“Feeling Blue” Makes No Sense

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. I’m a little late participating in this week’s Sunday Confessionals, as rather than Sunday, it’s Monday night. However, as someone who only “sees” color as it’s presented to me synesthetically, I felt the prompt of “feeling blue” appealed to me.

Blue, as I see it, is not a sad color at all. As such, “feeling blue” has never truly had its intended connotation to me. Blue is the color of clear skies (at least, in our perception). I associate it with inward-directed energy. As such, blue is the color of the letter T, which represents “Thinking” in the MBTI. It might be associated with introspection, but it’s definitely not associated with depression. I’d choose grey for that instead.

I am not a color-to-emotion synesthete, although if I want to, I can describe the feel various colors have to me. Red is angry, as one might expect. Yellow, on the other hand, isn’t as upbeat as most people associate the color to be. I would describe it, depending on its shade, as slightly content in a light shade to optimistic in sunflower yellow. Give me green as the representative of joy anytime. And purple, and especially lilac, is authentic, even though there’s no purple letter in that word.

What do you think? Do colors have emotional meanings to you?

September Dreams and Memories

Posted on by Astrid

Last night I dreamt of being admitted to the psych hospital. It’s no wonder, since the anniversary of my actual admission isn’t very far away, on November 3. September 23 is my anniversary of going into long-term care and last Wednesday, I celebrated one year in my current care home.

I was reminded yesterday that September is a bittersweet month. That is, I was reminded of the sweet aspect, ie. it being me and my spouse’s wedding aniversary yesterday. The bitter aspect has overshadowed my days with flashbacks and my nights with dreams more than I’d like. I am, thankfully, still coping.

I am hoping that, as I acquire more pleasant memories here at this home, the flashbacks and nightmares will lessen. I know I was saying something similar when reclaiming November in 2021. I hope this time around I will choose following my dreams and aspirations over re-enacting the past.

Sharing this post with Friday Writings #145, for which the optional theme is dreams and memories. This was more of a freewrite than anything else, but oh well.

Phones #SoCS

Posted on by Astrid

Today’s prompt for #SoCS is “phone”.

I’ve had an iPhone for just over seven years now. Before that, I had a sturdy regular cellphone. I once had the earliest model of a smartphone-like thing, a Nokia 6230i, but I could still only use it to make calls. I got it with my then new phone plan because I wanted to make use of a scheme by which cellphone calls would be charged landline fees. Remember, it was 2007, so cellphone rates were still very high and I didn’t have a landline. That is, I wanted to get one while living independently in Nijmegen but had just got it installed when I landed in crisis. I in fact had my home phone that I intended to use in my apartment with me when I was hospitalized.

The reason I could only make calls with a phone that was almost a smartphone, is the fact that it didn’t have MobileSpeak, the earliest excuse for a phone screen reader, on it and it couldn’t get it installed even if I wanted to. I’m surprised at how things have changed. Then again, I really shouldn’t be surprised. Life progresses, after all.

My current iPhone, I use for all kinds of things, almost like a handheld computer. That is, not actually almost, really, since I don’t even take my iPhone with me when I leave my room. I really want to do that more, so that I can take pictures when I notice something interesting. Like the rainbow my staff saw a few days ago. I really wish I’d had my phone with me then.

Play Therapy #SoCS

Posted on by Astrid

I had my first play therapy session on Wednesday. That is, I used to have play therapy when I was in elementary school. That was nearly 30 years ago though. Yikes, how time flies!

Anyway, I only had four sessions back then before the school holiday and apparently those were either enough or my parents didn’t consent to more play therapy. Not that they were paying, but oh well. My parents were very reluctant to agree to these first sessions anyway, because they were suspicious of anyone in the helping profession, including the play therapist. I wonder why, since the goal of therapy was that I not get angry as quickly anymore. I back then denied getting angry much at all. However, I did play with toy weapons all the time, threw out the purple-haired dollhouse figurines because people don’t have purple hair and tried to overflow the water tray. That might have been telling. Or not, since I don’t know whose initiative the toy weapons were.

I hated play therapy though, because I had to go to it during my favorite subject in school, biology. I wonder honestly what the point was.

Same now. I was initially told, back in February when I had the intake interview for therapy with two different therapists, that the type of therapy I’d get was called something like “differentiation therapy”. I filled in what I thought this meant and behaved in a way that I thought was consistent with this. I thought that the goal is to learn to identify different feelings, so this Wednesday I constantly named the attributes of the objects I played with. The therapist did note that I was adamant about which types of play-doh I liked or didn’t like, but she didn’t write anything about me constantly saying, for example, that the PlayMobil® figurine was giving its companion its left rather than right hand, etc.

I’m pretty sure I was trying to show off with this behavior. I’m now scared she’s going to think I’m far more capable of identifying feelings than I am. Or think I am. Or whatever. I hope we’ll get something out of play therapy this time around, unlike back in 1996 when I was ten.

This post was written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday (#SoCS), for which the prompt is “school”. I interpreted it loosely, because I really wanted to write about play therapy. I’m going to write an actual post on my first session later.

Stabilize With Medicine

Posted on by Astrid

I talked to the support coordinator, the one who’s officially the other part of the home’s support coordinator but attends my meetings with the behavior specialist because I don’t get along with my support coordinator (my former male assigned staff). She had talked to the intellectual disability physician and I won’t have a meeting with her on tapering my medication until late September. The reason is the fact that there’s lots of temp workers at the care home during the summer months and they want me stable for now. Well guess what? If you want to wait for there to be few temp workers, you’d better wait for 2034, as I usually say. For those not aware, 2034 is my code word for never. It’s inspired by the book called 2034, which is about World War III.

I’m pretty angry about this whole thing, because well I already have mildly decreased kidney function as is. That is, I had mildly decreased kidney function a year ago at my last bloodwork, so who knows if it’s gotten worse now? And, as you might know, kidney disease doesn’t usually cause symptoms until it’s pretty advanced.

I don’t even mind waiting till September, except that this means seven months on my current med combo rather than the originally planned six weeks. And except that who knows what will get in the way in September? For all I know, the support coordinator might’ve gotten pregnant or sick or have left like the last one.

I honestly feel like they want to stabilize me with medicine rather than with the right support. And, for what it’s worth, I’m not very stable as is. Never was. Not with five different medications, many of which on high doses.

This post was written for John Holton’s Writer’s Workshop, for which one of the prompts is to pick a line from a song you like and use it as the title of your post. I picked the line “Stabilize with medicine”, which I’m not sure is a full line, from the song Serotonin by Girl in red. This song is rather explicit, so I hope John doesn’t mind me sharing it in his challenge.

Reading a Recipe (With the Help of AI) #SoCS

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. I’m so excited to read this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday prompt, which is “recipe”. I could of course talk about my efforts in finding the perfect mug cake recipe. I did, after several attempts, have some luck with the ones from the book Best Mug Cakes Ever. That’s exciting enough. What’s even more exciting, is polymer clay, of course.

I have finally been claying a bit over the past few days again. Not with custom-mixed colors yet, but oh well, that’s my next step. I, after all, once again went on a shopping spree and bought several collections of color recipes off Etsy. Then, unfortunately, I found out that the first collection had all the recipe cards as .png files and the second was an image PDF. You can imagine how disappointed I was. Nearly €100 down the drain, or so I thought.

Then I decided to run the files through an app called Envision. This app has an OCR function, which lets me read the image PDF. The quality of the OCR’d text wasn’t great, but I saw a button called “Ask Envision”. That let me ask the app to search the scanned document and find answers for me and, for some reason, these were much clearer than when I read the document myself. It’s still a bit of a hassle, but it’s honestly quite cool what AI is capable of.

I also was able to run the .png image files through Envision, which also has an image description function. The image description was cool, but even cooler were the very clear recipes I got. Now I only need to buy the needed colors of clay, since all of these recipes use Premo, which I only have a few colors of and not most of the ones used for these recipes. However, I’m pretty sure that the same goes for polymer clay color recipes that goes for journaling prompts: that half the fun is in the collecting.

I Am Myself (For Real This Time!)

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. I haven’t blogged in over a week and it’s not for lack of wanting to, but for lack of feeling like I belong anywhere within the blogosphere. I have myself to blame, having tried to fit in simultaneously with the traditional lifestyle blogger crowd, most of who are Christian, and the more open-minded if not secular community that is mostly on WordPress. I have always had to sacrifice part of myself in order to belong with the lifestyle crowd. That’s, of course, the essence of the Christian faith and one big reason I now seriously proclaim I’m no longer pretending to be a Christian. I’m not. I am spiritual, but I choose my own path.

I mean, I could of course quote Bobby Schuller, who is big on belonging before you “behave”. However, at the end of the day, he too condemns everyone who doesn’t ultimately “behave”. And I never “behaved”. For one thing, my first crush was a girl. For another, I didn’t live with my spouse for the first six years of our marriage and not ever since 2019 either. For yet another, we don’t have kids and that’s 100% by choice. In short, I refuse to be bound by the rigid standards of sexual and gender roles that traditional “family values” impose on me. I honestly don’t care about being a “good” woman in God’s eyes. I’m done with sacrificing part of me just so I belong. Maybe along the way I’ll discover who I “myself” even am.

Worries

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today’s Sunday Poser is about worries. What worries you about the future?

Unlike Sadje, I mostly have personal worries occupying my mind. Most of them also aren’t long-term. I mean, I do sometimes worry that the sweet and high-fat foods I consume today will lead to an untimely death ten or twenty years from now, but that worry isn’t as all-consuming as my worries about the next few weeks, months or the next year. I joke that, in 2034, everything will be okay. I got that from the book titled 2034, which I still haven’t read and is about World War III erupting that same year. I think it’s more likely that World War III is going to break out that year than that the care system will be any closer to ideal. However, in reality, I can’t look that far into the future, so I know I should care, but really I don’t.

This is probably the same reason the state of the planet doesn’t keep me up at night. That is, except when I read a news article detailing that the magical 1.5 degrees of warming have been hit in some parts of the world in 2023. Then I did worry: will the planet catch fire (not even sure whether I’m talking hyperbolically with all the wildfires we’ve had) next year?

Still, most of my worries concern my personal life. That doesn’t mean the news doesn’t effect me, but it only does when I think it relates to me personally. For instance, when I read that policy makers were talking about reintroducing 24-hour diapering for elderly people who can still use the bathroom but need assistance with it, I was intensely worried. It was said in the same article that the phrase I repeat many times over and over again when talking about my care was: “It’s better to have reasonably good care for two people than excellent care for one person.” Did they mean me? Was my care, with (at the time) nine hours of one-on-one a day, “excellent”? Apparently, because now I have just seven. But I’m still worried they mean me. After all, I still cost considerable money (far more than elderly people needing an hourly assisted bathroom break) and aren’t sedatives cheaper than one-on-one, just like diapers are cheaper than nursing assistants?

It isn’t really a clear thing I do worry about though. I mean, yes, I do worry about my care being cut, but then again, I can’t look far into the future. When I try, I’m always wrong on so many levels. So they remain mostly vague worries that keep me up at night.

Sometimes though, like recently, they’ve been more short-term, concrete things that worried me, such as over the past week the fact that my support coordinator, behavior specialist and intellectual disability physician had a meeting on Friday. The positive news is that the explicit compensatory system, by which every minute I’d come out of my unsupported time in distress had to be compensated for at my next one-on-one moment, was discontinued. Rather, from now on, staff will again discuss with me once I’m calm whether they can come back at a later time for my next support moment since they needed to spend more time on me. I am so happy I no longer have the compensatory system hanging over my head, even though some staff said the end result would be the same. I don’t care about the end result (which, by the way, will probably mean I’ll need slightly less support, honestly); I care that this makes me feel much more comfortable.

My Favorite Type of Weather

Posted on by Astrid
Daily writing prompt
What is your favorite type of weather?
View all responses

I am pretty sure I answered this question before when rambling on for one of Paula Light’s former #TGIF posts. At least, I did share that Erwin Kroll, the Netherlands’ most well-known meteorologist during the 1990s, said in an interview for the kids’ audio magazine I subscribed to at the time, that partly cloudy weather with a daytime temperature of 22°C was his favorite and I probably added that mine wouldn’t be far off. I’d prefer slightly warmer weather, but I don’t care for daytime highs in the high 20s, let alone 30s or above.

At night, I prefer a temperature below 10°C. Oh wait, I’m being a bit difficult, as with daytime highs in the 20s, you hardly ever get night-time lows below 10°C.

I used to hate rain with a passion, but now, though I don’t care for it, I will still go outside if it’s drizzling a little. I still can’t stand snow, sleet or hail.

As a side note, I had a discussion with one of my staff a few days back. He said he’d love for the daytime temperature to be 20°C now. I said me too, and we will more than likely get our way sooner rather than later given the speed of climate change, but this does mean summer highs will be in the 40s too. Be careful what you wish for…

No Such Thing As “Minor” Trauma

Posted on by Astrid

Recently, there was a discussion online I participated in about what caused our complex PTSD. I mentioned emotional, mental and physical abuse, bullying, a few instances of sexual violation and medical trauma. Most others not only went into far more detail than I was comfortable, but also discussed traumatic experiences that seemed far worse compared to those I’d gone through. When I mentioned this, saying reading others’ stories made me feel as though my trauma was minor, someone else commented how there’s no such thing as “minor” trauma.

Indeed, if something was significant enough to have caused C-PTSD, it was traumatic, and this means it was major. I am reminded of something my spouse said at one point when I was seeing a potential new trauma therapist back in 2013 (who ended up rejecting me for reasons not related to me). I was doubting the reality of my trauma. To this, my spouse said that, in reality, something as “minor” as slipping on the bathroom floor, could be life-threatening, so in theory I could’ve developed PTSD from that. I didn’t and I didn’t develop PTSD from any of my countless other falls, but I might have. Of course, this is a bit far-fetched, and of course I couldn’t have developed complex PTSD from falling, but I hope my point is clear: it’s not always easy to distinguish between events that objectively speaking count as trauma and things that don’t.

There are trauma centers here in the Netherlands that adhere very strictly to criterion A (the presence of things that count as trauma, according to professionals) in DSM-5 for treating people with (C-)PTSD. I’m not sure I’d meet their criterion. I mean, yes, I did experience exactly one potentially life-threatening medical event that I remember, when I was four. I was also hit quite regularly, but does that go beyond “tough love”? If it doesn’t, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t meet the trauma criterion for (C-)PTSD.

Then again, I’m not seeking to get into one of these centers. Tomorrow, I’ll have a get-to-know-me appointment with the care agency’s therapy practice. They haven’t yet decided whether they can help me or not. I hope they can, because right now I’m feeling rather hopeless.