Wanted: Gentle Reassuring Hug

Last night I got a text from my brother. He took Gram to the ER and they admitted her to the hospital. 

Gram and I are very close. She was my babysitter when I was little, and was always involved in my life. I'm lost without her.

And now she's very sick and I don't know what to do. She lives two hours away, so it's not so easy for me to hop up there to be with her. My brother is there, and she's having tests and procedures and more tests. She doesn't want me to visit because she's too busy with doctors. She knows I've got a job interview tomorrow, anyway. Ok, fine. But I want to be there. Maybe I can hit the road tomorrow after the interview.

This morning, I was moping around the house when my brother called with an update. She was moved to the ICU overnight but is stable, but they'll probably keep her another day because they don't know what's wrong yet. Considering my lengthy hospital experiences, I'm guessing day one was to stabilize the problem, day two will be to run tests & wait for results, day three will be trying to fix the problem, then day four is observation. I'm not complaining. I'd rather have her home healthy, rather than kicked out too early with potential problems.

I'm still worried about her. Actually, I'm almost in a panic over this.

After I got off the phone with my brother, D asked if I'm ok.

"No," I quietly said. "Gram's in the ICU."
"Oh," he replied. "Do you want me to make you breakfast?"
"Yeah. Make whatever."

He made me bacon and eggs, then left me alone for the rest of the day.

I wish he'd ask what's wrong, if I've had an update, how's she doing, do I want to see her, etc.

It's too much to expect a reassuring hug from him.

It physically hurts my heart to sit here and know if I ask for a hug or any sign he cares, he'll make me beg for it, then walk away when I get upset. I'm not playing his game. It hurts either way. 

Either he doesn't know how to care about someone else's problems or doesn't want to be bothered with them. He is incapable of showing he gives a flying rat's ass. It's inhuman, in my humble opinion.

Mother's Day 2014

Happy Mother's Day (yesterday) to all the moms struggling to survive in emotionally abusive relationships.
I understand how much bullshit you have to put up with day in and day out and know how painful it is to constantly give of yourself as if you're a single parent and not have your sacrifices appreciated by the partner who should cherish you.
I get it.
You rock, you know that?
I love you. Give yourself a hug.
He doesn't deserve you.

Mother's Day was bittersweet for me.

As the day started, I sat on the couch with my morning cup of coffee. D walked out of the garage, past me on the couch, and into the kitchen. He didn't look at me or acknowledge me in any way whatsoever. A few minutes later, I walked into the kitchen to refill my coffee. D was in the doorway and moved to the side so I could pass. He avoided eye contact. Actually, he avoided looking directly at me altogether. As I fixed up my coffee, he disappeared into the garage.

The rest of the day was wonderful. The kids and I went to church, out to lunch, went to an outdoor store where my delicate flower of a child showed me some white water rafting gear they were saving up to buy. This kid had been on a few outings with a friend's family and has fallen madly in love with the sport. It was so much fun to see them all excited about this. I rarely get to see this kid so excited about something, and my normally quiet and reserved child talked up a storm about technical details with the clerk. While there, we learned the store is hiring, so excited kid grabbed an application. I'm clueless about rivers and rafting, so excited kid showed me around the store, explained items and accessories, and shared their love for this adrenaline-pumping sport with me. As we walked out of the store, excited kid said,

"Mom, I can't wait to take you to the river tours up in the mountains so we can go rafting together."

Hearing that was one of the best Mother's Day gifts I've ever received.

After we got home, rafting kid pulled up a bunch of rafting videos and showed me more about the sport. I get it now. Now I can't wait to go rafting this summer.

We had had a huge late lunch, so suppertime came and went and nobody was hungry. I puttered around the house, sorting stuff to donate and packing up stuff I'm keeping - I want to be ready to move out the second I get a job offer. While I was moving stuff around, my mom called. She lives out of state and announced that she's coming up to visit for a week in June. Yay!

At about 9pm I heard some banging in the kitchen.

"Is everything ok?" I called out to the kids.

"Yeah, it's dad in the kitchen. He's mad."

"Why? What's his deal?" I asked.

"He asked if anyone had made dinner yet. We said no, and he got mad."

"Oh. So he's cooking something as loud as he can?"

"Yeah. And sulking. He can cry more."

Ah, the wisdom of kids who clearly see that dad does not treat mom with respect, and certainly does not treat her with love.
(I do try to be respectful of him when talking about him to/in front of the kids. No matter how much I'm hurting or feeling dead inside, these are my feelings, not the kids'. I need to remain as neutral as possible because I don't want to poison their own feelings for their dad.)

After about 15 minutes, D hollered, "Food!"

I walked into the kitchen to see what he had been up to. There was a plate of cooked hamburger patties on the counter. D had already taken his food into the garage. I didn't see him for the rest of the night.

This morning I was up early. Made coffee, checked email, started applying to more job openings, and D came through the dining room.

He brightly greeted me with "Good morning!"

"Uh huh," I responded.
Psychopath.

He looked at my computer screen and commented on what I was reading, asked about the paperwork on the desk next to me, chatted about the pets, the sunshine, the birds chirping outside, his car, last night's sports...
Asshole.

I ignored him as much as possible.
I'm done.

If he can't acknowledge my existence on Mother's Day, then I don't see any reason to acknowledge his existence today or any other day.

The Jobs Report

The Jobs Report was on the news recently. Apparently unemployment is down, job creation is up, the stock market is up, everybody happy happy happy.

The employment happy happy joy joy hasn't trickled its way down to me yet.

Here's a summary of the last month:

1. ABCD
I had been working for Company A, doing contract work for Company B, who leases office space in Company C's building. D never asked about any of it and assumed I worked for Company C.

The job ended abruptly. I had been the assistant for an exec at Company B. She got in trouble for hiring me (she didn't follow company protocols and hire through the proper channels.) To save her own ass, she got rid of me by blaming me for an error she made. Of course I was upset. After an investigation, my employer, Company A, reassured me I did nothing wrong, Company B was happy with my work, and in the discussion I learned that Boss B has done this to other assistants before me. How lovely. (In retrospect, I see that B stands for Bitch.)

In the end karma prevailed. Boss B got in trouble for hiring me, got in trouble for throwing me under the bus, and is no longer allowed to have an assistant.

Let me edit that last point. Karma prevailed for Boss B.
Did karma prevail for me?
I don't know.
I certainly don't see any change on my end.

2. The Federal Job
Had a great interview, was told a week later that they had chosen someone else for the job.
Being optimistic, I stopped job hunting and put all my eggs in the federal job basket. Now I have to start the job hunt all over agaon.

3. Temping
Finished a 3 week part-time temp job at minimal pay yesterday, and now nothing is on the horizon.

Can we say "I am depressed?" Let's all say it again, only louder.

I AM DEPRESSED.

I ate a package of Oreos (generic because they're cheaper) and am starting on a bag of M&Ms. Somebody please stop me.

Has D said anything about any of this? He knows nothing about the federal job. has no idea why I'm not going to company C's office any more, and knows I had been temping at one location only because he dropped me off at work one afternoon. Otherwise he has not asked or commented on any of this.

This is why I'm so damn depressed. It would be easier if someone actually gave a shit about me. A hug would be nice, too, but no. Empathy is a luxury I am just not going to have while I struggle through this.


Oh, except when I came home late one evening after a job fair down in the big city. It was past my usual bedtime and I wanted to get to bed straight away. D stopped me as I hurried into the house. "You need to help me write this letter," he demanded.
What? Why? To whom?
Apparently he is now job hunting, too, and wanted me to help him with his resume and cover letters. And they had to be done at midnight on a Wednesday. No particular job posting, he just wanted to have it ready. In case. And I had to stay up late to help him with it, instead of going to bed so I could get to work the next morning.
"Can we please work on this tomorrow?" I asked. "I'm tired and need to get to bed."
"No. I have to do it now because I'm sending it off in the morning."
"To who? What job?"
"Well I don't know! I'll find someone."
So I stayed up an extra hour, helping him with his resume and cover letter (generally both should be written/modified specifically for each job posting you apply to, not generically done, but he insisted and I'm still trying to play nice so he'll let me sleep after I go to bed.)

The next day he slept in, then spent all day watching tv.
I see where his priorities are, and it smacks of sabotage.

This umbrella is perfect.
So I can walk in the rain in front of D.

I am so so so ready to move on, but feel I can't until I get a job. I don't know any other way around it. I have to get a job before I can do anything else.
Once I get a job, I can sign a lease on an apartment (found our apartment - in my budget and in the right location for me and the kids to easily get around town.) Once I move, then I can work on rebuilding a social life. I have already found the community sports league I want to join, another branch of a fraternal organization I've been wanting to join, and am ready to sign up for yoga and the local dragonboat team. I'm so ready to get out there and have fun and make friends again. (Can't start that before the job - no money.)  I'm so fuckin' lonely.

I'm ready. Just... when am I going to get that job I so desperately need?

Recharged

I got to see B on Sunday.

We hung out, laughed, explored a vein of mountain roads (two dead ends, a washed out road, and high altitude snow made us turn around from all attempts to get over a particular mountain) and spent the day catching up with each other while we explored. B asked about my new job, asked about my scar and how it's feeling these days, and he not only asked about my life but was interested in what I had to say. It was such a nice change to have a normal conversation.

We also spent some quality time in each others' arms.

I needed that. Of course I'd like more touch more often, but B's hugs and kisses and everything filled the deep void for a few hours. B recharged my soul again.

Deep breath. Now I can face another month of isolation at home.

I just wanted a hug.

This cartoon makes me cry.

image from http://www.robot-hugs.com/nest/

It was this situation that made me realize that something's wrong with D, and that I will never be able to fix it. I realized I wasn't happy and hadn't been happy for years and years and years.

At my home, I was feeling really low and asked him if I could have a hug, but he stood there and laughed at me.

So I started crying and asked again for a hug.
"Nope."

I opened my arms and said "Please?"

He backed away.

I took a step forward.

He backed away some more.

By now I was bawling my eyes out, and with tears streaming down my face, he moved away from me every time I tried to approach him for a hug. When I realized I was literally chasing him through the house in a cruel game of keep away, I stopped.

"Forget it," I spat out as I walked away.

"Aww, come on, I'm kidding! Come here, I'll hug you."

"No."

"Seriously, I'll give you a hug if you really want one that bad."

"Fuck you."

This one hug that I never got marked the beginning of the end.

I just wanted a hug.

The pain of ostracism

In my experience, it causes deep physical pain, as well.

When D walks past me without looking at me, talking to me, or touching me, it physically hurts. I ache deep in my core with chest pain and knots in my stomach. I notice this especially when he doesn't touch me.

When D is near me and doesn't touch me, it hurts as if he punched me in the stomach. I have even found myself doubling over in pain. When I made the mistake of reaching to touch him on the arm, he jerked away and glared at me like I'm contagious with God knows what.

Nobody touches me, actually. Not my shoulder, arm, hand, nothing. I have gone for weeks without being touched by another human. It hurts. I mean, it hurts emotionally, but it also hurts physically. I'm lucky when one of the kids hugs me, and I try to hug them daily, but they're in the "don't get to huggy with mom" phase, so I might get a half-assed hug once in a while. But that's it.

This is one of the reasons I started having a few affairs with other men. It's the only time anyone touches me and allows me to continue barely clinging to sanity with my short, soft fingernails. And at least my beaus are happy to touch me instead of begrudgingly making contact or accidentally brushing against me like when a grocery clerk hands me my receipt.

This is too upsetting to write about.
My chest hurts and I'm having trouble breathing when I think too much about this.



Source: ScienceDaily.com discusses the Perdue University Study on Ostracism

Do I have PTSD?

I was sent to a psychiatrist to be tested for PTSD in the middle of The Hell Years*.
He said I didn't have it.

Today, I disagree with his diagnosis.

I don't think he asked questions in a manner I understood, because in all my research about personality disorders and the abuse surrounding them, I'm starting to think I do have PTSD. I'm almost positive I had it back then.

There is an online PTSD test on several big psych websites, but after answering the 22 questions it said "Print out this list and take it to your doctor to discuss your answers." Well phooey. I'm out of printer ink, I don't have medical insurance right now (Obamacare-Schmobamacare) and I have exactly $12.42 to my name until my first payday two weeks from now, so taking that test was a glorious waste of time.

Tonight, I found the same test online with scoring at the bottom. Thank God!
Here's a link to the test I found at Heal My PTSD.
"If you have 10+ "yes" answers, you display many symptoms of PTSD," the results say.
I answered 18 out of 22 with a yes.

I think the big difference between the PsyD and the online test is my interpretation of the questions.

First of all, in the doctor's office, I was answering everything based on the medical horrors I had witnessed and managed during The Hell Years. It was a horrible time in all of our lives, but:

Did I witness or experience a traumatic event?
No. First of all, Hell wasn't an event. It was a situation that should have been routine but quickly went south, then turned into an ongoing life-threatening situation that dragged on for months. A year later we went through it all over again.
Second of all, we only discussed Hell. I wasn't aware that I'd been abused for years before Hell happened, so abuse didn't even enter the discussion. It was the farthest thing from my mind.

Do I have flashbacks of the event?
At the time I was formally tested, I think I was still in shock. My family was knee deep in the horror show and hadn't yet come up for air. I wasn't even to the point of having flashbacks yet.

(By the way, the P in PTSD means Post. It's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, not UTYEBTSD: Up To Your Eye Balls in Trauma Stress Disorder. And also not NLATEOTTTSD: No Light At The End Of The Tunnel Traumatic Stress Disorder. Let's make sure we're clear on that.)

I also knew absolutely nothing about PTSD, so when he asked about flashbacks, I imagined Vietnam Vets having flashbacks (as demonstrated via Hollywood - my only exposure to flashbacks) and no. I didn't wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, trying to hide from or hunt the bad guys.

So I told him, "No. I don't have flashbacks."

If only he had explained what that actually meant. Now days, when I think of the abuse I endured over the past 20 years, and then the emotional isolation I felt during Hell when I had no friends to help me through it, yeah. They're not technically visual flashbacks, but the emotional pain and anguish wells up and it takes me a good hour to stop crying from thinking about it. I think I'd categorize that as a flashback. The pain is still very raw and I'm super sensitive when I think about it.

Do you have intense physical and/or emotional distress when something reminds you of the traumatic event?
Yesindeed. See above. Enough said.
Do I avoid talking about it, thinking about it, engaging in any reminders about it?
Can we change the subject?
Sometimes I wonder if that's one reason I need to get away from D. Because he reminds me of the abuse. Or if it's just because of the abuse. Maybe both, depending on how he's treating me at the time.
I don't like thinking about Hell or how horribly alone I felt during that time. I can't deal with my feelings when I do. It's too much.
Can I have a hug now?

Do you have memory gaps?
Do you have difficulty concentrating?
Are you kidding?? I lost part of my language skills during Hell. Common vocabulary words were gone. I couldn't carry on a normal conversation because too many words were missing.
"Please let the dog out," ended up sounding like, "Hey. The dog. He... wants. Uh, Dog needs... Um... potty." 

I felt like I had brain damage. I told my doctors that I felt like I had brain damage. They nodded and made notes in their laptops but didn't do anything to help, except to change my antidepressant meds. I still struggle to recall and speak certain words at times. Sometimes my conversation trails off and converts to gestures because I can't pull up the next word from the depths of my brain, but it's a lot better now than it was. Crossword puzzles helped me to regain a lot of my words.

Now that I know more about abuse and isolation and PTSD, I believe I actually did suffer some brain damage during that time.

New item for my to do list after I move out: talk to a doctor or counselor about PTSD.

-----------------------------------------------

*The Hell Years refers to the injuries from the accident (a freak accident - nobody's fault), the recovery, and the aftermath. 

It was really awful - the shock of what happened, the shock of seemingly normal things going very wrong, the shock of being told "We don't know if our team of surgeons can save them," and the shock of seeing more of the insides of someone's body than I ever wanted to see... and exactly one year after the accident, history repeated itself almost event by event. It was bad.

(Although one good thing about the repeat trauma is we knew what to expect. Didn't make it any easier, but we were able to call 911 sooner when things started going wrong again.)

I don't want to go into specifics in case D researches anything related to it and stumbles across this blog. Just compare it to what people in the middle ages experienced when disease or warring tribes wiped out their small village. Throw in few cases of Seppuku, and that'll be comparable to what we went through.