Walking Wounded

Friday, December 28, 2007

I just had to vent.

Guys I just had to vent.
I was too tired, angry over memory loss problems, and lonely for those who have passed on.
If I vent and grieve it does not mean I need a psyc.

Bob It just means I ran out of myself.
I have spent many a year with the support of a psychiatrist , meds and intervention. Not ashamed to go to one. I just needed to vent.
I needed to just let it out. I have been patient and thoughtful and forbearing and kind to a breaking point and I just hit that wall after a very frustrating day.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

post Christmas blues

Well it is after midnight now. I feel alone and I hurt inside.
Don't know if I really want to even open up much.
I have a heart to support those around me. I am tired. It has been a long haul of preparations and such.
I see my daughters OCD type behaviors going wild. I need to get her into a Psychiatrists. I do not relish the thought. I really hate it!
My husband is tired and so he is less than affectionate regarding our very needy untrained dog (another responsibility that falls directly upon my back). With my nose rubbed in the carpet for wanting him in the first place. Hubs said yes with his mouth and no in his heart and this has been one challenging dog.
I have such a load on me every day. I carry it well like a horse. but my back is bowing. As is my mind.
I was faced with another long term memory absence over an iron.
At present time I had no idea what was in any of hte boxes that I had wrapped myself , even made them myself. I lost the gift I got for bother to give sister and can not find it. I even lost a gift for sister that I had purchased. I just do not know where I put it and can not find either one.
I had such a bad allergic reaction on Christmas day and just had to work the event inspite of it. This hors is rode hard.
I have a daughter going wako out of her mind this week from her needs... a husband who scared the peace of the morning out of me so bad that my fight/ flight had the adrenaline pounding Hard in my chest.
He owns the bad behavior. It due in large part because of a lack of sleep on his part.
My MILove my have hurt feeling, yet I was able to overcome and understand her behavior once it made more sense to me.

I dreamed for an instant of what it might be like to be on the receiving end of all that I pour out.
What it might be like to have a Mother who did what I do for my children, My mate does pour out to me but a man is different than a woman in this I think, what would it be like to have a mate who like a female poured out to me. I have never known that sort of thing My husband cleaned the children's rooms...it felt so good to not have to do it just that once. but then I had the thoughts of how my in laws may judge me for him doing it. I just could not do anything more and he was so embarrassed that he took it upon himself. I was so confused to think it was a gift of service to me. it may have been in some small part. It was very stressful for both of us. It is finished to a point. Yet I was so surprised to see what a different type of "cleaning" and male brained organizing was done. It was a moment taken back to see who the floor may have been cleared yet the detail undone. (and yet to be accomplished by ME)

I feel rode out. Like I am looking for pasture somewhere just to rest and live out being cared fo.
What a silly dream it ain't going to happen.
If my mind goes will I know my children?
Whenever I try to share these fears and very real concerns with friends or family it makes other uncomfortable and I get all but accused by some of brining it upon myself by a lack of faith.
I among all people have no "little" faith. of that I am sure!
Yet this is a real thing I deal with in silence. I was somewhat sad to hear I had no recall of the iron story...
I tried to remember last Christmas and have no recall...The memories of my children are slipping away and it is only in the photographs that recall gets stirred a bit.
So I go to bed a little melodically tonight.
I am full of gratitude yes...
But I do feel a loss...
I do see and other marathon ahead of me...
my back well...this hours feels her back bow.
What do they do for old horses...if they no longer have any value or work to give...
I have the choice to just saddle up and keep to tasks set before me. I have to choose going on...moving forward into the sunrise and sunset of each new day.
My sunrise is not what I had hoped for but it is mine to awaken too

I have such a charmed life, so rich in means (look around the world) and so full of gifts. I have a perfectly lovely home, marriage and friendship. The children are a gift from God. yet I have my battles to face the fatigue and irritability I have had are less than charming. I find myself grumpy and irritable far too often. Between hormones and allergy bum knee and memory loss I just get wherry. I just stop and see it is all too much. I chose to stay on this side of the line. So I will and I must.
I wonder what my life would have been like had a real childhood (if there is such a thing) been mine. Had my will,mind and potential been met. . For now I am a horse and little more than that.
I must find joy in it for it is my blessed lot to find pleasure in my work.
I am so blessed truly provided for and the ease is evident. Even though I am foolish to compare

Having everything in the world can not replace the longing for a Mothers or Fathers unconditional Love. That is something I will never ever know. They are all dead now. dead.
except in this that Pappa God loves me. I know it is true look at my life. I see he loves me.
I just don't like being a horse every day.
Maybe I am grieving myself tonight. I am like an outsider. never really belonging.

Monday, December 10, 2007

The effects of PTSD on food .

Oh Man! this is one that is going to pull it up from my toes! I can just see it now.
The Risk well...

I hope that I can speak of these things now for in so doing we take away the power by exposing it to the light.
I recently had a blogger ask me to address issues of how my history has effect on food and or hording. Eating disorders are a common part of recovery from so many issues in life. She asked a few questions and I told her my experience. It was very helpful to her in helping her to address some needs her adopted child suffered with and she was left perplexed to understand. She later reported that she is responding differently and the child is feeling much better about herself.


This is tough. Here goes...
Memory is a living force. It can root within us in so many ways. Our 5 senses are core to this process of stored experience and living associations. Events them selves can be blocked yet certain sights, smells sounds and taste even touch can stir those things our mind tries to protect us from recalling. It is only when we are safe that memory can be heard of its own event. Even then it is through the senses that often the story has recall to tell of what has been known in such a way as to be slightly disconnected as to have a distance from the pain.
The night my friend called in the stillness of an answer to her questions I spoke of three things in detail. I will speak of two of them.
One having to do with black licorice.
Risk of deep pains here.
When I was 6 years old my mother remarried after most of my earliest childhood days were filled with the suffering of being used in childhood porn at the hand of a so called uncle (no blood relations) who lived with his wife in our basement.

When they married He had been a Merchant Marine for many years and was retiring. He was older. He adopted me, my sister and my brother. The brother older then that was given a choice or better said my mother was given a choice and my elder brother had to leave. My elder brother was who took care of me all those years when my mother kept the cafe.
So the man who came in took the place of the only so called dad figure I ever knew with force and violence.
The food thing comes in here. The only time this man was nice to me was when he shared his old fashioned black licorice with me.
It was kept up on the refer in a small brown paper bag. It was like a stick not soft like modern licorice. It was his! Only His! He once was kind and gave me some what my blogging pal did not know was that when I shared the memory of the licorice with her I remembered something else at that very moment. There was a price to pay for that black licorice. Many things mad a lot more sense about those times and the kidney damage and surgery.
I have found that memory often hides in food. Food was a vital part of my deprivation. Although mom had the cafe it was the cafe that kept us alive. It was the left overs and scraps often in very earlier childhood that we depended on for food. Still to this day to waste food just really is hard and I get very hard on myself when ever I do so.
Black licorice...
When I first began my recovery I was at a retreat.. . I found myself hiding in a closet trying to figure out why I was just stuffing my face with black licorice. Gorging! I could not stop. I hated myself for the price. But all I knew was that was when he was "NICE" to me. I lived my life with a target on my head. He took advantage. I died out in the garage. I remembered that night talking to my blog friend that I gorged on the licorice trying somewhere deep within my sub conscience to understand why?????? Why would he hurt me why did every kindness offered me turn into such a horrid price and I just hated myself for liking licorice. I was 6 years old. Just like my sweet son is now 6 years old.
So foods can hold many keys to our lives.
Candy was an affiliation I had with my Mother. She gorged on it and had it hidden all over the house. It was the thing she used to feel. All her wounds had left her incapable of feeling. She just swallowed then down. If she felt close to me it was when she shared her candy.
I too suffer with this. Having had the example of it ingrained into me. It is where I take out my anger at myself, and how I hold in the pains I feel. I control my emote with it. It is horrible and I try so hard to flee it. It is the rut if ever I relax my defenses. It is a vacuum.

Fear or the fear of loss...
Affiliation and a sense of security. I hoard too. Only I have a nice pantry. It is a thing like those who went through the great depression know too well. We are equipped . My Mother survived the "Great Depression" and just barely too. Security is what is attained (false as it may be, and it is) it gives a calm to the unquiet restless dread that once was very realistic. Now it is only a survival mechanism.
I struggle to let go of things. I have a huge inventory of beads and fabrics too. I think that it just feels good. If I might want to sew well I do not have to go to the store.
YES I do trust God as a matter of choice. Trust however was long earned by him. At one time I was incapable of trusting anyone or anything except to hurt me. So I just resigned myself to being hurt. That was then not now!

O.K. thats enough Risk for now...

I hope that some one may be helped knowing that there is a way to have security, a sense of self, affiliation (with people) and a mission and competency. These are the 5 vital components to a healthy esteem. I'll teach on that another day.

The other things are just a counterfeit for the real thing. Thats all. It is now wonder. It all makes perfect reason as to the WHY of it all.

Songs of my heart