When did that cute little girl become the I-don't-give-a-fuck girl that dresses like a slut to go to the zoo with her parents? How far back can bipolar disorder start, and how much longer will I have huge memory gaps in my Swiss cheese brain from ECT?
It was three, yessirree folks, three damn years since my brain was zapped six times. I still have huge long-term memory gaps, even though I was told I wouldn't. I know it works for some, but my new psych said it should never be used on a bipolar brain.
I was looking for a particular picture and I realized that I don't remember at least 95% of the situations of each picture. That's not counting the baby pictures or the toddler pictures. I'm talking about birthday party pictures, vacation pictures, pictures in my backyard, high school pictures; all the times one is supposed to remember. Greg can look at a picture and remember exactly where he was, who he was with, how many fish he caught, etc. I look at my pictures and maybe I'll remember a dress, but not the situation. I recognize nothing around me.
I don't even recognize the girl looking back at me. I want to hug her tightly and tell her to just hang on, it's going to be rough, but she should be able to get through it. I wish I could tell her all the things not to do, all the things she should do instead. I wish I could tell her to stay at the university to which she will be accepted with honors at entrance, but then put on academic probation two years later after learning to self-medicate. I wish I could tell her to get help as soon as possible, even though her parents think there's nothing wrong with her "You're just moody." There are so many things I wish I could warn her about, but all I can do is tell her that she really is lovable and worthwhile, even though nobody else will tell her that for a very long time.
February 12, 2014
January 30, 2014
This poor bedraggled cat appeared on my husband's back porch at least ten years ago. He had two different colored eyes and no tail. Greg left some food out for the cat, he's a big softie, and continued that habit for a few days. One day when Greg was coming in through the sliding door, the cat snuck in behind him, but didn't quite make it. He had some type of wound on his head in front of his ear, and as Greg was closing the door, the cat's head got stuck which made the wound worse. Well, Mr. Softie couldn't just leave it, so he took it to the vet. Next thing he knew he was paying for not only fixing the wound, but all his shots and his neutering. The vet thought the cat was about 4 years old at the time.
Greg's parents were visiting from Florida at the time, and of course his mother just fell in love with the poor thing but was sure her husband wouldn't allow him to come home with them (they were due to drive back early the next morning). She was sure he was a purebred Manx, and figured he needed someone to teach him to get his contacts in right so his eyes wouldn't look different. That night Greg took a cat carrier and decorated it with little signs like "Florida or bust," added some food and toys and went to bed. The next morning the carrier was gone, and Smokey was on his way to Florida.
Smokey was absolutely the most loved and spoiled cat I had ever met. He had a heated bed (in Florida!), and could have anything he wanted to eat at any time of the day or night. He was just as devoted to his new people, and allowed Nancy (my mother-in-law) to cuddle him and hold him.
Almost two years ago, my father-in-law passed away with a horrible death. Nancy was bereft, but Smokey stayed by her side, slept with her, comforted her, and became her constant companion. She moved to Ohio with Smokey to be closer to Greg, and I witnessed first hand actually how spoiled this kitty was. At first, right after Bruce died, she stayed with us. I'm a light sleeper and I could hear her get up during the night. The next morning there would be 3 or 4 bowls of different food for Smokey to choose from, and she would tell me he'd wake her up several times during the night to tell her he's hungry, but didn't always like the first, second, or even third dish of food she offered.
About a year ago, Smokey's thyroid was found to be going bad, and the vet could never quite get the dosage right. Then about a month ago he just started losing weight. It was some kind of blood infection, and he was just too old and too sick to recover. The poor little guy turned into skin and bones, but Nancy just couldn't bear to give him up. I finally got her to see things from his point of view, and yesterday we took him to the vet for our final goodbyes.
When Paris died, I just left him there, I felt bad, but I was afraid that it would be horrific, and couldn't bear to go back and watch him die. But I was wrong. This brave 84-year-old woman refused to let go of her beloved companion, and I watched them give him a shot which caused him to fall asleep and die a painless death in her loving arms. It was very sad, we shed quite a few tears, but it was not as bad as I expected it to be. The vet left us with him for a few minutes, she told him how much she loved him, kissed him on the head, and we went home.
I did a lot of thinking about watching my mother and father-in-law go through such horrible painful deaths, and it just seems so logical to be able to hold your loved one in your arms and allow them to die a peaceful and loving death. I'll never understand why this is not legal, and I will always remember this "most loved, hugged, petted, wants-for-nothing" cat and his person who showed me what a loving death truly is.
January 13, 2014
- I put my jewelry shop on hiatus, which was quite depressing. I just don't have the time right now required to keep my passion going.
- My other passion, bread baking has also gone by the wayside.
- I joined Weight Watchers again, which makes me disappointed in myself. In four months, my emotional eating put back on 30 lbs of the 50 lbs I worked so hard to lose. All the meal planning, grocery shopping, tracking, etc. takes up quite a bit of time.
- The Piriformis Syndrome is back, I haven't made the time to do my exercises. Nor have I made the time to do any kind of exercise. There's a challenge on WW to walk 5 minutes every hour. I set my alarm, then when it goes off I think "I don't have time to do that right now."
- My mother-in-law's cat is dying, and she won't accept it, so I drive 20 minutes to her home and 20 minutes back to the vet here, then spend more time waiting for the vet to tell her the same thing over and over.
- Meditation and mindfulness would help my mental health, but it seems I just can't make the time to do anything.
- My computer's on the fritz, so it takes too much time to type. I need to stop, turn off the computer, turn it back on, repeat ad nauseum. Perhaps it's just the cold weather messing with the internet connection.
- There were a few days when I was home bound because of the snow (I know, I'm not the only one). And the flu kicked my butt for almost two weeks.
- Weekends are usually spent doing what other people want/need to do.
Did you notice how annoying it probably was for you to see the word "time" repeated eleven times? As annoying as it is for you to read it, that's how frustrating it is for me to deal with it.
I probably shouldn't have taken the time to write this.