Losing A Loved One


I worked as a Certified Nursing Assistant and as a Medical Emergency Technician in the medical field for 40 years and I always loved the educational training I received. I worked in various venues of hospital care, including but not limited too, the emergency room, critical care unit, orthopedic, medical/surgical, and as a obstetrics technician. I also worked in the Nursing Home environment as a Certified Nursing Assistant.

I’m taking care of my own husband, who is dying of a blood clot in his heart. It could have been surgically fixed, but the chances of him dying on the table were very high, according to the cardiac surgeon, who assessed Ron during an emergency hospitalization for a heart attack. Ron had been sick for a long time before this with PTSD that resulted from a traumatic experience he had during our marriage, as well as physical illness that ultimately was misdiagnosed. He had lost a lot of weight, going from 170 lbs. to 99 lbs. in less than 1 year.

My husband was put into hospice care at home. With my training in the various areas of the medical field, I felt somewhat prepared to handle providing compassionate care to my husband. But I was only partially correct as it did not prepare me for the many intense emotions that I’ve experienced throughout this process.

When I was told that my husband was dying, I was shocked. My heart fell. I got scared. The thoughts that were going through my mind were of emptiness, relief, questions about what am I going to do? I felt anger that was not directed at my husband, but at me for the thoughts of planning his funeral. Should I have a memorial service? Paying for a cremation was very hard, I couldn’t even read the part where they explained what they did to the body so my son read it and then I just initialed it. Ron and I didn’t want  funerals. We had talked together about this and agreed to be cremated. Ron said to me once, “I don’t want to be kept on someone’s shelf!” He wanted to be ‘set free’ at the beach, a place we both loved and had gone to often in the past..

Other thoughts were related to what would happen after Ron passed. I need to find another apartment because I don’t know if I can afford to stay here, etc. The ‘why me?’, feeling guilty for wanting to be held and loved by a man. These feelings would upset me very much, because I felt that they were wrong and felt guilty for even thinking that way. I felt (and still feel at times) guilt for wishing it was over, so I could go on with my life. I don’t even really know where I am going or what I will end up doing, no plans.

I was angry with myself, that I couldn’t do anything for my husband except to keep him comfortable and pain-free. I could not change what God had in store for Ron and I. So I’m doing the best I can at making sure he gets what he wants and trying very hard not to let frustration get in the way. Yes I did get frustrated, because of having to jump at every need he had, fixing his medicines, getting him something to drink, walking him to and from the bathroom. Trying to figure out what to fix him for dinner, keep up with laundry, the house and all the people who came to see him. I’ve also had to take on the daunting task of handling the finances now, as Ron always did this for us.

I feel very tired, worn out, but I continue to do what I need to get done. Sometimes I find myself sitting on the couch watching Ron’s breathing and the skin colors that change from grey, blue, and a very white color. Then I get very sad and scared because he look’s dead but he’s not. I’m trying not to do this anymore because it’s like a vulture just waiting for the person lost in a desert to die.

I can’t really say how I will react at the passing, I just don’t know. I know my heart will be broken, I’m sure I will cry, but I also know I will have to be able to keep my head above water. My biggest fear is falling into depression, which is a bad place to be. I was there when my father died and fell into a very deep depression. I refuse to go there again!

When my father died it was very traumatic to me. He was found all purple in the face, aspirated, I tried clearing his throat and started C. P. R. . I could feel his rib’s cracking under my hands and the liquid just going up and down in his throat, I knew inside me that it was of no use and that Daddy was dead. I stood up and said, “I hate God, why would a loving God take my father in such an ugly way?” I fell into the deepest depression, had nightmares, couldn’t even close my eyes without seeing his face. I did learn how to overcome it, though it was not easy. My father’s death was so traumatic for me, I’d forgotten how to even pray, so at night when I went to bed I prayed ‘ Thy will be done Lord’, over and over. Jesus answered my prayer and helped me to grow in His word, learn to trust Him and read my bible, so I could get to know Him better.

As I got to know Him, things started changing. I was feeling better, although I was not a regular church goer. He was my Teacher and guide and I have gotten stronger in trusting God. Believing that He will see me through this, just as I learned when my father died. He would never leave me, nor forsake me. I know, that just as God saw me through the death of my father, He’ll see me through Ron’s passing too. I do not doubt that Ron is going to a place of peace and joy, and I know that in trusting Him, God will lead me to the same. . .


Mother Finally Confesses To Bi-Polar Son


I have been doing a lot of studying on bi-polar lately and was surprised to learn that it involves several facets of actions and interactions. I recognized that there were several different types of ways people reacted to their bi-polar conditions, actions, words, hurting other people, sometimes deliberately.

After reading all of those testimonials, I felt different, like I had been in denial for a long time, not wanting to admit that I also had to battle,  and still do to this day, with bi-polar tendencies . I also began thinking about my son who has the same problem, so I sat him down and tried to explain that I understand.  I have been in his shoes and I finally get it. When I told him, he got a shocked look on his face and said, “Really Mom?!” and I replied, “Yes.” It was very hard in telling him this because I was afraid, I had stigmatized myself and it was hard for me to tell him “I’ve been where you are”. We hugged but it was like a big relief hug for both of us.

It’s not something that’s easy to explain, people really don’t understand unless they have been there. It’s a daily battle but you can learn how to control most of the problem through persistent working with your brain and thoughts. By replacing negative with positive thoughts, you can learn how to stop negative in its tracks by changing what you are doing and thinking. You have and can take control, it’s you’re body and brain that aren’t working correctly and you do have the power to take control and fix it or at least get it under control.

You have the power within yourself to do this, it takes a lot of practice at any time of day or night. It’s a constant battle , but battles are made to be WON. Its like yoga is for the body, except you’re battling for yourself. Or someone who wants to have a muscular body, he achieves it by working out until he reaches his goal. Anyone determined to reach their goal and achieves that goal is a winner. It takes confidence and a strong will power, even when you feel you are failing, you are not. Keep on trying.

Doctors sometimes can help with drugs, but inside YOU is the answer. Drugs can cover up problems, but the doctor at times will sometimes just prescribe more. Not knowing they are causing more damage and just covering up the problem. They have not been there, or they just don’t truly care about your well-being. Try to find a doctor or therapist who cares about YOU.

PSALMS 27 :1

The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?

The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

Mental Illness Treatment or Mistreatment?


Mental illness is not looked at the same way by most people. They all have their own perceptions and/or stigma about even the mention of the word. To some you are crazy or psycho and looked upon like you’re a leper, and with others you’re treated kindly, but I feel this is rare.

I feel that some people think the mentally ill should be locked up or that they disrupt our neighborhoods. Not all mentally ill are violent people, but I feel they are all judged as trouble. I have observed people rolling their eyes at my Son, looking at him strangely, or they simply look away. I feel that they are not deemed as human beings, fit to be on this earth.

I have personally experienced a lot of stigmatizing, because I have a mentally ill child. Who has been made fun of, picked on, beat up, even called ‘retard’. Not even grade school teachers understood. One teacher used to grab him by the neck and shake his head ( this was before I noticed the finger and thumb bruises on the back of his neck, while giving him a hair cut). I asked him how this happened and he said ” that’s what teacher does if I don’t know the answer fast enough”. You talk about mad, I was livid! I went up to that school and demanded to see that teacher! The principal then went and called her to the office. I told her that I was going to drag her up and down the halls of that school by the hair on her head. I was angry enough to do it too, needless to say she was terminated from the school, not by the principal but by the State School Superintendent.  I was satisfied with her consequences.

Later on while in grade school, Shane was being beat up by two other boys, when he was able to get up he ran after them. He could only catch one, so he got a hold of him and bit him in the stomach. The mother of the boy took her son to the school and proceeded to show the principal what my son had done. He called me at home and I went up there with Shane, to find out what the problem was. The other mother of the boy pulled up his shirt and sure enough he had a bite mark on his tummy. The principal was angry, but I was also angry and I admitted it. The mother kept telling the principal what he should do, he looked at me as if to say, “Well, what are you going to do about this problem?” I looked them both in the face and told them what Shane had said, ” Well if I were attacked by two boys, I would do my best to catch one and do my best to fight back”. Shane was only trying to protect himself. But I let him know that biting was not at all okay and gave him a good scolding over that one.

Shane started being attacked in junior high not only by other bullies, but also by ignorant teachers who would humiliate him in class. I went to talk to this teacher and he was just very rude and mean, needless to say I got nowhere with that. Until the following year he asked my other son, Shaun, if he was related to Shane Simmons Shaun replied yes, he’s my brother. The teacher then said to Shaun ” I hope you’re not as stupid as he was”.

We bought Shane a set of weights to start working out with and eventually he got some good-looking muscles on him, he would work out everyday. We thought this would be a good way for him to build strength so he could defend himself. By the time he finished and had built up some muscle he was more confident in being able to take care of himself. He had 17″ biceps at 13 years old. Then came arm wrestling. No one at high school could take him down. In fact the only one that ever did was his Uncle Gary. So that was what Shane would do if someone challenged him, arm wrestling. The jocks at school couldn’t even beat him. Shane had found his niche.  People began to see that they couldn’t bully him anymore.

The following is a poem written by Shane. I wanted to share it to show that Shane is a human being and he hurts sometimes. Poetry is a gift my Son has to express his inner pain.



By Shane Simmons

Of me You have given life

My heart cries out to You

I’ve waited for your touch

But Satan wants me too

Sometimes  I get confused

Because I do not understand

That’s when I need You most

To come and hold my hand

I know You are always near

At times I can not see

That’s when I need You most

To come and comfort me

I will always hear Your voice

Though at times its not so clear

That’s when I open up my heart

And let You hold me near

My Dog Jack And His Little Quirks


Do you know that dog’s can suffer from anxiety? My Beagle Jack does! He’s on medication, but I sometimes have to wonder if it’s working. I go to my neighbor’s to have coffee, not gone long and when I return Jack acts like I’ve been gone for weeks. He runs up to me wanting my attention, crying and barking. I have to stop and pet and love him before he calms down. This happens every time I leave the house.

He’s a good loving dog but very insecure and full of anxiety. He’s also an excellent watch dog, he always barks when people come to the door and then if it’s someone he knows, he has to sniff them and lets them know that he wants their attention. He will follow them until they sit and then actively seeks all of their attention. Even the hospice people who regularly come to see my husband, from the Pastor to the bath aide, Jack is always right there to say hello.  They even buy him some nice treats and give them to him. Spoiled dog he is.

His two sisters are cats and he’s real good with both of them, although he get’s angry with Kiki, she’s the youngest of the two, Emmie is the most gentle, she even will give Jack little kisses, where as Kiki will lie in wait to try to scratch him on the behind. Jack got fed up with that though and went after her one day, so she keeps her distance now. Oh, once in a while she still tries, but I swat her on the butt with a fly swatter. Only thing is poor Jack is afraid of the fly swatter, so he runs too.

Jack also likes to go for walks by himself , if he can get out the door. He always comes home and when he’s done, pushes on the screen door, or will bark to want to come back in. Normally when he walks I am with him and he’s on a leash and walk side by side we go. Jack is a real sniffer he has to smell

everything along the way. I guess, or I should say he is truly hound, nothing gets by his nose, not even mole holes are missed, even if he sees the hole he’s digging to get to that mole. On one occasion Jack and I were walking along and he saw a whole bunch of mole holes, we were on a busy street, but I thought it was funny that Jack was going hole to hole digging and trying to catch that evasive mole. He never did catch it, I guess he got all worn out from the digging and gave up. But he truly enjoys his walks, he loves it any time.

I love my pets even with their faults and I know that they love me too. I get a lot of enjoyment and unconditional love and faithfulness from my pets my companions. Even though it’s like raising 3 children. I thought I was done with that part of my life. Evidently not.

Shane: Bi-Polar Disorder And Brainwashing By The Mental Health System

I have a son, who’s been diagnosed with this horrible bi-polar disorder and you would not believe the pills they have him on. I looked everyone of them up and several are not made to be taken together. I went on to Drugs.com, then to the interaction checker of these pills. Its amazing to me that my son can even function.

His doctor has him taking 14 different medications, some of which are not recommended to be taken together. Like seroquel and depakote pills. I have tried talking with the doctor about this problem and he will not listen to me, and at times has been unprofessional in his view of me as Shane’s advocate. If only I could find a decent doctor, one who has Shane’s interest at heart, not his wallet. I feel they over medicate my son and that profit is the reason, because his psychiatrist makes money every time he sees my son, once a month. I read an interesting article that seems to validate my concerns.  http://draxe.com/brainwashed-by-psychotropic-drugs/

His counselor tries to understand, but she’s afraid to even see the doctor or talk about the pill problem with him. Yet his pills have so many side effects, he turns into a zombie, with no thought process, no care of himself, his thinking and energy are affected and make conversation with him difficult. I have to push him to do almost anything, even to go to his meetings that he’s supposed to attend, 4 days a week. Not like AA meetings, they are cognitive behavioral and thinking education based meetings that Shane cannot process. How is he to learn the information? He has the mind of a 10-year-old and can’t read because of an eye condition he has, called keratoconus, which causes the eyeball to grow like a volcano. He will eventually have to have a cornea transplant to be able to see more than a blur. He has to look very closely at things to be able to even see it and then it’s still blurry.

But this is really difficult for me as a Mom, because I know that Shane can easily manipulate me too. So keeping a balanced perspective between what I think the system is doing to my Son, versus the tendency for Shane to manipulate me, is really hard!

I feel the system is exploiting Shane’s mental health issues for profit and I feel that oftentimes they bully him into submission.  As his advocate, I’ve observed what I feel are bullying tactics that are veiled as implied ‘threats’. I was in the doctor’s office with Shane, when the doctor just said, “Well, we will raise you’re seroquel up and you take it 3 times a day”2, without even checking how much he was already on. By forcing more pills or even raising the dose, adds insult to injury. Shane has the mind of a 10-year-old, he doesn’t know the difference its going to make in his body and the doctor does not take the time to explain it. To me, I believe Shane is manipulated without even realizing it. The counselor suggested that Shane go to “Folk Time’. This is a place for the mentally handicapped to go and socialize. He went and had a great time, came home happy and talkative. I talked with his counselor  and told her about how Shane felt about folk time and Shane would like to attend more often. Her reply was.  “You know there are addicts there and Shane would be at high risk.” I thought ‘then why did you even suggest it in the first place?’

As his advocate, I feel they don’t even listen to me. I have observed the doctor telling Shane ,”I think we need to raise  your depakote to a higher level” and I did not even see him looking up what dose Shane was already on, besides the seroquel. I feel betrayed and that no matter what I say does not matter. I wonder what would happen if I just took him out of their care and found a new doctor. It would be very hard as Shane would have to practically start over. I have a low opinion of this place and it feels very unprofessional to me  because of their actions. Because of other research I have done about Shane’s medication, as well as about this type of mental illness,I feel that Shane is being over medicated and bullied to take the doses he is on. They need first to realize that he is a person, a human being with feelings and some ideas of his own.

Shane does have the freedom of choice, but getting him to learn to stand up for himself against authority figures is very hard for him. He told me once that he had a difficult time trying to tell them what he feels and that they don’t listen. I believe that to be true, because they have treated me the same way, as his advocate–

As his mother and advocate, I honestly feel they don’t really care. I feel troubled that it feels like Shane is being drugged him up so much he seems like a robot with no mind or choice in any matter concerning him or his opinion. I feel they see only a mentally ill person that they can tell or do whatever they want him to do.

I’d like to put a stop to what I see as bullying and manipulative behavior toward Shane, but how do you make them see, when they won’t listen?

mental Illness Andd Drugs

  Mental Illness And Drugs

My Encounter With The ‘Copper Penny’ Hair Dye!

Mom red hen
Boy do I feel better!

I  colored my hair last week and what an awful red it turned out to be. When I went out into the sun, I felt like God was shining His light right on my head. The color I picked was not my regular brand, so I settled for a very light copper-red. BIG MISTAKE! It was so bright red that I looked like a brand new penny from the Treasury Department.

At first I thought it’s awful bright, I don’t like it. This morning my neighbor and I were talking about what to do , I didn’t tell her I went and bought another color, the brand that I was used to. After she had a few laughs about my hair, she said I looked like I could be a red siren with a loud-speaker on the back of a fire truck, I agreed and we both had a good laugh, especially about the God thing. But then she carried on even more about,’ well Annette you looked like a red fire truck’.  She went on to say she told me it looked good. Finally she admitted that she was just telling me that, because she didn’t want to hurt my feelings. Thanks a lot! I’d rather have my feelings hurt, than go around with that kind of hair.

Anyway, I came home and put the other color on, not knowing how it was going to turn out. I mixed it all up , shook the bottle and applied the new color change and worried. Finally after thirty minutes I rinsed my hair and was afraid to even look into the mirror, afraid of what I might see. Would it be worse than before? I finally looked and what a relief! Closer to my color and no copper. I was pleased with it, my neighbor said it looked a lot better, but how can I trust her? She lied about the first color, but was trying to save my feelings. I do trust my neighbor friend and she’s never before lied to me, but it was funny!

I should had done a selfie first, then another after color was done. Oh well, penny lost and my hair is back to the color I like. So goes the true story of ‘Ella May’ with the copper penny hair!

Manipulation and Mental Illness: Is It Him, Or Is It Me?

A few days ago, I was awakened by a phone call from the owner of the adult foster home my eldest son was staying in, to let me know that he was missing.

I was immediately frightened and called the police to file a missing person’s report. My youngest son, Shaun, spent half the night driving around looking for him. While Shaun was out looking for him, I sat and stared in bewilderment at the back sliding door, waiting for Shane to show up.

The next morning, at about 10 a.m., Shane called our home and Shaun answered. He was crying uncontrollably, saying “I’m sorry I did this to you and Dad, but I cannot go back to that house.” He said he was in Vancouver, and he didn’t know the name of the street, so Shaun told him to look nearby at the street signs. Once he had a location, Shaun was out the door to pick him up.

Meanwhile, I was a nervous wreck at this point. When he got to the house, he started apologizing, crying and hugging everybody. About a half hour after he had arrived, he was making coffee and sitting at the table smoking cigarettes. It dawned on me that his emotions had switched rapidly and as he sat there, I realized I had been manipulated. He was far too happy and content, a contradiction to his emotions just a half hour before. I began to feel immediately angry and resentful. I realized this was now a cycle that he perpetuated every time to return home.

In venting with my neighbor, I began to realize that Shane was manipulating me and that his whole focus was to be at home and that he would do anything to make that happen. We discussed his illness and my neighbor mentioned that he is not only very mentally ill but thinks like a child. Where does a child want to be? Where does a child feel most SAFE? My son, Shaun, also saw that Shane was manipulating and he was becoming very frustrated and angry at Shane, because he knew what Shane was doing. Although he is firm with Shane and never cruel.

During my discussion with my neighbor about Shane’s disappearance, she said it’s one of two things: Either he is going to find a motel and commit suicide or he is going to find a motel and call you, just so he can frighten you enough to go home. I learned that while my son is a very sick man, part of his illness IS the manipulation. When he left the adult foster home just the night before, he had his backpack, and I called the bank only to find out he had withdrawn all of his money. It was becoming more clear to me that this was premeditated, as was every event prior to this in his obsession to be at home.

Last April, we had Shane put into what we thought was an adult foster care home. It turned out to be a home for recovering Alcoholics who were somewhat functional and independent. At first, Shane appeared excited about this home and the residents appeared to like him. This didn’t last long because Shane refused to go to the AA meetings, even though there were not transportation issues in getting to and from the meeting, as Shane does not drive. He wasn’t eating, he wouldn’t pick up after himself or do his laundry, or cook for himself, and stayed in bed most of the time. We learned that Shane had a serious stomach issue, while also having taken himself off all of his medications cold turkey. The staff did not inform us of any of this, and so unless we saw Shane, or I called to find out how he was doing, we had no idea what was going on in his daily existence there.

One day I was over visiting with Shane and the owner pulled up in the driveway, got out of the car and came over to me and said, “Shane needs to move because he is not cooperating with the meetings or following house rules.”

My heart fell.

I knew I’d have to take him back home and I did. Shane was sicker when he got home then before he left. We made an appointment for him to see a doctor and discovered that Shane had gallbladder disease and was then scheduled for surgery. But while Shane was at home, I was then a caregiver again to not one, but two of my family members as I’m also caring for my dying husband. I felt depressed, tired and became resentful at picking up after them and constantly being needed in one way or another for both of them. It had reached the point where I realized I could not do both again and that I was not qualified to take care for Shane and that he needed more than I could give him. I knew he could not stay.
I felt guilt about this and at the same time, resentful of my son. I’m not getting any younger and the stress of being a caregiver over the years had become overwhelming to me.

So I decided to continue my efforts to find Shane another safe, (and this time) qualified adult foster care home. Shane’s counselor worked with me in continuing to try to find another home for him. She is a very good counselor, but I think Shane had become quite good at manipulating her too. She learned of a home that was available and set up a meeting with me, the owners of the home, Shane and a man from the state, who was there to offer state funds for rental assistance on Shane’s behalf.

I told the owners of Shane’s diagnosis, bipolar disorder, manic-depressive disorder and schizophrenia. Although at the time, even though I knew it somewhere in my heart, I was not yet fully aware of how deeply manipulative Shane really was/is. I fell for every manipulative attempt. I truly believed that this new home would be perfect for Shane. Again, he showed excitement about it and the clients there seemed to like him.

But it wasn’t long before Shane’s manipulative and sabotaging behaviors would erupt. About a month into this living arrangement, Shane began to call me and demonize the staff. I didn’t believe any of this and was determined to hold to my boundaries and not enable or readily buy into his stories, but it didn’t stop there as he was very determined. He started to leave the adult foster care home and come immediately unannounced. He knew the bus schedules and he knew when they stopped running. He would often show up in the late afternoon or evening and stay long enough to where the last bus had come and gone and without a car, he knew I could not take him home. The minute I saw him coming up toward the house, my thought was “Oh shit..” He knew he was not to come unannounced, and I felt resentment because he was violating my boundaries and he didn’t care that it angered me. Feeling this anger and resentment, also created unbelievable guilt for me. I’ve always felt responsible for Shane’s illness, that it was something I did or didn’t do as a parent. It will take me a long time not to blame myself. It’s very hard to let go…

I made extraordinary efforts to keep the house owner’s informed, as well as Shane’s counselor, as to his tactics. I felt unheard by the owner’s of the house as they shared with me that they could not make Shane stay in the house. I was feeling frustrated, as it was becoming clear that this placement was not structured enough nor safe for Shane.

What followed was a repeat of the behaviors he engaged in at the last house. He did not cooperate, or follow through with the structure they had set up. I was told he roamed the house at night and did not follow through with his chores. They said he was not attending his required meetings. Also that he was disrupting the whole house and that he was an addict.

Come to find out, Shane was manipulating and lying to me, a lot. His goal was to get back home, no matter what it took. I didn’t see this for a long time. This is the second time he has been placed into a home and sabotaged his stay, because in his mind, a mind kinda like a child, he is very focused on what he wants. Admittedly, I enabled my son for many years, not knowing what was wrong with him. I didn’t realize this was what I was doing, as I was desperately wanting to help him. He knew that I was terrified of his past suicide attempts and that he might try it again. He learned how to manipulate by frightening me. He had many ‘acts’ that were part of that manipulation, but he was so good at it, I saw them as very real. Sometimes, he would shake uncontrollably and start crying, begging me for things he knew I could not and would not give him to pacify him.  So he ran away, not even thinking about how we would feel about him going missing. It was all a part of his plan to get back home.

As his mother, I have to be honest about him having pulled the wool over my eyes. He had me convinced that he was not happy there and didn’t want to be there any longer. Because of the way he thought he was being treated. When in reality this had been what he was hoping for. He had manipulated me all the time and lied to his heart’s content, no matter who was involved. I guess it took a big rock to hit me on the head to realize what he was up too.

This is something greater than me, or the people who have tried to help. Tomorrow, I have a meeting scheduled with Shane’s counselor, a man from the state, his psychiatrist and myself and my son, Shaun to discuss placing him in a locked facility.

I’m a little scared for Shane, but I know this is the right thing to do.

The Pink Sweater

One cool winter morning, my sisters and I were awakened, to get ready for school. Becky and I wanted to wear the same sweater. It was a real cute pink sweater. Well I decided that I wanted to wear it that day, but my sister Becky wanted to wear it too.

I could wear it today, then she could wear it tomorrow. I thought it was a fair offer, but no she wanted to wear it that day. I was not giving up, but neither would she. So we had a problem here, each of us was holding on to that sweater tugging away to get it out of  each others hands. Becky and I had our first real fight,  it started by pushing and pulling of the sweater. Then we were punching at each other, with one hand, because neither of us was going to give up that sweater.

After that neither of us, could wear the sweater at all, it was stretched and torn, and UN-fixable. We were both scratched up a little and angry with each other. She said I ruined the sweater, and I blamed her, when actually we both ruined the sweater.

We both eventually let it go and were sisters again, in spite of that sweater. That was the one and only fight we ever had, as young women. Although, I did leave a pretty good bite mark on her leg.

Make Up Your Damned Mind Already!

So those of you that are reading my blog or have, have probably noticed the quick change of blog usernames.

The other two titles didn’t fit for me. I constantly felt as if I had to stay consistent with the title and what kind of posts I write. That sense of obligation to my username on the blog, prevented me from feeling free to write about anything and not just mother and religious stories, as they are only one or two aspects of me and my life.

Ella May is my middle name, and despite some of my posts here, I DO have a sense of humor and my neighbor and I were going through potential names, when I told her what my middle name and she erupted into laughter and we decided that this name would be great to use, as well as the word ‘soapbox’ as I tend to get preachy once in awhile.

So while I can’t promise that it will stay this way, for now, I like this new ‘suit’. And I think, I’ve probably made up my damned mind now!

Ella May (Annette)

Learning To Overcome Emotional Dependence

Positive people

At first I was emotionally dependent on my husband, he’s put up with me for a long time. I didn’t have to worry, he worked for the railroad and made good money. I got what I wanted. As time went on though, I began to feel he didn’t love me, because he never told me no. I needed him to tell me yes or no, to care about where I was going. I felt the need for someone to care about what I did and where I went. Ron and I talked and I tried to explain my feelings, he didn’t get it. He was probably afraid to, because I could be very opinionated and at times even angry. That’s something we both worked on together and overcame in time. With communication and love.

Ron and I have had a good marriage, 45 years. We’d talk a lot more and started communicating better, so our love grew, to where we are today, still living and loving together. Only now my husband is dying, and my son  took over as the head of the family. I feel responsible and sad that I learned, through my emotional dependence, that I was using him as someone I could depend on and talk to. But I found out differently, after reading about emotional dependency and the problems that could possibly happen or lead to. The resentment I feel about taking care of Ron, is the resentment my son is feeling in taking emotional care of me, which I don’t want. But he listened and tried to do his best in all that he could, I was told by my friend that I was emotionally dependent upon my son. I believe this to be the truth.

I have to get control of this, before it get’s totally out of hand. For instance, my son regularly stops by the house everyday. He listen’s to me and we talk, but I should not be putting my problems onto him. He has a family of his own to take care of and I dump even more onto him. He does not need to feel like I am, a pain in the ass. I’m sharing stuff with him, that should be shared with a close friend or with a therapist. Not my son. It’s time for me to help and handle myself, not others, to take care of me. I’m still a strong person, I can do this. I can depend on myself to get things done and organized. I’d have to make the final choice anyway.

I now know that I can beat this problem, once I’ve been given mind to, I do believe I can do it . I can live independent of my kids, support myself, I will find an apartment,  I will survive, not giving up on myself. I do recognize my value, I’m a survivor.

I need to learn how to trust my own instincts and not someone else. No hiding or trying to stay within myself, let it out, be myself. Above all be true to me. Remain in tune with other issues I know I have, by confronting them and talking with the right people or person. It’s mainly my neighbor who helps me to see what I’m locking up, she has a kind and gentle way of bringing it out and explaining, by observation, its something I can not deny.

Because I can feel inside that there is still more to come, other issues that I didn’t or don’t realize I have. But that emotional dependence has to go!

In Romans 13: 13