On Why I’ve Been In Therapy Over Three Decades…

 Day after Christmas. My, what an absolutely wretched day that turned out to be for me, replete with mom screaming at me at the end of the evening, and basically kicking me out of her condo. All because I had called her earlier in the day, saying I felt ill, and needed someone to help me heat the catered food up in her oven and on the stove top. I am taken immediately back to my days as a small child, when I would be afraid or sad, and go to her looking for help and comfort. Many times she would get angry with me, a fight would probably ensue, and I’d end up crying in my bedroom up on the second floor (the one with the blue and white flowered wallpaper I hated). 

Now, I’ve been in talk therapy for over three decades, trying to figure out why I have no self esteem, why I can’t stand conflict, why I’m sitting here, listening to Blues on my headphones when I should be enjoying my coffee (which is now getting cold). Michael’s Christmas gifts were even all wrong, shoes that didn’t fit, except for a pair of black boots which fit perfectly. And I guess he did get me Winan’s chocolate, though he got into it last night and ate some. Thanks.

So of course I’ll call mom this morning and grovel…apologize and say I screwed up (even though I didn’t) and maybe let her yell and lecture me some more. See folks I’m pretty smart and I know exactly what happened yesterday: anorexic mom got on the scale yesterday morning and was presented with a number that made her unhappy. So she was hot-wired to explode and the target was ME. All she cared about yesterday was not gaining weight from the Christmas dinner. The gig is up, I know who is the collateral damage from this insane behavior. So my Christmas was destroyed, thank you very much.

Now the tricky part is how do I move beyond this anger, how do I forgive mom for her shortcomings, yet still honor my hurt feelings? My anger? My natural urge is to suppress, but then I just end up exploding. I have to remember mom is living her final chapter of her life, yet still anchored to her scale, a big, “Don’t Tread On Me” if I ever saw one. I certainly don’t want her upset, so here comes my people-pleasing nature. God, I’m sick of analyzing this all…can’t I ever get respite from my brain?

My therapist Richard Fetter did talk to me two days ago, Christmas Eve morning and he told me to relax and enjoy the holiday festivities. But honestly I wish he had told me prepare for the worst because basically that’s what I got handed yesterday. This morning I’m unsure about my Kroger, New York Times Cooking, my mom, things I depend upon daily to stay healthy and stable. I feel alone, even though I have Michael here and the hounds. I’m going to try and stay optimistic, keep looking for scraps for my art projects, just taking it one day at a time, as usual.

I noticed my sister Tracey has a new vanity plate on her car: PAUSE 1. I’m going to ponder that today. My first thought is of those old Radio Shack tape recorders with buttons on them, I think there was a red button for “record” (or something like that?). Hmmm, I’m feeling the urge to draw…

Who Can It Be Now?

 Well, it’s Christmas Day and here I am, listening to the Blues on Pandora, sitting here with an upset digestive tract. Both Kroger and The New York Times Cooking app have majorly, majorly let me down, and I’m not sure whether to be shocked, angry, bitterly disappointed, or all three. My Christmas Day plans are now completely in jeopardy, as I still have one of the NYT breakfast casseroles to eat, plus the NYT spinach dip later this afternoon (not to mention the complete Christmas dinner catered by Der Dutchman).

I know in my gut the problem is Kroger’s sausage and cream cheese—I have a cast iron stomach that can handle just about anything, but if someone is tinkering with their basic formulas then I am going to smell that rat a mile away. The only time I can remember being sick on Christmas Day was that one year back in the 1970s when everyone had the vomiting sickness when we were living at 2086 E. Broad Street. What a mess that was.

So I’m basically throwing out a lot of food and I can’t stand seeing all this waste. At least the hounds are happy, they got their Christmas dog bones last night and gnawed on those all night. They were most happy, with Lily of course managing to get both bones by the end of the night. I didn’t mind being treated to someone’s dog poop this morning in the parlor—I knew it was coming anyway.

Gonna call mom soon to see if she knows of some old family concoction for treating an upset tummy. Sure, she will just pass the Altoid’s but isn’t there something you do with baking soda or am I just imagining that? I sure am getting sick of taking showers cause this is something affecting me on the other end too—up goes the water bill next month. Merry Christmas to you too.

Wait a minute! Just talked to mom and she suggested locating Barbara Goodfellow’s classic 1965 series of cookbooks, “Make It Now, Bake It Later” and lo and behold I found them on Amazon! Will wonders ever cease? I quickly ordered them and they should arrive in about two weeks. Can’t wait to make the Annapolis cake, shrimp dip, and some of the other delectable delights in the cookbooks! May also switch gears to America’s Test Kitchen but perhaps the NYT will shape up and get things straightened out? We shall see.

The sun is out this morning and I’m enjoying my coffee. It is cold in this drafty house, but as always I’m grateful for the roof over my head and to be sober this morning. Soon Michael will be awake and it will be time for gifts and perhaps a Christmas movie before we head to mom’s place. I do say a prayer for those less fortunate than myself and wish for them better times in 2023. Blessings all. 

Shifting Tides

 Good morning dear readers, I awoke this morning with great excitement! It’s frigid outside but the toilet flushed! Apparently our pipes are not frozen (yet—knock on wood!) and my, what a relief that is. I came downstairs to the most beautiful sight of snow on the ground, and the wind is lifting the dusty covering on my neighbor’s garage outside my window. So we will have a White Christmas this year along with Baby It’s Cold Outside, which means a toasty fire in our aged fireplace, bedecked with Nantucket lightship baskets and yes, the squirrel Michael bagged in 2016 during his own dance with err, “altered states.”

I can’t quite believe that Christmas Eve 2022 is tomorrow—my, how time flies and note to self: live each day to its fullest, ride through those subtle mood shifts, and always try to find a silver lining (or some of those leprechaun gold coins) in each day. My feelings of anger yesterday have dissipated and I’m actually feeling somewhat playful this early morning. I found a cute, red winter bowler hat on Amazon that I plan to wear to one of my dinners out in the next few weeks. It was only $26.88, which led me on another search for a Magic 8 ball. I held off on buying one, as I have a sneaking suspicion there may already be an 8 ball up in the attic—at least I could have sworn I bought one years ago when I was trolling the Ohio Thrifts in Central Ohio. Many, many treasures to be found here in our abode on Columbus Street. If I could only get organized enough to start hunting around…

Winter storm Elliott is doing quite a number on the country this year. Today our high is projected to be only 2 degrees; tomorrow, Christmas Eve, 13 degrees, and Christmas Day 15 degrees. I’ll be ready with my thick sweaters from Target, furry boots and Mad bomber hat. I’ll probably stay in today, most likely tomorrow too, but Christmas Day we journey out to mom’s house for our annual gathering. This year we are having ham (thanks Amazon for delivering the Durkee’s!) and chicken, plus sweet potato soufflé, noodles, and some other tasty vittles. On Christmas Eve I decided not to go the beef tenderloin route, rather by some strange reasoning I have settled on a menu of squash stuffed with kale and sausage, accompanied with Cherry Yum Yum. Michael will of course need some bread, so I’m thinking of toasting some cracked wheat sourdough to serve alongside.

Sending along a Merry, Merry Christmas to you and stay warm!

Do You Know The Way…

 Well, so. It’s four days to Christmas in Cowlumbus, and things are not turning out the way I expected. My journey to understand this newfangled technology some strange set of people hath created is leading me down a twisted road and I’m thinking I need Lewis Carroll. It may be getting close to the time where I return to a beloved old pastime of prowling antique malls and thrift stores for books—but I think this time I will be choosy in what I select. So in addition to my search for scrap industrial/residential building materials, I’ll be looking for discarded literary treasures available in my proximity. I may have to hold off until we get our annual gift from my mother-in-law Carol, but that should come in early January (just in the Nick of Time).

I attempted to drive the highway yesterday and found it extremely difficult. I learned pretty quickly that I now have an extremely challenging time navigating a situation with speeding cars, trucks and semis weaving all around me, and let me tell you emphatically that this was really not such a big problem before I got sick this last time and had to go to the hospital. So I’m upset about having this new disability, and really, really tempted to try and investigate why I got sick, who’s responsible, who owes me restitution, etc. Dad always said, “Tells don’t sue” but to be dealing with bipolar and now not to be able to drive the highways anymore? No more driving the beautiful interstates across this great country of ours? I’m furious! Sitting here four days before Christmas boiling like tea pot? No, this is not what I expected.

I am going to have a zoom with my AA sponsor Shawn at 2:30 today to talk about anger and turning things over…maybe talk about Step 2 (Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity). Michael is out doing last-minute Christmas shopping, and I’ll have a tasty dinner for us tonight. Might wrap some presents. One Day At A Time.

Love,

The Grinch

Countdown to Christmas

 Well a Top O’ The Morning dear reader(s), I continue my background research for my upcoming series of artworks which as you know I hope to sell to finance my steak dinner and now perhaps a new Ford (if I can convince Michael to buy American). But dearest Michael, he seems to be in love with the imports so I’m not sure if I can broker a deal. I am also proceeding cautiously towards Christmas Day this Sunday, with events planned and things to do last minute before the holiday arrives.

One thing I forgot to do was get a Christmas tip to the trash guys—poor things, they work so hard and probably get forgotten by everyone during this holiday season. I must remember to get to Chase bank to get some cash for the post man; I’m thinking maybe $5 but you know me, I’ll probably slip him a $20. I may be late, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Today I am meeting my sister for our annual sibling lunch, then I go get my hair done. Next, I’m picking up flowers for my mother in law Carol’s 81st birthday, and dropping those off. I’m looking forward to visiting with her and spreading some holiday cheer! Will try to pop in on mom, but may be pressed for time and have to head home to cook dinner. 

Very cold weather and snow is forecasted soon and I’m not sure whether to be excited or not..I do like a blanket of snow on the ground as it is picturesque and I’ve got those wonderful black, furry boots from Toronto that the shoe salesman said were also purchased by a local television personality. Hmm. It’s a beautiful day today, the air is crisp and clear, the hounds are snoozing away, our tall, sturdy Christmas tree stands majestically in front of me. It’s Christmas time. Blessings.

Safety Dance

 Brrr, an early good morning, I awoke this a.m. greatly unsettled after a disturbing dream filled with strange characters like a cult, a bank drive thru, an older Asian (?) man offering advice, and of course Michael saying no to the purchase of an exciting new Volkswagen model I wanted to purchase. Freud eat your heart out. My dream left me most unsettled at first, perhaps not so much what my subconscious created but rather the fact that I can actually remember dreaming last night—something that rarely ever happens thanks to my meds. So as to be expected, I came downstairs in search of coffee and some way to ease my sense of fear. I saw the Calm app on my phone but of course you have to pay for that so my next/only option was to go to YouTube and hooray one can find soothing music with video for stress, anxiety, just about anything, really.

So I think I was led down this rabbit hole of anxiety by a movie I watched Saturday night about chess champion Bobby Fisher, whose brilliance was eclipsed by crushing paranoia. In a way, I wish I hadn’t seen the movie, as I prefer to hang out sometimes in the ignorance is bliss quadrant, but hey, Michael had the movie on and I saw it so into the memory bank it went. Fortunately, I don’t really have paranoia and given my employment and earnings track record I’m certainly not brilliant. So hopefully this looney tune won’t end up like Bobby (something tells me I may have a happier ending). I’m undecided, remember?

We are officially entering into Christmas week, and cold weather is here, with temps plummeting on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I immediately think of all the mentally ill homeless, who I am praying hard make it to shelter either at the Faith Mission, a church, or maybe the library can stay open special hours to accommodate those in need. You just know the stubborn ones will want to stay in their tents on the banks of the Scioto (though I think the City did shoe them away from there). Sadly, some will just refuse to come in from the cold, and I suspect these are the dually diagnosed addict/mentally ill not in recovery. And these are the nameless, faceless people we lose, people who had such promise but just gave up. 

Alas, I’m trying to find the happiness in Christmas 2022, but it just seems like Fate is having her way this year, much to my chagrin. Kevin Bartholomew actually was too busy to make it to our place to repair our sewer drain so we may be at the mercy of Eco Plumbers, who may or may not be here today. With our luck, maybe the pipes will freeze this weekend (or the car won’t start) but I’ve got fingers crossed and I knocked on wood to prevent all this. Michael hinted that maybe indeed we might have to sell this place, but given his insisting we move to Florida, I’m tempted to start hatching a scheme to keep us in Columbus…oh, I’m just unsettled this morning, and probably what I need is connection to my Higher Power, letting him control outcomes. 

I guess I should also remember “Dare to Dream” and all that jazz, and carry on with my plans for the week. I am meeting my sister Tracey on Wednesday for lunch at high noon at the Cheesecake Factory, our annual Siblings Holiday Lunch that Chip is conveniently missing because he’s vacationing AGAIN. Now Melissa, don’t be jealous, some day you might travel too…maybe. Do the Christian thing and wish only good things for Chip and his family as they float on their Gin Palace wherever they might be.

No, no bad thoughts this Christmas—why should we make room for those anyway? Hey, gas is cheaper. I can tip my hat to that. Down Broad Street to mom’s house we go!

Poor Richard

 Well dear readers, this morning started off with quite an exciting bang, aided by Apple and Google (plus a friendly nudge by Benjamin Franklin and Fellini). I think it may be the Giant Eagle cinnamon I added to my Starbuck’s coffee that got me headed off to a good start—but the fact that a $45,000 pipeline repair bill may be looming has me most definitely feeling pressure.

But being one who prefers to look at the glass half full rather than half empty (or maybe undecided? Note: remember to try and get mom’s needlepoint capturing this dilemma), I’m going to resolutely NOT have a bad day today. Even though Michael reports the downstairs toilet is backed up (installed on the cheap 22 years ago by an AA friend), precipitated by a screwed up sewer drain or something to that effect, he has made a speedy call to Eco Plumbers, a knowledgeable company running ads on Channel 6.

I may be unable to bathe until Monday (what do I do about going out tonight and Shawn’s soirée tomorrow?) but I know I can find a solution, somehow, some way. Michael says the stock market is garbage today, then he uttered, “America is garbage” and that makes me feel sad that he feels that way. I think I blame Twitter for influencing his current views but seeing as I have no Twitter account who am I to judge that Wild West?

Speaking of garbage, I am reminiscing about those art pieces back in the 2000s that I threw in the trash can in a fit of manic psychosis. Included were some pieces that might be considered a “painterly” attempt at communication (scene of Muslim women comes to mind); there is also my self portrait that I entrusted to a friend to keep safe—if he sold it I wouldn’t begrudge him though I’d like to get a glance at it at some point in the future.

Good news! Entrusted plumber Kevin Bartholomew just called and as usual, that hard-working gent keeps weekend hours and is coming here tomorrow (Saturday) to fix the drain! Although it may be a temporary stop gap, I should be able to shower before Shawn’s gathering which would be relieving. Michael put some ambient music on after Kevin’s call and I’m finding it soothing and stimulating my creativity. So I’m going to go over to mom’s this afternoon and perhaps continue working on my Christmas piece for Michael, tentatively titled, “Rembrandt in Macaroni.”

Have a good day, dear readers. Remember, don’t change for me, change for you! (Hee, hee)