Posts Tagged ‘family’

I guess I don’t really need something dramatic to fill up this space every time I write. I notice that is usually when I write-when shit hits the fan. I’ll write about family today, and the aspect that everyone seemed to negate in my life namely therapists.

I’d often complain or be sad that I don’t have a family, saying that’s who is supposed to help me through the rough times. Therapists always gave the generic, “Your family’s toxic, you need to find friends who you can utilize as your support system”. Then I went to Denmark, and prior to my arrival, during my last appointment with my dietician, she said I could stay here (at the treatment center) for a really long time, and that I’ve built a support system here.

I told her that I’d be living with a host family and she said, “That’s not the same, they’re not going to be your family.” Those words dug at me deep because I knew that DIS (where I study abroad) hooks students up with amazing host families and that the experience was more than a traditional host family (not that I’ve had much to compare to).

Still,  I didn’t have much to retort with to her aside from, “it’s different”.

Fast forward to four months later, my last night in Denmark before I was leaving on a short break. I walked through the doors after completing my last final exam and found that my host grandpa died unexpectedly. I felt compelled to stay and not leave the following day, though I had business to care of in the US.

Before she went to bed, I gave my host sister a present. Her mom, “our” mom Katja was around as I gave the gift.

Months earlier, Victoria had seen my harmonica and really seemed to want her own. This was the gift I gave to her that night.

Katja began tearing up, saying that her father played the harmonica. I had unknowingly kept a tradition going while making my 9 year old Danish sister satisfied.

Serendipitous moment.

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What did I do wrong

What happened to my life? I started to get better over here, at least emotionally. I was welcomed by a most amazing host family, and felt a part of their home within the first 24 hours. We had ups and downs, mostly ups and downs were external forces for the next four months. We shared secrets. Then I got sick. They visited me every few days in hospital. Then I got well. Then I got sick after the first day, and was re-admitted. Fortunately, I was discharged days later after fighting a severe infection.

I moved out of the house as planned, to start another term. They had already planned on having family friends move in, before I decided I’d stay the whole year. Ever since that point, I have made the effort to go see them on at least half a dozen separate occasions, on public transportation mind you, while they own a car. They said they’d visit me and never once made the effort to do so.

Graciously they lent me their extra bike for the term. My youngest host sister and I have begun to exchange daily texts. The one I received from her today was odd. She had just asked if I was going to be coming by to see them before I leave and I wrote that I have to see her so yeah.

She responded in a rather adult way saying I have to confirm because I have the bike. The bike. Not me. Why see me? Why make an effort to come out to see me? I have not once seen them even attempt to come to where I live. Never mind the fact that finals, packing, and reverse culture shock are looming. Never mind I’ve been in hospital six times in the last four months. It’s always about monetary value, not people. People don’t matter. I don’t matter.

This is a mere extension or reflection of what I’ve been feeling over the past few weeks. Being neglected at the hospital that seemed to be the only decent one left here (I’ve been to four in this country), literally the hospital doing nothing but observation after I found blood in my tube.

The friends I’ve made where I live suddenly became absent from my life a few weeks ago as well. One, he was going through some stuff and wouldn’t let anyone in. He wasn’t responding to any of my texts and had very little contact with anyone. The other, I’m guessing it was his girlfriend who has been occupying his time over the past weeks. I just found out about the girlfriend over the past weekend at a gathering for a friend’s party.

The person who organized the party is at the same level of friendship as the person who the party was for. I hope this makes enough sense to get across. My birthday also was a few weeks ago, the organizer (friend) said we’d do something for my birthday. That never happened.I went to this party not bitterly, attempting to celebrate the special occasion for the friend. It was hard to not feel slightly jealous.

The cycle of neglect and abandonment and utter devastation surface and replay. Broken promises, broken heart, no family.

My father who only has contact with me for financial reasons as he has no emotional availability for me in his life just sent two horrifyingly nasty e-mails to my home school. You see, my home school is attempting to charge me their tuition even though I’m abroad and received a significant discount on tuition. If I don’t pay, they won’t give me my grades, will de-register me from classes in the Fall, and yes even remove my ability to check out library books. The money they want me to give them was to be my housing money for the summer. Hello homelessness, goodbye life as I knew it, for those few amazing months.

If only it were that easy. I finally have a family I believe would understand what I’m going through. My host family cares about me more than my biological family can and ever will. Friends and mental health professionals have suggested I open up to them and tell them that I struggle with eating, well that I have an eating disorder. It’s not that I’m afraid they won’t get it. It’s that I know it hits too close to home for them. My host brother (who lives away from the house with his fiance and son) had a serious girlfriend a few years back who struggled with what sounds like anorexia. When my host mom began describing the situation a few months back, I felt her heartache for her son and this girl. Things didn’t work out between them, I believe because of her eating disorder.

When I began treatment this summer a few occurrences are necessary to mention. Days before entering my first treatment facility, I had an anaphylactic reaction. At the time, I didn’t panic; it was actually a nurse at the school health center who flipped out more than I did. I calmly reassured her as I swallowed allergy pills (of course that day they didn’t have Benadryl or the like).

A few days later, I was admitted inpatient for what was supposed to be a short (2-3 day stay) to make sure I was stable before heading to a residential facility for eating disorders connected with the hospital. About three days after the anaphylactic reaction and one day into treatment, the allergy resurfaced, my leg and throat swelled yet again. In my first eating disorder treatment, I was constantly utilizing liquids to meet my nutritional needs. I was given excessive amounts. If I finished any less than 100% of my meal, I was given one Ensure Plus (I’m sure if you’re reading this, you’re a pro on calorie content, and there’s no need to trigger someone even more). If I finished less than 50% of my meal, I could look forward to having to down 2 Ensure Pluses. It was certainly not a liquid calorie for solid calorie equivalent. It was unfair and I was often noted as “not-compliant” with the meals and told I’d stay longer because of this.

Insurance company wasn’t on the same page as the treatment center. I wound up remaining inpatient for 9 days which I know isn’t long but remember I was only supposed to be there 2-3 days and then transfer to a residential facility. Upon an immediate, abrupt and unexpected discharge, (thank you insurance), I went to an extended day program not connected with the facility (since insurance refused to cover residential at that point) and began my journey there. Liquid supplements occurred every so often for me.

My body seems to always have expressed itself more than I can express my emotions. Lo and behold, I developed a bizarre condition where it felt like food was getting stuck and backing up in my throat. Like any “decent” treatment facility, a group therapist prompted our group as to if anyone else has experienced such a phenomenon and if so, raise hands. Every hand in the room was raised. It was all I could do to not scream out, “this is different, I just know it”, and so I sat silently, knowing within me that it was.

After weeks of having most meals finished with a Boost or Ensure Plus (this facility does calorie for calorie exchange so that’s a relief), the directors prompted me to seek medical advice. Not knowing where to turn, I decided if the problem’s in my throat, let me go to an ENT (Ear Nose Throat) doctor.

Upon seeing the doctor, he noted inflammation in my esophagus which he could tell by bubbling forming in the back of my throat. He sent me for a liquid swallow study. After the results came back, the doctor said there didn’t appear to be anything acutely wrong, yet referred me to the gastroenterologist. I scheduled an appointment for the following week.

Things were progressing pretty well in treatment, I was bringing up traumas and feeling them a little bit emotionally. This occurred after weeks of narcoleptic fits or “seizures” after delving into something emotional (I now can attribute this to traumatic stress release and the shaking wasn’t actually a bad aspect, it was my body’s was of discharging the negative energy). One night, after progressing to a lower level of care in IOP (Intensive Outpatient), I was having a regular conversation with other clients. I had switched mainly to liquids for the rest of the meal. This was a common occurrence and o one thought much of it at this point. As I was mid-sentence, I felt something come up my throat. At first, I thought it was something that used to occur. When I was 14/15, I would often have a clump (sorry for graphics) of what appeared to be semi-solid mucous come up my throat. I attributed this to anxiety at the time. However, as the object of this night was traveling up my throat, I quickly realized this was not the same. It was almost as if someone or something was trying to force me to vomit. Let me clarify- I have never engaged in vomit behaviors. I always knew my throat was sensitive and in this disorder, I wasn’t trying to kill myself.

I quickly got up from the table to find something to spit this into. Bathrooms are locked during meals, so I found a tissue and spit the thing out. Only later did I realize that it was undigested food. I sat weeping the rest of the meal, alone (as I was always a slow eater) and by then, people had finished their meals. My dietician happened to be sitting at the same table as me that night and said I should get an appointment with the gastro earlier than a few days from then. Long story short, after many procedures (some traumatic, some not), it was found that I have Jackhammer’s Esophagus or Hypercontractile Esophagus. Essentially, peristalsis doesn’t function as expected and succinctly for me as it does others. My esophagus contracts so frequently that it doesn’t allow food to move down as needed. The radiologist performing and evaluating one of the studies said “we don’t see this pattern of swallowing in your age group, we see it in 80 year-olds”.

I don’t feel special. I am quite certain (whether wishful thinking or not) that my physical problems are mostly related to the excessive traumas I’ve endured. It’s interesting to me that I develop a motility disorder while undergoing Eating Disorder Treatment. Rather than put my thoughts and feelings into words, my body speaks for me.

I care so much about my host family and how they’d be affected and perceive my eating disorder, that I can’t bear to let them in on this. They’ve already adjusted much on my motility disorder and buying foods I can bear with. At least, they managed that for a week or two. I feel like a burden already. I don’t want to hurt people who’ve shown me the most kindness anyone has ever shown me for extended periods of time.

So, I sit here and write this post as I hear the dishes clanking and the laughter emanating upstairs.

 

I thought I could do it. I thought it wouldn’t matter since I’ve spent plenty of time alone in the past. The problem or difference is that usually, I find ways to numb myself to the pain of being alone. This time, I haven’t done that. I become depressed and in a state of despair when alone. I’m just speculating here that the reason I do can be attributed to a long history of abuse and neglect. Constantly on my mind is the fact that my biological family is not present for me in any form. Tonight seems exceptionally hard. Instead of inducing harm or numbing myself tonight, I think it’s time I convey my message in words.

According to ongoing recent research, people who have a history of severe attachment problems tend not to do well in life. I’m sick of my disconnect from the world. I want to immerse into the world, not hide from it. A pit of despair formed in me throughout the day. A telltale sign that I’m starting to feel unwell is when I seek out triggering videos. For the past few weeks (or months?), I’ve been watching these sorts of videos or clips online.

Tonight, I needed to cry, and I’m watching something that’s fulfilling that need well. Yet, it began to hit home in how relevant it was to my current situation and I began to think. My thoughts just take off to the moon once prompted. I was reminded of how I don’t have a family, how I have no relationship with even the one person I want to-my brother. He’s sick, physically sick. It’s been an emotional roller coaster for over 20 years for everyone. He believes I’m sick, except that it’s serious mental illness.

The places I’ve been in treat people like animals. After a while people will embody the aspect that they are treated as. I’ve acted like an animal in the past. My brother has no wish to see that I am no longer that person. I feel a bit crazy tonight, but hey, I’m starting to think that’s actually something many people experience. It’s only when it becomes chronic that maybe it can have an attribution to mental illness. I’m not mental, I’m in the process of repairing my insane past. It doesn’t have to define me. My history will not defeat me tonight.

 

Considering I’ve never been a fan of lying, I have to set some things straight on here. I’m currently studying abroad and it has been one of the best experiences of my life. I’ve dealt with some major issues, all within the first few weeks of arriving. To make this readable, I won’t include the gritty details right now. I will sum it up as such:

-I found out the day before coming here that my brother was going to have brain surgery in a few weeks.

-Right before his surgery, my biological family insisted that I see him, didn’t believe I was studying abroad and harassed me about not seeing him.

-I asked my biological father (the only person I talk to on occasion to not tell anyone that I was here as I didn’t think it would ameliorate the situation.

-Said person did in fact break his word and tell people I was studying abroad. His relaying this fact did more harm than good as I had initially suspected.

-Prior to the surgery, my grandpa became sick suddenly and died. When I asked my father if I should attend the funeral, his e-mail reply was “no need to disrupt school”.

-No one told my brother about my grandpa dying until after his surgery. My dad didn’t even make it to his own dad’s funeral.

It’s no surprise that my motility disorder only worsened throughout my time here. I fucking hate food. Every single time I eat I either become nauseated, regurgitate food, throw up (unintentionally) or have gurgling in my esophagus and stomach indicative of the spasms.

Over the break, I hope to see some therapists and doctors that I had over the summer prior to coming here. My friends already say I should be in treatment again. I know that I do not want to end up in the cycle of treatment. Plus, I’ve been offered an amazing opportunity to extend my studies here doing a neuroscience internship at a hospital. These sorts of opportunities don’t just happen upon someone in the States, they are hard to come by. When presented with the possibility that I could become sicker while here, my honest response is “so what?”.

Bluntly put, I’d rather die at least trying to get ahead in life then return to my basically nothing life in the States. I’m sick of missing out on opportunities because I’m physically or emotionally unwell. I crave having a family and the host family I have here is the closest thing I’ve experienced to a “normal” family. I just have no desire to appear sad in front of them or express my negative emotions. I judge myself, thinking that they expect me to be level-headed because of my age. After all, their two older kids are younger than me and out of the house and supporting themselves from what I know. One even has a two year old. I believe in my twisted world I must come across as stable and without issues and this is how I portray myself to most everyone.

Sometimes, I see the school psychologist and lately she’s been questioning my mood. I know she can pick up on my sadness even though I assure her repeatedly that I’m FINE. FINE = fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t want my experiences to be halted by psychiatric treatment. Not here, not now. I just don’t know how much longer I can keep this jig up.

 

You know why this sucks? It’s dormant, one day I think I’m good, enjoyed one day, and the next day, out of nowhere it attacks It messes with my mind, at least dysthymic depressed people can expect, can predict that the day likely won’t be grat if their depression is untreated.

Meds. don’t help for me, they actually make things worse. It’s called Bipolar Type 3 which is NOT bipolar, but the DSM has no way to classify as of now. Essentially, it’s that antidepressants actually make things worse, actually having an adverse or no effect from taking them. Psych. meds. are the only meds. that have no long-term evidence of efficacy, and psychiatry is the only doctor-directed field that exists nowadays.

Consistency form day to today is taken for granted by most people. I would love to know that when I feel good, it will last. I understand that it can’t be permanent, I just wish more “good” days or even times existed.

My analogy for situational depression:it’s like prey sneaking up on you in the savannahs picture Simba in Lion King when he was learning to hunt.

A friend’s analogy for this disorder; it’s like a python wrapping around you, until you have no breath to live and cease to exist. Fitting, particularly when intertwined with an eating disorder.

I was thinking about how things have become quite impersonal. Often, texting is seen as impersonal, conversations are done electronically and the value of human contact has disappeared.

Texting

With the disease my brother has, texting or e-mail is all we have. He hasn’t learned enough sign language to communicate through a medium such as Skype. Most likely, his hearing will only decline. He’s about 90% deaf. 50% can not be restored, at least with the medical advancements that currently exist. You can’t fix auditory nerves that were ruined when removing a tumor. Because of NF2, the impersonal nature of texting has to exist because I can’t talk to my brother in another way.

I mentioned to him that specific vegetarian and vegan diets has been shown to slow tumor progression. He thanked me, he had no clue. Seriously? Health 101 people. Interesting and surprising that Barbara never mentioned to him that diet was an option, as she seeks out any sort of treatment for his disease day after day. When I told K that he’s super skinny, and that this has been attributed to the disease, K said, “or not” (referring to the possibility of an eating disorder). Hmmm. See this is why doctors ought to practice comprehensively. This is why I’ll become a doctor an provide what I believe to be the best possible route for the patients.

Ironic as all else that we both have not only neurological disorders,  but central nervous system ones at that. And Barbara (contributing to 1/2 of our chromosomes wanted to be a neurophysiologist since the age of 9 and didn’t pursue that path.

It’s my birthday today, and apparently calls are just considered an inconvenience. It’s days like this I’m reminded that I really don’t have a family willing to take time to appreciate me. Honestly, it’s just an arbitrary day that is indicative of our place in the universe at one moment which can be represented by a calendar day every 365.25 days. Wordy, yes. I don’t mind.

I kind of wish I were back in elementary school, bringing cupcakes for the class, when even if the world was crumbling around me, at least one day existed where I was the focus of people’s attention, and for one day, I mattered.

 

 

Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Tharnks, Rockstar Ronan’s mom Maya for making that an awesome phrase to use, fitting of many situations.

I got off the phone with B, and was finally able to clarify what she had said the other week about a double relationship with K. Well, that was odd, because I found out that her double relationship as she sees it really isn’t a big deal, rather consists of half of the session being therapeutic and the other half catching up on K’s life, talking about life as if they were regular people. However, B brought to my attention that even though K doesn’t want her sharing with anyone (of course B told me- who knows maybe she’s trying to stir up my emotions, evoke a bit of jealousy to feel as though she has something I can’t or don’t have).

When I had asked B about where they’d have lunch, B wasn’t sure but then said house or park. Didn’t K tell me just the other week that it was a bad move to go to B’s house on the day she was fired? Didn’t she regret that? Obviously not, or I guess regrets die quickly.

I watched baby videos today and yesterday. As a baby I had no reactions to when Barbara was touching me, and it makes sense now.

Friday sucked though, First, I wake up to an e-mail that someone at our school died early this morning, cause of death, unknown at this time (I suspect suicide). Then, I go to an intake at an Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP) for eating disorders.

I was first greeted outdoors by an unkempt man, only to be brought into the office and greeted by a lady who was so thin, I could absolutely imagine what her skeleton looked like. Next, the intake coordinator who is also the owner I believe, was totally impersonal and I felt really awkward around him. He put his hand out for me to shake and I REALLY didn’t want to and avoided it, and he kept it out until I shook it, and he shook it far too long and I felt contaminated after the shake that I didn’t want to give in the first place. Even today, it’s giving me the heeby jeebies just thinking about it and I feel dirty. 

I didn’t make eye contact with him. He wanted me to open up immediately about certain things. Here’s how the intake went:

Me: “just because you closed the door and have letters behind your name doesn’t mean I’m going to spill my life to you…. especially the first time we meet.”

Guy was an asshole and asked me to put my phone away even though I wasn’t doing anything on it. I just need to constantly fidget, thank you ADHD

Me: You don’t even know what I’m doing on it.

Asshole creep: What are you doing on it?

Me: That’s not something that’s any of your business. (The guy evidently had a complex and felt the need for power and control, made apparent especially when 2:00 came around and he said he had someone else to see and refused to answer my question.)

Me: So are you going to “allow” me to come here?

Asshole creep: I’m not sure this is the right place for you. I think you need someplace that has a more psychiatric component. I have a 2:00 appointment now.

Me: Really it’s a simple question with a simple answer. You’re judging my case by what  you’re reading on a paper and hearing from me, even though I’m telling you most of my treatments were mistakes and forced upon me as the Identified Patient. So, what are you going to do?

Asshole creep: I’m going to call so and so to see if there’s a more appropriate place for you and then call you. Sorry it didn’t work out (totally unsympathetically).

Me: Oh, well thanks, I’m used to it…  walked out.

Asshole creep deemed my case too complex.  He was bizarre, thought that I need more psychiatric level of care, didn’t look at the big picture like only two people have throughout my various treatments. It takes a special individual.

 

Then I saw K and that was horrible from the get go. I was devoid of emotion. I finally asked her why she didn’t respond to my text earlier this week:

“I’ve tried to do something about disconnection and nothing’s working. I’m really detached and idk why or what to do about it.”

K: I didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t specific enough, I thought “oh, thanks for letting me know”.

I started to get heated, thinking that no one really does understand me and no one ever will. K and I went in circles about how I logically know that I don’t have a family, I read Adam’s text to her (the one when he told me I’m not part of the family) I told her about the student’s passing.

K: How do you feel about all that? (nice, typical therapist response/question-I’m smirking internally)

Me: I don’t feel a thing about it, I don’t feel anything. 

She kept repeating that she doesn’t know how to help me in this way and that, and I kept saying

Me: I need support. 

K: What does that look like?You need to specify

You damn well know B didn’t ask K to have lunches with her. K simply rescued her, and apparently won’t rescue me.

K: What you want is unreasonable and you can’t expect everything to work out the way you want it to and for support to be there the way you want it. It doesn’t exist. There isn’t someone like that to fulfill what you want.

Me: Oh, ok (in sarcastic tone). It seems hypocritical because other people get it, and I just need support.

K: What does that look like?

Me:  I don’t know because I’ve never truly been given it.

K: Well ok, that makes sense. It’s because you don’t let people in.

Me: That’s because when I do let people in, they let me down.

K: That’s because you try to find excuses for why people aren’t good enough for you.

Me: I’m confused because for the longest time I would constantly go back to my family thinking they were good for me and I was the problem and then I finally realized that wasn’t the case and went away from them. 

K: You pick out people’s faults and then shut them out, like it gives you a reason to not connect or something.

Me: That’s not true. I know that my advisor has faults and I still like her. There’s plenty of people who I may have done that to, but not everyone (as she was insinuating).

I kept saying I needed support and was confused because it seems hypocritical to say one thing and do another (as is the case with her and B and how she’s about to have lunch with her everyday, though I didn’t mention it).

So why is K being a rescuer for B and not for me? She’s enabling her behaviors by going to have lunch with her the sicker she becomes.

K: You don’t need to have something drastic happen and be really sick to get the support you need.

Me: That’s not true, apparently I do because when others are, they get it.

K: Harshly, loudly, abruptly, she said, “Is all this about the B situation again?

I went into it. First I started staring, then my right hand began twitching and then I kept trying to fight off the seizure. K tried to get my focus and couldn’t. I knew everything going on, just couldn’t talk.

This was the first Psychogenic non-epileptic seizure (PNES A.K.A. NES)  I’ve had in well over 1.5 years. While trying to fight it off and not being able to talk, I realized that it really does stem from pre-verbal abuse. I couldn’t express myself as a baby, and I couldn’t talk at present moment.

K: Laura, Laura, Laura. If you won’t reply to me, I’m going to have to call someone to pick you up.

She said this a few times, and then grabbed her phone.

I tried to get my neurons reconnecting, anything to indicate that I heard her, and just couldn’t respond.

Well, she proved to me on a different level that getting sick does get one attention.This is not what I intended, this is just what happened for being in a heightened emotional state.

K: I can’t just leave you in this state. I’m going to have to call someone to pick you up.

I thought I knew what she meant, and I tried to get my neurons firing again to say no don’t summon an ambulance. I mean so many reasons revolve around that. I’d pay a butt load of money for something that’s not pre-authorized, and I’d probably know the people on the ambulance since I’ve done EMS work in that area. Plus, hardly any medical professional actually understands PNES.

I find it weird because I experience body sensations I can’t really describe. Speaking as someone who has suffered through long bouts of dissociation (months at a time), I’d say PNES’s are worse because I remember them and I feel a sensation that I can’t control and I can’t talk even though I’m fully aware of what’s going on.

Eventually I wrote notes on my phone to K and showed them to her. I stayed way past my original appointment time, and by the end was speaking broken, monotone, robotic-like sentences. At least the cloud of detachment lifted a little, almost like a fresh start to feel emotions. I put this shield up, and when having a slight seizure, the shield became a little less strong. This may be good, at least therapeutically for feeling emotions, even though it sucks to feel them.

K says it makes sense for that to have happened, especially if I haven’t been having emotion for nearly 2 years (I corrected that, saying it was only 1.5 years). She said it’s like I just push the emotions away immediately and then they get stuffed (like the teapot effect).

B called me as I was in K’s office. Earlier, I told her I’d be at her house around 4:30. She called me as I was fighting off the seizure and I wasn’t able to answer.

I did see B after K deemed me fit enough to drive. While hanging out with B, she asked me when my break would be, when would I be moving out there (for the summer). I told her mid-May and she tells me that  more lovely news. The house manager/owner of many sober livings told her I’m not to be living in her house come summer, and that I’d be living in the shitty house I lived at last summer and over winter break. This is the house with people significantly older than me, older people who are super unstable and a house manager who is constantly high on pain pills.

Um, no thanks! When was the owner going to tell me this? Probably never, pawned the task off onto B. 

Oh yeah, also it was my friend’s birthday earlier this week, missed it because I didn’t see her and found out that my group of friends I eat most meals with are going to celebrate tonight. I wasn’t invited. wtf? I really don’t have friends, the world is a cruel place.

Oh and I can’t get excited to study abroad because I have no guarantee that Ken will actually pull through and purchase my ticket, considering triple ex has constantly talked him out of things and he meshes with other’s personalities, instead of having an individual personality.

To sum up, I’m looking at another ED (eating disorder) program except I don’t think the timing works well on this one and I may not be able to go. K wants me to get the ED under control so we can work on things further like grieving.

Monday may suck… a lot. My step-aunt died nearly two years ago on the 8th and when calling my step dad (Michael) to say my condolences and saying I could come to the funeral, he told me pointedly that I wasn’t invited because I since I hadn’t been speaking to Barbara that would be hard and it was already hard enough. He talked to me like an animal just as he has done most of my life. I never felt true emotional connection with him, he’s a fake.

6 days later, I found out via Facebook that my best guy friend Morgan died on April 8. So both my aunt and he have the same death day.

K was talking about my need to grieve and then I said to her the grief isn’t so much an issue for my aunt as she and I weren’t close; it was merely the harsh response I got from Michael in regards to the funeral situation. With Morgan however, that’s a whole separate entity and I haven’t really had the chance to grieve like  should, because I’ve never really grieved anything.

She suggested that I do something in memory of Morgan, asked me what he and I used to do. We’d drive to places without a destination in mind, we’d watch movies until the wee hours of the morning, we walked the pier in Santa Monica. We hung out, we talked about anything and everything. Existential talks, I miss them. I miss Morgan. I did connect with someone, and that someone is no longer here. I get why I’m so disconnected, so detached.