Huge Can of Worms...

Would you?

If you were diagnosed with cancer?

Would you opt for traditional treatment?

Chemo?

Radiation?

Because I don't know that I would.

I have seen too much pain.

Watched the total loss of quality of life.

And then...


Watched them die anyway.

I think I would choose to have the time left be of some quality, not to endure incredible pain and suffering so much earlier. Not to be in a morphine fog for the remainder of my life. Not to be removed from my family by a haze of vicious poisons that remove your very essence leaving a hollow shell.

For this is what I have seen, this is what those I loved lived and then died. This is what I feel. Me. My personal choice.

You?

I don't cry pretty...

I am not one of those women who look charmingly disarrayed when upset. I cry ugly, my face goes all blotchy and red, my nose runs, my eyes puff up into little lizard-like slits.

I don't cry quietly... I sob and gasp for breath, I am loud and intrusive, I am not private in my grief.

I don't cry publicly...

I have a toughened facade that no-one sees through. I keep it all held tightly together, wound brittle, hard, impenetratable.

And underneath seethes this raw, open scream wanting to break out. It has stolen my words, this silence, it has taken my voice. I begin to write, words tumbling, stumbling to flow onto this blog but as my fingers touch the keyboard...

They vanish.

And the scream continues to writhe, scrambling with sharpened claws of pain, aching to be freed.

If I let it out will my words come back, or will I vanish into the shrill?

Mean Girl Monday

"Why would she do this to me?" asked in bewilderment by a lovely lady through her tears. Betrayal, the hardest of all pills to swallow, the actions of a so-called friend throwing trust into disarray. Making you question your judgement of others.

I had no answer. I do not know why this person hurts with intent, I do not know if it is her insecurity or a purile power play. I do know she is not someone anyone needs in their lives. She is toxic. A mean girl. The mean girl who turned on me almost two years ago, the toxic former friend who made my life hell, and still tries to even now.

But for this other friend the betrayal was fresh and raw and bleeding. Even though the actions of this person were a long time ago she had only just found out about it. And she came to me because she now understood words I had spoken to her months before. "Be cautious, this is a small town, watch your back." That was all, no accusations, no ranting, no names, no pack drill. With her newfound knowledge these words resonated and the reason became clear.

"Was it her? Is that what you were talking about?" Yes. I knew of her disgusting claims and behaviour, there are so many she has maligned, lied and bitched about. So many power plays hidden below a smile as she plunged the knife deeply again and again. I could not tell people, I would not stoop to a he said/she said battle. To be honest I think back then when the campaign of shadows and whispers began, most would have believed her. She plays the sad, little victim so well - it is an art she perfected. Maybe my reasons were not quite so noble, maybe I was afraid to ask people to choose. Hell, I believed her for years and it is only with the clarity of hindsight I see how truly absurd some of her accusations were.

Whatever, it was all over now as she seriously underestimated her power and control over others, alienating more and more people. It was another of her disgusted former friends who outed her. One who grew sick of the nastiness and vile attacks, one who had the courage to call enough and walk away. One who knows all I know and more. One who will not stand by and tolerate any more bullshit.

And as each person finds out the truth, the word spreads. Last Friday as I talked with this woman, her pain turned to anger. And revenge. My advice was to walk away, cut the festering wound out, let her cut her own throat. For she will, and has already begun to. I do not know if my words reached past the need to hurt back, an emotion I understood all too well. I hope, for this lovely woman's sake, they did. If not, then others will be hurt as they are told of her lies and deception. But maybe they need to know. It will not be me unmasking her, but I am no longer keeping silent. If asked I am open and honest... or as others accuse me of, blunt and brutal. Sometimes if the scab has been pulled a little it is just better to rip it off fast.

"Why would she do this to me?"  Because she does it to everybody. She is a mean girl. Soon she will be a mean, lonely girl who nobody wants to play with.

It Hits at the Most Strangest of Times.

I am running, sprinting through my life doing much, achieving little. Ever have so very much on your plate that anything you attempt to complete seems to fall to dust? That's me at the moment.

Ineffective insanity.

Juggling a combination of marbles and beach balls - seriously nearly impossible to do, let me tell you.

Then in the midst of the manic madness some stupid little thing will trigger it.

The other day it was the re-run of the grand final in My Kitchen Rules. The bit where Bella sits on the floor and cries. Her family calling words of encouragement, begging her to get up, to complete what she started.

BOOM! Up it comes and hits me with a force that takes my breath away.

Grief. My dark demon I keep hidden in the depths of my psyche. Locked away. It sits festering, plotting revenge, planning to break free and catch me unaware. Succeeding multiple times in a brief black exodus, only to be ensnared and seized, thrown bound by self-control into the deep recesses of my emotions. To sit and wait, until another moment, another trigger causes my frenzied grip to slip.

And each time the demon gains strength, and is harder to subdue, with each breach its power grows and I know one day it will break free and swallow me whole. I will no longer exist as its power wipes all I am and all I was, away. Leaving a broken shell in my place. A motherless daughter.

Sunday Sessions - Oh, My Legs...

On Sundays Thea

pops two favourite songs onto her blog.

An oldie but a goldie.

And a newbie, fresh off the charts.

Now, not only did I do derby training on Thursday night, I then spent eight hours walking around Seaworld in the heat yesterday. (See previous post for obvious reason - and add in three extras so had five manic boys meandering with Big Boy and myself). Add in an hour's swimming (okay, fifteen minutes swimming, and the other forty-five lying on a banana lounge looking cool, drooling over the cocktails wafting past) and you have serious pain. I have muscles in my legs that I didn't know I had. And they hurt. A lot.

And so at least one of my Sunday Sessions choices obviously must represent my agony situation.

Now be warned, this will be one of those annoying songs that sticks in your head for days. But I do love this accoustic version...



And for my newie, well, that was hard, but here it is:



For all those who are outside the square, celebrate your uniqueness and the pride of being AND liking exactly who you are right now! Mwah from the mistress of madness, your very own...

I am Not Asleep...

I wish I was. I have had a little wine (just a couple of glasses with Big Boy), and I have watched TV. But I am wide awake. I need to sleep, we have both Boy 1 and 2 friends coming over tomorrow, and then I am going to derby training in the evening. I NEED sleep.

I know why I am awake. The fear and heartache is beginning to break through the ice encasing my grief. And I am scared. Because if the ice cracks and the grief is freed, I am broken. For she is so much of who I am. Was. I want her to be proud, but I just wish someone would let me cry on their shoulder, let me release this insistant pressure of pain. I wish someone could see I am broken. I want someone to see the shattered soul inside my outer shell. I want to feel safe to fall apart, if only for a bit. And the only one who ever saw that, and felt it, and let me be weak, was her. I want my mum. Please. Just for a little while.

Laugh at me if you must -  I just hope you do not ever feel like this because it fucking hurts. Sorry Mum, I know you hate that sort of language. I just can't be strong tonight. I miss you so much.

Sleepless in... well it sure ain't Seattle!

It is 4.44am here. I have had about a combined hour of dozing if I am lucky. Yay me! Well, actually this one can be chalked down to Boy 1. He was having one of our rare sleep n the big bed with Mum nights. Except he did not sleep. Finally, at 3.30am I kicked him off to his own bed, but I am now past any hope of getting to sleep. And my own sleep issues have meant this is the last thing I needed in my exhausted state.

My mind is ticking over events of the last few months. Today I sat on the floor of our bedroom and sobbed my heart out. I cried for Lori and Lulu, for the horrific disaster unfolding along the East coast of our beautiful country, and for me. I have not really cried since Mum died, it is like I am frozen in coping land and the tears are locked deep within my icy heart. This is not good, I know this is not healthy but it seems to be the way I am made.

My tears were released because I lost my engagement ring. My fingers have swollen in the humidity and for the first time ever I had great trouble getting the ring off my finger (I don't sleep in it). So last week I had to use loads of hand cream to get it off and I wrapped it in some tissue to clean. And then was distracted and forgot about it. Stupid, eh?

And of course, the tissue was thrown away. And the rubbish had been collected. Now I know, as Big Boy repeated time and time again as he held me sobbing, enclosed tightly in his loving arms, it is only an object.

But to me it is a solid reminder of so much. Of the love I have for my husband. Of the joy of our wedding. Of Wise Woman who was with us when it was being designed, and without whom it would not be at all (yes, I threw a litle tanty at a shopping centre - think this will have to be my Memoir Monday this week).

It triggered thoughts of Lori, burying her soul mate she was meant to grow old with, of my sister who only ever wanted to get married and have kids and wasn't given the time to, and of course of Lulu, saying farewell to her sibling and the bewilderment of loss.

And so I sat on the carpet and let the pain consume me. I am still raw. And tired. Really could have used some healing sleep to allow me to escape reality for a little. Obviously not in the plans of the higher gods tonight, or should I say today as the sun rises.

We found it. The ring. In the wastepaper basket beside my desk - the one bin I had not emptied before the rubbish was collected. Sitting on the bottom underneath the tissue. But by then, although relieved, it was no longer the issue and the pain had been allowed to escape my iron-clad stronghold and it may never be locked away again. I do not know right now if that is a good or bad thing, but time will tell. And to be honest I feel it is a little self-indulgent to even be posting about it when others are facing such immense loss.

A sombre, tired, emotionally drained,

The Ties That Bind...

Are stretched taut, almost to breaking point.

We walked in to the hospital Saturday afternoon, my two boys, my husband and I, for my frail mother to promptly burst into tears and exclaim "I wish I was dead!" Now, do not think I do not have compassion for my mother in this horribly painful predicament but she is an adult. Yes, an elderly, fragile, ill adult, but an adult all the same. I kicked the rest of my family into the common room and sat down for some tough love. I told her I could not be there if she continued in that frame of mind, I just do not have the strength.

The thing is, we go through this with EVERY fracture in recent years. I was wrong, I thought this was number four, when it is actually number five since 1991. But the last three have followed a nearly identical pattern, as has her behaviour. I know she is scared, I know she is in incredible pain, I know she is frustrated and angry. I do not care if she vents such issues to myself - BUT NOT IN FRONT OF THE KIDS! God, I know I am frustrated and angry and scared.

Because in this situation at this point in time we have a new issue. We have a little boy of eleven years threatening to kill himself. We have a child in such a dark place that all surrounding him are truly concerned about his actions, and what may happen. We have terrifyingly violent outbursts, and serious personal safety issues, so serious that I sat here shaking at the thought of him going to school yesterday. Wondering if my child would be in one piece to pick up. And so I did not send him... I rang our psychologist instead. I cannot go into this in any further detail right now. I just can't.

Many have asked for an update on WW and her treatment, and I am sorry but have just not had the emotional energy or the time to answer. To be honest I am not sure what will happen. At her age it is so simple for it to become life threatening. And the hospital does not seem to either understand or care. I cannot write in detail, but here in point form are recent events:
* WW is legally blind. Normally has some vision but the pain medication makes her drowsy and lowers her vision. They are dumping her meals and running. She cannot see them, she cannot lean forward due to pain, and so doesn't eat. I am trying to be there twice a day for lunch and dinner but it is 1 hours drive each way TWICE daily and my kids need me too. Am so torn and the guilt is killing me.
* Staff come in do obs. To do so they move her walker out of the way. Do not put it back. She cannot move without it. She is going to fall if they do not stop this.
* Getting in and out of bed is excrutiating for her BUT she is better doing it herself. Last night they ignored her pleas to let her get herself comfortable, rolled her, slid her, and changed the bed around on her. She was in agony, and today was far worse than the day we brought her in to hospital. She had been slightly improved but now can barely move and screams in pain when she does. Oh, and they turned the bathroom light off, closed her door, left her alone, unable to move in the dark. Scared. Helpless. 

And they now wonder why when I rang this afternoon (was there until 1pm but had to bring Boy 2 home after appointment) I told them in no uncertain terms that I am her advocate and as such if they fuck up again I will bring our legal team into it, as I did with the last hospital. Don't mess with me, I am tired, stressed and fucking angry that you are such arrogant idiots - have you forgotten the part of the hypocratic oath that states: DO NO HARM! She is my mother and by God she is neither stupid nor suffering dementia... listen to her.

There is more, but I cannot go into it I am so very tired and so truly guilty that I am not with her this afternoon. I wish I was twins. I wish my sister was alive. I wish I could be there for her all the time. I wish this had never happened again.

Man, You Can Hear The Echo...

of me talking to myself! Everyone in blog world appears to be taking time out (perfectly understandable for the Easter holiday), and although the ticker is clicking over the comments have dried up.

I also have had some technical issues when attempting to comment on other blogs, so am wondering if you guys are having problems on mine? Bit scary when a HUGE error message jumps up:

ERROR J23XYZ*S#23

Scares the beejebuz out of me, being the technophobe I am. I panic and close the window quickly hoping I haven't deleted someone's blog without even knowing what I did...

Feeling very sorry for myself. I am such a wuss when it comes to pain and being restricted to down time. Oops, forgot I didn't put it out here, but here.

Anybody? Somebody? Helloooooooooo... *Sigh*, off to take more pain relief.

 

An Example of my Bad Poetry

This was written a few months back. One of the few not on my MySpace blog of old.

PAIN

Can you hear that?

It is the sound of my heart breaking, again.

Like the arctic ice shattering

Or a fine crystal glass hitting the floor.

A thousand small shards shooting into darkened corners

They will be gathered and fitted jigsaw-like together

Bound tightly with tape

Only a few small pieces missed, unseen.

And my brittle smile will hide the piercing pain

As each tiny shard puncture internally when I move

Rupturing life, seeping blood, killing me quietly.

Controversy

I am following a thread on my regular parenting website hangout. I will not post in it because I know certain parties would take great pleasure in deliberately misinterpreting my intentions, and twisting my words. The thread is titled: The Word "Retarded". Of course there are lots of people in their posting how derogatory and offensive it is. In any usage. I think in most cases that is true.

But for us it is a word, as is spastic, used in this household. To take the malicious intent away and minimise the emotional damage to our oldest child. Some would say: "He is bright, explain it to him and he'd understand!" or "You are perpetuating the misuse of these terms and continuing the cycle of abusive behaviour by repeating these insults." If he was your average child, I would agree. But he is not. If I was sure he would never encounter these terms in a detestable attack, I would not refer to them. But it has already happened. I do not use them frequently, and I do not use them lightly. I use them to help my child deal with what HAS and WILL be used to humiliate and belittle him. I use them to take away their power to hurt.

He is a not a child to whom the social graces and nuances will ever come easily. He is not a child who, knowing the dictionary definition, would react calmy or unemotionally. He is a child with a great sense of quirky humour who now holds the balance of power when someone calls him these names. Why? Because what we have done in the home by desensitising him allows him to laugh and walk away. Basically disarming the offender's attack and foiling the intent. And as offensive as our methods are to some, they have worked. Sorry, I am not taking the politically correct path this time. I am taking the one which helps him more.