Complex PTSD

distractions

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“There’s a difference between being happy and being distracted from sadness.”

I recently saw the above quote on Facebook and loved it. Lately close friends and family have been making happiness statements to me. Are you having fun? Did that make you happy? I’ll do whatever makes you happy. Would it make you happy if… It’s so good to see you smile and have fun.

I understand they want me to be happy and don’t want to see me suffer. The best I can ask for right now are distractions from sadness. The stress is really starting to get to me. It’s affecting my health. It’s wearing me down. I don’t think I can handle much more.

Happiness seems unattainable. It’s for other people. Peace and joy are glimpsed at illusions.

I have little control over the events taking place. I just want the suffering to end.

Most people don’t know what to say. That’s okay. There is really nothing anyone can do about it. I understand that.

Just be a friend. Don’t walk away. That hurts more than saying the wrong thing.

I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to play the victim. It’s just what is happening in my life. I don’t want to talk about it all the time.

But I am open to distractions…

Recently when my good friend Lisa was over it was eye opening to me. She has experienced a great level of pain and suffering. I didn’t know what to say to her. Offering up thoughts and prayers seemed absolutely meaningless. I just wanted her to be happy. I wanted her to think life is enjoyable and worth living. Maybe her suffering has some sort of purpose or meaning and she can take something bad and make it good somehow. I could feel her pain. Through my worry about the wellbeing of my friend I was able to see how others view me. I finally understood.

Getting through the hard times now

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My dad is still with us. However, yesterday we found out Paul’s uncle passed away from lung cancer just like Paul’s mom and some of her other siblings did.

Arabella had her court date yesterday. Her suffocation and strangulation felony was dropped. One of her other felonies is now a misdemeanor. She currently is being charged with one felony, substantial battery. So, one felony and three misdemeanors. To get into mental health treatment court she can’t be convicted of violent crimes. I’m not really sure how it is all going to pan out. She is still in jail. We are not sure when she is getting out.

One of the things bothering me lately is that anything can really be used as a weapon if you want to use it that way. For example, Arabella cracked Will’s head open with her cell phone so much so that he needed staples. I’m not feeling very hopeful right now about her future. She crossed a new line when she hurt someone else and I can’t trust she won’t do it again.

She is still delusional, but not to the extent she was before. A couple weeks back she had decoded the Bible and God revealed the meaning of the seven seals to her. She said she needed to get out of jail to share the revelation with all the local pastors and preach in churches.

Her first court date she was rocking her body clutching a Bible. She looked stark raving mad. It’s hard to see your child like that. I find the religious delusions difficult to handle. It just seems so unfair to me. Whereas, my husband took comfort in these delusions. She believes in God and whatever happens we’ll see her again some day. Now her delusions focus on traumas she never experienced and everyone in the family having rare mental illnesses.

It’s been a rough week and we kept ourselves busy volunteering and spending time with family yesterday. Volunteering at times can be hard because we really see the full extent of human suffering. There was a woman whose husband just walked out and left her with 6 little kids. It’s hard not to feel emotional when I see so much suffering all around me. Most of the time it’s rewarding to be able to offer some kind of help to the suffering.

I feel like I am close to my breaking point. I don’t think I could handle anything else right now. I’m so afraid something else horrible will happen and I won’t be able to go on. Just one more thing could push me over the edge right now and it’s scary.

It’s been a hard week weather wise. We had a 50 degree drop in temperature and both my arthritis and colitis are acting up. Two of my brothers got blizzard conditions where they live. Thankfully we just got a dusting of snow. My stomach has been aching every day. Maybe it’s from all the stress. How do I know if I have an ulcer? I have acid re-flux and colitis already. But how do I know if I have an ulcer? Is the pain different? I don’t want to go in, do all these tests just to tell me I have what I already have. Then they will send me home and tell me to get plenty of sleep (insomniac), exercise (can’t run anymore because of arthritis), and manage my stress. Nobody can help me take away this stress.

I’m grateful for the supportive people I have in my life. Last night I just sat in my room alone and cried. My best friend called and offered me support. It helped me get through another day. I know I can talk to my best friend, my daughter Angel, my son Alex, and my husband. Yesterday I had conversations with all of them. I honestly don’t know what I would do without them. I still have my writing to do, a purpose. My son says he wants to have 8 kids, and my daughter Angel wants 6. Not sure if that’s going to happen, but maybe I’ll be a grandma soon. Next week my husband, friends, and I have a road trip planned to Traverse City. Good things will be coming in the future, I know it. I just have to get through the hard times now.

Heading back home again

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We had to wake up at 2 AM our time at home to get ready to leave. We went to bed late and didn’t sleep much the night before. I wish I could say I slept well on vacation but I didn’t. I struggled with insomnia and nightmares. The sleeping pills didn’t help much. It seems like after 5 hours it totally wears off except the grogginess. There were moments I felt an overwhelming sense of dread and sadness. I felt at times utterly and totally alone like I was at the end of my rope with how much stress I can bear. I know that is not totally true since I have a small but amazing support team including my husband who was with me. But I struggle at times with wanting to drift away instead of reaching out and connecting. At the best, this vacation was a distraction from the pain I was feeling inside. Beach therapy does wonders. I would recommend it.

It was still dark when we loaded up the bus and headed for the airport. While there, we bought our first souvenirs since the market was closed when we visited. A bottle of hot sauce for our son, tea for Angel, chocolates for Dan, Arabella, and Lexi, and a bottle of Blue Curacao for Paul’s step-dad Darryl who just turned 70. I was able to sit with Paul on the flight from Curacao to Miami which took about 3 hours. I slept most of the way without being medicated because I was so exhausted.

The line for customs wasn’t horribly long. Then we had to pick up our luggage and go through security again. Our luggage had a tag that said status unknown. I asked the security guard by the luggage carousal what it meant but he didn’t seem to know. I think it was because they pushed back the time of our flight. We really didn’t know what was happening. At the last minute, I opened up my suitcase and threw all of the souvenirs inside while in line to hand over our luggage. Otherwise the liquor and hot sauce would be confiscated since it was over 3 ounces. We waited at least another hour to go through security.

Paul and I weren’t able to sit together on the flight from Miami to Chicago which was another 3 hours. This flight I was medicated and tried to relax listening to music on Paul’s headphones. I was much calmer than I was on the way there and didn’t freak out about the turbulence. It was strange because as I was listening to music I could hear the pilot talking through the Bluetooth headphones. I could hear him saying, ‘I didn’t sign up for this’. I took my headphones off to see if he was saying it through the airplane speakers but didn’t hear anything. What the hell? I recognized the pilot’s voice from his earlier announcement. I turned down my music so I could hear more. Then he said, “Can you believe it? She ratted him out!” Interesting, but that is all I heard. I really liked the sang I didn’t sign up for this. I really need to use it more.

Once we got into Chicago we needed to find a shuttle to get us back to our vehicle at the hotel. Paul and I jumped into the shuttle for Chicago Marriott O’Hare. I really thought I had the right shuttle but then saw the shuttle for Chicago Marriott Suites O’Hare which is where we stayed. We were on the wrong shuttle but the driver said he would take us to our hotel anyway. We made a couple more stops along the airport. We picked up an elderly lady in a wheelchair. She kept telling the guy to call her son and she seemed really worried or had dementia or something. She refused to get out of the wheelchair. Another shuttle driver started honking his horn and yelling at her to get out of the way since it took so long. Our driver was finally able to convince her to get into the shuttle. Then we made another stop and picked up a guy who fell flat on his face trying to get into the shuttle.

The shuttle driver dropped Paul and I off first. I was the last one off the shuttle and the falling guy and wheelchair lady both tried to follow me out. I tried to stop them from following me off the bus. I told them to stay, it wasn’t their stop, I made a mistake, and shut the door on them. Then we were off for the long drive back home. We got home close to 10 PM that night. It was hard to believe that we were in South America in the morning. We came back home to two feet of new snow that fell after we left for our trip. It was nice to finally be home and I slept pretty good that night.

Girl’s night(mare)

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We got past the first hurdle. We were supposed to get a snowstorm, somewhere between 4 and 6 inches. But beyond a foreboding sky, nothing happened besides a few snowflakes. That’s why living here we never cancel for what might be. Our girls night went on as planned.

I picked up my daughters, Angel and Arabella, and my son’s girlfriend Lexi. We went to a couple thrift stores. I didn’t find much. A couple days before I did some pre-shopping and found more. I was so convinced I was going to have to cancel, I decided to hit up a thrift store a couple days before to stave off total disappointment if I had to cancel.

Everything went well, at first. After we went to a couple thrift stores, we decided to go out to eat then call it a night. We were at the end of our meal when the trouble started. Arabella started talking about how the residential treatment facility we sent her to was a cult. She started to talk about this a couple weeks ago to me. She talked about how we should sue them because they stole our money. I told her that the DBT therapy program in essence was to reprogram disordered thinking. She told us the psychiatrist was the cult leader. The food there sucked. They were out to get her and she said the other girls in the program felt the same way. They used psychological torture and now she has PTSD from it.

The conversation was getting uncomfortable and Arabella wouldn’t let it go. Angel tried to change the conversation by thanking me for the meal and saying how she really liked her food. It’s a tactic I often use myself. Hey, how about that snowstorm we didn’t get? Except this time it didn’t work out too well. Arabella got angry and called her sister a bitch. She was sitting next to her sister and was loud and in her face. My heart started beating faster as the anxiety rushed in. Angel tried to diffuse the situation by not fighting back. Where was that waitress with the boxes for our food??? Arabella was still ranting as Angel hunted down the waitress for the boxes. We got out of there as quickly as we could. Things were going downhill fast.

I dropped Angel off at her house first. I was afraid she was going to be upset, and she was afraid I was upset. I talked to her a few brief minutes as I helped her carry her things into her house. I told her she handled her sister very well. She didn’t engage when her sister called her a bitch multiple times. I told her I was sorry it had to be like that with her sister. When Arabella is delusional, nothing can convince her otherwise. I try to validate her, but I don’t agree with her and I think she knows this. On the ride home, Arabella kept repeating how much Angel is a bitch and how she has PTSD from residential and her bad childhood.

After dropping Arabella off, I spoke to Lexi the rest of the ride home about Arabella since she has never seen her like that. I told her Arabella does not have PTSD but she thinks she does. We had a good conversation. The strange thing is that both Lexi and I do have PTSD from our childhoods. We can relate to each other with similar stories of trauma and triggers that no one else seems to understand. I want to help her with my own experiences, but I think she really needs professional help.

I feel upset that Arabella does not appreciate the sacrifice we made financially to get her residential treatment. I still think it helped her and probably saved her life. I will not agree they were out to get her.

But, in all honesty, I do feel some sense of relief in her accusations. She accused me of abusing, torturing, and starving her before. She even made those accusations against me while she was in residential, which being a mandatory reporter, the therapist shared she had to contact child protective services. It was devastating and anxiety provoking.

I know some people believed her by the way they treated me. If I didn’t know her, I would probably believe her too. Good thing she is obese because it gave less credibility to her starvation accusations. Being accused of doing things I never did…I can’t even describe to you the pain that caused me as a parent who tried everything in my power to help her. She caused me a lot more trauma than I ever caused her.

When she started the accusations against the residential treatment facility, she sounded paranoid and delusional. I saw the parallel between that and her accusations against me. No one in their right mind would believe a word she says. But she believes it and is adamant about it.

I think it will be awhile before we have another girl’s night.

Nothing normal about something routine

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Arabella had her wisdom teeth removed yesterday. Although it’s a relatively normal routine experience for someone of her age, there was nothing normal about her experience.

Will and I went with Arabella for her appointment. The paperwork part seemed to take forever. Maybe because she lost the paperwork they sent her so she had to fill it out there. The forms asked for all of her medications and dosage which we didn’t have with us.

Arabella asked Will and I to come in with her for the surgery consult. The nurse asked questions about her forms. She also asked when was the last time Arabella smoked marijuana to which she replied last night. The nurse left the room then Arabella and Will started arguing rather loudly. Will said she wasn’t supposed to smoke and Arabella said it didn’t matter. She was screaming and swearing at him asking how he would know he never had his wisdom teeth out. I told my daughter to stop, she did.

Then the dentist came in. He told my daughter he was refusing to sedate her because he wouldn’t sedate anyone who smoked in less than 24 hours, preferably 48, because he said there is an increased risk of cardiac arrest with anesthesia. Then she said it was probably 24 hours and Will said it was definitely not which started another round of screaming. The dentist said she could stay awake during the procedure or reschedule for two months from now. My daughter freaked out in a full blown panic.

By this time the nurse was also getting upset saying she could drug test my daughter and told her they had other patients scheduled for surgery after hers and they were behind now. They did thank her for being honest but said she had to hurry up and make up her mind whether she was going to do the surgery or not. She decided to go ahead with it. Will and I quickly left the room. I saw the dentist in the hallway and apologized for my daughter’s behavior stating mental health issues blah blah blah. She was quite agitated when we left her in the room. The dentist said he could stop the surgery at anytime if it wasn’t going well. She did have the option of laughing gas.

Meanwhile out in the lobby I told Will I didn’t like how my daughter was treating him. I told him I was going to tell her that her behavior towards him was totally unacceptable. He asked me not to because it would only make things worse. I asked him why he puts up with it and he sadly said because he loves her. I truly believe he does. I think he is good for her but I can’t say the same for her. For the longest time I’ve been her scapegoat for her rages and mood swings. Now it is him. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him yet relief it is no longer me and I don’t have to live with her anymore.

I was in fight or flight mode pretty much the whole consult and when she first went into surgery. It was very triggering. It also brought back feelings of going with my mom to take Matt to doctor appointments when he could attack people. My new therapist said triggers are good because they show areas that still need some work. But I wonder what she would say if I told her I get triggered every day multiple times a day. I don’t think that is quite normal. Maybe I’m a long way from being healthy. It’s such a depressing thought that it could be an unattainable goal.

Every time the door would open and a nurse would come out I thought they might be coming for me with something wrong. Plus I don’t numb to local anesthesia so I worried she could have problems with that too. Instead they were calling in other mom’s with their teenagers for a consult. I envied them for their normal routine wisdom teeth extraction mother/daughter moment.

Will told me not to worry everything was fine. Arabella sent him a message that she loves surgery shortly after they started the laughing gas. It reminded me of the time I took my MIL in for a breast biopsy that gave her the diagnosis of breast cancer. Arabella is a lot like her. Once medicated my MIL said she loves biopsies and how she could go in and have a biopsy every day. I was finally able to relax a little with that thought.

After another hour of waiting, they called us back in. The surgery went great, better than expected. I’m sure their expectations, along with mine, were pretty low. I wondered how often they see someone with mental health issues like my daughter’s. They sometimes need routine surgeries too. Maybe that is the only thing normal about it.

Too late

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Last week was a hard week for me. Although I’ve been toying with the idea for years, I think I’ve finally accepted the fact that my mom is a narcissist. It threw me into a PTSD loop of nightmares, insomnia, panic, hopelessness, and despair. My normally high hypervigilance skyrocketed. One night I even awoke in terror because the furnace was making a different humming noise in the vent of my bedroom. I had to constantly tell myself I wasn’t in danger and I felt frequent paranoia I was.

I had plans with my mom on Wednesday which she cancelled and pushed back until Thursday because she heard the weather might be bad. It wasn’t all that bad, schools weren’t cancelled and my son wasn’t called in to work. So I made other plans for Wednesday. I had a lot of errands to run and was getting ready to go when my mom texted me saying she changed her mind and wanted to come over on Wednesday instead. I told her it wouldn’t work out and she said maybe Thursday which I replied okay.

Thursday morning came and went without a peep from my mom. Then she texted me saying she was going to come over after lunch. I told her it wouldn’t work because Arabella called and asked me if I could take her to her doctor appointment since she didn’t have a car. The morning would’ve worked but the afternoon didn’t. Then my mom asked me what time the appointment was and said she would come over an hour before I had to leave to go for a walk with me. I told her it wouldn’t work because an hour before I had to leave just wasn’t going to work for me.

Then I asked my mom if she wanted to go along with me on Sunday afternoon to do some volunteer work. She said she had other plans which was fine. Then she asked me when we could get together instead. I replied I had a really busy week but could get together on Friday, tomorrow. Then she asked me if there was any way I could make room for her in my very busy week. Again, I replied yes on Friday I have the whole day open.

On Saturday night I planned a birthday party for my best friend with our husbands and another couple. We had reservations to go out to eat and to a comedy show. Shortly before leaving my mom tried calling and I didn’t answer. While out with friends I got a barrage of texts from her. Are you mad at me? Why are you avoiding me? She asked if I was angry because she gave Angel a hard time. Lately my mom has been getting a rise out of me by targeting my daughter. My mom said everything was fine because she apologized to my daughter and I shouldn’t be angry with her about that. I ignored the texts because I was out with friends and wanted to be in the moment with them. But it was very upsetting to me.

On Sunday morning I texted my mom back telling her that she cancelled out on me and I had made other plans. I told her I tried to get together with her on Sunday but she had plans. She did not acknowledge anything I said and asked me again if I was mad. Then she wanted to know what I was so busy doing I couldn’t get together earlier. Well, yes, I am feeling quite pissed now. I hope tomorrow I get COVID or the stomach flu. Her controlling and manipulative behavior was very triggering to me.

I never considered until this past week that I endured a lifetime of narcissistic abuse from her. It was so subtle. She wanted to force a life for me I never wanted. She picked out the clothes she wanted me to wear. For example, for junior prom one day she came home with a prom dress for me to wear. I hated it but wore it anyway. She tried to dictate the music I listened to and even my relationships with other people. I was her best friend and she openly disapproved of everything I wanted that she didn’t want for me. She guilted me by always being the victim. I had to comfort her but she was incapable of comforting me. She is never happy for me. She never wanted me to leave her and live my own life. She always had her best interests in mind front and foremost. I never really looked at that fully until now.

Now as I look back at my life I feel this overwhelming grief. I lost my childhood. There was never peace and joy in my household just pain and suffering. Why do I expect to experience something now I’ve never experienced before? I have no idea how it works. Something as simple as peace.

I should have left a long long time ago. I grew up with my dad being emotionally/verbally abusive. He constantly told us we were stupid and his favorite thing to do as a dad was to terrorize us by the things we were most afraid of. Then there was Matt, my autistic brother who physically abused us. It was pretty bad. Then my mom with her narcissistic abuse. I am angry at myself for not walking away. I put my life on hold because I was the dutiful daughter always ready to help. My mom needed me. I went to the college closest to home. I went to college with dreams of being a counselor because I felt pretty confident I could do that. Then I could take everything I learned and fix my dysfunctional family.

The problem was that I cared too much. I got suckered and fell into the manipulation and control. I thought I could change things but instead over time there was new and creative ways my family of origin caused pain and suffering. If I could go back in time I would leave home and go to college in a place far away. I would’ve went to school for microbiology or God forbid be an English major working as an editor or writer. I didn’t even start writing until I was in my 40’s. (I did have diaries as a teen but my mom read them and got angry for what I wrote). I would’ve joined the college choir. But I wasn’t good enough. I was too stupid. An idiot who didn’t know how to do anything right.

I want to leave, I really do. What’s worse is that my son’s girlfriend comes from a family like mine. Because she is kind and compassionate I see them doing to her what my family did to me. When I hear about the things they do that hurt her I want to tell her to leave because it is never going to change or get better no matter how hard she tries. I want her to leave her abusive relationship with her parents. But how can I tell her that when I won’t leave mine? My therapist said it’s not too late to leave but I don’t really know how. At this point I feel like it’s too late.

Dream triggers

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Last night I had a dream that I took 2-year-old Arabella to my parent’s house knowing everything I know now. For most families it probably wouldn’t be a nightmare, but for me it was. I didn’t feel she was safe around my dad without me and I had to go to the bathroom. I remember waking up with the knowledge that I had opened the door and once open it would be hard to shut all the way again.

It wasn’t the first time I felt this way in real life. My brother Matt heard voices that told him to hurt people, mainly little girls like me. He listened to those voices throughout my childhood and into my adult years up until he was medicated and those voices stopped.

In May of 1997 I graduated from college with a Bachelor’s degree in both human development and psychology with an emphasis in counseling. I was fresh out of college ready to change the world, or at the very least fix my family. In August I got married and by October I was pregnant. I applied for a couple jobs that I didn’t get. So I decided to continue to be a caregiver for my brother. I didn’t want to put my baby in daycare and I had zero family support. I was the family support for my family of origin and I was since I could remember.

Everything worked out well for awhile. I was able to care for my baby and Matt. Matt didn’t hurt babies. But then my baby grew up and I got pregnant with my second baby. Matt started obsessing about my daughter Angel. He asked what would happen if he twisted her arm or held her head under water in the bathtub. By the time my second baby was born I no longer felt it was safe so I stopped watching Matt.

I still had Matt be a part of my children’s life for big things like Christmas or birthday parties. It was on Angel’s 4th birthday when Matt attacked her in a room full of vigilant adults. With as many watchful and experienced eyes, we couldn’t stop it from happening. Afterwards, I told my mom Matt was not allowed around my children until they were big enough to defend themselves against a grown man.

A month later I was pregnant with my third child, a girl. I kept the sex of my child a secret because Matt was always more fixated on hurting girls than boys. My mom knew I was having a girl because if I wasn’t I would’ve told everyone. That was probably true. I was worried if I had a girl she would get hurt and if I had a boy he would turn out like Matt. I felt screwed either way.

Then the time came for me to have my third child. It was a scheduled C-section. I decided to have the baby later in the week so my husband wouldn’t have to work and could watch the other kids over the weekend while I was in the hospital. He had just started his own business which was the only means of supporting us financially so he couldn’t take time off. In those days, working out of the house was not yet an option.

My mom stayed overnight the night before then dropped the kids off at the hospital the following morning so she could take Matt to the dentist. She wasn’t going to help me further unless Matt could come along. I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for that. Less than a week after having a major surgery I was home alone taking care of a colicky newborn, a 2 year old, and a 4 year old.

For the next several years after the attack my mom fought back hard against my boundaries of no contact. I was constantly stressed out during my pregnancy and for years afterwards by her actions. My mom at times would randomly stop by just to have my kids wave to Matt from the window. She was constantly trying to get Matt back in our lives again. She was always offering up help if I would just accept Matt in again.

Last week Paul and I were meeting with our couples therapist. She talked about trauma and how it could start even in the womb. This therapist also saw my mom and both of my daughters. She told me she thought I experienced trauma in utero. Maybe there is something I don’t know. But all I could think about is that I am to blame for Arabella’s mental illness. I am to blame for her being a difficult baby because all of the stress hormones surging through me while I was pregnant. I know I shouldn’t think that way but I can’t help it. Never mind the smorgasbord of mental illness coursing through my husband’s and my genetics we already knew about and the random smattering from an unknown bio dad.

After several years, I opened the door. I allowed Matt over for a brief period of time during Christmas at a party I was hosting because yes I was hosting all the family parties in my 20’s. That was okay, but other things were not? My brother Luke had some of the same issues I had with my mom and brother Matt.

The dream awakened all of this within me. But now it also has to do with my dad. All I could think about is one of the images Angel told me about that she found on my dad’s computer. It was a photo of a naked little girl crying. That was one of the tamer pictures but maybe the one that hit me the hardest for some reason. I keep imaging that little girl as myself, the picture of what my inner child must look like alone, vulnerable, and crying. By the time these images were found and my daughter went to the police, my kids were almost fully grown. Luke, however, had two little girls the same age as the images of the children. It felt like it was starting all over again but this time instead of being Matt it is my dad. All of our children with the exception of Arabella have not seen or spoken to my dad in over three years.

I’m not sure if I will ever get over the trauma. I feel like I’ve wasted so much of my life stuck in other people’s problems, people who should of been my rock, comfort, and support which were not.

The little things…

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Sometimes the little things add up and just snowball. The last several days my anxiety and depression has been quite high and that has been making me crabby.

I think it started on Christmas Eve when my son Alex and his girlfriend were in a car accident after someone blew a red light. I am very grateful no one was hurt in the accident. But I am worried that his car may be totaled. He’s only had the car for a month. Finally he has a reliable vehicle to drive to work and then this happens. It’s just so frustrating. The collision center is closed this week…so we have to wait another week until we find anything out.

Meanwhile, we are getting antsy to get Alex’s old car out of our driveway. It has not been up and running since this summer. It’s not worth fixing but my son’s friend wants to buy it from us. I will be seeing him tonight and am going to try to set up a time for him to get it out of here. I’m not even sure it’s possible.

Arabella and Will still don’t have a car. I’m thinking of letting my daughter borrow my car over the holiday weekend so she can make some money doing deliveries to pay her rent. Between Arabella and Will, they totaled three cars since May. I’m a little worried about them borrowing my car, but it has full coverage if they total it. It’s been hard to find a reliable affordable car anywhere.

Christmas day all my kids came home for Christmas. Arabella came home sick with a fever and now Angel is sick. I can’t remember a time when everyone with the exception of my husband has been so sick. It’s been almost a constant thing for my friend and family circle over the last two months.

The day after Christmas my mom came over to do some volunteer work with Angel and I. It was very tense because my mom attacked my daughter via text. She said my brother Luke and I texted her merry Christmas and my brother Mark called. But Arabella was the only grandchild who called her on Christmas day. None of her other grandchildren care about her. When I texted my mom or anyone to wish them a happy holiday, that counts for my whole family. Part of the reason she feels this way is her own fault. None of her five grandchildren besides Arabella even go visit her at her house because of my dad and she chose to stay with him.

My mom likes to play the victim. When she started to play the victim with me, I called her out on it. I told her the phone works both ways. She said she didn’t want to bother anyone since she knew all of her grandchildren were celebrating on Christmas day with other family. I also said that my children and their significant others spent two weekend celebrating with her taking off work and getting gifts. Doesn’t that count? The time together was tense.

When my mom was here we stopped for lunch at Qdoba. My mom asked for a small amount of rice on her burrito. She told the guy he put too much rice on it and had to put some back. Then she also gave too much money to pay for the meal by a dollar. I think the guy thought she was giving him a tip but she asked for the money back. Sometimes my mom is rude to service people and I find it embarrassing. I’m not sure why she is acting the way she is and I find it to be stressful. I hate confronting my mom, but I’m not going to allow her to attack my kids.

Then yesterday my son said he was having problems with the bathroom in the garage apartment next door. With all the cold temperatures the water pipes froze and water from the toilet and shower are backing up from the drain on the floor. My husband has been trying to pour some warm water down the drain and it seems to trickle through. The problems with a large old house seem to be endless.

Last night the nightmares started up again and I was on an endless loop. If I left the house I was trapped in, I would be murdered. Everyone on the outside thought I was fine which made it impossible to leave because no one could see I needed help so I was stuck.

Nothing major is happening. It’s all these little things starting to snowball. It also seems I get triggered more during the holiday season. I’m not sure what to do about it. My parents and daughter Arabella are toxic people, and I just can’t seem to cut them out of my life. Sometimes their negative energy rubs off on me.

I’ve also been struggling more with aging. I don’t feel young, attractive, or energetic anymore. Yesterday I went snowshoeing and couldn’t get the clasps open on the snowshoes or tighten the poles. I struggled to get them on. My range of motion has diminished considerably. Afterwards I felt stiff and sore doing something I did easily before. I have problems opening jars and now I even struggle opening the child resistant medicine cap for my pills. My husband has been trying to talk me into a gym membership again. But I’ve been responding negatively to the idea. I don’t want to go to the gym and watch other people run when that is all I want to be able to do again. No thank you. I don’t even want to exercise anymore. It’s painful emotionally and physically.

I even got scammed by an ad on Facebook. I bought a jumbo sized mystery box that was supposed to be full of electronics. I was excited because the items in the box were going to be extra Christmas gifts for my family. I ended up getting a small box with a massage gun in it. Nothing says old like falling for scams.

Tomorrow I will try to be less crabby. #goals

Bad memory

/ Outrunning my demons / 8 Comments

Several years back I remember my brother Mark and I talking about something from our childhood with our Aunt Jan. My aunt replied to my brother that she thought he had a bad memory of his childhood. I laughed and responded to my aunt that he didn’t have a bad memory just bad memories. Sometimes you just have to laugh.

All joking aside, I have been thinking about childhood memories a lot lately. The new couples therapist my husband and I are going to has her office in a clinic with multiple providers of different types of wellness services. One of those services is hypnotherapy. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of being hypnotized since my friend and I tried to hypnotize each other in middle school. I really never had the opportunity therapeutically and didn’t think about it much until I saw it listed as an option last week.

I’m sure there are a lot of things I don’t remember. Maybe I don’t want to remember? The most troubling question to me is what would I do with the information. Would remembering offer solace and closure to the naggings of my mind? Or would I be opening another can of worms? Would I view other people differently if I remembered how they hurt me and may be hurting others?

Should I keep the door locked or should I peer at the fiery demons contained inside? Part of me thinks that I don’t remember for my own protection. The other part of me wants to tear down the walls to see what is inside. Will it help? Will it hurt? Only one way to find out I guess.

The hidden

/ Outrunning my demons / 2 Comments

Do we ever think about the hidden secrets beyond our knowledge after all the horrible things we already found out? This question has been haunting me since Lexi asked me this yesterday. What don’t I know about my family?

My son’s girlfriend has been opening up to me about her life. Alex and Lexi have been together almost a year and a half now. Sometimes she will come over just to talk. It’s strange because I see many parallels between her life and mine. I won’t share with you the details because it’s not my story to tell. But I can say she experienced a tremendous amount of suffering in childhood.

Sometimes I see myself in her. It was hard finding friends who could relate. I remember being the girl not fitting in with others entering adulthood with fresh memories of a carefree childhood. I never had those stories to tell. I felt like I just exited a war zone when I entered adulthood. Childhood was a time of worry, fear, and stress that left me careworn with a lifetime of fighting anxiety, depression, and PTSD. I could never get that time back and change it into something I wanted. It’s hard to explain that weight to someone who didn’t carry it.

I understood when Lexi said she didn’t want to totally cut her family out of her life. She said there are so many layers to it. How can you walk away when you are conditioned to be a lifeguard trying to save the family from drowning while they are always pulling you under? I told her it is okay to limit her contact with them although that is something I still struggle with doing myself.

Sometimes Lexi will talk to me about her relationship with my son. She talks more in a relational way instead of a complaining way. But sometimes I’m not sure what to say or do. My son still has not met her family. He has no intentions of meeting them because they are not good people. But how is that going to work if they get married or have children? They both do not want him to meet her family. I don’t understand. I usually wanted significant others to meet my family early because that could be the make it or break it point. How else do you really get to know somebody?

I’m not really sure what to do. Maybe I should just keep listening as someone who kind of understands instead of trying to fix things. Maybe this is what having a daughter-in-law is like. My son rarely sits down and has little talks with me. I’m glad she is opening up to me and we get along well. What more could I ask for?

Although she really did make me think when she asked me what I thought remains hidden that we just don’t know after all the horrible things were revealed. For the longest time I didn’t know the truth but it was still there. There is probably still a lot I don’t know. I never really thought about it before and that’s a scary thing to overthink about. Dealing with what I know is already hard enough.