Christmas 2017 is turning into Emily Dickson-esque drama lama.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45706/i-felt-a-funeral-in-my-brain-340
Or the lighter drag queen version
In broad terms the Achilles tendon surgery was difficult in ways I didn't prepare for. We had 2 or so really rough days right a the beginning. We had about 3 weeks of about a 50% functional Cal and a 60%-70% functional Kate. Burning through my internal and external resources but out there living that life. We were doing much better than I thought we would. Pat self on the back about doing a great job!
HaHa plot twist. False sense of security. Classic Kate. Thinking that something is going to plan and will soon be resolved is a predictable pitfall for people looking at developmental disabilities and chronic issues.
It's managing what you are presented with at the time. It will come up again. The sensory processing issues will change and fluctuate. But they will always be there. Fine and gross motor skill will improve but they will never be typical. Cognitive ability is high but will always be hampered to varying degrees by the physical challenges and rigid neural pathways. Deal with it, Fitzpatrick.
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| From the last breakdown. Bad gallbladder 2014. Angst. Stubborn with a side of over the top melodramatic wallowing. |
Getting upset about it coming up again is the thought cycle equivalent of beating your head against the wall. Pointless and an unnecessary use of already cramped resources. I am hurting myself by forgetting the bigger picture in favor of the cheap thrill of "having something controlled".
I had planned for things to be rough the first half of the recovery not for the second half. Why did I think this? I can't really remember now. I just did. Not only did I think that I BELIEVED that. I was willfully trying to ride that tunnel vision until we got those casts off. Then we could gallop off into the ambulatory sunset. High fives all around!
As always, I turn out to be my own worst enemy. So retract those high fives. :( The last 3 weeks took a steep nose dive into full body self harm, sensory processing meltdowns, biting, kicking holes into walls, throwing things, picking at skin, constantly chewing on anything and everything, unbreakable thought patterns, equally unbreakable behavior patterns. etc etc excetra excetra forever and ever Amen.
The last 10 days give or take I have very few actual memories of because it was so scary.
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| Not home improving. |
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| Sometimes. Not all the time. But sometimes. |
Now here in my little story of anxiety is where we branch off into things I will talk about, things I won't talk about and things I can't talk about. Some might say I am over sharing enough already. That I shouldn't open up the family secrets vault like this. To which I say, nah bro.
Not talking about some of the stuff makes the other darker late at night stuff lonelier. Even if it is nutso I still have to mention at least some of this crap.
This is my emotional truth. This space and these words are mine. I will conduct myself in the manner I want and am able. There is no right or wrong and there are no bad people. This is me talking. Take it with a grain of salt. I know I do.
It's a big list. The things that autism parents and special needs parents in general don't want to talk about. The things that you don't want to mention to people who aren't familiar with this type of thing. It's hard to admit that you have PTSD from your own kids struggles. Let alone to really delve into the experiences in a matter of fact way. I'm not throwing that around casually. Actual diagnosed PTSD.
If I haven't vetted who I am talking to about what, I might get slapped in the face with a whole mess of uneducated, hostile, shaming Opinions with a capital O. Ain't nobody got time for that.
I read this article about 5 years ago. And nothing has rang more true about my experience.
https://www.disabilityscoop.com/2009/11/10/autism-moms-stress/6121/
It doesn't really dawn on me that I am having a major PTSD cycle until much later when I look at it from a distance. The answer is very clear looking back. I should have taken emergency family medical leave and battened down the hatches at home. But part of my mental illness is doubling down on things that are going bad. This is because my PTSD is tied into parenting. I can take breaks from it but I still have to show up and do something. Must work harder. I'm smart. I work like a bat out of hell. I can figure this out.
When I go into the cycle I have extreme fear of everything being ruined. My big fear is that all my hard work and good intentions don't save us from the f-5 tornado barrelling up the turnpike 5 miles east of Sand Springs. (I'm an Oklahoman. I have Oklahoma based nightmare scenarios.)
All of this is bad but not tragic. Not yet. Something becomes tragic when your heart gets broken. I operated under the assumption that we would get through this and my life plan would be on the other side. Dinged up for sure but still there.
5 days out from the big appointment to go back to OKC to have the casts off. Cal and I are dying from the stomach flu. Shane is in Portland for his job. Right before the holidays. Sam is fine. Good job Sam!
For the first time in my little private school girl, smarty pants, brown nosing, joke cracking, privileged life I get fired. I fail at something I really wanted and threw everything I could dredge up into. Again no bad people or viewpoints. People did what they had to. I did what I could. But it doesn't change the fact I am emotionally and financially effed.
All the other stuff didn't break my heart. It made my brain cycle out of control. It made my actions unpredictably manic than depressive. But I was still could recognize myself in that mess. Now its tragic.
Don't worry though. I am tough. I will sort this out. Probably. Most likely. To be continued.
Because I can't bear to leave things all sad and droopy. Here are some cat pictures.
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| Floof |
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| Ginger |
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| Now don't you feel better. I feel better. |
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