This may be my most trivial post yet, but Mighty Mighty inspired me with the envelope woes.
It is a goal of mine to get people to stop using those annoying, time-consuming twistie ties that come with loaves of bread. Instead of wasting your time twist, twist, twisting, just use a clothes pin! I honestly have no idea how most people use twistie ties and do not go insane. It's so hard to undo them, especially after a few uses. It's so tedious, why do people use these? Seriously, I can't believe the majority of the population does this and never gripes about it.
Clothes pin, y'all, Clothes pins! The quality of your life will improve, I swear it.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Trudy's Monologues
I don't know how many people are familiar with "The Search For Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe" by Jane Wagner, but since I referred to it in my last post, I thought I would excerpt a couple of monologues from it. Trudy is a bag lady and this is how she spends her days. It is hilarious. Of course, it's best when you can watch Lily Tomlin perform it.
Trudy: Now, since I put reality on the backburner, my days are jam-packed and fun filled. Like some days, I go hang out around seventh avenue; I love to do this old joke: I wait for some music-loving tourist from one of the hotels on Central Park to go up and ask someone "How do I get to Carnegie Hall?" Then I run up and yell, "PRACTICE!". The expression on peoples' faces is priceless. I never could have done that stuff whe I was in my right mind. I'd be worried people would think I was crazy. When I think of all the fun I missed, I try not to be bitter. See, the human mind is like a...pinata. When it breaks open, theres a lot of surprises inside. Once you get in the pinata perspective, you see that losing your mind can be a peak experience. I was not always a bag lady, you know. I used to be a creative consultant. For big companies! Who do you think thought up the color scheme for Howard Johnson's? At the time, no one was using orange and aqua in the same room together. With fried clams.The only idea I'm proud of - my umbrella hat. Protects me against sunstroke, rain and muggers. For some reason, muggers steer clear of people wearing umbrella hats. Ever since my shock treatments I started having these time-space continum shifts, I guess you'd call it. Suddenly, it was like my central nervous system had a patio addition out back. Not only do I have a linkup to extraterrestrial channels, I also got a hookup with humanity as a whole. Animals and plants too. I used to talk to plants all the time. Then one day, they started talking back. They said, "Trudy, shut up!"
Trudy: Here we are standing on the corner of "Walk, Don't Walk." You look away from me, trying not to catch my eye, but you didn't turn fast enough, did you? I know what you're thinkin'; You're thinkin' I'm crazy. You think I give a hoot? You people look at my shopping bags, call me crazy 'cause I collect this junk. What should we call the ones who buy it?It's my belief we all, one time or another secretly ask ourselves the question, "Am I crazy?" In my case the answer came back: A resounding YES! The symptoms are subtle but unmistakable to the trained eye. For instance, here I am standing at the corner of "walk, don't walk" waiting for these aliens from outer space to show up. I call that crazy don't you? If I were sane, I would be waiting for the light like everyone else. They're late, as usual. You'd think, as much as they know about time travel, they could be on time once in a while. I could kick myself. I told them I'd meet 'em on the corner of "walk, Dont walk" 'round lunchtime. Do they even know what lunch means? I doubt it.When they get here they'll probably be dying to know what "lunchtime" means and when they find out it means going to Howard Johnson's for fried clams, I wonder, will they be a bit let down?I dread having to explain tartar sauce.
Trudy: Now, since I put reality on the backburner, my days are jam-packed and fun filled. Like some days, I go hang out around seventh avenue; I love to do this old joke: I wait for some music-loving tourist from one of the hotels on Central Park to go up and ask someone "How do I get to Carnegie Hall?" Then I run up and yell, "PRACTICE!". The expression on peoples' faces is priceless. I never could have done that stuff whe I was in my right mind. I'd be worried people would think I was crazy. When I think of all the fun I missed, I try not to be bitter. See, the human mind is like a...pinata. When it breaks open, theres a lot of surprises inside. Once you get in the pinata perspective, you see that losing your mind can be a peak experience. I was not always a bag lady, you know. I used to be a creative consultant. For big companies! Who do you think thought up the color scheme for Howard Johnson's? At the time, no one was using orange and aqua in the same room together. With fried clams.The only idea I'm proud of - my umbrella hat. Protects me against sunstroke, rain and muggers. For some reason, muggers steer clear of people wearing umbrella hats. Ever since my shock treatments I started having these time-space continum shifts, I guess you'd call it. Suddenly, it was like my central nervous system had a patio addition out back. Not only do I have a linkup to extraterrestrial channels, I also got a hookup with humanity as a whole. Animals and plants too. I used to talk to plants all the time. Then one day, they started talking back. They said, "Trudy, shut up!"
Trudy: Here we are standing on the corner of "Walk, Don't Walk." You look away from me, trying not to catch my eye, but you didn't turn fast enough, did you? I know what you're thinkin'; You're thinkin' I'm crazy. You think I give a hoot? You people look at my shopping bags, call me crazy 'cause I collect this junk. What should we call the ones who buy it?It's my belief we all, one time or another secretly ask ourselves the question, "Am I crazy?" In my case the answer came back: A resounding YES! The symptoms are subtle but unmistakable to the trained eye. For instance, here I am standing at the corner of "walk, don't walk" waiting for these aliens from outer space to show up. I call that crazy don't you? If I were sane, I would be waiting for the light like everyone else. They're late, as usual. You'd think, as much as they know about time travel, they could be on time once in a while. I could kick myself. I told them I'd meet 'em on the corner of "walk, Dont walk" 'round lunchtime. Do they even know what lunch means? I doubt it.When they get here they'll probably be dying to know what "lunchtime" means and when they find out it means going to Howard Johnson's for fried clams, I wonder, will they be a bit let down?I dread having to explain tartar sauce.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Heavy Stuff
So, this isn't going to be much of a happy happy joy joy post. If you don't want to read something heavy and totally self-indulgent, I suggest you stop reading now. Really, I wouldn't blame you. I just have a lot of stuff to get out and some of it goes way back to stuff that happened years ago. This is another far too lengthy post. I promise I'll post shorter, lighter things. Just not today. No really I will. The existence of JustinBobby is all the proof you should need.
Some of you may know the background on my sister and some might not. She's a schizophrenic and lives in a group home. She had a nervous breakdown in 1989 when she was in the Army and never recovered. Her diagnosis is chronic and non-responsive to treatment, meaning there is no hope for recovery, no matter the drugs or therapeutic intervention. She is very much a danger to herself and others. She is a very, very sick little girl. I say this and she's 3 1/2 years older than me. When my Dad and I visited her Sunday she was clearly overmedicated. I've seen her out of it and highly delusional, that's not anything new. This was different though. She was drooling and could barely walk or stand up. She seemed to go in and out of a major fog. She was very drowsy and sometimes didn't seem to know she was in this world. Two other residents came up to Dad and me telling us that she was overmedicated. These people may not be the complete picture of mental health themselves, but that doesn't mean they are oblivious. It was odd how, both times, both people, when telling us, were so sure of what they were saying, it was as though for that moment they were cogent and clear-headed. Dana was taken to the doctor today, but no one called me back to tell me what happened. I'm sure her care provider will call me tomorrow, if he doesn't, I'll call him.
I'm really worried because if this is how she's going to be from now on it is the beginning of the end. But I don't want to get too ahead of myself. There are plenty of other things to worry about. Do I need to find her a new care facility? That's a whole issue in itself. Do I need to request a new doctor or battery of doctors at the Veteran's Admin? The only thing I do know is I'm not going to have her just being set in a chair to drool for the rest of her life. All of this is on my shoulders now and I just hope I make the right decisions. I can't believe I'm supposed to decide these things. It's surreal.
After my Mom died last year I was appointed her legal guardian (after lots of really bureaucratic-laden hell), which means I take care of her money and make decisions for her. She lives in a home and we are very lucky to finally have found a place that "works" for her. She's been there ten years now. Back in the early days of her illness, before we found this place, she was in and out of something like 17 facilities. Some of these places weren't equipped to handle her; some were nursing homes because we had no other options. Eventually they would get to a point where they couldn't handle her and would throw her out. Then she'd be back to living with us (a dangerous and chaotic situation) then bad shit would happen and she'd get sent off to somewhere else and then the cycle would repeat itself. Just because someone is mentally ill and even dangerous doesn't mean they will automatically be hauled off and that's that. Sometimes you have to live with them and I'm not exaggerating when I say it felt like a constant state of terror. I remember my normal days were pretty long back then---with school and a job 20 miles away, I was usually gone from 8am to 10-11pm. There were a lot of times I'd come home and there she'd be when I thought she was supposed to be safely tucked away somewhere. So yeah, a constant state of terror is pretty much what it felt like. My mother had a nervous breakdown and it basically broke her spirit. She never really recovered either. She was eventually diagnosed as a borderline personality, but that's another post.
Last year I was seeing a therapist and she said it was like I was having to deal with three deaths at once---one being the mother I lost, the second being the stable mother I should have had(except she was my best friend and I can't complain about that, all in all I didn't get too shafted in the Mom dept), and of course the sister I once had. I honestly can't convey what it is like to have a mentally ill sister. Only someone that has been through it can know what it means. I'm so fucking sick of colored ribbons for every fucking illness on the planet except for mental illness. If you happen to know without googling it, by all means, tell me what color that ribbon is and I'll immediately go out and festoon my car with magnets in that color. It's such a fucking taboo that you can't talk about because it freaks other people out. To talk about what happens with a mentally ill person is oversharing. It makes people uncomfortable and I get that, but it makes me far more uncomfortable than it does them because I have to actually deal with it. If she had cancer I could've talked about what I was going through in those early years; I could explain why I looked like shit and why I didn't seem very happy lately. But, it's kind of hard to say, well, my sister tried to slash her wrists for the 7th time last night, or she came up behind my Mom with a baseball bat and thank god my Dad saw her or my Mom probably would've been dead then and there. Or, she came in my room at all hours of the night last night because Jesus Christ just visited her room. Yeah, I can't imagine what you think of me for typing that out loud, but fuck it. These things happened. These are my experiences. It was the fucking reality (ironic word choice I realize) I was living in. It was traumatizing. I was trying to get my start in life. I had just graduated and lived at home while I attended community college and worked at a pizza place. I can't make sense of some of these things and there is very little support. There is no well-established group like AA for family members of the mentally ill. It's not talked about.
What really bothers me sometimes is that I remember how we shared a room and even the same bed when I was little. I can't hear "More Than A Feeling" by Boston, not ever without a flood of tears and the biggest pain in my heart because I remember her playing that song in her room so many times when she was in high school. I guess I think of that as her song. One day my Mom and I got to talking and it turned out she had the same reaction to that song. What really hurts is that she doesn't even look like the same person. I had gone a few years without seeing her, because basically I took a few years to be selfish. I knew my destiny was to have to deal with her, like it or not, so for years I had nothing to do with her until my Mom passed away suddenly last November. It might sound selfish to have avoided her, but that was the whole point. I knew it was a luxury to be selfish and that I had to seize the opportunity when I had it. I didn't want to have to see her and deal with who she became. She's not the same person at all. She doesn't look the same; I didn't even recognize her when I first saw her. That's what this illness does to you. An old friend went to see her against our advice ( and goodness we would have loved to encourage old friends to visit, but she's pretty bad off) and was basically traumatized. When I see her and spend time with her I look at her and wonder "who are you and why do I have to deal with you?" Seriously, there's this whole other person and they're very ill and yet for some fucking reason it's my responsibility to deal with and I don't understand that. I don't know who this person is and I don't recognize her any more than anyone reading this would.
I don't want to hear about how God never gives us more than we can handle. So does that mean anyone that doesn't have to deal with it, couldn't deal with it? Because I don't believe that. Nor do I believe I am strong enough for this. I don't think just because these are the cards she and my family were dealt that we are any more capable than the next person of dealing with this. I am, in no way better equipped than anyone else to handle this just because it's what I have to handle. The pressures of being a PhD student are pretty hardcore and balancing all of this is a very tough act. The only way I can handle it is to to tell myself that I am welcome to give all this up at any moment. The guardianship, not the PhD. Because the only way I can handle it is if I think I have the option of being selfish. I don't know if I really do. It's like having a child. And that really sucks for someone who has known all her life that she didn't want children. I actually felt it was a personal triumph of sorts not to have one. It's not just the fucked up genes, I just really never wanted kids. I've always felt very adamant about that. Mom was Dana's whole world and now it's me. I can't do the job the way Mom did but I am forging my own way. Even though I am kicking and screaming every bit of the way. I think that's another coping mechanism. The kicking and screaming.
I'll be damned if I "accept" all of this. I'd rather kick and scream than be stoic like I deserve this, like she deserves this. I'd rather bitch that I hate the fucking cards we've been dealt. Because, if I don't it means I have no choice. I'm not going to have to deal with this and like it too. That's just too fucking much. I at least feel like I have a choice for some reason when I give myself the right to hate this and to be very selfish in thinking about how this all affects me. I'm not going to sit back and smile and say this is the path that I've been led to and all that horseshit. Sometimes what happens to us is just fucking unfair and random and that's the rub of it. Sometimes there isn't a greater lesson or a greater reason. I used to think that about life, that challenging things in our lives were for a greater purpose or that we'd eventually find out the reason for all of it. Sometimes it's just hell that you have to endure. Sometimes there isn't a reason. We just tell ourselves this so we can cope because most of us don't want to think it could all be random and for no greater purpose. And that's all it is at the end of the day. I refuse to think that my sister being ill and my Mother too with her deterioration that there's a damn good reason for it. That it serves some kind of purpose. It killed my Mom and it changed who she was; it changed all of us. I used to have Faith. This stuff fucks with your entire paradigms. You know that all the circumstances of your life that make things bearable can be pulled out from under you at any moment. I'm not always this cynical about everything and mostly, I think I do pretty well given the circumstances, but when it comes to this there isn't very much comfort. She is so pitiful. This is an ache that will never go away. The only comfort I can take is knowing that my Mom no longer has to deal with this and that she finally got the respite she so deserved from all of this. I remember how at her funeral everyone kept saying "she doesn't have to suffer anymore" and it was what I kept thinking too. The pastor that gave her eulogy was a close personal friend of hers and his eulogy said the same thing too. It was just weird, because if you didn't know better you would've thought she died of cancer instead of a brain aneurysm.
There just is no way around or through this. And it's been almost twenty years. The thing about this that Mom and I always felt is that it doesn't get easier to deal with; if anything it just gets more difficult because now it's been twenty years worth of this. The very slim research on the impact on the family of the mentally ill seems to suggest the same, that it only gets more difficult for family members as the years go on. Which, WTF? Why isn't this worthy of study and why doesn't anyone care enough to research this? Why isn't there the equivalent of a well-established group like AA to help people family members? It's because it's taboo and it's not a socially acceptable illness. Oh my god, the shame and guilt cycle with this fucking thing. I was (and probably still am) very ashamed of her and then I felt guilty for that. But it's also almost like your forced into being ashamed because you honestly can't tell most people in your daily life like coworkers, bosses, and teachers what's really going on. I'm starting to get more open about it even when I can clearly see that the other person is uncomfortable and thinks I'm oversharing. That pisses me off when I know they wouldn't be that way if I were describing the latest round of chemo she went through. So, I've been reminding people of that too, especially when I have to listen to their stuff. I don't go around talking about it all the time, but if you share an office with me for over a year and you tell me all your stuff it's only fair I get to share too. I'm not going to lie for your sake and tell you my weekend was just fine when really I saw my sister, this person that I don't even recognize but am responsible for, drooling all over herself like some fucking nursing home patient. Okay, so I haven't said anything to anyone, and I'm just blogging about it, but I'm telling myself that I can talk about it if I want. I honestly do not begrudge anyone that has decided it was too much to bear and I truly understand why most schizophrenics don't have any family that is involved in their lives. That sounds harsh I know, but I sympathize and unfortunately, I understand. It's devastating.
Maybe it sounds melodramatic to say this, but I often think about a scene from a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie in 1992 or 1993 based on really great book by Sue Miller, called Family Pictures. The book is about a family and how they deal with an autistic son in the 60's when even less was known about autism. At that time the "solution" was to institutionalize them and forget about them. The story was told from a sister's perspective. Angelica Houston played the role of the ever-devoted Mother. The scene that I always remember is when he dies and the whole family is worried about how Angelica will take the news, because he was her whole life; she never gave up on him, not once, even when everyone else did (which was very much a parallel to my Mom in the early years). They're just sure she is going to go to pieces and have a breakdown. She goes out on the porch, a few tears roll down her cheek, she closes her eyes and says "Free. I am Free. I am Free." And you actually see the burden has lifted from her shoulders even as she grieves. I've never forgotten it. She encapsulated a mixture of relief and mourning. That scene haunts me.
My heart breaks and hurts so much every time I picture her in that home. I'll never forget the day we had to tell her Mom passed away. We drove up to the facility and she was sitting outside smoking (she smokes incessantly; it's a schizophrenic trait) and I didn't recognize her. She jumped for joy and was so excited to see me that she was crying tears of joy. "Oh look! It's my sister, she's come back to me. This is the happiest day of my life." She just kept saying that over and over. It never occurred to her of course, that the reason Dad, me, and a relative she'd never met pulled up in the driveway unexpectedly was because there was bad news. I'll never forget seeing her that day. That was probalby the hardest thing I've had to do yet. She is so pitiful. Thankfully, she took the news pretty well, because her mind doesn't allow her to deal with it. She cried for a few minutes and then went on like it was a "normal" day. She still mentions Mom and says she misses her, but her mind doesn't let her mourn or fully comprehend and for that I am truly thankful. That is a blessing.
If most of this post has been selfish, that's the entire point. This whole thing of having to deal with my sister is about me. It's me trying to release some of what I've bottled up for nearly twenty years. Of course I feel sorry for her, and I ache for her, but I'm writing this to try to deal with my experience in all of this. She doesn't have to deal with reality; I do. I'm the one that deals with the reality of Mom's passing, I'm the one that deals with how to look out for her, I'm the one whose shoulders all of this is on. And, I'm trying to get a fucking PhD here. Thank god I have this side to me that likes The Hills and mindless crap like that. I'd go insane without it. It makes me think about what Lily Tomlin once said in the "Search For Signs of Intelligent Life" when she played the crazy, homeless lady. She made a lot of sense out of being crazy, because, as she said, "once I put reality on the backburner, my life vastly improved." Damn would I love to do that sometimes. I resent the fact that I have to deal with this. I wish I didn't have to deal with this. I'm not some triumphant, selfless character in a movie. I hate this. I truly do.
Some of you may know the background on my sister and some might not. She's a schizophrenic and lives in a group home. She had a nervous breakdown in 1989 when she was in the Army and never recovered. Her diagnosis is chronic and non-responsive to treatment, meaning there is no hope for recovery, no matter the drugs or therapeutic intervention. She is very much a danger to herself and others. She is a very, very sick little girl. I say this and she's 3 1/2 years older than me. When my Dad and I visited her Sunday she was clearly overmedicated. I've seen her out of it and highly delusional, that's not anything new. This was different though. She was drooling and could barely walk or stand up. She seemed to go in and out of a major fog. She was very drowsy and sometimes didn't seem to know she was in this world. Two other residents came up to Dad and me telling us that she was overmedicated. These people may not be the complete picture of mental health themselves, but that doesn't mean they are oblivious. It was odd how, both times, both people, when telling us, were so sure of what they were saying, it was as though for that moment they were cogent and clear-headed. Dana was taken to the doctor today, but no one called me back to tell me what happened. I'm sure her care provider will call me tomorrow, if he doesn't, I'll call him.
I'm really worried because if this is how she's going to be from now on it is the beginning of the end. But I don't want to get too ahead of myself. There are plenty of other things to worry about. Do I need to find her a new care facility? That's a whole issue in itself. Do I need to request a new doctor or battery of doctors at the Veteran's Admin? The only thing I do know is I'm not going to have her just being set in a chair to drool for the rest of her life. All of this is on my shoulders now and I just hope I make the right decisions. I can't believe I'm supposed to decide these things. It's surreal.
After my Mom died last year I was appointed her legal guardian (after lots of really bureaucratic-laden hell), which means I take care of her money and make decisions for her. She lives in a home and we are very lucky to finally have found a place that "works" for her. She's been there ten years now. Back in the early days of her illness, before we found this place, she was in and out of something like 17 facilities. Some of these places weren't equipped to handle her; some were nursing homes because we had no other options. Eventually they would get to a point where they couldn't handle her and would throw her out. Then she'd be back to living with us (a dangerous and chaotic situation) then bad shit would happen and she'd get sent off to somewhere else and then the cycle would repeat itself. Just because someone is mentally ill and even dangerous doesn't mean they will automatically be hauled off and that's that. Sometimes you have to live with them and I'm not exaggerating when I say it felt like a constant state of terror. I remember my normal days were pretty long back then---with school and a job 20 miles away, I was usually gone from 8am to 10-11pm. There were a lot of times I'd come home and there she'd be when I thought she was supposed to be safely tucked away somewhere. So yeah, a constant state of terror is pretty much what it felt like. My mother had a nervous breakdown and it basically broke her spirit. She never really recovered either. She was eventually diagnosed as a borderline personality, but that's another post.
Last year I was seeing a therapist and she said it was like I was having to deal with three deaths at once---one being the mother I lost, the second being the stable mother I should have had(except she was my best friend and I can't complain about that, all in all I didn't get too shafted in the Mom dept), and of course the sister I once had. I honestly can't convey what it is like to have a mentally ill sister. Only someone that has been through it can know what it means. I'm so fucking sick of colored ribbons for every fucking illness on the planet except for mental illness. If you happen to know without googling it, by all means, tell me what color that ribbon is and I'll immediately go out and festoon my car with magnets in that color. It's such a fucking taboo that you can't talk about because it freaks other people out. To talk about what happens with a mentally ill person is oversharing. It makes people uncomfortable and I get that, but it makes me far more uncomfortable than it does them because I have to actually deal with it. If she had cancer I could've talked about what I was going through in those early years; I could explain why I looked like shit and why I didn't seem very happy lately. But, it's kind of hard to say, well, my sister tried to slash her wrists for the 7th time last night, or she came up behind my Mom with a baseball bat and thank god my Dad saw her or my Mom probably would've been dead then and there. Or, she came in my room at all hours of the night last night because Jesus Christ just visited her room. Yeah, I can't imagine what you think of me for typing that out loud, but fuck it. These things happened. These are my experiences. It was the fucking reality (ironic word choice I realize) I was living in. It was traumatizing. I was trying to get my start in life. I had just graduated and lived at home while I attended community college and worked at a pizza place. I can't make sense of some of these things and there is very little support. There is no well-established group like AA for family members of the mentally ill. It's not talked about.
What really bothers me sometimes is that I remember how we shared a room and even the same bed when I was little. I can't hear "More Than A Feeling" by Boston, not ever without a flood of tears and the biggest pain in my heart because I remember her playing that song in her room so many times when she was in high school. I guess I think of that as her song. One day my Mom and I got to talking and it turned out she had the same reaction to that song. What really hurts is that she doesn't even look like the same person. I had gone a few years without seeing her, because basically I took a few years to be selfish. I knew my destiny was to have to deal with her, like it or not, so for years I had nothing to do with her until my Mom passed away suddenly last November. It might sound selfish to have avoided her, but that was the whole point. I knew it was a luxury to be selfish and that I had to seize the opportunity when I had it. I didn't want to have to see her and deal with who she became. She's not the same person at all. She doesn't look the same; I didn't even recognize her when I first saw her. That's what this illness does to you. An old friend went to see her against our advice ( and goodness we would have loved to encourage old friends to visit, but she's pretty bad off) and was basically traumatized. When I see her and spend time with her I look at her and wonder "who are you and why do I have to deal with you?" Seriously, there's this whole other person and they're very ill and yet for some fucking reason it's my responsibility to deal with and I don't understand that. I don't know who this person is and I don't recognize her any more than anyone reading this would.
I don't want to hear about how God never gives us more than we can handle. So does that mean anyone that doesn't have to deal with it, couldn't deal with it? Because I don't believe that. Nor do I believe I am strong enough for this. I don't think just because these are the cards she and my family were dealt that we are any more capable than the next person of dealing with this. I am, in no way better equipped than anyone else to handle this just because it's what I have to handle. The pressures of being a PhD student are pretty hardcore and balancing all of this is a very tough act. The only way I can handle it is to to tell myself that I am welcome to give all this up at any moment. The guardianship, not the PhD. Because the only way I can handle it is if I think I have the option of being selfish. I don't know if I really do. It's like having a child. And that really sucks for someone who has known all her life that she didn't want children. I actually felt it was a personal triumph of sorts not to have one. It's not just the fucked up genes, I just really never wanted kids. I've always felt very adamant about that. Mom was Dana's whole world and now it's me. I can't do the job the way Mom did but I am forging my own way. Even though I am kicking and screaming every bit of the way. I think that's another coping mechanism. The kicking and screaming.
I'll be damned if I "accept" all of this. I'd rather kick and scream than be stoic like I deserve this, like she deserves this. I'd rather bitch that I hate the fucking cards we've been dealt. Because, if I don't it means I have no choice. I'm not going to have to deal with this and like it too. That's just too fucking much. I at least feel like I have a choice for some reason when I give myself the right to hate this and to be very selfish in thinking about how this all affects me. I'm not going to sit back and smile and say this is the path that I've been led to and all that horseshit. Sometimes what happens to us is just fucking unfair and random and that's the rub of it. Sometimes there isn't a greater lesson or a greater reason. I used to think that about life, that challenging things in our lives were for a greater purpose or that we'd eventually find out the reason for all of it. Sometimes it's just hell that you have to endure. Sometimes there isn't a reason. We just tell ourselves this so we can cope because most of us don't want to think it could all be random and for no greater purpose. And that's all it is at the end of the day. I refuse to think that my sister being ill and my Mother too with her deterioration that there's a damn good reason for it. That it serves some kind of purpose. It killed my Mom and it changed who she was; it changed all of us. I used to have Faith. This stuff fucks with your entire paradigms. You know that all the circumstances of your life that make things bearable can be pulled out from under you at any moment. I'm not always this cynical about everything and mostly, I think I do pretty well given the circumstances, but when it comes to this there isn't very much comfort. She is so pitiful. This is an ache that will never go away. The only comfort I can take is knowing that my Mom no longer has to deal with this and that she finally got the respite she so deserved from all of this. I remember how at her funeral everyone kept saying "she doesn't have to suffer anymore" and it was what I kept thinking too. The pastor that gave her eulogy was a close personal friend of hers and his eulogy said the same thing too. It was just weird, because if you didn't know better you would've thought she died of cancer instead of a brain aneurysm.
There just is no way around or through this. And it's been almost twenty years. The thing about this that Mom and I always felt is that it doesn't get easier to deal with; if anything it just gets more difficult because now it's been twenty years worth of this. The very slim research on the impact on the family of the mentally ill seems to suggest the same, that it only gets more difficult for family members as the years go on. Which, WTF? Why isn't this worthy of study and why doesn't anyone care enough to research this? Why isn't there the equivalent of a well-established group like AA to help people family members? It's because it's taboo and it's not a socially acceptable illness. Oh my god, the shame and guilt cycle with this fucking thing. I was (and probably still am) very ashamed of her and then I felt guilty for that. But it's also almost like your forced into being ashamed because you honestly can't tell most people in your daily life like coworkers, bosses, and teachers what's really going on. I'm starting to get more open about it even when I can clearly see that the other person is uncomfortable and thinks I'm oversharing. That pisses me off when I know they wouldn't be that way if I were describing the latest round of chemo she went through. So, I've been reminding people of that too, especially when I have to listen to their stuff. I don't go around talking about it all the time, but if you share an office with me for over a year and you tell me all your stuff it's only fair I get to share too. I'm not going to lie for your sake and tell you my weekend was just fine when really I saw my sister, this person that I don't even recognize but am responsible for, drooling all over herself like some fucking nursing home patient. Okay, so I haven't said anything to anyone, and I'm just blogging about it, but I'm telling myself that I can talk about it if I want. I honestly do not begrudge anyone that has decided it was too much to bear and I truly understand why most schizophrenics don't have any family that is involved in their lives. That sounds harsh I know, but I sympathize and unfortunately, I understand. It's devastating.
Maybe it sounds melodramatic to say this, but I often think about a scene from a Hallmark Hall of Fame movie in 1992 or 1993 based on really great book by Sue Miller, called Family Pictures. The book is about a family and how they deal with an autistic son in the 60's when even less was known about autism. At that time the "solution" was to institutionalize them and forget about them. The story was told from a sister's perspective. Angelica Houston played the role of the ever-devoted Mother. The scene that I always remember is when he dies and the whole family is worried about how Angelica will take the news, because he was her whole life; she never gave up on him, not once, even when everyone else did (which was very much a parallel to my Mom in the early years). They're just sure she is going to go to pieces and have a breakdown. She goes out on the porch, a few tears roll down her cheek, she closes her eyes and says "Free. I am Free. I am Free." And you actually see the burden has lifted from her shoulders even as she grieves. I've never forgotten it. She encapsulated a mixture of relief and mourning. That scene haunts me.
My heart breaks and hurts so much every time I picture her in that home. I'll never forget the day we had to tell her Mom passed away. We drove up to the facility and she was sitting outside smoking (she smokes incessantly; it's a schizophrenic trait) and I didn't recognize her. She jumped for joy and was so excited to see me that she was crying tears of joy. "Oh look! It's my sister, she's come back to me. This is the happiest day of my life." She just kept saying that over and over. It never occurred to her of course, that the reason Dad, me, and a relative she'd never met pulled up in the driveway unexpectedly was because there was bad news. I'll never forget seeing her that day. That was probalby the hardest thing I've had to do yet. She is so pitiful. Thankfully, she took the news pretty well, because her mind doesn't allow her to deal with it. She cried for a few minutes and then went on like it was a "normal" day. She still mentions Mom and says she misses her, but her mind doesn't let her mourn or fully comprehend and for that I am truly thankful. That is a blessing.
If most of this post has been selfish, that's the entire point. This whole thing of having to deal with my sister is about me. It's me trying to release some of what I've bottled up for nearly twenty years. Of course I feel sorry for her, and I ache for her, but I'm writing this to try to deal with my experience in all of this. She doesn't have to deal with reality; I do. I'm the one that deals with the reality of Mom's passing, I'm the one that deals with how to look out for her, I'm the one whose shoulders all of this is on. And, I'm trying to get a fucking PhD here. Thank god I have this side to me that likes The Hills and mindless crap like that. I'd go insane without it. It makes me think about what Lily Tomlin once said in the "Search For Signs of Intelligent Life" when she played the crazy, homeless lady. She made a lot of sense out of being crazy, because, as she said, "once I put reality on the backburner, my life vastly improved." Damn would I love to do that sometimes. I resent the fact that I have to deal with this. I wish I didn't have to deal with this. I'm not some triumphant, selfless character in a movie. I hate this. I truly do.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Trailer Fabulous!
Okay, so the move was just as fun as anticipated, but I can say without irony that I LOVE LOVE LOVE my 70's doublewide trailer. I'm pretty sure it's newer than that, but it has a decidedly 70's vibe to it. It has tons of storage and built-ins as well as a garden tub! Oh! And it has a washer and dryer (last year I had to haul ass to the communal laundry room)! How very eleventy-worthy! Scoff if you will, but I'd rather live in a doublewide trailer than a cramped apartment with painted over cinder blocks like last year. And how convenient that both bedrooms have built in drawers for well, your drawers and stuff. The built-in drawers run the length of the room, so however many chests of drawers that equals. Since it's hard to split up furniture between Texas and Illinois, I don't bring furniture with me to the 'Dale, so I really need all the storage I can get. Over the drawers is a faux marble tabletop that runs the length of the rooms. The one in the master bedroom also has a built-in vanity area, which is another great thing for me because I hate standing up to do my hair and make-up. I even have storage in the master bath and over the washer/dryer. For someone that's had an apt that didn't even have kitchen cabinets, one single closet that was probably 3 feet by 2 feet, and no oven and two burner tops that didn't work (when I was in Alabama), I am doubly thankful for storage. Plus I grew up in a cramped house, so I've always appreciated storage, space, and actual countertops in a kitchen.
Okay, so I don't love the sliding mirror doors on the closets and I know the wood paneling will be oppressive (I grew up with it and it's always felt like something of an achievement to have gotten away from that when I grew up and moved out) but other than that, I am so happy. My landlord also said he's going to bring over a butcher's table and chairs for the dining area, so yippee! More flat space to put all my research projects on. I'll eat at the coffee table, like all civilized people should do.
The best part? I didn't realize I'd have a garden tub! I had one in an apt Jeff and I lived in, but that was 5 years ago. When I looked at this trailer last spring it was junked up with stacks of crap everywhere, so I didn't realize it would be this big. Wait...it gets better, I have two bathrooms and that too was a complete surprise! I guess there were a lot things stacked up against that door, so the landlord didn't even show it. Do you know how awesome it is to realize your new place has even more storage and space and bathrooms than you thought? It reminds me of those dreams where you dream you are in your house but you discover new rooms. I've heard that's a common dream for people to have, and I've had a few of these myself. Oh, and I really don't pay very much for all of this either since a low cost of living is one of the upsides to living in the sticks. I paid more for far less last year. Hell, I don't care, I'll just tell you that it costs $400. No roommate. All mine. I have storage I'm not even using!
Oh, and compared to last year's move in the stifling heat and humidity up four flights of steps and then a complete maze just to get to my apartment, this is a dream. Also, I had to pay for parking last year only to have assholes park in my space all the time since it was across the street from campus (*remind me to post about the time I went off on someone*). Now, I have a gravelled parking space right next to my trailer. Oh, and there is a fabulous, big deck to go with this abode. No wobbly 3-stair dealies here (if you've been to/lived in many trailers you'll know what I'm talking about). Just bringing in groceries is going to be way easier.
I am a little bit worried about the fetid pond next to me. Critter and varmint-wise, that can't be good. But hey, did I mention I have storage out the wazoo, built-in dressers and bookcase, and a garden tub and a second bathroom I didn't even know I had?
Okay, so I don't love the sliding mirror doors on the closets and I know the wood paneling will be oppressive (I grew up with it and it's always felt like something of an achievement to have gotten away from that when I grew up and moved out) but other than that, I am so happy. My landlord also said he's going to bring over a butcher's table and chairs for the dining area, so yippee! More flat space to put all my research projects on. I'll eat at the coffee table, like all civilized people should do.
The best part? I didn't realize I'd have a garden tub! I had one in an apt Jeff and I lived in, but that was 5 years ago. When I looked at this trailer last spring it was junked up with stacks of crap everywhere, so I didn't realize it would be this big. Wait...it gets better, I have two bathrooms and that too was a complete surprise! I guess there were a lot things stacked up against that door, so the landlord didn't even show it. Do you know how awesome it is to realize your new place has even more storage and space and bathrooms than you thought? It reminds me of those dreams where you dream you are in your house but you discover new rooms. I've heard that's a common dream for people to have, and I've had a few of these myself. Oh, and I really don't pay very much for all of this either since a low cost of living is one of the upsides to living in the sticks. I paid more for far less last year. Hell, I don't care, I'll just tell you that it costs $400. No roommate. All mine. I have storage I'm not even using!
Oh, and compared to last year's move in the stifling heat and humidity up four flights of steps and then a complete maze just to get to my apartment, this is a dream. Also, I had to pay for parking last year only to have assholes park in my space all the time since it was across the street from campus (*remind me to post about the time I went off on someone*). Now, I have a gravelled parking space right next to my trailer. Oh, and there is a fabulous, big deck to go with this abode. No wobbly 3-stair dealies here (if you've been to/lived in many trailers you'll know what I'm talking about). Just bringing in groceries is going to be way easier.
I am a little bit worried about the fetid pond next to me. Critter and varmint-wise, that can't be good. But hey, did I mention I have storage out the wazoo, built-in dressers and bookcase, and a garden tub and a second bathroom I didn't even know I had?
Monday, August 13, 2007
School Days, School Days, Dear Old Golden Rule Days.
So why can't school start after Labor Day? I've only heard of this concept on TV or in the 50's and 60's when my Mom went to school. Is it just my piss-poor luck that out of seven total schools I've never had an academic year start after LD? Really, I'd like to know when school started/starts for you---doesn't matter whether it's grade school, college or what. I just wanna know if there are any lucky bastards out there that get to start after Labor Day? I just realized, I'm entering the 19th grade, and I've never had the pleasure of starting after Labor Day.
School has always started the third week of August, and in southern Illinois terms, that's the worst timing possible. The humidity is far worse there than anywhere I've been, Alabama and Louisiana included. No kidding. A group of people I know just got back from New Orleans and the humidity wasn't as bad there as it was in southern Ill. Anyone who's lived in SI can tell you that for a fact. No one gets it or believes it until they come here for the summer. BTW, we're talking Ill/KY border here, 6 hours south of Chicago. Just thought I'd throw that in, because it's irritating as fuck when someone asks how close is it to Chicago. Anyway, I better go before I start complaining about my 14 hour trip, the move, the fact that I have to be at work before I can actually start moving, and how all that converges to make me wanna bitch, moan, cry, complain, and pout. I read an article today on MSN that said complaining makes things worse, so I guess I better go before I do any of that. ; -)
School has always started the third week of August, and in southern Illinois terms, that's the worst timing possible. The humidity is far worse there than anywhere I've been, Alabama and Louisiana included. No kidding. A group of people I know just got back from New Orleans and the humidity wasn't as bad there as it was in southern Ill. Anyone who's lived in SI can tell you that for a fact. No one gets it or believes it until they come here for the summer. BTW, we're talking Ill/KY border here, 6 hours south of Chicago. Just thought I'd throw that in, because it's irritating as fuck when someone asks how close is it to Chicago. Anyway, I better go before I start complaining about my 14 hour trip, the move, the fact that I have to be at work before I can actually start moving, and how all that converges to make me wanna bitch, moan, cry, complain, and pout. I read an article today on MSN that said complaining makes things worse, so I guess I better go before I do any of that. ; -)
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Dining Room Table!
Yeah, so this post is going to be about finding a great dining room set and my excitement over that, which will probably bore you to tears, but you can't say I didn't warn you. I was even nice enough to put it in the title and everything.
Jeff and I have been searching for a dining room table for a long, long time but I wanted to fall in love with a set or find a steal at one of those cheap antique/junk stores. In college he had the coolest restaurant booth dining set complete with orange vinyl covering, very 70's groovy. When he graduated and moved, he had to choose between the table or the seats because his truck didn't have enough room. Guess which one he chose? The ugly brown formica table with a faux walnut look, with the stripping on the side coming off or the funky, hip restaurant booths?
I can still see him tossing the booths in the dumpster. I just don't understand him sometimes. I thought they were really cool and it's not like you can find those just anywhere or for cheap. I asked him what his logic was and he said he didn't have a flat surface---no desk no coffee table, etc. so it made sense to keep the table. Because you can't get a Coleman folding table for $25, I guess. He had just asked me to move in with him and the concept of what that all meant (that I have the right to say "hold it right there buster, you're not getting rid of the booths") was still new to me. So I didn't stop him, I just expressed my dismay and disappointment. In my defense, I wouldn't be moving in with him until a few months later and didn't think of his college belongings as "ours."
Today we went to an antique store and found a really nice round table, with a mohagony or cherry finish, I don't know which. The matching chairs look elegant without being too stuffy. For a long time I've been wanting a bistro-style square pub table, but when the man said "I'll take $150 for that," I was sold. Now I own my first dining room set and it's much nicer than anything I grew up with so I appreciate it very much and am really excited about it. It's no 70's restaurant booth (which would look so cool in the trailer I'll be living in) but it has its own charm nonetheless. I get to move in about 9 days and won't see it again until Xmas, but that doesn't diminish my excitement in the least.
Jeff and I have been searching for a dining room table for a long, long time but I wanted to fall in love with a set or find a steal at one of those cheap antique/junk stores. In college he had the coolest restaurant booth dining set complete with orange vinyl covering, very 70's groovy. When he graduated and moved, he had to choose between the table or the seats because his truck didn't have enough room. Guess which one he chose? The ugly brown formica table with a faux walnut look, with the stripping on the side coming off or the funky, hip restaurant booths?
I can still see him tossing the booths in the dumpster. I just don't understand him sometimes. I thought they were really cool and it's not like you can find those just anywhere or for cheap. I asked him what his logic was and he said he didn't have a flat surface---no desk no coffee table, etc. so it made sense to keep the table. Because you can't get a Coleman folding table for $25, I guess. He had just asked me to move in with him and the concept of what that all meant (that I have the right to say "hold it right there buster, you're not getting rid of the booths") was still new to me. So I didn't stop him, I just expressed my dismay and disappointment. In my defense, I wouldn't be moving in with him until a few months later and didn't think of his college belongings as "ours."
Today we went to an antique store and found a really nice round table, with a mohagony or cherry finish, I don't know which. The matching chairs look elegant without being too stuffy. For a long time I've been wanting a bistro-style square pub table, but when the man said "I'll take $150 for that," I was sold. Now I own my first dining room set and it's much nicer than anything I grew up with so I appreciate it very much and am really excited about it. It's no 70's restaurant booth (which would look so cool in the trailer I'll be living in) but it has its own charm nonetheless. I get to move in about 9 days and won't see it again until Xmas, but that doesn't diminish my excitement in the least.
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