A day in the life of me : the deli guy

Once a month or so I drive my daughter to a deli down road. It is the easiest drive because it only takes 10 steps to walk into the deli counter. Unfortunately, their is a total jerk that works at this deli. We have had an issue with him before when he looked up my name by credit card on his computer to get my contact info to seek me out on social media because he wanted to ask my daughter out. I wrote about that on my blog somewhere. It was months ago. He didn’t get fired. Apparently he must have had an old fashioned talking to though.

So my daughter is feeling up for an outing and we go to the deli. Sure enough, I shall call him the Mr. P (for prick) is walking out the door with hands full of garbage. He had to walk right in front of us and saw us. He was carrying two massive bags of garbage from the deli taking it out to the dumpster. We go in and place our order and the girl tells us that only Mr. P can make the food and he’s taken the garbage out. Well he gets back and stomps past us. I mean stomps. Then I watch him grab gloves out of a box. His garbage hands were on the same part of the gloves that would be making my sandwich!!!! His hands were nasty! Garbage!!!!!! He puts a new garbage bag in the garbage can and proceeds to make our sandwich. He’s having a fit and throwing food on the ground and paper products on the ground. Obviously in a huff that he has to make our food. I stood there wanting to tell him to make me a new sandwich. I wanted to say um wash your hands!!!! I said nothing. It’s the whole intimidation, PTSD, loss of voice thing that gets me every time. I HATE IT. I HATE PTSD. I HATE this stupid muscle disease that makes me going to a little deli cause me so much muscle pain. I HATE that I can’t just be a normal mom that takes her daughter out but NOOO I don’t even have the ability to tell this Mr. P to wash his disgusting hands. Even KNOWING my daughter has zero immune system. I have zero immune system. Still. The PTSD is stronger than all of that. I am frozen. After he make the sandwiches he throws the food at my daughter. And she says in her sweet little voice “thank you,”and he IGNORES her! The blood rushes from my face. I have rage. But I cannot speak.

“Sweet Bethany” as my old bitch friend called me, has no voice. She made a point one day of saying she’d rather have that Bethany than the Bethany now who doesn’t let people use her as a garbage can!!!! What’s so ironic is that I am only one Bethany. I am still sweet Bethany. I just happen to know how to use my anger when necessary and I cuss like a sailor on occasion because well…silence for a lifetime sometimes results in some cussing. And occasionally eating a garbage sandwich while reverting to old ways.

We go to the car and I open my garbage contaminated sandwich knowing I have not eaten all day and I have to eat it or I won’t have the strength to even drive us home and FUCK I can’t go anywhere else to get food!!!!!!!! All of a sudden the way he spoke to my daughter and the fact that she barely leaves our house was just too much. I got out of the car, her following me and open the door to the deli. I find my voice. “YOU DIDN’T WASH YOUR HANDS!” The little girl then says, “ He wore gloves” at which point I say “ HE TOOK OUT GARBAGE> TOUCHED GARBAGE! THEN THINKS ITS OK TO THROW FOOD AT MY DAUGHTER> NOT OK!!!” A hush falls over the other deli customers. They start whispering. But Mr. P just ignores me and acts like I am not speaking words at all at which point my daughter gets protective (she is insanely protective over me as I am over her) and yells at him to listen to me! I put this in quotes because later I find my daughter recorded the entire thing on her cell phone because she knew that Mr. P would lie later and wanted it documented.

Mr. P just had a smirk on his face. That smirk. Mmmmmmmm. That fuckin smirk. I tell my daughter it is time to leave. We get back in the car and then I definitely have to finish my garbage sandwich because the adrenaline made me almost pass out!!!!

So I ate my garbage sandwich, messaged the owner of the deli, then drove us to the prairie to visit the animals because this outing could NOT end on this note. Leaving the house is rare and I would not have it end badly. So we visited the horses. I got to give my favorite horse some kisses. We visited the goats. We saw a beautiful sunset and then sang phantom of the opera songs on the way home, her favorite. Fast forward to today…I slept little…had nightmares all night long and too much pain to really sleep. I had these awful apocalypse nightmares. Anyway, I thought I had avoided illness from garbage sandwich but tonight I developed a low fever and sore throat. Huge triggers for me…being sick on top of what I am already dealing with is just not a good thing. It causes vulnerability another huge trigger! So I loaded up on herbs in hopes I wake up fine. I tell my daughter I had nightmares of the apocalypse and she lovingly says, ” You’ve already shown how badly you can handle the apocalypse so we’re just gonna leave that up to me.” Then she proceeds to show me how I spoke to Mr. P last night. She says, ” Mom do you really think THAT is rage?”I said no honey I had inner rage but that was the only voice that could come out. She assures me she’ll always have my back even in the apocalypse and we call it a day. Gotta love this girl.

Just another day of me…

Photos of me by my daughter…others by me….

A day in the life of me: steps

It takes 42 steps to walk from my bathroom to the kitchen.

It takes 77 steps to walk from my garage door to the mailbox and back

It takes 36 steps to walk from my back door to my car but only 16 to walk from my garage door to my car.

From the disabled parking spot to the front door of Piesanos restaurant it is 60 steps.

From the disabled parking spot to the cash register at the supermarket it is 100 steps.

From the disabled parking spot to the prayer garden it is 95 steps.

I can walk exactly 100 steps before I have to sit down and rest.

I started counting my steps one day when I thought that my own perception of how far something was, was hindering me from doing it. So I walked around my own house counting my steps until I had to sit down. It was 100 steps. I assumed to the mailbox and back it would be at least 200 steps. But nope. Only 77! I had stopped myself from walking to the mail box because in my mind I had made it an unattainable goal. Until one day I just did it!

I thought I could only drive to the supermarket. Until one day I decided to drive a little further. Then a little further. The only problem with driving is, when I get there I can’t walk very far because I’ve tired myself driving. YET, when my husband was out of town and my daughter had an allergic reaction, I drove further than I ever had to get her to the doctor and walked further than 100 steps to get her into the office. I paid a heavy price for weeks of weakness and pain due to that but I learned my limitations.

“That’s too far” turned into “ I think I can do that.” I just had to not let my mind limit my potential. I also had to realize my mind would allow me to push myself further than my body could handle. Boundaries, and limitations, and respect for my body, and keeping the faith helped me to understand my capabilities and inabilities.

My neighbor was out the other day walking and commented that she needed to get her “steps” in. She had one of those step counters. I kind of smiled on the inside. We both had our steps but mine were not the same as hers at all. I counted my steps earlier in the day for a completely different reason. Because of this muscle disease each step matters. My steps matter for different reasons than her steps. Not that her steps don’t matter. We each have our steps to reach our goal and to know our boundaries. Steps to recovery, steps to reach an exercise goal, steps we can take before we have to sit down. When she said this I was going around the block in my wheelchair. I had already gotten in MY steps for the day and was in cruise mode doing my photography.

Earlier, I had driven to Piesanos to pick up food for my daughter and me. I had promised her the night before that I’d get us food. It was not turning out to be a good day though. I stopped by the church on the way which added to my steps so I rested for awhile under the cross. I then went to get us our food. I open the car door and a little frog is in the door hinge still alive. My plan was to get into the restaurant and carry him and ask for a bag to put him in until I could get him back home and set him free. Well…as I was counting my steps (even though I know how many it takes it is reassuring to me) that little frog squiggled and wiggled his head out. I told the frog do not escape in this road!!!! I’m limping from too many steps. Just as I make it across the road that little frog did the longest leap a frog has ever made into a bush that I could not get him from RIGHT next to the road. So I said “ Mother FUCKER!” Much to a mother’s dismay who was walking past. How could I say, “ it was this frog I was trying to save!” Which my husband later pointed out that i was about to take into a restaurant anyway and who knows what would have happened. Along that way I got an intestinal bleed and blood started dripping down my leg. There was no way I could make it to the bathroom and then back to the car with our food. I always carry alcohol wipes so I wiped up my leg with the frog pee hand and picked up our food while making sure to not sit and rest or touch anything with that hand! I am a huge germ phobe because of my illness and my daughter I do NOT want to sick and would never expose anyone else to germs. I used my alcohol wipes and scoured my hands too much I’m sure. I lost count of my steps. Am walking back to the car and drop the food. Again saying FUCK because I am a cusser and it just comes right out. Call it the pent up anger of a stifled girl for 40 years. I make it to the car and have to rest a LONG time before getting home at which point I know I cannot walk the distance inside so I crawl carrying the food STILL mad as FUCK that that little frog wasn’t set free in my own yard. The idea that that little tree frog got stuck in a little bush next to a road makes me very upset even 3 days later! I brought the food in and lay on the floor for a long time. At that point I realize that I smell onions. Red onions are a huge trigger for me and PTSD. Miraculously my legs work as I stand up and frantically search for the onion smell. They are on the salad even though I asked for no onions. I try to scrape them off only for them to land on the floor and I almost break down. “Must get rid of onion smell. Can’t have onion smell. ” I’m frantically cleaning the floor when my daughter calls me and I tell her the onion situation. She says, God bless this child, “ Mom throw away the salad.” So I did. Then I looked at all of the food. Their it was (sorry for my there/their issues with spelling my brain can’t sort that out right now). My stomach had cramped for a week and I had barely eaten anything. I sat looking at all the food thinking of my old ways of anorexic controlling thoughts on all that food. I was so hungry. I was bleeding all over myself. My legs were shot. I just started eating. I ate and I ate and I ate. It was so satisfying. I then crawled the “steps” I would usually do to get to the bathroom but my legs could do no more steps. And I was not going to get blood on my scooter. I think it’s equally as hard to crawl and atrophied shoulders as it would be to walk but if my legs won’t walk they just won’t.

I flopped into the bathtub and then got into my bed. I’m pretty sure I met my steps for the day and more. I still went out later in my wheelchair to take photos because I honestly believe that a photo a day keeps all of the bad thoughts away! My daughter was so happy to get the food for lunch. Success. Made the daughter happy!

Just one day in the life of me.

*this is my 5th intestinal bleed. It stopped 2 days later.

I said I wouldn’t look at my stats…then I looked at my stats

My blog…I try to focus on the purpose of my blog. Coping with PTSD, the ways I cope, sharing my coping, sharing my crashes, sharing my ups, sharing my life in hopes it connects to other’s lives.

Getting out of my own head and the same rolling around thoughts that send me into a tailspin is key. That is not always easy to do. I try distraction. I try mindfulness. I try prayer. I try breathing! I try photography. I try outings.

Yesterday on the way to take photos with my husband I tried to NOT let the focus be ” Will strong smells be there. Will their be people with strong perfume. Will the new mats in the car make me paranoid of wheezing and cause a chain reaction.” I was mostly successful. Right now, as excited as I am to see my husband, he is bringing home his newly refurbished bike. Will that bike kill me due to my chemical sensitivities. Will it get smells on him that will get in the house so that I have to then clean with my leg and shoulder that hurts like a BITCH today because of this stupid muscle disease? It’s like, PTSD is bad but the fear of a PTSD moment is sometimes worse for me as it is this ongoing anxiety that is never ending. I go there and then I go down down down. I get angry at those who caused it. I get angry at those who supported those who caused it (the PTSD). I think about my family that I no longer have. I feel just straight up in despair.

I was actually sitting here in my bed after a sleepless night due to muscle pain thinking ” My husband needs a different wife. He deserves to have a wife that he doesn’t have to DEAL with. All of my ISSUES.” If you ask him he would say he cherishes me and that I have all of these other good qualities and he never thinks of me as a burden. But I wish better for him.Self pity. Never good. I was thinking all of this when a hawk flew up outside my window. So I got my camera and left my bed only to realize my tremor and shoulder were not up for photography. Which made me angry. But then that hawk. He was so beautiful perched on the tree. So beautiful. His mother or father or sibling was calling him from across the yard. I could only take a few pictures but wow. He was breathtaking. I came to upload him onto my account here. I don’t look at my stats because I don’t want my blog to be about stats. I don’t want it to be about views or likes. That is too facebooky to me. But then I actually looked at them. I didn’t know you could see month to month. And APPARENTLY I used to get 6000 views a month of my blog. Now I barely get 3,000 views. I guess that is better than no views. Yet, somehow I feel like I’m just not good enough. More self pity I know but it’s true. I don’t know what about my life USED to be interesting to follow that now isn’t. I mean 3000 people aren’t just on vacation. I just hope somehow to someone I am making some sort of difference baring my soul on here. I really really do. Here is my sweet hawk friend: