I forget without peeking exactly how long it’s been since I lasted posted. I was hoping to post while on holiday in Charleston but that didn’t happen.
Charleston. They were the best of times. They were the worst of times. (C. Dickens for you.) It’s hard to remember chunks of hours out ot the days. The members were all stoked and on stand-by because we had our god-daughters and we are determined that their childhood be not so ill-fated as ours.
We did the usual Charleston-touristy things vacationers do: take a fourty minute boat ride out to some shambles of a fort, spend an hour in the hot sun, take the fourty minute ride back and watch our god-daughter produce herself from the lavatory because of morning sickness. Poor thing. I’ll be mean and post pics of her later. (Of course I won’t.)(Okay, maybe I will.) 🙂
We took a pirate tour that C. wanted to take more than anything. I thought it was the most boring tour ever, and I’ve been on several in that city. Apparently, it was around here I was dissociating because I couldn’t tell where we were or what day of the week it was. I holed up on the hotel room while the others finished out the day. I slept.
I slept alot on that trip. One of our members sole responsibility is to make me go to sleep. If I’m asleep, then secrets don’t get told and all are safe.
So we met with our therapist and psycho-iatrist today. Double whammy. I took that one on the chin. The meeting with T. was good. It brought up a lot of sadness regarding being bullied and teased as a child. There’s more to it and I won’t bear you with it, but, suffice it to say, I got in touch with one of my adolescents, a twelve year old who bears the scars, scrapes, and tears from being rejected by classmates, teachers, and the biological parents. Her wounds moved me so deeply I couldn’t help but shed tears, and I’m not a crier. I try to steer clear of emotions that cause me to cry or get angry. (That’s another post.)
But this twelve year old had me in a vice grip mentally; I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to honor her and parent her and tell her everything will be alright. Countless nights I cried myself to sleep wishing that someone would hold me and tell me everything would be okay. No one ever did, but I can do it for the twelve year who as yet holds know name of which I am aware.
I am going to start adding to my postings affirmations, meditations, thoughts, and down-right gibberish that is helpful to me in the hope that others might derive some meaning. It will include a quote, a little squirb, and maybe a positive affirmation for the day. We’ll see how it goes.
When I started our blog, I wanted the general public, if not more importantly, friends and families of those diagnosed, to see the daily hell that we are put through; how hard it is to go outside the house; how difficult it is to raise two sets of children; the trials of having this diagnosis and be married; the pressures and disadvantages of having the disorder and going back to school. I could go on and on. But I think I want the blog to metamorphosize and be less about the mundane, trite activities of life and more about sinking our teeth into recovery.
We are more recovery focused and I want it to show.
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