called the police, some of his daughters got mad, they called me a liar and worse. Charges were dropped, but I never forgot. Years passed, it was never talked about. 30 years later, he got facebook. The first time he friend requested me, I got sick. I denied the request and looked up facebook rules about sexual predators and harrassment. A day later, one of his daughters suggested him as a friend to me. I know she did it out of malice, so I blocked her as well. This morning, I woke up to another friend request from him. This time, I accepted it. I carefully thought about what I should say to him. It wasn't eloquent, just angry, and I think my exact words were. "Fuck you, you child molesting piece of shit. I will never forget or forgive." Then I unfriended him and blocked him.
Did he assume that 30 years of silence meant I forgot him? That I forgave what he did? 30 years of nightmares will never let me forget. What right does he have to torment me, or any of his victims? Why is he still walking free? I don't even care if some of his daughters get angry at me, I don't have to forgive him, not ever. They can deny what he is all they want, but I know they all know the truth. They may be able to forgive him, or ignore it, deny anything is wrong, but I don't have to. I am allowed to hate the man who, to this day, makes me sick when someone mentions him, when I wake up from a nightmare about him, or even when a similar situation pops up on TV or media. I have a right to the anger still in me.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
Nightmares and memories
Nightmares are a normal part of life for so many people. For me they are usually triggers. Like a movie or show with a particular type of scene, it triggers memories. Memories trigger nightmares which compound all of the issues. Stress levels climb, anxiety overwhelms. I don't want to leave my house or see people. So many don't understand, and how can I explain? I don't even have answers.
'Did you remember your meds?' B will ask. He knows how bad things can get for me and he tries to understand. He knows what situations will set me off. Crowds of people, clammoring to talk over one another. Social situations, especially with people I don't really know, and people who don't know that I have hearing problems.
I don't dislike people, I am not angry or cold. I am sick. People don't understand the difference. People don't know what OCD really is. No, I don't want to clean your house, but thanks for the stereotype. I will count everything I do in my head though, and I will use numbers and habits for everything I do, and if I can't then I won't do it. If I don't have 12 sugars to put in my tea, I wont drink it, and I dont want pre-sweetened tea. This is an issue for me and people can't understand why I can't just 'get over it'. There are so many little issues like this for me. Besides the OCD, I grew up with a dissociative disorder that went long unrecognied until I joined the military. Back then I was far too ashamed to tell anyone about it. There is a stigma associated with mental illness. When I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder as well, I wasn't surprised. I knew it wasn't exactly normal to stay up for several days straight, writing and spewing creativity, then crashing and not getting out of bed for a week. The medication was more than I could handle though, I hated being a zombie. I also missed writing. I couldn't have both, my mind was too fuzzy on the meds. I took myself off of them and stopped going to the doctor. At the time I would rather hit those lows so that I could have the highs too. Later, things began getting worse. I began hearing things, and I was always afraid. I would sleep in my closet with the door wedged shut because I was so afraid someone was going to break in. Still, I was afraid to tell anyone I knew. They would judge me, think less of me. It wasn't until after I had my son that I decided to get help again. I didn't want my kids to have to deal with my problems.
I went for several months, but it didn't help. He unlocked memories that made things so much worse for me, and he wasn't helping control any of my issues. I became more and more reclusive, not leaving my home hardly at all, only socializing via internet. The thought of dealing with people in person brought about a sense of dread that would make me sick if I had to ponder it at all.
Years went by, I stayed alone, pretty much dealing with only my family and my anxiety got worse. Depression began weighing me down more and more. The highs left, all that was left was the low.
Finding facebook helped a little. I began talking to people again, getting in touch with people I had known once, including B. After years of separation, my divorce became final and B and I started seeing each other. My anger and depression was almost too much for him. He convinced me to try again to get help. My depression is under control now, with the help of medication, but the other things are a constant trial for me and for him. The anxiety, the OCD, the bipolar disorder, the dark dreams and swings, the fear of social situations. I try especially hard for B, but I know his family and friends have a hard time understanding me. I know I should no longer feel ashamed of my issues, but part of my problem is being able to express myself face to face with someone. Writing has always been easier for me.
While things have been better for me in the past year, most especially because of how patient and understanding B and my kids have been, I still have some lows and issues. Usually triggered by memory dreams, memories after particular scenes in shows and movies, and sometimes even facebook and poeple mentioning things. B has a hard time dealing with these things. How does he explain to people that they can't just stop in to our home on a whim because I might be having an anxiety issue or panic attack? He is a social creature and very close to his very huge family. I love that about him and hope my kids take after him and not me, even encouraging them to be more outgoing. Also, things are different out here. People still see mental illness as a bad thing, and not just the sickness that it is. They will support a community member who has cancer, but look with disdain at someone who is bipolar or 'crazy'. It's a hard thing to deal with alone. I am glad B is here for me now!
'Did you remember your meds?' B will ask. He knows how bad things can get for me and he tries to understand. He knows what situations will set me off. Crowds of people, clammoring to talk over one another. Social situations, especially with people I don't really know, and people who don't know that I have hearing problems.
I don't dislike people, I am not angry or cold. I am sick. People don't understand the difference. People don't know what OCD really is. No, I don't want to clean your house, but thanks for the stereotype. I will count everything I do in my head though, and I will use numbers and habits for everything I do, and if I can't then I won't do it. If I don't have 12 sugars to put in my tea, I wont drink it, and I dont want pre-sweetened tea. This is an issue for me and people can't understand why I can't just 'get over it'. There are so many little issues like this for me. Besides the OCD, I grew up with a dissociative disorder that went long unrecognied until I joined the military. Back then I was far too ashamed to tell anyone about it. There is a stigma associated with mental illness. When I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder as well, I wasn't surprised. I knew it wasn't exactly normal to stay up for several days straight, writing and spewing creativity, then crashing and not getting out of bed for a week. The medication was more than I could handle though, I hated being a zombie. I also missed writing. I couldn't have both, my mind was too fuzzy on the meds. I took myself off of them and stopped going to the doctor. At the time I would rather hit those lows so that I could have the highs too. Later, things began getting worse. I began hearing things, and I was always afraid. I would sleep in my closet with the door wedged shut because I was so afraid someone was going to break in. Still, I was afraid to tell anyone I knew. They would judge me, think less of me. It wasn't until after I had my son that I decided to get help again. I didn't want my kids to have to deal with my problems.
I went for several months, but it didn't help. He unlocked memories that made things so much worse for me, and he wasn't helping control any of my issues. I became more and more reclusive, not leaving my home hardly at all, only socializing via internet. The thought of dealing with people in person brought about a sense of dread that would make me sick if I had to ponder it at all.
Years went by, I stayed alone, pretty much dealing with only my family and my anxiety got worse. Depression began weighing me down more and more. The highs left, all that was left was the low.
Finding facebook helped a little. I began talking to people again, getting in touch with people I had known once, including B. After years of separation, my divorce became final and B and I started seeing each other. My anger and depression was almost too much for him. He convinced me to try again to get help. My depression is under control now, with the help of medication, but the other things are a constant trial for me and for him. The anxiety, the OCD, the bipolar disorder, the dark dreams and swings, the fear of social situations. I try especially hard for B, but I know his family and friends have a hard time understanding me. I know I should no longer feel ashamed of my issues, but part of my problem is being able to express myself face to face with someone. Writing has always been easier for me.
While things have been better for me in the past year, most especially because of how patient and understanding B and my kids have been, I still have some lows and issues. Usually triggered by memory dreams, memories after particular scenes in shows and movies, and sometimes even facebook and poeple mentioning things. B has a hard time dealing with these things. How does he explain to people that they can't just stop in to our home on a whim because I might be having an anxiety issue or panic attack? He is a social creature and very close to his very huge family. I love that about him and hope my kids take after him and not me, even encouraging them to be more outgoing. Also, things are different out here. People still see mental illness as a bad thing, and not just the sickness that it is. They will support a community member who has cancer, but look with disdain at someone who is bipolar or 'crazy'. It's a hard thing to deal with alone. I am glad B is here for me now!
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