Be one with the couch

Last night the therapist sent me an email that has me has left a lot of questions in my head....not many answers, just a lot of questions - none of which, I'm sure she would be able to answer from the bucket; which, ironically, I think she likes being in the bucket - sure makes her job easier that way. 

Grace, I know that you are struggling with the fact that you "can't get me out of the bucket". I suspect that there is a reason why this needs to be right now, so try not to be impatient with yourself, even if you are uncertain as to why this is. I know that there is a whole lot of emotion, pain, turmoil and fear behind the humor, sarcasm and apparent confidence when I last saw you. I also know that you are working hard at soothing the parts of you at night that feel overwhelmed, alone and afraid. Remember that your desire to feel "in control" is one way you have found to help you feel strong and safer....as fears of vulnerability or feelings becoming out of control continue to rise and fall. This too is ok.

Let yourself honor and seek to understand what the renovated "wall" has to serve you and how you can work with it in your own way and time.
The Therapist

If Grace were to reply, she won't, but if she were, the reply might look something like this:
Dear Therapist,
You and I have worked together nearly 4 years and I am still living most nights in fear, crying until I find myself into a restless sleep full of nightmares.  And you are now telling me to "be patient"?  You ‘suspect’ there is a reason why you’re in the bucket and I should leave you there? Hum…perhaps because that’s what your preference is too – it is sure easier for you if I leave you in the bucket and NEVER reach out to you for help, huh? It’s so much easier to sit and chat about flavored coffee and gingerbread cookies while the clock ticks away the 50 minutes…and then I get to go home and find myself in the pit of hell because I can’t breathe and I’m panicked and afraid I might die? Oh, don’t worry, I did actually reach out to a friend – and she doesn’t want to be thrown into the slop bucket so she helped me calm down so I could at least breathe – although the fear and crying continued…But at least it all happens at night and not your office where you would have actually had to “witness” it – funny, my friend and I – we have been able to be there for each other…I can help her and she can help me…Yes, I would say that’s what a “relationship” is called – although I don’t think I would say the same thing about “OUR” (yes, you and I) relationship.

But I should leave you in the bucket and be patient? Shall I use the *patience meter* you used when you were cramming DBT down my throat due to my SI Bx? Because you were sure quick to jump on the “Shut up and drug up” and “Shut up and behave” train then, huh? Now that you have no clue what is going on for me…well, other than the fact that I don’t like gingerbread cookies…things must feel much more calm and peaceful for you in your present moment, huh?

Yes, there is a reason why you’re in the bucket! Aside from the fact that you want to be in there so you don’t have to deal with me…maybe the “needs” this is meeting are YOURS. Nearly 4 years ago you tried so hard to help me tear down the wall…but now it seems like you were just eager to rebuild it – and ensure it is reinforced. Exactly how is this going to “serve” me? Your last sentence: Let yourself honor and seek to understand what the renovated "wall" has to serve you and how you can work with it in your own way and time.” I think you forgot to add: But leave me the hell out of it! Come back when you want to talk about cookies and milk – not any of the shit you deal with at night.

See, what I am doing right now ~~~ Starving myself in hopes of disappearing so he can’t hurt me anymore at night - (yeah, got it – not nearly thin enough to worry about yet – but it is a goal of mine – I've done it before and I'll do it again.Because you know what a ‘petulant child’ (your words) I can be!)of course you don't want to hear about that!…And at night when I’m afraid and lost – and fighting the one who wants to hurt me – fighting and fighting with the 5 year old and the teenager – trying to hide from him….THIS ISN’T WORKING! Particularly since you do not seem to even WANT to help me – just stay in your comfortable little bucket – where you hear no evil, speak no evil, or see no evil from Grace…

Oh, yes, I am feeling SSSOOOO much stronger and safer now…I am bathed in strength! NO! You just don’t care to hear about the rest of it! You do NOT know how “hard” I am working – nor do you want to know! You don’t want to hear that I do not even feel alive. I am not even real – the “real” me does not even exist anymore! There is just the perfect little shell of a stepford woman who is living for everyone else! I am just going through the motions, being the perfect little cheerleader – if my own THERAPIST doesn’t want to hear about any of this, or help me with it – why the hell would anyone else???? Just shove it all away and deal with it on your own, Grace. AYE AYE- Oh, Captain, my captain. No, this “too” is NOT okay! And if you don’t want to help me, or even try to connect or break down the wall – then why the hell am I wasting my time sitting on your uncomfortable ratty couch week after week?

NO! I DESERVE BETTER! And if you can’t help me, than stay in the bucket forever and don’t tell me you KNOW or I need to HONOR feeling DEAD and FAKE….because I want to live! And NOT LIKE THIS!



And as far as your “exposure” therapy goes – I am scared of spiders – ALL spiders – terrified – and I’ve been “exposed” to them for over 38 years…still scared! Are there any cockroaches in your bucket? – I could toss some in for you, you know, for “exposure” therapy.

...it hurts ~ these things I'll never forget...

My memories make me wince

Push it away you had me convinced

But it all comes out in the blink of an eye

Can you see the pain reflected in my eyes

I'm tired of feeling weak inside

My soul dies every day

Because the pain inside refuses to go away

Why did this have to happen?

Why couldn't my past have stayed a phantom?

Beaten down into submission

Unable to ignore~ I'm  forced to listen

Pain I now know all too well

I can't claw my way out of hell

A deep hidden fear of darkness and sleep

Little girl rocks, shakes and then weeps

The ghosts they visit me in my dreams

I awake to the sound of my own silent screams

It Hurts by GracefullyGrowing on Polyvore.com

It does not bother me that my mask hides my thoughts, my emotions...

What bothers me is I have forgotten how to remove the mask....

Yesterday when I met with the therapist, I thanked her for not forgetting to email me as she said she would (3x/week).  I guess that's part of the whole "consistency" thing - I get that it would have been difficult for her to forget, previously, since I would email her at least once a day - but I can't know.  She didn't tell me I can't email her - but I just can't.  But she still hasn't forgotten - I guess she has a reminder set in her calendar that pops up: "WARNING WARNING - Don't forget to email Grace!  She will self destruct in 3-2-1..."  (Petulant child!)

I told her I can't email her because she's in the bucket - she didn't even act like that was the strangest thing she had even heard that day.  But I really miss emailing her...it feels like this big communication gap that was once filled with words and thoughts is now just...empty.   In email I could tell her things... in writing... that I could not speak about - or at least not bring up, in session.  For example, yesterday I desperately wanted to talk about last Friday incident with the hus...and also the fact that the word  NO has suddenly disappeared from my vocabulary.  And lots of other stuff.... 

And when I was emailing her then she would know *where I was* (so to speak) and could respond based on that.  I don't know...It made me feel connected in a way - and now I don't feel that.  Yesterday, when I walked into her office it didn't feel like I was walking into "dear therapist's" office. the woman who I've worked with for nearly 4 years... It felt like i was walking into someone's office I don't know, someone I don't feel comfortable with or trust...

And that mask that I wear - the one that hides all my true feelings and emotions...IRL, the one I used to be able to take off when she and I emailed or met at her office.  Well, I can't remove that mask now - anywhere but "here" out in anon blogland...

The wall that was slowly torn down, brick by painful brick, over the course of the past 3 1/2 years...has been rebuilt - with steel reinforcements, protecting the vulnerable Grace, the fearful Grace, the sad and lonely Grace.  It's a beautiful wall...and it does it's job well; but the "Graces" behind that wall....they are the "Grace" behind the mask.  The mask DT and I worked so hard to remove....it's back now, more stubborn than ever. 

***SIGH*** I don't know what to do now.    I am terribly lonely and scared at night now.  And I don't know how to change it.  Because I'm behind that wall too...and I don't know how to climb over it, or under it...I don't know how to even begin tearing it down again, or if it's even possible.  But I do know that I cannot continue to struggle night after night (especially nights like last night when I am screaming and crying and rocking)  I can't do it much longer without the ability or trust to reach out to someone who is supposed to help me.

And *THIS* right now - 'this' isn't working for me....and I have to find something that will....

I'm so scared! I need DT to hold my hand tonight...

I have so many things swirling around in my head right now – SO many feelings I cannot even begin to name. I feel safer writing than sitting and I am unable to talk about them. I am living in crippling fear…unable to sleep, unable to eat…and fighting with everything inside of me to get through each night. And it’s too much tonight…so much I want to talk, there’s so much to say…but she won’t let me talk. I’m scared. It’s overwhelming me tonight, I cannot breathe and I am poised and ready for flight now.


Nights like tonight…there have been a lot of them…I would reach out to DT and beg her to help me, just to get through this moment…and she would comfort me and tell me that I am okay…but I can’t hear her now. I know I should be able to do this. I am an adult…but I don’t feel like an adult. I feel like a scared little girl- living for others at the expense of my own needs.

I want DT to hold my hand tonight because it is crushing me and I am afraid…

I need it to stop for awhile. I can throw it all in a bucket during the day and I can dazzle the world…so why does it have to hurt so bad at night? Why can’t I make it stop? It's like a pressure cooker...and I can 'contain' it and deflect, and divert attention, but it is bubbling over tonight and scalding me!
What happened? I just want to be okay…I just want it to stop.

I am not afraid of the dark anymore

I remember as a child

I wanted a nightlight because the darkness was frightening and forbidding

But then you showed me that there are more terrifying things than darkness

I remember as a child

I used to pull the covers up at night glaring at the closet afraid of the boogey man

My small body would tremble as I waited in the darkness…certain that an ominous presence was watching

But then you taught me that there are things more evil than the boogie man

… and they don't hide in closets

I remember as a child

Walking in the rain and the sight of a small slug, slimy and slick on the sidewalk was enough to paralyze me in disgust

But then I was left alone with you and I discovered that there are things much more disgusting than a slug

You left me in the dark with no light switch

You taught me to watch for monsters in the daylight

You held my face so I couldn't escape

You were the thief in the night stealing from me what I didn't know I had

Robbing me of the entitlement of innocence, feelings of safety and trust

Labeled a "survivor",

You left your oppressive sun burning in my sky

But at least I'm not afraid of the dark anymore

Silent all these years...

My mouth opens but nothing comes out....I am not sure why but I am unable to speak now. 

Instead the willful arrogant one shows you her face ~ the one you call 'petulant'.  You do not understand how much pain there is inside of this body, how could you, when the parts who hold the pain are no longer allowed to speak to you.  Instead the ill-tempered one talks; you find her to be 'annoying' and peevish, in fact, it seems as though she feels the need to be on defense all the time.  She is contempuous in her behavior shielding any feelings of vulnerability from you with her supercilious speech.  

She stands behind the wall that has been rebuilt between you and her and the wall is made of brick, the mortar solid and unforgiving.   If you could see behind the icy blue of her eyes as they tell you confidently that she is doing well…if you could see behind her, you would be able to see that all is not okay. You would be able to see that she is not a petulant child, but rather a frightened girl, teenager, woman. You would be able to see that the arrogance and cockiness of her speech and stance, her willfulness…is a defense tactic.  If you could see behind the brick wall you would see that she feels like she has tumbled backwards and she has lost her voice.  

BEHIND THE WALL:
She is not defensive...she is scared.
She is not petulant...she is guarded.
She is not confident...she is uncertain.

If you could see behind the wall, you could see that she waited years for someone to come into her life and tell her that it was okay to tear down that wall.  Behind the wall she chokes back tears of sadness and shakes in fear.  Behind the wall she hides in dark corner...afraid she has now become one more casualty in this bloody war as she struggles to once again find her voice.

What are we waiting for? Won't anybody help us?

I ponder that question during those long nights when my mind won’t rest and I am begging for someone to knock me out with an injection of some mind-numbing medication so it will just stop. It used to be that the overwhelming question of “WHY” would send me into fit of self-destructiveness and suicidal thoughts. Kind of a: I can’t change it ~ I can’t fix it ~ no one will listen to me…which would lead this overwhelming internal pain that I could not deal with and I would hurt myself (mostly cutting – lots of vomiting) in a last ditch effort to get it to just stop. I don’t want to die, I’ve never wanted to die – not really…I just want someone to help me figure out a way to deal with all the conflicting parts of me and my past – help me in a way that WORKS!

GRACE, YOU NEED TO DEAL WITH YOUR FEELINGS BEFORE THEY DEAL WITH YOU….and deal with me, they have. Now what? Since my feelings began to manage me and I was no longer able to manage them…I was told to put them in the ‘time-out’ bucket. Label them – and throw them in the bucket. Well, let me just store them in the old cedar chest where they were covered with a quilt and preserved for 30 years before someone actually led me to believe that it was ‘okay’ to talk and I was not bad…and that I had a right to be heard and understood and ‘accepted’. (*To be fair, let me add the statement that my self-destructive behavior was excessive and troubling…and there were times when I could have died due to my ‘behavior’. And yes, I get that it’s okay to have feelings and emotions – however best not to always act on them.) 

This is a direct quote from my therapist after I sent her an email telling her that I was angry because I hated DBT class and resented going: Of course you are going to feel irritable after DBT class as this class runs counter to what your emotional mind wants which is to be heard, understood and comforted, vs being told to modulate, distract, "pretend" to feel good, etc. So, a trusted MHP admits that DBT is about ‘pretending to feel good’?  Someone should have just said that! That would have saved me months of self-destruction, invalidation and re-traumatization…not to mention two grand!


When Lynn posted this:  The MHP Manifesto ~ I felt it ~ her words echoed through my ribcage and chilled my heart and I again thought: what are we waiting for? 

But the problem is that there is so much hurt...so much pain, that we can't do it alone.  We have stored it for so long because we were afraid and ashamed that to finally find someone we can trust and then to feel as though that trust was breached…it’s like validation that we never should have spoken in the first place. Somewhere in our maladaptive brains it only confirms that our abusers were right. We don’t matter. Everyone else is more important than we are. We are nothing. We have no rights and we will always be nothing.  However unintentional that perceived breach of trust was...it was enough to send us right back there again. Even if it was a promise, or commitment, that was not sustainable - but was offered with only the best of intentions...even if your life 'changed' and you had over-extended yourself...that just validates that we are not important.  I realize that is not the way a 'normal' person, a person who actually received love and care that every child deserved, reacts.  But we never had that...our trust was broken time and time again.  Day over day, week over week, year over year. 

Lynn went on to write this:  shame-manifesto .  Shut up and behave!  Shut up and drug up!  Don't cry out loud! EVER!

Yes, it is a lot of shame to carry...too much. And the abuse from my childhood has ripped apart my insides to a depth I can barely see and feel.  There are parts of my being that were destroyed to the point that I know they can never be recovered.  Every night when I lay my head down I wish for even two hours of peaceful sleep....telling myself, "Sweet dreams, no nightmares."  Each evening when the darkness comes I hope like hell I can get through it without feeling him all over again, without hurting myself, without a pain so intense I cannot stay in this body anymore.  Each morning I wake up with no new injuries or long lasting residual after-affects from nightmares I am thankful for surviving another night.  But the shame, and the fear, and the pain...and the sadness of not having anyone to help guide me though it...all of that remains.  But I have put it back into the cedar chest and covered it with the quilt.  It is my childhood dowry...a dowry no one wants. 

And I remain silent.  Because I am afraid now.  I am ashamed of my behavior.  I am ashamed of my weakness and fear.   I am ashamed.  I am ashamed.

But I hope that someday I will not be ashamed.  I hope that someday someone will listen to me, to 'us'. 

What are we waiting for?  Won't anybody help us?  What are we waiting for?

We have stood up...we are trying to fight the enemy...won't anybody help us?