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It's after 11pm on 25 December 2023 as I write this blog post. Christmas is full of expectations and triggers. I spent Christmas on my own but not completely alone. I didn't meet up with family. The family in the household I am now flatting with are new to living in New Zealand and don't celebrate Christmas. They were surprised I didn't go to church. I am not religious, after being raised Christian. I won't go into all the reasons here why Christmas can be so triggering but one reason is grief.  Starfish
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I felt overwhelmed, burnout with low mood today. I didn't make it to work today after two weeks annual leave. I'm not going to detail here why I am so stressed (other than linked to my Dad dying recently). I talked to a doctor today and she said she could issue me a medical certificate but that won't change the stressful circumstances linked to the bereavement. She suggested trying to get back into a routine, which includes my part-time job. I spent most of the day in hibernation, emerging for a walk in the evening. In this blog post, I would like to highlight aspects of my annual leave.  Light at the end of a tunnel built in the 1800s Extract from my journal from over 5 years ago, when I was starting therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD): "I won a positivity award at work…Seems ironic as feeling so negative internally about it. Might paint Snowball – a longhaired fluffy white cat…with purplish eyes…a book cover for Pet Purpose? What is her hope?"  First up, I want to say that Soar Purpose is now a registered trademark. It's relatively inexpensive to trademark in New Zealand and I think it's worth it for a meaningful blog or small business. It's currently a passionate hobby but it has potential to become a business. I've trademarked under class 41: 'Education, entertainment, sports' (ironically I don't like sports but it's all one class). My specified goods and services include book editing and publishing, painting and art instruction. Dreaming big.  I painted 'Healing a Broken Heart' in 2018. I'm not okay. I can't 'mask' this. If I'm 'too blunt,' and 'too honest', and don't validate others, I get told, 'Why are you being so negative?' and 'You sound angry' (from mere typed words onto a screen). I can't stand toxic positivity. Faking that everything is butterflies and rainbows when it's not. It's gaslighting. It's telling people to suppress their feelings. My psychologist already knows I'm am expert at that. Avoiding and shutting down intense emotions is part of my presentation of post-traumatic stress disorder, PTSD (from trauma).  Symbolic items on my desk A tradition in my family was to watch the old home movies Dad recorded, back in the days of film. We used to crowd around the tiny fridge to see the image projected onto it. Or in the lounge, with the old movies (without audio) were projected onto a rollup screen. Dad recorded home movies from over 15 to 50+ years ago, switching technology a few times. Dad died a few weeks ago but what he captured, lives on.  My nephew and I waiting for Dad to set up the home movies to watch. Nearly 30 years ago. I'm not gonna say much on this blog post. Too angry to. My Dad died two weeks ago. A few people this past week have said, 'She (my mother) lost her soulmate/best buddy'. I said, 'I lost my Dad.' 'That's not the same,' I was told. Over and over, told my grief doesn't matter as much. Or than I'm grieving the 'wrong' way as I don't feel safe showing intense emotions in front of others (PTSD).  Last pic taken with Dad. He was 81. I am not going to detail the shitstorm that continued to get worse these past few weeks. I deleted the semianonymous tribute YouTube channel after two family members who consented to it had a tantrum over it. It was snippets of my Dad with his children and grandchildren from years ago. Some family and friends said they'd enjoyed it. Heck, I'm not even allowed to grieve the way I want to. I'm sick of others trying to control me, a fifty-year-old women. And trying to control how I grieve as well as dismissing that I am grieving too. Well, yes, I'm angry. Mostly at the entitled selfishness. I can't even say publicly what's really going on, effectively muzzled by those who throw their power around. Gaslighting bullies. I have very restricted options, with my disabilities. I long to be free. Posting the last pic taken of me and my Dad. Anyone who objects can farkoff. That is all.  With Dad over 20 years ago (in my late twenties) Note: this is not legal advice. I was going to write these tips at the end of my previous blog post, You Need to Make Your Will. But as I tend to have a lot to say, I decided to make a fresh blog post. I am a very intuitive and visionary person and I had already thought about this recently, before my Dad died. Yes, I can be melancholic at times. Your writing may or may not endure, if you die. I'll tell you why, as I've learned this in my journey of blogging then writing books. I've set things up, so my heirs inherit my copyrighted works, whether they want to try to make money from them or not.  This antique item from my Dad is one of my precious possessions Note: this is not legal advice. I have been avoidant about doing my will since my marriage breakup and divorce. I've been processing grief (mainly from being separated from my son by country) for years. The grief was tangled with my trauma and I am grateful that I had paid for therapy over the past 5 years, which has helped me to be able to cope with recent events. My Dad died just over a week ago. He had a will and made known verbally his wishes, yet after the shitshow that happened (which I am not going to detail), I have made it an urgent priority to do my will. I also hadn't bothered as I own hardly anything. After talking to a solicitor, he had me come in the next day. My will should be ready to sign and it will be lodged in secure deposit by Monday. I shouldn't have to ever do another one.  Was quite meditative to burn some medical records. Then scoop the ash. It's processing. My Dad died less than a week ago. His death was peaceful yet still a shock. I am glad that I got to know my Dad for fifty years. He gave me this compass forty years ago and also made the little wooden box for it. I wore it as a pendant to the funeral service.  |
Xanthe Wyse('Zan-thee Wise'). 
Disclaimer: the author of this blog is not an expert by profession and her opinions should not be taken as expert advice.
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