Reflecting back on the last year.
Hey, AS family and friends.
I know it's been a while. Over a year since my last entry. (I'm sorry.)
I guess I just haven't made myself open to talking. There's probably a lot that I could have filled everyone in on, but for some reason, I guess it was more appealing to stuff it in the 'maybe later' pile that resides in the back of my head. That pile has since begun to overflow, scattering messiness everywhere. I'm scattered lately. Forgetful. More irritable over the simplest things that don't really warrant irritability. I might have successfully reached the brim of the available headspace I have left.
No wonder I was feeling a little emotionally constipated. Tough feeling to explain, too. There's a desire to connect, to talk, to vent, yet I have chosen not to - at least, for the past year. I don't know if it's because I simply don't know what to say, or if it's because the old feelings of wanting to withdraw have become stronger. The list of reasons why is long. I have an excuse for it all. It's not important. It's beyond my control, why talk about it? It's stupid. I'm tired. I have a headache. Who the fuck wants to hear about all this???
Now, though, I'm feeling the need to filter out some of it - maybe it's just time for an 'oil change,' get rid of the old...clear out a little, get those mental cogs interlocking again without the 'mess' getting caught in the gears and thus preventing my brain from functioning. Maybe this will do me some good. Maybe not. I guess there's only one way to find out.
So...I'm not sure what motivated me to read some of my past blog entries. I did a lot of reading over the last few nights. I started at the very first entry of this blog and took a good, long, hard look at the person I was when I started this blog in 2017. As far as my views on my past and on recovery, most of that is still the same. My uncle, (first perp) has passed away. Contrary to what I said earlier about having a party when he finally kicked the bucket, never happened. I guess nothing about the way I feel about him has changed, but that's okay. Maybe I've said all of what needed to be said at that point when it comes to feelings like that.
I guess there was a part of me that wanted to see what had changed, and what was still the same. It was one of the reasons that I began this blog. It was meant to document some of my feelings, actions/reactions, experiences, moments, memories that I've had. It didn't stop there; I also wrote about every aspect of my life, to include things that weren't directly related to the abuse I've endured within this lifetime. I have reached a point in my life where there are many different transitions that are taking place at the same time. It's to be expected, really - as we heal, things change gradually, and things make sense all of a sudden when at an earlier point in time, they didn't. Some things click into place, as if it was just simply time for it to click - some things still remain a mystery. Either way, I wanted to be able to look back on what I'd written in the past, and to remind myself of where I was. Maybe that's what I need in order to figure out where I am, now.
I guess I'll start with following up on my last blog entry, which should pop up as the one before this one.
I had my cochlear implant revision surgery on 9/26/23. The surgery went well. I think the hard part was the waiting. I took three weeks off of work, emptied out my PTO reserves, and just spent most of my time on the couch, flipping mindlessly through channels. The few months prior to the surgery had reinforced the feelings of isolation that seem to have taken permanent residence within me. Life went on for those around me. My wife went to work. My kids did their own thing. I stayed home, and just about kept to myself. I worried that the surgery didn't work, I worried about my job, even though I was told that it was safe and would be waiting for me when I was 'reactivated.' I worried about what I would do if the surgery DIDN'T fix the problems I'd endured during the prior few months. My mind raced with every possibility other than the actual outcome, which was - surgery successful, 'fake' hearing restored...new external hardware working flawlessly, batteries lasting more than an hour at a time...I guess those fears have been quelled, though the anxiety building up to this point still exists within me. It was traumatic having to go through that, again. The hospital visit, the feelings of inadequacy, the unnecessary worry of becoming a different person. It stirred up a few of those trauma-related feelings, too, but like everything else, into the 'maybe later' pile it went. I pushed it aside, I sulked to myself, I indulged in plenty of moments where self-hatred took priority over self-care. I was angry. Not necessarily at anyone else, but just at the situation, at life. At my rotten luck, at the feelings of loneliness that weren't anyone's fault, yet still existed.
I returned to work promptly after we found that the implant was functional, which was the week before Halloween. I'm still working as a BHT and I currently have two clients that I see every day. I have a client that I accompany as he goes to school - this is a very, very difficult kid, for the most part. He is on the spectrum, but has behavioral challenges that indicate mental illness more than it does autism. This is an extremely bright kid. I mean - BRILLIANT. He designs video games on his Chromebook that he's supposed to be using for school purposes - that's actually one of the biggest issues we have had with him. He becomes bored with school, with the lessons, with the teachers - and he would very much rather do his own thing. He also thinks he doesn't need any of it - the learning, the work, none of it. It's all beneath him, and he knows whatever he needs to know about life in general. That's been established through his many tantrums (and a 12-year-old having tantrums is just plain ridiculous and unnecessary) and he's made clear that he loathes having me follow him from class to class, or whenever he takes off from the instructional area because he doesn't like what is being asked of him. He will scream at me if I try to talk to him, and when I attempt to intervene or correct his behavior. Then, he'll apologize, and be nice/sweet/charming - an entirely different kid - whenever he's had time to cool himself down. But other than all that, he's a cool kid. I am going to start back up with him in less than two weeks. I've already decided that this is going to be my last year with him - I really, REALLY do not think I'm making any difference in his behaviors. He'll also be 14 and able to decide for himself whether he requires a BHT while at school. Unless I see some very, very significant, positive changes in this kid, I am considering asking for a reassignment in 2025. Thankfully, I have not seen this client since the school year ended at the beginning of June, so when we are reunited in a couple of weeks, I plan to go into it with an open mind and will be looking for progress. He will be facing new school routines, so I have a feeling this is going to be a difficult year - at least, for this client. My second client, another autistic boy that I see at his home after school for a couple hours daily, is an absolute angel in comparison. He is kind, he LOVES having me around, having me play games with him. His issues are more related to memory than they are behavioral. He does back talk his mother at times, but that's about as bad as it gets. He has NEVER disrespected me. I'll have been with him for three years, and will remain with this boy for as long as they feel he needs services. HIs mother has made clear, too, that she wants me and only me, for her son, which the company has gladly obliged her with. I have been working with this kiddo all summer, and with reduced, part-time hours.
I guess there's another reason for the part-time hours, though, that I know I haven't shared with most of you.
I've been having pain in my right foot for a long time. This pain mostly exists in the big toe joint, in the location that most closely resembles the knuckles on the hand. Just the toe knuckles, if that makes sense, and only in the big toe knuckle. I went to see a couple of doctors about this. One dude told me that he wanted me to consider fusion surgery - he'd prevent the toe joint from bending and it would remain stationary - a permanent fix, apparently. Recovery was six weeks. The Oompa didn't like this guy. I don't know if it's because of a feeling she had when she accompanied me to an appointment with him - this appointment ended with me getting a cortisone shot that I didn't need that hurt more than the births of both of my kids combined. I don't think there was anyone within a five-mile radius that didn't hear the slew of obscenities that I unleashed when the needle went into my toe. It took my mother several minutes to stop laughing at what she'd just heard me say, which I guess in hindsight categorized as 'funny, not funny.' Even I kind of laughed about it when the pain wore off.
This crooked doctor (likely more interested in the insurance money he'd receive to do the procedure) made my mother uncomfortable. She didn't like the permanence that his solution implied. I didn't either, but what do I know? Here's a dude with an 'M.D.' after his name - telling me what he thought was necessary in order to fix this stupid toe joint pain that I had been dealing with for the last few years. Still, Oompa implored me to go see her podiatrist - which of course, meant that I had to take a trip into Jersey. I argued, she argued back. I caved. Mama was pleased. I made an appointment with her podiatrist, and for once, Mama knew best. HER doctor, a very, very nice guy - took the time to examine my foot and to take his own x-ray. He was patient with me and showed me on the films what was wrong with my foot. He confirmed the presence of arthritis, and told me that it was not advanced enough to need fusion surgery. He found a problem, too, that the first guy hadn't even noticed. I doubt he looked at the fucking films in the first place. (I do plan on lodging a complaint when I get around to it.) Anyway, it was revealed (and shown to me) that there is a bone fragment that had migrated into the toe joint. He said it was from a previous injury that had caused a piece of bone to chip off. The injury could have happened last year or 20-30 years ago. That's unknown at this time and probably will remain unknown. This bone piece just had settled into a place where, if it remained there, would continue to cause me pain whenever I walked. Because I was walking funny and trying to relieve pressure on that one foot, my knees were hurting. Domino effect, I guess. He said he'd happily remove the 'floating bone' and that it would not affect the mobility of my big toe. Recovery time? Three weeks.
I was sold. I made the surgical appointment. I planned to have a second surgery within a year. Not what I wanted to do at all, but like the first one, was proving to be necessary evil. I planned my work schedule so that it accommodated the time I needed to recover, as well as my client's prescribed hours, ensuring they were filled, one way or another. My paychecks have taken a major hit over the last three months, but I'm still in an okay position financially. The part-time drought is nearly over, and I'll be returning to my 9-10 hour days very soon.
I'm now a month post-op. It's been rough, having to depend on my wife and daughter's help in getting places, getting to my (good) client's house for sessions, being picked up from work, being driven to Jersey and back for follow ups...I hated having to rely on them - didn't matter that this was my wife and daughter - if they can't take care of me, who's going to? I should have been okay with their help, and I admit, it was NICE to have it for a little while. I just missed my independence, I missed doing for myself, I missed not having to ask anybody for help, even though these were people I trust with my entire life.
Just this week, I just started driving again. I am no longer wearing the boot, but can't quite put on a sneaker comfortably, so I have been getting by with the pair of Crocs I bought myself for the only reason being they were on sale for 30% off with free shipping. Now, I tell myself I bought them knowing, somehow, that they would come in handy. They have.
My son got engaged during Christmastime, 2023. Or was it 2022? It seems I can't remember at the moment. Thinking 2022, though, since last Christmas, I was shopping for things for the apartment they were searching for. Maybe it's the insomnia, maybe some of the overload is eating away at my memory. Maybe I'm just too tired and have no business blogging at this time of night. Or morning - both accurate assessments at the moment. Anyway - he finally moved out in May of this year and he and his fiancee are living in a small but roomy apartment 15 minutes away. It's been bittersweet to say the least. I miss him a lot. Since he moved, I've only seen him a handful of times. I am reminded of when I left home, and how my mother must have felt. I do have a different way of dealing with this newfound emptiness...I do think it's a way my son prefers, too. He is happy, he is thriving. He cooked me dinner at his apartment for Mother's Day, and I was just FLOORED when I'd seen that he and his fiancee had made a home out of their apartment. He cooked, and then he did the dishes. When he lived here, I used to find empty popcorn bags on the table and wrappers on the counter. He never cleaned a damn dish in all of his life. I cleaned up after him and continue to be the one to do the majority of cleaning around the house. I was impressed with him, though, and with how well he's adapted to being on his own. I remarked to my wife on our way home, 'so...this is what it took for him to grow up? He had to move out before he taught himself how to take care of his living space...' She agreed with me. He's grown up, he's no longer my little boy, but we're not going to tell him that, because - little secret? He's always going to be my little boy, despite paying his own bills and being covered in facial hair.
I dealt with his move in the best way I knew possible. I redid his room. It was previously a vomit-colored shade of green, which was his choice when we first moved into this house and all the walls were white. The carpet was disgusting and frayed, completely devoid of any plush or softness. There were copious amounts of garbage in his closet, under his bed, in just about every crevice that I'm SURE he hadn't cleaned out once in the last seven years we have lived here. When he moved, he did take with him the majority of his things, but this was one last mess that he had left behind. I decided that I needed to do something about it, for the OCD of his room looking (and smelling) the way it did was overwhelming.
I went to Lowes, and bought laminate flooring. I bought a bucket of paint. I bought everything I needed to re-do my son's room and to repurpose it as my new office. I watched endless YouTube videos on flooring - so certain that I was going to make a mistake and completely fuck the job up and have to call in professionals to fix it all because I'd done it incorrectly. I spent DAYS on this room. J helped with the painting, and we transformed the puke-colored walls into a lovely shade of medium gray. We painted the white trim a brighter white. When it came to the floors - I admit I was a pain in the ass, and I'd like to publicly apologize to my wife for my nit-pickiness with it all. I apologize for the annoyed tone I took with her when she told me that 11pm was too late to be running the power saw. She was probably right about that last bit, at least. But....when I put my mind to finishing something, I have difficulty putting shit down and telling myself that it'll still all be there later. I snapped more often than I should have. I guess it all paid off - I finished in about three days - not too bad for a beginner. The office is beautiful. I love it. I have a bean bag set up in the corner, my rear end's parking space for when I watch the Met games. I have my computer set up, we have a file cabinet set up now, and all important papers are contained in a safer place than my bedroom closet. It is where I have spent most of my time this summer, and I guess, in the meantime, I've managed to isolate myself further from J, from my kids - this includes my son who no longer lives here. I guess in that respect, he is like me - he comes around but for the most part - he likes doin' his own thing. Nothing wrong with it. I guess it's a small comfort being in a room where he spent most of his time. Why am I talking about this as if he were dead?? I haven't lost him. I think it's just taking a little while to get used to his newfound independence. Now that I've created this space for myself, I find that this is where I prefer to be when I'm not at work or asleep. It is where I've set up my TV and video games, where all my electronics charge, where I go to escape the reality of life. Most recently, it was where I hung out while my wife watched the Summer Olympics, something I had no interest in watching.
My daughter graduated high school and is starting her freshman year at the local university. It's the same one that I went to and got my degree from. She's also working at a local pub as a line cook. She's moody, she's sarcastic, she's got a smart-ass reply to just about everything, but overall? She's amazing. I'm so proud of her - beyond proud, actually. And it did me a lot of good to read about how she's changed, too, from the earlier entries until now. Ya remember the boyfriend she broke up with a few entries back?
Well...
She's back with him. Yes, I've rolled my eyes over that - many times. But if parenting has taught me anything, it is as follows. If you insist on something, your child is going to rebel. Especially a female child, and even more especially a female child who inherited her stubbornness entirely from her father. She did take it slowly, though, and eased into the relationship with emphasized boundaries, and so far, the boyfriend has been behaving himself. He also apologized to J and me, admitting that his prior treatment of my daughter was poor and that he'd do better. So far, so good. They are both 18 now. Fucking eighteen. ADULTS. I now have ADULT CHILDREN. The days where I fixed everything for them are long gone. Although she still lives at home, she's becoming independent in her own little ways and it brings both joy and sadness to witness. Before long, she, too, will not need her mother's input on things beyond those involving money. Like my client, she knows everything there is to know about life and if she doesn't, she'll figure it out. We haven't had a mother-daughter sushi date since her favorite Japanese establishment burned down - but we do try to reserve some time for bonding and connection. Those, I look forward to immensely. I know those will become scarce as she gets further into adulthood, so I must cherish them while I can.
I sometimes don't feel old enough to be looking at becoming a grandparent within the next decade. I don't know that I'm ready for that, but if life teaches us anything, it's that things are in motion from the minute we're born - there's no stopping time and there's no do-overs if something doesn't work out as planned. We simply have to adapt and to accept what we're handed - and make it work. Whatever our feelings about it, we simply must accept that maybe this is just how it is supposed to be and that our expectations and ideas of what it was supposed to be like vs. what it actually is like - simply don't align at times. While that was a sentence many people might have to re-read because it's a horrendous run-on, I think it makes a measure of sense.
I have been experiencing night sweats, along with the 'I'm too hot' or the 'now I'm cold' moments. I suspect it may be the beginning of menopause - the age is accurate, after all. Maybe, just maybe, this is also what is behind some of my mood changes. I have a doc's appointment in a few weeks, and plan to ask questions. Other than that, my health is okay. I've been trying to combat the likely upcoming 'change' by eating cleaner, (and less) by dropping some weight, by seeing to medical issues that I'd been avoiding but can no longer continue to avoid. The foot has been handled - now to move on to whatever's next on the list. We'll see what bothers me next, I suppose.
Ummm...I have been hammering away at this post for nearly three hours. I guess there was more stockpiled within the recesses if my brain than I initially realized. It's one of the downsides to not having any local friends that I could call and request some bestie time with. I hold back, I don't really discuss my thoughts and feelings, and it eventually gets to the point where it starts to burn or sting and thus a blog entry is born. I guess that's something that has never changed and still matches up with the version of me you all started getting to know back in 2017. The difference is, I guess, I emptied out more frequently back then. I won't promise I'll be more attentive to this blog now, but at least tonight was a start. I do miss writing, and with calling myself out by self-admitting that I've been neglecting a lot of my thoughts, feelings, emotions. I guess none of us are strangers to self-numbing and casting aside things that aren't very pleasant to discuss....but sometimes we need to reconnect with ourselves before we can reconnect with others. That's my guess, anyway.
I'm not sure if I feel better having shared this little bit of an update with you all. I might have to let you know in the morning - or, since it's technically already morning - later.
Hoping you're all well. I am hopeful that it won't be another year before you all hear from me; I will try to not allow it to be.
Love,
- Cappy
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