Walking The Borderline

As Easy As Teaching ABCs To A Baby

2013-05-16T22:10:42Z

We’ve already established I’m crazy. Stable or not, I don’t have issues, I have subscriptions. Though I prefer eccentric. So it shouldn’t be too far of a stretch of the imagination in me saying I’ve decided I’m going to try to teach Sambam to read by the time she is 3 or 4.

Hear me!

First, she wouldn’t be the first in my family to read that young. Not even the second. The power is within her.

Second, the younger the brain, the more sponge like it is. The younger you introduce things the greater and easier they learn it.

Third, I’m not assuming I’ll be successful.

Forth, I knew better than to try to attempt anything that involves the fine motor skills of writing that young. At that age it’s hard to even color inside the lines.

Fifth, I really don’t assume I’m going to have success.

Sixth, no this doesn’t mean I’m home schooling her like Luke.

Either way, even if she can’t read, I’m going to at least teach her the alphabet and I have no interest in waiting until she is older. I already have the flash cards.

She gets momma’s undivided attention as we play what is a game to her. I get the satisfaction that this might actually work.

The alphabet, not the reading. Not yet.

We go through each card in order. I say the name and make the sounds. Sometimes she giggles, sometimes she repeats the name, sometimes she says “a” 5 letters in a row. Her favorite is the letter “d”.

Then we go through again saying just the name since saying the sounds can be confusing to what it is called.

Then if I still have her attention, which is hit and miss, I grab about 4 cards, hold up 2 at a time, and ask her which one us the “a” or whatever, depending on what I’m actually holding. If she happens to point to the right one, which is currently pure chance, I get all excited and get her excited. Then I’ll hold up 2 different cards. Working different combinations of the same random 4 I selected. Repetition is key after all.

I don’t know that it will work, but I know we are having fun trying. She adores my attention and I know to stop when I lose hers.

It’s fairly win/win.

On a related note, I’m going to try the “which one is the…” game with Luke to see if it gains me any ground on teaching him his letters.

Vehicular Vernacular

2013-05-13T02:37:17Z

Pat and I had the “Is Lucas autistic” conversation the other day.

It was immediately following the conversation over Lucas not just using the word “vehicular” correctly, but in a way most adults wouldn’t think to. His imaginary friend was in a “vehicular accident” instead of a “car accident”. Seriously, who says that? My 5-year-old.

Same kid can do multiplication, division, and fractions, as well as basic addition and subtraction, but can’t actually count past 12 no matter how hard we work. We’ll get there, of course, I just have to clue in on what trick will work.

Anyway, the autism conversation was rather brief. Pat and I do agree Luke is probably on the spectrum, though he is fairly high functioning, so far, it seems. His Psychiatrist hasn’t brought it up, and we’ll hold off for now, just ride things out. In grade school I’ll probably request proper testing. But as of now, whereas with many kids with autism where diagnosis is more urgent, Luke’s case isn’t the worst on his plate. We still need to finish tweaking his ADHD treatment.

I still maintain that there is also something mood based in addition, though what is unknown. That particular diagnosis will most likely come in his teenage years. It is still possible it’s just a side effect of the ADHD and/or autism, and not something separate.

So yes, we’re riding things out.

My main focus at the moment, ADHD treatment aside, is to figure out the trick to get him to know his basic letters and numbers past 12. Once he masters that the doors of his future will fly open. I don’t hesitate to wager he’ll be reading at an accelerated rate. That comes way to stacked in his genes. And he’s already on advanced math so knowing the trick to numbers will allow that to progress.

Really, I think my main reason for noting the possible autism and not acting is because I’m all too aware that this kid’s future is bright. He may end up with social skill disadvantages, but that might just mean he won’t be sitting at a bar with his best friend discussing the latest airplane, or such, he’s engineered at work, in 30 years.

But the kid is 5. Who knows what’s really in store.

So maybe I’m not worried because I know he’s already in proper care, and he isn’t suffering (aside from the effects of gravity) so there isn’t anything more worry will accomplish.

It does reaffirm the decision to home school.

Ladybug Girl

2013-05-11T03:39:15Z

When I was in the bookstore in Dayton, 50$ in my pocket, I bought all sorts of books for the kids. For Sambam I wanted something distinctly girly. Most all of her books, at that point, were hand-me-downs from her brothers filled with trucks and all things boy. And while I take no issue with her reading up on the latest dump trucks, I did feel I owed the girl something that was bought for her, and full of girly things.

So, that was the day I discovered Ladybug Girl. These books are adorable and a great influence for a young girl’s life, so it was an added bonus that Sambam took to the one I bought her like bread takes to butter. A fish to water.

So when this last paycheck brought me my quarterly bonus, and I saw two she didn’t have (only one in her collection at that point) I decided on the spot to buy them both. I brought them home so super excited and tucked them away until I could give them to her myself in the morning.

Girl lost her shit in excitement! “Bug! Bug! Bug bool(book)! Bug!”

Needless to say, that evening, when I was at a different store and saw the last three she didn’t have, I called home to Pat and told him I had to buy them. He talked me down to just one more, and I brought it home and presented it to her. She actually thanked me. Hugged me. And lost her shit as she gathered all four she owned at that point, and had me read them all 50,000 times each. (Only a slight exaggeration on the number of times read. It’s more like 50,000 total, not each.)

Pat took this all in, figured the budget, confirmed there were only two total that she didn’t own (of the board books. She isn’t ready for the others.) and that I knew where to find them easy, and told me to get them after work in a couple of days, when I had the car. I told him I couldn’t wait that long, the look on her face when she saw she suddenly had six the follow morning would be too precious. She is at the age of honest thankfulness, taking nothing for granted.

So at 9PM, all the kids in bed, I made my way to the store.

And the following morning, when in 24 hours time she had gone from one to three to four to six, she became the happiest little girl I have ever seen, when I greeted her with all six books and while she may not be able to count, but she knows. She knows she had far more than she use to. More than she had when she went to be the previous night, even.

And my heart grew.

No matter how tight the budget gets at times, there is always money for books. Especially when the books are received the way she received these books. Especially when a day, an hour, doesn’t pass without her demanding that someone read her one or all. Her only regret is that Lucas can’t yet read so she can’t ask him with any success.

I love her. So very much. My daughter, my fiery angel. And I’m so glad that something so amazing is what she falls to pieces in excitement for.

You Can’t Touch This

2013-05-18T01:46:53Z

It is amazing what comes to light when you are in remission from a major mental health issue that dominated your life.

Did you know I have major sensory issues? I didn’t. Until it slowly dawned on me over the past few months. Pat, the ever observant husband whom knows me almost too well, has known much longer. But I’m betting not too many other people realize it. However, he both knows me and what to look for. (My mom’s response was “duh” so that makes 2 confirmed.)

I don’t really know when I realized. I think I just started noticing it in Luke and then started recognizing it in myself as well, as an after thought. And then when I finally put thought to it I’m all, “Whoa that explains so very, very much!” And I’m like, “Husband, did you realize that I have major sensory issues that go beyond just the hair thing?” And he’s all, “Fucking duh, wife!” Well no, there was no cursing. Just patient understanding while I talked out almost 30 years of being overly sensitive to touch.

And possibly light.

Maybe even sound.

He maintains that I experience a normal degree of sensitivity to sound and light. I maintain that he suffers migraines so he has a skewed idea of normal in those regards. Not really sure how I’d ever know. I know there are times I can’t even stand the glow from my alarm clock. And even in total darkness I will sleep with a pillow over my head at times to block out the light and sound found in total darkness. But, I’m also weird and might just enjoy the pressure of it over my eyes. It seems to block out all senses.

I don’t even know how to begin to explain the degree this explains things. The list of things explained by this.

Slimy, sticky, tacky, tickily.

The pink stuff those whom work with cash rub their fingers against to get some tackiness to separate the cash, that I can’t stand to touch.

The time my old teller supervisor asked if I wanted some of his nice hand balm and I was so eager to use it until I got some on my hands and rubbed and rubbed and rubbed and OMG why are my hands covered in wax that won’t go away and rubbed and rubbed and I’m sorry but I have to go wash this off my hands now. Then scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed before my hands lost all trace of the feeling of something having been on them.

Greasy lotion, which is the exact opposite of waxy hand balm. It has to rub in all the way with no trace or I don’t care how much it cost, it is NOT being used, no way no how.

The hair thing, is of course the one obvious thing. The second my hair is long enough to tickle my ears, my neck, my face, it has to go. If it doesn’t go, and it brushes anything, I nearly claw my flesh off trying to remove the tickle and I end up having my entire body covered in spiders and bugs creeping all over me with their legs. Or that’s how it feels when my skin crawls. As I type, my hair is long enough to touch itself and the skin on my head is crawling.

Warning the following isn’t PG. It discusses sex.

The fact I can’t stand body fluids of any type. From sharing a drink with a kid, to a tongue in my moth, to the various juices that come from sex, of a male and female nature, to verify. That’s why sexually, being with a woman has limited appeal when it comes to me pleasing. I can’t understand or fathom why anyone would want to eat that. It’s. So. Slimy. Hell, sometimes I have issues with Pat going down on me because why would anyone want to. It’s. So. Slimy.

Every now and then I can realize that it’s a love/lust/pleasure thing and I can work past that hang-up but not nearly often enough.

Or the fact while I’m perfectly capable of the big O, I can feel that it is building and I can even actually feel the release but the OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD? Sorry, can’t feel it. Doesn’t matter what caused it. Sensory overload so my body shuts physical senses down to protect me. From my orgasm. Just what I need. Thanks.

Sex talk over.

Fibromyalgia? It’s common knowledge that fibro is a mental condition. It’s also generally thought that it is sensory overload. Why the hell can’t my body protect me from that one! (If you didn’t read the sex bit, this makes no sense. Sorry!) I suppose it tries but it can only shut itself down for so long before it has to give up and I have to feel.

The fact I can’t hug. I’m sure BPD far from helps with the personal space bubble. But if you are going to touch me, it needs to be on my terms so I can prepare myself and a you need to use a firm touch. Too light and the spiders are back crawling all over. Tickle me and the spiders are hairy. Graze me and they are small but there are millions of them in a concentrated site.

How my skin crawls just talking about this. Thinking about this. It becomes overly sensitive to the light touch of my clothing, setting things off.

I’d like to think that this is all a valid reason to refuse to wear pants.

But let’s be honest, I don’t need an excuse to detest pants. Pants are bullshit. Any blogger can tell you that.

Yes, I joke. Because if I can’t laugh at myself, what can I laugh at? And what is to keep me from despair? I mean, do I really need to add to my list of mental issues?

Speaking of, I wonder if I should get this added to my file with my meds doc before my file gets closed. Just so it’s on record somewhere.

Because that file isn’t thick enough as it is.

And That’s A Wrap!

2013-05-08T15:46:05Z

I had my final, for a while, session with my Psychiatrist last week. I’ve managed to keep up the stable long enough, and trying to get in is causing more stress than what it’s worth. It’s something we’ve both known was coming for a while. We’ve worked towards it. Progressed to it.

I can’t imagine that I’ll never again see a Psychiatrist. That is a wonderful goal, of course, and one I’ll strive for, but not as such that I’ll ignore obvious warning signs just to avoid that office. I’d rather call her up at the first sign of danger and head it off, then try to make it without and get in over my head, and then drown. Not worth it.

If the time should come, I have my instructions on what to do. Since my case closes in 3 months (we’re keeping it open as long as possible just in case, and because we can) getting back in urgently can be tricky. Should I call the front office, I’ll be waiting listed as a new patient. Not awesome for urgent. But, my doctor has instructed me to call her directly and she’ll get me in on the first available. Could still take a month but that will be because her schedule is packed, not because I’m wait listed.

Because as stable as I am now, safe to be away, when BPD crashes, they crash hard and burn all that is near. You don’t wait list that. Not if you expect survivors.

So I feel safe. Even as I step away from my safety net, I know they still care and will be there if I need them. I’m just safe to walk away in the meantime.

And all is well.

Because even on my dark days, I’m showing signs of growth. My fibro meds caused me to slip, I recognized it, I stopped them, and told my doc I needed something different. Instead of letting it progress to a problem, I took action and all was fine. When life gets complicated and I get the sads, I have the presence of mind to tell myself that my sads are based on this situation, here is how it’s already being fixed, and here is what I can do to make it better, and in the meantime.

Remission and recovery aren’t about never ever having a bad day. That isn’t normal either. That is mania. It’s about taking the bad days in stride, recognizing their cause, and their solution. Whether that solution is going to bed early and trying again tomorrow, or something like ending a marriage, changing a career, or moving.

You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have, the facts of life.

I make no apologies for that cheese.

May you find peace on your bad days, enjoyment on your good days, and have the presence of mind to know that life is made up of both.

No Return

2013-05-11T03:46:47Z

When I was a freshman in high school, so roughly 15, I had an online friend, whom was depressed. Suicidal. I knew this.

One night I sat and read his plan as he typed it to me over ICQ or Yahoo, whatever we were using at the time. This was 15 years ago. I read his anguish and what he intended to do about it. I knew it was coming that night, that hour. So I started him talking. Anything to keep him talking. I gained ground, and I lost it. I’d gain more, but I’d lose twice as much. That’s what it’s like when someone isn’t just wishing life away but putting a plan into motion.

I kept him going for an hour or so. Maybe it was far less. Maybe it was more like 3. This was half my life ago and in moments like this, time doesn’t progress normally anyway. But we talked a lifetime away as I kept him talking right up until he couldn’t type anymore. And I continued to type to him knowing full well it was too late, he was at that point of no return. He was already gone.

I had it confirmed, I don’t even know how much later, by his younger brother.

My life was never the same after that night.

I suppose that’s why, so many years later, I can’t just walk away. It may not be my personal problem, but it’s someone’s problem. Someone’s friend. Someone’s son or daughter. The love of someone’s life, whether they can see it or not. And maybe for whatever reason, they can’t be the one there keeping them talking.

But I’d like to think that if I hadn’t been available on that fateful night, someone else would have been. Maybe they could have done better, maybe I got further than anyone could have. Just as long as he wasn’t alone in his final moments, even if I was an ocean away.

And so no, I can’t walk away. It doesn’t matter if you are a total stranger. Someone who knows you and loves you will always be grateful for the heart I put into gaining ground in keeping your life intact.

I told my father the day after it happened. Knowing full well he was gone, did we have any means of confirming it? But this person I cried for the night before was an ocean away, and I didn’t even know for sure where. Technology was much the same then in the sense of talking to people around the world, but unlike today, there was no Facebook or twitter making it possible to narrow down where a lost life might be found so police could be called.

I still think of him time to time. I don’t remember his name. Too many years have passed and I’m not good with that aspect of my memory. Yet I will never forget, until my own dying days, that feeling I was left with when all was said and done.

And if in my life I can prevent that feeling for anyone else, then I will fight to make it so.

Because you don’t have to love someone to feel that hole of a life lost.

You’d be surprised who can care about you and how.

And no one is better off when anyone is gone.

#GeekParty

2013-05-08T04:02:22Z

My only real goal with this party, this project, is friendship. I don’t have a lot of real solid friendship and I’m lonely. Very, very lonely. In fact, I’ve brought those in my head back to me so that I’m not always so alone. Sometimes they help, sometimes they just show me how alone I really am. Only there in my head, never out.

But yes, this #GeekParty is about friendship. Not just for me, bot for others who enjoy geekism. Whether it be gaming or comic books, music or Doctor Who, who really cares? Geekdom isn’t about what you enjoy, but how you enjoy it. It is a passion. A PASSION! And I’m filled with a passion in most everything I bother to do. If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it with all of me. Enjoy it with all of me. And that’s Geekdom. And we’re proud.

So #GeekParty is pulling those of us who have passion for ANYTHING together so we can enjoy each other and talk about what we enjoy.

And last week it exploded. Locally anyway. I talk a lot and as a result it started trending in Ohio. And that is awesome. Because not only is that new friendship, but that is new friendship near me. Where maybe I can work towards a friendship that doesn’t involving hiding behind the internet. I’d love that.

Because that is what I need so desperately right now.

So please join us, tonight, at the 3rd #GeekParty. Everyone is welcome. Everyone is encouraged. It starts at 8PM EST and runs until the last person leaves. Come early. Come late. Just please consider stopping by. You never know who you’ll meet and what you’ll find yourself talking about.

We Do Need That Education After All – The Not As Well Known Pink Floyd Song

2013-05-12T20:37:23Z

I have aid settled.

I have books.

I have pens, highlighters, pencils, and a binder.

I have a student ID.

I have an advising team that will answer any and all questions, dedicated to helping me succeed.

I have a financial aid department that not only answers the phone (I know!) but is knowledgeable.

I have my first 2 classes scheduled, back-to-back, for over the summer.

I have everything I need to do this.

To do this well.

To succeed.

I’m excited!

I’m a little bit terrified,

But I’m really excited!

And in 7 days, I will actively be a student.

And I will do this!

And then I will pay back thousands of dollars in loans, privileged to be able to do so.

That last part may make me sound crazy.

But this has been a so very long fight.

(Unrelated: Tomorrow at 8PM EST is the 3rd #GeekParty on Twitter. See you there?)

Sexuality

2013-05-08T03:46:01Z

Sexuality is a complicated thing. Not always obvious and not always easily negotiated.

Made harder when you are in a duel-sex marriage, however encouraging the spouse may be that maybe he can’t meet all your needs and you are welcome to explore, with reasonable limitations. Women only, of course, and family always first, of course.

In 10 years I’ve never really taken advantage of this. I suppose my general lack of sexual desire, that is a whole other blog post I’ll probably never write, doesn’t help. But honestly, I have enough trouble as it is making friends, much less finding a girlfriend.

But let’s say you do know someone who you are kind of into. How do you even go about saying, “Oh hey, I’m not only wanting but allowed. By-the-by, I don’t even know if you are bi. I know you aren’t gay but could you even be into me?”

It seems like more drama than it probably is even worth.

Especially since my desire that would be fulfilled is less sexual in nature and more nurturing in nature.

And I’m rambling.

So let’s be blunt shall we? This is where you look away if the idea of girl on girl turns your stomach. Or frank sex talk in general.

My interest in the female sex isn’t based on my desire to eat out a girl, or be eaten out by one. I have issues with body fluid anyway. So that part just mostly wouldn’t work. And the half that sometimes does, my husband is more than capable of taking care of.

What I want is someone small, frail, and delicate, even if just figuratively, that I can wrap my arms around and just protect as the figurative male of the relationship. I want a femme to satisfy my butch side.

I almost get that with Pat, which is why I think our relationship works so well. Both of our genders and sexualities are a jumble of all the options. But while I can nurture him, he is neither small nor delicate, and if he is frail it’s in health, not femininity.

So I’m left frustrated at times. But only when I meet someone who stirs things inside of me that normally lie dormant.

After All This Time

2013-05-08T15:43:54Z

People come in and out. Not really there. Only in my head. With personality, plot, conversation. You’ll hear me talking to myself. Low mutters. You won’t be able to make out what I’m saying, but you’ll hear me. Talking to myself. But really, I’m talking to them. I know they aren’t real. I know they aren’t there. I can control them until my story gets away from me. But then I can reset. I can decide I don’t like where my inner plot is going and I can turn it on its heels. And it’s been called different things. My first mental health hospital stay, based off what little I would say, they called it Schizotypal. Fanciful thinking. Magic thinking. Later my meds doc would call it a coping mechanism. As long as it was helping, not hurting, we don’t prevent it. But 20 plus years now my closest friends, my most trusted companions, have only been in my head. And I can’t help but wonder, when do I lose control? When do I lose touch with reality? With the reality that they aren’t real. Aren’t there.

Please don’t see this as a sign of trouble. Those who need to know, know. Those who see me daily will watch for it to change, morph, into something more. So now I ride it out. I’m still stable. This has been a constant for most of 20 years. It has never been a problem. In fact, usually, it’s the cure. It just gets so very old sometimes.