Check Marked

(unknown origin, will credit once identified)

You guys – I watched a movie.

non-Marvel? CHECK

non-Star Wars? CHECK

non-kiddo friendly? CHECK

fiction? CHECK MATE

As you know, this is huge for me. Then, as I was brag-texting about my accomplishment to an Inveterate Optimist, I got sick to my stomach – twice. So, maybe not that huge of an accomplishment. F it – yeah it is. #checkyourselfbeforeyouwreckyourself

I tried to watch this same movie at some point last Spring and made it about 2 minutes in before I recognized one of the actors who does not sit well with me, although admittedly I am not very familiar with his work. I am sure he is lovely and fine and his family and friends love him very much. I knew of him from a documentary kind of show I watched a few episodes of at the beginning of COVID quarantine. I had to stop watching that because I would just absolutely break down and cry – sob ugly cry. At the time I figured it was because they were having so much fun in the show going around to the places, learning the things, drinking the things and maybe I was jealous or grief feeling how much I have missed enjoying things in my life. They were having fun (yes, I KNOW it is produced, directed, contrived etc even in a “real life experience” kind of show), and I… I was… I am not.

Anywho, I decided to open the rusty ol’ Netflix app on my phone when I couldn’t sleep (something was growling outside – it’s a thing as I live in the woods which are occasionally spooky), and the movie was still sitting there asking to be resumed. I restarted it and I watched it. It was short, maybe 90 minutes or so, very quirky, no emphasis on falling in love, and it has Toni Collette (I do know of her)! Even though I did cry at points, ultimately I felt such a sense of relief that I made it through the movie.

Then the afterwards arrived and, well, I need to find therapy y’all.

The innate worthiness factor and my parenting with SonHerisme are super concerning for me. He’s still in virtual school until next school year when it looks like most of us will have had vaccines. Ill MotherHerisme and I are all he has to engage with most days. Oh, and MotherHerisme’s two un-socialized little minature schnauzer dogs. SonHerisme is lonely and he deserves so much more. He is such a great kid.

Post spinach lunch (again, I know – its like a drug), seed sewing (not a euphemism – actual plant seeds needing tended), a bit of laundry and driveway power walk, I am going to at least look up some therapist contacts. I don’t think I’ll return to the woman I was seeing pre-COVID. She’s too lovely, compassionate and kind. I think I need someone a bit more detached, or rather someone I feel more detached from.

Sort of like watching any show. If I feel any kind of anything other than it’s silly and entertaining, I just cannot watch the program. At all. My brain and body just do not handle any feeling above numb very well, unless I feel some control over the situation or it is so very deep into the sillyzone. I would like to not be like this anymore. Disassociation is my superpower which is super exhausting me and super impacting my ability to help SonHerisme grow (and not in a positive way).

However, I would really like to go down to the NGA DC because it is a great comfort to be surrounded by impactful artwork which I can internally interpret and walk away from at any time without feeling any obligation or need for explanation. I don’t think the buildings are open atm – maybe by reservation (?).

*dream break* I like to walk around the sculptures first – Romulus and Remus, African Allegory, the lady with the veil, the little politicians’ busts, Paul Revere, Little Dancer – you know, the usual. Then say my, “how-de-do’s!” to George on my way upstairs to see sweet Ginerva, count the Ruben’s lions, Napoleon, the boating party, the ice skater guy and girl in the white dress (whom I believe come to life for a secret after-hours affair then spend all day staring at each other across the galleries – it could be true). The Civil War memorial, which is noble and sad at the same time. The central fountain with its seasonal arrangements… The steps up from the mall where you can pretend to be Kung Fu Panda pulling your dim-sum cart up the mountain for the festival (sweet SonHerisme memories). Then back down to the basement for coffee and a lot of “no, we are not buying that”‘s at the gift shop, before heading over to the East building to see Bellow’s boxers, Calder, Rothko, Mondrian, Pollock and the sitting Buddha outside with the fantastic giant blue rooster. Return to the basement for a treat and then a short walk through the sculpture garden, avoiding the Natural History Museum because by then it is too crowded, before heading home.

I hardly ever go through the first floor gift shop, only the basement one and I don’t know why. The lady’s room is much nicer on the first floor. Hmmm… maybe a pivot for next visit. That’s sad, dreaming about clean lady’s rooms in museums. That’s where we are on the COVID mental health scale atm, I suppose.

Onwards to check mark off the things needing the doing.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps meet me post-COVID at the NGA DC for a cuppa and we can walk, walk, walk, not talk, together. Not too long on the verso of Ginerva because I will cry because da Vinci is almost too much. Also, there’s a sparkly walking sidewalk in the basement! sys

pps Birthmarked is the movie and now that I’ve thought about the experience for a day or so, I think I am okay with it – yay!

Room 703

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In June of 2014, I began seeing a therapist.  She is now retired.  She is a lovely person, and I miss her understanding.

 

As I am without insurance and unemployed, I gots ta figure dis out on me own, matey (argh!), for the time being (as you may have gleaned from prior posts).

 

She once asked me to make a list of what I wanted for myself.  Not for my sweet little MrBearwhois8, but just for me.  I still have that list in my fancy, almost empty, journal.  Here is what I was able to pull out of my brain and put on the list:

 

I would like to eat a meal without my stomach hurting.

 

Fast forward to April 2016, and a sweet woman that I know (professional life coach) offered me a step towards self-guidance by suggesting that I write down everything I am good at, no matter how menial (“even if it’s wiping baby’s dirty bottoms” said she).  I still have that list in my fancy, almost empty, journal.  Here is what I was able to put on that list:

 

I am really good at letting my son know and feel how much he is loved.

 

It’s so strange to reflect on this, because I am a HUGE list maker.  In the past, I made lists all of the time.  List-making relaxes me and allows for comfortable brain space relief.

 

I am the person who makes lists of what to pack, what has been packed, labels all of the bags, and carries the list just in case the suitcase goes missing.  It is my way and it has worked for me.

What kinds of lists do you make?

 

Now my brain has been ptsd kerfuffled, and I am re-learning it’s parameters and myself.

 

I am determined to allow myself to make lists again.  Pinteresting lists, notepad lists, room-by-room spreadsheet lists.

 

If you don’t hear from me in two weeks,

I’ll be at the Nationale Hotel in Mexico City, Room 703!

( Victor Velasco)

 

Love, Ms. Herisme xo