Good morning, whoever it is that is out there!
To my great shock, I find that there ARE indeed people checking in on this MOST humble corner of the Wood, and I am grateful indeed for your presence. My mate encourages me to write; in fact he insists upon it for he understands how many stories there are pent up in me waiting to be told. I tell you our tale only because I am one of millions caught up in this shakedown -- I am here to represent the effect on We the People of the cataclysmic failures of the Bush administration's "All War All the Time" fiscal policies.
The other day Patrick was teasing me mercilessly about how he loved watching me type -- "your hands flying across the keyboards, your eyes intent" -- well, I lost my train of thought immediately, as I was too busy laughing to hold on to it.
I've heard a lot lately from friends speculating about how and why people choose their partners -- now I know that some of that talk refers to my choice of companions. My partner, bless him, as my shiny new psychiatrist told me, "looks like he's barely capable of taking care of himself, much less anyone else." Now this may be true, but it's something we're working on.
When I met my sweetie I was a woman of means, and I knew very definitely that he wasn't all there, so to speak. I had forgotten, however, that I too was capable of falling off the earth into the rabbit hole of cataclysmic depression, as I was in a very strong phase and had been for some years -- out working several days a week, integrated into society, and feeling way more sure of myself than I had any right to. When my youngest daughter said "good luck; you're going to need it!" I knew exactly what she meant, but the minute I buried my nose in his neck I knew I was home, and I'd rather be with Patrick than alone in this house.
When we began the project which was to drain me of all my resources, entirely -- partially due to (as said before) the financial manipulation of my business partner, not to mention the CRASH -- instead of rebounding to get ourselves steady both of us were hit with more shocks -- Patrick with septicemia from gum disease, pneumonia, massive hives all over his body, 3 accidents totaling who knows how many broken bones AND a nasty concussion -- all in the last 4 years.
As I've mentioned, during this time I was OUT. There is no way to describe a depression as total as the one I am recovering from. I imagine few of you could tolerate being in bed for a week, much less 3+ years -- but the neurons and synapses and complex brain chemicals were all set on self-destruct. I could not bear consciousness, as it meant I must deal with the loss of my security, and the utter betrayal by somebody I loved and trusted as certainly as my own child.
This post is not about betrayal, though I've much to say about that, I'll save it for the social worker. I've finally made a step for myself and called the elder abuse hotline: enough is enough. I'm a professional victim and it's GOT to stop.
No, this is about Love and how it sustains us during the dark times. This is for Patrick, who tended me as carefully as though I were his most precious jewel -- which he tells me I am -- despite his own severe injuries. When he occasionally flew off the handle about the malfeasance of the person who brought us, finally, to our knees, people close to us acted as though HE were the problem and looked away as we began to sink. The darkest things sometimes occur among family members -- odd, isn't it?
He is NOT tactful. He does NOT stop talking (ever)! He annoys people who don't understand Asperger's, a syndrome which is on the autism spectrum. He is extraordinarily highly functioning for someone who has teetered on the brink, dancing with this disorder all his life and not realizing it until lately. I adore him.
All my life because of my own frailties I have unconsciously looked for alpha men like my dear former husband, men who could protect me. Now I have gone and hooked up, made a real, lifetime commitment to a man who is struggling to get a handle on a major brain disorder so that he can help us stay in our home.
Today, being Saturday, he awoke early to set up his stand at our local farmer's market -- in Marinwood -- come on by! He sells apple products, which is amusing to me as it reminds me of cartoons I've seen of people selling apples on the street during the Great Depression. I'm thinking those apple-selling folks would not be amused, somehow.
Before he goes, he goes through the "Julie de-paining" process, which involves making hot packs for my back, which is frankly a source of constant torment, making magical medicinal tea, and making sure I have everything I need. It's something he likes to do and I am deeply grateful for it as it's a few hours before movement is really something I can think about. No one in my life has cared for me like this, never, not ever.
He has his stall next to his friend Jim, a brilliant "Heritage" Landscaper who also sells Patrick's magnificent tiny bonsai gardens. Now clearly, this isn't bringing in a massive amount of money -- but it's brought him validation during a time of his life when a lot of BLAME has been circling around him that doesn't belong to him.
Confidence, for those going out into the world during a HUGE RECESSION and already have confidence problems, is not easy to come by. If you hate rejection, if you are wounded to the quick by it, and it takes you weeks to get over a slight -- going out and persisting ain't easy.
If you have a wounded woman on your hands with two ferociously protective daughters who think you're a lazy bastard (but still love you), you might take a while recovering from their holiday visit. But my darling has an interview Monday -- he's taking his mighty brain off to the private high schools in the area, and will offer himself up as a substitute teacher. Dear Higher Power, let him have this. Please let him have this.
A big step. Of course I'm not betting the farm on this -- can't as it's mortgaged up to the hilt, ha ha!
So, this is a bit of an unusual post for me, but wish my dear Irishman luck. He needs a bit of psychic fluffing up, even from those who have never met him! Here's a picture of him at the fabulous Dickens Fair before we fell off the earth somehow, along with so many others all around the world.
PS: HE GOT THE JOB! HE DID! WELL I MEAN AFTER THEY DETERMINE IF HE IS WANTED FOR WAR CRIMES/CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY/ SLAVE TRAFFICKING, ETC. It looks good, let's just say -- it really looks good!
To my great shock, I find that there ARE indeed people checking in on this MOST humble corner of the Wood, and I am grateful indeed for your presence. My mate encourages me to write; in fact he insists upon it for he understands how many stories there are pent up in me waiting to be told. I tell you our tale only because I am one of millions caught up in this shakedown -- I am here to represent the effect on We the People of the cataclysmic failures of the Bush administration's "All War All the Time" fiscal policies.
The other day Patrick was teasing me mercilessly about how he loved watching me type -- "your hands flying across the keyboards, your eyes intent" -- well, I lost my train of thought immediately, as I was too busy laughing to hold on to it.
I've heard a lot lately from friends speculating about how and why people choose their partners -- now I know that some of that talk refers to my choice of companions. My partner, bless him, as my shiny new psychiatrist told me, "looks like he's barely capable of taking care of himself, much less anyone else." Now this may be true, but it's something we're working on.
When I met my sweetie I was a woman of means, and I knew very definitely that he wasn't all there, so to speak. I had forgotten, however, that I too was capable of falling off the earth into the rabbit hole of cataclysmic depression, as I was in a very strong phase and had been for some years -- out working several days a week, integrated into society, and feeling way more sure of myself than I had any right to. When my youngest daughter said "good luck; you're going to need it!" I knew exactly what she meant, but the minute I buried my nose in his neck I knew I was home, and I'd rather be with Patrick than alone in this house.
When we began the project which was to drain me of all my resources, entirely -- partially due to (as said before) the financial manipulation of my business partner, not to mention the CRASH -- instead of rebounding to get ourselves steady both of us were hit with more shocks -- Patrick with septicemia from gum disease, pneumonia, massive hives all over his body, 3 accidents totaling who knows how many broken bones AND a nasty concussion -- all in the last 4 years.
As I've mentioned, during this time I was OUT. There is no way to describe a depression as total as the one I am recovering from. I imagine few of you could tolerate being in bed for a week, much less 3+ years -- but the neurons and synapses and complex brain chemicals were all set on self-destruct. I could not bear consciousness, as it meant I must deal with the loss of my security, and the utter betrayal by somebody I loved and trusted as certainly as my own child.
This post is not about betrayal, though I've much to say about that, I'll save it for the social worker. I've finally made a step for myself and called the elder abuse hotline: enough is enough. I'm a professional victim and it's GOT to stop.
No, this is about Love and how it sustains us during the dark times. This is for Patrick, who tended me as carefully as though I were his most precious jewel -- which he tells me I am -- despite his own severe injuries. When he occasionally flew off the handle about the malfeasance of the person who brought us, finally, to our knees, people close to us acted as though HE were the problem and looked away as we began to sink. The darkest things sometimes occur among family members -- odd, isn't it?
He is NOT tactful. He does NOT stop talking (ever)! He annoys people who don't understand Asperger's, a syndrome which is on the autism spectrum. He is extraordinarily highly functioning for someone who has teetered on the brink, dancing with this disorder all his life and not realizing it until lately. I adore him.
All my life because of my own frailties I have unconsciously looked for alpha men like my dear former husband, men who could protect me. Now I have gone and hooked up, made a real, lifetime commitment to a man who is struggling to get a handle on a major brain disorder so that he can help us stay in our home.
Today, being Saturday, he awoke early to set up his stand at our local farmer's market -- in Marinwood -- come on by! He sells apple products, which is amusing to me as it reminds me of cartoons I've seen of people selling apples on the street during the Great Depression. I'm thinking those apple-selling folks would not be amused, somehow.
Before he goes, he goes through the "Julie de-paining" process, which involves making hot packs for my back, which is frankly a source of constant torment, making magical medicinal tea, and making sure I have everything I need. It's something he likes to do and I am deeply grateful for it as it's a few hours before movement is really something I can think about. No one in my life has cared for me like this, never, not ever.
He has his stall next to his friend Jim, a brilliant "Heritage" Landscaper who also sells Patrick's magnificent tiny bonsai gardens. Now clearly, this isn't bringing in a massive amount of money -- but it's brought him validation during a time of his life when a lot of BLAME has been circling around him that doesn't belong to him.
Confidence, for those going out into the world during a HUGE RECESSION and already have confidence problems, is not easy to come by. If you hate rejection, if you are wounded to the quick by it, and it takes you weeks to get over a slight -- going out and persisting ain't easy.
If you have a wounded woman on your hands with two ferociously protective daughters who think you're a lazy bastard (but still love you), you might take a while recovering from their holiday visit. But my darling has an interview Monday -- he's taking his mighty brain off to the private high schools in the area, and will offer himself up as a substitute teacher. Dear Higher Power, let him have this. Please let him have this.
A big step. Of course I'm not betting the farm on this -- can't as it's mortgaged up to the hilt, ha ha!
For my sweet Patrick, lyrics from "Danny's Song" by Kenny Loggins:
Even though we ain't got money
I'm so in love with ya honey
Everything will bring a chain of love
In the mornin' when I rise
Bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything's gonna be all right
I LOVE YOU!!
I'm so in love with ya honey
Everything will bring a chain of love
In the mornin' when I rise
Bring a tear of joy to my eyes
And tell me everything's gonna be all right
I LOVE YOU!!
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