Where Did I Put My Big Girl Panties?!!!

I’m having a really rough day.  Not intentionally.  When you compare mental illness to Cancer or Hunger or Homelessness or, HIV, people put mental illness on the back burner.  Akin to HIV, it is your fault and of your own making.  Not a genetic, organic disorder of the brain, which receives a horrid rap because it affects my behavior.  Because if I act screwy, in our American, Western culture, I am defective.  If someone goes in for Chemo, because of the BRACA (sp) gene, you don’t see them getting blamed for her/his breast Cancer.  Yes, men get breast cancer, hard to believe, but they qualify too.  They get a ribbon, a race, a drive, pink EVERYTHING, and those of us with mental illness, get blamed, shunned and silenced.

Listen, about a month ago, I wanted to make out with a .45.  Not because I was having a pity party, or because I wanted attention or some such bullshit.  As a matter of fact, I carried on like nothing was wrong.  No one had a clue.  I don’t let but two people in my home, so no one could see how I was successfully NOT managing day to day life.  I suited up, I showed up, I was there for my family, and then I had enough.  I 911 called my therapist, and bless her soul, she proceeded to talk me off the ledge for 45 minutes, until I was calm enough and rational enough and wanted to live enough to see the next day.  April 2, I went inpatient.  NOT to the spa, where I usually go; because all my Free Standing Psychiatric Hospital Days from Medicare had been exhausted- for life.  So, God Forbid, I’m out somewhere traveling, have an episode, and there are no psych units attached to a medical facility.  I’ll be stuck with a ginormous bill, or have to, pray to God, my medicaid will buy me enough time to get back on my feet.

Now, most/three of you that read this blog, know my abuse was forced participation in a satanic cult, ritual abuse, religious abuse, and general overall physical, sexual, mental and emotional torture.  Hence the DID and PTSD.  NEITHER of which I asked for, nor had much of a choice about and was a child, so I was completely powerless.  My Bipolar, clinical Depression, ADHD- all genetic.  Had no say in those either.  Just like people with Cancer don’t get much of a say in their illness, or birth defects, etc.  Sometimes, you’re just dealt a farmer’s hand.  And you play your cards the best way you can, till you get a better hand.  Unless you’re stuck with the 6 of Diamonds or 8 of clubs and you’re playing euchre.  Then, you just gotta pray for your partner to get a loner, or “Partner’s Best”.  Even then?  No guarantees.  But, twice around the barn to get to the house- people with Mental Illness, even PTSD and DID, we don’t or didn’t have any say so in our diseases/disorders.  Mental illness has a HUGE stigma, and because it is a “behavioral” problem, not an organic brain illness, we are among the marginalized, discriminated, shunned, et al.  “My last girlfriend was a total psycho.  She was totally Bipolar”.  And what the hell were you to A.  Stay with her, B.  Make her stress worse so her Bipolar episodes were more frequent, and C.  you’re about a empathetic and compassionate as a ball peen hammer in the face.  Subtle, jerk off, real subtle.

So, I go to the Christian Mental Health Hospital 4/2 on my 5 month clean date.  I had my own room. My own shower, my own toilet, my own everything.  WHAT THE FUCK, OVER?  I’ve been in some shit holes when it comes to psych hospitals.  Roommates throwing their urine sample in my face when I’m sleeping, no shower curtains on the showers, people coming into your room in the middle of the night, just wandering around going through your shit.  On the same unit with prisoners, sexual predators; for a while they were putting the Dementia/Alzheimer’s patients in with Bipolars, Schizophrenics.  That changed pretty quick.  Now people who are violent, or volatile, are classified as, are you ready?  “Reactive”.  They do ECT at the Christian Place.  Fuck, I should call it the fucking Ritz Carlton, cuz that is what it was.  Actual Psych nurses who immediately answered your requests and addressed your needs.  If you needed to talk to someone, Boom!  They made time.  Even the techs had human heads.  It was very chill.  I should have stayed longer, as I am going back into their partial program on Monday.  The wheels are falling off the bus.  Not in the DID sense- although Easter week was pretty much the driving me over the edge factor due to heavy Christian calendar rotation and anniversary memories.  I mean, when I quit drinking and drugging 8.15.08, my DID system had 89 parts.  I have used up all my psych hospital days, twice a week therapy sessions, 12 step programs, DBT sessions, yoga, and now I’m all but down to 3 parts.  All of which, I am co-conscious with.  But it sucked.  It was hard work.  I lost friends.  Alienated people.  Being in a relationship, friend or intimate with someone who has a serious and persistent mental illness is a drain.  Just like caring for an aging parent or a sick spouse- I burned people out and turned people off.  All the while trying to maintain regular participation in 12 step program.  Which, even though all mental illness receives is a brief acknowledgment, a nodding glance, if you will, in 12 step programs, you’re there to talk about the reason for the 12 step group-whatever it may be.  The fact that I have, as a doctor put it, “A lot of internal triggers” (Just what the fuck does that mean doc?), means my thinking is awful.  Well no shit!  You needed a degree and a job to tell me that?  FUCK!  I had NO idea!!!!  Fuck you.  If you were forced to eat human flesh, watch people murdered/sacrificed, almost die umpteen million times over, get tortured, raped etc all from age 4 to age 8, what would you do?  Your ass wouldn’t be alive, motherfucker.  Don’t tell me I have, “internal triggers”.  I have horrific, intrusive, incredibly inconvenient, inconsistent, not friendly, not nice memories that plague me daily.  Sometimes they are louder, sometimes they stuff for the day, but let me make one thing crystal fucking clear:  The ONLY reason I have “Internal Triggers” is because some fucking douchebag grown up decided to torture an innocent child and not give two shits about my welfare and if I lived or died, because they were hard fucking core psychopaths.  CLEAR?!

So, yes, when I have days like today where I wake up to what feels like boundary ambush, I immediately, I mean, without even thinking go into automatic survival, fight, flight, freeze or play dead mode.  I don’t get a choice.  With my ex, and my HIV status, I had a choice.  I chose wrong.  But, he also didn’t have to run around giving everyone HIV without their knowledge, consent and lying to you while looking your dead in the eye while saying, “No, I’m okay.  I don’t know how, but I’m okay.”  I’ll own my part in that shit show.  But, for the most part, homeboy had a homicidal mission.  Much like the dick wads that tortured me as a child.  I used to call them, “People”, but human beings would not do anything like that to a child.  Monsters?  Yes.  People?  No.

So, I digress.  Obviously.  But I have been in fight or flight mode all day.  It’s not fun.  I would way rather be doing anything else than this, and thinking and feeling this way.  Because, honestly?  It feels like I never get a break.  I need a fucking vacation.  I mean to like Bali or some fucking where.  Where I don’t have to think or do or heal, I can just snorkel.  Fuck.

So, I’m clearly angry and clearly pumping quarters in the ass kicking machine and clearly forcing myself out of the nest waaaaaaaayyyy before I am ready to fly.  I’ve had enough bad days.  I need a few good days.  I don’t know how to have fun.  I only thought I had fun drinking.  I have yet to discover consistent sober fun.  And that’s on me.  That’s my fault.  But when all you’re doing is in and out of psych hospitals and constantly being told how sick you are and being rejected by the opposite sex because of this or that label, it makes me want to, say, make out with a .45.  It’s like give me a fucking break.  Just a small break. A reprieve from terror and fear and stress and intensity.  Joy.  Where the fuck is the joy?  I know I make it all happen by small steps.  Cleaning my sink, making my bed, but when you are constantly feeling hunted, those things aren’t real high priorities.  House keeping is important, for many obvious reasons, but who you’re fearing for your life and you rationally know there is no logical reason why you are terrified and hyper vigilant, and can hear an art fart across your home in your basement, a clean sink loses.  Every single fucking time.  Then you have the drudgery of housework.  On top of depression.

I was also- I know right, when is this shit going to end-sexually assaulted in the shower as a child.  So, me and showers, not the closest.  THAT is precisely when I know I don’t want to play ball anymore.  When my self care and hygiene are so shitty, I can’t even stand me, I know I’m in trouble.  And that is where I’m at.  I want to fetal and, I’m just tired.  I’m exhausted.

I met someone from a dating site.  That was how I met Dave.  They auto renewed my account so, I have to deactivate it, but this guy wants to Skype tonight.  I think that is the long distance equivalent of “Netflix and Chill”.  Sorry dude.  I ain’t got time for kindergarten games.  And I ain’t your bitch.

Well, my internet blog troll/rant is over.  I feel better.  Not better, alleviated.  I still want to hide under the covers and I have no idea why.  It’s super easy for me to spew this shit to a faceless computer and a nameless internet.  I can’t tell anyone this shit anyways and expect to keep people in my life.  It’s fucking horrific.  But, this is my life. “Pathetic and sad”, but my life.  Right now, I’m in a low, meantime point.  This too shall pass, my grandfather used to say.  I learned today that, “Grandpas don’t lie”.  Mine never did.  The Captain is on The Ship, and His Eye is on the Sparrow.

I’ll search for my big girl panties tomorrow.  It’s a whole new day, right?!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Improving, decompensating, or a bad day?

Oh God.  I cannot listen to this Blackstar album anymore.  When you can hear Bowie struggle for breath, it’s painful.  Just breaks my heart.

I’m really funky.  I’m setting up boundaries and I don’t expect people to obey by my rules, but dammit!  I mean, you can’t be mad at the snake when it kills you, because it is a snake after all…I just feel like I have been bit a lot lately.  I’m sick, which never helps matters; and the sickness is like…stress induced viral thingey that no one can understand or fix and I refuse to lay still.  I hate the fact that I have to be chill, both for my cold/flu and for my knees, and I’m terrified to be still, because then I might hear the truth, and Jesus!  Wouldn’t that be a homewrecker!!!  I don’t know.  Shit needs to change.  But, just because I change, doesn’t mean everyone else is going to roll with the changes.  Mobile.  Just like John Bradshaw says- you touch one part of the mobile and everything else moves.  Nature abhors a vacuum.  I’m moving and changing, as is everyone else around me.  Well, no one is on the same timeline.  Not even my parts.  There’s like 5 of us left.

 

Which is a miracle.  Hey man, when I began this journey in 2008, I had upwards of 80.  Not, “That’s how crazy you are”, but that’s how awful ages 4-8 were.  That I had to split myself, into pieces-read: parts, 84 fucking times.  No wonder I’m 42 and I suck at adulting.  I never got to be a kid, let alone figure out how to take care of myself.  If I focused on others, or kept myself busy with triflin’ bullshit, I’d never have to sit down, and feel 84 pieces of emotions, memories, etc. No wonder I’m tired and overweight.  But I did.  And up till I got the pain pills after my surgery in October, I was sober and clean.  Stayed drink free, but man, ate all those pills even after the pain subsided, and damn near licked the bottle.  Then I was ducking and dodging the fact that, Hello!!!!  What did Bette say when I was 16?  If it’s addictable, you’ll become addicted, so stay away from it.

Don fucking up and died.  I know people who read this are like, you weren’t that close or blah blah.  Whatever.  I didn’t know David Bowie or Lemmy and Bowie still fucks me up.  It’s not the quantity, it’s the fucking quality.  We get so hung up on how long, and tenure et al.  What about the quality of the relationship, how deeply did s/he impact your life?  Did you impact theirs- at all?  I’m a sensitive, maudlin, romantic, sentimental little monkey.  I remember things. About others and things they did or said that got me through the day, or the time period.  I mean, when you have a genuine moment with someone or something or some place, you never forget it.  Even if that person, place or thing leaves your life, by whatever way, you never forget them.

I’ve been in love three times.  And was loved in return by those three men.  All three, aside of loving me, had one, other little personality trait in common:  they were all murdering bastards.  No, I’m not joking or being histrionic.  The best ways we knew how, with the circumstances we were in, with what little tools we had, we loved.  And I would never, ever take those back in a million years.  Never.  My life would never be the same with or without those men.  But I may be a mess, a red hot mess, and quick to shoot a guy to the fucking ground, but, dammit!

16 years ago, my childhood- of which I had only one memory and pictures, hence why so many pictures, threw up all in my face, all over me and all over anybody and anything I came into contact.  Why?  Because it was fucking horrific!  I never knew when I walked across the threshold to either their home or church or anywhere they took me, if I was going to live or die.  What were you doing at 4, 5, 6?  Because that is what I was doing.  Surviving.  And I have been dancing as fast as I can ever since.

It’s exhausting.  So, no, my home is not spic and span, my car gets cleaned out weekly, my bills and records are scattered from hell to breakfast, and I’m trying to pick up a life that was blown asunder.  I mean, it’s insanity.  And I know it is.  I’m doing the best I can, with the tools I have, for what all I have been through for 42 years.  Let alone the last 5.  That is a whole other blog post.

I suck at relationships.  I suck at communication.  Especially now.  I’ve been in a dark and twisted place going through weird and downright, made for tv movie shit.  I don’t know how to have a normal conversation.  The bank teller asked me how I was doing.  I gave her the thumbs up, beamed a huge smile and said, “Super Fantastic!” as the blizzard drove snow and wind between us.  She said, “Well, at least you’re better than the weather!”  I looked at her, smiling my smile, square in the eye and said, “I’m lying, but I’m trying!”.

That’s my motto.  I’m fakin it, but god damn it, I’m gonna make it…probably into an early grave if I don’t chill the fuck down.  Or get quiet and be still and know.

Word.

 

 

 

I’m Done

I’m done.  Totally over it.  I’m done with politics, St. Francis, Facebook, all social media…I’m sick and tired of bullshit.  And it’s me I’m sick and tired of.

You take PTSD, DID, and bipolar type I, put em together and what do you get?  Someone whose behavior mimics Borderline Personality Disorder.  But my Axis II is always deferred.  When your one abusers middle name is Chester- and my last name is an alcohol?  God shore has a great sense of humour.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that people hate living in reality.  They like fantasy.  They don’t want to live in the cold and ugly and mean truth.  Brutal honesty is for cromags, tact is in…

My God, I have been through so fucking much. I swear, people keep telling me to do more, be more.  I’m lucky I’m not fucking nonverbal okay, assholes?  I’ll probably never get married and I’m totally okay with that.  I don’t know why, but I’m okay with that.  They can come and go as they and I please.  I just know Dave made me a woman, he taught me  better way of life.  He’s teaching me how to live and how to, as someone I adore greatly said, “Find what makes me happy.”  Another person I admire greatly had a meme up, with Buddha’s picture and a caption that read:  Suffering comes from giving too many fucks. Attachment is the root of all suffering. Yupo.

I’m frustrated.  I see people who were pretty fucked up a few years ago, healing and ,moving on, and I’m like, WTF, over?  And my mom doesn’t want to come over to my place because I am a cluster/clutter fuck.  Well, I got a fucking bachelor’s and half a MSW.  I’d say for someone who was fucking put through hell and splintered into 79-82 or however many little pieces of a whole, that’s pretty fucking good.  Sorry you don’t understand me, just like I don’t understand you, but I’m a loyal fucking person.  I don’t turn on a dime, unless shit happens.

I’m over all of it.  Just am.  Sick of it all.  Great band, by the way.  At least their name is great.  I’m uber frustrated.  I’m in a great deal of pain.  My knee is all fuct up.  I have-my fucking cartilage in my right knee is flaking off.  And floating around my knee.  No matter what, I’m gonna have to have surgery.

I also started asanas in yoga.  Held plank for not a consecutive, but total five minutes. Oh Dear Ganesh, am I sore!!!  I wail like a yenta, but with Hinduism.  No wonder people don’t get me, I’m a blend.   Herbie said, “31 flavors of fucked up.”  I like to think, 31 flavors of collaborated bullshit.  But, Let’s try being nicer to me, shall we?  How about, 31 flavors of awesome sauce?  I like that.  31 levels of awesomenessoisty.  I make the fuck up out of word, so let’s go.

Yesterday my bed was vibrating and shaking and my alarm clock was on iPod and making AM radio noises.  I smudged, white candles, gave it back, all that shit.  Banish x53, so mote it be.  I hereby banish hate, fear and loathing from myself, a process which has already begun, let it continue on, until the burning of the sun.  So mote it be.  ABOVE ALL-KEN-HARM NONE!!!!

Oh dear Lord.  There’s that 31 flavors of blended awesome sauce.  Jesus H.  OoP!  There’s another flavor!

Okay.  I need to clean.  And banish.  I have Feng Shui smudge I’m going to get busy with. Usually about this time, I’m fading, but now, I am coming alive.  I swear, I got 13 fucking hours of sleep last night.  Slept right through an obligation.  Damn.  But, I feel better,  With Grief it is either feast or famine.  Fall makes me happy.  Going up north to see the colors change, would be awesome.  Maybe I’ll scoot out after the 8th, and go to some places I have never been before.  That would be wicked cool.  Sleep in cheap motels, yeah…  I’m digging it.  I likey.

I’m over it all.  Just over it all.  Not going drink, not going to do drugs, not gonna any of that shit.  Just need to free my soul.  Re-new, re-member, re-knew again.

And…scene.

Another Day, Another Hollah!!!!!

What’s up, people?!!  I swear, I must be manic or something.  Yes, I have Bipolar I as well.  I swear, what don’t I have- well, MS, Lupus, Cancer-it can always be worse.

So, fake people, fake friends.  The “Frenemy”.  Caught and operates in it’s natural habitat, which would be toxic environments, attacking on and luring the young, the isolated, the vulnerable and those who just don’t plain care anymore.  I’ve tried to rid my life of as many of these as possible.  But they are like cockroaches, they’re everywhere!!!!

Ugh.  Had a dream about a male frenemy from High School.  Was my true love’s best friend.  Still probably is.  Yeah, true love.  He’s a big deal and I let him go when I was 20-present, so he could do what he had to.  Because I loved him too much.  Never don’t love too much, you’ll never regret it; regret not loving enough.  That’s the real kicker.

My system has been quiet.  Like, too quiet.  But Sunday was tough.  Just really neurotic.  I’m sure I drove people mad.  I’m back on my regular wake up early schedule.  Slept soundly.  I have a sleep study tonight.  Yay!!  But, we’ll see.  I think it is just trauma and my weight- two things that can be managed.

I’ve tcob this morning.  Already.  Sent emails out and everything.   Have an ortho appointment, and therapy as well.

Dave made it up there.  He’s in.  Jesse cook, October 27.  SO stoked.  My outfit comes Thursday.  Now, to get the ticket.

Decided to get my Reiki training started.  I meet with her the 28th.  I’m totally stoked.  Heal the healers is my goal.  Empaths Unite!!!!

Not much else.  Just life is beginning to normalize.  Now if I can just get my house in order we’ll be good.

Ugh.

Have a great day,

Zu

New Day, New Dawn, Am I feeling Good?!

New Map made this morning. Haven't made a map since April. Check out,
New Map made this morning. Haven’t made a map since April. Check out, “WTF is a map?” to see the difference.

Good Morning.  My Great Grandmother, Faith, mother of my 100 year old Grandma Mary came through the light this morning.  What that means is:  When the lights flicker, or, like this morning, just turn on when the lamp is off, it’s Grandma Faith telling me to do something, or that she is proud of me, or some message.  So, tomorrow, I am heading up to Big Rapids, to see my grandma Mary- who, incidentally, because of her Macular Degeneration- is listening to Tu-Pacs’ audio autobiography.  My father does not approve.  Oh well.  He’s not her parent, he’s my parent.  Remind me to tell you about Grandma Faith’s story about the gypsies that would camp near the Strange school in Grand Ledge.

So, I slept like a rock.  I had a dream I was supposed to go to jail.  In my dreams lately, I’ve been sticking up for myself.  A lot.  To some pretty tough characters that my brain makes up, or has met before.

My windows are going to be looked at today!!!  I swear, I’m the last person in my condo complex who has the old windows.  And yes,my screens are on the outside of my window.  Surprise Bitch!!!!

So, I don’t feel a lot of sadness.  I don’t feel his presence a lot or that often, like I used to, so I feel like I have moved on and as a result, so has he.  And that is a true blessing.  I feel like I can go back home, take a shower, get ready, clean my house, smudge, cuz the New moon is popping, and do what I have to do.  I have to go to the pharmacy today.  That is my only errand.  And get gas.  Woo Hoo!!!  But?  Am I blessed enough to do those things?  You betcha.

So, I did a new map.  Zachary, the part of Vicky, who is a part of Vickie, who is, apparently, under construction still, has a door with a hook latch.  Behind this door are more cult memories.  My therapist has been on medical leave, so there’s a lot of work I cannot do unsupervised.  I need her guidance and experience.  And it’s behind this door.  Daphne, the 15 year old?  Never heard of her.  Never met her till this morning.  However, I have noticed me being more adolescent/teenage like.  It has been very frustrating for me.  So, that waits.

Scrubbed the rug yesterday with mom.  Did more grief work, but that has been read.  Today, hopefully, will be a normal, life day.  How bout that?

Here’s hopin’.  Have a great day!

Is this thing on? Testing, Testing 1, 2..Check.

Well, I have no idea why the screen is black and my words are white.  I could make an Old Glory comment, but I digress…

I also haven’t posted since, probably May?  I got out of the Spa May 8th, and then went through a week of partial.  Then, I made a couple of decisions.

1st and foremost- get a new frickin’ sponsor and jump start my program.  I went to the fourth of July party like I do, and someone who I used to- every year, mind you- talking the whole party, ignored, avoided, and insulted me.  All because they think I slept with a dude who is, at least, 25 years older than me.  And they never bothered to ask me.  Hmm, no gender bias there, cha!  So, yesterday I was really down, but having a great physical day.  So physically great, mentally, off my square.  NBD.  I’m used to that. I never have one day where all cylinders are firing at once.  It’s either physical pain, mental pain, or both.  So, I killed my kitchen yesterday.  Just scrubbed the hell out of it.  Took out a lot of aggression.  It’s like, 5 o’clock here, and it feels like ten a.m.  But, I finally touched base with my sponsor.  She said, “Ask yourself this:  What kind of program are they working?”  Ding! Ding!!!  Oh yeah, I forgot- it’s not always, everything is my fault.  There are two people on the plane and there are exits on both sides of the plane for said persons.

BTW, you know there is going to be a Blue Moon this month, here in North America, right?  I mean, Tom Cruise is ditching Scientology to be with his daughter, they’re checking out Pluto- all kinds of weird shit is going on!!!

For example, me?  Where have I been?  Well, I got out of the hospital, and adjusted.  Made a plan, like a five year plan.  I’m looking to get back into acting, I would like to take an Interior Design course or two and meld it with Feng Shui.  My sponsor and her husband are buying an old farm house to turn into a recovery house for women.  Don’t think I’m going to be all up in that, cuz, Damn Skippy!  I am.

I went to The Reverend Horton Heat by myself for my 42nd Birthday-by myself.  I went, July 8, to Comerica park to see The Rolling Stones again.  They were- both concerts were fucking a mazing!!  And I went by Myself.  I’ve started a diet.  I can’t walk a long pace everyday, but if my Fibro doesn’t have me down, I’m doing stuff.  I start Yoga in August.  I have to price out Masseuses. I saw a pain doc for my fibro, and they don’t treat fibro with Narcotics.  Movement is the best cure…except when you go batshit Like I did yesterday, and do too much.

I am seeing ZZ Top in August with my Sponsor and Possibly, Crue/Alice Cooper, with a really great, stand the test of time, friend.  I’m getting my house together.  I’m pulling it all together.

My system…I’ve been trying to live life to the fullest, so they can see what we’ve been missing.  I made a deal with one of the twins, Lily and Sophie.  Sophie is apparently a self injurer, although I have never participated in that behavior.  I have five, huge tattoos, but no mas.  So, I told Sophie, she let herself be known at the last hospitalization, that if she didn’t hurt us, we would get a sleeve done to finish out our right arm.  She was giddy.  So, I also found out I only have 9 Medicare, free standing psych hospital days covered, and then it flips to Medicaid.  So, if by some weird thing happens, and I’m traveling abroad with my ole HIV, and I have a psych meltdown, I’ve basically got to hoard those days like Return of the Jedi.  I gots to be an ewok fighting fucker, mother fucker!!!!

So, what else…Saw Dave walking to the Bus, on his way home from work.  He looked ECSTATIC, HAPPY, and OVERJOYED to see me.  I shit you not.  I just thought, “Fuck.  Now he knows I drive a different car.”  Got a security system for the house.  It’s loud and it works!!!

I’m trying really hard to be happy.  To make a conscious choice to be happy.  All the shit that went down, it’s gone.  It’s happened-It’s OVER!  They can’t hurt me/us anymore.  Dave can try, but he will not succeed in hurting me anymore.  A lot of people can bring me down, knock me off my square, but compared to what I have been through, taint nothing.  Ain’t no thang, but a g-string.

My best friend and my god daughter are moving to Seattle the end of this month.  They just lost their Aunt. Crushing blow for the whole family.  And then, she’s gone.  Next week and a half.  So, yeah.  That has been hard and a whole new way to adapt.  But, I’ve got a life waiting for me.  It’s been calling to me.  I’ve just not heard it until this summer.  My mom told me:  Don’t depend on others, because they will let you down.  I spent my entire 20’s trying to prove her wrong, my 30’s was the time I thought I turned into Wonder Woman, and then, at 35?  I got sober and had to restart my heart.

So, I’ve been a little busy, been fighting this damned fibro, been fighting period.  Good news?  I have grieved my past lovers- that I truly did love, and will always love, and even coming to terms with loving Dave.  That’s a trauma bond.  That one’s going to take a little longer and a little more work.

Okay, my fingers are barking.