trying to focus…2011

I enrolled in ‘creative’ study. I figured if I could do something that was an outlet and not stressful, then I might kill two birds with one stone. I decided to do Whakairo (Maori carving) first. It was a year-long course and gave me something to focus my mind and hands on. Whakairo was traditionally a male art but is slowly becoming an art for both genders as there are less and less old schoolers to teach the new, and there are fewer people actually interested in learning the art form itself.

It did give me perspective and kept me busy. Most of the time I had to lean against a stationary object to stay upright, but I mananged…sort of. I was trying to lessen the meds as they were just making me feel hazy and nauseous, and not actually fixing the vertigo. The undiagnosed anxiety was worsening though, and I was noticeably more nervous. The things that I had been normally able to do, like walking, or going to the supermarket, or talking and socializing, were becoming increasingly harder.

The other thing I did over this year, was a Baristary course. I’ve always loved coffee…the smell…the taste. Not shit coffee…but fresh roasted beans, freshly ground and freshly brewed coffee. Yummm.

Part way through the year my eldest daughter came back to live with me and my youngest due to domestic issues. She was hitting the bottle hard again…and after a stint in rehab and not quite finishing it, she tried to top herself with a mixture of alcohol and the medication that some uniformed doctor had given her. She didn’t succeed…but the enabling stopped. She left again. And took the mokos with her. I called the police numerous times and by the grace of her tipuna, neither her nor the mokos suffered irreparable damage.

Me and the partner…well, ex partner at that stage…were talking about reconciling. In the mean time though, he’d got himself into a shitload of shit and ended up on Home Detention for 9 months. In hindsight, it was a good thing for us both. I couldn’t make any rash decisions and when he made me nervous or pissed me off, I could leave…and he couldn’t follow! 🙂

Medication wise, it had been changed again and I was managing on a low-level anti-depressant. That was until they decided to increase the dosage! The shakes started again…the dizziness worsened…the benzos increased and an anti anxiety concoction was added for good measure…even though, they reassured me, I wasn’t anxious at all!

My youngest was finishing college around this time. She had done so well, and really had managed herself…and me sometimes…for the past couple of years. Her and I had fallen out slightly when there were domestic violence issues buzzing in the house…she said I hadn’t stood up for her…I said I had. But later, when we re-hashed it, she was meaning that I wasn’t the same as I had been years before hand…that somewhere along the ways, something in me had faded, and when it came to standing up for myself and for her…I was lacking now.

That hurt. But she was right.

On the up side…I passed both my courses…yah me.


One thought on “trying to focus…2011

  1. Reblogged this on meptsdandallthefuckedupshitinbetween and commented:

    I’m pleased I did these … went over my life, trying to remember it. And as I re-read, there are such large chunks that I’ve skimmed over .. I’d say, because it probably hurt remembering.
    Yes, I did 2 courses, yes I passed. But I always pass. I’ve come to realise this about myself. Come hell or high water, I will always complete / pass / achieve. It’s a strength – it’s also a weakness. I can be so focused on ‘achieving’, I end up not dealing with what I should be – reality. I guess it’s been a way of coping – disassociating so to speak.
    The drugs / medication … OMFuck … it’s amazing when you’ll try when you feel desperate and weak (physically and emotionally) just cos some supposedly qualified twat says it’ll help. I think I would have been better off drinking and snorting a line or two than taking the concoctions they prescribed. And in hindsight (such a fucked up thing), every road leads back to PTS fucking (D). Not vertigo … not anxiety (on its own)… not ulcers (on their own) … not IBS (on its own) … not claustrophobia / agoraphobia or any other fucking phobia. Just good old PTSD. I’ve come realise more and more that because our ‘medical’ professions – mental and physical – like to seperate ‘us’, our beings, of into tiny segments, instead of dealing with the person as a ‘whole’, body, soul, spirit, emotions – mental, physical, spiritual … they are always going to fuck up a complete diagnosis as such. Especially when whatever is going on, permeates the ‘who being’.
    …. The relationship with my partner (ex at the time) … I managed to swiftly brush over that. We had an unhealthy way of communicating … I get now that we are to very different people with 2 very different experiences behind us. This resulted, this time, in violence … and court. In hindsight, it tipped me. I was became more scared and nervous. And I hated him for it. However, now, i can appreciate (not the violence obviously) that if this situation hadn’t of occurred I wouldn’t have started to make the changes necessary to get real help – had to wait another 3 or 4 years, but anywho … The violence, specifically, his violence against me, made me take a long look at myself. No, no-one should treat another person that way … at all … but that fear … I had felt it all my life and not realised it. Confronted with anger and violence or sitting with a friend and having a coffee … my internals still screamed RUN MOTHERFUCKER RUN. And thats what I knew needed to change. I didn’t realise however, that it was PTS fucking (D) doing its thing, and had be for a long long long time.


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