Cognitive Skills Severely Impaired

Damn it I just want to sleep. I would give my right arm right now for REAL uninterrupted, healthy sleep.

I have had sleep issues for about as long as I can remember now. Between unrestful and odd sleeping patterns, to straight up insomnia I dread nights. I also hope every night that this is he night that will be different. It never is. I’m always tossing and turning, aware of every ache and pain in my body, never in a comfortable position to relax, and waking up on average every hour on the dot. Green Day’s Insomnia plays in my head pretty much constantly. My brain doesn’t work right, I can’t carry a conversation half the time and I have not driven my car in over three weeks because I’m just not fit to.

Yes I’ve tried Advil pm, melatonin, tea, klonopin, Ativan, ALL my night meds have drowsy side effects, and had a sleep study done. No sleep apnea, but I do have restless leg syndrome. Basically I’ve been told to keep trying things I’m already doing, let my body sleep when it’s ready and adjust to its schedule. Right now I get my best sleep between 7 and noon. Pretty fucking convenient right? And double that with the Chronic fatigue and I have been living one huge party life lately of feeling pretty much like death. So for all those I’ve been neglecting, I’m so sorry. I’m just trying to get it together here.

My darling husband on the other hand, will sleep anywhere:



Brought by the Letter M.

Sooooo, a murder victim was found behind my house a couple of days ago. Like directly behind my house they dumped the body. Thankfully I don’t go into my backyard area much or my therapist would have a whole new set of issues to deal with.

As the story officially goes now, a guy killed his girlfriend in a fight and then tried to dump the body behind my house. And someone came across it. When the police went the the woman’s apartment her baby was still inside. And they arrested the guy. I appreciate how everyone in our neighborhood was also notified of the situation via letter in our doors, like when you get a Chinese menu in your door. Only this one was like “FYI, there was a murder today….”

I would also care to mention that this happened when I arrived home from my appointment with psych where I was told officially I had General Anxiety Disorder, PTSD, and Bi Polar disorder. It was a LOVELY day. But there we have it folks. The official reports are in on what I have been going through the past few years that have exploded the past few months. I took the weekend off to process the information, even though I’m not surprised and I was prepared for what much of the personality assessment had to say. It’s just so, sobering, to see yourself, what makes you tick on the paper. The good, the bad and the ugly, and agree with it because you do know its true. There were things I was proud of on that paper, traits I wouldn’t give up, but also things on there I would trade in a heartbeat not to have to ever feel again. If only letting go were just that easy now that I know about it. If just seeing it could cure me and free me of this mess. It’s just not like that.

So instead, I’ll be meeting with a doctor to work out a plan to stabilize my moods and control my anxiety, and I’ll work on learning how to cope and process information in a healthier way with my therapist. I think the next question down the road is, will knowing all this be a opportunity at a last attempt at communication with my parents, or will it be the last break for me before I have to say enough for my own health and really move on in a more drastic measure?


I don’t usually encourage bad grammar or spelling but I really want to scream “IMMA ‘BOUT TO NEED A VALIUM DRIP UP IN HERE!” with all the recent changes going on in my life right now. We all know I’m one crack up from going completely insane, and I just feel like life is pushing those buttons right now just to see if it can break me. JUST SO YOU KNOW LIFE, YOU CAN. YOU CAN STOP NOW. THIS WHOLE BIBLICAL JOB COMPLEX IS NOT AMUSING.

Sure, I’m on meds that are like my secret little weapons of second wave back up forces keeping the anxiety armies and tears at bay. I have the friends kinda dropping in from the sky and beating back my insecurities like kamikaze pilots when it gets bad as well. I certainly don’t want to kill them off, and everyone needs to sleep around here. And I’m fond of their devotion and all that.

But the point here is this, none of these things can keep putting my brain back together if you, life, keep dropping nuclear bombs in here of ridiculous nature. Between my illnesses, the military, financial, and family life struggles I simply need a break. Don’t you give me any of that “God doesn’t give you any more than you can handle” nonsense, because we both know full well I don’t believe in God and that saying is bullshit. Surviving and handling are two entirely different things.

I’m angry right now, I’m venting, I need a good stiff drink and probably a sense of humor. But I allowed myself the usage of the slang “IMMA” for the very first time ever, and now I am going to have to reflect on THAT for a few hours. *Cringe*


These Dreams Go On When I Close My Eyes….

So I have these dreams sometimes. More like, these situations that take place, while I’m sleeping that wake me up demanding of my mind to just GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER ALREADY, because its enough that I’m a bit fucked up when I’m awake, is there no rest for the weary?

A few nights ago I found myself covered in bugs, nay BEETLES in my dreams because my dad hacked open a tree we recommended he didn’t. (I feel like the theme song of Benny Hill should now start, with my dad once again doing something we are asking him not to do because it’s totally stupid but he doesn’t care!) I was swarmed in these beetles. We had watched them swarm my stepmom first and they killed her when she tried to use electricity through a fork (don’t ask, things make sense in dreams RIGHT?) to get them off her. So if I touched metal I could die too or something. My dad refused to let us cut the shirt off me because my shirt had a bible verse on it, therefore making the shirt more precious to ruin than my life. Annoying because I had JUST GOTTEN THE BEES OFF ME TOO. Oh I forgot to mention that? There were bees that had swarmed me before the beetles. I don’t remember how they got there, but I lived through that and that’s how the dream started, me, covered in bees.

What’s actually kinda weird about this is my dreams usually aren’t symbolic or cryptic . They are usually straight up literal. Like flashbacks to being beaten by either of my parents over childhood offenses. With the exception of I’m in my adult body and I know it. And I still can’t escape. And I’m terrified. And stuck in the same house I which I grew up. Trying to break a run for the top of the street to freedom. Now that Ken is around, there is almost ALWAYS a “I’m trying to contact him but my cell phone doesn’t work factor” in there somewhere.

Once I dreamed I dreamed my dad had somehow talked me into going back to Shippensburg, the yearly bible school I attended until I was 21 and Ken was there, but somehow we got separated by throngs of people and I just knew Ken was sick somewhere. My father started dragging me and forcing me through the doors of is lecture hall to fulfill my obligation as I desperately was trying to find Ken. Because I knew he wasn’t ok, and could not get to me. I’m frantically dialing his number and the keys are sticking and my dad is screaming at me that Ken is not my concern, to get in there and listen to the lecture. I just KNOW Ken is somewhere DYING or something, and I’m panicking. I wake up as I’m being forced though the lecture hall door crying.

Those who know me might say, some of this sounds within the realm of possible real things my dad would do. Like, just on the cusp of they could see happening. That’s exactly what I mean when I say straight up literal in there (my brain.) Is not just some whacked out imagery of craziness that means something my brain is processing. It’s like a reality horror show up in my brain when I sleep. It does not play games. And I only get to keep those dreams, not the good ones. I couldn’t tell you the last good dream I had if my life depended on it. I know I must have them, but those must be the nights it feels like I don’t dream at all. All the nights in between those, are the insomniac kind.

Actually that’s not true! This happened just the other night and I’m still laughing. I’m not sure what’s funnier, the idea that I threw down with my dad over this, or the fact that my borderline neurotic love of maps and transit related things has finally started appearing in my dreams. (I love maps, GPS things, subways, directions… Like obsessively)

The other night I had this total smack down with my dad in my sleep over how to get to shippensburg (again with this place, WHAT GIVES?!) of all things because his directions where totally ridiculous and I was not having it. I was laughing so hard when I woke up I was schooling him so hard with a GPS and a map, with an audience of about 10 people who were clearly waiting for the apocalypse, but I knew, that this one time, I had this shit in the bag.

It’s so sad it’s funny.

PTSD: House of Cards

This is the hardest thing I’ve chosen to write about, ever, so if I falter in my delivery, style or miss a grammar issue, grant me a pardon. I feel strongly about sharing my story on a personal level because I’m hoping staring it in the face will help me heal, and knowing its out there will make me deal better. It’s been sitting with me quietly, in writing, in private for a few days now, but I think taking my voice back is important to the process as well.

I had enough to handle as a kid growing up that I was already a pretty unstable person going into adulthood but I really think what sent me into full blown fracturing of my psyche PTSD was my rape. And I think the other night I realized just how much INSIDE I hadn’t dealt with it. I was laying in bed and it all flooded back out of nowhere. But mostly the anger at how I turned to my family, my dad for support, and what he told me on the phone the day after I escaped from that house. And then how he handled getting my stuff back, chatting with the guy, shaking his hand. I got super angry and burst into tears and sobbed right there in the bed for an hour. And asked Ken all sorts of WHY questions. I was flooded with betrayal like it had just happened last night. So bad I could not breathe.

I was living in a house in 2002, with multiple roommates, of which I was friends with and of which happened to be male. I learned over time, that said male friend had a serious control and drinking problem and ultimately it devolved into assaulting me, multiple times. With his own children also in the house. I was terrified, in shock, and at first totally unprepared to stand up for myself and fight back. I was raped several occasions, once when I was even sick with a fever and crying the entire time BEGGING for him to stop. At the end, he dropped his 14 month old daughter in my lap and went out for the night drinking. I was trapped, for I was also attached to this child as well, and stuck with the dilemma of abandoning her, for I had no legal standing on that front, or being subject to this abuse at his every whim despite my slow but surely emotional death going on inside. One night, he came home drunk, and I LOST IT. I fought back. He attacked me, I locked myself in the basement while he cut the phone lines so I couldn’t call for help. The only saving factor in this was he passed out drunk and I packed a bag with a stolen cell phone and stuck out the back door and RAN leaving all my belongings behind in the process and called a friend for help.

I broke down and called my family. My father told me that considering that God didn’t intend for men and women to live together outside of marriage, this was a poor choice on my behalf. He then told me, that he knew of my flair for the dramatic and said that I probably did something to lead him to believe this was ok, or was simply not relaying the story exactly as it happened anyway, so don’t be surprised if no one takes this very seriously. After some time had passed, he did offer to have him and my uncle move my stuff out of my rapists house for me, back to my mothers house, who at least gave me my old room back until I found somewhere else to live. During this moving, I was required to be present, and when my rapist protested over removing some items from the house he preferred to keep my dad LET HIM, because “he seemed to have a point, and was friendly about it (I didn’t even hear the conversation, I was too emotional to leave the car)” and then they laughed, chatted and SHOOK HANDS at the end. And that was that. We have never spoken of the incident again. It never happened.

Suddenly, a couple nights ago, I couldn’t rationalize ANYTHING. Why I could fight so hard to get out of danger only to be dropped on my head by my own father. Why he shook hands with my rapist instead of punching the man who hurt his daughter right in the face. WHY HE NEVER MENTIONED IT TO ME AFTER WORDS. NEVER SAID HE WAS SORRY FOR MY PAIN. Its like it never happened. I don’t want to be known as the family member who’s only hook was getting raped but I sure as hell want to know that people support my through my recovery and BELIEVE THAT IT HAPPENED. I know I have people that believe me. I do. Wonderful friends, and a husband. It’s the people that openly shunned the idea to my face that have done such damage. Because they weren’t just people I could just disregard. I have to face my dad. All the time. My stepmom wrote it off because my dad didn’t feel it important to tell her so when I mentioned it, she brushed me off. I immediately felt shame and never talked of it again. My mom doesn’t talk about things like that, her and my grandmother are experts at bottling trauma and burying that shit so deep it NEVER SEES LIGHT AGAIN. EVER. Meanwhile, I’m dying inside.

After 10 years, I’m obviously no where near over this judging by the rage and betrayal, tears and Klonopin needed that bubbled up out of my own head seemingly unprompted by anything other than my own head working its own thoughts.

Yes, I’ve been through therapy but to be honest, I realize I’ve danced around this event. I have not danced around the topic of religion or my dad, but my rape, I’ve acted like I accept that it isn’t my fault (I do, now) and I can put it behind me. Apparently…..I’m wrong. The other night was proof. Being strong and saying you know it’s not your fault is only part of healing. Never talking about it again on that premise, is NOT strength I’m learning, and it’s forcing me to relive my trauma in me dreams, and in my waking thoughts.

And I will say it WAS the moment I let go of the idea of a personal relationship with God, and started moving toward the idea of a more abstract uninvolved creator type god. Perhaps one that set the world in motion, but did not play a part in events nor did he intervene in the lives of his creations. It’s when I started my first blog in fact (in 2003.) My blog was an exploration of that idea, if I could make peace with that, if I could see beauty in that type of god. I dug down deep into the metaphorical beauty of “God’s Creation” in the bible, and tried to find inner peace with the world through nature of the earth around me. I blogged my ass off about it and thought in my head “why all the beauty out there when my beautiful body has just been torn apart inside and he didn’t care?” (I did a TON of this while drowning in drugs.) And if I could reconcile those thoughts within a church that believed strongly in a personal god. Which, ultimately, I could not. I couldn’t rationalize either. Nor accept the way the social aspects of the Christadelphians where railroading me in the wake of all this, coupled with how my childhood went. So I started reading other materials that spoke to me, in terms of evidence and logic, that have formed my path today.

It’s my Blog and I’ll Whine if I Want To……Whine if I Want to.

So I wrote one of those therapeutic letters to my father, where you know, I get everything off my chest. I thought I would need to call him first to get all hot and bothered to bang it all out on the keyboard, but trying to do it cold turkey, I sat down to write finally early last week. And to my surprise, I “banged” out 4 pages all on my own, no additional rage needed. I’ve read it back to myself a million times, I’m supposed to go over it with my therapist, but he cancelled this week, and I really do think it gets to the point. I think for total release, I NEED to send this to him, to figure out just where we stand, him and I. But I haven’t mustered the courage to send it. I think I am waiting on talking it through one more time with my therapist.

In the meantime, we are leaving for DC on Wednesday morning, to take care of some business with my grandmother and check out the Cherry Blossoms with the new camera. This might be a total disappointment though, seeing as it still wants to be snowing up there in APRIL. Enough already with the snow. I want flowers.

On the way back we’re detouring in Richmond. Hopefully to get a better grasp on Ken’s school enrollment and financial options. I also have a list of places to stalk to see if perhaps our new home later this year is there.

I’m of course still jumbled in the head because Murphy’s Law combined with the Army constantly throws a wretch in my get-up on a daily basis. I’m so worried about Ken, whose back pain is getting worse. I’m worried about what the Army is going to do about it, and if its going to delay all our relocation plans this summer. I’m worried that our financial struggles are going to continue, and our debt to income ratio is going to massively spike. We speak to a pain specialist tomorrow about Ken. Its the same people I went to last year ironically, who apparently do not manage illnesses like Fibromyalgia, which is funny, because the definition of Fibromyalgia IS chronic pain. And on top of all that juggling, I’m having a spell of not being able to mentally cope with my own illness and the idea that it’s a lifer. I’m also tired of treatment advice from family that I repeatedly tell them I can’t afford only to be told “well sometimes we have to make sacrifices to find the options to deal with our health”. Yes, because I’m sitting on a pile of money over here that I’m neglecting to use to explore alternative treatment. Thanks for that reality check, I’ll get right on that. UGH.

Taking Advantage of the Quiet of the Morning….

So, it’s been awhile eh? Yes, I’ve become Canadian for the day. Deal with it.

The new camera arrived. It’s beautiful. But it also arrived in a time where I ran out of my pain meds, was readjusting to my pain med refill, and a weekend where we ran off to DC for baby Kate’s 3rd birthday. THIRD. BIRTHDAY. I can’t believe it as I type it. And now I have a handsome nephew and a 3rd baby on the way to adore! Kate’s party was filled with strawberries, Strawberry Shortcake, and of course….princess gear. She’s in full princess mode these days. Headstrong AND a princess? I feel a Disney movie in the making.

I was able to make it out to Fayetteville’s Botanical Gardens to finally put my reading on the camera into practice, and o.m.gee….. I love this camera. It’s already paid its worth in making me happy. I’ve started a new FLICKR account to more easily document and show off my newest hobby. I’m proud of myself for putting my knowledge into use already, and I can see where this is going to be able to grow with me as a learning experience. And damn it, I need a hobby.

So, this week I have a therapy session I’m looking forward to. Learning to communicate in my “Adult” state, 100% of the time, whether I’m met with the same respect or not. I’m good with reason and logic, which is what the “Adult” state is all about, but I tend to give into emotions, or my “Child” state, when I communicate with certain people, because they trigger that response in me, because those emotional needs were never properly met when I was a child. I’m going to learn to meet them for myself now. Interesting concept, but it does make sense to me logically. 🙂