Friday, March 23, 2012
Bell Curves Are All I've Got
I think if you asked others about this, they would not agree. They would see me as the same old stubborn woman I’ve always been, but others can’t see my worried soul or my battered heart or my overly alarmed amygdalla or my shrinking hippocampus. They can’t see the way I lost interest in taking care of myself or gave up trying to achieve certain goals simply because I didn’t have the time or energy or attention left to invest in much beyond work and Hazardous Parenting.
Those are Dr. McCreight's words, I call her Brenda, treasuring her friendship and her brilliance, clinging to those who've endured what I've experienced over the years, pretty much now standing (cowering?) behind her as she shines a flashlight ahead for us banged-up parents who've parented through dangerously violent times.
I was flat out fairly sure I'd never get my 800 square foot bedroom emptied out in time for Robert's crew to redo the ceiling. I'm replacing sheetrock with tongue and grove pine boards. There's 19 years worth of furniture, plants, books, and stuff up there, a room in which I rarely get to when the sun is shining. I crawl up there each night exhausted, but I water the plants and think, think, think.
"Have you found anything important that you thought you'd lost?" Scotty asked me last night, as we moved furniture downstairs, stacking it in other bedrooms. The good news is that is mostly wicker.
"No," I'd answered. I don't lose stuff. I file it or I discard it, if it's important enough to keep then I know where I put it, else wise I don't wanna be bothered with ownerships of trinkets, kotchkes, things that need dusting or upkeep, accessories, jewelry, and other such nonsense.
I lost interest in taking care of myself echoing in my mind. So true. I attributed it to aging, but upon deeper thinking, I realize I'd come to a place where worrying about myself seemed utterly pointless, frivolous even.
My goals - something I've always excelled in, to the point of over achievement - seemed pathetically small in comparison to the goal of simply surviving it all, especially during those years where I was routinely threatened and sometimes attacked or all my energy went into protecting others from rages, assaults and temper dysregulation.
I'm kinda angry now about it all. Now that I'm safe enough to be able to reflect back on everything.
Even those who'd just mistreated me constantly, the digs, the rudeness, the meanness, the hatefulness, the disrespect, the larceny, the damage and destruction - all completely forgiven by me - but I'm unable to force myself to make much of an effort to try any harder or any longer. It's an empty relationship built upon me being unable to trust any words coming out of their mouths, knowing the stealing proclivities are still there, the many arrests making me nervous, as does their propensities towards stealth, dishonesty, back stabbing, violence, and other negative behaviors. I'm right burned out on all that.
My bell curve? 10 brilliant kids, ten above average, ten average, and ten below average in intelligence and ability to function, also translates easily into ten I'm very close to, ten who'd treated me OK, ten who've clearly been below average in their reactions to life, and ten who are flat out dangerous. Same as in a family of four.
As I dragged crap outta my room, 25% of it I never used so I tossed it, 25% was OK stuff but I tossed it, 25% was pretty good so I tossed half of that, since I rarely use anything other than a spading fork in life anyway, and 25% I kept. I even composted a bunch of house plants in smaller containers in my moving on process. The big plants make a statement.
In the morning I'd kept Marissa, while Marcela took a class for her job, I kept Ray and Hazel while Sarah tended to her accounting clients, and Mae came over so as to not miss the party. With the girls very big personalities, it was so much like a Little Sarah, a Little Yolie and a Little Marcela as they cavorted.
My afternoon was darker, as Mr P, who'd kinda apologized for destroying his cell phone, became uncomfortable, uncomprehending after therapy, and went into his cyclothymic disordered behavior big time. Disengaging is my only option, but I was keeping a wary eye on him. Allowed to email Dr. Mandy, instead of exploding, he kept himself occupied better than if he was just prowling the house, looking for someone to provoke into a rage.
Because I'm well aware that my words get twisted or elaborated upon untruthfully, I've learned to bite my tongue, keep it to myself, knowing I wouldn't be understood anyway. When I explain to Mr P that these behaviors will get him in deep trouble someday if he doesn't change them, all he hears is that he's a troublemaker which wasn't what I said. Just as me explaining to others, if you steal, you'll go to jail, all they hear is "Mom says I'm going to jail."
I never understood that until Dr. Mandy explained their perceptions to me, their inability to comprehend my point.
It's more than a little frustrating, but again, brain miswirings are a huge contributing factor here.
I wanted to be planting the Lavender seedlings that had grown so beautifully in pots, I needed to water everything in the greenhouse, but I kept an eye on Mr P, while Scotty, CW and Martin drug furniture downstairs for me, everyone marveling at how cavernous an empty room could be.
Now it's on to an early morning orthodontist appointment with JoJo, everyone dragging around this morning after a late night on the soccer field.
I've filled my office, Jack's room, the big back deck, and the front porch with plants from my bedroom, still have about a hundred more to go. Monday's the big day for my new ceiling.