The Eternal Footman
06.24.05 (11:31 am) [edit]
"And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid." "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," T.S. Eliot
That poem has been echoing in my head for the past couple of days. I am afraid. Perhaps it would have been better if I hadn't known about the invasive nature of the carcinoma. I've even been admitting to people that I have waves of panic wash over me all throughout the day. Sometimes I very sad. I'm more reluctant to share that with others. I guess it seems to me that fear is a lot more understandable by people who haven't had cancer.
I managed to sleep past four a.m. today. I gave in and took a Xanax early yesterday evening and I also took an extra 10 mgs. of Elavil so that I could sleep through the night. My stress level is very high, leaving me exhausted even if I do manage to get enough sleep. When I'm sleep deprived, it's hard to even get up the stairs at work.
I've been continuing to work out, though at a much-reduced pace. I did a Bellydance tape for the aerobics workouts and yoga instead of weights. I feel like a slacker and I'm torn between thinking I need the extra rest and thinking that exercise is really good for dealing with anxiety. I don't know.
I decided today that I'm not going to do the mastectomy. The long-term survival rates are the same. I think there may be more potential for infection with the mastectomy. I'm also concerned about recovery--moving tissue around from one place to another has to be extremely painful and probably prolongs recuperation time.
Typing "recuperation time" sent another wave of fear through me. I can't help but hear the tiny voice in my head saying, "Maybe there won't be a recuperation period." I need to remain optimistic about my long term health.
I have next week off for vacation. I'll be continuing to attempt to push things forward so that I can get the surgery over with soon.
And in short, I was afraid." "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," T.S. Eliot
That poem has been echoing in my head for the past couple of days. I am afraid. Perhaps it would have been better if I hadn't known about the invasive nature of the carcinoma. I've even been admitting to people that I have waves of panic wash over me all throughout the day. Sometimes I very sad. I'm more reluctant to share that with others. I guess it seems to me that fear is a lot more understandable by people who haven't had cancer.
I managed to sleep past four a.m. today. I gave in and took a Xanax early yesterday evening and I also took an extra 10 mgs. of Elavil so that I could sleep through the night. My stress level is very high, leaving me exhausted even if I do manage to get enough sleep. When I'm sleep deprived, it's hard to even get up the stairs at work.
I've been continuing to work out, though at a much-reduced pace. I did a Bellydance tape for the aerobics workouts and yoga instead of weights. I feel like a slacker and I'm torn between thinking I need the extra rest and thinking that exercise is really good for dealing with anxiety. I don't know.
I decided today that I'm not going to do the mastectomy. The long-term survival rates are the same. I think there may be more potential for infection with the mastectomy. I'm also concerned about recovery--moving tissue around from one place to another has to be extremely painful and probably prolongs recuperation time.
Typing "recuperation time" sent another wave of fear through me. I can't help but hear the tiny voice in my head saying, "Maybe there won't be a recuperation period." I need to remain optimistic about my long term health.
I have next week off for vacation. I'll be continuing to attempt to push things forward so that I can get the surgery over with soon.
The Surgeon
06.22.05 (2:03 pm) [edit]
"We learn as much from sorrow as from joy, as much from illness as from health, from handicap as from advantage and indeed perhaps more." ~ Pearl S. Buck
I had my follow up appointment with the surgeon yesterday, to discuss what comes next. Shortly after I got there, the male nurse came to escort me to the little room of doom. He didn't have the room cleaned, so there was a flurry of activity while he tidied up. Then he handed me a gown and told me to strip from the waist up and put the gown on, opening to the front. I was a little taken aback, because I thought we were just going to talk and I was certain that talking didn't require upper body nudity. Furthermore, I was wearing a dress, so that meant relative nudity from the waist down, too. I must hae given him a perplexed look because he turned and said to me, "He's going to recheck your breast. That's why you're here."
There was no reason to recheck my breast. It's bruised, but not bleeding and has no signs of infection. Nonetheless, I did as he said and put the stupid gown on. I hopped up on the examination table and tried to find a way to maintain some modesty. There was none.
I sat there for about 20 minutes, giving me ample opportunity to contemplate how much I dislike having a male surgeon. I generally do everything possible to avoid that. They must have had the thermostat set on 90 because it was really hot in that room. My back started hurting after I'd been sitting there for a while with no back support. I brought a book with me so I wouldn't be stuck reading the Sports Illustrated baseball issue from last year. That just added to my difficulties. Finally, I just got down from the examination table and sat on one of the chairs.
Shortly after that, the surgeon came in with my xrays. So I'm standing there, essentially naked, while he talks about the biopsy report, puts one of the xrays on the viewer and talks with me about that. It would be difficult to imagine a way to make myself at ease in that situation.
He's a fast talker, my surgeon. He's obviously not from the south. We whipped through the information, even though my heart skipped a beat when he talked about losing my breast and again when he talked about possible involvement with my lymph nodes. Neither of those things had entered my mind before then. They took my breath away.
The upshot is that I have a couple of weeks to decide what I'm going to do. I've avoided doing research today, because I had to recount the particulars to several of my coworkers and, by that time, I was just sick of even thinking about it. I just wanted to think about something else. Tomorrow is soon enough to plunge into the facts awaiting me.
America held hostage day 1357
Bushism of the day:
"We've got an issue in America ... too many good docs are getting out of business. Too many OB/GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country."
—Bush, telling a crowd assembled in Poplar Bluff, Mo., about a previously underappreciated domestic problem, Sept. 6.
Source: The Washington Post, "A New Problem, or the Wrong Word?" Dana Milbank, Sept. 7, 2004
Website of the day: Poetry Chaikhana: Sacred Poetry from Around the World
http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/I/Ikkyu/" title="http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/I/Ikkyu/" target="_blank"http://www.poetry-chaikhana.c...
I had my follow up appointment with the surgeon yesterday, to discuss what comes next. Shortly after I got there, the male nurse came to escort me to the little room of doom. He didn't have the room cleaned, so there was a flurry of activity while he tidied up. Then he handed me a gown and told me to strip from the waist up and put the gown on, opening to the front. I was a little taken aback, because I thought we were just going to talk and I was certain that talking didn't require upper body nudity. Furthermore, I was wearing a dress, so that meant relative nudity from the waist down, too. I must hae given him a perplexed look because he turned and said to me, "He's going to recheck your breast. That's why you're here."
There was no reason to recheck my breast. It's bruised, but not bleeding and has no signs of infection. Nonetheless, I did as he said and put the stupid gown on. I hopped up on the examination table and tried to find a way to maintain some modesty. There was none.
I sat there for about 20 minutes, giving me ample opportunity to contemplate how much I dislike having a male surgeon. I generally do everything possible to avoid that. They must have had the thermostat set on 90 because it was really hot in that room. My back started hurting after I'd been sitting there for a while with no back support. I brought a book with me so I wouldn't be stuck reading the Sports Illustrated baseball issue from last year. That just added to my difficulties. Finally, I just got down from the examination table and sat on one of the chairs.
Shortly after that, the surgeon came in with my xrays. So I'm standing there, essentially naked, while he talks about the biopsy report, puts one of the xrays on the viewer and talks with me about that. It would be difficult to imagine a way to make myself at ease in that situation.
He's a fast talker, my surgeon. He's obviously not from the south. We whipped through the information, even though my heart skipped a beat when he talked about losing my breast and again when he talked about possible involvement with my lymph nodes. Neither of those things had entered my mind before then. They took my breath away.
The upshot is that I have a couple of weeks to decide what I'm going to do. I've avoided doing research today, because I had to recount the particulars to several of my coworkers and, by that time, I was just sick of even thinking about it. I just wanted to think about something else. Tomorrow is soon enough to plunge into the facts awaiting me.
America held hostage day 1357
Bushism of the day:
"We've got an issue in America ... too many good docs are getting out of business. Too many OB/GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country."
—Bush, telling a crowd assembled in Poplar Bluff, Mo., about a previously underappreciated domestic problem, Sept. 6.
Source: The Washington Post, "A New Problem, or the Wrong Word?" Dana Milbank, Sept. 7, 2004
Website of the day: Poetry Chaikhana: Sacred Poetry from Around the World
http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/I/Ikkyu/" title="http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/I/Ikkyu/" target="_blank"http://www.poetry-chaikhana.c...
Breast Cancer
06.20.05 (2:00 pm) [edit]
The pathologically independent one does indeed have breast cancer. Appointment with surgeon tomorrow afternoon.
Pathology
06.20.05 (10:41 am) [edit]
On Friday, after reporting to my therapist that I was a little embarassed that both my mom and my husband came with me to the biopsy, she told me I'm "pathologically independent." She also told me that it's hard-wired in my brain, so there's not much I can do to change it. Oh. Great to know, I guess.
Edgy
06.15.05 (7:41 am) [edit]
I could just start throwing things. Or screaming. I hate feeling this way.
The Surgeon
06.14.05 (1:30 pm) [edit]
Worry gives a small thing a big shadow. ~ Swedish Proverb
I saw the surgeon today after one of the worst mornings I've had in a while. I called the Health Resource Center yesterday to arrange to pick up xrays and ultrasound this morning so I could take them to the appointment. My appointment with the surgeon was at 10:15. I figured that if I got the Resource Center around 9:00, it would give me plenty of time to get to the appointment.
I had my mom drop me off so I wouldn't have to park at the Resource Center. She was driving around the block. Forty-five minutes later, I finally walked out with partial x-rays from the past ten years. Two of the x-rays (from some year in the past) were missing. The woman told me someone had checked them out and never returned them. What?
Had it not been for the fact that I was, by that time, running late, I would have had one of my deadly quiet melt downs. Most people who know me try to avoid those because I can be frightening and destructive in the midst of my icy calm.
I took a Xanax on the way to the surgeon's office because, by that time, I was ready to bite through nails (and I do not mean fingernails). They made me take off my shirt and sit there in one of those hospital gown things with the opening in the front. In strolls The Surgeon, a young guy who's probably not from the south. He likes to talk fast, apparently.
He made me look at the x-rays again and told me he doesn't know what the shadow is on the ultrasound. I wish someone would figure out what the hell it is. It's the shadow that frightens me.
We're going to do yet another xray on Friday. This time I'll be lying down, face down on the table, with my breast hanging through a hole. He'll use a computer to pinpoint exactly where to take the biopsy.
I'd just like for this to be over now, please.
America held hostage day 1349
Bushism of the day:
"The CIA laid out several scenarios. It said that life could be lousy, life could be okay, life could be better. And they were just guessing as to what the conditions might be like." —Bush, dismissing a leaked CIA report at a Sept. 21, 2004, meeting with Iraqi Prime Minister Iyad Allawi
Website of the day: 2think.org
http://www.2think.org/" title="http://www.2think.org/" target="_blank"http://www.2think.org/
I saw the surgeon today after one of the worst mornings I've had in a while. I called the Health Resource Center yesterday to arrange to pick up xrays and ultrasound this morning so I could take them to the appointment. My appointment with the surgeon was at 10:15. I figured that if I got the Resource Center around 9:00, it would give me plenty of time to get to the appointment.
I had my mom drop me off so I wouldn't have to park at the Resource Center. She was driving around the block. Forty-five minutes later, I finally walked out with partial x-rays from the past ten years. Two of the x-rays (from some year in the past) were missing. The woman told me someone had checked them out and never returned them. What?
Had it not been for the fact that I was, by that time, running late, I would have had one of my deadly quiet melt downs. Most people who know me try to avoid those because I can be frightening and destructive in the midst of my icy calm.
I took a Xanax on the way to the surgeon's office because, by that time, I was ready to bite through nails (and I do not mean fingernails). They made me take off my shirt and sit there in one of those hospital gown things with the opening in the front. In strolls The Surgeon, a young guy who's probably not from the south. He likes to talk fast, apparently.
He made me look at the x-rays again and told me he doesn't know what the shadow is on the ultrasound. I wish someone would figure out what the hell it is. It's the shadow that frightens me.
We're going to do yet another xray on Friday. This time I'll be lying down, face down on the table, with my breast hanging through a hole. He'll use a computer to pinpoint exactly where to take the biopsy.
I'd just like for this to be over now, please.
America held hostage day 1349
Bushism of the day:
"The CIA laid out several scenarios. It said that life could be lousy, life could be okay, life could be better. And they were just guessing as to what the conditions might be like." —Bush, dismissing a leaked CIA report at a Sept. 21, 2004, meeting with Iraqi Prime Minister Iyad Allawi
Website of the day: 2think.org
http://www.2think.org/" title="http://www.2think.org/" target="_blank"http://www.2think.org/
No Word From the Doctor
06.13.05 (10:56 am) [edit]
What is the shadow?
Mindless Computer Games
06.10.05 (11:12 am) [edit]
It's official: I'm stressed out. The way I can tell is that I've started playing mindless computer games over and over and over and....well, you get my point.
Who Me, Worry?
06.08.05 (2:24 pm) [edit]
"When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened" ~ Winston Churchill
I just got back from having the second mammogram and an ultrasound. I was there for about 2.5 hours, mainly waiting for the radiologist to show up and look at everything. Since he was so late, he invited me back to see the results myself. I could definitely see that there might be something there, but there might not be. He was very reassuring, telling me that he would just feel better if we took it out. I'm good with that.
So now the hospital will type of the report and send it to my gp. She'll call me and refer me to a surgeon, who will then make the final determination regarding what should be done. It sounds like this could take a while.
People keep asking me if I'm flipped out. Well, no, not that I can tell. However, I did have a migraine yesterday, so I'm definitely having some somatic expression of my stress. The good thing about having a hypochondriac father is that I tend to be very low key about health issues. I'll worry about it when there's something definite to worry about.
I forgot to give The Tusk his insulin because I didn't go home for lunch. Hubby dropped me off and picked me up from the hospital so that I wouldn't have to figure out which parking lot to use. When we got home, the minute I walked through the door I remembered the insulin. Luckily, he was hungry, so it didn't take long.
America held hostage day 1343
Bushism of the day: "We've got to get us an energy plan." —Bush, during the same speech, Feb. 4, 2005.
Source: White House web site, Feb. 4, 2005
Website of the day: Petfinders
http://www.petfinder.org/" title="http://www.petfinder.org/" target="_blank"http://www.petfinder.org/
I just got back from having the second mammogram and an ultrasound. I was there for about 2.5 hours, mainly waiting for the radiologist to show up and look at everything. Since he was so late, he invited me back to see the results myself. I could definitely see that there might be something there, but there might not be. He was very reassuring, telling me that he would just feel better if we took it out. I'm good with that.
So now the hospital will type of the report and send it to my gp. She'll call me and refer me to a surgeon, who will then make the final determination regarding what should be done. It sounds like this could take a while.
People keep asking me if I'm flipped out. Well, no, not that I can tell. However, I did have a migraine yesterday, so I'm definitely having some somatic expression of my stress. The good thing about having a hypochondriac father is that I tend to be very low key about health issues. I'll worry about it when there's something definite to worry about.
I forgot to give The Tusk his insulin because I didn't go home for lunch. Hubby dropped me off and picked me up from the hospital so that I wouldn't have to figure out which parking lot to use. When we got home, the minute I walked through the door I remembered the insulin. Luckily, he was hungry, so it didn't take long.
America held hostage day 1343
Bushism of the day: "We've got to get us an energy plan." —Bush, during the same speech, Feb. 4, 2005.
Source: White House web site, Feb. 4, 2005
Website of the day: Petfinders
http://www.petfinder.org/" title="http://www.petfinder.org/" target="_blank"http://www.petfinder.org/
God May Be Punishing Me
06.06.05 (2:43 pm) [edit]
"It is a sin to believe evil of others, but it is seldom a mistake." ~ H.L. Mencken
St. D. called me this afternoon to tell me they want to schedule a second mammogram because of some "irregularities." So they're going to do a "compression." Oh jesus that sounds painful. My only concern about it is that god has gotten busy right away with punishing me for taking such inordinate pleasure in Michael Jackson's suffering. I hope not because I'm not sure there's much I can do to temper my enjoyment seeing him walking into the courtroom like he's going to the gallows.
In fact, Michael Jackson is going to the gallows...he's got it absolutely correct. Whether or not he's convicted of anything, his career is dead in the water. He won't be able to find sponsors for any tours he might wish to undertake. (oh that's so funny...Freudian slip.) Furthermore, he's alienated the hand that fed him, the record companies, by trashing Tommy Motola (who the hell knows how that's spelled). Not that they would have been much interested in putting out a new cd anyway. No matter what level of sales he could generate, record companies are not likely to overlook that whole pedophilia thing. It won't matter whether he's convicted.
On the home front, Hubby decided not to go out of town this week. He has to stay here to jump through whatever hoops are required in order to get paid for the documentary and whatever that other thing is that he's doing. He's a happy guy these days. A happy Hubby translates into less stress for me. Yay.
The NBA game over the weekend was a yawner. I look forward to this shit all year long. The least they could do is have some competitive games. I like a number of players on both teams, so I'm not rooting for one side or the other. I have a bad feeling about the finals. I think it's highly likely that series will put me to sleep, too.
Other than that, not much going on. I have a vacation coming up the last week of June. I'm boring myself again. Time to go.
America held hostage day 1341
Bushism of the day:
# "You teach a child to read, and he or her will be able to pass a literacy test."
Source: United Press International, "Bush Proposes Increase in Education Funds," Mark Kukis, Feb. 21, 2001 (I think I may have used this quote before, but it's one of my all time favorites.)
Website of the day; Perspectives on Peace
http://www.peaceed.org/what/whatbr.htm" title="http://www.peaceed.org/what/whatbr.htm" target="_blank"http://www.peaceed.org/what/w...
St. D. called me this afternoon to tell me they want to schedule a second mammogram because of some "irregularities." So they're going to do a "compression." Oh jesus that sounds painful. My only concern about it is that god has gotten busy right away with punishing me for taking such inordinate pleasure in Michael Jackson's suffering. I hope not because I'm not sure there's much I can do to temper my enjoyment seeing him walking into the courtroom like he's going to the gallows.
In fact, Michael Jackson is going to the gallows...he's got it absolutely correct. Whether or not he's convicted of anything, his career is dead in the water. He won't be able to find sponsors for any tours he might wish to undertake. (oh that's so funny...Freudian slip.) Furthermore, he's alienated the hand that fed him, the record companies, by trashing Tommy Motola (who the hell knows how that's spelled). Not that they would have been much interested in putting out a new cd anyway. No matter what level of sales he could generate, record companies are not likely to overlook that whole pedophilia thing. It won't matter whether he's convicted.
On the home front, Hubby decided not to go out of town this week. He has to stay here to jump through whatever hoops are required in order to get paid for the documentary and whatever that other thing is that he's doing. He's a happy guy these days. A happy Hubby translates into less stress for me. Yay.
The NBA game over the weekend was a yawner. I look forward to this shit all year long. The least they could do is have some competitive games. I like a number of players on both teams, so I'm not rooting for one side or the other. I have a bad feeling about the finals. I think it's highly likely that series will put me to sleep, too.
Other than that, not much going on. I have a vacation coming up the last week of June. I'm boring myself again. Time to go.
America held hostage day 1341
Bushism of the day:
# "You teach a child to read, and he or her will be able to pass a literacy test."
Source: United Press International, "Bush Proposes Increase in Education Funds," Mark Kukis, Feb. 21, 2001 (I think I may have used this quote before, but it's one of my all time favorites.)
Website of the day; Perspectives on Peace
http://www.peaceed.org/what/whatbr.htm" title="http://www.peaceed.org/what/whatbr.htm" target="_blank"http://www.peaceed.org/what/w...
My Dad's Favorite Phrases
06.01.05 (3:03 pm) [edit]
"You have to begin to lose your memory, if only in bits and pieces, to realize that memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all, just as an intelligence without the possibility of expression is not really an intelligence. Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action. Without it, we are nothing." ~ Luis Bunuel
"I'll cut your throat." It was one of my father's fave threats, along with "I'll stomp you...." He never finished that sentence. I guess he felt it held more power that way. You could sit around and wonder about where exactly he would start stomping. The end of the cutting and stomping, of course, was dying. I knew that once he got started, he'd never stop until there was some huge bloody mess that someone else would have to clean up because he'd be too busy crying to be of any assistance. He would not be crying for the person lying lifeless on the floor; it would be for good old Ed. Good old Ed never meant to hurt anybody, you know, and now the police would be coming to arrest him.
Of course, no one's throat was ever cut, nor was anyone stomped.... (The ellipsis is in honor of you, Dad, wherever you are.) I always think of it as just dumb luck that it didn't. People were made bloody at my house, have no doubt about that. Knives were brandished (always a favorite), there was always at least one firearm in the house (including a high powered rifle) and there were certainly a fair amount of matches around in case he wished to revisit that method. There was at least one occasion when he thought that he had killed my mother by forcing her to drink massive amounts of alcohol. When he was unable to revive her, he flipped out and started crying and saying he was sorry. I was around ten at the time and he turned to me for help. Good memories.
I was just sitting around my living room last night, waiting for the Heat vs. the Pistons, and suddently the throat cutting statement cropped up. I never think of that without thinking of the stomping threat. It always surprises me how my father's poisonous words have taken root in my brain. When I'm unhappy with myself for one reason or another, they suddenly surface and take my breath away.
In fact, the past is constantly with me. I wish it weren't so. I've tried hard to make it not be so, but my efforts have been in vain. It's always so unpredictable that I don't have any time to psychologically brace myself against the onslaught. Just a word, not even an obvious word like "stomp" or "cut," can fling me backwards in time to events that make my blood run cold.
As if that weren't enough, memories of sexual abuse by my uncle vie for my attention. They're mostly confined to times when I'm making love with my husband or, when I was younger, a boyfriend. Once those memories accost me, it's almost a guarantee that the effort to push them back down will make it impossible for me to have a good time.
There was a time, when I was much younger, when I thought I could just walk away and leave all of these things in the past. I knew the memories would still be there, but I never knew they would take on a life of their own, leaving me with virtually no control over when they might decide to take me by the throat, in a manner of speaking. It helps if I can always manage to have my attention focused on something. Doesn't much matter what, just anything. But even in those moments, something stark and menacing may awaken itself in the depths of my consciousness, shake itself off and come on out into the light. Having arrived, they can be hard to dispel. Often, if I can get one memory to go away, another rushes in through the open door of my consciousness.
At this point, I'm almost certain it will never end. I've heard that people regress into the past when they get very close to death. I've heard that people who've had near death experiences report having a life review as they leave their earthly bodies. My greatest fear of dying is having to relive the horrors of my life one more time. I guess that, for some of us, that's just how it goes. Oh, and by the way, the Pistons won.
America held hostage day 1336
Bushism of the day:
"Some communities, you say, "Hey, American dream," and they go, "What does that mean?"
Source: FDCH Political Transcripts, "George W. Bush Participates in Manchester, New Hampshire Welcome," Oct. 5, 2002
Website of the day; Michi Online
http://www.michionline.org/" title="http://www.michionline.org/" target="_blank"http://www.michionline.org/
"I'll cut your throat." It was one of my father's fave threats, along with "I'll stomp you...." He never finished that sentence. I guess he felt it held more power that way. You could sit around and wonder about where exactly he would start stomping. The end of the cutting and stomping, of course, was dying. I knew that once he got started, he'd never stop until there was some huge bloody mess that someone else would have to clean up because he'd be too busy crying to be of any assistance. He would not be crying for the person lying lifeless on the floor; it would be for good old Ed. Good old Ed never meant to hurt anybody, you know, and now the police would be coming to arrest him.
Of course, no one's throat was ever cut, nor was anyone stomped.... (The ellipsis is in honor of you, Dad, wherever you are.) I always think of it as just dumb luck that it didn't. People were made bloody at my house, have no doubt about that. Knives were brandished (always a favorite), there was always at least one firearm in the house (including a high powered rifle) and there were certainly a fair amount of matches around in case he wished to revisit that method. There was at least one occasion when he thought that he had killed my mother by forcing her to drink massive amounts of alcohol. When he was unable to revive her, he flipped out and started crying and saying he was sorry. I was around ten at the time and he turned to me for help. Good memories.
I was just sitting around my living room last night, waiting for the Heat vs. the Pistons, and suddently the throat cutting statement cropped up. I never think of that without thinking of the stomping threat. It always surprises me how my father's poisonous words have taken root in my brain. When I'm unhappy with myself for one reason or another, they suddenly surface and take my breath away.
In fact, the past is constantly with me. I wish it weren't so. I've tried hard to make it not be so, but my efforts have been in vain. It's always so unpredictable that I don't have any time to psychologically brace myself against the onslaught. Just a word, not even an obvious word like "stomp" or "cut," can fling me backwards in time to events that make my blood run cold.
As if that weren't enough, memories of sexual abuse by my uncle vie for my attention. They're mostly confined to times when I'm making love with my husband or, when I was younger, a boyfriend. Once those memories accost me, it's almost a guarantee that the effort to push them back down will make it impossible for me to have a good time.
There was a time, when I was much younger, when I thought I could just walk away and leave all of these things in the past. I knew the memories would still be there, but I never knew they would take on a life of their own, leaving me with virtually no control over when they might decide to take me by the throat, in a manner of speaking. It helps if I can always manage to have my attention focused on something. Doesn't much matter what, just anything. But even in those moments, something stark and menacing may awaken itself in the depths of my consciousness, shake itself off and come on out into the light. Having arrived, they can be hard to dispel. Often, if I can get one memory to go away, another rushes in through the open door of my consciousness.
At this point, I'm almost certain it will never end. I've heard that people regress into the past when they get very close to death. I've heard that people who've had near death experiences report having a life review as they leave their earthly bodies. My greatest fear of dying is having to relive the horrors of my life one more time. I guess that, for some of us, that's just how it goes. Oh, and by the way, the Pistons won.
America held hostage day 1336
Bushism of the day:
"Some communities, you say, "Hey, American dream," and they go, "What does that mean?"
Source: FDCH Political Transcripts, "George W. Bush Participates in Manchester, New Hampshire Welcome," Oct. 5, 2002
Website of the day; Michi Online
http://www.michionline.org/" title="http://www.michionline.org/" target="_blank"http://www.michionline.org/
