September 9, 2013
Every now and then I go somewhere and they won’t let me bring Gary Oldman (II) in, which pisses me off, but I understand. So on Friday, my mother registered her as an Emotional Support Service Animal for me because I told my mom that Oldman helps to keep me out of bars. She also helps to keep me responsible, because I have to prioritize her and make choices based on what’s best for her environment. This is especially true if she comes with me every where. I didn’t take her to the Zombie Picnic though because I thought it’d be too scary for her. I did take her for ice cream, so she went viral with me. The Kilted Cowboy with a Kitten on his shoulder.
Anyway, Oldman is going to be getting a tiny service animal vest which is awesome. I don’t think I’ll have her wear it unless I’m going somewhere that wouldn’t otherwise allow her in. I might carry it with me sometimes if the day is unplanned. She is already wearing a leash but the vest is more material and she might not like it. She’ll also have an ID card in case she refuses to wear the vest.
One thing my mother needed was a note from my psychiatrist that I haven’t seen in a long, long, long time. He was just someone I saw rarely but I saw a regular counselor but I don’t anymore. I have to be diagnosed with a significant mental illness in order to qualify so he needed to talk to me, since it’s been a long time. He squeezed me in for an appointment on Friday, which is rare in the psychiatric world, but my mother has amazing persuasive powers. I kind of take after her in that way.
So yeah I went in there and decided to talk more than I ever have before to any professional. My objective was to be able to get Gary Oldman (II) to be with me whenever, and wherever. This means that even when I’m in an establishment, she can be walking around on her leash, and not always have to be on my shoulder. I put her up there to keep her safe though, and also because she does like it. And yeah so after talking with me, the psychiatrist diagnoses me with PTSD.
When we were leaving the office, my mother was like “PTSD? What do you have PTSD from?” I said “nevermind.” But she stopped walking and I kept walking, so she said “Grimm, stop.” I did and she approached and said, “What happened? What happened to give you PTSD?” I told her I had already talked about it once today and I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, then I walked away towards the exit of the building. When I turned back she was wiping away tears and fighting back more. And she wonders why I tell her nothing, even from when I was a kid, I never told her anything. Why would I want to hurt my mother and make her cry? That’s what would happen if I told her half the shit I should be saying. But it ain’t happening, no way.
I had to turn back and hug her and say, “It’s ok mom, I’m ok.” And she apologized for not being a good enough mother to keep me emotionally healthy. I told her I’m my own person, she’s not responsible for bad choices I make. Then she said that she was sure I didn’t choose to be a victim. “Mom, why would you say that? What makes you think I was a victim?”
She replied, “I feel it.”
And I know what she’s talking about because I feel things too, we’ve got the Romani blood, and we have special abilities, which I think is a part of my problem sometimes. I constantly need to block other people’s energies from breaking in my spiritual shield and affecting me negatively. It’s weird but yeah, very valid. She has that too. However, I said, “I’m no fucking victim, I can tell you that much.”
Then Gary Oldman (II) as she was sitting on my shoulder gave me this look like she was so confused by my mood shift. And she has these funny little eyes that don’t always line up so she looks confused half the time. So I laughed because she’s fucking cute as hell. My mother laughed when I did and said, “see that, she does emotionally help you.”
“Well no shit mom that’s why we’re doing this right? ….sorry.” I hate when I talk to her like that, but sometimes she doesn’t make any sense. My mother’s a strong woman, so telling her shit wouldn’t break her. But she’s this intense, passionate Sicilian, so it’s just kind of overboard, with the “Oh my God, my God” and “Mama mia” and the arms flailing. When my mom’s upset it’s like being in an opera. And she’s an awesome mom, but I just don’t want to make her cry, that’s all it comes down to. Even when I was a little kid, there were things I just couldn’t tell her because I didn’t want to make her cry. And now I have Gary Oldman (II), my Emotional Support Service Kitten.
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