Category: Random Voidness

Uncomfortably Numb

Pink Floyd’s lyrics are strangely apropos:

When I was a child I had a fever
My hands felt just like two balloons
Now I've got that feeling once again
I can't explain you would not understand
This is not how I am
I have become comfortably numb

It’s funny how the brain works. I could convincingly lie to myself and self-soothe my anxiety with the simple words “I just need to get passed ______________” and then fill in the blank with the most urgent need, goal or problem. And, honestly, I think I’ve done a good job lying to myself my whole life this way. It’s even the way I write when I am composing a story. I will work like a mad-woman to get from major scene A to major scene B, and when I start on major scene B, construction of major scene C is underway and promises to be better than what I was anxious over major scene B. And that works for me…..for writing. Life has none of the elasticity of imagination and when the rubber-band starts to fray there is no surprise when it SNAPS!

The good news is I didn’t snap, but I guess to carry over the simile I frayed a bit. I don’t know when I stretched to my outer limits. It might have been trying to understand why my reaction to the humiliation parceled out by my job wounded me so completely. It might have been trying to explain to the first roommate about how the PG&E bill works in the apartment. It might have been the 30 days waiting for the second roommate to move out. It might have been the lack of scaffolding (exercise, meditation, self-care rituals) to hold my shape when I started to implode. It might have been the conversation with my liberally libated sister about how I was going to put everything into storage, transfer to a patient service center in the central valley within the next 30 days and move. It could have been the constant internal dialog about setting up the rules for new roommates and the stress of going though that process all over again. I just kept telling myself I just need to hold on and this too shall pass. In the meantime, my heart was always skipping along at an abnormal pace, I was always tired, I was isolating, I was hiding in my two favorite video games (Lili’s Garden and Merge Dragons) instead of being productive, the house began to accumulate the detritus of a throw-away lifestyle, I couldn’t focus to pray, I stopped taking my other medication and my need to eat sugar increased 100 fold. I have been bragging of late how my need for candy and cookies has waned since I’ve reached this utopian level of sanity. I never allowed myself to believe I would never binge again, and I was enjoying the control until I was really enjoying the package of Extra Stuff Oreo Thins. For now, I’m back to not having the binge-ables in the house.

The racing heart rate and palpitations were worrying me so I focused on that one point in the darkness because if you can’t see the whole bad the whole bad doesn’t exist….right? I was positive it wasn’t cardiac related because I didn’t have the time to deal with that so I prayed that He would take away or ameliorate or just fix the problem. The response was as solid as stone and as true as sunshine; “Up your medication.” I knew what medication and there was complete calm in the acceptance of this admonition. I went back to 100mg. Wellbutrin at first. It knocked the fuzz off the edges and sharpened my acuity enough to better function in my dysfunctional state. The racing heart problems improved but didn’t go away. I realized those where symptoms of anxiety, so after four or five days of just the extra Wellbutrin I went up on the Buspar. Now I only have the problems with the physical aspects of anxiety when I think or write about them….like now.

This time though, there aren’t any self recriminations, no loathing or feeling like a failure because I couldn’t maintain the lower meds. I’m not a failure. Period. I am owning my medication, I am owning my needs and my sanity. Though this is not what I want, as I’ve stated before, I want to be off the meds and functioning with enough tools and controls in place to make my life what I need and want it to be to be who I want to be. I’m just not there yet. The greatest discovery I made during this recovery time (and I’m still in recovery from the stress) is that even though I lost a lot of my controls on eating, money, emotions and thoughts, I never stopped eating three meals a day. It sounds trivial, I know, but considering for the past three years is the only time I mindfully ate three meals, even if my evening meal was toast, in my life. I have established a ritual or habbit or self-care regime that has taken root and has truly grounded me. There were days when I just wanted to go to bed and skip dinner or just blow off lunch but I didn’t, I knew I couldn’t. This gives me hope and a plan for the medication. I do plan on going down on them again, but not until I have the exercise down as a rote process, same with meditation. I believed that because I knew I had to do these things to keep the chemicals on my brain I would do them. The first thing that fell away from that nascent structure when the storms gathered was the exercise. Not that getting up to 3.5 minutes on the HIIT machine was really exercise, but the budding routine died a quick death. When I get a grip back on the wheel to steer through these tumults I will reintegrate it back into my life, but at this moment….this exact moment….just thinking about adding one more thing to my to-do list pushes me back to the brink.

I’m not back in the void, that much I know for sure. I don’t even think of what could have happened if there wasn’t a Divine Telehealth consult. I was wishing someone would hit me with their car, or I could see myself slicing through my wrists, type of crap starting to blindside me, but I didn’t go back in. Honestly, the idea of being safe in bed doesn’t even appeal to me. I don’t want to hide from the world, I just can’t handle all of the world without my chemical blankie to make me feel comfortably numb to function.

There are a lot of changes behind me and a few big ones on the horizon. I have made the decision to get out of this apartment where I feel like I’m locked in to the trauma of the past and the uncertainty of the future. I can’t afford the rent by myself and I don’t have the wherewithal to find a suitable roommate. I’m going to move in with my sister and brother-in-law in the central valley and get a job at one of the hospitals my nephew works at. I’m putting my 30 day notice in for the apartment on May 1 and I’ll be moved out before June 1. I’m putting my two week notice in at work either May 7 or May 14. I’m thinking I want the last week off in May to really focus on things around the house and get it done so I’m not over-doing it. Once I get settled into a the house, once I get settled into a new job, once I get settled into a routine, I will start putting my life back on the rails towards my goals. It’s annoying how life tends to grab you by the ankles just as you’re getting your feet under you. I stumble and I fall but I am very proud of the fact: I GET BACK UP.

Alone At Last

Both roommates have moved out as of this last Sunday. Their outstanding utility bills are still unpaid and I’m wondering if it’s worth the effort to pursue them or just be done with them. I trust Karma will eventually bite them in the wallets, heaven knows this is a slice of Karma for me. I’m good with personal debt paying, meaning if I borrow a dollar from you I will make every effort to pay you back and to make sure you know that I’ve paid you back……credit cards, not so much. But then using credit cards in the past was a way for me to stretch to the end of the month and when you use plastic to stretch eventually you or it breaks….and I shattered. So, pursue or not to pursue is the karmic question.

I haven’t lived alone in YEARS. I’ve lived in this place for over 20 years either with family or the denizens of CraigsList. I always valued having the house all to my self, and I become disgruntled when the other residents would come home. Especially before the apocalypse, it wasn’t often enough I would get my sister to take my mother off my hands for even an hour so I could just sit and feel myself quietly vibrate and pulse with the anxiety and anger I stewed in for all those years. I treasured the time post-apocalypse when the roomies were at work or on dates or doing whatever it is they did outside the house so I wouldn’t have to pretend at being happy, or hiding my irritation at them/the world/my life. Now, I have the house all to myself and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I like it but I’m constantly on edge thinking someone is going to come home and my zen will shatter. I don’t want to get too comfortable in it because I will have to give it up, but I don’t want to miss the opportunity to get comfortable either to build the strength for the adventure ahead.

A big part of the problem is I’m still hyper-vigilant in checking to see if the last one’s car is in the neighborhood because her aura (for lack of a better term) gave off a certain whiff of menace (which is why I took Sammy to my sisters) and my aura and hers were not compatible in any way shape or form. I didn’t fear for my life, per se, because anything she did to me I knew I had recourse through law and the courts, but I had to protect Sammy and I’m waaay to attached to that bird to take the chance of letting anything or anyone happen to her. I didn’t like feeling unsafe in my own home. She didn’t move out until late Sunday night and I had to be up early so I went to bed. I asked her to leave the keys on the table, which she did. To make sure I saw them she left EVERY light on in the house she had access to and she LEFT THE FRONT DOOR UNLOCKED. But she’s gone….she’s gone…..she’s GONE!!! When is the anxiety going to be gone too?

Ghosts aren’t corporeal enough to make the kind of noises which are ratcheting up my anxiety and dread. I’ve come to believe accumulated psychic trauma weighs on the studs and floorboards like a pregnant elephant causing the wood to groan, mimicking habitation in the house when I am alone. I’m sure it does it when I’m gone, but that’s the whole tree-in-the-forest kind of thing that no one can prove. When I hear the creaking or what I interpolate to be the swinging of a door I collapse inward like a paper bag before I could push against the embedded folds. I would like to sand over and smooth out this ingrained reaction but I don’t know if I will be able to until I actually put down roots in a new plot of soil all my own. It won’t be here because I need to get more roommates (sigh) and I will have more roommates when I move in with my Sister. I don’t know if the psychic trauma will be packed up with my belongings and travel with me, but I think that’s why 95% of everything I have will be donated, thrown or given away to disperse it back into the universe. Believe you me, that’s one roommate I can live without.

Moving Forward

So, it’s been a while.  I go in spurts, either blogging, writing, journal-ing or binge watching Netflix.  Since my last update, I have gotten a job, broke my foot on said job, re-wrote a novel, worked in my company’s call center and am nowback into the world wearing heavy-duty boots so if I should miss a step and break something I would rather it be an arm or a leg or anything other than a foot.  Eighteen weeks in non-matching shoes is NOT how I ever want to live again.

To say things got bleak during those weeks is an understatement.  I was blessed by the women of the church who brought me food, chatted with me and lent me their knee scooter so I could actually get around on my own when I was home alone.   I also still had Moms motorized chair which got me out on a daily basis where I could keep a pity party bag of M&M’s on hand while I wrote.   There are times when I am still fighting the darkness, when I think about getting up and going out to strangers houses I hear this elfin voice in my head which echos in my heart I don’t want to leave the house.  It’s not that I’m agoraphobic, I’m not.  Seriously though, if I had my druthers, I’d stay home, in bed and write or sleep….basically just hide from the world.  The world doesn’t work that way…Hell, I don’t think anything short of an asylum works that way.  An asylum isn’t an option, my insurance doesn’t cover it nor would they allow me to bring my birds.

Moving forward is the only course of action for me right now.  It’s hard.  At times painful.  The void creeps up on me, and I convince myself binge-ing on M&M’s is the way to keep the darkness at bay, but I know that is the scared little voice in my head trying to keep me close.  I don’t know if ‘she’ will ever come completely out of the void and I might continually have to ply her with Lexapro to keep her quiet; one does what one must.  My goal for moving forward this month is to get my Soul Searching: House of Dragons out to a publisher I identified back in September.  They require an online presence.  Though I count this as an online presence I’m pretty sure it’s not exactly what they were talking about.  So, I bought pamelagartner.com (as such is my real name) and am struggling to figure out a way to get a website set up and hosted for as close to free as I can get it.  I checked certain companies that promise a free website, but they charge  you for hosting.  Then I thought I’d check WordPress since they do a lovely job at hosting my blog, and this is what I learned….Blogs and websites are interchangeable.  It’s just all in how you design it.  Who knew?  I’m waiting for a reply now to see if I can upgrade my bloggingfromthevoid.com domain name and also use my pamelagartner.com domain name for the premium price and if I can use the domain name I purchased from a different site.  I wish I had known then what I know now, but all you can do is continually move forward.

Almost a Year

I had a dream this morning, half awake and half asleep kind of dream.  I heard my mother call me from her room.  Not her normal morning call but more of a genial kind of invite.  My mom was in her room and my sister S. was asleep in her bed while C was asleep down the hall.  I walked into my Mom’s room and she was sitting on the far side of the bed while S slept.  She was a solid vision, no apparition, do diaphanous edges, but solidly real.  She came around to the end of the bed and I sat with her.  I could feel her arm, literally feel. her. arm.  I held on and hugged it.  I apologized to her about not taking care of her the way I wanted to take care of her.  I wanted to do better by her, but I just physically couldn’t and I couldn’t seem to rise above the fray in my mind which exhausted my body.  (you know depression).  I don’t remember if she accepted it or not, but it didn’t matter.  I was able to say it to her.  S. woke up and saw Mom but couldn’t hear her and C. came into the room and could hear her but not see her.  Mom was happy.  There wasn’t the roiling discontented aura she had in life, I think she was at peace.  We wanted to know if she had seen my brothers J. and D. but she hadn’t.  She didn’t want to face them.  We encouraged her to see them.  We didn’t believe they wouldn’t want to see her.  I think I fell out of the magical level of sleep and into a deeper sleep because my dream degraded into something more surreal than pseudo-reality.

So, it’s been almost a year.  10 December 2017 feels like five years ago and yet it hasn’t even been a full 365 days.  So much has happened this year, considering what I was dealing with there are days I am amazed I get out of bed at all.  There is still a part of me that is a recalcitrant depressive but it has always been there, I’m learning how to work around it and move forward.  The post Rectal-Cranial Inversion talked about how I “accidentally” hit June 6 as my start date for phlebotomy class.  Had I stuck with that date I would have taken my test about the same time I took my test and I probably would have gotten my externship the same time too.  Having the benefit of hindsight I realize the June 6th start date would have been a better time for me to go to school because my head, some days, is still solidly inverted but mostly not now.   I wouldn’t have needed Red Bull to keep me awake through class, but it tweaked my anxiety to the point I couldn’t trust myself.    For the externship I changed my buspar (anti-anxiety) and then dosed down my bupropion, my puppy-upper than can also tweak anxiety.  Once I did that I didn’t panic and my externship people saw a noticeable difference.   I’m planning on dosing down again in the new year to see if I can finally be free of some of these meds.

So, yes, I passed my test; 96/100.  Not bad at all.  I finished my externship with glowing reviews.  I’ve gotten my certification and card from NCCT and I’m going to work with someone today about my licensing.  I feel I am ready to go out on a job interview and nail it.  At least I have the chemicals straight in my head so I don’t blather on like an idiot through the interview.

On the darker side of life I am still dealing with some of the little, annoying aspects of the depression.  Like not taking care of myself.  I have food but I don’t want to cook it, I’d rather go without or take a couple of spoonfuls of peanut butter and be done with it.  I’m working as a Lyft driver so I’m having to have to be more social than I like and than still wipes me out.  I need to shower more, but who doesn’t.  To help with pushing out my bandwidth I have started courses that will put me back on the path to getting my bachelors degree.  I’m going for a basic interdisciplinary degree so I can include my history credits from 100 years ago but then I’ll be able to put on my resume I finished university.  I might even go further to get an MFA in writing.  Again, my dreams writing checks my body may not be able to cash.

I’m happy though.  I mean for the first time, in a long time, I’m happy.  I’d be happier with more money, but God has always provided when the world wouldn’t.   I don’t think I’m ever going to mourn for Mom, not the way some people do when they tear up when you mention their mother.  There are still parts that are angry with her but after the dream not so much.  It’s done and I’m moving forward…..one step at a time.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!

Self Love is

Knowing what you need

EVERYDAY

Then making sure

You RECEIVE it.

💜💖💜

New Year, New Dynamic

Mom died.

It’s been about seven weeks since her passing.  Time seems to go buy at different speeds at the same time.  I’ve hit new levels of stooopid I never knew I could.  I’m still not eating right, sleeping well or taking care of myself as I should.  The only thing I’ve been capable of doing is making crochets shawls.  I can count to 8, I can sit and watch it grow and not have to do anything else.  Since December 1, her last time to the hospital, I’ve made seven shawls.  One is my “house hold” shawl because I would rather wrap up than turn up the heat.  I seem to  keep going back to the hook for comfort.  They feel like hugs.  I’m trying to make one for all the women/girls in the family for the boat ride out to skater Mom’s ashes.  Hopefully I will be more back in the world by April.

I  haven’t really cried yet.  Maybe writing this out might break open the flood gates and release the torrent of tears that are just waiting for the opportunity to flow.  I don’t know why it seems so hard to express myself that way.  It could be the general fear of crying; if I start I won’t be able to stop.  Or it could be the medication is still providing the buffer that keeps me from completely dissolving into a puddle.  I’ve gotten the basics down in my journal but not really the emotions.  I wonder if I’m actually going to have any.  I mean, it’s not like this is out of the blue.  I’ve spent the last 12 years taking care of her as she, well not exactly slowly, declined.  The last three to five years have been the hardest, and living with her and taking care of her really tore the wellspring of hope out of me several times.  It did happen really fast, in the hospital on the 1st, back home by the 5th, then dead by the 10th.  There wasn’t  a rally coherent good by on her end due to the hypoxia from the lack of oxygen.

My team of professionals and myself have held the theory/belief that part if not most of my depression and anxiety was due to my environment.  Maybe I’m overmedicated now that the environment has changed or maybe I’m so completely overwhelmed (I had my car broken into after the memorial service and I drove myself to see my sister C. run in the Carlsbad marathon, I lost my job when I lost my mother, going back to school in February, and creditors filing suit).  I’m overwhelmed.  I guess I should stop trying to push myself so hard and try to do things one day, one task, one blog post at a time.

I’ve had some dark days, but in general I still have the light and hope for my future, so I don’t believe I’m back in the void, although, truth be told crawling back into that warm dark place to hide sounds really inviting..  I’ve had more bouts of anxiety than depression, I’m becoming more aware of my desire to take care of myself (like eat, bathe, change clothes, etc.)  In some ways I feel like I’ve been reborn into this world but I’m going to have to fend for myself.  I’ve got to find a job that pays well enough for me to write until the nectar of creativity runs dry.

My nephew gave me the best advise yesterday.  I didn’t want to go home, it felt like a trap so he told me when he feels that way he goes out into the world and tries to find something beautiful.  So, I went home briefly and grabbed Sammy and we took a trip to the coast and watched the boats in the marina and on the way home on Highway 35, I got pictures of a beautiful sunset over the foothills in the valley.  It was beautiful and my anxiety was calmed.

Time Is Not Kind

Well, I’ve been gone.  I choose to blame my itty-bitty computers hesitation to merge onto the virtual highway.  It was far more work than I felt I could deal with most times…..and sometimes just getting back into the habit of facing my feelings into the ether.

So, for the feelings…..

I am still on the light side of the void, skipping along the bleeding edge of it, but I’ve not fallen back in.  I still have hope, I have dreams….reachable ones…..so I’m okay…or fine as we the afflicted say.  At least there is more hope and dreams to keep me from surrating my self to la la  land.  That said I’m tired, I go through times of anger and frustration and then a affectless dumbness that feels like home.  I’ve gone down on my meds, then gone up a little, but I think it’s time to bring it down again, which means more unruly feelings to tangle with.  I’m not looking forward to dealing with that, but that is the goal…to feel.

Time seems to be pressing down on me, like time is running out with it’s fading ticks and tocks using my spine as a xylophone so I feel intimately the menacing vibrations throughout my whole body.  I wish I could put the world on hold while I go through the last of this never ending form of self/family/friends/world analysis.  I’m trying of trying to figure out if this is something I should be doing, if I’s where I’m supposed to be, if it’s where I’m supposed to go……and knowing this job that I’m doing isn’t done until it’s done, but needing to get out and getting a job, terrified I will melt into a shadow of myself if I get another fulltime job.  Yes, I will have more help this time, but will I, really?

My new plan terrifies me.  The plan is to get a stay-at-home job, working on customer support or something like that…I have a computer that can keep up with me now, and I have a monitor and I can make the office space in my room comfortable and ergo-safe the only problem is my desk is in the same room with my bed and the safest place I know t be is in my bed.

Maybe I am back in the darkness…I dunno.  Trying not to obsess about myself online only made me obsess about myself in the fog of life and only scared myself more.  All the while there is this subsonic rumble coming at me from all directions….Tick…Tock….Tick….Tock.

Be Careful of Your Habits

Be careful of your thoughts for they will become your actions.

Be careful of your actions for they will become your habits.

Be careful of your habits for they will become your character.

I have a nasty habit of pushing things to tomorrow on my ToDo list.  I don’t think I’m unique in that, but I have noticed things on my task list that shouldn’t be, these things should be second nature to someone of my years and education….like showering.  For the record, I don’t smell bad, I think if I did I wouldn’t have a problem remembering to shower.  It’s just by the end of the day I’m too tired and I tend to drag my feet during the day until I have no time before I have to go to school…..(yes I’m in school now….for another blog).  When my pits start to stink I used a flowery underarm solid to control it, when my hair wants to stand on end because of the grease and product I slap on a cute casual or more formal hat.   This was a problem during the depth of my depression, and it seems to have become a solid hang-on habit.  I have everyone terrified in the family to point it out for fear I will take it the wrong way, but then, that conversation would go something like “don’t you ever bathe?” with a wrinkled up nose, a disgusted demeanor and shocked stance.   And I’m not suppose to take it personally, of course.

I thought for a while that when I moved over the line back to the light that all my bad hygene, sleep, and eating habits would go away and I’d be ‘normal’ again.  I’m really starting to hate that word ‘normal’, there really isn’t any such thing as normal.  But it seems the habits I had then are habits that I have now.  Along with trying to rebuild my stamina and not get overwhelmed on a regular basis I have to re-educate myself on practicing good citizenship skills and eating habits.  So annoying.  I just want to be cured, I wanted to cross into the light and be a shining example of what surviving depression is like.  I wanted to be done with this bull crap so I can move on.  But it seems like there is a lot of aftermath that needs to be tended to.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, I am starting to be a house keeper.  Not just someone that turns off the lights when the house needs to be clean, but an actual cleaner….with bleach and everything.  I’m not a fan of the bathroom, I try to keep the toilet clean but beyond that I’m stymied as to how to get the boys dirty foot prints off the bottom of the tub and I really don’t want to try.  I’ve claimed the kitchen as my own and I keep it in working order during the week and let the dishes pile up during the three day weekend, but I am cooking, I’m cleaning and I’m doing all the Molly Mormon stuff I swore I’d never do.  And, I’m enjoying keeping my kitchen the was I want it.  I’ve decorated it with my copper bottom pots and pans, I steam clean the floor regularly and vacuum instead of sweep because the broom is useless.  My room is still in disarray but I’m making it functional.  It’s still hard for me to work in there without the bed monster grabbing me and lulling me to sleep.

So, I started the thought process of changing my mind; thinking about the things I need to do.  I need them to grow into actions and actions into habit and try to reverse the damage done from my days of darkness and anger.  Too bad I can’t wash my brain and make it all better.  I’m sure it would sting a bit but I’d eventually get used to it and be able to move on faster.  Not that fasting is better, it really isn’t.  But the sooner I can get this stage behind me the sooner I can move onward and upward into my plans.  That’s what I’m excited to do!

 

What Dreams May Be

Dreams are like movies directed by the soul.  Your mind works out all the tangles and knots your daily life creates and then smooth’s things over so we don’t all go bat-crap-crazy.  Of which I am truly grateful.   There are certain things, symbols in dreams that are consistent with all the dream weavers out there….

There’s the anxiety dream where you can’t run when you’re being chased.

There’s the project dream where you dream you have a baby, a puppy, or something new born that is in your charge and you need to take care of it.

The wanting to speak dream where you try to say something but your mouth is full of gum or food and no matter how hard you work to pull the stuff out of your mouth you can never quite get it all out, ofrom between your teeth.

The happy dream is where you fly.

My dreams a few nights ago had puppies and flying.  The puppy was the sample of a business idea that someone came up with in my dream…..Send A Friend A Puppy….Even I had a double take in my dream and asked them to repeat it.  It works like this, you have a friend you want to cheer up so instead of flowers you send them a fluffy, clean 6 to 10 week old puppy.  In this case it was a golden retriever puppy.   They come in a box with food and puppy-poopoo-pads and gloves.  You have to admit no matter how sick, sad or frustrated you are, an afternoon with a puppy will take a lot of the gloom and doom and shine up your attitude in no time.  My mind has been feverishly trying to remake the main character in my completed novel less of a push-over and more of an woman that is 75% intelligent and 15% stubborn and 10% without a clue…..like most women.  That’s the new puppy.

Later in that dream I was told that I could fly again.  I didn’t believe them, but they assured me I could.  So I took to the sky and doing my rudimentary swimming motions I propelled myself into the air.  Though I was flying, and I was happy while I was aloft, I noticed that the scarf/sleeve had either sand or rice trying to pull me back towards the ground.  I struggled against gravity and as long as I focused on staying in the air I did.  I love flying in my dreams….they truly are my favorite dreams.  I see this as a promise of present happiness despite of the things that seem to be trying to tie me to the ground.  That’s to my surrender I no long dread or hate or even feel put upon taking care of my Mom.  When she gets angry with me I react internally first and then sort of laugh at the whole thing….she’s like a toothless Chihuahua.  It does kind of make me laugh and I try very hard not to do it in front of her.  So, mom is one of the bags that are trying to hold me down, the other, I believe is my work with OA.  I ran into a woman while getting food for my family and se said some of the OA speak and I asked her.  I told her my problem with getting sponsor and she said she would be more than willing to talk with me.  She said most people that can’t get the fourth step done is because they haven’t truly done the third step: Surrendering to your higher power.  I’m trying to learn to surrender on the celestial level now, trying to surrender myself, my control and my life to God the Father and Jesus Christ.  It’s harder than I thought it would be.  But then anything worth doing is never really easy.  It only seems easy when you see it through the rearview mirror.

I’ve also been having anger dreams where I just rant and rave at my sibling about stuff they don’t understand.  And there have been a few anxiety dreams as well about running out of time, which is an anxiety that chases me in the waking hours as well, but I don’t remember the specifics of the dreams only the impetus of them….the hospice nurse made the comment that Mom was deteriorating and it triggered the anxiety and a feeling a fear and dread at the idea of my mother passing.  (That’s a whole other post).  The events in the dream disappear almost with my eyes focusing on the alarm clock, but the anger and anxiety tend to fuss with my day for a while.

Okay, why the post about dreams?  Because it is confirming what I’m starting to realize myself.  I’m happy, really happy.  And I know I’m burdened some with my responsibilities and my health but I’m still happy.  If surrender brings this much happiness I would hope surrendering to the other conflicts in my life should and would be easier.

Pleasant and prophetic dreams to all!

Gobsmacked by Life

So, when last we met, dear reader, I was embarking of under-employment but ever so hopeful things would continue on the course I had set it on.  I stopped climbing the walls, so to speak only to have the freaking wall fall on me!  I planned on giving myself one week off from work, which is reasonable since I hadn’t really had five straight days to myself since, well, since I don’t remember when….and starting the next week Mom shot up a temperature to like 103.1 and then it would go down, then back up.  I got the temporal thermometer to see if the digital one was not digitizing the information the way we wanted but it was telling the truth.  Which basically means now I have a really cool thermometer…..but I digress.  I called 911 and had them take her to the ER in Mountain View.  If there is one thing I can say about being on anti depressants and anti anxiety SSRI and dopamine enhancers is that when you are faced with something serious your emotions shut down and you can focus on the task at hand get things done. Well, sort of.  Apparently  was being a real pain in the caboose and my humor wasn’t what my sisters would have liked.  After a few long, tiresome hours they realize that Mom was dehydrated.  Who knew you ran a temperature when you are dehydrated.  S. had heard about it when she went through her medical assistant training but she wasn’t sure.  Once that was determined they decided to give her IV fluids and see if it brought her double digit BP back to the normal range….well, normal for an 85 year old woman.  They admitted her around 2 am, I went home and had dinner, took a chill pill and went to bed around 4am.

What I learned from this experience is that 1) the right hospice agency makes all the difference and 2) never make plans that you can’t put off for later.  We’ve changed our hospice agency which is more aggressive towards the pulmonary set, unlike the last one that would have been happy for me to give Mom morphine to calm her down and let her die in her sleep.  The hospital doctor sent her home with a nebulizer and between me and K we have been militant about her getting her treatments, eating whether she wants to or not, and drinking at least two quarts of water a day she is gaining ground.  Just as she started to get back on her feet the holidays descended like a biblical plague.  Okay, so I’m not a bit holiday fan but being broke, being literally tied to the house like some house bound prisoner because Mom doesn’t like to be alone and “misses me” even if I’m in the other room.  Did I mention she’s almost as deaf as a door knob?  (hearing aids are on the list of things to do in the New Year).

I guess what I’m blathering on about is that I’m tired, I feel like a well used rubber band that is still functional if you don’t push it beyond it’s but when too much pressure is applied  it will loose the last of it’s elasticity and then when pushed father will snap and crumble to bits.  My doctor thinks I’m doing fine, but then we didn’t talk about how I imagine sawing through my arms again, or how I want to use a razor to carve a cross hatch pattern from my wrist to the bend in my elbow.  I won’t do it, I know I won’t, I’m too big of a sissy when it comes to physical pain but he seems to think it is something that should be reported to him.  I wish he was tech savvy enough to just read this and prescribe accordingly.  I can’t go up any further on m=any of my meds so what other choice does he have then to tell me I’m doing good and hope the placebo effect will see me through until the stress passes?

I’m pretty sure this will be my last entry for 2014.  May the New Year be bright, healthy and prosperous.  Thank you for reading and following me.