This post was first seen on lifewithanillness.com
This post was first seen on lifewithanillness.com
《Credit》 Pic & Quote by lifewithanillness.com
The post Happy 4TH of July! appeared first on Life with an Illness.
Originally posted on April 20, 2018 on Journey Into A.
It’s been a few weeks since my last post (part one) and honestly it’s because that one brought up a few things that rocked me a bit. It was also a post where more people read it from my Facebook page, meaning a lot of family or family friends read it, and seeing those numbers kind of freaked me out. This time, I’m just not going to look. It’s all memories that I’d like to get out of my head for my well-being and I can’t get anxious about those I know reading it.
Moving on, let’s dig up some more.
How about the relapses?
There were a few that I had witnessed. It was quick and rapidly terrifying. Most of the times were at a hotel where there would be a fully stocked mini fridge. Other times, she’d bolt to the local liquor store. Usually prompted by a fight between her and my old stepdad or otherwise it seemed to just happen out of the blue.
You knew before seeing her or smelling her. The energy of the “break” was always palpable. It was a certain kind of energy that I don’t wish to feel ever again. It was a downward shift mixed with shame, guilt, and a crazed excitement (for lack of a better word). It was disgusting and it clung to you and filled your whole body.
Then when you saw her, she was flighty, impulsive, and grasping desperately onto pretending everything was fine. I couldn’t hide my facial expressions so the moment she’d see my face, she always realized I’d known what happened and that I was scared. She then couldn’t hide so then she would try to pick fights with my old stepdad to make it seem like there were reasons within reality as to why she relapsed.
– This is only with alcohol, by the way. I couldn’t tell you much about the drugs because I wasn’t aware of them until much later. I also am only speaking about the times I was around. –
She’d tear around the room, spinning this wild energy around until I couldn’t breathe. There was nowhere to go and I had no clue what to do. I’d hang on the outskirts of the room and try my hardest to pretend I wasn’t there. I’d watch TV or listen to music. It helped a little, but never enough. When her attention would come to me, I’d pretend I hadn’t been listening or that I didn’t see what she’d just done and she would turn away again and I’d be invisible all over.
Read the last 211 words here.
Originally posted on Journey Into A on March 26, 2018.
I’m not sure how many times I saw my mom pass out drunk. A handful of the times, she just fell to the floor. I was so little, I didn’t understand what was going on, but I knew it wasn’t good. I’d cry and wail.
Luckily, it never happened (as far as I can remember) when I was alone with her. My old stepdad (he was her boyfriend/fiance for the majority of time that he was in our lives, this story mostly contains bits from before they were legally married, but I call him “my old stepdad”) would always be there. He’d pick her up, wake her as best he could, and move her to the bed or couch.
One time that comes flashing back to me is the time where she decided to leave him. Wasn’t the first time. This time, she’d gotten an apartment not too far from our house. My old stepdad and I went to visit her (why I was with him and not her, I’m not sure of) and they got to fighting again. I think now the reason they fought was because she was drunk, but I’m not entirely certain.
Read the last 182 words here.
Originally posted on Journey Into A on March 24, 2018.
Time for another series.
With this one, I want to be clear that these are actual secrets. They’re things from my childhood that I witnessed that I never told anyone about. Not my dad, not my therapist, no one. If I had told them about it, it was years and years later when nothing could come out of it.
I was extremely protective of my mother and knew if I told anyone these things, they’d take me away from her. I was terrified of that. I thought it was the right thing to do. If I had spoken up sooner, maybe I would’ve been able to save myself from the things that pop into my mind now before I go to sleep (that’s mostly because I’ve been releasing things that used to keep me from falling asleep – look up my things that broke me series), but at the same time, I wouldn’t have known I was saving myself from anything at all and instead I would’ve most likely been resentful that I was taken away from my mother.
If I’d spoken up sooner, who knows who I would be. I seriously doubt I’d be the strong person I became through those experiences. I try not to wonder about those things. The point is, these experiences shaped a lot of my life and the decisions I made.
Read the last 79 words here.
Gilmore Girls will always hold a huge, special place in my heart. I have watched the entirety of the show countless times and still can’t get enough of it. It’s like a warm hug whenever I put it on. It’s like I’m going to go hang out with my friends all in the comfort of my own home.
When I was in middle school, my neighbors had introduced me to Gilmore Girls and right away, I was hooked. I had to go out and buy the first 2 seasons immediately so I could be caught up (oh, the days before Netflix…). I watched all of those episodes, then would watch a rerun every day at 5pm on ABC Family, and then just chomp at the bit waiting for the next episode to air.
During that time, I had started living full time with my dad and my stepmom. I had a rocky upbringing due to being in the middle of a custody battle for 11 years (along with some other stuff from Mom, we’ll get into that another time), so my dad and I had a hard time getting onto the same page (trust issues). He would watch Gilmore Girls with me in the living room just about every time it aired in the beginning of the week and we would laugh together and talk about the show. We really bonded over it.
Growing up, I was a lot like Rory. Total bookworm, had a badass taste in music, and knew way too much about pop culture for people to understand me completely. She made me feel cool and confident in a time where I needed help with that the most. I was definitely proud to be like her and thought it was so cool seeing a young female shown that way on tv!
As I have gotten older, the more I admire Lorelai. She has so much strength and it’s inspiring how she put it to use. How we both built up our strength might be different, but it’s empowering to see a woman overcome obstacles on her own. She went out, made a new family of friends, worked hard and reached her goals. It may have been hard at times, but she got through it with style and her amazing wit.
Read the last 133 words here.
To my caregivers, Having a chronic illness, a lot of people have vanished in my life, but you have never left my side. You have seen me through the good times and you haven’t left my side through the dark times. With all of the bad in my life, you bring the light back into…
《C》 Pic & Quote ♡ by lifewithanillness.comThe post Midweek Motivation appeared first on Life with an Illness.
Through all of the dark times, Christmas brings a cheery light that shines. Remember the ones who held your hand when you needed it the most, On this holiday, give them a big hug and hold them very close. Even though you may be in a lot of pain, Remember to live in the moment […]
Originally posted on Journey Into A on November 24, 2017.
This is my second Thanksgiving all alone. No family, no friends, nothing. I’m as happy as can be.
I haven’t been too fond of the holidays for quite some time. I like to pretend they’re just another day, but the biggest excuse to do nothing and go nowhere. It’s quiet and peaceful this way. I get to hang out when it seems it’s the most quiet out in the world.
It feels like everyone just makes too much of something that’s meant to bring people together. There’s too much hype, too much stress, too much underlying resentment. We’re all just supposed to hang out, what’s the big deal? How does it always end up being hateful or incredibly sad?
I have a problem with trying to make everyone happy. I wish too much that when family is all together, we could just be happy and have that be enough. Any other time, it can be that way, but under the guise of a holiday, it isn’t that way.
Read the last 52 words here.
I have some exciting news! I did a special guest post! Thank you Anindya for giving me the honor of being a guest on your blog! Please check out his blog! Here is the post I wrote on the website! via There’s a lot to be Thankful for in this World – Guest Post by […]
I started my website about 4 months ago. The reason why I started it, was to help people who are going through chronic illnesses and spread awareness to those who aren’t. I have also learned that my illness doesn’t define who I am as a person. I thought I would share with all of you […]
I took a trip I haven’t taken in a while.
It was three hours, from Virginia to North Carolina.
To see my dad.
It meant the world to him and he was grateful and happy.
Regardless of the short distance between us, we haven’t spent much time visiting with each other. The last time I saw him was two years ago in the hospital after my suicide attempt.
I think this weekend I learned what it means, not to be a dad.
But to be a son.
Dear “You,” You are the people that represent stability in a victim’s life, or at least you should. You are their parents, their siblings, their extended family, and their friends. Perhaps you are the friend or family of the abuser. Or, maybe you are the neighbor next door, across the hall, or down the street. […]
Survivors Blog Here is breaking out our best disco moves. Daniel has his well-worn Saturday Night Fever white suit, to match his personality, shirt buttoned to the top. He can’t get down like Travolta for fear of splitting his pants. The team is offering support for Daniel to “do the splits” Robert looks quite distinguished in his white suit and the splits, no problem. Why you ask? We’re excited to announce Chris from Surviving the Spector www.survivingthespecter.wp.com has joined our team. He is honest, funny, raw and leaves you waiting for next post.
Chris’s talent includes poetry, humor and writing. His site is laid out nicely, topics are easy to find. Chris has recently reconnected with his faith. He’s challenged everyday to leave negative feelings behind to move forward with a positive attitude.
Chris blogs to share and offer support. Comments provide important feedback the good, bad and ugly.
Welcome from the Survivors Blog Here team!
I sit here in the midst of an amount of wash not known to mankind. I look, I think. I ask what more could I have done.
It was before the death of my husband that it was noticed that my oldest needed help. Something was “wrong”. She was then only in the 3rd grade. 3 years later when her Father died, she never really came back to her pre 3rd grade personality. What happened to her is still a mystery, only known to the monster that is eating at her life.
At the age of 21 now, no where near being able to move out and move “on”, no where near being able to reach to ask what it living inside her head making her the self destructive person she is by not caring about her personal belongings, not finding value in anything at all, what do you do?
What do you do when YOU have survived only to live in the eyes of the trauma you child can’t break through, perhaps never break through. How do you deal with the pain today, that was far worse than the pain of yesterday.
You pray….you hope…you cry and then you cry again.
Time is very much synchronated, but not the clock of survival. There we all wear own very own personalized watch.
For your child, it is being there. Promising them that you will never give up on them even if they give up on themselves….and holding that promise sacred. Their time will come. It must.
When we first adopted our son as a newborn, complete strangers would come up to us to say he was the cutest baby they had ever seen. Many also choose, without asking permission, to ruffle and feel his hair. This latest throughout his toddlerhood and stopped abruptly when he was in the early school grades.
My daughter came along 16 months after my son, and she also got a lot of attention for her cuteness and later her burgeoning beauty. People often mistook them for twins even though my son was 3 times the size of my daughter due to the difference in age. I sold children’s designer clothes on EBay for a time and my daughter was often my model. People would write to me about my adorable model although they wouldn’t necessarily purchase the clothes.
Children grow up and although I think they are both exceptionally good looking (adoptive Moms can get away with bragging about their children’s good looks as we had nothing to do with them), they have reached young teenhood. For my son in particular, he is no longer the cute adorable baby and toddler he once was. He is now 15, 6′ tall, and 225 lbs. He is dressed like other teens his age, which includies hoodies on occasion. He has now become the “other”, at least in the adult world, someone to be feared and followed around in stores.
My daughter at almost 14 has an easier time at 5’2″, with a great fashion sense. Yet she too has been followed around in stores as though her skin color marks her as an automatic shoplifter. I have seen this in action with both children in stores. When I come up to them and greet them, my white skin seems to validate them in the shopkeeper’s minds and they quickly back off. It breaks my heart every time things like this happen as I will not always be around with my white skin and white privilege to protect them.
Do I get scared whenever there is a police or security guard shooting of an unarmed black teen, particularly when the shooter goes unpunished? You bet I do. I picture my own children laying in a pool of blood, the only crime being the color of their skin.
It is long past time to put the old prejudices to rest once and for all. If you adored them as babies and toddlers, why can’t you live and let live as they grow older, particularly if they have done nothing to arouse your suspicion that they are up to no good, other than the color of their skin. Yes #blacklivesmatter.
Sharon Greene February 14, 2015
Posted from WordPress for Android
I may have overslept and gotten a late start to my day,
….but I rose from a comfortable bed to been given another one.
I woke to the slushy snow that fell as I slept, but saw how even with absence of sun, the day looked bright in its reflection. Despite the cold, my House is warm and I lit candles to lift my spirit.
My Children may have complained about the lunch I made, but we have a choice of food and the fridge is full.
I was overloaded with wash as always, but today I felt blessed for being well off to cloth them with choice.
My floors needed a second vacuum over from my cat and dogs hair, but overlooked the work for their little hearts that jump when they see me. Their unconditional devotion is priceless.
The Day doesn’t suck because I chose to spend it cleaning and washing for my Family, the day is WONDERFUL because I have one to do this for.
The Day only sucks when we don’t take hold of it, when it is over and done and we’ve achieved nothing.
Not a goal, a good feeling or a good deed, be it for ourselves or for others.
Know what? Tomorrow won’t suck either. I’ll be given with luck, another day, to choose once again to make it good.
Happy Tuesday all!
Survival seems a lifetime as it is occurs. It exhausts our adrenals as we live in fight or flight modus.
At times we cannot pinpoint just when it started, when we suddenly realize we are as far removed from our inner self as possible.
We see no light, no end. Minutes streamed together seem to make up the days in our life. Painful days when we wake each day to once again, be the star of the wrong movie.
This is a Survivors blog, for those that have crossed the finish line and for those still on their way.
We learn that life can and DOES change. That no matter how low, there will be a high, no matter how dark, there will again be light.
We may throw the ”unfair “card in from time to time. That waste of time card. Life is what it is. It is a perspective for those who go through it. What is devastating to one, is nothing to another. What cripples one, teaches the other to get up and forge through. It is in a nutshell, a choice. A choice to survive based on the inner strength we all have, that sometimes, we have been fooled to believe doesn’t exist.
Believe in yourself. The more strength you put into a positive day, the more distance you have from pain.
The more distance, the less it can feed you, leading it eventually to die from your life.