If someone had to betray Christ, was Judas the perfect person because at least he knew him? I am Judas today!

Moms are self-sacrificing souls that often children (even as we become adult children) often disregard their mom's histories, hopes, dreams, visions of how their lives would be, etc.

I know my mom is one of these people and often I have been a horrible daughter.  Our family has a history of mental illnesses/drug and alcohol dependencies, etc. (not just current) but in the past generations as well.

My mom has often lived in her own world as far back as I can remember.  I'm sure she developed coping mechanisms from a childhood where she felt unloved by her mother, loved by a father who was away in the mountains preaching to others but not taking care of his family and ensuring that they had food and heat in a series of "shacks" for a back of better words.  To her the deprivations was excruciating - lack of clothes, friends, ill-educated parents who could not advocate for her, and religion that almost broke her.

She was put out of the house when she was 16 to take care of herself and she didn't have the education or life skills to ensure continued living, much less success.  She had an off /on again "boyfriend," and thus I came into the world when she was 21.  She was back to work waitressing when I was a couple of weeks old.

My grandparents took over me and my mom had to be a support for both of us and somehow figure out how to create a life to go forward.  She met my dad (you might say step dad) but I never knew until I was 12/13 years old).  My dad was my dad, even after I knew of a biological father.  Dad was abusive and mom was already pre-dispositioned to be taken advantage of...  He had put a knife to her throat before they got married and thus the next 12/13 years of my life and hers, were filled with violence.  There were happy times too, but lots of pain.

I lived in my own world in the woods with my walk-in rabbit hutch where hours were spent thinking of an alternative life.  My mom got her GED, and then started other college courses.  She got two AAS degrees and pushed me to ensure that I at least got my Bachelor's.

When we came back from North Carolina to Virginia, she was really out of it depressed, but somehow managed to work multiple jobs and keep us going.  We lived with various relatives and then at least a sparse but happy place above an appliance repair shop in Fredericksburg, VA.

I write all of this to say, that I blamed my mom a lot for in my opinion, being in her own world, and I felt forced to grow up in many situations where I could have destroyed my life.  Do you know that in a way, I was happy for my background with an abusive father, because his strict, oppressiveness was so ingrained in me, that I had a moral code sitting on my shoulder like the angel and devil decision pressing me to do the right thing.

I know that my mom has had a very bad life with very few opportunities except where she made them.  I know that she has always wanted the best for me and that she has sacrificed much to be a mom to me.

I  feel that I have often stabbed her in the heart.  I do feel like Judas in many ways.  I have betrayed my mom because I have felt hurt by her being in her own, defensive world.

There have been significant instances where I have felt lead to make decisions that hurt her more than any other person in the world could have.

If you've read my blog about the 30ish cats in our 2 bedroom townhouse in Fredericksburg, VA, so many years again when Ian was a baby/toddler, you'll know how I've accepted blame yet have raged against my mother.  I felt that I have had to take care of her because she was always in a different bubble.  I know now that I have many similar traits and that I have often let my inner rage and self-importance fuel my decisions.  I guess that I was narcissistic for much of my life until my son was born.  I think I really hurt my mom because we lived together until I abruptly moved out of the cat house with my 3 year old son.  We had always lived together.  I never separated from her - I was 34.  I felt like I owed her and I needed to take care of her.  I think I hurt her more by my "care" than if I had left her and her inner-workings to her own devices.  I felt that I was helping.  I am a mixture between my father's controlling force and my mom's inner workings.  I've often felt rage but had no productive method for utilizing that depth of emotion.

So, first of all, I moved out of our townhouse and the cats destruction which I had tacitly supported.  I left her to make the payments, etc. while I moved to Northern Virginia.  I took out equity to help get everything ready to sell and I placed (or otherwise through humane means) got rid of the cats.  I drove the knife in deeply and the cock crowed.

Secondly, she came to live with me several years later where I had bought a house in Chesterfield, VA, because the gas was so expensive for her to continue to commute to her job.  I remember it was my birthday and I had no other help moving other that myself and mom.  Eventually, my son and his autistic temper tantrums and mom's responses to him caused his doctor's to say he had to have a peaceful environment.  So, I drove the knife in more deeply and moved her to an apartment, virtually overnight, and the cock crowed twice.

Thirdly, here I am.  My mom is going through the early stages of dementia but has many lucid times when she knows and follows what is going on.  She has 2 cats and her little dog, Piper.  Mom was just awarded Medicaid.  I don't have my mom's power of attorney.  Family decisions have been made outside of myself, that the two cats have to go because the cat hair in the kitchen is unsanitary.  I feel horrible yet no more so than my mom.  My part in this is to put the cats with a friend of mine from Fredericksburg, Kate.  Kate is a die-hard, cat advocate and has been since I met her around 17ish years ago.  Kate will take the cats but has definitely made clear her opinion that mom is better off keeping her family together, Snookie, Leo, Piper and herself.

I can't take the cats myself.  I feel that I am driving in the dagger thrice in my complicity in taking her cats away.  Am I any less complicit if I let someone else do it, or is it better that I do it because she knows me and the cock crows thrice.  I am Judas.  Adding pain and fear to my mom's life and this time the dementia is not even an escape that she built before to protect her.  It eats at her, stealing a unique person from me who has forgiven over and over.  I'll do what is necessary.  I usually do in so many life decisions.  I have developed a calloused shell when dealing people I love when there are things to be done regardless of feelings and right/wrong.

Moms forgive all.  Hopefully she will forgive again.  Judas was able to complete his ultimate destruction because he could not live with what he did to Jesus.  I have to keep going because I have people and pets of my own who need me and I'll forgive hurts as they come along.  I see my mom as so fragile but I know that she is a fighter, too.  She continues to fight the good fight but should it have to be against those she loves and a mind that is slowly eating away at her.  I carry her memories and at least the knowledge of her pain. Hopefully, I can share the good with my son so he will know what Nana has done for both of us.  I just wish I didn't have to kiss her on the cheek.

Being mental is an interesting ride through life...I'm Blessed

Yes, I know that I'm not being politically correct.  I don't feel like I have to be defined by terms and that I can embrace who I am... I don't have to embrace how those not in the "know" of being mental see me.  Have you ever seen "As Good As It Get's" with Jack Nicholson?  I don't have the outward idiosyncrasies (bringing my own plastic ware to restaurants or the "step on a crack" problem when walking down streets). I definitely DO process life a little differently.  I've seen a quote by an Autistic organization that says those with autism (not me)  may have a different operating system rather than different processing.  I'm not sure where I stand but I'm willing to boot up with my son any time.

One of my quirks is that I do have a strong stream of consciousness utilizing information/quotes/scenes from movies that I've seen, such as The Color Purple, The Princess Bride, Shrek, Joe Dirt, Kangaroo Jack, Hell Boy, loads of cartoon movies, (I'm sure I've watched more intellectual movies but the fact that I can't list them off the top of my head must say something...). Everything in my head leads to a thought of something else.  My thought processing is quite busy.  Its probably a wonder that I got through college but I guess my neurons have continued to ping through it all.

I live such a powerful inner life.  Its like I have my own "inner child" that views life in different, strongly colored, entertaining ways.  I don't hear voices, and I'm not stereotypically "crazy."  I do see others as being different, from me.  From age 12, I've known that I am living under a unique state of mind, I don't know yours but I can empathize if you feel "crazy" and feel that you are a bit different in how you think, act, or speak, then maybe you, too, can see that being different isn't a bad thing.  We are valuable human beings that make life worth living for those who are boring... :o)

I love me.  I love my autistic son.  I love my sort of "normal" fiance (yes, I just got engaged this week after being together six months).  He is fantastic.  Most people just see the regular guy, but he likes the same movies and we use "funny voices" based on what we've seen or how it fits into the situation that we have or are experiencing.   FUN!  He is my Mad Max, Master Blaster. I'm still deciding if he can run Barter Town. Awesome!

I have several labels but the one most socially acceptable is "Bi-Polar."  I experience very deep depressions sometimes and alternately, goofy highs.  My medications mainly treat the symptoms but I feel that some of the joy is sucked out.  I have to work very hard to avoid the leeching of my happiness.

I guess that is what we go through if we're mental or not.  We all struggle for our happiness not to be leeched.  Grab your happiness (of course, don't hurt others or yourself) when the opportunity exists. Celebrate those who think, act, and speak differently and use that special-ness to help others find happiness too.

I'm mental but its good.  I experience life in a new way every day.  I love me.  Do you love yourself, even if you're normal?  Ping those neurons!

Hoarding.. Is it just a TV show?

I know what you're thinking.  Heck, I know what I'm thinking.  How does something like the collection of over 30 cats happen to two working women, seemingly sane and educated, in a two bedroom townhouse? Really?

Do you know that Hoarding is a mental illness which is usually about loss?  Some people are just drawn to replace or fill a void in their lives.  My mom was one such person and I guess I was a co-dependent supporter.  I say WAS now, because she lives in her apartment with her two cats, Snookie, and Leo, and one little Yorkshire Terrier, Piper.  Mom is now starting to suffer from dementia and often doesn't remember conversations from minute to minute much less years ago where the pitter patter of little kitty feet roared with the strength of a pride of lions through house walls.

You see, all things in life, for the most part, start innocently in life.  Mom and I were up to 8 cats (all well loved, cutely named, up-to-date on shots, and only missing their pictures with Santa to be called full-fledged children.)  Puff was the first (and should have been our only) cat.  One cat in a lifetime has this type of love to give... but I digress.  She deserves her own story.

Three kittens were found outside our house, which I took to work and bottle fed.  This started the downward spiral of cat infestation.  Mom started doing "animal rescue" only she didn't work with an organization and the feral little beasties came to live in whatever nook and cranny existed in our home.  

Mom started feeding whatever stray lived in our neighborhood despite the strong opposition of the home owners association and friends and neighbors.  Remember the best girl friend who dumped me? (we'll revisit later) but you know, it ended ugly in cat land.

All clothes in our house had to be thrown away (and as an Executive in Northern Virginia, I had some nice clothes), carpets stank to high heavens...  I just shudder now, thinking back.

I know that you say surely, this train wreck had to be stopped.  I feel your pain, and my own, too.  Mom was not to be swayed from bringing in one cat critter after another.

BABY IAN was born in June 2000.  He was asthmatic.  Now, I thought, Mom will give up the cats (I was already past my kitty craze - with the exception of Puff).  I was bewildered.  Didn't she love him or me more that the cats?  The plans of Mice and Men often go awry.  I thought the Hoarding could be changed with every logical argument I could make - this over a 2 year period.  I guess I didn't know quite what to do, either.  

All things come around though, Mom dropped off Ian at daycare and I found that she was putting him in a cat cage so that the cats couldn't get on him.  One day, I was called by the day care.  They let me know that Ian's outfit needed to be changed.  I guess a cat sprayed him through the cage and he was covered in cat urine.

Okay - a brick smacked my head beyond all else.  I picked up my baby, and my Aunt and Uncle let me stay with them while I devised an escape plan.  Kitties were placed with every available organization possible and those too feral to be re-homed, went to the pound.  I'm sorry if you are offended by the horror story but none of this is easy - especially the hurt and betrayal my Mom felt with me taking her animals and grandson away from her.

I'm not sure what wounds my mom was trying to heal - maybe a poverty childhood, or a crush boyfriend who left her with me (she was a Pentecostal preacher's daughter), or marrying an abusive man to give a 2-year old girl a daddy and us a home outside of a truck-stop and small apartment), or maybe moving back home to more poverty and a very angry young teenage daughter, maybe losses in jobs, friends, her mom and dad, loss upon loss.  I don't know how my mom survived her life.

I can only tell you that happiness can grow out of this.  Many elements pulled together for her to end up in her happy, neat apartment with Snookie, Leo, and Piper.  As for Ian and I, we go to visit.  The best advise I can give is to not ever, under any circumstance, hoard your love and support.

Live a life worth living.

Julie Anne Joyce

 

My kid is normal, dang it

My son was born with red hair and blue eyes.  He was pink and squirmy and I have never felt anything so perfect in my arms as my him.  One day, someone with a big book, and a proper degree would label him Autistic.  Don't fall for this one, I did and I started to believe in the label, not my baby.

I kissed his little lips, dressed him in his blue outfit with orange duckies, and prepared to bring him home after about day 2 in the hospital.

I ate onions on a chili dog on the way home from the hospital which in turn gave him gas.  My first night home from the hospital I was sure that there had to be a place to drop off crying babies that couldn't be pacified. Had I made a horrible mistake, or had I been gifted with the most wonderful little bundle of happiness and joy that could be bestowed on a mom? Soon gas passed (as it does with baby gas drops), and all becomes right with the world of babies and little clothes and oohs and awhhs over your baby also known as my "pumpkin pie."

So as I traipse through the years, along the timeline we stop at about age 3.  I figured that I had created a small monster.  Surely, I had spoiled this small child by having him at 32 and breastfeeding him for a year. Why was he so flipping obstinate?  Surely, I did enough for him that he could just chill out and do what was expected of him, right?

Daycare had trouble with my now blond hair, blue eyed pumpkin that I loved with all my heart.  This love was by turns looking into his eyes and knowing my miracle was PERFECT and also that he was so defiant he had to be the world's largest pain in the bahookie.

The world moves again moves ahead to about age 6 or 7.  School was bookbags, new clothes, tears, and tears, and tears..  Rage, and some more tears.  After a while, I developed a routine of shoving my bundle of joy into the back seat of the car, kicking and screaming (I didn't say I was an informed mom and plus, my kid looked normal, he was just being a spoiled brat for goodness sake, wasn't he?), and I dropped him off at the school where a Godsend principle literally performed a hand-off of my lovey boy/brat/?, and carried him into the school.

As I skip a bit further, I belatedly realize that a kid does what he can, he doesn't just set out to make you unhappy with him.  Education and movements from elements of depression and many lost jobs over not making it to work on time, my bi-polar going untreated, and a profound realization that he needed treatment and so did I, occurred.  (Now, I am an A D V O C A T E for my pumpkin pie.   Remember that "degrees" can advise but you know yourself, your family, and your child best.  Get help, of course, but you're bright, dang it and you have the knowledge of your child that no one else has.)

I PRAISE parents who "get it" that something just isn't right.  But what if you are moving along your path watching Sponge Bob, and Teletubbies (when it hadn't been made into what it wasn't - sometimes a purse is just a purse), and Barnie.  What if you have hugs, kisses, bubble baths, and your little perfect monster leaves the water hose on for 3 days before you catch it and you have a "come to Jesus meeting" with the water utility company.  What if it all starts out with happiness and joy (after the first shocking sonogram where I finally agreed that, yes, I was pregnant, wow!).

I feel that I tried to do it all right, but somehow it wasn't enough, was it?  Well, yes, after tears, prayer, saving birds that my son's cat brought in still alive, all of these things made my life, and his, worth-while.  Our lives have been in therapy out the wazoo, and I continue to love but make mistakes anyway...

My family is pulling it all together or maybe just learning to eat the elephant one bite at a time.  A joyful life can exist and sometimes it is living and breathing, co-existing with intense pain, but one emotion doesn't have to override the other.

Remember as Sponge Bob sings, FUN, Fun is for friends who do things together, U is for you and me, N is for anywhere and anytime at all, here in the deep blue sea.  Remember, the blue onsies and orange duckie outfits picked out from Walmart and the hope you were building as you started the process of bringing him or her home.

Remember to build a life worth living.

Julie Anne Joyce

Weighty Issues

Today I will share with you something that is on my current to do list.

Do you ever have one thing that just keeps showing up on your New Year's Resolutions, or your discussions with friends and family (understanding that they usually bring it up and discuss how you NEED to lose weight), or where you begin to have private discussions with your Skinny Latte's and Popeye's Fried Chicken with mashed potatoes smothered in sausage gravy and a large O N I O N ring order.  Whew, salivation is good because it clears the palate...  I am having a food "glow" memory right now while eating dry pretzels instead of the good stuff.  Sigh.

Once upon a time in High School back when Brook Shield's said nothing would come between her and her Calvin Klein Jeans, I, too, wanted to bend over backwards and slip my dainty 150 lb butt into a pair of straight legs that gaped at the back.  I did just that by saving $50 in babysitting money (that was real money back in the day).  Awwww, didn't I look good.  I felt sooooo gooood.

Soon after my stupendous acquisition, we had weigh-ins for the Health Department or some other such agency tracking our height/weight disproportionate statistics (Jenny Craig must have been in on this scheme knowing that if she caught us fat girls early, we would flock to her doors as later consumers.), I just felt that I wasn't skinny enough to wear my Calvin's.

So, now I'm 21, exercising like a Jane Fonda wannabe and quite muscular and, boy, could my lungs push for the burn.  Now, one of my first bonding experiences with mental illness raised its ugly head.  A 50 ish male friend of mine thought there was something going on between he and I because I saw him as a father figure... Short story, I felt that this was all my fault and up to 220 lbs I gently added air and Ben and Jerry's to my previously svelte figure.

So now, forward to 32, I weigh in at 200 lb but I walked at least 3 miles every day (along with a love affair with the small Reese's cups (not the minis - they just don't have the right chocolate/peanut butter proportions - I'm a connoisseur and kids these day just don't know the real thing - so very sad.)

Okay, three months or so, after a breakup with a best girlfriend (no sex involved - just the regular girlfriend stuff when you exercised together to Richard Simmons with Sweating to the Oldies), I got pregnant with my son, who is soon to be 14 in June 2014.

With finding out I was pregnant (how many sticks can a girl pee on before she get the hint?).  The next downward (or upward) spiral of weighty issues was about to strike.

I was in shock with the following responses:  my best girlfriend dumped me, my mom walked out of the room (nothing said) when I told her I was expecting, and a 4-year dysfunctional relationship of booty calls (some love on my part, lots of cheating on his) plummeted downhill with his response of  "I'm sorry."  I was hoping for something more.  At the end of the pregnancy, I was 240 lbs.  Wasn't this all baby, pent-up breast milk, and a little fluid retention for good measure?

After baby, a year breast-feeding, working (my baby went into day care at 5 1/2 weeks), taking another 18 months to finish my Bachelor's degree, and a lot of life experiences that will be discussed in time (I can't tell you everything all at once that has taken many therapists years of crying, sobbing, and chocolate (that is just their part), my working weight, was around 270 lbs.  Yes, I understand that I am past baby weight here and moving into way beyond John Cena and The Rock combined.

While I strive to be completely honest about the ups and downs of emotional eating, weight pain which is much worse than tattoos and child-birth, I wonder will I ever be happy without my "happy" foods.

I dunno, my dry pretzels look pretty good, but only because I just found my stash of M&Ms from last Halloween.

I hope you can appreciate my life experiences because there is always one more bowl of butter pecan ice cream around the corner.

Continue to build a life worth living.

Julie Anne Joyce










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Loss means change - not always a bad thing...

Today, I search for a new beginning.

My life seems so full of difficult stuff but really good and God-fulfilling too:  I have an autistic child who is 13 and has for years searched for a way to kill me (all knives are hidden in the house);  I've blown out birthday candles on birthday cakes since I was 16 trying to find Mr. Right (I think he is here but am I right?  does a Mr. Right exist?); my mom is starting to suffer from dementia and she has the weirdest dreams such as she killed me in her apartment and Channel 8 was outside wanting to interview her...  Yeah, it gets better but I have humor and a bright soul.

I'm 46, SWF, outgoing, Height and Weight disproportionate, animal lover (dog, dog, cat, and rat).  This sounds like one of my old personals ads and yes, I've done it.  I've never been mainstream for match.com or eharmony.

My Church on Mother's day CLOSED DOWN with a 2-week notice from the pastor.  I've been going there for over 4 years and his new interest is the food bank not the Church.   Wow!  Just because a Pastor has a new summer home doesn't mean that he needs Sunday's free, does it?  So I must pray that God opens up new pathways for me.

I have existed through child-hood physical abuse, sexual abuse, mental illness, my son's mental illness, at 13 being the mommy to a mommy who I felt like I raised after her divorce through dementia, through her hoarder's existence (we lived with 30 some cats in a 2 bedroom townhouse with 2 adults, 1 newborn asthmatic child, a dog that peed everywhere, ah sigh).

Had a psychotic break after 2 years off my meds while being pregnant and breastfeeding for a year.

I worked, commuted from Fredericksburg, VA to Northern Virginia for around 20 years also earning my AAS in Business and my Bachelor's in Communications.  I have been an administrative assistant, a Human Resources Director, a Teacher, and crashed down to a couple of hours a weekend at Hardees where I was not a stellar employee while I was homeless in my van.

THIS STUFF IS NOT MADE UP.  This is my personal story.  I can relate with a lot of people and strongly hope that you can relate with me.

Please join my journey.  I promise humor and growth in a life worth living.

Julie Anne Joyce May 15, 2014