Thursday, March 06, 2008

Recovery: When It Isn't Black or White.

I haven't posted lately from being either busy, sick, or both. Tomorrow I officially get help with whatever has taken up residence in my lungs. But now back to recovery!

I was the one with the courage to turn my dad into my mother when he was trying to have sex with me, but thought I was my mother. Black and white. I did what needed to be done.

I left my abusive lover and almost everything I owned, as I knew my own weaknesses. Not letting him "talk me back home" was my only protection against going back for more physical and mental abuse. Again, black and white.

I thought I had enough emotional strength and maturity to walk with a friend while she had an anxiety attack. She started talking really crazy, violent crazy. She then became unintelligible. Then it was over. She thanked me for hanging with her and assured me she was fine.

Unfortunately, I was no longer fine. Her crazy talk scared me back to thinking about my mother and her "attacks". My mom would be fine, truly fine. I'd ask to be fed, as a small child and she'd give me food. She would talk to me and even engage in mild play. It was real, fun and safe.

When my mother would have one of her "attacks" I'd ask for food and she'd lose it completely. Screaming at me and savagely punishing me for something... I never knew what I'd done wrong. As an adult I'd black out, grab a large stuffed animal and beat it with a closed fist screaming: "I'll teach you a lesson!"

My mom knew she went crazy. She cried and prayed to God a lot, after she'd recover. But I learned to know that my mother was never truly "alright".

Now I had a box to place my friend in. She thinks she's okay, but I am afraid she may kill someone. Do I sit by and wait for something to happen? Do I call the police? What exactly do I report? My adrenaline has shot up like it did after my 2nd mugging. I'm totally on hyper "red alert"

I decide it is time to lay the hammer down. Time to "exit" another person from my life. Oh God, how I hate this part of myself. I leave a message on my friends machine letting her know that I think she's psychotic and not to call me like that any more. I also dumped on her for doing "Psycho-drama". A pastime played in every psych ward.

But, my friend, being my friend, saw things more clearly and had a different idea. She wanted to continue being friends. She was clear that I was not a good pick to talk to when she was having any strong emotional outburst. She was willing to try and continue being friends with some new insight on how what she does can scare some people.

Wow. I am stunned. Yeah, her anxiety attack sure did scare me. I really didn't want her to totally go away, but those episodes of hers can for sure "go away". Just like when I get really upset and start spouting off about suicide, I have also learned that my friends can't deal with it. It is time to go to the hospital, or at least get some "tune-up" counseling. All are available to me and my friends are spared unnecessary upset.

This is one of the first attempts to keep a friendship in my world, instead of just cutting and running. I'm sure some of you have a past strewn with those who you don't associate with any more. Sometimes that is survival, as we sure know how to find illness in a crowd! But as real healing begins, I am overjoyed at NOT trying to make friends with the most troubled soul in a group. I've learned some of the "signs" of trouble, before befriending and man, my friends are so HEALTHY!

I now have to attend to this lung, weakness thing that has been around for almost a month. Time to call for medical help. I have no doubt I'll be taken seriously. My HMO loves it when you try to get well on your own before running to them. I've never been refused treatment. I may have some kind of low grade infection going on, but something sure is going on and I've had it. Yes, I waited so long because I have issues around being sick and actually making it official. My family had issues with illness and as much as I thought I was done with their garbage - well, maybe not.

This is more of getting "really well". Sure not as cut and dry as I once thought it was going to be. Keep waiting for the angels to sing and a bright light to shine on me while a voice booms out of heaven: "Yes, thou art finished!" THAT probably won't happen until the rapture, or my physical death. So recovery continues with very little "drama". Have to remember that "dramatic" is rare, like "traumatic". Health is so sweet!

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