Author: gypsy116toast2001

This is What Healing Looks Like

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I started Primal Trust a few weeks ago. For anyone that doesn’t know, Primal Trust is a nervous system regulation program. The program talks a lot about the importance of being present. In this moment, here and now, and being ok, no matter what this moment holds. It also speaks to the importance of not constantly scanning the body for symptoms and being in a perpetual state of fix it.

I’ve not yet started the section with the actual tools and I already feel like it’s helping immensely. I was able to go out and “spray for spiders” with my son today. It completely wiped me but… I have not been able to do it since the beginning of this summer.

I mentioned that I got a heart monitor, yesterday. Without going into too much detail, I’m feeling like it is less likely they the issue is with my heart than I was last week. Either way, I am feeling much more confident in my body’s ability to heal. The heart monitor feels like more of a formality at this point. That hasn’t stopped my mind from obsessing and delving into perfectionism.

Yesterday, I felt almost panicked. I felt like I needed to log every single symptom. What time was it exactly? How long did it last… exactly? Did I get all of the symptoms, every way that they expressed?

I don’t want that. It’s taking me out of the moment and putting too much focus on my symptoms. I’m finding this to be very good practice for Primal Trust. Can I feel ok with not being perfect? With the anxiety over wanting to be perfect present? Turns out I can. And maybe this is what healing looks like 🤷

Stifled

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I am feeling torn. When I started this blog, my intent was to write it in the same vein as my old blog, the original Through My Eyes… That would be very open and honest… raw.

While that is still my intent, I’ve had life circumstances that I do not and don’t know if I ever will feel ready to share. This has left me feeling…stunted… Bound up… Like my hands are tied. I feel creatively stifled.

Anyway, for now…I have been having some weird chest pressure for awhile. I’m unsure of the cause and I’m unsure if it relates to the previously mentioned life circumstances. But… Today, I was given a heart monitor that I will wear for a week. I may write more about my symptoms and feelings about this later, or I may not 🤷

stasher bags, period undies, Primal trust and more…

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Just wanted to post a quick update…

I’ve recently bought some Stasher bags so that we can stop using disposable sandwich baggies. They’re a little pricey, so I could only afford to get four. I’ll probably end up getting a few more in the future but this will work well enough for us right now. These are supposed to last for years, so in the long run, the price should be well worth it. I’ll update later and let you know how they’re working out.

In the picture, you might also be able to see that we’ve started composting. I’d still like to do a little research to find out if we have off site composting in my area but as we intend to use it in our garden, we’ve been doing it ourselves. I think many people assume food waste isn’t a big deal (I did). I mean, it’s food, it breaks down, right? What I’ve learned recently, is that food waste doesn’t break down properly in the landfill thus creating methane. Methane is a really potent greenhouse gas so food waste is actually really damaging to the environment.

One last update. I’ve been using period panties for a few years now but I’ve still been using pads as well. I didn’t have enough pairs to change them more than once a day ( the undies). I decided to rectify that problem and bought five more pairs. The ones I already had are Thinx brand. I decided to go with a more environmentally conscious company this time and bought from Kayaness.

Manic Pixie Dream Life

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I saw this meme on Facebook the other day and it got me thinking.

Looking at this through the lens of my life has brought up some things for me. Throughout my life, I have struggled with my ability to connect with others. This is a varied and complex subject, I only want to go into one facet of that currently.

I have always found it easiest to connect to those that I have been in intimate relationship with, i.e. those I’m having sex with. Other than the handful of people that I have been close to for various other reasons…No sex = no connection…

I’ve always assumed that this stemmed from issues relating to early childhood sexual abuse and, you know what? It probably does to some degree but… I’m thinking there’s more to it than that.

I’m thinking at least part of this is related to a form of safety that I felt in these types of relationships. Men were often smitten with me for the very traits that caused most others to actively dislike me…To talk behind my back (and sometimes in front of me, like I was not even there) about how weird I am, how annoying, creepy, odd..unlikeable I am, often leaving me feeling ostracized and isolated even while in the presence of others. With the men that I was “sleeping” with, I felt able to be myself. No need to mask, my strangeness was celebrated. No wonder I felt a connection, right?

There are many articles (like this one here) about the manic pixie dream girl trope and how it is harmful to autistic women and romanticizes the infantilization of autistic traits. As it’s been well written about, I don’t want to go into detail about that here but… I wonder, was this what was happening in my life? While I felt some semblance of safety in being able to express myself more authentically, was the attraction to me actually more of a reduction of my essence into a harmful stereotype? God knows those relationships did not turn out to be healthy for me. What do you think? Is this meme contributing to that stereotype?

Regardless of how I may have felt, I’m not sure I was actually seen in any of those relationships, other than for what I could do for the other, how I made them feel about themselves… I’m curious, is this a common experience for autistic women (especially undiagnosed)? Or is this just me? I’d love to hear your thoughts, your stories.

While pouring my son cereal…

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I know that I have been MIA. I’ve had a life circumstance that I have not wanted to discuss publicly. I am still unclear on when, if ever, and what, if anything, that I will want to share. What I will say, is that I’ve had a recent hospital stay (nothing for anyone to worry about, with any luck the situation has now fully been resolved. If you would like to send any kind of positive energy that that is in fact the case, it would be appreciated) and it’s got me thinking.

I’m feeling curious about communication. How much of what a person “hears” you say is only their interpretation? How much is what they actually heard you say? Your actual words?

During the interview with the doctor at the hospital, the one where they take the “history” of the presenting problem, I had mentioned getting my son breakfast. While looking through the after visit notes in MyChart, I saw that the doctor had written that I had said, “while pouring my son cereal”. I most definitely did not say that. My son has never even tried cereal. That is something that has met full on rejection at anyone’s suggestion. What I did do was put peanut butter and syrup on a chocolate pancake (Kodiak cakes) that his dad had just finished cooking and mixed up his electrolyte/multivitamin/magnesium/mineral concoction that we refer to as “juice”.

There were several other discrepancies too but none that stood out as so blatantly not what I said. I’m not upset about it, it’s not the doctor’s fault, this is how brains work, right? She heard getting breakfast, getting breakfast to her means cereal, in her memory her brain translated my words into pouring cereal, yeah? But it is a bit disturbing.

As someone who has been severely mistranslated in the majority of conversations I’ve had over my life (I’m not joking, nor being hyperbolic. If I’m not talking to someone who is very close to me, there’s a very good chance that I will be misinterpreted), I wonder how much of what we humans hear other people speak is our own translation? Also, I wonder if this is something that neurotypical humans are particularly bad at? Or maybe it relates to the double empathy issue? Like are neurotypicals more likely to mishear, i.e. hear through they’re own experience, a neurodivergent human? Vice versa? How do we take care not to misinterpret by interpreting through our own memories? How do we actually hear each other? Is it possible?

Thoughts? I’d love to hear them in the comments.

Ring Theory – comfort in, dump out

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Once upon a time, a long, long time ago… Not really but I can’t remember exactly when so… I heard of this thing called ring theory. I can’t remember how or where, I may have read about it or watched something that was talking about it. I don’t know. What I do know is that when I heard about it, I thought, yes!!!! This is exactly what I’ve been trying to explain to those around me, all summed up in a neat and tidy, easily understandable package.

I’m just gonna quote this article here, rather then try and explain it myself.

“Susan Silk, a clinical psychologist, and her friend Barry Goldman came up with the concept of Ring Theory, after Susan’s experience with breast cancer. Susan noticed that during her journey with breast cancer, people close to her (as well as, complete strangers), though often well-intentioned, would vent or in an attempt to “fix her situation” by giving their opinions to her. However, what Susan needed most when she was suffering was not their emotions about her experience, but rather their comfort. Hence, the idea of Ring Theory was born. Ring Theory is essentially the idea that a person experiencing trauma and grief needs a specific kind of support during their time of crisis….

The rules of Ring Theory are pretty simple and can be explained in four words, “Comfort In. Dump Out.” Here is how it works. Whoever is in the centermost of the rings gets to whine, complain, cry and vent as much as they want and need to. As Silk states, “That’s the one payoff for being in the center ring.”

The people in the other rings can also express their feelings and concerns. However, the one distinction is with whom they can process those emotions. That is where the concept of “dumping out”, comes into play. The people surrounding the person in the innermost circle express their negative feelings and anxieties only to people in the larger rings. It’s not that you are not allowed to grieve or feel, it is just that venting about your pain to someone who is already feeling their pain deeply is not helpful to you or them.”

You would think that this would be common sense… Or at least I would think that… But apparently it is not. Living with chronic illness, it’s been a common experience for me, to have loved ones vent their fears and the things that suck, basically, about my having this illness, on me. Like WTF? Yes, I understand how my illness affects your life and that that is hard for you but hello… Do you not get how much harder this is for me. I’m the one who has to live with this illness. It feels completely unfair and inappropriate. Like I an being asked to hold others grief while simultaneously trying to process mine. Anyway you go about it, the message is clear. I am a problem, a burden, ruining other people’s lives.

Currently, I’m going through something that I’m not yet ready to talk about publicly. I’ll be fine but I’m in a constant state of stress… confusion, fear, grief, anxiety…trauma. I have been judged, shamed, yelled and screamed at… abandoned, by those who are supposed to love me. Again, I understand the affect on your life but… It isn’t ok to expect me to be able to hold it while I’m processing my own trauma.

I’m basically a walking meltdown at the moment. My tolerance level is beyond miniscule.

*Sigh* Try and remember, if you care about someone, and want to prevent traumatizing then further… comfort in, dump out. Comfort in. Dump out.

“That” pattern

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Someone that I know died recently. I know, not really the polite way to start this but I figure I might as well cut to the chase. I don’t want to talk about this person specifically. I didn’t know them well enough. They have family, loved ones, that story is theirs to tell, should they choose. What I want to talk about is the effect that this death is having on me.

Deaths occur in the periphery of our lives all of the time. Someone we knew from school. Someone we used to work with. People we knew from various places and various times throughout our lives. Deaths we hear about in the news. Even the deaths of celebrities. These deaths impact our lives in varying ways. At least, for me, I know this to be true. Some hit much harder than others. This one has me slayed.

The first place my mind goes, anytime that I hear of a death, is the family. I imagine the anguish they must be going through. This is particularly difficult for me if there are children involved. This death is no different. As intensely as I feel all of that, it isn’t what I want to talk about. While it hasn’t been said directly, it appears that this death was a suicide. I’m triggered by this.

I’m no stranger to suicide. Having spent more then half of my life mired in suicidal ideation, and knowing others who have completed suicide… family members… Others on the periphery…

A significant number of these people had reached out to me in some way. Some to ask directly for help, others asking for support but in ways that were more subtle. This person included. I helped in what ways I could within my own limitations. I’ve experienced guilt in each of these instances. If I hadn’t let my own issues, my own fear, social anxiety, my own whatever interfere, perhaps I could have been better able to help.

Sitting here today, I realize that I am also experiencing survivors guilt. Like I said, more of my life than not, has been spent in the agony of depression, despair, hopelessness and suicidality. I have a deep and visceral understanding of what it feels like to want to die. To not be able to see your way past the pain. To want freedom but have no means of escape other than ending you own life. I know what it feels like to attempt to end your own life.

I also know what it feels like to survive. I was fortunate enough that my attempt was only that, an attempt. I am fortunate enough to have lived to see the other side. I no longer live in a state of perpetual pain, not in that way anyway. My life is far from perfect. There is a lot of shit that I deal with, especially with my physical health. That said, I have healed and thus know that healing is possible, in many ways.

I am feeling guilty for this. Why do I get to live, while these others do not? Why was I able to move past all of that? Why was I able to release myself from that hell? There’s nothing special about me. These people deserve healing, freedom, as much as I do. Why me? Why not them?

I was able to survive. Does that mean that I have some special knowledge that I could have imparted? Could I have helped? Did my own selfish focus on my problems prevent that?

I know that you cannot save another person. I do know this, but I’m feeling guilty for not trying. But what do I think I was going to do? Be such a good friend that they would no longer want to die? That’s absurd. No, more likely I would’ve given of myself to an unhealthy degree trying to ensure that they could not kill themselves. That is my pattern, isn’t it? Trying to save others, no matter the cost to myself? That is where my focus should be. Healing that is the only way that I can ever affect any real positive change. The only way that I can truly help anyone.

Progress Report

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I am aware that I dropped my mom’s being in the ICU here and then disappeared. For anyone who may have read that post and/or may be concerned, I wanted to let you know that as of yesterday, she is home. Her hospital stay was one complication followed by another and I have had and still do have my reservations about her being sent home. I’m of the opinion that she would have been better served by being admitted to a rehab facility temporarily before coming home. To say that it’s been stressful is more than an understatement. As of right now though, she does seem to be doing alright. She is weepy, in an exhausted, I’ve barely slept in two weeks but grateful kind of way, but she’s doing fairly well.

Since I’ve been up, she’s told, through tears, how grateful she is for me. She’s done the same with my partner and says when she talks to my sister, she’ll tell her the same. I bristle, unsure how to react, every time she does this. I’m not used to praise or any kind of positive acknowledgement of my existence coming from my mom. I’m used to something more akin to criticism, disapproval, judgement. I want to encourage this positive development but it’s uncomfortable and you know, I don’t trust it. We don’t have that kind of relationship. I don’t know how to respond.

I’m not doing great, in general. It’s hard to explain. COVID-19 has once again left it’s mark. I feel the same way that I did after I had it the last time, only not as intense. Last time, I couldn’t move, everyone had to help me. This time, I technically can do things for myself, so I do. I don’t think I actually should. I think my body needs far more rest then it’s getting. The people around me aren’t jumping to help me. They see me up and moving about and assume I’m fine. The problem though, really, is me. If I can technically do something, I do it. There isn’t enough energy to go around. I won’t ask for help.

One last thing. Currently, I see two therapists weekly. Therapist number one for trauma. Therapist number two for autism related concerns. I cancelled my appointments with both of them the past two weeks. I’m contemplating cancelling again. I’m also contemplating telling therapist number two that I need to take a break for awhile.

I don’t know how to explain the effect that appointments have on me. My entire body becomes both tense and activated. That alone is exhausting. On top of that, sleep becomes almost impossible after a session. My mind wants to obsessively follow every thread of conversation that was had. I can’t stop or even slow the thoughts. I’m exhausted. I don’t know that two to three appointments a week is sustainable right now. I don’t have the freedom to rest enough to make it feel doable. I’m just so tired.

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I want to ask anyone that reads this to send love, light, good vibes, juju beans and/or prayers to my mom. Whatever it is that you do. Whatever it is that you got. As long as it’s positive and healing, it’s appreciated.

My mom had knee replacement surgery last Wednesday. She’s been home since Thursday. Her knee seems to be doing well but she’s been having other issues. She’s now in the ICU with a blood clot in her lungs and scarily low sodium levels.

I do know and understand that our medical system can and does save lives but with the way that it’s set up, oftentimes it does more harm than good. It feels like a conveyor belt trudging along, patient in, patient out, as quickly as you can. This assembly line process is further hampered by bureaucratic bullshit and many physicians who assume that their medical license e makes them all knowing demigods. The system is not set up to hear patients.

In my personal life, the stories of people injured by our medical system in ways that could have easily been prevented had someone simply listened to the patient and gave them the benefit of the doubt are myriad. Like hey, maybe because it’s your body, you might have some useful input. I know someone who was sent home from the ER with medication for a migraine, after telling the doctor that they’ve had migraines their whole life and this doesn’t feel like one, only to have a stroke. Someone else who made repeated trips to the ER… It’s just the flu, nope an issue with their thyroid that caused brain damage. A young woman who died after thyroid surgery. She complained that she couldn’t breathe. They gave her anxiety meds, she was hemorrhaging. I could go on and on.

Myself, specifically, was sent home from the hospital when I had my son, after repeatedly saying that I didn’t feel right and thought I should stay. I was sent back two days later with postpartum preeclampsia. I could have easily died. I went only went to the doctor for severe constipation. I had no idea that blood pressure was sky high.

I’m writing this to ask you to send my mom love. I truly believe that healing energy helps. But I also want to spread awareness about the importance of listening to yourself above your doctor when something feels wrong in your body. My mom has been complaining about symptoms that didn’t seem right to her since she had the surgery. No one listened. I’d like to say throw a fit but I know from personal experience that that may not be enough. My partner threw a hell of one after my C-section, they still sent me home. My advice? Threaten legal action. Keep screaming until someone listens. Your life may be on the line.

Contradictory Juxtapositions

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Man, I am full of contradiction today. Just a jumble of juxtaposition.

I’m fairly certain that I’m coming off of the tail end of covid. I say fairly certain because I know that I had an exposure but it was a roundabout kinda thing after which I had an uptick in allergy like symptoms. Nothing horrible except that I was really dizzy and dead fucking tired.

Because of the nature of the exposure and the mild nature of the symptoms, I felt like I was sick but it didn’t seem to make sense that it was covid. Now though? I feel like I did after covid. Not quite as intense but the effect is the same. My chest is heavy, it’s hard to breathe. I’m having chest pains. My back hurts. I have no energy. Symptoms from my chronic illness are increased.

My initial thinking was, well, at least I didn’t get as sick as last time. I was so sick. And you know what? I am grateful I didn’t get that sick but… There is a part of me that is like man, fuck that. If I have to deal with the consequences of having covid, then I might as well have gotten really ill. At least then people acted like I was sick. At least I was allowed to rest. As is, everyone treats me like I’m fine, no matter how awful I say that I feel. I’m not. Fine.

Here’s what’s really bothering me today. The increase in heat intolerance. I realize that I haven’t really gotten into the symptoms of my illness here. Maybe I will someday, maybe not, but heat intolerance/an inability to regulate my body temperature is one of the most significant symptoms. It impacts every second of every day of my life. It also greatly impacts those around me.

The way that this symptoms shows up in my body if beyond difficult to explain and impossible to understand if you aren’t, in fact, inside of my body. I could say that I’m hot all of the time but that isn’t actually true. Though I do need my environment to be cold to function. We basically live inside of a refrigerator. I could also talk about the ways and the things that raise my temperature but you’d hear it through your bodily experience. You’d think, yeah being hot sucks but what’s the big deal? Being hot isn’t the problem. The way that my body reacts to being hot is. I have no words to explain this.

For now, all you need to understand is that I am unable to regulate my body temperature and I need my environment to stay cool so that my other symptoms don’t become life threatening. Also, that as much as it doesn’t make sense, this symptom (along with all the others) is much worse in the winter. Most of the other people I’ve come into contact with this symptom, the opposite is true. They have more difficulty in the summer.

That seems to make more sense, I mean summer is after all, hot. For whatever reason though, summer is easier for me and I typically do better outside. I’ve been able to go to the beach on a hot day. Provided I had plenty of food and water, I did fine. The affects of covid change that. Currently, I can’t go outside for very long without becoming weak and nauseated.

Awhile back, my sister and I were talking about this paradox. I was saying that I am so grateful that the heat intolerance is worse in the winter. It sucks, like really fucking sucks because winter is so much longer than summer and our house, well, it has to be really fucking cold but…. If I wasn’t able to spend time outside. If I wasn’t able to go to the lake and go swimming… That’s when life becomes not worth living.

It’s really hot this week. My sister and I had talked about taking the kids to the lake. I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it. Pray for me. Pray that my recovery from this round of the hell that is covid is swift. Pray that my mermaid soul is able to spend time at and in the water where she belongs.

One last thing. I’m feeling really angry and a bit bitter towards my mother. The exposure, in it’s roundabout way, came from her. She spent time with family from out of state…covid ensued. I understand that it isn’t logical. She didn’t do anything wrong, just hung out with her sister who she hasn’t seen in like five years but… There is a pattern here. One in which my mom makes hurtful decisions that involve her loyalty to her family of origin over the family she created. This triggers me.

Illogical. Juxtaposed. Contradictory. Feeling hopeless but holding onto hope. Yeah, just pray for me…