Getting Ready
For the last few days I have been on a bit of a feeding frenzy, examining my memory and my experiences “Looking for the Good in it.”
Why? I think it’s because I am getting ready to emerge from my self imposed exile and return to society once again. For the last ten years, except for some short forays into the world, I have pretty well been living away from it.
It began after my “Six weeks of Madness” when for a couple of years there, when both my physical and mental health made it impossible for me be among folk.
Then I kind of got accustomed to it. And found I’d really rather not. Perhaps my body had gotten lazy. My partner Anne, was doing most, if not all, of the things that entailed contact with the outside world. And though I tried my best, to balance that out by being the cook and taking care of the dishes and doing as much of the housework as I was able. It was to be fair, a very unbalanced situation.
That she felt more like babysitter than partner was understandable
. Though I would listen to her as expressed her frustrations both with me and the outside world, which she both love and hates, I felt incapable of doing anything about it.
I was tired, all the time. And although this was not new for me. I have felt tired most of life, the tiredness had deepened into an overwhelming exhaustion that made even the thought of going out the door to check the mail or go to the corner store feel like I was preparing to set out on a journey to the end of the world.
Sometimes that exhaustion would lift for a while, and I would try to, and even enjoy for a while, taking baby steps back into the world. But then the exhaustion would return.
Perhaps it was the hypoglycaemia evolving into diabetes, that was the problem. Or the Hashimoto’s disease (a form of Hypothyroidism) or what would turn out to be a twenty five pound fibroid, the size of a basketball, that was growing in my womb, perhaps it was my overwhelming fear of people in general, perhaps I had just given up. Perhaps it was all these things combined. But whatever it was I had become all but a hermit.
That Anne stuck it out through all this never ceased to amaze me. Remember we had just started dating when everything went bad. Not to mention that all the while she was and is still dealing with some serious health problems of her own. But still, often begrudgingly, though always faithfully, she took of me.
She even continued to take care of me, when a couple of years back, she knew she had to strike out on her own again and got her own apartment. I had just had, after months of doctors dickering around, and my frequent trips to emergency for blood transfusions, finally had the surgery that would not only take away the fibroid, but he womb and ovaries as well.
From what I understand, Anne believes, that I like my mother, had died for a moment while in surgery. In fact she wasn’t sure who was going to be there when I woke up. Because while I was under, she had a vision of me as a young girl, beckoning her to join me.
I remember sometime afterwards, when I was well enough to cope, her asking me if I was really Lynn, my given name, which she prefers to Raven. And me being slightly confused by the question. I knew what she was getting at. After year of helping me clear some of the personalities that I had gathered within me through years of being an untrained medium, we had gotten a kind of shorthand, for talking about these things.
The thing was, I felt more like myself, than I had in more years than I could count. Even in the hospital, once they had removed the morphine drip, I was bouncing around like a kid again. And I think they would have sent me home that day, except that being a diabetic, they needed to keep me another few, to watch for complications
I was practically dancing in the wards, to the delight of my ward mates, who were mostly recovering from hip and knee replacements, and were pleased, when I was offering to refill water jugs, help them get this or that, or just generally share with them my genuinely good mood.
So when Anne asked that question, was this me, I had to think for a moment. It had been so long since I had felt this good, that I wasn’t entirely sure. But the one thing I was certain of was that If I wasn’t me, I was certainly enjoying who I was.
So, of course, this begged the question, “Why do you ask?” Which she answered by telling me about the visit she had, from a sad little girl, who was trying to get her to come with her and how she couldn‘t get over the fact their was a feeling of wrongness about the child. Like it was trying to drag her somewhere she didn’t want to go.”
Now in a curious way, that corresponded with a feeling I had been experiencing ever since the surgery. The surgery itself, I have no recollection of. Even as a Dream or Astral state. To me it was a surprise when I woke up in recovery to what I what I felt was, like fifteen minutes later to discover It had been over ten hours since they put me under.
But the feeling afterwards, was incredible. It felt like all the pain, all the unsaid words, all the emotions, that I had been holding down over the years, had suddenly disappeared. At first I thought that might just be a side effect of Anaesthesia and Morphine, but when the feeling continued well after both had cleared my system, I began to think about what that could be.
Anne used to half jokingly refer to my fibroid. As this strange alien baby and describe the trail of massive blood clots that followed me around as the baby trying to eat it’s way out.
But it made sense to me, on some level, that all the energies of the things I had never said, the anger I had never expressed and the tears I had never cried, had been pushed down to the place that connected me to the person that was the source of much of that suffering.
This wasn’t entirely a revelation. I knew that my womb has been poisoned long ago. So much so that I often thought that Katie’s birth was more of a product of her own will to be born, than a desire on my part to give birth.
You see, my womb was never right again after that. The cesarian had taken a toll. My second pregnancy only nine months later, ended in a first trimester miscarriage. Which doctors even thought might have been a hysterical one since they never found a fetus, or even part of one, when they did the D and C afterwards.
Of course, I knew, It wasn’t true. Just as I know for almost a week before, that the baby wasn’t going to make it. I’d dreamed that I went to go pee and that when I went to wipe myself, something dropped into my hands. And when I pulled it up to look at it, in the palm of my hand, was a small kidney shaped object, almost white at the core and with a thick translucent membrane all around. And when I realized that it was completely featureless, it occurred to me, “That doesn’t look like a baby at all.”
So a week later, when the blood started to trickle down my leg and I found myself curled up in my bed, with pain that exceeded anything I’d experienced during my full term labour, I knew what was happening.
After that I bled profusely for about 6 weeks, and then not again for another year and half or so, until I had my tubes tied. I remember a lot of pregnancy tests during that time. Because although I knew I hadn’t become pregnant, I had sensed the first two the moment they connected, I wanted to be sure.
By that time I had begun to realize that for me it was truly a struggle for me to be a mother. You see I have what shrinks like to call a disassociative personality disorder. What that really means is that if I am stressed or tired I disappear inside my head. And to those who are watching it appears as though I am stoned. In fact I spent most of my youth explaining, no I don’t do drugs.
Now unfortunately I was misdiagnosed with chronic depression until my late thirties. By then I was so frustrated with treatments that didn’t work that I had almost give up on ever understanding what was happening to me.
It wasn’t till I was in my late thirties and participating in a study to discover how childhood ADHD effected people once they became adults, that Doctor Jain, who was running it, recognized what was going on the with me and explained to me what it was and helped me understand how It had come to be. He explained that as a child when I could not get away from the constants assaults on my psyche, my mind compensated by giving me an alternate escape route. And that because this had happened so many times in my childhood that it basically became an ingrained response.
He also explained that the constant pain I experience when I try to keep myself from “zoning out” as I called it, came about because I was fighting my own mind, and it didn’t want to be there
Unfortunately, I was not able to continue seeing Dr. Jain after the study ended as his normal field of practice was Forensic Child Psychiatry and that his ongoing clients were limited to the most severely abused children.
Until she started school, I was able to hold things together pretty well. She got the attention and the supervision she needed. I breastfed her and was always thankful she never developed colic. I am not sure, how I would have coped with it. And from very early on slept through the night only to awaken crying when she sensed her father and I were about to engage in activities that might lead to her having a brother or sister.
We used to jokingly refer to that as “The best method of contraception ever invented.”
Which I guessed worked well for me. Because after months of checking pregnancy tests, praying that they would be negative, I finally decided to have my tubes tied.
I remember talking to the gynaecologist about this. Though she didn’t object to doing the procedure on someone as young as I was. She wanted to be sure that it was a well thought out decision.
I told her how it was taking every bit of energy I had, both emotionally and physically to be able to parent Katie half decently. And that at though I wanted to have two that were close in age as my brother and I had been, that that window of opportunity had passed. And that I did not feel that it was fair to bring an other child into the world when I was struggling to cope with the one I had.
That along with my medical history convinced her that my choice was good one and she agreed to the surgery, even if she did insist on doing the most reversible variation, which can occasionally lead to pregnancies in women whose bodies are incredible at self healing.
Now while I would have preferred the non reversible kind, I know the instances of self reversal were rare and thought to myself, “Well, if any child is that insistent on coming into the world, who am I to stop them.”
I wasn’t until Katie hit school, that the real rift between us began to form. For the first time In years I was free of the, all but, full time responsibility of taking care of another human being. To be fair to her father, he would stay sober enough to as he put it “Baby Sit” the two nights a week, I went out for circle and Tuesday night classes at the temple. You see I had done the cliché thing , that many children of addicts do, and that was to marry one. And I later found out that most often that responsibility fell to one of his many girl friends that had come to live with us. A story for another time. Suffice it to say that my fear that I could not raise Katie on my own, made me overlook a lot of things, I wouldn’t have if I wasn’t strangled by it.
You might ask me why my circle of pagan friends didn’t help me with that. It was because they didn’t know. I had grown up in a world of secrets, I was embarrassed by the choices I had made, and most of all I didn’t know how to ask for help, I thought it would make me weak. And above all the Illusion of Strength was sometimes the only thing I could hold onto, when I thought I was going under.
And besides that, those nights were a welcome escape from my problems and I didn’t want to drag them along with me.
Any way, back to the Story.
So when Katie started school, so did I. Less that a block from her elementary school was high school offering Art classes for Adults.
That began a long string of things I did to escape my situation at home. Sure, along the way I managed to choose things that peaked my interest and kept my mind active. But no matter how much I was telling myself I was doing these things because I wanted to, What I really wanted to do was get away.
Fortunately along the line I picked up some really good stuff along the way. I became a decent visual artist, and if inspired can pull together image that reflects my musings. I took a high school upgrading course and learned how to put my thoughts, if not my emotions, onto paper. I got to leave permanent marks on a lot of peoples skin, and they even thanked me for it, and paid for it afterwards.
And no before you minds go there, No I was not a dominatrix. Though if I’d been more honest with myself, I might not have turned down the opportunity to go there. I liked to think of myself as a submissive then. But that was most probably because I had lost confidence in my own will and hoped someone else would lend me theirs.
Instead, for a few years there, about 5 I think, I was a Tattoo Artist. (note to self: their seems to be a trend here, with the five year thing. I wonder what a Numerologist would make of this considering that 7 of the 13 letters in my Birth name, and 6 of the 14 in my chosen variation correspond to the number 5.) And a pretty good one I guess, since I had people travel in from as far away as Europe to get one after seeing what I had done on a friend. Ok, that was only once, but I did have a lot of Americans coming up to see me. As well as being dubbed “The Official Tattoo Artist of Acton” by the many young folk who would get together and book whole days and sometimes weekends. So that they could all get in. But enough of that.
For the first few years I truly enjoyed the work. I shared a studio with two others and we worked together to keep things running smoothly. There was a lot of laughter, and comradery as we bounced ideas of each others heads, created flash and just generally did the behind the scenes things that need doing.
That was until, I was foolish enough to let the Ex, talk me into opening my own studio, by promising to be the Manager and doing the things like cleaning up after a long day, and greeting clients when I was busy, you know, just generally picking up the slack.
Well that lasted……well he got one of his buddies to paint the place. And the one shelf he put on the wall, he put out of reach, even though I told him exactly where I wanted it, because as he put it. “It made more sense to him to put it there.”
It seemed that his idea of managing the shop, was to tell his party buddies, that he Managed a Tattoo shop. And when I called him up on this his reply was that his real job was to talk the place up, when he was out among his friends.
And even that was laughable. When he did bring anyone around, it was only with the promise of a deep discount on my already reasonable prices. I suspect they spent the rest partying, but that is another story.
Well that was the beginning of the end of both our marriage, and my tattooing career. I don’t know if It was because I was unhappy and angry, or just because of the strain of the work. But in the last few months before I called it quits, my back went out and I was unable to walk for two weeks and my hand gave way, luckily at the end of a piece of work.
So when my mother died and left me a few dollars, I took the opportunity, to pack up shop, find and furnish an apartment, and move out on my own.
And not really to my surprise, my daughter, who was much closer to her dad than with me, chose not to join me. And for the next several years until Anne helped me bridge the gap. Our relationship was strained at best. She blamed me for leaving her father. But on some level, she also knew, that I was running away from her. Not because I hated her, but because I simply didn’t know what to do, or how to cope.
Katie and I have sat down and talked about this at length. And she understands this now. She knows I love her deeply and together we have worked on how I can be a good mother to her as an adult. Since we can’t go back and make me a good mother to her as a child.
But I guess If life gets one regret. Letting fear and emotional exhaustion overcome my will to persevere in the act of parenting her when she was still a child would have to be mine.
Curiously enough though one day last year, When I’d gone to visit Katie and her husband Justin, I happened to make a passing statement about that regret. And Justin responded with “It’s not you she talks badly of, It’s her dad.” And when Katie piped in, “Yeah, Mom. It was you who came to the school plays and choir recitals. Baked cakes on birthdays, and cookies at Christmas. And no matter how far away you got, it was you who was really there when I really, truly, needed you.”
There is a story there, but it is hers to tell, if and when she chooses.
You can’t imagine how happy that made me.
It was then, I finally truly knew the wound had been healed. And just maybe the inheritance of pain that had been passed from mother to daughter since long before my mother was born, would finally have spent itself out.
So where does that leave me now. Recently Anne has moved much farther away. The exact far end of the Go Train line to be exact. And with it costing more than thirty dollars for a return fair from there, we will only be able to get together once a month or so.
At first I was nervous about her moving that far. But then I realized that with Anne’s help I have a half decent apartment that I can afford on my pension without worrying their will be enough left over for the other things I want and need. I don’t drive, never had, and with my condition it is better that I don‘t. But this winter I discovered that it would only take two trips a month to the supermarket to be able to feed myself well and still be able to carry my groceries up the three half flights of stairs to my floor and that I could afford a cab for these trips if I needed to. I have a laundry on my floor. And I can do my banking online. So even if things remain exactly as they are. I am content.
If I choose to do something now It will not be because I am running away from my situation. I will be because I am looking forward to a new one.
And maybe it took feeling secure in my own ability to care for myself, before I could comfortably emerge into the world again. But as I said at the beginning of this note, I am feeling the urge to be around people once again.
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