Having a moment...

Where my past...feels like my past. Its a DID thing, you wouldn't understand.
That's the danger in therapy and silence and anti-trauma. It's like my life is flashing before my eyes. Hitting me like bugs, lots of little to medium sized bugs, on a windshield. And I'm driving the car. It's a clear day.
 I see a lot of running, trying to get away from angry, violent parents. I see siblings, little siblings, laughing, kicking and making fun of me. My now dead sister, talking to me. Her face as clear as this print. My brother, sullen and turned within, away. Swing sets of dissociative folly. It's easy to get lost inside, on a swing. The crowded living room, vying for a seat. Dad in his corner, smoking, reading, scratching his back, white t-shirts. The smell. Guessing games. Knowing secretive looks. The gestures that meant time to find a place away from everyone. Sounds...don't go there. Sweat. Tears. He often cried after doing bad deeds. Never understood why, back then. He knew he was wrong.
Mother calling everyone to the hell known as the dinner table. Te smell of the too dark brown kitchen with five coats of paint. The fatty chuck steak, Lima beans, fighting over the last glass of milk.
 The empty cupboard with dry spaghetti for hungry sister and brother. Burning spaghetti, for fun, on the gas stove.
Moms knowing looks. She always knew. Her whispers of support and silence. Her helpless, hapless screeching...not so loud that the neighbors would hear. The frantic pace of people running in and out the door. The front door always felt like a prison gate. Dangerous to open. Hide n seek, in the yard, until te bruises haled. Mom applying makeup to cover. Whispering how dad didn't mean to do it and I shouldn't have angered him so. Her vehemently defending his actions. Hitting kids was the arenas tress reliever, that and..
 The basement cloaked many secrets, corners, nooks, places where you could hear someone coming and stop what illegality you were doing and make it look all nice. Ah, I was his onfidante, the trusted one, eye could tell all his secrets and troubles to. How mom didn't understand him and what he needed. The things his mother did to him. Best buddies. Yeah, right.
 Beating during daylight and remorse and...at night. Confusion. But it was my norm. It's how it was. There were weird patterns, I'm a good Aspie, I tried figuring out te chaotic patterns, for a little more predictability. It was the sudden, the unexpected, the furies that arose without warning that hurt the most.


 The pummeling on the living room floor, in front of everyone. The one where he beat me within inches of my life. I'd tried defending myself as best I could. Ha, my mother had to pull him off me.
 Oh, so any clandestine meetings, hush, hush,whispers and non noise making daliences. Ways to keep things quiet. Only the sound of his heavy breathing. And those sounds men make. You don't even want to now how often he.."needed" me.
Being much younger...holding out my arms begging for someone...who never came. Remember thinking, "I'll never do that again" feeling dejected. Jammies with footies and little flower print. Eating cereal, only wanting cereal, for days on end.
Put in the coat closet, amongst the boots. Checking out the wood floor with spaces in the slats, playing, bidding time, preferring the locked darkness to mother in the daylight. Finding scraps to pick at and eat off the floor.
The cutting, the banging, slamming, self-injurious times. The apartment, pale yellow walls, deciding my fate before I left it all. Driving in the dark, leaving my world-till-that-point behind. Knowing they were all gone now, forever, the family.
Wedgewood street, the broken glass, cut foot. Ice cream truck. One of the few times mom was soft, kind voice, helped me. The school in Saginaw, smelled funny, stale. Two teachers, casual dress, daring me to spread a mat and take a nap. Boy, we're they deluded. Like I'd ever lose my eyes in a strange place amongst prone children and two wandering adults. Remember one teacher now, for the first time. Bobbed black hair, sweater, always trying to get me to lay down and close my eyes. Relief when we moved and I didn't have to go back there.
The new school...terrifying. Long sidewalk felt like each step I was closer to doom. Past the older kids classes, two playgrounds, could never think withal the noise and constant fast, unpredictable movements of dozens of kids...all a blur. I was dizzy, disoriented. I was five.
Playing at the park, in summer. The cement wading pool with adult park leaders of different colors. One explained she wasn't black, but more of a brown. Blue shirted leaders. Crafts, flat football, four square, basketball, the basketball pole where that girl ran into it and busted her glasses and had to go to the hospital. The ice rink in winter time. Steamy, benches, too many people sitting too close, lots of movement, tying laces, hot cocoa. Sledding down the hill
Smacking the fence. Stunned, like my chest had collapsed. Two big girls helped me get home. So scared.
Playing tennis. Me against the wall, for hours and hours, whenever I could get away. The unruly teen parties in the parking lot across the street. Dad losing his mind in anger, grabbed bat, ran over.
The bee sting on my foot, once, twice in the clover. Forts in the hawthorns, making fairy weapons and beds, forever hiding. Dirt, wood chips, branches, acorns.
Never wanting to go back home. Not wanting to acknowledge hunger, tired or thirst, but, upon having no choice, amid the hollering of my name, once, twice, thrice...it was futile. I had nowhere else to go.
Just scraps of memory that feel like mine. Integrative flashbacks and awareness.
Thats all
I'm ok

Disparaging

Very sensitive, to criticism, overt, thinly veiled, unintended, only in my head.
 I sometimes have to wait till midnight to set the alarm for morning wake up because I can't do the math.
 Haven't been lost onto myself in awhile, just haven't had the time. The inclination is there.
I've grown exceedingly tired of this four week, annoying cold with cough, chills, and absolutely zero energy.
  Talking about myself, in a positive light, always feels like bragging or too much ego, narcissism.
 Sometimes I put myself out there too much, make bold, self-defining statements, then recoil, hide, avoid the audience and wait until I can face it. I fear I say too much, I've revealed too much.
 Maybe I'm just vapor, a whisp.
 I feel too much or not enough.
 A water balloon, thin skinned and always ready to pop.
Life is a series of experiences and sensations, than you die, take a break, and come back and do it all over again.
Try not to take this life too seriously. I don't think it was might to.
Cemeteries are good places to get perspective. You live, you die. It's all good.
I think about life, death, meaning often. Deep thinker. Always have been.
Searching for meaning and purpose, when sometimes there isn't any. Sometimes it's just finding creative ways to get thru each hour, each day. Learning more advanced techniques to appear functional and manage mountainous stress.
I have days where I think life is one, ingenious, well-planned play....and other days where I'm positive it's a crap shoot. Leaning more towards the latter, these days.


Haven't really missed friendships, these past few weeks. Between not feeling physically well, school stuff, kids birthday parties, everyday wear, tear, chores, errands...haven't had time to think about it.
Just being in the moment...drifting....small Aspie talk for you

Being afraid

My earliest years were spent being very much afraid, mostly of my mother.
I remember being put in my room, none too gently and having the door click shut. It really wasn't much safer in the room, than out. If I made noise, she'd come flying back in with angry lips and flying hands. Mostly, I sat in silence, frozen, paralytic fear, afraid my breathing might too loud, or my feet might accidentally scuff on the floor.
 I'd listen to her and my brother eating, reading, playing games. I was confused, trying to figure out what they were doing and why they were there and I was in the room. Kinda reminds me of how I've felt all my life....separated by a wall, wanting to join but not being able to. I was surrounded by barriers, real and invisible. Never able to fit in anywhere but alone in my room. Comfortable yet uncomfortable. Conundrum and dichotomy my given names....two words I'm so intimately attached to.
 Of course, any small child, left alone in a locked room, for hours at a time, will find ways to amuse herself. Silently, within, forbidden to whisper or breathe too loud, she turns within.


  I remember what fear feels like physically...it's like wearing a quivering, shaking vest that you can't take off. Trying so hard not to move a single bit. Frozen child, ice poppy, the water balloon that neither tosses nor rolls, just sits, trembling, waiting for the water to slowly leak, ebb away.
 Didn't want to be there. Didn't understand why I was even breathing.mfelt the lostness, heavy heavy unwanted and scorned...Now, this is what dissociation looks like....she would fall backwards in to the darkness within...to save herself. It's kinda like half-dying. But it was better than living with the neglect, hate and the stinging,grabbing hands. Better than the laughter...damn, laughter stings and bites. I was the butt of the jokes. Never understood their sinister smiles. Their smiles were never real. Always fake, poorly made plaster casts that would fall off at a moments notice,when company left or when I'd be alone with her.
 Oh, I inhaled and bought in to every venomous word that viper uttered. Kids do that. It's inherent. I'm not really myself, never have been. I'm all the toxic poison my mom constantly spewed.
I don't know how to find out what I am underneath it all.
I sit alone
In the alley
Watching the empty can
Breathe

Aspergers, a vow of silence

It feels like I was born with an inherent need for deep privacy. It doesn't seem right to talk about myself, much less how I feel and think. Sharing doesn't come easily and certainly doesn't feel natural in any way, shape or form.
 Talking about myself almost feels wrong, like I'm betraying a sacred vow to myself.


  I'm very comfortable in the silence. It's my first home.
 Autism is about autonomy. The not needing or wanting anything or anyone outside of myself. Autism is about self sufficiency. See what I can do, on my own. My thoughts and feelings, opinions are all mine. They are all I have. My personal privacy and seperation from society is relish and gravy. I like it. It's the suit I was born in and I'm quite reluctant to change.
 Nothing is always, but I probably feel this way more often than not.
 Of course I don't fit in. I am a world unto myself.  And I'm okay with that.

D.I.D. And Working with a Therapist

sometimes feels like...

Honesty...a dangerous game

To write how one Honestly feels, is truly a dangerous game. For who amongst us dares such intimacy within ourselves? Dares such revelation and soul bearing? Who sees themselves for who they really are? Minus masks and walls?


 It's a strange, sick game we play, pretending to be what others want of us. Looking into the only mirror we know...the one held by another and slightly slanted, arguably skewed, but we want people to like us, accept us, so we transform ourselves into pretty, little make-believe selves so someone will love us and never see our warts of insecurity.
We portend to be real, to be genuine, but, alas, most are naught.
 Dare I say I no longer care what anyone thinks of me? Of my manner? Of my dress? What kind of tiny minority does that slide me into?
 We deny and hide our hurts, insecurities and fears...so that they may forever loom and grow larger, devouring us in our sleep.
 Ha, and I storm into closets, beat the shit, beat the fears and tears till they run rampant out of the darkness and into the light where I analyze, come face-to-face and yell and scream and beat them into submission, into dust. I deal with my fears and that makes me a threat. I don't deny truth and it is more than most can bear. So, I growl and bear some more.
 My dirty laundry hangs, in my front yard, flapping in the breeze for all to see. Turn away if you must. Walk away so your fears don't grow large and impatient and want to join in the airing.
 I build myself a pedestal, so I can see how far I've come.
 I can look back over the garbage dumps, the fetid sewers, the oozing slime of my youth. I can see over societies well worn road of the mundane, the trivial and their river of denial. The emotionally stunted zombies who walk by as if emotions, feelings and bad childhoods don't exist. They are everywhere.
Everyone walks with pain, some large, some small, most of it invisible to eyes, but it's there.
Society has ass backward rules, looks the other way, as long as you pay your taxes and go to church, you needn't notice the starving and the poor. You needn't open your eyes and see the children suffering with incest, beatings and hunger. Nope, everything is okay here.
 Who ever speaks about how lonely they feel? How much they crave love, affection and someone to listen? Who says aloud how much they hurt?
 Just walking wounded in pretty coats.
 Maybe most are not hurting...but shouldn't they be helping the ones that are?
 Just walk away, carrying your sack lunch and pretend that man on the sidewalk isn't hungry.
 The artist and poet can be all fluff and butter or the truest in their unpretty wretchedness in words and pictures of the unpleasant realities.
 Who doesn't want a pretty, petty, rosy picture? Instead of realizing that the sewer is overflowing and needs to be covered up...again.
 The stench is stifling.
 When I scream at night, it isn't so others will hear me...it is so I can hear some truth. Madness is a casual stroll amongst weeping buildings. If you listen for the deafening sorrow, you just might get real.
 As I pour out my heart, people turn their heads and quicken their step. It must be nice to live in such a fantasy world where bad things don't happen to good, innocent people.
 We are all innocent. We are all our parents prey, there insecurities, flaws and fears. Just some of us wear it better. Some grew up with a flower on the pillow, not sleeping naked on the floor.
 You don't want to hear...how easy it is to make a sad, hurting person feel better. It's too easy, simple and completely out of your reach.
 Smile. Look at someone when they are talking. Ask how you can help. Send a card, a short message, thinking of you, hope you are doing ok. Ask them how they are and don't look for a pat answer. Be willing to hear something other than marshmallow fluff.
Be kind. Be nice. Nicety is sooo underrated. Speak softly and slowly. Dare to talk about how you really feel.
Life hasn't been so kind to some of us. We, like you, just want acceptance and the ability to talk about large parts of our lives that we have been forced to hide and deny. Make it okay for us to speak our truth. Do not judge. Try and understand. Listen.
We seek connections from a very disconnected, confusing place.
I grew up surrounded by people that actively worked to trick and hurt me. Yeah, that left wounds and no clue as to how to trust.
I was told and treated as if I was a liar and a leper. That stings. Listen to me.
I was segregated, pushed away, treated like a pariah. Sit close.
I was routinely told I couldn't do anything right. Nothing was ever good enough. Give me a compliment, even a very small one.
Acknowledge me. Realize I have been severely wounded.
And I am working on healing. I need calm, lots of quiet, tons of rest and time to debrief. Just be there. Give a damn. Listen. Offer to help.
It's quite simple, really.
You wanted honesty.
If you read this whole tirade, I thank thee.

The Heart Speaks...

....softly, timidly, in hushed whispers
I think we all come in to this world
Believing we will be welcomed
With open arms and love
Like an unspoken promise,
A pinky swear


We come here, expecting to be loved and cared for.  Sometimes that doesn't happen.
I will never know a mothers love towards me. Never felt it. Never will. There are no replacements or stand ins...it just wasn't meant to be. There will always be grief, a sense of loss, of injustice, but it is true. I can't change it. Just accept it. It's ok.
 The heart speaks of wanting to be physically close to others. Yet the price is too high or misunderstood. People that like touch are often ridiculed. I just want someone close, near, warm, tell me that I am really here, that I am not ostracized and alone.
 I live within a very tight, small sense of the world. I don't take up much space. I have like a 12 inch perimeter in which I experience 90% of the world. It's hard for me to reach out past this space. Don't ask me to raise my hand or gesture, much less...spread my arms open wide. I only experience the outside world within this quite short distance.
 The heart wishes for quiet comfort. For people that do not want to take. For someone that can be near, to feel not alone, yet not imposed upon.
 The heart is afraid to speak its dreams and longings because they seem to be so simple, almost childish. Acceptance. Someone to sit alone in the dark without the tangle of words or the scent of sex.
Naive, innocent, not taking, not bearing.
 The heart has been horribly hurt, but is learning how to warily heal.
The words nice and kind are bigger then you know. A genuine smile is more than money.
Should we tell them how much we can read in their eyes? Their words, tones and subtle gestures? Shall we tell them we can sense their disinterest, distraction and apathy? Everyone so wrapped up in themselves, in old, worn out, tightly embedded ideas. Should we tell them all that we see in them?


Dare we mention...the very littlelittle things that can make us happy beyond belief?
Simpletons in a world that thrives on the drama of complications and social mainstreaming.
 The heart wants to sit quietly....and tell its secrets..reveal the wounds of who cut who there, with what and where. The wounds are not pretty. And the telling is likely to hurt everyone in the conversation.
 The heart needs to know....that it's okay to talk now. That it's okay to feel now. That it's okay to let go now. I start talking but it rains a lot. So much has been kept held...imprisoned. I'm gonna get me a key. I'm gonna write and I'm gonna talk. And I'm not a sure exactly where or how this will go. But I move forward. I have a feeling that there is a lot to be said.

Self-Medicating, Dissociative Feelings, Living Aspie

Decisions, decisions, decisions. So many decisions to be contemplated and made each day. I want to make responsible choices and do the right thing, not what would be easiest or feels the best. It would feel best to lay down, covers over my head and hide under the bed...but it wouldn't be the responsible thing to do. Can't remember the last time I had hours to unwind, debrief and walk in the woods.
 Demands, demands, demands are plastered on every wall and constantly tug at my sleeve...and I cannot escape. So, I'm doing the irresponsible, self-saving thing and self-medicating to a higher degree. I feel, feel, feel, this overbearing, heavy jitters, physical stress running torrents through my body. And I can't get er calmed down. I'm very uncomfortable...beyond discomfort and seeking magic pills, or a magic bean, to grow a stalk, for me to climb away.
 Not enough time to dream, fall away and take a break from this grind.
 Then, I get these feelings, emotional sensations that don't pertain to the present. Earlier, I felt the panic like I had done something really wrong, in therapy. Logic told me this was my DID, dissociative identity disorder acting up. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I had deeply offended my therapist. Yeah, I ended up leaving her a message to all me....just so I could calm my butt down, stop panicking over something...displaced and from the past. LOL, you have no idea the unthrill of living with DID and trying to maintain a semi, quasi functional life. It's so funny I could cry.
  Juggling balls of flame, trying not to get burned.
  Sleeping in a noisey, crowded house.
 I have demands Inside, as well as Outside. It's nuts.
I know what I need, what will quiet the din...I just can't get it. The good lord knows I'm trying to take care of myself.


 I even went off line most of last week. It barely made a small dent in the over activity and feel of the weight of the world on mine shoulders.
 A lot of this is being mom, boys in school and such. Started this new family therapy, too. Great idea but about as stressful as a full day with my dysfunctional bio family. I'm like talking to some strange lady, I don't know from Adam, who constantly smiles, laughs loud and I have no idea what she wants, what language she's speaking, what she means by thus and such.
 Being Aspie, each NT is like a separate unknown variable, completely unpredictable.
I'm tired. I'm done. I know, leaving mid thought, but I'm tired. Had enough.
Good night

Autumn Colors in Northern Michigan

I don't believe that I have ever appreciated the colors of Fall until this very day.

Honor thy father and they mother? Uh, NO!!!!

I grew up Catholic. My parents were staunch Catholics. Before I was old enough to memorize this commandment, my father was sexually abusing me and my mother was neglecting me, leaving me in locked rooms, alone, for hours every day.
This commandment, while intended to be a very positive virtue, can be harmful if blindly followed. Overall, I agree with it. However, in my case this rule held me hostage and gave my parents free reign to be cruel.
One of the first questions that I posed to my therapist, when I finally stated the hidden truth of the incest, was "will I go to hell because I'm not honoring my parents? (and the promise to keep secrets and never betray the family?)"
She reassured me that it was within my rights to talk about it and that No, I surely was not going to hell.
I do not believe that the commandment was intended to silence victims or hurt children. I think the honor rule applies to all parents that are honorable. My parents were cruel. I do not honor anyone who believes its okay to sexually abuse children. I do not honor my parents. No victim, no innocent child that is physically and/ or sexually abused need honor their parents.
This is a very important point! Especially those of us who are taught to adhere to religious rules above all else! I kept quiet largely based on this misbegotten principle.
This commandment reminds me of "though shalt not kill". Overall, a worthy commandment, except for soldiers, police and law enforcement who may have to kill in the line of duty.
It is my duty, to loudly proclaim, that "Honor thy father and thy mother" Does Not Apply To Child Molesters or Child Abusers!!!!!!!!!

Sitting in the Dark

On being Autistic

This is Me

The world is too much...damn

I continue to be overwhelmed by the activity level, on the outside. Every day is a matter of scheduling, wagering, trying to figure out what needs doing and what can wait.
 Today was one of the very few times, that I had to cancel therapy. I hate canceling therapy. It's the one thing I actually look forward to every week. 

 At out house, the three adults have all been suffering with this darn three-week cold, whereby the symptoms change every few days. It's kinda like a slightly nauseatic roller coaster ride and you never know what's around the next bend or when it will ever end.

 This weeks crop of symptoms involve sore throat, runny nose, achy joints, lethargy and intermittent fevers. Could barely drag my sorry butt up to get LittleGuy ready and on the bus this morning. Dragged myself back into the house and collapsed on the couch headed for a heavy slumber.

 Hoping tomorrow to feel any amount of better. There is so much that has to get done.

 The house is in dire need of picking up, but the only able body doth protest and whine to help me. Hate being down and unable.

  Watched Hyde House on Hudson with Bill Murray as FDR. Kept me occupied for a couple hours.

 Hoping to gather some strength to cook a warm dinner. Warm sounds really good.

Just wanted to vent and complain some.

Hope you are well

Trying to figure out the tears

Every night, after everyone has gone to bed, it's tears. Color, bright deep blue, covers, infiltrates my skin. The guard goes down, and the blue destabilizes, and weeps...because it never could before.
It was never safe to show any weakness, lest the laughter roars and jabs hit harder. I'm only safe at night, completely alone. Then I can feel who I truly am.

Summing up my life with DID/ MPD

If I could be so sycinct, and paint my past with very broad strokes....it would sound something like this.
 The first five years of my life: blank stares, lack of affection, paralyzingly confusion, molestation, physical abuse and hatred towards me, there was no warmth, no nourishment, no comfort from people around me
 The years five to ten: school terror and confusion, realizing that I was not like others, unable to figure others out, febil disastrous attempts at friendship and social interaction, extreme physical hunger, abuse got more physical, more violent, people pushed, grabbed, beaten, objects thrown, sexual abuse rampant, physical abuse daily, realized that I was definitely trapped, no way out, morbidly depressed, realized no one cared and that wasn't going to change
 From ten to fifteen: started noticing dissociation, waking up missing days, finding bruises I couldn't account for, embarrassingly self-conscious, not overtly aware of the sexual abuse until I was mid twenties, but aware of the phsical abuse and neglect, never had a close friend just brief friendships that lasted a few months, sexual abuse more intense, many many blackouts
  From fifteen to twenty...omg, too much, too much, incest, secrets, high school hanging out with different odd groups, completely lost, spinning in circles, really realizing there was no escape from my hell, body started getting sick even more than earlier, started drinking, one night stands, briefly saw a therapist, knew something was wrong but didn't know what it was, started working...good to get out of the house and help people, had one boyfriend, then married a man twice my age to get out of town with
 Twenty to twenty-five...multiple psych hospitalizations, still unaware of the incest, started on a variety of meds, found one good friend, divorced, unable to work, unable to speak at times, horribly depressed, constantly anxious and I didn't know why, unaware of my MPD, just thought I was inconsiderate, forgetful and crazy, started creating art and poetry, began writing journalling, moved four or six times, found a therapist who picked up on the dissociation, the MPD, the incest
 Twenty-five to thirty...ran away from my entire family, became anonymous, moved to new city after another psych hosp diagnosed MPD, finally began appropriate therapy twice a week, lived in adult foster care because incest relegation caused me to e overwhelmed and go mute, scared, terrified, completely and utterly alone, my dark night of the soul lasted about three years, moved into apartment of my very own, rarely left it except for groceries, frightened continually, afraid to take the smallest of steps, found an incest/ MPD support group, made my first real true friend that I still have. Found kindness, comfort. Began to get a handle on my MPD with therapist and friend help. Moved a few times in same city. Lived with my friend:)
Thirty to thirty-five....the chaos of DID became manageable, started having a "life", communication and cooperation within the system, became pretty functional in the real world, attended trade school with some difficulty, discovered my agoraphobia, met doctor who prescribed anti-anxiety meds and I suddenly became human going places by myself, suddenly aware of the intense, debilitating anxiety I had been living with, branched out socially, able to maintain acquaintances and friendships, wrote more, understood more, pretty much aware of the scope of the abuse and how I had been living with abused child mentality. Started changing, healing, very very slowly
Thirty-five to forty...pretty calm years, months years without therapy and I managed okay, started discovering who I was under the abuse....
Forty to fifty...major changes, three integrations of 5-6 parts, ground breaking, more functional, less scared, more body memories and early early abuse stuff, found god therapist that we understand each other. Making great strides. World gets calmer inside and outside
I'm getting tired. It's late, otherwise I would have added more to those last two items.
Maybe later:)

New Assemblage Art..."TheIAm"

Within my autism

Talking

Only Autistics Understand

"No Pity" shadow box

Doing better, calmin down

Feeling a little less stressed. Hung out with therapist recently. Only to panic from the newest memory flashbacks. Managing to keep them at bay. I was smart enough to call and schedule another, sooner, therapy appointment for Monday. My flashbacks and memories only abate when shared. So I know that help is near... Not far and distant.


 LittleGuys concussion seems completely healed! Yeah!!! His energy feels all back to normal, as is his behavior!! I'm one very happy momma:) I've been spending more quality time with him. We playfully do homework for about an hour each day. I'm teaching him cursive, which challenges him. He has little faith and confidence in handwriting, so I make sure to be patient and full of raise for his 100% efforts! He tries really hard. It's hard to write right handed when you are a born lefty (born without a left hand). LittleGuy is quite, quite remarkable!
 On a similar note, very proud of my Eldest! He has gotten through his first month of college,  no small feat. His grades are excellent and he as even managed to figure out how to get himself to and from the shool, thirty miles away. He has matured and grown so fabulously:)
 Partner and I are working more smoothly together. LittleGuys challenges at school require Partner and I to communicate, brainstorm and meet regularly with his teachers. We think alike and have both been instrumental, hands-on parents.
I'm still pretty tired. Not enough sleep. Can't figure if it's Lyme, memories, stress or some sort of convoluted combo. I continue to sleep and rest whenever possible.
Home life continues to have many demands, but they are kinda more manageable.
Working on forgiveness and letting go. I continue to have exfriends watching for me, then turning and hiding so they don't run in to me. I figure it is what it is. Trying not to feel like a leper or rejected. Just figure they got issues. Their loss. Forgive them for being idiots. Forgive myself for whatever little mistake I made that made them leave. They said the word "friend" but meant it in a temporary, non true sense.
It'd be nice if we all used the same dictionary...but we don't.
Zero time for arting, this week. Hoping next week will be better.
Feeling hopeful. Optimistic. Just wanted to share:) Be well

On my way to Mute

The world has been too much. No one is to blame. Don't think I could ave stopped this ride if I tried. Heading to mute.
Words start haltering, stumbling from my lips, if I can form them at all.
Ive started gesturing, instead of talking, whenever poss.
Too much stress, activities, son worries and such.
Losing words, the ability to speak. Falling into that soft,deep place of recoup.
I'll get back to ya
Stay well

Milkglass