It Is all about me. *sigh*

WordPress has changed a bit since the last time I tried to write something here. I’m sure I’ll figure it all out as I need to.

I’m here because I want to write. I feel bad when I don’t write. Something is missing in my life.

But here’s the challenge. Everything I write eventually ends up being all about me. I am so sick and tired of everything being about me. I can do okay if I have a topic, a theme. But lately, not so much. My life has been terribly full, but not anything that fits into any particular category, except the ‘me’ category. *sigh*

So here I sit. And I guess I’m going to write about me. My life. My thoughts. I hope other people aren’t as thoroughly bored as I am with it all.

Since last I wrote a few changes. The house we’ve been living in, renting, was sold by the landlord right out from under us. By the Grace of [insert name of deity/higher power of choice here], there is a house for rent just the other side of the moshav. It is significantly smaller than this one, and it is only one house (here we have two). So most of my ‘functional’ time is being spent sorting, organizing, packing, and worrying how we are going to fit ourselves into this much smaller home.

It is a very nice house, actually, nicer that this one, better laid out. It has no bathtub, and only one toilet. One of the first things is to install a second toilet. At least initially it will have to be outside on the mirpesset,* in an alcove intended for a clothes washer. Hopefully a curtain will provide enough privacy while we are getting all the other urgent needs taken care of.

Another ‘first thing’ is getting a shed prepared to be habitable by my oldest son. It’s a nice little building that needs a new roof (old one has asbestos), new windows (at least it *has* windows), a (new) floor. Possibly a new door. It needs electricity and running water – and possibly another toilet. I’m pushing for a composting toilet, we’ll see how that goes. He’s not getting an internet connection out there. If wifi from the house won’t reach, he’ll have to come into the house. The biggest upside of this shed living? He’ll have the only wooden floor on the moshav. After eleven years of concrete and stone floors, this is no small thing.

The house needs new doors, and a new water heater. Oy, it needs *so* much work. Our lease takes effect April 1, but we have until the end of June to get out of this house, so hopefully we can some how make it all work? B”H**


In other news, I passed my driving test first time for the joystick, but I still haven’t got a wheelchair van, nor am I likely to see it anytime soon. It’s been more than three years, and it will probably be four years since this all started, before I get the van. I AM getting the van. The Husband wrote two extremely large checks that are supposed to be for the van, so it has become extremely real to me. Sixty thousand shekel in the hole for this van – and I’m told I should absolutely certainly and for real have it before July. June 30th anyone? Yeah. I can’t say I’m excited, I’m too busy being discouraged and depressed. We could really use that van for moving, but … yeah.


In still other news, my youngest daughter is just about to get out of the army. She has roughly six weeks, and as long as no new war comes along she’ll be enjoying sleeping in by the end of April. She is ready to be done, and we are all looking forward to it.


My middle son and his wife have – for the time (I hope) – cut themselves off from me entirely. Without going into he said/she saids I’m sure there is fault on both sides. I’ve been terribly hurt, but I am doing better now, and healing continues. I am hoping that if/when they decide they want something from me, I will be in a condition to cope. Until then, I keep them in my prayers, and – I don’t think I have words for this. Not the right words, anyway. I hold onto the love that I have for them, hold it in my heart, and I hope that somehow, someway they benefit from it. I don’t know. I just don’t have the words.


As I refer to healing, it seems important to insert a little background here. This is public, so I’m going to edit myself pretty severely but the general outlines will hopefully suffice. I was horribly abused growing up. The whole time I was growing up. Included in the abuse was deliberate torture, enough so that it actually kind of blurs, and specific incidents don’t stand out unless there was something really special about them.

A little over a year ago (it was in December) I had to see some doctors for the National Insurance (Americans can think of Social Security). I receive disability support but they have me listed as less disabled than I currently am. My condition has worsened over the years (I have M.S. – Multiple Sclerosis), but also the last time I was interviewed by one of their doctors he flat out lied on his report. Annoying but not unheard of for sure. He basically said that I don’t need help with dressing (Hah!), eating, toileting… Which I’m sure is why I’m still sitting here in my nightgown and needing a bath at 2pm on a Monday because The Husband had to go to J’lem (Jerusalem) for a job interview today. — Oh, one more fun thing – TH (The Husband) is job hunting! Just to make sure we don’t miss any of the big life stressors at once! —

I think I got distracted. Yes, well. Went to see the doctors and one of them was a true sadist. I mean that literally. He poked and prodded at me, and asked unanswerable questions (of the ‘have you stopped beating your wife, Senator? variety). And he smiled. His eyes lit up with a joy that was terrible to see. I saw it. I felt it. He was enjoying my suffering, he was happy as a pig in mud.

What happened? I can only assume I went into shock. It was weeks before I realized that I had completely shut down, had become – for lack of better words – emotionally catatonic. Tharn. I’ve had way too much experience with sadists enjoying themselves at my expense. This doctor triggered what I’ve taken to calling an attack of P.T.S.D. Again, for lack of better words. I’d gone completely ’round the twist.

One of the results of my special upbringing and six children is that I am very good at continuing to function no matter how messed up is my internal landscape. I don’t know if anyone was really aware of how bad it was. *I* wasn’t aware. I didn’t even recognize what had happened for weeks. I was completely just going through the motions for months. I wasn’t in my right head at my middle son’s wedding, and I knew it, even if I didn’t have any way to express it. I just tried to hide it and hope that I would/could hold it together until things started to sort themselves out.

What happened to start the sorting out process was – I was called in to see another panel of doctors. This time it was for the wheelchair van. I had to be assessed to determine what sort of assistive devices I need. I got the notice I had to go to see this panel of doctors on a Thursday afternoon. I went completely and utterly mad. Absolute freaking terror at the thought of having to face doctor or doctors. All the feelings I’d been numb from since the sadist dr. were suddenly and completely up, present, and in my face.

And there is more to that story, but this is already quite long enough. The important things: the visit with these doctors went better than anyone could possibly have hoped. We laughed together, they told jokes… It was in the (rented) wheelchair van on the way home that I felt the stress start to lift. It was then that I first realized how utterly, completely insane I had been (and still was). Seeing these other doctors and having a positive experience took all the terror away, and allowed me to begin to recover from the earlier experience.

I can still see that @%^^&^# bastard laughing at me and the gleeful look in his eyes.

But, I am better. Recovering. I have, fortunately(?) lots and lots of experience in recovery. I understand the process, I know how to take care of myself; and my family is, for the most part, familiar with the general situation. I apologize for not being able to do things, they reassure me that they understand. I feel guilty, they feel guilty. We all cope, somehow. Or, in the case of middle son and dil, perhaps not. I don’t know. They aren’t talking to me, and they never listened to me when I tried to explain. So it goes.

I’m still pretty shaky all things considered. Even without losing our home, changing jobs, daughter getting out of the army, the eternal carrot of the wheelchair van that doesn’t seem to get any closer; the effects of that sadistic doctor reverberate. The effects of my childhood are with me still and probably forever, but that is, for the most part, ‘old pain.’ Known, familiar, and not very interesting at all.


I guess that is more than enough to be going on with. I hope I will find some interesting things to write about, but even if not, I guess I’m going to be writing. It’s what I do.

Until next time, be well, all, and Gd bless

* deck or porch
** An abbreviation that means, roughly: ‘May It Be According To [insert name of deity/higher power of choice here]’s Will


12 thoughts on “It Is all about me. *sigh*

  1. Oh my, oh my. I’m kind of lost for words but traumatic treatment by doctors and the PTSD is all very familiar. Hurrah for the new house being better laid out and with wood floors. Not so ‘hurrah’ for the things that need doing. Sending you strength and support to get through it all and feel ever stronger and more joyful. Take care.

  2. Wow. I feel honoured as a complete stranger that you have allowed me so intimately into your life. There is a lot on your plate to deal with, appetizers, main course and dessert. I wish you the strength you will surely need to deal with it all.
    As for the writing: You write very well. I am never bored reading about the minutiae of your life, regardless of how inconsequential to us you think they are. It has got me thinking that you have lived a more interesting life than most people and need to write about it, but in the third person, as a novel; which means you can make stuff up, change things, leave things out. I would read it.

    • Thanks so much. I would like to write something more substantial than a blog post someday. When the last kid leaves the house and the last dog dies maybe… 😉

  3. Oh Mel, I am sending big wishes for S2 and DiL to get over themselves quickly and for your house move to be smooth and for your Drs to always be people you can laugh with and above all a giant hug [[[[[[[[Mel]]]]]]]] xxx

  4. I Can Only Say I Feel Some Of Your Pain I’m Doing Better Back To Seeing Jim Every Other Week I’ll Pray And Know You’ll Get Though This It’s All We Can Do Love Cindy!

  5. Thank you for letting me read your life story, it’s certainly full, love your writing , as I found wanted to read more right to the end, it would certainly in my view make for a very interesting book, thanks from the old git and be strong, take care , x

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