Month: December 2015

So Christmas largely left me alone. The clusters and friends were more or less manageable while Brian was here. There were a couple of glitches, but it was ok because he had to deal with work issues at the same time. It was a lose-lose situation. We wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyway.

Now we come to NYE2015. I didn’t have any plans. My friends hadn’t gotten back to me, so I assume they were at the club spinning. I can’t deal with that because of the lights and noise. They call it deep house disco and rare groove disco. I call it noise.

The cats had been following me all morning. The jumped onto my shoulders. They followed me around. They sat on top of me the second I sat on the couch. I should’ve known something was wrong. I really should’ve know something was wrong when I didn’t get the 2:30 and 4:15am wake-up calls. Then it hit me, the 11:30 Express. They just kept getting worse after that hitting about every two hours. Meds really didn’t do anything, but I kept taking them anyway. At least they took the edge off or they forced me to sleep. My entire day, though, was shot.

As I look back on 2015, it was tragic. For the first half of the year, I was hospitalized 4 times because of the clusters. In July, I was forced to move to Phoenix to get at least some relief and control back to my life from the clusters. I even put a physical face to the clusters, a battle scar. I really can’t return to the Midwest because it’s a one-way trip to the hospital after spending just two days or so. My parents don’t believe me or buy it I don’t think, but there really isn’t anything I can do about that. At least I made it six months between my most recent hospital visit and the one before that. That’s encouraging.

Living out here is different. I love it out here. It’s sunny and warm and there’s no snow. I am not couch bound like I would be in Chicago, but today really reminded me of what my life in Chicago was. I function much better out here.

So, as Quetzalcoatl circles the globe eating the dying embers of a year gone by, I hope the flames he leaves in his wake bring a bright, sunny relatively pain-free future to us all.

Goodbye 2015 and Welcome 2016-Let’s see what’s in Pandora’s Box

Before I even get started, let me say that I AM NOT suicidal. I do not have a plan, nor would I inflict such horror on my family, let alone myself.

I really don’t know how to put this other than I’m pissed off. I hate the face that Dr. Urban was right. The fucking headaches have followed me here. They’ve set up shop and at least one of the really fucks me over daily. I’m tired of being a pin cushion. I have better things to do than give myself shots of painkillers every day. I’d love it if I had painkillers that actually worked. I just shot Norflex on top of Soma and as long as I’m still, I’m OK. Clusters don’t want to fucking be still! I’m going to have to take Thorazine on top of it just to try to kill the rest of it.

I have to admit, I am better off here than I was in Chicago. Generally, I’m happy here. I love the weather, when I can get out and enjoy it. I hate the Midwest. I know it wasn’t in Brian’s plans to pick up and move 4 billion miles away from his family and a job he likes. I really do have the best husband on the face of the planet. I still feel really badly that we have to make the move just because I have a headache. Yes, I realize it’s not just a headache. I have at least 3 different kinds that make me absolutely miserable. We’ll make it work. That won’t be a problem.

I’m just tired of this every fucking day. Every day is the same thing. I have a good morning and then wait to see what the afternoon is going to do. I’m afraid of the 13:30 and the 15:30 especially. It sucks knowing that your day will end at a specific time depending on how your head is going to react. I’m just tired of it. I want to be able to do more things again. I do a lot more things here than I was able to do in Chicago, but I have no semblance of a normal life. My life consists of walking to Target every other day to get drugs. That’s pretty fucked up for a 46 yo. I’d like to be able to express myself again without brain fog getting in the way. Perhaps I could remember a date or two without having to put them on the calendar? Is that really too much to ask?

Is is too much to ask for these fucking pharma companies to get their heads out of their asses and develop some real drugs to help us? Mine are at their limits and barely contain my headaches. It really just sucks. I’m really two steps away from going back onto opiates. At least I didn’t care that I had a headache. This just sucks, but it’s only a headache.

I have no idea what the fuck has happened to today. It started with a bit of a headache when I woke up. I actually slept a couple of hours last night. Brian and I went down to breakfast and had another lovely meal here at the hotel. It’s historic and maybe a little campy, but it’s cute. The rooms are small and cramped though. I haven’t really taken a shower or anything bc it’s just too small, but I digress, again.

shortly after Brian went up for his after breakfast nap, because his snoring ass didn’t sleep well enough last night, I got a really bad cluster that invaded the entire right side of my head. Then, as if the cluster weren’t bad enough, a massive panic attack hit. I don’t get many of them, but this one was severe. All I had with me was Thorazine or Frova. Neither are tranqs, but at least Thorazine might make me tired.

I was overheating. I didn’t want to be around anyone else. I went outside for a little while for the rapid cool down, but it didn’t help. I’ve stayed in the lobby while he sleeps playing my video games to try to keep myself calm in the meantime. I’m trying to avoid contact with others by holing myself up, but I really just want a warm, dark little whole to hide in and cry, or something. I’m frightened and I don’t know whether or not I want to go home.  We have dinner reservations this evening, so I’m either going to spend the entire day wasted and then eat dinner and call it quits or idk.

Brian’s going to want to do something, but I’m hoping that he recognizes that something is wrong.

Christians talk about the peace that surpasses all understanding. What is that worth if it cannot be understood?  It’s simply another matter of human weakness or human frailty that we need to be led around like so many sheep or cattle by someone or something that knows better than we will ever know. If I, as a human, am incapable of knowing or understanding this peace, I am already lost and can never know my way or my place in the Universe. I either lack the intellectual capacity to understand or I’ve spent the last 75 years flopping around on the floor like a fish out of water all to the amusement of a god that doesn’t exist.

As my husband and I walked through the desert botanical gardens last night, I knew who I was. I understood my role in the Cosmic scheme. I looked deep into the night and into the plants and magic of what is Mother Nature and the Universe and understood my place. I come from the Cosmos and to the Cosmos I will return. I am a child of the universe. My matter will be expended here, but my energy will not. It will continue on to a new adventure, maybe not soon, but when the time is right, I will return to the natural world again and will recognize those who were near and dear to me before.

On the trail last night, there was a certain place that I really wanted to stop and sit down. I wanted to be still. There was a circle of pulsating ceramic jars with ‘cosmic blue ice’ in each jar. It was absolutely magical. I lingered there just looking around me as Brian walked on down the trail. It was just me and no one else. My vision was completely distorted by the jars, but I was completely at peace. For a few moments, I didn’t want to move. The earth was still. The universe was still and I was at perfect peace with everyone and everything around me. I knew where I was. I knew my place in the space-time continuum. I was exactly where I needed to be. I am on the right path to my own self realization or self discovery with the people I need by my side; those I love who travel parts of this path with me.

One of my Christian friends remarked that she was sorry for me that I would never feel or be able to accept god’s perfect love. I politely assured her not to be sorry. As a Humanist, I am at peace with who I have become. I am not bound by their archaic rules. I asked her to read the ancient myths. They’re all the same. There’s nothing new in Christianity. It’s a religion of borrowed stories. She won’t. She’s blind to the truth. I also explained to her that their gods, angels, demons, intercessors do exist. They’re just not where she thinks they are. They’re here. They have been all along. The concepts of Good and Evil run on a continuum. There is truly evil and absolute good, but most things fall within the shades of grey in between. That’s where the angels, demons and intercessors play. They’re fulfilling a role assigned to them by Nature.

You’ve heard of old souls. Watch for them. Look for the Watchers, the Nephalim that the Abrahamic God tried to destroy; a cover up. They are the sons and daughters of angel/demon/human hybrids tired of the ‘Eternal Conflict’ wanting nothing more than to live in peace. They keep the peace. Look behind people’s eyes and see their angelic or demonic forms. It bubbles just below the surface. Sometimes, you have to deal with both to save innocents. Who do you keep? Who do you throw away to save the rest? How much of your essence or soul is lost in the process?

Your God, Allah, Yahweh or Dios is no longer here. All that are left are its minders. It’s gone off to some other glowing orb in the infinite number of infinite galaxies and planets to create another mess that it cannot, or will not engage or control. It has no will. It has no soul. It simply is. It’s a force of both creation and destruction. Even adding the Eastern Religions, it’s an absolutely boorish claim that should Lord Shiva the Creator (God) or Lord Shiva the Destroyer (Satan) are the one true and only gods. Within Christianity alone, there are 40,000 different aspects of god and each little sect believes that their interpretation is the true word of god. It’s a ridulous supposition that in all of these multiple galaxies that our little planet is the only on which some creator ‘god’ has decided to create a game of life. It’s absurd really.

I know my place in the Universe and accept it readily. The Universe is vast and infinite. It is the cradle of all life. It is the force of all creation. Our sun is but one of billions of suns that has been worshipped throughout time because it brings us light, heat and warmth. One day, just like mine, its cycle will come to a glorious end and its matter and energy will spread across the Cosmos for all to share.

I come from the Void from which all souls (life energy) originates. Once this cycle is over, I’ll return to the Void to await an other cycle, or should my energy be as old as people tell me, I’ll just hang out in the vastness of space for awhile before rejoining humanity.

Dr. Dragonfly has asked me twice now to step into a scene of my life, not as an observer, but as an active participant. The first scenario was as a baby being held in Nydia’s arms in the Construct. The second was this past Monday. I was asked to step into the scene where my father was beating me for bleeding on the pillow. I was unable to step into the Construct at the time. I could not interact with a baby me and an adult me in the same time and place. (Temporal flux) Now I can.

As I sit and watch the baby me being held by Nydia, the love, warmth and caring is obvious. You can tell the she loves you absolutely and you are loved, wanted and cared for. You are loved unconditionally. I can also tell by how I interact with the rest of the family that I am a part of them, an integral part of them. If I need something, one of them will see to it. There are no questions, I am loved, wanted and adored. I will have all of the support I’ll ever need. [The grey fog of adoption starts to creep into the Construct] The present me stands in the face of the creeping adoption. I lift my hand to halt it as best I can and I tell the baby me to hold on to Nydia as hard as I can and to never, ever let go. You will have a wonderful life as part of her and her family. This grey fog will never touch you. I promise. The adult me steps into the fog, breathes it all in and is destroyed in the process, leaving baby me to live a life free from abuses.

As I lay bleeding on the pillow and being pummeled on the pillow, I have only two thoughts, escape and hide. Eventually, I’m able to wiggle out from under my father, but the stairs are blocked by the adult me. I (adult) sit the boy down and explain who I am. Of course he thinks it’s cool. It’s something out of a SciFi movie. I tell him to get behind me and stay behind me. The child me grabs ahold of one of my legs and stays behind me. My gaze fixates on my dumbfounded parents.

I have to say, flatly-coldly, that you have to be two of the worst parents. You (father) take your frustrations out on a young boy who isn’t even 1/3 of your weight, or his mother, or both of them. You are a monster. I would love to know what exactly turned you into the raving asshole that you are today, but at this point, I don’t really give a fuck. And you (Mother) You had one job that you failed miserably. Your one job was to protect me. I am only 5-8. I cannot fight off an adult. I cannot fight off a school of kids. I cannot fight you off when you’re frustrated. I am defenseless. Your only job was to protect me. You failed spectacularly. I’m not safe at school. I’ve told you that many times. You never once went because I’m not the problem child. I’m obviously no safe at home. You see that on a daily basis, but don’t intervene. I’m not safe at church, now that I’m starting to understand some of the dogma and it’s confusing to me. Telling me that something is in ‘god’s hands’ means nothing to an 8 year old.

What I don’t understand is why you adopted me in the first place. Was it to keep up that ‘xtian façade’ of the nuclear family? Was it because you wanted to be like everyone else and have 2 kids but one or both of you were sterile? (I never have gotten a straight answer on that.) You could always adopt pets. They’re easier to take care of. Dad, especially, did you want to have some little clone and realize on day that I wasn’t going to be that clone, so you decided that maybe you could beat me into submission? Was it easier to beat me because I’m not your natural child anyway? Did you need a good scapegoat to blame on your own failures? Why me and not my brother? He was a hot mess and was never in any danger. Things are just going to get worse from this point on for this poor kid, so I’m taking him with me. I’m taking him to the Construct where he will be loved unconditionally, adored, cared for and most of all, wanted.

I turned around and took the frightened child in my arms. My dad started towards me, but he didn’t get very far before he was back in his chair. I bid them a final farewell and poof, we were off to the Construct.

 

It’s taken me a little time to get around to writing this one. Monday, we picked back up on the general topic, my abusive father. Dr. Dragonfly asked me about the Carrie 2/Firestarter visual and how it felt and how my body felt about it. Almost out of shame, I said that it felt wonderful (because I had power) but that I shouldn’t feel that way because of how destructive it was. She redirected me to the fact that it was imagination, an image of power for your mind, body and nervous system(s). It was then time to move away from the mummy and frankenstein and go on to the next memory.

Tell me about the time when you had the nosebleed. (Ugh, I thought.) It was a Monday night (MASH was on and it came on Monday). I constantly had nosebleeds as a child. I had them so often that I didn’t even feel them when they came on. So, I’m sitting there on the floor watching the program when BAM! All of a sudden my dad’s right on top of me, beating the shit out of me with his fists. I’m squarely under him and I’m having a lot of trouble squirming out. I had absolutely no idea what had just happened. I was watching a TV show and now I’m a punching bag. My 8 year old brain is trying to make some sense of it. Finally, “You’re bleeding all over your mother’s goddamned pillow. You’re nose is bleeding and you’re bleeding all over the pillow. Don’t you even have enough sense to go to the bathroom and get some toilet paper or kleenex to get rid of the nosebleed. See, you’ve ruined her pillow because you’re too damned stupid to get up and take care of it yourself.” I’m still trying to squirm out from under him. “Jim, leave him be. It’s just a pillow. I can throw it in the wash. Stop hitting him. You’re hurting him.” (More squirming-almost free) “There you go again. Making excuses for them. They’ll never learn anything with you around.” And with that little distraction, I was free. (Mind you, this little incident went on for about a 1/2 hour) I ran upstairs to my bedroom. Closed the door. Grabbed some tissues and a blanket and scooted under the bed rolled up in a little ball, sobbing heavily. Eventually, I fell asleep. I don’t remember whether or not I woke up on or under my bed the next morning.

‘How did that make you feel?’ Powerless and helpless, again. There was no way out. ‘If you could’ve done anything to him that you wanted to get him off of you and away from you to where he couldn’t harm you again, what would you do?’ This one took a little more thought. [I really don’t like these ‘power machinations.’ They’re kind of fun and disturbing at the same time]. After a couple of minutes I said that I’d push him onto the ceiling fan where he’d do a few rotations and then launch him through the bay window. He’d fly to the apple trees. An apple tree would catch him and slowly suck him into its roots. He would go from root to root until he went from apple tree to corn field to the huge old oak tree at the corner. Once he was in the oak tree, it would regurgitate him up through its systems until he was tangled in the tallest branches never to be released again. ‘Wow! That’s a pretty powerful image. How does it make you feel?’ Relieved.

‘Now, we know that you’re not safe at home. You’re not safe at school and you’re not safe at church. Looking at the home and school part, especially in this last encounter, where was your mom?’ I’m sorry. I don’t understand the question. We know that your dad is a monster who basically hurts you for fun or pleasure or some other equally disgusting purpose. Since you can remember, which would be this 5-8/9 y/o time period, where was your mother? ‘Oh.’ Curveball.

My mother was yelling at my father not to beat me. Then I’d get beaten even harder. He’d tell her “Woman, stay out of this. I’ll discipline the child. [My brother went largely ignored at great cost to them later.]” Or alternately, he’d beat my mother and then return to me. Either way I was fucked and I guess I’d rather he beat me than my mother. She’d sit there and scream at him. He’d scream at her and pummel me on autopilot until I was able to get away.

Looking back, at times she would take her frustrations with my father out on me too, but to a much lesser extent. She would beat me for a little while and realize what was happening. A guilty, remorseful, frightened look would come over her face and she would blame it on my father. She was taking out her frustrations on me. My mother wasn’t anywhere. I was completely unprotected and defenseless unless my grandparents (on my father’s side) were around. They didn’t let anything happen to me.

I was, and still am, absolutely unprepared to deal with this new reality. I always say my mother as a protector role. I understood that she excused my father’s behaviors from time to time with platitudes and bullshit, but she did try to protect me. As the boxes open, the body is able to feel each situation and release its energy. The mind also clues into what the body feels and is able to grasp the driving emotions from so many years ago. It is hard to deal with. These two particular events alone speak volumes.

For the mummy/frankenstein, Mrs. Reed came to the house. She gave me my classmates cards and told me that everyone hoped I’d be back soon because they missed me. She sat in the kitchen my mom and dad and talked about whatever was going to happen when I returned. I was not part of that conversation. My return was eventually a nightmare. I said something to dad, I got beaten because I wasn’t tough enough. I said something to mom and I got, ‘it’s ok honey. They’ll get used to it.’ They have to get used to me? I’m the injured party through no fault of my own. It wasn’t even really an accident. It was dad’s stupidity, but they have to get used to me? I’m supposed to tolerate the offensive things the do and say, that Mrs. Reed now sweeps under the rug, until they get used to me? Fuck you! It was a horrible experience. The least you could’ve done was go to school and talked to Mrs. Reed about what was going on. I know life isn’t fair, but it’s not a lesson that I needed to internalize at 6. Someone comes in with a cast and everyone thinks it’s cool and wants to sign it. I come in with a serious, life threatening accident and I’m a social pariah. Fuck you! You knew then what kind of a “man” dad was. Why didn’t you divorce his ass? I know…to keep the good “xtian family appearance and people just didn’t do that back then.” Both are lovely excuses that express you lack of willpower. I’m fairly certain it’s just going to get worse from here. I can’t wait until my brother is mixed into the equation.

Fuck you, Jesus Christ and the Horse you rode in on!

 

 

When I write these, understand that I typically leave off the ‘follow the lights with your eyes and check in with your body. How does it feel? Where does it feel the sensation?

This week at Dr. Dragonfly’s, we went back to our normal topic. The session before I went back to Chicago was really a waste. I went back to the little six year old boy that had been bounced out of the back of his father’s truck because he was driving too fast, but it was my fault bc I was standing up. (I wasn’t-I just didn’t weigh anything.) This time, though, it centered on going back to school.

If I remember right, Mrs. Reed, my first grade teacher, came over to the house and gave me all of the nice cards my classmates were forced to write. While I was reading them, she talked to my parents about my return to the classroom. I was not part of this conversation and had no idea what they were talking about. I was busy reading the cards.

The next day, I went to school. I was greeted with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity in equal measures. Mrs. Reed did reintroduce me so that the class would settle down a little bit. She told them what had happened and that I was in bandages because of an unfortunate accident. That kind of calmed the situation a little bit, but you know how elementary kids are, they’re cruel. They just stared at me. By recess, I was ‘the mummy.’ Mrs. Reed tried to redirect them, but being different in elementary school is absolutely not a good thing.

I was ‘the mummy’ for a good week or two. The other kids were content with that. I didn’t much like it, but if it kept the peace…Eventually, a shift occurred. Someone got it into their tiny brain that they could catch whatever I had, so they spread a rumor and all of a sudden 3/4th of the class didn’t want to be anywhere around me. Mind you, we’re talking about 22 kids. Mrs. Reed tried to tell them, but it didn’t work. Elementary kids are cruel.

That lasted for a couple of weeks. I’d go home crying every day. It was a horrible experience and all I wanted was for my mom to say that it would be ok and that she’d go talk to the teacher. All I ever got was the it will be ok and don’t let the other kids get to you so much. I’m six and can count the number of people who want to be around me on one hand. I wanted to be protected. My dad was even better. Are you crying again because kids don’t like you  at school? You’re there to learn, not make friends. Stop crying before I beat you with my belt. That was helpful too. I’m not protected at home and I’m not protected at school. I’m six; I’m on my own; I’m absolutely powerless.

A couple of months, or so, later, the gauze had to come off. Once the gauze came off, you could see all 276 stitches. We had to put an antibiotic ointment on them two times a day. It made them nice, shiny and visible from the ISS. I went from being ‘the mummy’ to ‘frankenstein.’ I had to admit, I liked the mummy better. That was really horrible. There were all sorts of nasty jokes and comments outside the teacher’s hearing. No one, even my friends, wanted to be around me then. It was grotesque. Even after the stitches were out, I still had to put the ointment on for a few weeks to allow the sites to heal. It was just a horrific experience for me all the way around with no help, guidance or just anyone, other than Mrs. Reed to say that it would be ok. The other problem with that too was that since no one would interact with me, the only other person left was Mrs. Reed, so not only was I a mummy and frankenstein, but I was also teacher’s pet. (As if I had a choice)

Dr. Dragonfly asks me, “What do you want to do to them. If you had the power, what would you want to do to them to make the fucking suffer like they have you?” (I love her. She swears with me.) I’m six! I don’t have any power. She said remember what you did with your dad when you kicked him through the window/wall and all the way into the fresh cow poo pasture with the crazy bull? Imagine what you want to do to all of these people who at the age of six have already impacted your life. It has to come from inside you. You have to take the power. It can’t come from me.”

This one didn’t take me a lot of though. After watching the little lights go back and forth and feeling the vibrations in my hands, I looked at her with that cold, evil laugh I sometime get and said, I know exactly what I want to do to them.

You know the movie ‘Carrie,’ right? I’m going for ‘Carrie 2.’ CD are much more lethal that LPs and 45s. Every year Kindergarten and 6th Grade graduation are held in the gym. All students have to attend and most of their parents do as well. There wouldn’t be any blood on me, but I’d make sure that there were more than enough CDs to fill half of the stage. During the middle of the ceremony, once the 6th graders have all sat down, I’d force the doors closed to the entire gym and stage entrances. Then I’d walk to the center of the stupid gopher in the middle of the gym and yell ‘Fuck all of you!” in a voice that would be similar to a stun grenade. I would raise my arms and CDs would go flying everywhere. (There would be shields around the 4 or so kids I liked.) I would them release a second volley of CDs. I’d look up at the lights, break the bulbs and turn them into flamethrowers as I exited the gym.

Once I exited the gym, I’d walk about 3 blocks up to main street and obliterate the three churches that exist. As I passed the intersection, the gas station would blow. Once I got to the blinky light, the other two gas stations would blow. I would then magically transport myself to the other town in the district. All of the high school doors would also be locked. The florescent lights would be set to bake. The gas station, of course, would blow. Two of the three churches would go. The last is my home church. It’s congregants and preacher would be magically transported to the site, but unable to do anything as they watched their precious church very slowly turn to ash.

Excellent! She said.

 

So, I haven’t babbled much bc I was in Chicago in the hospital dealing with the clusters and everything. I believe I posted at least one incident from my stay. Later, we had our last Thanksgiving in our house since Brian and I will be officially moving to Phoenix next year (unless, of course they all decide to come to Phoenix, but I don’t see that happening either.) The next two days were me wishing for Saturday to come. Saturday came and I packed up the cats and some warmer clothes and made my way back to Phoenix (home). I was so happy to see the sun. I only saw the sun twice while I was in Chicago. It was so gloomy and grey and dark. I really saw why I hated being there in fall and winter. It’s completely dark by 16:00h. It’s depressing. Now the children and I are back and we’re happy to be home, even if it is a little smaller.