TheBanyanTree: Sick Again.....

[Sharon Mack]

I saw a therapist for the first time in 16 years last Thursday.  Am
feeling quite ill.  I have histrionic personality disorder which landed
me in the hospital 16 years ago for two weeks and then 3 years of
outpatient therapy.  My original therapist is gone, it's been so long
since I have needed this.  Gone onto greener pastures, I suppose.  I
have exhibited symptoms since I was 16 but no one in my family ever
heard of mental disease let alone histrionic personality disorder. 
Looking back, we see it has affected most of the women in my family
(including my mother) and probably one brother (although he would never
admit it even after a suicide attempt....he laid on his bed with a gun
in his hands and the bedroom door locked....they had to break in and
they took him away....he is fine now...or so they say) and my youngest
son.  MY personality disorder has absolutely affected all of my children
in one way or another...due mostly to my abusive and irrational behavior
when they were young.  I knew I was ill even then but could never take a
break from feeding and housing us to find out 'what'  let alone get
well.  I was a single parent for most of my 35 years of parenting.  Two
marriages, two separate sets of kids 9 years apart and the last break up
and spouse was dangerous for most of my children's growing up years. 
That certainly didn't help the situation.

I not only had therapy then but went to a place called MacInerney
Parenting Center to learn new parenting skills.  My sons (the youngest
of my four children) received the benefits of that I suppose, but
probably it wasn't soon enough.

Even though things never really got that much easier in our lives, I
had learned skills to help cope and deal with problems.  I learned to
see the symptoms of my own crisis coming and used my new found tools and
exercises, usually making it round the bend before I lost all my
marbles.  I lasted for 16 years.  All this with little or no
medication.

My eldest son had two heart attacks, my youngest daughter is having
'issues' with our past and treating me, not only badly but unjustly, my
eldest daughter is speaking but stiffly and my youngest son got into
serious trouble with the law (which, thankfully was resolved because he
actually IS a good guy...it was just one of those awful things that
happened...a life-lesson, so to speak, but a BIG one.)  My family
literally blew up in one short, fast 24 hour period.  It was an attack
from hell on our little family....and my daughters fed right into it.

When I began my therapy we addressed my past behavior.  I was 40 at the
time, menopause was at the edge and I was exhausted from all the years
of struggle.  I had no more fight left in me.  I needed to make it good
with my kids, especially my daughters who bore the brunt of my disease. 
I went to each of them (alone) and faced the demons.  I told them what I
had learned and apologized.  If I could have done their childhood over,
I would have, but I couldn't.  I wanted them to acknowledge what had
happened with me, I asked for forgiveness and told them the reason I was
coming to them was to stop the chain of abuse.  I wanted them to seek
help so that they would not carry it on to their own children.  I wanted
them to learn from my mistakes and end the abuse.  They said they
forgave me.  I had to move on...and so did they.  I thought they had but
here we are 16 years later and they are still having issues.

I can't go back there.  I've done my time, I've paid my dues and I
don't want to go back.  These issues are now their issues.  They are not
mine...but it still hurts and I can't turn off this sick, heartbreaking
emotion that is clouding my mind and my soul.  It just won't go away. 
It makes me physically ill to think about it.  My stomach is in knots.

My son is sick and could die at any moment.  I am doing all I can to
help.  I am not good at this.  I know of no one who has gone through
this exact thing.  If they have the child was close to home.  Philip
can't do that.  He is still in the Coast Guard and even when he gets out
he does not want to come here.  He hates the place where I live (the
city) and there is not good cardiac care here.  Our hospital is too
small and the good ones are too far away.  I try to drive to the Cape
(where he is stationed) as many weekends as I can.  It is a 3 hour
drive, one way.  I am tired.  I have no down time.  I can't get my house
in order.  I can't even finish my laundry.  I will drive to pick him up
on Friday for Easter.  We will have Easter dinner on Saturday, and I
will drive him back on Sunday.  I will return to work on Monday and my
whole being is terrified and I can't let him know. 

I went shopping to buy all his special needs food.  It was very
expensive but I didn't care.  I wanted things as nice as I could make
them.  I don't know how many more times I will have him here like this. 
I was happy and wanted to tell him about all the good things I got for
him that he can eat...he was abusive and angry because I didn't get the
specific brand he wanted on one item, even though the brand I bought is
excellent and is even better ingredient-wise then what he wanted.....and
it was expensive.  I know he is sick but this just was so uncalled for. 
He shouted and said unkind things and hung up on me.  I felt childish
and stupid  and I can't stop crying.  Even at work I am having a hard
time keeping back the tears.  I have to get up and close my door.  I
don't want anyone to know.

I am utterly alone and devoid of any familial support.  There is no one
to act in my behalf with these adult children or close enough to give
comfort directly to me.  I live alone with my two dogs and do not have a
personal, loving relationship.  I am an open target.  My friends do the
best they can for me and are wonderful but they are not necessarily in a
place where they can intervene.  I feel naked and exposed.

The one thing I love has left me....writing.  No matter what,  I cannot
write. I know, you're reading this, but this is not what I want to write
 You all have read what I write and you all know this is not it.  I am
writing this as a vent, as a release, hoping it will help me get through
the day and to my next appointment on Thursday at 5 pm.  

My only hope is that the session will bring me to a place of just
enough peace that I can make it through this Easter weekend with some
sort of redemption.  After all, isn't that what this weekend is all
about.

Crying in my soup...literally,

Sharon