If you know my story, you probably know the only way I could find to survive my childhood was to disassociate. To withdraw deep within myself, become as much of an empty shell as I could.

Well, this morning I had the urge to do so again, as strongly as I have had in decades.

My best guess as to why is a combo of a massive PTSD response to a serious depressive spike, with a bit of dysphoria thrown in for good measure.

I'm hanging on, but boy could I use a break from being me . . .

So yesterday my new bed frame arrived, and with a little help from mom I was able to get it together, and throw the old frame out.

Not a difficult task perhaps, but considering my lack of stamina, my wonky leg, and my even more wonky brain, I feel like it counts as a reasonable adulting accomplishment

So I had a bit of a revelation thanks to my councilor yesterday. We had talked about my rapes a little, and how I used writing as a way to process them, and then we were talking about my stepfather and my councilor asked me if I had written any stories about my time with him.

I checked, and I have not.

Now, I'm no expert, but when a part of my life is so radioactive I cant even fictionalize it, something is up.

Oh boy, more slogging ahead, this is NOT gonna be fun . . .

I was thinking more about the dream I had the other day, and it occurred to me that its one of very few dreams I've had where I was clearly presenting as a teenage girl.

Now most of my dreams, I couldn't tell you what I was wearing, or if I was in the closet, but this dream had some pretty strong indications of my gender presentation.

And it comes in the first part of the dream, where a older teen boy attempts to tickle me.

okay so yesterday, Sharon called me, and asked if we could give her and Sam a ride to her doctor's because Sam was having some muscle strain issues. I could not go, so Mom went, and when she returned, things were very different.

Sharon was having pain in her leg, and her doctor believed it could be a blood clot, and so had her go to the nearby hospital. Once there, Mom was told she couldn't stay because of COVID, so she took Sam home and then came home herself.

So yesterday was a tough day.

I was having such trouble driving while running Sharon and Sam around that Mom had to take over for me.

Mom felt my forehead and noticed I was hot and sweating, which may have something to do with it.

The only good thing is that I've fought off Mr. Nasty who wanted me to feel like a failure about the whole thing.

Ah, well.

Well, after almost 3 months without much in the way of visits by my writing muse, I am FINALLY working on a new story. I'll post something when its ready to go.

On another note, I just wanted to say "thank you" to everyone who suggested a name for my octopus stuffie, and her new name is Calista Octavia Rose. If I figure out how, I'll share a picture.

That's it for now, except of course sending huggles to all who wish them.

So I saw my doctor the other day in regards to some blood tests he had ordered for me.

Some good news, my liver is doing better, my bad cholesterol has dropped, but there was one troubling result.

My white blood count is very high, and has been high for months.

Now there are lots of things that could cause that, but the one I immediately thought of was the Big C - cancer.

My doctor is going to try and get me an appointment with a specialist, but with COVID, it may not happen quickly, so I'm going to have this hanging over my head for a while.

all right, so last night I had another nightmare within moments of falling asleep.

Both were about losing control on a slippery surface - the first while driving a car, the second while trying to walk down a set of stairs.

I'm officially concerned now . . .

so apparently last night I started shouting in my sleep.

I cant remember what I was dreaming that would make me cry out.

The thing is, as a kid I did that a lot, and even as an adult I still did it until I started going to therapy and recovered some of the memories of my abuse (which is when I started having flashbacks instead), and as far as I know I no longer cried out in my sleep - until last night.

You're gonna have to forgive me if that's a little concerning for me.

Okay, so yesterday, after I has an exhausting day running Sharon and Sam around, my mom offered to make supper for me.

And while coming back to the kitchen while carrying a heavy pot with a heavy lid on it, the lid fell off and hit her on the top of her foot.

the top of the joint of her big toe was pretty swollen, couldn't put any weight on the foot, and I started struggling with guilt.

And then the day got worse.

I managed to trip and slammed into the carpet just about as hard as I could

So at this point I was sore, guilty, and worried about mom.

So I called the bank that has my car loan, and after next week, I can authorize a lump sum payment and clear the debt.

I haven't been debt free since I graduated high school, so it will be a good feeling.

I finally deleted Kylie from my hangouts contact list and all the emails we have exchanged.

Pardon me if I'm less than cheerful for a while.

When I usually talk about my negative self talk, aka "Mr. Nasty", its a "tape" of my various failures.

But sometimes, I get a "tape" that's much, much worse.

This "tape" is connected to my rapes, and the word it uses to describe me isn't "failure".

It's "Evil".

The reason I'm bringing it up now is that I spent most of last night trying to fight off that "tape".

So I think Team Dorothy to come to my rescue again.

Send words of encouragement, praise, or just send a hug if you can.

Thank you in advance.

Since my mother has begun to suffer from dementia, she has been constantly worried that the place is on fire.

We couldn't figure out why, until I remembered her telling me that when she was a small child the cabin she and her family were living in caught on fire, and she had to help get the kids.

which has me wondering if there is a connection between dementia and PTSD. And whether I'm going to be reliving my rapes if I get dementia as well ...

so its been a good news/bad news situation here.

the good news is my mom is eating a little bit more, although it's still probably below or at best at the daily minimum.

the bad news is her anxiety has increased to the point she can't be left alone, even while in bed.

sighs . . .

well, I got good news and bad news.

the good news is mom finally was able to keep something down, even if it was just a small cup of rice pudding, a liquid yogurt, and 4 spoonfuls of broccoli soup. she also has been given a new medicine which may help keep things going in a good direction.

Bad news is I'm headed in the opposite direction, as a crippling depression snuck up on me tonight.

sighs, keep sending hugs ...

I'm afraid I don't have a Christmas story to share this year.

sorry everybody

So my mom called 911 at 4 AM this morning. But it wasn't all bad, they checked her oxygen levels, her blood sugar levels, and any signs of infection, and all clear.

which just leaves brain issues, I guess.

So now we wait for a psychologist, and hope we can get through Christmas.

ah, well.

my mom is starting to hear things during the day, as 3 times today she has thought she heard Mike go up into the crawl space and work on the wiring, as well as her now usual 4 AM panic session.

I'm just trying to hang in there for her ...