Then, something occurred to me.  She *was* by my side.  I could see her as a shadowy figure right there sitting beside me on the bed, just as she did so many early mornings whilst she was alive.  I couldn’t touch her, as she did appear to be a body of energy, rather than a physical body.  I could hear her so very clearly, though.  She had no great revelations.  She just told me hello and gave me that smile I’ve missed so much.

My sister was like a daughter to me.  I raised her from an infant, and I filled the role of parent far before people thought I should be able to do.  When she died, I felt a part of myself ripped away.  Interacting with her this morning helped me feel that part of myself that died along with her.  For a brief minute, I felt more whole than I have since her death 11 years ago.

She was gone as quickly as she came.  Only a brief minute or two.  Still, I got to see that wonderful smile, and whilst her having to leave again is painful, having seen her at all is a better gift than I’d ever have hoped of.  I loved my sister with all of my heart and tried to be the best parental role model I could be to her.  She had a difficult go of it for that very reason.  She was a child being raised by a child.  However, she was such a kind child, and her willingness to find her way back to me is typical of her sweet soul and gentle spirit.

That beautiful little smile will stay with me for quite some time.  There is no better gift than having been able to see it once again.

As far as changing psychiatrists, a friend is helping me with the first visit, which is rather expensive.  The subsequent visits are quite a bit more expensive that the fees at the subsidised clinic, of course, but they’re not even close to what I thought they’d be.  They’re less than the cost for a visit to my gp.  I’ll make that work by taking out some of the ‘wiggle room’ money in my budget.  I’ll also pick up sub shifts at work whenever possible.  This is worth it.

I’m going to close my file at the old clinic on Tuesday.  I was set to do so Friday, but my bloody car broke down.  The thermostat literally fell off.  Simply knowing I’ll be able to see my old therapist again helps me handle all of the stressors in my life, though.  She was literally squealing with delight and told me I’d made her year.  She and I had such an amazing client-therapist relationship.  As hard as it might be, I’m ready to start working on putting the pieces back together again.

If you’ve been following this blog, you know the saga.  The most helpful therapist I’ve ever had decided to go into private practice, and as it turned out, she couldn’t see me anymore.  That situation resolved relatively quickly.  I came to the realisation that the therapist didn’t mean to hurt me and that I still felt very safe with the work we’d done.  I was just sad it couldn’t continue.

The situation is largely financial.  I’m skint, and the current clinic I go to is subsidised.  Since the fees and cost of meds are income based, I can work with this.  In order to see my old therapist again, though, I’d have to figure out how to pay a private psychiatrist and how to work out issues with meds.  As it turns out, the drug company for the main medicine I take has an assistance programme in which patients can enroll themselves.  It’s the same programme the subsidised clinic uses; I just wasn’t aware that I could apply on my own.  Actually, I’ve just been recertified for that programme.

Without even knowing she was doing so, the former therapist was working with deprogramming.  It took *me* a while to see that.  I know that, if anybody can help me heal, she can do it.  Therefore, Monday I’m going to phone the drug company and ask about the process of switching doctors.  If it’s possible for me to continue in the med-assist service, I’ll move on to phoning private psychiatrists.  I need to find one who accepts patients who do not have insurance.  A friend has agreed to pay for the initial consultation, and from there, I can put back money for further appointments.  I’ll probably only see this person every six months.  Broken up into those time increments, I can save up for sessions.

Finally, and perhaps the scariest part of all of it, I’ll phone my former therapist and see if she’s even open to seeing me again.  She told me to phone if my financial situation changed.  If I can work things out like this, my financial situation will have changed.  I would be free to break ties with the subsidised clinic and use providers of my own choice.  I *want* to work on healing the ugly things from my past, and I know she can go through that journey with me.

Please, in however you do so, send along positive thoughts toward making this happen.  Whether it’s prayer, meditation, spellwork, or any other type of spirituality, I would truly appreciate your assistance, dear readers, in helping me get back to the one therapist who can help me.  Thanks!!

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

————————————————–

Joyce, James. “The Dead.”  Dubliners.  Prestwick House, Inc, 2006

This morning, I woke up with tears running down my face and really swollen eyes.  Obviously, someone had been sobbing.  I had no idea who or why, and one of the Little Peoples yelled ‘someone else’s been dreaming!’  He was a bit whiny.  No one wanted to be awake that early, but sleeping whilst sobbing is a bit difficult.  Here’s how the story unfolds:

My best friend and I typically spend Saturday nights together.  Last night, however, he had early holiday plans, so we were on our own.  Our plans have changed swiftly a few times this month, as I’ve said in previous posts.  The breakup of the routine in general, regardless of the people or person involved, shakes things.  I wasn’t surprised, then, when things were out of sorts.  I just wanted to know *why* they were out of sorts.

Lily, red faced and still hiccuping from sobs, announced to me that my best friend told her he was moving to Brooklyn for work.  She played back a scene for me- My best friend phoned with news, and we got together.  He said he’d taken a job in Brooklyn and asked if we were coming with him.  When we said we couldn’t, he said he’d keep in touch. Then, he phoned again to say he wasn’t moving to Brooklyn.  Instead, he’d taken a job in a town called Cretin in Texas.

The cavalier attitude should have struck me first thing.  My best friend and I are as close as two people can get.  I trust him as completely as I possibly can, and we truly love each other.  If he were actually moving far away, he’d handle telling us with much more finesse.  Still, it confused me.  I wasn’t sure whether Lily was showing me a dream or showing me a bit of time I’d missed.  I very, very rarely lose time.  With something as traumatic as learning my best friend was moving far away, though, I might well have blocked out the conversation.

So, not wanting to interrupt my best friend’s plans, I paced a bit all day wondering whether I’d seen a dream or reality.  Once mid-afternoon came, I sent my best friend a text.  We chatted a bit, and then I very tentatively told him Lily’s dream.  He laughed via text.  Being the amazing person that he is, he reassured us that he is, indeed, staying with his current job and location.  Lily’s dream was only a dream.

I feel like I should say ‘end scene.’

The bit I’m not understanding is panic.  Recently, my best friend and I had to make a change of plans.  The small change in our routine really set me off.  I just had this assumption that he was out of my life.  That *used* to be a response– I would assume that spending time with others would make him realise how horrible I was, and he’d want me out of his life forever.  That has *not* been a reaction for a few years now, though.

Even more recently, he found himself a bit under the weather.  Nothing serious at all.  Just the typical pre-winter cold.  Again, I panicked.  Would he get enough rest?  Would we be able to see each other?  Would he, knowing how much changes were upsetting me, push himself to do something he wasn’t quite up to?  A million unpleasant thoughts popped about in my head, and I was literally worried sick.

Today, he got a bit of nausea.  Again, nothing serious.  Likely, it’s just lunch that didn’t feel as though it spent enough time with him the first go round.  That brought the panic to a full-on attack.  My mind immediately went to the idea that my best friend would die, and I’d never see him again.  That quickly led into the thought of not being able to spend any time with him at all over the next week, even if he did survive.  He has plans the next two Saturdays, so Fridays seem almost critical.

I am *not* one to panic.  As a matter of fact, I’m typically the one who stays calm whilst everyone else panics.  Why, then, are simple changes in plan or status making me panic?  Today, my reaction to my best friend’s stomach issue was a full-on panic attack.  He isn’t aware of that; it’s not his responsibility.  Still, I phoned him to hear his voice, so I know he *sounds* fine.  He says he’s a bit tired and has some lingering nausea, all perfectly normal.  I’ll be pacing the floors until I know for definite I’ll see him tonight, though.  Every minute of not seeing him seems to count double right now- it’s like my mind is registering the fact that every minute could be the last minute.

So what’s going on with this panic?  PTSD involving grief issues?  I have no idea what to call it, how to frame it, or how to work with it.  I also have no access to a decent therapist to help.  This is making what’s already a difficult time of year much, much worse.

The obvious guess, of course, is that grief is making me angry.  Time of year, as far as SRA goes, also stirs up some powerful Stuff.  I realise those two issues are likely the cause of my anger, but I can’t quite pinpoint the specifics.  I just know I’m angry and, when I’m not angry, I’m incredibly sad.  Neither of those are particularly pleasant emotions.

The funny and somewhat frightening thing is, I’m not sure I *want* to feel better at the moment.  To some extent, I want to let myself feel miserable until I no longer feel that way.  Another part of me (in a non-DID sense) wants to fight tooth and nail to crawl out of this pit.  I feel too tired to work at not feeling miserable.  And I’m wondering if allowing myself to feel miserable for a bit (but not too long) is actually healthy.

I feel very vulnerable and open right now.  Quite possibly, the anger is protective in that nature.

There’s no real point to this rambling post.  I’m just trying to step out of my mind for a bit by putting my mind on screen, for lack of better terms.

I wish happiness and cheer to those celebrating, gentle comfort to those in pain, and peace to everyone, regardless of place or circumstance.  Peace is, in the end, the only thing that will get us through.

My daughter’s stillbirth happened on 27 Dec.  I’m already anticipating that anniversary.  Now, actually, I keep thinking of things in terms of last year.  My best friend and I are doing our typical jaunt to Nashville to celebrate his birthday, and, being rather selfish about things, I can’t keep my mind off of last year.  When we were in Nashville last year, I bought some maternity clothes.  I felt the baby kicking on and off all day, and that evening, my best friend’s mother got to feel her kick strong against my side.  I thought of those as her tiny way of participating in the celebration.

This year feels hollow.  I should have a six-month-old hanging about.  She probably wouldn’t have gone with us for the shopping trip, but we definitely would have brought things back for her.  I picture what I think she would look like, what I think her giggle would sound like, and how she would look all excited for the holidays.  Then, I think of how thankful I am that at least I still have her urn and the things from the memorial.  My beautiful baby who will never see a holiday.

I’m guessing she heard the noise of my best friend’s family Christmas celebration.  I’m guessing, too, that she was happy, because she was definitely active.  That celebration was probably her last memory, for lack of better terms.  I felt sick that day, but nothing major.  Just a little like I had a stomach virus.  It’s hard, still, to believe that the baby was gone a day and a half later.

So, yes.  I am not feeling festive.  I might not even go to the holiday celebration this year.  My mind is filled with memories of last year.  The joy I felt when I found out I was pregnant, the love we all had already for that child, and the anticipation of what our lives would be like.  The terrible end of the holiday season last year haunts me, though.  I’d rather this year’s holidays pass without having to give them a nod.

Over the years, I’ve used strategies like that.  I’ve sang to myself, composed little poems in my head, and done just about anything to take away from what was going on at the time.  I’m really tired of doing that and really unsure, in the position I’m in at the moment, how to get out of it.  I’m not playing the victim.  I am *not* doing that.  I’m just struggling with finances and things like that, only my struggle involves this lovely little group to contend with, as well.  As long as they need me and I’m in a position to be under their thumbs, they remain the ever-present spectral in my life, as they have for my whole life.  Nothing there has changed.

Hopefully, I’ll someday be able to say I’m free of these people, but I don’t see it happening in this lifetime…