My Analyst Told Me……..

About a week ago, my brother sent me an email with the information for a local therapist. I had given up therapy (God and I had this) and frankly, he was concerned. If I am going to face upheaval and pain, I call my bro, as I can emote at whim and he will not judge me. He gives great advice, so I looked so forward to meeting Nancy. The appointment was made for this morning.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I shake, from my feet on up to my hands. I have crying bouts-I cannot sleep through the night, never a problem before. This isn’t good for my Lyme recovery-let’s face it, what happened Wednesday afternoon wouldn’t be good for anyone. I drove in the wrong direction for 30 minutes, so distracted was moi. Finally, after driving miles on slick, rain drenched country roads. And I drove aggressively, fearlessly-which isn’t really me.

I spoke of the “incident” with my stepson in my last blog. How he has walked around in a state of rage for three months now, first depression-now red hot anger. He went on a verbal tirade about how I was a “blood sucking leach,” that I was a “joke” to the entire family. I was in fear of him punching me, and when I tried to go back inside, he blocked my way.

So here I am at Nancy’s pad. I fill out the paperwork and wait. An attractive and cheerful woman greets me with a hug. We sit down and I commence to lose my shit, and cry like a child. She proceeds to ask me a myriad of questions, mainly about brain fog and forgetfulness. By the time she gets to what she thinks I have? My mind is moving one hundred miles in seventy different directions.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says in a hushed tone.

She gave me the reasons behind her thinking, admitted that it was too early to be sure, gave me a tissue and rescheduled. As I drove to the pharmacy on the way home, it hit me pretty hard. I broke down and called my brother from said pharmacy. I wept through my interaction with the cashier. They know me well. They were concerned.

I have a few questions for sure. I am not going to go head over heels into this without ensuring that she can help me with my PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse syndrome. The only time lapse I remember was two weeks ago, albeit a four hour lapse. I was reading my bible on the couch in the living room, the clock read 8:00 a.m. When I traipsed into the kitchen for a glass of water (I had just received a very upsetting email from my sister)and the stove read 12:30 p.m.

I would poo poo the whole thing if it weren’t for the dichotomy between my mellow self, and my ‘I will cut a bitch” self. But doesn’t everyone have another side to them? DID happens for a few reasons, but in my case she believes that I suffered such devastating trauma from emotional abuse in my childhood, that I created another persona if you will.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I made an appointment with Nancy for next week. I won’t let this ruin my weekend, as God has the final say on what I am suffering from, and He alone has the cure. Be blessed family.

My Analyst Told Me……..

About a week ago, my brother sent me an email with the information for a local therapist. I had given up therapy (God and I had this) and frankly, he was concerned. If I am going to face upheaval and pain, I call my bro, as I can emote at whim and he will not judge me. He gives great advice, so I looked so forward to meeting Nancy. The appointment was made for this morning.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I shake, from my feet on up to my hands. I have crying bouts-I cannot sleep through the night, never a problem before. This isn’t good for my Lyme recovery-let’s face it, what happened Wednesday afternoon wouldn’t be good for anyone. I drove in the wrong direction for 30 minutes, so distracted was moi. Finally, after driving miles on slick, rain drenched country roads. And I drove aggressively, fearlessly-which isn’t really me.

I spoke of the “incident” with my stepson in my last blog. How he has walked around in a state of rage for three months now, first depression-now red hot anger. He went on a verbal tirade about how I was a “blood sucking leach,” that I was a “joke” to the entire family. I was in fear of him punching me, and when I tried to go back inside, he blocked my way.

So here I am at Nancy’s pad. I fill out the paperwork and wait. An attractive and cheerful woman greets me with a hug. We sit down and I commence to lose my shit, and cry like a child. She proceeds to ask me a myriad of questions, mainly about brain fog and forgetfulness. By the time she gets to what she thinks I have? My mind is moving one hundred miles in seventy different directions.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says in a hushed tone.

She gave me the reasons behind her thinking, admitted that it was too early to be sure, gave me a tissue and rescheduled. As I drove to the pharmacy on the way home, it hit me pretty hard. I broke down and called my brother from said pharmacy. I wept through my interaction with the cashier. They know me well. They were concerned.

I have a few questions for sure. I am not going to go head over heels into this without ensuring that she can help me with my PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse syndrome. The only time lapse I remember was two weeks ago, albeit a four hour lapse. I was reading my bible on the couch in the living room, the clock read 8:00 a.m. When I traipsed into the kitchen for a glass of water (I had just received a very upsetting email from my sister)and the stove read 12:30 p.m.

I would poo poo the whole thing if it weren’t for the dichotomy between my mellow self, and my ‘I will cut a bitch” self. But doesn’t everyone have another side to them? DID happens for a few reasons, but in my case she believes that I suffered such devastating trauma from emotional abuse in my childhood, that I created another persona if you will.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I made an appointment with Nancy for next week. I won’t let this ruin my weekend, as God has the final say on what I am suffering from, and He alone has the cure. Be blessed family.

Believe

I had a totally different topic for today, but that was before, hours before he came to pick up the things he has acquired over 32 years.  His tree stand.  And everything else.  His father, in a desperate attempt at tough love, and after he refused to apologize for his vicious attack on my character and mental health, told him to pick up his things.

“We’re done.”

My heart broke into a zillion pieces that day, a week ago.  If you could cry blood, I would have.  Today was unexpected, and very final.  I feel as if the illusion of family is just a pipe dream-and I must repeatedly remind myself that this is not my lesson, not my story, not my circus, nor monkeys.

I was upstairs, cleaning and sorting laundry.  I knew Bud was down with his grandparents, which made me nervous enough…..later, Jesse barked outside, and I opened the door to see him walk right past the dog he had loved for 5 years-the dog he and his father picked out as a puppy.

I didn’t expect this to feel like an appendectomy without anesthesia, as if the powers that be were ripping my heart to shreds, then stomping on it.  I wailed so loudly in the shower, that my golden retriever began an eerie, soul-shattering moan that snapped me out of my grief.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.  None of this was ever supposed to happen.

Narcissists ruin families.

And oh what I would do to turn back the sands of time-or perhaps a lobotomy, so the heart stopping memories don’t kill me dead.  I can’t tell my husband, he is at work and I have learned through this entire nightmare that Dwain is what matters.  Aside from his divorce and everything we went through, this is my husband’s first tragedy in his life.  I am as ferocious as the mama bear, tending to her kin.  I will not let evil touch this man, this kind hearted country boy of mine.

And as I threw myself on my knees, I railed:  Father forgive him, he knows not what he does.

This is the cross Dwain will have to carry.

I have to tell him.  And then we  can bleed together.

My Analyst Told Me……..

About a week ago, my brother sent me an email with the information for a local therapist. I had given up therapy (God and I had this) and frankly, he was concerned. If I am going to face upheaval and pain, I call my bro, as I can emote at whim and he will not judge me. He gives great advice, so I looked so forward to meeting Nancy. The appointment was made for this morning.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I shake, from my feet on up to my hands. I have crying bouts-I cannot sleep through the night, never a problem before. This isn’t good for my Lyme recovery-let’s face it, what happened Wednesday afternoon wouldn’t be good for anyone. I drove in the wrong direction for 30 minutes, so distracted was moi. Finally, after driving miles on slick, rain drenched country roads. And I drove aggressively, fearlessly-which isn’t really me.

I spoke of the “incident” with my stepson in my last blog. How he has walked around in a state of rage for three months now, first depression-now red hot anger. He went on a verbal tirade about how I was a “blood sucking leach,” that I was a “joke” to the entire family. I was in fear of him punching me, and when I tried to go back inside, he blocked my way.

So here I am at Nancy’s pad. I fill out the paperwork and wait. An attractive and cheerful woman greets me with a hug. We sit down and I commence to lose my shit, and cry like a child. She proceeds to ask me a myriad of questions, mainly about brain fog and forgetfulness. By the time she gets to what she thinks I have? My mind is moving one hundred miles in seventy different directions.

“Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she says in a hushed tone.

She gave me the reasons behind her thinking, admitted that it was too early to be sure, gave me a tissue and rescheduled. As I drove to the pharmacy on the way home, it hit me pretty hard. I broke down and called my brother from said pharmacy. I wept through my interaction with the cashier. They know me well. They were concerned.

I have a few questions for sure. I am not going to go head over heels into this without ensuring that she can help me with my PTSD and Narcissistic Abuse syndrome. The only time lapse I remember was two weeks ago, albeit a four hour lapse. I was reading my bible on the couch in the living room, the clock read 8:00 a.m. When I traipsed into the kitchen for a glass of water (I had just received a very upsetting email from my sister)and the stove read 12:30 p.m.

I would poo poo the whole thing if it weren’t for the dichotomy between my mellow self, and my ‘I will cut a bitch” self. But doesn’t everyone have another side to them? DID happens for a few reasons, but in my case she believes that I suffered such devastating trauma from emotional abuse in my childhood, that I created another persona if you will.

Emotionally and physically exhausted, I made an appointment with Nancy for next week. I won’t let this ruin my weekend, as God has the final say on what I am suffering from, and He alone has the cure. Be blessed family.

She (Part 3)

So, we left off on the day before my biopsy for cervical cancer. Dwain had stopped in, and he was persona non grata with my mother and sister, who travelled to Schaefferstown to drop mom off; she wanted to be with me, and I was thrilled to have her. Thank God she was in the ladies room when the love of my life came to the door with flowers. We had decided to not see each other, for reasons that were both obvious, and ubiquitous. My heart raced when I heard his muffler, from miles away-he drove a beat up Chevy pick up, baby blue, and to be honest? I was shocked he hadn’t heeded my NO, but deliriously happy at the same time.

I had married Dwain’s boss two weeks before. While on the honeymoon on Cape Cod, Karl had lost his cool and jacked me up against the wall, by my neck. He was angry that I had ordered a bottle of champagne. Two days later he left me in a restaurant twenty miles away from our cottage, and I knew by day three that I would leave him. Cancer has a way of jolting you out of your stupor, and having it leaves one scattered, frightened and incredibly raw-but somehow, hearing the doctor say, “You have cancer,” instigates an incredible will to live-and on your own terms at that.

The next day, at the Good Samaritan hospital in Lebanon, I was in a room with my mother, prepping for my surgery. I wanted Karl to leave, I didn’t understand why he was there, and his attempts at comfort were not wanted, nor appreciated by me.

“Mom, tell him to leave, please,” I begged. Alas, she didn’t know the whole story, and she shushed me with a “He is your husband, sweetheart, he needs to be here.” After a requested shot of Ativan, I became, shall we say, unruly. I called Karl a “Cock shell,” and although my mother, along with the nurses who surrounded me and the anesthesiologist thought this to be hilarious, in my mind the words made sense. I was calling him a dick, in my own drugged out and terrified way.

I was in bed for a day afterwards. As the weeks went by awaiting a prognoses, I grew irritable and withdrawn. Karl’s brother, who lived in Pittsburgh with the rest of the extended family, drove down to stay with me-he was my closest friend at the time, and he knew nothing of what took place on the honeymoon. I couldn’t bare to tell him.

One morning, while Greg and I were deciding where to go for breakfast, the surgeon called. I jumped when the phone rang. Dr. Lape went on to tell me that the cancer was in situ, localized and at Stage I. I was going to recover, survive…….besides myself with hope I phoned my then husband at work.

“It hasn’t spread, I will be okay, no chemo-they believe they got it all!.”

And for years, until I miscarried Dwain’s child, I was not privy to the information that would break my heart. The doctor told Karl, believing he would be the one to break the news.

“You just didn’t want to have children, you bitch.”

And that was the beginning of the end. I ran out the door, put the keys in my Chevette and drove. I put 100 miles on the speedometer, and ended up a mile from home-in the arms of the man I could no longer deny.

To be continued……..

Let it Be……

Just back from a hike with the pooch, and my head is spinning in sixteen different directions.  As I approached the house, my step son stepped out of the woods.  At 31 he looks just like his father did, and the sour look on his face should have warned me off.  But I am Michele, Lord of the Idiots, and I laugh off rules of any kind; often at my own expense.

Brad is my one and only child.  When I was in my late twenties,  I embarked on a journey to ensure that I was making the right decision about not having children.  I admit that early on my choice seemed rather selfish, but it turned out that by the time I was thirty?  Cervical cancer and the operation that ensued, took any chance of child bearing away from me.  And rather than feel relief I felt a gnawing pain, an echo chamber in which my heart beat loudly and rather often:  I yearned for a child in the way the lonely yearn for a soul mate.  After meeting Dwain, my mind had changed-I wanted a little one, I cried out to the fertility gods……Please.  Please allow us a child.  

You see, the doctor had thought it more appropriate to tell my ex-husband that I could not conceive, let alone deliver.  Karl never told me about this, so the day that the EPT read positive?  I was frightened but ready to have my mini me.  Dwain, however, went through a bitter divorce and he lost custody rights when Brad was very young.  He didn’t want to go through that again, and I couldn’t blame him.

“Maybe he will change his mind when she comes….,” I told myself.  I was hoping for a girl and had already named her Jessica Louise, after my mother.  Early on in the pregnancy I began to bleed profusely, and the gynecologist stared blankly at me when he said, “Spontaneous Abortion.  Why did you get pregnant?”  Before I could answer the question, he said, and rather bluntly-“Dr. Lape did your surgery, and I see in your chart he told you not to get pregnant, that it would end in a miscarriage.”  I didn’t bother to say he did nothing of the sort, I just whimpered my way out of the office, drove home and called a dear friend.  Annie volunteered to take me to the clinic, I would have rather had a D&C, but as it turned out, I had no choice in the matter.

So, this morning, after asking my son how he did hunting, and getting a mumbled reply, I drove up the street and was shocked as I burst into tears, the kind that hurt your eyes and heart.  You see, although I know he loves me, we were never close.  I blame that not only on my drinking, which hurt him very badly, but the fact that I was jealous of my husband’s bond with him.  Looking back, it breaks my heart and pierces my soul that I could be that hardened, insecure, reckless…….

So now I am left with the shadows of darkness…….with each seemingly insurmountable loss of the children in my life-my nephew, nieces……and even Brad to a degree…moments of backlogged grief hit me at inappropriate and vulnerable times.  I have to allow for the fact that I have been forgiven, not only by my heavenly father, but by my son, my husband and my nearest and dearest.  I am a completely different entity at this juncture in my life, and like so many of us I regret so much of my past……..it comes in waves, it comes in downpours, my pain an open wound that salt enters in times of clarity.

On Thanksgiving day, we volunteer at our local church, for a community meal in which we feed the homeless, the hungry, the poor.  I was turned away last year, and you have to sign up extra early to get the coveted kitchen help position.  This year?  While Dwain found work carving turkeys, I was told that there wouldn’t be anything for me to do until much later.

“Craptastic,”  I muttered underneath my breath.

“What does that mean,” a little voice asked.  Startled, I turned to see a small boy, bored to tears as his parents worked in the kitchen.  Big brown eyes, and as it turned out, incredibly in tune with those much older than he; wise way beyond his years he took my hand.

You can be my mommy for a little while,” he said as he took my hand and led me to the Sunday School rooms.

And after two hours of table soccer, ping pong and story telling I was called into the foyer to do my part.  I leaned down and whispered in his ear,

“Thank you Tyler.  From the very bottom of my heart.”