Life revises all

The subject line of my blog should be revised to reflect the current state of religious affairs....former chassidische maydle is now a year older, not much wiser and after a nervous breakdown from the complicated grief study, entered long term therapy with a female LCSW who uses various psychodynamic techniques, meaning we work hard but there's more feedback from her than the usual grunts and uh huh....

She doesn't tape or take notes, it is amazing that she remembers the cesspool of information I've been providing as we sort out my relationship with my mother--or lack thereof. And the more we work, the more 'visitations' I get from my mother in dreams. The last person in the world or nether world I want contact with, particularly due to her aversion to clothes, keeps showing up.

I've gone from a tentative, sketchy form of practicing Judaism to almost none at all. Its been months since I've bentched licht or prayed. Its not like I disbelieve what Chabad taught me, however the amount of guilt/grief/sadness attached to practicing without a network of support/shul/friends seemed like living in a vacuum. But then even living in Crown Heights felt the same for me, an outsider looking in on a world that I wanted to be a genuine part of, not a charity case as my family turned out to be for the Rebbe.

There were many months in this past year when hours of weeping, uncontrolled weeping overwhelmed me. All I needed was to see someone in distress, in person or television, and the faucets began to run. In a final desperate move to get myself under control, someething even tehillim couldn't do, I arranged to meet with a top PA psychiatrist. He has me on an antipsychotic at bedtime.  I probably needed this med for years. 

Medical issues continue to keep me limited in outside activities-I remain only capable of spacing housework, grocery shopping, doctor visits, caring for the cats, interaction with my children before I'm hit with severe fatigue, chills, feverishness. This level of fatigue is so powerful, I can't even stomach food, I just wait to crawl into bed at night to rest. Reading is a task and I love to read.

I have a neighbor upstairs whose mother decided to befriend me...woe is me. She popped in last week, "You have a visitor!" and then sat on my couch for 5 FIVE hours, talking about her 2 ex husbands, her version of christianity (its a patchwork quilt of gobbeldy gook)
Even when I left the room to feed the cats, she was still talking. I remain silent and then get cross examined about what I'm thinking since I try not to feed into her psycho babbling--I finally told her I can't take hours of such conversation or interaction, its completely draining for me. Like talking to a wall. I've tried constructive feedback and no feedback, she just needs to talk and uses me as a receptacle. Next time I'm not expecting anyone, I simply wont answer a knock on my door, period.

Mr. B's teeth continue to deteriorate, he also appears to have arthrtis now in his hind quarters. He gets one baby aspirin when he's clearly in distress and I bought steps for him to reach his bed where he spends much of his time or looking out the window. I want to buy another set of steps to place near my bed so he can come up like he once did, during the night to cuddle.

Little B is a fat sweetie pie, who loves to be sung to--he falls asleep at the sound of my voice singing him 2-3 songs he recognizes as his music. He continues to eat oatgrass that I grow to settle his tummy and help his bowels.

I'm currently finishing Mrs. Dora Saint (aka Miss Read) entire genre of books, only books I haven't read are her christmas tales. The small countryside community is similar to the stetel mentality of crown heights minus the vitriol, where people look out for one another and in the end, things work out. There's no child abuse, molestation and the rare lush or miscreant is a public exception, not the rule. Another time...another era my children will never know the peace that once existed.