In Memory of Spike

Two blogs ago, I spoke of the inevitable. Well the inevitable did transpire. Our beloved dog Spike passed away on the 24th of September. To be honest, it still seems unreal. I come home everyday and expect to see him on his cushion. Late at night I expect to hear the click of his nails on the kitchen floor. Every time I come home, I expect him to leap up and pace, ready to go outside. However, now I come home to an empty house. It’s hard and I dislike it greatly. I know from past experience that the pain does not go away, it just becomes easier to handle everyday. One day I will be able to think of him without tearing up. But right now, that is not a possibility.

Thoughts of tragedies

Today is the 10th anniversary of the tragic incidences that happened on 9/11/01. It is important to never forget the lives that were lost on that day. ON the other hand, I find it highly inappropriate the way in which the country is now “celebrating” this anniversary. This tragedy is being used as propaganda to reaffirm the misguided attempts to eradicate an ideology of terrorism. I find it highly disrespectful that the media finds it expectable to shows the videos of the towers smoking, people free-falling out of windows, the planes hitting the towers, a gaping hole in the Pentagon, and a black, and smoking field where Flight 93 went down. The families are being forced to relive the loss they have fought so hard to move passed. Instead of showing the past, people should focus on showing the signs of moving on, such as focusing on memorial services at the new Freedom Tower and Memorial Pools. This shows that the as a country, we will not forget the tragedy but that we have moved on, as all survivors of tragedy should.

Yes it is hard, and yes for those immediately involved here is an enormous sense of guilt, but the current “celebrating” is not helping either. I remember the souls lost, pray for them and their families, but will not be part of bringing the tragedy back to life, glorifying the actions the actions it brought about, and inflicting more pain on the families who have lost. I prefer the approach People magazine took. They interviewed the widows who were pregnant while their husbands lost their lives. Although the loss of fathers and husbands was described, the way the mothers and children have coped, moved on, and are looking towards the future inspires hope. I would rather have remembrance that focuses on the hope of healing and forgiveness rather than promoting the hate and bitterness that showing the tragedies does.

And what about the men and women who are suffering and being killed in the aftermath? The tragedies that occurred on 9/11/01 did result in a country ready for war. Outrage led to the invasion of Afghanistan and later Iraq. In the ten years since 9/11/01, 1,680 American men and women have died as a result of going to Afghanistan and 4,474 have died as a result of being in Iraq. This is downplayed. We are not given daily death tolls. We are not reminded everyday then men and women from out soil are being killed in a place far away. These Americans are dying for their country, and we do not even know it. I cannot even fathom the pain these people feel.

Let’s not USE a national tragedy as propaganda. Remember the lost souls, pray for their families, and hope the pain has eased.

The Inevitable Heartbreak

(in this poem, there are no
fancy tricks)

It may be silly,
I know that much,
but I love my cat.

(it may not follow line length
conformity)

My cat is black with
a white stomach
and white paws. The front
paws are like little tennis shoes.
His hind feet are like white high tops.
Because of this, his name is Nike.

(it may not follow syllable
rules)

His eyes are golden, with specks
of brown and green.
He has a cute pink nose.
There is a white stripe
up his face.

(this might be tedious
And devoid of a point)

He was dropped off
in front of our house.
He was too cute to turn away
so he became part of the family.

(there is no rhyming, and
no conceit)

He is an outdoor cat
at heart.
He loves to hunt and bring
home mice as presents for us.
Woodchucks, rabbits, moles,
and birds were also in his
repertoire.

(long this is
to a reader)

When we moved, Nike
gave up the outdoors
for a quiet life in the house.
He never forget outdoors,
And we still take him out
On walks.

(it does not use assonance,
or alliteration)

He is a rollie
pollie. This creates many
nicknames for him. He
is fat cat, the fat one,
mofassa, and fat stuff.
I call him any little doting name
I can think of.

(it does not have any
onomatopoeia)

His fur is soft to the touch.
He is the friendliest cat ever.
He likes to cuddle, especially when
I am crying.

(but this is a poem: here is
why)

Nike died on August 2nd 2007
The last two days I spent with him
were the worst two days of
my life. And even though he is
just a cat, he was my cat for over
seventeen years.
- Cheryl Abbott Fall 2007

I wrote this poem as part of my poem selection for my Creative Writing class. It was the fall semester after my dear Nike died and I was still mourning. It was hard those last couple months of his life. He would eat significantly less than before. Getting up and down from beds and couches was difficult because his eyesight had deteriorated. But we as a family did all we could to ease his life, and when the time can he passed while I was stroking his fur. Even now, after almost five years have gone by, I cannot help but cry.

So why am I thinking about a time which was so heartbreaking? Because Nike was not our only pet growing up. We also have a dear dog Spike. He is an adorable beagle fox terrier mix who is now seventeen years old. Over this past year he has slowed down, and arthritis freezes up his back legs from time to time. His eyesight is not what it used to be. He spends most of his day sleeping on his cushion in the kitchen, because the space is big and wide with less items to maneuver around. We take him outside whenever we hear the click of his nails on the floor because that is the only time he really walks around.

Heartbreak is right around the corner and there is nothing I can do about it. It is not like a relationship I can try to mend or part on mutual terms to soften the blow. It is not like a sore muscle that is soothed by heat and a nice dip in Epsom salt. It is nothing like the gradually loss of friends who were once close. This is not irreversible. The inevitable is going to happen, our dear Spike is going to pass, and there is nothing we can do to prevent it. There is no way to cure his aging body. He will pass away, just as Nike, just as we all do. My only wish is that Spike can have the same comfort Nike did; I hope one of us are by his side so he knows he is loved to the end. That is all I can pray for. That is all I can ask God to grant my family and me. It is one small comfort that could be gleamed from such a dark time that I know will come.

Damn it Cheryl! That Hurts! Let GO!

Freud concocted many different theories about how a person develops psychological. Most of his theories have holes in them and have been thrown out of the spotlight. But every once in a while, Freud made a claim that holds some water. Freud suggested that the emotional tie an infant develops with its mother is the basis of later attachments to people in its life. Early theories revolved around how feeding the infant creates an emotional response to the mother (Beck 1999). However, this idea was shown invalid when Bowlby played with his rhesus monkeys (1969). The gist of his experiments was that a baby monkey would cling to the soft terry cloth surrogate mother rather than the hard wire surrogate mother that provided the bottle. The baby monkeys even learned how to lean over to drink the milk without detaching from the soft mother (Bowlby 1969). This study suggests that infants of monkeys attach to the object that brings them, and evolutionarily speaking, we as people attach our selves to those which bring us the most comfort.

Attachment is defined as “the strong emotional tie that humans feel toward special people in their lives” (Beck 1999). Attachment is developed through all those little things primary caregivers do. These primary caregivers become secure bases, and become a place where the child is always able to turn. In securely attached infants this means they experience slight anxiety when there secure bases leaves, but are happy when the base returns (Ainsworth). As one ages, this reliance does spread to cover many people. These are the people one can always turn to, no matter the time or distance that has separated them. The knowledge that these people exist in one’s life brings comfort.

This brief psychology lesson does have a point. My Mercy Girls are people who have scattered all over the place pursuing various ventures. However, when we all get together (or as many of us as possible), it is like no time has passed and I am able to engage with them as though we were still in our tight knit high school group. This is because as a child I always had a secure base in my parents, especially my mother. When the shit hits the proverbial fan, she is usually the first call I make. I am comforted by knowing she is near and feel less burdened when in her presence. Stress melts away and even though I am still 23 years old, a hug can dampen the progress of my tears.

Outside of my mother and family, I feel some of my friends from college serve as some of the best secure bases a person could have. I call when I have problems and need solid advice; because I trust them and know they have only my best interest in mind. This usually involves me calling at strange hours of the night and so upset and broken down that they need to speak Cheryl fluently to help me out. The prime examples of these secure bases know who they are. I hope they know they can always expect the same quality care they give me from me.

Again, the Mercy Girls are a secure base for me. I love to bounce ideas off of them in our online Facebook thread, and they do the same. Their advice is presented with personal experience and sometimes concrete evidence. These ladies have helped each other (myself included) through some rough times involving boys, troubles at home, and troubles with the world. I trust them with my problems and they trust me.

Finally, although some find it weird, I do have two secure bases in my ex-boyfriends. Some view this as a safety net; on the contrary, it is just a place for me to regroup and keep walking. I do not turn to them because I feel I need to rebound from failure, but rather because they know me very well and are able to offer the encouraging words that I need to keep my head above water. They understand they are my friends and as such they offer me warm friendship and do not do anything to steer me wrong.

And to think, Freud predicted this all because I have a good relationship with my mother. The only time I have had severe problems with attaching to people was when I had friends who liked everyone else than they like me. At times they hated me and were only my fried for some undisclosed malicious reason. I wish this did not happen. It made me feel as though I was a clingy, overbearing friend who really did not fit in anywhere. I carried this inadequate feeling with me to Mercy. Of course, over time I felt so totally included that these feelings vanished into oblivion. When I went to college, I knew I could find people who I could care deeply about who would reciprocate these feelings. At times my friendships with others are put to the test, but I find the ones that truly matter always survive and although I can mourn shattered friendships, I still have a few gems stored safely.

Looking back, I feel as though it was less my attachment style and more the type of men I was trying to attach to was the problem with the failings in my love life. I was always trying to attach to people who were not emotionally available or in other ways non-accessible. In one case I lied about my true feelings so I could remain close to someone. This made me a self conscious clingy mess, but I feel it is more the result of the pretense into which I entered the relationship than due to my attachment style. Also, my mental health can at times be rather unstable, and this can also lead to me forming bad relationships with members of the opposite sex. Overall, I feel that this has no bearing on my attachment style.

On a final note, it should be mentioned I was always a well-adjusted child. This means my parents served as very good secure bases, as did a select few of my extended family and one good childhood friend. It was not until after I left the supportive environment of a private parochial school and entered into the public school did I start to become emotionally unstable (aka not well-adjusted). Adolescent hormone changes and a poor support network outside of my house fueled havoc and ultimately led to maladjustment. This maladjustment hung over me, and although I had and now have secure bases, the damage was done. I feel as though the cat was let out of the bag, and even when it hides and is calm, sometimes it just has to come out. My depression is that cat, and my teen years let it out and even a fantastic support network can only help keep it at bay, not completely obliterate it. I guess the point I am trying to make is my attachment is secure and other circumstances (poor support network at school, genetic predisposition, alcohol, etc) have led to my instability.

And I swear this is the final thing I am going to say. My mother and I are really close and she loves me greatly, but I am pretty sure sometimes she just wants to close the door and scream “Damn it Cheryl! Let GO!”


Works that I read and drew upon
Ainsworth, M. D. S., Blehar, M. C., Waters, E., & Wall, S. (1978). Patterns of attachment. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum.

Berk, L., E. (1999) Infants, Children, and Adolescents. 3ed. Boston: Allyn and Bacon

Bowlby, J. (1969) Attachment and loss: Vol I. Attachment. New York: Basic Books

Fog and Ice in My MInd

I’m slipping. The past few weeks I have felt off balance, slipping around my world in a confused frantic state. I have been missing appointments and forgetting to get all my blood work done. I simply forgot that my 2nd most important prescription needed to be filled. Everyday of the regular week, I take my mother to work. After I return home, I lie down and take a nap. This nap can range anywhere from two to three hours. After this disruptive nap, I usually have to then hurriedly get ready for work, neglecting all house work. Mind you, this is after getting at least seven hours of sleep the night before.

As for the sleeping problem, one hypothesis is that I am suffering from the fact that it is winter and curling up in bed is much more appealing than cleaning the house. I can accept that. This would mean that I need to just wait it out. Another possibility is my schedule at work is too disruptive to my sense of time. I work 2pm to 10pm. It is quite a weird schedule. But it works w/ me because then I am at work during the time when I am most active. Not to mention, in theory, I should be able to get things done before work. The last and most probable hypothesis is that the med I take for sleep is making me so groggy that I am unable to shake the grogginess after I am awake about half an hour (the time it takes me to take my mother to work). When I do not have to take my mother to work, I sleep to roughly to 9am. This gives me between nine or ten hours of sleep. Sleeping that much does not feel right, nor does it help me. I feel more rundown and exhausted after sleeping that long.

The forgetting important information and items is more troubling, and combined with the sleep, quite frightening. I feel as though this might be a sign of the reoccurrence of my depression. It might be rearing its ugly head, ready to barf vile vomit all over my rather nice life. This is quite scary indeed. I had finally had a spell that made me think it was in remission; that is might be time to wean off the Zoloft. But these changes, these slip ups, are only adding to the fear that I will be on SSRIs the rest of my life, and will never be able to manage my mood on my own. The pain of having to accept this reality is really more than I would desire to feel.

So now the conundrum is, how do I fix something like this? My first response is to wait and see what happens. But now looking at this solution, I feel it is irresponsible. A fog has settled over my mind, and it is making me irresponsible and neglectful. This is not acceptable. I need to figure out what the problem is before I fall on the ice and smack my head. The damage could be irreparable.

My mind is made up, and I will try to clear the fog and deice my mind. I have started working out again. I will need to become more diligent in my agenda maintenance and actually refer to it everyday. I have to make a more active attempt to manage my naps, whether it is make sure I get a list of things done before I nap. I am responsible for my actions, and I intend not to slip on the ice and drive in fog.

Get Over IT

Rebounding from an argument is essential to having a good relationship. This is harder than it sounds. The feelings of being devalued and criticized sting the mind as much as the tears that well up and sting the eyes. However getting it out of the system works. Expressing one’s feelings is probably the best thing to do during an argument. The other party is then aware of the issue, and both people can work through it.

My lovely SO and I had a fight over a concept of what a psychologist is and what makes them special. He was trying to compliment me by saying I already related well to people. However, he did not choose his words wisely and made a bad comparison. I expressed my displeasure, probably made him feel a little small, and took an hour to cool off. Yes, I did ignore his texts and call for that hour because I knew I had to cool down. If I did not, I would only continue to be angry. This morning all was good and we had two quite pleasant conversations. I was concerned because he was working outside and the temperature is in the teens. We will be hanging out tonight and probably watch a movie of sorts.

Moral of story, just get it out and movie on. No reason to hold it against another.

It's been awhile.....

So let’s catch up to the wonderful world of Cheryl.

I started a new job at the end of October. I love my work and enjoy helping the residents. All of the residents have varying degrees of intellectual disability and mental health needs. This line of work is right up my alley. My only grip is the other staff. I feel they are undereducated. It is not their fault per say, but still. I am not at liberty to say which agency I work for or where. Overall the experience is worth the trouble, because in the future when asked how I will motivate employees and what difficulties I have faced in the field, I have at least some ground to stand on. Not to mention, this is a great resume builder for grad school.

Speaking of which, the hope is to start applying this up coming fall. Since my health is better, the only road block now is the money I owe to Hartwick. Somehow I will have to figure out how to pay this. Sometime because of the burden of owing Hartwick, resentment sets in. I feel as though this should have been dealt with by my parents. But I know they did not wish this to happen and if they could fix it, it would be the first thing on their list. I just hope they know and understand that I really don’t blame them, just sometimes when I become frustrated they become my target to fire at.

I don’t know if I have mentioned that I am seeing this new guy. He shall remain nameless, but if have this insatiable desire to know, you can always email me or facebook me about it. I cannot guarantee a quick response though. Overall things are going quite swimmingly. It has been a little hard adjusting to him in comparison to others. Like all human beings, he is quite different from all the other guys I have dates/banged. However he shares some root qualities that I value highly. He understands that I am intelligent (although lacking common sense) and nothing in the world will change that. He just has to accept that I know and understand concepts and the world around me better than most of the other women he has screwed (he is quite the man whore). Also, he has a variety of experience that I value in a man. He has worked hard to get where he is, and is quite successful. But most of all, he is not afraid to spoil me. So basically, all around a good guy.

On a final note I am going to address my vanity. I have lost my hair. It was the ultimate source of my pride. Now nothing but a mere shadow is left of it. Most people would think this is a silly thing to worry about, but I disagree. My hair was gorgeous and yes I have cried over its loss. What were once luscious locks has turned into a mullet. For fear of ruining my chances at getting my hair back, I dare not do anything with it. I have experiences quite a bit of re-growth so the hope is that it will come back to its full potential once again. Until then, I am learning a valuable lesson about being vain.

Thanks for listening to the ravings of an attractive lunatic and I hope to hear from some of you soon!