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Thursday, June 3, 2021

Determined little weeds

I want to blog about these pretty little things. 
Like this short sweet little guy found in my yard
  And these unusually tall versions found in the shady and plant crowded foothills of the mountains by me. 

Look close, there are a few, and they are very tall. 


 I especially loved the tenacity, determination and resilience shown by this particular sweetie as it stretched and reached anyway it possibly could to reach sunlight; a resource it needs to survive. 

That is what I wanted to blog about. And it does fit but something more is haunting again... and it is so, literally, exhausting. I had dreams about dreams and hauntings of the He who would not let me be what I really was but instead turned me into a perceived liability... 
Hauntings. Dream disturbances. Dreams of dreams and trying to figure out in my dreams which experiences were real and which were previous dreams... I lived a lot of lives in those days but some were merely dreams. Waking up already depleted and defeated again. Dr. She says that is PTSD. 
Okay. 
But why? Why must I be made out to be a bad guy when I was/am trying my hardest to #1 get the help I need, and #2 trying to help bring about positive changes for others so they can get the help they need. 
And there is a #3 to it to that hurts due to how ignored and discredited I have been for it, #3 trying to help and protect even those that caused the harm to me. 
PTSD... It's weird.
So is mania
and TBI
and the lasting effects those have on yourself and your relationships.
But today I am not as sad as my dreams want me to feel. I am happy, strong and confident because that is what I am determined to be. It's just a matter of stretching and reaching for the sunlight and resources I need. 
...but... it's still hard. and it still hurts... Especially when I have to go through all of those messy records to try and get the resources I actually am supposed to be "entitled" to. 
Stretch and reach. Stretch and reach. I have done it before and I can do it again. 



Saturday, May 22, 2021

slipping

 I feel myself slipping into depression. I don't want to and I am trying to fight it, to stay afloat... I am tired. and part of me wants to allow myself to slip into oblivion. What am I actually fighting for? If I am fighting alone? 

This is how, why and when we lose. 

But right now I have to keep fighting because I have kids. Kids that would hurt and be angry. Kids that might blame themselves...

So "fight harder" I hear Dr. She say to me so many months ago.

Fight harder again.... but the fight is more outside than inside anymore... and it seems to be what the world is telling me. Am I selfish for not listening? For not shutting up and disappearing the way they all want me to?

"It's a symptom" I remind myself... 


Sunday, May 16, 2021

My Dad

 My dad admits that he was not always the best listener. In my younger years, high school and jr high days, sometimes we'd get into fights and then we'd go for a ride. I don't remember why or how this arrangement would actually come to pass, but I do remember that going for a ride meant he was going to stick with me as we fought through what we needed to and then we would reach some form of understanding. 

These last few days I have been worried a little about my dad. He needs time to process and it seems as if he does not want to stick it out... Is he okay? Is he suffering more than I know. I thought maybe I should show up and take him for a ride. But then he called to check in today. That is a relief. He says he is okay. He is coming around again, caring enough to stick it out even though it makes him uncomfortable. He felt bad about bringing up the emotions again for me today. "Dad they are always there, but it is much worse trying to figure it out and handle this alone and on my own." I was glad he was trying to help even if it does not feel like he is helping. 

It matters. 

We talk more. I explain a little and he starts to pick up on the depth and complexity of how things like what is happening with USU really effects people and how it has been effecting me. "Is that an issue right now?" he asked concerned about suicidal thoughts. 

"It's not suicidal thoughts," I explain, "it is the impulses that come on strong and with a vengeance through crap like this. They seem to hit each time they hit."

My dad surprises me, "Those are very scary and dangerous," he says. 

I don't know why it surprises me that he has learned to understand it so well, because it was very obvious that an impulse is what killed my younger brother and my dad's eldest son. I don't tell him that the fight with him triggered these intrusive impulsive thoughts. 

I think it is just a shocking contrast to how he perceived these issues and his understanding of such things when I was a teen. Depression was handled with, "quit feeling sorry for yourself," "suck it up" and, "get over it." If I had mentioned suicidal thoughts then I'd have been lectured for it and probably given a church type of lesson. In those years my dad would have probably told me that was stupid and I better not do something stupid like that. Or he would have ignored it and just been embraced or disappointed that I ever thought such things. Now he understands, the impulses are scary and they do not necessarily come from you - you as in who you are. They come from something else; nature, nurture, instinct, injury, chemistry, and a million messages received from external sources all rolled up into intense bursts of images and instant solutions to the fights that are constantly wearing on you. 

Impulses are dangerous. And my regulation of those is compromised because of the injury to the portion of my brain that is most efficient at handling impulses. Added external stresses, especially unjust and unnecessary, depletes my abilities to fight while triggering thoughts that directly stem from the messages they are sending; that I don't matter and they want me to go away. 

People talk big about suicide prevention... but when it comes right down to it, most do not care to learn or understand the realities and even those who are supposed to be professionally trained will carelessly and callously contribute to the triggers and messages that feed the intrusive impulsive thoughts. 

I suppose, as I reflect right now, I am glad that I had a dad that, though misguided at times, at least taught me how to push through and how to fight it out...


Saturday, May 15, 2021

Half a Glass

 "I don't want you to see the glass as half empty."

Half full, half empty. I don't really care

Sometimes a cup of water is just a cup of water. Maybe it is holding 4 of the 8oz it is capable of holding. Then it is simply half a glass of water. 

Maybe it has more. Maybe less. Is it enough to meet your needs? Can it be refilled? Is it old water? good water? Is it water at all? Has it been polluted by various people washing their hands with or of it? Is it being drained and never refilled? Or left to sit alone because it's neither full nor empty? There are so many variable to consider that might be more important.

"but I am broken." Why is that a "bad" thing? Why do people insist that saying so is looking at my reality as a glass half full or empty? I'm not. It's simply a cup of water and I will use the water inside for whatever I need it for then fill it again and use it again. It's just a cup of water. Half empty or full doesn't matter, it's what I do with the water inside and it's how I use the cup.

And maybe, sometimes, the cup is broken. 

Then what good does it do to debate on whether it is half empty or half full? Because while we are debating, the water is draining because the cup is broken. 

Maybe the real fear is: what to do with a broken cup? Am I to be discarded? It seems so. When your cup breaks then you do get discarded by many, because you are broken and that is what we do with broken things. 

But my broken cup can still hold water

It just can't hold quite as much so if it is filled to full then it will inevitably lead to a leaky mess. A better analogy than you know.

Half empty, half full, broken all the way or just more than you care to accept? 

I don't really care. To me it just is what it is and I need and want to be okay with that. It would also help if others would learn this and be okay with that too. 

kintsugi 


Friday, May 14, 2021

messages received

 I wrote this little poem at some point between 1/1/2019- 7/1/2019 When I was still being misdiagnosed and very inaccurately and mis- treated. 

Sit at home and watch TV 

Being what I am supposed to be

Brainless reflector of mass

media fed personality.


Think for yourself

You are crazy- "you're crazy" - no credit

"I love you but do not want you"


Can't get a job @ Walmart - Too confident

"You need to be humbled"

Stop dreaming

Be happy with mediocrity

 

Tuesday, May 11, 2021

Out

 I am so tired of fighting to get the help I need....

should know better by now. Stop asking. It just makes me feels worse.

and then...

image stronger than it has been in awhile... gun to head. 

But out, not dead, I push this image out. It is not welcome.

"In the trenches," they say they'll be right there with you

until they see you cry

or until they see just how scary your trenches are. 

then they disappear

 but not without first letting you know that 

It's you, not them

maybe it is time to sleep again.

Cry and sleep.

I had to fight too hard today for help that may or may not happen

and to explain exactly what happened. 

You are supposed to stand up for what is right. Unless, of course, everybody else is sitting down. 

Stand up for what is right... few people, very few people actually do. They'll just disappoint 

them Blame

you, of course

We have bought into the delusion of majority rule equating to what is "right" 

If it is common and happening all the time then it is right? 

Mad dad. mad me. 

fight it out. push through, 

but did we resolve or did I just drive a bigger wedge...?

Gun to head

"be dead" 

it says.

But still no. I won't go.

Sorry to disappoint


Thursday, April 29, 2021

 Breaks from writing to write. That's what my life looks like right now. And this:

Which I am very grateful for.

Now, leading up journal entries transferred into my book, I am digging into the ever deepening abyss of madness. The mania as it is unfolding in my "self-discovery report"

"This is heavy shit" keeps slipping from my lips as I try to sort and choose what to include and what not to ... Dear reader of this here blog, get excited, get real excited because I think I am not going to try to rewrite this story that has already written itself and just share it how it is, as real, raw and embarrassing as it is, in my book about... all of this. 

The shit in these writings (coupled with the stress of the shit going on with USU and the Good ol'boys of the Logan courts) has my filters broken again so please excuse my cursing. 

Side note of TBI. Today during the Office of Equities interview, my brain injury and deficits decided it a good time to show just how fun they can be to have and to have to work with (sarcasm implied). Stress, and especially the very emotional kind this has been, is very hard on the brain and even harder on the broken brain. It was so weird to feel things stop working and get lost before I could get them out. He said things and I could not process them. I repeat, I ask questions, I forget, I don't ask, and today I had to make them wait, for my thoughts and my words to find their paths again so that I could explain what I know and what needs to be considered, documented etc. It's weird because it feels and my brain was behaving more similarly to how it behaves in the earlier phases of brain injury. Words are confusing. Instructions hard to follow. Jumbled. Hard to keep straight, remember, and even how to access the important things that need to be addressed. It really is weird when it happens like this. I think, maybe, it is called distress.

Heavy shit all around. But still I'm up and off the ground.

I will not stay down. 

...And for the record, after reading my emails alone, no way in hell -or heaven or here on earth for that matter- that Jon Pertab didn't know I was manic. Or I really am all that! (and he simply didn't want to believe it).  As I read I want to scream at past me who loved him, trusted him, and kept trying to protect him, "he's not protecting you he's breaking you! He's not defending you, he's abusing you!"...and "he is not trying to help you, he is using you..." Truths, so many times revealed, that I still don't want to believe. 

And the Neuroscience Institute, their patient advocates, No way in heaven, hell, or earth, that they didn't know I was manic or at least that I was broken more severely than had been diagnosed and just trying to get the help I needed. 26 pages, that is how long my side of the story was to them, that they told me the director didn't look at because it was not going to change his decision....

AARGHH remembering. All that I have to write about... aargh realizing all that I have been through and just how bad it was... Again. 

And how pointless. Absolutely pointless suffering and reckless endangerment. 

Heavy shit. But I won't stay down. I won't let it bring me to the ground. Or under it. 

I will keep speaking, keep writing, and keep fighting.

Especially since I know there are others who, they keep telling me, are "not as strong."