[Teacake]

My mother is profoundly gifted. Super intelligent. To the point of being a liability. I'm glad I'm not that bright.

Mom is...sigh.

So we are talking nicely and she asks about my diagnoses, and she thinks and with real passion and a breaking voice she says PTSD is what those service people who come back from Afghanistan have. And all resources allocated to should go to THEM. And now everyone has PTSD.

I snapped that I have not taken anything away from a combat veteran.

She said, "i know. But it waters it down".

FFS.

The room began a slow spin and only stopped when I realised...I agree. So I said so. It's a dumb diagnosis. The drug dealer in the acute torture facility said the same thing, you have PTSD? You get that from a war. Or a revolution.. Or a good riot. So what a puss I must be to get it from...my life. How sensitive we humans are and what shti we do to ourselves and each other. If I really have ptsd..."what a piece of work is man".

My mother is my nemesis. But she really helped me understand the frustration and shame I feel about this dx.

Then she announced to me that I was an alcoholic. I shot off.

I have been a very heavy drinker. I can drink you and your father under the table. I am most certainly NOT an alcoholic but its not for lack of time and money put into it. I drank as much as I had to. My doctor asked how much I drank and started, then asked jwith gentlecompassion if I showhen I quit. Never. I don't have that gene. My psychiatrist shuddered and said i risked dying of respiratory failure.

I was dependent on ethnol dreamless unconsciousness until I learned from a healthfood store book how to use the amino.acid GABA to restore natural sleep and normal dreams.

I shouted at my mother about the drinking Vietnam vets dad worked with and the boys who came home from wwi and shrieked in the night and the suicides and Cobol related deaths and how medicine can't fix those symptoms but yoga and health food store powered can.

Heavy drinking saved my life. I am here because a friend who hated my drinking paid my rent and liquor bill. I'm here alive for having washed down a second round of sleep med and valium with whiskey before I learned how to use inexpensive GABA powder.

This is the one topic I ALLOW myself to rant and shout about until my voice is hoarse. This isn't hyperarousal. It is grief fueled passion.

My mother understood. She heard. She felt me. She got me. She listened.

I've never felt so understood by my mother or by anyone. It amazes me. She never understood me before. I never had much sympathy for her before. What happened?

I realise this year I am an awful lot like my dad. Dad was my nurturing parent. I am more comfortable with men than women. I don't care for women. There are a few exceptions. I'm glad my mom is one now.

Mom may be borderline. Her siblings all seem borderline. But there is crossover with gifted people and the three of them are far above the posited optimal intelligence some eighties guy described. I needed to spend half a year trying to get along with Mental Health Partners to understand my mother's lifelong experience. Thsts what I've been doing. Gaining an experience and increasing in empathy. I just this second realised that. I'm glad if it brought me reconciliation with my mother.

What a hassle human life is. What are we?

[glok]

It is good to at peace with your mother.

I wish you well.

[Parley]

I'm glad you have reconciled with your mother and she has become an exception. Hopefully, she will continue to be part of your support system and be there when you need someone to listen and understand.

[Teacake]

I think I went through this absurdity of trying to get help from Mental Health Partners which does GOOD work for people who have a very nice quality of life because of them but don't know what to do with me precisely so I could be a royal pain in the tuchas and fly into my MOTHERS rage. I've got my father's fight and compassion, but my rage is my mother's.

Mom may have double the average IQ. Her sibs too. All have borderline traits and big rage. Wouldn't you? Go live in a world designed for people with half your IQ, and see how you feel.

It was worth feeling like an asshole for me to really get it. It was so worth it.

My doc diagnosed me as an enigma. I have a cognitive disorder nos which means "she ain't right but we don't know what's wrong". I FEEL scattered and flibberty but she says I'm the best she's seen me. She says stay like this.

OK.

[MotownJohnny]

I think once we can recognize our quirks and issues we can then work on ways to tame and channel them so they work for us instead of against us. It is a long slow process though.

[Teacake]

It has been. I was dimly aware of doing religion compulsion an a couple of different levels. It made me think of Maria Montessori who said children "explode" into learning or ther old Dabrowsky guy who says some psychoneurotic people hit a crisis where they either suicide, go mad or reorganize into a different personality structure at a more developed level. I couldn't make head nor tail of it when I read it but holy moly here it comes. And I'm wondering will I open door 1, 2, or 3? And which is the multilevel one? Because I swear I was literally in the closet leaning into the bathrobe belt looking for the sweet spot. Three nights ago. And today shrink doc is doing jaw dropped looks and saying I'm an enigma but better today than she's ever seen me. Attentive. Making sense. And to go to ER of I think I need to kill myself. I didn't tell her about the closet. I'm so trying to get to Indiana and plant some beans. Get sociable with the neighbors and cousins before the cold.

Im taking GABA and opening up. To old dopey. To my Sioux friend who loves johnny cash too, to mom. Here. To you. What's happening? I dont know. I'm going to be all right. But what the hell happened? Sigh.