Radical acceptance, abortion, Mother’s Day

How many mothers out there suffer on Mother’s Day or on anniversaries of abortions?

In 2012, on Mother’s Day I fell on the path to the front door in broad view, slamming my left wrist down on a glass bottle as it was simultaneously breaking on the concrete walk.  My son, who was inside the house, immediately presented himself to the scene with his self and the car keys and drove me to the ER where I got  several stitches and a wrist brace to guard the wound.  It was the visible wound of my life until recently, when everything started to break or tear from ill use.

Embarrassingly, the bottle I fell on was a laxative product, God seemed to be telling me something.  I got a tetanus shot on a date I could remember so it wasn’t all bad.  I nursed my wound while driving my son around to graduation parties.  Let’s not go here.

Now, he’s in rehab and I’m in long term acute care at a unique program for this back up North in Pennsylvania where I don’t fit but I have to make things work.  I just do, that’s all.  My son is in the same boat with rehab and life at my mother and father’s bizarre little country place, a rehabilitative ancient cottage that was the heart of a farming complex some three hundred year’s old.  They sold the larger, more modern home a while back and moved into the smaller home after spending years piecing back together two smaller buildings with putty and hammer and nails.  It took ten years or so.  It was a labor of love.

Today is Mother’s Day and I am reflecting on the two abortions and the child I unconsciously carved out a place for in my world of psych meds, cigarettes, and coffee, but never had.  Dorothy Day, who was being considered for sainthood last time I looked at it, had an abortion.  Last night I was praying to her at last in horrible desperation, she said that she always regretted the abortion through her dying day, and that discouraged me but when I went to her in my need and in trust that day , yesterday I did find relief and I left myself open to the feelings, I was ravished by them but in it  I at last found rest.  Peace. 





Diabetes on a psych ward in Florida

Being a Harvard grad on a long-term pscyh ward where inevitably numerous have also, like me, been on a state hospital ward is tricky.  This time I have been hearing threats,  one woman here is a frequent customer has me pegged against the wall and I don’t know how to read her approach, she is yanking position against me all day long and it’s the last thing I want to fight, I can only lose.  Fortunately I have some wiggle room, oddly, from my past failures.  These merit a second a glance here, but it’s a funny row to hoe.  I have only ever had one friend in from this city, a high-society poverty case at the time which at that time I didn’t read well.  She was different from me, and did better.  I  met her on a psych ward similar to this one, in Florida, where she was going by a different name and denied she knew me but I pinned her on it as I knew the university she had attended and she had to admit it.

This helps  me every so slightly. but I don’t have have much else going for me in this extended care stay in this city.

More later, my foe here is right in front of me getting her sugar checked, and I’m next.

Still praying

This extended care unit becomes more familiar and less frightening as I pass the  days, three weeks tomorrow, Tuesday.

This is a Catholic hospital and the Psychologist who runs things is Catholic, everything keeps coming up Catholic in my life, this is good.

So I will pass Easter among friends if I could only count on the kindness of the staff, there is one patient who is making things very difficult for me and is a grave test of my humility.

I touched base with the Psychologist about my family’s hi-tech background, and felt relief that somebody is aware of my severe trials, I do hope that I can navigate the weird social network here and continue to get by.  I am looking at 3, 6, or 12 months here, my personal habits and occupations have to change and the suicidal ideation has to change,  tho I feeled pulled down at times I have been bouncing back.

Right now I am sailing on a Hail Mary and a Hail Holy Queen, and a Memorare to St. Joseph.

I haven’t talked to my son for about a month, he is still in rehab, and the separation is producing marvelous progress.  My mother and father are getting a break, and I only don’t know what to do about my husband whom I feel close to but not confident of his feelings towards me, I’m not sure at all what he is thinking.

My last email was about the expression (?) and musical group name “system of a down,” which seems to me to accurately denote the bizarre problems I’ve faced since I took the overdose when I was 24–things have systematicaally worked against me in the weirdest way since then, and it seems to be breaking up and maybe I am coming back to the surface, I do so humbly pray.





Extended acute care

I almost died, my kidneys were in failure.  My mother found me and called 911.

Here I am mistreated.  I was flying on one wing when I got here and they haven’t  been kind, just the opposite.  They have the wavelength for my stuckness and press the pedal on it every chance they get.  I’m back pedaling to stay in one place and seem to be losing more ground even though I finally just saw the therapist here who run things.

What I’m in touch with, tho, is the beautiful.  I have my son, myself and I in some sort of amazing gestalt that flattens all the stuck years, it’s like being in the mountains in California south of LA.  I don’t know what it means, it’s like we are together but I can’t call him, he doesn’t answer.

Strange as anything to be integrated after so unbelievable a long time of  bizarre stress.  Just hanging in there and praying for the good.

Everything is prayer, chanting all day and all night:





Thanksgiving night I almost killed myself.

Now I am in an extended stay facility after two weeks in the ICU and recovery units and 3 !/2 months in the hospital inpatient psych unit.

I was ?sp? intibated, in other words I had a breathing tube in my throat.  No food or water for two weeks.  AGUA.  It’s all I remember, how  beautiful was the sound of water in the sink and Extremely frequently on the t.v., you can’t believe how often they show water and oxygen in ads and so forth.

I remember the first cup of  coffee and the grilled cheese sandwich.

Here it’s diffiult.

Posting from my cell phone

Updated:  gratitude list Thanksgiving 2016

1  for my sister.  we remembered each other from long ago.


2  for my father, who stood up for me at the dinner table.


3  for my mother, who pulled out all the stops with a whole filet mignon.  it melted in our mouths.  seasoned perfectly.


4  for my mother and father, who are trying to communicate about something that happened long ago involving my sister.


5  for my first real Thanksgiving, a milestone I’ve missed all these years.


6  for my savior Jesus, whor i love


7  for my son


8  for my son


9  for my son’s cats, who went out for a walk with me in the wintry weather today.  Tanner ate every plant in sight.


10  for winter, which buries us in forgetfulness  (T S.Eliot)  I loved my long time in the sun but I was getting over baked.  the return has been too hard for me but the Good Lord is making it okay.


11 for my sister’s husband.

My Gratitude List

  1.  That the huge trees by the cemetery down the road are completely blighted, while nearby trees still have leaves. It is somehow so fitting and righteous.  I have noticed lately that cemeteries smell bad.  According to my mother I used to love them when I was a child.
  2. For the first signs of winter.  Last year it never seemed to come.  After four years back NE, shivering, I am eagerly awaiting a true winter season.
  3. For my beautiful apartment, which I will likely, or maybe not, being saying goodbye to.  The neighbors have hushed up, anticipating my going.  Today they heard me on the phone saying I may have to stay.  Here, I have a “H O M E” sign with a clock for the “O,” and a “LOVE” sculptured plaque with branches full of colorful parakeets on the wall to my left.  I’ll probably miss it a lot if I go.
  4. For the new mobile home, which I can only rent so far, and t h a n k y o u “Mom” and “Dad” for helping me to secure it.  If you do.  If I go there I will have privacy with my various embarrassing and disturbing health needs.
  5. For my ex-husband, who listened to me texting about suicide all day, God bless him.
  6. For the attorney who may be prosecuting my ex-husband for the assets he owes me.
  7. For poverty, which teaches humility.
  8. For life, which is full of contradictions.
  9. For my son, who remains a gift to me and I hope that I can be more of one to him.
  10. For the family cats, my mother’s and my son’s, who are the dearest creatures.
  11. For my mother’s beautiful antique home, in a beautiful park-like setting which she maintains; I get to visit sometimes and even though I feel uncomfortable there I appreciate the loveliness.
  12. For mother, who has the odor of love.
  13. For my father, who has given me so much that is bizarre and fascinating to preoccupy my mind in my damaged body all my life, for his protection, for the grace I have received through them.
  14. For situations like Thanksgiving 2016, and the ability to get my feelings about it out, as without this I’d be sinking right now.
  15. For God above, Jesus within, and the Spirit and my Guardian Angel to guide me, for all the saints and angels in Heaven who prevail over this Holiday and will make it come out right.
  16. For all the pain without consolation which God has given me in my life, which brings special grace, I have learned, and for the consolation He gives me now that I know Him better.  For relief from pain where I have it.  For every mark and scar on my deformed face and body, and there are hundreds of little notches from picking for nits.  Because they remind me of Jesus’ precious wounds and of his Fount of Life, Grace, and Hope for despicable sinners like me.


Begging for a slap in the face

Evidently this is standard English (British) behavior.  (Sorry, England.)

My father has always told the story of how you had to say “Thank you, Sir” each time you got struck with a cane or the ruler.  I am just beginning to connect with how this applied in my own family of youth.

Same for the time-out-of-mind abandoned atheism, socialism and arrogance of my father’s class (working class promoted through scholarship to Middle Class.)  Dad you’re MORE THAN HALF A CENTURY BEHIND THE TIMES.  Quit watching BBC broadcasts.  They still watch news of America on British news channels.

(They took refuge with the League of Women Voters after the election.  My father made his vote public this time, and couldn’t get away from it.)

12:04 a.m.  (Now it’s Thanksgiving Eve.)

Thanksgiving 2016

Well I thought me and my family at the Holidays was bad, but this takes the cake.  I am remembering all the holidays I spent away from them, and that while some of them were the worst days of my life, a lot of them were the best.

Thanksgiving in California with my new husband (1991), for instance, was my best ever.  I made my first turkey! and it were delicious.  Christmas that year was also probably the best ever.  We decided not to celebrate in any particular way.  We just had a pleasant day.  Compared to make-believe Christmas with atheists this was a real gift.  My baby’s first Christmas was definitely the best ever.  He was only a few months old; he loved the tree; so did my husband (I did it all by mine own.)  I made rolled filet of sole for dinner and somehow it was right.  I’d have to ask my ex if it was good, I thought so.

This year is going to be the WORST ever.  In the past I was either with THEM, away from THEM with someone better, or away from THEM alone, the last being probably the worst:  New Year’s with an old lady and a dual diagnosis MHMR man who liked to talk about sex.  That wasn’t the worst.  I remember figuring I had to learn to be on my own for the holidays.  The worst was the day on R-1 at the old Reading Hospital in West Reading when it was Christmas Day, everyone had visitors, and noone ever showed up to see me.

Easter at the state hospital was a GOOD holiday.  Easter at my parents’ home was always dismal, and still his.  I got yelled at for wearing my cross.  At the state hospital some Good Samaritan brought us colored, real Easter eggs, hard-boiled eggs, and it was the holiest thing in the simplest way, that I had ever experienced.

This year I am supposed to moving.  Tomorrow.  Uh-oh.  My sister and her husband, on whom I am not, as far as I know, on speaking terms, are here as of today, so of course my mother has dropped all the eggs in MY basket to flatter, baby, and pander to my sister for as long as she wants to stay, so I’ll have to stay away (Thanksgiving, what?).  And all my months worth of planning for a good move and some other major issues, go down the toilet.  My mother is getting to old for this in a number of ways.  Fortunately I happen to have already bought a microwaveable turkey dinner and the other day by chance I picked up a big can of yams, turkey gravy, and whole berry cranberry relish.  So I’ll be okay.  Now that I have gotten all this out I am back in touch with the reason for the season, which is of course as all the posted signs remind us, to be grateful:  for a roof over my head tonight, and for my son’s new job.  He’ll be working Thanksgiving night I think.  As for gratefulness, my parents can take a hike this year.  They made me beg for a slap in the face.