Archive for the ‘Entertaining’ Category

Today, I was confronted by someone I am living with who was upset over me having fruit in a plastic bag out. She began to recollect everything I am doing or rather have done that differs from other people in the house. She continuously repeated in a harsh and violent tone, “You’re not special”. I began to space out as she began to become monstrous as I do not care to hear from people that have nothing unintelligible to say.

Further, I began to think about why she continued to say this to me and what message she was attempting to convey. This is when it occurred to me; though I do not perceive myself as special, I do have special needs. There is a distinct difference. For me, those difference present themselves in the following ways:

  • I need more space in kitchen cabinets because the items I need for my motility disorder take up lots of space, and are very expensive. However, if the items are bought in bulk, the price is often quite lower. So, at the moment, I have many items from bulk shipments.
  • I take more time getting ready, and have to wake up earlier.
  • connecting this to an earlier post, I often am allowed additional baggage to lug aboard a plane. I don’t feel particularly special and rather isolated when I have to spend an additional 30 minutes to one hour waiting in airport security lugging a piece of baggage that is generally quite heavy, full of liquids because I can’t walk into a convenience or grocery store whenever I’m feeling hungry to be satiated. These items are not carried in your everyday store.
  • I have to be very wary that the food I grind is pureed to be of a particular consistency so I can swallow easier. Preparing food to this standard takes at least two to three times as long as an average meal preparation.
  • I have to drink out of a very particular cup with a straw, and these cups are generally made for people aged 1-3 years old. Oh how I love carrying around a cup that is targeted to this age group. If I want to be identified, a bright green cup is sure the way to go. I hate this fact, and often don’t consume any liquids while I am in public view to ward off any chastising before it starts.
  • When I go places with friends, it isn’t uncommon for me to be left behind so they can do what they need to do in a set time frame-I walk too slowly for them. Once this occurs in a friendship, aside from a truly valid reason, I often do not consider most of these individuals friends thereafter.

Someone who is special tends to believe that others should conform to his or her own standards and often exhibits a sense of entitlement. Upon deviance from this standard, a monstrous attitude is generally displayed by the special individual. If one accepts this definition to be generally accurate, I believe I was the product of the good old defense mechanism of projection hours ago; this person’s hostility towards me is because she believes she deserves the same treatment as me. You know what? If I had the ability to generate Cerebral Palsy, an unknown motility disorder, narcolepsy, ADHD, bilateral exotropia, and a slew of other conditions upon her for one day, I’d be confounded if she didn’t request to have a few additional accommodations made for her in housing.

However, since I do not have that power (yet), and I would not knowingly cast sickness to someone else, I hereby declare that the world exudes greater understanding and empathy towards special needs, rather than look upon it as an unthinkable act, and admonishing circumstance.

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Starting out three months too soon,

He didn’t make it.

My twin was too little,

I took the nutrition,

This you’ll hear, is my rendition.

Left alone, parents aside.

Only touched out of necessity,

Rarely for love comfort,each time much brevity.

Fed through my head because I couldn’t feed.

A little weird, I think, because apparently I managed my needs:

In the womb, next to my brother,

The moment we’re out I don’t get another

Moment near him as they swooped him away,

Or fell into the bucket, there’s none who will say.

None who can or will tell me the truth as I stare off into space,

Appearing aloof.

Bitterness abounds as my family breaks apart.

It was at my birth, at my start.

Sure there were problems and problems before,

I can’t help but think I added to the stress more.

Regardless, I was an innocent life,

Quite fragile, delicate, and constantly under the knife.

They thought I was stupid, young, naive.

I knew what was going on, always protecting my reality,

Not wanting to believe,

That my parents couldn’t love me,

That they constantly grieve,

The three children they had

1 dead

1 dying

and the last, keeps trying.

That’s me, the last, a bundle of unknowns,

I stepped away to grow up on my own.

From a very young age I never connected,

They blamed birth, the brain bleed, always something indirect.

They never stepped up, they never confessed,

That all this, all this came from distress.

If they were dead, this life might make sense.

At the very least, I would have evidence, and my world not as dense.

I despise them, I pity them,

For parents they are not.

I used to want to leave, ran away a lot.

No one helped me as I sat in despair.

I was the crazy one, life perfectly unfair.

I was judged, ridiculed, abused all the time,

When I asked for help and spoke the truth, it was as if I did the crime.

I didn’t, I was just a little kid,

Shouldn’t have to take care of myself,

Yet I did.

This pattern created a grown up too soon,

From the age of 6 I was off, zoom zoom.

I began to rebel, only from them,

I began to stay away, always sent to my room.

The monster within me wouldn’t leave,

As I destroyed my things, myself, all in a vain attempt to grieve.

For not having a mommy to cuddle with when I was upset,

Not having a daddy as he was filled with his own, deep-seated regret.

I did have Barbara, emotionally and completely destroyed.

I did have Ken, an unstable adult child, who I sometimes enjoyed.

Then there’s Michael, who never really liked me,

He noted this before and to the police I was crazy,

And last from my childhood was Judi, far from a lady.

I yearned to connect, to please have a family,

No, not for me,

That would be uncanny.

As my world unraveled, I followed suit,

How did I not die on this treacherous pursuit?

I was done, ready to die,

What kind of life is this, all alone, with no one nearby.

Somehow I’ve lived, they call it fortuitous,

They call it a miracle, they call it bliss.

I don’t know what to say,

I just don’t want to struggle, through this, day after day.

I want to live, to stay alive,

Yet there’s uncertainty and death has been near,

The angels called for me, and I was like a deer,

Caught in the headlights, unsure how to proceed,

As the angels waited nearby,

Would I concede?

I didn’t go, not wanting to die alone,

But I was ready, done with the drone,

Of being sick, unloved and unwanted,

The only hope I had left, slowly dissipating,

My life was on the edge as I was done fighting,

Too scared to die, too tired to live,

I drifted through the night, unable to give.

I woke in the morning, rather confused,

The medicine finally worked, I didn’t lose.

I was alive, albeit tired, weak and meek,

Wanting to finish school, week after week.

I loved where I lived, not wanting to leave,

Yet I had to, this time,

If I wanted to breathe.

Life is breath,

Breath is life,

I must remember this pattern to be rid of the strife.

I’m alive now, I’m writing this down,

Missing Denmark, my twin, and my upside-down frown.

I was happy there, though I was sick.

I had friends, ones I could pick.

I’m lost here, where I don’t belong,

I’ve nothing here, not even a mom.

I have me, only me, someone I despise,

Who stole from a baby, ripped apart a family,

All by being alive.

 

 

 

Remember when,
We were friends?
When I came to you and you came to me, and
Everything we did together was in near -perfect synchronicity
I miss those days, those times, those moments,
Most of all I miss you.
I should have known I couldn’t depend on you.
I should’ve known you weren’t for real.
All that glamour, too much appeal.
I was suckered in right from the start.
Actually thought your words and feelings were coming from your heart.
Instead, they were coming from your mind, and I was blind-or merely naive.
Looking back now, how didn’t I see that you’d eventually leave?
Nothing I did wrong, nothing in my control.
I became sick and you became, well, full.
Full of life, full of bs?
Doesn’t matter which, because I won’t get my wish.
To have you near, to have you around.
What I’d give just to hear that sound.
Of you answering the phone or opening the door.
To have you in my life, just once, no more.

I’m going through some crazy medical adventures and a lot of people are bewildered at how I can handle this.

Support is key: when support is diminished, mentally sink.

Even if it’s one person, one smile, one kind word, I am helped, uplifted.

I struggle a lot and apparently the medical challenges are not getting easier, perhaps will become more complex in the future.

Yesterday I was told by my somatic practitioner to take it one month at a time. She didn’t say second by second or day by day as most people often relay to me. She doesn’t negate the future because let’s face it, the future is a likely reality. A month seems practical. She says things seem to fall into place for me eventually-I don’t like how that tends to be relatively last-minute.

Spirituality. No I’m not gonna go on a rant about what’s best or what to believe. Knowing/believing something greater than yourself exists may help. I’ve tried to not have my spirituality falter through these times, and truthfully (what else?), that’s been rough.

I feel happy today though and I’m gonna leave it at that. I’m grateful for this day and this feeling.

The person who I’m supposed to put my life in the hands of nearly killed me.

That explains why I felt half alive, half dead. His error caused me to have sepsis, for the second time in less than three months.

He didn’t listen when I asked if it was placed properly. The nurses didn’t listen when I said I was in too much pain for the procedure. No one really listened, until it was almost too late.

I was prepared to die.

The only way I’ve thought of to describe sepsis is an ache unlike any I’ve experienced.

Ever had the flu? The ache is kinda from the inside out. Sepsis is somewhat reverse. The ache starts at the core and then spreads deeper and deeper throughout the body.

There’s a reason some people refer to it as blood poisoning. I felt nausea, and not from pain. Nausea because my blood felt like a substance that didn’t belong in my body, like it was defective, dangerous, and poisoned.

I lost count but I think it was at least seven rounds of strong antibiotics through IV that was administered to me, using an antibiotic that is prescribed and reserved for severest of infections

You know yourself better than anyone, even a doctor knows you. Don’t trust these people who act like paragods, they too are human, and they too can make detrimental mistakes.

 

 

Please note, I am combining two blogs. If you are following The Mental Health System; Friend, Foe, or Folly? (link- http://lockedupandinstitutionalized.wordpress.com) please continue following my thoughts at:

 

https://iwishiwaslying.wordpress.com

Thanks for your support! 

The final product may take a few days, thanks for your patience 🙂

 

 

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I’ve talked a lot with the Somatic Experiencing Practitioner I see. Even though this kind of practitioner does less talking and more body work, the option to do so hasn’t been around as I’ve been abroad. Every week, we’ve done FaceTime conversations.

I digress. The reason I mention the talking is because one thing under heavy discussion is that I continually overwhelm therapists or other similar practitioners to the point that they will do one of a few things:

1. refer me elsewhere

2. say they don’t know how to help me

3. say they’re not willing to help me

Due to these reasons, I find it very incapacitating at times to begin an opening up process or merely letting anyone in. I don’t actually believe there is an individual out there who can hear it all and take it in-being an active attuned listener who can express true empathy. I am not looking for sympathy-there is a major difference between someone feeling sorry for me and someone who has the ability to step into my shoes almost quite literally. With the SEP, we discussed how some people just don’t have the capacity to handle it all.

You know what? People’s capacities suck! If I have to endure the amount of shit I’ve had to, the least someone in a helping profession can do is not give up on me again. I’m sick of expressing myself and told to stop sharing in a group because even a therapist is overwhelmed at my situation. Most of what I’ve gone through has been an unfortunate series of events that I’ve had no control in (at the time). How I currently react to the past is mostly within my control.

It’s fucking disheartening when people can’t even listen to my story, never mind experience it. After all, I’m not asking them to go experience chronic childhood physical abuse and neglect. I’m not asking them to have endured 20+ traumas as I have. I’m asking them to listen, to be a compassionate human being. Apparently that is even too hard for most people, even the “trained” professionals.