About Your Father..

So my stepmother took me aside today and told me my father is losing his memory, showing signs of confusion. Classic dementia stuff. She is becoming concerned about his erratic driving.

She is going to talk to his doctor.

But the real kicker is that she said he is becoming mean, blaming her for his issues, and getting short with her. Maybe he does not understand why she is questioning him or advising him. No one has told him his behaviour is becoming weird. He has always seemed mean, irritable, and short to me. I suppose I ought to be grateful that she never noticed before now.

She is the best thing that ever happened to him. No one else can handle him so well. I don’t know what I will do if she needs to step back. She is older than he is.

I wish she had already told my brother. I want to talk to him about it.


Book Review. Kind of.

I am reading Radical Self Acceptance: Embracing Your Life With The Heart Of A Buddha because it was highly recommended to me, over a year ago, by someone who was very enthusiastic about it. They must have given me a heartfelt and emotional recommendation, because though I cannot recall who referred me to it, I can recall the emotion tied to the referral. I really thought it would help me.

So far I do not like it. It recommends that I get in touch with my body, my emotions, and really experience my physical and emotional self. I was not able to do this a few years ago, until I got on beta blockers and slowed down my reaction time long enough to feel. Now I can feel it, when I am triggered. Before I was so triggered that there was not a time of peace to compare it to, triggered was all I was. It was my existence. I am grateful for the space between feeling and reaction, now. But I don’t want to feel more than that, longer than that. I want to shove it all away and get on with my life.

I do not like the book because I do not want to feel my emotions. I do not want to acknowledge a thought, even a bad one. I do not want to start meditating again. I have not meditated since I was a teenager. I want to accept myself, to free myself from the shame and embarrassment that is me and my life history. Without converting to a religion.

I want to wave a magic wand over myself, instead. I don’t want to work at it. It is ridiculous, I put all this effort into my children and get them what they need, from therapies to spontaneous cakes , but I will only do the very basic necessities for my own well being. How can I take care of their emotional selves if I am condemning myself or holding myself hostage for my mistakes?

I bought a Wii Fit for the yoga. Because it is supposed to be so fantastic for PTSD. Have I done that yoga since buying it? No. I need to get with it. I am reading the book. I don’t want to. But I am reading the book and I am going to do what it advises me to do. If it has no positive result, then I will put it down.

Self Care

I am

Reading self help books.

On a diet that involves eating more fruit and vegetable and seafood, and less dessert. Being aware of caloric intake. Nothing too fanatical.

Trying to go to bed earlier.

Taking my evening medication, even if I think I don’t need them.

Trying to remember my vitamins.

Taking the summer off of enrichment classes for the children. This is how I get three or four appointments a week instead of seven, which was making me frantic.

I want to

Get my sewing done.

Play boardgames with the children, hard to do after teaching them how to play Kick The Can, which I like so much better.

Favourite Album…

Every once in a while I remember that I listened to Depeche Mode’s Songs of Faith and Devotion every day for nearly a year, twenty years ago. I think it might be my favorite album, or closest to it. Previously my favorite had been Pink Floyd’s A Momentary Lapse of Reason.

I ought to move on to the present, but I don’t buy albums any longer. My last two buys were soundtracks to movies, and my favorite of those is Ennio Morricone’s soundtrack to The Mission, which I cannot watch because it is so very sad.

I bought some CDs for my babies to listen to when they were napping, varieties of birdsong, which my oldest loved, and then some classical stuff with heartbeat running through it, years ago.

I need to pick up a cheap MP3 player for my son, so that he has something to listen to when he is on the bus. I don’t even know how to work one, yet. I suppose I will be buying music again.

Missing Someone Who Doesn’t Miss You

Is pretty pathetic.

But there you are. I seem to do it all the time.

I miss the friends I had in high school and very early adulthood.

Leaving a religion and a lifestyle and an abusive man really threw me. When I got someplace stable enough to have my wits about me, I reached out to people I had not spoken to in years. It was as if I had woken after a long sleep, and I remembered how much I loved them as if I had seen them the night before for dinner. How much I still loved them, after the fog of numbness wore off. I am glad I tried.

I only got one response. I am grateful to have her back in my life, but I miss the others.

I insist to my therapist, on multiple occasions, that something is certainly wrong with me. I know many people who are still in touch with all their friends from decades before. Why not me?

I miss the man I spoke with last year. I think about him every day. I shouldn’t.


So I have been tracking my food and my exercise for about two months.

I have lost maybe a pound. I know with certainty now that I need to up my exercise. I have shaved two hundred calories off of my diet, per day, and my clothing fits better – but I would not say I have lost enough weight to fool myself into thinking I can get by without exercise. I have lost the muscle mass I had previously won playing parkour tag two or three times weekly, due to winter and the illnesses all of us suffered through it this year. I need to get it back, no matter what my weight, for my own health.

Exercise seems hard with three kids in tow, but really I just need to get back into tag and coerce them into taking walks with me by offering to let them race me on their bikes.

I haven’t got any winter excuses anymore. I will never get younger. I have to do it now.