Stubborn? Who? ME? (Crazy Week, pt 3)

CRAZY WEEK, part three

Wednesday: OMG! I cannot possibly tell you everything that happened yesterday! What I would give to have someone to babble to about it. I could talk for hours. The whole day was one series of major stories after another. I miss having someone I can do that with... just chat on the phone for hours about our day, especially the crazy, intense, important ones like yesterday was. Craig will hear listen, while he watches tv, but he won't hear me or retain any of the information. I could talk to Baby-Mommy but she is always off doing things or on her cell phone. I talk to her more via IM while she's at work than in person, despite Baby being here so much. And her life is so complicated right now that she would half-listen between cell phone calls and again, not hear or retain. I used to be able to talk to my mom but there are so many things I can't talk to her about, and her hearing has become bad so she can't talk on the phone and she won't visit me here because our house is non-smoking and she won't generally go out places because she's agoraphobic and when I suggest me going over there to hang out and visit, she always has an excuse. Besides - she's out of town. LOL Which is why I babble so much here, I guess, although typing it just isn't the same as telling someone about it.

At any rate, I'm going for the super-cliff notes version of each major occurrence from yesterday...

Due to child care situation, and with prior permission from him, I brought Baby to my drool-therapy appointment. The shrink just loved her and she was a total angel for the entire appointment. I could have dropped her off at the day care earlier but no... I'm not stubborn. LOL

Drool-therapy: OMG! I totally shrinked the shrink!! It was... OMG OMG OMG!! I turned the tables on him and started off by asking HIM questions and ended up the whole thing revolving around him, what I know of him, what I don't know of him, (NO, I'm not a stalker!) what he does that works that other therapists haven't done, what other therapists have done that didn't work that he doesn't do, right down to how I can tell what mood he's in by his eyes and how his morning went by his appearance. But the way it was presented... OMG OMG OMG!! I totally shrinked the shrink!! It was FABULOUS!! And only very minorly an attempt to avoid other things - some of these questions, I really had to get off my chest. There was only one major issue I was completely avoiding (my arm) but that can't be because I'm stubborn... not ME! LOL

Daycare: I dropped Baby off at daycare. I was SOOOOOOO nervous. I feel just awful for dumping her like that in the first place, but I *HAD* to make sure I saw Grandma and I couldn't exactly take her with me... (considered it) So I'm freaking out dropping her off. I was more nervous about leaving her at the daycare (for no valid reason - the place and people seemed awesome!) than I was about leaving Kid-4 at kindergarten. Baby can't tell me if something went wrong!! So, I dropped her off, paid for her, went to the car and promptly had a full-blown panic attack followed by a crying fit before I could leave to drive to Grandma's. *rolls eyes at self* And she isn't even biologically my Baby! (She did fine, BTW...)

Drive to grandma's: most of the way was fine. I did get totally lost in the teeny tiny little town she is in (how do you get lost in a town that small?!?!) And I kept calling my mom's cell for updates/directions/etc and leaving her messages - only to discover much later that (*BLUSH*) it wasn't her cell phone number... How creepy I did that when the prompt just recently had been about a strange voicemail from someone you don't know...

At Grandma's: I got there about 3:30 and I was the FIRST person all day to wish her a happy birthday!! None of the relatives had been there. None of the staff had said anything. No one. (*insert extreme anger here - why hadn't I skipped therapy and come up earlier?!?! stubborn... *) But I did get there and I hugged her and wished her a happy birthday and she had NO CLUE who I was until I told her my name, where I came from and that I was my mom's daughter. THEN she recognized me! I brought her flowers and a balloon and a card Kid-2 drew for her plus one from all of us. She was thrilled. She and I talked for about an hour and then the day got good!

First my aunt who is supposed to be her primary care-giver but tends to ignore her completely showed up and visited. Then my mom and my aunt showed up - they'd decided they could handle that after all and took my aunt's car up. Then my cousin came. Then my other cousin came. Then my other aunt came. By that time, there were too many of us to be in her tiny little room so we had moved to the activity room. We talked and laughed and told stories. We had to repeat them to Grandma a lot and she still didn't understand much of what was going on, but she was happy - four of her five daughters were there and not fighting, plus others. At one point, Grandma said it was the best birthday ever. *cheers* SUCCESS!! being stubborn pays off.

Grandma got very tired after a while. So one by one we left and finally it was just me, my mom, and my aunt. So we left Grandma, with much kisses and hugs and everything, and went to dinner. Now, I love my aunt but over the last few years, she has become a bitter old woman who is so angry all the time that she blows up frequently and says really mean things to anyone unfortunate enough to be in her path. (Some of the things she's said to me are burned forever in my mind.) So the prospect of going out to dinner with her was as appealing as The Black Plague. But I do as I'm told and off we went to dinner... (She's more stubborn than I am - it would have been useless to argue...)

Dinner: count me totally shocked, surprised and immensely pleased... we had a blast! She was nice and friendly and funny and laid back and she didn't pull me aside to remind me how much pain I have caused her and my mother over the years and, well - it was fun! I don't know what my mom said to her between Monday night and Wednesday evening but WOW!!! It was like having my favorite aunt back... I wonder if it will stick.

The drive home: NOT going there. Let's just say my nice 2 and half hour drive home took 4 and a half hours and was routed through Columbus because I was too stubborn to stop and figure out where I was.... *growl* Got home at 3:30 in the (*insert expletive here*) morning!!

END OF CRAZY WEEK, part three
(just think, that WAS the super-short cliff-notes version...)

"It's a mad, mad world..."
(Mad World, Donnie Darko soundtrack)

I Will Always Come and Get You (Crazy Week pt 2)

CRAZY WEEK, part two

Tuesday: I had nightmares really bad Monday night. I'm getting sick of nightmares. Anyways, I was up at 6 to get the day going, after not getting home until 2 and taking care of a few things until nearly 3am. I wasn't in the best of moods. But we got things around. I tried to nap while the baby napped but her naps are so irregular and punctuated by her rolling over and making fussing sounds frequently. I was also trying frantically to make plans to get to my grandmother on Wednesday. (She lives about 3 and half hours away in a slightly different direction from my aunt.) Due to my mom's car being trashed and my aunt's breakdown, they weren't going to make it up to see her. On Mother's Day, despite FIVE of her six children being within 20 minutes of her nursing home, NOT ONE OF THEM went over to see her. My mom and my aunt were "too sick" and stayed in the hotel room the whole day. And the other three "just didn't make it over". My grandmother was devastated. When my mom got there the next day, she was sitting by the doors in her wheelchair, crying. She told my mom, "What kind of mother am I that not ONE of children came to see me on Mother's Day?"

Well with my mom and aunt "out of commission", I totally don't trust my other aunts to go over there so I made frantic arrangements for the kids, including putting Baby in a drop-in day care for Wednesday for a few hours. (!!!!)

In addition, I took Baby to meet Baby-Mommy and Baby-Daddy at the child support hearing at the courthouse. For no apparent reason whatsoever, I was scared to death. That took FOREVER. And Baby was okay, but not overly amused.

Kids 2-4 were walking home from school. They normally get home about 4 when this happens. Come about 4:15, Kid-4 comes in, wearing his backpack and Kid-2 and Kid-3's backpacks... ALONE. He said something about Kid-3 needing to take some girl's bike back to her and really had no information on the whereabouts of his siblings. Come 4:30 when they hadn't yet appeared, I got scared. Two of my kids hadn't come home from school and the one that did had no idea where they were but it involved people I don't know.

While waiting for his siblings to get home, Kid-3 starting throwing sticks and rocks at passing cars. One lady stopped, marched him home and told me what happened. I don't often yell-yell at the kids but I YELL-yelled at him, not out of rage but with the intention of "putting the fear of God in him". The hope is that by making sure he knows that type of thing is way beyond unacceptable in such a strong and memorable way NOW - it will never become an issue later...

Kid-2 and Kid-3 got home just before 5 as I was preparing to go search for them. I blew a gasket. I pulled them close and wouldn't let go. Then I screamed at them for scaring the hell out of me. (*insert Mommy-Guilt*) Then I asked what had happened. And then I gave them their first taste of THE ULTIMATE LECTURE. (no, not the sex talk, *rolls eyes*)

The basic principle of THE ULTIMATE LECTURE is that no matter where they are, no matter what kind of trouble they are in, no matter how many rules they broke getting into that trouble, or how few rules they broke... if they need help, I will always come and get them. I lectured them for 45 minutes (a bit excessive but I was terrified and angry *insert Mommy-Guilt here*). It ranged from I don't care if you just decide it's too hot to walk home from school, call me and I will come get you... to when you're in high school and your at a party you weren't supposed to go to with people you aren't supposed to be with and you are drinking or doing doing drugs, both of which are illegal, if you need help - like a sober ride home - call me and I will come and get you, no questions asked. (The next day you will be in more trouble that you can imagine, but you will be alive and safe.) I even threw in the if you're 35 years old and went out drinking with your buddies and no one is sober enough to drive home (NO rules broken there!) CALL ME and I will come and get you. It was a long lecture and their eyes had glazed over by the time I was done, but I think I got my point across. And if not, well, they will get THE ULTIMATE LECTURE many many times as they grow up, I promise.

Then Baby-Mommy had something going on that evening so Baby was here late and I was tired and Craig was late getting home, changed his clothes and left again to go do a favor for a friend of his mom's and didn't get back until after bed late. And all in all, it was a crummy day....

END OF CRAZY DAY, part two

"Insanity is hereditary; you get it from your kids..."

Family First, Always (Crazy Week pt1)

I was going to blog extensively about this week's total chaos but I would fill epic novel with all the non-stop goings on. So I think I'll do a series of very short summary posts....

CRAZY WEEK, part one)

Monday: The morning was hectic. Kid-3 hadn't done his homework so had to get up early to do it and was NOT amused. In the fight to get him around and ready, I didn't do a med check with the kids and, of course... Kid-1 forgot his meds. 8:05 I get a phone call: "Mommy, I forgot my meds this morning, can you bring them up to me?" And, of everyone, he can't go without his meds. Well, there were still 5 kids here, 4 of which had to be at their school by 8:30. "After I drop off the others, I'll be by." That was the GOOD part of the day....

Got a phone call from Mom, who was supposed to have left town Saturday to my aunt's house and who was apparently still home. "I can't get my stuff together!" she was freaking out. "We'll right over." And Baby and I went over to Mom's.

Turns out my aunt had gotten an extremely upsetting letter and had totally lost it. She was in complete hysterics. She was also all alone. She NEEDED my mom and she needed her right away. (My aunt lives 3 hours away.)

She we got Mom ready to go and she left to run some errands but came back within just a couple minutes. Her brakes were out, not grinding or squealing, they were "stomp as hard as you can just to stop at all" out.

To make a VERY long story short: her brake line is trashed, completely so I drove her the 3 hours to my aunt's house and then drove the 3 hours home. (3 hours may be a bit of an exaggeration - closer to 2 and a half). Because we got out so late, I got home around 2AM.

Why? Because my aunt needed my mom and family comes first, always, forever, no matter what...

I told Kid-1 that, looking into his eyes and down at his level so he would really hear me... I think it got through. I hope he remembers it and believes it - forever.

END CRAZY WEEK, part one

Murphy's Law: Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.
Jenn's addition: Anything that can't go wrong, will go wrong anyways.

The Rock and the Hard Place...

Pyro really did a number this time. It looks just awful, white around the new areas and a scary black/brown over the original. As near as I can tell from research, it's either a "deep partial-thickness burn" (formerly known as a deep second degree burn) or a "full-thickness burn" (formerly known as a third degree burn). I suspect there is some of each.

Every source I read said that medical treatment is a must for third degrees and recommended for deep second degree burns. I have been unable to find out what happens if medical treatment is *not* received. I know infection is a concern but I can prevent that. Beyond that, all I could find were mouse studies and they made no sense to me, aside from making me feel just awful for the mice!

But going to the doctor just isn't an option. I can't pass off a highly defined, severe, cross-shaped burn as a cooking accident. And I can't let them force me into a "psychological evaluation". With the way things are now, I don't want them to send me back to the hospital and I am not confident I could bluff my way out of it by dodging and giving incomplete answers.

I won't go back. I can't. I can't afford it and I can't upset the family again and I certainly can't risk the fallout for the kids. They are trying to adjust to a new schedule and create a new routine. Two of them are in a new school, two are trying to adjust to being "top dog" in their schools and the other is still fighting his way through being the middle of the group of kids from our family. He has been charged with watching over the kindergartner so that has helped his self-esteem a little, but I digress. The point is, they can't handle the instability right now. Not to mention the looks from the hospital staff - they are quite sick of seeing me. And the hospital itself is awful. I can't go back. It would destroy my family.

Pyro... why? And still I get no reply other than, "You were there."

So I am stuck. Theoretically, I ought to go to the doctor and get it checked out. I am trying to remember what the procedure was last Thanksgiving. Keep it covered, put the silver-slimy-cream on it for 12 hours, wiped it off, wash it off, re-apply. But there's another cream too - when do I use that one? And what about the black and brown patch in the middle? Will the silver-slimy-cream help it? There wasn't anything like that before. I ought to go get it checked out. But they can insist on a psych eval, the law gives a lot of room to insist on things like that and I won't have it!!

I have considered calling the shrink, telling him what happened and finding out if it would be safe to go to a doctor for this. But then, I am afraid that he will ask too many questions AND/OR try to have me committed himself. So I can't go to him.

Why do I have to have the worst timing to fall apart? I have to hold on to this. I have to keep it together. For my family, for my children, for everything I hold dear: I will pull myself together and be a better person, a better mother, a better wife, a better daughter, a better friend. I will do better and I will hold myself together and I will not fall. To hell with a doctor. Everyone (okay, only the shrink and Craig and anyone who has kept up with my blog) already knows I burnt it before, they won't notice the increase if I keep it bandaged. By the time they find out, the crisis will be over and they will have no reason to lock me away and destroy my kids. They may be angry, but they will be safe. My wrist will heal without incident or comment and my arm will heal eventually, to what results, I don't know, but it will happen.

In my search for information on burns, I came across this site. Information without judgement. I didn't know it still existed...

http://www.geocities.com/gold_blood_uk/Mentalhealth.html
(follow the link at the bottom for "Self Harm")

A Proverb I Read: "Whom God wishes to destroy, he first makes mad."

True Again - Keep Breathing (Ingrid Michaelson)

INFLUENTIAL SONGS - PART FIVE

I posted about it before but it is true again... all I can do is keep breathing. Ingrid Michaelson sang it perfectly. Every time I turn around, something is crashing down around me. So often I feel like I am drowning. (see youtube clip) And all I can do is keep breathing...

youtube brings my favorite song through my favorite show:



Lyrics:

The storm is coming but I don't mind.
People are dying, I close my blinds.
All that I know is I'm breathing now.

I want to change the world - Instead I sleep.
I want to believe in more than you and me.
But all that I know is I'm breathing.
All I can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing
Now I, Now I
Now I, Now..., Now...

All that I know is I'm breathing.
All I can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.

All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing...
Now.

Why?!

Oh, Pyro... why? You made your point, why did you attack? So sudden and fierce I couldn't fight you off. And you made me watch! Do you know how much trouble you may have caused?! Why? Why?! We begged. We argued. We tried to fight you back in but you had such vicious fervor. You took pleasure in burning so deep, so hard. Why? It didn't hurt, Pyro! You knew that when it was happening. Why didn't you stop?! What set you off? Where did that fierce hatred come from? I could feel you, so angry your very thoughts burned in my mind. I watched, helpless, as you cried out "deeper! deeper!" Why?! Oh, Pyro! I think you've gone too far. I heard the sizzle and watched the skin sink beneath the blade with a sickening hiss. I think you went too far. I think it's more than "Give it a week and it'll be fine..." It's black and brown, Pyro! Why?! I could feel your determination, your blind passion to press, to hurt, to go deeper and deeper but I don't understand why. Pyro, why....



Oh God, please! Help me to understand this hatred within myself. Help me to control it, to control myself. Help me move forward after this with minimal collateral damage. Please, God, I need you!

The Nightmare

My hands tremble as I open the file containing the hideous words about to dirty this page. I pray to you, if you are an accidental reader, pass this by. Click to the next blog and do not let this page contaminate you. If you are not a casual reader, please don't hate me. Please, if you feel the disgust for me that I feel for myself, please try to understand, I need to get this out. I need to purge it. I need to cast it away from myself. And remember, it's only a dream.

"If we shadows have offended,
"think but this; and all is mended
"that you have but slumbered here
"while these visions did appear
"and this weak and idle theme
"no more yielding but a dream.
"Gentles--do not reprehend
"if you pardon, we will mend."

(Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream)

*** WARNING - ADULT CONTENT ***

When I open my eyes, everything is black. There is a crackling tension in the air that makes the hairs on my arm tingle. There is a soft hhhsssssshhhh sound in the hallway beyond my door. I tense up – every muscle taut with fear. In the doorway, the darkness deepens into a void of sight. Huge and menacing, the shadow consumes everything around it. I want to run, to hide, to disappear. The shadow knows I am here – I can feel its intensity focused on me. I try to cry out but a hand closes over my throat, burning hot, and steals my words. I try to pull the covers over me but my body has become a statue: cold, hard marble, unyielding and immovable. The shadow grows. It approaches me in my bed, growing larger and darker. Soon the shadow stands at the foot of my bed. The room has gone ice cold. Goose flesh has raised on my stone arms. I don't move. I don't speak. I just stare at the sensory void that is the shadow. It moves again, coming around the corner of the bed and approaching with a fluid hhhsssssshhhh that I now recognize as bare feet moving against carpet. The shadow now engulfs my entire vision. The smell of Old Spice hangs faintly in the air, like a memory of a memory. The shadow void forms into a shape. It is a face just inches from my own with a solid body behind the outline of the face. The void, the all-consuming shadow, is a man. His face captures my eyes. Panic has welled up from the pit of my stomach into my throat, closing it and making breathing difficult. I have to escape! I have to get away, to hide, maybe to just disappear! He opens his mouth and it is a vast stinking pit of despair. If I can't escape, I will be consumed by this blackness of body and spirit.

*** If I am lucky, I wake up here. ***

But there is no escape. The blackness turns his head ever so slightly. His lips brush my ear and a stab of pain like a red-hot poker seers through my soul, scorching my heart. Still I cannot move, cannot escape. A deep voice with the throaty rattle of a long-time smoker hisses in my ear – an all-consuming sound that reverberates through my mind and vibrates through my entire body. “Wake up, Little Frog. It's time to pay the piper. Wake up, Froggie.” A rough hand with fingers like the icy grip of death slides along my cheek. It would be a caress were it not steeped in poison. My head turns away from the touch as if controlled by someone else. The voice has a life of its own and has the power to destroy me or to crush my spirit and shatter my soul. “That's my girl,” it says with smug assurance. I close my eyes as tight as they can go. My eyeballs feel like they are being squeezed in a vise and gold flecks dart through the non-vision behind my eyelids. A hand, the same frozen sand-paper touch, brushes against my bare arm as it lightly lifts the thin barrier between my terrified body and his all-encompassing void. The blanket pulls away slowly, almost casually, gently. My skin prickles as much from the sudden cold air as from the fear of what is surely to come. With the covers removed, the hand claims a new target. I am shivering. Fear is beginning to overcome my senses. The same fiercely gentle grip pulls at my nightgown, slowly, carefully, meticulously guiding it up higher and higher. A blanket of fog begins to settle over my heart, easing the sharp pain ripping it apart. The acidic voice in my ear continues to whisper what are supposed to be comforting, reassuring words to me. “Easy now, let's get this out of the way. That's my girl. Up now,” it intones. The blanket of fog overcomes the voice but my body,as if not my own, complies with the unheard directions and physical guidance. I roll to one side, feeling the chill of the sheets beneath me in the new position. My nightgown pulls higher. I roll the other way, towards the abominable shadow void. The fog has taken over my breathing which has become slow and rhythmic. The gown is pulled over my head as I sit up like a zombie. My thoughts pull away from my fear and a voice far older than my own begins to count inside my mind. 1, TWO, 3, FOUR, 5, SIX, 7, EIGHT... counting in the pattern I learned in dance class. All my scared thoughts are pushed aside and drowned out by the soothing counting. My body, still obeying the commands I no longer hear, pulls itself out of bed. Cold air stings the bare skin and I begin to shiver hard enough to make my hands tremble and I have to keep my teeth clamped shut to keep them from chattering. With hands going quickly numb from the fog, I push down my panties and take a step towards the bed. My eyes are tight shut, my hands clasp behind my head and my bare feet are sunk into the carpet like tree root gripping sandy soil. As his hand moves toward me, a sinister shadow in the eternal darkness, felt not seen, the fog begins to wrap me in a tight blanket of safe nothingness. Just before the safety takes me away, his biting hands collide harshly with my thigh and begins to slide up. The fog rescues me and I am sitting high in the tree in the front yard with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face. I dangle my legs and let them swing freely beneath me as I hold comfortably the branch on my left. I relax and begin to smile. I am invisible and invincible from my treetop perch. But the world starts to spin. The tree tips and I fall from it. I close my eyes against the impending impact with the unforgiving ground. But instead of the expected impact, I fall seamlessly back into the body I had just fled. I ache and burn and sting. My chest feels crushed. My nightgown has been replaced,as well as my covers. I clutch them desperately as if they are the only thing that can keep me from falling into the fiery pits of Hell. The shadow void is retreating back to the door with a calculated hhhsssssshhhh. His caustic voice slices through the air between us and pierces my heart. “If you would just be good, this wouldn't be necessary.” I feel hot tears appear on my cheeks.

*** Then I wake up, still hurting, still crying, still terrified.***

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE CORRECTION - to fix the dream, I am re-writing it, as per the shrink

When I open my eyes, everything is black. There is a crackling tension in the air that makes the hairs on my arm tingle. There is a soft hhhsssssshhhh sound in the hallway beyond my door. I tense up – every muscle taut with fear. In the doorway, the darkness deepens into a void of sight. Huge and menacing, the shadow consumes everything around it. I want to run, to hide, to disappear. The shadow knows I am here – I can feel its intensity focused on me.

*** ALTERNATE ENDING***

In desperation, I sit bolt upright in bed, my covers falling into my lap. I reach for the lamp on the nightstand beside my bed and fumble for the switch. After nearly knocking the lamp over, I push in the button and bright light floods the bedroom. My eyes sting and ache in the sudden light. Standing in the doorway, my uncle's mouth drops open in surprise. Fierce panic swells in my heart, giving me strength. I glare at him for a brief moment before opening my mouth and releasing a blood-curdling screech that would wake the dead. Now panic shows visible on his face and he takes two steps backwards. The sound of two doors being flung open echo down the long hallway. Heavy thuds of three pairs of feet approach my room. My uncle turns away from me and is confronted by my mother, my father and my aunt. “What the hell is going on?” My mother demands, pushing past him to come to my bedside. “Baby? What's wrong? Are you okay?” She is worried and her eyes search me for signs of injury. “Mommy!” I throw myself into her arms. “Please, Mommy! Please don't let him touch me again!” I burst into tears as she holds me tight and rocks me back and forth, safe in her protective arms. I am dimly aware of my father and my aunt confronting my uncle in angry tones. I sink into my mother's safety and am barely aware of the shouting in the hallway. I recognize the sound of a fist connecting with a face and a body hitting the wall but only from a distance. Mommy rocks me back to sleep, singing quietly and stroking my hair as my father and my aunt throw my uncle out of the house right then and there, in the middle of the night, no questions asked and no deliberations needed. I slip into pleasant dreams of treetops in summertime, knowing I am safe and loved forevermore.

And she lived happily ever after...

Three Days Grace - Scared

INFLUENTIAL SONGS - PART FOUR

Okay, this is the last of the songs that snagged me while I was typing Nightmare. This one isn't normally part of my playlist but I was listening to all the Three Days Grace songs I have and this is one of them. I was nearing the end of typing the dream, close to the waking up point when this came on. The whole thing can be applied to my situation with this, which creeped me out, but two (separate) lines really popped at me. "I wake up screaming, it's all because of you!" and "So real these voices in my head..."

Here are the full lyrics:

At night I hear it creeping
At night I feel it move
I’ll never sleep here anymore

I wish you never told me
I wish I never knew
I wake up screaming
It’s all because of you

So real these voices in my head
When it comes back you won’t be
Scared and lonely
You won’t be scared, you won’t be
You won’t be scared and lonely
You won’t be scared you won’t be lonely

I know there’s something out there
I think I hear it move
I’ve never felt like this before
I wish you never told me
I wish I never knew
I wake up screaming
It’s all because of you

So real these voices in my head
When it comes back you won’t be
Scared and lonely
You won’t be scared, you won’t be
You won’t be scared and lonely
You won’t be scared you won’t be lonely

Its all because of you
I wish you never told me
I wake up screaming now
So real these voices in my head
So real these voices in my head
I wake up screaming now
I wish you never told me
I wish I never knew

Scared and lonely
You won’t be scared, you won’t be
You won’t be scared and lonely
You won’t be scared you won’t be lonely

Scared and lonely
You won’t be scared, you won’t be
You won’t be scared and lonely
You won’t be scared you won’t be lonely


Here's the song. it's a youtube clip but there's no animation. At least you can hear the song...

Gary Jules - Mad World

INFLUENTIAL SONGS - PART THREE

This song captured my attention long ago with the line, "The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had." The rest of the lyrics grew on me quickly as a window into the distortions of the world, of the mind, and of the interaction between the two. While typing my Nightmare, the song played and that line stuck out at me again both literally in that in my dreams, death is often a treasured escape and in the irony that this particular Nightmare expresses a sort of emotional death that is anything but "the best I've ever had".

The lyrics:

"Mad World"

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very mad world mad world

Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
Made to feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me

And I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very mad world ... mad world
Enlarging your world
Mad world

The youtube video:
(anyone who knows me will find this highly appropriate!)

Three Days Grace - Animal I Have Become

INFLUENTIAL SONGS - PART TWO

I was typing up a very detailed and upsetting write-up of a nightmare I have been having of late. The nightmare upsets me greatly. While typing, I was listening to Three Days Grace and this song, Animal I have Become, started playing. A few lines jumped out at me:

"Help me believe, it's not the real me..." and "Somebody get me through this nightmare!"

I felt the song was reaching into my head and pulling out my thoughts. Here is a youtube video of the song. The full lyrics are below it.



Lyrics:

I can't escape this hell
So many times I've tried
But I'm still caged inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself

Someone if you can see
The dark inside of me
Noone would ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe, It's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal (this animal x's 2)

I can't escape myself
So many times I've lied
But there's still rage inside
Somebody get me through this nightmare
I can't control myself

Someone if you can see
The dark inside of me
Noone would ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe, It's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become
Help me believe, It's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal

Somebody help me through this nightmare
I can't control myself
Somebody wake me from this nightmare
I can't escape this cell

This Animal x's 7

Someone if you can see
The dark inside of me
Noone would ever change this animal I have become
Help me believe, It's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal I have become
Help me believe, It's not the real me
Somebody help me tame this animal

This animal I have become.

Josh Groban - You Are Loved (Don't Give Up)

INFLUENTIAL SONGS - PART ONE

This song was playing as I left the shrink's office last Wednesday. He had given me suggestions for coping with my current day-to-day emotional crisis. I was walking through the campus to my car and the sun came out from behind a cloud and threw an angel beam (the light rays you can see that look like slides for angels to come down from Heaven) onto a tree that was bright green and the absolute embodiment of thriving life. And Josh Groban told me... "Don't give up, its just the weight of the world." I stopped and looked at that tree and listened to Josh tell me that I am loved, that *everybody* wants to be heard, that he could hear me." He went on to describe my pain and reassure me that he could find me if I'm lost, that if darkness blinds me, he will shine to guide me. And I knew it wasn't Josh Groban singing to me. It was the angel that had slid down from Heaven to lift me up and put me back on my feet so that I could keep going.

Here are the lyrics:

You Are Loved (Don't Give Up)

Don't give up
It's just the weight of the world
When you're heart's heavy
I...I will lift it for you

Don't give up
Because you want to be heard
If silence keeps you
I...I will break it for you

Everybody wants to be understood
Well I can hear you
Everybody wants to be loved
Don't give up
Because you are loved

Don't give up
It's just the hurt that you hide
When you're lost inside
I...I will be there to find you

Don't give up
Because you want to burn bright
If darkness blinds you
I...I will shine to guide you

Everybody wants to be understood
Well I can hear you
Everybody wants to be loved
Don't give up
Because you are loved

You are loved
Don't give up
It's just the weight of the world
Don't give up
Every one needs to be heard
You are loved

WOW - what an affirmation...

*** *** ***

I chose this youtube video for its imagery...



***alternate awesome video for same song with Phantom of the Opera Images*
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWJI2IT4F2E

Help from the Shrink...

Well, I expected the end of the world. Instead, I got a page full of helpful things to try. I m going to transcribe them just as he wrote them (only I'm going to fix the spelling and grammar mistakes, little errors that I must admit brought a tiny smile to the corners of my mouth. Another piece of the 3-D shrink puzzle... At any rate:

Dissociate
1. Pictures
2. Pleasant sensations
3. Fighting urge
4. Encouragement/Rhyme

Dreams
1. Detail Written Dream
2. Rewrite with Better Ending

Emotions
Negative Emotions Don't Destroy

Getting Unstuck from Emotions
1. Observe or Notice
2. Experience like a wave
3. Remember you're not your emotion
4. Learn to love all emotions


*----+-----*

"Don't give up... it's just the weight of the world"
(Josh Grobin, "You Are Loved (Don't Give Up)")

*this was the first song to play on my mp3 player as I left the shrink's office

"And I Feel No Pain"

It doesn't hurt. And I can't tell if it's healing. Pyro is sulking (if you can imagine that - LOL) because none of his intentions came to fruition.

If the body hurts, maybe the heart won't have to hurt as much. No deal - it doesn't hurt. And it had no effect on the pain in my heart.

Let the world know how awful I am: the burn is too high on my arm. No one has seen it, NO ONE.

Cause pain: you are evil, you deserve pain. Again, no pain so, I guess, no gain.

Warning to stay away from the bad talks: uh, yeah. The shrink was the first to know it happened and it generated, not dissipated, discussion.

Disobey Craig and see his reaction. Uh, yeah. Craig doesn't know. And I'm going to keep it that way for a very long time.

So, nothing worked out as intended. At least Pyro isn't pressing too hard for escalation. The topic has been brought up but immediately beaten down by the others. This is good. Pyro is contained, relatively speaking. I still have a very awkward burn on my arm. I still don't know if it's healing. But hiding it has proved easier than anticipated so maybe I'll slip by.

There's just one pesky thought that keeps popping up. It gets beaten back down but not until I start to wonder where it's coming from. I'm not talking about who said it, I mean WHY she said it and why the others are whispering it even as they squash it into submission.

Hurt so they know you're hurting. Hurt until they know it.

There, I said it. I now cast it out into cyberspace and away from myself so it can't hurt me or get me into trouble. Be gone, never to return!!

"I change my name to Novocaine... And I tell myself to feel no pain." ("Novocaine" by Guns and Roses)

MORE meds?

Craig says go back to the med-shrink, you aren't doing well. I go to the med-shrink. I'm not doing so good, I tell the med-shrink. Med-shrink says you are on alot of meds and you can't go higher on any of them. Do you have pain, he asks. What does this have to do with not doing well? Yes, I have pain. Okay, take this new med and come back in 2 weeks.

HUH?

I am on so many meds that I think I single-handedly keep the pharmacy in business! Wellbutrin, Seroquel, Xanax, Clonzipan(sp?), Invega, Lyrica, Levoxyl, Propanol (sp?), Maxalt, Promethacin, Albuterol Inhaler, Naproxen, Tramadol, Vicoden, Percocet... I think I'm missing a couple. Obviously the last 7 are PRN and the last 3 are mutually exclusive and rarely used. But still.... come on!! SIX different psych meds?! Six different kinds of pain meds depending on the location and intensity of the pain? I feel like a hazardous waste dump site.

Oh blah!

Wonder what would happen if I suddenly refused to take any medications of any kind...?

Not really. Been there, done that, in the hospital after the OD. No sleep, lots of hallucinations, really wacky thinking... Don't want to go there again!

Random Thoughts

Craig still doesn't know. This is a good thing. I have been actively, intensely keeping it from him. He will go ballistic. I don't exactly know how ballistic, but I can guarantee fireworks. But here's the thing... some things have been slipping out and, frankly, I'm surprised he hasn't busted me. We discussed the fact that Pyro has been causing trouble last Monday evening. He told me not listen to Pyro. I promptly ended the discussion and walked away. Tuesday, despite it being mid-August and rather warm, I started wearing long sleeves. I've worn long sleeves all week. When we went shopping, I bought extra-large band-aids - two boxes. He asked why I bought them as I was putting them away. I told him we were out. That was all I said and he accepted it and never mentioned it again. I started wearing long sleeves to bed Wednesday night. No comment. I wore short sleeves to bed a couple of times, he didn't notice my arm. There have been band-aid wrappers in the trash and he hasn't noticed them. He wanted to get intimate Friday afternoon and I brushed him off (can you believe that worked?! whodda thunk! LOL) and he didn't question it beyond a playful remark.

So... a couple things could be at play here. Craig doesn't see it because he doesn't want to... or the "little" things are smaller than I thought... or Craig is totally clueless. I wonder... which of the three do I want it to be?

Speaking of which, I woke up knowing about the cross. You see, from the POV of anyone looking at it, it is a cross. From the my POV, it is an INVERTED cross. The symbolism is now so obvious, I wonder how I could have missed it in the first place. To everyone else, I present as good and "right". But to myself, I know the truth. Pure evil.

Who knew this? How do I know it now? Why won't Pyro own up to the information? If it's not Pyro's info, whose is it and why won't they own up to it? ARG!!!

My baby starts kindergarten tomorrow. Wow. Who would ever have thought? And my first-born son goes off to middle school. It's like another rite of passage. I'm not sure I'm ready for it but I sure don't have a choice. It's just so weird that all of my kids will be in school all day now. If not for the baby, it'd be that day I've been dreaming/dreading for 12 years... school days open. I guess I have 5 more years before I need to think about that again. LOL

I read a book, "When Rabbit Howls", recommended to me by a friend. I see so many things in it that I just don't want to see. But I also see so many things that just aren't me. I won't accept it. I can't accept it. It's not me. None of it. I have a very fertile imagination. And I am manipulative and attention-seeking and passive-aggressive. All is well. Memories are dreams and dreams are just dreams. There is a safe explanation for everything.

I want to start writing again. I want the fiction to flow out of my fingers like the tears that overflow my eyes. Formally, I am on strike from fiction. Personally, I am feeling empty, like a part of me has shut down and that part held the bridge between my soul and my fingers. It will come back; it always comes back. But I miss it while it's gone, although I don't often admit it. Generally I claim that I hate writing and that I've given it up for good. After all, I know I suck at writing, although it brings me great pleasure at times. That gives me the ammo to fend people off who want an explanation for my self-imposed exile from fiction. Eventually, it will come back. And if it doesn't it was never meant to be.

I had a thought. I tried to push it away. Maybe putting it down here will help me to expel it. I thought that, if the shrink decides to pull out a Voice at a time, and if he pulls out someone who won't retreat, or, if he hits on something big and scares me to the edge... if either of those were to happen, would it be so bad if I went away and didn't come back? Especially if someone better took control? BUT... I know I am not allowed to think that so I am giving it a shove, pushing it out into the cosmic vacuum of cyber-space...

"Get thee behind me, Satan!"
(paraphrased from somewhere in the Bible, I think)

I Hate Skinny People

okay, maybe *hate* is too strong of a word. i want to be one of them. i'm sick of being the fat girl, the frumpy housewife, a blob. i want to walk through the racks of skinny people clothes and be able to wear them. i've lost 22 pounds since mother's day, 6 pants sizes, and i'm still this big blob of yuck. TWENTY-TWO POUNDS! and i still have at least 70 pounds and 10 pants sizes to go. hopeless, i know.

i've considered trying to negotiate a long-term lease of my soul in exchange for angelina jolie's body, energy and money. i'm not quite ready to SELL my soul, but a long-term lease is certainly a possibility...

And the world spins round and round

Kid-4 has his glasses. It's going to take him a while to get used to them. He keeps looking over them or under them. He looks okay in them, but I must say, I think there could have been better frames, lenses a little wider might have looked better. But, he is, as always, simply adorable and I make sure to tell him that at every opportunity. At this point his POV is that he *gets* to wear glasses, not that he *has* to, and I intend to keep it that way.

Kid-3 and I had a thoroughly awful time yesterday. We drove down to Riley's for absolutely nothing and the trip was a disaster. Quick summary: falling asleep on the way there, stop to basically mainline some caffeine (can of Red Bull, can of double-shot espresso, 24 oz Mountain Dew in under 5 minutes total), got to Indy and I got lost, drastically lost. Wrong building. Found the right building, lost in the parking garage (HOW can you get lost in a parking garage?!) Finally get into the building, can't find the office. Finally find the office (45 minutes late). They check his vitals, check his urine and tell us that he has to come back for some tests. Then they sent us off. So, I promptly get lost trying to get out of Indy. Two thirds of the way home, the caffeine/sugar overdose wears off and I crash (figuratively). By the time we got home, we were tired, frustrated, I'm nervous as hell because of the tests they're going to do on him and I have one of the worst migraines I've had in quite a while. Oh bleh!

So, today is the day of "The New York Cousins". The mother in law is more nervous than I have every seen her in my life. Apparently they are Craig's Mom's Dad's Brother's Kids and their kids. Wow - did you follow that? Anyhow the MIL has only ever met them once, when she was a kid, and she is so tense it had me doing a double-take. So anyhow, she picked up the kids and took them off to meet "The New York Cousins". I escaped that fate under the assumption that I would have the baby today (which I don't.) If the MIL is that nervous - can you imagine what I would be like? I sent instructions for Kid-4 to KEEP HIS GLASSES ON and for Kid-3 to go to the bathroom every two hours. Kid-1, Kid-2 and Kid-3 all had their meds. Now I just have to pray all will go well.

Speaking of all will go well... If I keep my arm bandaged, it gets goopy and gross. If I don't, it will either be exposed (creating MASSIVE trouble for me) or get fuzz from whatever shirt I'm wearing into the yucky spot. What am I going to do? I can't pass this off as a cooking accident. And I don't know how to explain it. I don't want "the looks" and I *really* don't want the lectures. Let them live one day in my head and then maybe I'll listen.

The fear from Wednesday has relaxed into a Scarlett O'Hara attitude. The new sheriff has her benefits. Wednesday is going to come whether I worry over it endlessly or not. And besides, as I see it, worst case scenario is he digs too deep, too fast and I check out and can't find my way home. So, um... being lost away from the stress and pain... yeah, um, this *is* bad, right? *Slaps self sharply across the face* OF COURSE it's bad!! Not allowed, not going to let it happen. Right?

Where No One Has Gone Before

Well, I spent 4 hours at Starbucks last night, trying to prep for this morning. Then I stayed up late late late thinking it over and trying to make sense of everything in my head. (Hey! Quit laughing!) I finally threw myself into bed, tossed and turned for a few hours and set out for an unknown situation.

I considered elaborating on his appearance and demeanor this morning, but I don't want to get distracted from the matters at hand. Suffice to say, he was sleepy but attentive, casual and light but not beating around the bush. He seems to be feeling around in the dark almost as much as I am.

One of my main concerns last night was whether or not to dodge the issue of my arm. I needn't have worried. There was no dodging. He looked at my chart, made some comments about some paperwork that needs to be completed next week for the insurance company. Then he commented that last week my level of potential for self-harm was unacceptably high. I anticipated that. I thought he would ask me how it was now. He didn't. He asked me straight up, "Did you hurt yourself?"

Wow. Okay... No room to dodge or steer around that one. I won't lie to him, period the end. But I didn't want to say it. Not out loud, not to him. It wouldn't come out of my mouth. He commented that it was taking an awfully long time for a yes or no answer. I said yes.

He didn't blow his top. His face didn't even fall. His *eyes* didn't even dim. I just now realized why - he was expecting that answer. Ouch. Anyhow, he took down the facts without criticism in his voice or in the air between us. He took down that I don't remember it. He took down what and where. I downplayed the severity; I am expecting it to heal quickly and without scarring.

He just noted it all and then we started talking about nightmares and things. He seems to be convinced that I can just change what is happening in the dreams. "It's dark," he says. "Turn on a light." Uh... sure, Doc. I can just decide to change a dream and it will happen. It took me 4 years to start recognizing specific parts of a dream that let me know I'm dreaming. And he thinks I can just jump right in with these and recognize them, then change them at will? I promised him I would try, and I will. But I have to say, it sounds like a long shot. Yet he seemed completely convinced I could do it easily.

The nagging feeling that he just doesn't get it washed over me.

We danced around some lighter topics for a moment then he asked me if my "chorus" was still in my head. That's a no brainer. So he suggested that we "form a referendum," he said. "Gather them all together and find out what they know." Eventually he evolved the idea into pulling each one out and finding out what they know and what they think then "retire them" - "send them off to a beach or something".

Now listen, I trust my shrink, okay. I trust him more than almost anyone. There is only one person I trust more. But I really think he has no idea what is going on. He doesn't understand how my head works. He doesn't understand what he's asking of me. I think if he had any idea of the potential repercussions both for me and for him - I think he'd run for the hills.

So I'm trying to decide exactly what he's expecting and exactly what I am capable and willing to provide. He could simply want me to tell him the thoughts in my head, keeping a very simplistic view that all my Voices are different trains of thought and various emotions. Or, he might want to hear what my Voices say but through the safety of my censors and the comfort of the consistent and familiar tone that I present with every day to everyone. Or, and this is the most scary of the potential options, he knows very well how separate my Voices are from each other and he wants to confront them directly and individually, with full knowledge of the implications of that.

He might know precisely what might happen. Convince me to make the censors stand down, let someone out to talk to him. Goodness only knows what they would say - what if he got a hold of Pyro? And what if they won't retreat when he's done talking to them? What if he tries to make them disappear and they don't react well to that? No one is overly happy with the concept of being "sent off to a beach or something".

I think I'm going to type something up about how my processes work. Then I can ask him exactly what he expects and how he plans to accomplish it. I am scared. Not of losing his approval or of him finally seeing me for the awful person I truly am, but of losing myself completely. What if I get scared and go away? What if one of my not-so-nice Voices come out and scare him away? What if someone comes out who knows too much?

On a related note, he thinks it would be a good idea to blow up my Wall. He doesn't want to take it down, he wants to explode it altogether, at one time. I fear the confrontation of everything it represents and everything behind it would break me. I foresee total systems failure. Checking out and refusing to check back in. Everything back there was put there for a reason; I couldn't face it so I buried it away. Lots of things. To look at them all at once... I am terrified of even the concept.

I trust my shrink. And I will do whatever he says to do. But I am scared. Is he going to kill me or break my mind or my spirit?


"I am that I am." (God as the burning bush, somewhere in the Bible)

Now What?

Pyro won.

I'm toast.

The cover-up begins.

What am I going to do?!

(And why a cross? No answers from Pyro, just smug relief...)

"Burn, baby, Burn..." ("Disco Inferno", Cyndi Lauper)

Too Little, Too Late

The first time I heard someone say that people with mental illness should be sterilized so they couldn't procreate, I was shocked and appalled. I simply couldn't imagine such a thing! Luckily, I had simply over-heard the remark and was not required to give a response.

But now I am wondering why God ever let me have kids. They are great kids, but I have brought such horrors upon them simply by my biology and my genes. Kid-1, my oldest, has bipolar disorder and ADHD. Kid-2, my daughter, has anxiety to the point of refusing to be alone and needing medication. Kid-3, my middle son, has something wrong with his urinary system, is on medication, and may need further tests. And Kid-4, my baby and the source of much paranoia for his health, needs glasses - at age 5.

I have brought ruin upon them simply by them being related to me. They have not only the issues that will result from living with me, but they also have the biological issues. I couldn't wait to become a mother. I thought it was my chance to do the things I always wished I could have had. I thought I could influence the future. Instead I'm destroying their lives.

There are so many things I should be doing. Baking cookies and playing baseball, family dinners and individual reading, picnics and camping, youth group and attending church, swim lessons and birthday parties..... not to mention the basics: a clean house, organized meals, clean laundry, play dates and consistency. I'm failing. I'm failing. I'm failing...

From Dictionary.com:
failure:
1. an act or instance of failing or proving unsuccessful; lack of success: His effort ended in failure. The campaign was a failure.
2. nonperformance of something due, required, or expected: a failure to do what one has promised; a failure to appear.
3. a subnormal quantity or quality; an insufficiency: the failure of crops.
4. deterioration or decay, esp. of vigor, strength, etc.: The failure of her health made retirement necessary.

Sink or Swim?

Neither. Float. The best way to survive quicksand is to not fight it and let yourself float. So float I will...

*waving white flag*

I give up. I surrender. I choose to lay down my arms and refuse to fight. I'm going to go with the path of least resistance. I won't fight this crap - whatever it is. "Let the dice fall where they may" - isn't that a cliche or quote or something?
I'm not going to fight against this anymore. And I'm not going to fight FOR it either.

Let the girls throw pictures at me. I'm not going to duck any more. But I don't have to look at what they are throwing. If Pyro is so determined to make a statement, fine. I don't have the energy to fight against it any more. The repercussions have been explained so if that's what Pyro has to do, come what may.

If everyone wants to scream inside my head about everything I should be doing and everything I'm doing wrong and everything I've done wrong in the past, fine. I'm not going to fight it any more. Maybe if the Voices yelling, "SHUT UP!!" would stop yelling, the others wouldn't try to yell over them. Escalation and all that. It's over. I won't fight any more.

I'm not going to fight the telling of my story to the shrink, but I'm not going to volunteer it. I won't fight against it, but I won't fight for it either. I'm not going to struggle against the flashbacks trying to escape them, but I don't have to take them with my eyes open.

DO YOU HEAR ME, GOD?! I QUIT! I QUIT! I QUIT! I QUIT!! It's your turn now. Time to "manifest my destiny" or let me go.

"I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter over too much bread. That can't be right. I need a change, or something." (Tolkien, LOTR: P1B1)

There's a New Sheriff In Town

It has been argued, by a friend and by several of my Voices, that I am getting stronger. I have been confronted head-on by several things I couldn't even look at from behind. And I stood and faced them. A few times, I nearly broke from the force of the answers, but I did not. And I maintained this "strength" for several days running.

There is a new sheriff in town inside the stadium. She has the censors relaxing their grip on what is allowed out. The censors are still cautious; they won't let anything out to people not on "the list" and the list is short. And there seems to be a set of rules regarding the "leaks" and how they are to be handled. Only those on the list can be trusted. Answer anything but don't offer a thing. Relax, nothing matters any more. If it hurts, there will be more of it.

There is a repeated whisper, a murmur, a collective rumbling rolling around the stadium like the wave at a good game. Over and over...

"A storm is coming..."

The new sheriff is generating chaos. She has let the silent ones speak; they huddle with the girls exchanging stories and comparing notes and they throw pictures at me. I don't want to see their pictures, still photos of things long forgotten. Send them back over the Wall! Banish the silent ones back into darkness! Please, restore some order, some restraint, some discipline. A storm is coming and someone must be here to stop it from overcoming everything and everyone.

If control is not restored, someone may come through. It is everything I can do to keep a few specific ones inside. There will be trouble if they escape. But the effort is wringing me dry. I am exhausted. I have to fight them even in my sleep. And there is no one to turn to. Who could I possibly call at midnight, 1 AM, when the push is so strong I don't dare stand up for fear of going where I ought not be and doing what I ought not do? Who can I tell about the fire burning inside my mind and trying to escape? Who can I trust, at the time when I am most vulnerable, to help me without freaking out?

I don't want to be treated like a child or like an unstable bomb. I don't want to have to go to bed with Craig so I'm not left alone. I don't want to have to go to my mother's to keep me in sight. I don't want my daily meds rationed out and locked up. I don't want to be treated like a child or a criminal. So I have to hold it together all alone.

How can I feel so alone with so much activity in the house and inside my head? But I do...

Keep Breathing

from Ingrid Michaelson's "Keep Breathing"

The storm is coming but I don't mind.
People are dying, I close my blinds.
All that I know is I'm breathing now.

I want to change the world - Instead I sleep.
I want to believe in more than you and me.
But all that I know is I'm breathing.
All I can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing
Now I, Now I
Now I, Now...,
Now...

All that I know is I'm breathing.
All I can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.

All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing.
All we can do is keep breathing...

Now.

You can listen to the song here

(hit BACKSPACE or your browser's "BACK" button to return to this page)

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

This notice is to inform you that as of 11:59:59 pm on the evening of Thursday, August 9, 2007, Jenn and her crew of Silent Voices have given up any and all new pursuits in the areas of writing, editing, plotting, or planning any further fiction. Engagement in activities including, but not limited to, Blogging, IMing, and letter writing will be partaken at the sole discretion of the aforementioned party to any degree of her choosing.

Thank you for your attention. Further queries may be addressed to:

*************** AT ***** DOT com
(update 7/19/2008: email adddress removed for spam protection)

The Survival Instinct, Re-Thought

I have often thought, and probably said in here, that I do not understand what makes some people cling to life so desperately despite all odds against them and intense pain and suffering. They will keep going far after all their resources are exhausted, after their bodies have destroyed themselves, after all hope should be gone. And they keep going anyways. Think of the movie Castaway with Tom Hanks. He kept going, kept fighting to stay alive.

WHY?

It would be so nice, so easy to just give in, give up, relax into the blackness and let go. I would welcome that with none of the hassle. I have never been presented with that opportunity. And when I nearly created the opportunity (and nearly destroyed my family) to not have to defy any odds and still slip away, I recovered. Not just recovered, recovered faster than expected and without even the common complications. I can't explain it. Maybe it's God, maybe it's hell. Maybe my body knows something my head hasn't figured out yet. At any rate, my body fought for me but I still don't understand the instinct.

Yesterday I was blog-browsing and I was reading about the experiences of other people who, like me, are suffering from debilitating depression and some of the other mental health issues that I face too. These individuals fight the same daily fight I do. No energy, no hope, suicidal thoughts and urges, forgetfulness, headaches, pain with no attributable cause, wanting to sleep but not being able to yet not being able to be awake either, wondering if there is any point to being alive, some even have Voices or memory gaps or the other weird stuff that has had me in a tail-spin for a while now. There are people out there who feel like I do!

In my own family, my mother is a real piece of art. Some days she can't get out of bed. She can't go out alone. She cries all the time. She has some serious OCD issues going on. And I won't even go into the somatoform issues... When we talk, I know exactly how she feels. I feel the same way. She doesn't understand me, though. When I feel like giving up, she doesn't connect. When I turn up with burns or cuts, she gets angry. She doesn't get it.

My aunt is classic. She sleeps for days at a time. Also big into the somatoform issues. Anger like you wouldn't believe. I'm not so close to her as to know the extent of her symptoms but I know they are trying to talk her into the same implant that I had put in a couple years ago and we've been on he same meds, often. And you know what? She doesn't understand the depths of the darkness either.

Then there's me. If you've read my blog much, you know what a pathetic whack job I am. Not worth the oxygen I consume. Who I am is so far away from who I want to be that I won't ever get there. I hate everything about me. I hate my life. I don't see any hope for things to improve. I want to crawl into the closet, way in the back, and stay there. Or crawl into bed and let my mind drift away to somewhere better. The only light I can conceive of at the end of this tunnel is undoubtedly an oncoming train. Parts of my life make me really wish I didn't exist.

But I'm still here. I have the means, the method, the desire, the timing. I could make it happen with no difficulty at all. But I haven't. And I can't. And I get out of bed every single day. And I take care of 5 kids every single day. I run Mom's Taxi and I grocery shop and I pay bills (when I can). Every day, I keep breathing. I smile for the kids and I go to the family reunions and I keep Mom company. I put together birthday parties and I co-ordinate doctor's appointments. And I live through the parts of my life that I pretend don't exist and push over the Wall. And I stay alive. I take the bottles of pills in my hand every single day, several times a day, and I shake out only what I need and I put the bottles back. It hurts every second that I keep breathing. But I do it. I keep breathing, every single day. I keep going. I run a household.

Does that mean I am healthier than those other people? The ones who fall under the pressure of this crippling illness? The ones who have no kids and are still brought to their knees? The ones who have never seen the inside of a mental ward or felt the choking sensation of a respirator? The ones who are miserable but can't conceive of committing suicide? Am I healthier?

Or did my lack of survival instinct just transfer to a slightly different form? I can't kill myself, though I want to so bad I can taste it, I imagine it, I dream of it. But I can't. Because I have to protect my kids - from me. I have to get up because if I don't they will suffer. I have to keep going because now, while they are young, they can't go through what would happen if I give up. I am alive so I don't kill them (literally in the first, figuratively in the second).

I'm not doing as good as I need to be doing. My house is a disaster. People who hear me say that think I am being overly particular, "too hard on myself". People who have been in here understand that isn't the case. I forget things, like appointments and bills and permission slips. I don't have the energy to play with the kids, to read to them every day, to make brownies, to host play dates. I can't give baths. I can't watch the pool. I don't cook and I don't do the wash. I am wifely when guilted or coerced. I hide on my computer and refuse to make phone calls or go out. I have nightmares and flashbacks and psychotic episodes.

I'm no soccer mom. I'm not even a good mom. But I'm the only mom they have and I pull myself out of bed every day and I stay alive. Does this make me healthier? Or more stubborn? Is it that my hole is not as dark as those others with whom I sympathize so strongly, or that I stumble around in the dark anyways?

Of course, I should say that I am healthier. And I thank God for my health. And I will keep getting up every day and I will stay alive. And be grateful that I have the strength to do it. I will do that because that is what I have been told to do.

"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."

The Price of Honesty

Every once in a while, someone gives both my censors a hefty dose of sedatives and, while they do not shut down completely and let any Voice around run free, they become very relaxed about what can and cannot be said. Everyone inside huddles around them waiting for their turn, for someone to ask something that sparks their side of the story. The censors aren't gone, and they won't let anything out that hasn't been asked for, but they will let anyone speak through them if they are called upon.

These moods are rare. They generally occur after a day where nothing fell apart and are more likely to happen when I am taking preventative measures for the anxiety rather than relief doses only. Yesterday, nothing fell apart.

The Shrink was in one of his moods where he is easily distracted and led into a different conversation and so all my extreme paranoia about what to tell him relaxed into a session where I learned more about him as a person than he learned about me as a client. (I don't think I'm a person to him; I'm a chart, a patient, a diagnosis, a client, but not a person. More on that some other time.) There were some tense moments but nothing catastrophic or deep. I walked out of there feeling good. Rather than going through 45 minutes of hell that would reach further into my life and plague me for long time, I had 45 minutes of wide varying and stimulating discussions.

At the coffeeshop, I was too cold to sit inside so I took my iced coffee and my Big Green Monster (my giant oversized messenger bag in which I carry most of my writing notebooks and binders and sometimes research materials or other supplies) and went and sat on the patio, in the shade, facing the long walkway of the strip mall. I put on my music and sipped my coffee and... couldn't think of a darned thing to write. I didn't have the papers I needed to work on my novel and I just couldn't think of anything to write. Tres bizarre, non? So, I just started reading some of the stuff in my notebooks, old stuff I'd written, plans for novels not yet begun, starters and prompts that had caught my eye... just anything. And I spent my whole time reading my stuff. Most if it I hated, some of it I liked, some gave me the shivers (I read through my "Tales to Freak the Shrink" file) and some made me wonder why I ever picked up a pen and thought perhaps I ought never to do it again... But the point is, it was relaxing and no pressure.

Then I went to Mom's. Everything there was business as usual and I hung out for several hours. We talked about a lot of nothing. She is heavy into her martyr role and thriving quite well there. So we sat around and I got a chance to run the skeleton of my novel, Child Immortal, past her. She didn't think it totally sucks, which I found to be half-heartedly heartening. The children, while a bit hyper, weren't absolute monsters, although everything they did got on her nerves, but that is nothing new. Eventually I gathered all the children and we headed home.

At home, nothing exploded, no one killed anyone, and nothing drastic happened. When Craig got home, nothing exploded (including him) and things went well. It was just another evening. I started working on the section sheets for my novel, I chatted with a few people, none of whom had any major tragedies or questionable loyalties. The little boys spent the night next door and the older kids didn't give me any trouble. They went to bed. Craig went to bed.

The day was over and it hadn't been a bad one. No major anxiety attacks. Still some flashbacks, no one noticed though. And I had been taking my xanax as prescribed rather than PRN, as I have been for the past several days, since I felt I would go out of my skin with the face behind my eyes all the time and the flashbacks making other people uncomfortable. So I was mellow. And I was strong. And when my mind touched on the weak spot in my Wall, I didn't feel like I was going to die. In fact, I could almost look at those weak spots, almost.

So finally I got the nerve to tell my friend (one of the only two people in the world that I trust enough to talk about this stuff to) that I was strong enough to talk, if he wanted to ask. He did. I answered. That's not the first time I've felt strong enough to look but that is the first time anyone has nudged me to actually do so.

I won't lie. (Duh, as if that isn't a given... *rolls eyes at self*) There were a few times that the questions burned into my heart. Voices piped up that I rarely hear from and even a few I don't remember ever hearing. Pictures flashed into my head that I didn't expect, didn't want and normally wouldn't have been able to handle without a strong panic attack accompanying it. A few of the questions were real gut-punches. I actually threw up once. I had to walk away, rush to the bathroom and throw up. It made me feel like a little kid, made me feel stupid. But I stayed strong and I coped and I continued. There was one particular Voice that the others seemed to turn to before they answered. They weren't looking for permission. Maybe they were looking for strength. And she would nod and give them a soft smile and they would answer.

It was intense. It hurt a bit. I felt like a limp rag doll when we were done talking. But I felt proud too. I had faced all of his questions and gotten the answers out. That's more than I've ever done in my life. Wow. Go me!!

But, there were side-effects I didn't expect. Should have. Only logical... Those pictures? They keep coming back. They are only still-shots but it's like being punched in the gut every time and it's happening a lot. Every time I close my eyes, there is a picture there. I try to push them away. I want them to go back over the Wall and stay there. Sometimes, someone will try to tell me the story of the picture but the others scream until the Voice shuts up. I will push them away. I will get them back over the Wall. I don't have to put up with this stuff. THIS IS MY HEAD!!

Note to Self: I need to recruit someone to keep a hold on Pyro. He is growing stronger and I fear losing control of him. I shall have to start taking applications... I need one of the strong ones but most of the strong ones don't overly care for me and would probably help him rather than stop him. I will really have to think on this. I can't risk getting into trouble again.

"If we shadows have offended,
"Think but this and all is mended
"That you have but slumbered here,
"Whilst these visions did appear."

The Artful Dodger

The good news and the bad news are the same. The good news is, I didn't have to figure out what to tell the shrink. The bad news is, I didn't tell the shrink anything he didn't already know and actually, didn't tell him much of anything at all. He was in a chatty mood today and let me distract him with pathetic ease.

All he got out of me is that I am really having to fight off the Voices pushing for a nice deep cut (or 13) or a good, crispy burn (or 13). Of course, I skipped the Voices part. He translated (of his own accord without encouragement or discouragement from me) it into "urges". Whatever. He told me to call him if they get to a point that I don't feel I can control it and he could "coach me down". I told him, very quietly and without looking at him, that I didn't think that would work. He asked why. I told him that I had called him last week about the flashbacks and he never called. He asked what number I called. The office of course, got the voice mail. He gave me a different number to call. I still doubt I could call him. What do I say? "I think Pyro is coming and I don't know how to stop him?" That wouldn't exactly go over well, I think.

He also got out of it the fact that when it comes to certain things, Craig gets what he wants. Period. Always has, since we were just kids. And I learned to adapt. As things change, I just learn to adapt. I'm pretty sure I've told him that before. So it was nothing new. Then I changed the topic smoothly and without him even realizing it. It was like taking candy from a baby, almost too easy.

Of course, the Powers That Be are going to say that was a bad thing, dodging him, not talking about either of the two flashpoint issues. Surprisingly, I was even in pretty decent condition going in, admittedly, I was pharmaceutically enhanced. But, also admittedly, I am often pharmaceutically enhanced - but no more than my prescribed dose!! I'm just trying to keep a grip on these &^%&$%^* flashbacks...

Terrified of Tomorrow

What will I say to him? Should I bring up the fight or let it go? Should I let him steer the conversation where I don't want to follow? Do I try to dodge altogether? I don't think he'll let me get away with that.

How do I answer questions about something that I don't understand? Worse yet, how do I answer questions about something he could never understand? No one could understand. I don't want to see judgement in his eyes but I am afraid he won't be able to hide it. Last time, there was only shock and confusion. I don't want to see judgement! So many things I've done wrong, so many choices I've made that make me who I am, someone I hate. But I don't want to see him disgusted by me.

I have to stand by my husband. I do what I'm told and it keeps me out of trouble, most of the time. Craig has been getting so much angrier, so often. And after this past weekend, I'm afraid he's going to snap and I won't be able to bring him back or talk him down. The boys, when they get together, they scare me, they embarrass me, they hurt me. But it's so much better than if they left me. If Craig left me, I couldn't bear it. And he views sex as a thing. And as a right. He always has as long as we've been together. I figured that out early and I adapted. And as it adjusted and changed, I adapted.

I just do what I'm told. I know that's a cop out. War criminals have tried to plead that and the courts found them guilty. I know how people must view me. I can think of many words to describe me. But, for right or wrong, I do as I'm told. And I don't plan on changing that. Especially not after this weekend.

We've fought before. Six times that were big enough to involve raised voices and high tempers. Friday made the seventh time in the almost 16 years we've known each other. But he's never had that look in his eye, that empty look like my son gets during a rage. And he's never been so angry as to take it out on me after the fight is over. Or to be so angry as to take it out on me like that.

So I have to step up my game. I have to do as I'm told. I have to do the right things at the right times. And I sure as hell am not going start refusing to co-operate now. I have to do better. I have to keep his stress levels down. I have to keep the kids calm around him. I have to make things okay again. I don't know how. God knows I try to do things right and God also knows I fail at it. But I have to find a way to do better. I have to. I can't let him get that angry again.

What will I tell the shrink tomorrow? I'll let him lead. If he goes where I don't want to go, I'll go as far as I can. If he hates me, is disgusted by me, thinks I'm a wimp... well, it's what I deserve isn't it? It's certainly what I deserve... I deserve more actually, much worse...

Bless me Father for I have sinned. A lot.

A Storm is Coming

God how I hate her! Look at the whining, the "poor me" routine. Makes me sick. Something scares her, she pretends it never happened. Like that works. Someone ought to teach that bitch a lesson. Show her what a tough life really is. I mean, Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Poor her? She has a husband that works his ass off, four kids that SHE WANTED, a god-daughter that SHE WANTED, a big house with a pool, two cars and a motorcycle... She even has a goddamn dog and two cats. Oh poor her! Hubby has a temper - boo foo. House is a mess? Maybe she oughtta get off her stupid ass and do something about it. She wastes her time on this bloody computer, typing away at novels that will never be finished (let alone actually sold) and stories that are as pathetic as she is. There ain't nuthin wrong with her that she didn't create herself. I'd love to rough her up a bit - show her what pain really is. Dumb-asses won't let me. Don't want to risk "getting her in trouble". Bullshit! Get the bitch in some trouble! What's gonna happen? Hubby gonna get rough with her? Doubt it, at least not with his fists. He got other ways. And if she don't like them, serves her right. She should do what she's supposed to. What the hell is her problem anyways? Can't make a damned decision to save her life! Not about simple things like what to have for dinner or hard things like which bill to pay cause she can't pay em all. And this stupid ass mess of a house? Know why she don't do more? She gets all freaky cause she don't know what to do with some of the stuff or she don't know how she should do other stuff. And a lot of the time, she just plain won't get her stupid ass up off the computer, away from her precious fucking writing, to do that shit. Says she's scared. Says she's overwhelmed. Starts cryin like a damned baby. She's lazy, that's all. Kids and writing, that's all the bitch does. Ain't no wonder her hubby is so damned mean. He'd be fine if she just did her shit. All right, time's up. Gotta fly. But mark my words, I'm gonna get her. Watch for me... a storm is coming!

My Life is Fiction

I think that none of my life is real. I get such a surreal feeling sometimes when I try to think about it. I think that everything people are saying about me is wrong. I think I made it up. I mean, it's possible, right? That everything that's been going on with my head is just my imagination? Every time I have ever told official-type people about my Voices, they either think I am schizophrenic and I have to explain over and over that they are just my own Voices, they are my thoughts and feelings, they are just ME. Or they tell me I have a very vivid imagination, as evidenced by my passion for writing, and blow me off. But then I tell my shrink about them and he didn't look at me weird. And he started asking other questions. And the weird stuff started happening. And the bad stuff. And then I am being handed strange names for the very Voices I have had all my life.

The things that I think I remember? I think they are fake. After all, there are other things that I remember that aren't real. My Katy... she should have registered today too. She should have been there to guide her little brother around the school and reassure him and make everything easier for him just like he did for the little one registering for kindergarten today. She should have been there. BUT - she isn't real. So, maybe those other things that I am remembering aren't real either. Not real. Figments of my imagination. A bit of undigested meat?

So, I am placing all the things that have been scaring me inside my own mind into the same category as Katy - not real!! It can't hurt me if it didn't happen. Nightmares are only dreams if that's all they are. And my Voices are just my way of expressing my creativity, like my writing...

So, no one needs to worry about me any more. Because I'm fine. My life really was as wonderful as I remember it. Family that loved me, economic needs always met, upper-middle class everything. I said it for years, believed it for years, I believe it again.

I'm sorry if I upset anyone by my fictional tales. They were just dreams. I would quote the lines from the end of Midsummer Night's Dream, but I can't remember them and don't feel like looking them up. I'll guess and paraphrase and see if I can make Monsieur Shakespeare roll over in his grave...

"If we shadows have offended
"Think but this and all is mended
"That you have but slumbered here
"While these visions did appear
"And this weak and idle theme
"No more yielding than a dream"
(Shakespeare, Midsummer Night's Dream, possibly paraphrased)

Breathing

There are times when I don't even want to breathe. I want to sink into myself and make the world go away. I don't want to hurt and I don't want to be hurt.

I don't want to wonder what other people are thinking any more either. I don't want to be near them and know how they are feeling but not be sure to whom it is directed. I can feel the emotions and I can even get the gist of their thoughts. I don't want to do it any more. I think I will never look anyone in the eye again.

Do flashbacks ever truly go away? They get so bad. Everything disappears and the scene takes over my sight, my hearing, my breathing, every aspect of my being for the duration of it. Then I think I will never have a conscious moment without his face behind my eyes again. It has eased of a little. I'm okay until someone starts mentioning having a choice or making a choice or forcing a choice or anything about choice.

Why does everything that hurts lead back to that one stupid word? CHOICE. I think I'm going to go vomit now.

What is with this total dichotomy in my head? How can one moment I be thinking about how I'm going to get to some generic point in the future and the next I am drowning in my own feelings? One moment I am trying to reassure my husband that I will never do anything "stupid" again and the next forcing myself to walk through the kitchen and not stop in it. How do I promise him that I'm fine and don't want to talk and the next moment wonder how he can NOT know what is going on? How can I sit in front of him, pretending not to be seeing a totally different scene while feeling like I'm going to die? How can I sit in a room full of people and feel so alone and sit by myself in a room and feel crowded out by people that aren't there?

I like my shrink. I trust him. He's the only shrink I have ever trusted. But I completely feel like I don't exist except for 45 minutes once a week. Until he reviews my chart when we sit down, I don't exist and the moment I stand to leave, I cease to exist again. I was freaking out last week. After Wednesday morning, those stupid flashbacks started. I tried to cope to make them go away and they wouldn't. I called his office and let a voicemail for him to please help me figure out what to do. I heard nothing.

I know that I cannot call him if I am in crisis. I don't actually know who to call if I go into crisis. I can't tell Craig - he knows nothing about me. He wouldn't know how to talk me down if it were printed on cue cards in ten foot letters. The only people that I trust, aren't people I can't call in crisis.

Then there is the fact that when I get into TRUE crisis - when I am pushed all the way to the edge - I don't want help. I want out. If I am to the point where I'm about to check out and let the darkness take over, I don't see why I would call for help when I don't WANT help. Why do people call a suicide hot-line to get talked out of it if that's what they really want? Maybe I just think that way because I don't have anyone that I could call, would call if I got that way.

I am no one. I never will be something or someone. It is my job, my lot, to be no one. There has be 999 people for that 1 in a 1000 to make a difference. I watch television shows about people who are unique and cool and have special abilities. And I read books about people who make a difference and are stand-out, stand-up, 1 in a 1000 people. And I know that I will never be one. I have never have. I never will be. And while a large part of me is greatly relieved at that, a small part of me wishes that I was special. Someone important. Someone that is 1 in a 1000. And I'm not. Never will be. Invisible me says that's a good thing.

It is now a quarter til 2 in the morning. The baby will be here by 7:15. I will have nightmares all night long. Why am I up? Why? Because I'm a night person. And now I am being pushed into being an early morning person. And it occurred to me that I will be stuck in this role for another 17 or 18 years. Please, someone shoot me. I'm not kidding. I hate mornings.

Okay, off to bed...

"All I can do is keep breathing..." (Ingrid Michaelson, "Keep Breathing")

Echoes

Anger hurts. Getting mad means someone will be getting even. Some things never change.



I should explain... but where to begin? One of my favorite songs runs through my mind at this point: "Where to begin/Let's start at the end/This black and white photo/Don't capture the skin" (Carbon Leaf, "The War Was in Color") So, I guess I'll start at the end. Or maybe the middle...



Craig's sister had the kids overnight last night. She likes to take them every once in a while, I think it's mostly a form of birth control. LOL Take five kids under the age of 13 overnight and see if you can survive: instant birth control! At any rate, we dropped them off about 2 o'clock and they came home about 11 this morning. That's the longest "date night" Craig and I have had in quite some time. And the longest we've been home overnight alone since I got out of the hospital and a longer time before that.



After the fight we had Friday night, I knew that something was coming, something I probably didn't want to see. After the fight had passed, leaving that tingling feeling like you get right after a close lightning strike, he had talked to his best friend to see if they had plans for yesterday or if they'd like to get together. She had plans with their kids; he was free. Craig and I planned to go to a movie and out to eat. Craig told me, before he went to bed, that he had "made arrangements" with them for him to come over while she was out with their kids. And I realized just exactly how angry he had been. I still felt cold, numb, and very, very calm. I told myself it was just because the kids would be gone and I pushed it away.



What I want to know is why did the shrink bring it up? Why last week? Why then? Before, when he found about about that particular aspect of my life, he had stumbled on it accidentally right after an incident had happened. I freaked out, totally lost it. After several weeks, he convinced me that he had not spoken with Craig and he was not in league with Craig and did not intend to contact Craig about it, neither about me telling the shrink nor to "make arrangements" of his own. I don't think I ever thought he intended the latter of those possibilities but he had raised my paranoia level to an extreme.



The shrink hasn't mentioned the topic since he got me calmed down about it. Then, last week he brings it up. He scared me and forced me to really think about it. And I put my thoughts onto paper, then onto the screen, then I destroyed the paper. I dreaded this coming Wednesday. No chance of a reprieve on talking about it. He learned my game and hasn't let me get away with it since. I've been nervous, but I trust my shrink.



And then the fight. I don't fight. We've known each other 16 years and in that entire time, I can count on 2 hands the number of times we've actually fought - raised voices and all fought. I just won't do it. My whole life I have been that way. I won't fight and I won't even fight back. Got the stuffing knocked out of me in middle school for not reciprocating in a fist fight. I would rather that happen than to actually fight back. Some people think that makes me a coward or a weakling or just plain stupid. Maybe they're right, maybe not, I don't much care.



On the other hand, Mama Bear is vicious and would kill to protect the children. Me, who would not lift a finger to save my life, would take the life of someone else to protect my children. Craig pushed me too far on Friday night. He lost his temper. It was completely my fault. I could go on forever about the ways I created that situation Friday night. Anyhow, the point is that he lost his temper. And he went thundering up the stairs. I did nothing. I was scared. But then I could hear him screaming at the kids, I could hear my oldest son crying as hard as he could. And I heard a thumping and Mama Bear got all fired up and every shred of fear was replaced by an irresistible need to go stop him, to make him leave them alone, to protect them. I stormed up the stairs and found him in the little boys' room and I was telling at him to leave them alone.



We actually squared off, facing each other, legs spread to shoulders' width, breathing heavy, shoulders firm, eyes blazing. I screamed and he glared. I told him to get out. I told him to away. Then I lowered my voice very quiet and almost growled: I think you need to go downstairs now. And I took a step towards the boys and away from the door. He left, stormed, actually.



I calmed down all the kids and reassured them and told them it wasn't their fault. I told them he shouldn't have yelled at them like that. I told them it was my fault, that he was angry with me and taking it out of them and that wasn't right but that it wasn't their fault. I didn't tell them that it was okay for Craig to have done that but I took the blame for him being angry, as it should be, and made it very clear that it isn't their fault.



After I had them calm, I had to go downstairs and face Craig. That's when I got scared. I had no idea what was going to happen. I didn't know if he was still there or not - there had been a lot of slamming and thumping and even the door slamming so for all I knew, he had stormed off somewhere. Or he could be down there but still so furiously angry that he would beat the shit out of me. I rather deserved that, confronting him in front of the kids, screaming at him, challenging him. And if he had raised a hand against me, I would have taken it without protest. It would have been justified. I was scared of it though. I don't overly like pain, deserved or not.



He was there, in the kitchen. And he was angry. He was still furious. The anger and (I hate to say it but it's true) hatred were coming off of him in waves. He glared at me and if looks could kill, I'm dead a million times over. I stood in the kitchen and looked at him, not in the eyes. And he looked at me like he couldn't decide whether to ignore me or kill me. And all the fear drained away. The Voices grew quieter in tone if not quantity.



"Do you want to talk about this?" My words were so quiet I barely heard them myself. I'm not sure who said them, which Voice. I thought he was going to hit me just then and I am more than certain that it crossed his mind in more than a passing thought, as did leaving and not coming back. Time hung heavy in the air, tangible, thick, charged. It lasted forever, that single moment.



And then he said, almost as quietly, "Alright."



I started talking, low, gentle, careful, like trying to sooth an animal spooked into violence. The more time that passes, the less I remember about what exactly I said. I remember telling him I was sorry for yelling at him in front of the kids. I remember telling him that words can hurt as much as fists. I remember telling him I understood. He's stressed out and most of that is my fault. It's my fault because he works his tail off, then has to come home to a trashed house and hyper kids. I talked for 45 minutes, trying to calm him down, trying to make him understand that he just can't do that. I told him that if he felt that angry, like he had to scream or hit someone, that he should scream at me or hit me. It's my fault that he feels like that anyways. I would deserve it (although it didn't say that last part to him because it would have made him more upset instead of less). It took 45 minutes but he calmed down.

I ran out of things to say. I started looking at the floor; couldn't meet his eyes anymore. It's like, once I knew he was calmed down and the kids were safe, I didn't have any confidence left, any courage. I suddenly felt like I'd been trying to reassure a feral dog as if it were a cute puppy and just figured out it didn't want to play. There was silence for what felt like forever. He was kind of backed into the corner of the counter and the most logical way out of the room was past me. But going past me would have come off as an aggressive move and I thought perhaps that was why he wasn't moving or speaking.

Out of the corner of my eye, since I was looking at the floor, I saw the dog's food dish. It was empty. I think I mumbled something about being sorry and I grabbed the dish and left the room to feed the dog and to give him a safe way to leave the room without having to go by me. I took a long time. When I came back in, he seemed fine, though he hadn't left the kitchen. When I came in, he was on the phone. I put the food down and stood in the far corner, feeling like a kid waiting in the principal's office.

When he got off the phone, he looked me square in the eye (WHY did I look up?!) and told me that his best friend was going to join us for a little while Saturday since the kids were going to be home. The shrink's question slammed into my head. The Bitch pushed it away. He opened his arms to me and I crawled into them. He held me the way he used to. I burrowed into his shoulder, let my cheek feel his heart and his strong arms cocoon me. Everyone in my head was talking at once, a million different feelings pulling a million different ways. And then they pulled back, slowly fading into the background, still there but not important.

Then he went to bed. I was cold. I was so very quiet and so very calm, extremely, extremely calm. I turned, as I always do, to my computer. I could push it away into cyberspace and not think about it. It didn't quite play out that way. I talked to a dear friend about the fight for a while. My head wouldn't wrap all the way around it. The pain I had caused and the pain I hadn't acted quick enough to prevent. The calm gradually faded into a desperate sort of nervousness. The Bitch tried to keep the phone call buried. She pushed and pushed and I kept it down enough to not mention it. I worked so hard to keep it down that I couldn't write down the fight.

I had to confront him, didn't I? I had to protect the children. He was so angry. He had completely lost his temper. I had to protect them. Did I have a choice?

There is always a choice.

I made my choice. I paid for my choice. I would make the same choice again, even knowing what would come of it. I have to protect them. I have to stand between him and them when he can't stand on his own. When he loses it, I will be there. I will be on their side. I will stop him. I won't hear him screaming and disappear until it's over then pretend it didn't happen. I won't see the signs of him losing his temper and run. I won't see strange things and walk away like I saw nothing. I will fight for them, no matter what come sit. I will make sure they know that I am here, that I care, that I will fight for them. And I will do my best to make sure they never know what happens afterwards. I WILL PROTECT MY CHILDREN!

"Making arrangements"

It sounds so simple, so mundane. What does the shrink know about this? Why did he bring it up last week? What will I say this week? I didn't know that he was still so mad. I didn't know it wasn't over. I guess it wasn't over. Last night, it wasn't over. I didn't know he was still angry. Even after the afternoon, I guess he was still angry.

What is the deal with sex? How can it be the best thing in the world to one person and a weapon to another? How can it be important to some people and just another to do task for others? How can it be an entitlement in some situations and a reward in others? How can it be different things to the same persona at different times? How can someone who is practically perfect in so many situations become a totally different person in others?

I have to find something else important to talk to the shrink about Wednesday. I can't go there right now. How did he know? Why did he ask when he did? I didn't know anything was on the horizon and my radar isn't too bad. I'm sending this out into the cyber-world to make it go away. I'm sending it into the void so it doesn't take up any more space in my mind. Sending it away... What will I tell the shrink? How did he know? Did I tell him that I was setting Craig up for failure? Did he know I was going to end up making him so mad that he would... be mad all weekend? It must have been obvious that I was doing things all wrong and that Craig couldn't take much more. He must have known, was maybe trying to warn me. And I didn't get it. I still screwed up. He still blew his top. And I went off. And... it doesn't matter. It just doesn't matter.

This too shall pass...

"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."
"Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here..."