Tag Archives: Writing Prompts

25 Goals

Several weeks ago, I wrote a post about the five most significant events in my first 25 years of life. This post was inspired by a prompt I’d found on Paperblanks, an app on my iPhone. Today, I’m sharing another post inspired by a prompt from there. The prompt asks me to write out 25 goals for the next 25 years of my life. Here goes.

1. Find suitable day activities. This is a relatively short-term goal, as, despite the fact that I’ve been doing pretty well, the staff haven’t made up their minds about me needing to leave my current place. I hope though that, if I can find a place that will accept me, I will be allowed ot stay there for several years at least.

2. Write my autobiography. I’d really like to someday write a memoir about my life. Originally, I intended to title it some variation of “Some former preemies will later go to university”. This is derived from a newspaper article in 2004 about active treatment for 24-weekers, which was controversial at the time (and still is here). That title doesn’t speak to me as much now. After all, I never completed university and the majority of my adult life would even so far not be covered if I focused on this.

3. Buy a house. This requires help from my husband. After all, alone, I will never be able to buy a house with my income. However, divorcing my husband won’t be on this list of goals, so I assume we’ll someday make this work.

4. Get a guide dog. I really hope to get a guide dog someday, as that’ll help me be more independent.

5. Travel to the United States. When I was around sixteen, I dreamt of going to the United States in my third year of college. I never got that far, but still, I’d love to see the U.S. someday.

6. Visit Ireland. My husband traveled to Ireland with his Dad when we’d been dating only for a short while. I’d love to see the country, eat at the high-quality vegan restaurant in Dublin my husband ate at and meet my friend carol anne, who lives in Ireland.

7. Stay at an all-inclusive resort. It doesn’t have to be at some tropical destination or suchlike. Basically, all I’d want is to be able to swim as much as I want and eat as much as I want. We considered going all-in in Germany this year, which would be good eough.

8. Visit Sweden and Norway. I am somehow drawn to these nordic countries. I don’t even know why.

9. Take some more distance learning college classes. I’d really love to pick up psychology again at Open University. I’d also love to study special education/pedagogy and/or social work, but unfortunately the OU doesn’t offer classes in that. Maybe I’ll take those at a for-profit distance learning college.

10. Take some in-person college classes. This is likely to take some years. After all, if you’re under 50, you cannot enroll in specific college classes at university campuses unless you already have a college degree.

11. Get to and keep at a healthy weight. This is again a shorter-tem goal, as I’ve resolved to be at a healthy BMI by 2020.

12. Explore alternative medicine. Maybe I’ll take some courses in that too, although I think I’m fine just reading up about it in books and online.

13. Graduate from treatment at my mental health team. This too is a shorter-term goal, as I have no intention of staying in mental health treatment for 25 years. This requires finishing dialectical behavior therapy and maybe some more therapies.

14. Find out how to best cope with my symptoms of sensory and cognitive overload. I really hope I can get that sensory integration assessment mentioned last week and find some tools to better cope with sensory issues.

15. Do some volunteering. I’d really love to someday have a volunteer job in for example social services.

16. Make some friends. I have no friends now other than my husband. This scares me sometimes and besides, it’s just lonely. I’d really love to develop some friendships that’ll last into my fifties and hopefully beyond.

17. Find a creative outlet that I can pursue by myself or find the right help for. I’m still currently interested in soap making, but who knows what else I’ll find?

18. Stay as healthy as can be. I really hope that by the time I’m 56, my health won’t have declined significantly yet.

19. Get more active. I really hope that, if we buy a house, my husband and I will move to a city or town where I can go about running errands by myself even without a guide dog.

20. Learn to cook independently again. I’d just so love to be able to cook a meal by myself.

21. Join a gym, yoga studio or other out-of-the-house exercise place. This may be a good way of making friends too.

22. Learn basic gardening. If we buy a house it’ll be sure to have a garden again. I love sitting in our current garden, but would also love to learn to work in it.

23. Keep up with technological advancements. By the time I’m 56, I hope I’m still not terribly behind on technology. Like, my parents at 69 and 63 just got their first smartphones, but they’re really awkward with them. I’m finding that I already lag behind in some respects, so I hope the gap doesn’t become unsurmountable.

24. Get to a point where I can genuinely say life is worth it. I don’t have to be over the moon happy, but I’d really love to overcome my depression.

25. Still be alive. Do I need to explain?

Confessions of a New Mummy

The Five Most Significant Events

Oh my, why can’t I seem to write when I truly want to? I mean, I feel uninspired, but then again I have a lot of collections of writing prompts. I have at least three eBooks full of writing prompts, a few collections downloaded from the Internet and even an app on my phone. From this app, Paperblanks, comes the prompt I’m going to journal on today. The prompt asks me to name the five most significant events of the first 25 years of my life.

This is going to be really hard, as I’m supposed to name just five. The last nearly seven years do not count, so I cannot mention the day I finally left the psychiatric institution or even the day I got married. I am however more tempted to write on more recent events, whereas my childhood was important too. I just don’t remember it that well.

1. The day I came home from the NICU, September 29, 1986. The first one, hence, is going to be one I have zero memory of but that shaped me for the rest of my life. After all, if I’d not made it home from the hospital at three months of age, I may not have been alive or able to share my story today. I came home on my due date.

2. The day I started in special education, May 11, 1992. I had to leave Kindergarten at a mainstream school before the year was over. Till this day, I don’t know why. My parents claim that the reason I had to transfer to the school for the visually impaired is my need to learn Braille, which I didn’t get to learn until more than a year later. They also say my Kindergarten teacher wouldn’t be able to move to first grade with me and no other teacher could teach me. However, then why did I have to leave so suddenly? In my memory, I was ill shortly before leaving the mainstream school, but I don’t know what that has to do with it, if anything.

3. The day I started back in mainstream secondary education, August 25, 1999. This day is significant because it shows my ability to be determined. A lot of people say I’m not determined at all and give up way too easily, but I did complete the full six years of my level of secondary education even though I hated it. I don’t think my parents deserve all the credits for this.

4. The day I started in rehabilitation for my blindness, August 22, 2005. This day is significant because it symbolizes my self-direction. It was the first time I decided I wanted to work on my own goals rather than those set forth for me by my parents.

5. The day of my admission to the mental hospital, November 3, 2007. Do I really need to explain? This day symbolizes my ultimate break-away from my parents’ power over me. Even though those 9 1/2 years in the institution weren’t too productive, I don’t regret having agreed to be admitted at all.

DIY Daddy

#AtoZChallenge 2018 Theme Reveal, Yay!

Yay! For the fourth year in a row, I’m giving the #AtoZChallenge a try. Last year, I failed miserably and I have never been fully able to return to blogging the way I did for A to Z in 2016. In fact, April 2016 was the last month that I published more than nine posts. I am eager to change that, but I’m also quite scared. What if I fail again?

It doesn’t help that the list of participants both for the general challenge and for the theme reveal – that’d be this post! – is a rather hard to use Google spreadsheet. I hate spreadsheets and Google docs in general are quite hard to read with my rather outdated screen reader. I wish we’d still used old-fashioned InLinkz, but somehow that didn’t work for the team behind the challenge. At least, I seem to remember they abandoned it last year.

Today is the official theme reveal day. I’ve had an idea on my mind for months, and it’s totally not in line with my themes for the previous years. As a way of motivating myself to actually write without too much pressure, I wanted to do the A to Z of myself. I did an alphabet-based tag on myself shortly after the A to Z challenge in 2015 and would love to expand on the topics I mentioned then.

Later, I decided to loosen things up even more. In the eBook 397 Journal Writing Prompts & Ideas, the first 26 prompts are based onthe letters of the alphabet. For example, A is for Amazing (it asks you to write about the things or people you find amazing), B is for Beautiful and so on. Not all alphabetical prompts in this collection appeal to me, but some definitely do and some I could modify to suit me. But not all.

As such, my final decision on my theme for the #AtoZChallenge 2018 is to keep it vague. It is: A to Z of random reflections. My entries will most likely fall under the “Journaling” category on my blog. Unlike most of my posts from previous years, they will be deeply personal rather than mostly informative. It’ll be fun to find out how that appeals to my readers. I also hope that this will help me make a success out of the #AtoZChallenge this year. Wish me luck.

ETA: I accidentally posted my post in the Parenting category rather than the Personal category on the #AtoZChallenge theme reveal list. It obviously belong sin Personal. Sorry for the mistake.

Suddenly I Am

Sometimes, I am the wise woman. Inside, I am a college sophomore, though on the outside, life has moved on. I call myself Clarissa. I can talk up a storm about psychology and psychiatry, arguing that, yes, in fact autistic people can have multiple personalities. It’s a shame people tell me they can’t just because that person’s psychiatrist has told them so. It’s nowhere in the DSM-IV or DSM-5. In fact, autistic people are quite a bit more likely to suffer from trauma-related disorders like this.

Then suddenly, I am that autistic teen. Inside, I am 19-years-old, though on the outside, life has moved on. I call myself Carol. I am not your typical intelligent Aspie. In fact, I am quite severely autistic. I use repetitive language and engage in self-stimulatory behavior all the time. I can barely function at a day activities center for people with severe intellectual disabilities, even though I’m not intellectually disabled. I’m not gifted either, no matter what some people like to believe. I’m just average intellectually, but emotionally, I’m severely impaired.

Then suddenly, I am a little girl. Inside, I’m a shy and scared five-year-old, though on the outside, life has moved on. I call myself Little. By the time I first emerged, it was thought I was the youngest alter. I am not. I can’t breathe sometimes. Sometimes, I have to color inside the lines, and I can’t, because I can’t see very well. I am very scared.

Then suddenly, I am a precocious seven-year-old. Inside, I take care of the baby self (with help from the inner mother figure), though on the outside, life has moved on. I call myself Suzanne. As much as I want to help the baby,I also want my stuffie sheep meh-beh and beh-meh.

Then suddenly, I am that mother figure. Inside, I am 28-years-old, though on the outside, even now life has moved on. I call myself Esther. I sometimes go on Mommy forums as a child advocate, even though in real life, I don’t have any children. I grievethis fact, but don’t let it show.

Then suddenly, I am a childfree woman. Inside, I am 35-years-old, t hough life hasn’t caught up with me yet. I call myself Annemiek. I like to craft and like my childfree life with just my husband and Barry, our cat.

I don’t know whether switching several times a day, like I described above, is common in people with dissociative disorders. I don’t have a diagnosis of a dissociative disorder anymore, after all. To be honest, I don’t care. I have been told, when I write on this blog about my parts, that I’m obviously a really bad case of borderline personality disorder (BPD( trying to fake having dissociative identity disorder (DID). I don’t care. This is my experience and I don’t care what label best describes it.

This is not always how switching happens either. Usually, one of the functional adult parts is out in the body or “in front” about 80% of the time, though it depends which of the functional adult parts is. I didn’t describe either of the two current main fronters in this post.

It is also possible that multiple parts are out in the body at the same time. This can lead to what psychiatrists call identity confusion and also depersonalization and derealization, where you feel as though your body, mind or the world around you is unreal. The switchig I described above is called identity alteration. Then there is amnesia, which is a hallmark syptom of DID we don’t experience that often at all (so I don’t believe we actually have DID).

With this post, I didn’t mean to give you a thorough overview of dissociation. In fact, it was what randomly popped up in my mind when reading today’s prompt on The Daily Post, which is Suddenly. Like I said, I am not claiming that my experience is representative for those with dissociative disorders. It is just a tiny part of my experience, too.

How Our Cat Barry Became Our Pet

This week on Mama’s Losin’ It, the Writer’s Workshop prompts were beautiful. One of them is to share eight things you accomplished in the last week. I may write on that one later, but today, I’m writing on another one, which is to tell the story of how our cat Barry became our pet.

My husband had always recommended that we get a cat to be my companion when I’d go live with him. In the summer of 2013, he had settled in our apartment and hoped I’d soon join him. His mother, who works for the animal shelter, at the time was raising two kiittens, who were too young to be kept at the shelter at only a few weeks old. One o them, the most hyperactive of the two, we named Henk, while the other we named Harry. My mother-in-law recommended we get Harry, the quieter – or should I say less hyperactive? – one.

We got Harry when he was three months old in August of that year. As it turned out, he was rather the slightly less troublesome one than the quieter one of the pair, as he still ran around the house all the time, threw our belongings from tables onto the floor and climbed into and onto furniture.

In the spring of 2014, my husband figureed that maybe a playmate for Harry would help him calm down. His oldest sister, who also works at the shelter, went on the lookout for another cat for us. This became Barry. Yes, we purposefully named Barry this to rhyme with Harry. In fact, my husband half-jokingly gave me the choice between naming him Barry or Heinrich, and I obviously went with Barry.

Harry and Barry didn’t get along very well from the beginning. My husband thought of rehoming Harry to his sister a few times, but often missed him when he was away at hers. So Harry and Barry both moved to our current home with my husband in December of 2015.

The next spring, Barry got a non-bacterial UTI that was most likely stress-related. At first, we thought Barry’s stress came from wanting to go outside and not being allowed to, as he’d go onto the roof and not get off again. This probably was a factor indeed. It quickly becam apparent though that Harry was the main source of stress. While Barry was still recovering from his UTI, Harry started a play-fight with him that was rather bad. This led my husband to finally decide enough was enough. Harry was rehomed to my sister-in-law. She also has two other cats, but they apparetly don’t mind hyperactive Harry and one of them in fact plays with him a lot.

I finally moved in with my husband last May. To be honest, I’m so relieved to just have Barry with us, as Harry was a lot more of a handful. When I first got my iPhone, I worried that Barry would shove it off my table, but he never did *knock on wood*. With Harry on the other hand, I had to pack away all small-enough-to-shove items of value when not using them. That would’ve been quite a stressor to me now that I live here full-time.

Barry was a rather reclusive cat when we first got him and for a long time after. Not the ideal companion for lonesome at home me. Now though, he likes to keep me company even if he still isn’t the kind of cat to like being picked up. He even likes sleeping in our bed at night.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Seven Things to Do More Often

Seriously, I’ve been wanting to write more often. Writing helps me, or it used to. Also, it’s not that I’m uninspired. A dozen ideas to write on float through my mind, but once I sit down to actually blog, it seems all pointless. Today I feel relatively well mood-wise, so I’m just forcing myself to write. I am choosing to write for Mama’s Losin’ It’s Writer’s Workshop on the prompt of seven things to do more often. There is also a prompt to write on seven things to do less often, but I couldn’t think of that many things to do less frequently.

1. Write. This I explained above already. Writing used to be a way of helping me process stuff and at the same time a way of distracting me from my depressive thoughts. Now already for nearly two years, I seem unable to write as often as I used to. Whether depressive symptoms are the cause or the effect, I do not know.

2. Move. Last week, I finally bought myself a Fitbit activity tracker. It’s a cool gadget, but so far, I’ve not been able to get moving nearly enough to meet the recommended targets. For example, I average about 3000 steps a day, while 10000 is recommended.

I don’t think my depressed mood is the reason I’m not moving. I just don’t think I can find the opportunity to. I mean, I shouldn’t go running up and down the stairs for fun, should I? And since I can’t leave the house without assistance, going for a walk is rather hard. The weather lately obviously hasn’t helped, as it’s freezing and feels even coldre. I hope that, once the temperature rises, I can get my support workers to take me on some walks again.

3. Meditate. I have two meditation apps on my iPhone but havent’used them in weeks. I really would like to practise mindfulness more.

4. Do sensory-friendly activities, like melting a wax melt or listening to soothing music.

5. Read. I don’t just mean books, but blogs too. I after all don’t seem to have the attention span to read a book most of the time, but I can usually read blog posts.

6. Show my love to my husband. This has been hard lately because of my depressed moods.

7. Focus on the positive. I really want to seek out emotionally positive experiences more. The above six practices will help me achieve this. If I can appreciate positive experiences for what they are, I’ll hopefully feel even better soon.

Of course, these seven things won’t magically make me feel happy, but they will help me move in that direction. Depressive symptoms and inactivity make each other worse, after all.

Mama’s Losin’ It

Agree to Disagree

Prologue: two weeks ago, it was decided that, for two weeks, I would not be allowed to attend my day activities center in the afternoons. The reason was three new clients would be joining us and that would mean there’d be less support for me – at least while they get used to the day center. This made me quite unquiet. I wrote about this for Five-Minute Friday last week too, struggling to write a long enough, contextual enough post to be search engine-friendly within five minutes. Then I saw that people did prologues and epilogues to their posts that apparently do not count towards your five minutes of wrting time. So I decided to do this too. Here is my actual piece.

Yesterday, my staff asked me if I’d been feeling calmer now that my day activities hours were cut. I didn’t respond initially. Later, I did, assuming she had said, not asked, that I was calmer now.

I told her I feel awful each afternoon. Of course, the group is quieter without me, so I could see where she’d be coming from if she wanted to keep me out of day activities longer. I didn’t assume she had my best interest in mind – or at least the manager, who decided on these matters, didn’t. I’m not intellectually disabled, so I’m not the day center’s primary target population. As such, if there’s a disruption in the group that involves me, I’m the one who is out.

Indeed, today, I was informed that my day activities hours will remain as they were for the past few weeks. It was all in my best interest, the staff tried to say. Well, agree to disagree.

Epilogue: I was quite distressed by this whole thing during the day. Then I remembered someone’s comment on my FMF post from last week, that God never closes a door without opening a window. On Thursday, I will have a meeting with my day activities and home support staff, my community psychiatric nurse and the local authority social consultant. I hope this meeting will yield some positive results.

Linking up with Five-Minute Friday again.

Surrender

Last week, it was decided that, for a while, my day actvities hours will be cut. It was also suggested that my current day activities center, which caters primarily to people with intellectual disabilities, may not be the best fit for me. I’m not intellectually disabled, after all. I’m autistic, but if you’re of at least average intelligence, somehow that doesn’t count as a developmental disability.

I had to accept this, to surrender to the decision made for me. But I decided not to give up. I am okay with this being a temporary thing, but I don’t want to be shoved around like a cart. I’m a person, after all. I know I don’t fit neatly into one dsablity label box. I am both blind and autistic and have mental health issues.

Over the past week I alternated between fight and surrender. When surrendering, I was depressed and didn’t feel like there’d ever be a place for me. I even pushed my husband away, because I wasn’t sure I could choose between him and proper care. Now I know this is a false dilemma.

When in fight mode, I felt energized. I’ve been making phone calls, thinking up next steps. I have an appointment with my community psychiatric nurse on Monday to discuss how to proceed.

It doesn’t help this wasn’t the first time I fell between the cracks care-wise, but in a way, it does. I know how to navigate the system, after all, and I know not to surrender to a poor quality of life.

I am linking up this post with Five Minute Friday. The prompt this week is “surrender”.

Blind People Should

A few years back, there was a flash blog event that had autistic bloggers all finish the sentence “Autistic people should …”. I think the reason was to counter the hurtful search suggestions that Google made when people typed in “autistic people should”. I was reminded of this event when I read this weeks #theprompt, which is “should”.

I was also reminded of my own preconceived ideas about what disabled people should. A few days ago, I wrote to a disability support group on Facebook about feeling like I was setting a bad example for the disability community because I don’t work and spent years in an instituton. Shouldn’t I have to explain why I can’t work or live fully independently? The short answer is: no.

I was feeling like I should have a disability label to justify my every need because of what I learned whilst being part of E-mail groups run by the National Federation of the Blind, one of the two major organizations of the blind in the United States. This was in the early 2000s, mostly before I’d been diagnosed with autism. What I learned was that blind people, unless they have severe additional disabilities, which I’ll address later, should be able to achieve as much as sighted people do. For example, we should be able to read at the same speed, get around with a white cane completely independently, go to college (I think I picked up the term “college-bound” there), be employable, etc. I can’t do or be any of these things. Keeping the bar of expectations high was the motto of the parents’ organization of the NFB or so it seemed. I always imagined a candy bar put up on a star light years away and me being told to reach for the stars.

Sometimes, when people judged blind children or adults they only knew through newspaper articles not to be independent enough, someone would come up with the get-out-of-jail-free pass: “Maybe the person has additional disabilities?” This is a real possibility, since strangers usualy assume my every impairment is due to blindness despite my additional disabilities, so I assume newspaper reporters are no different. Yet does it matter? Should it? Apparently, sometimes.

In an old (like, late 1990s) issue of Future Reflections, the NFB’s magazine for parents of blind children, a blind adult reported his shame when he crticized parents of blind teenagers for not taking their teens to a seminar on independence. It turned out he was speaking to a roomful of parents of teens with multiple disabilities, so obviously they couldn’t bring their teens. I assume most of these teens had the type of disability that seems to have a monopoly on the term “multiple disabilities” when additional disabilities are involved: severe intellectual disability. After all, when I played the additional disabilities card after my autism diagnosis in 2007, I was told to look up Temple Grandin.

I may sound bitter and I shouldn’t be. After all, I do get the services I need now, even though they cater to, well, people with severe intellectual disabilities. That being said, I know I’m incredibly privileged now to have found my particular care agency, because most others would try to fit me into the mentally ill mold or the blindness mold or any other not-completely-fitting mold rather than looking at my needs.

This all brings me to my point, which is that blind people, autistic people, any kind of disabled people, any kind of people in fact, should not have to justify their needs. We are all human and all different, after all.

mumturnedmom

A Place to Belong

When I saw this week’s Five-Minute Friday prompt on Saturday, I just had to participate. It is hard, because I usually take much longer to write my blog posts, so I kept delaying this post. Here is it. It’s a short one. The prompt is “Place”.

I have always longed for a place to belong. I don’t think I ever felt quite “at home” anywhere. I’m still getting used to that feeling now that I’m in fact home.

I mean, when I was first admitted to the mental hospital in 2007, I longed for a supported housing place to call my home, yet none could be found that suited me. My last psychologist at the institution said this was because I just wanted to remain institutionalized forever. There may be some truth to this, in that I fear independence and in some ways long to be taken care of.

However, another facotr is I feel out of place everywhere. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, so to speak.

I am trying to make myself at home now in our house, but I’m constantly worrying that this too will not last. Like, we might be moving to our own home someday withint he foreseeable future. I always said we’d buy the home we now live in from the housing corporation and
I’d still be living here in fifty years. I guess not. This is hard. I hate change and yet, I cannot settle anywhere.