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Experiences and thoughts based on my everyday life |
| This book will contain my daily thoughts. |
| I am fairly open about my mental health struggles. Long ago, around the time that I broke out on my own with Zoe after the divorce, into our own apartment, away from my mother's crushing expectations and judgements, I dropped almost every iota of concern of what others thought of me. But it was not until 2023 that I finally had concrete answers to questions I had given up hope of finding. I had a team of doctors, a therapist, and a psych nurse practitioner. The therapist and psych suggested I get tested for ADHD. I had to see a specialist that could do the specific test I needed, but that came with the requirement of two video visits with an unaffiliated psych medical group. I had one session, then the test, then a session to discuss the results. I was not quite expecting the depth and the breadth of the information this doctor would lay in my lap. I very much do have ADHD. That alone was earth shattering. But then came the rest of the news. Complex PTSD. Anxiety. Depression. And the doozy of them all; Borderline Personality Disorder traits minus the aggressive outbursts and rage. It was a lot to take in. I reported back to my established care team. Their reactions were basically, "Yup. Knew it. Didn't want to alarm you without knowing for sure, but we know how to proceed, now." It has been about a year and a half since I got the results and started treatments. I feel as though I have come a long way since then. But I find something new out about myself every single day. Self acceptance takes time. I am working on that. Everyday, it seems I have yet another a-ha moment of clarity. "Well now, that explains why I do this." I had never been in a stable relationship before Rick. Our relationship is sacred to me. And it is for him as well. He has a past with a painful relationship with his children's mother. They never married, and that was a good thing. She was as close to being a narcissist as one without a psych degree could say. She made his life a living hell. So we both know dysfunction. We treat each other with the utmost care and respect. But I would be lying if I didn't compare myself to her. She's beautiful, thin. My issues with her began when Rick went to New York with his mother to see his daughter graduate from Bard College. Of course his ex was there. I was not. I felt left behind. I had a house sitting gig that overlapped with the trip, and we didn't exactly have the money for another plane ticket. After Rick got home he mentioned it was for the best that I didn't go anyway, as he didn't want to expose me to her nasty energy. But then I happened upon pictures of them- Rick, his son Bix, his daughter Scarlet, and his ex. Together. On an outing to a farm. It tugged at the places in me that have faced betrayal before. But this was different. This time, I know that my relationship is stable. But I still found myself battling the same demons I have in the past. Jealousy and envy are a bitch. Now it is time for his son's senior class activities. Rick was very stressed about attending one event on a day that his ex and her sisters would be attending. I wondered out loud to him if he was so worried about this because he is embarrassed of ME. He swears that it is more about her bad energy and not wanting to expose me to them, but it FEELS like he does not want me around them because he is worried about what they will say and do. Borderline personality disorder is a bitch. It will lie to you. Make you feel inferior to everyone. It causes you to leap to conclusions that aren't necessarily true. It tells to to pick up and run. And this is the point in the cycle, where in the past, I would've done just that. Run. But I am not running this time. I am digging down into the trenches and working on my own issues. I am loving on him extra hard, and trying so hard to stand firm in the commitment he made when we got engaged. I have to accept that I am the one with the issues. Rick is the greatest, most kind and gently human I have ever known. This is all on me. Some days, that's okay. But some days, it's tough. I am hopeful that today will be one of the days that I feel okay. |
| Chemo is kicking my ass. |
| I had planned on writing a more lengthy journal entry, UNTIL I came upon a news story about a Palestinian official at a hearing, SOBBING as he delivered this statistic- 930,000 CHILDREN have been MURDERED by Israel. Let that sink in. 930,000 CHILDREN whose blood is on the hands of Israel and everyone who has supported this genocide. f*** politics. This goes far beyond politics. Whole families burned alive. There is ZERO justification for this. If I let my mind settle on this, I find myself in the depths of despair. |
| We went to my psych evaluation appointment for my social security determination on Wednesday morning. Rick drove me to the appointment, and because his mom had to be at the airport around one p.m., she came along and waited in the car while we were in the office. I was quite anxious about this appointment, but I needn't have worried. We arrived right on time, to the minute. It was an office with the smallest waiting room I think I have ever seen. There was a note on the reception window that stated, "Have a seat, I'll be right with you!" There was no sign in sheet. I asked the other patients if we are required to check in, they nodded. I peeked into the window, and the young woman sitting about six feet from the desk looked at me with annoyance when I asked where I could check in. "They'll be with you in a few minutes. What doctor are you here for?" I told her I was there for a psych eval for social security. "They'll be with you shortly." Twenty minutes passed and NOTHING. Someone came to the door to call a patient back, and Rick jumped into action. He asked the person if we could please get checked in so I would not be marked down as arriving late to this appointment, which would be a mark against me with social security. This person apologized profusely and ducked her head into the reception area, and I heard her calmly correct the office staff and tell them to get it together. Thirty seconds later, I had a clipboard in hand with paperwork to fill out. It took about an hour to be called back, and in the meantime, I noticed a well dressed woman with an official looking badge sit across from us. She seemed to be observing us, as I sat there, tears in my eyes from anxiety, bouncing my my foot nervously. She stayed for about fifteen minutes, before abruptly standing, going to the window and announcing her departure to the office staff. "See you guys next time!" I told Rick that at my last evaluation, something similar had happened. I told him that the determination workers do sometimes show up to evaluations to observe the people whose cases they are tasked with determining disability for. I told him I was pretty sure that's why she was there. I know I sounded paranoid, but my spidey senses were tingling. Finally, over an hour after my scheduled appointment, the same woman who had come to the door before, opened the door and called my name. I stood and walked through the door and she ushered me into the office and shut the door. SHE was the psych! She again apologized and told me to have a seat. We went through a series of tests and questions, a lot of which were very difficult, and the emotions could not be kept in check. She was VERY kind, offering tissues and reassurance. She said that many people have memory issues with depression, anxiety, and adhd. I told her that my most recent brain scan showed evidence of moderate stage white matter disease. She looked at me with pity, and said, "Well that is something different entirely, I am so sorry." We ceased the tests and questions and she said, "Okay, I am supposed to be an unbiased source of opinion for social security, so they can approve or deny your case. I am going to tell you that given everything I have seen here, if this information matches what your practitioners have reported, you will be approved. No one with a case like yours should be forced to work." This was a breath of fresh air compared to my last exam for social security, which was completed by an older male doctor, who dragged my trauma out and insisted I speak on it, even though my most current trauma, a sexual assault, had occurred just a couple of months before the evaluation. That appointment left me feeling very low. In any case, I should have a decision within four to six weeks. I am guardedly optimistic about the outcome. |
| Rick will be home late this evening. I cannot wait to be able to sleep next to him again. While he was gone, we only texted, so I haven't heard his voice since last week. I am going to tidy the apartment and get the sofa bed ready for his mom. We have to get up early to be at an appointment for a psych evaluation for my social security determination. We have to stop by my friend, Kirk's to pick up my mail that had not been forwarded here to the apartment. Rick's mom will be dropped off at the airport, to return to her home in Sacramento, tomorrow at 2. It'll be good to be able to settle back in at home with my love. I just want to snuggle on the couch, watch tv, have a nice meal. I feel like I cannot move forward in my mind until the psych evaluation is completed. It is a daunting thing to experience. When they go through my medical records and note that I experienced a sexual assault in November of 2023, they dig in. They drag the trauma out of you, and if they do this like the psych did in a previous exam, they just cut you off from expressing how it affected you, and then just dismiss you. The last time, I kept my composure until I reached the car, then I was able to let go. I was highly emotional, shaking, and felt faint. If only the doctor could've seen THAT, they wouldn't have denied my claim. I am not sure what to expect tomorrow, as my lawyers have added diagnoses and I am sure the testing will be more extensive than it was two years ago. I am a bit more calm and less anxious about this evaluation. Since the last evaluation, I feel like I have found my voice. I have learned HOW to speak to people in a way that effectively gets my point across, while being VERY polite. People want to help if you make yourself HUMAN to them. Anyway, I am going to start tidying up, and maybe bake something for Rick and mom to munch on when they get home around 10:30 tonight. Banana bread sounds really good right now. |
| I came home to our apartment on Saturday. I chose to take a Lyft home prior to Ben getting back from the airport. I didn't want to bother him with having to help me with all of my stuff. I asked him if I could store some of my stuff, like pillows and a blanket in his office. I made sure to add a note to my Lyft driver, letting him know that I would need assistance with a few bags. In my area, there is a large concentration of Armenian folks, and every time I have had to use Lyft, it seems like I have older Armenian men as drivers. I have found them to be very respectful and polite. This trip, Lyft routed us through a particularly beautiful area of Pasadena. We passed Rick's Alma Mater, Art Center, and through neighborhoods of gorgeous large houses with meticulously landscaped yards. It was only a fifteen minute ride, but I was thankful that the driver was quiet. I prefer quiet rides. The entrance to my apartment complex is a bit complicated. The driveway is set at an odd angle that is almost parallel to a very busy street just before a street light, and an intersection that leads to the freeway. Having to explain this to drivers is always a bit anxiety inducing. But this driver handled it with ease, and INSISTED on carry all but one small bag all the way to the apartment lobby. He offered to carry it all to my door, but I begged off. I asked if he was cool with a cash tip. He said, "Sure". I handed him a twenty dollar bill. He shook his head and "pshaw'd" me. He begrudgingly took the bill, and held my hand for a few seconds. I could SWEAR that he was tearing up. I told him to have a great weekend. He nodded and said, "Same to you." I was so very glad to step foot in my doorway. All the traveling stress, even though it was a short trip, all just melted away as I sat on MY sofa. Back in our cozy little home. I rested for most of the day. I rallied later that night, and decided to make spaghetti bolognese. A big batch that I could eat for the next few days. I carefully chopped carrots, onion and garlic. I sauteed ground beef until it was brown, then used the grease left from the beef to cook the veggies down, slowly. I added the beef back into the pan, and added tomato paste, then a canned pasta sauce. I added various spices from my cabinet, then chiffonade of fresh basil I picked from our window plant. I boiled twenty four ounces of spaghetti in water as salty as the sea. When everything was done cooking, I tossed it all together, then served myself a large bowl, topped with tons of parmesan. It was GREAT. I have had the same meal a few times over the weekend. I have rested a lot. Caught up on my new favorite show, Mobland. If you like anything that Guy Ritchie directs, you will LOVE this. Did I mention that Pierce Brosnan, Helen Mirren, and Tom Hardy are in the cast? Now, I am enjoying a coffee, watching true crime videos on Facebook while I write this. Rick is at a cafe in Upstate New York with his mom, daughter, and her girlfriend. They have presented her with cards and gifts, celebrating her graduation. He has sent pictures all weekend, in an attempt to help me feel included. I am surprised at my own resilience and acceptance while I battle my own abandonment issues. I basically checked out of my emotions. Now, I am trying to mentally prepare for a comprehensive psych evaluation for social security. I have tried to contact my attorney to help prepare for the interview, but to no avail. I will just do my best, on my own, I guess. I hope you all have had a restful weekend. |
| Rick made it to upstate New York, safe and sound. I was relieved to get the "We've landed" text. I spent the entire day doing everything I could to veg out. I spent entirely too much time watching videos on Facebook. I also watched a new true crime series called "Toxic". The presenter is Elizabeth Chambers, who was a well respected investigative journalist here in Los Angeles. She was also a victim of abuse at the hands of the actor, Armie Hammer. It is a VERY good show, told from the perspectives of the victims themselves, investigators, and family and friends. So far, most of the women featured in the stories survived abuse and brutal attacks, and the outcome of trials are included. Sometimes, justice is blind. But there were triumphant conclusions. I will likely continue watching later. Today is my last full day here at the Canyon House. Later this afternoon, I will clean the house, and start packing up. Tomorrow, I will just have to throw the bedding in the washer and pack up my refrigerated food. Ben will drive me home. Then I am back at the apartment, hopefully for at least a few weeks. If Ben needs us again, I won't turn him down, but I am hoping for a break. Rick has had a couple of well paying gigs, with another on the horizon. I would love to have the space to work on my own crafty projects, and my reselling. Rick is texting pictures of their adventures at an ice cream parlor, and just now, a farm, where there are donkeys, mini horses, baby goats, and bunnies. I know he is just trying to include me by sending pics, but it just makes me feel more isolated. I am keeping my feelings to myself. I feel like with his kids entering adulthood and doing their own thing, I am never going to really develop relationships with them. It sucks to feel like you just don't fit in with a family. And never will. Whenever I bring up not being included, he says things akin to, "Well, I want to spend as much time with them as possible before they fly the coop." Cool. I will just be over here, by myself. If I am being honest, it hurts a lot. I try to not compare my relationship with my own adult daughter to the relationships he has with his kids, but it is tough. My relationship with Zoe is virtually nonexistent. I rarely get replies to texts. I have not seen her since the day after Thanksgiving 2023. There have been numerous invitations extended, and every single time, they beg off, saying her boyfriend has work. I know she is dealing with SEVERE anxiety and does not leave the house much. When we do manage to have a conversation, it goes well, and then I just don't hear from her again. We have had long talks about her life growing up, and while I was never a perfect mother, she has never once complained about anything I ever did or said to cause the silence. Life was been entirely unfair to her. Father not involved in her life, I had to rely on my parents and brother to help me raise her. She traveled all over the United States with my parents, and even went to Tokyo with my brother. But times were tough. I sometimes worked three jobs to put food on the table, and she was with my parents a lot. Everything came crashing down in 2017. First, my dad died. Her only grandfather. Then eighteen months later, my grandmother, her great grandmother died. Then just SEVEN days later, my mom passed. Her only grandmother. No one experiencing that depth of grief would come out unscathed. I don't feel guilt about the grief, because there was nothing I could do to change that. But man. I tried to get her help. Took her to a therapist, but Zoe simply refused to speak. The therapist tried and tried. Multiple appointments. Zoe would go mute. So the therapist ceased further appointments. I feel like I lost her, too. I have my middle brother now, and that is it. My father's brothers and sisters, who SWORE they'd step in to try to fill the void, went silent years ago. When I tried to connect with them again, I was met with excuses and silence. Even when I was in desperate need of help, they turned their backs on me. I never asked for financial assistance. Just guidance. They tried to throw money at me, and I refused it. I just needed a little care. I feel very alone in terms of family. |
| I am feeling a little crappy this morning. I did not get to sleep until the wee hours of the morning, and awoke at six in terrible pain. The pain was in the right side chest area and felt like it was burrowing a hole through my back. I took 1200 mgs. of ibuprofen and went back to bed. I laid there thinking that even if I had to go to the hospital, I would hold off telling Rick, so as to not ruin his trip with his mom to go see his daughter graduate from college in New York. I fell heavily back into sleep at woke again at nine. But I feel like I have been drugged. Heavy. Exhausted. I am hoping coffee will help. Thursdays are my recovery day after Wednesday's methotrexate dosage. Wednesdays, I usually take it easy on Wednesdays. I stay home and usually sleep most of the day. Yesterday, there was no opportunity for rest. We had to pick his mom up from the airport and spend some time with her before she and Rick fly out to NY today. I learned a valuable lesson. Don't go out on chemo meds day. I will be forced to rest today. Today feels heavy. I have phone calls to my disability lawyer and my social security determination worker to handle. I called both before I even had a cup of coffee in my hand. Left messages. I despise waiting for return calls. It takes A LOT of gumption to make calls like that, I have to write a script of what I want to say, and I go over it like a million times in my head. So to prepare for a conversation, just to be sent to voicemail does absolutely NOTHING for my anxiety. I had thought about taking my friend's dog, Frida for a walk to the coolest little cafe that sits catty corner to the house I am staying at. But to get there I have to descend down a winding brick staircase that runs parallel to the VERY steep driveway. Going down those stairs would probably be no big deal, but coming back would be tough. I think I will plan for that to happen tomorrow, after I rest today. It was nice to spend a little time with my mother in law yesterday. She is so much like my own mother, which can be good, and maybe a little frustrating at times, but I love her dearly, and I know she loves me too. We had a nice Chinese meal after showing her the apartment. It was nice to have her there. We gave her the Mother's day present we had made- a cute coffee mug with our picture in the O portion of the word MOM, the word was a floral font. When she opened it, she cried. That made me happy that we could do something small, and it still had an impact. I think I may just eat the leftovers from dinner and watch some tv while I relax and wait for return calls from my lawyer and social security. |
| Yesterday, we went back to the apartment to tidy up and get everything ready for my mother in law's brief overnight visit. I wanted to be further along in the art department, but alas, I am letting go of my need to go way above and beyond. So it is what it is. Are there still unpacked boxes in the dining area? Yes. Are there large concentrations of framed art on the walls, also followed by vast empty wall space? Also yes. There are also stacks and boxes of framed art and family photos we need to hang. It's presentable, though. And that's okay. I am working on being okay with things being just ok. Good news came yesterday as we were driving home. Rick was asked to take on the restoration of Sid Krofft's collection of puppets. THE Sid Krofft. The friend who messaged Rick asked if we might be willing to relocate to NEW ORLEANS so that Rick can teach fabrication and design to employees at a production company. It would be a good professional opportunity for Rick, but honestly, Louisiana is a red state, plus the heat, humidity, and hurricanes. So I am pretty sure that we will be turning that down. But it's cool to think about what life there would look like. When we got back to the Canyon House, Rick showed me a free photo editing tool which is similar to Photo Shop and let me tell you- it ignited a spark in me I haven't felt toward my creative endeavors in YEARS. I practiced with some product photos I needed simple edits for, and spent the rest of the afternoon- until after six, just editing photos and working on reselling stuff. I tasked Rick with preparing dinner, as I planned something easy. He grilled cheddar brats and warmed pretzel buns. There was leftover salad from the night before, so I took a few minutes to add cheese, croutons, and my homemade ranch dressing to it. Simple but yummy. I have to get pretty before I go into therapy at 10:30, then when I am through, Rick will be back with his mother. We're going to show her the apartment, then take her to lunch and then dinner. Rick will spend the night at the apartment with his mom, and then leave for the airport in the morning from there. Then it's five days alone for me. I want to be productive. I am hoping I can start on my upcycled shopping bag project while he is gone. He has said he's willing to buy me a sewing machine so I can hopefully turn this into a business venture. We shall see. |
| I lose track of time here at the Canyon House. I get lost in daydreams. It is so quiet here compared to our apartment, which faces a very busy street and freeway on ramp. The road noise there is constant, along with sirens from fire and ambulance vehicles. But here? Only occasional street noise and the ever present sounds of birds. Parrots, crows, and other wildlife are very active here. It is easy to dissociate and lose hours of time while doing absolutely nothing. Rick was sitting on the couch last night and said, "We're getting paid to not live at our apartment." One might think that my friends and family house/pet sitting rate is miniscule, just thirty dollars a day. But I flipped the script on what Rick said. I replied to him. "We are getting paid to hang out with a little black Muppet, in a serene place, where we can readily do our laundry, I have a shower here that enables me to sit comfortably and bathe myself. We have a comfortable bed. I can bring work here. Beyond not being able to be in my own space, it's not a bad gig." I mean... he is right. I do miss being at home where I can access my own things, including my extensive collection of spices. I will be home on Saturday afternoon, and on my own. Rick will be in New York until Tuesday night. The he will be back with his mother at our place until early afternoon the next day, when we take her to the airport. Another subject... I partake in edibles of a certain variety, that are all legal here in California. Daily. My habit lately is to have an edible, and then begin cooking dinner, nightly. The more complicated, the better. The edible somehow magically makes my hands steady, and my concentration sharp. Last night, I sat at the kitchen table and prepared a romaine salad with paper thin cucumber and radish. Then I made my own ranch dressing with plain Greek yogurt. I chopped a two pound bag of small yellow and red skinned potatoes into small cubes, along with an onion and garlic. I cooked a pound and a half of ground beef, then added the potatoes, onion, and garlic, a can of mild green chilis, along with a spoonful of tomato bouillon and cooked it down a little before adding water to the pot and letting it simmer on medium heat for about 45 minutes. It was my own version of picadillo, and we served it alongside the salad, with warm flour tortillas. Have enough for another two meals, if I am careful. It was DELICIOUS. |
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