I'm new here

[sKePTiKal]

Hey Phyll, glad to hear you're on the mend!

I wanted to mention that you're more than welcome to also participate on the other threads, as you have time & feel like contributing. Unlike a lot of forums, we don't have a lot of rules - coz we all break 'em at some point or other - when we're going through a particularly tough time with something. Sometimes we just get chatty (looks at myself). 

This whole covid year has definitely had an impact on everyone. My D - Hol - and I figure people are handling it the best they know how or can. But it's also clear that some aren't doing well at all. Whether it's isolation, past trauma patterns, just general uncertainty or whatever... it's hitting some people harder than others. I absorbed it, as just more reason to expand my unstructured time... and I THINK, overall, I put it to good use. (Time will tell, right?)

There are now 5 residences in my hollar, too. Hol's "Hut" being the latest. She and her partner are the youngest here. She's 43. I've been here 5 years so far. We're spread out over hundreds of acres and I'm at the end of the road (Hol's back yet about another mile) about 2 miles from the 2 lane highway. Over the course the years, I've had a chance to meet everyone just by living here... but we don't exactly "know" each other; still feel like strangers. So at Christmas, I put together boxes of baked goodies and delivered to everyone. Had a nice chat with my 90 yr old neighbor, closest to the highway.... and she baked her biscotti and brought me to try a few days later. My closest neighbor wasn't home and I didn't hear a thing from them - even though if the road needs any attention (plowing or downed trees cut, he's usually on the job). Then at Valentines Day, he and his daughter showed up with a delicious banana cake and a note from his wife, including her phone number. I think she doesn't do well with isolation like this. So I'll probably reach out to her gently, soon.

We're all organic here, too. The first homestead (back in the 90s) we built from scratch. There was already some infrastructure here and at my age, that was a big plus. I could take my time developing things and not make those kinds of mistakes which happen due to "pressure" - perceived and otherwise. With the D here; and her partner being interested in permaculture and wildcrafting/foraging... it's pushed things along a lot faster to a more self-sufficient level. It's not always easy having two generations on the same land - but there's enough of it we can retreat to our own spaces and have some autonomy. That's a big help.

[Phyll]

Oh and it has to do with my self esteem also. One more part to my story.  When I was 39 a mammogram revealed breast cancer.  I had a lumpectomy and 28 lymph nodes removed - 5 had cancer.  I went through chemo, radiation, hormone therapies and eventually had my ovaries removed to prevent reoccurrence.  It happened at a time I had never felt better - physically and emotionally.  I had not dated for nearly 3 years, I put my codependency to good use and adopted a dog.  She was my soul mate. 
After that I dated a man for about 3 years but broke it off because it was not going anywhere.  I dated a few people after that but nothing serious, until I got involved with W.  That was at the time I had the ovaries removed.  I think my hormone changes contributed to my self esteem issues.
And BTW, I am followed by a psychiatrist since I was 38, and remain stable with medication for depression (dysthymia). 
So, that is the rest of the story.  I will keep you posted.  I am going to spend some time reading other's stories, and keeping up with your posts.  Thanks again.

[Hopalong]

You have been through a LOT, Phyl.

Life threatening and overwhelming chapters.
No time to contemplate, soothe, encounter the inner child...

But speaking of that, do you have a few more stories that
illuminate your childhood? What kinds of things sank in, the good
and the not-good...and how do you see those stories still working
inside you today?

Me, I've spend decades with my head stuck into my bellybutton so far that all you can see is shoulders. And I don't mind it at all. I'll be happily in therapy on my deathbed, since I'm just one of those humans who requires a village to keep it together and keep on living.

I never got the "dysthymia" diagnosis but have had real depression at times. Mercifully, the SAD light and Vit D and therapy and friends mean I don't use SSRIs any more. But if it got really bad, I'd be glad to do another round.

Look forward to hearing more stories. I think when we choose one to tell, we're telling it to ourselves as well, and sometimes hear new truths or layers we'd never spotted before. Enjoy the telling, because your life is interesting and worth listening to.

hugs
Hops

[Twoapenny]

Aw, Phyll, I have terrible problems with codependency, I've had so many issues in my life because of it.  It's a hard one to shake off, especially if you are by nature a caring sort of a person.  It's getting that balance, isn't it, and then trying to keep things on an even keel.  Cancer as well, gosh that is all a lot to go through.  I can understand the hormones/self esteem link, they do funny things to our heads while they do whatever else it is they do!

[Phyll]

Hopalong - Thank you for encouraging me to think and share about my childhood.  I agree it is in the telling (our journaling) our stories that more comes out, more is revealed. And Twoapenny, I call it the ever elusive balance, as it is a moving target!

It has been a couple of very full days for me with travel and seeing health care providers.  I learned from my surgeon the leg with the newest hip is a little bit short.  I will need a lift for my shoe.  And I was referred for PT as I lost ground with my recovery.  I also saw a wound care specialist, as the very top of my incision is open - not infected, but want to keep it that way.  And I met with the infectious disease specialist about the Lymes disease.  She confirmed it was caught in the early dissemination phase.  She prescribed another round of antibiotic, as the 2 other ones I had were not the "gold standard" for Lymes.  She re-did some of my blood work.  Got the results back and they show improvement with most within normal limits or nearly normal. 

I had the infectious disease specialist laughing pretty hard at one point, as I shared a funny story from my job that she could relate to.  Although it might not be reflected here, I am known to be pretty funny.  As the youngest in my family, I was the in the classic role as Mascot.  It was my job to lighten everything up and make people laugh.  I am still good at it and can often cause a group of folks in a meeting to laugh out loud.  So that has gotten me started  to reflect on childhood memories which I will write about.  It makes sense to keep it within this thread I think.  But not tonight.  I just took a walk with the dogs outside.  I can go further without reliance on the quad cane now.  I am going to have a bowl of ice cream and get some rest for now. 

[Phyll]

My first conscious memory coincides with when our family moved to a new, 2 bedroom apartment when I was around 4 years old. I recall waking up in the back seat of the car, my head on my Mother's lap; as we pulled into the back parking lot.  I remember thinking I had no previous memory, and thought, "This must be my Mom.  This must be my family."  I remember running around the kitchen and looking into empty drawers.

My Mother told me I was very upset over the move, that she even drove me back to the "Red House" to help me understand.  I don't remember that.

I was named after my Mother.  While my parents were thrilled to finally have a girl after 3 boys, I was told later financially another child was probably the last thing they needed.  Apparently, we did not pay rent for 3 months at the Red House.  Mom gathered up enough for 2 weeks rent to get the family of six into that 2 bedroom apartment.

There were a couple of things that happened around that time regarding my father's drinking.  I am unsure of the time line of events.  I was told my Mother had Dad committed to the State mental hospital at one point, for a 72 hour hold.  Mom wanted to divorce him.  His uncle talked her out of it, advising she might need him around with the 3 boys.  Uncle A hired Mom to clean his house and prepare meals for him, and he paid her in cash. 

There was also an incident in which my Dad was drunk and drove under a semi.  My memory of visiting him at the hospital is very different from what my Mom and other family members reported.  I recall knowing my Mom was really mad at him.  He walked into the waiting room wearing his blue terry cloth robe. I ran up to hug him and said, "It's okay Daddy.  We still love you."

The story I was told is that Dad's nose was pushed over to the side of his face, and that he looked horriffic when he entered the hospital waiting room.  I am told I completely lost it and was inconsolable.  It is amazing to me how my memory differs - I remember Dad looking quite normal, and I was calm and reassuring to him.

We lived in the 2 bedroom apartment until I was in the middle of 1st grade.  The boys shared one bedroom and I was in a crib in my parents room.  In the summer Grandpa (Dad's side) stayed with us.  He slept in my parents bed and my parents slept in the living room.  Our dining table was a picnic table with 2 benches.

The other memories I have from living there was Christmas Eve, watching Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer on the 6" B & W Sony TV with my brothers in their room.  The next thing I knew my parents and brothers were waving goodbye to Santa out the back door.  I could not push my way through to see outside.  When I did they said he was gone.  I looked on the roof of the apartment building next door and wondered why Santa was not delivering there next.  That night my brother F told me there was no Santa.  I was mad that he told me, because once he did I realized it was true.  I also remember thinking he told me because he was jealous of the attention I was getting.

I am surprised by my ability to understand other's feelings with such intensity at such a young age.

My Dad worked as a Service Manager for a car dealership. We moved to another city when I was in the 1st grade, I believe because Dad got fired. The house we moved into was directly across the street from my Dad's new place of employment.  It was a 3 bedroom, 2 story brick house. I shared a room with F, who was 2 years older than me.  I was glad to finally have a real bed instead of the crib.   

We were happy there for a couple of years/  Mom could keep a close eye on Dad.  She taught Sunday School and became a Girl Scout / Brownie leader.  I went to swimming lessons.  I remember Mom spending a lot of time with me. She took me to the library and checked out many books.  I read the Polly Anna - bright side of things and the whole series by Laura Ingalls Wilder.

Our family moved again to a smaller city of about 14,000 when I was in the middle of 3rd grade.  Although my Dad lost jobs there too because of his drinking, it is the city in which I graduated from high school.

My Dad yelled a lot.  He was frightening when he yelled.  His face would get red, his eyes would bulge, and his whole body would shake.  He would pound his fists on the table.  He said and repeated awful things to us kids.  I will save that for tomorrow.

[Hopalong]

my ability to understand other's feelings with such intensity at such a young age.

Somehow this, and the moment when to rushed to reassure your father, remind me of how old souls with deep compassion so often are found in the young.

I'm sorry your father's addiction twisted him, and moved by how you could see him as whole, regardless. Your mother must have carried so much worry.

It's you who were whole, imo. A whole child, playing among broken pieces, yet always able to imagine them whole.

hugs
Hops

[Phyll]

Thank you Hopalong.  I never know what might come out while telling my story.  That event with my father reveals quite a bit. I wonder what will come up today.

As I said, my Dad yelled a lot.  He was not necessarily violent.  He never hit my Mom.  She on the other hand did smash a plate over his head once.  She told me the neighbors knocked on the door over the yelling, and said us kids picked up the mess in effort to hide what happened.

My Dad said things I cannot imagine saying to a child.  I am sure it contributed to my poor self esteem.  The following are a few of Dad's repeated rants:
-- You don't know nothing.  You don't know a (G.D) thing.  I'm right!
-- Eat it dammit or I'll cram it down your throat with the potato masher.
-- How stupid can you be!

To this day I jump at loud noises, whether I anticipate the noise or not.  I also jump if someone comes up behind me.

____________________________________________________________________________
As an adult, it has helped to know my Mom and Dad's stories.

MOM:  There was a terrible tragedy in my Mom's family.  While she and her older brother were in school one day, their 4 year old brother got a hold of some matches and tried to build a fire in the back yard playhouse. My grandmother was alerted to a fire in the playhouse by a passer by.  When she pulled Jr. out he was ashes.  You can only imagine the ramifications that event had on the family.

When my Mother and her brother were in their senior years, they both told me during separate conversations the same story.  The story went something like this, "We never made a big deal about birthdays growing up.  In fact one year they forgot my birthday all together."  Of course it was a big deal.  Otherwise why would they still be talking about it in their 70s?  They both learned how to put their Mother's needs ahead of their own.  It is no surprise they both married alcoholics.

My Mom was always very pretty and very popular.  She was homecoming queen.

DAD:  Dad was born 12 years after his sister.  He was named after his father, who was the principal of the local high school and superintendent of the areas schools.  They called him Professor and he was known to be a very strict disciplinarian. He also held positions in the state and national education associations.

I had the pleasure of being able to conduct a survey at the nursing home in his home town through my job with the state.  It was verified how strict he really was.  One resident said he was strict with his wife too (my Grandmother), but said she did what she wanted regardless.

I get the feeling my Dad and his sister could never live up to Grandpa's expectations.  They both became hopeless alcoholics.  My Dad never drank until he went into the army.  He fought in World War II.  I know he was in battle and saw his friend get killed, Mom never let him talk about it in front of me.

My parents met when my Dad was visiting his Uncle A, and Mom was staying with her Uncle E who lived next door.  Dad was very handsome, and according to Mom he had been around the world.

_____________________________________________________________________________

A little bit about my Brothers:

My oldest brother B is 7 years older than me.  He was the hero.  He was pulling in cash from babysitting jobs and helping my parents out financially.  At age 14 he built his own fishing boat and at age 15 he built a hydroplane speed boat. I remember him showing me how to build a shelf for my room.

In his senior year of high school he got into trouble.  His girlfriend N got pregnant at age 16. One night B was very friendly and gave my brother F and I some money - 2 dollars each. I did not know he was drunk. That same night I heard yelling and saw my Dad breaking down the bathroom door.  The next thing I knew B and Dad were rolling around the dining room floor, and B was swearing. 

I was 10 years old and did not understand what was happening. And no one explained it to me.  I only remember after the crises that night Mom telling me I felt wide awake because of the crisis.  A few days later I made the mistake of asking at the dinner table where was B.  Dad went into a tantrum.  I later learned B was in jail.  Apparently he had ripped off a liquor store and a local country club, and his car was full of stolen booze. That night on the dining room floor Dad was trying to get his keys and restrain him. 

As a result of that my brother B went to Viet Nam.  Fortunately he was smart enough to stay behind enemy lines and work on helicopters.  After his girlfriend N had the baby they got married and N and my niece lived with us.  This was significant to me as I learned at a young age it was no picnic  having a baby.  Poor N at 17 was not much better equipped at taking care of a baby than I was at 11, and brother F was at 12. We helped while N worked nights at the canning factory.

N was very insecure during the time she and baby BJ lived with us. I instinctively knew to be careful not to let the baby (BJ) show too much love towards me in front of N, or she would get jealous.  Poor N got so depressed, she became very thin and patches of her hair fell out.

B and N did very well for themselves.  After their 2nd child N went back to high school and got her diploma. Their first home was paid for in 10 years. They retired up north, in a home that B added onto.  Unfortunately N passed away from a terminal disease this past December.  I am so proud of how well B cared for her.

Brother D is 5 years older than me.  He is a talented musician. He was in rock bands that practiced in our garage/attic spaces.  He and his friends had long hair, the neighbors thought we had a topless woman running around outside. He was the Scapegoat of the family.

Brother F is 2 years older than me and he is the lost child.  We were close growing up and hung out with the same friends in high school.  Today it is hard to even have a phone conversation.

All that said, I will get on with my childhood in my next entry.

[Phyll]

Hey Skeptical!  I just now saw your post.  I will eventually get the hang of this!  Thanks for telling me about your hollar and homesteading.  I look forward to sharing with you more on that topic!

[sKePTiKal]

You're welcome Phyll!

Talking about day to day, in between the deeper stuff, is still 'getting to know you' stuff, too.

[Phyll]

Despite my Mother's efforts to dress me up in pretty dresses, I was very much a Tom Boy from the very beginning.  I was more interested in toy dump trucks than dolls, besides - the boys did unspeakable things to my Barbie dolls. Sometimes the boys teased me, especially F.  He'd suggest playing "let's run away from (Phyll)" and once locked me in the storage cage in the basement of that first apartment building.  I screamed my head off and was quickly rescued.  Mom generally took my side in arguments with my brothers.

Once we moved to the smaller city when I was in 3rd grade, I was left unsupervised quite a bit, as Mom was working full time.  My Grandmother passed away, and with my Mom's inheritance my folks bought a nice Victorian style house with 4 upstairs bedrooms a block from the lake. Grandpa still came to stay during the summers, driving up from Florida.  He was a sweet elderly man to all of us.  He lived to be 92 and passed away when I was in 5th grade.

I hung out with neighborhood friends and enjoyed good times with the park and recreation center, and a family with 8 kids. I was very good at softball and our team competed against other parks in the city. I went swimming in the lake all summer long.  I became the lost child it seemed during the period between 5th and 7th grade, as I was never home. It was one of my favorite childhood times, with sleepovers, and games with a gang of kids.  When the older kids began to leave the neighborhood (particularly T who I'd had a huge crush on) I was heart broken. 

At our Mother's urging, a friend of mine did some volunteer work in a county-run day care center for children with developmental disabilities, which I truly enjoyed.  We also had a crush on the male Director of the program.

Around 8th grade I began hanging out with different friends in different playgrounds. I began taking swigs of whiskey from my Dad's stash, while staying up late and watching concerts on TV.  We never had a liquor cabinet at our house.  Dad's bottles were always under the living room furniture.  The first time I got drunk I was in 8th grade.  I went to a dance at the local academy where one of my rich friends was a student.  My brother D's band was playing that night.  I had a blackout.  I remembered the beginning of the night and the end of the night, but there was a big portion of the evening during which we walked a good mile between points A and B that I had no recollection of.  When I got dropped off at home I was glad to see my Mom was in bed and my Dad was asleep on the couch.  I snuck upstairs undetected.  Once I laid down however -- I did not quite make it to the toilet.  I spewed all over the newly remodeled bathroom with the shag carpeting.  I spent half the night cleaning it up.  Mom discovered me and the mess in the morning.  I felt extremely guilty.

That year I wrote a paper on Alcoholism for science class.  Mom suggested I write to the Council on Alcoholism for free literature.  I used the literature to write my paper, and Mom helped me finish the typing.  It seemed my Mom saw herself in that literature, and started going to AA.  After about a year of AA, Mom started going to AlAnon.  She told me years later it was because she blamed every problem in her life on Dad. 

Mom's sobriety began about the time my drinking career started.  By 10th grade I was out drinking several nights a week and smoking pot almost daily.  All of a sudden it seemed Mom was wanting to know where I was and when I got home.  I thought she did not trust me, as I had been allowed to do whatever I wanted for so long. It could be that while I was lost I was unaware of how much my Mother had been drinking.

At the time I wrote the paper on alcoholism, I went through the list of questions which were to help someone determine if they had a problem with alcohol or not.  I knew what a "blackout" was, although I had never talked with anyone about it.  I answered yes to enough questions to indicate I was an alcoholic.  My denial was already intact however.  To the question, "Do you hide your drinking?" I thought, "well what 8th grader wouldn't?!"  It seemed to me at the time a justified point.  (Looks pretty crazy to me from where I sit today.

To be continued...

[Hopalong]

Oh, bless ya. (Said in a heartfelt-suthrun way, not the stab-you-in-the-back-with-polite-malice suthrun way, just to be clear!)

Such a strong, powerful, painful story. But so CLEARLY told.

As a writer I often focus on how the writing feels as I read, as much as the nuts and bolts of the plot. Sometimes I need to pay more attention to the plot, other times I just let the voice and the rhythms register first, and then the facts.

Those facts are stark. Sounds like in a way you saved your mother's life. But as of 8th grade, hadn't yet fully recognized the fragility/preciousness of your own.

Thanks for sharing, Phyll.

hugs
Hops

[Twoapenny]

Phyll, I just wanted to say that I am reading but we are moving house so I'm behind on replying to threads   There are many things in yours that ring bells with me and I will reply properly as soon as I get the chance, I just wanted to say that I'm here, nodding encouragement and saying, "oh yeah, me too!" to a lot of it   Will reply properly soon xx

[Phyll]

Hey Hero Members!

I know you are there and I know you are listening. : )  I appreciate your encouraging and supportive words.  By telling my story I feel like I am accomplishing some important work.... I have worked these areas over before but in different ways.  I  am grateful for the opportunity to re-visit my childhood and seeing how the patterns and themes repeat over the years; what I have learned and can continue to learn from that; and what strengths and gifts have carried me through the years as well.

While in grade school at one point I had a female physical education instructor and that was what I told myself I wanted to be when I grew up.  As a Tom Boy I loved sports. I was unable to succeed in many physical endeavors however, due to a couple of congenital conditions I had but did not know about until later in life.  These included a hole in my heart and hip dysplasia. 

I also had an attention deficit , the non hyperactive type.  I would often find myself in a day dream at the most inopportune times.  The "spacing out" seems involuntary.  I thought everyone else was smarter than me because I would forget things.  It was also later in life that I realized I was smarter than the average bear.

Atrial Septal Defect:

Mom once mentioned the doctor heard a heart murmur when I was born. She said when I came for my first check up the doctor no longer heard the murmur.  When I was 24 I found out I had a hole between the atria (top 2 quadrants)of my heart.  Apparently the hole did not close all the way when I was born and started breathing.  If the hole had been between the ventricles the murmur would have been louder and more easily detected.  My heart had to work hard to get oxygenated blood to my brain. They repaired it surgically - but I will get to that later. 
   
Alcoholism was not the only thing I was in denial about while growing up. It was in the 5th grade that we learned how to check our pulse, and the difference between a resting and active heart rates.  They had us all check our resting heart rate.  As each student was asked to provide their number of beats per minute, the teacher recorded them on the chalk board in a continuum from highest to lowest.  It had been explained that a high resting heart rate attributed to a person in poor health.  Before it was my turn to report my heart rate it became clear to me that my resting heart rate of 96 beats per minute was indeed faster than average.  If I was in poor health I automatically assumed it was my fault.  I did not want anyone to know so I lied about my heart rate.  I chose a number on the high end of average instead.

After we did the resting heart rate the teacher had us running up and down stairs.  I was breathing so hard it hurt.  I found that I could not do many sporting events very well if they involved a lot of running, such as Tennis or even basketball.  Softball I could play because I often only ran a base or two.

I remember once telling my Mom that my heart fluttered sometimes.  She assured me everyone's did that - it was normal.

I tried to hide how out of breath I became during sports.  I remember once in high school while I was playing on an intramural basketball team, I was dribbling the ball and running from the opposite end of the court.  I got so out of breath.  Since no one was near me, I stopped at mid court and made the shot.  It actually swished through the net without hitting the rim.  We also would run the "600" every year in school.  I hated that and my throat would hurt for days from breathing so hard. 

In junior high our class divided into 2 groups, one to run the 600, the other to use the trampoline.  I was in the 1st group to run the 600.  Afterwards while standing at the trampoline I became very dizzy.  I went to lay on the floor until I felt better.  The instructor did not know as she was outside with the runners.  I never reported the incident to anyone.

In high school when it came time to run the 600, I simply refused after that.  The teacher did not push the issue and I was so grateful.

In college our basic education requirements included at least a couple of credits in physical education.  I signed up for canoeing. A physical exam was required and performed by a nurse practitioner.  During the exam the APNP asked if anyone ever told me I had a heart murmur.  I recalled what my Mother had mentioned to me about when I was a baby.  The APNP advised I might want to get it checked out, that it may or may not be a problem.  From that point on I told every doctor who listened to my heart, "I have a murmur but its not a problem."

It was not until I was 24 years old and in my first professional job that I had my heart looked at.  I was living with a boyfriend (CH) taking birth control pills, and had become over weight for the first time in my life.  CH had been a navy corpsman, and had a stethoscope. I was experiencing while at rest a sensation that my heart was "flipping over in my chest."  When I listened with the stethoscope I heard my heart skip a beat when this happened.  I later learned this was a "pre-atrial contracture or PAC.

While working in the field with one of the older nurses on my team, I confided to her about the irregular heart beat.  The next thing I knew we were calling it a day and were heading back to town.  Since my boyfriend had the car my co-worker also took the rest of the day off, took me to her house, insisted I call the doctor, made me rest on her sofa and fed me home made pea soup.  Never trust a nurse! 

From there I got evaluated, tests were run and I had surgery.  They sewed a dacron patch over the hole. Within 6 days post operation I was sent home on blood thinners.  A week later I was back in the hospital with 2 liters of blood and fluid in my pericardium (lining around my heart). That whole ordeal also taught me how afraid I was to self-advocate for my health. I also found I had trouble communicating with male doctors.  A couple of them had me reduced to tears.  I did not know I was out of breath because I had been that way all my life! 

After they tapped the fluid off and stopped the blood thinners I improved, except I experienced a chest pain syndrome that reoccurred for years.  Never found out what caused it, the cardiologist said there was nothing wrong with my heart and kicked me out of his office.  It was not until I started using a CPAP machine in my 40s for sleep apnea that I stopped having the pain in my chest. 

It was also a blow to my self esteem to have a scar down the middle of my chest.  Who knew there would be more of that to come. 

So what happened to boyfriend CH?  He was 10 years my senior and I was supporting him financially.  About a month after my surgery we were up at my family cabin. I was not much interested in sex with a healing breast bone, but CH forced me.  I got away eventually and was sleeping in the front room when my brother D and the band showed up.  CH went home and I went home with brother D.  I moved out after that.

So how does this relate to what is going on today? I will lie to W to avoid getting yelled at, just like I lied about my heart condition because I thought it was my fault. And I often think everything is my fault.  Why is that?  Because I had an alcoholic parent who blamed everyone else for his trouble?  I felt as responsible for my Dad's angry outbursts as I do with W's. No wonder how angry I am with W over this latest health crisis because I knew I was sick, he didn't believe me, and he yelled at me for not doing well!  Also, it is because of my income we can live the way we do, and that he has health insurance.  He lost interest in sex a long time ago and there is very little affection.

Two of my friends have agreed to be my designated health care agent in the event I become incapacitated.  I need to do the paperwork but it is at least something I can do now to protect myself from W being in a caregiver role with me if I cannot self-advocate.

One thing for certain, there are reasons I am still alive today.  I may not realize what all of those reasons are, but I know I have helped many other people so far in my life.  I survived a hole in my heart with sleep apnea while drinking heavy amounts of alcohol and experimenting with an assortment of substances in my teens and 20s.  I am a sober miracle to say the least. 

Will continue tomorrow.....

[Phyll]

When I was born I was one long, skinny baby! 6 pounds, no ounces and 22 inches long.  My Mom said I was a "dry baby" meaning the amniotic fluid leaked throughout her pregnancy.  When I needed my right hip replaced 6 years ago, I told the orthopedic surgeon I always seemed to have trouble with that right hip.  I recalled complaining of groin pain to my parents when I was about 10.  Whenever I put myself in the knee/chest position I could feel the right hip seem to slip out of the socket. So I read without sufficient amounts of fluid in the womb the baby is unable to move about as easily and may develop hip dysplasia. The surgeon confirmed he believed that was the case with me.

The surgery 6 years ago went without a hitch.  I was up and walking 2 miles a day in no time.  With this hip replacement I am still struggling.  I wonder if my hips were why I could not get the knack of gymnastics.

So the ADD thing definitely hurts my self esteem.  Despite all evidence to the contrary, I really thought most everyone was smarter than me, especially in College.  (Even though I crammed 22 credits and somehow made the Dean's list in one semester of my final year.  I was the youngest person to get hired at my job when I was 24 years old.  It was not until I sobered up in my late 20s that I started to realize  and was able to admit to self I was not a dummy.

It was a doctor who first told me I had ADD, when I was in my late 30s.  I had some testing by a psychologist who said on a scale of 1 to 10, I was likely a 7.  IQ testing showed a 19 point differential between my verbal IQ compared to my Performance IQ, which is considered significant.  I guess I can talk a good story. Still I resisted trying medications for it, until my AODA counselor from years prior came to visit as she was teaching a class in the city I was living in.  Turns out she found she had ADD when her son was evaluated.  She had gone back to school and completed her Masters degree.  That was as close as I would get to getting it in writing from God that it was okay to try medication.  It does help but quickly wears off.  W's criticisms of me are often a result of my issues with focus, but I suspect he has similar problems.

So this all seems to me to sound a bit boring for you.  I do want to write about my relationship with my Dad growing up.  Tomorrow then.