Birthdays

Today is my son's 31st birthday and I don't know how to reach him. It's a real complicated story, but I didn't raise him; my aunt did. She fought tooth and nail for him when I decided to relocate to Alberta from my hometown of Toronto. I was 18 and naive. She was 25 and determined. It didn't help my case that I left him in the care of my grandmother (her mother) while I took a trip to Calgary to test the waters. In hindsight, this was pre-planned from the minute I left him. The bottom line was that they didn't want him to move out of the province and did everything they could do to make sure that didn't happen. They had money; I didn't.

The fight went on for 4 years. I travelled back and forth from Calgary to Toronto several times during these 4 years. I had 3 different jobs and my husband had 1. We were doing what we could to set up house to provide our son a good home.

In the end, my husband and I separated and he, out of spite, decided to help them in their quest for our son.

On the day I lost Randy, I flew back to Calgary in numbness. I moved away to start anew with my second son, Adam, to Edmonton. After 2 years we relocated to Toronto.

We got to see Randy whenever we wanted but it was tough. There was a lot of resentment towards my family. Randy was spoiled rotten because they felt guilty for taking him away from his mother and in the end... Randy looked for a way to numb the confusion and pain from a scarred childhood. He turned to drugs.

I saw the signs and shared this with my aunt. She was vicious and mean and unbelieving until she put him through treatment. Randy has been through treatment 4 times now. He is unreachable and still using. I can't save him, he can only save himself. I wish I knew where he was today so I could sing him Happy Birthday and tell him I love him.

Pain Management

Well, I must say, today I am certainly hoping for recovery. And, a fast one at that! I had an elective surgery yesterday and am very very sore today. It's hard for me to stand, sit, walk and sleep. I came out of surgery yesterday at 1pm. It is now 10:30 am the following day and I have yet to sleep. I was prescribed tylenol 3's to ease the pain. There is no easing of the pain, only upset stomach from the acetaminophen. I have had to stop the meds due to this upset whichmeans my recovery is going to be harder than it could be with pain medication.

I also have to be very careful because I have, in the past, abused medication.

Then, in 1984 I had a long drawn out illness that resulted in my having a complete hysterectomy. During this time I was again prescribed medication that had me in it's grip, once again. It was a process for me to stop taking the meds, but, again, I was able to stop. It was hard, it's always hard.

Then I had a kidney removed in 1987 and the illness was so long that I became reliant on the pills and when the operation was over, I continued taking the meds far long after I needed them. I entered myself in a recovery program to detox myself from the drug. It was a hard, long process.

So, here I am now taking medications for this surgery. My plan is to use the drug as prescribed and to not even consider getting a renewal. I know that I won't now, because I have so many awesome things happening in my life. I don't have time to mess around.

I am not even concerned but I know I must keep this in mind constantly. Addiction doesn't just go away. Addiction is addiction and will always be addiction. It is a disease that tells you you don't have a disease. I am optimist and will be careful. My head is up and aware of the potential. Amen.

Don't get me wrong, I've learned so much from my teacher. I suppose he has challenged me to work harder and I'm feeling it.

Frustration

As I sit down to write, I wonder, will this get me in trouble? But, my teacher, a philosopher, insists that we blog and so I will. And, I will be honest.

I decided to take this English class in the summer so as to cut down on my school load for the fall. I really didn't know what I was getting myself in for. In my class there are scientists; computer programmers and philosophers. It certainly wasn't what I expected and to be honest, I felt a little intimidated at the start of this class. This class is unlike my previous English class when I sat aside others like myself: this in the Human Service Field program. Service workers.

My previous teacher so disliked computers, she had us write essays and things seemed so clear cut. There were no questions in my head as to what I had to do, it was spelled out in black and white for us. Unfortunately, for me, my summer teacher is the exact opposite. He has laid out assignments for us that are unlike my previous semester. It has been stressful to me. I never know if what I am doing is what he wants. Another difference is he is a complete computer junky. All items must be online which was a challenge for me as I have not taken computer courses and only know the basics which until recently suited me just fine. I must say, he has taught me things I never knew prior to his class.

As it is, now, I have submitted items I have been unclear of; I've posted them in areas where I can only hope he will find (because I can't) and I'm left wondering what it is that I still have left to complete in order to get my credits for this course.

I suppose I could ask him again, but I'm afraid I'll only walk away more confused.

I can write till the cows come home and all my life I have been an A student in english. In this class, I only hope to pass.

Now, don't get me wrong, I've been taught things I never thought about before, but I'll be glad to hang my hat up after the summer school.

Migraines

I understand this subject all too well. I have suffered with migraines since I was a small child. Certainly, my childhood experiences found me looking for anyway out of feeling anything. But the migraines were ferocious. There was nothing I could do to alleviate the problem. I suppose that this was the beginning of me using prescription medication. I would do anything to stop the pain. After a while, I became addicted to the pills I found in my grandmothers cupboard. What I found interesting was the fact that eventually my suffering was what is called "rebound headaches". This is a headache that you get from taking the medication. Eventually, nothing worked. Daily I would have headaches and upon taking meds, the pain increased. It wasn't until I went to detox to get the pills out of my system that I began to gain relief from the dreaded pain. While in the mix of all this pain, I could actually feel every ounce of pressure from my blood. I thought I would explode.

Thankfully, I no longer have the medication addiction and although the pain still comes in headache form, I can ride it out with a few tylenol, a cold pack and a quiet room.

I had to comment on this subject as I saw my friend Helene checking out this headache site. We are, unfortunately, two people who suffer from this horrible affliction.

Nutshell

My authentic self is safely tucked away in a locked, dusty tomb. Years upon years of my adventures and confessions await the arrival of my courage to; enter the vault; dust off the bone-yard; open the journals and begin writing the chapters of my being. Perfectionism and fear are two components that avert me from the potential success of a block-busting novel! And so it is, that I will share with you, what I feel I can.

I am a 50-year old woman and I am looking for a change in my life. I come from a life in Sales and Service. The only problem I faced within that line of work was that I hated taking peoples money, particularly from the old ladies with blue hair! I hold a special part in my heart for those old folks and only wanted what was best for them; however, my bosses wanted their money.

Help, help, help is my heart and that is why I chose this change in my life. I come from a family of addiction; my grandmother; my grandfather; my mother; my father; my sister, and R.I.P my dearly departed brother. In 1991 the pain was so deeply embedded in him that he jumped in front of a C.P.Rail speeding train and was shredded into a million pieces. My common-law husband works for C.N.Rail. I thanked God that C.P and not C.N was the chosen rail that took his life.

I immediately flew to Toronto, instinctively raced to the exact location of his demise and began the task of collecting the remains of my brother that the clean up crew left behind. I had brought roses with me and with their stems, I gathered up his scattered brain matter and gently placed them within the bouquet of flowers before placing them, respectfully, at the location of impact. On this dark day, through the wreckage, his gold cross shone brightly. I picked it up, gave it to my mother and along with the cross, we scattered his remains at his favourite fishing hole aside the family’s estate. I then boarded my plane back to B.C along with his bones and the torn toe of his sock and I buried them aside the river behind my house. This altered the course of my life.

Darrin was his name. His life was filled with strife, anger and confusion. I, on the other hand, had become a cheerleader for the Calgary Stampeders; P.R girl for the city of Calgary: an A.G.T telephone operator and a receptionist for Midas Muffler. I held all of these positions at the same time! As Darrin struggled, I flourished.

We came from the same parents. We experienced the same abuse. I just hid it well. Believe me, I am/was tormented, too. I lashed out, I took drugs, I drank to oblivion. But I’m sober today. One day at a time: I pray for that every day.

A saying I heard, somewhere, sits in the corner of my mind, (as I keep myself busy), and it goes like this, “If he didn’t work, he would surely drink. If he drank, he would surely die”. That is why I enrolled into the Human Service Field. I want to show people that there is a way out: a better way of life. I want to be of service to the Darrin’s of the world and I believe that I can succeed. I have the innate ability to understand where others are coming from, (because I been there). All the while, I will also be helping myself. Who doesn’t need help?

My name is Kimberly Ann and this is but a piece of my life, in a nutshell.

Exposed

I'm struggling. I haven't seen my abuser since I flew into Toronto to confront him. That was 4-years ago. I became tired of the abuse I was inflicting upon myself due to the memories and the sadness I felt in my soul. When I fell in a heap of tears and broke my baby finger I decided the time had come to confront. I flew 4 hours. Rented a car. No one knew I was coming.When I stepped into their house just after dinner, he called me out to the garage.

"What are we going to tell her?", he asked.

"The truth", I told him.

I was scared. Really scared. I knew that this could change their lives forever, yet I had to say it to save myself.

She knew. She must have. How could she not?

I left out the details but said I was "touched inappropriately". She told me that if she thought I was sexually abused she would leave him.

Didn't she hear me?

I will see them on August the 6th. The day I get married.

My thoughts are scattered.

It is a disease that tells you that you don’t have a disease.

An addict is someone who has a “compulsive physiological and psychological need for a habit forming substance”, (http://www.yourdictionary.com/alcoholism, November 7, 2010). And, although you would think that if someone has had a bad experience or several bad experiences surrounding their addiction, that person would recognize the connection of destructive behavior that occurs when drinking or drugging and avoid it. However, this thought does not occur to the addict as addiction is a habitual compulsion to use without any consideration of its harmful effects on the addicts mental, physical, spiritual, financial health, social well being or for anyone involved in the addicts life.

I only ever wanted my daddy to keep me free from harm and to protect me from the monsters under my bed. But that was never to be, you see, my daddy was the monster. Can it truly be that there are families without monsters? I know the truth: Yes, there is. I just didn’t happen to be lucky enough to be born into one. Defining the house in which the child is used and treated like the wife creates quite a stir in the mind of the child who lives in such a house and they carry that with them all their lives. They learn how to disassociate. Sometimes medication helps. In whichever form it can be found.

My definition of family includes beasts. At least you know that a beast may bite.

A child rarely believes that of a parent, until it happens.

...some young girl