Picking Myself Back Up

I have always been upfront about my struggles and my diagnosis of bipolar 2 with severe anxiety and depression.

Since I talked to you last, my life has been in a shambles. I was sent back to Illinois where I was sharing a house with my daughter and her family. They moved and I lost the house we were living in and pretty much everything I owned, including my kitty. I managed to save enough clothes and yarn to get by.

The month of June, I was homeless. I ended up in the hospital because of the series of losses triggered my PTSD. I am not a veteran. My Complex PTSD is caused by repeated severe trauma; molestation, rape, domestic violence, homelessness (you get the idea). I was blessed by a young man who had been friends with my daughter who allowed me to stay at his apartment while I was looking for a place to live. The difficulty was finding an apartment that I could afford, with security deposit, on my disability check.

Then, I was blessed, again by a woman who needed someone to take over the lease on her apartment. The security deposit was paid, for now. I was the first person to respond to her ad, about 5 minutes after she posted it! They landlord accepted me and I moved in June 30.

Crocheting is one way I kept from giving up. Here are some of the items I completed:

I had found a place but it didn’t feel like home. That is, until I adopted 2 twelve week old kitten sisters! They have grown a lot since I brought them to live with me.

I named them Hope (the top photo) and Faith (obviously the bottom pic).

They keep me smiling and getting out of bed every day.

They don’t let me crochet very much because they think the yarn is theirs!

Even though I am not homeless anymore, I am still struggling. They remind me that I need to have hope and keep the faith. I try to remember to cast my cares and anxiety on Jesus. That He will not abandon me. He provided an escape from being homeless and the food pantry is keeping me fed.

If you would like to help, please check out my Etsy shop: www.etsy.com/shop/CabinCrochetCreation

And keep me in your prayers as I search for a job.

Thank you for reading my blog post! And may God bless you richly!

Picking Myself Back Up

Continuing My Story

The last post, I was telling how it came to be that my son was born. After I had him, Husband got a lot more controlling in some ways. We couldn’t go to the park until we drove around it for quite a while and Husband decided it was ok for Son to go and play, with us near by, of course. There was a lot of other things like that. Clean laundry had to be put on the bottom of the pile under the other ones in the drawer or closet so that the towels or what have you, would wear evenly. First in, first out for everything. Husband had been severely abused as a child. His father would beat him and his brothers for no apparent reason. Many days there was no food in the ‘fridge but there was always a bottle for dad. I did not grow up in a home like that. I was so focused on doing everything right so he didn’t yell and scream at me and so that Son would be taken care of, all his needs met, I didn’t realize that I was being abused.

I worked really hard at losing the weight I had gained being pregnant. I gained a whopping 75 pounds and Baby was only 8 pounds 8 ounces so I had quite a bit to lose. I nursed Baby for one year. I had him fully weaned by 13 months. (Another requirement of Husband). I lost about 25 pounds right after I weaned him. I lost another 45 pounds over the next year and a half. Then I became pregnant again.

Continuing My Story

My Story

Dear friends. This is going to be a different sort of post. I would like to share with you some of my story and in my next post, how and why I came to be a yarn artist.

I grew up in a “normal” family  for the most part. Dad taught college biology and botany. Mom stayed at home. She took college courses in the evenings. Before I was born she worked in a bank. This is where she saw the name “Tanya” on a check. It struck a cord in her and decided to name me that in 1967. When I was 12 she graduated from college with a degree in elementary education. She then started working at a local elementary school. I have 1 sister who is 6 years younger than me born in 1973. I have a soft spot in my heart for her- my little sister, and all that. Mom’s Dad was a Pastor and my Dad’s Mom was a devout, born again, Christian. The only darkness that was over my life at that time is that I was being molested by someone not in my immediate family from 6 years old to 14 (I will not use names to protect the living, the dead, the innocent and the guilty). I should add that no one knew. I didn’t tell anyone because that was a taboo in the ’70’s.

When I was 14 my Mom filed for divorce. It seemed to me, at the time, that it was out of the blue. (I should add that I adored my Dad). Then the war started. Profanity in a house that never heard a curse word. From zero to Rage in 10 seconds where anger wasn’t ever shown. Things being thrown in a family where throwing things is “not nice”. Words yelled from the person that taught me  “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”. This was a horrible, confusing time for everyone in my family. Add all this to the regular teenage angst. My Dad was SO devastated that he had to withdraw and move “far away”. He only wrote letters and sent them through my Uncle so we wouldn’t know where he was. PLEASE do not judge him. He did what he had to do for his sanity, at that time. Don’t we all just do the best that we can at every given moment, using what we have access to?

Needless to say, this affected me greatly. I was in High School in a very affluent community. I went from living in an upper middle class home to a lower middle class rental. I felt like the majority of the people in our community and my school were above the status that I could achieve. I felt that they looked down on me. I started working at 13 so that I could buy some of the clothes that were status symbols in that area , in the early ’80’s. At 14, during THE DIVORCE, I started drinking and/or smoking “pot” after work with some older friends to cope. This was not a daily or even a weekly occurrence. It was only occasional.

Right after I graduated from High School in 1984,  Mom remarried. I was 17. I didn’t think that he was good enough for our family. He was Blue Collar and my REAL Dad was a Professor. My Dad had a Ph.D. and I think  Step-Father only had a GED. The wedding was in June and I left for College in August. After I left Mom, Step-Dad and sister became a family…without me.

I was ill prepared for what awaited me. The alcohol flowed freely at the parties and if you were lucky someone would pull out a bong. I soon became very anxious, depressed and overwhelmed. I tried to kill myself on November 9.  This became a defining moment in time for me. It was the beginning of a 2 1/2 year spell in a Psychiatric Hospital.  In 1984, this was still done. I was misdiagnosed then, but many years, and hospitalizations later, in approximately 2007, I was diagnosed Bipolar, Type 2. Here is Wikipedia’s definition:

Bipolar II disorder is a bipolar spectrum disorder characterized by at least one episode of hypomania and at least one episode of major depression. Diagnosis for bipolar II disorder requires that the individual must never have experienced a full manic episode. Hypomania is a sustained state of elevated or irritable mood that is less severe than mania and does not significantly impact quality of life. Unlike mania, hypomania is not associated with psychosis. The hypomanic episodes associated with bipolar II disorder must last for at least four days. Commonly, depressive episodes are more frequent and more intense than hypomanic episodes. Additionally, when compared to bipolar I disorder, type II presents more frequent depressive episodes and shorter intervals of well-being. The course of bipolar II disorder is more chronic and consists of more frequent cycling than the course of bipolar I disorder. Finally, bipolar II is associated with a greater risk of suicidal thoughts and behaviors than bipolar I or unipolar depression. Although bipolar II is commonly perceived to be a milder form of Type I, this is not the case. Types I and II present equally severe burdens.

I am telling you all of this because just last week I was released from, yet another hospitalization. I had to be “in” for 12 days in an unfamiliar hospital. I will  tell you the rest of my story tomorrow and why I have so much hope.

Part 2 Coming Soon…

My Story