I just need to talk.

I spend a very tearful session with my shrink today talking about how angry I am at the universe for introducing me to my latest guy when he wasn't ready to date yet.  Which is stupid because I am giving away my part in it so that I don't have any blame. I knew he wasn't ready.  He TOLD me more than a couple times that he wasn't ready for a relationship. That he didn't WANT a relationship (after we'd been in one for a few months). I knew he wasn't ready.  Somewhere between my being totally infactuated with him, and his desires to get laid and be loved, and not hurt me, we spent about 8 months seeing each other. Stumbling along.

The really stupid part is that it wasn't stupid.  We learned a lot from each other.  I wouldn't have grown the way I have in the past few months without his influence, and I know that he feels that's he's really grown too......but not enough.

This whole thing came to a head when, after three weeks of my trying to give him the space he needs to finish his divorce, I msged him.  We talked a bit for a week.  I hinted that I wanted to have sex with him for my birthday.  He responded with something like, "that's coming up!".  Apparently that's fuel for me to get really angry.  I went quiet for a day, but he still sensed it immediately through one text.
He ends up telling me not to wait for him. I've been crying and angry since.

I'm pretty sure he meant that I shouldn't wait for him to finish his divorce because who knows how long it's going to keep on being dragged out for. And even then, he wants to take time to get his kids settled in a new place, etc., before he starts dating again.  That he knows it hasn't been fair to me to be with me in this limited way.  That he's old fashioned, and when he's involved with someone, he wants to be sharing a life more than the small ways we were able to be together.  That even when he is divorced and the kids are settled, he might not be emotionally ready to love again. That he might not be able to love me ever, and he doesn't want to hurt me. He's the type of person that would rather take the hurt, then give it.

I guess that's the hardest part.

Restart, ghosted, reset.

 March 17th, 2022

I'm trying again to start journaling. I've started doing physio exercises to strengthen my neck. I've started doing curls to get rid of my mom arms before Aug.  I've gone back to counselling. I haven't had casual sex in a year. I had a relationship for nine months straight, which ended mutually as friends. I've got my lungs in control better than they've been in 20 years due to trying many inhalers last year. My MS has been in remittance for over two years!! I'm going to give up junk food and add more fruit and veggies tomorrow.  I may even include giving up coffee!! In a week or two I will give up more food (either some or all dairy, or something with carbs) and add more fruit and veggies. Maybe this time. Maybe this time I will do better than ever.  I've even been more determined to get the house clean.  I now only have one child left in the home. I should be able to do this.

I had a pretty unpleasant week emotionally.  I went out with a new guy.  I kept saying that it was weird that there weren't any red or yellow flags that I was ignoring, but there were.  The biggest one is how strongly he was coming on.  It was what younger me would have dreamed of.  It was what younger me did!! Jump in with both feet and don't ask too many questions!  Well, at least I've learned some what.  

He's ghosted me.  I was really struggling to understand why, and then I came up with this thought, 
"he doesn't have big enough balls to be honest with me."

He put on his profile that he wanted more honesty and less games.  That basically means that he wants it from himself.   I've learned that. A guy says he doesn't want drama, he's probably the dramatic one. 

Well, I did slow myself down enough to not get crushed. We necked (ha!!) for 2 hours in my car, but I wouldn't go any further.  Thank goodness I'm still a bit frigid.  Sheesh.  He was playing me so well, in so many ways.  Well.  I avoided catastrophe, but ouch.  My ego. I even told him that I was great at reading people, except when it came to men in my love life.  Yep.  Case in point. 

So heels cooled. Deep breaths taken. Equilibrium restored. 

Oh yes.  I have started mediating properly again.  The monkish guy who taught me said that if you started journaling when you started meditating, you would notice a difference in yourself by the time you have reached three months. 

Lets see shall we?

I'm also doing sleep hygiene and reading actual paper books, and yoga stretches. 

Too many changes at once?  They have all started over the last few months.  

Please reward me this time universe!  Reward me with good health so that I can get ahead. Or at least keep up.  Maybe I could get a decent job again?  Maybe I could have a lovely home that I could welcome people into?  Maybe, just maybe I could have a boyfriend who I love who loves me too????

This is what I'm aiming for.  I don't believe in manifesting, but I do believe that you have to dream in order to achieve.  That you have to reach in order to grab.  That you have to hope in order to want to live.

I'm not Clinically Extremely Vulnerable!?!

It's April.  Mid April. I was thinking that it's the time about that time of year where I usually am at my worst, but it's not. It's too early.  Maybe it's because the season got started early this year, and went off with a bang. Is it getting worse? I was about to say that people who don't usually complain about allergies are really suffering, but I think I thought that last year. Maybe it's time to move North. If climate change is making allergens stronger, then I'd better move. How to move further north without moving to too much cold would be tricky. Stay here, allergens, move north, cold: either way I can't breathe.  

Usually around this time of year I'm starting to recover from the first blast of the trees, and getting complacent enough to go outside too much. I am actually concerned. I feel like I'm already going bananas. The cottonwood doesn't even get started for a month!! How am I going to stay inside for a few more months?  Oh, duh.  Maybe it will start early too. Maybe a couple of weeks. Sigh.

I think the real problem is the pandemic. I can't go anywhere I might usually run away to. No boyfriend's house. No gyms or pools.  No dinner dates. I've already exhausted all my sitting around waiting energy, and now it's allergy season. 

It seems that everyone around me is getting their vaccines. I've always been the sick girl, and yet, I don't get the vaccine. Everyone seems surprised by that. Especially me. What the hell?? I have asthma and MS, but I don't qualify as Extremely Vulnerable? So stupid. I wish I could contact my childhood doctors and tell them. Especially my asthma docs. The ones that have had to bring me back from the edge of no return. Or the Emergency doctors that have literally brought me back from hypoxic seizures. 

Raking grass memory

 I was sitting on my desk in my sterile room.  Desk with empty drawers, plain chair without a cushion.  Bed with one stuffy. Pillows piled perfectly to support lungs.  Mom keeps saying she's going to buy a plastic cover for the mattress, but so far it's just a dust cover, thank goodness. My closet is full of my stuff, but it's taped closed for now. My dresser of clothes is in my sister's room next door. No dust. No allergens. 

I'm sitting on my desk because if I'm up this high I can see my siblings in the backyard. It's Springtime. My worst time of the year. I'll probably be in here for weeks. Usually a month plus. My siblings are supposed to be raking up the thatched grass, and they are, but mostly they are throwing it at each other. 

They're raking it into piles and jumping in and burying themselves. They are filling up the wheelbarrow and riding in it. I'm crying.  Big tears rolling down my cheeks as I watch with envy and self pity.

Then they are called in for dinner.  Everyone is sitting at the dinner table eating. They are complaining bitterly about having to do such a horrible chore. I'm still alone in my room. 

I was telling this story to my Dad the other day, and wondering why I was in there alone. Couldn't one of my siblings been allowed to stay inside and play with me? Did I have to eat alone every meal? I know my Step Dad may it so that we had lots of "Fresh Air" and the doors couldn't have been closed for just me. That he insisted that we have as our only source of heat wood burning stoves. He made the enormous sacrifice of smoking outside. I should feel honored, right?  Too much sarcasm?

If someone was asked to stay behind and play with me, would that have been another chore? Would they have fought over who got to stay in with me? Would they have fought to not have to be with me? Would that have made being sick more or less desirable for me? What if I had my own tv in there when I was sick? What if they were allowed to watch tv with me? There was a tv in the basement and I wasn't supposed to go down there, but maybe my show would have been more desirable to someone? Would I have tried to bribe a sibling with a show?   I'll never know. I never even thought of it. It never occurred to me that I could have anything any different just because I was so limited.

Better name for Munchausen Syndrome is Factitious Disease?!?

 March 2021

Over the last couple of weeks I've really come face to face with my "Munchausen Syndrome" or Factitious Disease.  I started seeing (through video chat) a new doctor.  My sinus specialist referred to him as an asthma god. I'll refer to him as AG. AG told me that if I was using a rescue inhaler I wasn't having my asthma managed properly.  Well, I think I need to be more clear.  He told me that if I was finding it hard to breathe AT ALL I was being seriously mismanaged.  He hopes to get me on some fancy drug that stops inflammation before it starts.  He expects that I won't need to take an inhaler for being short of breath.  I can't even imagine that.  

A few days before I talked to him, I had a conversation with a women from his office.  She told me that he would probably want me to throw my Ventolin out the window.  I laughed, and said that I'd love to, but immediately started to feel anxious. She assured me that I would have it as long as I need it.  It really got me thinking though.  How willing am I to give it up? How much would I give? How hard would I work? It used to be that I wouldn't admit that I liked having it.

When I was in grade 6 or 7 my friend asked me if I would trade something to not have asthma anymore.  I can't remember what I was supposed to trade.  Maybe it was that I would be less attractive on the outside and work better on the outside?  Whatever it was I wasn't willing to trade.  She looked at me shocked and asked why not.  I think I said something about not ever knowing any different. The way she reacted I knew I had said something wrong.  One of the first times I needed to think quickly to cover my tracks. To hide that I was something, or felt something that other people didn't.

I had little desire to be healthy.  How else would I be different? How would I get attention from my Mom?  At that age I wasn't doing anything to make my health worse. Not consciously.  At any given time I was going to be sick at some point in the next couple of months. It was inevitable.  There wasn't much I was missing out on from being sick. I was used to it, and I there were plus sides. 

I rarely felt sick when I was in the hospital. I was pumped up on adult dose steroids. I had room mates to talk to that probably were nicer than my older sister. I had a play room and lovely nurses (mostly) and food brought to my bed. I got visitors and my Mom and Dad would visit me.  It was pretty great. 

Except all the times I was stuck in the hospital for weeks, or stuck in my sterile room for weeks. Or couldn't go to sleepovers because someone had a pet. Or how I missed out on so much. How much I hated it. How much I cursed being born that way.  How much it ended up hurting and sucking, and taking away.

I have to say that I am really and truly so excited to tame my asthma. I'm at the point with my MS that it is in remission, but still hard to live with day to day.  The only flares I have is when my immune system gets triggered.  My asthma getting flared up from allergies, flares up my MS. If I didn't have asthmatic flares, the only thing that could get my MS symptoms is a getting a virus, which is hopefully going to be easier to avoid. 

I've been wondering about getting a proper job again. Maybe even having a real career.  I've started looking into voice work. Maybe I'll start recording audiobooks. Maybe I'll get work clothes on and go to an office and interact with people sometimes!  Maybe I can be in a relationship and not feel as if I don't have enough to offer the other person. 

I've started my new inhaler, Advair.  I've been on it before, but didn't like the side effects.  I think it made me shaky?  We'll see. I hate taking Ventolin since they have changed it, so I might as well try to go on the long lasting inhaler.  The plan is to take the long lasting steroid/ventolin type inhaler twice a day, morning and night. Hopefully that will stop me feeling tight chested most of the time.  

This is the third day I've taken it, although I'm only taking it in the evening right now. I seem to be getting used to it.  I hope this keeps working! I plan to add the second dose in a few days.  

Step one to a new life!!!

NO clear and present danger

I just went through an interesting thing.

I was driving to pick up Ana from school. I had been having a lot of anxiety all day.  Then these questions came to me:

Is there someone who is trying to hurt you?
NO
Is there an animal that is trying to eat you?
NO
Are you in a natural disaster that you are in danger?
NO
Are you in any actual danger at all?
NO!!

I'm safe. I was on my bed, in my house, alone, and feeling afraid.  Looping in my head over and over trying to find a way to feel safe, and I AM actually safe.

So what is the danger that I feel?

I'm going to freak out.
What does that mean?
I'm going to have a panic attack.
Well, you're already starting to panic, so what are you worried about.
That people will see or know that I am panicking and will think I'm disgusting.
Do people usually think you're disgusting when you're showing your anxiety?
No, but they don't understand.  They think I'm crazy or weird.
Do you know that, or think that?
I don't know what they are thinking, but I know that I feel very uncomfortable when people are acting crazy around me. And sometimes when I let someone see my anxiety, they avoid me in future.
Do people who love you think you're disgusting or avoid you?
No. They want to help. They want me to feel better.

Do you think that people can't love you if you are anxious.
Yes.
Why is that?
Because I know my ex husband left me because my anxiety was too much to bear.
Did he say that?
No, but I think that's one of the reasons that he left.
Why else do you think he left.
I was yelling at him all the time because he wouldn't stop working with that con man. He hated it when I yelled at him, and it definitely pushed him further away, rather than draw him closer to me.
That seems to make sense.
Yes, and I think he worked so much to avoid me: his angry, yelling, nagging, needy wife.
That doesn't seem like it has much to do with anxiety.

No, I know that was hard for him, but it wasn't what drove him away.

Ok, so your ex husband didn't leave you because you were anxious. Do you think he stopped loving you because you were anxious?

No. He loved me. He wanted me to be better.

So is there anyone else, that has stopped loving you when you showed them anxiety.
No. (scoffs)

So can you think of any actual danger to you when you are feeling anxious?

Well, people might think less of me.

Is that a danger?

It isn't a good thing.

But is it dangerous?

No. I guess not. It just hurts.

Have you ever thought less of someone because they were anxious?

I guess I have. I know when my mom didn't go on the plane to Utah, I thought she wimped out.

Even though you know the fear she must have been feeling?

Yeah, but I wasn't able to empathize as much because I wasn't suffering from anxiety as much at the time.

Can you think of another example?

I know this one time my older daughter decided to turn around and go home when she was stuck in traffic on the way to my younger daughter's performance. She knew she was already late, and decided she didn't want to go through the anxiety for the small bit of concert she might catch.

Did you think less of her?

No! Not at all!  I was disappointed, but I totally understood.

That sounds a bit more empathetic.

Yeah, I'm actually thinking about many times I've tried to help by giving understanding when someone was anxious. It seemed to help.

I wonder if you would like someone to be understanding. If you would like it if people are compassionate to you when you're afraid.

Oh! They usually are!

Can you think of someone who isn't?

Me. My Mom.

Your Mom?

Yes, she sometimes gets upset at me when I can't make myself visit.

What do you imagine that she's upset at you for?

That I don't love her enough to get over myself.  That I can't make myself stop feeling anxious.
That ....I don't know. That I'm letting down the family?
That actually is true. I'm sure they don't understand.

They don't understand what exactly?

They don't understand that I'm too afraid to visit my Mom's house.

Can you see how they wouldn't be able to understand that?

YES!!  It's crazy!! I'm not in any danger, but it feels like I am!  It feels like I'm in the biggest danger in the world!! I would never ask them to feel that in order to see me!

But, are you in danger?

no.

So you just feel like you're in danger?

Yeah. I guess I'm worried I'll freak out. I'm in danger of freaking out.

Well, I'm sure that freaking out doesn't feel very good, but are you in danger while it's happening?

I guess not. If I could run away, I could feel better, but sometimes I'm already in my safe place. The place I imagine I need to be in order to feel safe.

So you're running to a safe place, that may or may not be a safe place?

Yes.

Maybe this safe place is just an illusion.

Yeah. Like being in control is an illusion.

Why do you say that?

Because I think that if I can just control all the circumstances, I can avoid anxiety or panic, but that's an illusion. I can't control everything. I can't control whether the traffic is bad, or the bridge is closed. I can't control how other people will react. I can't even control my own feelings and thoughts!!

Can you say more about that?

Well, a friend of mine keeps losing his temper and "freaking out" in a sense.  He always feels really bad and anxious about it afterwards, but he still keeps losing his temper.  I guess I kind of judge him because I feel like I've got my anger under control.

There's that word control again.

Yeah. And after I spent so much time discovering that I'm still angry lately.  And I can't control my own thoughts. Or feelings.  And yet I judge him for not being able to control his. Am I really more judgmental than others? Am I just harder on myself and others than most people??

I'm not in danger.  Control is an illusion.

My story 1

July 9th, 2018

When I was born the doctor told my parents in his best broken English that he didn't think that I would make it through the night.  As a child I never understood the significance of that. I'd never seen someone be pregnant and see all their hopes and dreams of having a baby.  I didn't know personally what it meant to feel a soul nibbling around yours. The feeling of having a fully formed human stretch inside you.  The unknowable-ness of having a child, and yet, not yet having a child.  It must have been very upsetting news. Other than the fact that she must have been exhausted from labour, I don't know how she rested. If she even did.  The next morning I was still there. "Tubes all gone! Baby OK!" was the only explanation I have heard told. I had made my first ado on this earth.

I don't have many memories of or stories about my being sick, other than the usual childhood ailments, until I was six years old.

I was so uncomfortable. I couldn't find any position in which I could be still. I know I walked into the family room and tried to get comfortable in an arm chair.  I tried a couple positions, but nothing worked. I just didn't feel comfortable! I walked into the room and told my Mom that I just couldn't get comfortable.  I know she looked at me hard, and then said something to the effect of, "that's it, we're going to the doctor." She has told me my lips were blue.

I remember waiting what seemed like forever in a doctor's office, and then I remember waiting in another office for another eon.  I briefly remember a doctor saying that he wanted us to go to the hospital.  The next thing I remember, I had been in the hospital for days.

I had a mucous plug that was causing one of my lungs to partially collapse, and I believe there was a problem with the other lung as well.  I am going to need to speculate a fair bit, as I'm going on my patchy memories, and my memories of my mother's memories.  Hopefully it is readable. 

My theory is that due to the fact that my asthma doesn't act quite typically, they weren't sure what was wrong with me. I don't really wheeze, for one thing. All I know is that I was in the hospital for weeks and had to have a lot of tests. One test involved my having to have a plastic bag taped around my hand. I particularly remember that as I was eating my lunch at the time. 

I had to have a surgical procedure where they suctioned out my lungs, which required a general anesthetic.  I could tell something extra was up, because my Mom brought me a present from my Aunt Julie and was acting really weird. Then she told me.  I'm sure she tried to act all casual, but as a kid I could tell that something was up.  That she was hiding her emotions.  Then my Dad came to stay with my for the morning before my surgery.  This was back in the olden days when parents didn't stay with their kids in the hospital. My Mom visited during the day, and my Dad would come in the evening. I knew he was supposed to be at work, so I knew something major was happening. I couldn't understand why my Mom was there at the time, but I know now that she must have been very anxious, and that wouldn't have helped me at all. 

I was fasting, of course, and complained to my Dad about it.  He was very understanding.  I think I expected him to have more of an attitude of, "well, you can't eat." The same attitude he might have had if we were driving down the road and I stated I was hungry.  He seemed to feel guilty about it.  He decided to try to distract me by taking me to the games room.  We played "Sorry" until they came to get me.  The next memory is of groggily calling for my Mom and asking for a drink.  A nurse answered me and helped me drink.  She said that I could open my eyes, but I couldn't. My eyelids seemed too heavy.  I thought she wasn't my Mom and thought it was weird that she didn't correct me, but was too sleepy to care.  She had the most kind and gentle voice.  She was using a tone like she was dealing with the sweetest little thing, that she needed to be careful not to cry or laugh. Little 6 year old girl coming out of anesthetic.  Bless that nurse's heart.

Then I was in my room, and my Mom was there with this anxious/joyful look on her face.  I know I was confused because I thought I'd already been talking to her, and that she had helped me drink.  Then I got to eat jello.