Good

Almost all good news this morning.

It snowed here but not where I am going.

My daughter, her husband and my husband and I went out to eat last night.

My older sister came over to say good bye.

I am done packing except for odds and ends.

Can’t get much better!

I’m Baaaaaaaaaak

I’ve returned from my trip to Maine.  It was wonderful except getting in!  Somehow I took a look North of Boston and got off the throughway and got completely lost.  I was on another throughway (I think that is all Massatutti has).  I went into a little store and asked how to get to Maine because the map book I had was only of Maine.  The Gentleman at the counter said that if I would give him $40.00 he would tell me.  Well, basically, I told him nicely (not so nicely? what he could do with his own $40.00. and continued on my way.

New Hampshire has no sales tax so there are huge liquor stores along the throughways.  I would stop and call some one at one, get directions, and end up at the one on the other side of the throughway (after paying my toll of course).  I would ask the toll booth person who would point on and end up back at the first store.  I would do that again.  After four times I bought a small bottle of Jim Beam to celebrate if I ever got of that state.  Finally, Paul was able to give me directions on how to get back on 95.

As for tolls!  There were three in Maine.  One was for $3.00 and the other two were $2.50, $1.00 each time I entered New Hampster, a larger one for the Massatuttie pike and an even larger one for NY.

As I went over the bridge to Maine, I got to the first rest stop and hugged the nearest pine tree.  After 7-8 hours of driving, I was a real tree hugger.  I went into the octagonal (naturally) building and did my thing, came out and couldn’t find Sam and the car.  I walked all the way around the building and still couldn’t find it.  After hyperventilating again, I realized that there was a parking lot over a berm with pine trees on it.  Whew.  By then Sam had hyperventilated, too!

On to 90.  It felt like the hills and trees and rocks were hugging me.  Things have been busy since we left Maine.  In Massatuttie it looked like they were doing fracking all along the pike.  In Maine, the towns are growing; especially Auburn, Lewiston and Augusta and they had a few more extensions on 95 so where we used to get off looked totally different and where I was to get off was also totally different.  However, off we go and BINGO, there was my hotel!  However, the problem was to find the entrance.  Lots of back doors and a restaurant (that had dynamite chicken and spinach soup – in fact I gave a tablespoon to Sam and for the rest of the trip he would look at me when I put down his food as if saying “not on your life”).  Finally found the entrance, my unit, unloaded the car while Sam cried in the bathroom, sat down and called who I needed to call and had a shot of Jim Beam in water.  I even had a gas fireplace for ambiance.  I was settled at about 9:00 p.m.?  Actually I can’t remember.

Because of my mental illness (just kidding relatives) I can’t abide thinking of  bed bugs but didn’t have to worry because I grabbed the blankie and pillow that I had carried and flopped over sideways and crashed after eating the best soup in the world.  Sam guarded me.  He could have told me there was a monster approaching and I would never have heard him.  10 hours on the road is way too much!  However, I did remember the wakeup call and at 7:00 a.m. got up, got ready to see a house at 10:00 a.m, and got very explicit instructions from my girlfriend on how to get there.  After getting lost three time because I was on the wrong side of the river and with 0 minutes to spare I finally found her.  My friend!  A hug!  I was in heaven!

Quick rush to the house because we were late.  A little ramshackle.  Teeny weeny but a yard with lots of potential.  Actually the bedroom was as big as my spare with a closet, the living room will fit my desk and computer with a closet and the kitchen was large but really needs an island because it only had two drawers.  Of course, I can’t cook anyway…  The Property Manager THOUGHT the washer and dryer worked.  Nice even having them at that price.  I was worried about the “partially” finished cellar but I think they meant that because it was so short.  I was the only one that could walk around without ducking and hitting the beams.  And it had a “Wizard of Oz” door to the outside if there was a hurricane.  It needs some work and I asked if I could have laminate instead of carpeting (as long as they were replacing it anyway).  I have lots of hardware to replace the kitchen knobs and I didn’t want to go anywhere else so I said I wanted it.

Now we get to the tricky part.  I said only one person and two dogs were going to live there but of course had to put my husband’s income down.  My Social security would cover it but I might want to eat also.  The trouble:  They do a background check.  Front and center is my recent incarceration in the psyche ward.  So we will see how much that ruined my life.  I told them I had no family but was actually able to come up with one reference.  Paul, of course has family but is anti-social so when I brought the application home, had a bit of a hard time to think of a reference.  I told them I wanted it the first of November.  Oh, it also has a garage almost on the next block!

My friend and I went to eat at a diner that she used to work at and I met two more friends and while sitting there listening to the TV  blaring, I noticed that they were talking about a storm coming from home to there.  So, kissed her goodbye, went back to the hotel, took a long nap, packed and was out of there by 8:00 p.m.  It rained across the Berkshires but the traffic was goo except for the truckers (who were all good except for the one who tried to kill me) and Sam and I were home at 6:00 this morning and I’m wondering where the storm is.

Back to bed and woken up with a call from the Wayne Behavior Health asking why I missed my appointment yesterday.  I’m ready to call an attorney.  I cannot live this way.  I feel so violated.  Paul filled out his application for the house and I’m about ready to take another nap.  I’ve gone through my email and just don’t feel like answering any of the Facebook messages because here we go with no feelings again.  They have to approve me for the house!  What if they don’t?  What if I am stuck in this situation for the rest of my life all because of someone else?  My whole life has been controlled by someone and even though it is scary being by myself I just want to try it once, please.

I didn’t take the Hoosier from you.  You are angry because Dad gave it to me because he had not place to put it.  Even if I asked for a camp – so what?  all my three sisters were given one.  You say I borrowed 20K and didn’t pay it back…you gave that to me because it would save you taxes and said my sisters would get the same.  I will not say anything about the prudential accounts that Dad set up for us.  I have said I don’t want your money. I want your love.

I get notes from my family that is is SO hurt about putting this stuff on my blog and that is why they are angry at me.  Wrong, because they were so angry at me all my life way before I put this stuff on the blog.  People don’t talk to me  that I used to play with and helped them when needed and thought of them as brothers.  It is true that there may be some that don’t want me to put things on here but come one guys – you did it!  You hurt someone.  It is time to pay the piper.

My main personality trait is that I do not, nor can I, abide liars and procrastinators and they stand there and call me one when all I need is an apology.  I have been a scapegoat all my life.  I’m done.  The end.  Just because they give a different face to outsiders does not mean that was the face given to the family.  So fess up.  I’m not sure if they just can’t face it themselves or if they don’t want others to know.  Others don’t have to know.  Just apologize to me.  You won.  I’m going again.  I cannot take anymore private notes telling me how I’m hurting everyone and calling me a liar.  I cannot take any more people pretending to be me and calling the Wayne Health Substance Abuse.  I’m leaving.  I’m gone.

So tell me about hurt.

Support

SUPPORT:

To sustain (a person, the mind, spirits, courage, etc.) under trial or affliction:

“They supported him throughout his ordeal.”
THIS is what my father raised me to do.  Although he was an alcoholic, he was a happy alcoholic and he was pretty much careful to drink when we children were not around.  It was an “adult” thing.  I suppose like sex was an “adult” thing.
I have thought of the word “support” many times during my life and, sometimes unfortunately for me, I have given my support to the wrong people or the wrong organization or causes sometimes and have lived to regret it but always, always when I see something happening that I believe is wrong to an animal or person I will give my support to that animal or person.  I WILL NOT turn my back because I am afraid of offending someone or getting injured.
What does this make me?  When you look at the world today how much support do you see being given?  You hear pleas of support from poor people, from disabled people, from the elderly.
You also hear how hard it is to make friends.  I never believed that.  You hear that blood is thicker than water.  I unfortunately never believed that either.  You hear how churches are sanctuaries, how hospitals are to cure the ill, how policemen are to help keep the peace, how attorneys are to work for the person who is paying for them, how friends will be friends forever and even though they drift apart, when they see each other again there may be a bit of awkwardness but they will still be friends.
It is hard to make friends, which I suppose is why they become close to begin with.  Family blood is only thicker than water depending on the family.  Churches are sanctuaries unless you are only going along with their beliefs and they are not afraid that they will get in trouble.  Hospitals are to cure the ill depending on the people that work there and if they follow the rules that they have been given and if the people needing care are telling the truth.  Policemen keep the peace as long as they are following their regulations and Attorneys will work for the person who pays them the most or who they are best friends with.  Friends are rarely friends forever.  They “move on”, they have other things to do and they, of course, don’t want to get involved with their so called friends’ troubles because they would like a smooth life also.
Because I am what my father taught me to be I find it extremely painful to learn these lessons.  Each lesson hits me like a ton of rocks as he was my favorite person.
Each lesson probably hit him the same way and since I am so like my father (only he didn’t have a computer), he probably had to talk to others to help him feel better.  I remember the people that he told me not to “hang around with” and that he would talk bad about to other adults.  So, a family member that tells me that my father would be embarrassed did not know my father very well.
I am finally coming to grips with this thing that happened, although I will probably never get over it.  I think that the hardest thing is that I knew my family was dysfunctional but I always hoped.  I hoped that they would some day love me and that someday they would understand me.
The death of your entire family at one time is difficult.  Not only did they die but everyone that believes in them and is friends with them has also died for me because one outcast or black sheep is not going to be believed.
I can only again thank my few friends for keeping me going, for giving me hope (and I do include God as a friend), for helping me think of the good things and for reaffirming that I am not insane because there are many people who are going through the same thing as I.
Noodles?

Better

Every day I’m getting a little bit better.  I only cried for about an hour today and the rest of the day I was very angry.  Not an improvement in Grandmother Spider’s eyes but I think I feel better.  I’ve appreciated very much the comments that I have been getting from my imaginary friends:  Ken, Paul, Monica, Tia, Terhi, Pamela, Eva, Teresa Cleland, Patricia, Ed, Scott, Gloria, Diane, Darlyne Smith, Ylva, Katrina, Darla, Jackie and everyone else who I unpardonably didn’t mention because I was having a meltdown.  Now you are all famous for being on my blog, read by (I’m sure) millions and millions of people.

I also thank my dogs for keeping my mind off my troubles by looking so terrible and scruffy.

I went to the Office of Mental Health who welcomed me with open arms and stated that my recovery is a partnership between them and myself to ensure my optimum health and functioning and signed my paper (which I already knew) stating the risks of therapy include “important people in your life may not support my decision to be in therapy that he or she is crazy or weak.  Someone may stop associating with the person because they found out that he or she is in therapy”  (my note: whether they want to be or not)

Another risk: Some health insurance companies deny coverage for the treatment of preexisting conditions.

I have to sign up with them on the web.

As for disclosures: to Blue Cross/Blue Shield business partners who need access to the information to perform administrative or professional services on my behalf or

If I am a danger to myself or others or

I die and the communication is important to decide an issue concerning a deed of conveyance, will or other writing executed by me affecting an interest in property or

I have filed suit against anyone and have claimed mental/emotional damages as part of the suit.

I am not able to have a weapon.  Any kind, including mace, billy sticks or even tree branches.

Around me, people are to lock up lenghths of rope, razors, knives, lighters, etc, medications and pharmaceuticals, bleach poisons, antifreeze, etc.

People are to restrict access to motor vehicle usage, increase supervision, monitoring and active interaction, monitor warning signs such as giving away belongings, etc.

If I leave and my “safety” person (my alcoholic husband) is concerned, it is essential that he contact 911.

There is no end date on this document.  Nothing that states that I can have a doctor or therapist revoke it.  Since my attorney didn’t seem too concerned, I am going in to Rochester to see if there is a way to get out of it, fight it or do anything.

My main (pun there) idea is to quick find an apartment in Maine.  I’m wondering if there is a caveat on my driver’s license now.  Paul said he would lower the price on the house, sell it, buy me a house in Maine and then move up there.  Ummmmm, what is wrong with that picture?   My daughter is very upset with me.  My mother thinks I only wanted to get out to have a drink.  I could sue my sister for renting me half her house and then changing her mind after I was committed (which is discrimination).  My youngest sister is going to get two bowling balls put into a part of her body that she prefers not to think about (just kidding Mr. Policeman!) and my oldest sister does not approve but has a new dog.

Can you tell I’m not quite as numb as I was?

Thank you everyone.

Noodles

Please Pick your Friends Carefully

I have always heard that “friends are people who support you and hold you up through thick and thin and that you can tell if a person is a good friend or a bad friend by these qualifications”.  This is so true.

I have had many responses to my last two posts via email because they are mostly from my “friends”.  I have had many “unknown to me” people start following my blog (not commenting whether they are following for entertainment, humor, sympathy or, in fact, have gone through the same thing themselves).

My oldest Sister, who has problems of her own, stated “I couldn’t even finish all of your postings – too off the wall”.  I’m sorry that she felt this way.  Had it been I reading the comments I would have just not read them and not let the writer know she was “off the wall” but as we all know, we are all different in our own ways.

My therapist says I am now going through Post Traumatic Stress and that my plan for this week should just be to relax.  I really am going to try.  She also gave me a hug.  The thing I most wanted in this entire world and which made me feel 100% better.  She still likes me.  She still wants to see me.  She still wants to let me talk about this to get it out of my system so that I can get over it and get back to normal.  She will listen to me (paid or not), especially before I get to the point that I was at when I finally called her.  The last time I spoke with her was 2.5 years ago when we both agreed that I was able to accept(?) the reactions of my family to me.

Based upon the reactions of my family versus the reactions of my friends, I agree.  I should stick with my friends and keep a distance from my family.  I’m sure that many of you feel this way but have learned it way, way before you were at the age of 62.  At the moment my feelings are turning to grief; as if my three sisters and mother have passed on.

I can only follow my own path.  Not theirs, not yours.  The light in me from God is leading me.  I am not alone, God is with me and I know where I am headed.  I can only listen to directions from him as to where the path is.  If I look to the right or left and see my family or some “friends” on another path I shouldn’t be sad that they are not with me and that we are not holding each other up.  I can only go on.

This has been an incredible, frightening experience.  To have your life removed from your own control and not know when you will get it back.  To have your belongings taken away and to have to follow an institution’s schedule.  To have to act happy so you can be released.  To be locked in like/as a prisoner and to have your family completely turn away.

It will be a while.