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About Capulet

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    It takes more effort to hate than it does to love.

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  1. New to the group-looking to talk.

    Hi, @ASnow, welcome to AS. This is a hugely supportive place to be and while I am so sorry to hear of the circumstances under which you've sought us out, I'm hopeful that being here will bring you peace, comfort and healing. You are not alone!!! So many folks here can relate to what you are going through, myself included. It may take a little while but I'm confident you'll feel a little isolated in no time. Again, welcome! Looking forward to getting to know you. Best wishes, Capulet
  2. Hello I'm new

    Well, it matters none how you communicate things - what matters is you're getting things out and you're allowing him (and perhaps others now) to support you throughout your healing journey. I, too, choose to type things out - it sometimes makes certain words and feelings easier to convey that way. There are so, SO many ways to get your thoughts out - writing is my personal favorite and being able to do so has been a tremendous outlet. Wishing you luck - I'm sure you'll fit in here with no troubles! Capulet
  3. Hello I'm new

    Hello! Welcome to AS. I am hopeful that you will love it here and that being here brings you peace, comfort and healing. Your husband sounds amazing! Best wishes, Capulet
  4. Hiya!

    Hi, Shawna! Welcome to AS! I think we ALL have some work to do, but there's certainly strength in numbers. You'll love it here. Best wishes, Capulet
  5. Hi, all. Visiting this site on a daily basis is a constant reminder of the amount of unjustified pain and suffering that sadly exists around us in today's world. It's even harder to realize that some of the pain we see and hardships endured are so close to our own. And let me be clear on this - this isn't to say that it's a bad site. No, this isn't what I'm saying. I mean to say that AS is just real, SO very real and the things I read daily are yet another reminder of just how much I understand that neither I nor anyone else SHOULD understand. And while each day goes by and the next begins, I come back in hopes of seeing someone post some good news, something to celebrate, something GOOD and positive that is happening in their lives. Being here (as well as having slightly too much time on my hands) also makes me think in depth about the small, yet complicated things that continue to burden my heart - and then I find myself fantasizing about what things would be like in my version of an ideal world. - In an ideal world, I'd smile every day and mean it. None of those fake smiles. You know the ones. The ones you put on just so no one can see you're starting to cry. - In an ideal world, I wouldn't look at someone and first wonder how they'll end up hurting me in the long run. I'd be willing to take more chances at both new and old new friendships, because I'd know nothing of betrayal. Betrayal wears many, many faces and does its job in different ways - but the end result is the same. - In an ideal world, I'd have allowed more people into my inner circle. While I fortunately have my longtime partner by my side daily, there's still a need for a larger network of people to share your life, your triumphs, your joy, your disappointments, sorrows, etc. Because, let's face it. One person can't possibly be your everything. In a perfect world, I'd have realized this a lot sooner and in turn, I'd be more willing to welcome within my circle anyone who wanted to be in it. Alas, I've seen too much ugliness and it makes it VERY difficult to be without some skepticism. In an alternate, fantasy universe, though, this hesitance wouldn't exist and I'd have plenty of room in my heart's blueprints to fit everyone and I'd spend less time purging those whom I cannot trust. - In an ideal world, family wouldn't be your last choice of people you want to be around. You wouldn't DREAD upcoming birthdays or holidays like I have started to lately, simply because the demands of others have gotten to the point where the holiday spirit no longer is felt; instead, these 'wonderful' times have become obligatory, mandatory, and no longer fun, thus resulting in a severe case of the bah-humbugs. I should add this side note to my last 'ideal world' list item - since my move (and even before) I'm currently feeling that I need to take in my mother in small doses. I might need bail money wired over sometime soon because I've had to walk away from her a number of times lately, during some of her recent outbursts. At Christmas, at the kids' birthdays, at the Son's graduation party. I'm TIRED of having to referee between her and my daughter, my fiancee, my son, the wasband...in another realm, I'd not have to do this at all and everyone would figure out their own shit! And as much as she wants me to care about whether my daughter spends a week at her house, I instead leave it up to the daughter. If SHE wants to go, then fine, I'm more than happy to make it happen. But if the daughter says doesn't want to spend four days with Grandma being paraded around her friends at the senior community pool, then that should be enough of an answer for my mother. However it is not and I end up getting the 'woe is me' text message. I, being the nice person I am, don't have the heart to tell her that I honest to God don't give a shit about how disappointed she is that she can't entice a 12-year-old into staying with her for more than a day, if even that long. Because the truth is - I don't think I could, either! Five minutes with her and I'm annoyed. Ten minutes and I'm ready to go home. Any more than that, I end up in autopilot mode and while I still manage to count down the minutes until she (or I) leaves, I spend the remainder of her visits enjoying her less and less. And this causes me to hate myself for feeling this way toward the woman who birthed me, who is in MANY ways responsible for my successes. There's more to this, but I'll not discuss this right now. - In an ideal world, medical appointments do NOT lead to additional medical appointments. There isn't much I can do about this one, but I sure could dream. I have yet another appointment on Friday - the previously mentioned biopsy will take place. And then I will likely STILL be stressing after that because now I've found out that the mammogram results showed some calcification in my right ta-ta that the doctor now wants to get a better look at. So a 3D scan is scheduled for Tuesday. And ALL of this started with a simple, routine, annual pap. - In an ideal world, we would have no concept of time, no deadlines, no limits. Everything we need or want to do for ourselves should be attainable easily without the fear of not having enough time to do all of these things. It'd also be nice if we could make those wonderful, special moments last longer if not forever, and bask in the euphoria we feel during those times. Wouldn't it be great to be without fear of good things being sullied or tarnished by negativity?? Furthermore, wouldn't it be ideal also for negativity to simply cease to rear its ugly head? This perfect, ideal world simply doesn't exist, though. As much as I want it to, I know it doesn't. Instead, we're left with what we perceive to be ideal as opposed to what we have in front of us. And more often than not, what we see first are the things that we don't particularly enjoy. How can we change or modify things so that they look more like we want them to, instead of the blistering mess that we're used to? What changes do we have to make within ourselves to make life a little bit more bearable? Anyone want to share some of their ideals? It's healing, I promise. Just post 'em below!!! Will also post some more in my own comments, if I can. There are just so, SO many things I'd like to change in today's world and it appears that while listing them and discussing them, I've lost track of time and my bowling team is patiently awaiting my arrival. So, until later, my friends. - Capulet
  6. New to this

    Hello @roseydove85, Welcome to AfterSilence!!! I'm so sorry to hear that you've been brought here as a result of trauma but am hopeful that you will find tons of support, comfort and healing here. Everyone here is willing to listen and the amount of understanding and compassion is phenomenal. The 'Share Your Story' forum is accessible after you've reached a minimum of 10 posts, I believe. I'm not sure if being able to see it is a part of this restriction but in order to post there, you'll have to post eight more times in other forums/boards that you DO see. There's plenty of time to get to sharing - but in the meantime, feel free to get a feel for the site and the wonderful sense of community we have here by browsing other places first. Again - welcome. Looking forward to getting to know you! Wishing you lots of luck and healing! Best wishes, Capulet
  7. New

    Hi @Athena0569, and a hearty welcome to AfterSilence. This is a great place to be to gain support and you're among friends here - people who truly understand what you are going through right now. While I am so sorry to hear of the circumstances that have brought you here, I hope that being here brings you both comfort and healing! Looking forward to getting to know you and accompanying you on this journey - we're all in different places but the road ahead is a common one. Having company and support makes it all easier. Best wishes and again - welcome. Capulet
  8. My new baby boy

    Congratulations on your brand new bundle of joy!!!! So happy for you and that he's arrived safely! Enjoy every minute!!! Best wishes, Capulet
  9. Newly Arrived

    Hello, @crybaby and welcome to AS! I too am a veteran survivor with some new realizations - it is a rough road to be on but the company and support you gather along the way is a great help and I am truly blessed to have met some wonderful people here. I also want to thank you for the counseling work you do with others - people like you are a beacon of light in the darkest of times and to have someone who understands makes a world of a difference as we continue toward healing. I hope some of us here can be that difference for you, too. Best wishes, Capulet
  10. Hugs, @Free2Fly, thank you!
  11. Thank you for the very kind words, @riverkid. I think my biggest struggle right now is getting both my brain and heart on the same page...the adult me certainly being a representation of a heart opening up to whatever the brain (the child) has to offer - I fear that because I've been negligent of what other stuff was hidden away for so long, perhaps the brain has decided that it's going to be buried forever. Maybe I'm stuck on the idea that the two have to be synonymous but perhaps they don't and as you've said, there's the right time for everything. It is indeed frustrating but little by little, I am revisiting what I do remember and peeling away layer by layer, trying to uncover everything so that the adult me can fill in some of the blanks - I'm pretty sure a lot of the stuff I'm not remembering has to do with the person I am now as an adult - and my heart truly wants to make peace with it all. I thank you very much for taking the time to share your thoughts - I wish you all the best in your healing journey as well. - Capulet
  12. Thank you @Free2Fly, safe hugs back!
  13. ***Please skip this if you're generally uncomfortable with talk of periods, bleeding, medical procedures involving the female reproductive system. I'm trying to make this mild and non-triggering but you just never know. So proceed with caution!*** Okay, guys, I'm nervous. Ain't gonna lie, I'm seriously trying to swallow the lump in the back of my throat, with my new doctor's name on it. If the roles were reversed, I'd probably be the one saying, "it'll be all right, it's gonna be uncomfortable for a few minutes, but then it'll be over with...your health is more important than being nervous or scared for a little while..." But when it comes to applying these pearls of wisdom to myself, it's an entirely different ball game. I don't want to get into extreme detail about my female woes; some of these details are just plain disgusting, so in summary - when I have a regular period, it's not pretty. Not that monthly menses ever is, but mine are absolutely ridiculous. And since having my children, they seemingly became worse. And so when my daughter was young, I consulted with a local 'vagician' (we may thank my darling daughter for this alternate, creative term for a gynecologist - it's seemingly stuck and I now refer to these doctors as 'vagicians' only) and she put me on birth control. Obviously, my reasons for being on BC is NOT to prevent pregnancy, as for the last ten years, I've had relations with only a female and I'm not worried about conceiving. My reasons for starting the pill was to regulate/control monthly periods. And for the last several years (I want to say five or six years) the pill I was taking daily was working BEAUTIFULLY. I wasn't HAVING a period. I'd take this DELIGHTFUL little white pill every day and I spent more on the prescription than I did on Tampax. And my GOD, it was the best, BEST thing, EVER... But I ran into a birth-control snafu last year. Almost exactly a year ago, in fact, right smack in the middle of my move from New York to Pennsylvania. In the midst of the move, I forgot to take a pill. It might have happened twice. This wouldn't be the first time I've forgotten to take a pill, but it was the most unforgiving, indeed. I tried to get back on track, but since messing up once or twice, I began to experience spotting. This wasn't the once a week kind of spotting - this was more like every single fucking DAY kind of spotting. It increased with activity, too. Then, when I thought it had stopped, it would start again within a day or two. I couldn't catch a break...this went on for literally months. And to top it off, I wasn't near my regular vagician anymore. And my insurance was no longer the same, and we were in the process of changing everything over....and I didn't have a CLUE where to go in my new surroundings. I kept telling myself - it'll correct itself...just give it time... When it continued, I stopped taking the pills, thinking that maybe my body needed a 'reset.' I had enough for the next six months, and so I threw away the "pill wheel" I was working on at the moment and planned to start again at the start of my next period two months ahead - I'd allow my body to have a normal (abnormal) cycle, then I'd start taking the BC the following month. Hopefully I'd get things 'fixed.' My spotting stopped. EVERYTHING stopped. I got a regular period a month later and was reminded once again, WHY I became so reliant on these BC pills. Still, knowing that I'd go back to my pill-taking regimen that I knew would eventually control it, I endured it. I loathed every minute of it, I envisioned throwing my uterus, my cervix, my fallopian tubes, everything involved in the female reproductive system, out the window - what the hell did I need 'em for, anyway???? I'm almost 40, I'm DONE with baby making. I don't need my eggs anymore. I could sell them. I'd donate them if I could. But I certainly don't need one released every month anymore, there's NO way they're going to ever be fertilized. So I grumpily went through that time of month, every single day swearing up and down every time I went to the bathroom to remove and replace a saturated tampon. The first couple days of a period (while not on BC) are usually crampy in general - days 2-4 are the heaviest and then it will taper off on the fourth or fifth day. Usually. The following month came along. I started the pills again on day one. Of course, I had another ridiculous period but this was to be expected. It lasted the usual 4-5 days. And now because my body had to become re-acquainted with these pills, the spotting was back. But upon looking up the side effects of this medication, I knew to expect that, especially for the first few weeks. But then the weeks became months. I'd been waiting patiently for my body to 'take' to the pills again, I hadn't forgotten to take any, I'd been taking them every morning. Yet, the spotting never stopped. And, again, with increased physical activity, came increased spotting. Again, I felt that I couldn't catch a break. My uterus hated me and I didn't know why. My J had been saying for weeks already, "I think it's time to get checked out." I'd been saying, "yeah, it'll correct itself, that's what it says online!" But deep down, I knew it probably wouldn't, it would have already if it was ever going to. So, this prompted my visit to the vagician two Mondays ago. J made me the appointment and although I didn't want to go, I begrudgingly went. Although I understand that at this point, something had to give. Prior to visiting this new doctor, I once again stopped taking the pills and discarded whatever was left in that month's supply - since I knew that stopping was likely the only way to stop the spotting. And it did. Leads me to believe that the pills simply aren't working for me anymore. Or something else is going on with me that is causing these pills to be obsolete. The doctor gave me my (two years' overdue) pap, did the breast exam...we then discussed the pills I'd been taking and he suggested the depo shot - once every three months...won't have to remember to take any pills, I will just have to remember to go in every three months for a new shot. Which I'll gladly do if it helps manage the monthly discomfort. "I'd also like to send you for bloodwork." He said, "Just to make sure your hormone levels are okay and if the shot is indeed the best option for you." "Sure." (Now I'm NOT good at bloodwork in general - that's another blog for another day - but in short, needles being anywhere in my inner elbow makes me panic, my BP to spike and overall, I lose my shit...I instead direct the phlebotomist to the back of my hand where my level of anxiety over bloodwork is usually lessened - and if they can, they'll oblige.) "And I'd also like to schedule a mammogram..." I knew this was coming. Bring on the 40's, bring on the obligatory booby-squishies every year. This isn't as invasive as having paps, though, on a scale of 1-10, ten being the most uncomfortable, I'd put annual mammos at number four and paps at a nine. "Yep." I've got a cousin who DIED at age 41 due to breast cancer. So this is something I KNOW I'm not going to fuck around with. So the mammogram appointment wasn't as concerning as what he'd want next. "Okay, and then I'd like a trans-vaginal ultrasound...to check for fibroids." Hooooold the phone...what?? I must have looked at him funny because he further explained that in order to confirm that the depo shots were the best form of BC, he had to run some tests and make sure that my abnormal periods (when I had them) were not being caused by any other condition. I guess that made sense. I left the office. Went straight to the lab, got my blood drawn from the back of my hand, as requested. Check!!! Then the radiology building was across the way - dropped in over there, made appointments for the ultrasound and the mammogram for later on that week. Check! I went home feeling, gee, I accomplished a lot in one day - it was a nice feeling. For a little while. I then spent the next few days dreading the ultrasound and wanting it over with. The ultrasound and mammogram were scheduled as back-to-back appointments and so they too would be dealt with in one combined visit. I agonized over the ultrasound more, naturally, mostly because of the location of this particular test, as well as it being an internal exam to boot. Surprisingly, when the day came for the mammogram and ultrasound, I would discover that although the ultrasound is indeed a bit invasive, it was NOT as uncomfortable as the pap I'd had in the doctor's office. The technician was a female. She gave me a sheet to cover myself with and treated me with professionalism, respect and considering the nature of the test she was about to perform, her demeanor was overall calming. I needed this. I'd put the Ultrasound at a six or seven, based on this. Went home proud of myself for having done everything asked of me at this point. All done!!!!! And I'd managed to deal with it all, process it all, as well as bring myself to these appointments without having to be dragged - may not seem as big an accomplishment to most, but for me, it's big. I've been told I need to follow up with my primary care doctor because my BP was found to be 'elevated' (gee, I wonder why) and I'm also due for a regular wellness check with a new doctor - one that I do have as appointed by insurance company, but also one I've not met yet. Later, though. This isn't a priority right now. It SHOULD be, yes, but it's not. A dentist visit is also on the horizon - and the same situation applies - I don't have one of those, either! I'm pretty sure I'm going to get scolded for the shape my teeth are in and the fact that I've not had a cleaning in five years. I don't do very well with the dentist, either but I'm guessing this is common among survivors and non-survivors alone. It's something I'll work on, eventually, I guess....but the best way for me to deal with these medical things is one at a time. Piece by piece. Little by little. And apparently, the vagician is not finished with me, yet. He called on the same day I had my ultrasound...several hours later, in fact. J spoke to him on the phone, there was a lot of 'okay, so when can she come in for that?' as well as other things that ultimately meant to me that we weren't as finished as I thought I was. J hung up and then told me that he had called to say that the results didn't show any existing conditions (which is a good thing) but he still would like to determine why I have abnormal periods and rule out endometriosis as well as a couple other things that I really didn't care enough to ask for clarification on. I'm stuck on what he said first - he now wants to do a biopsy/DNC before I get my next period as a final test prior to prescribing the depo shot, which would need to be administered on the day my next menses begins. I'd likely feel some period-like cramps and some discomfort for a few days after the procedure, but he'd be able to run some further tests... ...a biopsy. I don't even like THAT word. A sample..?? Fine. A specimen? Ehhh, that's fine too. A BIOPSY??? Are you TRYING to give me a heart attack or is that a natural reaction to the word for everyone else too?? "Oh, hell, no," was the first thing I said when J finished relaying the message to me. J's saying she'll go with me and hold my hand through this but even so...what? Why can't you just go by what you're seeing in the bloodwork, the ultrasound and just give me the stupid shots???? I know what a DNC is and I don't want that shit, I don't want to relinquish a piece of my uterine lining, my cervix, I want it all to stay where it is and where the good Lord intended for it all to be. I did the bloodwork they asked for...that came back fine. I did the mammogram, which although uncomfortable, I knew was necessary. And then I did the trans-vaginal ultrasound which came back showing nothing concerning. Why can't we leave me alone, now???? So while I went to the first appointment on my own and to the lab on my own and finally to the mammogram and ultrasound on my own, this is increasingly becoming an appointment I have to be dragged to. And J is willing to do that, for she's more worried about this shit than I am. The appointment is currently set for next Tuesday, but we realized that J has to work on next Tuesday and likely wouldn't be able to make sure I show up at the doctor's office to have this procedure done. She knows as well as I do that I'm more likely to say, 'screw it...I'm not coming." And so she asked me last night for the doctor's phone number - she would reschedule for three days later - for Friday next week, since that's her day off. And she'd go with me and we'd go to lunch afterwards. It all sounds great but I'm stuck on what the procedure entails, I can't see past that right now. So after I moaned and groaned about all of the above for a half-an-hour last night, J eventually said: "Sometimes we just have to put on our big-girl panties and go do what we need to do..." Me, in the middle of my meltdown: "But how am I gonna put them on if he keeps asking me to take them OFF?" I got the "only you" head shake, followed by the much-needed laugh. Yeah, only me. For now, I'm trying not to agonize over this. I seriously would like for one appointment to STAY one appointment. None of this, 'let's get some labs' or 'let's check this out' or 'let's take a look at that' shit. If it's not broken, don't fix it. That's always been my motto, and deep down, I DO know that things break for unseen reasons and they have to be 'investigated.' Never said I liked it, though. And if this is all a preview of what life after 40 looks like, I've got some adjustments to make when it comes to stepping out of my comfort zone when it comes to medical stuff. Still nervous. Still more scared than I'll ever be able to verbally admit to anyone. But I'm also working on being honest with myself with what I'm feeling, as well as with others who ask me what's going through my mind at any given time, rather than shrug it off and say 'nothing.' And writing these things down is the most effective means of doing that...so thank you in advance if you've made it this far. In closing, I hope that my American friends have a safe, happy 4th of July!!! I'll be using the holiday as a distraction from the events that will likely take place next week - it's all I can do right now. - Capulet
  14. It’s time to smile. I know a lot of things you’ve seen from me have been deeper, more serious stuff, so here’s something light for today. I have a funny story for you guys to enjoy. This morning, J and I were in a dead sleep. She was planning to be up early-ish this morning for a work thing, and I was also planning to be up so that I could get a head start on drinking a 32-oz bottle of water prior to having an ultrasound done at 11. Alarm was set for 8am. That wasn’t what woke us, though. Okay, so, there we are - we’re sleeping. Snoring, perhaps. Either way, we were OUT. And, in my sleep, I feel my back being pushed. I hear nothing, of course. I open my eyes a bit and see that sunlight has begun to seep into the bedroom through the blinds. And I smell…something. Doesn’t smell bad, but it’s not something I’m used to smelling first thing in the morning. It was NOT the unmistakeable scent of freshly brewed coffee but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant, either. It was just plain unidentifiable given having just woke up. I turn over (major belly sleeper here) and there is my daughter, with this cheshire cat grin. She’s holding a plate overflowing with scrambled eggs. Ahhh. Brain and nose made a connection right about there. “I made you guys breakfast!” She’s proud of herself. “I texted you to tell you.” “Huh? What did you do?” I jumped up out of bed. The first thoughts that ran through my mind were 1) What the hell time is it?? 2) Are we dreaming? And 3) Considering the daughter NEVER cooks unsupervised, what does my KITCHEN look like right now? I checked my phone for the time. It read “5:49am.” Additionally, there was a text message from the daughter, sent 10 minutes earlier, letting me know that she was making us breakfast. J also got a text. However, neither of us was awake to receive these texts. And if you already know what my sleep habits are, you know as well as I do that 6am is still considered to be the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT for me. I groaned. I’d JUST laid down at around 2:30am. Not blaming the daughter for my lack of sleep...I know that's entirely on me...but now I was posed with another question. “Did YOU even go to sleep at all last night?” I’d gone to say good night to her around 2am. She’d been face-timing with one of her school friends and I’d told her THEN to go to sleep. She waved me off, saying she would. But as it is summer vacation, I am not as strict about when she needs to go to bed. And so, I left her in her room and turned in….but, now, I’m thinking I should be a little more adamant on when her bedtime is - a little later in the summer, but still no later than eleven or twelve, the absolute latest. This staying up all night shit - that’s MY thing. Out of all the things I could ever inspire my child to do, I wouldn’t want that to be one of them. “Nope!” She was a little too cheery. And again, she’s holding up this plate of food she’d just prepared. “Oh, hell, no!” I said. I might have been prepared to unleash a string of obscenities along the lines of “You need to go to SLEEP when I tell you to go to sleep! You’re not supposed to be sitting up all night! (I know, I know, pot calling the kettle black!) What the fuck were you thinking, coming upstairs at this hour and cooking without help!? What if something had happened in the kitchen, what if you’d cut or burned yourself?…” And a whole bunch of other things that sleep deprivation would have certainly inspired. But, instead, I quickly bit every corner of my tongue and stopped myself. Ya see, she’s standing there holding the plate of (seven!) eggs. Smiling. She’s proud of herself. And, if I’ve learned anything about parenthood…it’s as follows. When your child brings you something they hand-drawn or hand-made, you hang it up or display it, even if it looks like the equivalent of a two-year-old’s scribblings or something made with cracked, drying Play-Doh. If your child is ACTUALLY two, you’re to tell them it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen and you think it belongs on display in a museum. When your child wrecks something accidentally, you stifle any and all of your feelings of sadness, anger, or that are otherwise unfavorable, and tell them with a smile so forced that it looks real, that it’s okay - it wasn’t as important to you and can be replaced. Even if it was passed down several generations and is truly lost. Kids are generally destructive and chances are it’s your own damn fault for leaving whatever it was within the kid’s reach in the first place. And when your child makes you seven scrambled eggs at 5:45am, you get up and eat it. Even if you’re not hungry. Even if you’re slightly annoyed at the hour. Even if your kid makes you something that closely resembles animal vomit, you eat it and hope it tastes a hell of a lot better than it looks…you also hope they didn’t use anything that was on its way to spoiling because kids aren’t known to check the expiration date on the refrigerator contents when they’re in the mood to be creative. And so, while J stifled her laughter into her pillow, I ate the eggs, trying to hide my “WTF” face in between forkfuls. J had a few bites, too. Several hours later, I’m happy to report that the eggs stayed down, they were actually cooked very well and that although this spontaneous meal resulted in us being super-tired today, it made a pre-teen genuinely happy. She went to bed after we ate (at about six-thirty in the morning, she was apparently wide awake all night long but still overtired enough to drift off to sleep as soon as breakfast was served) and I first surveyed the kitchen to make sure nothing was on fire before putting the milk she’d left out on the counter away and then attempting to try and go back to sleep. However, we were unable to do so and our day started at 7am. And so, today, I’m tired. We both are, actually. Tonight, the daughter goes to bed at 11. I have already informed her of this. Additionally, I told her that as much as we appreciated breakfast this morning (we otherwise would likely NOT have eaten anything at all before work/appointments) and as much as we LOVED that she wanted to surprise us, to please make 8am the earliest time breakfast is served. We are not morning people in this house. On that note, I also gotta say that the kid who woke us up this morning is the same kid who REFUSES to wake up when she has to get ready for school. What the hell is that? I literally wake her for school at 6:10, which is LATER than the time she woke us this morning. I usually start by walking into her room (with shoes on, of course, because if I’m not careful, I end up stepping on whatever she leaves on the floor the night before) and I’ll start pulling out and rearranging the pillows from underneath her head to the back of the bed. I pull down the blanket, thinking the fan being on will give her a chill and she’ll get up. Nope. She’ll instead pull the blanket back up. I’ll holler her name in 20-second intervals, followed by, “GET UP!” or “If you’re not up in five seconds, you’re losing your iPad.” Or “Okay, iPad belongs to me, now. Wanna lose your phone? Get UP!” Nada. I’m not sure if it’s the frantic “YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES TO GET DRESSED, BRUSH YOUR HAIR AND GET OUT THE DOOR!” that does it, but she’s not missed her bus ONCE this past school year. Yet, when I can get a few hours of extra sleep, she’s waking me up at 5:45 in the morning with scrambled eggs. Hope everyone's having a blessed day. Best wishes. - Capulet
  15. It would appear that I have two sides. Two faces. There are currently two versions of me - and while it’s been suggested/confirmed that I do/have suffer(ed) from a personality disorder involving multiple other versions, these additional ‘parts’ have become silent and have grown otherwise dormant at the very least. Now I am currently faced with just two opposing sides of myself that are currently attempting to form a coherent connection. Or rather, to integrate, if that description even fits better. Furthermore, I am wondering if it's more of a one-sided effort on the part of the adult version of myself. I'll explain this further, don't worry. I've recently shared the information that I'm about to discuss in this entry...and I know in the past, I've shared other bits and pieces of what I recall about childhood, but my thought process is CONSTANT, (imagine the hamster in his wheel, it's always going and going and GOING) and I'm always searching for alternate perspectives on the same matter. It's mostly so that I can understand on more levels, even if others have difficulty following. I need to thoroughly investigate these things, and by writing/posting and re-reading what I've put down, this affords me the ability to both gain perspective from outside parties as well as to have it available to me to refer back to when I finally hit that brick wall that is repeatedly thrown into my path toward understanding myself as a whole. So, who am I? When I say I am two-faced, I am not referring to the negative version of the term, which is most commonly described as being the type of person who would smile at you one moment and then stab you in the back as soon as it was turned. No. This isn’t me. I know that and you all, I’m hoping, know this too. I am kind, I am caring, I am loyal and I am compassionate. This, I know for a fact - I couldn’t intentionally hurt another person. I have killed before but my victims are primarily of the eight-legged variety and it’s usually done by way of a shoe or rolled-up newspaper - even so, if it’s within my capacity to do so, I’d sooner scoop them up and toss the spiders outside. But that’s pretty much the extent of the harm I could cause another living soul. I’m more inclined to help someone else if I can - especially in situations where the pain they are enduring is a common, familiar one. My conflict is with myself, basically. The much younger, child version of myself that is flat-out REFUSING to share with her older self what she knows/has been hiding for years. You see, these are two equally as powerful forces, despite the age difference - the adult is stronger in the sense that she’s already gone through a fair amount of healing. She understands the effects of sexual assault, whether it’s a constant thing or a one-time thing. She has facts to support her memories, she has a deep, accurate understanding of the aftermath, of the emotional roller-coaster that we, as survivors, are forced to ride. And then there is the child, who although she’s young and without the same level of understanding, she’s been working hard at being an impenetrable fortress of information; she’s managed to keep in place these enormous shields - and to keep them there for thirty-five years, give or take. She’s effectively locked away and kept things from people around her, from her parents, from her teachers, from psychiatrists, from friends, and even from her adult version, the single person she could likely trust the most, but still isn’t willing provide the key to at the moment. And for this great amount of time, she's stood her ground - doing whatever it was she needed to do in order to protect this information from whomever she felt the need to fortify it from. The right-now Capulet is whom you’re all familiar with. This is who you see, who you talk to, whom some of you converse with regularly. What you see is what you get. Right-now Capulet was raped at the age of 17. She can give you accurate details about that - for she remembers every single moment of that night where her world was shattered and everything came crashing down, every minute she laid on that cold, wooden floor, every second that took seemingly longer to pass than a mere second. She can tell you how that floor smelled, what was on the computer screen, she can tell you of the rusty barbells that were also on the floor, just out of her reach, and how she’d briefly considered using one to fend off her attacker. She can tell you how helpless, how defenseless she felt when she couldn't. And furthermore, she can tell you how this single event has absolutely everything to do with the person she’s become, nearly 22 years later. She is still more comfortable conversing online than she is in an in-person social setting, but is open to working on learning how to get through these hurdles in the near future. A lot of right-now Capulet's struggles are a culmination of being hearing impaired (especially the socially awkwardness) and having been sexually assaulted as a teenager, then dealing with a number of abusive situations on top of this - it all adds up. And then we’ve got the small child Capulet who, while she’s done a VERY good job of blocking out details that she knows are true, she’s had moments of weakness - evident only because the adult version has managed to obtain tiny little snippets and fragments that somehow seeped through these shields - perhaps they’re not untraversable as we originally thought they were. Or perhaps, throughout the years, they have weakened some or have otherwise lost some of its original strength, comparable to expired medicine. Either way, right-now Capulet is aware and further convinced of there being something of importance behind these shields. She knows it's likely ugly and thus the reason for these shields being there in the first place. Yet, she struggles with an insatiable need to know the truth, no matter how grisly it is and how damaging this information has the potential to be. Why, though? Aren't I doing well enough without these added bits and pieces to my already overflowing plate? I'll attempt to explain this before wrapping up this entry - been working on it for HOURS, already - my brain hurts. Thinking I'll go to Dunkin' for an iced latte. Or maybe not because it's raining and I don't desire to leave my house this morning. Either way, I'm rewarding myself with something sweet, something sugary, once I've posted this. I fucking deserve it, don't I? But anyway, here goes. I think that these little fragments - these little memory snippets that I can't make sense of right now, are pointing to something that although I'm without evidence, I can't completely ignore, either. Just as I couldn't overlook these signs if I saw them in someone else, particularly a child. These snippets/fragmented pieces that I AM privy to, are strong ones. Kind of while piecing together a jigsaw puzzle, you have to complete the outside border, first. I would say I have a fair amount of that border in place, but nothing in the middle. It's a whole lot of emptiness. Each of these broken memories I possess is a a piece here, a piece in the other corner over there, a piece in the middle of the bottom...etc. While they're different pieces in different locations, they're all a part of whatever the finished picture turns out to be. So right-now Capulet is sitting at the table, trying to get this puzzle completed. Small-child Capulet is not supplying the missing pieces, and although I've tried bribing her with the things I KNOW she loves, I've gotten nowhere in the acquisition of said pieces. Instead, it's 'HELLO, brick wall!' This kid has major skills, let me tell you. I've been at this puzzle for a long time, now, and have gotten nowhere. Another thing I struggle with that is likely contributing to my desire to get to the bottom of it all - I also want to know...(no, I NEED to know) - if anything having occurred in my childhood led to what I'd later on endure as a teenager - what kind of shaping/forming/grooming took place at such a young age? What happened to small-child Capulet that caused her to lock up and hold onto the key for a lifetime afterwards? And all of this is likely stuff that a therapist would get giddy over and likely see an opportunity for some major dollar signs. “Come to my office and we'll figure it out, we'll get some answers!” I’m sure they’d say in response to this blog, should they come across it. And I've actually just pictured the face of my old T...followed by a brief image of her clapping her hands. She used to clap in order to get my attention as a child. I remember not liking to look at her sometimes, and so she'd 'clap' or gently rap on the tabletop to get my attention so that she could speak to me. But sadly, I’m not in a comfortable enough financial situation to seek out a GOOD therapist. I've had the same aforementioned therapist twice. She met the small child version of me when I was approximately eight years old, as well as the adult version when I sought her out about ten years ago and I was going through a divorce. Both times, she's failed. I likely wouldn't have considered going to see her ten years ago, knowing she wasn't successful in breaching small child's walls, but I'd hoped that she had some memory or input that she could share with the adult version. She either did know some things that she wasn't comfortable sharing right away and maybe wanted me to work up to remembering at a slower pace rather than just dump all of this information on my already mounting reasons for concern, (and for this reason, I agreed to continued weekly sessions) OR she truly knew nothing - either way, I had some issues stemming from the dissolution of my marriage that she WAS in a small way, helpful with. But for these deeper, more pressing issues, she was proven ineffective and not helpful and I felt as if I was wasting money. And so, I stopped visiting her altogether. I still do have her email address and I've considered sharing some of my recent writings with her - just in case she does know something - but then again, maybe it's best that I not do so. She's one of those who would ask me to come in for a session and I don't feel I should have to pay for this information. And now, here I am. With the same concerns. Minus the marital problems - my current relationship is healthy, secure and wonderful - no complaints there. As far as I’m concerned, I AM my own therapist. Anything we’d do in a T’s office, I’m perfectly capable of doing on my own. I talk, sometimes too much. I write. Also too much at times. I think. If it helps me, who's to say that's a bad thing? I spend entirely too much time thinking, I believe that too, has been confirmed. However, none of these are unhealthy ways of coping. They're just what works for me. I also want it to be known that I am NOT in crisis. All this is just stuff that until recently, I’ve kept in the furthest confines, the deepest corners of my mental health closet - and I've recently come to open up this closet and begin searching for deeper meanings to these two sides...one side who wants to know everything and the other who wants to keep things suppressed and hidden. How do you get these two sides to work together? Is there some way to reach a compromise? What does small-child Capulet need, and from whom if not from the older, more knowledgeable version of herself?? I'm not sure anyone knows the answer to this, either. And so, I'm not sure who is going to win this ongoing tug-of-war battle. The adult will pull and pull, and ultimately grow weary and tired. Then the small child, who's got a comparable amount of strength, will pull back, by way of solidifying these shields until SHE'S tired or otherwise feels safe. This game may go on for several more years. Possibly for the rest of my life. While it's way easy to look up cheat codes for some of the console games I play, this isn't something I can search for a shortcut on, there are no guides that I can follow, no secret twists and turns or jumps that will catapult me onto the other side of those shields. I'm stuck on this level and I'm not seeing a way to get through it. And for that reason, I feel defeated. And now, I'm going for that coffee, even if I make a cup in the kitchen. Not feeling Dunkin'. - Capulet