Borderline........

A person makes reference to wanting to harm themselves by taking their own lives, Suicidal Ideation.

Years ago, I was not even aware of my own self, my own feelings and emotions. It was a roller coaster for me and it was headed straight down. I remember every single moment though. That roller coaster moved fast, without slowing down until I found myself standing on a pier looking down into the water, and thinking how easy it would be to simply not think about all the things that was in my head. My heart raced in panic, fear tightened my chest, and every breath was more difficult than the last. How easy it would be to stop all this raging inside of me! Looking down at the water, imagining how deep it was, how endless it looked and for the first time I was not afraid. I was not afraid to drown. Drowning is what I was already doing and that water was nothing compared. I knew that real downing had an ending and the emotional drowning was never going to end, or at least I did not think it would.

One last resort, one last attempt to not give up, one single sentence to a person that I did not even want a reply back from.

"I am so exhausted from it all!"

My reply, " Don't give up, it will work out."

My friend had no idea where I was at mentally and/or physically. He was clueless to the fact that I was standing inches away from not just giving up, but giving in. I stepped away from the edge and I fought. I fought myself, my depression, my anxiety, I battled from that moment on and even now, I continue to battle against it.

Everyone has moments of sadness. Sometimes it takes some longer than others to get past that. Depression is not sadness, it is deeper. It closes in on you, it has no real reason to be there, eating away at a person until a shell of who they are remains, inside, it is chaos. Outside it looks like sadness that will one day heal with time.

"I don't want to shower today, I have no energy or desire to. I am not going to brush my hair, put on makeup, because even if I do, the person in the mirror never changes. No one likes the person in my mirror, neither do I. I dislike the person in the mirror more than anyone else does. Why bother? I am not going to clean my house today,  I am not going to wash the dishes.  It will only have to be done again, and again, and still .....again. Why bother? I want to sleep, I am tired, exhausted and for one moment I don't want to think about everything, I don't want to feel alone anymore,  I don't want to feel the pain inside anymore. I just want to sleep because then I have some sort of relief. So I sleep, I sleep a lot. I am still tired, I still wake up feeling the same way I did when I finally fell asleep, so why wake up, why not just go back to sleep."

I remember being in the kitchen one day, my phone started ringing and glancing at the caller ID, I just started crying. A person I always talked to, confided in, it was their name on the ID and I had nothing at all to say. I did not even want to hear my phone ring. It upset me so bad that I just cried. I cried because there was nothing I could say that was any different than all the times before and talking about it never changed  anything, I did not feel that talking about it anymore would make me feel better. I did not want to talk, I did not want to think, I simply wanted to be alone, in silence. I did not know I was suffering from major depression, anxiety and panic attacks.

Even though I was surrounded by people, I felt alone. I was alone emotionally even if I was not alone physically. Depression is harder to deal with than most would think. Anyone that has been diagnosed with depression knows it is a hard road, a constant battle and there are good days, there are bad days, but it is always there, lurking in the shadows. It is also a constant battle for ones that love people that suffer from depression.

So what happens when you are fighting such a battle within yourself and you are looking into the teary eyes of your child as they fight the same battle.......you become stronger, you find ways to cope and become a role model for them and hope that somewhere, somehow, it makes a difference............

Appreciation

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I worked at a Steakhouse in Mississippi. I had a regular customer that came in every morning and ordered just a glass of milk to drink while he read his paper. This gentleman always left a $0.25 tip for me when he left. With all the tips I got from people throughout my day, this was the one I looked forward to. Granted it was only $0.25 and nothing compared to the tips per table that I got, it was guaranteed to happen every single morning. I gave him the same service that I gave my best tippers. That quarter was the exact change that he got back from his order of that one cup of milk. One day the elderly gentleman did not come in and I was concerned. All the months I worked there, he had been there, never missing a morning.
The following morning he arrived at his regular time and placed his regular order. Normally we spoke a few minutes upon his arrival and we did so this morning also.
I asked him how he was and told him that I missed his visit the day prior. He had been under the weather. After he left, I went over to get his empty cup and found 2 quarters on the table for me. Although he missed yesterday he showed appreciation toward me.
I thought about this last night after leaving a gas station.
My friend buys gas only from American owned stations. Always giving a tip to the gas attendant. I work from check to check and cannot afford to do this and normally I don't. It was a single dollar tip. The attendant gushed with sarcasm over this tip. "Oh thank you, you did not have to do this, its to much."
I was quiet, but I was furious. It was rude and the expectation of people these days is obnoxious. It was a show of appreciation toward this gentleman and he scoffed at it. Then I think about my favorite customer who ALWAYS left me one single quarter and I APPRECIATED that quarter because of the fact that he drove 30 minutes to my work just to order a cup of milk and give me that quarter.
Human kindness has been demoted and self-absorbed people who have such expectations...OMG. I will never forget this man's face or his behaviour. I get my gas at this station on a regular basis, but I will WAIT in line, if necessary but will not allow him to provide service to me.
Maybe I can afford a tip after all, some people may like the appreciation of what you can afford to give, that you really did not have to give.

Valentine's Day

              

          When I was growing up I always liked Valentine’s Day. The flowers, the balloons, chocolate hearts would flood our schools on February 14^th and I would find myself wishing that one of those deliveries had my name on it. I was plain, without style, rarely wore makeup and favored t-shirts with jeans over more stylish clothes. Still, I wished one was mine, to be loved by someone enough to get flowers or something.

               Years later, my ideas changed and I guess I changed with them. Sometimes I am still like that young girl, t-shirts and jeans, no make-up, just me. A few years ago, I really considered this day in depth. I felt that the original meaning of this day went out the window as retail turned into a huge marketing chance.

               I remember the reactions of the kids in school, the boys boosting over buying their girl something, the girl’s competing with size and quantity. Then the girl’s that always got something every year, not even really caring about what they got, because they had come to expect such and no longer appreciated the value of the gift. Boys that would break up with their girlfriend’s right before Valentine’s Day just so they did not have to try to meet such blind expectations or maybe the fear that everyone might actually think they loved the girl. It was sad.

               After a while the day disgusted me, people disgusted me. Work places, schools, etc, ended up smelling like funeral homes. Women would eat the chocolate, coo over the gift and bitch about the weight they would put on from indulging that little bit. Then you would have the ones that would complain about not having a Valentine for that day.

               Recently on Facebook, I saw a little picture card. It said for all the ones that don’t have a Valentine on Valentine’s Day, suck it up. There are many out there that don’t have mothers on Mother’s Day, fathers on Father’s Day. I never considered that, I assume most don’t, but it is true. Our losses could always be much worse.

               Some of the nicest gifts I have ever received were ones I never expected, ones that had no meaning other than it was just a moment that happened. One time, I had met someone for dinner, we enjoyed each other’s company, but we both did not feel we were right for one another. As we walked out, he leaned down, picked a rose and gave it to me. Even though we did not click, he still went that extra minute of his time to really blow me away. Another time, I was having coffee with someone who sat there playing with a paper napkin throughout our conversation. Finally he looked up and handed me the napkin, which was folded to resemble a rose. These are the small things that mean the most. A dozen red roses will never rival that paper napkin rose.

               There are three hundred and sixty five days a year.  Why is it, so many people choose one day to show someone they love them? Should it not be every day, not with roses, but small things that will always imprint on your mind and your heart?

               Then there are times, when you put yourself into a gift, into someone, dedicated but knowing they would probably never truly understand the depth of the gift they held in their hands. Sometimes it is simply love that is the gift that you give and you should give that every day, show it every day, remember it for a life time.

~Tink~

Dinner Time

Dinner was late tonight, due to me working late and then removing the snow from my car so I could come home. A little after 6 pm, my youngest son comes into the kitchen and watches me cook.

"Are you hungry?"
"Yes......" my son sighed.

He is such a delight and I smiled. He took the stirring spoon and stirred the pasta, then the beans while we waited.
"You can set the table if you would like."

He went to the china closet and got out the plates, disappearing into the dining room. Returning, he got the forks out.

"Where is my favorite fork?"

It was in the drying pan still, so I got it and handed it to him. He left the room once again.

Once dinner was done, I went out to serve the plates and noticed only three plates on the table. There are four of us. Laughing, I asked my son were my plate was. He jumped up with a horrified look and stated,

"I did not know you were going to eat, you never eat anymore."

He rushes into the kitchen to get my plate. I smiled but at the same time, it made me sad. I did not realize that I had missed so many meals with my children lately that they no longer set me a plate. I just had no appetite anymore and the smell of food, sometimes turned my stomach. 

"FIRE" Ants

Anyone from back home knows what this is, and for everyone else, this the home of fire ants. Not sure where they got their name, but they were nasty creatures. Avoiding these beds were just like avoiding a bees nest.

If Satan had helpers, I firmly believed as a child, these things were some of them.

I am almost certain that my escapades drove my grandparents crazy. I was curious, experimental...I had no limits to what I could come up with and what I could do.

On the side of our house, there was a huge bed. Countless times I had taken a stick, destroyed it and ran. They came pouring out like clowns out of a car, mad and ready to eat me alive. The following day, I would go over to the bed, and they had repaired it, as if nothing happened. I did this for a few weeks before becoming bored with my game.

I am not certain where every one else was, I am sure my grandmother was in the house as always, do her housework. My grandfather was either at work or somewhere on the property doing something.

I nosed around the yard, bored and attempting to find something to cure my boredom. That is when I seen it. A old metal gas can. It was used for the tractor we had. I looked at it and then remembered the fire ants. I kicked around in the dirt near the can, debating. If I got caught, I would get my ass beat. I guess I liked beatings! I grabbed the can and hurried over to the fresh made mound. Pouring some gas on it, it quickly disappeared into the mound. (I was not aware that the fumes of the gas was flammable, not the gas). I added more, still it soaked into the mound. So I kept pouring.

Finally I was satisfied that I had enough to take care of the little monsters. I hurried back over, replacing the can where I found it. I waited. I was very sneaky. I went inside the house twice...the last time, swiping matches before heading back outside. I walked around the yard, waiting to see if my grandmother had become suspicious. She had that mother's intuition you know.

I waited to hear that screen door slam and her call out my name. Nothing. Finally I realized that I had been able to pull this off so far.

(First off, I was mischievous as hell, sneaky as hell, hard-headed, but sometimes I was never really that bright.)

I struck the match and dropped it. Whoosh! Flames shot up from that mound and it was almost like I could hear their little screams. The flames were almost above my head and I got slightly worried. I glanced around at the door, hoping she did not come to the door to check on us. Nothing. I waited..Still the flames continued to burn. I hoped that it would have flamed up and went out, but no...it continued. Shit! I was going to get caught.

I grabbed a bucket and slipped around behind the house to the other side to the water hose. I filled the small bucket and hurried back around to the other side. To my dismay, the bed was still burning merrily. Ants were everywhere....

I dumped the water onto the flames, there was a sizzle and a puff, but the fire continued. I made two trips and had no luck putting the fire out. I cannot remember if I went to my grandmother for help or if she came out and seen this four foot fire about 10 feet from the side of our house. She grabbed the water hose and pulled it over and attempted to put the fire out. The fire continued and she complained about why it would not go out. That was when she smelled the gas fumes. The gas fumes were nothing like the visualization that I had of the fumes coming out her ears. She was furious. My grandfather was equally furious when he heard about it, and my day ended with one hell of a tongue lashing and ass lashing.

I learned my lesson. Don't use so much gas and never in sight of the house. Can I say that I learned the lesson they tried to teach me, hell no? I learned that years down the road.

The Island

Right before I moved to New Jersey, my sister and I decided to sunbath. My step dad had built a pond on his property with a small island in the middle. It was a perfect place to do this but he had yet to build the pier to it, if that was his goal. Since the water was not deep in that area, we waded through the water to the island.

That night I realized I did not have my watch. I always wore my watch but when I was on the island I took it off. I did not want a tan line on my arm. Her and I went out to the pond to retrieve it. I had a flashlight and was wading across. The pond was very new and the bottom was sinking mud. My feet sunk in the mud and pulling them out to take another step, it was a suction type situation. A few feet from the island bank, I lost my balance and face planted into the bank. I froze! The flashlight was shining straight into the eyes of a cottonmouth snake. It was inches from my face and I knew if it bite me, I would never make it back to the house.

Not my idea of Southern Comfort

Anyone that knows about southern snakes, knows that cottonmouths are highly poisonous water snakes. My ex husband almost died from one biting him on the bottom of his foot. A bite to my face, I knew I would not see the next day. My heart stopped, I did not breath. They say your life flashes before your eyes in moments like this, not me. All I could see was a flashlight shining into the eyes of that snake.  It did not move, I did not move.

All the memories of ones that had gotten bitten by one of these snakes, rushed into my mind. I could think of nothing else, except I did not want to piss it off anymore than I already did. I can say, I would rather look down the barrel of a gun, than into the eyes of that snake again. I did not blink, I just laid half way on that bank, staring back not making a sound, not moving an inch.

My sister was on the shore and could not figure out what was wrong. She shined her light over and seen the snake. Her light distracted it long enough that I did not even realize I moved until later. Just that quick I jumped away and put distance between myself and it.

I stood on the shore beside my sister, somewhat afraid, but mad too. That damn snake could have killed me. I marched up to the house, and got my step dad's 22 rifle.

The rifle had a scope on it, and it was almost midnight. I eased into the water on the opposite side of the island from the island. My sister stood on the other side with the flashlight on the snake which still had not moved.

Guns were nothing new to me, I learned about them, the safety, the use, at a young age. I also knew NOT to touch his scope. So I had to try to shoot this snake blind, without the scope or sights. On top of that, I had to shot it, without the chance of a bullet glancing off the water and potentially going into a neighbor's house or hitting one of the horses in the neighboring pasture.

I eased closely with the gun aimed at the snake. Can I mention, I was not to bright about this and I had no reason to be doing this???

Still I was not certain I would hit the target due to not being able to lock a sight on it. So I had the gun about six inches from the snake when it spooked and slipped into the water. I stood there rather dumbfounded that it happened so quick and without warning. I slowly looked around the island bank, not seeing the culprit anywhere. Then it occurred to me. My way back to shore was through the water, where that pissed off, scared snake just entered. At this point I had to laugh over the events. I stood on an island in the middle of a pond, almost midnight, with a rifle in my hand and was to damn chicken shit to attempt going into the water to get to the other side.

Finally I gained up enough courage to slid into the water and go to shore, but I still remember the eyes of that snake, inches from my face, till this very moment.

Does he love me, does he not..

Does he love me, does he not... Sadly it is winter, there are no flowers outside that I can pick and pull petals from with such a question and find a response.

I am still married, but the marriage started to sour slowly over the past 3 or 4 years, finally moving itself to separate beds (Bed and a couch) and then six months ago, separate living. It took a lot for me to face my husband and state that I was done. I had sworn after my last marriage and divorce that I would not do so lightly again. I would not leave, return, leave, return. I would stay until I felt that there was absolutely no chance at all left.That moment had come, and I verbalized it to him, to myself. I made it final in my head and in my heart.

After he left, I did not feel lonely. I was not broken from it as I suffered the loss of the marriage over a three year span and mourned during that time until I no longer cried myself to sleep at night.

I had focused solely on saving my marriage that everything went neglected..then I started focusing on work. I buried myself into my job as the expectations there were ones I could meet because I knew what they were. I made progress there, I was stuck in place in the marriage.

Burying myself into work, not wanting to come home and face the failure, it affected my children. Things went downhill rapidly. My youngest son was removed from school, pending out of district placement and my daughter ended up in Pediatric Trauma Unit after an overdose attempt. My oldest son, he just crawled into a hole and closed his eyes to it all.

It was time for me to come home, to get my home, my family in order, back on track. So I took a family medical leave of absence from my job. I attended home schooling with my youngest in the evenings, toured schools across the state during the day. I meet with doctors, made calls, visited crisis centers, during the rest of my time. My daughter was in crisis centers and outpatient centers for almost two months.

After two weeks of doing this, I sit my oldest two children on the couch, along with my husband. I had watched over the two week period and finally seen how bad things had gotten and it was time to make changes.

"You will be a part of the solution, you will no longer be a part of the problem." This was directed to all of them. My husband became defensive and stated that if he was the problem, he would leave. At this point, I had enough. I excused my children from the room and faced him.

"I did not say you were the problem, I said each of you were a part of the problem." I was fed up with his threats to leave. The kids already felt like it would bolt at a moments notice, I had felt that way, and none of us felt the security of having him there anymore. We were on eggshells, never knowing if and when he would just up and walk away.

So I told him I was done. That was it.

During the course of my marriage, I had left all my friends and family behind to be with him. Friends I gained here during that time, they did not last. So when I ended the marriage, I ended it being completely alone, without family, without friends, just my children and my job.

When the kids started going to his house each Friday, I got lonely. The four walls closed in on me and I needed to get out. So I arranged to go to Philly with a couple of girl's from work. I wait till after nine, when the kids would be asleep, we went to the speedline, and my phone rings. He wanted me to come get my youngest son because he would not listen to him and go to bed. I ended up coming home and getting my son, handing off my train ticket to someone else.

My ex was upset that I had planned to go out. He tried to send the kids home each weekend after that.

I needed a friend, someone to go out with, have a good time with, so I bravely got on a dating website. It did not take me long to see that most of the men there considered dating as friends with benefits. Me stating that I wanted someone to hang out with and was not looking for a relationship, well that sealed the deal.

I meet a couple of them, for coffee or whatever, no first date unless I knew I could be in their company for more than 5 minutes. It was a bust, almost a waste of time, then I met someone, that I liked being in the company of. As much as I liked him, it scared me, the "more" part. Could I really go through what I went through for the last decade? So I drove this guy nuts. He mentioned "more" I would retreat.

Finally I gave in, I wanted to try again, but maybe I retreated to much, to many times. I felt that the kids were drifting down hill again. So I decided that it would not hurt for them to meet him, I liked him and felt that he would not be a hurt to them. It took a lot for me to involve someone into my children's lives. They had been hurt to much and the scars on them are still fresh. I did not want someone to come in and make things harder. Besides, I liked him enough that I wanted him to see all aspects of my life, not just a him and I thing. There was more to me than just me. I was a hard worker, a dedicated mother, and my time for myself was lumped into one day a week. His schedule was not very accommodating to that and I could not work out other days to well. It came down to him coming to my house, to my dysfunctional family if he wanted to see me. He did not come and I felt that at this point, maybe he realized how fucking nuts my life was and "more" was no longer something he wanted. So I retreated, if he wanted "more" he knew where I lived.

I am an all or none type person, and all was what I gave, what I offered. It was ice water to my face and it hurt. It hurt enough that over the past week, I sat and crocheted the blanket I had been working on. Every stitch was meant to heal myself. I started it weeks ago, when I found myself missing him, I would sit down and work it out. I thought about him with every stitch I made and I still do.

I remember I was working one night and he had texted me. I did not see the text right off as I was with a customer. When I did read it, it simply stated, "I need a kiss." By the time I responded to the text, he called my phone. He was at my store, walking through the door. I was floored! I had never had someone do that or anything remotely close to it. Ten minutes of his life, gave me a memory for a life time. He did not even realize it. For the first time in a long time, I felt that maybe someone thought I was worth the effort.

I don't have a flower to pull petals from. I have an afghan that I am creating. One stitch at a time with the hopes that when I reach the end, I will heal the pain inside me and can move forward.

WTF!

"What the Fuck?"   I seriously don't feel I have this out of my system yet. Life has hijacked my free time of indulging in writing and to take time tonight, well....."What the fuck? Why not?"

Since the end of March I have seen the inside of a crisis center, not just once, but by Wednesday, a grand total of three times. Trust me when I say that there are thousands of places I would rather be, than the stark clean room that reminds you of a hospital. It is not a hospital but the whispers in the walls speaks of it.

I get nervous and my heart races no matter how many times I go. No matter how many times I leave out the door.

Ha! Ha! It should be me going! It would make things a lot easier..cause I know ME! I understand ME! If anyone can help ME, its ME!

Its not me, though. The fear, the inability to swallow while I wait staring at the same damn picture on the wall that has been there for all these years. There should be a fucking spider web in the corner of the damn thing, but alas, it remains sparkling and clean. Beside me sits my son and I am at lost and afraid. I watch him and it is a repeat of all the times before. I do not know how to reach him and it frustrates me. I use to know how, but somehow he grew up on me, and he seemed to become more remote and quiet in so many ways.

"Just look at me! Tell me what you are thinking! Tell me please how to help you...how can I make things better so that we don't keep ending up here in this damn place."

Alas he looks at the same picture and remains as silent as the room we sit in. So I think about other things. My daughter, who, when I try to talk to her and help her, remains defiant and so fucking hardheaded. Without realizing it, my mouth drops open over the light bulb that flashes. "She is just like me, damn.......Mama I am so freaking sorry I put you through that.....Of course when it was me in her shoes, it was knowing my grandmother was right that pissed me off and made me fight so damn hard against her.

My son is different. There is no defiant energy about him, there is no stubborn, "I will do what I fucking want regardless"

Instead there is this firm resolve around him, that he did nothing wrong and now here he sits "in trouble" once again. He has come to see crisis as not a help but as a punishment for making another mistake. "You did not tell me I could not JOKE about it."

I did not tell him he could not joke about it, I assumed that by what I did say was enough to cover any and all.

He is autistic. I never forget that he does not think on the same level as me, but at a much higher and simpler level.

I need to write this shit down. Then I should go back and give every possible occurrence and the appropriate response or behavior. He does not catch on to the sameness....he has to be taught every occurrence individually and  how to respond to it specifically. We, well.....we just fucking know..we are capable of thinking and analyzing something and knowing that even if it is NOT the same incident moment by moment, word by word, that it can still be handled in a similar manner..

There should be a damn manual on this ....seriously.

Of course there is no manual on this YET! Maybe I should tell him to write down each incident and I can give him the appropriate way to deal with it....wait a fucking minute.....that is what Social Skills classes are for, for ones with Autism...Anyone heard of those classes before?? Well it is classes that teach an individual how to deal and approach a social situation in an appropriate manner. Hmmm...I think there are a few out there (not autistic) that could stand to take these classes.

He gets bullied and picked on, he is a target because of his differences and the fact that after to much he EXPLODES. Umm the official term is Explosive Disorder. Ok so he needs these classes so that he can handle this with more efficiency. It is a damn shame that the bullies don't have to take such classes. It is apparent that they suffer a similar, well... lack of social etiquette.

"Since he left regular education and is back in special needs, how much social skills teachings will he be recieving. It is apparent that it is a social issue in the end.....

"Ummmm....well....we don't actually have these classes, but sometimes I may incorporate it into my teaching when I feel the need."

"WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!"

"My son is autistic, worked hard to get mainstreamed and socially suffered.He needs more social skills help and you don't really do that?? Did I miss something?For all its worth, it was be easier and less drama to home school him."

So I sit in the crisis center and I stare at the wall because I find the spotless picture rather depressing at this stage. I wished that my pictures on my walls were that damn spotless. Maybe they would be if our high school had social skills classes....for my son and the rest of these misguided teens. Maybe we could even incorporate a night class for some of the parents too. Maybe in the future we can have a 26 book reference of every possible occurrence or situation with every way of handling the right way. Hell, we can even have an electronic pocket edition for those emergencies.

For a moment though, my throat closes up, my chest aches, and my eyes start to burn. I hate doing this alone. I have made every trip to crisis with him alone. I have rushed to the school for every meltdown alone. I would reach the door and my legs would go weak in fear. How can I do this alone? Then it occurs to me, rather painfully, that I have done it alone so damn long, that I never realized I was alone in doing it.

"Hello Mrs. Daley, Hi Jesse."

We stand to greet a face we have gotten to know so well.

" So Jesse, where is my lunch......."

At this point I have to laugh as it beats the hell out of crying. You have to love the random moments of someone with a sense of humor, or you just might scream!

OTB Syndrome

One of the reason I write and my writing comes from heart and soul, based on the deepest of emotions has to do with this Syndrome. What is Outside the Box Syndrome? I am sure you have all heard of it, but maybe its not called the same thing. OTB Syndrome is when someone lacks the ability to understand something simply because they have not experienced it themselves. The lack of Empathy! Anyway, with my stories, my poetry, my site for autism I write in an attempt to bring you into the box.

What drives a person to do things that they do? What makes them happy? What makes them sad? What breaks their hearts? What makes them have errors in judgement? What they truly feel that they never talk about? It leads to assumptions and wrong conclusions. It leads to the over-reaction and misinterpretation of a situation. When you suffer from OTB Syndrome, this can cause hurt to the one you have associated it with. It is easy to give advice, pass judgement and make your own opinion on something, when you are not in the shoes of that person. Sometimes it is good to have someone that has OTB. I think that there is also a line, a boundary of sorts also. Before approaching them with your OTB, are you willing to understand, also the ITB (In the Box) Syndrome. Can you also take into account the other side of things?

When you bring the two syndromes together, you can have many different reactions. Sometimes it is a good thing. Sometimes it is good that ITB gets a view point of OTB. In other instances, when OTB lacks significant details and reasoning, it can turn very ugly. This something that can not be taken lightly. When a friend has ITB syndrome, it is always a good thing, to think about some things before the initial approach. Always ensure that you have all the knowledge and facts to offer, to the best of your ability the OTB advice. ITB is a very serious Syndrome. It can turn a typical nice person into someone very nasty very quick. *This is called *Over-Stepping Syndrome*. OS syndrome has ended family ties, marriages and friendships, especially when they suffer from ITB and another suffers from OTB.

After careful consideration I have decided to offer some typical warning signs and appropriate ideal approaches in the meeting of someone with ITB Syndrome and OTB Syndrome.

Warning when approaching someone with ITB

1. Ensure that you have all the facts before approaching with OTB advice.

2. Consider the emotional being of the person with ITB

3. Always keep in mind the importance of the situations of the issue

4. Body language is a key factor, if the ITB person shoots daggers with their eyes, back off.

5. Never, ever forget that the person with ITB has all the facts and a personal interest in the situation, hence the OS Syndrome.

If you have OTB

hmm.. well the above covers this side too.

Anyway, this is a very serious thing to think about. We all suffer a little bit of ITB and OTB. Whichever case applies to you, please make sure you heed the warning and approach with extreme love, caution as you risk OS and potential the finalization of the end of what otherwise could be a wonderful relationship.

Giggling

(wrote December 9, 2009, back when I was writing and being me)

Hurricane, Tornado, Volcanoe

 How long as it been already? Weeks, months, years, just yesterday? The days simply run together now and there is no start or end point to it at this stage. Even brief moments of sleep do not seem to assist and everything just seams together like a perfectly mended piece of material. Life! Is that what it is called these days? It feels like simple existing from one stage to another. No moment to breathe, to smell the roses, so to speak. At least that is how it feels right now.

               Some people question, eyes wide, in awe, it seems. “How do you do it? How do you hold yourself together?” There is no answer that comes to mind. It is tempting to blurt out, even scream hysterically, “Am I really holding it together? When I feel myself breaking apart inside? When ABSOLUTELY everything seems to be going wrong?” Instead such thoughts, feelings, tears are pushed to the very dark corner of my mind as it always is. Shrugging, the simple answer slips through lips, “I don’t know!”

               Emotional overload! A feeling that if one single tear slips down the cheek, it will be endless; It will never stop and all this “awe” that everyone sees, will melt and crumble, the terror inside will surface and consume the body that has never toppled under it all. Sheer determination, will power pushes even that single tear away.

               A simple request, “I need answers” and a simple response, “If I had that, I would be a billionaire.”

               In that instant, the thought races through, “Why do I feel the need to talk about it? There is no answer, no solution. Above all, I feel there is no understanding, just sympathy, empathy, maybe even a small form of compassion.”

               A walk like before, down to the river, wanting the wind off the water, to soothe, engulf, wash it all away. A drive, with the windows down, the radio on, still waiting for the peace that seems to be just out of reach of stretched out arms. Nothing! Just emptiness! A thin layer of it that keeps the terror at bay!

               Music up loud, dancing with eyes closed and still nothing, nothing works, nothing can reach the void inside. Just calm coolness. Even when this body is shoved so hard, so violently against that thin layer, it remains intake, giving only a little, just to push just as hard and violently back and re-planting feet back on the solid ground.

               Not even happiness is what is being searched for, desired. Just a simple peace of mind, the small comfort that a decision was the right one and if it would bring desired results! Instead they barrel toward me, that hurricane, that tornado, that volcano, and I brace, I prepare, I am a mother!

Believe nothing you see and only half of what you see

It amazes me with the way some pass judgment on someone or a situation when they are on the outside looking in. I am sure there are many cases where this is understood because at some point it happens to everyone. We would love to call these bystanders stupid or something similar, but is simply the lack of knowledge that causes these events to happen. It reminds me of the old saying. “Believe nothing you hear and only half of what you see. Sometimes what you see might not be what it looks like.” ....

It is frustrating to be on the inside and know what others presume they know what is going on and when they open their mouths it is everything but what is really going on. It also takes very little to start riots and such over something controversial. At times it has been at the expense of someone’s life. It can be based on fear and the lack of knowledge that leads people down the paths that happen in these cases. Take the Salem Witch trials. People were persecuted, hung by the neck till dead, because of fear. There are times when someone gains knowledge based on public opinion, hence the part about believing nothing you hear. Knowledge is gained mostly from experience. Sometimes that personal experience cannot be gained simply by going through something similar. No two situations are the same as no two people are the same. The outsider and the insider get to a standstill. Where do you go from there? The outsider believes what they think, and leaves the insider frustrated because they know the truth of the situation. The only option is for the insider to tell them what is happening or going on. Then you realize as the insider that the outsider so firmly believes that they will not listen. It boils down to one thing. You would have to walk in the shoes of the insider to know just what is happening. You have to feel, not just see.

An example of the believing only half of what you see.

We took my son to Best Buy one evening to pick up a TV. He has a form of Autism called Asperger’s. He shows no outward and common Autistic traits like non-verbal, hand flapping, rocking. He has extremely keen hearing, like canines. (He can hear a silent whistle). While we were in there he put his hands over his ears and proceeded to scream. He shook his head back and forth then started to cry and kick out at us. We had to take him out of the store. People were staring at us and shaking their heads. Some even went as far as to say that he needs discipline for his tantrum, from what they assumed was from him not getting his way. As soon as we step out the door of Best Buy he calmed down.

From the inside view; radios and TVs give off frequencies. It is similar to the ringing in your ears that can occur at times. Most cannot hear this but he can. There was a lot of that in the store from all the displays there. He covered his ears to block it, which did not work, so he started screaming to block it. That did not work and he had what was called a sensory overload. The sound was painful and because he did not know the source he lashed out at us and became inconsolable. Once he was removed from the situation and the noise was gone, he calmed down.

From the outside: “The lack of knowledge”. He appears to be a normal (based on a majority over the minority of what is considered normal) and healthy child. He had a tantrum and was seen as a bad, ill behaved and undisciplined child. We were seen as parents that catered to his whim, and did not reprimand him.

I am just as good as you!

I always was competitive. My biggest one was being treated no different than the brothers. If they could do it, I could do it also. I was determined and hard headed. The girl my grandmother tried to create, wandered off following the guys on everything they did. If they expected my brother to swing an axe and split wood, I swung that axe and split it to their dismay.If they lifted a fifty pound piece of wood, I lifted a fifty one pound one. I was determined I would not be left behind to clean house and not experience other things.
The outdoors is where I found myself and found peace.

My brother trapped and brought animals home and I stood right at his side, to his disgust, asking a million questions and begging to help him. I believe that I was allowed to do a lot of the things, simply because I was so damn annoying. To this day, I remember what a beaver and a mink smells like as they were skinned.

Fishing, that was another issue..I liked fishing and they liked not taking me along. I would argue, fight, and cry till I got sick and finally they gave in and allowed me to go.

I would walk through water, mud, bugs, just to be able to sit beside them and cast a line. Catfish, bass, white perch, bony ass brim..

Some things I did because I had to, it was required to assist the family from year to year. I gave a 100% to all that I did.

My grandfather was raised by a single mother with two sisters. He had to drop out of school to come home to help his mother at a young age, so school was important to him for his kids. Including me. I was the baby and although I was his granddaughter by blood, he adopted me at 18 months old and raised me as his daughter.

My senior year, I did not work like the rest of the seniors. It would have affected what little money they got and it was the same reason I did not get my driver's license. I was always conscious of what would help them and what would not help them. So I earned money on the side that paid for my wants and covered at least 85% of my senior year.

One day, at school, the office paged me over the intercom that someone was there to pick me up to go home. That never happened. When I walked in the office, my heart froze in mid-beat. My grandfather stood at the counter, not speaking, waiting on me. Something was wrong! Never in all my life had he ever picked me up from school. I was terrified. What happened?

He was never much of a person to talk. He was quiet. When he said something, you never forgot it though. He was not the type to waste words, and I remained quiet. We walked out and got into the old ford truck that I learned to drive in. This man sitting beside me was the same one that taught me how to drive and he also taught me how to cook.

We left the school and after driving a few miles, I noticed that we were not heading home. Still I could not bring myself to say anything. Soon he pulled over on the side of the road and got out of the truck. I got out and went to the back of the truck where he was leaning over to grab something out of the back. He pulled out a five gallon bucket, a tackle box, the minnow bucket and two poles. Handing me a pole and the minnow bucket, he turned and made his way to the fishing spot he picked. He never said a word, neither did I. This was a moment I would never forget.


Many years later, he was to sick to fish like he did. I got permission to go fishing at a cousin's pond. I was allowed to drive up to the pond so that he could fish without having to walk more than a few feet. I did this for him as often as I could, until he passed away.

The Electric Fence

My brother and I were very young, probably still in grade school and sometimes, our grandparents went visiting. It did not happen a lot, but sometimes, they would gather my brother and I, we would load up in that Dodge Colt, and go visiting neighbors or a family member. They lived by the golden rule, kids were to be seen not heard. Therefore when we got to our destination, we had to be outside playing while they visited.

Mr. Zeb, a cousin of ours, he lived on a farm. Well I would like to say that he lived on the closest idea of a ranch that any family we visited came too. So my brother and I were shuffled out the door to occupy ourselves while the adults visited.

Maybe I was a mean sister, but I wanted to think, I was just mischievous. Mr. Zeb and his wife did not have little children anymore, so there were no toys, inside or outside. There was a lot of mischief to get into though.

We were warned before we ventured out that the fence was an electric fence, not to touch it. My brother and I, mainly me, was interested in this fence. We walked down the length of it, seeing horses on the other side. I loved horses but I was somewhat afraid of them. I kicked the leaves by the fence, kind of upset that none of the horses could be coaxed over to the fence.

In the process of kicking the leaves, my foot caught an old windshield wiper. At this point, I think my grandmother would have regretted letting me listen to all those stories of when she was growing up. Especially on this day. I remembered the story she told about how it was a game of theirs to grab the electric fence after grabbing another person. The current would travel through the first person and flatten the one on the end. The more people, the worse the last one got. Maybe I believed her, maybe I had the natural curiosity to prove to myself if this was the case or not.

Playing with the old wiper, which I knew would be just as efficient as me grabbing the fence bare-handed, I coaxed my brother over to me. Idly, I grabbed his hand as I was talking to him. Why in the hell he did not see this as odd, it was beyond me, but he followed along without question?

Suddenly I laid the metal wiper on the top row of fencing, my arm quivered, then my body, my brother flew out of my hand with this stunned look and landed on his back on the ground. He was stunned and then he started to cry and already I could feel the beating on my ass if they heard him. I quickly begged him to stop crying, promising anything he wanted. Finally he stopped crying....and told me he wanted an apple from the tree.

The tree was in the pasture on the other side of that same fence. The entire fence was barbed wire except for the top wire. Getting through the fence was easy and I felt bad that my brother cried. Even now, all these years later, I would do anything to make him smile, make him laugh. So even though I was rather afraid of the horses, I creeped slowly across the field to the tree. Climbing trees never bothered me, I was good at it, getting down was another story as I was terrified of heights. I was determined to get him that apple. I reached the tree and found that the limbs were low enough to steal the apple without climbing. By this point all the horses were watching me and slowly making their way over.

I swallowed hard, wondering why in the hell they chose now to come over to me when I was on the wrong side of the fence. I slowly walked back toward my brother, gripping the apple, refusing to look over my shoulder at the horses I heard coming up behind me.

The closer I got to freedom, the closer I got to my brother and the whiter his face became. He stood on the other side of the fence looking behind me. The horses frightened me and I kept walking, then he started pointing behind me. I really did not want to look and see all these horses behind me. Beautiful animals, but on separate sides of the fence. Finally I looked over my shoulder as he had become frantic pointing.

In all honesty, if I had known the word "Fuck" at the time, I would have screamed it. What in the hell was that? The bull was trotting toward me, snorting. My heart dropped, my breathing came to a screeching halt.

Sometimes I like to think that I am smart, and that I use my head, but I am not sure why I thought an electric fence was in place for horses. Seeing this huge monster heading toward me, I knew then that it was to keep this crazy looking bastard in. I slowly turned back to my brother and walked even slower, it seemed to take forever to reach that damn fence. Then I heard it. The sound of hoofs hitting the packed ground behind me, faster...faster...my feet moved faster...I was running, I could not scream...I lost my voice.

I reached the fence, going through barbed wire, hitting the electric wire, getting jolted from the electricity and the barbs ripping into my skin. I finally got through it, the bull skidding to a stop a few feet where I was just at, looking down on me, covered in blood and ripped clothes, trying to get my scrambled head straight..like he was laughing at me. He turned and trotted away. 

Later, when it was time to leave, none of the adults said one word to me, but they knew..they knew I had met the bull and had disobeyed what they had told me. It was not the first time, and over the years, it would not be the last time either.

Crawling Out

I don't think anyone plans the life they are giving to live, I know I did not. I had a plan in my head, as does everyone. It did not go the way I envisioned. I stepped up, adapted and embraced it though.

Yes I wanted marriage, kids, a career and I got it. That poster perfect life, well it was not perfect. In general, such is met with hardships, heartaches and I got more than a fair dose of it all. Still I got off the ground that I kept sinking to, brushed off, licked my wounds and moved on.

I was raised well by two wonderful people and each day they are the model to what I want my life to be lived like. Oh there is the admission to stepping off the path that they would have traveled, but all these years later, I honestly don't believe they would have envisioned how the world had changed.

Be a good person, someone you can look in the mirror at night and be ok with you. I do that, I try hard to do it every moment for my own self. Did they know that no matter how good of a person you try to be, that the world, the people could be cruel and nothing like you? Time and time again, I put this idea they taught me into my life, time and time again, I suffered heartache in the end. Friendships, relationships. Maybe they did know this would happen, but still wanted me to not be cruel and heartless in return, regardless.

I got the marriage, two to be honest. The last one is reaching its 11th year and the separation is reaching its first year, the estrangement is reaching its second year. Before that, the failure was three to four years coming. It was not as I had envisioned.

I gained three birth children in the process of my life, step children, grandchildren. I did not anticipate my one son having Asperger's Syndrome, my other son having High Functioning Autism and my daughter finishing her teenage years with Borderline Personality Disorder. I embraced and stepped up, facing the additional hardships and throughout it all I felt like a single solitary parent in it all.

Neither did I anticipate giving myself to people as a friend, loyal, always with a shoulder, always smiling through my own hardships so that they could survive theirs.Only to reach rock bottom alone and realizing they could accept such friendships but could not give the same in return.

Then I repeated the same in relationships, keeping my own pain, fears to myself, standing strong, prideful that I refused to fail and stay down for long. In the end being a good, giving person, it got me no where but alone. I considered this over the past week and realized that I was always alone and had done ok. Only when I think about it, does it hurt. Then I have to decide, does it hurt more to think about being alone, or trying repeatedly and hurting from failing.

Did those wonderful beautiful parents of mine ever imagine that it would go like this? They did well by me, and in return, I do well by myself and I know that regardless, they are proud of what I have accomplished and what I have survived.

I reached my career goal, then gave it up, being a mother to my children was more important to me. I had enough pride in reaching it that keeping it, well, it did not mean that much in the end if I lost it.

There are people that has come and gone in my life, they know things about me, each one knows something different...put them all together and you have knowledge of who I am. Separately, I simply never met anyone that was loyal and honest enough to learn it all. I tried hard recently, admitting my deepest fears, worries, feelings and in the end I feel maybe I was too honest, tried to hard to be completely open. I wish I could say I recovered from that round, but I still find myself desiring sleep over the heart ache that started emotionally and led to being physically painfully. Months of being off anti-depressants, and here I am, on them again just to get from one day to the next. Happiness in a bottle I guess. It could have been worse...one time, I found it in the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels, heading toward the worse kind of alcoholism I think is possible. Where I shook so bad, that it only stopped with a drink. Just one drink, without any idea that it had become a crutch. A way to cope and avoid the worse of the days I woke up too.

Even now, in my worse moments, I find myself desiring such relief that I pace my floor, looking at the cabinet, debating over taking the easier option. Instead I crawl on my couch when I can no longer distract my mind and I sleep...a sleep that gives me no rest, waking looking like, feeling like I had not slept in weeks.
I fight the desire to give in, give up. Every morning, I wake up, shake it off, and push forward.

I don't fear being alone as much as I fear giving myself to someone again and being hurt. Whether it is friendship or a relationship. In the end, it all can hurt. Simplicity in life is what I have come to desire. The most simple aspect that my life can provide me.

I am not foolish enough to deny that I am going through another depressive state and why I am going through it once again. I don't feel like life is not worth living, because I have three people that makes it worth living. There are certain things in life though, I finally decided was not worth reaching for. I just don't have enough heart left in me to keep trying to be the good person that everyone says I am. If I am good, I simply am not good enough to meet the expectations of others, and have simply gave up trying to. I finally gave the last of myself that I could give to someone and I feel empty. No matter how deep I search, I simply cannot find anymore of myself left to give to anyone else. It is not that I pulled back to myself what I gave to others, I cannot figure out how to do that..what they got, well, they still have it, some hold it, dead and lifeless, others they don't realize what I gave them.

Someone mentioned recently, why don't you write again, you were always good at it. I considered it, I am doing it, and there is nothing but negativity and sadness behind my words. Did they realize that my best words came at my lowest moments? I lived my happiness, I write about my sadness. When I was at a happy point in my life, I was too busy enjoying every moment to take the time to write about it?

I am crawling out of the depths of it all, but I have a feeling that the best part of who I was will be there when I finally reach the light again. I finally reached the point where I think I gave it all away and there is emptiness left.