Tag emotional health

Not looking for a mental health diagnosis, I’m seeking understanding and relief.

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

In many common injuries, and with certain illnesses and diseases, clear trajectories and treatments exist/are followed. I think in reality, nothing is ever that simple due to all the quirks that make us all the people we are.

Last year, I asked every practitioner on my care team how they felt about Valium.

Even on my beta blockers and other blood pressure medication, my heart would have these periods of elevated heart rate, even as my blood pressure was under control. And when physical circumstances coincided with these events, such as muscle pain and discomfort from too many hours at the restaurant, I would find myself taking triple my normal recommended dose of baclofen. And it didn’t relieve any of it.

So, I wondered if a low dose of valium could be a breakthrough med to relax my muscles and my heart rate. But no one on my team was comfortable with an experiment like that. I got on a list to speak to a psychiatrist. A year later I am still on that list.

A recent experiment with a dose of Adderall showed that I may respond to stimulants and/or that I have a touch of ADHD. I set up appointments with my therapist and my doctor to discuss. I got a referral to a new in-office case manager who can work with patients and report to the psychiatrist so family medicine can prescribe medication.

Earlier this week, the case manager who works for my primary care p behavioral health matters called me. She said she would talk to the psychiatrist whom she works with on my behalf, but already in that initial conversation, some of my complexities popped up.

She called me back Wednesday morning and asked if I could come in that same day or Thursday as she had time scheduled with the psychiatrist Friday. The psychiatrist recommended some screenings to give us some more information and a letter from my current therapist — whom I have been with for the last 15 years.

That in itself is hard to believe.

So God Bless him, he wrote me a letter and emailed it to me. With minimal notice.

I walked into my primary care physician’s office and, because this case manager is a new addition to the staff, they have her tucked in this odd, closet-like room in the back corner of the practice. Which had no windows. And she lit with a tiny desk lamp. Which might make some people feel cozy, but I kept thinking, “We are in a closet. In the dark.”

I screened higher than I would on the depression screening. (Which today I would do significantly better on because my good mood and hope is back– so of course that led to a mood disorder screening, which suggested I might exhibit some bipolar symptoms.) I scored “high” on the anxiety screening. And I do show symptoms of ADHD but not enough for formal diagnosis and no clear childhood presentation.

Remember– I didn’t receive medical treatment between ages 5 and 21. Except for physicals and immunizations required by law for public school and those were administered by a semi-retired doctor around the corner who only accepted cash. And this was in the 1980s: things were different.

“Did your teachers or counselors notice anything?”

Ummm… schools for GenX did not have counselors. Remember all those memes that circulate around January 28: They put a teacher on the space shuttle, shot her toward the moon, and every school age child in America watched her blow up LIVE on television. Then, they shuffled us back to our classrooms (because at my school we watched it as a group in the multi-purpose room like an assembly) and pretended it didn’t happen. I was in fifth-grade. I was almost 11-years-old.

I think every GenX (and Boomer child) understood that we were expected to sit still, do our work, get good grades, and if we didn’t the school and/or our parents would punish us– and the school could even hit us if necessary. My parents never hit me, but my mother was/is the queen of silent disappointment and perpetually pointing out individual flaws. My mother dropped out of high school, but she never hesitated to make her first statement about my report card to be about the lowest grade.

“Why did you get a B+?”

A B+.

Couple that with the childhood trauma I lived with at home– slight food insecurity, sporadic but frequent domestic violence events or risky behavior from my parents, alcohol abuse, etc.– school was my safe place. My teachers nurtured me, educated me, (sometimes even fed me and protected me) and listened to me. I would have done anything to make sure my teachers would not be disappointed in me.

So I was the perfect student. But I talked. And I often spoke inappropriately. And despite my good grades, I struggled with studying. Repetition and lots of notes are still the only way I can learn new things.

And the organization issue? Developing systems not to forget or overlook things? I had a very unpredictable household. I had to keep myself together. And my mother loves everything clean and in its place– if I left something out of place in the common areas of the house, my mother would pile it on the stairs for me to take to my room. And if I didn’t take it up, she would nag me. And if I still didn’t take it up, she would. And when she did it, she would often clean and reorganize my room while I was in school.

And if we’re looking at my borderline results for ADHD and comparing them to other brain issues, we have to consider how symptoms of depression and anxiety overlap with ADHD. And how especially adult women get treated for a mental health condition when the issue stems from neurodivergence. So am I manic– or am I hyperactive/hyperfocused? Am I depressed– or am I in a burn-out phase? (And I would add how do these correspond with hormonal cycles. When I was traditionally ‘fertile,’ I had great mood and energy, when I am approaching menstruation, I crash.)

And fatigue is also a symptom of everything. I have a history of anemia, which causes fatigue. I have a chaotic sleep schedule, which interrupts my routines and causes fatigue. I eat primarily vegetarian vegan and my B12 is on the low side of normal, is that causing fatigue? I perpetually overschedule myself. This causes fatigue. I think if depression were causing my fatigue, I would be more prone to not get out of bed. I always drag myself out of bed on time.

So, in the end, it sounds like this case manager wants a mental health history of my biological father to be the determining factor on the ADHD issue. Problem is he’s been dead for like twenty years. His ex-wife whom I knew for all of the time I knew him, also dead. My biological half-brother, I’ve never spoken with them. The few people who friended me on Facebook who share his last name and said we are family– I’m not even sure who they are.

And then there’s the issue of trauma.

I have experienced a lot of different types of trauma from the unstable environment of my childhood, a period sexual abuse by my grandfather that could have escalated had I not made the decision to avoid him, and multiple experiences in hostile work environments. (One boss who randomly fired me after recuiting me for the job to hire a friend, One boss who threw things at me. Another who made me constantly fix her personal failings. And the final one: she was an all-out tyrant.)

I even mentioned to the case manager that I had spoken with my therapist on one point about why I ended up in so many of this situations: Was it me? And the case manager rephrased some stuff I have probably heard before, but didn’t really make sense until now: You will be more prone to ignore or not notice red flags. And that made total sense. That‘s how people end up repeating cycles. You can’t recognize the subtle signs and once you are knee-deep, you rationalize, as in “the devil you know.” Or, in the case of some family cycles, the child of a drug addict might think some overconsumption of alcohol and behavior related to that is okay, because it’s “just beer.”

Note that none of this addressed the fact that I also live with a mobility disability. And my medical issues– which I am considered prediabetic now and had gestational diabetes. I have always had a strong reaction to sugar and less reaction to caffeine and alcohol. And I also react to certain chemical flavors. (I would love to find out if I react to Red 40.)

As a woman with a mobility disability, I will be extremely hesitant about any SSRI that list side effects as weight gain– I have worked really hard to lose 12 pounds and need to lose at least 20 more. This is not due to vanity. This is due to risk of Type II diabetes AND the fact that more weight will put more stress on my body that already struggles to move.

Anyway, the case manager is meeting with the psychiatrist today to discuss my case notes. If I had to guess what they will suggest, I would say they will probably try to treat my anxiety with an SSRI and refer me to a trauma therapist to explore PTSD. And I suspect they may hint at depression, or even bipolar, expecting to treat it with whatever SSRI they pick.

But I think the constant interplay of some behaviors being driven by rumination or compulsion (“I must do the dishes if the bin is full”) and my avoidance of minor, personal tasks (I struggle to put my laundry away, every time, and I’ve never developed a system) and so many other things like:

  • focusing on projects I like to the extent that I won’t stop until I’m done
  • struggling to start projects I don’t like and giving in to every distraction
  • doing several things at a time and sometimes leaving some half-finished (moving into my office)
  • lacking proper mood regulation
  • obsessing over procedure, routine, documentation and details on items I deem important
  • missing details or skipping steps on things I cannot get emotionally invested in
  • writing down tasks in 5-6 different formats while doing them as to not forget and to not worry about forgetting
  • sharing and writing down important or “pretty” numbers
  • food issues: aversion to textures, difficulty motivating myself to eat or eating too much
  • inability to recalibrate when faced with unexpected change
  • must redo entire household financial plan 30 to 60 days out every time a purchase more than $100 is made or if receiving income in that range
  • pausing in the middle of simple tasks to complete a more appealing task (I picked up my phone today while putting on flip flops and left my foot half-inserted into the shoe. A flip flop!)
  • monitoring medical information more than necessary (Blood pressure: sometimes once a week, sometimes three-times a day; Weight: at least twice a day.)
  • unable to ask for help and will instead take on large projects and complete them alone
  • feeling worthless when I do not meet my goals, no matter how big or small
  • high level of rejection sensitivity
  • always making decisions based on my “gut.”

These make life/diagnosis complicated.

I have spent about two hours on this post. It is 12:30 p.m. I have not eaten yet today. I need to pee. Because of the SEVEN medical appointments I had in the last two weeks, I am behind on some projects due Oct. 10.

And tomorrow I have a business road trip.

And Sunday, I am meeting new friends for tea.

So I need to get shit done…

Untitled: a post about lingering grief

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

They say with time it gets easier, and I suppose I have to trust.

But this week has been damn hard.

My first big injury without my father and my first bit of car trouble without my father.

Both times when I used to turn to my father.

I tried to reach out to my mother, but there’s just something about that relationship that always goes sideways. And I whatever I try to do to fix it fails.

I shared a poem I wrote about grief to Nancy, my blind friend, when I saw her today. And I think she’s anxious to see where I can go with it.

And first thing this morning— I saw this post from a very clean and well curated antique shop in downtown Easton, advertising its fresh wares.

Now I am not an antiques person, but V. Murray Mercantile puts a lot of effort into curating and presenting their merchandise. And this post featured a vintage Schmidt’s Beer lamp, which was my father’s preferred beer.

And I just wanted it. I wanted the beer lamp. I wanted it so I could think of my dad and the light he gave my life. And he could still give that light. And at the same time, it could poke a little fun at his struggles with alcoholism, because he knew his flaws.

Stroh’s Brewing produced Schmidt’s and closed in 1999, selling its business to Pabst, according to some quick, unverified internet research. That was the same year I got married. Apparently, they revived a beer called Schmidt’s in 2019, which ironically was the year my husband and I amicably separated.

I discovered this website which appears to be from the beer’s 100th anniversary merch shop, and feels like the internet version of a ghost sign: Schmidt’s Of Philly, but has a 2019 copyright and seems to be legit even though the history stops fifty years ago.

I signed up for the mailing list.

So the teenager and I went downtown at 1 p.m., fighting construction.

The store is only open 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., and the lamp sold first thing.

I am crushed, but I know realistically it is my grief I am feeling and has nothing to do with a vintage lamp.

It’s about the little girl, who used to run from the house to her dad’s workshop with little brown bottles of beer whenever her dad asked for a cold one. He was usually tinkering with his Harley. Sometimes the lawn mower.

Either way, he usually had a Schmidt’s.

A day in the life— medical update, meal plans, sunshine, animals and publishing

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

I make a lot of lists.

Sometimes my journals are nothing but to do lists and shopping lists. But I like lists— even if I never refer to them again, the act of making a list allows me to stop thinking about things.

If I want to refer to it later, I know where to look, but I no longer have to worry about forgetting as if I want to remember or revisit items from an earlier day I can but I am not staring at a list focusing on what needs to be addressed versus what I actually did.

Many people make lists to receive the satisfaction of checking off the things that are done. I don’t do that. Sometimes I do, but now it’s more like I am acknowledging the list versus trying to conquer it.

I used to finish my list every day or stress over the things I didn’t get to, and on top of that— the list never made me feel better or more in control.

It just exhausted me.

Trapped and the Cover for the Anthology Arrive

Parisian Phoenix’s first contemporary romance has arrived and it looks great. Read more about that here.

But I also received the cover for Not An Able-Bodied White Man with Money, which I will be blogging about on the Parisian Phoenix site this weekend.

And I have a 4 p.m. meeting today with another author who I have been hoping would join our family.

Now if only I could finalize some of our business documents to really move the projects forward.

Yesterday (Voluntary Time Off) and evaluating my health

Life at Stitch Fix’s Bizzy Hizzy has been odd lately. We’re shipping something like 8,000 fixes a day and having the opportunity for voluntary time off.

Last week, I performed at pretty damn close to 100% without pain or significant mobility issues. This week, issues started mildly during my Sunday shift and deteriorated Monday & Tuesday, leaving me at 80% and crying myself to sleep. I talked about this here.

I’m very much wondering if my menstrual cycle has something to do with it, as the Mirena IUD has done miracles for my pain and issues in that department but has made my cycle irregular. I think my body is trying to menstruate later than usual.

I was taking inventory of my recent balance, mobility and functioning issues as today I had my annual “wellness visit” that the office rescheduled from last week.

I took VTO yesterday to allow myself some rest and some time as life (and grief from my father’s death two months ago) has gotten chaotic and overwhelming.

And I made the teenager and I grilled cheese as I had promised to do, and the child acted like I had prepared filet mignon for her.

I have a feeling I will be repeating that after school today.

We also watched Miranda Sings Live on Netflix. The teenager went through a time when she watched the show, so that was weird. It always amazes me how much talent it takes to perform badly.

The doctor today

I have spent more than a decade assembling a talented and caring medical team, so now I can confidently say any issues with my medical treatment stem from the system and not from my doctors.

The doctor and his resident agreed with my assessment that it’s time for me to get into the physiatrist and that their office will advocate for me on that as well, and that my instincts and approaches are correct.

I learned that women more so than men tend to favor one side when they move or stand. As women age, this tendency can create problems. That means this is a problem normal people have and not just a result of cerebral palsy.

And most interestingly… I learned that women more so than men tend to favor one side when they move or stand. As women age, this tendency to let’s say ‘lean’ can create problems, just like what I am experiencing now with my right hip and right leg/foot. That means this is a problem normal people have and not just a result of cerebral palsy.

I reiterated to them that I do know I need to lose 20 pounds, but that we have some issues to address before that.

The psychology of emotional and physical pain

When I was turning 40, I embarked on a journey to lose five pounds and gain muscle. I inadvertently lost 30 lbs and ended up a skeleton and regained some weight to look like this:

That was about 30 pounds ago. I have no need to be that lean again, but I’d really like to see 135 lbs again— which means I need to lose 20 lbs.

I told my doctor and his resident— I know I can’t eat an entire bag of cheese puffs or Wawa bowl of mac and cheese and brisket after dinner. But I’m struggling with depression from my body pain and my father’s unexpected death.

I’m grateful I haven’t turned to alcohol like many in my family, but I have “given in” to food as a psychological crutch.

I pay almost $300 a month for a personal trainer, but I can’t work as hard as I want to because I hurt and I feel like I need answers as to how to move my body so it doesn’t hurt. Because if I could exercise more and move more, I wouldn’t sabotage myself by eating garbage (or if I did, I would be active enough to balance it).

But right now, when I come home from a ten-hour shift with my body twisted and aching badly, and wishing I could call my dad so he could make me laugh and tell me how much it sucks to get old, I grab junk food because it’s the last pleasure I have.

I can’t move without pain so if I’m going to be forced to get fat and lazy I might as well enjoy the process.

These are ugly thoughts and I know that, but I’m being honest.

The fun stuff: errands with Nan

After leaving my primary care doctor, I called Nan as we were scheduled to do some errands together. We stopped at Wawa for some hot caffeinated beverages (cafe con leche for me and vanilla chai for Nan).

Among other stops we visited Park Avenue Market and Deli, one of our favorite haunts known for its deli, salads and meats.

Although I am once again contemplating more of a vegan diet, which will make the teenaged carnivore wince, I am not ready to commit until I feel better. We must achieve discipline before we enact change.

I never got around to meal planning yesterday so I didn’t have a list. I ended up spending $36.89 and I think the results will work.

I purchased: two packs of beef jerky, one small box of minute rice for the teen, three or four teeny tiny bags of Wise snacks from popcorn to potato chips, meatballs, the biggest damn carrot I’ve ever seen, frozen vegetable medley with potatoes and garlic herb sauce, sweet potato crinkle cut fries, pork roll, Lebanon bologna, liverwurst, turkey, olive salad, a store-baked pig ear for the dog and something called “hot pepper shooters”— round hot peppers stuffed with prosciutto and provolone.

Rough meal plan

My rough meal plan for the next week or so is:

  • Sandwiches
  • Meatballs and green peppers, either as a sandwich or in pasta
  • vegetable lasagna still in the freezer from last week
  • Burgers and fries, using ground beef from the freezer and the sweet potato fries
  • Cold tortellini salad with roasted carrot, olive salad and seasoned broccoli (broccoli is in the freezer)
  • Pork roll and egg sandwiches
  • Chicken and the frozen vegetables and rice or other grain

PS— we also welcomed a new foster into the house. Her name is Babs. Meet her in this video. I need to make her a page.

Vulnerability in the workplace and its role in building teams

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Grammar police— this piece is full of tense shifts. I’m tired. Deal with it.

We’ve all had that corny job that encourages team building exercises and how uncomfortable that can be when they are telling you to trust someone that frankly you don’t trust.

It’s hard to be vulnerable with new people and new environments and this can lead to us seeming aloof or feeling alienated or shunned by the group.

Yesterday I had a painful day at work, and I’m still struggling emotionally with my father’s death, and compounding all of that is the fact that my sleep has not been that restful.

So imagine me… as the alarm goes off at 4:45 a.m., struggling to stretch out my stiff, spastic lower body and my aching spine. I went to the other side of my room to check on the cats’ food and had to use the vacuum cleaner as a cane.

I stumbled to the shower and afterwards managed to get my bra, shirt and panties on but saved the socks and pants for after coffee.

I prepare my coffee directly into my to-go mug, a FURR fundraiser item that keeps my coffee warm until my first break almost four hours later and lukewarm until lunch.

I email my neurologist asking for help getting a physiatrist appointment. I still wonder if I should be going to work at all. I tell myself if I really can’t function, I’ll call the chiropractor at 9 a.m. and see if I can get an appointment.

I decide it’s time to put on my pants.

But then my pants don’t button.

And I’m not talking about “these are snug,” these are all out as if I were trying to wear a child’s pants. Too much Taco Bell last night.

The teenager did a white wash so there is a pair of sweatpants in the kitchen. I put them on and wrestled with my socks.

I go to get my shoes. The teenager has piled the garbage on top of them. I find other shoes.

I then needed to decide between the pizza I can’t even remember when I ordered it and the pancakes from Friday for lunch.

I grabbed both.

Once at work, they have me assigned to line 5, table 8a. Now, they have the tables on line 5 labeled incorrectly. Somehow, they go 0, 1a, 2a, 3a, 5a, 8a, 4a, 6a, 7a. Someone is already working on the ninth table, which is labeled seven. So just to be clear, I ask my supervisor.

“I am to go to the sixth table, which would if you were going by the labels at the previous lines would be table five, because the actual labels are out of order?”

He looked up. “Oh, yeah. They are.”

But then someone is also at the sixth table which is labeled 8a. The lead on the line does the research and this interloper belongs on an entirely different line, but somehow ends up a few stations ahead of me.

I have to organize the station because it was set up for Freestyle not QC.

And then I see the person on line 4b, across the aisle from me, get an entire rack of refixes. That’s about three hours worth of work.

I went back to the lead who I approached about my interloper. I explained I had a disability and I was having a bad physical and emotional day and, let me paraphrase, I said I wanted refixes, too.

I got them.

The day shift support people and my normally favorite support person brought me refixes all day.

And I learned more about my favorite support person’s family history. And we discussed philosophy and gave each other a pep talk. And the day shift support person was also super supportive.

And it made me feel physically and emotionally better to share the weight of my burdens. I made 98%. Which is amazing — and I haven’t seen numbers that high since October.

My lead was pleased.

And I felt lighter.

Processing childhood trauma

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

Trigger warning— I’m not sure exactly where this post will go but it will discuss sexual misconduct between an adult and a child and it will touch on alcoholism.

I know some people in my family may be uncomfortable with what I am about to write — because what happens in our private lives should remain private. And I agree with that, and I prefer not to air private matters in a public forum. As a writer, I want my public space to reflect a more professional persona.

But I also know I “check a lot of boxes” for struggles and realities that may not be apparent and that other people share. And together we have strength. Commonality.

So here goes.

But please, as I’ve said in other posts that mention times in the past that include other people and the actions of other people, remember that this is my story, my experience and my feelings.

Whatever I write in this space, because I’m not even sure where it will go, I am merely trying to offer a glimpse into my grief and how that is triggering— and I hate that word ‘triggering’ — my past trauma.

And especially when people are trying to do nice things for you, it feels extra garbage-y to have your mind implode.

Gene Kelly prompted me to write this blog entry. Spotify provided me with a jazz mix that included “Singing in the Rain.” And “Singing in the Rain” left me analyzing the issues that have plagued me since childhood that overcame me this weekend.

“Singing in the Rain.” You know… “Singing in the Rain.”

I learned to whistle in the bar. There was a man, I’m not sure who it was, who used to try and get me to whistle “Singing in the Rain.” I’m not sure which bar, maybe The Red Geranium, which is also where my mom served as the afternoon bartender for a while and where the owner’s grandson almost drowned me one summer day.

I don’t even remember who taught me to whistle.

I went to the bar with my mother because my father usually stopped at a bar after work. And he often didn’t come home until he spent all his money or the bar closed. So, my mom and I would go looking for him.

Each bar had a highlight. One of my school friends hung out at Delaware House waiting for her mom. But Delaware House burned down in 1986— I think my Dad might have been there that night— and all I remember is purple-hued lighting and one time someone vomited on the sidewalk right outside the door while I was standing there.

In my memory, the fire took out my grandfather’s favorite clothing store (not true according to newspaper records)— Effross’s— though thinking harder I don’t known if that recollection is correct. Apparently, Mr. Effross died in November. My grandfather bought all his Levi’s from Mr. Effross.

My grandfather chewed Jucyfruit, enjoyed the occasional trip to Kmart, smoked Parliaments and listened to Jim Reeves. He would hand me an empty coffee can and tell me he’d pay me a penny for every cigarette butt I could find in our yard.

At one point, I spent all the time I could with him. My parents said we had moved to Pennsylvania to be closer to him and my grandmother, moving into the trailer right besides my grandparents in the trailer park.

My mother befriended an elderly man named James Wicks who lived in a trailer on the other side of us. He had no family, so my mother cared for him until his death. And we inherited his tan Chevy Citation.

On some days, while my mom went to see Wicky, I would go see my Aunt Sharon and my grandpa. I spent a lot of time with them as they served as my babysitter when my mom and dad would go for motorcycle rides or when my parents planned to go drinking.

They had cable. We did not. So if I was lucky, I might get to watch The Addams Family. My grandfather liked Highway to Heaven and Knight Rider.

At one point, my uncle had moved to another state. I seem to think I was 10, because I tend to think everything bad that happened to me happened around that time. My aunt had gone to stay with them. She and my grandpa had plans to move up there.

If I can trust my memory, I was wearing a pastel striped romper, with shorts. [Trigger warning] He asked me to come sit on his lap, so I did. He started rubbing my inner thighs. I remember his hands, and I remember how close they were getting to my romper.

There were a few other times where he touched me inappropriately in similar fashion, so I stopped sitting in his lap.

And eventually I avoided going to his house when no one else was home.

I told no one.

But then, a while later, and I don’t know if Aunt Sharon was home or not, I think she was… We ordered a pizza. My grandfather asked if I wanted to go with him to pick it up. I said yes, probably because I wanted a “jungle juice” and to play the Pac Man arcade game.

The pizza place was probably less than two miles away.

But he didn’t go to the pizza place.

He turned down a side road. And then to a dirt road. The night was dark. We had no street lights. I knew where we were, but I also knew it was the middle of nowhere.

He patted the seat beside him. It was a big old vinyl bench seat. He told me to come over and kiss him. So, as a granddaughter would, I kissed his cheek.

He told me no. That’s not how you kiss. And then his tongue was in my mouth. Deep in my mouth. Invading my mouth.

I was terrified.

I don’t remember what I did to get away. But we did go get the pizza.

I didn’t tell my mom until high school. I just avoided my grandfather. But my mom was going to ask him to drive me home from play rehearsal. And I knew I couldn’t be alone with him.

I didn’t tell my dad until I was in college. My grandfather and I had a tumultuous relationship because I called him a “selfish old bastard.” Yeah, no one knew the real reason why I said that. But my grandfather never spoke to me again.

And that hurt my dad.

One day he got drunk and asked me point blank, “what did you grandfather ever do to you, molest you or something?”

“Yeah, Dad,” I said. “Actually he did.”

And I will remember the shock on his face forever.

My father’s recent death has forced me to spend more time in memories like these than I usually allow.

I tell this story because I know others have similar stories. I tell this story because in the wake of my father’s death, I think of my grandfather more. I tell this story because yesterday morning I wept while driving to work at 5:45 a.m. because I use a country road that, in that moment, reminded me of that country road.

These stories are invisible. People don’t tell these stories. Skeletons belong in closets.

But I’m tired of these stories haunting me, circling my own head, so I’m going to leave this here.

I spent a good deal of my youth afraid of what my grandfather might do. To me.

My first kiss came from my grandfather. I didn’t even know the difference between boys and girls.

I still freak out if I have to kiss a man.

I’m grateful I had the wisdom to avoid my grandfather.

My grandfather is dead.

My father is dead. His brother is dead.

Aunt Sharon is still with us, but she has an intellectual disability that renders her an eternal child.

So this story can’t hurt any of them.

But maybe it can free me.

Because those memories still ignite fear in me.

Day 3 of 10-hour day shift in the warehouse: Podcast reviews

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

(And a foster cat and teenager update)

This new work week is certainly moving quickly although each day I come home more exhausted. I’m hurting more once I get home, but I’m fine for the first 9+ hours of my shift. If you don’t know what I’m talking about read these:

Yesterday

Sunday

The teenager kept my car as the last two of our fosters who needed to be spayed went to Canyon River Run today. That would be Mama Danu and her tabby kitten Baile from the Celtic Pride.

Georgie (lower left) and Baile (silver tabby)

She hoped to bake cookies for the platters Feline Urban Rescue and Rehab plans to distribute to the many vets who assist the organization. Her eighth grade boyfriend came over to lend a helping hand so she also taught him to make bread.

Meanwhile I just kept dreaming of an iced cold Coke Zero. And an interesting thing happened — I got to work and there was a 4-pack of 20-ounce Coke Zero bottles with a post-it note declaring them free.

I brought them home. My guess is someone didn’t realize Coke Zero had been relabeled in the same red as classic Coke.

Which my metrics tanked by the end of the day which had me chugging this at 3 p.m. break.

My 4 p.m., I was trembling and about to cry. Do. Not. Repeat.

I treated the teenager to dinner at Tic Toc so she could get her last pay check. We both ate too much.

I did my physical therapy exercises and took a hot shower. By the end of the shower my right leg was very uncomfortable so I took a low dose muscle relaxer and covered my leg, knee and back with CBD Medic’s Arthritis Cream.

One more day.

So now, as promised, let me offer some thoughts on podcasts. The teenager and I compared notes on our Spotify end-of-year wrap up and she thought she was impressive with 17,000 minutes since we started using the service in mid-year. I have 88,000+.

MY FAVORITE PODCASTS I LISTENED TO SO FAR THIS WEEK:

  • This one surprises me. The Ellen Fisher Podcast. She’s a very interesting person with her journey to raise her own food in Hawaii with her brood of plant-based kids and interest in all things calm and positive. I don’t really don’t know how I feel about her podcast — but I recently listened to her episode on Mind Change. It was an interesting discussion of neuroscience facts blended with alternative healing techniques to deal with personal trauma to heal the body of disease and mental illness. The guests on the show discuss their experience that illness, whether physical or mental, is the body manifesting trauma that the person has refused to acknowledge and heal.
  • The Daily. I often force myself to listen to the Daily even when the topics don’t interest me. This week I found myself pleasantly surprised by their coverage of Stephen Sondheim’s death.
  • Snacks Daily. Snacks Daily is a brief podcast from Robin Hood, yes the investment folks. It’s an economic summary of course, but it also provides humor and the business side of the news.
  • I finished Sh**hole Countries by Radiotopia. The American host on that show grapples with the possibility that her Ghanaian parents want her to move to Ghana. Enjoyable but also not what I expected. The host uses much of her platform to talk about her queerness and human rights.
  • The Shit No One Tells You About Writing. Very useful and broad tips about writing, critiquing and publishing.
  • Africa Daily just did a good episode on fistula. I found that a surprising topic. I’m impressed. (Though they did not mention the prevalence of female genital cutting and its impact on the rate of fistula.)

Other notables: Power Hugh Hefner, American Scandal The Lewinsky Affair, Operator, Against the Odds Rock Climbers Abducted.

And here is a video of Nala the Goffins Cockatoo: Nala harassing foster cat tripod Louise

Good night all.

Health update: Liverwurst for medical purposes

Angel Ackerman 8 Comments

This is another in my ongoing series about life with cerebral palsy, a disability no one I know seems to understand.

I have eaten thousands of extra calories this weekend. I can’t stop myself. My weight has hit an all-new, all-time high and I am deeply ashamed of my behavior.

I wrote my primary care physician an email midday Thursday after I called out sick from work, but before I slept 12+ hours. I told him: I know you don’t have the answers regarding my cerebral palsy and its long term effect. I know I walk funny and that has caused arthritis type issues in my hip, my SI joint specifically. I understand from working with my chiropractor (Nicole Jensen, Back In Line) who used to be a physical therapist that the instability in my lower body, especially as I compensate when I am pain, comes from these complications. But the only thing that helps the pain is the CBD creams I get online— Charlotte’s Web and CBD Medic specifically.

I have 2-6 bad days a month, usually a couple every two weeks, reinforcing the idea that my late 40-something menstrual cycle is compounding issues. I only get cramps in my back, but I’m also experiencing pain at ovulation.

And it’s bad pain. Just like all my other pain. All in my lower back.

My new gynecologist listened to my complaints of long-term anemia (which makes me too weak to properly deal with all these other struggles), heavy bleeding, pain every two weeks and massive blood clots exiting my body, and prescribed a couple ultrasounds.

The results have been in for almost two weeks and I can see them but I don’t understand them but they did find things, even if not large and scary, but internal organs are small.

I told him, I work with a personal trainer three times a week, and except for stress eating, I eat well and take all my vitamins. I even scheduled my upcoming follow-up bloodwork.

So which doctor do I need to talk to because my schedules anemia follow up is Nov. 2, and I would like to know if any of this can be treated and/or how permanent it is and/or will it get worse?

Meanwhile, my blind friend Nan and I visited Park Avenue Market, one of our favorite places. We both order liverwurst from the deli.

The man slicing our meat, who knows us at this point, comments that he doesn’t know how people can eat liverwurst.

I told him I don’t even like it. It is a little nasty, but that this liverwurst is better than off-the-rack liverwurst. That I’m not a big meat eater and I struggle with getting enough iron as I have a history of anemia. With the right cheese, it’s not so bad, especially with lettuce and good bread.

It’s inexpensive— so if I get sick of it I feed it to the dog and the dog loves me.

He laughed.

“So, you’re buying liverwurst for medicinal purposes?” he remarked.

Why I canceled Silk & Sonder despite amazing customer service and a quality product

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I subscribed to Silk & Sonder in May, a birthday present to myself.

Read about my previous experiences and thoughts here: Silk & Sonder blog posts

Silk & Sonder unboxings:

August

May

After working out some delivery issues with customer service, I loved this product. But as lives go, mine got busy and I started using my journaling time as workout time and have been unable to find a time where I am rested enough and still enough to benefit from these activities.

Each month more and more of the planner remains blank because I can’t keep up— and that stresses me out.

I think I can incorporate some of the items I really like— monthly mood and habit trackers— into my current journaling practice.

But I would love if Silk & Sonder developed an annual planner that would allow exploration of this topics without feeling like I’m starting the over every month.

And as my life gets busier, making sure my paper planner and my phone calendar match has been exceedingly difficult.

Some cats, some ramen, learning the “mailer machine” and more about childhood trauma and imposter syndrome

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

First, the cat picture of the day.

Misty and Oz, two of our cats

Next, let’s briefly do a Purple Carrot Update. Today I prepped the matcha overnight oats and made the ramen bowl. (Video of matcha prep here.)

The teenager vetoed the homemade miso broth and fresh ramen.

I had the leftover black pepper tofu for dinner and it was soooooooo good, even leftover.

And most Purple Carrot meals take 30 minutes to prepare, which in my kitchen has been translating to 40 minutes. Much better than the cooking marathon caused when a Hello Fresh box comes.

But now to the Bizzy Hizzy. I finally learned the “mailer machine.” It’s a folding machine. We used it to fold the postal service priority mailers that go in each fix.

We had trouble getting the machine to work— so we didn’t really get started until after first break. We folded 4401 mailers.

Basically we unpack the mailers, sort them so they are less likely to jam the machine, and feed/empty the machine. There is a zen to lining up the mailers on the rolling machine, fanning them and making sure they don’t curl.

I was sent to the mailer machine as part of Stitch Fix’s quest to know what tasks I perform best. I perform regularly at 96% in QC but unfortunately when I have bad day that plummets to 85-90%. They raised the pick goal so I only do 75% of that. Apparently I have shown both potential and inconsistency in inbound processing and returns. I apparently tanked in style carding (66%) which I would like to believe was a fluke but maybe not. And a shocking 29% in NAP binning. It was shoes. And it was very painful.

I’m told they want everyone to have two work centers they can perform 100%.

So now I’m at the mailer machine.

If I’m honest with you, and it is very hard for me to say this in public, what I hear is: “You’re not good enough for us, so since you suck at everything, let’s stick you on this machine back in the corner.”

I feel threatened. And like a failure.

And that is not what they said. At all.

But I have a disability that makes me insecure and makes me feel inferior, unworthy. And certain childhood traumas leave me feeling unwanted, and as if I am a burden to everyone.

So I am being honest. For one reason. In case someone else is fighting a similar battle and needs to know he/she/they are not alone.

Week Four of Physical Training at Apex and more thoughts on Disability

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

When I turned up at the Apex Gym today for my first session of the week, I was accompanied by the teenager and her dog. They were both impressed— and in the dog’s case confused— that my trainer Dan was wearing his baby.

I am always impressed with the different bodies I see at the gym and the attention both trainers give to their clients.

There was a woman at the gym finishing her session when I arrived. She was working hard with some dumbbells, with her back to me. She was older than I was, and overweight, probably at least obese by BMI standards (because I am overweight by BMI standards).

But she was uneven, with 80% of her excess weight in her legs.

And just like with me, Dan supported her and challenged her as if we were athletes. You could tell she was proud of herself, and I was proud of her.

And I couldn’t wait to tell my trainer Dan that I can already feel my body moving better. In his eyes, he calls it “a little increased mobility” and to me, I feel like my knees are moving the correct direction.

I told him that I got to pick at the Stitch Fix Bizzy Hizzy and covered about 6,000 steps and pulled 216 items in less than three hours. Now those aren’t stellar numbers, but I haven’t left QC in months. And I didn’t hurt.

If this Apex experience doesn’t teach me to participate in exercise and strength training daily, nothing will.

Today’s workout t-shirt was “let’s hit the bar” by The Fitness Tee Company and my trainer Dan let out an enthusiastic battle cry. We did hit the bar, and we added weight to it. I really enjoy bench press.

In other news, I listened to the latest podcast from the NYT Daily Sunday Read, “The Man who filed 180 disability lawsuits.” It looked at the “industry” of people hired by lawyers to find non-ADA-compliant businesses. And sue them.

I need to digest this more, but the reporter interviewed a small restaurant that almost lost everything because of such a lawsuit, in what seemed a situation where a new restaurant just had everything go wrong.

But the reporter also interviewed the litigant who said businesses have a responsibility to know the law better (my note: it’s almost 300 pages) and that being disabled is expensive so these lawsuits help pay for his equipment and care.

Link to the podcast on Spotify.

Luau luncheon at the Bizzy Hizzy

Changes are brewing at work. Tomorrow I learn the infamous mailer machine and QC Valley 0 has been transformed into a test site to see if QC centers can prep their own boxes as they fold each fix.

I’m terrified of this. I have a really awkward relationship with packing tape.