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Posted in Read Along
Morgue’s Non Excellent Adventures in Anxiety
(Prelude to actual post, skim beyond if you wish.)
The panxiety is returning…
The neighbor dudes down the street just had a screaming cursing match which sets my anxiety off. So I sit and breathe and remind myself, it will be okay.
Too bad my brain doesn’t believe me because something’s triggered the fire alarm again.
I do my best to keep a lid on it. This will not kill me, it’s just for now, not forever. (Except it always returns so in a way it is forever.)
But my nerve endings are all on fire with anxiety and worry and “the sky is falling” thoughts. To my credit, though, much as scumbag brain wants to sell me on the doomed scenario…I am holding my breath, and judgments, until my fears are either debunked or confirmed.
I’m not feeling hopeful at the moment.
At least I am making a conscious effort to wait and act on information rather than allow the panic and fear to convince me otherwise based on misfiring chemicals.
It’s progress for me. I failed yesterday. Today…I’m back to fighting shape.
But ya know, even if it just *is* anxiety…It doesn’t change the buzz under my skin, the chills, trembling, feeling like bugs are crawling all over my skin, my body itches and I think it’s some fatal malady or bad juju.
I don’t think mundanes could possibly understand. In fact, I think the sensation of bugs crawling all over your skin would be enough to send most mundanes off the deep end.
It’s not dying down. Again. I feel as if the world is spiraling out of control around me, yet I know it’s just my own messed up brain sending out bad intel.
Why can’t I fight it? Conquer it? Why am I so fucking weak? (More lies from the bad brain juju, I am anything but weak.)
3 hours post xanax. I picked my kid up. Started reading more of my book. I feel less rattled now, but I can’t shake that bug crawly paranoid feeling. Like if I stop thinking about it, it will be the catalyst to bring about doom. So I read and try not to think about it but my skin is itchy and wtf? If one could deny itchy skin anti histmanines and topicals wouldn’t be a lucrative business.
I can’t win.
I just keep battling, Even if it seems futile.
I keep checking my mail box. Power bill should be coming. I need to know how much it is. That’s always the variable for my budget. I know what my rent and net bill will be every month. That power bill scares the fuck out of me. And not even the power so much, I use about ninety bucks a month with all my computers running and I can own that. But when it’s two hundred dollars’ worth gas for heating and we’re still wearing layers because the duct work is fucked up and we’re still freezing…
It’s insult to injury.
I just wanna rip the band aid off.
Which is odd because last month, it took four days and a couple of drinks to work up the nerve to open the damned thing as I could only envision not being able to pay it and having my service shut off.
THIS is where the mental illness is distinguished from simple messed up personality.
My ability to cope hinges on my mental state.
Last month I was too fragile. Now I’m fragile but in a different way. I wanna know so I can start budgeting for the next month.
If that were personality, it would not hinge on mood cycles or the panxiety.
I don’t give a damn what the professionals and naysayers think. I live it, I know me better than anyone else could.
And frankly, having it insinuated that it’s all personality is as insulting as telling a diabetic their blood sugar is wonky because they want it to be.
Clown shoes.
For once in my miserable panxiety/depressive state I told my kid we’d do something…and actually went through with it, even if her constant fussing, squirming, and sassing really should have cost her TV privilege. Maybe I did it for me, because I needed a good retro laugh.
Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.
Not high brow but as a child of the 80’s it was very amusing.
Less so with a yapping squirming child asking questions,literally, every ten seconds, even though she already knows the answers…
But I carried through with a plan. I didn’t let mood or anxiety kick my ass.
Well, okay, it got some good kicks in, but for whatever reason, I am feeling more resilient today.
Yesterday I was a bonefide basketcase.
Today I’ve been jumpy, jarring at every sound even next door or on the road. The cats were climbing the curtain and scumbag brain tried to tell me someone was breaking in through the window.
Grrr.
Some days I can convince myself it’s the illness distorting things.
Some days I can’t.
Considering I spent yesterday in my bubble, alone, very little stimuli, and yet I crumbled into a paranoid panicky mess…But today I have yapping kid and cats and neighbors and I’m shaky but psychological shrapnel isn’t in danger of flying.
Night is young.
I’m not a pessimist, I am a realist.
My biggest enemy is allowing myself to brainwashed into the whole optimist thing. If you occupy that space and bad shit hits you, you don’t know how to cope.
But if you recognize patterns (cycles of anxiety and bipolar,esp) then you know no matter what sunshine you blow up your own pantaloons, the bad will happen. The cycles will shift. And being prepared is just smart, not pessimistic. Knowing it can get worse isn’t the same as being convinced it will. It’s just reconnaissance. Know your enemy, anticipate its moves. Forewarned is forearmed, blah blah blah.
Cautious optimism, the old (old and best) counselor I have had called it.
In this day and age, his method is considered wrong because it doesn’t spew sunshine and denial.
Works for me and I don’t fix things that aren’t broken.
In other news…I finished the book I was reading. It had this bizarre psychological pain management therapy, given by a woman with a genetic condition making her unable to feel physical pain…And while it may or may not work for some, I find a metaphor for psychiatry and psychology.
Teaching people to “cope” with something yourself can’t feel is hypocrisy.
And I am NOT naming my mental pain and talking to it. I LIKE cursing the bipolar and anxiety and all the other nasty little bitches in my brain wiring.
But I am definitely going to do some research on this whole notion of controlling physical pain psychologically. Because while stubborn,I am not unwilling to learn and hell, maybe even test drive the notion.
I tried cognitive, hypnosis, chakra therapy, aromatherapy, sound therapy, light therapy…
I’d try acupuncture if I could afford it.
It’s not that I don’t want to get well.
It’s just nothing ever works in concert and keeps working in concert.
No magic bullets or excellent adventures for me.
Party on, dudes.
My last post, definitely PTSD
Ok, my last post, definitely PTSD. I react just as wildly as my son does to his problems. I react with the unbridled fear of losing him. There I said it, that is truly what I am terrified of, losing my beautiful, super intelligent, loving, compassionate son. I am terrified of the unknown. And the PTSD comes from the past, from the known, from losing my brother to bipolar 1. From the biggest tragedy in mine and my family’s life. Is it going to happen again? Unknown. And the unknown, mixed with a terrible, fearsome known, the past, is not easy to live with.
But although my son has an initially extreme reaction, he calms down and takes care of the troubling issue perfectly. And he has NOT been diagnosed with any illness :-) But that’s the thing with PTSD, it is not based on the present, it is based on the past and the fearful phantoms that memories and past thoughts conjure up. How do you get over this? Talking to my ecounselor about this pronto, no prontissimo! Life is really short, half or more of mine is over. I want to live it in peace and enjoying all the positive, fun things it has to offer, not in the black dungeon of fear.
PS
My mood may also be kicking up. From the season, the increase in Synthroid, not enough Lithium, don’t know, but knowing is half the battle already won and I’ll take care of it. Do i have this? Yes, I think I really do. Breathe…
Dealing with the Stress of a Second Marriage
According to Terry Gaspard, a social worker and writer for the Huffington Post states that most second marriages fail for a variety of reasons. The “reason vary, including ghosts from the past, financial concerns presented by the adult step-children and the challenges that come with interacting with them, exes, and extended family.” Nancy Kalish, PhD and writer for Psychology Today, concurs by stating “the most common stressors are finances and stepchildren. Throw into the messy salad an adoption of new spouse’s young child and a newly diagnosed bipolar at their 5 year mark of marriage and we have obstacles beyond most marriages.
Let me address the obstacles faced by a second or third marriage. The following described by E. Marvis Hetherington of HuffPost
-A lot more players such as, the children from former spouse. Opportunities for rivalries, conflicts, and breakdown in communication between the newly married couple requires a swift motion for achieving stability right from the beginning. Extended families will vied for attention, compete against the new spouse or dislike her, resented the divorce of their parents and may even hope for the new marriage to fail. Perhaps even “shared their resentment that every penny that parent spends with new spouse (and her family) and may even convey this whenever a big purchase is made.” Psychology Today.
Working through wedges, especially during hard times can create a stigmatism when the adult children only hears their parents perspective. Psychology Today article points out that rituals, expectations, identities, and habits need to be addressed or altered.
Still, Cindy Wright confirms that “the two main problems in second marriages are money and children.” “ Work stress to money issues can cause a strain on a marriage.” Psycholology Today’s, Nancy Kalish MD
From a newly exacerbated bipolar that was triggered by her own child’s loss takes every ounce of strength to withstand the stressor issues. My final effective treatment stent took 4 years but it felt like a lifetime to me. I never hesitated to acknowledge that something had changed in my behavior but I was convinced that my thought processes were kept intact. And throughout all this time my mind remained intact. I sought help immediately and kept seeking until the right diagnosis and the right help came along.
How can I take responsibility:
Relationships with bipolar is difficult. But, its not impossible. Like any other marriage it takes both partners to make a marriage survive.
-Communicate. Maintain an open, honest, and assertive dialog helps ensure my marriage is a team partnership. Psychology Today affirms that “Issues may be small to the parent spouse but may be very important to his new spouse.” Especially when it relates to loyalty, conflicts, tension, and during times of hardship.
-Todd also suggests to Talk- Incorporate ideas, plans, and strategies doing that can minimize harmful events/conflicts. Extended families should be made aware to respect the philosophies of marriage designed by their parent and new spouse.
-Knowing Myself- knowing my triggers, my symptoms, and my emotional feelings that reacts to my trends. This is where the mood chart and journaling come into play.
don’t ignore the red flags. Expect plenty of rough patches. Particularly around holidays and special occasions. Tracy Todd, Ph.D. suggests to “identify the environmental triggers that maintain stability that soothes the marriage.
-Maintain Identity and Be Autonomous. I’m a true believer that marriage doesn’t exist outside the marriage. Too much pressure and responsibility on a relationship easily dictates my state of mind. Putting all my time, energy, and emphasis adds more stress. When things are going poorly than I’m doing poorly and visa versa. Expanding communication and social interaction outside of my relationship by “diversify myself will strengthen my resilience and become more flexible” ( New Life Outlook Bipolar).
Finally Success Comes From Love, Trust, and Support
Dr. Karp, writer for BP Magazine has surveyed that “successful couples say they have used periods of wellness to prepare for episodes that may lie ahead.” In my marriage we strive for that success. Remember that second marriages come with inherent stressors. Terry Gaspard, MSW, LICSW written in HuffPost Blog that a “strong determination to stay together, endurance and time” second marriages can adjust and thrive.
a-z challenge: v
TMI for anyone who is easily startled by me, vaginas, or me and vaginas. You have been warned etc etc.
In which the whole a-z thing gets completely out of hand, because V, my sweet, sexy and soulful readers, is for vagina. I’m a fricken lesbian, I am absolutely honour bound to do it. On more than one level. I’ll be excommunicated if I don’t.
Here is a song to get you in the right frame of mind.
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Vagina
Vagina is not a rude word, it’s an anatomical term, but I’m not about to get into the biology of the organ or the etymology of the word. I’m not even going to get into gender until the slam poetry videos at the end. I might get into … eh nevermind. There’s no point offering you information that 10 seconds on Google will get you. Intellectual hypotheses and debate can gtfoh too – I’ve been a card and vagina carrying politicised human, woman, feminist, lesbian for a looong time; I have nothing to prove and I’m incredibly bored by the dialectic these days. If I started listing euphemisms I’d be here all week, so I’ll just talk about vaginas from the perspective of an owner driver. User. Connoisseur. Ahem, I’m sure you get the point. Songs will feature heavily (as usual).
Vaginas? I love ’em.
Let me introduce you to the funniest song in the world about the vagina. In fact, it’s possibly the funniest song in the history and future of songs everywhere. It’s not offensive and it is catchy – it’ll turn into an earworm, I can almost guarrantee it. I showed it to a mate of mine who is nearly 70 and she sang it all day afterwards.
See? Freaking hysterical. You’re welcome.
Next up from DJ ***** and the ******** is one of many, many, many covers of Nirvana’s Heart Shaped Box.
Lana Del Rey must’ve known that covering Nirvana’s “Heart Shaped Box” would elicit some sort of a response from Courtney Love, but none of us could’ve predicted that Love would actually be funny when she Tweeted LDR about it. “You do know the song is about my vagina right?” Love queried. “Next time you sing it, think about my vagina will you?” Wonder if LDR will be covering Nirvana’s other ode to Courtney’s genitals, “Moist Vagina,” any time soon? ({source})
Music makes me digress my ass right off – but I gotta say that I hate it that Courtney Love was funny there.
Vagina! Hairless ones make me feel sorry for them. Hygiene products specifically for them must have been invented by someone with some sort of complex or syndrome that doesn’t bear thinking about. Vajazzling is the work of the devil and as for merkins … well let’s not go there. Feel free to google, mental floss is provided at the, uhm, entrance.
They just need to be clean, not fecking perfumed. A trim is good, anything more just ain’t my thing. Oh god this has turned into a total tmi. I’m sorry. They smell like the sea, they taste like heaven. I do not use the word in bed (don’t even ask, even I draw the line somewhere). Time to ctrl+alt+del out of this paragraph before
Hello and welcome to this fresh and well behaved paragraph. You’re looking fantastic and I’d like to thank you for making it this far into the V for Vagina edition. If you have a vagina, please never feel ashamed of it, if you don’t have one, there’s no need to be ashamed either. They’re lovely when they’re loved up, aren’t they? Ack, there goes another paragraph. There goes the neighbourhood … I’m leaving before I get thrown out.
May your heart shaped boxes always be happy.
If you’re not interested in genderqueer genitalia, this is your cue to head off. If you’re phobic about it, don’t come back. Simples!
This is an astonishingly honest and very moving piece by a trans* person.
This one is for me; Alix Olson pretty much says it all In terms of having a cunt and being called sir.
({})
Posted in Read Along
Mental Hell-th
This is an excerpt from yesterday’s journey through panxiety forest.
I had to go out for something. And I was backing out of the drive this unfamiliar dude walked by. He smiled and all but I was looking in my review mirror, waiting to see him round the corner, as if he was going to double back and rob my place. I guess once you’ve had it happen once, it leaves an imprint and panxiety just makes it that much worse.
On the way back, there was this HUGE farm implement thing driving toward me and I felt this momentary terror, for no real reason except my brain was telling me to FEAR THIS.
The Xanax isn’t knocking the panxiety down a bit today.
In fact, I am feeling pretty crazy and out of control.
Like dodging R’s calls. I am so shaky, I fear simply explaining to him I’m “not well” today will bring on one of his “suck it up” speeches and that would set me off.
So I avoid and feel shitty for avoiding and yet…Every panic receptor is going off simultaneously and it’s been hours and it won’t fucking stop.
If this is what cutting down on caffeine gets me, I’ll just go back to drinking 2 liters of Dr Pepper everyday, ffs.
I can’t make the panxiety die down.
I thought getting out might help but if anything, it made it worse.
Why can’t I shake it off? No one is out to get me, I am not in danger.
Why won’t my brain chemicals LISTEN to my logic?
Panic is not simply in the brain, it’s a physical response as well, and this is NOT how I wanted to spend my kid free “me” day.
I was in the other room…And I heard this cough…And in spite of being home alone and the door being closed…I thought OMG SOMEONE IS IN THE HOUSE. It was, of course, the TV. Still sent me into a panic, as if I weren’t already in a shaky state.
Guess it says my speakers have pretty good sound if it sounded so realistic and near.
And another wave of panic…
I looked at the clock, saw it was 3:17, and thought, OMG WHAT IF MY SISTER FORGOT TO GET MY KID. Logically, I know had no one been there, the school would have called. (And they have their own ringtone so I always know when I HAVE to answer.)
Now I’m feeling all neurotic mommy “must call to check on spawn.”
God I need the break but it just feels…like being naked. Must be mom and have kid present.
I’m loopier than I thought.
I took a mg of Xanax, which I haven’t done in over a month. It’s gotten that bad. I can’t calm down. I can’t find a way to feel safe. It’s like something tripped a fire alarm in my brain and nothing will shut it down. Fight or flight won’t cease as long as the alarm bells are sounding.
This, in addition to the fact I can’t seem to get warm and the gloom has affected my mood…As well as this being the price I pay for high fuctionality….
It’s a complete wash for a “me” day.
Thankfully, the panxiety is only a couple of times a week,though very fucking random.
And not triggered.
I feel shitty for ignoring R’s calls and texts. But honestly, I just can’t cope. I’ve spent the day waiting for the “storm” to pass or lighten up. But I am fragile and my brain is not sending the right messages which means a common interaction could turn into some bridge burning ceremony. I don’t have many friends. I can’t burn bridges.
Unfortunately, “I’m having a bad mental health day” is not acceptable to those closest to me.
Avoidance feels like the only option I have to protect myself, and them, from whatever my fucked up brain might bring about. Not making excuses, just being blatantly honest. If people would accept the truth I wouldn’t need to avoid and fib.
I sound stark raving mad.
Days like this I wonder if I’m not completely losing my mind.
Following this extravaganza of hell, I retired to my crypt aka bedroom at 6 p.m. I wanted my warm blankies. I read for a bit after taking another mg of Xanax. And eventually, I dozed off.
Then the phone woke me at 8 and it was my mom asking me to bring Spook’s allergy meds over because she was in a state with runny eyes and nose and sneezing. (And I know the whole time my mother is hemming and hawing, she’s wondering if I’m sober enough to drive, because of course, I drink a few times a week which makes me a raging drunk.) As it happened, I hadn’t had any alcohol. Hell, I hadn’t even had a Dr Pepper. I was exhausted and freaked out and…Well, the nap helped. I went out, in my leopard jammy pants, and doped up my kid. She was actually very loving and it was not her norm. Her norm is, “Why are you still here? This is my grandma time.”
It was like upside down day. I went nutso, my kid deviated from her normal apathy toward me, R, who has gone weeks without even checking on me, seemed frantic to get a hold of me.
When I got home, I saw he’d called, as well as my dad. Which only meant one thing. My failure to answer the phone a couple of times caused him and his wife to call my dad to make sure I haven’t offed myself or something.
Bloody hell.
I called R back and explained. Well,lied. No, I don’t feel good about it, but again…If people would accept the truth (“I’m a paranoid hyperventilating mess pretty sure everyone is out to get her so I need to step back for a day or so). Anyway dead cell battery it was. Then he said he called the home phone six times.
He lies. Magicjack registers every call and he called the house once the whole day. Which meant it was all going to my cell, which I’d just told him is prepaid and down to 14 minutes so I probably wouldn’t be answering it. Of course, he was drunk when I told him that so…
But birds of a feather. I lie, he lies. Or maybe he just exaggerates and I lie because the truth isn’t good enough for those around me.
If I had the flu and just needed to lay in bed and recover, they’d offer to bring me soup and 7-Up and tell me to feel better.
But because it’s mental, somehow it’s illegitimate.
Assclowns.
So once I cleaned up my avoidance mess (and my dad even called to make sure I’d gotten a hold of R because he was so worried, though I somehow doubt he’d have been worried had his wife not been home poking him to make sure I was okay.)
I was calmer, less paranoid. I read for an hour until my eyelids needed toothpicks to stay open.
Then I slept. I only woke up about four times during the night. It was too cold to get up and do anything, so I just huddled under the blankets with whatever lump of cat was there and listened to Forensic Files running on the desktop.
It’s gloomy today, raining, cold. Lots of lightning, though. Which means fried TVs and money for R, bet he’s giddy as fuck. I slept til 7:30, which is impressive for me. I could have slept til ten or eleven with the kid gone and yet…Scumbag brain and bladder declared it otherwise.
I have three hours before I need to pick Spook up. Much as I needed the break and the quiet, I can’t wait to get her back home. I need her to liven the place up. Maybe because she is such an extroverted happy child I am occasionally infected with her whiff of positive air.
No idea.
But yeah, yesterday was a shit day. I finally get a “me” day, rare for a single mom, and I get attacked by panxiety ninja hamsters and can’t enjoy a bloody minute of me time.
So when asked, “How is your mental shit a disability?”
It fucks up even the good stuff.
And I can’t be honest about being mentally ill because everyone thinks mental illness is a pegacorn figment of the fucking imagination.
How is not a disability to have your every thought distorted, your every effort thwarted, and know how much you to be grateful for but feel utterly weak and defeated every single day?
On an end note…After not eating all night Thursday and all day Friday…Because the appetite has just died down with the Focalin…I knew I had to eat to combat the nausea. So I battled through the paranoid anxiety that if I moved from my chair the world would implode…And I made myself a couple of mushroom swiss burgers.
Such a tiny thing and yet it feels like I climbed the highest mountain just by doing it.
Clown shoes.
Later after I get the spawn home, I am going to introduce her to “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure”.
We could use a laugh.
She may sit still two minutes. But I think the ziggy piggy and waterpark scenes with Napolean will crack her up.
***Forgive all typos and otherwise ass trash mistakes in this post as I was under the influence of Pixie Dust****
***And if you made it to the end of this post…You win your own Pegacornutopia trophy.***
And courtesy of T-shirt Hell:
An Ending
Last dance competition before the summer! So we go to our last local competition today and wait for the recital in May. It’s the dance teacher’s 50th recital, so there will be a lot of hoopla associated with that anniversary. We go to another major competition in July in Biloxi then are through with competitions for the summer. So we will see how things go today.
Toothache Is still here with some moderation due to the painkillers. Tried to eat something solid and my teeth kept tapping together in pain so that was the end of that. I’ll have soup for lunch again and rice for dinner. Ten days before I got back to the dentist to hopefully get it taken care of. I don’t remember ever having a toothache like this before. But the Ultram seems to be working well so far–they told me that antibiotics should help the pain ease down to where I won’t need the painkiller, so I hope that is the case soon.
Oldest comes home today to pick up some boxes to get ready to pack up with and then has to go straight back to take care of some business for classes this afternoon. Wish safe travels for her. We’ll miss having her home this weekend but it’s not long until she’s home for the summer. So it won’t be too bad.
Posted in Read Along
Nailing it
I have something to admit…. I’m a nail-biter. I’ve got a stack of nail files in my bathroom cabinet that never get used.
My poor nails after watching a scary movie…
My poor nails are no sooner peeping over the end of my fingers… then I watch a scary movie, or sit through a boring talk, and all that’s left of them is a jagged mess.
I was reminded about my poor nails this week at work, when I got chatting with a lovely colleague while making a cup of tea.
Looking down, I couldn’t help but notice her lovely long, shiny pink nails wrapped around her tea cup.
Before I could stop myself, I found myself commenting on her beautiful nails – and asking what it took to keep them looking so stunning.
She enlightened me on the world of acrylic nails… and then told me something that suprised me.
Apparently – underneath the shiny exterior of her perfectly shaped pink nails – her real nails were thin and brittle. Years of applying acrylics had left them in a shocking condition. So bad in fact that she now had no choice but to continue forking out money each month for the acrylics.
You may be wondering what nails have to do with bipolar. Well, hang in there – I promise I have a point.
My nail revelation taught me something. You see, there’s times in life when we as mums can be like shiny pink acrylic nails.
We present with a happy face at school pick-up or work… looking, for all the world, like we are perfect mums with perfect lives. But underneath this ‘perfect’ exterior, we can be hiding our true selves: our pain, our brittleness, our troubles.
My challenge – to myself and to you – is to acknowledge that life isn’t always shiny and perfect. To know that life is much more like my poor nails… irregularly shaped, jagged and prone to being decimated during periods of stress.
It’s when we can show our true selves to each other, that we realise that noone has a perfect life. Noone has everything together all of the time. Noone’s life is without its own troubles.
We all have things that we struggle with. Whether that be a mental illness like bipolar – or something else – we should feel free to be honest about what we are going through.
Who knows what’s going on beneath the shiny exterior of those around you?
Mariska xx
Upheaval. Strength. Calm.
Pictures of Leonidas and two memes I made with his pictures. Isn’t he adorable!
I was beside myself! This child of mine, the one who feels too much, the one whose reactions are extreme called me today. He called and said his beloved pet cat had eaten lilies and he had done a search on the internet and had found out that lilies are horribly poisonous for cats. Once a cat ingests them, kidney failure and death follow within 36 hours. My son said he could not take this, he would go into a depression (oh no, oh no, no, no), he would not be able to finish his semester in Law school. He would not be able to stand it. He was blaming himself for buying the flowers for his girlfriend, saying it was all his fault. He was on his way to the veterinary clinic with his little cat. I tried to calm him down, while massive amounts of anxiety suddenly swirled in my chest, so much so that breathing was difficult for me. Oh god, what should I do? How should I get there fast enough to be at my son’s side, to be with him should the unthinkable happen? I immediately booked a flight for tomorrow, getting in at noon. He got to the clinic, the cat was rushed to the back. I called my son and told him our Puffin had had feline infectious peritonitis (a deadly disease which kills the majority of infected cats) there is no cure, but our Puffin survived and lived to be 18.5 years old. I told him cats have nine lives, and his baby boy Leo was young and strong, he would make it through this! I told him to have hope and wait and see what the doctor says. I told him he did not cause the accident, but he may well have saved his Leo’s life by acting so quickly! The vet gave his adored baby Leo some emetics to make him vomit up the lily flowers. That was done. Then they did a blood test to determine the levels of kidney enzymes. If the kidney enzyme levels are elevated, it means that kidney damage has occurred. Thankfully, the levels were normal. So the little kitty was made to vomit up the offending flowers and his kidney enzyme levels were normal! I breathed a sigh of relief. I changed my flight to a later date. I talked to my son again. He was taking the kitty home, he was recovering, as was the cat. The vet actually told him that he saved the cat’s life by bringing him so quickly to the clinic!!! Leo is to go back to get his kidney enzyme levels done again on Monday. That will give him an absolutely clean bill of health. Fingers crossed!
I was at the mall, buying my Derby dress and hat and having a fun time… And all of a sudden… Oh my god, such upheaval. Of course these accidents can happen, but what floors me is his reaction, his saying to me that he wouldn’t survive if something happened to his most beloved Leonidas. I told him that he has to be stronger, things can happen, something may happen to me, to him, we all have to be strong and go on. At this point, he listened to me and said “Yes, you’re right.”
But his emotions, his feelings, his reactions, so extreme.
Are they so extreme, though? If something similar had happened to me at his age, I may well have reacted the same way, felt the same way. My side of the family, all of us are very intense, feel very intensely and our cats, our pets are very dear to us. And it is times like this when we realize exactly how dear and valuable they are.
Our sweet Puffin, at 18.5 years of age had to be put to sleep because she developed lymphoma. And this time, there was no miracle recovery. I held her as she took her last breath, I sang Mozart arias to her because she liked them. I was strong for he. Even my husband couldn’t stay. But I stayed with her. I was strong for her.
It seems I am strong and my strength is there for my son, my husband, my sister, my brother, my niece, my nephew, my aunts, uncle, my cousins, my friends. All the people I love beyond measure. And I will always be there for each and every one of them. No matter what happens. I don’t mean to be maudlin, not at all. I suppose this is just a way for me to reassure myself, that I am strong and I am strong for all my loved ones. Even though, sometimes having bipolar d/o makes me feel weak. I am not weak.
My Dearest Son, I offer you all the strength I have, I promise you I will always be there for you no matter what life brings our way.
Please be calm, be peaceful, be at ease. You too have my strength and you will handle all that life brings your way as well. Remember once you were very young and you were singing and I said “Oh Aral, you got my voice!” And you said “But mom, how will you talk then?” And I told you that even though you got my voice, I still have enough to speak. Just like that, you have my strength and I still have enough to be strong for you and with you. With all my love for you my Aral.
Posted in Read Along
Fear of Loss
Thursday night I saw my psychologist over the disaster that was Tuesday. First I had her listen to the distraught voice recording I made that night. I told her about my son’s recurring gastroenteritis. He’s suffered from migraines with vomiting since… 
