“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?

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.

To Freewrite vs. Free to Write #JusJoJan

Posted on by Astrid

I started and restarted this post several times. I really want to broaden my horizons in the writing department. To write more, but also to write more outside of my comfort zone. In a way, I want to experience the freedom I experienced when crafting my independently-created unicorn in the writing process too.

But, as with my crafting, in the writing department, fear is holding me back. Specifically, the fear of failure. The fear of my posts not being read, not being appreciated, getting zero likes or comments. If I don’t get any engagement, why bother blogging, after all? I could just as easily keep a private journal in Day One.

Then again, even in Day One, I censor myself when writing. Even where no-one reads my writings except for possibly my future self, I’m constantly telling myself I’m a bad writer, constantly editing out mistakes or “inappropriate” wording. Yes, I even did this with my Morning Pages back when I did those several times over the past couple of years.

Is it, however, really that I’m looking to freewrite? Or is it more that I want to be free to write? What’s the difference? Well, this is a freewrite.

However, there are other ways in which I let my censor, as Julia Cameron calls it, dictate what I can and can’t write. So many in fact that I hardly write self-growth posts anymore because these don’t get much engagement, even though these are the posts I sometimes feel inspired to write. When I am free to write, I write what I feel inspired to write even when this isn’t a huge success by externally-determined standards like my stats. And who knows, maybe it will be a success someday.

This post was written for today’s #JusJoJan prompt, which is “writing”.

Creating Glimmers

Posted on by Astrid

Today’s prompt for Friday Writings is “Glimmers”. A glimmer is the exact opposite of a trigger, something that brings you a sense of safety or joy.

Let me say that I often struggle with the fear of experiencing positive emotions, so even glimmers could be triggers in a way. I have yet to figure out why this is and what to do about it.

That is, one thing I do about it is to create positive experiences for my inner child parts that aren’t connected to the past. An example of this would be reading stories about unicorns. I don’t think my mother ever read me stories about unicorns as a young child, so unicorns bring out the playful inner child in me without the memories of my childhood attached. I can probably safely say that unicorns are a glimmer for me.

Another glimmer are my stuffed animals, but I honestly think the same applies that is the reason I love unicorns: they can’t be connected to my childhood. I currently have five stuffed animals on my bed, but the oldest one I’ve had for about four years.

I wonder why this is, honestly, given that my childhood, though not stellar, wasn’t horrifying either. Ah, who cares as long as I have my unicorn stories, unicorn polymer clay cutters, stuffed anymals, including several unicorns, etc.? Let me just live love laugh in unicorn land. If only it were this easy…

Between War and Peace

Posted on by Astrid

The stories we hear
Of war and peace
May cause us concern
Or relief
And yet
Reality
Is most often
Something inbetween

When orienting at the prospective new care home last Wednesday, a resident started talking unquietly about the war in Ukraine. She was quickly calmed by a staff, in as simple words as possible, suited to her intellectual capabilities.

That night, I heard an airplane or a helicopter fly by very low over my current home. I thought, perhaps influenced by the woman in the other home, that it was a jet fighter. “Are we going to war now?”, I asked the night staff when she responded to my call button. She put my mind at peace, saying someone had probably booked a night-time helicopter flight over Raalte. I took her story at face value and went to sleep.

The next morning, I found out that both of our stories are probably equally unlikely and reality was something inbetween: the helicopter had been called in a medical emergency to resuscitate a baby. Thankfully, the baby survived.

This post was written for Friday Writings, for which the optional theme this week is war and peace.

Mutism or Manipulation?

Posted on by Astrid

When I was a teen, I’d often go mute whenever certain personal topics of discussion came up. My mental health was such a topic. Much as I wanted to speak, my mouth wouldn’t form the words I wanted to tell my teachers or other people who intended to help me.

Even though I felt intensely anxious, my silence was commonly viewed as an act of rebellion. A way of manipulating those around me into, well, I honestly don’t know what.

When my parents and high school tutor had finally agreed that I needed professional counseling – or rather, my tutor had convinced my parents of the need, I assume -, my tutor informed me that the counselor had to meet certain very specific requirements. He or she needed to know blindness, because, well, I’m blind. The second requirement, I can’t remember, but the third was that he or she had to be exceptionally intelligent. The reason for that one was the fact that I, too, was supposedly extremely intelligent. If the counselor wasn’t smart enough, my tutor explained up front, I’d outsmart them with my manipulation. By this, he meant my so-called refusal to speak.

To this day, I am still unsure as to what made him think my silence was an act of willful defiance. Of course, everyone manipulates others at times, but I am pretty sure my mutism wasn’t – still isn’t – part of it.

This post was written for today’s Word of the Day Challenge, for which the prompt is “silence”, as well as E.M.’s RWP, which is “rebellion”.

My Favorite Color

Posted on by Astrid

A few days ago, or maybe it was even a few weeks, the daily prompt in my journaling app, Day One, was to write about your favorite color. I couldn’t think of what exactly to write at the time. Now, as I sit here and today’s Ragtag Daily Prompt stares at me, I just have to write.

Is my favorite color actually purple, you’d ask? Well, yes, it is one of my favorite colors and if I had to pick just one, it’d probably be this. I usually say I have multiple favorite colors, namely purple, blue and green. They all are represented in the six bottles of alcohol ink I ordered online earlier this week: three shades of blue, two shades of purple and a shade of greenish blue too.

Then again, with respect to clothes, I used to only wear black for many years. It was a statement, in my mind, but the statement never came across. I guess everyone thought it was just easier for me to match my clothing that way, being that I’m blind. And it was.

Now that I do wear colors, I have to say I don’t actually have anything purple in my wardrobe. I should really change that.

And I should get to crafting a purple unicorn ashtray for the male staff doing my one-on-one shifts once a week, who I overheard is leaving in October. Oh wait, he asked for a pink one. And polymer clay isn’t suitable for ashtrays anyway. But he’ll appreciate the humor.

My Ideal Space

Posted on by Astrid

I have been thinking about my ideal living space lately; a space I can feel safe, secure and at home in. When I wrote my post describing my safe space a few weeks ago, I realized that, other than the unicorns, I could almost recreate my safe space right here in my current care facility. In fact, I have nothing to complain about my room, with my private bathroom, kitchenette and even my own balcony.

So why do I feel I want to move to a different care facility, and why, in fact, do I feel like I actually want to sacrifice some of the aspects that make my current room great, in order to live in a more suitable care home, and what does “more suitable” even mean? I’ve said many times that I want to move to institution grounds, because then I’d be able to feel like I’d be more sheltered when going outdoors. Thankfully, most of my current readers didn’t know me fifteen years ago, or they’d call me crazy now for such a 180-degree turn from saying institutionalization is bad and community care is always preferrable to now wishing to be institutionalized myself.

This post was written for this week’s Six-Sentence Story link-up, for which the prompt word is “space”.

Heal

Posted on by Astrid

Today’s prompt for Five Minute Friday is “Heal”. I read several of the responses before writing mine. Some left me feeling all sorts of things, which I will try to articulate in the below freewrite.

Is it possible to heal from a hurt you can’t explain in words? Can something that you can’t describe in words, a memory that is just visceral, even be traumatic? I am referring to preverbal trauma, of course and, in theory, I know the answer: yes, it exists and yes, healing is possible.

However, in reality, how can I prevent my cognitive processes from constantly interfering with my experiences? Or should this be prevented at all? I mean, if I can rationalize that I’m now in 2022, living in the care facility and not in whatever danger my body thinks (feels?) it’s in anymore, does it even matter that I endured preverbal trauma?

After all, it’s a fact that I did: I was born prematurely, spent the first three months of my life in hospital and had several complicated surgeries before the age of five. The question is whether said possibly-traumatic events affected me and, if so, how to heal from them.

Dear 2021…

Posted on by Astrid

Twenty-twenty won
That’s how you begun
For good or for bad
All that we had
Back then, you would continue
And you did

For most, it was probably a sad thing. COVID wasn’t over with. In fact, it’s likely here to stay.

For me, it was a good thing though. At the end of 2020, I was approved for the right level of one-on-one support for a year. I just found out last week that it got approved for another two years to come. I am so relieved! For me, I am more than happy that twenty-twenty won. At least in this respect.

This piece was written for Friday Writings, for which the optional prompt this week is “Dear 2021…”.