Nightmares

I really hate writing about negative crap, but the whole idea of this blog is to avoid paying some idiot hundreds of dollars to pretend to listen to me and and to pretend they give a shit. It does work writing about it, by the way, much better than anybody I’ve paid.

So here I find myself at 4am, after waking with a terrible nightmare at 3.15am, writing. I suffer from PTSD, although it raises it’s ugly head less and less these days, in fact, the last time I had anything much of consequence was a while ago now. I was surprised that through all the tumultuous life upending crap we went through last year with the sale of the last house, ( if you have only been following the blog for a short time, we have sold the previous house twice, the first time it all fell through 3 days before settlement, we were packed, ready to leave, and half an hour after we found out our furniture was due to be picked up by the removalists, and although the buyers had a binding contract, we are still fighting it out for compensation), I didn’t have any real PTSD stuff happen.

However, with the continued, and escalating arseholery of my father of recent weeks, I have had a beauty of a nightmare tonight. It’s like me, don’t do anything by half measure, do it properly. It started off with my father doing something very nasty, then lo-and-behold, guess who shows up? My ex. They joined forces. What a fucking lovely nightmare. 2 arseholes for the price of one. Double the nastiness.

Due to the renovations of the house, it’s become an open invitation for my father to walk in unannounced and uninvited any old time he wants. Not that we’ve invited him, HE’S seen it as an open invitation. He isn’t needed here for any of it, for the stuff we need tradesman for, they are on the case, they know more about what needs to be done than the know-it-all. And as for the other stuff, I do a far better job of it, and take a lot less time to do it, if he isn’t around. If he pokes his nose in, the job takes, conservatively, twice as long, and then there always ends up being the inevitable fuck up, because he insists on doing something a certain way that makes absolutely no sense, and has negative financial consequences. Because he is around, he is just giving us the opportunity to see just how big of an arsehole he really is.

Because we are no longer under the same roof, or even associating with him 24 hours a day, we are seeing just how bloody nasty he is. He can’t open his mouth without being a shithead. He’s what people call a troll on social media, and I see him do that too. I really don’t understand how someone can be such an arsehole. We do everything to make sure that we don’t argue with him, arguing with him is just pointless, it just gives him the opportunity to be even worse. I do think, however, another full tilt confrontation with him is on the cards, as it is all getting too much, and very obviously starting to have a negative impact on both my mothers, and my health again.

Anyhow, I doubt I will be going back to sleep again tonight, it’s rattled me, this nightmare, so much so that even now, 40 minutes after I started writing, it still is bothering me. May as well just swing into the day, at least if I need a sleep later, it’s not a school day today.

Andy.

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Feeling very unwell

On Friday night, I had to take my mum to the hospital. She had been extremely fatigued and in pain for most of the day, it came on quite suddenly when we had been in town during the morning. When we got home at midday, she went to bed, no lunch, just straight to bed. I too was feeling wiped out, and tried to sleep but after an hour, and a throbbing pain in my right leg, I gave up trying to sleep. I went and collected Jack from school at home time, and when I got back, Mum was still asleep.

I checked on her, she was restless but asleep, so I let her be. Then, at dinner, she was very lethargic, and my concern for her at this point was quite elevated. We had dinner, got ready to go to bed, and went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I checked on Mum at 9pm, and she was breathing quite rapidly, you can really hear it when someone is using a CPAP machine. I said something to Dad, who seemed completely unconcerned. In fact, I have come to realise that he genuinely didn’t give a shit.

Anyhow, off we went, Mum, Jack and myself (because Dad didn’t give a shit), and spent the next 3 to 4 hours in the hospital emergency, where they did a variety of tests, including an ECG. Luckily, it wasn’t a heart attack, but it had all the hallmarks, instead it was the worst fibromyalgia flare up Mum has had yet. That’s the thing about Fibromyalgia, it can present symptoms of a heart attack.

We got home well past midnight, and Mum was off her head on Vallium and another pill they gave her at the hospital, and slept soundly until past 11 am on Saturday.  She was still not feeling great all day yesterday, but was noticeably better. Today she is almost back to normal.

So, now we get to Dad, and now knowing he doesn’t give two hoots about any of us, for sure.

Apart from his unconcern on Friday night, Saturday, seeing she HADN’T had a heart attack, he decided that it was game on again with all the nastiness. I found it very hard to stop myself from exploding at him, but did as mum had wanted, kept it together. Then came this morning, and I had had enough. So, I exploded. Jack was actually scared, and Mum and Jack both went to the room. I told him we knew he didn’t give a shit about us, how he was a nasty pig to everyone, and that I had had enough. He sat, completely unmoved, in his arrogant way. Surprisingly, he didn’t say a thing.

Mum, Jack and I left the house shortly after, as we had to get some prescriptions to be filled, and shopping to do. On the way into town, Mum told me that she was glad I said it.

When we got home, like the totally clueless fuckwit he is, he decided to be an arrogant pig again to Mum, but this time she found her voice. I haven’t spoken to him since this morning, and unless he starts being nasty to Mum, Jack or myself again, I won’t talk to him. I honestly don’t care if I never speak to him again.

Needless to say, I am now extremely unwell, I am having moments of dizziness, I am experiencing more and more intense pain as the hours go by, I feel ill in my stomach, and I have slept for most of the afternoon myself, even at one stage falling asleep without my CPAP machine, which I NEVER do. I’ve eaten dinner, but it wasn’t enjoyable. Right now, it is time for Jack to go to bed, as it is school tomorrow, and even though I have slept all afternoon, I don’t think it will be a problem to go back to sleep, as long as the pain doesn’t stop me.

I wish life would suddenly change. I wish luck would finally shine on Mum, Jack and I. I don’t know how bad it needs to get before things get better for us. I am still not depressed, I am just lost. It doesn’t come as a surprise when the next bit of bad stuff happens. I have always done nice things for everyone, I care about people. Why do we deserve this crap ?

In Limbo and Still in Shock.

Tomorrow, well the end of tomorrow, was the day we were supposed to be arriving at our new house. By now, we should have been on the road for the past 4 days. Every time I write, or talk to anyone, about this, I find myself slipping into a bewildered mindset. You know it’s happened, but still can’t believe it. You can’t believe there are people, evidently, in this world, who could be such huge pieces of shit, but you still, somehow, want to believe that there are still nice people out there.

I think I am at a point where I am the most confused I have ever been in my entire life. Funnily, I have learnt well how to deal with depression, and I am determined not to let that get the better of me. This feeling is not depression, it is just a pure lost and alone feeling. I am not depressed about feeling lost and alone. The lost and alone feeling is manifesting itself in confusion.

Right now, I am home alone, with Mum and Dad out trying to deal with one of the multitude of repercussions this situation has had. I had to do a lot last week, some things were immediately necessary, and on Friday I managed to have my head in an adequate place to deal with the last of the urgent things. I had changed my address with the college I have been studying through, and as I have just successfully completed that study, I was to be receiving my Qualifications in the mail. Well, now not knowing how long we are going to be here for still, I have had to change the address AGAIN, to my brother’s address, as he won’t be moving for a while. I also had to contact the ‘new’ school to let them know, as I had an appointment with them for next Monday.

Jack has not been doing well either. He wouldn’t admit it, but I can tell. He was eating like a horse before this all went to shit on Monday afternoon last week, then since, he has been right off his food. He even threw up after dinner a couple of days ago. The constant piggish behaviour of my father doesn’t help. He is acting like this is only happening to him, that none of us are affected by it, and he is continually being  rude and insulting pig to everyone. Even to the point, that he was starting to annoy our new legal counsel the other day. I wasn’t happy that I found myself suddenly thrust into the middle of my parents marriage breakdown on Jack’s birthday, I’ve already gone through this shit myself, but now, I find myself living with someone who is acting even worse than my ex.

So then, I also find myself in a situation where I don’t feel like I have a face to face person to talk to about all of this. Writing this blog helps a lot, but it’s only part of it. My Aunt and Brother both say the “if you need someone to talk to” bit, but then when you do, because they have no idea or experience of this sort of thing, they really don’t have a clue, and the suggestions they make prove it. You sort of get sick of idiotic, or what you view as idiotic, suggestions. I think if you want to offer advice to someone, you need to either know what you are talking about, or realistically put yourself in their shoes and be honest with yourself on how you would handle it before you even begin to just spout some inane, cliched advice.

“Of course I could do that if I had bucketloads of money, BUT I DON’T, and you know it, so why suggest it ????”.

“Of course I could do that, IF I WAS MADE OF STONE, but I am not a cold heartless bastard !!”

You get my drift here, don’t you ??

And don’t get me started on psychologists, because every single one of them I have dealt with have been crazier, and in more need of institutional help, than I. I guess they might help weak minded, easily manipulated people, but when you can see through their bullshit, and when you’ve tried their advice and it has failed spectacularly and only made the situation far worse than it was, you don’t have much faith left in them.

Anyhow, the next lot of crap I have to deal with in the fallout of this crazy episode in my life has landed on my lap as I have been typing, an email has arrived for one matter, and a text message has just arrived on another. I better deal with it.

Until next time…….

Now the fun and games really begin.

The sale of the house is now a reality. The new buyers had until 5pm today to back out, and they haven’t. My folks have the flights, car and accommodation booked to go and find and buy our new place, and on Saturday, a peace will once again settle over the place for a week. The past 3 days have been HELL.

It sort of came to a head of sorts about an hour ago, my fathers incessant belittling of everyone final got the better of both Mum and myself, so we both told him so. He somehow can’t see how he treats everyone else, he has so normalised criticising and belittling everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, that he thinks he doesn’t do it. So calling someone stupid to their face, calling someone dumb, or a silly bitch or bastard, isn’t demeaning or belittling ? (Those examples are tame compared to what else he says.) He really has a fucked up perspective and view of what he is like.

Years ago, when we lived in another place far away from here, both he and I were active in the arts community, mostly not the same things, but anyone who has participated in a strong arts community knows there is a fair crossover of people between different disciplines in the arts, so we would frequently be involved with the same people. They quickly realised that the reason I distanced myself from him in these artistic pursuits was because he was very different to I. They put up with him. They actively encouraged me to participate.

He said on that infamous day in June this year that he feels like an outsider. Well, he is, because once people realise what an arsehole he is, they stay away. I have seen it my whole life. That Denis Leary song was about my dad, I swear.

I know I am laying into my father a lot, but he is doing nothing to endear himself to anyone, and in fact, I reckon he will probably end up being an even angrier old man, and he will be what he deserves, lonely too. The angry, lonely old man. It’s pretty piss poor of him that he has got to the point that even his own grandson is scared of him.

We had another little revolt against him yesterday, Mum and me. He had said a few days ago that we wouldn’t be seeing my brother and aunt, Mum’s sister, before we left. Well, he got what for about that last night. My Aunt was so upset when she found out he had said this, she is in her 70’s, that she was saying to Mum that the next time Mum might see her is at my Aunts funeral. My Aunt can’t travel anymore, it’s just too much for her, and because dad will be leaving mum in one of those unenviable positions that a lot of older women find themselves in, she won’t have a huge amount of disposable income to travel either.

As I sit here, in our bedroom with the door closed, he is still carrying on, about something else now. It almost sounds as though he’s playing the victim. He likes dishing it out, but can’t take even of a millionth of what he dishes out himself. I am really over it. I really hope the preferred house we are looking at is available and nothing wrong with it when they look at it on Monday, as he will have his own building, totally away from our house. He won’t even have a key to Mum, Jack and my place, Mum doesn’t want him to, and I’m in total agreeance.

Anyhow, I need sleep, if I can get to sleep over the arguing, it will be good.

Andy.

Making an arse of yourself because of the effect other people have on you.

I while back, in another blog I wrote, I wrote about how I have difficulty these days with other people, I have social anxiety. Now, I never used to have it, it is something that has developed from 14 years of abuse (but I will point out that I am finally able to admit that it was abuse for much longer), I used to be one of the most sociable people out there, you might have even called me a social butterfly. But now, anywhere where there are more than a couple of people it’s all over red rover for me. It’s not that I don’t like people, I like people, but when you have been denigrated by someone who is supposed to be a loved one (in my case 2), for such a long time, you become distrusting of people, and scared of them.

Now, although that last bit isn’t quite where I thought this would start, it is relevant in a way. I have been encountering an excessive number of incompetent and down right rude people over the past few days, as well as having to deal with the pig of a human that is my father, and the stress of it all, partly because they have deliberately caused stress for no good reason, partly because I just get stressed with people now, I ended up making a complete arse of myself with Jack this morning. All the stress has been coming to a climax for a few days, I have been grumpy, I’ll admit it, but this morning I yelled at Jack for something he shouldn’t do, but my reaction was WAAAAYYYY over the top. I brought him to the verge of tears. I hate seeing him cry. It rips me apart. I love the little fella so much that all I want is for him to be happy, and not have an arsehole father like I have. I think one thing that makes my father worse with me these days is he see’s the great relationship I have with my son, and he has never had anything remotely like it with his own. He’s gone way past the point of no return on that one with me, and I suspect with my brother also.

So, as I drove out of the driveway to take Jack to school, I was just about in tears myself. I apologised, and told him why I was so stressed, and that he didn’t deserve that from me. When I dropped him off at school, he cuddled me for a few extra moments than normal, he could see the tears in my eyes, and he said that he knew I was having trouble, and that he loves me. It had the dual effect of making me feel better, and making me blub all the way home.

I very rarely explode like that at him. Every time I feel like shit after. I think if I was going to do comparisons between me and my father, in Jack’s 8 years, I have exploded at him less times in that whole 8 years,  than my dad would have in just one week when I was a kid. Now, you could think that was because I was a naughty kid, you’d be wrong, I never got into trouble at school, in fact every single one of my teachers thought I was an example of what they wished every student they had was. I’m not blowing my own trumpet there, it’s the truth. I was even second to the Dux at school, so you don’t achieve that highly at school if you are a problem child.

Anyhow, here I am, sitting here this afternoon, in a foggy daze of fatigue, and regret for this morning, wanting to sleep but finding it impossible to do so, and now it’s reaching the point where I can’t until after Jack finishes school as well.

We are still getting stuffed around by the person who is apparently going to buy the house, they still haven’t signed the contract, this time it’s another excuse about someone being in hospital. The offer that was accepted, well below asking price mind you, was made and accepted nearly 3 weeks ago now, and even though the contract is signed by my parents, there is excuse after excuse why they haven’t yet. Our lives are in limbo until they get on with it, because without a signed contract, we don’t definitively have it sold and can’t make arrangements for our new place.

I might just stop for now, I am twisting myself up in knots again as this stuff is all so stressful, and I just want it to end. Good news is though, that my home made trailer is now registered.

Andy.

 

And here it comes again……

PTSD. It sucks. I mean, it really does. Last night, it decided to give a visit once again.

It doesn’t matter how long it is since the trauma happened, it comes back. It’s been 6 years since I escaped it, with Jack, and it was thanks to Jack that I did. For years I subjected myself to it, but I just couldn’t let it happen to him.

My ex-wife was an abuser. She was one of those ones that starts by isolating you from friends and family. Then she made me feel like I couldn’t survive without her (even though I was doing EVERYTHING to actually look after her, in reality, she couldn’t survive without me). Then she started on the bringing me down, the making me feel completely worthless crap. It just went on and on. Then, it became physical. I NEVER retaliated, because that’s how they really get you, you retaliate in self defence, and then get labelled the abuser, instead of the real abuser. I have plenty of physical scars. Loads of mental ones.

When Jack was on the way, it all stopped, and for the first 12 months after he was born, it was pretty good too. Then it all started, but not a gradual easing back into the abuse, it just happened one day, like a switch was flicked. Continual yelling at me for no reason, making me do everything and then telling me I did nothing. I would be up from 4.30am in the morning, doing washing, changing nappies, getting breakfast for everyone, folding washing once it was dry, making lunch for everyone, cleaning the house, making dinner, whilst changing ALL the nappies, bathing Jack, and eventually crashing in bed at 9 or 10 pm. Then I would hardly sleep because I was worried what she might do to me, or worse, Jack, in our sleep. This fear was warranted, as she had previously tried to suffocate me while I was a sleep, once with her hands, and once with a pillow.

Anyhow, we got away from that. But it visits from time to time. I can’t stand people yelling. It all comes back. Arguments do it too. Then I also get panic attacks, I’ve had a couple now, where it just feels like everything is too much and I feel like I am losing my mind. It usually happens in noisy, busy places, so I avoid places like that as much as possible.

Then, like last night, there are nightmares. Nightmares so vivid that quite often, once they wake me, I can’t go back to sleep. Jack gets them too. Jack’s are quite often things that he actually witnessed his mother do to me, which is so much fun to re-live when he tells me what happened in his bad dream. Mine tend to be a mix, some are just carbon copies of things I’ve tried to forget, some are based on my fears of what she might do if she ever got a chance to do it again.

It’s just a complete headache. You feel like you are doing well, you go months and months with nothing, then all of the sudden it starts up again. It stresses me out, which then has the flow on effect of flaring up my Fibromyalgia. It really sucks.

I guess this is one of the things people don’t talk about when it comes to the effects of Domestic Violence. It’s the aftermath, the things that are permanent damage. Physical scars, sure, they remain, but eventually fade. The emotional and mental stuff, the stuff people don’t usually talk about, is the real damage. It effects your health for the rest of your life. Even though the exact causes and mechanisms behind Fibromyalgia aren’t known, traumatic experiences are thought to be a major trigger to set the wheels in motion. Then you have the whole rebuilding of your confidence, and all the other associated stuff that comes from having yourself torn to pieces mentally. I also suffer from obesity and high blood pressure, both of which I didn’t suffer from before I met my ex. I used to run cross country, was an exponent of Judo, and a whole lot of other things that meant I was slim, muscular and healthy, I even used to border on having too low blood pressure. Now I am fat, flabby and am in a constant battle to keep my health.

I must just add here at this point, I am losing weight and working on the fitness, I have always eaten healthy, which is why it baffles me why I became so big, I mean, I was 165kg’s at my biggest, I am now significantly smaller than I was 3 years ago, but still have a bit to go. Put it this way, I can now go to a regular department store and buy clothes, before I had to go to the specialist “Big Men” stores to get anything to wear. As many big mean and women would know, there aren’t too many options in clothing when you are big. Now, I have a lot more freedom in clothing.

Talking about clothing, that’s one thing I noticed not long after I left my ex wife. Before I met her, I was colourful. I would deliberately find the brightest, most colourful clothing I could. When I left her, all my clothes were grey, black, brown and blue. All dark colours. They reflected the way I felt. As soon as I realised it was the case, I went out of the way to try and get a colourful wardrobe. These days, I refuse to buy anything unless totally necessary, in those dark, depressed colours.

Other things happened too. I was unable to watch anything I wanted to on TV, and forget about movies, from about the year 2002, until 2013, I pretty much missed anything that came out. She was paranoid that the people on TV could see her and knew what she was thinking. For the last 6 years I’ve been catching up on all the movies everyone raves about from that decade I lost. It’s quite strange turning on a TV and watching whatever the hell you want to.

I now read again, I used to be a veracious reader, but that too stopped. I stopped playing and writing music, something that was virtually my life before I met her. I played with numerous bands and did live gigs all the time, even playing with well know Australian bands and artists. I haven’t got back into the scene as I was before, and it is taking time for me to get back into the groove so to speak, when you haven’t played an instrument (or the 3 or 4 I did before I met the ex), for a while, it takes a lot to get back to the sort of condition you need to be in to get back into the music scene.

Well, I might leave this for now, I am tired, my son is tired and hassling me, and even though tomorrow is not such an early start, I need sleep. Goodnight.

Andy.