Well, So ... It Happened ...

Yesterday, as usual we had Jessie over. And, as of late, also as usual - I was in bed trying not to throw up and she and Gary were watching a movie in the great room because my head was pounding and I couldn't handle the noise. Most of the time they watch in the bedroom and with me in bed - and - well, there you have it - the perfect Dysfunctional Family 'watching' a movie together ...

As I was lying there she said it:

"Dad, I want to go home."


Home.



Not, the usual:

"Dad, I want to go back."


As I lay there and she repeated herself I realized that this was a first and a very strange, sad, heart rendering moment for me. I had absolutely ZERO emotional strength to deal with it. So I wiped the tears away, rolled over and tucked it deep, deep, down in my Mothers Heart to deal with at a later time.



Home.


In Wikipedia, it defines home as "a place of residence or refuge" and I was no longer that place anymore ... strangers were and a strange home was and I don't really know how to deal with that?

Way back in another lifetime and I was diagnosed with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) every mental health professional told me that I had way too many stressors and I needed to get rid of some of my mental baggage - because I refused to do what EVERY SINGLE STINKIN' professional told me to do first for my mental health: Institutionalize Jessie. I explained as clearly as a PTSD, befuddled, pissed off mother could that even if she was my greatest stressor - I was NOT going to just 'get rid of her' for my own mental health - then as gently as a very pissed off mother can - I told them to come up with another freaking solution.

Usually, often, since I was not going to do as they told me to, they told me that they could not help me - which, looking back now - was very clearly the case. So I stopped seeing those mental health professionals that seemed to have a checklist of how to fix someone and could not creatively come up with alternate solutions - disappointing - but that was just the way it was.

So, I read books and then I started writing. And then I wrote some more. And then I got really brave and started writing about some of the most terrible, terrifying, and heart breaking moments in my life. And I started to realize something. If I got it down on paper - just perfect - which took a LOT of time - months for some things - that all of a sudden I could just mentally fold that piece of paper and visualize locking it in a safe that resides in a deep, dark, special part of my brain. Then I slam the door shut - and that was that. All better. I could go back and re-read it if I wanted - but it was AT MY CONTROL not something that snuck up on me at a weak moment and jumped me in the dark.

This little trick of mine has been working for quite a few years. I'm not saying it is the perfect solution, but I get by.

Moments ago, as I was lying in bed telling myself I had to get up because I have something that has to be done today on the computer, I heard Jessie say "Dad, I want to go home." and all the feelings came flooding back and I realize that I will have to deal with this at some point.

Then I realized that I have been doing this for some time now - putting my 'moments' on my "To Get to When I Want To Live Again" list and it is getting rather cumbersome and lengthy. I also, while lying there 'flashed' on my safe - and was rather surprised and disturbed that my subconscious can warn me with a 'fake picture' of a safe - that is literally bursting at the seams with pieces of paper leaking out the edges of the door.

Not really sure what my subconscious is trying to tell me ... but I have a sneaking suspicion that is not good news ... not good at all ...


I think I need to find a bigger safe ...