The Illusion! Vanished...

The oft used metaphor of our life crumbling falling away as a series of losses when faced with a chronic illness just doesn't fit for my hypersomnia of central origin.

For me the loss was always there, hidden, pushed into a corner of my life. I have kept the laziness appearance well hidden, coming out of the closet has been difficult. I am phobic about people knocking on my door to reveal my secret side, that I don't answer it! 

I have lived two lives, my pretend social-professional life and my real, secret sleepy life... If ever, I let it happen that those two worlds crossed over, I would hear gasps of shock or rumour. Never could they believe... the woman who is so together at work, such a great mother... you would not believe her to be the same person!

Once only occupying a corner of my world, IH is now is at the centre so hiding from the disorder only serves to completely isolate me. People hear that I have a neurological condition but never say... wow, that explains everything!  They saw the illusion disappear as if it was never there and I am naked - my sleepy, disinhibited, sloppy but real self. The loss is present but bewildering to those who knew me as before.

The crying horse

I started the day in utter dismay.  Recently I have received a new diagnosis of Narcelepsy and recent rejection from work for the same. They do not think I can be a clinician anymore!  Why? Because I seem too sleepy during the 4 week job shadow.

A letter from the disability insurance company sits at my computer....  last payment is in August. Two months away from poverty and eviction from my home.  My employer said that the union will appeal.  "You are resourceful, you can manage" my employer states with authority when I know that my child support is less than the rent I pay and I am not eligible for either Employment Insurance or provincial welfare, and my bank accounts were plundered to pay the legal fees from that asshole landlord suing me.

My house is a mess... more than messy... there is a very unpleasant smell of cat box and rotting food; piles of dirty things where they not ought to be.

On my calendar:
11 am       Equine Therapy
1 pm         Meeting at the school
2 pm         Pay the Daycare and the "I need to talk to you about the boy" message
2:30 pm     Pick boy up from Behavioural Program

The week before, I had met with the Child Development Association who could fund one-on-one support for the daycare.  I had realized the intensity of the situation.  The daycare was refusing to care for my son due to his behaviour and I was being forced back to work in September.  My child care situation was dire.

Phone is ringing... The school!  School has started 30 minutes ago.

Ok... Focus...first the boy must go to school and he is still sleeping so I bedaggle him until he finally gets ready and he arrives his usual 1.5 hours late for school.  I drive, not remembering the act, to start my "Parent Mindfulness Training" at the Therapeutic Riding Program.  I think... how hard can this be?  I have experience with horses; I know how to be with a horse.

After a careful lecture about how you must be calm before the horse will be calm which all seems reasonable but the pressure of the stress is piling behind my eyes. I try to rub it away. They ask us to do mindfulness awareness exercise and I can't breath. I choke on thick stale air trapped in my lungs and  the back of my throat burns as it collapses.  Tears are welling and I gasp and shake.  I want to run.  'This is relaxation induced anxiety,' my rational mind informs me which does the trick to subdue my emotional being.

The woman beside me says, "I am afraid of horses" shaking her head.  I resolve to get through the next hour because, shit, I ain't afraid of any horse!

We are asked to select a horse and immediately another participant selects the most beautiful horse Belle.   I select the small brown one, Fedora.  I whisper the name but it sounds wrong.  I am corrected several times and my confidence is shattered, my voice awkwardly screeches, "Fedora"

I say, "I talk to my cats all the time," and in my head I ask 'why can't I say Fedora?  This horse hates me.'

Fedora's eyes are relentlessly looking at the dirt, unwavering, and her body is frozen.  I shakily compliment her coat and her mane to try warming up to her but I feel like it is too intimate of an act to talk to an animal with so many people watching me. I have only ever nattered on with animals in private.

My sense is that Fedora is unhappy to be here and is just waiting for the half hour to be over. Then I realize that was my thought, not the horse's.  I start to talk about Fedora in the third person and that makes her even more pissed at me, although ever so politely standing there. Her halter appears loose, dangling under her lower palette and tightly closed mouth and the lead is held by the emotionless handler, standing perfectly square at her other shoulder.

The young facilitator, who is just like me in happier times, annoyingly bright and cheerful, says, "you see how the eyes are softened, one ear is facing you, a very subtle relaxation cue so you can step forward." Big teeth shine inside her big smile so I look away quickly.  I step forward and Fedora picks up one rear hock but suddenly looks more erect in response to a car driving by.  I think, if only I could just pet her, It will be ok and then I would hear the familiar hoouf sounds and wet lips smacking, but the horse remains silent.  My eyes are focused on the soft brown coat shining along a ripple of tension on Fedora's neck. The facilitator makes suggestions because I am lost as to what to do.  I am in pain, in my shoulders, my hips.  I shift my legs to ease the lower back pain and the horse responds.  I am asked to breath deeply but it comes out in gasps.

I am on the verge of crying again.  I am rejected.  I am rejected by my employer, this young girl and now this horse.  I have failed as a mother producing an unfit child and I can't lift my hand to a horse.  The facilitator asks me to start doing mindfulness exercise and I start with my head and the tears squeeze out, reluctantly.  I feel exposed.  There are many people around and I stiffly face the shoulder of the horse attempting to hide from the handler.  I can't sustain eye contact with the therapist at the wall of the arena though she is acutely aware that I am struggling.  I smell the familiar 'barn' smell which brings fond comfortable memories when I was around horses in my youth and try to focus on that briefly.  Stepping back, I cry a bit more freely, just enough for some relief to go forward.  I burry my head in my arms, shamed by my loss of emotional control.  The therapist brings a tissue and the young facilitator congratulates me.  For what?  I am having a shit day and now I am crying?

I look over and Belle's neck is turned sharply and her head leaning toward the other participant and she is delightfully petting her. Then I cringe to see the horse phobic woman with one hand on the horse and the other waving in delight. She is ecstatic.  I look back and I am not even close enough to reach and touch Fedora and her head is fixed, still looking in the same spot she did 30 minutes prior. I have failed.  The facilitator says, " I think you made a connection with this horse, don't you?  You can ask for the same horse next time." I hum and respond, "I would like to meet all the horses" diplomatically as I can, envious of the two other participants successful connection with the their horses.

During the debrief, I say,"I am in so much pain so during mindfulness I feel it more."  I infer physical pain but tears bubble and a tissue is profusely offered and my emotional pain becomes apparent. We are dismissed and I walk briskly to the car, sit and cry for a few minutes.

Later today it is confirmed, the boy is failing and he has been suspended from daycare until he can have a one-on-one attendant. The care giver repeats the familiar clamadities and I wave STOP and start crying again and I accept her hug.  I must go now and pick up my boy with all the love a mother can muster in times like these.

How I got to be Canadian

So often, I try to let Martin know that people have different cultures, especially to ensure he is at least aware of his french canadien heritage. Today I decided to read up on my family history and learned that the earliest McBryans emigrated as a married couple with a whack of kids in 1820 and had one more child born in Quebec and the brother and his wife also came later and had a whack of kids too but settled in Ontario, and I think most of those two generations lived and died in ontario, so I descended from that brother but I am not sure who emigrated first but it looks like it was two or three Roman Catholic, siblings from Ulster of that generation emigrated well before the potato famine in 1847-51 and most eventually settled in Ontario, except one of the youngest of the children named Wilson probably born around the time of the famine occured or just before, moved out west and he had my great grandfather, Henry, who married my great grandmother, had a whack of kids and then Henry abandoned the family, never to be found again. My grandfather, Ken, was the eldest boy, born in 1913 and as a youngster, he had to support his mom and a bunch of young kids by picking up coal off the rail tracks and other chores, but by selling eggs and having boarders my great grandmother raised her many children single handedly in the great depression. My great Uncle married into a indigenous family in Hay River and has a large family up there. I beleive that my grandmother was born from an roman catholic irish family in ontario as well and she let me in on a little secret, that they met at a 'hall dance' for the soldiers and granddad had some kind of dishonourable discharge, the details are in the grave with him! (And the hall dance introduction a bit scadalous for the times, but city born granny  was getting past marriagability age) so granny head out west to help granddad take care of his mom in the country to have five kids of her own. They had only ten grandchildren and Martin is the first born natural great grandchild that my grandparents never met.  So martin's Canadian mcbryan ansesters are Wilson, Henry, Ken (13), Theresa (45), me (74) making martin sixth generation Canadian but took nearly two centuries... because most mcbryans married and had children in their 30's, but with Martin's french Canadian side, his father side having born and raised in Quebec, it possible that he has further canadian roots, or possibly Metis?

Maybe my ancester who emigrated to Quebec knew martin's dad's ancesters... how big could quebec be in 1820?  So it was an interesting thing to read the research my mom did shortly after her father's death five years ago, but I was too preoccupied to bother learning about it all.

As for other ancestrial culture issues, I remember my grandfather spoke of a feud between brothers and whether that was why Wilson came west or if that happened in Ireland, it wasn't clear because he had lost the memory when I was hearing the tale.

So my reading about the persecution of the roman catholic irish and political famine coupled with my grandfather attitudes from being raised in the depression, fatherless, it really makes sense how a lot of my values and famial patterns are actually whispers from my ancesters culture. For example, the pattern of having children late in life and close together in age means that our generations are precisely defined and my 9 siblings/cousins are only over a ten year span, so half of us have started families in the last five years, but also a high rate of single parents, and alcohol abuse prevelent through the generations.

(In contrast, Martin's dad's family had 4 kids spaced 5 years apart so the age range of martins cousin's is over 30 years, although one of his cousins, about 9 now, was born to a woman approaching 50 and she BF past the age of fifty until her daughter was in kindergarten! How remarkable!)  

So related to ancestrial culture, in the NVC group, was that I usually attribute my values to my own impoverished single parented upbringing, but it is a stronger explaination for my strong feelings about the disenfranchised deserving fairness and restoration, yet apathy war and my own frugal habits and anxiety about food security and debt.

But as simple, healthy, inexpensive and easy potatoes are prepared, I don't eat many, because we always had garden of potatoes and on our table and granddad would refuse dinner without a potato on the plate! Now that is Irish!

Narcoleptic CTB

I am 38 years old and have lived with a disorder that defined the way I identify who I am.  I have always felt that I must be undisciplined and lazy.  I struggled with falling asleep in my high school classes and enjoyed sleeping on the school bus.  I had a very difficult time sleeping at night and I had a very difficult time waking up in the morning.  I was tired and I felt that I couldn't follow instructions all the time. 

It conditioned me to be anti-social and not spend time with friends.  I would avoid super crowded places and parties.  I liked to stay in control of the situation and didn't like drinking or the idea of taking drugs to alter my experience.

Perhaps I had too much of that already!  When I was around 7 or 8 years old, I would have strange dreaming experiences.  In the middle of the night I would wake up terrified because I was awake but in a dream-like state. I couldn't move my body and was totally paralysed. I was blind to everything but my dream.  I felt out of control.  I struggled to get control of my body again and after an excruciating time I would wake up panicked.  Then I would want to fall asleep but was afraid because I would experience hallucinations, again paralysed, be out of control.  I was afraid to sleep.

I remember to get in control of that experience I would do something akin to CBT.  I would say to myself:

1. This happens all the time, I need to accept it.  There is nothing I can do to change that it will happen.
2. If it is going to happen, I don't need to be afraid, since it is predictable. 
3. I am never actually harmed by the experience, so I don't need to be afraid.
4. If I relax, it shortens the experience.  If I relax I am not panicked and it is easier to fall asleep or wake up and forget about it.
5. If I relax I can direct the experience, even though I am unable to move my body, I can learn to control the dream content.

By the time I was in University I would enter sleep via a pre-planned dream, although I never remembered the outcome.  I would plan my schedule to never have two classes in a row, limited morning classes and would find good places to nap between classes and studied at night when I had the most focus.  I used great cognitive strategies and was able to change the way I behaved and thought about the intrusion of REM into my everyday living.  I was disciplined and defiantly NOT lazy after all.

Sleep Paralysis Explaination

Three Legal Matters Too Many

I put my child into Foster Care and although it FELT like the right thing to do to give him a safe place to stay, I was wondering about my safety.  Was I safe here?

I am sitting in my empty house wondering the next episode of harrassment would happen, letting the laundry pile up because the laundry room is obviously an unsafe place to be after having my sons laundry flung out onto the dirty ground. I see my pile of dirty laundry and remember that the transisition house had a nice washer and dryer set to do my laundry.

Overwhelmed with the problem and lack of support by the police, I call up the transistion house and ask them what I should do and they give me a bunch of numbers to call.

I have a lot to do. I work on organizing my case to present to the Arbitrator who will hear why I not be evicted. I pile up more dirty laundry in the living room. My son is safe at the Foster family but I am still realing from the meeting I had with them on Friday.

I have a lawyers meeting on Tuesday regarding the arbitration and perhaps that will fix everything?  I go to the meeting and he tells me that it might be tricky to cancel the Voluntary Care Agreement with the ministry.

The lawyer says."Don't beleive anything a socail worker says.  You will need legal help if you have trouble cancelling the agreement. Can you get legal aid?" 

Of course I can't get legal aid because I make too much money but not enough money to hire a lawyer.

Now I think back to the meeting at the social workers office. In my home, the social worker had appealed to me on so many levels that it was in my son's best interest to stay with the foster parents  for a rest to get well. I asked if I can have all the access I can manage and he reassured me that I would have unlimited access because it was not an apprehension, it was voluntary.   The social worker reassured me that all I had to do was give 7 days verbal notice and the agreement would be over. 

I emailed the social worker and the foster family with a detailed schedule of times during the week and the weekends that I could see my son. My son knew these parents from being in Respite care when I was sick.  My son agreed that it was safer for him to be with them and more fun than being at the house with all the yelling and banging.  In the light of the difficult time it was the only resource to me to be able to focus my attention on the pressing issue of the arbitration.

At the meeting there were the parents and a young child they were babysitting, my son's social worker and their social worker.  This heafty woman with square eyes leans into me and says, "Your schedule isn't going to work with the families weekly routine." 

I knew this not to to be true as I had a clear understanding of the families routine because my Son had been in Respite Care with them and I kept THEIR routine in mind when I devised it two weeks prior and sent it to them.  I look across at the Foster Parents with the question, "Why bring this up at the last minute?" and they looked away.

I think, ok, let the negiotiations begin and we go back and forth and I get just about everything I had asked for but no over nights or weekends.

Why not overnights? Because they need a settling period. I negotiated an overnight 4 week later.

Why no time on Weekends?  After all I just spent the last few dollars I had on Gymnastics.  They said it interupted the weekend routine too much.

My son is witness to all this and starting to pace the room and get agitated so I forget to ask about phone calls and say, "what time do I drop him off" holding back the tears.  I will have to figure out how to get more time with my son later, I think.

I can't not cry when I let him go into the foster parents care... he willingly goes, waves at me nonchalantly,"bye mom" and I start to sob, turning to the door quickly and leave.

I have no contact with my son for the entire weekend but the social worker says he had a great time, so that is a releif. Then I get messages that he was sick with a stomach flu on Monday. He lay listless at afterschool care and then puked in the car.  Tuesday's email says he is not at school so no visit today. 

I was aching to see my son. I was in a state of total grief.  I couldn't see my son and the lawyer just told me I might have a hard time ending the voluntary agreement. I am virtually homeless.

I walk down the hall and there is the transistion society womans lunch. I only knew of it in passing but I had to go that afternoon to apply for legal aid that I knew I wouldn't qualify and then go to the ministry afterwards. I thought I might just have lunch. On the door was a sign, "legal advocate for woman today."   I sit with my coffee and just trying to not cry as I hear a woman say, "anyone with housing issues?" 

I put up my hand and start in on my problem but then she sends me to speak with a Belinda, who apparently is a outreach worker.  I tell her the problem and she suggested that I stay at the transistion house.  Why?  Because I am afraid to live in my own home.

Later that day I called the transistion house and they had one room left with 2 beds!  I could not beleive it.  I asked them to hold the bed and I would cancel the agreement and bring my son into the transition house. Why did I not think of this before?

After being declined at legal aid, I raced across town and demanded to see the social worker.  I said I want to see my son.  I don't care if  he pukes all over me and my car.  I am his mother and this is what happens to mothers. Kids puke on them!

He accused me, "you only want to see your son for your own needs, not his!" 

"I don't know how he really is doing because I have had no contact with him for 5 days!" I reply.

I explained to him that I want to cancel the agreement and take him into the womans shelter instead of this plan of limited access for a month.  Mother bear wakes up and says, "I don't like it and I want to see my son."

"You don't know what element you are going to expose him to at the transistion house. You don't want to bring your son into a worse situation when he is safe just where he is?" the social worker says, trying to stop me from cancelling the agreement

"Well, I don't know, I haven't had any contact with my son for 5 days" I explain.

We agree that I should see him that afternoon, vomiting and all.  When I pick him up, he brightens up and he is starving. He eats more than I ever saw him eat. 

When it is time to return, he crawls up to me and says, "I never let you go mom"  I ask him to be stoic but he clings to me for an hour, he can't stop crying.  The foster dad prys him from my arms and I leave knowing that this must end soon.

I go straight into the transistion house that night. 

I have another visit planned the next day so I take him to the transistion house to see it. I promised him that I would see him at the daycare after school. There is nothing in the agreement that prevents this.   I had already called the ministry that morning and canceled the agreement so no harm to see my son as often as possible. I promised that I would stop by at the daycare and see him again and that only 7 more sleeps he would be with me.

He is not at daycare and then I find out that the Foster Parents were changing his daycare arrangements.  I break my promise; I am outraged. I try calling him and they screened my call and then later I learn that they called the house we fled because I heard his voice on the answering machine days later, "why are you not answering the phone?"

I see a lawyer for the second legal matter I have. The child support case.  I walk into her office and recognize her from PAC meetings.  She says to me, very kindly, if I don't want to share information about my legal matter, that it was ok to cancel. I said that this legal matter was the least pressing but she had offered a free 30 minute consult.  I told her the entire problem. At the end of a very generous consult (I said,"I should pay for your time!") she said, "you have 3 legal matters too many." 

I resolved to put my legal matters to rest, one at a time... The ministry matter was the most pressing so that is where I started.

I see him at school the next day and he is delighted to see me.  He says to me that he crys everynight and then pukes.  He said that last night he woke up puking.  I decided that 4 nights of puking at night was enough reason to take him to see the doctor.

I knew what I was doing. I knew he was puking because he was super anxious at night.  I finally listened to my son.

I had the doctor call the ministry to let them know that there was no medical reason for my son not to be with me.  He is a great doctor for Martin, a man he can trust to take out his stitches and tell that he pukes at night at the foster parents house.

I have to leave Martin with the foster parents so I take him to the daycare. He says," Mommy, I never let you go" and the foster dad comes into the daycare.  I thought he would wait until the daycare would call him.   He walks into the daycare and my son holds on tight. 

He whispers, "I never let you go, mommy"  No tears, just a resolution.

I say, "this is his daycare, his friends and his care providers.  I'm not going to make a big scene and am not letting him go unless he goes willingly."

The foster father's hunger got the best of him, so at that moment he is pining for dinner, I say, this is a voluntary agreement and there is no restrictions of access.  If you agree, he can stay with me tonight and I will bring him to school tomorrow at 8:45 am.

I have my son back in my care.   I am releived on one legal matter after a brief phone call with the ministry.

Perils of being a single mother

This blog is about my current state of housing. I wanted to live in this house for several reasons: 
·       It is across from the Child’s elementary School.
·       The neighbourhood is a R – 2 designation, mostly single family homes, duplexes and town houses
·       This property was on a very large lot with high deer fence around most of the perimeter, a paved area a large storage shed, a large deck and therefore appropriate for an active child.

The first challenge was that the landlord wanted a Pet deposit.  "Get a goldfish" was his response when I explained that I did not own a pet.  I wanted the property badly so I took it.

I explained that I had an active child, to this they said,"No problem, if they complain, ignore it."

Then the complaints started, that because I was getting my son up at 6:30 am to get ready for school so this was waking them up and that we were still noisy at 10:30 pm.  Since the tenants were quite loud, with parties and domestic disputes the landlord suggested that I call in bylaw complaints to settle them down.  I made quite a few calls.

Unfortunately my son was into the shared mail box.  He played this game "mail man" and it was fine when it was my mail but when I explained that it wasn't, then his game went undercover and the mail ended up in the bushes.  So this all resulted in a written warning.

To round out the warning letter, the landlord also accused me of allowing my friends to use the washing machine.  My homemaker finished my laundry by removing it from the washer into the dryer.  Then the Landlord accused my homemaker that she was doing her own laundry which of course was ridculous as my elderly homemaker could not possibly transport significant amounts of her own laundry on her bike. 

While this was going on, I made a request to the city to upgrade the streets and alleys near the school on the block that I live, where the house is located. I took my son and canvassed the neighbouring residents and also called the landlord to inform him that the city was committed to making some upgrades to the local roads. During this phone call the Landlord got angry at me and told me that his fence is build on city property and therefore my enquires might expose him and he will have to tear his fence down at his expense.  I responded that the Landlord had no right to demand that I get his permission as I was acting upon my own interest as a resident of the city and a parent of a student attending the affected school.  Of course I did not agree to get his permission when it was in regards to the safety of children.

These tenants that produced the complaints were evicted for non payment of rent.  Then as I was reading the local paper, a photo of my neighbour caught my eye. Then I saw, "WANTED" and a requrest to call crimestoppers. I called the police and she was arrested.

He asked me to move into the lower suite.  I looked at it and decided against it.  Then he said that I will have no choice but move in because he will give me a notice to move out otherwise.  I said that I was too tired to move, the suite was not adequate and it was a poor value.  After the verbal threat and warning letter, I start to feel unwell.  I reminded the Landlord that I was on Long Term Disability and trying to recover but was very ill and couldn’t move into a different suite even if I wanted to.  So he starts the process to evict me for cause and false representation (that I was employed).

This is met with an application to protect my tenancy.  Meanwhile, he puts a violent couple into the lower suite.  They are pictures of hard core drug use.  The kind of people you would not share a cup of pop; "riden hard and put away wet" as a friend used to decribe this kind of person.  The man has tattoos up his neck. The landlord ripped out the ceiling and put in sound proofing but these renovations were often followed by a drinking party with loud music,and I detected a heavy smell of marijuana being consumed and these parties were attended by the Landlord. 

While shopping at the thrift store, I noticed the new tenants arguing in public over buying a fork. Many of the customers noticed this.  When I mentioned this to the landlord, he called it “A Lovers’ Quarrel”

One weekend night after watching the entire "anne of Green Gables" movie with my son and retiring quite late, I was awoken by 4 loud bangs, followed by a startling shouting, “See how that fucking feels!” which I assumed in my sleepy state to be domestic battery and I called the non-emergency police line.  About 5 minutes later police were on the scene and the Applicant heard loud knocking on the door in two series of knocks. Then I heard some loud discussion occur, but no yelling or scream that would indicate police brutality as the landlord indicates in a letter a few days later.  They settled down.

About 10 days later, I called the police again when I heard another fight. I heard a car leave the yard moments before the police came and they immediately settled down but then he was arrested, for which the police told me was for another matter.  Then the next time they saw me they said, “Don’t call the police” followed by laughter.  I said as calmly as possible,“you don’t need to talk to me” and I left my new vehicle parked down the street.

The next day, the police came to the Applicant’s door at 9:40 pm.They interviewed me and my son while he was in the bath. They asked me what I had done in the previous twenty minutes so I said:

• We came home late (around 8:45 pm)
• I ran across the house to answer the ringing phone.
• The child threw some candies on the floor.
• We ate some Chinese food.
• I started the dishwasher (it was running)
• We sat in his room sharing pomegranate on his bed with the me in the rocking chair.
• I put my son in the bath
• I cleaned the cat litter box

Later the Child said he was embarrassed that the police going into the bathroom while he was bathing, although I gave them permission to do that.  The Police had told me that they were looking for anyone who was battered.  Given that my son was naked, they could clearly see he was not battered and was quietly enjoying his bath.

My sleep deteriorated and I got more ill. I saw the doctor again regarding my health that was seemingly deteriorating over the previous month, now with two weeks of extreme anxiety.  He recommended a tranquilizer but I declined.  He sent me to the psychiatrist and he suggested that I could increase the pain medication which should calm me down.  Since I had just started the new medication he suggested I wait a week before increasing it.

I left the house to stay with friends over the christmas holiday and a week later I stopped shaking with every noise and slam of a door.  I didn't increase the medication because it is very expensive.  I stayed away for a week and a half and was feeling better.

I decided that I would put my son into foster care because although he was coping better than me, it seemed that he was accepting the threats to me as normal. I thought carefully about it and decided:

· the noises are violent actions, vibrations and angry words and totally inappropriate for a Child of 5 to hear and will increase anxiety and loss of security for the Child.

· The tenants yelled obscenities in regards to the Applicant daily living activities and therefore not good for the Child to hear. He may consider this normal adult behaviour, which of course is not and will increase the risk of him becoming unruly.

· The Tenants of Unit B sometimes bang when the Child or Applicant drop something. The Child is developing some anxiety about his normal bodily actions.

· It takes too much effort to keep an active Child still to minimize disturbance of other tenants interfering with peaceful enjoyment of the home.

· The stress caused by harassment makes it difficult for the Applicant to sleep properly and therefore not functioning well in the morning. This makes it impossible to take the Child to school by 8:45 am and therefore interfering with his education.

 

I made the arrangements over email during the break from the house.  We came back to the house and I had to do one load of my son's laundry to set him up for his time at the foster home.  I took a chance and put the laundry in the dark room that had a door opening to the other tenants apartment.  When I put the clothing into the dryer, they flung into the room and told me to remove my clothing from the dryer or else they would throw them onto the yard.  I fled the room and moments latter my laundry was flung all over the wet ground.

I called the police and asked for a Peace Bond.  They said that I have called twice on these people and both times there was nothing going on but over the last year I called 17 times.  Then I asked them why they might call the police on me while I was giving my son a bath and then a second time when I was gone.  The police said that I had too low a tolerance and that I should find a new place to live.

There is a notice to inspect the place posted at my door today.  There is no other evidence served to me by the landlord so I have no reason to beleive that he can gather any evidence simply by conducting an inspection.  I wish I had someone who could be a witness, so I will just leave.  There is not much else I can do.

I put my son into temporary foster care today and sit here waiting for the hearing in 13 days.  I have plenty of things to do next week but feel hollow and empty without him here.  As I hear more domestic violence downstairs, I know it is the right thing to do.

The Anxious Mother

I remember precisely the first time I had a panic attack in highschool.  I was having a period and I was not well supported with this by anyone except my best friend at the time!   I was in the grocery store by myself reading the packages of feminine products and I was queasy about the reproductive system and really clueless as to how it all worked.  I remember feeling like "this is awkard and embarrassing!"  I choose a product and went to the grocery line up. 

Of course there was someone in front and someone behind me in the grocery line up and it felt like time was extending itself.  I felt my stomach heave... I was going to vomit!  Then I couldn't think and my knees gave out briefly.  (After writing this, I have since learned that this is Cataplexy.)  I had to go and sit down for 20 minutes to regain myself and then I purchased the product.  I figured this was normal for having a period, that I should expect fainting spells during that time.  Of course this was an anxiety, which triggered a cataplectic attack.

When you have an anxiety disorder...  I think it is fair to say that it is sometimes impossible to tell what will cause an attack and when it will not.  If it was totally predictable, then it wouldn't be just normal anxiety and then it wouldn't be a disorder, right?  If I knew that everytime I examined feminine hygienge products, I would have one, then it would be very easy to avoid it or learn to cope after multiple exposures or choosing a different store where I wouldn't be stuck in a line up; but that is not the case.

The anxiety was more the cumulative result of being unsupported where my mother was constantly humiliating me for entering puberty, through no fault of my own and for not educating me on the subject of menstration.  The education in health classs was inadequate. I worked a part-time job to obtain the funds for the products otherwise I stole them from the vending machine at school (which was frequent because I also wanted to buy lunch.)  The anxiety fully exerted itself when I felt trapped in the store line up.  Just remembering the incident is bringing on symptoms of a racing heart, mild panic and agitation.

I hate to blame one person for my anxiety, but my mother also has an anxiety disorder and I only begun to truly recognize it when I invited her to live with me.  BIG MISTAKE!  I have spent my entire life taking care of my mother in some way, whether just checking in and buying a few groceries, ensuring she had a place to live (I gave her my apartment, for example.)   However, her anxiety is contagious.  I was able to cope with my own anxiety, although somewhat costly, but by living by myself, I always had a place of refuge so that I could hide my utter exhaustion of living (due to narcolepsy) and I balanced my life's demands with solitude and this was very effective!

I was totally unaware of this coping stratagy until my son was born and then my ability to hide became impossible.  After living with my mother for a year, I was loosing the abilty to parent calmly and I was unable to control my behaviour with my young son who refused to go to bed!  I took Ativan for a week and then I was diagnosed with GAD and told to get off them and start Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and Counselling ... all fine and dandy... the right thing to do!

I know I can handle my anxiety but the limiting factor is how to deal with my son when I can't take the time to relax.  (Sending him to full time daycare and taking weekends off doesn't mean anything because I can't shake that I am still a mother even in his absence!)  The way I am dealing with this anxiety is working on my relationship with my son. 

I tried some play therapy with the goal of connection and my son and I started a program to help children cope with greif.  We are not in acute stage of grief, but I see the program helping already! It is helping me and my son with communicating difficult emotions.  We have had a great week and I see a vast improvement in our communication after the first session! 

There is a parent support group.  I cried unexpextedly because a few participants recently lost one or two parents (in one family... 4 grandparents died!)  In this way, the group is not that good of a fit for me but there is one mom in a similiar to my situation, recently moving here with her children and feeling isolated. Like me, she is not experiencing acute greif but is dealing with changes with a child and needs support to provide a healthy experience for her child dealing with loss (the girl attends the same school as my son) so I think this will be great!  I can't wait till we attend again.

She gave me a ride home and I was telling her how much I love this town and how supported I feel here.  She asked me if I attended other support groups.  At first I felt like a fink!  How can I say I feel supported when the truth is I am still very new to the town and I don't have any close friends in this town yet. I attend the Unitarian Church once or twice a month but that hardly can account for my sense of feeling supported.  I took a communication course.  I receive very good health care. 

In retrospect, in comparison to the last town I lived in where I felt outcasted, this is heaven! Her and I agreed that we need to pick a place and make it our home for a long time and become settled.  The psychiatrist who gave me the GAD diagnosis said the same thing.  I think in this new house near my son's school, in this town, I have finally come home.  I am in a place to settle down, make this my home and leave my anxiety behind me.