I'm grateful for: shopping going easily; more than enough food in the house; online math puzzles that I really like.

I just want to talk to someone right now. I want to pick up the phone and pour my heart out to someone. A friend, a sister, someone who could hear whatever it is I have to say and who would care. I don't know what it is I want to go on about - Hans, my health, my sister, crisis calls from the states, the heat, my house, feeling lonely and kind of hopeless, wanting what I can't have, how hard it all is, my silly earring collection, I don't know. All of it, none of it.

I just have this fantasy that letting go and grieving would be much easier if I had that someone to talk to. Whoever it might be. D'land (and now from other sites as well) friends are great, and I don't know what I would do without this place, but wouldn't it be nice to be able to say it, out loud, to someone?

I'm not feeling lonely so much as I don't have words for what I am feeling. I am so g-ddamn crippled, and my life is so full of things I can't do and can't cope with, and right now I guess I'm feeling kind of futile - a feeling that The Husband is only too willing to encourage in me, for whatever reason...

I want to be able to do things and be things and have a life of my own. Being disabled, I literally can't without the aid of another person, another adult. The only adult I have is TH. It would be very easy to get angry and resentful and blame everything on him.

A woman was supposed to come by the house today to talk about maybe being my part time ozeret (helper). I could sure use the help, and I was under the impression she could use the money. So much for impressions, she never showed up.

I hired household help in the U.S. People not showing up is not that unusual. And more often than not when you do finally find someone who shows up you'll do anything to keep them just because they do.

We haven't a lot of money - anyone reading along knows that. I'm thinking four hours a week. Not much, but I think I would be able to feel more hopeful for even that little bit of help. And maybe over time it could be built up. *sigh*

Anyway, today wasn't a bad day. I couldn't do much, I did make it outside and fed the birds, which is only the second time in two weeks. I take it as a good sign, since spending time with my birds is when I 'get away from it all.' I am almost desperate to get some geese, or ducks or turkeys even, although geese are definitely my favourites. That *has* to wait, though.

John is almost finished getting the small house plumbed - the toilet is hooked up to the sewer and he has a water line dug up and just about ready to be connected. Tomorrow hopefully he will get the last of the plumbing he needs, and hopefully tomorrow or Sunday we will have running water.

For a northern girl, I can't tell you what a trip it is to be running water lines without worrying about freezing and so on. That part is pretty cool.

Tomorrow is our last shabbos just the four of us, at least for a long time. Zechy comes home next Thursday. How can we all wait? By now he's finished his last G.E.D. test, and tomorrow he drives down to New Jersey with Diana.

Diana lost or at any rate hasn't got her cell phone, so they are incommunicado for most of this. I'm trying not to be nutty about it. I mean so far I haven't been, but, well, we'll see.

I haven't talked a *whole* lot about my long history with my own recovery, and how I somehow ended up the crisis number for many, many people with varying 'issues' to call in an amazing array of circumstances. For ten or fifteen years I probably spent between four and eight hours on the phone every day on average. Not all were crisis calls - sometimes people called because they just wanted to talk to me, and sometime I called people for my own crises and whatever. But anyway, a long history that I thought I had left behind me when I moved to Israel. Not only doesn't anyone know me to call me here, but for the majority I don't even speak/understand the language. Actually one person followed me here and called me several times in 'crisis' (she thought it was a crisis) from New England, but otherwise it's been pretty quiet.

Well, somehow that has changed. I spent several hours on Tuesday and at least an hour today with an incest and ritual abuse survivor who has multiple personality disorder and was completely unknown to me, and another who I've known for decades but had mostly lost contact with.

I have mixed feelings. One is 'Oh, Gd, not again!' And one is 'how can I get paid for this?' And yet another is that comfort one gets in doing something one has done so often and so long it is almost an unconscious habit. At least when I am on these calls I am not questioning my usefulness or what I am supposed to be doing with my life.

I asked how she had gotten my contact information and she simply said 'by word of mouth.' So my name is still out there somewhere, circulating.

Many years ago my anonymity as a member of an 'Anonymous' program was completely destroyed when someone sent me a large manila envelope with the words '____________ ______________ Anonymous' in large all caps on the front. I lived in a small time, so this was a bigger thing than it might have been in, say, a place with a population exceeding 3000. Anyway, I wrote and reamed out the person who had sent it and he told me the people I needed to get hold of was United Way's First Call for Help service. Apparently somehow they had gotten my name, address, phone number and so on, and put me down as the person to contact for any information regarding incest/ritual abuse/child abuse/who knows what.

I really and truly have no idea how that happened - if I had multiple personalities and they didn't talk to each other I could blame it on one of my alters, but that's not it.

So what with my being the name and number given out by First Call, well, I got a lot of calls. I must've done something right (or wrong, depends on how you look at it) as even after I had gotten the United Way to remove me from their lists (at least they said they had), news of me continued to travel. Not only the ghosts that continue for a while, but also people who had called me were giving my name out to other people.

If I could be paid for all the crisis work I did in a lump sum, I could buy this house. *sigh*

Anyway, I have no idea if this will continue, or will be just these few calls and go away again, but it's been here today. It is so sad that it is still so bad that people have to reach out to call a perfect stranger (in Israel!) just to have someone to talk to who can listen and not judge.

Incest is no longer the filthy hidden secret it once was. People talk about it. People use the word. Society in general is more willing to accept it's existence generally, even if not in any particular situation which touches on a given individual's family or community. But that doesn't seem to matter - at least for these survivors. 'Cause they still feel utterly alone, like no one understands them, with no one to talk to who's been there and can not judge. So sad.

It's after midnight, and I 'should' be winding down to try to sleep, but there are some new online math puzzles that I am dying to try out, so I'm going to if I can. Having something fun, that costs no money, that I genuinely enjoy, it's wonderful.

I'm listening to Itzhak Perlman with Daniel Barenboim and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra: Violin Concerto No2 in G Minor Op.63 (1935); Andante assai by Prokofiev. It's beautiful.

:: Yesterdays : Tomorrows ::

~~~Last Five Entries~~~
Hi and goodbye - 2010-10-15
I'll be moving on - 2010-10-10
Gold membership and stuff - 2010-10-10
Decisions, decisions - 2010-10-07
Days to go - 2010-10-06