This Puzzled Life is a mental health and recovery blog exploring addiction, trauma healing, LGBTQ experiences, humor, and the strange moments that shape us.
“Rescuing one cat won’t change the world but it will change the world for one cat.”
-Unknown
After the death of my sweet little Marley, my aching heart cried out for another cat. I soon brought Coco into my life. But even then, something didn’t sit right with me. I sat with that feeling for about a year stumped me at what it all meant. One day, like a light bulb, it would be revealed that I had a cat shaped hole still in my heart. I thought back to when I had Simba and Nalla and how devasting it was to see and experience the loss while watching the other one go around looking for the missing one and calling her through the meowing. They were littermates and kept each other company when I got busy. I always said that if I ever decided to have cats again, I would make sure and have two. I struggled so hard with the decision because my heart and mind weren’t in complete agreement. Would I, once again, be able to be vulnerable enough to step out and take that chance again? Turns out I did.
Returned to the same veterinary clinic and asked if they had any female kittens that needed a home. I didn’t care about the color or the markings. One of the receptionists said, “I think so.” She called to the back and within minutes a technician brought me the prettiest little calico. When our eyes met instantly I needed her, and she needed me. I was told that her name was Maisie. I said, “Today her name is Tinkerbell (Tink).”
I left the clinic with that sweet baby in my arms. I began to feel the healing of my heart wound. My only concern was how Coco would adjust. They both hissed at one another the rest of the day. By morning they were both peacefully sleeping and seemed to be getting along great. I was told by the clinic that her health was in good shape. But this little girl was walking, crouching and sitting like something was wrong. I panicked thinking, “Please not again!” my heart was beginning to retract. next place I checked was the litter box for anything abnormal other than their regular Tootsie Rolls. There was the most horrid diarrhea that I had ever seen. That was not the sign of a healthy kitty. She would constantly be going back-and-forth to the litterbox. My entire house smelled like I had been cooking a turd casserole. And This went on for a week. I felt so bad for her. She would play and then suddenly curl up into a black, white and orange ball of fur. She had a severe case of intestinal worms. I’m assuming that she had been given dewormer. Gradually, she started getting better.
The girls’ personalities instantly began to blossom. And have been the best of friends ever since. “Tink” has always looked to Coco for guidance on how to be a cat. Some of the instances are quite funny. Just to imagine their “supposed” conversations and I get to have a nice laugh.
Living as a friend, sister, niece, aunt, daughter and mom with a traumatic past isn’t always about being sad or depressed. I try to go through life laughing, as much as possible, when the moment arises. It’s who I am. And it saved my life.
Please continue to read this blog as funny short stories, dialogs, and captions I will post soon.
“In order to write about life first you must live it.”
-Ernest Hemmingway
Ok. This is it! I promise. When those popcorn thoughts hit me, I must try and list them before they disappear. Thank you so much for stopping by. New posts coming soon!
1. Animals are the ultimate beings of compassion.
2. Crying is NOT a weakness. It’s the reality of living in an imperfect world.
3. When you meet people who lovingly stand out from others, they’re priceless gems. Never take for granted that tomorrow they will be there.
4. Religion is for people who are scared to go to hell. Spirituality is for those of us who have already been there.
5. Cellphones were not created to be an appendage.
6. If you knew better, you’d do better.
7. Kids favorite foods are candy, hot dogs, chicken nuggets and boogers.
8. Learn to take care of yourself. Because no one else wants the job.
9. Marijuana is a medication. Not evil deserving a felony. If you miss use, it is
10. Fentanyl could destroy a generation.
11. Harmful stuff happens to everyone. Some more than others. Staying in your hurt pain forever isn’t required.
12. You can learn lessons from daily life that will help to guide you to your future.
13. Don’t discount the little things.
14. Pain is inevitable. Misery is optional.
15. Most people don’t have the capacity, knowledge or want to understand your life or situation. The ones that do, hold them close.
16. Surround yourself with people who reflect positive energy. They’re worth it!
17. Take time to reflect and notice the daily miracles of life. They are right in front of you.
18. Heaven is real. Hell is too. Carefully make your choice.
“The greatest lessons are often learned from our failures, for they teach us strength, humility and resilience.”
-Unknown
Light charcoal. Light sage. Negative energy go away! Ok. Now I’m starting to get balanced. Sometimes the blogs I write are heavy. There is absolutely no way to tell you about trauma that makes it appear cute and sweet. That stuff is just horribly ugly. What I do have are stories about the boys and other fiascos of life. What I do need to fill you in on is where I left off 4 years ago. I’m hoping that you were able to take something from the last post. Use what you can use and leave the rest.
1. There is a God, I am not him.
2. Don’t become complacent in living. It will make you comfortable with dying.
3. Pride is just as dangerous as gluttony.
4. Perfection is not possible.
5. Religion should never be used as a weapon.
6. The beauty of living in a free nation is being able to have your own views and opinions. No one’s experiences in life happen and affect us in the same exact way.
7. Never settle for average. Expect extraordinary.
8. Sometimes people love you for exactly who you are regardless of gender, age, education, religion, profession, political affiliation or sexuality.
9. PTSD does not only occur in soldiers.
10. Parenting is the most difficult job that has ever been.
11. Late 1970s and 1980s provided some of the best comedy called “Low budget horror movies.”
12. Teach them. Guide them. Love them. And watch as the miracle unfolds.
13. Some people are wolves in sheep’s clothing. Be ready, willing and able to take cover. They will unintentionally reveal this to you.
14. Only Jesus was perfect. We will never be.
15. Everyone should be in therapy.
“Never let life lessons harden your heart; the hard lessons of life are meant to make you better, not bitter.”
“Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
When I woke up my cats Coco and Tinkerbell (Tink) were protesting their level of hunger as they do every morning. I limp every painful step towards the bathroom. Wait! Hold up. That wound origin I’ll leave for another post. Realizing that their cries would only get louder if I continued to ignore them. I first go fix their breakfast. They have an automatic feeder, but they live for their “yum-yums.” It’s usually a pouch of gravy or some type of canned food. I make them use the same plate and split the portion. They have both always shared without any issue. Initially, Tink was losing hair and Coco poked fun at her by calling her “naked butt.” I decided to try adjusting their diet before spending the money taking her to the vet. It turned out that I was correct. Tink’s nakedness would begin to resolve. And now she’s a beautiful fully furred calico.
I also had the need to write. What I didn’t know was the topic. I leaned on assignments that I’ve used in therapy. How would I set the mood? Light charcoal. Sprinkle sage. Negative energy go away. Ok now I’m good. The assignment I chose was to grab the pen and just start writing the “popcorn” thoughts. Before I knew it all my parts started shouting their statements. This assignment became exceptionally large. If you’ve seen some of the answers in other posts just relax and don’t judge. I will split this one up into different posts.
1. Everyone is entitled to love and compassion.
2. People who help others are magical.
3. Politicians are scary.
4. Doctors are not the Gods of the universe. No matter how much some think they are. Most are in it for the status symbol. Others are there for love.
5. A person’s intentions are not always someone else’s dreams.
6. Therapy isn’t therapy because it’s supposed to be easy. It’s there because it’s necessary.
7. Cats are the most entitled animals on earth.
8. You’ve lived it. Now write it.
9. Chronic pain is not about attention seeking. Some will do that. You don’t have to.
10. Karma is real.
11. Stand in your truth no matter how difficult.
12. The battle between good and evil has always been there. In the end, only light and love will win.
13. Not all coaches have whistles.
14. The 1980’s was the best decade ever.
15. They are watching and waiting to see what you do. Even if it’s every other weekend and holidays.
16. All men and women are created equal. Even when society said we’re not.
17. Covid is a butthole.
18. Toilet paper is golden.
19. Live it. Love it. Breathe it.
20. No one gets out of life alive. Tell them you love them now.
21. Leanne Morgan is currently the best female southern comedian. She is so yummy!
22. Never stop learning.
23. The destination can still be the same even if you take the difficult road.
24. PTSD is the symptom not the story.
25. Use religion carefully when interacting with others. The negative effects can be catastrophic.
26. Abuse is NEVER ok.
27. Darren Knight “Southern Momma” never gets old.
“One friend with whom you have a lot in common is better than three with whom you struggle to find things to talk about. We never needed best friend gear because I guess with real friends don’t have to make it official. IT JUST IS.” -Mindy Kaling
Recently, I have decided to pick up the pen again and resume writing. I must admit that this has not been an easy task. There is a fear that, yet, I have not been able to identify. I have looked at it and I’m worried that I would run out of topics. Yes, not even close.
Coco was still just a kitten whenever I was still writing. And her little calico sister wasn’t even a thought yet. Coco is now a full-figured adult cat. And Tinkerbell is another little essence of beauty that was a perfect fit that we both needed.
When the boys come for a visit, they provide their own comedy just being brothers. I laugh so much while being a proud momma with a full heart of love devoted to them. Even when the weight of the world is leaving its mark. I manage to be able to smile and belly laugh with them. And often wonder who’s really the emotional adult. They are so mature at their youthful age. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that, at times, I envy that. We talked about so many things. I think that sometimes Marshall looks forward to little brother being distracted by momma. Marshall is a night owl just like me. Our talk time is usually late at night.
I’m amazed by how simplistic life seems when I’m with them. So, Copeland and I take a walk down to the creek right behind my house. We walk the trail and I tell him stories about when I was young and things me and the neighborhood kids would do every time we had free time on our hands. I tell him stories about building bridges, seeing snakes, games we would play and my personal favorite, the times when I would be the one assessing the vines that we would swing on just in perfect timing when they would break as I was directly over the water. We look at animal tracks in the and try to identify the wildlife that has made its mark in the sand and mud. I just let the boys be kids while making memories that they will remember for the rest of their lives.
I keep my social circle limited to a couple of people and one child who is right in their age group. Whenever we all get together it’s a love for family regardless of linage. We are tighter than corn cobs in a hen’s ass. The boys play and the mommas have “real talk’’ time. I’ll take this time to interject that the “Mimi” of us used to baby sit me. And the other momma is quite a bit younger. I’m right in the middle. I don’t think that any numbers need to be shared. What we all share is the fact that life has left us all with scars. And that is something that I try to keep in perspective. We all have tears that find their way down our cheeks. And laughter that forces tears right down our legs. However, the mutual respect has only grown exponentially. If one of us went to prison, the other two would commit crimes just to go help them set up a commissary store. There has never been the question of whether we would answer our phones in the middle of the night. I’m usually in a sleep apnea stupor and too many meds to be awakened by my cellphone. I have no hesitation in stating that if I had an emergency I could just drive by their houses and leave the boys out in the yard, and they would take them without any questions. And Shelby is our built-in nurse that all boys need from time-to-time. Robyn is our “Mimi” that struggles to maintain being vertical. And Mason is their brother and another son to us. Our little extended and my children will be loved for infinity.
I still have not answered the question about why it’s so difficult for me to start writing. However, one possibility exists. And it’s called “Vulnerability.” Brene Brown says it best. Vulnerability is not weakness, it’s our greatest measure of courage.
“Friends are ones who overlooks your broken fence and admires the flowers in your garden.”-Unknown
“Paranoid? Probably. But just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that there isn’t an invisible demon about to eat your face.”
Jim Butcher, Storm Front (The Dresden Files)
Since I have decided to write again, I have looked at some of my therapeutic roadblocks. Easily I would say that paranoia and anxiety are two of the most disturbing. Regretfully, this has taken me down some dark places and terrifying moments in life. And it is getting worse. It’s an immediate divergence that strikes fear in every part of my being. Let me explain how I’ve gotten to this point.
When I was a young child the guys that molested me, who I thought were my friends, decided it would be fun to step out from behind bushes wearing a mask and a black cape. They would begin walking towards like a scene from the movie Halloween. And it absolutely terrified me. As a middle school student with a very openly aggressive teacher, I was accused of things that I didn’t do. Falsifying instances about my behavior and sent to the office kept me in a state of panic that it would happen again.
Later in life, I was stalked for 14 years daily. And when things were going good inevitably bad things would begin to happen yet again. I was being followed constantly by some of the individuals that I wouldn’t identify until much later. Conversations that I had with people were known even when the conversations were benign. I was set up several times being told that we would talk openly. But when I would show up, the police officers were called without any provocation. I was found by one of my perpetrators at a domestic violence shelter by way of his professional job. Once found I was asked to leave because it posed a threat to everyone else. I was handed back over to my monster and subsequently lost faith in a system that promised me safety. I feared for my life every single day. The mind games were how I was held captive. I was also sitting in my car at another arranged meeting only to have those same men jump out from behind bushes. They got into my vehicle choking me until they took my keys, leaving me on the pavement, stunned and panicked at what I never saw coming. I was also held at gunpoint arranged by those same two men. During this same era, I was followed home by an employee that I worked with. As unnerving as it was, I told my husband only to be told, “You must’ve had something to do with it.” Little did I know that the individual was a convicted rapist.
At another job, to get some overtime hours, I had to work closely with a man that scared me to death with his advances. Once again, I told my husband. Instead of compassion and support, I was accused of having something to do with that as well. I took it to the upper management only to be told, “That’s absurd. We know that it was more likely you because of the way you met your husband.” I was devastated at their comments. And was soon out of a job.
Several years ago, when I was living in Albuquerque, NM. I stopped at a redlight where there was construction, bumper to bumper traffic and only one lane. An obviously sick drug addict jumped into my car demanding money. Terrified that I would lose my life I tried to remain calm, and he eventually got out of my car after pleading with him to let me go home to my wife and children. He eventually got out of my car, and I quickly sped off. There was also a situation that occurred right up the road from our house that involved a shooter going into a females’ job site fatally wounding her and others. We lived on the military base which provided a sense of security with my fear of being found by former perpetrators. However, there were frequent security threats that would occur often. And we were living in a safe area since we lived on the base. However, right off the base it was called, “The war zone.” I downloaded an app to identify registered sex offenders in our area since we had our first child. I kid you not. It looked like we were living in “Rapeville.” While it was a beautiful part of the country. It was an extremely violent city.
I moved to Texas for a few years to do therapy and the fear of being found stayed with me daily. I eventually cut off contact with most people in my life. And I left the unsafe safety of four walls in my private cell only to go to therapy. I had gotten to the point where I was terrified of driving in that big city traffic and needing a driver to get me from place to place. The years of being scared had taken their toll.
And when I finally moved back home to Mississippi where my trauma originated the years of fear and paranoia still has me in fear of everything. I have come face-to-face with perpetrators since living here. And it feels every time like the day it first happened. I question the motives of people that I should not question. I read into situations that never need attention. And the very few places that I do go usually end with me sweating, panicked, terrified and wanting to get back to my house as quickly as possible. I will go with close friends to eat occasionally. But I’m never relaxed. Even though I limit the amount of news I see, there is never a shortage of school shooters and other violent crimes that are seen on any type of news media. Has anyone laid a hand on me in a long time? No. I don’t fear “what is.” I fear the “possibility of what can.”
How do I learn to trust and continue with my life? I have absolutely no idea. I’m not even sure if that concept is feasible. I try so hard to trust the coach. But often my fears take over. How do I begin to relax from a life that seems to have always been chaotic and in crisis? I used to always be eagerly looking for the next confrontation that had become a way of life. But today I fear confrontation, people and life. I have always wanted to be free from the bondage of many different things.
I hide a lot of fear with a smile as I have for many years. But there are still days where I must have an escape plan just going to the mailbox. Maybe some of my fears are irrational to others. But conditioned I am. How do you go through things like that and not remain fearful of seeming innocent situations? The idea seems impossible. Do the kids who went through Columbine proceed without doubts and fears? No. Survivors are still plagued with ptsd and the fear that bad things can happen. I am in no way comparing my trauma to the same level as a victim of Columbine massacre. But I wake up every morning staring fear into the eyes of my own reflection. I’m not hanging onto the past. The past is hanging on to me. And I always wonder what is the next thing that I’m going to have to try and survive?
““Chronic anxiety is a state more undesirable than any other, and we will try almost any maneuver to eliminate it. Modern humans are living in anxious anticipation of destruction. Such anxiety can be easily eliminated by self-destruction. As a German saying puts it: ‘Better an end with terror than a terror without end.”
“Writing is medicine. It is an appropriate antidote to injury. It is an appropriate companion for any difficult change.
—Julia Cameron
I can’t believe that it’s been almost 4 years since I wrote on this blog. So much has changed in my life. However, some are unwavering. I’ve come to a greater understanding about dissociative identity disorder and how we are to function. I also still agonize at times to understand why we still struggle. Coach and I still work as a team. I told someone the other day, “Look things could always be worse. You could be my therapist.” And I stand firm in my belief that she and I are a perfect fit. I get really bogged down in some very painful ditches. And I still get frozen in fear making me too scared to move. But instead of telling me, “Get up you idiot!” She compassionately inserts her foot into my hind parts urging me to get my balance using her strength to support me until I’m strong enough to continue on my own.
My sons Marshall age 12 and Copeland age 9 are still the reasons that my heart continues to beat. Big brother always seems to be annoyed. Plus, puberty is also right around the corner. Copeland still enjoys cuddles with momma. Getting Dirty from playing in the woods. Eating anything available. Play with Gel Blaster guns and build anything. There is never enough food. And taking baths are viewed as the evil necessities I still enjoy giggling with them during about any topic. I enjoy continuing to learn about how to be a parent. Coach continues to be a strong presence in that area of my life as well. I’m not perfect but me and the boys always find some much needed laughter when they visit.
My cats Coco and Tinkerbell are still our own little support group when the piercing trauma invades my space and rolls down my cheeks when I’m alone. I still struggle with the guilt of many events from my life. Addiction is still very present in my life. The struggle on many different topics that are always tapping me on my shoulder and telling me to give up. There are wins, losses and battles that occur every minute of every day to deplete my energy instantly. Both physically and mentally I will always be one big jigsaw puzzle. I still battle depression, paralyzing anxiety, agonizing grief, suicidal ideations, lack of self-worth and paranoia.
I have so many things to help keep my mind and soul busy. The healthy burden of writing seems like something I need again. Good or bad. Right or wrong. I feel that I need to continue to tell my story. Even if it’s just for me. I just hope that one day I will successfully understand the concept of moderation. I do my best to continue to carry on and to live life one day, one hour and one minute at a time.
“To those who abuse: the sin is yours, the crime is yours, and the shame is yours.”
—Flora Jessop, Church of Lies
Each year I write a Halloween blog from a different perspective. I enjoy writing a comical post but like most of my humor it covers up a harsh reality that torments me. The child in me shivers with fear as both the teenagers and adults forwardly shine with a protective humor that nothing seems to penetrate. This year I’ve decided to bring forth the vivid and cold-hearted truth of what some of my early Halloween years that were forced upon me.
The boogey man was not dressed in blue coveralls with steel toed boots. His mask was not the cast of Captain Kirk’s face and familiar theme song that can have most anyone watching the movie with the lights on. He did not escape from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium carrying with him a large butcher knife. And Jamie Lee Curtis was not the “queen of scream.” They looked like most anyone living in a neighborhood beside me and you.
The fall time of the year with the smell and feel of wet leaves leftover from the end of summer are present. A deep inhale is not one of safety but one of fear. The coolness of early fall has me reaching for a windbreaker and replay of one of the scariest times of the year. It replays over and over on a reel that never fails in a reality that never wavers with its truth.
DeviantArt
As a 5-year-old child wanting to be a part of the Halloween festivities I was excited and wanted to take part with my older friends. But the predator would again find its prey. They were more than twice my age and size. I trusted them and thought that they were there to protect me. But Halloween would strike fear in several ways. Leaving the safety of my own house I would go out looking for my friends. But I saw no one. Across the street and into our neighbors’ yard was pampas grass that stood where all us neighborhood kids had gotten our own paper cuts. I looked around the yards but saw no one. And then he appeared. In a black cape with the mask of an old man’s face I will never forget. No words were spoken just the slow walk towards me like most boogeymen. But this time the boogeyman was between me and my house of safety. Both my mind and body were on full alert. I searched for my safety and a way to get back to it while the figure walked towards me. As a 5-year-old crying and running was all I knew to do.
I ran back to my house as the figure continued to move closer. The black cape continued blowing in the wind. I ran into my house and back to my room where I locked my door and hid in my closet. Sooner rather than later the figure made its way into our house and down the hall to my locked room where pounding on my door was all that I heard. He spoke nothing. I sat quiet as a mouse hoping and praying that the figure wouldn’t again capture me for another touch and feel episode that hurt and was scary. Nope this time there was a burst of laughter from the big kids that served as their entertainment. And this time behind the mask was my friends that scared me yet again.
That year I didn’t laugh and each time I have this memory there is no laughter. I can only remember the fear that shakes inside of me as a child at a level of fear that I can’t describe. And each year during the fall season, I put on a smiling face. But I too have a life behind a mask of a little child that has never gotten over knowing the fear of being prey to someone’s seemingly innocent joke that was more than it appeared.
“One small cat changes coming home to an empty house to coming home.”
–Pam Brown
The last few months has been about change. These changes have been both externally and internally. Moving back to my hometown has been difficult coming back to very vivid memories about my abuse. But I’ve also gained a healthy relationship with an animal that, for the last few months, has been just what the doctor ordered. Coco is my cat that I adopted a few months ago. I have already written about her in an earlier post titled Yay Team Coco!!! So, this is not another introduction post about her.
This is a post, however, that is about things that I’ve noticed about her and us as we learn how to function as a team. It has also taught me how to work better with my system and to have more patience while we continue to heal emotionally. Coco is my “ride or die” companion and has brought me a big helping of love in a way that has made me flourish amid all the growing pains. Nothing upsets her more than me crying. She’ll pace around me meowing until I let her know, in some way, that I’m ok. If I’m not ok, she’ll walk up to me knowing that I need to pick her up and to get a hug in a way that only she and I connect emotionally.
One of the many hurdles I’ve had to overcome in therapy is doing something as simple as picking up the phone and calling my coach when I need help. After seeing a very abusive therapist for 2.5 years, being able to make a phone call was monumental. I do, however, remember a time when sending a text was next to impossible. I don’t pick up the phone very often and make that call. But sometimes is better than no times. I credit the relationship that Coco and I have built together with the ability to learn to trust again in different areas of my life.
Coco does have her cuteness ways about her that I’ve noticed. There was one day when I was going through more moving boxes and I opened the box that had all my stuffed animals. One by one I tossed them on my bed paying very little attention to any particular one. I threw the box out and went on about my way. A little while later I look to see that Coco had one in her mouth carrying it across the room. It was a homely looking bunny that had suddenly become her personal stuffy. And oh, how she loves her bunny. More than once I’ve caught her sleeping with bunny with her paw gently securing her by her side. And She will also take the time to groom bunny as well.
Most of the time it’s me and Coco having conversations about what she needs to quit doing and developing her cat manners. This is what we work on until she decides that a break is needed from watching the outside world. This is when she jumps in the crate covered by her favorite blanket and takes a much-needed nap complete with bunny in tow. And when therapy time rolls around her job is to be close to me in whatever way that looks like. And for me…. I keep putting forth the effort to continue getting better knowing that sometimes it takes passing an emotional kidney stone to make that happen.
“I sure hate it for Lake Charles, La. But I’m glad she didn’t come here.”
I do not think the female name needs any introduction. Many who were here actually have never forgotten the name. Because for many of us there is only name spoken on August 29, 2005…..KATRINA. Secretly, I spoke the same thought above. My child-like excitement over another storm was very quickly overcome by my adult memories and realities of what it meant to us who went through with terror and tears.
For only a split second my thoughts had forever buried the physical and mental destruction that only a few hours would create. And the fears and tears that seemed to the rest of the nation and world only took moments to forget. The weather event took only a couple of weeks to die out and now over 15 years to recover. The trauma of the event countinues to live in every raindrop, wind blown tree limb that peppers the yard for eeveryone who lived through it to once again find that tinge of pain that has never gone away.
And for some of us it also seems like a lifetime away. There had not been any life in Albuquerque, Master’s Degrees, two happy and healthy little boys and a marriage to someone I genuinely loved. It was danger on top of danger and that was all. The universe would again see best, where happiness and struggle would be found. Just like now…..the universe is has found what’s best. And through therapy I’ve learned to smile again.
She’s someone who was foreign to me. She’s someone that I’ve fought hard to find again after being lost for many years. She’s one whose name carries power again and no longer is one who can bring fear that manifests itself like a hurricane. She’s one who loves to be loved and gets to experience that in many ways and by many different people who love her back. Her name is DANA.
This Puzzled Life 