nccotus

for instance, in my last post, I used the word “humorous” to talk about the feelings I have in the moments I go through when I am moving through a bad and serious situation while struggling with a partial complex seizure. I also used the word “silly,” which was more on target. Obviously, there was nothing “humorous” about putting down my mother’s cat after her death. It was a sick situation. “Sick” would have been a better word.

I struggle at all times to be understood because of the British/American/Canadian language differences—it’s just too much. Given the underlying organic personality disorder blocked and misunderstood as an ill-tempered woman refusing to accept a diagnosis of schizophrenia and/or manic depression and or both ie “scizoaffectic manic depressive”—what a mouthful—my first diagnosis after 3 nights without sleep in terror at my parents’ home after a breakdown. After years of sex and boozing and coffee and cigarettes and a horrible eating disorder and constipation and a panic disorder and rage reactions. All of which needed desperately to be address and instead I felt written off.

sidelined.

my psychotherapist asked if I felt misunderstood, I didn’t. After the psychiatrist said that, I instantly did.

ever since then I have been trying to explain myself.

These days I have my faith.

”Those who have the Lord lack nothing. God alone is sufficient.” St. Theresa of Avila