Working On Us.

This week, I’m again participating in Beckie’s mental health prompts series Working On Us over at

Beckie’s Mental Mess.Β 

This week’s topic is suicide, which is a very difficult and often triggering topic for so many of us, so please read this post carefully or do not read it, if you feel like it might affect you in any negative way.

I am going to participate in the prompt #1, which consists of the following questions.

  1. Have you ever experienced suicidal thoughts? – Yes. I’ve been experiencing suicidal thoughts and ideations since about the age of 9-10, which is also roughly when I was diagnosed with my first depressive episode by a psychologist. Back then, and throughout my early teenage years, my suicidal thoughts were the strongest.
  2. Have you ever attempted suicide? – No, but I was very close to attempting a few times. There were a few things that were holding me back back then. First of all, I am Christian, so I always felt like I needed to be strong for the sake of that, and that if I’d die by suicide, it wouldn’t necessarily mean things would become better for me. Another thing is that I was always scared of overdosing, which would be in practical terms the easiest way to attempt suicide. I’m scared of that because of emetophobia, I mean the consequences I’d have to face if my attempt would fail, being cleared and all that. Also I’ve heard some awful stories as a kid, of people who overdosed on meds and ended up as pretty much vegetables with very damaged brains. If I am to live in this world, I want to have my brain working at least, as it is my shield and weapon. When my suicidal ideations were particularly severe – that is when I was 10 and recovering from an Achilles tendons surgery – looking back on that time I think that if I was given a chance, I could very likely make an attempt, but I had my both legs in huuuge plasters and was very immobile and relied on others for a lot of things, so, although I had plenty of ideas, fortunately they weren’t that easy to undertake. Besides, so many people say suicide is a sign of weakness. I think you actually have to be a strong person to be determined enough to do it. I don’t consider myself particularly strong.
  3. Were you ever hospitalized for a suicidal attempt and/or ideation? – No. I rarely even talk to people in my surroundings about such things in a serious way, so back then no one actually knew I was suicidal, just that I was depressed, and now things are better in that respect so I wouldn’t need to be hospitalised at this point.
  4. When you were hospitalized, what was your experience like? – N/a.
        1. Do you ever feel suicidal ideation since your release? – As I said, I’ve never been hospitalised for being suicidal, but yes, even though I’m doing better than I did in the past, at least in terms of suicidality, I still do experience suicidal thoughts. They’re usually of a passive kind though, unlike in the past, unless I feel really depressed and overloaded, then sometimes I can still feel really bad active suicidal ideations. But it’s just a mere echo of what it was like for me when I was younger, that was hellish.

 

Working On Us.

It’s week #4 of Working On Us at

Beckie’s Mental Mess

and I’m very happy to participate in this prompts series for the second time. Last week, I was answering the questions for prompt #1, but this time, I found prompt #2 really relatable. It’s a photo prompt, so I couldn’t actually see it, but Beckie described it and the image of a brain inside of a bird cage really spoke to me. I suppose I should include the photo in my post somehow, but since I have no clue how to do it, and am blind, so don’t need to have a clue about pics haha, I’ll just leave it as it is.

I was thinking about that prompt a lot last evening and thought I would make some piece of creative writing but since I don’t feel very creative at the moment it’ll just be a bit of a ramble.

I’ve been fascinated by brain for years, and it’s one of my main interests. But it’s not only that why I found this prompt so relatable. I could say I often feel as if my brain was locked in a bird cage, and unable to get out, just never thought about such a metaphor before. What does it feel like when your brain is locked in a brain cage? For me, among other things, it means difficulty in releasing emotions, there’s no way to get them out, whether you want it or not. Your brain fills up until it’s all full and all the feelings are one big mishmash, so that sometimes you don’t even know what you feel any longer. Things get mixed up, until finally the brain can’t contain anymore, and things start to leak out. But instead of leaking outside in a proper way, instead of being expressed, they spill all over the cage. It’s flooded with stuff that can’t be released otherwise, and the brain is swimming in all the intense feelings. That’s when overload happens, and I start feeling a lot of intense anger that gets turned inwards, so I feel like self-harming. Sometimes, when the flood is really strong, something will spill outside through the grating, but the cage is tall and thick so it’s really hard. The only way for me to get my brain out of that cage is writing. Then, the bird cage opens and it can fly out and feel more free.

Another thing that a bird cage makes me think of in the context of my brain, is the feeling of alienation, or feeling disconnected, or loneliness in the crowd, inadequacy, or however you want to call it. I like being different, and individualistic, and I like being on my own more than around other people most of the time and feel more comfy with it. But when it becomes a bird cage for my brain is when I do need to be with someone, but for whatever reason can’t make a connection with people. Sometimes it’s like you can see other people from there, but there’s no way of communicating effectively. You can only bang on the cage and hope that they will hear you, but even if they will, they usually won’t be able to help you out, or open the cage, or get close enough that you could communicate, or feel the way you feel. Even if they do get to you, you’ve been living in this cage for so long that you can’t even explain to them what it’s like, and what you need, and they won’t understand, because they live out there in the world which is so very different. So after a couple trials, you just sit in the corner of your cage and look out, watching people come and go. Sometimes they’ll glance in your direction in confusion, not understanding why you are the way you are and live in a bird cage, what’s wrong with your brain that you constantly keep it in there. As if it was your choice. Sometimes you might feel desperate, and try to jump over the cage, but that hardly ever ends up well and is risky, you can easily get hurt. Even if you do get out of there in one piece, you quickly realise that you don’t fit in, and lots of consequences come with it. And after so many years of living in a cage your brain just doesn’t know otherwise and has it hard to adjust and be just like any other brain living in the outside world. So after all, you put your brain back into the cage, voluntarily this time, ’cause a familiar enemy is worse than the one you don’t know anything about and don’t know how to deal with.

That’s the way my brain feels sometimes. Well, regularly. Again, writing, for myself or with/to others, is something that helps, to some degree, especially blogging and penpalling is what I’m thinking of.

Also, I think the bird cage analogy works very well in regards to my sleep paralysis experiences too. It feels like my brain and me are locked up in a bird cage with all my dream monsters. I can see the outside world but they don’t see me, and I can’t run away because my dream “friends” are all over me. The only thing I can do is wait for the dream cage to open and flee as soon as possible.

What’s a bird cage of your brain? How does it look like and what does it represent? πŸ™‚

Working On Us – Mental Health Prompt.

Beckie over at

Beckie’s Mental Mess

has a weekly series on her blog called Working On Us – Mental Health Prompt, and now is week #3 of it, and I thought I’d join in! Here’s the prompt for this week and my answers. If you haven’t participated yet, I encourage you to check out her blog and to do so. πŸ™‚

 

Here are a few coping statements, do you agree or disagree?Β  Even if your answer is yes or no, please explain:

  1. This situation of sitting on a fully packed train either makes you feel uncomfortable or unpleasant, but I can accept it? – Yes, I can accept it if it’s just the crowd. It will make me feel a bit uncomfortable and anxious and I simply don’t like crowds too but as long as I don’t feel overwhelmed by other stimuli, am generally doing well and don’t have to interact with those people I will deal with it.
  2. Can I ride out the wave of anxiety, or do I feel like I need professional help now? -I suppose I could benefit from the right professional help, as some things can be very difficult for me to deal with and figure out on my own, I’d been in therapy for many years but had to change therapists a year ago and stopped working with a therapist with whom I worked for many years and whom I really trusted. Since then I had two therapists and didn’t have the best experience with either, I’ve also had some experience before I started to work with that therapist whom I trusted so much and it also wasn’t particularly positive. So I feel a bit conflicted here. Part of me wants to reach out and figure out things and get professional help, but part of me is scared of trying once again and feels very sceptical, and there are other things that complicate it slightly. So I’m trying my best to deal with it on my own, with the help of my family, friends and some medication which I take on an as needed basis most of the time.
        1. Do you practice coping skills? If so, what works best for you? – I do. The coping skill that is most important for me is being around my Russian blue cat Misha, cuddling with him and spending time with him, he really helps me. Listening to music always works for me. Distracting myself with a good book. Good quality sleep if I can get it. Comfort food. Writing is the easiest way for me to express myself, so it helps too. Talking to my Mum or reaching out to friends, I think I’m gradually getting better at it, reaching out for support used to be incredibly difficult for me and still oftentimes is, I’ve always felt pretty uncomfortable reaching out to people or telling them about my problems because everyone already has plenty ofthings going on for themselves so I didn’t want to bother them, and I used to strongly disagree that talking about your problems makes things better and easier as many people say and thought that it can actually make things worse, now I can see it does help sometimes although it’s still a challenge for me to talk to people. Doing something funny that makes me laugh helps too, or listening to sounds that soothe me.

Commitmentof a mother.

Hi guys. πŸ™‚

I’ve been thinking about finally writing some other posts, other than my usual series, and looking forward to doing it, and I planned to do some more writing over the weekend, though, quite predictably, I was never able to publish anything as it was my Mum’s and my brother’s birthday, also I had some rather bad anxiety and quite a lot was going on here. Nevertheless, both my Mum, and one of the recent writing prompts gave me an idea for a post. One of the recent words of the day at Word Of The Day Challenge was commit, and recently me and my Mum talked about commitment and dedication in relation to my grandma. I’d like to write about my Mum, and how I admire her, and thus also generally about mothers and motherhood.

There are lots of things that I admire in my Mum, but the one I would like to focus on now is her commitment.

Her commitment and dedication to motherhood, to us, her children, and to our whole family. I really don’t know where we’d be if not Mum, and I’m not just talking about the fact that she gave birth to my siblings and me, but that she is like an adhesive for our family, and keeps together us and everything in our house and family. I am happy to say that I have a good relationship with my Dad, but it has never been as deep as my connection with Mum. And even if I was ony to say on behalf of myself, I also don’t know where I’d be without my Mum.

Being disabled, I need more help with many things than an average person, sometimes a lot more, and my Mum has always been there for me, ready to help me out with really different things. Even when I was away from home at the boarding school, she always tried ther best to find the time and possibility to visit me or take me home for the weekend while she didn’t really have to as there was a rather big distance between the school and my home. She also tried her best to make my life easier there, and when there was a time I was emotionally abused by some of the staff she was the one to notice it despite the distance between us, and she was the one to make it stop. I’ve heard many very positive comments about my Mum at school, both from the staff and my friends, that I am really lucky to have such a committed and involved Mum. Not that other kids didn’t of course, though such situations also happened sometimes as they always do, that some children came from families where they weren’t loved, but because she did so much more than she had to, and her involvement was very visible. I also have mental health difficulties, since years but that both me and some of my family became more aware of only in recent years, and while my Mum doesn’t always understand it, she’s still there for me, if not in any other way than at least happy to help me practically. She’d been helping me to get to therapy, picking my prescriptions, she is my “spokesperson” in all sorts of new or difficult situations when I feel anxious or whenever I’m just not fully able to stand for myself, and I appreciate help hugely. She’s done so many big and little things for me that I probably wouldn’t be able to acknowledge all of them in a single post even if I dedicated it only for such purpose. πŸ˜€

My Mum is definitely a type of altruist who gets easily engaged in what she does and is very responsible and caring, that’s her nature, but sometimes I wonder whether all those commitments she has made over the years since she’s become a wife and a mother, whether they sometimes don’t make her feel unfulfilled in other areas, like her professional career for example, or her social life that would extend beyond her family.

My parents got married when she was 22. Mum was learning to be a beautician and after that tried studying pedagogy but didn’t really have a heart for it and didn’t feel motivated so quit it and then, two years after their wedding, they had me. They had to go a long way until they realised that I’m blind, it wasn’t like that I was born and they were told that, my blindness was congenital but well doctors just didn’t notice it and left my parents to figure it out on their own, and as it has turned out there were some other things we had to figure out blindly, pun intended, even much later on, but that’s another thing actually. Anyway, when Mum finally did figure out that I’m blind, soon after Olek arrived so with two little kids and one disabled she didn’t even think about looking for a job, despite at those very beginnings the financial situation in our family was really not the best, and by the way it’s also partly thanks to Mum that now Dad has the job he has and that our situation is much better nowadays. But Mum, even when I went to the boarding school at the age of 5, still was a full time Mum and still is, even though both me and Olek are adults and Zofijka can mostly take care of herself during the day, and so can I for the most part. And we really appreciate her for that, but as I said, I wonder whether she doesn’t feel a little disappointed with her life sometimes, having so many commitments, many of which she really didn’t have much choice about.

They say though that you usually copy your parents in your life choices. ANd that would be true for my Mum, because the thing was very similar with my grandma.

She is a very intelligent, cultured lady, had great ambitions as a young woman, got degrees in such diverse fields as food technology and theology, but she is also a very gentle, sensitive, idealistic and actually naive person, believing that everyone is like her and has the same values. And during her food technology studies met my grandad – also a very intelligent, cultured, strong, manly, fiendishly ambitious and versatile man. – They were madly in love with each other like most couples are at the beginning, the thing was that each of them had their own dreams that were quite different from each other’s, and my grandad was incredibly stubborn and domineering, to the point that in our current standards I suppose we could call it abusive. His dream has always been farming, because of his huge interest in agriculture, so it was clear to him that his wife will have to adjust and live in the sh*thole and dedicate herself to him and breeding hens to help him grow his business.

I love my grandad, have had a pretty close relationship with him, he has always stood for me when I most needed it, even when no one else did, and I always feel very safe with him and like we have a strangely deep connection and understanding for each other, and overall he’s one of the people I admire most in my life, particularly for how comprehensively skilled he is, but although he has mellowed a whole lot in his old age, I feel really bad about him being so bossy and tyrannical to my grandma. He wouldn’t let her go anywhere on her own, he decided what she should do or not do, with whom she can meet, he forbade her to drive anywhere, have her own work or money or any personal life that he wouldn’t be able to fully control. I guess even if she was assertive she wouldn’t be able to resist this and stand for herself, but she wasn’t, at all. He even didn’t let her to go to church on her own, only when it suited him and he would be able to drop her there, which was a big pain for her because my grandma has always been a very devout Christian. Grandad was brought up in a Christian family too, but it was never a priority for them and I guess he was too proud to be able to live through Christian faith where you have to be humble and rely on God rather than on yourself. So he wasn’t really keen on that which was also a big problem for grandma. As the children arrived her life was focused only around the household/farm, selling eggs with grandad and mothering the four kids. Later on grandad started drinking too much alcohol and has once tried to commit suicide, and while it’s no longer a problem and he doesn’t drink at all, it used to be something that grandma really struggled with and couldn’t accept, and tried to desperately hide it from children in which she succeeded as my Mum only learned about his alcoholism when she was an adult. At some point as I told you grandma got a degree from theology and wanted to work as a religion teacher or something like that but then one of my aunts was born and there were quite awful complications and she was a very vulnerable and sickly baby even though now thankfully she’s thriving and perfectly fine.

Now my grandparents’ relationship is less stormy, as I said my grandad has mellowed a lot both to his wife and to his children and all his grandchildren love him dearly, though they’re certainly not madly in love with each other and grandma is still suffering because of grandad’s cynical/haughty approach regarding faith and that he treats her like she’s very inferior to him, but he does appear to love her in some way and cares for her in that controlling, possessive way as some people do since they can’t otherwise.

She has certainly had her fair share of sufferings, but, most importantly here, has been always so very committed, to her husband, children, and every other responsibility that life has placed on her. In a way I admire her for that, but on the other hand, the extend to which my grandma commits herself is sort of strange to me and I feel like I couldn’t do that without feeling frustrated. just every minute. She doesn’t actually have her own life. Her life evolves around her children and grandchildren, caring for her husband, their work, praying, and now there is a little bit of place for gardening, but that’s it.

My Mum is not like that, my Mum is stronger and more assertive, but still has that extreme ability to dedicate herself to others.

It makes me wonder how marriage and motherhood can really change you and your life so much. When it comes to me, I’m happy to help people, but I really don’t think I could commit myself to someone to such an extend and so unconditionally, it feels rather overwhelming and strangling. I still most probably have a fair bit of ife ahead of me and I know things can change, but so far I’m pretty sure that I don’t want to have children, and even if I would want at some point, I most probably wouldn’t be able to be a good mother for many different reasons. But I really admire my Mum in that, and other mothers who do it like this, silently and without shouting how altruistic they are, and I know that if ever my Mum would need someone to commit themselves to her, I will try my best to do it since I owe her so much. I am proud to say that now I can at least listen to her, and that even though it’s usually her who is the listener for others, I often listen to her when she has problems, and IΒ  am the first person she goes to since I got out of the boarding school if she wants to talk about some stuff that affects her deeply. i am happy she trusts me and that I can give her at least that.

What do you think about commitments in relation to motherhood/family life? What are your experiences with your mum, or with your own parenting if you are a parent? Are you deeply committed to anyone, be it in a relationship or whatever? If you’re not a parent, do you feel like you could dedicate yourself to your children full time or is your professional/social/any other aspect of your life so important to you that you couldn’t give it up? πŸ™‚

Bedecking the house.

Hi people. πŸ™‚

How are your Christmas preparations going? Do you have much left?

Our house has been fully bedeckedΒ  today. Most of our decorations have been prepared earlier already, but today finally our house has a totally Christmassy feel, as we have the Christmas tree in the living room. It’s a pine, and our Christmas tree decorations haven’t changed much since years. There are some small baubles, but other than that, all the decorations are hand-made by my Mum, including red, heart-shaped sort of pillows that we have on Christmas tree every year, and which always cause a lot of excitement in Misha. He would always draw them down from the tree and then play with them all over the living room, losing them everywhere, biting them dragging them around the house. We usually don’t do anything about it now though, because it’s pointless. He’s got a mind of his own obviously and he knows what he wants, and no one will tell him to do the opposite unless they’d manage to convince him that it’s truly better, and since he’s a big thinker, that takes time. And actually, does it matter? I think it doesn’t. He always looks so cute and funny with those pillow hearts in his mouth, and he never seriously damaged them, they’re still perfectly usable, so I don’t think we should bother, he actually isn’t very playful and I personally always try to encourage him to play when he feels like it rather than turn his attention away from it if he’s not doing any damage, and he does it very rarely, it amazes me continuously how gentle he always (well, almost always) is. Only sometimes he loses control over himself and then things can get a bit messy, but not for too long. πŸ˜€

And I should say that Christmas tree in general is of a great, great interest for Misha. Mmmmm this smell, he loves all the natural smells – leaves, feathers, branches, flowers, all the forest smells, he’s maybe not so keen on animals, but plants, ground and such, he loves it all – he adores the smell of the Christmas tree so much that he smells it as much as he can, picks the branches, pats them with his paws in pure adoration and awe. Sometimes when he’s in an even more romantic mood, he climbs up the tree, or tries, as long as someone won’t stop him, and even happily eats the needles when noone sees, which last year contributed to him being very, very sick, at least for Misha’s standards, as he’s normally very healthy.

And so now as we have the Christmas tree put up and decorated, and pierogi in the freezer, Christmas has begun!

 

A description of Misha.

Hey people! πŸ™‚

I thought I would do some a bit more creative writing, I mean apart from my series and other stuff like that, just challenge myself a little bit more, as I hadn’t done anything like this for a while I feel, but didn’t have much of an idea what it could be. So I decided to look at the writing prompt for today at Word Of The Day Challenge, and saw that it is Oblong.

What can you write with this word in mind? What first came to my mind was a short story, with someone who would have oblong face as a main character – I absolutely love describing my characters thoroughly and very imaginatively, from their hair colour to their features to their style – but so far all my short stories are in Polish and somehow I don’t feel ready yet to write any in English, I still read much more in Polish than in English – when it comes to books at least, it’s quite the opposite online πŸ˜€ – so I feel like I should read much more before I start writing short stories in English.

So I started to think about all the oblong things in my room to find some inspiration, as I was determined to write something inspired by this – quite cool actually – word. There are some oblong things in my room, but I didn’t feel like many of them deserved any particular attention and a separate post in honour of them, other than my gem stones, some of them are oblong, and I could write a post about them, which sounded as a lovely idea.

But I thought that after all we live in a highly visual world, so I’d need at least some pictures (at least of those oblong stones, if not all of my stones πŸ˜€ ) to accompany my post. And right now I am not able to get anyone to take them for me, so, maybe another time, my collection is really big so you really have to have a lot of free time and good will to engage in taking photos of all of them.

So finally, as you may already suspect from the title, I decided to make Misha the hero of this post. Again. ‘Cause if you know Misha (or any Russian cat I’d suppose), thinking about something oblong you can’t not think about his little face.

You can see Misha in the logo of my blog, but there are also people who are blind/visually impaired who read my blog, so I thought a description of Misha should give them some more idea about him, and also, as I said, I really enjoy describing people, nature, weather, places, whatever! So why not Misha.

I am not sure how accurately and clearly, and how much of Misha you can see from the photo on my blog, anyway, I hope that those of you who can see it, will also enjoy this description.

Here goes:

Misha is an embodiment of gracefulness, refinement, charm, class and proportion. I feel tempted to say he’s also an embodiment of feline perfection, but saying that would probably show how blinded and doting I am. All Russian blues are like this, I mean classy and fairly proportional, but being able to know Sasha, as well as my aunt’s Russian blue cat – Flocky – I can easily say that Misha is far more classy and sophisticated in his looks than they are. Misha has an air of gentleness, fineness and calmness surrounding him. He’s not always that calm, he’s often very shy and anxious, but unless he’s not in very significant distress, he still emanates with that calm charm. Yet he’s not only gentle. There is also lots of strength in him – as much his body and his spirits. – He is small, agile, slim, thin actually, and shapely, and has well-buil muscles, you wouldn’t call him “muscular”, at least that’s not one of the adjectives you would come up as first, still though, you can easily see how strong and well developed his muscles are. You can also feel his bones, he’s really pretty thin. He is of rather calm and passive nature but when he has a good reason, he can run very fast, jump and climb high, is very swift and light. But also there is carefulness in his movement, as if he really had it in mind to not knock anything over or not destroy anything, it very rarely happens that he makes any mischiefs like that. He is also really composed when playing with other beings most times, and often finds it hard to actually relax and play and be carefree. When he does play though and feels well, sometimes he may lose his control and really show all his strength and agility, as well as the sharpness of his teeth.

Misha’s fur is grey, but it has a bit of a blue glow, that’s why Russian blues are called Russian blues. SOmetimes it looks like silver, for example in the sun, and it seems as if it was shining and shimmering. That makes Misha easier to find in the wild world if he happens to escape. His fur is also double-layered, and very thick, although really short at the same time. Its thickness though, makes it feel like a coat a bit, and makes it really warm and comfy. It’s also incredibly soft, silky, and smooth. That softness and smoothness and thickness once let Zofijka to the conclusion that Misha’s fur is “like a whipped cream when you touch it”. πŸ˜€ You know, in its consistence, sort of.Indeed, I must say that was an incredibly accurate comparison, although rather peculiar, ’cause Misha’s fur truly feels sort of “creamy” when you touch it. Or like a gorgeously soft and fluffy teddybear. We have lots of comparisons for Misha’s fur with Zofijka, as well as all his body parts and other stuff regarding him, we also have a whole lot of nicknames for him, but that’s another thing.

Misha’s head is small and round, and very proportional. It’s a pure pleasure to look at it. It’s just such a little, cute Mishball, soft and fluffy and delicate.

Yet his ears are big. ANd that was a surprise for us, I mean we wouldn’t suppose them to be that big. They’re not like extreme, they’re normal for a Russian blue, but we didn’t know that Russian blues have naturally rather big ears. Sometimes when I have any contact with cats of other breeds or mixed, it feels so shocking to feel how small their ears are in comparison to Misha’s haha. He’s ears are pointed, and very sensitive for touch, his hearing is also very sensitive, though I think it’s true for all cats in a way. He hates loud, particularly sudden noises. But it’s true for his whole little body that it is very sensitive for touch, I guess it’s some sort of nervous reaction, that sometimes he absolutely refuses to be touched, or will immediately lick or scratch himself whenever you touch him in that same place.

Misha’s nose is small and pinkish, another very proportional, little Mishball. πŸ˜€ Zofijka loves it. She likes to play with him as sometimes people play with babies or toddlers – puts her finger on his nose, presses it lightly and says “beeep!”. Wonder if it doesn’t piss him off sometimes, we all treat him like a child, but I guess he’s not that childish hahaha. At the same time though I can understand Zofijka ’cause his nose is really cute.

Misha’s eyes are bright green. Like very very green! People always love them, they are so mesmerising, their look is piercing, some people say that it can actually be unpleasant, or embarrassing in a way. But you can also see lots of intelligence in them, after all Russian blues are really fairly intelligent cats and I came across lots of people visiting us and commenting: “Wow, that cat of yours looks really quite brainy, didn’t you think about training him?” or things like that. And if you’re curious too, no, we didn’t think about training him, not seriously anyway, he seems too nervous and squeamish, and way too individualistic to just be trained and listen to our orders, even if he understands them. And we don’t have him to show him off, at least not in the first place, my Mum actually likes showing off with him sometimes haha, and I do too.

Misha’s whole face, as I said earlier, is oblong, but not too oblong, it’s really proportional. My aunt’s cat has actually much more oblong face and it makes him look a bit unfriendly. Misha’s face is just right. And he likes being stroked under his chin, among other places.

As I already mentioned, he’s very shapely and thin. If you move your hand down his spine you can feel all the bones and vertebrae and all. He has a really nice and soft belly, it’s almost always warm and we like to lightly lie on it, me and Zofijka, and listen to all his gurgles and his heartbeat and occasional purrs – as I told you many times before his purrs aren’t really loud and not as common as in most other cats, and his purrs seem to rather be self-assuring than signalising comfort and happiness. He has a little crease a bit below his belly which apparently is a common thing in sterilised male cats, and my Dad is always laughing at him how it’s moving when he is running or something.

His paws are small and oval, they’re really pretty small and cute and rather thin, but strong, they are lavender,so apparently just as they should be in Russian blues. And their insides are very smooth. Have you ever looked closely or touched a cat’s paws with some attention? Outdoor cats always have rather harsh and rough paws, while Misha’s paws are like a little baby’s. It never stops to amaze me, and I really like to touch them and hold them. And they’re so very proportional and elegant as well.

And Misha’s legs are really quite long, despite those small paws. That’s why he runs so fast I guess. Actually, you could generally describe him as “long”. When Misha lies straight, you can really see how long and slim he is, just an oblong shape with head and tail. I like to look at him lying like that, lying on his back, stretched for all his length.

Oh, and Misha’s tail, I nearly forgot about it. It’s also very soft, and nice to touch, and it’s relatively long. And it has stripes, but almost unnoticeable. THey were more visible apparently when he was younger. Sasha also has striped tail, and it’s apparently visible in most Russian blue kittens, and then is less noticeable.

So, that would be my description of Misha, and I hope you enjoyed it and that it gave you some more idea of what he’s like. πŸ™‚

 

My ideal home.

What would my ideal home look like?

I really like our current house, and I think I’d like to have a lot of things the same way as here.

I’d like my ideal home to be in Wales – it could be in any of my favourite countries but I think as for living long term, I’d choose the UK, and most willingly Wales, particularly north Wales, especially if it could be somewhere in Gwynedd, perhaps in the countryside. I’d like it to be rather bigger than smaller, but not very huge, definitely not bigger than my current house, and this one is rather big. I’d like it to have the “feel”, you know, that you just want to be there, I’d like it to be atmospheric. My Mum is the best interior designer I know so I’d ask her to arrange it for me. It would be a vintage house, with a mix of old, kind of retro things, and new ones. I’d like it to feel cosy. I think I’d make my room in some calmer colours, it could be green as my current bedroom. I wouldn’t have ANYTHING red in my house, but kitchen and living room would be in more warm colours, just to make it more comfortable and homely. I would like my house to be as natural as possible – stone, brick and wood, no artificial stuff or as little as possible. And I think a more natural house would fit the place much better. I’d like it to have a big terrace on which I could go from my room, and from the terrace you could go into the garden, as we can here. Yes, I’d like to have a big garden. If my family would move with me, my Dad wouldn’t be able to exist without a garden, as gardening is his newly discovered passion. That’s all I can say at the moment, but I am sure that if I was building my ideal home, I’d have much more detailed picture of it.

 

Exasperated.

My Mum feels exasperated because of Sasha. We all feel in a way, I guess. He is a cute kitten, but he has a really big flaw, Misha has already mentioned it a lot. He doesn’t know what is the litterbox for. If you’ll watch out for a while or just close him in the loo, he will do his business in the right place, but he’ll never go to the litterbox by himself. It’s almost a month since we have him and it’s always the same. He happily pees and poops on pillows, sheets, blankets, poufs, sofas, wherever, but not to his litterbox. It looks like he knows where he should do it, because once when he was trying to pee on a bean bag, my Mum saw it on time, pulled it out from under him and then he ran like crazy to the litterbox. But other than that, he won’t go there on his own. It’s worrying for us, and, like I said, quite exasperating. My Mum wonders if he has some sort of trauma around the litterbox, but to me he doesn’t look as if he could have, he’s always so very cheerful. It is Misha who acts a bit as if he was traumatised, but rather by humans, not by using the litterbox. He is a very nice kid, Sasha, I mean, but we have to close all the rooms from him to not let him poop somewhere. It would be so nice if he finally could learn where to do it, and could sleep with us at night, but we are simply afraid, ’cause who would like to wake up and realise there is shit on their pillow? Really yucky. If it was up to me, I think I wouldn’t be as thoughtful as my mum, and would sell him. Looking at it from a perspective I don’t think really that it was a good decision to take Sasha. Misha is more anxious than happy and Mum has twice as much cleaning, plus all of us have to be caerful with him. And what is also worrying is that he is still sick. It looks like he had to come to us sick, my Mum is exasperated that the breeder didn’t tell us, or actually didn’t take care of it himself. It’s sad to see him sick. He’s still a very happy child,but is constantly sneezing, has runny nose, watery eyes and breathes very loudly, which sounds cute and funny for us, just as he was a sick baby who can’t blow his nose, but it’s certainly not pleasant for him, and he sounds pretty husky, which is funny too, and my Mum calls him drunkard because of that. πŸ˜€ So yeah, it is a very troublesome kid. And it’s only a month…

River.

River. I like this word in English. River is one of my favourite nature baby names for both genders. I would never use it, but it’s very interesting. And I like rivers in general. I like to hear them lapping, I like to dip my feet into a river. We have a river running through our backyard. As you may remember from my earlier posts, because we have the river running through our backyard, and because our street is literally called Acacia Street, we named our house, even if it’s not common in Poland, and its name is Acacia River.

And I like how this word is versatile and can give a lot of space for your imagination.

I can say that my mind is a river – of neverending thoughts, dreams and memories. They can be calm and gentle one minute, I can hear its waters splashing peacefully and playfully, I often let the water carry me wherever it wants, and sometimes would like to never have to come back from wherever it brings me to. Because the river of my mind can bring me to some very nice, interesting places, where I could never be otherwise. I happily drift at its waves, immersing myself in the water, which feels so very smooth and calm, and I am happy to play in it like a child.

The next minute though, it can become very unpredictable. It’s more like a sea than a river then. I can suddenly feel there is more and more water around me, and it’s hard to get out. The splash becomes deafening, I can’t hear anything besides. The waves surround me and it’s harder and harder to fight them, IΒ  can fall over anytime. My thoughts are racing, memories overflowing, and I can’t have any control over them. My most beautiful dreams become the most dreadful nightmares which overwhelm me so that I can barely move. Sometimes, everything around gets flooded too. Once in a while, through the mad roar of waves, I can hear someone jauntily sailing by. I want to scream to them, ask them to rescue me and help me out, but I can’t. Even if I could, there’s way too much water all around, and waves are roaring, so they wouldn’t hear me. All I can do is wait. Sometimes, I feel I’m sinking and there is just no way out and will never be. I subside into the mud and the waters are closing above me, not willing to let me out. It feels scary. Even though you’re at the bottom, your darkest thoughts, saddest memories, scariest dreams, your depression and all your anxieties, they can still reach you. And now you can’t fight. So you have to wait…

Eventually, the water will always throw me ashore and let me go, which doesn’t make it less difficult and frightening, but always gives me some small glimmer of hope that it will be better.

And then, after all, things get back to normal for some shorter or longer time, and the river of my mind is peaceful and safe again, with some occasional stronger waves flooding through it, until another storm comes.

What would you compare your mind to?

The purring symphony.

Curled up together, we silently lie

me, and him – Misha, the sweet child of mine

I can hear the beating of his feline heart

knowing that no one could tear us apart.

I breathe inΒ  his smell, listen to his sounds

his delicate paws, his head, small and round.

My hand on his chest, I feel how he breathes

What do you dream of, in your peaceful sleep?

his purring – a comforting

symphony

Puts me to sleep, with its sweet harmonies.

When the day comes, I wake up calm and free

And that’s how we live, my Misha and me.

Squabble.

There’s been a lot of squabble

in our house lately.

Zofijka’s friend’s been coming a lot to us to play with her this week. They can play well, but they are both completely diffeerent and they’re often arguing. They literally change their minds about each other every minute, which can be both funny and annoying for an outside observer. Everyone around needs to be engaged in their squabbles, and that can piss you off at times, however we’ve learnt to look at it with some distance now.

What worries me much more is that my Dad is recently in a very squabbly mood. Usually the person he argues with is Mum but now he can literally find a reason for a squabble in anything, even things that he liked before are now wrong, all is wrong, every reason for complaining is good and every reason for starting an argument is good for him, and he is generally very conflictive, shouty and irritable. Don’t know what’s going on. I do know though that it pises me off greatly. Recently whenever he gets back from work the atmosphere in our house becomes heavy and unbearable, and I’d say rotten, if you can define atmosphere this way in English.

What pisses me off even more is that today is Father’s Day. Couldn’t he hold back his moods just for today? Why are we supposed to accept it? Zofijka runs to him – “Daddy, Daddy, happy Father’s Day!” – and he stands like a marble statue and only mumbles – “Uhm, tanks”, which honestly sounds more like, “F… off” (well, maybe I’m exaggerating, but it certainly felt discouraging).

I’m particularly mad because of our Mum who is mostly dealing with his moodiness and with whom he argues most often and says hurtful things without thinking much. I guess he doesn’t mean most of them, but I know it hurts her. Since I got back home four years ago my Mum is very happy because she has someone who can listen to her different dilemmas. And I am happy to be her listener, I like to listen to people, unless they’re not too boring. And because she tells me a lot about how she feels I know that his grumpiness is hard for her to live with sometimes. My Dad isn’t always like that, but can be pretty often and then Mum feels it the most, everyone would feel very uncomfortable in such situation. I’m just so frustrated with him, so I’m making use of the fact that no one of my close family knows English so I can get it out of my brain.

Zofijka has finished her school year yesterday. She has very good grades, as for her. But he didn’t care a bugger about it. I asked him by the way whether he’s seen her grades, but he just mumbled that he didn’t, in a way that showed his lack of caring more clearly than the words would. Again, it’s not his normal attitude to Zofijka, but imo he should at least pretend the interest. That’s shitty. I mean, if he likes being grumpy and not happy with anything, than OK, it’s his choice, he has the right to feel however he wants, but why others have to deal with it too? Such people really drive me crazy.

I hope he will be so kind to consider changing his attitude to others soon, or maybe they’ll send him for a longer route and he’ll come back more communicative. He really annoys me right now and if it wasn’t Father’s Day, I think I would just tell him something abut it, though maybe I shouldn’t. But on the other hand in some way I have more influence on him than the rest of us because he’s always liked me the most of his children, God knows why, I guess because I was his first child, and because most of the time I was away from home so when he missed me, he idealised me or something. I think his irritability is passing on to me a bit, also because I’m having a Zombie day after no sleep at all. I think I’ll cool down soon, anyway what I surely wouldn’t do, I definitely wouldn’t let it out on people around me.

OMG what a rant! That’s normally so not like me! :O I didn’t plan it to look this way.

 

Currently, March 2018.

Currently is hosted by Anne In Residence

and Foxy’s Domestic Side

. This is my first time participating in Currently.

The prompts are planning, seeing, making, pretending and wearing.

Planning: an appt with a therapist specialising in personality disorders regarding whether or not I may have AVPD. We’ll see what will be next afterwards. As it seems very likely that I do have it, probably will see a psychiatrist to diagnose me then or something. Very, veryΒ  anxious, but equally, or even more, curious about what will come out. Don’t know what to expect really.

Seeing: Nothing, ha! πŸ˜€ At least not literally. Being totally blind since birth, there aren’t many things I could see, although I say I see something almost constantly. Or look at something. Like I think most blind people do, even when they just touch or hear things which sighted people can see. That’s just easier, although shocking for some. And no, I don’t see the dark/black. Just nothing, though I know it’s hard to imagine and different blind people see different things, depending on the cause of their sight loss, apparently. I’ll never forget one of my distant, older aunts’Β  shock when she heard me talking to someone on the phone and saying “See ya”. She was all indignant and like how could you say it, you can’t see! πŸ˜€

Making: progress in my languages. Although not so much in Swedish recently.

Pretending: oh, all the time. I know it may sound horrible, double-dealing and such, but that’s how it is and I don’t do it because of my whim. You know, there are situations you just need to pretend, or there are others when it’s hard to just be yourself.

Wearing – a dress, almost as always.

 

Present.

It’s often hard for me to live in the present

.I’ve always had a tendency to either worry to much about the future, or delve in the past, analysing all the awful stuff that happened to me or idealising my good memories, or when my future seemed absolutely hopeless to me, to escape into daydreams where everything looked colourful and I could entertain myself with millions of beautiful scenarios of my life and the reality around me.

I noticed it at some point a few years ago, while talking with my Mum about something good that happened to me in the past and I was all like “oh it was so good back then” and Mum finally told me something that really amazed me and gave me a lot to think about. She said she thinks I think about the past or the future so much that I don’t live the present and can’t appreciate it, and so my own life flies past beside me, without me taking actually part in it. And although it sounded harsh and brutal for me back then and I immediately said it’s not true, it stayed with me and I thought about it a lot.

Finally I realised it’s true. I realised that when those things I liked so much about the past, when all those nice moments were happening, I didn’t think much about them, didn’t think they are nice because my mind was focused on so many other things, negative and stressful things, so I didn’t really live that moment, only in my memories afterwards. I know now that there is even the word for it in the Welsh language, which can’t be translated directly to English, it is “hiraeth” and it means longing for things, or particularly places, that don’t really exist, because you idealised them in your mind. Like your motherland for example, when you’re an emigrant. Some time passed away, so it could change, and your mind deludes you that it was better than it ever was because, the grass is always greener… obviously. Hiraeth may also refer to the longing for something you don’t know, so you know you feel the longing or yearning and it’s very strong, but you don’t know what’s it all about so it’s a bit frustrating. Oh but I shouldn’t talk about the hiraeth now!

So I realised I was experiencing that what now I know as hiraeth and decided to change it. I thought it is a total and pointless waste of energy and of time to do what I did.

I started to try to see all the positive things around me and, pretty quickly actually, it wasn’t already so hard for me to notice different small things in life that could be enjoyable. I still am a pessimist, but not of that kind that don’t see any positives at all. My pessimism, as I wrote sometime before, is more of a defensive nature. And it doesn’t stop me from being positive and grateful for all the good things in life. I am very often depressed, but, unless it hits me really hard for some time, usually I’m not anhedonic, so, I still have my passions, things I like to do, and they usually help me. Also I cope better with not so distant future. Like, let’s say about three years ago, if I would have a nice weekend and could do lots of things I like, everything would be great, I wouldn’t focus on the weekend, but would likely freak out about all the stressful things that wait for me on Monday. Now I rarely experience it to an extent that really disturbs me a lot. If I have something stressing ahead, it’s still in the back of my mind, but if I’m doing something better right now, I surely won’t focus on that stressful thing. Why should I do it?

I think it is now easier to appreciate the life and all about it more, because the present is just easier for me than the past was. Just the fact that I wasn’t seriously suicidal in years now means I’m now in much better place than I was back then.

Unfortunately, I’m still worrying, sometimes almost obsessively, about the more distant future, it’s very hard to control it, especially in times like these, when I’m finishing one of the stages in my life and aren’t quite sure what to do next. I am still daydreaming, and, especially at night, different crappy memories like to remind me about their existence. I’m still trying to unlearn it. But at least I haven’t that feeling, that my life is going beside me, and I am stuck in the past or in the future and don’t take any advantage of it.

Do you also feel sometimes like you’re not living the present?

 

Suspicious.

My Dad is very suspicious

by nature. So suspicious that I often even call him paranoid. He was suspicious as long as I can remember, always thinking that all people around are cheating – on him, on us, on the whole world. Of course, especially media, politicians, health services, Mum, Internet… but in fact, more or less, everyone. He has always had a very hard relationship with Olek – my brother. I’m sure he loves him, but he always treats him like kinda black sheep and whatever he would do is automatically perceived as absolutely wrong. It was always a significant issue and a reason to worry for my Mum.

My Dad isn’t a man you could have a really deep discussion with, as much as I love him I have to admit he has his views, prejudices and so on so any deeper conversations usually won’t make much sense or even may cause an arguement. But even though sometimes it happens that we talk about more deep stuff, as he likes to talk to me. And sometimes I talk to him about what I’ve read in a speciffic topic we are chatting about. And then he is usually like: “Why do you think they are right? Maybe they just want to manipulate people. Maybe they have paid to write this and not anything else?.” And such thinking makes me feel helpless. I mean – sure, there are lots of manipulative people, manipulative strategies in media, some form of manipulation is probably almost everywhere, not necessarily to make us any harm, but if just everyone is manipulative, what should we believe in? Or why actually should we believe in anything? Why does he believe in God? Maybe it’s just one big cheating? You know, I’m not assuming it is indeed, I am Christian as well, but, thinking the way he does… everything looks so pointless, doesn’t it? Just think, everybody is a total cheater, there’s no one to trust in the world, you have only yourself, well, I wouldn’t even be so sure if he actually trusts even himself. It looks so depressive. And thinking about it, about what my Dad’s reality looks like, makes me depressive, even if it’s not really my reality. I am sorry for him that he chose to live in such an unsatisfying way. But I can’t change it. It is only he who could change it and although he’s grumping so often, he doesn’t seem to really want it.

I am also a pessimist although I think my pessimism is more of a defensive kind, you know, I prefer to be ready for the worst even if everything looks like it’s going to be all good, but that’s how different life circumstances made me and I like to think about myself I still have have the ability to be happy and appreciate even pretty small things and I don’t really like to complain in front of other people, I just find it pretty weakish, anyway when I do so. But my Dad’s pessimism, for me, seems to be only all about grumping, complaining about others, about other people’s dogs peeing where they shouldn’t, not doing anything constructive with his life and thinking almost only about bad things that are happening to him. What frustrates me, he never seems to be really glad of anything, or, more exactly, I suppose he must have some moments when he’s at least a bit happy, but he can’t show it and it really can piss off people around him if they try and do their best to make him happy or at least to make him appreciate what we do for him. Personally I feel like he always kinda favoured me the most in comparison to my siblings, so I didn’t feel it that much directly, but I’ve observed my Mum and my siblings who haveΒ  tried a lot to satisfy him and no one and nothing seem to be good enough which makes them discouraged, and me frustrated for them. Now as he is getting older, although he still isn’t old, all these traits seem to deepen, and he doesn’t even see it. I really do love my Dad and with years I’ve learnt how to act with him, but he’s going more and more annoying and challenging for us. As my Mum put it recently while talking with me – he wants to be mentally old. He is in quite good condition physically, but mentally gets old extremely quickly. He’s not even yet in his fifties, but looking only at his personality traits, I doubt anyone could guess it.

But what exactly did I want to say in this post? No, its main purpose isn’t complaining at my Dad, not even letting out my emotions related to him and his difficult and challenging way of being.

What sometimes concerns me, when I think about him, about what he’s like, is that although I think I can’t say I’m grumpy or really overly demanding for people, I see a lot of his traits in myself. actually more than in my siblings. I think, characterwise I am more similar to him than to my Mum, whereas my siblings are rather more similar to her. She says so too. And although of course he has also a lot of good traits, sometimes I am afraid. I am afraid because as far as I can remember I had issues with trusting people, not as he has, but rather in the way I’m always pretty distant to people, even those I want to be close to. I have always had the tendency to be depressive, to overthink, to feel hopeless. I am often very stressed out about small things and always very unsettled by any major changes in life, no matter if good or bad. I am slightly obsessed about my privacy. And I often feel ridiculously suspicious about people in some situations, which can be really mentally exhausting. I know that lots of situations in my life, often very early on, helped my to develop all that and it’s not only the case of just genes or the thing that I wanted to be like this, and my suspiciousness differs from his, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid that someday, when I’ll be let’s say the age he’s now, I’ll realise that I am like him. Overly suspicious, cautious and not letting people to like me. That my life will be as hopeless and empty as his is, or seems to be for me. That I will clinge to my stupid daily routines like he does now in fear of just any changes. Luckily I don’t have such temper as he has so I think having such impressional tantrums won’t be my domain. πŸ˜€ It is Zofijka’s. πŸ˜› and actually I always try to avoid this thought because I really don’t like to think about it and I feel like it’s a bit ridiculous to be afraid about such odd things which could only happen in very distant future, , but I can’t help I’m afraid about it. isn’t it a total paranoia to be paranoid about being paranoid in thirty years? πŸ˜€

 

#JusJoJan 2018, the 29th – Fantastic.

My cat Misha is absolutely fantastic! I know he loves me unconditionally, I love him this way too, isn’t it fantastic when you have a relationship like that?

Misha looks fantastic, is a fantastic companion, comforter and is just fantastic in everything he does. I admire him. My sister Zofijka (Sophie if you prefer) used to say that if only I could, I would marry Misha. Maybe… that’s not that bad idea. πŸ˜€ What do you think?

Misha is really inspiring for me every day we go through together. He is almost everything for me, which means he holds lots of functions in my life. As I said he’s my comforter and companion every day. But he also does a fantastic job as my listener, friend, warmer, pillow, baby, brother and a blanket. Who wouldn’t like such a beautiful, fantastic little creature in their life as I have?

https://lindaghill.com/2018/01/29/jusjojan-2018-the-29th-fantastic/

Stifle *long post*

Sorry, it might be a bit chaotic. I rarely open up so much to people so I got a bit emotional.Β Β Β  Also very sorry for being so late with this prompt, I actuallly wrote it much earlier, but the URL I inserted was wrong.

Some triggers might be possible.
So today, thanks to Daily Post, as a non native English speaker, I’ve learnt a new great word, which is stifle. I am a lover of words in all “my” languages, so yay I’m happy.
So because of this, I wanted to share with you my coping with life strategy, which I’ve learnt during my time in boarding school and now trying to unlearn. I hope it will help someone with similar experiences, as well as myself. This “coping strategy” is as you can guess, stifling them. Why I was doing it?
First of all I think that because I am an introvert, I have always had a tendency to do it. My Dad is a professional kind of stifler and has been one as long as I can remember, but not as professional as me. But since I went to boarding school, I quickly started to have a feeling, that my emotions aren’t really valid. I don’t know if anyone thought so, but that was just how I felt. I didn’t feel good there for many reasons and it was always a nightmare for me to go back there. I know that most of the kids didn’t felt it like this. Sure, not all of them liked school, most kids don’t, they surely missed their families, but noone seemed to have it all to such a degree and to have such issues with adapting there. I was having these issues for all the time I was there. I know only one girl who had it similar to me, luckily her mum noticed it quickly and took her from there in primary. So generally I felt much like an alien, to whom no one can really relate. I felt incredibly weak and hypersensitive because I couldn’t deal with things normal kids dealt without a bigger trouble and, besides some obvious homesickness and other stuff like that, liked it there. Plus I was always kind of individualistic, so didn’t blend in well in the surroundings, while blending with the surroundings was very well-seen there. I know people, both the staff and the kids, thought it is strange that I have other interests than the majority and often prefer just to be alone than in the crowd of people.
In first few years I tended to talk to my Mum in details how I feel and how lonely and stressed etc. I feel all the time, but one day I realised that one of the staff is listening very carefully to what I talk to her about. She came to me then and told me with quite a particular tone in her voice: “You know, if you have a problem, with feelings or something, we can always discuss it on the meeting”. They had group meetings almost every evening there, so girls from a particular group met with their staff and either read something, or discussed things etc.
Maybe I am weird, but I didn’t feel very reassured by that. I needed time to trust people to share my feelings with them. I needed at least some proof that they are really involved. I didn’t want my deepest feelings to be “discussed” by everyone publicly. The more that I just knew they couldn’t understand me, even if they genuinely would like.
So my reaction was a silent rebellion. I thought that NO – from now on, noone will have access to my feelings. I am not a book, to read my emotions and “discuss” and maybe even review if they are “positive” or “negative”. I need to protect myself. I need to have at least some space for myself and this space will be my feelings, which will be just my own, noone else’s.
And you know what? I didn’t even really had to try in any special way to stifle everything. As I now remember it, I feel like it was just I had this outburst of anger and silent rebellion one evening and woke up with a marble mask all over me.
I also stopped to confide to my Mum, firstly because I was now more conscious that walls have ears, but also because I knew she’s worried. I knew from other people that when she’s coming back home after leaving me at school, she’s crying in the car and then at home sometimes too. Since those days I was always feeling guilty whenever I was talking to her about some more complicated stuff that is going on in my life or even just in my head or even if I just noticed a sign of worry in her and suspected it might be because of me.
Teachers, boarding school staff and some kids I was relatively close to, like my roommates, started to see the change relatively late. I tried to not change my attitude totally. On the outside, when I chose to be with other kids, I tried my best to be humourous, likeable, interesting, but as distanced as it was possible at the same time. I had trouble suppressing such emotions like joy or fascination, but never showed up any so called negative, especially, NEVER EVER, anger. With time, I decided to open up just a bit to one of my roommates, as we liked each other quite much and thought we are best friends. Or maybe we both just pretended to be ones, I don’t know. It wasn’t about my feelings regarding boarding school and that stuff though, but anyway, then I felt quite a big regret that I did it, it turned out to not be the right thing to do. But then I’ve bottled up quite a lot of it and, very rarely, from time to time, like once a year maybe, or twice, I started to have quite impressive meltdowns. Like all the anger, all the tears were coming out of me for little to no reason. And people were like… quite astonished. I was too. ‘Cause even before I started to stifle everything, I was rather calm. It felt like it’s not me. While in fact I was having a meltdown, yelling at people, making everything around fly all over the room, and crying, or having hysteria, I felt like I am standing beside and looking without many more emotions than just astonishment. I was just like: “Oh wow! Is this me?”. The next day I was scared though. Most often I didn’t even remember that much of a meltdown itself, but only thinking about not having control at all over your actions… it’s still quite frightening for me. And I felt exactly like I couldn’t gain any control during such meltdowns. It just had to leave me on its own, I couldn’t really help and stop it.
So then one of the staff started to think something must be really much more wrong with me than she always have thought before and talked to my Mum. But, although I didn’t put off my marble-icy mask at home totally, I was a bit more at ease and spontaneous, and didn’t have any meltdowns at all, so she didn’t see anything concerning and actually didn’t really believe in what that lady told her.
But she did notice some things soon and started to think about some alternative for me, I mean, alternative school.
And so for two years, at the age of 10 and 11, I was going to an integration school, much closer to my home, well not that close really, but it made a huge difference for me because I could be at home everyday after school and felt like I am incredibly lucky. I was always jealous about kids in such situation.
So it was better, but my attitude didn’t change, I actually even forgot about what I told myself about protecting myself and not giving other people access to my emotions, it just was going on its own now. I had to remind it to myself a few years ago. So the problem wasn’t really solved. All those emotions seemed to sit with me, and although I felt lucky and grateful that I am at home, I didn’t feel really happy.
I had neurosis, different psychosomatic symptoms like migraines or nausea or other crappy stuff, suicidal thoughts, everything felt very overwhelming, like any activity I had to do craved a lot of motivation, which I actually didn’t have, I was constantly depressed, anxious. It was then when I started to have symptoms of emetophobia and other speciffic phobias, although I really can’t recall any particular event that could trigger it, I just started to be more and more afraid of this and that even if I previously wasn’t and soon it became just a very strong anxiety, hard to deal on a daily basis.
After those two years, something happened, that’s another long story, anyway my Mum and me realised that I need to change school again. And, looking at things practically, there weren’t many more reasonable options for me than going back to that boarding school for the blind. I saw it too. My Mum knew that it would crave a lot of strength from me to come back there again, so to encourage me more she said she’ll do her best to make my biggest dream come true if I’ll be strong enough to come there again. Which she did a few years later. So yeah I decided to go there and burn myself all over once again. After all we live in the civilised world and everyone needs to have some education, I wanted to have it too, it’s not that I didn’t.
After the break it was even more hard. During my two years outside of that environment I was even more different, gained some strange interests and fears.
So it all clicked in the mind of that lady who talked to my Mum about me not expressing feelings and what she got of it is she started to think I must be on autistic spectrum.
So again she alarmed my Mum and talked it through with her. My Mum was frightened. Literally.
I needed to go back to school during summer holidays because they wanted to examine me for Asperger’s. I was twelve then so they didn’t really discussed it all with me before, I just got to know I will be examined in July and there will be some professionals from an autism centre. But, I was a very curious child. I liked to learn new things, I liked to observe the world and for some reason, especially people’s behaviours and personalities, in as big degree as it could be possible for a blind child. And also I was starting to be very interested in psychology and medicine. In our school, there were many kids on autism spectrum. Most of them were rather very low-functioning, some were Aspies. And I liked to observe them all and their behaviours too. Most of them seemed quite weird for me, but I could even relate to some. Like their aversion to changes for instance. Also when I was living at home, I listened to a radio programme where a lady from this exact autism centre was speaking about Asperger’s syndrome. So although they didn’t literally tell me who will examine me and what is ther job in general, as soon as I heard the name of the centre, I started to have a bit of a clue what’s going on.
I tink it was a bit unhonest of them to not tell me what they actually want to do and what they are concerned about. I know I was just a kid and kids shouldn’t know everything what is talked about them, but… it made me really worried. I started to feel even more abnormal and not validated at all. So I hid even more. The thing I remembered the best about ASD was that people with it tend to have interests, which were rather rare and tend to be extremely good at any particular thing. A bit stereotypical maybe, but that was what they said in that programme and it caught my attention, as it fit me in some way. I always felt quite uncommon because of my interests. And that thing with changes and adaptivity… I was wondering about it all the time. It wasn’t that I was afraid about having Asperger’s… well, probably I was, getting a diagnosis is most often a bit anxiety provoking for people and I’m sure I wouldn’t be an exception. But I am sure I could accept it. It is more about the fact that because of how different I am, they wanted to proof me how unhealthy and abnormal it is. That I don’t have the right to be different. My Mum said it was because that staff was so caring about me, but didn’t I hear all comments, of hers and many others, about how I should change and be like the others? “ALl the kids do this, why don’t you?”. Things like that. I am not sure whether it can make sense for anyone else like me, but that’s simply how I feel.
But even when finally that day came and the lady from the autism centre came to examine me, noone told me what’s going on.
She was all smiles and sweetness and told me she wants to make “an interview” with me.
I don’t really remember what she asked me about, I was very stressed out and hypervigilant all day long then. So “the interview” was finally over and I still hadn’t have an idea what was going on. It was driving me just soo crrrazy.
So I couldn’t stand it any longer in the evening. I went out with my Mum, I wanted to be as far as possible from the school building, so we went for a walk and I asked her quite directly as for me what they suppose to be wrong with me. Am I mental or what?
So finally someone had mercy and told me that they suspect me to have Asperger’s.
Even though it was one of things I expected to hear, it was a massive shock to me and it was hard for me to not show it.
The next day I had some other tests and stuff and then the lady who did all these fascinating interviews with me said she sees that I might have autistic traits, but all that I show isn’t enough to put me on to autistic spectrum. Then she was clearing things up for my Mum and me. That very many people show autistic traits, but they aren’t on the spectrum etc. bla bla bla, as far as I can remember she even said there is a connection with blindness and autism, so there’s like higher risk or something. Actually I know that as a little child, before 6 years old I think, I had much more autistic or autism-like symptoms. Like sensorisms or being easily overstimulated and others. She also said laughing that my interests are too many to look like in typical autistic person and that although most of them are not typical, they are quite wide actually. Which I now agree with. She also talked with my Mum and the lady from the boarding school, who still expressed some doubts about the outcome of the interviews.
The lady from the autism centre told me some things that helped me to realise at least a bit that things I feel, fear, enjoy are more valid than I think.
After some time though the staff from boarding school decided to make one more test. They didn’t even tell my Mum about it only when it was already done. They took me to a psychological clinic where one very cold and self-confident lady wanted to talk to me.
The school staff had to tell her about my love for writing, I enjoyed writing fictional short stories back then very much.
They were about a little creature I’ve made up. I called him Parpill. And he had different adventures. Most often quite childish, but also some maybe a bit peculiar, like when he was in prison. πŸ˜€ Some were horrific a bit, like when his whole family got sick with malaria, but nothing too bad, just things most children in their early teens wouldn’t come up with. πŸ˜€ My Art teacher helped me to project him. Her husband worked in a printing house so she got me some so called professional paper and booklets and she herself ilustrated my short stories whenever she had some free time and wrote them in normal print after I wrote it in Braille. I really really enjoyed doing it with her. Now I have a whole series of my Parpills books at home and I am proud of them although they are very childish, but that’s obvious I guess.
So to my big surprise, that cold lady from the clinic, after some very basic questions, asked me straight away: “You write about the Parpills, right?”. “Yes I do”. “You believe they exist?”. “Errm… sorry, what do you mean?” “Do Parpills exist?” “Surely not! Why would they? They are my own creatures created by me, I wouldn’t like them to exist, everyone could see them then and knwo everything about them” “But do you see them?” “No I can’t see obviously and they don’t exist”. That’s of course not the exact dialogue, only some bits I remember now, some more ridiculous ones. Basically she insisted I do see my Parpills and I live in my imaginary world and I should be more in the reality. So she told me that if I want to write anything, I would do much better if I’d write about our everyday life in the group.
You know guys, she couldn’t say something more wrong to me. I think that then my individualism was maybe even a bit too much expressed, but as for the circumstances and my age it isn’t a big wonder for me. But what I want to say is that I hated to think about myself as “a part of the group”, or class, or as an element of pretty much any community besides my family.
If you have any doubts yet, I obviously didn’t write anything about the group. But I also didn’t write anything about Parpill since then.
I don’t know when they told my Mum about that appointment, but I got to know everything about it years afterwards. I had already left that school and talked to my Mum about it. She told me they wanted to diagnose me with schizophrenia. And it’s still difficult for me to believe in it. Cuz… why? Or maybe Parpills really exist but I am schizophrenic because I deny it and claim I created them? Freaky world. I don’t get it anyway. Mum said that she was very irritated by that when the staff told her about what they did and she didn’t believe it either. So they kept apologising her and that they thought so because of me being so withdrawn and “overly imaginative” and because of the anxiety and that they know they did wrong and that psychologist was wrong as well, they know I don’t believe in Parpills.
Now as I think about it more, I am laughing, with some frustration, but laughing, but it really wasn’t fun when I got to know all that from my Mum, especially that I was in quite a crisis then even besides it.
Then they stopped with making up diagnoses for me, luckily. I am interested what would be their next pick. πŸ˜€
But my emotional issues stayed with me and sharpened. At the age of 15-ish I started to self harm. I didn’t have any meltdowns any longer. I cut myself and relished physical pain because it let me run away from all the MishMash inside me. Plus I could proof myself I am strong, at least with pain, if not mentally. It has always been my kind of complex, that I am not enough strong mentally, ’cause I haven’t dealt well enough with all that I had to deal. I also burned myself. But I didn’t want my scars to be visible, like it wasn’t because I wanted attention. I just wanted to manage it somehow. And i made myself ill on purpose, either to just be left alone and not need to do anything, as I was very depressed and even things like getting dressed were like huge challenges, or because I wanted home/not go back to school, or just for to self harm and maybe even die, accidentally, it wouldn’t be that bad. So I did things like walking barefoot on the snow on our terrace to go to school. Yes I know, really crazy things. I wasn’t very suicidal like hadn’t suicidal ideations, but often thought how nice it would be to just die and not exist.
I used I-doses. For those of you who don’t know what Idoser and Doses are, Idoser is an app and Doses are binaural sounds used with that app, that impact your brain like drugs do. They say they’re not addictive, but they make damage to the brain. I didn’t know it at first, I just wanted to use them to have some relief and also it was my way of rebellion. My school was religious, I started to be a Goth and turned myself back from God. I believed in Emilie Autumn instead lol. And wanted to be Wiccan. I didn’t realise that I am also worrying my family, who are genuinely and deeply religious. You can’t use drugs in school area. But I felt smarter than their rules. I was doing it. And no one, besides a few girls of my group and a few classmates with whom I shared some Doses, didn’t know anything.
And I practiced things like OOBE, LD and stuff, which seemed to give me some relief at first, but complicated things even more with time. And I think now that they also contributed to that my sleep is even worse and that I have sleep paralysis regularly. My Mum thinks so too.
After some time eople started to see that I do really strange things with myself, some nuns tried to talk to me about out of body experiences and lucid dreams that they are bad, that I shouldn’t use drugs wherever I get them or whatever it is I take. But I didn’t care and I kept denying that I take anything. Or actually I did care, I started to notice it was bad, but I didn’t want to stop, ’cause it still provided a relief.
I gave up on these things only when I started to rediscover Christianity and realised how bad it all is. Plus it was just my way of saying help me.
But with self harm I struggle to these days. Sometimes I may not cut for months, my record is about nine months, but it still comes back when I have a lot of emotions.
It also happened a few times that I felt very high and agitated, just exploding with joy, was alone at home, felt like I desperately need to talk with someone about it, but what I did was I cut myself. And I only realised afterwards what I actually did. Ugh…
I left the school at the age of seventeen with a master degree in stifling feelings. Sadly, I suppose that’s what I’ve learnt there the best.
It’s not that I only had bad things happening to me there. I would be extremely ungrateful to say so, but still, mainly bad things.
The next school year after I lived I went to the psychiatrist who was very helpful for me and, what I appreciated the most, honest and open. She finally called my problem by it’s name, said that I suppress all my emotions and that I have reactive depression.
It was four years ago. Now I still struggle with stifling emotions. I am conscious of it, but it doesn’t mean I don’t struggle. It’s always very hard for me to tell people what I feel, to open up to them and to express it. It’s hard for me to tell them what I feel to them. Sometimes I perceive talking to someone about my feelings simply as a disgrace. And sometimes I stifle everything before I can even think. That’s why people may think I am not honest with them, or even two-faced, cold and haughty. Moreover, I myself sometimes ask myself what I really feel and what is true about me. I am good at introspection, naming and differentiating feelings and see them very well in others, but my own feelings seem to hide from me so often or mix together so I can’t often even tell what exactly I feel ’cause it’s like a blending of many many emotions and I see them as from a distance. Or I can’t tell why even more often. I know a lot about myself, but some areas are totally unknown for me, and that sucks. It’s hard to work with yourself and process things when you feel like you don’t have connection with yourself. But I try, and I think I’m making some baby steps forward. Of course there are always three steps backwards and one step forward, but it’s always something. Especially that as for now I don’t have regular therapy. I talk with my former therapist on the phone from time to time, she always thinks about me and finds some time for me and it even happened that when I was in crisis and had noone to talk openly to, she was able and willing to talk to me at such crazy times like 6 AM, even though had so many other things to do. But she’s really very busy and needed to cut out some people’s hours from her schedule, as she has many clients and also other jobs. A few of them! But we talk like once a month and the rest of the work is entirely mine. It’s hard.
What I’d like to tell you in this post is that if you do this too, if you stifle your emotions for any reason, it’s not a cure for your problem. It’s inversely. It will only worsen everything. It’s a simple physical reaction. You can’t pull everything you feel inside. With time, there won’t be anymore place and you will just explode. In this way, or another. And believe me, none of these ways is nice or helpful to your life situation. I know it’s hard to unlearn it, but at least try to. It will truly help you.
For those of you who don’t struggle with tis issue. If you know someone who seems to be detached, like they don’t care for others or don’t show their affection, are cold, haughty or don’t trust you where as you think they should, because you are in relationship for instance, please try to not be judgmental. It’s very likely just their mask. It’s difficult, but try to look a bit deeper. Try to help them get rid of it. Are you still here? πŸ˜€
Congrats, and a big thank you, if you got through this post. It matters a lot to me. I can’t believe I wrote all that. I’m not really sure I did well, but maybe it will help someone. And I feel a bit lighter as I wrote about it. Again, thanks for reading. πŸ™‚
Ugh, wanted to write post with Misha, as it is his birthday today, or rather was, because it’s already past midnight here, wanted to pick a song of the day and write other stuff, but seems like it’ll have to wait.