Man Up

Man up.

My dad played a game when we were little.  I would ask to play it and believe of the three of us I enjoyed it the most.

My dad was the father of three girls.  He would lay on the floor when we were little and let us play beauty salon with our combs, brushes and barettes.  Until one day he leaned forward and the barette just fell right out that was when the beauty salon was closed for good.  Male patterned baldness could not hold up a plastic bow barette.  

My dad was the best girl dad.  He taught us it is okay to beat the boys and encouraged us to do so.  We were smart and could do whatever we wanted to as long as we worked hard to achieve it.  

My favorite game though was Sons.  My dad would flip the switch and call us his three sons, Christopher, Kyle and Patrick.  Miss Manners, Katrina, would then take the stance no dad we're girls!  I am not a Boy!  He would play right into his role, "Stop it, Kyle, I have three sons.  I don't know what your talking about."  This would go on for some time and then he would flip the switch again and I would then be Katrina again, no longer Kyle.

I have always joked my alter ego is Kyle.  The name peselected by my dad.  The part of me that helped grandpa in the garage woodworking.  The one who was dad's helper building sheds in the back yard, "Hand me a screwdriver."  The one who knew the difference between phillips head, and flat head (never cross or straight).  The one who checked the oil in my first car weekly and knew how to diagnose my cars rattling noises.

The part of me I allow to take over when mom calls that she has a flying rodent, that I, Katrina, am panic attack driven fully fearful of.  Kyle is the one who entered the house from the garage calmly pinpointed its location, grabbed the nearest long handled device (a mop), got it trapped in the mop, and thrown outside so my mom didn't have to be terrified.  Kyle did that, Katrina had the panic attack hyperventilating crying aftermath that followed.

My mom has said many times, my husband has been gone too long he can come home anytime now.  I get it this business trip had lasted almost two years and he is not coming home.  

I have said, I am trying my best to man up.  Fix what is broken, manage what he managed, and be Kyle.  Katrina feels like this game is last a little longer than expected.  She is ready for dad to flip the switch and let her be his little girl, again.

He used to say when I first started talking I would meet him at the door hold up arms and say, "I a Bup."  He called me Bup because he said I was so little I was a baby but little like a puppy so I was a Buppy later shortened to Bup.  Bup was his pinky holder in the parking lot.  My hand too small to hold hands that I only held his pinky.

My dad was known in Shady as Uncle Bubb.   Hence why I call my nephew Bubb.  It seems like the B nicknames always stick.  My niece's are Bug and BooBoos. My nephew Bubb and then of course the littlest who has a mind of her own I call Sassy Pants.

Bup grew up and became Beaner later shortened to Bean.  I rarely ever recall hearing Katrina said by my dad.  If it weren't Bean it was Trina but even that was rare.

Bean started in adolescence and lasted throughout.  Beaner stuck to the point my Grandpa Hooper called me Beaner and quit using my full name or Trina.  My cousin when he learned to talk called me Beaner.  Yet, it was only the men in my family that used the nickname.  To everyone else I was Trina.  

I have only ever been Katrina at school, work, or partnered with Marina by my mom.  Katrina Marina, a fitting nickname for a swimmer.  

Kyle though has a place and with no men left to call when help is needed Kyle has to man up and answer the call.  Katrina can beat the boys, be smart, and work hard to have what she wants.  Kyle is the son my parent's never had but still taught how to do the things that need to be done.  Like take out the trash, catch the flying rodent, fix the internet, light the water heater, problem solve the furnace, and find the right tool to fix the problem.

Dad taught Kyle how to man up, I just wish the game didn't have to last so long this time.  I am okay with just being Bean, Trina, Katrina Marina, and Katrina, again.

Amaysing Thoughts 

Mental Noise

Mental Noise.

My brain is constantly thinking what I should do, could do, or should have done no matter the topic.

When in a chaotic busy place I have difficulty focusing and handling all the things happening around me.  People take my overwhelm as negativity rather than just having a hard time processing all the mental noise happening.

Sitting in a venue with 18 wrestling matches happening simultaneously with rounds totalling in the 80's per mat is A real life example of my brains thoughts.  

What others are hearing as constant whistling, commotion, and people everywhere you turn is how I feel at home with the girls on any given day.

During the 8 hour event the noise in my brain turns to a hum and my focus becomes sporadic.  So much happening unable to focus while some only experience this at an event like this, I feel like this most often.  

The girls are constant chatter, house noises, visual chaos that I don't have time or energy to manage and girls like any other kid will create the chaos but not clean it.

My environment is always overstimulating and it is exhausting.  Have me at an event that is overstimulating for a majority of other people it is beyond what I can manage.

I shut down.  Noise is no longer distinctive it is ominous.  Visuals are just like looking at blurry pictures just a sea of smudging colors.  Even my senses of touch cause me to feel enclosed, hot, and stifled.  As if, air is not circulating.  

I need space where I can breathe.  When I am with my nieces they are attached to me in every sense of the word.  Wanting to be my shadow or physically touching me in these environments which I just have difficulty managing.

In this commotion my thoughts still run rapid thought my brain.  What I need to do, should do, and want to do.  I appear like I am just observing the event but I could not tell you what is going on.  

I startle when spoken to because I am pulled back to reality.  My senses are screaming.  My niece wants to rest on my shoulder yet I just need space.  She sits back so I lean forward to keep our shoulders from touching.  She moves forward I lean back.  I don't want to do this dance but she gravitates to any touch which just makes me want to yell.

I don't yell as I know it is just me.  I am unfocused because of I am overstimulated but on high alert and edgy all at the same time.  It just seems like an oxymoron.  

I wonder what it is like to not feel this way in this environment.  How would it feel to be calm in chaos?

I think of swimming.  My events were a mixture of quiet and chaos.  When I would swim I would hear the buzzer to start and the roar of chaotic yelling would be instantly quieted once I hit the water.  I could refocus on my task, streamline, kick and get to the surface.  Once surfacing I could only hear the chaos when I took a breath.  Usually I had help with that as instead of mass chaotic nose it was a series of distinctive whistles I knew were specifically my mom (I could hear her call a mile away).  My big sister was pool side when she was at my meets and made sure I heard her Pull, Kick, Pull.  They provided me a focus through chaotic noise.

My other sport golf is considered a quiet sport but there is always distraction from others throughout the course.  I always line up my shot and then mentally center myself.  Closing my eyes taking a deep breath and focusing on wind rustling trees or a bird chirping in the distance. Upon opening my eyes I would begin my backswing and ensure I always followed through.

My sports required me to overcome my environment.  My sports had their distinct moments of quiet where I could focus.

Watching my nephew wrestle in this mass confusion of chaos is overwhelming.  These kids are able to focus on their movements, their opponents, the referee and it all happening with chaos everywhere, I don't comprehend how they manage.  

I had declined going to other events because in a high school gym there is no personal space.  An arena has individual seats but I was not prepared for 18 simultaneous events on repeat for 8 hours.

When I returned home I sat on the couch.  I turned on my mindless show of the moment (re-watching Deadliest Catch).  I realized half way through the episode I couldn't open my eyes.  I was still alert and listening to the show but my eyes wouldn't open.  Next thing I know my niece was asking to go on a walk.  Then I woke up and she was on front porch chatting with her friend.  It had been an hour.  

My body had enough and shut down.  I have been exhausted now two days later.  Yawning all day feeling my sleep isn't enough for me to kick this worn out feeling. 

The thought of doing anything makes me even more tired.  I know it will be about a week for my body and mind to calm due to the mental noise of the weekend.  I do not just bounce back and become energized.

My chaos is constant so exposing myself to extreme environments just is beyond overwhelming.  The girls are enough chaos for me on a regular.  They want to control and be in the know so I am not given time to just free think and plan as I am used to. 

I don't make choices because I don't have that luxury.  They control due to PTSD and trauma that if I just force my way would just cause epic issues.  I manage what I can but if I had my way my environment would be clean, calm, and reduce the visual chaos.  There wouldn't be yelling and swearing or the chaotic YouTube streams they watch.  I would have time to think, plan, and have order because I love organization and routine.

Anyone seeing my environment would not realize my borderline OCD habitual tendencies to my surroundings.  It is the mental noise that effects my environment as well as others lack of desire to manage their own chaos.

I wish for calm in chaos and overall reduced mental noise.

Amaysing Thoughts

Detroit Basketball

Detroit Basketball 

I miss my Dad.  He would love a third generation of Bad Boys.  Piston Basketball was my dad's favorite and it was something he and I enjoyed together.

I could watch and do watch any sport.  My dad would laugh walking in to the strongest man competitions on television with me sitting explaining they were dead lifting boulders or pulling cars.  I could be found watching St. Louis Blues hockey at age 8 without someone else prompting me to watch.  

My grandpa used to tape Piston games for my dad and send them to him to watch when we lived out of state.  He was a Bill Lambeer and Isaiah Thomas fan to my pure love of Joe Dumars who was the best of the best.  Joe was underrated and all eyes were on Isaiah but Joe was the best.  

I was over the moon when Joe became President of Detroit Pistons.  My dad would by 4 pack tickets and at times he and I were only ones going.  When the second generation of Bad Boys emerged we were obsessed.  

Richard Rip Hamilton, I could watch his free throw technique all day.  Two dribbles front center, one dribble to the right, squat, aim, and release.  Literally, I loved watching him refocus himself through routine to manage the shot everytime.

Big Ben Wallace was a force Dad and I loved watching.  He was not as tall as other teams centers but they should never underestimate how dominating he could be under the net.  He wasn't as flashy or as over the top chaotic of a rebounder as Dennis Rodman.  Dad loved Ben because he didn't care he tried his best at free throws but ultimately he was a force and knew how to secure the ball and hoop.

Chauncey Billups was the one we both took sometime to have confidence in as Point Guard.  Mr. Big Shot in the beginning was more of a ball hog and I for one was not a fan of one man shows.  

It is known my dislike of Shaq, Kobe, M.J. and especially LeBron.  It wasn't until after watching a documentary on M.J., seeing M.J. relationship with Kobe and seeing how Shaq supports Kobe after his death that I appreciated their play.  When they were against my Bad Boys though my boys to the end period.  LeBron there is no appreciation he thinks longevity makes him the GOAT when in reality so many more have done more than he could in very short careers in comparison.  He hasn't achieved the same and has used time to make it seem like he is better. 

Back to my Bad Boys.  I loved watching Tayshaun Prince evolve as a player.  His growth and confidence over the years was so great to watch.  His arm span though he would protect 12 feet of space I swear.  If jerseys had sleeves he would have been the Flying Squirrel rather than the Prince of the Palace.

The trade when Rasheed Wallace came to Detroit had me totally hesitant.  Dad knew it would be epic.  I said it was bad luck we had a Wallace and Sheed had a reputation that could be very very bad for the already Bad Boys.

In 2004, I had the opportunity to buy playoff tickets on the floor behind the  behind the net in the folding chairs like 10 rows back.  It was Game 3 vs Lakers and the remaining 2 games would be in LA.  The year Detroit won the NBA Championship, Dad was speechless.

We got there early, in awe they were warming up feet away instead of our normal nosebleed seats.  We were floor level and they all were bigger than life.  My dad loved every single second.  Even when Detroit shut out Lakers and rookie Darko came out in the fourth quarter.

Seeing a new generation of Piston Bad Boys and knowing the Palace of Auburn Hills is gone and my Dad is isn't here is really tough.  He isn't here to get the MLive family pack tickets like we used to.  While it is good things move on it is hard to remember the best times may be in the past.  

That game my dad just kept saying, "Look, Bean, they are right there."  To my response, "I know dad, can you believe it! Love you Dad."  "Love you too, Bean."

Amaysing Thoughts

Life Weighs Heavy

Life Weighs Heavy

Helping my youngest niece with her homework for health class.  She was struggling with focus so I opted to I read her the article outloud.  It was about MyPlate the image used to replace the food pyramid to help identify food groups and portions.

My whole life has felt like a focus on weight.  I was cute once.  When my weight started increase and settle as I turned 8 it never went away.

I know I was this young because I was in Missouri.  The girls on the swim team all started wearing two pieces during free swim.  The alternative to that was a one piece with a hole cut out in the front and back but it was attached on the sides.  Up to that point I had not thought of my weight as being anything.  I never considered it.  There was no concern or issues.  I just wanted a swim suit like my friends.  My mom refused the two piece and reluctantly bought me the one piece alternative.  I remember putting it on feeling so excited to wear it.  Walked out on the pool deck and I noticed something I hadn't noticed before.  

The cutout was perfectly round and my belly just popped right outmaking me feel exposed.  The feeling of wanting to cover up was instantaneous.  I jumped in the pool protected by the water and the feeling went away.  As soon as, I was on the pool deck again that feeling was back and I hated it.  

I remember looking at my swim picture that season thinking I was fat.  I feared looking like my Grammy.  She was plus size my whole life.  Plus size back then was noticeable more than it is now.  Society did not have the weight in excess as it does today.  My Grammy and my Dad both struggled with weight their whole lives.

She always was wearing moomoos or tops that just made her look even larger to me.  I have no idea where she found clothes to wear but all her tops had 3/4 length sleeve, big bell shape torso and an elastic scrunched neckline with a pair of cotton black cropped pant with elastic waist band.  I loved my Grammy so much but my greatest fear has always been being so large I resorted to look like her.  This may sound horrible but as always I tell the truth.  She herself did not want that for me either nor did her mother whom this topic was regularly discussed by us throughout my life.

Weight has been a nemesis for what seems like forever.  When I look back at pictures, I remember how I felt or even what was said when viewing the image. Those comments just stay there until the next time I see the photos or remember the photos.

For instance, the picture from Missouri that ended up in large frame that my dad loved.  I see my bloated face.  It was said, "Oh Trina, your face looks bloated probably from the Halloween candy."  I see the puffy cheeks everytime I think of the picture.  I remember I went to town on my Halloween candy.  I can honestly say that is the last year I really consumed my candy.  The years that followed my candy while I did eat some, I did throw or give a lot more away.

Things only got worse when we moved to Michigan.  My Grandpa who will forever be one of my most favorite people ever in the world was not shy to point out criticism.  He wasn't afraid to say, "Beaner, you sure you want to eat that?"  Then again, he was also the one so excited I joined the golf team he would pick me up from practice with homemade strawberry shortcake.  He gave me my favorite homemade banana nut bread, a loaf all to myself, for my birthday.  He was also the greatest omlette maker in the whole world and I have never had one that can even compare since he passed.  He would comment on my food choices and give me my favorite foods.  This adds to the struggles with my weight because you say don't and then give me something I do want.  Which is it? 

His words would play in my mind though when food was around.  I have always been the type that preferred plain Cheerios over Honey Nut, or Corn Flakes over Frosted Flakes.  My sisters would eat pot pies for dinner while I chose a can of green beans.  I preferred fresh fruit of candy and have always been able to say no to cake and ice cream because they aren't my favorite things.

By fourteen, I was diagnosed PCOS (polycysitic ovarian syndrome) with insulin resistant and prescribed Glucophage to help which made choices of food that much harder.  Glucophage was a newer medication at that time.  The only other person I knew who took it was my Great Aunt. I also had a nutritionist referral.  

Telling someone weekly everything I ate everyday for months was tedious.  Scrutinizing me for every bite.  This has been most of my life.  We all make poor choices.  Even when I eat only as instructed it has a limited time before it fails.  Little did I know the medicine was making good choices basically be rejected by my body.  The medication cause me to not process lettuce, vinegar, or other acidic foods.  It would make me sick, literally.  

Any weight loss was more due to malnutrition and not being able to keep food in rather than actual poor choices.  The nutritionist recommending I choose salad over sandwich for lunch.  I ate a salad at lunch every day my senior year only to be physically sick every night because I did not know my medication was causing me to reject what I was eating.  That is not healthy choices that is nutritionist recommended purging your food. 

I was also having  doctor's appointments every 3 months to monitor my liver enzymes and fasting glucosetesting the liver enzyme and fasting glucose from age 14 to 20.  Nutritionist appointments didn't last as there always was a point my body would just gain even if no habits changed.  I would get frustrated and not want to deal with food diaries.

Liver diagnosis at age 24, meant weight was an even bigger issue.  Liver is compromised so it is storing weight preparing for failure.  Once failure occurs I will lose weight without reason because of failure.

Knowing all this, I have done every weight control thing from Weight Watchers to Medical Weight Loss Clinic.  All worked until for no apparent reason weight just starts increasing no matter how dedicated and diligent I am.  

I opted to get the bariatric sleeve to medically reduce amount of consumption so that I can attempt to maintain a more normal weight.  Mind you my fear is Grammy being uncomfortable with myself because of my weight.  My goal is just wanting to do least amount of damage to my liver to allow it to last as long as possible.

I was feeling better until my gallbladder started acting up.  It needs to be removed but I am keeping it.  Strange I know but if it is functioning even a little that is less effort required for my liver.  If I can manage the flare ups and pain caused by the gallstones it is better for my liver in the long run.  Gallbladder issues causes bloat and weight gain.  While I feel like a blimp though according to scale I have not gained much weight back from my post sleeve lowest.  The bloated symptom is real and uncomfortable.

Now I am living in the time of GLP-1 where everyone is deflating.  I again am left with the bloated cheeks and belly.  GLP-1 is a new drug. I cannot just blindly take medication as all medicine is processed by the liver.  I need to make informed decisions and so I need data.  There isn't enough research on it's effects on liver cirrhosis or better yet cirrhosis not due to alcohol or fatty liver.  

My diagnosis is a niche that no one understands and is more than likely genetic.  I received my mom's side of weight/bad livers and my dad's weight issues.  Genetic lottery winner!  My diagnosis cannot be confirmed genetic because there is no data on genetic predisposition to liver disease and cirrhosis.  I can just point to a very consistent genealogical pattern of liver disease that goes back many generations.  As well as, two sets of genetic weight issues that looking at how I carry it and when I started to show excess match photographs of prior generations. By age 14, I had not consumed enough alcohol to cause it and my enzymes compared to those with fatty liver are drastically different.  

I was not making horrible food choices to warrant my diagnosis.  I was monitored via blookwork every 3 months, active swimmer, and yet I feel the blame.  Weight means I must not make good choices, I eat too much, or I am lazy.  

Weight causes me to be judged and viewed differently.  I am viewed by my weight before anything else.  No one wants to date the overweight one.  She is however ok to be a friend.  No girl ever worried that I was around their boyfriends because I am of no interest to anyone.  Any chip on my shoulder must be because I want to pretend I don't eat fast food all day.

I knew I had weight.  Even something like going to mall with friends weight was there.  They shopped for jeans in 5-7-9 and I bought a pair of socks.  My jeans were bought in the women's department. The key symbol I was fat was the elastic sections in my Lee waistband along with no back pockets on my jeans.  I was the teenager forced to wear old lady clothes in hopes no one noticed.  Praying I could looks somewhat age appropriate and not have someone say my grandma or mom owns that.

All these things go through my mind getting clothes for my nieces, seeing how somethings change while others don't.  They at least have Juniors Plus and expanded sizes that are age appropriate.  It doesn't help my age group hasn't really mentally changed.  My life experiences have effected me.  I try to be open and honest with the girls.  I don't want my food and weight trauma to become theirs.

My mom got it from her mom who hyper fixates on weight.  Three generations of Weight Watchers, TOPS, nutritionist, and food scrutiny.  Not feeling comfortable in own skin and self-consciousness due to weight.  I do not want that for the girls.

I feel like everyone else gets to feel the confidence and comfortability I will never experience.  As they get to have things like GLP-1 while that could be a life threatening choice for me.  I observe them drink alcohol and have food choices I wouldn't make.  I know I am not the same and my weight is not really my fault.  When it defines how people have viewed you without you ever saying a word it is difficult to ignore.  I sit here and feel like the bloated one in the photo distracting from the otherwise cute sisters photo.

Since I was eight I have felt this barrier preventing me from being comfortable and confident.  I have known it is a barrier for how others have viewed me and treated me as well.  I spent 12 years being surrounded by the thinnest, leanest, athletic swimmers knowing my technique could out technique them but I was not streamline.  I had to work three times harder to prove my ability to be 4th place verse 1st place because I had to pull more drag than anyone else.  

It isn't easy to physically feel the discomfort knowing that ultimately there is little I can actually do to change it. People see shows like 1000 lb whatever and I cannot stand to see those shows.  My feared self image is that I look like that or that is others see me as that.

Weight is an internal and external issue that can cause a lot of trauma for people like me.  People will say all the other attributes that should be the focus but at the end of the day it is all about the data.  Doctor's want vitals including weight and people see you in public judging based on what they see. 

Weight weighs heavy on my mind.

Amaysing Thoughts

It's not about the boots.

It's not about the boots.

When kid trauma clashes and over laps with adult trauma and attempting to work through the trauma to get beyond it is exhausting.

My big sister knew exactly what to say to get me to do whatever.  She would say she would do my chores... dumb me, um we didn't have chores (Hello, McFly).  That is a kid example but with her it didn’t stop in childhood.  She would do things like tell me how much she spent on my birthday gift since mine was 3 weeks before hers.  I would spend equal amount.  Dang it her present to me seemed to be always be on backorder due to holidays or must have gotten lost in the mail.  

This wasn't my trauma but was just an observation of my sister.  I knew not to expect anything.  I also learned it was much easier for me to provide for her so I didn't have to deal with negative consequences.  Those being arguments over unrelated issues but the root core of issue was lack of getting a birthday gift.

I am straight forward.  I say what I think and if I am not saying it that is because I am overthinking it.  Usually, I am talking myself out of saying it or not bothering anyone.  I can problem solve like no other.  I cannot however understand how my sister and her girls brains work.  I try to anticipate issues prior to them escalating but they seem to always deflect an issue with something I am so unprepared for I have a hard time maintaining control and not falling into the triggers.

This week has been chaos.  From attorney appointment that made me so agitated to water issues with my Grandma's house and work feeling like a team of people attempting to copy my brains hard drive so they can try to do what I do. Reality is I know my work ethic, I am one of a kind, and they don't understand me 99% of the time so having the infornation won't help them they would have to replace with 3 people.  This all happened Monday.

I was trying to move my thoughts through but since the divorce I don't have a person to just talk to well I did but I don't like feeling I am bothering people.  My ex-husband didn't actuslly listen and fell asleep to my voice more often than not.  At least there was the sense someone was there listening before snoring ensued.

Tuesday, my younger niece messaged me at 10pm when I thought she was asleep because bedtime is 9:30pm. I see she sent a hyperlink to a pair of high top combat boots with a 3 inch heel.  Then she came to top of stairs saying, "Can we go to Ross for Less after school tomorrow?  My response, "Um, girl that is a, No and go to bed."  Eventually, the thirty minute meltdown of me telling her no, her saying why, her repeating that I never explained why in a way that makes sense to her, and refusing to go to bed she did finally go to her room.  

Wednesday, I pick her up from school and she is asking if my mom is working.  I said, "Yes, and you cannot call her to take you to Ross."  Oh, that started the,  "How did you know I was going to ask that? Why can't I go?"  Eventually, I text her a picture of high top combat boot with 1 inch heel.  That was the end of the world.  "Why won't you let me be my own person?  You hate me.  Why do you hate me?"

This continues after we are home and I am clocked back in to work.  She is relentless for an hour straight.  Meanwhile, I am Working!!!  I am hearing the same things repeatedly, having her throw things at me before storming out of office.  I clock out at end of working.  Sit on couch. Not even two seconds she is at top of stairs.  Auntie Trina can we go to Ross now?  

My brain... internally I start saying to myself.  She has got to be kidding me. She had to remember what transpired two hours ago and legit she is acting like it is a new day and this is the first time she is making this request.  When I was a kid... I knew not to push my mom after last night but this kid is relentless.  

Back to reality.  I say, "No, we are not going."  Then the whys start and I attempt to nip it on the bud.  Reiterated I am not buying 3 inch heel it is inappropriate for her age.  I will consider something different but not today.  

Then the.... Why do you Hate me?  Why do you have to be such a *itch? It is just a pair of **cking boots!... in randomized order constant at full volume.  

Ok, my mom gets on phone with her and it is more, "She is being such a *itch." "Why does she have to be a *ucking *itch?"  Then the mic drop moment she said, "I have been wanting these for over a year and I finally ask for them and she says, No." 

Listening to my mom's side on speakerphone.  "I understand maybe we can compromise.  Yeah, I understand." Not gonna lie it totally triggered me now I steaming and reacting.  My mom calls me to tell me I need to stop I am not helping.  

Cooling down I remember being at Ross a year ago.  My older niece found a pair of Doc Martens while my younger niece found Docs and Nikes.  I said you have to pick one and she chose Nikes. She was starting to meltdown about wanting both.  I made her choose one.  So, she has been sitting on that for literally a year.  

My older niece said last weekend she didn't wear the Docs because they are too high.  Then I remember my younger niece on Monday trying on her sister's Docs. She tried them on knowing the size 8 shoe would not fit her size 7 foot.   Now because those are too big for her at this moment in time, she has to have something different because she decided she needs boots now.

My brain remembers so many things.  I could describe to you so much detail related to that shopping day a year ago or other events throughout my life.  I don't however have the girls and my sister's brain that saves information like this and uses it to get what they want later.  That trip in hindsight was insignificant to the three of us but she fixated on the topic of boots and that meant drop everything go get her what she wants.

That little twist in processing information I have a hard time comprehending.  I just do not understand.  Being the safe person means more often than not I get the ugliest side of them while everyone else gets the good.  It is exhausting.  

Something as insignificant as boots can cause so much problem.  As far as my niece is concerned, there is nothing to apologize for because she still doesn't own the boots she wants.  Behavior is something there is no consequence for for my nieces.  Adults who have total control of their children from birth do not comprehend this.  It is not a matter of right or wrong.  It is more often than not her survival mode kicking in and she often cannot tell you what transpired.  When told what happens she only remembers her altered truths.

If you ask her now she will say I won't get her boots she has been asking for and wanting over a year.  Is this reality, no. She was content with her choice.  Now she watches Katseye videos and how they dress and wants to emulate what she sees.  The boots she will have are not going to work so she has to have the alternative now.  She was deprived of basic needs and wants while watching adults have over and above whatever they desired when she was with her paternal side.  She is seeking to compensate for that by demanding her wants be met instantaneously.  I cannot and do not meet her expectations because I am not made of money.  I put theirs needs and wants above my own needs and it still is not notices.

It isn't about the boots really.  It is an example of hurdles that make this whole process mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausting.  It is unrelatable to most I know and it is not just a spoiled kids tantrum.  

Amaysing Thoughts

I Tried.

I have trauma even though no one considers me a victim.

Sit with an attorney who keeps emphasizing protecting money for girls and maybe it should be put into a conservatorship from the sale of the house.  Excuse me but I understand the funds are for benefit of girls.  

After his multiple references to how the funds needed to be managed I snapped back.  "Well, the 16 yr old has a goal of M.I.T. so would you consider me using the funds to get her to M.I.T. in her benefit?"  

He pointed at his stack of paperwork and said with questioning look, "M.I.T.? One of these girls?"  

Yes, this is when I snapped, yet again.  "Yes, she is one of the top in her class, taking 4 AP courses and 2 Honors courses. She wants M.I.T. or Kettering.  The 11 year old is in 6th grade with a high school reading and comprehension level.  Both girls test well above their peers and my sole focus is to not let this situation (pointing at his stack of paperwork) define who they are." 

He just blinked stunned and said, "I didnt know that."  I responded, "You never asked either, no one asks you all just assume and make determinations on who we are based on his choice to poison my sister with heroine."

I ask about garnishing his prison wages.  If is exceeds $50 it can be garnished up to 50%.  Mind you he still has full parental rights that were never terminated and other prisoners are garnished for child support.  To me, he is not only not supporting his kids he also has a 2 million dollar settlement that is being ignored and determined uncollectible. 

Attorney, "It isn't worth it.  How much does he get anyway?"

The arrogance and dismissive demeanor is undeniable.  My response, "I understand, I will have to let it go because no one wants to do the right thing.  I just had to tell the girls all of their belongings from the house they last were in the day he was arrested in 2019 are in some dumpster somewhere.  They have nothing.  I will have a senior next year who has nothing to show for elementary school and the only thing she has is what she has since she came back to me because he cut me off for 2 years.  He killed their mother to avoid child support and get the life insurance.  So why garnish wages to make him pay when he can just keep his money and not be reminded where it would really hurt him that what he did was wrong."

I cried and hyperventilate in the parking lot after meeting.  I failed but not for lack of trying.  I cannot make people do the right thing.  They will also judge me however they wish.  

My sister was killed with heroine.  She did not take it.  We are not a family that knows of drugs.  We have stumbled our way through this whole process because anyone who knows the process isn't talking to us.

The attorney said, "Well, that is why I contacted you." I had to correct him.  "No, I found you, I called you, you didn't even know who I was." When I passed him the guardianship papers,  he said surprised, "These are 2 years old. You have had them for 2 years?"  My response, "Yes, I have." His blanket response to anything was, "I didn't know that." And I always responded, "No one asked either."

He will never be garnished, shame on Estate attorneys for not doing what is in best interest of the Estate which is what they took their $5,000 fee from the proceeds and giving the girls the balance from the house.  

It is shame on them yet I feel it is shame on me.  I let him get to me.  I let my brother in law get to me.  I failed sister, my dad, my mom, my little sister and the girls.  He should be garnished.  I don't make enough to fight and get a new attorney appointed.  I know what is right but my hands are tied.  I don't want to let it go because deep down it is to me letting my brother-in-law off the hook for his actions.

The girls belongings are gone, my sister's belongings are gone, he spent the life insurance, he was free for 5 years after murder, he went into state prison with 1 tattoo and now has a sleeve, and this just feels like he is not having to be accountable.  He doesn't struggle to pay rent, other bills, have to wonder when he gets next meal, or how to afford his cigarettes.  He gets monetary gifts from his family, obviously has enough to trade for illegal tattoos, and still provides cards to the girls to continue to cause traumatic mood swings in my household.

He effects me everyday.  There is not a single day that goes by he isn't brought up by the girls.  I cannot make anyone do the right thing.  All I can do speak my piece.

I hate our courts and law enforcement have no real structure.  Everything is open to interpretation meaning anything goes.  My girls are not wards of the state they just have a father in prison.  Is a parent killing another parent the example given in the law that states is considered the worst form of child abuse and just cause to revoke parental rights without having to have parent sign off rights... Yes.  Were his rights revoked? No.  So even when the law seems to spell it out exactly that does not mean that is how it works.

At the end of the day, attorneys are in it for their cut.  It isn't about right or wrong. Just or unjust.  It is about getting paid the most for the least amout of effort.

Well, they did alright.  They got $5,000 for 7 years of trying to close the estate, and 1 year of accepting the least amount of money for the house.  The plan to issue the proceeds and close the estate considering the 2 million uncollectible.

If my sister were alive his wages would be garnished for his requirement to pay child support.  Though because my sister is deceased he isn't held to the same requirement because the estate attorneys do not want to do the work.  

I just keep thinking, I am sorry.  I tried, I really did but I can't make the arrogant judgemental attorney do his job.   

My only other thought, tears are for my pillow but I really could use a hug.  I have really worked on not apologizing for things I can't control or for what others have done.  I just keep thinking how sorry I am I can't fix this.

Amaysing Thoughts

The Best of Enemies - film thoughts for MLK Day

Mandated busing is a tool to help facilitate but there is always ways to work around good intentions to allow generational trauma to continue.  I watched a film on Netflix and it was way too relatable.

The Best of Enemies is about Durham, North Carolina determining if their schools should be segregated or integrated with funding and support by the school district in 1971.

The collective of parents and community members were equally represented 50%.  The Co-Counsels were represented by local area Klan President, C.P. Elise and local lead activist Ann Atwater.

Polar opposites by every definition.  I am always drawn to films like this based on true events.  I see how far we as a society have come yet recognize how little we have all at the same time.

The final speech given by the character said it all.  He showed his Klan membership card spoke of how connected he was and did not feel alone because he knew he was part of a brotherhood.  He said he had a problem because being in the Klan meant he had to teach people to hate another race.  His problem being he no longer felt hate for them.  So he voted the final needed vote to pass the proposed change to integrate the schools shocking the entire community.

I find this so interesting because this was 1971.  I wouldnt be born for another decade and would not be enrolled in Wilson, NC school for an addition six years after that.  Durham, NC school district is an hour northwest of Wilson, NC.  When I was enrolled there in 1987, I walked into a classroom when I was not the same.  I was bullied and went from the girl who loved school in Indiana and my preschool since three years old to not wanting to get on the bus or go at all.  When my mom discovered the reason she made sure her voice was heard.

Wilson had similar regulation passed with school budgeted busing to comply with the no less than the minimum 25% of any race in the school.  Mandated busing was necessary because for those who don't know the neighborhoods community structure and traditions of the south are not easily forgotten.  

In Flint, MI you have the same thing but with the auto industry (mainly GM) leaving behind what was one of the most vital city's with core manufacturing and workforce feeding it what was once easily determined is now list with vacant homes and boarded up buildings.  There was segregation and areas in Flint but they were some what closer in proximity and on the other side of some main streets that divided the city.

In Wilson, NC it was more our neighborhood on this side of town and clear across to the other side was the other neighborhood.  Busing for kids took over an hour to pick everyone up and get them to the other side of town for school.  Just like the film it was mandated busing to help facilitate the integrated minimum was met.  

The thought that in 1987 when we moved to Wilson, NC I would be walking into a segregated class is still mind boggling.  The principle had control within the school walls based on what the school board told my mom when she attended meetings to ask how this was acceptable.  If Wilson, NC had a 50% minimum why were classrooms within the school then segregated?

White classes were made, Black classes were made and the overflow went to an integrated classroom.  When we moved the only classroom with an open seat happened to be a black class.  I call myself a neon light beam because that is what I looked like when with my class.  

I cannot comprehend to this day why we as a society don't say enough is enough.  We know so much about generational trauma, learned hatred, and so many other reasons why do we struggle with equality?

If kids these days are so open to accepting everyone and over labeling themselves to identify themselves due to sexuality why can't we get past our skin?

I am not my ancestor who lived in Virginia and willed my slaves to my son with the specification they and their children could reside in their homes on the property for the remainder of their lives.  

I am the neon light beam in 1987 who was singled out for my visual differences.  My class in first grade was more integrated even though there was still segregation for the most part.  B.O. Barnes principal acted in line with community acceptable views of how to manage the state mandated integration laws.  

My first grade class at BO Barnes Elementary School.

Even our skin color wasn't enough for acceptance.  It came down to the simplest thing.  A neighborhood full of single white candlestick lights in each window with the occasional string of white light emphasizing something at Christmas time.  Then you drive by our house with the large bulb string lining the house in multi-color of red green orange and blue.  Our house was deemed the "Yankee" house with our "colored" lights.  

The fact I watched a film about 1971 and lived the miss managed result in 1987 and we still have problems in 2026 it is just to me unacceptable.  We need to learn from our past and improve.  This is not a tradition that should continue to be passed on through generations.  We need to do better.  End the generational trauma... it has to start somewhere.

Happy MLK Day... the dream is still a work in progress.

Amaysing Thoughts

https://m.imdb.com/title/tt4807408/?ref_=ext_shr_lnk