Here and Now

Last Friday was the last day of summer school, and I really didn't think that Sam would work on his blog outside of school, although I hoped that he would. Yesterday, I stopped by his site out of curiosity, and was so thrilled to see a new post on wildebeests! When I worked out the task analysis on how to post a blog, it came out to eighteen steps that he had to follow, including opening a new tab for photobucket , finding a picture, and copying and pasting the HTML code into his post. By the end of summer school, he could remember everything without having to look at his instruction sheet. I'm so excited that he is able to do it on his own, and that he has acquired a new leisure activity that he can also do at home.

My mom is in town from Florida to help me organize my life, and I am so grateful. This fog of depression that I have been living under left me with little motivation or energy for much beyond going to work, and the necessities of daily living. I was too overwhelmed to even begin to tackle the mess that my house had become, and now that summer school is finished, with my mom's help, I can start digging myself out from under all of the rubble. I can feel my medication slowly beginning to kick back in, and hope is reappearing. We have been busy cleaning today, and having my mom nearby has been very calming. Sometimes it is only a mother who can make everything feel better, and I know how lucky I am to have her love and patience.

This summer my oldest son, Christian, is staying with his grandpa and uncle in Florida. I sure do miss him! He will be working his first job and bonding with men, while my mom comes here to help me paint and organize my house. Since I started working full time five years ago, keeping up with four boys and also keeping up with house maintenance has been difficult. Of course, I also have to mention that therapy and blogging take up a large portion of my time! Anyway, thought I would share a poem that I wrote this morning. Wishing everyone a wonderful weekend. Take care:) Missing Christian I’ve come to know that nervous yawn When my eyes gaze into yours and stay too long Am I the critic Condemning blue black hair Cringing inside at the clothes you choose to wear Are you still the boy whose questions never cease Eyebrows furrowed Cursing the darkness Refusing to sleep Where is the girl feeling every frantic kick Afraid to take you home Leaving gentle kisses along the back of your neck Now ...

"I'm stupid." How many billions of times throughout my life have I said those two words to myself? This poor self-concept began in the first grade, when my teacher would say those very words, and then she would put my desk in the hall, where I would remain for the rest of the day. During a parent-teacher conference, she told my mother that I was retarded, and would need to be placed in a school for the mentally handicapped. What was it about me that made her think this, I'll never know. I do know that I heard that story repeated more times than I care to remember. My mother was outraged, and enrolled me in the Catholic school where we also attended church. Later, when I was really struggling with math, she took me to a children's hospital for extensive testing, and it was then that I was diagnosed with dyscalculia , and proprioceptive dysfunction . In my mind, this was the actual proof that I really was stupid, and I'm still trying to break myself of this neg...

My husband wonders why I do this. He doesn't understand why I would want to share so much personal information, especially with strangers. In the beginning, the writing was a way to sort through all of the thoughts and feelings that began to surface after I told my husband and therapist that I had been raped as a child. I was so protective of all of my secrets, and I think it was a way of keeping something for myself when everything else had been taken. Eating disorders thrive in silence, and hiding behind the secrets made me feel safe. Through writing, I began to slowly let go of the shame that I had carried around for so long, and it felt good. What felt even better though was the response I received from people that I didn't even know. I would hear how my story or a poem that I had written touched someone else, or had helped them to feel less alone, and for once in my life, I felt like maybe I could make a difference. I was finally being heard, and now I feel that I can no l...

I'm so angry and sickened beyond belief over the Supreme Court's ruling that child rapists cannot be executed. Justice Anthony Kennedy wrote in his majority opinion, "the death penalty is not a proportional punishment for the rape of a child." WHAT THE HELL!!! That statement is just so unbelievable. No, it is not proportional. Child rapists should be tortured first, and if not put to death, at least put away for life. Instead, most often, they are given a slap on the wrist and set free to rape again. It is so sad that the rights of a criminal come before the rights of a victim, and especially children, who are unable to protect themselves. Being raped as a child took away so much of my life that can never be replaced. Thirty years later, I'm still trying to work my way through the pain. I'm tortured daily by the horrific memories of being raped by two young men who forced me to say that I liked it before they would stop. It never really ends though, does it? ...

"The only way out is through The faster we're in the better The only way out is through ultimately" Alanis Morissette I'm not sure why I thought that I could just stop taking my medication, but three weeks ago, that is what I did. I was having some side effects from my dosage being increased, and it's also very expensive, so I just stopped. My therapist was not happy with this decision, but I really thought that I would be okay. I was wrong. The panic attacks and jumpiness returned, along with sleepless nights and flashbacks. What ultimately sent me back to the pharmacy though, was the draining loss of all hope. I'm tired of disappointing myself and others by continuing to sabotage every effort that I make to get well. I'm not sure what it is that I'm so afraid of, but I do know that I have to push past the fear instead of becoming paralyzed by the unknown. There is a comfort in slipping back to nothingness, but with each slip, I'm also finding a d...