Okay, so November and December has played out like this for me; first a nasty cold that lasted about a week. Immediately after that, another nasty cold that lasted for about a week. At the end of that Mistress was travelling for a few days, and I made the extremely stupid decision to eat an ice-cream that turned out to be covered in hazelnuts. I'm allergic to hazelnuts. In the end I ate horrible allergy medicin for ten days, which had all kinds of icky side-effects, including mind-numbing fatigue.
Eventually I could stop eating those horrid pills, we hade a nice, slow mini-vacation at my in-laws place and I was starting to feel like human again. Two days after we got home little S got a stomach bug and was a puking, pityful mess for two days, and right after that her cough got worse and she too got a cold. And well, I followed suit, got the stomach bug and now the cold.
I hate viruses! I hate winter! I hate being sick. I haven't been to the gym for over a month.
And if I ever thought I don't contribute to the household or ease Mistress' burden? Well, I'm wrong. When I'm under the weather, it shows.
I want to go to the gym! I want to have sex! I want to feel healthy and not worry about spreading viruses to people I meet.
Also, my mom had a stroke this week. Not a big one, she lost part of her vocabulary and felt dizzy and confused but not more than that, and she's already recovering. But it scared the hell out of us, and I'm probably a bit in denial still. I'm not really ready to think through the ramifications of this, and neither is she I think.
Anyway, sucky month in a lot of ways. I'm longing for spring.
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grandparents. Show all posts
Dec 19, 2013
Dec 9, 2013
Shame
Shame is one of the most destructive feelings I know. A lot of the crap that has happened to me, and most of all the crap that I have been instrumental in allowing to happen, has been caused by shame.
And I'm ashamed all the time. Or at least very often. For a very long time in my youth I didn't have any memories. Every time something would pop up in my mind, there would be something shameful associated with it, and I would immediately shut it down. That feeling, that dread coursing through the body, the wish to disappear, to cease existing, it's awful. At times, it has controlled my life.
I have two major things I'm ashamed of, and one is not being liked. I grew up knowing I wasn't loved (as an adult, I've started to think that I probably was, but that can't change my experience as a kid), and I was bullied in school on top of that. I had two best friends, both of whom betrayed me horribly, first one at twelve and the next one at fourteen, and contributed to the bullying. So that's one. The other one is not being good enough.
I have ADHD, but no one knew that. I grew up trying harder than everyone around me, and still coming up short. I was always late, didn't do the things I was supposed to, forgot stuff, didn't clean up after myself, made a mess, broke stuff, and so on. I was constantly not living up to the expectations from people around me - people like my parents and teachers, who saw a smart, talented, charming kid who for some reason just didn't seem to care or try very hard. While, at the same time, I was working like crazy to get through each day, and not letting anyone see that I was struggling. Because of shame.
If I hadn't been ashamed, maybe someone would have known what my life was really like. Maybe I could have told an adult about the bullying. Maybe I could have explained that I did my very best and still couldn't manage to do homework - that I did care, a lot, but just couldn't make it work. If I hadn't been ashamed. But I was ashamed, and I much preferred being labelled lazy and unambitious than having people know I couldn't do it.
And that haunts me still.
I've been sick lately, on top of my ongoing issues with mental fatigue and burn out. I'm getting better, but it's a bumpy road, as always. Mistress has taken two day off of work and we've gone to her parents for a mini vacation. Today I took little S on a shopping trip so that Mistress could get some time for herself and work, and after lunch I accompanied my mother in law to the vet with one of the dogs, a big rottweiler that doesn't particularly like other dogs and last time had made a big fuss while waiting for the vet. I'm pretty proud of how I handled it, there was no wrestling matches or incessant barking this time, but after that and picking up som groceries, I was pretty much wiped. I spent the afternoon in bed, and at dinner time I was all kinds of woozy, feeling sick and dizzy and thinking I wouldn't survive the evening.
On top of that, Mistress had asked me earlier to take care of little S after dinner so that she could work some more, and it made me rather panicky, because I really didn't think I would be up for it. And again, that made me overwhelmed with shame.
Every time I'm asked, especially by Mistress, to do something that is beyond what I can do without feeling seriously ill or paying a heavy price afterwards I get terribly ashamed. I'm awashed in it.
In the end I did take care of little S while Mistress worked, we had a nice time playing a game on the iPad together, and it wasn't so difficult. It helped that little S was in a good mood and stayed focused on the game.
And then eventually the day was over with little S going to bed downstairs with grandma, and I started to relax and feel like maybe, maybe I was okay, maybe I had made it. And the first thing Mistress says to me is along the lines of "oh, we said we should work tonight, we need to do that thing with the survey job".
And at that point my head exploded. The shame got to me, the camel's back was broken by the last straw, the last drop made the glass of water overflow in a cascade of liquid anguish all over the kitchen floor, and I could feel my brain changing gears in to crazy mood.
Because in my mind her even suggesting that I would be up for anything more strenous at that point ment I must be a total failure. A let down. Not good enough. That nothing I had done, nothing I had achieved or managed or made myself do had been worth anything. No matter how hard I strain and press myself, it's not even close to being enough. I'll never be enough. I'll never do enough. I can't be good enough, I can't be loved or worthy of love, I can't achieve anything that makes me fit to even live and breath, I haven't earned my keep, neither as her wife, her property nor even as a human being. I need to work 'til I drop and die and be done with it, because nothing else will cut it.
So yeah. It wasn't a great conversation starter, as such. To my credit, all I said was that I wasn't up for it, that I was hurt and upset that she suggested it, and that I wanted to go lay down in the bedroom, alone. That might not sound like a very tempered or reasonable response but compared to what my brain was screaming at me, I was positively cheerful.
And then I did just that, went and laid down, and instead of rehashing every slight and every shameful moment and debating with myself whether I was right to be hurt or not, I did a mindfulness-exercise, a simple but thorough body scan. I can do that now, that's pretty cool actually, even with my mind on fire with anguish and panic and shame I can redirect my consious focus on something of my own choosing.
The feelings are still there, the discomfort and panic and adrenalin surge through the body, but I can still focus my attention on my left toe, my left foot, the leg, the knee and so on. It takes about twenty minutes to go through the whole body, and by then the panic has subsided, the raging fires of despair has died from lack of things to devour, and everythings a little more settled. It's a neat trick.
We talked about it, of course, afterwards, and we'll figure something out. But shame. I hate it. It's the least constructive thing ever. I'm working on it.
And I'm ashamed all the time. Or at least very often. For a very long time in my youth I didn't have any memories. Every time something would pop up in my mind, there would be something shameful associated with it, and I would immediately shut it down. That feeling, that dread coursing through the body, the wish to disappear, to cease existing, it's awful. At times, it has controlled my life.
I have two major things I'm ashamed of, and one is not being liked. I grew up knowing I wasn't loved (as an adult, I've started to think that I probably was, but that can't change my experience as a kid), and I was bullied in school on top of that. I had two best friends, both of whom betrayed me horribly, first one at twelve and the next one at fourteen, and contributed to the bullying. So that's one. The other one is not being good enough.
I have ADHD, but no one knew that. I grew up trying harder than everyone around me, and still coming up short. I was always late, didn't do the things I was supposed to, forgot stuff, didn't clean up after myself, made a mess, broke stuff, and so on. I was constantly not living up to the expectations from people around me - people like my parents and teachers, who saw a smart, talented, charming kid who for some reason just didn't seem to care or try very hard. While, at the same time, I was working like crazy to get through each day, and not letting anyone see that I was struggling. Because of shame.
If I hadn't been ashamed, maybe someone would have known what my life was really like. Maybe I could have told an adult about the bullying. Maybe I could have explained that I did my very best and still couldn't manage to do homework - that I did care, a lot, but just couldn't make it work. If I hadn't been ashamed. But I was ashamed, and I much preferred being labelled lazy and unambitious than having people know I couldn't do it.
And that haunts me still.
I've been sick lately, on top of my ongoing issues with mental fatigue and burn out. I'm getting better, but it's a bumpy road, as always. Mistress has taken two day off of work and we've gone to her parents for a mini vacation. Today I took little S on a shopping trip so that Mistress could get some time for herself and work, and after lunch I accompanied my mother in law to the vet with one of the dogs, a big rottweiler that doesn't particularly like other dogs and last time had made a big fuss while waiting for the vet. I'm pretty proud of how I handled it, there was no wrestling matches or incessant barking this time, but after that and picking up som groceries, I was pretty much wiped. I spent the afternoon in bed, and at dinner time I was all kinds of woozy, feeling sick and dizzy and thinking I wouldn't survive the evening.
On top of that, Mistress had asked me earlier to take care of little S after dinner so that she could work some more, and it made me rather panicky, because I really didn't think I would be up for it. And again, that made me overwhelmed with shame.
Every time I'm asked, especially by Mistress, to do something that is beyond what I can do without feeling seriously ill or paying a heavy price afterwards I get terribly ashamed. I'm awashed in it.
In the end I did take care of little S while Mistress worked, we had a nice time playing a game on the iPad together, and it wasn't so difficult. It helped that little S was in a good mood and stayed focused on the game.
And then eventually the day was over with little S going to bed downstairs with grandma, and I started to relax and feel like maybe, maybe I was okay, maybe I had made it. And the first thing Mistress says to me is along the lines of "oh, we said we should work tonight, we need to do that thing with the survey job".
And at that point my head exploded. The shame got to me, the camel's back was broken by the last straw, the last drop made the glass of water overflow in a cascade of liquid anguish all over the kitchen floor, and I could feel my brain changing gears in to crazy mood.
Because in my mind her even suggesting that I would be up for anything more strenous at that point ment I must be a total failure. A let down. Not good enough. That nothing I had done, nothing I had achieved or managed or made myself do had been worth anything. No matter how hard I strain and press myself, it's not even close to being enough. I'll never be enough. I'll never do enough. I can't be good enough, I can't be loved or worthy of love, I can't achieve anything that makes me fit to even live and breath, I haven't earned my keep, neither as her wife, her property nor even as a human being. I need to work 'til I drop and die and be done with it, because nothing else will cut it.
So yeah. It wasn't a great conversation starter, as such. To my credit, all I said was that I wasn't up for it, that I was hurt and upset that she suggested it, and that I wanted to go lay down in the bedroom, alone. That might not sound like a very tempered or reasonable response but compared to what my brain was screaming at me, I was positively cheerful.
And then I did just that, went and laid down, and instead of rehashing every slight and every shameful moment and debating with myself whether I was right to be hurt or not, I did a mindfulness-exercise, a simple but thorough body scan. I can do that now, that's pretty cool actually, even with my mind on fire with anguish and panic and shame I can redirect my consious focus on something of my own choosing.
The feelings are still there, the discomfort and panic and adrenalin surge through the body, but I can still focus my attention on my left toe, my left foot, the leg, the knee and so on. It takes about twenty minutes to go through the whole body, and by then the panic has subsided, the raging fires of despair has died from lack of things to devour, and everythings a little more settled. It's a neat trick.
We talked about it, of course, afterwards, and we'll figure something out. But shame. I hate it. It's the least constructive thing ever. I'm working on it.
Apr 21, 2013
Not a bad Sunday
We had a shaky start this morning, little S woke up with an eye infection which meant that our afternoon of babyfree time was threatened. Luckily it turned out that grandma was fine with hanging out with a little red eyed monster, but before we knew that the idea of another weekend comprised entirely of watching kid and working made the mood a little bleak.
I pick up on Mistress mood so goddamn strong and quick. Especially when I'm in the state I'm in now, overworked and overstressed and generally out of sorts. Her grumpiness gives me angst, and this morning I simply gave some excuse after breakfast and shut myself in the bedroom, curled up under the covers and tried to concentrate on counting my breaths and waiting for the panic to abate. It's a really unpleasant feeling, even though it helps knowing that it's not dangerous and that there's nothing really wrong except for me being to tired.
We had a nice outing before lunch, looking for a pair of joggers for little S. Unfortunately she's in a stage right now when she's realised that she's a girl, caught on to the idea that girls should have pink glitter on everything (not shared by either of her moms) and refusing every one of the sensible, multicoloured, good-for-running shoes we picked out. We, on the other hand, absolutely refused the glittery pink sandals she voted for. We'll give it another try tomorrow - some store somewhere must have realised that it's a good idea to make sensible, strong, practical shoes for three-year-olds and then colour them pink and put a lot of glitter on them. I would, if I made kids' shoes.
And then, finally, Mistress took little S on her bike to grandma, and when she returned we had coffee and ice cream on the patio, and it was warm and sunny for the first time this year, and afterwards we just went and layed down in bed together. And fell asleep. I think we were tired.
Mistress woke me up after a bit, and had decided that I would stay where I was, while she went to work at the computer beside the bed. She tied me up securely on my side, and left me there, to rest and slumber and wait for her. It was wonderful. I slept so good, and every time I drifted awake again I could feel the rope against me, knowing that there were nowhere else for me to be, and hearing her clattering on the computer. I was laying in a sun spot on the bed and it all felt so very very luxurious.
And then she got her strap on and fucked me silly 'til we both came.
All in all, a very good Sunday. And next week Mistress' deadline will have past and she'll get back to a more reasonable working schedule instead of the crazy one she's had for the last week. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to that.
I pick up on Mistress mood so goddamn strong and quick. Especially when I'm in the state I'm in now, overworked and overstressed and generally out of sorts. Her grumpiness gives me angst, and this morning I simply gave some excuse after breakfast and shut myself in the bedroom, curled up under the covers and tried to concentrate on counting my breaths and waiting for the panic to abate. It's a really unpleasant feeling, even though it helps knowing that it's not dangerous and that there's nothing really wrong except for me being to tired.
We had a nice outing before lunch, looking for a pair of joggers for little S. Unfortunately she's in a stage right now when she's realised that she's a girl, caught on to the idea that girls should have pink glitter on everything (not shared by either of her moms) and refusing every one of the sensible, multicoloured, good-for-running shoes we picked out. We, on the other hand, absolutely refused the glittery pink sandals she voted for. We'll give it another try tomorrow - some store somewhere must have realised that it's a good idea to make sensible, strong, practical shoes for three-year-olds and then colour them pink and put a lot of glitter on them. I would, if I made kids' shoes.
And then, finally, Mistress took little S on her bike to grandma, and when she returned we had coffee and ice cream on the patio, and it was warm and sunny for the first time this year, and afterwards we just went and layed down in bed together. And fell asleep. I think we were tired.
Mistress woke me up after a bit, and had decided that I would stay where I was, while she went to work at the computer beside the bed. She tied me up securely on my side, and left me there, to rest and slumber and wait for her. It was wonderful. I slept so good, and every time I drifted awake again I could feel the rope against me, knowing that there were nowhere else for me to be, and hearing her clattering on the computer. I was laying in a sun spot on the bed and it all felt so very very luxurious.
And then she got her strap on and fucked me silly 'til we both came.
All in all, a very good Sunday. And next week Mistress' deadline will have past and she'll get back to a more reasonable working schedule instead of the crazy one she's had for the last week. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to that.
Being tied up for over and hour gave me very pretty rope marks too. There's some spots there I even think will bruise and stay for awhile. It's like jewellery, in a way.
Mar 31, 2013
Reflection over function
Today was a much better day than yesterday. We went on an outing, me and Mistress and little S and grandma and grandpa. We were outside almost all day, and I kept in the background and only interacted as much as I felt like, and slept in the car on the way home. I love that - to be able to come along and participate, but not have to strain myself and do more than what is really healthy for me.
A friend asked me the other day if I would always be like this, this tired and careful about noise and such. And I said that I didn't know, but that it was much better than six months ago, and that I think I'm still healing. Weird business, this brain thing. We don't have any pain receptors in the brain - unfortunately that doesn't mean it can't get hurt.
Of course I wish it would get all better. I have been in much better shape than this, I think. But I also think that the demands put upon a working/studying mother without a fortune in our society is something I'll always struggle with. There's always something to do, there's always demands, routines, people. Things that are supposed to be done at regular intervals, at an even pace. It's completely the wrong set of skills for me, and I don't think I'll eve be able to do them well.
So in a way I'll never get better. I'll never get well enough not to need special consideration, never well enough to be able to do everything people assume I'll do, to live up to this role I'm put in by giving birth to a baby and being born in this time and this place. I will, in that regard, always be a disappointment, a special case, a little less than others.
It makes me kind of sad and a bit afraid thinking about it.
But it makes me relieved to know and accept that this is so. The lifelong struggle of denial was much more agonising and frustrating. I don't have to judge myself by others yardstick any more. If I judge myself and what I can do in a more fair way, based on what I now know about my cognitive functions, then I'm both impressive and awesome.
I have a beautiful loving family. My wife loves me and wants me in her life forever. My daughter is pretty and talented and well behaved and funny and kind and seems to have a good life, and she loves us both and I'm pretty sure she knows she's loved, which is the most important thing.
Thanks to Mistress I have my drivers license. I live in a reasonably clean and comfortable home. We have a lovely dog that is well taken care of. And I'm about to finish a very taxing university program, and graduate as a psychologist in June.
And I have a handful of wise, warm, loving friends who knows me for who I really am, and who still likes me. My life is good. I'm good enough. And having all this, having accomplished all this, despite a brain that doesn't really work like other's do - that makes me not only good enough but absolutely awesome.
A friend asked me the other day if I would always be like this, this tired and careful about noise and such. And I said that I didn't know, but that it was much better than six months ago, and that I think I'm still healing. Weird business, this brain thing. We don't have any pain receptors in the brain - unfortunately that doesn't mean it can't get hurt.
Of course I wish it would get all better. I have been in much better shape than this, I think. But I also think that the demands put upon a working/studying mother without a fortune in our society is something I'll always struggle with. There's always something to do, there's always demands, routines, people. Things that are supposed to be done at regular intervals, at an even pace. It's completely the wrong set of skills for me, and I don't think I'll eve be able to do them well.
So in a way I'll never get better. I'll never get well enough not to need special consideration, never well enough to be able to do everything people assume I'll do, to live up to this role I'm put in by giving birth to a baby and being born in this time and this place. I will, in that regard, always be a disappointment, a special case, a little less than others.
It makes me kind of sad and a bit afraid thinking about it.
But it makes me relieved to know and accept that this is so. The lifelong struggle of denial was much more agonising and frustrating. I don't have to judge myself by others yardstick any more. If I judge myself and what I can do in a more fair way, based on what I now know about my cognitive functions, then I'm both impressive and awesome.
I have a beautiful loving family. My wife loves me and wants me in her life forever. My daughter is pretty and talented and well behaved and funny and kind and seems to have a good life, and she loves us both and I'm pretty sure she knows she's loved, which is the most important thing.
Thanks to Mistress I have my drivers license. I live in a reasonably clean and comfortable home. We have a lovely dog that is well taken care of. And I'm about to finish a very taxing university program, and graduate as a psychologist in June.
And I have a handful of wise, warm, loving friends who knows me for who I really am, and who still likes me. My life is good. I'm good enough. And having all this, having accomplished all this, despite a brain that doesn't really work like other's do - that makes me not only good enough but absolutely awesome.
Mar 30, 2013
Easter breakdown
We're on vacation at my in-laws place. Four days without school nor job, with actual free time together, and not the least, with mother-in-law taking care of the kid from the time she wakes up at six until the time we venture downstairs, around nine thirty.
This morning we used the morning in bed to have glorious sex. It took us a couple of days before we had slept enough and spent enough time together before we got around to it, but it was definitely worth the wait.
And then, this morning, we had planted a surprise for little S. We bought her a bike last week, and hid it in the basement yesterday, with a string going from it and out in the yard. The plan was for her to play outside after breakfast, discovering the string, follow it and get the bike as a surprise. I had planned this for months and was looking forward to it with great excitment.
There turned out to be a snag, though. I pretty big one as far as I was concerned. Mistress and me had completely different time tables in mind, and had failed to communicate about it. Mostly, I think, because we both thought our own was so completely logical, it didn't dawn on either of us that the other one might have a different view.
Mistress wanted to spare the surprise to last. She appreciated the time spent outside, she was working on a project freeing the garage door from ice (it's still wintery around here) and was happy that little S was playing nicely with her doll and the snow and the gravel. She was oblivious to the fact that I was anxiously waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
At first it was okay. I was enjoying the sun and playing with the dog and everything was okay. But then I started to realise that things didn't go the way I had planned them. Why wasn't Mistress leading the kid towards the string? Why didn't she act?
Time went on, I got more and more fidgety and tried to ask Mistress about it, but it was hard to communicate about something that was a secret and a surprise when the kid was right next to us. Eventually little S got tired and started whining, and then I was a little bit more insistent, asking again about "when?". But I still don't think Mistress got how I was feeling or that we had strayed very far from the scenario I had envisioned.
At long last, Mistress signalled that okay, I might lead her to it, but I didn't want to lead her. I wanted her to find it, and the only way to do that was to make her play in that general area of the yard. But Mistress was busy with her project, and little S was playing by her, and when I tried to stir up some interest around the string-area, nothing happened. I asked Mistress to join me, and she answered me with a flat "no". And that was when I broke down.
I couldn't stand it anymore. My brain melted. I was overcome with despair and the only thing I could think of doing was fleeing, which I promptly did. I just left everything and walked away out on the street, and walked a 100 metres to where the postboxes were.
Eventually I calmed down, went back, Mistress and little S played around the string by then, she found it, and eventually the bicycle and everything happened as I'd planned it to. Except for me biting back sobs and blinking away tears, refusing to look at Mistress and talking to little S in a false cheerful tone of voice.
We managed to clear it up later, mostly by text. I don't think either one of us had known before how hard it is for me to wait for something. Or well, I know of course, but I'm so skilled by now at not putting myself in situations where I have to wait that it's rarely a problem. But this time I was powerless to prevent it, and what happens is total break down of my brain.
This is one of the aspects of ADHD for me. This is one of the things that makes me exhausted, why it is a disability. I can deal up to a point, like a damn filling with water, but past that point the damn brakes and there is a flood of rage and despair. I tried to hint at Mistress that I found it difficult, but I wasn't very clear, and she wasn't all that perceptive.
Now I'm more or less okay, a couple of hours later, but the tears are still about to well up every now and then and I feel exhausted and anxious. I don't know if I should take one of my anxiety-pills or if I should just hope it will pass on it's own. It's very apparent it wasn't a very beneficial exercise for my brain, that's for sure.
I wish I had a more normal brain. I wish I could wait, like most people. I wish normal everyday interaction wouldn't cause a nuclear breakdown in my head. But this is me, and this is how I function, and we'll just have to work around.
And little S loved her bike, and that makes it all a little better.
This morning we used the morning in bed to have glorious sex. It took us a couple of days before we had slept enough and spent enough time together before we got around to it, but it was definitely worth the wait.
And then, this morning, we had planted a surprise for little S. We bought her a bike last week, and hid it in the basement yesterday, with a string going from it and out in the yard. The plan was for her to play outside after breakfast, discovering the string, follow it and get the bike as a surprise. I had planned this for months and was looking forward to it with great excitment.
There turned out to be a snag, though. I pretty big one as far as I was concerned. Mistress and me had completely different time tables in mind, and had failed to communicate about it. Mostly, I think, because we both thought our own was so completely logical, it didn't dawn on either of us that the other one might have a different view.
Mistress wanted to spare the surprise to last. She appreciated the time spent outside, she was working on a project freeing the garage door from ice (it's still wintery around here) and was happy that little S was playing nicely with her doll and the snow and the gravel. She was oblivious to the fact that I was anxiously waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
At first it was okay. I was enjoying the sun and playing with the dog and everything was okay. But then I started to realise that things didn't go the way I had planned them. Why wasn't Mistress leading the kid towards the string? Why didn't she act?
Time went on, I got more and more fidgety and tried to ask Mistress about it, but it was hard to communicate about something that was a secret and a surprise when the kid was right next to us. Eventually little S got tired and started whining, and then I was a little bit more insistent, asking again about "when?". But I still don't think Mistress got how I was feeling or that we had strayed very far from the scenario I had envisioned.
At long last, Mistress signalled that okay, I might lead her to it, but I didn't want to lead her. I wanted her to find it, and the only way to do that was to make her play in that general area of the yard. But Mistress was busy with her project, and little S was playing by her, and when I tried to stir up some interest around the string-area, nothing happened. I asked Mistress to join me, and she answered me with a flat "no". And that was when I broke down.
I couldn't stand it anymore. My brain melted. I was overcome with despair and the only thing I could think of doing was fleeing, which I promptly did. I just left everything and walked away out on the street, and walked a 100 metres to where the postboxes were.
Eventually I calmed down, went back, Mistress and little S played around the string by then, she found it, and eventually the bicycle and everything happened as I'd planned it to. Except for me biting back sobs and blinking away tears, refusing to look at Mistress and talking to little S in a false cheerful tone of voice.
We managed to clear it up later, mostly by text. I don't think either one of us had known before how hard it is for me to wait for something. Or well, I know of course, but I'm so skilled by now at not putting myself in situations where I have to wait that it's rarely a problem. But this time I was powerless to prevent it, and what happens is total break down of my brain.
This is one of the aspects of ADHD for me. This is one of the things that makes me exhausted, why it is a disability. I can deal up to a point, like a damn filling with water, but past that point the damn brakes and there is a flood of rage and despair. I tried to hint at Mistress that I found it difficult, but I wasn't very clear, and she wasn't all that perceptive.
Now I'm more or less okay, a couple of hours later, but the tears are still about to well up every now and then and I feel exhausted and anxious. I don't know if I should take one of my anxiety-pills or if I should just hope it will pass on it's own. It's very apparent it wasn't a very beneficial exercise for my brain, that's for sure.
I wish I had a more normal brain. I wish I could wait, like most people. I wish normal everyday interaction wouldn't cause a nuclear breakdown in my head. But this is me, and this is how I function, and we'll just have to work around.
And little S loved her bike, and that makes it all a little better.
Mar 18, 2013
Weekend fun
We actually did get it on that day last weekend. It went something like "oh well, I might as well tie you up a little" and developed into "and then have you whittle a perfect piece of ginger and put it in your ass and smack you around a little, and oh, by the way, carve my initials and a big heart in your back. While I'm at it, kind of thing."
So yeah. Fun was had.
Fun was had this weekend too, mostly yesterday which was Mistress' birthday. Little S was at my mothers for the day, and we went to a friends house for some table top role playing, which was great fun. But before that Mistress decided that since it was her birthday, there would be a birthday spanking. Administrated by her at me. By every implement I have ever given her on her birthday.
After 43+1 (to grow on, obviously) whacks with the big walking stick and 43+1 with the flogger, I somehow got a compulsion to tell her that in fact I also gave her the small rattan on a birthday. Because... I'm stupid? Terminally honest? Brainwashed?
And then she fucked me, and that was pretty much a perfect birthday.
Also, I coloured her hair black. It looks great.
So yeah. Fun was had.
Fun was had this weekend too, mostly yesterday which was Mistress' birthday. Little S was at my mothers for the day, and we went to a friends house for some table top role playing, which was great fun. But before that Mistress decided that since it was her birthday, there would be a birthday spanking. Administrated by her at me. By every implement I have ever given her on her birthday.
After 43+1 (to grow on, obviously) whacks with the big walking stick and 43+1 with the flogger, I somehow got a compulsion to tell her that in fact I also gave her the small rattan on a birthday. Because... I'm stupid? Terminally honest? Brainwashed?
And then she fucked me, and that was pretty much a perfect birthday.
Also, I coloured her hair black. It looks great.
Jan 23, 2013
Grandpa's got cancer
Mistress took little S and went to her parents for a couple of days. I thought I would love the time home alone, relieved from duties and stress. I hate it. Come back! All I do is long for the two of them.
So this was very good for me. It's good to miss people sometimes.
Unfortunately, yesterday Mistress' father got his diagnosis - the prostate cancer has spread to the skeleton. The doc who told him said the prognoses was "good" but a short web-search indicates a lifespan of one or two years and a painful death.
Little S is going to lose her grandpa. My beloved mother-in-law is going to lose her spouse of forty plus years. And of course, Mistress is going to lose her father. And it's not going to be pretty. It's an ugly disease, and he's not a well-balanced man at the best of times. He's prone to rumination and angst, he has a nasty tendency to spread his bad mood around with snarky comments and petty meanness, and he tends to drink to relieve anxiety. He's already lashed out at Mistress a couple of times for things he feels she's done him wrong over the years (mostly a slammed door a couple of years ago - I have no idea what that's about, it's a really strange thing to be hung up about), and my fear is that it'll only get worse.
I wish I could help him. I wish I could help her. I wish I could make it all better.
And I'm dreading the day little S will realise grandpa has cancer and is going to die. She's already crying about cancer and dying (not to mention losing limbs - she's got a lot of existential angst for a three year old), and I so wish I could tell her that we will all live together for ever.
But we wont, and the scary truth is that yes, she could die, her moms could die, everyone around her could die. We most probably wont, but yes, we could. And I really really don't want to have that conversation - or rather, I'd really want a way to comfort her afterwards when she's inconsolable.
We have a shaky Christian faith, both me and Mistress, we choose to get married in a church and to baptise our kid, we both went through with confirmation as teenagers (even though my atheistic dad said that if I only did it for the presents, I could get presents anyway....). We want to believe there's something after death, we want to believe we're not separated forever. But... We're both also scientists. It's hard to believe without proof. It's hard to trust and find comfort in something a part of you say is bullshit.
I do believe in a soul. I do believe in a benevolent, loving God. And I very strongly believe in offering my kid something besides "nah, we're all gonna die and that's that, buck up kid!" when she's torn in pieces by despair and separation anxiety.
So this was very good for me. It's good to miss people sometimes.
Unfortunately, yesterday Mistress' father got his diagnosis - the prostate cancer has spread to the skeleton. The doc who told him said the prognoses was "good" but a short web-search indicates a lifespan of one or two years and a painful death.
Little S is going to lose her grandpa. My beloved mother-in-law is going to lose her spouse of forty plus years. And of course, Mistress is going to lose her father. And it's not going to be pretty. It's an ugly disease, and he's not a well-balanced man at the best of times. He's prone to rumination and angst, he has a nasty tendency to spread his bad mood around with snarky comments and petty meanness, and he tends to drink to relieve anxiety. He's already lashed out at Mistress a couple of times for things he feels she's done him wrong over the years (mostly a slammed door a couple of years ago - I have no idea what that's about, it's a really strange thing to be hung up about), and my fear is that it'll only get worse.
I wish I could help him. I wish I could help her. I wish I could make it all better.
And I'm dreading the day little S will realise grandpa has cancer and is going to die. She's already crying about cancer and dying (not to mention losing limbs - she's got a lot of existential angst for a three year old), and I so wish I could tell her that we will all live together for ever.
But we wont, and the scary truth is that yes, she could die, her moms could die, everyone around her could die. We most probably wont, but yes, we could. And I really really don't want to have that conversation - or rather, I'd really want a way to comfort her afterwards when she's inconsolable.
We have a shaky Christian faith, both me and Mistress, we choose to get married in a church and to baptise our kid, we both went through with confirmation as teenagers (even though my atheistic dad said that if I only did it for the presents, I could get presents anyway....). We want to believe there's something after death, we want to believe we're not separated forever. But... We're both also scientists. It's hard to believe without proof. It's hard to trust and find comfort in something a part of you say is bullshit.
I do believe in a soul. I do believe in a benevolent, loving God. And I very strongly believe in offering my kid something besides "nah, we're all gonna die and that's that, buck up kid!" when she's torn in pieces by despair and separation anxiety.
Jan 15, 2013
Busy little bee
Today I have:
1) Had an emotionally taxing meeting with one of the teachers at my daughters pre-school early in the morning, trying to convey the message that something's wrong and that even if the symtoms only manifests at home that doesn't mean the problem can't be present at the pre-school too. And trying to handle the frustration that comes from being treated as someone who doesn't know anything about kid's normal development, when I do. Bleergh.
2) Gone home and studied for exam on Thursday.
3) Gotten on a bus to get to a lunch meeting
4) Had a lunch meeting in a noisy and crowded café (bad choice, wont go there again) and discussed the thesis (or paper? or exam paper? I have no idea.) me and a colleague are going to spend the whole of next term writing.
5) Had to hurry away from there to go to a mandatory seminar, that went on for an hour (during which time I knitted frenetically because I was so tense and worked up).
6) Only to take the bus home, fetch the stroller, walk the kilometre to the pre-school, dress the little squirrel and drive her home in half a metre of snow and more coming all the time, and eat dinner.
7) Collapsed.
8) Oh, and had my mother over for said dinner, and for playtime with the happy little squirrel, who choose to top it all off with parting advice about us not getting any more babies, since "you seemed to think it was so much hard work the last time". Yeah. Thank you. Not a dilemma I'm planning on solving this very minute, thank you very much.
And in a way I know this day on the one hand would have been a bit much for anyone, but also that on the other hand most people with jobs and kids do these kinds of things on a regular basis. But that has really no bearing on what this means to me.
For me, this is... amazing. Unheard of. I haven't been this active and productive in about a year, and even then it was under duress and with a feeling of dread and exhaustion. Now I'm tired, and a bit high-strung, but I don't feel like killing myself (or anyone else) and I'm not falling asleep on the couch.
I am getting better.
My only worry right now is that I will be a walking corpse tomorrow, cognitive-wise, not to mention Thursday, when the exam is. But I'll deal with that then.
I'm guessing my chance of making Mistress hurt me in any nice way is pretty slim - she didn't sleep well last night, and she's still at her computer working now, even though it's soon past eight. But I'll give it a shot. The thing I long for most of all right now is being tied down and floating away on happy pain-endorphins.
Or maybe I'll just have to go to sleep like a normal person.
1) Had an emotionally taxing meeting with one of the teachers at my daughters pre-school early in the morning, trying to convey the message that something's wrong and that even if the symtoms only manifests at home that doesn't mean the problem can't be present at the pre-school too. And trying to handle the frustration that comes from being treated as someone who doesn't know anything about kid's normal development, when I do. Bleergh.
2) Gone home and studied for exam on Thursday.
3) Gotten on a bus to get to a lunch meeting
4) Had a lunch meeting in a noisy and crowded café (bad choice, wont go there again) and discussed the thesis (or paper? or exam paper? I have no idea.) me and a colleague are going to spend the whole of next term writing.
5) Had to hurry away from there to go to a mandatory seminar, that went on for an hour (during which time I knitted frenetically because I was so tense and worked up).
6) Only to take the bus home, fetch the stroller, walk the kilometre to the pre-school, dress the little squirrel and drive her home in half a metre of snow and more coming all the time, and eat dinner.
7) Collapsed.
8) Oh, and had my mother over for said dinner, and for playtime with the happy little squirrel, who choose to top it all off with parting advice about us not getting any more babies, since "you seemed to think it was so much hard work the last time". Yeah. Thank you. Not a dilemma I'm planning on solving this very minute, thank you very much.
And in a way I know this day on the one hand would have been a bit much for anyone, but also that on the other hand most people with jobs and kids do these kinds of things on a regular basis. But that has really no bearing on what this means to me.
For me, this is... amazing. Unheard of. I haven't been this active and productive in about a year, and even then it was under duress and with a feeling of dread and exhaustion. Now I'm tired, and a bit high-strung, but I don't feel like killing myself (or anyone else) and I'm not falling asleep on the couch.
I am getting better.
My only worry right now is that I will be a walking corpse tomorrow, cognitive-wise, not to mention Thursday, when the exam is. But I'll deal with that then.
I'm guessing my chance of making Mistress hurt me in any nice way is pretty slim - she didn't sleep well last night, and she's still at her computer working now, even though it's soon past eight. But I'll give it a shot. The thing I long for most of all right now is being tied down and floating away on happy pain-endorphins.
Or maybe I'll just have to go to sleep like a normal person.
Dec 18, 2012
Everyday life
I wish I had more energy. I want to finish Mistress socks that I'm knitting, instead I just sit here. I'm waiting for her to finish working, but I'm a little afraid to. I'm afraid we'll start arguing, or that I'll disappoint her somehow, or I don't know - I'm probably afraid that she wont feel good and that I wont be able to make it better.
She was really tired and felt yucky this morning. I think we're both very aware of the fact that she's working a lot, she's been a superhero all fall, and really we've both been since I got pregnant. Sometimes I get the distinct feeling that the two of us simply isn't cut out for this life. Not for life in general, mind, just this one. In this society. With the specific demands placed on us, in this time and place.
I'm so worried that she'll end up were I am. Clinically depressed and burnt out. I need her not to be. And I can't help her, and it makes my stomach turn to knots.
But really, other then being tired right now, I've had a good day. My mom came over for dinner, so that Mistress could work late without me being alone with little S and fixing food. It was nice, the best part was that after dinner I actually hung out with them, I didn't retreat to my room and collapsed. I am getting better. I really am.
But then mom offered to take little S on Friday afternoon, and it wasn't until after awhile I realised her offer encompassed me being home alone with little S the whole morning and making lunch to the three of us. That made the offer a lot less tempting. "Oh, but I don't want to pick her up from pre-school, it'll take to long. It's only around three hours you'll be alone with her."
Yeah. I've been alone with little S around one hour tops this fall. I wish that was a reasonable thing to expect from me. But even more I wish that my own mom, that I see every week, would realise that it isn't. It makes me sad, and a little hurt, that she doesn't get it. But she doesn't. And she's 62 - she wont change. She'll never get it. I have no idea why, but for some reason, there is some things that just wont stick. One of them sees to be me not being able to do certain things.
---
Mistress actually liked the idea - we planned our Christmas shopping for Friday morning, and it's good for little S to start her Christmas break early. It's all fine. I just still wish I could have a little more tension-free relationship with my mother.
She was really tired and felt yucky this morning. I think we're both very aware of the fact that she's working a lot, she's been a superhero all fall, and really we've both been since I got pregnant. Sometimes I get the distinct feeling that the two of us simply isn't cut out for this life. Not for life in general, mind, just this one. In this society. With the specific demands placed on us, in this time and place.
I'm so worried that she'll end up were I am. Clinically depressed and burnt out. I need her not to be. And I can't help her, and it makes my stomach turn to knots.
But really, other then being tired right now, I've had a good day. My mom came over for dinner, so that Mistress could work late without me being alone with little S and fixing food. It was nice, the best part was that after dinner I actually hung out with them, I didn't retreat to my room and collapsed. I am getting better. I really am.
But then mom offered to take little S on Friday afternoon, and it wasn't until after awhile I realised her offer encompassed me being home alone with little S the whole morning and making lunch to the three of us. That made the offer a lot less tempting. "Oh, but I don't want to pick her up from pre-school, it'll take to long. It's only around three hours you'll be alone with her."
Yeah. I've been alone with little S around one hour tops this fall. I wish that was a reasonable thing to expect from me. But even more I wish that my own mom, that I see every week, would realise that it isn't. It makes me sad, and a little hurt, that she doesn't get it. But she doesn't. And she's 62 - she wont change. She'll never get it. I have no idea why, but for some reason, there is some things that just wont stick. One of them sees to be me not being able to do certain things.
---
Mistress actually liked the idea - we planned our Christmas shopping for Friday morning, and it's good for little S to start her Christmas break early. It's all fine. I just still wish I could have a little more tension-free relationship with my mother.
Dec 15, 2012
The good and the bad
Laying in a dark room without any input and no ability to do anything made wonderful things for my brain. My stomach tried to kill me (or at least it felt like it) and there was a period of six hours or so when that seemed like a good idea because I felt so horrible, but well, my brain obviously liked it. Nothing like a bout of calici virus to cure exhaustion and stress symptoms.
Mistress commented on it just now, and said something along the lines of that even if it had been hard on her, taking care of a first sick and then bored three year old, while tending her own stomach bug, if it was this good for me she might make me do it again. Not the calici part, just the "laying in a dark room for two days"-part.
I think that's a great idea, except that maybe it's not her and mine time together that should go to that, but my school/recuperating-time, that between nine and four when the little one is at preschool. I do try to do things I know will make me feel better, all the time, but usually I probably put to much active stuff into the schedule. That has it's reasons though, because if I was just laying in bed in a dark room without calici, my ruminations start. I have to balance the exhaustion part against the depression part of the problem - my brain is hyperactive, if I don't get any stimuli from the outside, it makes up it's own, and it's usually unpleasant.
One thing is that I'm consciously training the ability to be still without rumination, to be present and aware, by different exercises in mindfulness. I'm better at it now, but I have a life long training of doing the exact opposite, so results are so so at best.
Another thing is that Mistress can have the same effect on me that a severe stomach bug has... (Love you, darling!) She can make me present in the moment, focused on her and the here-and-now. Laying in the bed all by my self or laying in the bed because she ordered me to it, in a position she ordered me to, or bound by her physically, is two totally different experiences.
When she makes me do it, my focus is on obeying, and on her. My mind goes blank, or at least relaxes. The thoughts don't go away, usually, but they fade in to the background. It's not constant activity any more, it's just being there. I love it, but I can't achieve it on my own.
It's a state of awareness that can come when she ties me up, usually in the moment when I realise I can't get away, when the last knot is tied and I can see and feel that all the ends of the rope are out of my reach. It's like my whole being relaxes - body and mind. It happens during beatings too, somewhere halfway when I stop struggling and relax in to the pain, and it usually lingers afterwards.
I think it could probably happen at other times too, or I know it can, any time she exerts her power over me. In our day to day life that isn't to often, but sometimes on the couch when we watch television she'll grab my hair or put an arm or a hand around my throat, and I get that relaxed, aware, present feeling.
Right now I'm grateful our little family isn't puking our guts up any more, and that we seem to have a good chance of a relaxing weekend. There's a lot of misery around me, from the small stuff (our dog has chronic kidney problems we're trying to sort out) the personal impending doom-stuff (my father in law has prostate cancer, we'll know this Friday it it has spread to the skeleton, and we're all in different degrees of low-key terror) to the distant but unthinkable that happened in Connecticut.
But no. Right this minute I'm laying in bed with my beloved wife and Owner, we're going to have a whole night together for the first time in several days, and our daughter is thank God healthy and well looked-after downstairs by Grandma. This is good, and I'm going to let it be good, in this minute. That will have to be enough for now.
Mistress commented on it just now, and said something along the lines of that even if it had been hard on her, taking care of a first sick and then bored three year old, while tending her own stomach bug, if it was this good for me she might make me do it again. Not the calici part, just the "laying in a dark room for two days"-part.
I think that's a great idea, except that maybe it's not her and mine time together that should go to that, but my school/recuperating-time, that between nine and four when the little one is at preschool. I do try to do things I know will make me feel better, all the time, but usually I probably put to much active stuff into the schedule. That has it's reasons though, because if I was just laying in bed in a dark room without calici, my ruminations start. I have to balance the exhaustion part against the depression part of the problem - my brain is hyperactive, if I don't get any stimuli from the outside, it makes up it's own, and it's usually unpleasant.
One thing is that I'm consciously training the ability to be still without rumination, to be present and aware, by different exercises in mindfulness. I'm better at it now, but I have a life long training of doing the exact opposite, so results are so so at best.
Another thing is that Mistress can have the same effect on me that a severe stomach bug has... (Love you, darling!) She can make me present in the moment, focused on her and the here-and-now. Laying in the bed all by my self or laying in the bed because she ordered me to it, in a position she ordered me to, or bound by her physically, is two totally different experiences.
When she makes me do it, my focus is on obeying, and on her. My mind goes blank, or at least relaxes. The thoughts don't go away, usually, but they fade in to the background. It's not constant activity any more, it's just being there. I love it, but I can't achieve it on my own.
It's a state of awareness that can come when she ties me up, usually in the moment when I realise I can't get away, when the last knot is tied and I can see and feel that all the ends of the rope are out of my reach. It's like my whole being relaxes - body and mind. It happens during beatings too, somewhere halfway when I stop struggling and relax in to the pain, and it usually lingers afterwards.
I think it could probably happen at other times too, or I know it can, any time she exerts her power over me. In our day to day life that isn't to often, but sometimes on the couch when we watch television she'll grab my hair or put an arm or a hand around my throat, and I get that relaxed, aware, present feeling.
Right now I'm grateful our little family isn't puking our guts up any more, and that we seem to have a good chance of a relaxing weekend. There's a lot of misery around me, from the small stuff (our dog has chronic kidney problems we're trying to sort out) the personal impending doom-stuff (my father in law has prostate cancer, we'll know this Friday it it has spread to the skeleton, and we're all in different degrees of low-key terror) to the distant but unthinkable that happened in Connecticut.
But no. Right this minute I'm laying in bed with my beloved wife and Owner, we're going to have a whole night together for the first time in several days, and our daughter is thank God healthy and well looked-after downstairs by Grandma. This is good, and I'm going to let it be good, in this minute. That will have to be enough for now.
Nov 16, 2012
Waiting game
When it's Friday night. And we have beer and cheese doodles, and the kid is asleep downstairs with grandma. And Mistress decides she wants to work for a little while, and we agree to quit working at eight and then cuddle on the sofa and have our beers.
And she works and works and works and I go take a shower. And wait. And turn on the telly. And it's eight thirty and she says "I'm almost done". Is this when I'm supposed to be a submissive, obedient, humble slave-type and meekly say "Yes Mistress" and be nice about it when she finally arrives, and not make a fuss and be grumpy all evening? It is, isn't it? Damn.
And she works and works and works and I go take a shower. And wait. And turn on the telly. And it's eight thirty and she says "I'm almost done". Is this when I'm supposed to be a submissive, obedient, humble slave-type and meekly say "Yes Mistress" and be nice about it when she finally arrives, and not make a fuss and be grumpy all evening? It is, isn't it? Damn.
Different perspectives
Mistress went away over night in the beginning of the week, she had a job meeting in another town. Neither of us likes it. We do separate sometimes, either because life demands it of us, or because one of us want to do things the other doesn't. But if there is any way, we stay together.
I hated having her gone. When she's not around, my world gets... insecure. Shaky. Everything feels a little bit dangerous. It's as if I'm walking on a tightrope. When she's here I'm just walking around, nothing special, and the minute she leaves town, the road is a thin rope and under it is a gaping chasm, incredibly deep and filled with crocodiles. Nothing bad happens to me as long as I walk carefully, but the fear factor is way bigger.
My mother came over and had dinner with us and cleared the table and played with little S while I walked the dog. Clearing the table is one of those tasks I get really exhausted doing, it's way to many choices and clutter and stuff, so it meant a big deal that she did that.
But then we ended up on the sofa after little S had fallen asleep, and talked and talked and talked. Good talk, in many ways, but also heart wrenching. We talked about stuff we've never talked about before. The divorce when I was nine. Why she moved away then, why we didn't live full time with her. Why they separated. My childhood. If there was things that could have been done differently. If they should have been done differently. (Hell yeah.)
And about now. About how we keep walking in to each other, hurting each other. About why she's tip-toeing around me, afraid of saying things. And about little S. About why she tries so hard to convince me that our struggles, our pain, is common and natural and nothing not everybody with small children experiences. And she actually listened when I tried to tell her why I don't think that is so.
Apparently, when I try to evoke sympathy from her, when I want her comfort and her pity and her understanding, she things I blaim little S. She doesn't separate the experience of being a parent, and our experience of lacking basic necessities like sleep and sanity, from the love for the child. And from that point of view, of course she doesn't want to pity me. Because she said she would feel like she pitied me for having little S.
That hurt me. It hurt me that she obviously doesn't see how I feel for my kid. That the love I hold for her doesn't shine through. Two things comfort me though. One is that I do think little S sees it. I hold her, I hug her, I comfort her, I play with her, I tell her I love her and that she's the finest person there is, and most importantly I don't tell her a lot of other stuff. I don't take my irritation or fatigue or frustration out on her. I really don't. But I do show it to my own mother, and I do get hurt when she shuts me down or tell me my experience isn't valid.
The other comforting thing is that I think she lets her own experience get in the way when she interprets mine. She and dad got two kids very close together, and they lived far from their own parents, in a house in bad condition, working hard and having very little money, and my big brother was hyper allergic. I don't think she remembers much from that time, but I do think it's important for her to think that they made it al right. And from that follows that if they managed that situation, of course me and Mistress can manage our situation, and there's no need for her to pity us, or sympathise, or help out.
The ironic part is that she does help out. Quite a lot. It's not really the practical side of things that's my problem. It's the attitude. The snide comments. The clearly stated idea that we could make it easier and practical for ourselves, without asking if her solutions have been tried already or if we have any particular reasons we're not trying them (they always have and we always have reasons). And the absolutely adamant attitude that our kid is like everybody else's kids, that all kids are the same and that we don't have it any more difficult than anybody else, and therefore have nothing to complain about.
That I have a problem with.
All this talk was inspired by me getting an ADHD-diagnosis, of course. Somehow, it made it possible to talk about. And to me, it's an opening to say "hey, look, we do have it harder than many others. Could you stop moralising and brushing me off and just feel for me for a moment?". I wish I wouldn't have to have a diagnosis of a life long cognitive impairment just to get sympathy. I wish she would have seen me as I am, in the situation I am in, without the glasses provided by the diagnosis. I wish me suffering would have been enough. But somehow, it wasn't. Now she can't deny it any more at least, and that does make it feel better.
I don't know what her problem is about the diagnosis. For me, it explains a lot. It makes things make sense that before didn't. But for her... I think she now has to go back and change her whole impression of me. Or maybe I just hope she will?
Every time she criticised me, every time she yelled at me, every time I went without lunch or warm clothes and she scoffed at me and made it into my own fault for forgetting, every time she gave me to much responsibility and then scolded me for not living up to it, she now has to re-interpret. I was never lazy. I was never un-ambitious. I did care, a lot. I just couldn't do it. And I think realising that has made her change her point of view a little, or at least starting to change it.
Her main issue however is our suspicion that little S might have something similar that I have. Every time we hint at little S being more energetic, having more temper, or being more sensitive than the average child, she shoot it down. She just doesn't want to hear it. And now, when we talked, I realised she thinks we're blaming the kid. That we're angry or resentful or something at her for being how she is.
We're not. In our eyes, she's perfect. But the things demanded from us in taking care of her often exceeds our resources. To the point of me finally breaking down and becoming really sick. We simply can't do it. That doesn't mean we love her one iota less, it just means we're sometimes very frustrated and tired, and often angry at society and the people around us for not helping us out. For letting us drown and standing by watching, shrugging. That frustrates us. That makes us angry. Not the kid. She's who she is, and she deserves the best. But when we can't give her what she needs, even when we literary work ourself into the ground, being told "well, being a parent is hard" and "you're no worse off than anyone else" is not what we need to hear.
"I'm so sorry for you, I hope it gets better soon" is what I want to hear. "Poor you, I know it must be hard, I feel for you". Not "poor you for having such a bad child" which I think is what my mom think I mean, but "poor you for not being allowed to sleep nearly as much as you need" or something similar. The love for a child doesn't take away basic needs like sleep or food.
I don't know if it's any harder to take care of little S than of any three-year old. I do know that kids are different from each other, because I know a bunch of them. And I do know that parenting can be very different experiences. I also do know that for us, it has been really really challenging. And that some of the things that we have had to do and live through has been suffering, for real. And I want that to be mirrored by those I'm close to.
Mom and I stayed up to eleven talking, and then I slept lousy, waiting for little S to call to me in the night. We went up early, and when I'd finally dropped little S off at pre-school I went to the University and had a therapy session with a patient. When the patient left the room after an hour, I shut the door and just sat there. My brain couldn't take anymore.
And it's interesting to see how it works. All our sessions is on camera, and on the recording nothing shows of my fatigue, I'm doing a good session. But I can't keep that up. Afterwards, my brain just shut down. I had to sit for a long while before I could go get coffee, and then I had to go lie down for almost and hour in a completely dark room before I could muster enough energy to go write my rapport about the session.
I have been shaky ever since. I got through a busy Wednesday on coffee and calming pills, suffering through repeated panic attacks all day brought on by the fatigue, and then I slept and went around like a zombie all Thursday. Today I'm still affected, but I'm getting better. I'm counting on being back up on my usual base-line around Monday, but it gets very obvious that even if the immediate effect of getting exhausted as I did on Tuesday goes away after a few hours, the lingering effects last for days. I can't afford it. I can fake it in the moment, it doesn't effect patients or my performance, but I suffer from it.
I'm glad I know to rest now. I don't try to force myself forward anymore, I don't get angry with myself. I just have to accept that this is how I function. I can stretch my resources a great deal, but if I don't stop in time, I will take a long time afterwards to recover. And if I don't the end result is the state I was in this summer, something I would very much prefer never to experience again.
Today I'm going to eat lunch, and fill the car with our pre-packed bags for a weekend with my in-laws. And walk the dog. That's about it. And that's perfect.
I hated having her gone. When she's not around, my world gets... insecure. Shaky. Everything feels a little bit dangerous. It's as if I'm walking on a tightrope. When she's here I'm just walking around, nothing special, and the minute she leaves town, the road is a thin rope and under it is a gaping chasm, incredibly deep and filled with crocodiles. Nothing bad happens to me as long as I walk carefully, but the fear factor is way bigger.
My mother came over and had dinner with us and cleared the table and played with little S while I walked the dog. Clearing the table is one of those tasks I get really exhausted doing, it's way to many choices and clutter and stuff, so it meant a big deal that she did that.
But then we ended up on the sofa after little S had fallen asleep, and talked and talked and talked. Good talk, in many ways, but also heart wrenching. We talked about stuff we've never talked about before. The divorce when I was nine. Why she moved away then, why we didn't live full time with her. Why they separated. My childhood. If there was things that could have been done differently. If they should have been done differently. (Hell yeah.)
And about now. About how we keep walking in to each other, hurting each other. About why she's tip-toeing around me, afraid of saying things. And about little S. About why she tries so hard to convince me that our struggles, our pain, is common and natural and nothing not everybody with small children experiences. And she actually listened when I tried to tell her why I don't think that is so.
Apparently, when I try to evoke sympathy from her, when I want her comfort and her pity and her understanding, she things I blaim little S. She doesn't separate the experience of being a parent, and our experience of lacking basic necessities like sleep and sanity, from the love for the child. And from that point of view, of course she doesn't want to pity me. Because she said she would feel like she pitied me for having little S.
That hurt me. It hurt me that she obviously doesn't see how I feel for my kid. That the love I hold for her doesn't shine through. Two things comfort me though. One is that I do think little S sees it. I hold her, I hug her, I comfort her, I play with her, I tell her I love her and that she's the finest person there is, and most importantly I don't tell her a lot of other stuff. I don't take my irritation or fatigue or frustration out on her. I really don't. But I do show it to my own mother, and I do get hurt when she shuts me down or tell me my experience isn't valid.
The other comforting thing is that I think she lets her own experience get in the way when she interprets mine. She and dad got two kids very close together, and they lived far from their own parents, in a house in bad condition, working hard and having very little money, and my big brother was hyper allergic. I don't think she remembers much from that time, but I do think it's important for her to think that they made it al right. And from that follows that if they managed that situation, of course me and Mistress can manage our situation, and there's no need for her to pity us, or sympathise, or help out.
The ironic part is that she does help out. Quite a lot. It's not really the practical side of things that's my problem. It's the attitude. The snide comments. The clearly stated idea that we could make it easier and practical for ourselves, without asking if her solutions have been tried already or if we have any particular reasons we're not trying them (they always have and we always have reasons). And the absolutely adamant attitude that our kid is like everybody else's kids, that all kids are the same and that we don't have it any more difficult than anybody else, and therefore have nothing to complain about.
That I have a problem with.
All this talk was inspired by me getting an ADHD-diagnosis, of course. Somehow, it made it possible to talk about. And to me, it's an opening to say "hey, look, we do have it harder than many others. Could you stop moralising and brushing me off and just feel for me for a moment?". I wish I wouldn't have to have a diagnosis of a life long cognitive impairment just to get sympathy. I wish she would have seen me as I am, in the situation I am in, without the glasses provided by the diagnosis. I wish me suffering would have been enough. But somehow, it wasn't. Now she can't deny it any more at least, and that does make it feel better.
I don't know what her problem is about the diagnosis. For me, it explains a lot. It makes things make sense that before didn't. But for her... I think she now has to go back and change her whole impression of me. Or maybe I just hope she will?
Every time she criticised me, every time she yelled at me, every time I went without lunch or warm clothes and she scoffed at me and made it into my own fault for forgetting, every time she gave me to much responsibility and then scolded me for not living up to it, she now has to re-interpret. I was never lazy. I was never un-ambitious. I did care, a lot. I just couldn't do it. And I think realising that has made her change her point of view a little, or at least starting to change it.
Her main issue however is our suspicion that little S might have something similar that I have. Every time we hint at little S being more energetic, having more temper, or being more sensitive than the average child, she shoot it down. She just doesn't want to hear it. And now, when we talked, I realised she thinks we're blaming the kid. That we're angry or resentful or something at her for being how she is.
We're not. In our eyes, she's perfect. But the things demanded from us in taking care of her often exceeds our resources. To the point of me finally breaking down and becoming really sick. We simply can't do it. That doesn't mean we love her one iota less, it just means we're sometimes very frustrated and tired, and often angry at society and the people around us for not helping us out. For letting us drown and standing by watching, shrugging. That frustrates us. That makes us angry. Not the kid. She's who she is, and she deserves the best. But when we can't give her what she needs, even when we literary work ourself into the ground, being told "well, being a parent is hard" and "you're no worse off than anyone else" is not what we need to hear.
"I'm so sorry for you, I hope it gets better soon" is what I want to hear. "Poor you, I know it must be hard, I feel for you". Not "poor you for having such a bad child" which I think is what my mom think I mean, but "poor you for not being allowed to sleep nearly as much as you need" or something similar. The love for a child doesn't take away basic needs like sleep or food.
I don't know if it's any harder to take care of little S than of any three-year old. I do know that kids are different from each other, because I know a bunch of them. And I do know that parenting can be very different experiences. I also do know that for us, it has been really really challenging. And that some of the things that we have had to do and live through has been suffering, for real. And I want that to be mirrored by those I'm close to.
Mom and I stayed up to eleven talking, and then I slept lousy, waiting for little S to call to me in the night. We went up early, and when I'd finally dropped little S off at pre-school I went to the University and had a therapy session with a patient. When the patient left the room after an hour, I shut the door and just sat there. My brain couldn't take anymore.
And it's interesting to see how it works. All our sessions is on camera, and on the recording nothing shows of my fatigue, I'm doing a good session. But I can't keep that up. Afterwards, my brain just shut down. I had to sit for a long while before I could go get coffee, and then I had to go lie down for almost and hour in a completely dark room before I could muster enough energy to go write my rapport about the session.
I have been shaky ever since. I got through a busy Wednesday on coffee and calming pills, suffering through repeated panic attacks all day brought on by the fatigue, and then I slept and went around like a zombie all Thursday. Today I'm still affected, but I'm getting better. I'm counting on being back up on my usual base-line around Monday, but it gets very obvious that even if the immediate effect of getting exhausted as I did on Tuesday goes away after a few hours, the lingering effects last for days. I can't afford it. I can fake it in the moment, it doesn't effect patients or my performance, but I suffer from it.
I'm glad I know to rest now. I don't try to force myself forward anymore, I don't get angry with myself. I just have to accept that this is how I function. I can stretch my resources a great deal, but if I don't stop in time, I will take a long time afterwards to recover. And if I don't the end result is the state I was in this summer, something I would very much prefer never to experience again.
Today I'm going to eat lunch, and fill the car with our pre-packed bags for a weekend with my in-laws. And walk the dog. That's about it. And that's perfect.
Nov 15, 2012
The best laid plans...
Last Sunday we were going to rope-thing, people meeting and playing around with tying each other up. We've gone once before, but haven't been able to since, so I was looking forward to it. The meeting was moved from day time to night time, so we asked my dad to babysit after little S had fallen asleep, all he had to do was watch the whodunit on our TV instead of his own. He was all for it, and eventually little S was sleeping quietly in her bed in her room, Mistress had done the ten minutes of last minute work she suddenly decided she had to do, and we were off.
And then we drove through town and around in a suburb looking for the right address. Both yawning desperately. When we realised we had parked the car in the wrong area and decided to move it, Mistress commented on how tired she was and how she really only was doing this so that I could meet some people. For a second I was furious, and when I looked closer at the anger I realised that I was absolutely exhausted too, and more or less did this because I wanted Mistress to get out and meet some people. And the anger fell away and I confessed that well, I wasn't really feeling like it either.
So we drove home again. And surprised my dad in front of the TV, shared some candy and a cup of tea with him, and then spent the rest of the evening cuddled on the sofa just the two of us. I don't remember what we said to dad, probably something resembling the truth. I think we only left out that bit about tying people up...
There's no way around it, we really don't have the energy to have an active social life. Maybe we never will. Hopefully people will have patience with us, and appreciate the rare occasions when we actually do turn up. They do happen, from time to time.
And then we drove through town and around in a suburb looking for the right address. Both yawning desperately. When we realised we had parked the car in the wrong area and decided to move it, Mistress commented on how tired she was and how she really only was doing this so that I could meet some people. For a second I was furious, and when I looked closer at the anger I realised that I was absolutely exhausted too, and more or less did this because I wanted Mistress to get out and meet some people. And the anger fell away and I confessed that well, I wasn't really feeling like it either.
So we drove home again. And surprised my dad in front of the TV, shared some candy and a cup of tea with him, and then spent the rest of the evening cuddled on the sofa just the two of us. I don't remember what we said to dad, probably something resembling the truth. I think we only left out that bit about tying people up...
There's no way around it, we really don't have the energy to have an active social life. Maybe we never will. Hopefully people will have patience with us, and appreciate the rare occasions when we actually do turn up. They do happen, from time to time.
Aug 10, 2012
At medieval week
We're on one of the most beuatiful places I know, the town of Visby on the island of Gotland in the Baltic Sea. It's Medieval Week, a yearly event that gathers thousands of people, including most of my and Mistress' friends. I haven't been here for five years, and it's still magical.
The old part of town is surrounded by a city wall, built around the thirtenth century, and the surrounded area has countless ruins, churches and medieval buildings, and the streets have the same crazy layouts that all medieval cities had - the go in every direction, and are very narrow.
We haven't been all that much in medieval garb ourselves, it's been raining and we've been doing other stuff too. But tonight me and Mistress are going to a show, dressed up, and tomorrow we'll be at the market place and other event-related things all day. It's not the same to be here with a little kid, not to mention sharing a flat with my mother, but it's still good.
And it's been a great way to handle the depression. I haven't been this active in ages, and the somber thoughts are all but gone. They're there when I wake up, but then I get thrown into such a lot of fun activities that I get distracted. The city wall, the ocean, the smells and sounds, the people, and my family - it all makes me happy.
And two days ago we went to an ale-house in a medieval cellar after little S hade fallen asleep, and had some beer with a couple of friends, and listened to live musicians playing scabrous music, and I haven't laughed like that in a year or so. The day after I had a hangover, but I was still actually happier and less tired than I've been all summer. A hangover is apparently nothing compared to the continous dreariness of depression and fatigue.
With mother in the same apartment, everything kinky or remotely sexual or looking like power excange is kept to a minimum. But I'm hers as much as always, and I feel that in my heart every day.
The old part of town is surrounded by a city wall, built around the thirtenth century, and the surrounded area has countless ruins, churches and medieval buildings, and the streets have the same crazy layouts that all medieval cities had - the go in every direction, and are very narrow.
We haven't been all that much in medieval garb ourselves, it's been raining and we've been doing other stuff too. But tonight me and Mistress are going to a show, dressed up, and tomorrow we'll be at the market place and other event-related things all day. It's not the same to be here with a little kid, not to mention sharing a flat with my mother, but it's still good.
And it's been a great way to handle the depression. I haven't been this active in ages, and the somber thoughts are all but gone. They're there when I wake up, but then I get thrown into such a lot of fun activities that I get distracted. The city wall, the ocean, the smells and sounds, the people, and my family - it all makes me happy.
And two days ago we went to an ale-house in a medieval cellar after little S hade fallen asleep, and had some beer with a couple of friends, and listened to live musicians playing scabrous music, and I haven't laughed like that in a year or so. The day after I had a hangover, but I was still actually happier and less tired than I've been all summer. A hangover is apparently nothing compared to the continous dreariness of depression and fatigue.
With mother in the same apartment, everything kinky or remotely sexual or looking like power excange is kept to a minimum. But I'm hers as much as always, and I feel that in my heart every day.
Jun 25, 2012
Vacation
We're visiting my in-laws in their cabin by the sea, in the northern Baltic. The cabin is right by the shoreline, and there's something about the seas' constant motion and the sounds of water and birds and the wind in the trees that soothes my mind. On the one hand I seem to sleep or want to sleep all the time, on the other hand it feels like my mind is healing.
We seriously need to get that house in the country, away from noise and other people. I would feel so much better. But that means me getting a proper job, that can pay for half of such a house without me having to work full time, and that means graduating. One more poor year with full time studies, and then we can move forward.
One of the greatest thing with staying here is the sleeping arrangements. Little S sleeps with grandma in a small outhouse with room for two beds and nothing else, grandpa sleeps in the main cabin together with two big rottweilers that takes grandmas bed - apparently they both like that better than their normal arrangement. And me and Mistress sleeps alone in a small cabin a bit away from the main cabin, down by the water. Alone. The key word here is alone.
Little S wouldn't fit even if she wanted to, it is so tiny. But she wants to sleep with grandma, thank God.
Yesterday, Mistress chained my hands to a chain looped around my waist, and pushed me forward on the bed. I had a gagball in my mouth, and she proceeded to whip me, first with her hands, and then with a switch I had cut and peeled earlier. It was terrifying and horribly painful and beautiful and absolutely delicious, all at the same time. And she told me to scream if I wanted to, and that fact alone makes me love our little cabin by the sea.
We seriously need to get that house in the country, away from noise and other people. I would feel so much better. But that means me getting a proper job, that can pay for half of such a house without me having to work full time, and that means graduating. One more poor year with full time studies, and then we can move forward.
One of the greatest thing with staying here is the sleeping arrangements. Little S sleeps with grandma in a small outhouse with room for two beds and nothing else, grandpa sleeps in the main cabin together with two big rottweilers that takes grandmas bed - apparently they both like that better than their normal arrangement. And me and Mistress sleeps alone in a small cabin a bit away from the main cabin, down by the water. Alone. The key word here is alone.
Little S wouldn't fit even if she wanted to, it is so tiny. But she wants to sleep with grandma, thank God.
Yesterday, Mistress chained my hands to a chain looped around my waist, and pushed me forward on the bed. I had a gagball in my mouth, and she proceeded to whip me, first with her hands, and then with a switch I had cut and peeled earlier. It was terrifying and horribly painful and beautiful and absolutely delicious, all at the same time. And she told me to scream if I wanted to, and that fact alone makes me love our little cabin by the sea.
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