Rainy Days and Mondays …


Well, the rainy days part was cool – three good days of rain here in drought-stricken California!  The sun is trying to peak out today for the first time since Thursday night – probably a good thing for the 3-ish inches we received to have a chance to soak in well before the next “chance of rain” comes in a few days.  I hope it does, we need it!

So I went to my psychologist appointment this morning – 8 am sharp – half an hour of completing questionnaire/background forms.  Dr. B (the psychologist) took me in and we reviewed/chatted about the info on my forms and about my “current issue” – my son’s bi-polar depressive spiral – my daughter’s issues – my grandson – and … and … and … their father and his issues.  Yep, she says (Dr. B.) – we need to chat more.  We need to get your anxiety under control and to get you some coping mechanisms.  We meet again in two weeks – to start some individual counseling. We’ll talk more about where I am and how I got here.

I also saw Dr. R., the med psychiatrist – after a few minutes of him reading Dr. B’s notes and he and I chatting little more, he has taken me off Xanax because of it’s highly addictive nature, and is having me try Trazadone and Zoloft for sleep and mood stabilization.

During our chat, and in talking about my kids and their issues (which is hugely and obviously the cause of my anxiety), I verbalized a feeling that I have held internally forever – anger – anger towards my kid’s dad.

His life – our life – was more frequently than not, an emotional disaster.  A soap opera unfolding.  I felt like I was always picking up the pieces, cleaning up after his messes.  And here I am … 22 years after he died, still trying to pick up the pieces and clean up the messes.  No, he couldn’t help the genetics that were passed on to him and on to our kids and now on to our grandchildren. How many more generations will be affected?  But there was (or is it “they were”?) collateral damage to choices he made in his life, just as he suffered from choices his parents (biological and adopted) made.  Yes, I’m angry at him still.  Angry at the chaos he caused with his behaviors, angry that he left, and just as angry that he is not here to help – and angry that he is not here to see his grandchildren grow up.

Dr. R hit it on the head …. In taking care of everyone else, I never allowed myself the full grieving process … delayed grief he called it.

My head hurts – too much crying – too much thinking.  Where’s the Excedrine? And an hour nap before my weight loss surgery support group …

Namaste – today I honor me.

Itty Bitty

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Author: The Itty Bitty Boomer

Real life as it happens behnd the picket fence.

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