For the last time, Dear Family of Mine, (Never mind the oddball Dr. Who reference to "Family of Mine"... that stays put, although frankly, I'm once again creeped out less by daleks and a family that takes over people's bodies in order to achieve their ends...and unlike the 10th Doctor, I won't say "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry.")
Listen, I know I am a neurotic with a severe perfectionistic streak. Yes, that means I occasionally try to hide that vestige of Slavic blood, the fur... (we are a furry, furry people. It must have been needed to go over continents in search of home, and fight numerous Germanic tribes in the northern European chill.) But seriously, I've had my hand on razors and depilatories since I was 14 and decided my blond fuzz just had to go.) The gift of electrolysis? Seriously? I'm supposed to put something that can cause a burning smell near my skin? (Before you say it, one, I'm pretty much immune to paying $7 for, and having, hot wax ripped off my eye brows. The only issue there is ultra sensitive skin and the redness that doesn't go away for a bit. Hell, I even have coupons for a freebie bikini wax, provided I let the nice lady down the road have at me while I'm in a Happy Baby pose.) Yes, I have had incidents with hair control, don't we all? Electrolysis for my birthday? Complete with "Watch the pretty blue light" and "Don't worry about the burning smell? Oh, I'm perfect as I am, indeed. Listen, I get nitpicky with me. I always consider it a family's job to talk their neurotic spawn down, preferably before the legs become something Social Services wonders about (Because I'll go in far closer than I should) and I'm worrying about a mustache I don't have.
BUT.. a wise friend said this, in one of their more calm moods..."The human race isn't capable of perfection. We are imperfectible."
All along, I've dealt with not quite being able to fit... I worry when I've been Novocaine-ed or tired because I know my speech impediment comes through and you look embarrassed... (But at least, if I'm asking, say, the pharmacist, "By the way, am I drooling? Slurring?" they're likely to reassure me. I'm not sure, but perhaps I can act healthy far better than I thought.) (Also, I learned how to drink a soda with half my mouth numbed. It takes gymnastics, yo!)
like "How could I have had THIS child? Her brother is SO healthy..." I worry when I'm so tired I can barely stand. Because there's that look. Shame and pity.
Now, see, there's a time where I'm not going to be able to act "Healthy"... this pink cheeked bundle of joy and verve takes forever to get it right.
Dear Bro, I have to take care of me. You doing it would be creepy. Besides, I'm not under 18 any more, and it might surprise you, but... I am not a helpless idiot (not in the original political term "Someone who doesn't bother to vote", but in the original "labeling term", someone with the IQ of a small child.) Sure, I'm sensitive, sure, I either haven't had time to, or have tried very hard not to, become jaded by the world. I know it sucks. I know it's dark. I also know about beauty and want to share that. I'd rather not let the darkness overcome the light. I made a promise to myself some years ago: I will lay down, die, and let someone take care of me, and when I do, the person I am will cease to be giving you an empty shell.
I will visit California, take the nieces out, enjoy whatever healthy and gf delights Northern California can offer. But I will not stay. It's time for me to take steps on my own. A vacation is good. I want one in a colder climate too. Yes, I want my family close. No, I do not wish to be their drudge, their project.
I'm taking steps to help me. Working with the neuro, who may come from the best neurological group in WNY but I sometimes wonder if he simply enjoys having a guinea pig/ really good trained monkey/ whatever to treat.
And, with all of the triggers of late, I know, it's time to help myself. I have gotten so ground down, I am really showing disregard for myself and have become a bit useless to those I care for. I can't do that. I'm driving myself and them insane. There's some people I absolutely must cut off. But there's some I'm afraid I'm losing because my personality is getting weird. I don't trust me. I have to focus on me for a bit... the physical scars are healing slowly and annoyingly, but it's healing, none the less. I'm forever wanting to lean, but know better than to do so, plus, I wouldn't want to crush anyone. But, I will trust some of that to an expert.
I will not, cannot, let D. win by letting triggers and fear get the best of me. Or nightmares. So I'll beat him. By having confidence and taking care of me. I will not let a hideous FUBAR wreck me.