I ATE THE RABBIT!

I’ve been dealing with this one for awhile.  At first I didn’t want to believe it, then I didn’t want to think about it, then I just didn’t know how to write about it. Of all the memories/flashbacks this has been the hardest for me to deal with because it goes against everything I believe in. Coming to terms with it was like coming to terms with pure evil. I finally have gotten to the place where I can say this was not my fault.  I had no control. I was brainwashed into doing these things. Now I need to write about it and let it go or at least get it out.

**** Trigger Warning – Contains animal sacrifice, blood, and rituals. ****

This all started with me having a reacquiring dream. I’m writing this as the dreams happened for me. I’d dream a little bit, then wake at the same spot for a while. Then something would loosen and I dream more, only to stop at a spot, and only dream up to there for a few nights/weeks, before it would loosen again and I’d get more. The deeper into the dream I got the less time/nights before the jump to the next part.

The dream always starts the same way – floating through some woods being drawn to a light ahead. At first I’d wake up here, scared but not sure why.

Then the dream jumped forward – I’m being compelled forward toward the light even though everything inside me wants to run away from the light not toward it. I feel hands coming up out of the ground and grabbing at my feet as I go by, trying to stop me.

Again I wake up. More nights of just dreaming that before the dream advances again – The hands can’t stop me even though they try and then the trees part. I’m in a clearing, there is a fire (the light that was beaconing me), and people covered in hooded capes. They are gathered around a little girl. She is wearing nothing and she is me. Now I wake in terror at least for the first few times. Then I wake with questions, so many questions,- Is this dream real? Why am I in the wood? Where are my clothes? And who are the hooded people?

I don’t have long a this point, just a few nights before the dream advances again – One of the hooded figures comes forward with a rabbit. IMG_0198The rabbit squirms in its hands. Then I hear the sickening crack and it goes limp.

Again I awake. At this point weeks have gone by of dreaming this dream, the more I have it the more real it feels. Man, do I wish it didn’t because the next bit of the dream is the worst – The rabbit is then shoved at the little girl that is me, and I’m told to eat it. I refuse it at first. It’s raw, full of blood and it still has a face and fur, there’s no way I’m eating it. The figure speaks then and I know it’s my grandfather even though I can’t see his face. He says “if I won’t eat the rabbit, they’ll go get my sister and do to her what they did to the rabbit.” Then I’m inside the little girl who is me’s head and I can hear her thoughts – I don’t want to eat the bunny. I’m not suppose to eat blood, it’s against one of the rules in the Bible. I don’t understand. If I eat the bunny God will hate me for eating blood, it I don’t eat the bunny God will hate me for getting my sister killed. What do I do? In the end, I choose the bunny as it seems like the lesser of two evils. The blood is the first thing I notice – it covers her/me. I can smell its irony smell and taste it’s coppery taste. Then it’s like the girl that is me loses all the human in her and is taken over by a blood lust that can only be called animal in its nature. And she goes a little feral on the rabbit until there is nothing left but blood and bones. Then there is pain and darkness. And I’m awake and trying to breath.

The first round of this dream started months ago, and after talking through it with my therapist I almost came to believe that it was just a bad dream nothing more. And for a while it seem to settle into the background. But after being triggered in the craft store by Halloween stuff this dream is back with a vengeance – start to finish no building up to it like last time. Every time I wake up feeling like I’m covered in blood. I wake up smelling the iron and tasting the copper that is blood. And I know deep down in my soul, no matter how much I wish it didn’t, this dream happened. It is real and I ATE THE RABBIT!

.

Advertisements

When your ESA has PTSD.

I think I wrote in one of my post that my new dog, Moo, who is my Emotional Support Animal (ESA) has issues. When first got him, I was living by myself since we where in the process of moving and my parents had already moved into the condo. So it was just the two of us. He loved me – I’d just saved him from shelter living and I liked him. I can’t say I loved him at that time because I was still grieving my old dog’s death, but he was something I could hold on to.

A little background on him so you get why I say he has PTSD. He was born on the IMG_0173streets of the Bahamas, one of thousands of dogs the run wild there. At three – four weeks old someone poisoned food and left it out for the wild dogs (instead of getting their pets fixed this is how people deal with the wild dogs in the islands). Moo’s mom got ahold of some of the poisoned food, and died. At this point he had to fend for himself or die too. For two or three weeks after his mom died he and this two siblings were on the streets alone. People chasing them, either to scare them off or to catch them, before he was caught. Then he went through being shipped to the USA, going through quarantine, going to the vet for things like shots, microchips, and getting fixed. He was paraded out weekly for adoption shows where it was loud, and people were passing him around, at which point it just got too traumatic for him. Then I found him at one of those shows and he sat in my lap so quietly I took him home thinking he was the “ONE” for me.

Then I started picking up on things. First, he followed me EVERYWHERE, I couldn’t move without Moo being right there. Which led to me tripping over him. Which is a problem because I’m already proned to accidents and falling. While we were still in the house he’d crawl into my lap whenever someone was in the house. If it was a man he’d try digging so he could get behind my back to hide. The only one who could touch him was me and my nieces when they’d visit. Any one over three foot tall that wasn’t me, he’d freak out, run away, hid, pee himself or play dead, somethimes all of them at once. Once we moved to the condo, Moo started hiding under my bed. Anytime he heard or saw someone that wasn’t  me, off he’d go, and he wouldn’t come out unless it was just him and I, and the door was closed. I actually had to move things around so he had a place to hide. Otherwise he’d get stuck under there and I couldn’t get him out. 

The condo move was already stressful for me, and now I  was dealing with a freaked out puppy/dog on top of it. I hate to say this and I never would have even thought it before, but I was close to returning him to the shelter. Up until this time I believed that once you take on a dog that dog is your responsibility for life – either theirs or yours, but I started wonder if our parting wouldn’t be better for both of us since he was driving my anxiety levels over-the-top big time. There was just one problem – by the time his PTSD became really noticeable we’d had three months of just him and I time in the house before we sold it, and I was attached plus I was still grieving the loss of one dog and didn’t want to loss anther.

So I had to come up with ways of treating his PTSD so he’d stop triggering mine. Yes, as crazy a this may sound I wanted to keep the dog that was triggering my PTSD. The first step was realizing that he had problems. The next was finding a way to work on his problems that not only helped him but didn’t trigger me. His biggest problem was people, guess what, so is mine.  I found out that he loves being around other dogs though, so where could he be around both dogs and people? Pet stores were out cause I can’t take them – to crowded and closed in, and noises. I then started looking into dog training classes. They were ok for a start but I really only did them because my dog need basic training and he liked them. I on the other hand didn’t like them so much, because well I was stuck inside with people and I felt weird about leaving in the middle of a class when I started getting panicky. The next thing we tried was the off-leash dog park. This worked for both of us. He got to be with, play with dogs, I was outside so I felt less trapped, and I could move or leave whenever I started getting panicky. It took almost six months of two-to-three times a week visits to the park before Moo would even go near another human, another six months before he’d let a woman pet him, we’ve just reached the two year mark and he’s finally going up to people (men and women) and letting them pet him. At home he gotten a lot better too. Most of my extended family he likes and most of my friends. He’s still scared of strangers, especially men, which he growls at before coming to jump on my lap. He still doesn’t bark but I’m ok with that. I still have to watch for signs he’s nervous around someone, usually I let him in my bedroom when that happens, but now he no longer feels the need to hide under the bed.

He has other little things that he still does like he won’t eat from his bowl if you are near him, if you come near him and he’s eat he leaves. So I feed him at night so he can eat while we sleep. If you give him a treat he runs off and hides to eat it. He has to be under the covers in my bed went it rains, thunders or there are fireworks or other loud noise or he cries. It is emotionally painful when he cries. And if I’m gone for longer than four hours he starts looking out the windows and pacing from door to door looking for me. Then when I get home he follows me around again. He has horrible nightmares but so do I so we keep each other company and calm each other down.  

I know I said early I thought of returning Moo because of his issues but I can truly say that I’m thankful I didn’t. I’m also thankful every day that when I went looking for a new dog, God saw fit to give me Moo. Not only do I understand him better than most people would, but he also helps me understand and be more accepting of myself and my issues, by dealing with and accept his.  And I can say now without a doubt that he enriches my life and I love him. There are a thousand ways he makes my life better, but mostly it’s his cheerfulness I love the most.

*** No, my dog is not named Moo. This is just his alias for this page. I’m not so mean as to name a dog – Moo. 🙂

The Legacy Of Child Abuse –HYPER-VIGILANCE

To start with what is hyper-vigilance or at least what is it to me? Hyper-vigilance is like being on red alert, being a soldier Soldieralways on guard. I have to know where all the exits are, I usually sit in a seat that puts my back to the wall if I can, and if I can’t then I am constantly looking around to see who’s behind me. I need to know what every noise is, and sometimes is leads me to believe that someone or something is out to get me but I never know just what that something/one is.

It took me almost a week to get use to being in my house alone with just my dog. I had to double and triple check that every door was locked every night, even though I locked them the minute I came through them. Then I had to leave the living room light on all night, check every room before bed to make sure it was empty then shut the door to it. Then last but not least I would take my dog into my room, check the closet then shut and lock the door to my room. Then I’d spend most of the night trying to convince myself that every little noise I heard was not someone IN my house, before falling asleep somewhere around dawn. Then the week was up and my parents were home and you would think that then I would sleep, right? Wrong! My mind had gotten use to the sounds of a quiet house and suddenly there was my dad snoring and my mom moving around at all hours of the night and I was once again, huddle on my bed praying for morning where all those sounds didn’t mean someone was coming to get me.

This is only one of the things that sends my hyper-vigilance into hyper-drive. I still have to swallow a scream whenever someone comes up behind me, and God, forbid they actually touch me, even in the most none threating way. That is a sure way to send me into a panic attack. This is the reason I can only go shopping in the middle of the night, because there are very few people then and I can usually find a checkout line without people in it. Thank goodness for 24 hour stores and self check out, otherwise the only shopping I’d be able to do is on-line.

I’ll never forget the first time my hyper-vigilance really kicked in – I was 18 and at a party for one of my cousins, I was waiting for cake or something and one of her guy friends tapped me on the shoulder. I almost broke his wrist, and I don’t even remember how I went from standing there all peaceful, to having this guy begging me to let go of his hand, which I had twist behind his back. I have so many memories like that. One minute its all normal, the next I’m either screaming or trying to break someone’s bones. All of them are brought on by guys, and the really sad thing is, is that I know that none of them mean to hurt or scare me. My best friend’s son got this treatment once and after that he always announced himself from across the room, so that he wouldn’t scare me. It was kind of sad and funny all at the same time. When his mom said something about it to him, he told her that he didn’t like being taken down by a girl so it was better to be safe than sorry.

Sometimes I don’t even know that my anxiety/panic attacks are being set off by my hyper-vigilance until I go over the situation in my head afterwards. The other day I was sitting at the beach in my locked car with my big, bad dog which I know would scare off anyone from coming over and talking to me but I was still feeling panicky, in fact with each passing moment it keep getting worse and worse, till I finally had to leave. I realized later that the way I parked my car had people coming up from behind me and walking pass my car, and that if I had just parked my car in the opposite direction I could have seen the people before they got to my car and I wouldn’t have been so freaked out about it. The other thing that I notice is when I go to church if I sit in the last row, I do better. For one thing I don’t have a bunch of people behind me who I can’t see (this also worked the few times I actually went to the movies) also we have a Q&A part and the microphone guys freaks me out if they come from behind me. By sitting in the last row I don’t have as much of this going on so I can usually make it through.

It has taken a lot of backtracking to see what makes my hyper-vigilance worse and what I can do to stop it. Sometimes there is nothing, but sometimes there is.

Major Panic Attack

I had a major panic attack the other day. Which answered the question is the Klonopin really helping me or is it all in my mind. I had to go for my yearly blood work which means I can’t take any of my meds before I go. I HATE needles, I HATE getting my blood drown and I HATE anyplace the remotely feels like a doctor’s office/hospital. So I usually put off blood work for as long as I can – I’m supposed to do it every six months; I manage once a year. I get to the place and there is no one in the waiting room (that’s good), so I good right back. Then the lady starts counting out the vials – 8 big ones! I start looking around the room for a picture to focus on, this is something I learned to do a long time ago, to focus on the picture and put myself in it. But guess what the big boss has decided that they no longer want anything on the walls, so there is NOTHING for me to focus on except for the needle, the blood and the 8 vials they have to take. Still I try to hold it together. I close my eyes and start to hum, while I picture the beach. This is hard to do when you have the lady asking every two seconds if you are ok. I wanted to yell “I would be if you shut up, and finished already.” She finally finishes and I’m still holding on by a very small thread, when she goes into the next room which has a kid that is under 2 in it. The kid starts crying and I start to snap. I have to get out of there fast. Only to have to get on an elevator that sounded like it was going to plunge to the ground floor at lightning speed because the cable was about to snap and was slower then molasses in Janaury..

Between the crying kid and the elevator from h<!! (I hate being in tight close spaces) I was now in desperate need of my Klonopin. It took getting home; taking my meds and 2 hours to come down from the panic I was feeling.

This is the worst panic attack I have had in months, I’m usually able to ward them off with the meds or when I do get them they are gone in minutes. Not this time.

 

Going Back – Part 3 – Chaos

This is the part I have been putting off writing about because it is the hardest. From Thursday on I had to deal with a chaos of emotions while deal with the real chaos that was going on around me. To survive I turned those emotions completely off. To start let me say that before all this with grandma happen, we thought it would be a good idea to get our house tented for termites while everyone was on vacation. So on top of everything else I had to pack up myself, my dog and my things and go stay at my uncle’s house from Thursday till Saturday. This meant that I couldn’t even go HOME after dealing with all of this. I had to stay in a strange house, in a strange bed, which sent my hyper-valiance on over-drive. Meaning little to no sleep.

I got to grandma’s on Thursday expecting things to be at least a small bit better because we now had the hospital bed and I was hoping that Grandma and the aide got some sleep the night before. What I found was worse than the day before, because we could no longer get grandma out of bed. Touching her anywhere made her scream in agony. Hospice still had her on Vicodin which wasn’t touching her pain, and which was becoming increasingly hard for her to shallow. Grandma wanted back into her wheelchair so that she could be in the kitchen looking out the window. There were only 2 problems to that – one was the afore-mentioned pain that made moving her impossible and the second was the blood blisters the size of golf balls on the bottom of her feet. The blood blisters were a side effect of her spending the last 3 days and nights in her wheel chair and not having the strength to even keep her feet on the petals made of them. Of course as she is screaming about getting in her chair so she can be in the kitchen my mom calls. Then I’m getting it from grandma, mom and mom’s nurse friend about if she wanted to be in the chair we should put her in it. I hang up the phone on mom and her friend and try first to deal with grandma. I finally get her calmed down when I show her, her feet and explain that until the Hospice nurse comes I don’t want to put her in her chair. This took about a ½ an hour then I had to call my mom back. I barely say hello and she starts on me about if grandma wants to be in the chair that is where we should put her. At which point I go outside and completely lost it. I tell her that unless she want to get her a$$ back home and start dealing with this that she needs to shut the F@(% up and quit telling me what to go because she hasn’t a clue what is really going on. Then I hang up on her again; (this whole this with my mom/family trigger all the alone/abandon feelings I had right after I came out about my abuse, which didn’t help me deal any better).

The Hospice nurse finally came with the drugs, but we had to wait for the doctor before we could change any of the medications. Foreseeing another battle with grandma because she only like her doctor and no other doctors to look at her, I had to ask the Hospice doctor to lie to grandma and say he was a nurse sent by her doctor. Nurses, grandma would allow, another doctor she wouldn’t. Thank goodness the Hospice doctor was so understand and when alone with it. We got her through his exam then I had to go through what health condition she had or may have had in the past, what medications she was on, what medications he wanted to change (namely all of them), and the deal with administering morphine. When I asked about her life expectancy at first he was no committal with it could be anywhere from 2 weeks to a couple of months, but after talking with me for over an hour as he left he pulled me aside and told me that he would be surprised if she made it through the weekend. While this is something that I already knew in my heart to be true, it was earth-shattering to actually hear it out loud.

Friday was worse and better because grandma was a lot worse, but my friend came from out-of-town to help. She and grandma were close and it helped to take some of the burden off my shoulders when it came to dealing with her. But I still had to deal with the nurses and doctors and Betty, the 24 aide we had, plus to make things worse we had a hurricane coming. Like it wasn’t enough already that I had to deal with grandma dying and all that, that involved, plus starting at someone else house and all that that involved, but let’s just add a hurricane on top of everything else, and I wish I could say that the hurricane was the worst thing that happened, but it wasn’t.

Saturday, is the day that I shall forever after think of as H@!! on earth. I’ve know my adopted grandma for about 15 years give or take a few years in all that time I have only every HEARD of her nieces and grand-niece, I have NEVER MEET them. On Saturday, Broom-Hilda*, grandma’s grand-niece decided to blow into town. At first I was nothing but nice to her, trying in every way I could to make her feel welcomed and to help come to terms with what was happening. About noon she decided to go for lunch and I decided that I really needed a break so I left Betty and my friend there. When I got back about five pm the whole atmosphere in the house was different. Betty and my friend were in the living room, Broom-Hilda was in with grandma and she was basically kicking grandma’s spiritual leader out of the bedroom, she wouldn’t let me in the bedroom and she keep trying to close the door. When I asked my friend what was up she said that instead of going to lunch Broom-Hilda went to the police station, and then when she got back she called the police, trying to get everyone kicked out of the house. All I can say is I’m so glad that grandma had the forethought to make my mom power of attorney a year and a half ago, which basically gave Broom-Hilda no rights. When the police came to the house the first time (the time I wasn’t there) they asked a bunch of questions about grandma – stuff about her health, her birthday, who her doctor was, etc. Broom-Hilda couldn’t answer a single question, not even what her birthday was, the police finally look at my friend for answers and she rattled them all off from memory because she know and care about Grandma. The police on that visit decided that they really couldn’t do anything, and left. My coming back plus the fact that Betty was leaving for the weekend, sent Broom-Hilda over the edge. We had call one of our friends who was a RN to come help us for the night because the agency couldn’t get anyone in till morning(thanks hurricane) and because of the police and Broom-Hilda’s accusations that we were killing Grandma we wanted someone who was an RN there. At this point, Broom-Hilda said she wanted us out of the house, which I wasn’t going to do so I said that I was going to call the police. When I went to pick up the phone, she pushed me out-of-the-way, yelled into the phone that “we were trying to kill her”, dropped the phone then hung it up. There were 6 people in the house beside her and grandma and all of them were at least 3 feet away from her looking at her like she was crazy. She then throw some of grandma’s medicine at my friend who been to pick it up only to have Broom-Hilda almost rip her hand off. The police called back during this and I answered the phone and calm explain what was going on. The 9-1-1 operator said that they had 2 cop cars on the way, and to stay on the phone. About this time Broom-Hilda noticed I was on the phone and came after me again. She pushed me into grandma’s china cabinet and started yelling at me and shaking her fist. It’s a good thing this triggered a memory of my mother which keep me frozen till the police came (good thing they came in like 2 minutes) otherwise I think I would have flattened the B!$%^.

About the same time the police showed up, the Hospice nurse showed up for her daily visit. Two of policemen had to end up taking Broom-Hilda outside, because as the Hospice nurse put it “she was violating the sanctuary of the death chamber” with all her goings on.

The police, who had already had to deal with Broom-Hilda, twice that day, took one look at our power of attorney paperwork, and Broom-Hilda’s record of being in and out of the nuthouse, and decided to escort her from the house. Added to what they had found out on the early visit that we know more about grandma then Broom-Hilda did, the Hospice nurse finished up her exam of grandma and told the police that there was no signs of abuse what-so-ever. She went on to say that grandma was one of the best look after patient she had ever had (this made me proud) and that all she saw was the normal slide downwards that comes with end of life. I stayed calm till the police and the hospice nurse left then it hit me like a ton of bricks, and I went into one of the worst panic attacks I’ve ever had.

* Remember names have been changed for the sake of the innocent and the not so innocent.

 

Help

Three weeks ago I was basically left with no therapy or more accurately no therapy option that would work for me.  For the last few months my therapist has been telling me that she was leaving the volunteer organization that I can afford to go do something else and that she was looking for someone to take over my case. At first I figured that she was on it and that I would have no problems, but as session after session pass without her being able to come up with anything, I started looking around on my own. The issues I’m having are one – money since I am unable to work and am still waiting for social security disability and two – I can’t do group therapy right now, especially mixed group because of my crowd anxiety levels and the fact that I just don’t trust men. My last session with my therapist I basically walked out of because I could no longer listen to her tell me that I had choices when my choices came down to paying through the nose for therapy or sitting in a group which would do me no good because I would me dissociating the whole time. After I tried explaining this to her, she still went on and said I had choices three more times.  At which point I was ready to punch her (my default when I get mad or angry), so I walked out instead. Now I am trying to deal with everything on my own and I feel like I am drowning and everyone around me is watching and cheering.

My depression and anxiety levels have gone through the roof. It’s raining all the time. This makes me even less incline to leave the house, and if I’m not going to leave the house why should I shower or get dressed.  I know in the logical part of my mind I should but it is being buried alive by my depression.  The really bad part is that I want to feel like this. I want to stay in my pjs, I want to eat everything in the house, and then dissociate for hours so that the time seems to fly instead of drag by.

A few things have happen in the last few weeks that have added to these feelings, and now I have nowhere safe to talk about them except here on my blog. While I love writing it and express myself, it doesn’t talk back and help me through like a therapist did. But I am going to try anyway.

First thing, my sister Dinah is pregnant, and I HATE it. It’s just another way that her life is perfect – perfect husband, perfect marriage, perfect child and now she’s going to have another perfect one. Even if I wanted and could handle kids, I can’t have them. So with each child she has, she is again showing herself to be the “good, perfect, Norman Rockwell picture” of an adult child, giving her parents grandkids to make them happy. This also just pushes me farther and farther down on the list of importance in my family, especially with my mother.

Second I am watching my adopted grandmother slowly waste away. I know she is dying, I don’t like it, but I have accepted it. Now I just wish I was over. I am having a hard time watching the slow downward spiral towards death. Every time I visit her I sit in the parking lot after and cry my eyes out. The pain of it is so bad that I don’t want to visit her at all, but I make myself once or twice a week. And I feel bad that I am wanting the end to come just so that the pain will go away.

Third, I fell in Wal-Mart’s and really messed up my shoulder. It was totally NOT my fault, someone was leaking something from their cart through the whole store and I slide and fell in it. The worst part of it is, is that it is my right shoulder and I’m right-handed. It makes dressing, driving and just about everything else painful. Now I’m being told by my lawyer that Wal-Mart’s is probably not going to even cover my medical expenses on this. (Anger is abounding on this one, which has set me into attack/kill mode were anything else can set me off – so far I haven’t unleashed any of it one anyone yet, and I have been play A LOT of video games where you shoot stuff to deal, to I’m keeping it in check)

Lastly, my mom was taken it into her head that we need to do a big family vacation this year. Family as in myself, my mom, my dad, my mom’s brother, Abel, his son, Azariah and his family, and my sister and her family, oh and my mom’s best friend that she considers family. If the other night was anything to go by I’d rather die than go.  Azariah and his family, and my mom’s friend came to dinner so that we could pick a cabin to stay in. By the end of the evening, I really needed the shooting video game. Azariah (name means God help me) was looking at all these cabins that where nowhere near where we wanted to be, (remember I have NO patience) I made one comment about not wanting to stay at one place because I knew the road to get there makes me carsick. Only to be told that I should just stay home then. Then because my anxiety and angry levels were rising I got a little snappy, which was followed by my mom’s friend telling me that I need to behave better. What am I five? She’s a nurse and she knows ALL my families issues yet once again I am the only one being treated like a bad dog that get a rolled up newspaper as discipline. Now I am second-guessing the smartness of spending a week in this mess with my sister and her pregnancy wrapped in, and I think I’m either going to need a lot more drugs or a padded cell. Of course when I try to bring up my worries to my mother, she gets upset then she tries to push it away with everything will be just fine. Which just makes me want to scream!

I’ve called my doctor; I’m just waiting for a call back/appointment because right now even the nuthouse is starting to look good, in comparison. Also if some of you could talk back to me that would be a help.

Scared to Death Covered by Numbness

I have been sharing in my last couple of post about Babylon (grandmother) falling and breaking her hip. Which has made this last week a living H<!!. To make matters worse my adopted grandmother, the one that makes me feel special, loved and truly worth while, fell on Monday night and broke her hip. I ask God: “Really, I mean I have enough to deal with. Do you have to give me this too? So I spend 5 hours on Monday night and all of today in the hospital with her. For me this is a big deal, first of all hospital trigger me big time due to how many times I’ve had to be in them having something done to me. Second, there are people everywhere; someone is always coming in and out of the room. Plus there are machines that start beeping at unexpected times, which put me on high alert, so I was jumpy all day long. My adopted Grandmother is 95 years old; she has no children so mostly our family takes care of her. But the relationship she and I have is very special; she gives me all the things that I never received from either one of my biological grandmothers. So here I am sitting all day in the hospital freaking out at every little thing, and all I can think is please don’t let her die.

On the outside I’m this numb ball, but on the inside I’m scared to death that something is going to happen and I am going to lose one of the most important persons in my life. I keep thinking of all the things that will have to be done if she dies – funeral arrangement, wills, etc. and all I can think is that I will have to make it perfect for her so that everyone can see how very much I love her and while because I would want it to be perfect.

All the while Babylon is exactly 2 floors below us, and she really has a better chance of dying on the operating table, because of a heart problem she won’t allow the doctors to fix before they fix her hip. For her there is nothing but a feeling of will you hurry up and die already. I feel like my emotions are in the middle of a tug of war fight – on one side is the grandmother that I dearly love and couldn’t stand for anything bad to happen to and on the other is Babylon, the grandmother I can’t wait to drop off. I have yet to step into Babylon’s room, because I just can’t seem to get the energy to care.

My adopted Grandmother made it through surgery ok, now we just need everything else to go good. As for Babylon, she has her surgery tomorrow…. I think you all know how I’d like that one to end. Right noow I am trying to hold me together.