rhyskrispee
New Here
I was formally diagnosed with PTSD 12 years ago. At the time, I didn't really think much about the dx, I was seeing the counselor about issues around raising an attachment disordered child (biologically mine, born with chronic illness). Honestly, I kinda just dismissed it as I didn't really understand what it even really meant. While I understand, intellectually, the difference between a diagnosis from DSM and psychobabble, I have come across so many folks in the course of my life who like to "help" their friends that some words don't even penetrate for me. PTSD was definitely something people seemed, to me, to throw around to excuse their bad behavior and explain away their over-sensitivities. At this point I should probably qualify that statement by explaining that I was raised by abusive authoritarian parents who did not tolerate excuses or explanations. The other important detail in my life story is that I grew up short and was ceaselessly bullied at school until I eventually attained the height of 5', at roughly 15 years of age.
A couple of very serious events helped me to understand what the dx actually meant. The death of my mother a couple of years ago threw me into an absolute, literal tailspin. I had completely cut ties with her 15 years previously, but sometime before that she'd decided I was the responsible one so I had all of her papers. My sister had been notified as next of kin and was able to arrange the cremation and pick up the ashes, but it fell to me, as the one with the insurance policy (gerber baby for srs) and the deed to the niche she planned to share with my first step-father, to make the arrangement with the mausoleum. I could write about my mother for days, but let me sum it up this way: There are some amazing people who work in the funerary industry. They have heard it all, and when I told the lovely Gail about my situation she was very kind to me. Almost every day I remember how after we'd placed the urn, as she was escorting me out I made her promise me that, unlike the people at the crazy-place who didn't even want to keep her over night when she'd threatened suicide, they wouldn't let my mother out again. Gail smiled at me and said "Rhyskrispee, we have your back".
That had all been in October, in May there was a "work related" situation. The quotes are there because I don't actually have a J-O-B job, I am a textiles artist who doesn't show or sell much, and I help to run science fiction conventions. Some here might be aware of some of the issues con runners have been facing over the last few years with people running wild and not respecting the personal boundaries of others. Not to mention the issues of race, class, sex and gender that permeate society and come to the surface in the highly-charged environment that is a Convention. That year, during the run-up to an event, a kerfluffle broke out on social media between one of the pros and one of the Convention Committee members. It wasn't handled - I would say "well" except, it really just. wasn't. handled. The situation escalated to threats, the pro was allowed to attend the convention and the committee member and I were given radios to wear 24/7 in case the threats were actually carried out. She and I were roommates at that convention. After I completely fell apart during the event - the asthma kicked in on Saturday which by Sunday morning was full-on oyster hacking bronchitis - we don't even talk anymore. After waiting a year for her to bring the matter to those who were in a position to make the changes that needed to be made higher up in the organization, I did it myself. Since then I have been actively working on crafting better policies and procedures for my convention, it's been very difficult, not only because of emotions, but because there's such resistance toward the idea that you have to actively manage people if you're going to run a convention. But that's a whole other thing ;)
Which brings us to how I found this place. The Holidays suck, that's just how it is and everyone around me is used to it. I try not to act out, and no one makes me have a tree, but everything is so magnified. The cup analogy in the article linked on the main page really made a lot of sense to me, by December my cup is rather full and I am in full-on isolation mode usually until February.
My mother-in-laws partner spent this last Christmas on his deathbed, which perversely made Christmas a lot easier than it usually is. I really liked her partner, he was a very socially adept person who always made me feel welcome and respected and I will miss his influence, limited as it was. But having mil occupied with her own trauma meant that I didn't have to worry so much about buying and receiving properly-wrapped, useless tchotchkes, and expressing the requisite gratitude (there's a level of effusiveness which is expected and I am never able to provide it). My husband had fewer to cook for (he's the cook, it's what he does for fun) I had less clean up and the sister-in law who usually tries to kill me with her perfume (allergic) didn't bother to show up. It was a win! Actually as I read back over that, it wasn't really less stressful, it was differently stressful, but anyway.
What made this winter harder than most was another work thing I had to resolve. As I mentioned above, I run conventions and am working on creating and maintaining a certain level of basic civility. My primary convention happens in November, bumping up to my down time. This is okay as the distraction from the upcoming holidays is welcome. As a department head, I have to manage staff. I'm actually good at it, which surprised me, but I know it's true because my staff begs me to let them work my department every year, we've all been working together for 3 years now. Well, this year, my second blew it. There's no other way to put it.
She began the weekend by harangued another department head, over an issue that was the responsibility of a third department head. She was just yelling at the guy in front of her, and didn't stop after her situation was resolved. The next day she helpfully offered to go and yell at another department head "for me" over a screw up. I declined her offer and sent someone more level headed and higher on the food chain to take care of it. Then at the very end of the weekend she spend a full 20 minutes arguing with me about whether to throw someone out of the convention in the future - a call she was in no position to make. She would. not. stop. I had to walk away from her, leaving her to think that she'd won. It was obvious I was going to have to fire her.
She's a friend, she lives two hours away, and it was the holiday season. So I sat on it. I wasn't about to send a firing letter during the season, so I started working on it right after the first. As you might imagine, every time I set to work, I would get upset. I did manage to complete a few useless drafts but I was running out of time as I knew I would see her in late March for sure. Well, it came to a head when she showed up for a Con-com meeting. I didn't expect her to be there but it was good that she was because honestly, this was the sort of thing that had to be done in person. So we went out to my car and for the next hour-and-a-half I had the surreal experience of being the one in the firing chair. It went okay. She cried, begged me to listen to her side, and tried to get me to take her back. I realized mid-way through, as I was explaining that it was good to be tenacious, but it wasn't working in this situation, that I was like the boyfriend who says "it's not you, it's me" during the breakup. You know the one, calm, determined, but so very kind. I kinda hated myself for that. She had to go, though so I did it the best way I knew how and she doesn't actually hate me. I was really expecting some seriously messy blow back, and honestly, had I tried to go the email route, it probably would have gone that way. When I got home, I got very drunk.
Which brings me to Monday. I was reading DKos while attempting to bathe away the hangover (because osmisis, right?) when I saw the weekly mental health post, thought "I'm feeling pretty crazy right now, maybe I should read this" and I found a link there to this place. If you read all that teal deer, I thank you.
A couple of very serious events helped me to understand what the dx actually meant. The death of my mother a couple of years ago threw me into an absolute, literal tailspin. I had completely cut ties with her 15 years previously, but sometime before that she'd decided I was the responsible one so I had all of her papers. My sister had been notified as next of kin and was able to arrange the cremation and pick up the ashes, but it fell to me, as the one with the insurance policy (gerber baby for srs) and the deed to the niche she planned to share with my first step-father, to make the arrangement with the mausoleum. I could write about my mother for days, but let me sum it up this way: There are some amazing people who work in the funerary industry. They have heard it all, and when I told the lovely Gail about my situation she was very kind to me. Almost every day I remember how after we'd placed the urn, as she was escorting me out I made her promise me that, unlike the people at the crazy-place who didn't even want to keep her over night when she'd threatened suicide, they wouldn't let my mother out again. Gail smiled at me and said "Rhyskrispee, we have your back".
That had all been in October, in May there was a "work related" situation. The quotes are there because I don't actually have a J-O-B job, I am a textiles artist who doesn't show or sell much, and I help to run science fiction conventions. Some here might be aware of some of the issues con runners have been facing over the last few years with people running wild and not respecting the personal boundaries of others. Not to mention the issues of race, class, sex and gender that permeate society and come to the surface in the highly-charged environment that is a Convention. That year, during the run-up to an event, a kerfluffle broke out on social media between one of the pros and one of the Convention Committee members. It wasn't handled - I would say "well" except, it really just. wasn't. handled. The situation escalated to threats, the pro was allowed to attend the convention and the committee member and I were given radios to wear 24/7 in case the threats were actually carried out. She and I were roommates at that convention. After I completely fell apart during the event - the asthma kicked in on Saturday which by Sunday morning was full-on oyster hacking bronchitis - we don't even talk anymore. After waiting a year for her to bring the matter to those who were in a position to make the changes that needed to be made higher up in the organization, I did it myself. Since then I have been actively working on crafting better policies and procedures for my convention, it's been very difficult, not only because of emotions, but because there's such resistance toward the idea that you have to actively manage people if you're going to run a convention. But that's a whole other thing ;)
Which brings us to how I found this place. The Holidays suck, that's just how it is and everyone around me is used to it. I try not to act out, and no one makes me have a tree, but everything is so magnified. The cup analogy in the article linked on the main page really made a lot of sense to me, by December my cup is rather full and I am in full-on isolation mode usually until February.
My mother-in-laws partner spent this last Christmas on his deathbed, which perversely made Christmas a lot easier than it usually is. I really liked her partner, he was a very socially adept person who always made me feel welcome and respected and I will miss his influence, limited as it was. But having mil occupied with her own trauma meant that I didn't have to worry so much about buying and receiving properly-wrapped, useless tchotchkes, and expressing the requisite gratitude (there's a level of effusiveness which is expected and I am never able to provide it). My husband had fewer to cook for (he's the cook, it's what he does for fun) I had less clean up and the sister-in law who usually tries to kill me with her perfume (allergic) didn't bother to show up. It was a win! Actually as I read back over that, it wasn't really less stressful, it was differently stressful, but anyway.
What made this winter harder than most was another work thing I had to resolve. As I mentioned above, I run conventions and am working on creating and maintaining a certain level of basic civility. My primary convention happens in November, bumping up to my down time. This is okay as the distraction from the upcoming holidays is welcome. As a department head, I have to manage staff. I'm actually good at it, which surprised me, but I know it's true because my staff begs me to let them work my department every year, we've all been working together for 3 years now. Well, this year, my second blew it. There's no other way to put it.
She began the weekend by harangued another department head, over an issue that was the responsibility of a third department head. She was just yelling at the guy in front of her, and didn't stop after her situation was resolved. The next day she helpfully offered to go and yell at another department head "for me" over a screw up. I declined her offer and sent someone more level headed and higher on the food chain to take care of it. Then at the very end of the weekend she spend a full 20 minutes arguing with me about whether to throw someone out of the convention in the future - a call she was in no position to make. She would. not. stop. I had to walk away from her, leaving her to think that she'd won. It was obvious I was going to have to fire her.
She's a friend, she lives two hours away, and it was the holiday season. So I sat on it. I wasn't about to send a firing letter during the season, so I started working on it right after the first. As you might imagine, every time I set to work, I would get upset. I did manage to complete a few useless drafts but I was running out of time as I knew I would see her in late March for sure. Well, it came to a head when she showed up for a Con-com meeting. I didn't expect her to be there but it was good that she was because honestly, this was the sort of thing that had to be done in person. So we went out to my car and for the next hour-and-a-half I had the surreal experience of being the one in the firing chair. It went okay. She cried, begged me to listen to her side, and tried to get me to take her back. I realized mid-way through, as I was explaining that it was good to be tenacious, but it wasn't working in this situation, that I was like the boyfriend who says "it's not you, it's me" during the breakup. You know the one, calm, determined, but so very kind. I kinda hated myself for that. She had to go, though so I did it the best way I knew how and she doesn't actually hate me. I was really expecting some seriously messy blow back, and honestly, had I tried to go the email route, it probably would have gone that way. When I got home, I got very drunk.
Which brings me to Monday. I was reading DKos while attempting to bathe away the hangover (because osmisis, right?) when I saw the weekly mental health post, thought "I'm feeling pretty crazy right now, maybe I should read this" and I found a link there to this place. If you read all that teal deer, I thank you.
