Agoraphobia

Agoraphobia (ag-uh-ruh-FOE-be-uh) is a type of anxiety disorder in which you fear and avoid places or situations that might cause you to panic and make you feel trapped, helpless or embarrassed. You fear an actual or anticipated situation, such as using public transportation, being in open or enclosed spaces, standing in line, or being in a crowd.

The anxiety is caused by fear that there's no easy way to escape or get help if the anxiety intensifies. Most people who have agoraphobia develop it after having one or more panic attacks, causing them to worry about having another attack and avoid the places where it may happen again.

People with agoraphobia often have a hard time feeling safe in any public place, especially where crowds gather. You may feel that you need a companion, such as a relative or friend, to go with you to public places. The fear can be so overwhelming that you may feel unable to leave your home.

Agoraphobia treatment can be challenging because it usually means confronting your fears. But with psychotherapy and medications, you can escape the trap of agoraphobia and live a more enjoyable life.

I find my fears getting worse because I have to go everywhere by myself and I am not sure of myself driving in Salt Lake. I am fat. I haven't had my hair done for about 6 months. I look horrendous. I hate that I have to go get my food up on the 6th floor by myself. I hate being in the elevator by myself, in my car by myself, and in the post office in the campus store by myself. The only place I like being alone is at home and I haven't been there in such a long time.. I have been so accustomed to being with Harlen all of the time that it has spoiled me. I am freaking out because I am going to a new place to get my hair done tomorrow at 4. I am already sick with anxiety.  

The enjoyment of a debilitating panic attack

Not really. There is no joy in panic attacks. In fact you think you are dying and maybe you will one day. Of course you will one day, die. but a panic attack feels like you are dying right then.  Your chest hurts. Your neck stiffens. You have shortness of breath and are dizzy. Your lips and fingertips, even your feet are tingling. Wait those are the symptoms of a heart attack. Could I be having a heart attack? I am fat and completely out of shape. Questions like these make you panic more. Should I go to the Dr and get that same pandering pat on the back? Or will that only make you feel worse and kind of like a loser, which will add to the panic because your husband says he doesn't think you're a loser, but your extremities are numb for no fucking reason. YOU are a loser. Are you also crazy? You lost your balance going to pee and hit your head on the bathtub, but you are only dizzy because you are crazy, right? Why are you panicking he may or you may ask? How should I know? It could be the fact that you drove to Portland and back in 2 days for a softball camp that lasted until 6:30 pm, then there was an accident on the freeway and the sirens and lights make you think are we next? You still have a six hour drive. But this is insane? Driving until 2am is also insane, 3 days of complete insanity. A double shot in my arse again, but not for a real ailment like a migraine, but only because you feel like you are dying. You leave the Dr.'s office and you are stoned, and you are tired, but hey you are not in a total panic, but then the drugs wear off and you are once again panicked. How many Valiums can you take and still respond to human contact? If you take too many then you are in a panic you will run out before the end of the month. WTF! Where are the answers to my questions?

One sort of conclusion is don't DRIVE at all, never again.

That's not me anymore

That’s not me anymore

I used to wake each day looking forward to a new endeavor.

I used to crack a joke. I was quick. I was clever.

That’s not me anymore.

I used to enjoy a huge crowd, eyes on me as I took the stage.

I read every book I could find and hung on every page.

That’s not me anymore.

I loved to cook all kinds of cuisine.

My house was never perfect, but it was clean.

But that’s not me anymore.

I loved the farm, the bulls, the cows and the lil calves.

Always content, never worried about the didn’t haves.

I’ll never be like that anymore.

I loved to watch my kids in everything they did.

Every song, every hit, every set, even when they slid.

It’s just not me anymore.

I loved my husband with every ounce of my soul.

We went everywhere together. Eternity was my goal.

That’s just not me anymore.

I can’t say I was always smiling, but the joy shined through.

Days I was down there was only just a few.

But I’m not like that anymore.

Back then I believed there was a God that cared about my life.

I believed in forever families and wanted to be a forever wife.

But I don’t believe like that anymore.

I spend days now wondering why I am even here.

All my mistakes and flaws are showing crystal clear.

Cuz that’s not my life anymore.

Getting out of bed each day shouldn’t be a struggle.

And at night I want to be alone. Never want to cuddle.

Happiness eludes me. I don’t feel it anymore.

I worry every moment, every day, every minute.

If this is it. I quit. I don’t want to be in it.

I don’t want to live anymore.

This is not a cry for help

There has been this lingering thought in my head most of my life. I don't belong. There is this utility knife on the counter in my kitchen. I don't know who left it there or why. I haven't thought that part through. I don't really care. I only care that it is there. Tempting as it seems. There is so many ways to ease this pain I face everyday. Overdose, Driving off the road to the dam, Guns galore, but this knife entices my thoughts of the unseemly demise of my soul. It would be easy, yet messy. Where would be the cleanliness, but when have I ever cared about sticky floors. My life has always been so fucking cluttered, complicated, sloppy, and frankly dire. Yet this sharp razor knife has kept my attention for moments. Who am I kidding? It's all I think about. I would never do this to my babies, my husband, yes, but not my kids. They have suffered insurmountable damage at my hands. The POPO was correct. I killed my son. I probably killed my baby girl too. She was mine.  He was mine. I was in charge of their everything, and I failed. I failed grievously. I quit the medicine that was supposed to be keeping me level, but it wasn't keeping me level. It was keeping me numb, dead inside, dull, even callous, but that pink pill kept me alive, breathing, but what is living, breathing without feeling? It isn't living. You are right. I might as well have been in a coma for 9 years. I could only wish I was in the coma, because then I wouldn't have been filled with the ugly emotions that creeped in and took over my life, the guilt, the anxiety, the anger, the guilt, the guilt, the guilt. So this is 1 week off those horrible, sinister, menacing, horrid, vile pink pills that made me shake uncontrollably, that made jerk, so I couldn't even enjoy my succulent black beverage that is ALWAYS my favorite part of my morning. For 2 months I have refrained from the coffee because I was tired of being burned, but most of all I was tired of the ugliness that surrounded that fucking pink pill. I am not capable of living without that fucking pink pill, yet how would I know? How would I know with my addiction to this lousy pink pill? Sure for a year after Loughlin died I was a fucking wreck. I did horrible things, made terrible choices. I wanted to die. The guilt. Is there a worse emotion? It engulfs your whole being. your every thought, your every word, your every dream, your everything. The guilt of losing Rhiannon made me a better mom, but a lousy wife. The guilt of killing Loughlin, killed me. I died 3,602 days ago, 86,642 hours ago, 5,198,520 minutes ago. I have been part of the walking dead for almost 10 years. Surely not the walking dead that is on TV with the fingers falling off and wanting to devour human flesh, but I am walking and I am dead. 💔

Venting........Puking.........

Do you know me? I’m the woman that killed her son.

It was an accident you say but resolution I feel none.

People spend a life locked away for stealing such a spirit.

You say it’s different this time, but I don’t want to hear it.

My hands shake because of the guilt.

So many hours I have knelt.

An empty soul is all I’ve built.

An offsuit I’ve been dealt.

All the darkness I have felt.

A decade of sorrow left a welt.

I can’t perform the easiest task.

I leave the house in Eleanor’s mask.

I drink the poison from his flask,

But it was never enough to ease this madness.

Never enough to end this sadness.

Look again I am but a shell.

I dwell on earth in a living hell

When will I hear the toll of the bell?

How long could one feel this way?

I visited your marker just yesterday.

The shame made me retch.

As I read the scripture that was etched.

“If you have done it unto the least of these……”

God remove it please.

I killed him, and he is gone forever.

This family will now never be together.

Mind conquers all

Rough week in my body. I felt dizzy for the week, even to the point I passed out 3 times. Finally I relented and went to the Dr. again, blood work, bp, blood ox, blood sugar. Everything turned out normal. Next an EKG at St. Lukes, normal, but the technician doesn't want to release me because of being faint, pale, lethargic. So they send me to the ER for more tests, the Dr. is a joke. He doesn't even listen to the time length that my symptoms had been happening. Reads passed out three separate times on my chart and takes more blood, sends me home with yet another prescription. Masks the symptoms but the underlying problem still exists. I have no energy. I a.m dizzy. I am tired, and even more so now with this new med. I want to be healthy again before I die.

I have so much to live for. I have softball starting up again. Giles playing baseball. Lea playing tennis. Maya helping me coach and May 27th she graduates from high school. Cyrus is working back on the farm and living close with his beautiful wife. True is here too with his cute girlfriend we all love. Harlen and I get closer everyday. Life could be so good, if my head was straight and my body was strong.

48 years old

I am 48. I feel twice my age. Not so much physically as mental, emotional. I feel like I have lived an entire life. I am so tired. Losing Cyrus, not to death, but to me. The hole in my soul just keeps getting larger. The cold air blows through it. The heart is frozen.

I think my family would be better without me. My body should be cremated and scattered across the ocean. I will forever be at peace with the sounds of the waves, the trees and rocks, the blue water surrounds me.

Maya is a senior. She is getting totally ripped off because her mom is fucking insane. I took her pictures last week but I can't even get the energy to edit them and send them off to the printers. I have bills and taxes to get done but my mind is worthless. My hubby wishes he was married to a better version of me. He wouldn't leave me, but he lets me know how disappointed he is in my abilities in this life, There are so many women who are amazing. I am a joke.

#Metoo is not nearly enough

My sexual abuse started when I was a lee lady, at the age of 8. My swim coach would get in the pool with us to try to "improve our technique".  He would in the most innocent way, stick his hands up the crotch of my swimsuit, not on top, but deep inside where I had been told was precious, holy, that should not be defiled, but it was and I was left dirty, an 8yr old whore.
Count 8 years later. Me and a friend of mine were asked to go to an older guys apartment.  They had free  booze. How could this rebellious teen refuse. When we arrived there were 4 men. 2 I knew well. They were married. I remember so much. The smells, the Seagram's golden wine cooler. I drank too much, way too much. I crawled to the bedroom to sleep it off.  I was passed out. I woke up to a 250lb man laying on top of me. The smell of beer lingered in the air. I couldn't breathe. He had ripped my panties off and was raping me. I was out if it. I couldn't even scream. He pinned my arms above my head. I wriggled as much as I could, but my intoxicated body was no match. I was bleeding when I finally gained consciousness.  I kept silent. He was a member of the bishopric.  Who would believe me,  a troubled girl who was drinking at the time? After all I had always been a troubled child. These stories on the news are triggering me to the point of panic. The 80's was not the time for sexual assault. Don't ask . Don't tell should have been the slogan of the era. His weight.  His breath. The pain. There is no safe spaces.
That night he took my virginity.
He took my dignity.
He took my childhood.
He took that life.

I never told. He went on to be successful.  I have lived through so many trials.
Life is Fair.
I am not ok
Can I have a do over?

Look what is down our hill............

Do you see the truck at the end of the lane? Sure it is further than that horrible morning, but it is there, and the corn is being harvested in the field. This is triggering me to the point my head is foggy. No it isn't ok to park it there. You would think you would know that.

Trying

Trying

I feel like dying.

So tired of trying.

Wake-up Blue.

Aching all through

My distorted form.

Wishing I was never born.

I’m weary every moment

Time is my opponent.

Every day is a marathon.

I am far from a paragon

Is there an easier way?

Do I have to stay?

In a place with so much pain.

When there is nothing to gain.

Peace seems out of my reach.

Grief is my personal leach.

Today I just wanted to die

We are coming up on another one of Loughlin's birthdays. He would have been 24, but he isn't . He is dead. I have had one of those days. Those days when you think that you have had enough. The kind of day I have more than a couple of times a year. I had almost convinced myself to give up. My kids are doing well. They probably would be better off without me. I am doing bookwork that I hate, no that I despise. My anxiety is unbearable. I was even dreaming of ways to do it so that Harlen would still get the life insurance . He would be better without me. I can't breathe any longer. I want it to end.

2 hrs later, Lea has a volleyball game and life looks a little better. 

Maybe I can make it another day.

My Abyss

A few days ago our family headed up to the lake that is less than 40 minutes from our house. It has been a while since I have made the trip. The lake has been low, the boat doesn't ever seem to want to run when I am there, but the biggest reason I don't go is the road up there,

 



It is in my words treacherous. Harlen says I am over-exaggerating. I would say that I am being awful kind. The road at times is an easy 300 ft dropoff with no guards. It is slim, and there are always boats coming back down as you go up. It even brags of a one way tunnel that you cannot see the other end. I do not look out my window. I cannot. I breathe in and I really do not remember exhaling until we are at the top. We made it though.


It was everyone, everyone in the family was in the boat. Cyrus and McKayla received a big floatee for a wedding gift from True.  We put it by the rock side and Harlen took th boat for people to ski and knee board.

 

I was in the boat with Harlen. I had this overwhelming desire to swim to the float. It was about 3/4 of a mile. I haven't swam in years. I am 47 yrs old. Harlen informed me I was no spring chickee, but I just wanted to be alone in the water. I dove in without a life jacket. I started to swim freestyle. I swam hard for a while. It felt so good. About half way to the side I just stopped. I laid on my back and closed my eyes and just floated. I couldn't hear anything. I couldn't see anything. It was my own private abyss. I loved it. I could have stayed forever. It was so peaceful. It was the first solace I had felt in 8 years. I had peace in my soul. I want to go again. I want to feel nothing. The road was worth the tranquility.

This is a beautiful Place.

They Have it Worse

They Have it Worse

You think you got it bad there is someone who always has it worse.

They took your pride but they left your purse.

Is that supposed to make me feel better?

I could sit down and detail it in a letter.

You have no idea what I’ve been through.

Your eyes would cry a tear if you knew,

Or maybe you would talk the same way.

Judge me, then invite me to pray.

You think you know what it is like to walk in my shoes,

Do you know what it’s like to feel so blue?

To sit and wonder what your child would have been?

To question every moment, if not then?

Then times that by two and add abuse and a rape.

Are you astonished? Is that a gape?

Some have it worse, but some have it milder.

Some like it nice and some like it wilder.

Some think I’m a bitch, and some think I am kind.

I invite you to come inside my shady mind.

Then you’ll see the darkest, deepest corners,

Where they scream and claw at this greatest mourner.

I see my baby in my dreams.

She is perfect, life is what it seems.

But that dream fades and in comes the fear.

The reapers are all around. Their breath is near.

They take her away and leave me pleading.

She is fresh and I am still bleeding.

Then tease me with a greater life.

Hit me once, now hit me twice.

He was the flawless son.

His potential had just begun...

The harvester couldn’t take this one in the dark.

This time the jaws were as mean as a shark.

He left a scar that no one could hide.

He pilfered what was left inside.

The grim he took the future and left me blind.

Now who has it worst? Who can you find?

You know nothing about them, just as you know nothing about me.

Open your eyes and get off your worn knees.

God never made you judge over anyone.

You say he sent his Only Begotten Son?

That is for your mind not for mine.

Being on your knees weakens the spine.

So, tell me again how Some have it worse.

Because my life feels like it has been cursed.

I am not looking for your pity.

Asking you to get down and gritty.

I am not asking for anything at all.

You’re the reason I built a large wall.

To keep the Pharisees out and let no one else in.

Your words will not penetrate the skin.

Leave me alone and take your own course.

Empathy is one thing no one can force.

You can choose to be happy

As you know reading this blog I have chose not to have religion or god in my life. The pain and guilt attached to the two is more that I can handle. I choose not to believe in a God that closes his eyes and ignores the suffering of his creations on Earth. I am constantly looking for something that will ease this pain and longing of losing two children.

Today is the day Rhiannon died. 29 years ago she left me. She was laying next to me in bed. I woke up to find her cold and blue with blood coming from her nose. The images never leave my mind. So the day after Memorial day I am grieving like it was yesterday, but I have been grieving for what seems an eternity. One of Maya's friends is pregnant. She brings back so many memories for me. She sang in her last choir concert. She graduated. She stands proud. I want to put my arms around her and tell her to take everyday as a gift, to love that little girl, to take picture after picture. Not to be like me and take life for granted, to not take pictures, and to hold her every minute of every day.

The person who should be my biggest supporter has grown tired of my sadness and depression. He yelled at me and told me it has been long enough. He said 9 years is time enough to get over the death of my son. I said that I still haven't done it in 29 years. I cannot choose to be happy. There are days I am happy. I am coaching Lea's softball team again this year. I love it. I am happy some of the time, but some times I am paralyzed with the panic, anxiety and sadness. Some days I have a hard time getting out of bed. It makes me feel worthless. It makes me feel like I will never be normal again. Do you think I choose to be debilitated? He has diabetes. I told him he should choose not to have diabetes. I don't see a difference. I do not choose to have PTSD. I do not choose to be paralyzed when sirens go off. I do not choose to have uncontrolled shaking when a cop is behind me. I do not choose to have tremors so bad I can't write the roster for my softball team. I do not choose any of them. I do not chose to be miserable, but some days I am.

I did not choose to be sexually abused.

 I did not choose to lose my virginity to a 30 year old man who raped me when I was passed out drunk at 16.

 I did not choose to lose my baby girl when I was alone at the age of 18 and I did not choose to drive into a parked farm truck killing my handsome son, injuring 3 of my other children. I did not choose it. I am doing the best I can. 

Please don't place more guilt on me. Please don't knock me down further. Don't hold my head deeper under the water. I am losing consciousness. I am drowning. It doesn't matter the amount of time that passes, 9 years, 29 years, 31 years, or 38 years. I am doing the best I can. It may not be what you think is the best I can, but I am trying everyday I get out of bed. Everyday I love my babies. Everyday I do what I can to help them in their lives. If they call I am there for them. I am happy for Cyrus and his upcoming nuptials. I have the invitations done.

So there it is. Whatever you hear in church or on your radio Christian shows it is not true. I am not able to CHOOSE TO BE HAPPY.  These people , these church leaders and speakers think they know. I hope one day that diseases of the mind will be treated with the same attitude as diseases of the any other part of the body. PTSD cannot be prayed away. It cannot be wished away. There is no magic  cure, no blessing that will miraculously fix it. It is a difficult and excruciating process to be able to function in this world. I take my medicine. I see my counselor. I am trying.

I just wish the world could understand. I wish my loved ones could too. But just like CHOOSING to be happy it isn't that easy. If only I could choose I would.

You should just get past it.

Someone very close to me gave the whole spill about how I should get over losing two kids, I should get past it, sure it was hard, but it was a long time . I don't like hearing this from people who aren't close to me, but coming from someone who is supposed to be on your side. your encourager, your no matter what, it bothered me. 

I am not sleeping again. My anxiety and panic is through the ceiling. I am exhausted. I am sad. 

Can I just sleep?

The Cemetery

I really have memory problems, but I can't remember the last time I have been to Loughlin's grave. I used to visit it often. I felt closer to him there. I believe that is because of the quietness that surrounds you there. It is surreal, well until some car or farm truck drives by and ruins the entire moment. They look at you like you are a freak. If you show your emotions, cry the looks make you feel like you are unstable, that you should have been over this. Almost 8 years and you are still crying for a son you killed, yes, yes, yes, I cry almost daily. I cry at my failures. I cry at what my life has become. I look for something to drowned out my agony. Alcohol, drugs, but I have other kids. I have to be strong, so I will just use my prescribed meds to relieve my hurt and anger and frustration at the process. Why the hell do I have do go through this twice?

Are you a mom? Can you feel my pain? Can you feel the loneliness even in a crowded room? Do you feel this anger? Scream with me. Let the world know how fucked up this is.

Loughlin and Rhiannon, I will never look upon your beautiful faces again. I am so tired..........

Coming Across another Accident

Most Wednesdays I travel to Boise to see my PTSD doctor. This Wednesday I left early because Lea needed a dress. I wanted to stop at Ross. As I was getting a drink at the Co-op in Parma I heard the sirens begin. I thought to myself I really have crappy timing. I get back in my car and there are so many sirens and cop cars and ambulances that I cannot think straight. There is an accident right outside of town. A mail van has been hit and their is a woman thrown from the vehicle on the ground, on a stretcher, another man lying next to her, but he must just be there to keep the victim calm. Life flight is on it's way. I see it in the distance. OMG I keep driving but the sounds and the thick air is all around me. I should probably pull over. I am in no shape to drive but the sirens would be blaring. The police keep passing me as I drive away from the accident, sheriffs, state police, city police, hey but on the upside they won't be pulling me over. (UPside)

I was lucky enough to have another panic attack. It took me an hour but I got myself through it. This process is slow, snail-like but it is getting a tiny bit better all of the time. Maybe one day I will hear a siren without my heartbeat beating out of my chest and my lips and my feet keeping their feeling.