Anger!! Who’s Really To Blame?

I would like to tell you I had an emotional week.  I wanted to get mad at everyone, due to my forgetting to schedule wheelchair transportation for an appointment Wednesday morning.  I assumed they were picking me up at 10:15, for an 11:00 appointment.

At 10:00, I started questioning whether I had scheduled the transportation, and finally called to see if they had me on the schedule that day.  They did not.  First, I wanted to blow up at them (Really??).  Then, I called my therapist to cancel the appointment, why, and asked that she called me back.  I wanted to keep calling her, until she answered the phone and I could vent my anger and frustration (Why??).

Photo: Google Images

When she finally called me back, I explained what happened and she asked if I would like to reschedule (Ya think??).  We made another appointment, and then I wanted to vent at her again, because the appointment was not for another two weeks (??).

After hanging up the phone, I sat here and I realized that the person I was really angry at was myself.  I had screwed up, forgot to schedule transportation, and I missed my appointment.  Did I really expect her to rearrange her entire schedule, to get me in earlier?  No.

Photo: Karen Van Benschoten

I have MS.  I have mild cognitive impairment and some memory loss.  I know this, and I know that if I don’t put extra reminders in place, I may very well forget something.

 I wanted to blame my aide, as every time she arrives, she usually takes out my planner, checks for any appointments that she hasn’t already written on the (very) large, dry erase calendar, that hangs on the wall above my wheelchair desk.  She asks if I have transportation.  I call and make arrangements.  Once I’ve done that, I put a check mark next to the appointment in my planner.  But not this week.  I don’t think I gave a single thought to that appointment, and usually I never forget that particular appointment.

But who should I be mad at about it?  No one.  Not even myself.  Everyone makes mistakes, and I can’t be mad  because I made a mistake.

Photo: Google Images

So I played Sudoku and then watched more episodes of “The Fosters.”  Really like this show.  Whatever did I watch before Netflix??

 

Afraid To Be Afraid

Someone’s been watching me

For so many years now

First every day

Every other day

Every week

Every other week

Watching over my meds

So I don’t take too much

For so many years

Overdosed twice before

Still watching over meds

Only two more weeks

Then I am done

It’s the last day anyone comes

To watch over my meds

To ask how I’m doing

Watching over me

They tell me I’m a success story

I have kind of graduated

I am a success story

One more time, then no more

Afraid to be a success

Afraid I will fail again

No one coming to check on me

Two weeks and then

It will be the last day

I’m on my own after that

Afraid to be on my own

Afraid to be alone

Afraid to be afraid.

Three Goals For This Blog

I started this blog in February, 2013, with no idea as to where it would actually go. When a theme started to appear, I modified my tagline just a bit, so that this theme would emerge to readers who might be passing by, or were looking for my theme in particular.

As far as three goals for this blog, I had to stop and do some deep thinking about the future of this blog. It became apparent that I was starting to write poetry about my experiences and feelings that were emerging from my experiences with childhood sexual abuse – incest, to be precise. Now, nearly three years later, I feel sort of stuck, and having some goals might get me moving in the right direction once again.

After considerable thought, these are the three goals that I came up with for this blog.

1. Explore more deeply into the things that are still stuck inside, and bring them out so that I and others can start or continue to heal from this horrendous type of abuse.

2. Increase my following by at least 25% by the end of September. This will increase readers’ comments that could aid in healing for myself and others, and to reach out to newcomers that are trying to find their way through their own feelings about abuse.

Coming up with a third goal took a great deal more consideration than the first two, but I think it is probably the most important goal. This is what I came up with.

3. Change the appearance of my blog, as right now it has a dark, gloomy appearance, and there are positive changes occurring in my life, and I want to express that in the appearance of my blog. I think this will then appeal to more readers if it has a positive appeal.

There’s No One There

I feel the dread in the air,
I fear that no one will be there,
I turn around to look and see,
Where that someone should be.

But again, or course, there’s no one there,
Just a mist in the air.
Is it true I’m being followed?
Don’t they know that’s not allowed?

I fear to look too deep inside,
And find those things I want to hide.
Things that I cannot bear,
I fear that no one will really care.

And so I hide so far away,
You’ll never find me any day,
But something else just wants to shout,
Why the hell won’t you let me out?

Things No One Should Have To Bear

I’m all alone, it’s time to start,
Looking deep within my heart.
What is it I so desperately need,
But no one ever seems to heed?

I can’t always make someone be,
Ever available to me.
People have lives of their own,
They try to tell me how I’ve grown.

But on my own I do not see it,
On my own I do not feel it,
All I know is that I want,
Someone to help with things that haunt,

Deeply buried inside my heart,
Feelings I’ve felt from the start,
Things no one should have to bear,
Things that always need someone to care.

Where Do I Belong?

As a small child, I thought I belonged in that corner I was instructed to sit in.
I thought I belonged in the back of the classroom, where no one could see me.
I thought I belonged on the very edge of the seat on the school bus.
I thought I belonged to my mother – heart, body and soul.

As I grew, I thought I belonged in all those worn hand-me-downs.
I thought I belonged out in the hall with my desk in elementary school.
I thought I belonged at the wrong end of the hand of my mother.
I thought I belonged in silence while in the presence of my mother.

I thought I belonged in my bed, scared that he would come.
I thought I belonged in the life of what was being done.
I thought I belonged in the pain life lead me to.
I thought I belonged in the group labeled bad.

I thought I belonged on that bar stool long ago.
I thought I belonged in the stupor that bar stool led me to.
I thought I belonged in the beds of many men.
I thought I belonged in the hell I lived then.

I thought I belonged in the lives of so many.
I thought I belonged in the oncoming insanity.
I thought I belonged locked up and alone.
I thought I belonged no matter what I had done.

I thought I belonged in the lives of so many.
I thought I belonged though I thought I was crazy.
I thought I belonged in the hands of those doctors.
I thought I belonged in the lives of others.

I found I didn’t belong in the lives of others.
I found I didn’t belong at the mercy of others.
I found I didn’t belong in those
I found I didn’t belong in those wards.

I found I didn’t belong in a bottle.
I found I didn’t belong in a cell.
I found I didn’t belong to others
I found I didn’t belong all alone.

I found I belonged in the company of others.
I found I belonged in the House of the Lord.
I found I belonged in a life of my own.
I found I never have to be alone.

Amazing Love

Amazing Love (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Amazing love, how can it be,
That you, my King would honor me?

Those first two lines of the refrain from ‘Amazing Love’, have run around in my head all morning. And I ask myself, “How can it be?”

I grew up thinking that everything that happened to me, was my fault; that I had done something to deserve the abuse, both at home and at school, and beyond.

Once I had gotten away from the abuse at home, it seemed that I sought it out from other people, always from men who were ready and willing to accommodate me.

I felt that I deserved it, that I wasn’t worthy of anything better. And so the abuse went on. An unwanted pregnancy left me nauseas and all alone. Alone in a big city, with nowhere to turn.

After that is when I started drinking more heavily. There was a bar right up around the corner from where I lived, easily within walking distance.

As the years went by, I no longer looked for abuse from others, but turned inward for it. With the help of the alcohol, and mental illness lurking in the background, I started taking my anger out on myself. This went on for years, and I was in an out of psychiatric wards for many years. At some point, I became unable to work, due to my mental health.

I was put on so much medicine, that sometimes I didn’t know if I were coming or going, until eventually I reached a toxic state from one of the meds.

I don’t remember that time period, and I’m rather glad that I don’t. After many years with the same doctor, I was eventually stabilized on my meds, and my erratic behavior occurred a little less often.

But this lifestyle had taken a toll, and I was no longer able to work. I was then living alone, relying on what little money the government gave me.

I have since been diagnosed with MS, so now I have a mental and physical disability. But I haven’t given up. Before my mental collapse, I was able to go back to school and earn a bachelor’s degree.

I am now taking the second in a series of website design classes and actually have a goal for my life. I want to build my website, which I will use to get clients who wish to have a website or blog designed for them.

I am still alone, but I’m looking at opportunities to change that as well. Not disabled, but differently abled. I have since come to know God, and that is where I first heard that line, “Amazing Love, how can it be? That you, my King would honor me?”

The answer to that is that He loves me.

Related articles

• Escaping the Depths of Mental Illness, Stigma & Parity Violations (psychcentral.com)
• Why do you tell your story? (jillsmentalhealthresources.wordpress.com)

When Does The End Really End?

English: Jericho House Long stay care for adults with mental illness and /or alcohol dependence (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Several times, I have nearly come to an end; severe auto accidents, including one with a fatality.  Broke my jaw in one of those, that’s why they built in seat belts.  Hadn’t been back on the road more than a minute or two, on the Interstate, when we were hit head-on by another vehicle, which then hit the car behind us. Five people in our car, with two of them being hospitalized. It was after a week of not being able to open my mouth or chew, that my broken jaw was discovered. Six weeks wired shut over that one.

But when my life started sliding down into the depths of mental illness, there were several times where it could have been the end, but the actions of others kept me alive. Alive to a life I didn’t want to be living in.

The word was never said out loud, but it was implied. Suicide. After many hospitalizations and medication changes, I started to climb out of the trenches. I moved to a safe neighborhood, and started to live again.

I started playing my piano, my guitar, but was living a solitary life. I started trying to change other people’s habits, because they bothered me. I got into a lot of arguments over all of that, and I developed a reputation, and it wasn’t a good one.

But I didn’t care. I continued trying to control others, paying little attention to my own actions.

It took a long time before I realized that I had no friends, no life. I started staying by myself so that I wouldn’t be out there trying to change everyone else. I worked on changing myself.

Slowly, but steadily, I started climbing out of the trenches again, with a new attitude, and a new look at those around me. If I thought of something bad, I kept my mouth shut. I eventually got to where I didn’t even care about how other people were, I started getting along with everyone.

I found God, and a good church, and continued working on myself. Then I got the devastating news . . . MS and a 9mm aneurysm on my inner carotid artery. It was a Friday the 13th of all days, when I was told this by the neurologist.

Now, my look on life took a whole new direction. I was saved from the end by brain surgery for the aneurysm. I started taking shots for the MS, after several weeks of KT and OT, I was released from the hospital.

Now, my life seems to have no meaning, no objective. I stopped playing the piano and the guitar. I stopped everything. I knew that my life could quite possibly come to an earlier end than I had previously thought, and not in a very pleasant manner at that.

Now the desire for the end is back. I don’t want to see myself lying in a bed, wearing diapers and not remembering things. I think about the end a lot. Then I talk with someone who saves me, again, for awhile.

But this new cycle has settled in. I slide down, and someone reaches out and drags me back up, temporarily, then I start sliding down again. It has become a routine, and I never know when the end is really . . . the end.

~ van ~