Friday, September 21, 2012
Yesterday, I had four seizures, ate 6 slices of pan pizza, cooked healthy food all day long and then suddenly decided that I did not want any of it. And broke my one sweet a day streak. I was a mega-bi**h online to several people and yelled at some poor customer service rep!! This is not a confession, it is a serious look at someone who is not the tiniest bit in control of herself. This is not a model of someone who has put their trust in God and who tries to embody Christ in all her actions.
So, I found myself sitting on the Porcelain Throne, at 11pm, begging God to help me. I blurted out every place where I failed. I asked God to please just help me, because I was not doing too well on my own. (When do we ever?) Then I got really sleepy, went right to sleep and woke up rested and alert at 2am. I could feel the presence of the Lord, his gentle nudging and his love. He said, "Write. And remember to LEAVE your burdens with me, not just tell me about them and take them with you."
When I was my version of on my knees, I asked God to make me serious about this fight, this journey to lose the overweight person I am carrying around on my back, like a monkey. I also begged him to take the seizures from me, because they are interfering with MY mission to lose weight.
This morning it was abundantly clear that I was trying to latch onto another reason to not succeed at something I started. To create a perfect excuse to eat 3/4 of a pizza and sleep all day. I have been having at least one psychogenic seizure a day for a week now. Yet, I have not missed one day of exercising. I managed to stand in the kitchen and cook healthy food. I logged onto Sparkpeople and recorded what I planned to eat. If the seizures were really standing in my way, I would not have been able to do all those very important pieces of this journey.
So, God in his infinite wisdom may take the seizures now that I realized that they are not preventing anything from happening or he may leave them until I learn to stop stressing out enough to cause them. Because if I am that stressed, I am not trusting in God, I am relying on me. I have 44 years of proof that I am not to be relied on in this area.
I also awoke this morning with the knowledge that I need to take more accountability for myself and my actions and reactions. Every temptation is not imp-inspired. Every obstacle is not Satan trying to thwart me in my goal. Most are just part of living and I and I alone am responsible for how I treat them. This doesn't mean I do not trust in God, it means that I do not use the Enemy as a crutch. I am always saying I am a warrior, well, it is time to not just fight when the battle is desperate but as a warrior to be constantly vigilant against any and all threats to my mission and to avoid them when possible, destroy them if not.
So, I chose to give in yesterday to the pain, frustration, confusion and guilt and eat like I was 15 and would burn it off in 5 mins because I still am never stationary. I chose to let my lack of sleep make me cranky and mean. Nobody made me, Satan didn't whisper slyly in my ear, and my cat didn't tie me to a chair and force the food in. I, Aurora, made poor choices and now have to deal with the results of them.
My humming hymn of the day is going to be "Order My Steps" by Glenn Burleigh and we will just see about giving up when the going gets the least little bit hard. I come from stronger stock than that, and it is high time I act like it.
God pointed me in the right direction. Let's see if I let him lead me or end up on my knees again in a month, begging him to give me more time. The choice, the decision, the steps I take from this moment forward are MY free will. God has ordered my steps, he has answered my prayer.
Friday, September 14, 2012
I know that my blog posts have been a bit of a downer of late, and I apologize heartily for that, but my life has been a bit of a downer lately. And blogging is supposed to deal with exploring our lives through the written word, so...
I come from a long line of warrior women who are also fiercely private about their personal lives. When I came out of the hospital the first time, and was told to continue therapy, I got a lot of "You are going to share your personal thoughts and our family secrets with a stranger?" Well, yeah, because sharing them with you, has gone so well for me, that I now feel I can share with others. Not. They finally adjusted to the idea of therapy last year...? The first conversations took place in 1996, after a suicide attempt, and a five day mandatory vacation at the mental facility of my choice.
Part of the problem, besides the fact that I speak one language and they speak another, is that they seldom hear all of what I say to them. They pick the parts they can deal with and pretend the rest was never said. They will occasionally try to chalk my remembering certain conversations up to my various mental issues. I have spent a great part of my life, just staring at them in wonder, trying to figure out how they could be my Grandmother's children. She heard every word someone said and she would think before she spoke and respond as though she heard every word, not just the ones she liked. Her children, even though, they are all English Majors at one stage or another of their college experiences, do not hear many of the words spoken to them and seem not to understand many others.
A prime example: I said to my aunt on the phone the other day, "I am going to be cutting it close this month, so we need to be careful." we were talking about my finances, she is my payee. "She says okay, make sure you record any purchases you make with the card." I assured her I would and asked her to do the same, so I would know what I was working with at all times. Because in the past she has managed to overdraw my account, which is attached to her Overdraft Protection, then she wanted me to pay her back for the overture, which she caused by not checking my balance before deciding to make a purchase. I put a table on layaway and told her that I would have to make a payment later in the month, she said okay. Then my doctor prescribed a medicine that is not on my formulary and instead of asking me if I could pay six times my copay for the med, she just got it. Then was baffled when I was upset with her. I reminded her of our earlier conversation and she said she didn't think it had to deal with medicines. Huh? There is no other fund for medicine, there is just one fund and six times my copay was not figured into the budget. She was sorry, but finding a way to fix the difference was still my problem and getting me approved for the med, is also my problem. I ended up borrowing money from my father. Then she asks me if I am going to be able to pay her any of the money she says I owe her from when she overdrew my account. About this time, I figure that my family kidnapped me from visiting space aliens.
I have sat down and explained to her several times that I have severe agoraphobia. I gave her information on the condition and we discussed the information. So, seven years later, why am I still having to explain why I can not do something? Well, because words come out of my mouth, but no one listens. I have been practically homebound since the theatre shootings in July, here in Colorado. So, under the best of circumstances going out of my apartment, down to another floor, and turning my back to the door, while standing in front of an open window to do my laundry would be rough. Now, it is not even imaginable.
I haven't done laundry since, the week before the shooting, (yes, I have that many pairs of underwear,lol!). I was going to gather my small reserve of courage and suck it in and do my laundry yesterday, but...
When I was startled awake by some noise outside, I had a seizure, which is known to happen when I am too stressed out. Then I had a fight with my cat, because it was 2am and I wanted to try for more sleep, she wanted me to get up, and it got ugly. I in trying to not harm my beloved furbaby, decided to do my exercises. I put the tape in, am starting to mellow out and my cat comes over and lies down right under where I need to put my foot and will not move. I pushed her back a little and went on, she moved back, and when I didn't stop working out to pet her, she attacked my foot and split it open. (I worked in the medical field for 20 years and can handle severed limbs without breaking a sweat, let me see my own blood going anywhere but into a lab tube and I get dizzy and pass out.) I looked down at my foot and saw little bubbles of blood beginning to escape from the slice. The room spun and everything went gray. I managed to call my mother and she started my way. While waiting, I had another seizure, passed out and was coming to, when my mother comes in and starts yelling at my cat. The cat came flying to me for protection. My mother came after her, she thought I was in danger so she swung at my mother. Who got angrier. I started to go out again, so I told my cat to go under the futon and stay there, then I passed out. I came to, to my mother bandaging my foot and my cat fussing from under the safety of the futon. My mother finally went home, still fussing about how if my cat hurts me she is going to make the cat disappear. I got my cat settled down, then I limped into the kitchen to clean up from chili making night. This is all before 11am. My aunt called to see if I still needed my books picked up from the library. I told her yes, please and asked what time she was coming.
She got this tone in her voice, "Why?" she asked in suspicion.
"I just wanted to know, if you would run through the drive through before you come, you drive past several, something from any one would be alright."
"You don't have food there you can cook?"
"I have chili, which gave me heartburn last night, and I do not want anymore yet. Other than that no."
"It must be nice to decide that you do not feel like eating the food you have and just have other food brought to you." Heavy sigh. "Where do you want it from?"
"Good Times, please."
"You get the #2, right?"
"I should be there in about an hour or so, since you can not eat something there."
At this point, I told her about my morning and how I was still dizzy and felt off from the seizures and my foot hurt.
"Oh. Well, like I said, in about an hour." Then she said goodbye and hung up.
She arrived in about an hour with food for me and food for her, that she bought with my card. I usually do not mind and I do not ask for the money back because she did bring me food. However, I am running short this month. She knows this and was offended that I didn't say she didn't have to pay me back. The only reason I can afford the burger in the first place is because the way I fixed the problem, was to borrow money from my father, which my aunt doesn't know. While we are eating, she asks me why I haven't done my laundry. I remind her of the morning I had. When we are done eating I went to stand up and almost went out again. She has to help me to bed, then asks me why I am still wearing the same pajamas from the other night when she was over. I remind her of my laundry situation. She tells me she doesn't have time to help and runs down a list of the things she already has to do for me, which I didn't even ask about or ask her to do the laundry. Then she leaves. I escape into sleep.
When I wake up, the things I did ask her to do before she left, are not done. I just shake my head and go on with my afternoon.
Now, this morning I have a doctor's appointment. I have been up since 2 in the morning trying to convince myself I can do this. My stomach is upset. My hands are shaking and my neck and shoulders are hard enough to break diamonds on. And I know that the doctor's office will get why I do not want to come in. However, my aunt, will fuss at me. So, here I sit, getting more and more tense, my mouth going dry, my breathing labored and my heart racing, trying to decide which one will be less traumatic: going out to the doctor for a routine med check or dealing with my aunt. I will let you decide which one you think is going to be more stressful.
Sorry for the rant. But words come out of my mouth....I really wonder if anyone listens.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Yesterday, started off as a pretty good day, even though my baby got me up at 2am and wanted to play. Then it went downhill, quickly. First we had a fight about Mommy having the right to go back to bed, especially when the furry, little terrorist is napping on the sofa within five minutes of waking me up, by sitting on me and cutting off my air!! Then when I couldn't go back to sleep, I realized that I really wanted to exercise, so I got my tape out, put it in, and chair danced. When I went to stand up my entire left side, spasmed so hard it dropped me back into my chair. I did some stretches, gritting through the pain and went on with cleaning the kitchen and fixing my breakfast. I got involved with trying to straighten out a problem with my computer and fix some layaway issues, and ate everything on my plate, which was way past full. Then I did research on Chemically-Induced Cardiac Stress Tests, my doctor had scheduled one. Well, it turned out that I am on 3 meds that are counterindicated for the drugs they use during the test, there is a good chance Medicare will not cover the test with the diagnosis that the doctor used, and my therapist thinks my current stress level and a stress test are a bad mix. I tried explaining all of this to my aunt, who is my POA and "caregiver" and she uh-huhs and agrees with me than gives me the numbers to call. Well, I do not do well talking to people on the phone, it is a big stressor for me. But she wasn't going to do it and the test was scheduled for this morning. So, I called, it turned into a big deal. When I got off the phone I was shaking.
I looked around me at the mess the house is in, I am waiting to be approved for a professional caregiver, who would clean the house and do my laundry, my dirty clothes have taken over my closet and the floors need to be vacuumed really bad. I went to write, but couldn't, then I went to play games and my computer kept getting hung up. So, I threw up my hands in defeat and went and had a bowl of chili on chips with avocado cream, in rebellion. It wasn't even 10am yet. I spent the rest of the day in a funk, resigned to the fact that I am always going to be really fat, I will never again just leave and go places like regular people do and it would never change because the person who is supposed to be helping me, forgets to send in paperwork and I keep getting disapproved for things. So I went and got in the bed, pulled the covers over my head and stayed there. When I am asleep, I don't care about all of these things.
Today, I got up at 3am, did my exercise and fought horrible heartburn from yesterday's chili episode, realized that my left side still hurts. I took my blood pressure and it was 164/110, which is nowhere in the realm of good. True, I haven't taken my medicine yet, you know the one, I swore I would not start taking, well I did and it might make the blood pressure come down, but it might not. I still cannot tell if I am losing or gaining and I was suddenly terrified, that I am going to die before the day is out, because I do not feel good. I am still terrified, if I allow myself to stop long enough to think about anything.
Tomorrow, well, for the first time the thought is entering my head, that if I do not get my weight and blood pressure under control and keep them there, there are no tomorrows. Who would take care of my special needs cat, who would not survive going back to a pound? How will my parents be okay if I go from stupid reasons like this, years before I have to, and before my father and I can see each other again. We just found one another about 4 years ago, we haven't had a face-to-face conversation since my third birthday. He is wheel-chaired bound and I am agoraphobic, so it has been something we dream about but has not happened yet. How will the world get to read my stories or sing my songs? I realized that I really am not ready to die. And I realized that I really might, if things do not change. I really want tomorrows.
Monday, September 03, 2012
I had an all the way down, full-out nervous breakdown in late 2004. I stopped talking, couldnít dress myself, had to be led to the shower, had to be fed, I completely checked out. This happened as a result of the current stress in my life, (my boss was from the lower levels of Hell!!); I suddenly recalled, in detail that stole my breath, 14+ years of sexual, physical and mental torture. Then for icing on this horrible cake, I remembered belonging to a Satanic Ritualistic Coven, You know the kind that supposedly donít exist!! I did this without being in therapy, on my own. To say it rocked my world is the biggest understatement I can imagine. I bravely motored through a whole year like this.
Then one weekend in October it all seemed to huge to bare anymore and I tried for the 15th time to end my life. So, my coworkers and boss, saw me at work on Friday and I was fine, they got a call on Sunday night from my aunt, that I was in the mental facility on a 72 hr hold. I almost died this time. I stopped breathing and had to be resuscitated. I went back to work on Thursday of the following week and picked up where I left off. Then my boss decided on the following Monday, that she wanted a medical clearance letter, stating that I wasnít a danger to anyone. I had been working for three days without it and was more than doing my job, as always. This would go in my permanent record, I would have a hard time getting a job anywhere or moving up there. She did this because her boss had been trying to talk me into taking her job, since I was already doing it. I got very angry, to put it mildly, reminded her that I had been back to work for three days already and was doing fine and that this would ruin my work record. She threatened to have me escorted from the premises if I didnít get the letter.
All of the sudden, I knew if I looked up and across her desk at her, I would choke her, until there was no life left in her. The knowledge scared me, I am not a violent person, I am always polite, and I do not raise my voice let alone my hands. It took me a long time to get that way and I prided myself on it. So, with my head still down, I said in a somewhat menacing whisper, ďGet out!! Now!!Ē She left her own office to get away from me. That was it. I had scared someone into fleeing their own office, just by the sound of my voice. I started to sob, crying is much too mild a word for what was coming out of me. A friend, took me past her, covering my eyes and led me to my car. I do not remember the drive home, but I remember walking into the kitchen and just grabbing my aunt and holding on for dear life. It felt like if I let go, I would implode and die. It took my mother and aunt, 4 Ĺ hours to get me calm enough to go to see the therapist I had quit seeing a year and a half ago. By the time we got to her office, I was nonresponsive. My mother knew how I felt about going back to the hospital, so she took care of me at home. About a month later, I spoke a full sentence. By February of the following year, I could be trusted to eat, bathe, and dress appropriately. I moved here in March of that year, and began the fight for benefits. It took me 5 Ĺ years to get approved and it was another couple of months before the amount was right.
Somewhere during that fight, I got angry. I was angry that the fight had to happen. Angry that the statute of limitations had expired on the crimes committed against me by a few months and that the sexual predator who had killed children would remain free. And I was angry that no one seemed to think that was a bad thing. So, I started my own nonprofit organization. My organization was an online resource for adult survivors of child sexual abuse. I built the website. I read books in coding so I could do it. I got incorporated. I even tried for a grant or two. However, my board was not really on board and the amount of work required to keep it going was starting to become a new stressor in my life. I took on the Big Guys of the World, organizations like NAMBLA (North American Man Boy Love Association) and The False Memory Recovery Syndrome Foundation. I talked at church in front of others about the cause. I researched like a fiend. My organization replaced alcohol for me and it made me feel like I was doing something so that other children would not have the horrible childhood I had had, so that other mothers wouldnít wake up to find one day, that their children had been living in Hell without their knowledge. And slowly, it started to make me sicker emotionally and mentally. So, first I tried cutting down the scope of the organization and leaving the Big Guys for organizations like RAINN, I focused on helping the individual and sending letters to newspapers, tv stations, radio stations and Congress, to raise awareness.
I woke up about three months ago, and in a distinct voice, God told me, that the time had come to let it go. Constantly living in the past because so many parts of the life I had rebuilt were centered around the huge thing in my past. It was time to stop joining every group for survivors I came across. Time to stop losing sleep and money helping strangers, who turned out to be lying, more often than not. Time to start working on a future where Writer and Lyricist were the words I used to define myself, instead of Incest Survivor and Advocate. He let me see that other people were made in a way that they could still exist whole and separate while working in the field, but it consumed me until it was all I was.
I closed down the Facebook page for the org. a couple of weeks ago and I have felt lost and adrift since then. However, today, I stopped the website from being a paid site, it will eventually fade away into obscurity and become outdated. Someone might be helped by it, but I can not help them personally. I know that I wish I could. But my approach to things like illness and sorrow is to give everything in helping the person and leave nothing for me, eventually you dry up and blow away. I was close to burn out in the medical field when the recall happened because I spent almost every waking moment at the clinic I worked at. The patients were my life and I had nothing and no one really outside of the clinic.
I donít want to binge, which means, possibly that I am not stressed out over the end of this path in my journey. I donít want to eat at all, which could mean I am depressed, but I do not feel depressed. I feel lost and without purpose or cause. My sense of time has been off all day, slowed down so much so, that it feels as though it should be hours earlier than it is. There is no excitement that now, I have severed my last tie to that world or that I will be able to devote all my time to writing and getting published. Or to losing the weight I need to. There is not even sorrow, which is what I expected to feel. I do not know what to call this feeling. I do not know when it will change and others will come or if it will change. For six long, hard years, that organization was all I thought about, dreamed about, woke up for, maybe even lived for. There is not even guilt that I am leaving the monster who hurt me out there. I know logically that I have done everything I can and now it is up to God to stop him, so I feel no guilt or responsibility for stopping him.
Maybe this feeling is hope that I get to live MY life now, instead of the one my family wanted me to live, or the one that I pretended to live, or the one I have been living for the last six years. No more being up to my ears in tragic tale after tragic tale. No more hate mail. No more having to hide out from pedophiles in this area. And no real reason to hold onto all that junk from the past. Maybe it is freedom I am feeling, I have never felt free before, maybe this is how it feels.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
However, I am doing well with my Sweet Streak. It is becoming second nature that I only get to have a treat once a day and to seriously think about when I want that once to be. There was even a day when there was not treat, I forgot. So, overall, I think this one is getting hit out of the park. I do not want to get cocky or to brag, but it just feels so good that something I thought was going to be so hard, is not all that hard now that I am doing it. Just like the exercise is not that hard to get myself to do, now that I have started. It feels so good to know I am doing things that will help me have a better quality of life, everyday, as a part of my day. It feels like I finally made it across the valley and I am starting to climb the mountain and at the top of the mountain is a normal weight and good health and less stress!!
Get An Email Alert Each Time ROROSWORLD Posts