Relentless Grief

CONTENT – Suicide. Abuse with few specifics. High emotion and anger. Not a light entry.

I stayed in bed three days with the lights out. I fed the animals and went back to bed. The world felt too big and too dark. Now I’m in the weeping side of grief.

Behind me. Cherrios. I Love Mom.

I was talking / weeping to my BFF that the memory of the various events is as clear as the day they happened. The fear was so incredible but someone had to do something!

My head is full. Sleep is a joke. I keep accidentally calling the cat by his name. It freaks me out a bit.

The image of him at age 3, turning and smiling that smile, it no longer makes me feel warm and sentimental. It makes me angry. I want to know if he would do things differently if he had the chance to learn the Gospel truth that “this too shall pass.” I’m angry.

I talked / blubbered to my BFF about how I can see better just how emotionally unwell my mother was. I can see how we ended up the way we were. I know the difficulty I have functioning even with my large support system. She had nothing. No information. No experts taking care of her mental health, like I have. She was shell shocked after the divorce and just lost. I pity her. No family who loved her. No friends to talk to intimately. No one to trust, and two kids in tow. Yeah, I pity her.

Her anger about life was coupled with mental illness, paranoia and OCD. It made every day a survival course. Here’s my thing, I see the paranoia clearly in her behavior, but I also know that her response to the paranoia was chosen and thought out. Her first choice was always violence. She said a person needs to be humiliated in order to learn. That’s not mental illness, that’s just messed up.

I always felt responsible for helping her feel better. If my mother cried, it all but destroyed me. I couldn’t stand to see her cry. She cried a lot in her room. I used to hang hearts all around the hallway and her room to prevent her from killing herself. It never crossed my mind that it’s the child who we’d lose to suicide. I was suicidal too, so was my sister. An entire family of suicidal people.

When I think about it, my sister and I were the focus of my mother’s paranoia. She always accused us of stealing, lying, etc.

As I sit here I still pity her. Pity feels much better than hate. Pity feels warranted.

I empathize with her being unprepared for the divorce and have two small children. I understand how things got crazy. I know she managed to keep a good job but still had us sleeping in the car. I know that her mental illness fueled that. But the violence, wow, just wow. That was always her first response, violence. You never knew what the heck she was plotting in retaliation for some false issue she accused you of. I couldn’t trust the moment, and once 3am hit, God help us bc it was about to get bad!

She hardly ever raised her voice, hardly ever cursed. She was a professional who men fawned over. She dressed well. At 5’10 she was a sight to see. Despite being pretty, my mother had one boyfriend when I was growing up. That is a whole different story.

I remember the last conversation I had with the child before the police took him away for good.

It was a house of horrors, period. I thought by getting him out of there he’d have a chance. Now I ask so many questions, did I do it soon enough? Were the things he endured from her too much to bear or was it an accumulation of things? Did I fail him? I can never forget the last night he was there. My God! My God! No one should be asked to endure that.

I know I didn’t fail him. I risked my life for him. Right now, holding his memory instead of his hand I think to myself, it should have been her, not him. But really, any suicide turns the world upside down and sets it on fire for a very long time. My heart is still in flames.

Faith

What Keeps Me Awake – Death and Dying

I have more trust that tomorrow will come than I did six years ago, still I live as if I’m breaths away from dying. I feel overwhelmed with the idea of dying which makes me wonder what will happen to all my plants I’ve worked so hard to nurture? Who will take my frogs if I die? Will they appreciate small moments with aquatic frogs and cute poses by the tree frogs?

And Joe, who will care for Joe? He’s 14. I’m his second home. Being passed around can be difficult.

My CNA has covid and will be gone for a bit. I was with her a day before she tested positive. I’ve consistently tested negative, as well as no fever.

You know what’s funny? I’ve got a very nice fill in but she’s not up to par with my regular CNA. Despite calling her a psychopath lol, her standard of care is significantly higher than others; this, on top of taking the time to get to know me, makes her a really good CNA.

I like the person I have right now, the cat does, too, but would she ever take the time to get to know me and work with me long term? I wonder, if I had to get a new CNA will it be difficult again? I’ve come to understand how difficult my OCD can be to work with.

I wish my regular CNA had to experience two clients before returning to me. The feeling of not knowing what you’ve got till it’s gone, goes both ways.

She most certainly has OCD though it manifests itself differently. Somehow we work well together. We’ve even sit down and talk about the books I have on OCD.

There’s a Japanese artist named Yayoi Kusama whom I relate to very well. She’s got OCD and other issues but it’s her OCD that I relate to the most.

Yayoi shamelessly paints what she sees in her head, in bright colors.

She’s known for painting dots and pumpkins.

Yayoi helped me let go of shame concerning how I express chatter in art form.

I scribble and sketch in order to process the constant talking in my head and the oppressive amount of stimulation I feel.

I have quite a few pieces of chatter art. To me, my chatter art feels different from art that I call chaos in color because the chatter has very little focus, no space unfilled, no place to rest the eyes, yet a legitimate expression of art therapy.

Yayoi spoke of feeling like the “modern day Alice in Wonderland.” I can’t count the amount of times I’ve called myself the Black Alice in Wonderland.

It feels good knowing my art has a place out here and that I don’t have to feel crazy about it. It’s ok to identify with Alice and Wonderland. It’s ok to let the art simply be a copy of inside my head, and to do so in emotive fashion.

Recently I’ve been using alcohol ink. It works well for what I’m trying express, and they travel well.

The artwork above is a combination of acrylic paint, neon acrylic paint, alcohol ink, black ink, gesso, paper.

I love how Yayoi prefers paper, too. I’m strongly considering writing to the 94 year old artist way over in Japan. She’s made a deep impression on me.

It’s encouraged when I find female artists like Yayoi and Freda Kahlo who by example, give my art legitimacy.

Tonight. I’m not sure why I’m overly stimulated. Concerns with death are extreme. Thank goodness I have plenty of art supplies.

Faith

Sunflowers and Endurance

“At the end of the day we can endure much more than we think we can” – Freda Kahlo

The art piece deals with loss and grief. The largest figure holds tombstones in her hair, and her tears roll down into a heart. Those are some of the details in this small but mighty original art piece.

After some breaths and a lot of hot tea, I was able to get this original work in my Etsy shop. There’s even a short video. Please visit.

Thank you,

Faith

Divided

Content – Dissociative Identity Disorder, Uncontrolled weight gain, CNA in public.

Dr. D hasn’t changed my diagnosis. He still recognizes the disorder. He wanted to know if I believe that ‘they’ are all me and not actually separate. I said, I know it’s impossible to have more than one person in my head, but I want you to understand that I’ve been doing the impossible for a very long time.

I told him that I used to think I wanted to be one person but now I’m not sure I could stand the silence. I get this image in my head of a single person standing in the middle of a black tunnel, alone. That’s how I view being one person. In the middle of a dark tunnel with very little air and a whole lot of silence.

While I’d love to have less noise in my head, I decidedly do not want to be just one person. I don’t want any new people either.

I shared with him that I felt very threatened by his questions and pressured by my insiders to speak up for them. They would have felt betrayed had I not stated that we’ve been doing the impossible for a long time, and they’re here.

I talked to him about how panicked I’ve been lately.

I’m having a hard time settling down enough to post art for sale in my shop. I’ve got six items but I can’t seem to get over there and post more. I don’t know why. So, I’m just letting myself paint as much as I need then when I’m able I’ll post more art for sale in my Etsy shop.

Me = I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror today. I swear, pounds just pack on me no matter what I do. I feel so ugly.

I was supposed to go to the mall to roll around in my manual wheelchair but I’m afraid to go to the mall. I don’t want to get shot.

Could I somehow, some way get doctor’s clearance to go to Planet Fitness? Could I have CNA coverage and transportation? Am I a fool for even thinking it?

CNA = My psychopath CNA is going to get us killed with her rage, laying on the horn yelling at people. I don’t want to continue to intervene as if somehow I’m here social worker or therapist. I have to let her know that if her actions cause the police to be called, she can’t work for me any longer. I’m going to have to tell her that it’s not a joke, if someone calls the police bc you threw something or threatened someone, you don’t work here anymore.

I had a really nice Saturday person that cared for me. I hope she can return.

Why do I hate myself for having care? I don’t think everyone inside agrees with that statement.

Faith

Why So Much Anxiety?

Anxiety comes over like waves. One minute my head is above water, the next I have waves of debilitating anxiety. It washes over me so that all I want to do is go to bed with the covers over my head. I don’t feel like I’m coping. I wish I could go to the hospital inpatient for medication management. This is over my head right now.

I’m not suicidal but I’m not ok either. I’m thinking about going inpatient though.

Dr . D is displeased that I can’t rely on my CNAs to remind me to eat something between 10 – 3 while she’s here. She just wants to concentrate on her agenda for the day which doesn’t include reminding me to eat or giving 3pm medication prompts. She reminds me to take 9am meds but the rest of the day there are no prompts. It doesn’t matter who comes here, they aren’t going to do prompts. They aren’t wired for it. This CNA only wants to do some of the housework while outright ignoring the rest, but she’s honestly about the best I’m going to get.

I feel like I’m constantly irritated with a friend of mine. The other day she was fixing the doors on my big terrarium. In the process she needed to adjust something, who knows. Well instead of asking for a screwdriver she picked up one of my spoons for tea and started working with it. I said, no, I don’t think so. I gave her a screwdriver and just shook my head. THEN I went into the kitchen to get in my little oven only to find that the oven was unplugged. I plugged it back in. She said she unplugged it to plug it a small tool. I said, you need to ask questions. Where should I plug this in? Do you have a screwdriver? ….. smh. Don’t just start doing stuff on your own bc it’s not going to go well.

Those two things may not mean anything to others but I don’t appreciate people doing whatever they want with my stuff. And to use one of my spoons for tea like a screwdriver and to pry something off? No ma’am!

I’m also irritated with her bc she takes stuff I’m throwing away and puts it in her attic saying she’ll keep it “just in case I change my mind later and want it back.” I guess I’m not even able to make decisions on my own. Like I need her as a safety net so I don’t throw away my stuff. She gets on my nerves with that crap!

I got rid of a table. Instead of putting it in the trash she said I might want it later so she took it home with her. It’s like for some reason my word means nothing! She gets on my nerves with that crap!

So in addition to anxiety I’m irritated with people. I’m irritated with my CNA for wanting to fight the people at KFC and for threatening to throw a drink on an employee. I’m irritated that stuff goes from zero to 100 with her and employees.

I’m just irritated and very anxious!

A History of Eyes on Me

Content: Abuse. Being watched by abusers. Sadism.

Publishing this art piece comes at an odd time seeing as how I just talked about store workers profiling and following me and my caregiver at the store. It’s also not concerning imaginary audience / fable but an all together different type of being watched.

I was never sure why my mother was watching me. I was more concerned by her method of watching me. Although I know she watched me and my sister around the second grade, my most vivid memories are the 4th grade when she wore her trench coat and stood behind the door motionlessly.

The coat was her regular coat. It was a black trench coat. When the lights were out we couldn’t see her, nor were we looking for her. But if we saw a motionless figure in the hallway it scared the crap out of us. She’d make sure we’d seen her before walking away. No words. Just walks away.

After a little while I worked hard not to show I was afraid. I’d either say nothing or turn around to the door and say something to her. I had to guage how far I could go in pretending she didn’t scare me. I knew there was a response she was looking for. If I withheld that response too much, I might regret it. When being beaten with a dowel rod I knew I had to give the response she was looking for.

"She speaks the dream" - available

When being watched in the room alone, when showering or using the restroom there was a response she was looking for. I always wondered if there were times she wasn’t trying to get caught and see my reaction. This game of watching went on all the way to the day before I moved out. She listened to phone calls when we had a corded phone. I owned nothing, especially my body.

When I moved to Florida with my mother’s sister, my cousin and an uncle by marriage, I thought life was going to be good. He said he would treat me like his own daughter. That one sentence makes me want to break into tears. The irony of it is cruel.

Roses for Jane - available

My cousin was his step daughter. She endured more abuse than me. Having me dress up. Making crude comments. Watching me. If I turned around and saw him watching through the cracked door, he too would stay just a few seconds longer before quietly leaving.

I’ll be keeping A History of Eyes on Me a little while longer. It’s hanging in my own art area beside the painting She Speaks the Dream, which was created in 2017.

Observations – The painting called Roses for Jane was remade. In addition to more eyes, I brought out the figure in the back then made a dramatic leap by dividing the main figure in black and white. I kept quite a bit of the original twist and turns while softening her face by one notch. As a person who uses sunflowers for emotional expressions, it interests me that not a single flower is on the original piece or the new. The main figure is no longer standing in the dark.

Thank you for coming to Sundrip today.

Faith

That feeling. That color.

My CNA took me to Michael’s craft store where a few people decided to make things difficult for us. The company recently added an electric cart for disabled people, however, both times I used the carts my CNA and I were immediately jumped by the manager.

The first time we were approached rough was when the cart was plugged in by an office. My CNA unplugged it to bring to me. The manager acted like we were trying to steal it. She came out and physical grabbed the cart to ask what we were trying to do! I told her I was just trying to shop. She said ok then said they usually ask for it not to go outside but it’ll be ok if my CNA picks me up at the sidewalk then brings it back in. Keep in mind, I was sitting in my wheelchair inside the store. My CNA is trying to come to me inside the store with the electric cart when the manager came out of her office, physically put her hands on the cart and asked my CNA what she was doing. Where are you going? What are you doing? I’m inside the store which means I’m shopping.

Then she told us despite the sign, I can be picked up at the curb as long as the CNA brings it back. That was all last time. Using the cart today should have been fine, but nope.

I was in the car, at the curb. I was close enough to the door that I could hear and see the manager. The manager got in front of the electric cart and told my CNA she couldn’t take the cart to me outside. The CNA reminded her that we were told that I could be picked up at the curb, right in front of the door. So she tells the lady that she’s a caregiver and I’m her client. The manager settled down and let my CNA pass to pick me up at the curb.

The way the manager reacted to the CNA was over the top and accusatory. We know full well you’re allowed to take the cart to the curb. You can take it to the sidewalk and have a person bring it back in. Smh

As we shopped we had three employees openly following us. I said, it’s almost like they see color and stop thinking.

Several minutes later one of the people openly following us was crossing our path with those rolling staircases. This being the Midwest, and since we were that close, someone had to speak during the social collision. The employee politely said, Are you finding everything you’re looking for?….. My CNA snarled back, “No! And you don’t need to know what I want or what I’m looking for!” It shocked me and the employee.

I intervened and told my CNA to please stop letting words come out of her mouth. I told the employee that I was sorry for that interaction, then I went back with my CNA, who had left the scene of the accident. Lol

As we shopped I was deeply saddened that a trip to the craft store had turned so bad. I understand the CNA didn’t appreciate getting jumped by the manager for doing what clients are allowed to do, go to the curb. I too was hurt inside by being followed. I mean, you know that feeling you get when something is so wrong that you just want to say, look, I’ve done nothing wrong. Why are you acting this way?

That feeling is vulnerable. That feeling is degrading. It’s degrading because the accusation is pretty rough. We were followed by 3 people so openly because we’re that color. We’re the color that makes people stop thinking clearly.

When my CNA snapped at the employee it gave me an opportunity to play peace maker. When we went to the checkout I talked to that employee. I told them to have a manageable day. I said, the world has changed so much that I don’t expect to have a good day. We both kind of chuckled. I said, We never know what to expect. People are so angry.” I said, “It makes it hard to know who to trust.” That comment made a difference. It was like we broke a bit of a barrier there for just a second.

In all truthfulness, I believe this person followed my CNA and me because the supervisor requested it, the second employee, too. However, no such thing can be said for the supervisor. She decided to stop thinking when she saw color.

Imagine that! Imagine losing reasoning ability because of someone else’s color. Imagine not being able to accurately judge threat levels because you see someone of color. Imagine being so closed to the community that it never crossed the manager’s mind that we just wanted a fun day at the craft store. Why does my color make you stupid?

Michael’s craft store doesn’t even prosecute unless you take a printer or dye cutting machine. They don’t prosecute general shoplifting so why were they on us so hard over merchandise we were willing to pay for?

My anxiety for going out remains high. I worry regularly about getting shot.

Faith

At War With Myself – Disordered Eating

Content – Disordered eating. Binge eating, no purge. Shame. Hopeless feelings. Anxiety. Inpatient for medication management.

I had therapy today where it was decided that I’ll have a short set time with extra home care. I’ll be adding a 3 hr day to Saturday until the beginning of the year.

I really have a hard time keeping myself together. I’m close to needing inpatient. I’m trying to get around that.

I burst into tears 3 times Friday, out of nowhere. Thursday I was so anxious that I felt like I needed complete quiet bc I was so overly stimulated. Every sound assaulted me. I couldn’t sleep until around 6am. My head has been all over the place.

On the 8th I’ll go to see how my eyesight is doing with the Pseudotumor cerebri. Peripheral vision is gone on the left side. There’s a large blind spot in the middle of the left eye. I have some issues on the right, mostly fatigue, I think. Def worries me.

I was supposed to lose weight so I can avoid a spinal tap. Instead of of being thinner for my opthalmology appointment, I’ll return 30 lbs heavier. How will I explain that? I have to take the psych meds and I have disordered eating. It’s not going well. I know my eating is disordered, maybe even addiction level. I have the pull of increased appetite from those 2 meds and then my disordered eating.

The difficulty is that I can eat and eat without feeling anything. I’m not satisfied nor am I hungry. I’m empty. As cliche as it sounds, I keep trying to fill a hole. So I keep eating, mostly sweets. Binge eating is a problem. The other day I ate six apple fritters in less than 30 minutes. The day before I had twelve strawberry pop tarts in about an hour. No other food those days bc I didn’t remember.

Eating to sooth emotions is a problem. Baked goods make me feel better. Coffee and tea make me feel better. It’s like I’ve got to put something inside myself, only once it’s been eaten the soothing is gone. 1) I can’t tell that I ate or drank. 2) I’m back to whatever I was feeling that caused me to turn to food. It’s a vicious cycle.

After the 12th all my teeth will be pulled. I’ll wait for them to heal before getting full dentures. Eating will be difficult. Having disordered eating at that time worries me.

Now that I have a steady CNA and now that Dr D works in a building that is handicapped accessible, I can go see him. I’m just embarrassed! I’m embarrassed about seeing the ophthalmologist this coming Friday. I’m embarrassed to see my primary doctor. I’m embarrassed to see my psychologist.

I thought to myself the other day, there’s very little understanding offered to people who are overweight. At least some understanding is offered to people addicted to street drugs. Fat people are blamed and mocked as if the reasons for my addiction are any different. Life hurts. Same story, different poison.

I feel lost with my eating issues. I keep thinking I’ll get a hold of it. Add disordered eating to the pull of medication side effects from seroquel or my Pregabline and I’ve got myself an inner war I’m quickly losing.

Joan

This week in photos: Stress. Pets. Art.

Joe has finally won over the CNA. She likes him quite a bit. Joe doesn’t climb in the chair she usually sits in but he does rest under it now.

I’ve been doing more art with Scriptures and scriptural thoughts. This little 8×5-ish painting is for a good friend of mine in Arizona.

I’ve got to work on spacing out my lettering better.

Rosie is taking a bath in the 30 gallon, over grown, terrarium. Today on a group there was a free gecko. It took everything I had not to inquire. 🙂

I think as my buddy gets older I fear losing him.

I thought getting a younger cat now might make the inevitable, tolerable. But then there’s the possibility it’ll just stress Joe.

Joe is only 14 but that’s nothing to sneeze at …….. He’s been letting me pick him up and hold him a little longer, which is great for me. If I talk to him he’ll let me hold him longer but I find it difficult to chatter at pets.

I’m in love with my raw beads! I used brown Sculpy mixed with yellow FIMO that dries like leather. Just to put them in a safe spot, I slid them on a piece of leather. It looks pretty good. I put it on my vase holding my arrowhead plants.

Painting rocks and making beads is so relaxing.

Here are a few photos of me on ‘outing day’. Next week I’m going to CC’s Pizza. I’m getting out a lot more and loving it.

I’ve got company this weekend. It should be nice. Lol I feel like a bit of a social butterfly again.

Until soon,

Faith

Put Up or Shut Up

Content – Domestic Violence, sexual abuse, negative family response to child abuse, emotional, CNAs

You know how you listen to a person complain but they fail to change what they’re complaining about? You try to be supportive but you just end up frustrated because the person will not make a change. I’m doing something like that right now.

I needed to make a decision, then I needed to act on it, so I did. I didn’t make the decision based off of what others might do but off my experiences. So, for now, I’m keeping the psychopath CNA that I have because in addition to her psychopathy, she shows up to work every day, on time and without those ridiculously long eyelashes and fingernails. This 65 year old woman doesn’t change her hair every 3 days which means I recognize her when she arrives.

When my CNA shows up she’s not drunk and her car has insurance and doesn’t smell like weed. She’s clean. She takes me to the store, on and on. She’s not obese. Why do they send obese CNAs to help an obese patient living in a tiny apartment? Make it make sense, boo. So yeah, I’m keeping her and her psychopathic tendencies until further notice. I intend to complain about her behavior. You don’t have to listen if you don’t want to.

Dr D asked if I was being abused. I told him I’m not sure I’d admit it if I was. I wonder if I’d respond like a battered wife, again. I know I would, which is why openly discussing issues with her to my therapist will be important.

I think I’d be embarrassed to say I’m being abused. The fear is that I won’t be believed or that I’m being too sensitive. I worry I’ll then be labeled as someone who has to be watched or I’ll make accusations. Let me explain.

After time in Florida with my now deceased uncle and my mother’s sister, I returned to Indiana on an emergency flight. In Florida I was going to be left home alone with an abuser, the uncle, for a full weekend. Very long story short, when I got back to Indiana I wasn’t allowed to be alone with my grandfather anymore. One aunt said she didn’t want me to have the chance to make accusations against him. I felt marked and like everyone would be on guard around me for fear I’d strike with a terrible accusation. I couldn’t be around any males alone anymore out of concern for them. I worry about the same kind of thing happening now.

I need help sifting through the drama and mayhem that happens here sometimes. I need help sorting through my emotions concerning treatment by any given individual. Why? Because my eyesight has been altered by child abuse and abuse in romantic relationships. I don’t see as clearly as I need to which is why I will benefit from bouncing things off my therapist concerning CNAs.

A second pair of eyes will be helpful especially when that person understands I’m not as emotionally strong as I come off. I don’t look like I could be abused and say nothing. I sometimes feel just like that little girl in the old photos on my wall. I’m not though.

I think it’s sad that I need to accept a certain level of drama and mistreatment as normal CNA behavior. I’m not a person that just anyone can work with. My mental health often clashes with the CNAs mental health. We are both guilty of impatience, preconceived ideas and plain ol being tired of people. Putting these CNAs in with us is like putting the odd couple together. It either works or someone is flipping out. It’s so stressful.

When she comes in I look at her to see what mood she might be in. Yeah, there are serious issues here but so far things remain under control as far as abuse goes.

This battle with caregivers will not end for me. I’ll have caregivers for the rest of my life. I’m learning how to deal with them and I’m learning how to be strong enough to speak up for myself when it comes to abuse.

If a person wants to argue, I can argue with the best of them, then tell everyone what happened. But if I’m struck, intimidated or threatened, chances are I’d say nothing. That. must. change.

Joan