Last night, I was hanging out with a friend. It was nice. Eric was out doing what Eric does. It was nice to just relax and talk about whatever comes.

I firmly believe that we both have PTSD/Complex PTSD. Other mental health issues generally are involved. Regardless, my conversation skills are never really an issue. Usually, I’m the conversation for two. And yes, I do feel bad. I think my over sharing is a result of not feeling listened to. Just being talked over or discounted as having any legitimacy (that can be both real and imagined). Grand scheme of things, it feels the same.

I’m scared. Constantly. I’m afraid of causing conflict. Doing something that is wrong or not approved of, being too much, not enough, or just being .. me. I caused a lot of mental harm to myself and others growing up. I was unstable. So, how I see life now is a direct result of what I saw (people judging me). I didn’t get an opportunity to defend myself. I was just dissolved of having any defense. As if I was denied my Miranda rights. Granted, I’ve never been arrested, but my misbehavior felt like I was denied any ability to maintain dignity. And I continued.

From promescuity to giving birth at 19 years old, unmarried, no job, Medicaid. I was reliant on a system that many people loathe even exists.  I was a terrified young mother when my daughter came down with an illness. I was scared and called the emergency room phone number. The receptionist answered. (Mind you, this was 1996 – before Medicaid was offered through insurers like Humana, Cigna, or other insurance carriers. It was just “Medicaid”) I told her in a terrified voice my daughter’s symptoms and asked if I should bring her in. She asked me what kind of insurance I had. I responded, Medicaid. I heard her sigh on the phone in response and said: well, I guess so. I thanked her and brought my daughter in. My husband (I married the biological father four days after our daughters birth to not bring shame to my family. I saw Dianne”s experience first hand (to a point). It impacted me. I thought I made the right choice.

FYI: marrying or staying with the person with whom fertilized your egg is NOT always in the best interest of the child. I mean that.

I didn’t understand relationships. I made many mistakes. And every day of my life I feel like I’m trying to make up for those mistakes. My penance.

So, I was talking with a friend. And normally I don’t go into super personal things. This night, I did. I talked about Darrian and some struggles before and after her death. The tears rolled down my face, fast. I apologized for talking about such deep and personal matters. I didn’t mean for it to go there. To her credit, she allowed me my weeping and told me to take my time exploring the topic I went down. I felt my feelings. It was important. Another huge step in my growth.

It’s weird to feel visible. It’s largely uncomfortable because I know being visible in the past led to discomfort at the very least. I am not the same 15-22 year old dumb ass. I’m not the same 40 year old dumb ass. (Omg, yes .. We exist)  I’m trying to put myself in a position to rise above.

I bought a home. Still didn’t feel safe. I now have two cars, a job that I’ve held for six years, I’ve been married for 20+ years. And I still don’t feel safe. It’s not because anyone actively makes me feel unsafe. It’s how my past developed my present. Everyone who saw me as unfavorable: including my own family – that served as how I always feel seen. To this day. Look up childhood brain development. It’s not because I’m an idiot. My brain was still trying to understand the world.   And my world was terrifying. Even with implied safeguards.  Like a home, a car, friends. Still..

Everything felt and still feels like it’s going to go away.

I’ve had friends for many years. One friend in particular I’ve had since high school. She’s one of my rocks. She helps me stay grounded. We’ve both done terrible things in life. And we’ve both come from worlds that were unkind to us for one reason or another. And we bonded. We lost touch for a time but eventually reconnected. I haven’t seen her since I got married in 2002 to Eric. The good husband. Possibly even a little after that. Still…

So, next week I’m going to visit my friend. I’m taking my brand new car to a car ferry boat. I’m taking a ferry from Wisconsin to Michigan. And while I’m excited, I’m terrified. The Titanic went down… Well, that was a long time ago and the icebergs are few and far between with global warming. So.. That will be fine. They’ve traversed these waters many times. And it’s been successful. Just because I’ll be a passenger with a car that’s no way near paid off yet does not mean we’ll sink.

And I have a hotel reservation for a few nights in her city of residence. And I’ve saved money to do things in her community for pleasure. I’ve been saving off and on since last Christmas. I never knew I could actually save money! I thought I’d always suck at absolutely everything in life.

So now, I have a vacation that I’m going on. A vacation that means the fucking world to me. And instead of thinking about the tears I’ll be shedding seeing her for the first time in ages…. I’m thinking about the boat sinking, being responsible for a car that sank. Dying because I cannot swim long distances. Losing everything that I know and love. Yikes!

Then I get a message from Ashleigh last night. She was mad because she found her sister’s obituary. Obituaries are everywhere – even the sources they’re not originally printed through. Darrian’s obituary was in the Green Bay Press Gazette (shorter version) and Newcomers Funeral Home website (where Darrian’s funeral was held. Those are the official self contributed writing of the obit. This was not. And Ashleigh’s name was omitted. Ashleigh was enraged. And I knew it. One wrong step and we’re not talking anymore. (Ashleigh has BPD and a delusional disorder ((persecutory type)).) So I saw a huge red flag.

Proceed with caution.

I looked through the picture she sent. Yes. Her name is not included. When Darrian died, facts were important. You are the sibling, you are the parents, you are the uncles, aunts, and cousins. Survived and proceeded in death. All the usual.

I just simply asked Ashleigh: What sense would it make for me to remove your name for you to find it later and get angry with me when you do find it? Anyone on the Internet can edit a photo. (Fake news, vendetta… Whatever) There once was a Reddit thread where people absolutely tried to destroy Ashleigh’s character. There was a photograph that was cropped together. A picture cropping the lower half of Ashleigh’s body out to appear as that Ashleigh was trash (assume the lower part of her body was in the trash can. That was what the person creating that photo intended to convey)  I know Ashleigh is difficult. However, no one is garbage. And in fact, Ashleigh is Darrian’s sister.

In the end, Ashleigh conceded. She wasn’t going to argue with me, she says.  And grudgingly accepts that (according to her) that I’m always right.

I’m the first to admit, I’m not always right. In this situation, I am. And I’m glad that I didn’t feel victimized. I could tick on my proverbial board that I did well.

Life is hard. And I’m trying to find the beauty and the gratitude past everything that came before today. It’s really really hard.

With that being said, I recently watched a documentary/comedy kind of…Rainn Wilson goes to Iceland. In Iceland they have a saying “Þetta reddast”. It means: “Everything Will Work Out.” The phrase is simplistic in what it means. It’s hard though. As a human, you have to allow things (to a point) to come. Obviously you can’t neglect doing anything and just hoping it’ll be great. No. You still participate in life. However, you cease control of things and just allow yourself to move forward to the best of your own ability. My own ability.

For reference: https://www.icelandicroots.com/post/2012/08/15/%C3%BEetta-reddast-it-will-be-okay