Friday, August 24, 2018

When Writing Is Necessary

I have been needing to write all week long, haven't had more than a few minutes to sit in the same place let alone do anything else. I have been working so much, dealing with the kids and their ongoing issues, driving to and from so many appointments. I lost track of what day it even was a few times this week.

I would like to believe that it will get better soon, but it probably won't. Not for a while, anyway.

Even though I have a long, long list of all the things I should be doing right now, I am sitting here feverishly pecking away at the keyboard because I need to write. My soul requires it.

I gave myself 30 minutes.

This post showed up in my memories either yesterday or the day before and I knew that I was deep in all that still, on top of dealing with even more than I was at the time I wrote it. And I knew that I needed to send it to a friend, which I still haven't done because I just haven't had time.

And then yesterday, the inspirational black hole that is Instagram told me that it isn't that I don't have time, it is that I haven't made time.

FUCK THAT NOISE.

For real. I'm not about to list all the stuff going on in my life right now, all the reasons that I am as busy as I am, all the demands being placed on my calendar and my heart and my mind, but for fuck's sake could we stop it with this unhelpful shit? Not everyone actually has the luxury of free time and Thor knows that I don't have any of it to spare right at this moment.

Liiiiiiiiike life isn't all about choices all the time. Sometimes we are at the mercy of things outside of our control and insisting that everything is something we have the ability to alter if we choose to is bullshit.

Not to mention the heaping load of shame it puts on the shoulders of people who are currently the least able to control their circumstances.

Privilege. It's what's for dinner.

Well, not really....but it's alllll over the internet.

Which I have hardly been on, because I've been so busy. You know, by choice. (Eyeroll so hard I can see my brain.)

What the hell was the point I was trying to make before I got distracted?

It really has been that kind of week.
.
.
.
.
.
I'll get it back eventually.

Anyway, it has been so far beyond exhausting for me lately because in addition to all the normal beginning of the year stuff and working all the time stuff, I have had two kids go through lengthy evaluations at Children's. Let me tell you...answering questions for 8 hours about every single imaginable aspect of your child's development and personality and quirks and strengths and challenges is fucking exhausting. Then do it again a week later for another kid.

On the upside, the people officially in charge of all this stuff confirmed that I know my kids pretty darn well, so well in fact that my assessments of what is going on have been eerily accurate thus far. So I guess I have that going for me.

Woo for being right about the wrong shit.

Yawn.

I also made a post this week on Facebook expressing frustration at the whole "dyslexia is a gift" thing that so many people claim. It seems particularly popular in the books written for non-dyslexia-having parents of dyslexia-having kids. And I'm here to call bullshit on that too. Sure, he's got a gorgeous complex mind that can come up with ways to solve problems all the rest of us couldn't ever imagine....sure. And maybe that is connected to the dyslexia in some way. But, honestly...it's not a gift. And it's not a gift because nearly all that anyone cares about with kids his age is his ability to read. And he's never going to be very good at it. And all of my suspicions about all of those things were right on. So, universe, spare me the inspirational speech about how #blessed he is, and let's talk about some accommodations that will make his life a little bit less difficult all the time instead.

Oh. I remember what I was writing about when this started.

I told you all I would get back there. Eventually.

Hi. My ADHD is also raging out of control. I think because I am more tired than usual and more stressed than usual and literally being pulled in a million different directions all the time instead of just figuratively having 278 tabs open on the browser of my brain.

The world is my oyster, full of shiny squirrels covered in glitter and dancing in knee high boots.

I had a friend ask me a while back why I don't try medication for it, you know...the ADHD that I
know that I have that I have never formally been diagnosed with because when I was a kid no one cared in general, and even now, the diagnostic criteria are based on boys...

My answer? I don't want to, really. I mean there is a part of me that will forever wonder what I might have been like as a kid, as a teenager, as an adult even, if someone had figured it out at any point before I figured it out myself. There is a part of me that wonders if my life would have gone down a different path. If I would be better at finishing the things I set huge and lofty goals about.

Then reality sets in and reminds me that I've built 41 years of coping skills to function in a world that is always shiny. Mostly. Sometimes I'm not very good at it. But I'm also resistant to change, and I know how to live in this unmedicated body. I don't know if I'm too old to see who I might be. And maybe that scares me a little.

Maybe.

Ooooh, truth is fun, isn't it?

That's not even what I started writing this for. I started writing this because on top of everything else going on, I have been pretty deep in the PTSD trigger for over a week. It has been years since I did EMDR therapy to deal with the constant nightmares and insomnia. Years since I voluntarily relived all that trauma so that my brain could begin to try and process it properly. Years.

And most of the time, I am good. Recovered. Okay.

Until I am not.

And sometimes the triggers will gradually creep up my spine, settle in on my right shoulder and whisper in my ear,

I'm still here. 
You thought you 
could get rid of 
me completely, 
but I might 
never 
be 
gone 

I might always be waiting here for you. 

Those times, when I can sense them starting in on me, I can push them away enough, I can carry on with whatever else is going on. Keep being the version of me that lives in after.

But not every time.

Other times, like this time, they aren't so gradual and considerate. They hit me like a grand piano dropped from three stories above my head, leveling me, flattening me, stealing my ability to function normally. And this one did. And kept doing it, over and over and over again, to the point that I am currently unable to read the local news at all. I can't. I just can't.

I sure as hell can't talk about it right now with anyone.

I am doing the best I can to protect myself in all the ways I know how. Making sure I eat well, making sure I don't drink much, making sure I keep my body moving and rested, making sure I grab a few moments here and there to center myself - even if it is in a car in the parking lot outside of a hospital or in a bar full of people I'm about to yell at. I'm doing the best I can, and sometimes it isn't enough.

I cried yesterday for the first time in a long time, but only managed to squeeze out half of one pathetic tear, knowing full well that if I opened up those floodgates, they might not get closed for a long time. So I allowed only one moment of vulnerability to catch the lip of the spillway, then drew the water back.

So, I apologize if there's something I was supposed to do or say or read or think lately and I haven't done it. I really and truly am this busy and overwhelmed these days, and nearly all of those things are things that are not within my control. I'm doing the best I can, trying to keep my head above water while pushing the boat carrying everyone else to shore.

Actually, I don't really apologize. I'm done saying sorry for taking care of myself.

As hard as it is to be here right now, I also know and appreciate that I'm in a much better place than I was not so long ago. I am more capable. I am stronger. I am more able to weather these storms, to answer these questions, to face these challenges.

And this, this right here, is part of what made me stronger. This self indulgent airing of the grievances where I bleed onto the keyboard and tell you nothing and everything at precisely the same time.

I needed to write. For me.

My 30 minutes are up. xo

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