A Head-Scratcher

11 May 2013 20 Comments

by Sandy Sue in Bipolar Bad-Ass Training, bipolar disorder, mental health, relationships, writing Tags: , , ,

handmade greeting card, collage art

♦ ♦ ♦

I don’t have the words.

This is not a problem that often comes up for me.  Lucid, delusional, manic or morbid, I can generally put words to the experience.  Not this time.

I’m not in exactly the same state as before I went to the hospital, but I’m not far from it.  The stressors that sent me scrambling for help are still in place and still unresolvable.  Tried and true tools for getting back on the Bipolar Bad-Ass track don’t work any more (or at least aren’t working now).  Instead, older, unhealthy coping mechanisms are in play, and I drift through the day in exhausted apathy.  Or my frequent blasts of anger turn me into someone I don’t recognize—defensive, bitter, paranoid, hateful.

I’m stumped.  I don’t have a map for this place.  I feel like I’m not asking the right questions or turning my face in the wrong direction.

By the time I got into the Partial Hospital Program (PHP), I’d decided solitude was the best option for me.  My people skills had deteriorated to utter confusion.  I was lonely, but the dangers and disappointments in connecting with others were too high a price.  I knew this wasn’t the healthiest choice, but I couldn’t see a way around it.

In PHP, we talked about relationships, boundaries and community.  My resolution to keep people at a distance had to be reconsidered.  The counselors said the five people you spend the most time with are who you end up becoming.  They asked us to look at who we hang out with, if they were our role models, and if not to think about who we would like to become.

I took that to heart when I came home and reached out to people I admire.  Every day I spend time with those lovely friends, or talk to them, or arrange dates for another time.  It’s incredibly hard work.

But the PHP staff was right.  My heroes lift me up.  They mirror my best back at me.  Their light and laughter part the clouds in a truly biblical way.  Still, there’s trauma in shaking loose of the folks I don’t want to become—the glass-half-empty folks.  I’m just trying to spend more time with my heroes, not reject the others.

I don’t know how to do this, either.  I’m fumbling around in the dark, banging my shin on the furniture and stepping on the cats.  Worst yet, I don’t have the words to frame this weird, new place.  I’m called to be patient, to keep moving through alien terrain until I learn the language, until I can decipher the code.  I’m uncomfortable, and frightened and angry.  But I must try to wait.  Just wait.

Zzzzz…

02 May 2013 4 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, mental health, mixed-media art Tags: , , , , ,

handmade greeting card, collage artMmmfrph.  This is my first morning after my first night on a sleeping pill in over three years.  Erg.  Still didn’t sleep through the night, but part of my brain seems to be unaware of this fact.

Speaking of drugs, my conversation with the hospital shrink was quite satisfactory.  She was the one three years ago who told me pharmacology had nothing more to offer me, which set me on my Bipolar Bad-Ass course.  I thanked her for that, which caused some wide-eyed blinking and mention of new meds I might try.  Thanks, but no.  But after two more nights of only three hours of sleep and no opportunity for a nap during the day, I agreed that a sleeping aid was in order.

Changes is one’s sleep pattern is an early warning sign of mental distress, but I wasn’t paying attention.  It’s too easy for me to just take a nap during the day if I’m tired.  I’d been doing this for so long, I forgot it wasn’t healthy.  So now I have to retrain my body and brain to the required eight consecutive hours.  It will take a little time and tolerance for the morning hangover.

Fatigue makes me irritable and intolerant.  Concentration splinters and I lose my sense of humor.  Sitting in group all day with other people jangles all those weary nerves.  I try to watch as my irritability bubbles up, take a deep breath, and wait for the froth to settle before speaking.  So far, so good.

It helps to be working with interesting material.  Tuesday we spent the day on self-esteem.  Yesterday we started on boundaries and anger management.  More on those topics today.

Here’s part of a video we watched from Jack Canfield, the author of the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. I managed to stay awake for this one.

Hallmark Doesn’t Make a Card for This

16 Oct 2012 17 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, mental health, mixed-media art Tags: , , , , , , , ,

hand made card, collage artBirthdays kinda suck.

It’s not the part about getting older.  That’s actually a triumph for me—making it through another year.  No, it’s all those demands to be happy, and to celebrate, and to have a great day.  I can’t take the pressure, man.  The revolving mixed state I’ve been in the last couple of days brought lots of presents.  Happy wasn’t one of them.  Nor was the capacity to celebrate more than climbing into bed.  And telling me to smile only makes me want to punch something.

Perhaps I’m a bit sensitive about that last point.  Ever since I was a wee bipolar lass, people have told me to “snap out of it,” or “put on a happy face,” or my favorite “what have you got to be sad about?”  So now that I’m a heavyweight in the Bipolar Bad-Ass division, I don’t tolerate folks telling me how to feel.  I may not actually whack them, but I do get deathly quiet.  Ooo!  Snap!

Back to this birthday business.  It’s not that I don’t appreciate the lovely cards and presents.  I am relieved that people remember who I am and that I was born.  It’s just that, birthday or not, I still have to figure out how to get through the day without

  • Eating the other pie I bought at Perkins last night
  • Driving hard and fast until the gas runs out in my dad’s truck
  • Putting my nightie back on and spending the day watching the ceiling fan turn

I have a couple of ideas.  I could try to get my hair cut.  I cancelled my last appointment when I was sick, and twice this week someone asked me if I qualified for their Senior Discount.  Hmm.  I know I’m 55 now, and could technically be someone’s grandma, but if that’s the case, then I’d like to look like a hip grandma.

I could try to get an appointment with Michele.  Nothing says celebrate like a session with your therapist!

What I’ll probably do is drive to Starbucks thirty miles away, get a Soy Chai, and spew all the obscenities and self-pity spared you here into my journal.  My Scottish friend, Evelyn, taught me a new epithet I’m dying to use—FEK OFF!

In fact, here’s what I want for my birthday—Everyone send me your best swear, your rudest, over-the-top expletive.  If I have to be riding this roller coaster today, I can at least have good stuff to shout at passersby.  And all those people who keep telling me to smile.

Now that’s a gift that keeps on giving.

Failure, Seeds & Tidal Waves

21 Aug 2012 20 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, mixed-media art, nature, quality of life, spiritual practice Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

collage art, hand-made greeting cardsI woke up this morning contemplating failure.

I knew last week would be rough.  When the Y closes for cleaning each summer, my whole schedule gets disrupted, but I planned around it the best I could.  However, I couldn’t foresee the bolus of anger that ignited my stress like tinder.  I didn’t anticipate the sudden plunge into a mixed state or the overwhelming return of my compulsions.  And I certainly wasn’t prepared to gain back six pounds.  This morning Failure glared like a jittery neon sign in my head.

But, if living with bipolar disorder has taught me anything, it’s that life is rarely that simple or black and white.  I needed to look at my week again, and again, and again, if necessary, to see the whole picture.

In my reading about anger this week, Buddhist Master Thich Nhat Hanh wrote about the seeds of anger that are in all of us.  Some have more seeds than others, or their seeds are strongly rooted.  I see that anger and resentment are deeply rooted in me. I keep old hurts precious.  I rail against Life and The Illness.  At times, I practice mindfulness and breathe into these seeds until they become transparent.  But, they remain.  Bipolar disorder, in me, shares a deep affinity with anger.  So, when my illness manifests, my seeds of anger sprout and grow strong.  It is part of the illness, and part of my practice.  Neither success nor failure, but an ebb and flow.

After my attempted suicide, my teacher said to me, “The illness got away from you.”  It does that sometimes, even after careful practice and planning.  I think of myself on a beach with my little buckets and sand shovels, diligently digging trenches and building sand castles.  Sooner or later, a big wave crashes in.  It blasts the castles and erases the trenches I’ve worked so hard to make.

Storms are part of the deal when you live on the edge of the sea.  It’s important to clean up the damage, but just as important to take inventory of what survived.  While my rage was huge and consuming this week, I didn’t aim it at anyone.  And I may have eaten non-stop to deaden the pain, but I still ate nearly-vegan.  I still have my buckets and shovels.

Tidal WaveThis life is so tenuous.  I make plans and set goals to try to keep the sand from constantly shifting under my feet.  Plans and goals are sticks I jab in the sand to find solid ground.  When the storm comes and washes the sticks away, I wail over my lost place-holders.  I forget that this is a Game, and harder yet, I forget how to play it.

The game is to Find the Sticks—those unique and beautiful tools we create to manage the illness—then Plant them.  We notice everything—the resistance of the wet sand, the strength in our arms, the sun on our necks, the pleasant rhythm of the Work.  We stand back to see the pattern and progression of our creation.  And when the Storm hits, we run for shelter, come back when the waters recede, and start again.

There is no failure in this game.  No winners or losers.  There is just the slow, steady Work and the inevitability of the Sea.

Anger and Compulsive Eating

17 Aug 2012 15 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, developing consciousness, mixed-media art, spiritual practice Tags: , , , , ,

Part of the pledge we say every week in TOPS is “I am an intelligent person.  I will control my emotions and not let my emotions control me.”  Emotional eating, compulsive eating, is an enormous problem for most people in our group.  It is an issue we all struggle with and support one another to address.  But, as someone with bipolar disorder, I knew I would be lying if I said the pledge as written.  My moods are uncontrollable.  Emotions often erupt out of thin air.  I edited my version of the pledge to say “I will observe my emotions and not let my thoughts control me.”  I felt this put the TOPS pledge in alignment with my practice.  If I could observe my thoughts and emotions, I could discern which pieces might be out of my control and which ones I might be able to work with.

I received an opportunity to Observe this week.  For the past few days, I have been enraged, and I watched myself eat everything in sight.  This sounds like I was conscious.  I was not.  I was given moments, flashes, where awareness occurred in spite of the boiling rage.  These were gifts borne of Practice.  In those moments, I could see I was suffering and making the suffering worse.  I tried to hold my anger gently.  Then, the anger would wash over me, and I would go back to sleep.

Anger is part of my illness.  It is also part of being Human.  Rage does not make me a monster or a lunatic, but it pulls me from the path I want to travel.  This morning I knew I must find a different way to work with this particular manifestation of anger if I was to continue on my chosen path.  I needed a practice.  Admitting that made me remember a book I’d not touched in a long time, a book by someone I consider my Teacher—Thich Nhat Hanh.

What a shock to open his book and find the first chapter devoted to consumption.

We all need to know how to handle and take care of our anger.  To do this, we must pay more attention to the biochemical aspect of anger, because anger has its roots in our body as well as our mind.  When we analyze our anger, we can see its physiological elements.  We have to look deeply at how we eat, how we drink, how we consume, and how we handle our body in our daily life.

I expected my Teacher to offer me a way to take care of my anger so I could stop compulsively eating.  How ironic, how very Buddhist, to discover that Mindful Eating is the way.  At least, the first step of the Way.  So, today I will start.  I will follow the Mindfulness Training on consumption…

…to cultivate good health, both physical and mental, for myself, my family, and my society by practicing mindful eating, drinking, and consuming.  I vow to ingest only items that preserve peace, well-being, and joy in my body, in my consciousness, and in the collective body and consciousness of my family and society.  I am determined not to use alcohol or any other intoxicant or to ingest food or other items that contain toxins, such as certain TV programs, magazines, books, films, and conversations…

Today I will slow down and try to stay conscious about what I take in, not feeding the anger, not building more energy for my anger to use.  I will breathe, and practice, and try to be open to what rises in me.  The path is before me.  This is the first step.

Excerpts from Anger—Wisdom for Cooling the Flames by Thich Nhat Hahn.

The Path Always Followed

27 Jul 2012 19 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder Tags: , , ,

I have a confession.  It’s not easy for me to admit this.  But, it’s time to face facts.

Bipolar Disorder has turned me into a Coot.

I never thought it would happen.  I expected to be easy-going and spontaneous to the end of my days.  Fun-loving.  Ready for adventure.  Alas, genetics had other plans.

RAGBRAI, Marshalltown

Two days of disruption in my normal routine have left me cranky.  On Wednesday, our town welcomed thousands of bicyclists in The Register’s Annual Great Bicycle Ride Across Iowa (RAGBRAI).  For forty years, bikers from all over the country have come to Iowa during the last full week in July to ride from one side of the state to the other.  Approximately 460 miles in six days.  The host towns along the route offer food, entertainment, camp sites or shelter.  It’s a big deal.  A week-long party of endurance.

RAGBRAI, Marshalltown, IowaMarshalltown has been in an uproar all summer preparing.  And as soon as the big day dawned, I got the heck out of Dodge.  I had no interest in watching the sweaty masses peddle past my apartment all day long in 105 degree heat.  I didn’t want to get stuck behind them in my truck, or try to find a parking space at the Y between their support RVs and campers, or elbow my way through the throngs in my coffee shop.  I grumped my way over to Ames where civilized people sat in air conditioning instead of lying prostrate on the pavement.

K9 Inspection, BedbugsThen, yesterday, our apartment complex had its quarterly bedbug inspection by the K9 unit.  This time, the manager gave us proper notice, so I had a day to clean, then properly pack up my cats and all their paraphernalia.  We spent the day at my mom’s house.  The boys explored vast, basement hide-holes while I did laundry.  We also napped.  Because, that’s what coots do.

Agitation, Bipolar Disorder, RoutineI’m well aware that my cootishness is a direct result of routine disruption, and that burns my *ss even more.  I don’t want to be ruled by sameness, or thrown into an episode by an unscheduled activity.  I don’t want to be that fragile or that flaky.  I want to go with the flow and embrace whatever comes along (imagine a hippie-girl running through a meadow here—daisies in her hair, mellow without pharmaceuticals).

Well, too bad.  At least I had warning about both events.  That kept the fragile breakage to a minimum.  To be honest, fragile is not how I’d describe myself today.  Belligerent would be more accurate—as in a Clint Eastwood Make my Day sort of way.  So, don’t cross me, or I’ll beat you with a bicycle pump and flick bedbugs at your head.

Shot-Gun Rider

11 Jul 2012 5 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, books, mixed-media art, quality of life Tags: , , ,

Madness will push you anywhere it wants.  It never tells you where you’re going, or why.  It tells you it doesn’t matter.  It persuades you.  It dangles something sparkly before you, shimmering like that patch on the road up ahead.  You will drive until you find it, the treasure, the thing you most desire.

You will never find it.  Madness may mock you so long, you will die of the search.  Or it will tire of you, turn its back, oblivious as you go flying.  The car is beside you, smoking, belly-up, still spinning its wheels.

—Marya Hornbacher from Madness: A Bipolar Life

♦ ♦ ♦

I just finished Hornbacher’s account of her life with bipolar disorder.  Part of me is furious.  Part of me identifies so completely with her life that I want to buy copies of her book and give them to everyone I know.  ”Here,” I want to tell them.  ”This is what the inside of my head looks like.”  Part of me feels sick and crazy and wants to binge or drive really fast until the screaming in my own head stops.  Part of me just wants to punch something.

So, I guess the furious part is winning.  Here’s a woman who survived anorexia so severe she once weighed 55 pounds, raging alcoholism, drug addiction and rapid-cycling, mixed-state bipolar disorder.  She was hospitalized over and over again.  She even received electroshock treatments from the same doctor who gave them to me.  I should be compassionate.  I should be empathetic.  I should get her life.

But all I can think about is that she was diagnosed in her twenties and ignored every recommendation that was ever given to her.  Stop drinking.  Stop working so much.  Pay attention to your moods.  She ignored all of it until her illness was so advanced she had no other choice than to finally take some responsibility for her life.

What I wouldn’t give to have had a diagnosis in my twenties!

Of course, I may have done exactly what Hornbacher did—blow it off and let the madness run riot.  Of course I would have, because that’s part of the illness.  (Professionals call it “lack of insight,” which means the inability to recognize symptoms as symptoms.)  And that’s what pisses me off.

There was never any chance of stopping this freight train, never any chance of catching up to the mirage of sanity.  I knew that when I was eleven, but I keep forgetting.  I fool myself into thinking all this work I do, all the Observing and Monitoring and Substituting, will lock the craziness away and let me be normal. Always, in the back of my mind, I hold out that someday the monster will go up in smoke.  But these memoirs that I’m reading, as research for my own book on bipolar disorder, keep pounding a different stake through my heart.  ”Snap out of it!” the Van Helsing-book yells at me.  ”Bipolar isn’t the monster—chasing after Normal is the real monster!”

Uhhh.  My chest hurts where I’ve pulled out the latest stake.  Maybe I can figure out how to banish the magical thinking without needing a pointy two-by-four every single time.  Maybe I can teach myself to just enjoy the drive instead of keeping an eye out for the mirage.  Maybe, someday, I’ll finally accept this illness as the shot-gun rider that it is.  Maybe.  Someday.

Shifting Sands

25 Apr 2012 8 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, developing consciousness, mixed-media art, writing Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

What I’ve found as a student of my own bipolar disorder is that I function best with a routine and a minimum of stress.  I can surf change and surprises if they remain small and limited, but pile on too many or shake up my world too much and I become symptomatic.

Over the last few days, I’ve watched my agitation grow—both motor (feeling like I have to keep moving) and psychic (intense inner tension).  I’m quick to anger, and I’m finding it difficult to focus on tasks.  At the same time, I have a nagging premonition of doom, like I’m forgetting something important.  My thoughts are heavy, self-defeating, distorted toward darkness.  This is all classic mixed-state bipolar disorder.

Stress is different for everyone.  I’ve thought about this a lot as I considered volunteering at the public library.  The biggest, most consistent stressor in my life has always been work.  Before my mental break in 2006, I changed jobs almost every seven years.  That seemed to be my limit.  I would get physically sick, or quit on the verge of getting fired, or later, suffer anxiety attacks.

After moving home in 2007, I tried several times to work.  I’ve always said my problem was that I couldn’t be consistent, that holding to someone else’s schedule was impossible for me.  But, I’m not sure that’s the issue.  All I know for sure is that working causes me enormous stress, which makes me sick.

So I had mixed feelings when the librarian took my name, but said she didn’t have any work for me at present.  Relief mixed with irritation.  I recognize the irritation as part of the agitation pool I’m paddling in right now.  Relief is the proper response.  I don’t need to add another stressor right now.

Working on a new writing project, one without a clear form and direction, is very different from rewriting a piece of fiction.  I’ve learned enough about my writing process to know it will take shape eventually.  But, for now it slips through my fingers.  There’s no path to follow.  That’s very disconcerting and fodder for the distorted thoughts crowding into my head.

I knew that challenging myself to draw every day for a month would bring up old wounds to be healed, but I never anticipated the level of resistance I feel in my body.  Part of that is the agitation itself.  I’m genuinely shocked at the comments readers have left about the sketches I’ve posted so far.  They look like crap to me.  So, I Watch those thoughts, try to remain curious about where the distortion comes from, try to feel the anxiety in my body.  I hold the possibility that the sketches are fine, that the self-criticism is a product of my illness and a distorted view of my history.  I wake up a little bit and breathe.

Today, I will comfort myself as best I can while holding the tension—work out at the Y, go to Panera where I feel successful as a writer and can afford a couple of meals (both money and calorie-wise).  I’ll listen to my music and sing while I drive the half hour to Ames, take in the spring greens and count the baby animals (lambs are so clean!).

Seeing what’s going on, bringing awareness to my symptoms and lifting them up out of the shadows makes the process so much easier.  It drains off the fear and shame.  It helps me identify the delusions.  With awareness, I can place my steps more carefully in the shifting sands of my illness and keep moving forward.

What Gifts, Mania?

05 Mar 2012 13 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, blogging, mixed-media art, writing Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

What gifts, Mania?  What roads flowing liquid through the dreamscape?  What treasures piled like tart grapes?  What moons shining?

For awhile, mania is a lovely thing.  This time, I am driven to write.  In the past few days, I’ve finished my novel, crafted two short stories, outlined the first few chapters of the next novel, and gathered notes to write at least three more short stories.  I wake up in the morning with scenes and dialog fully formed and spewing from my head.

I come to a resting place, a place where I would usually put the story away and let it percolate in my subconscious for a day or days.  But now, the rest lasts the length of an episode of Mad Men, and I’m back at the computer with the perfect solution, the perfect turn, the perfect word.

I know I’m manic.  I feel the obsessive itch.  To counter it, I push away from the stories and play with my art.  But, there, too, I am flooded with potential.  The cards I make can take me over an hour to assemble.  I made a dozen cards this weekend, all different, all elaborate, all beautiful.

This is the place we of the bipolar persuasion yearn for—this place of making, this effortless disgorging of ideas and images that takes form as something real and whole.   This is the Promised Land and Enlightenment and good Rock ‘N’ Roll all bundled together.  We’ll do anything to stay here.

But, it doesn’t last—not the clear, cool mind, not the ease, not the glee.  Mania shifts into agitation and deepening impulsivity.  It tears away sleep and clouds the mind with grand delusions.

I started buying DVDs on eBay to keep me entertained next week after my surgery.  The mania shoves me to keep buying.  I posted my new stories here.  The mania sends me back ten-fifteen-twenty times a day to look for comments, to look at the photos, to tweak one more word.  Small irritations detonate into rage.

The gifts of mania are the gifts I carry with me always.  My talent for making came with my blue eyes and my German bones.  No shift in brain chemistry opens a door or closes it.  No mood determines my potential.  My inborn gifts come through because I use them.  When I’m manic, I just use them more.

So, I shift, and shift again.  The thoughts will slow from their frenzied pace.  The body will tamp down the fires.  And I will still be a Maker.

Return of the Petty Tyrant

29 Feb 2012 8 Comments

by Sandy Sue in bipolar disorder, cats, quality of life Tags: , , , , , , , ,

It didn’t take long for me to realize yesterday was a Lost Day.  I woke up agitated and anxious, and the depression underneath only worsened as the morning progressed.  So, I just let go of my plans and went home to hibernate and wait it out.

As I settled in with my lunch, someone knocked on my door.  It was my apartment manager with the bedbug-sniffing dog and his handler from Preferred Pest Control come to inspect my apartment.  We’re supposed to receive 24 hours notice of inspection. After I refused to let them in, I sat down and wrote a letter to the corporate office of Keyway Management, the apartment management firm.

Here’s what I said:

Dear Sirs,

I am writing to complain about the process of giving notice in regards to apartment inspection by Preferred Pest Control and the canine inspection for bed bugs.

In November of 2011, the apartment maintenance man arrived with the canine and his handler.  I had not received notice of the inspection.  Since I have pets, I knew the inspection might prove a false positive, so I did not allow the inspection to take place.  I asked specifically that I receive notice of the next inspection.  Later, I discovered that the rest of the tenants had received written notice in their mailboxes.

Today, the apartment manager came to my door with the canine and handler.  Again, I had not received notice of the inspection.  Ms. Mancina said notice was posted in the complex’s laundry room.  When I told her I did not use the laundry room, she said that was the only notice she was required to give.  Again, I said I would not allow the inspection.

Information from Preferred Pest Control and other sources states animals should be removed or secured at least one hour prior to inspection.  I allowed an inspection in 2011 while my pets were in the apartment and received a positive reading from the canine.  I believe this was a false positive.  Since then I follow all the recommendations about preparing for the visit, including removing my pets.  But, I can’t do that if I don’t have 24 hours notice.

Management has used several methods of notifying tenants of inspections (notes taped to the apartment door or left in each tenant’s mailbox, phone calls).  I was never informed, nor is it written in any of the HUD or rental contracts, that the laundry room is the site for official notice to tenants.

The HUD handbook on Resident Rights and Responsibilities states tenants have “the right to be given reasonable notice, in writing, of any non-emergency inspection or other entry into your apartment.”  I don’t think my request for consistent, written notice 24 hours prior to the inspection is unreasonable.

I want to comply and make sure the previous bed bug manifestation at our complex never happens again.  I also want enough time to prepare my apartment correctly for the canine.  As each tenant has received written notice in their mailboxes before, I ask that this be the method of notification.  I should not be penalized because I do my laundry elsewhere.

Thank you for your attention in this matter

I was so angry I could barely speak.  It was clear Linda thought I was lying about not getting a notice last time.  I wasn’t very coherent while I was arguing with her or when I shut the door in her face and locked it.  Her incompetence and ass-covering always makes me stupid with shock.  The treatment for bedbugs is incredibly expensive.  So, why wouldn’t she do everything possible to make sure the inspections are performed correctly?  The only answer is that she’s too lazy or, if I’m more gracious, too disorganized to do that.

When I first moved in, she hinted that she was doing me a favor by letting me have two cats.  The policy on pets is vague (like most stipulations in the contract), so I asked that she put something in writing that grants me permission to have both my cats.  She refused.  Even after my sister also asked, she still refused.

This makes me very nervous.  It’s like a threat of eviction out there in the dark, so I try to stay far off her radar.  I’m afraid this letter will put me back in her sites.  But, I’m equally afraid that my refusals to let the inspectors and the dog in are also setting me up for eviction.  I feel like I have to cover my butt the best I can.

I hate how this woman can rip all sense out of my head, how my anger consumes me, and how long it lasts.  I’ve been meditating, self-talking, distracting and trying to sleep for 15 hours now, and I’m no closer to calm.  It will take time and continued effort.  More breathing, more distraction, more clearing of illusion and focusing on the present.

At this moment, my boys and I are not in danger.  At this moment, I have done all I can to protect myself.  At this moment, all is well.

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