I don’t understand how I can sleep for 3 days straight and then not sleep for 3 days. Plagued by nightmares from about 3am (when I finally went to sleep) and 7am when I decided it wasn’t even worth trying to rest. I dreamed of his hands…big and calloused, creeping out from under my bed and hurting me…his hard cold eyes staring through me. Fear was running through me like a river.
At 7:00am when I gave up on sleeping, I decided to take a bath to try to wash the filth from my body. I don’t know why I thought that I would be able to feel clean today, since I haven’t been able to accomplish that in over 30 years. I lay in the bathtub watching the skin on my thighs turn from a milky white to a burning red from the scalding water I started to cry. I sat in the steaming water shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, unable to understand why I still felt so cold when the water was nearly sizzling my skin. Why wasn’t I able to feel the warmth from the water? Why can’t I just forget? Why do I have this stupid body anyway? I hate this body and everything it represents. I seem to be going through another round of “How many baths/showers a day will Grace take before she actually feels clean?” games again. Yesterday it was 3 before I gave up…
All of these highs and lows are so draining and confusing….unpredictable. I never know how I will feel from one minute to the next. I’m not sure what needs to change or happen inside of me, but I need it to happen soon. I don’t want more medication, that isn’t the answer; I don’t know what is… It’s difficult to predict what might set off another acute case of trauma brain and so I live in a constant state of panic. It could be a scene in a movie, a song, a restaurant, a man sitting to close to me on a plane telling me over and over again how much I remind him of his daughter…ugly orange marigold flowers outside the McDonald’s drive thru in the spring. How do you make all that go away? I don’t think I can try any harder.
I’m tired. I extended an invitation to a girlfriend and her family to spend New Years with us here, and she accepted. Right now I refuse to live my life in seclusion because I know it’s better for me to be around people I enjoy spending time with. And yet at the same time I am angry at social Grace for continuing to make plans when I’m so exhausted and I want to crawl inside of my shell and hide.
I am not well, but I continue to feel this invisible force that pushes me gently to trust myself and the therapist (you thought I was going to say *the process*, didn’t you?). But seriously, if the therapist doesn’t stop using those cliché *therapy* phrases on me, I’m going to have to find her “Top 10 things to say to clients inflicted with crazybrain” book and hold a book burning ceremony in the parking lot of her office. “You are courageous and the moments that I can witness this with you are an honor for me.” Didn’t I read that in a Hallmark card for crazybrains? No “honoring” – please – I just want to get through it so it stops hurting. Even though I think my therapist is rockin' awesome for putting up with me (at least in this *present moment*) how many clients have not heard their therapist utter, "It is an honor to witness your f'd up crazybrain in action." Is that just me?
I’d better jam now – I am cooking dinner for my friends tonight and I need to ensure there is not one speck of dust in the house lest they think I’m a filthy pig…cleanliness is next to Godliness ya know. On that thought I should go take another bath…
Thursday, December 31, 2009
I needed a translater last night...
I know that I have *conditioned* the hus to respond to me the way he does. I have never been the type of person who wanted to be "held" or "comforted"...I don't like to *cuddle* by the fireplace or curl up on a couch together and watch a movie. I don’t like walk together holding hands and admiring a sunset…It’s just never felt right for me. The hus used to be like that…a long, long time ago…*affectionate*. I didn’t like it. Eventually he realized I wouldn’t respond to him by returning the affection so he stopped trying.
I remember years ago a friend of mine wanted to get married and her BF did not. They were in counseling together and the therapist told them not to see each other, or speak to each other, for 1 month. And after that month they would return to the therapist and each other and decide their future. I’m generalizing this story and making it much simpler then the reality of what that month was like for them, but they followed the therapist’s advice and didn’t see or speak to each other for 1 month.
The month ended on a weekend they were to go out of town for a mutual friend’s wedding and when she was telling me about the weekend, and seeing her BF again, she said, “It was so wonderful.” *insert dreamy/romantic voice tone here* “It was such a romantic coming back together for the BF and me.” And I smiled with her, and shared her joy of seeing her BF again as she told me how much she missed him and that she loved him, and even if they did not get married, she still wanted to be with him. It was like Herald and Maude! In my cynical head, I was wondering if there were doves cooing on the roof of their little romantic cottage. Less than a year later they broke up. That’s not the point of this story, but cynical, unromantic Grace had to throw that part in… The point of sharing the story of my friend’s relationship hiatus and following reunion is this: As she was telling me about her romantic weekend with BF at this quaint little cottage where their friends tied the knot; it sounded like a fairy tale! And I was trying to imagine what she was saying, and incorporate her words of romanticism inside my trauma brain in a way I could maybe feel some of what she was telling me. And I couldn’t. I didn’t feel anything at all.
My crazybrain is wired wrong…I don’t believe in love, and fairy tales, and romanticism. I never have. Sometimes I wonder if you can really miss something you have never known… After last night’s conversation with my friend of what it must be like to be held safely, I thought I would try it. It was the middle of the night here when I went upstairs to bed. And I laid down next to the hus and asked him to hold me. It didn’t really work out well. I don’t think he believed me that I just wanted him to hold me. But that was really all I wanted. Someone to hold me but not f**k me. Somehow my forgoing the fortress building and saying, "Will you hold me" must have have somehow sounded like, "Will you f**k me." to him.
I remember years ago a friend of mine wanted to get married and her BF did not. They were in counseling together and the therapist told them not to see each other, or speak to each other, for 1 month. And after that month they would return to the therapist and each other and decide their future. I’m generalizing this story and making it much simpler then the reality of what that month was like for them, but they followed the therapist’s advice and didn’t see or speak to each other for 1 month.
The month ended on a weekend they were to go out of town for a mutual friend’s wedding and when she was telling me about the weekend, and seeing her BF again, she said, “It was so wonderful.” *insert dreamy/romantic voice tone here* “It was such a romantic coming back together for the BF and me.” And I smiled with her, and shared her joy of seeing her BF again as she told me how much she missed him and that she loved him, and even if they did not get married, she still wanted to be with him. It was like Herald and Maude! In my cynical head, I was wondering if there were doves cooing on the roof of their little romantic cottage. Less than a year later they broke up. That’s not the point of this story, but cynical, unromantic Grace had to throw that part in… The point of sharing the story of my friend’s relationship hiatus and following reunion is this: As she was telling me about her romantic weekend with BF at this quaint little cottage where their friends tied the knot; it sounded like a fairy tale! And I was trying to imagine what she was saying, and incorporate her words of romanticism inside my trauma brain in a way I could maybe feel some of what she was telling me. And I couldn’t. I didn’t feel anything at all.
My crazybrain is wired wrong…I don’t believe in love, and fairy tales, and romanticism. I never have. Sometimes I wonder if you can really miss something you have never known… After last night’s conversation with my friend of what it must be like to be held safely, I thought I would try it. It was the middle of the night here when I went upstairs to bed. And I laid down next to the hus and asked him to hold me. It didn’t really work out well. I don’t think he believed me that I just wanted him to hold me. But that was really all I wanted. Someone to hold me but not f**k me. Somehow my forgoing the fortress building and saying, "Will you hold me" must have have somehow sounded like, "Will you f**k me." to him.
"I hose (hold) you mama. I hose you..."
When my son was little and he wanted me to hold him he would say to me, "I hose you mama, I hose you...." ...and he would hold his arms out to me and wait for me to pick him up. I was talking to a friend of mine tonight and we were talking about what it would be like to actually feel "held" in safe way.
I only remember one time I felt "held" safely, ever, in my entire life...and that was 3 years ago when the therapist held me when I cried. I knew the therapist would never hurt me, I knew that I was *safe* with her...and I'd never felt that way before...nor have I ever felt that way since. I don't think I ever will.
My friend and I were talking and I asked her, "I wonder what it would be like to feel safely held by someone without that someone wanting to fuck me." I don't know the answer to that....the only time in my life I ever felt safely held by anyone was during a mental/suicidal breakdown. That was the time the therapist "held" me - the only time I felt safe...ever...I don't know that I'll ever feel *safe* like that again.
I wonder what it would be like to take a bath without 3 washclothes covering the most intimate parts of my body... I've no idea....
I wonder what it's like for "normal" people to sleep without a bra and 3 t-shirts on....
I wonder what it's like to fall asleep without a sense of fear even when you're surrounded by 9 pillows and 4 blankets/comforters.
I wonder what sex is like for "normal" people...I really wonder...because I surely don't know...
I wonder what it's like to actually feel "comforted" by someone else who you *know* won't fuck you...
I wonder....I wonder....I'll never know...but I wonder...
I only remember one time I felt "held" safely, ever, in my entire life...and that was 3 years ago when the therapist held me when I cried. I knew the therapist would never hurt me, I knew that I was *safe* with her...and I'd never felt that way before...nor have I ever felt that way since. I don't think I ever will.
My friend and I were talking and I asked her, "I wonder what it would be like to feel safely held by someone without that someone wanting to fuck me." I don't know the answer to that....the only time in my life I ever felt safely held by anyone was during a mental/suicidal breakdown. That was the time the therapist "held" me - the only time I felt safe...ever...I don't know that I'll ever feel *safe* like that again.
I wonder what it would be like to take a bath without 3 washclothes covering the most intimate parts of my body... I've no idea....
I wonder what it's like for "normal" people to sleep without a bra and 3 t-shirts on....
I wonder what it's like to fall asleep without a sense of fear even when you're surrounded by 9 pillows and 4 blankets/comforters.
I wonder what sex is like for "normal" people...I really wonder...because I surely don't know...
I wonder what it's like to actually feel "comforted" by someone else who you *know* won't fuck you...
I wonder....I wonder....I'll never know...but I wonder...
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
"Grace, there's a difference between being independent and being so self-reliant as to shut people out." There is?
In my *real* life I tend to pull inside myself when I find myself in a place of fear or pain; much like a turtle hiding inside her shell when she feels threatened. It’s difficult for me to reach out to someone for help, or even just for ‘company’. I don’t feel that way “here” ~ for a couple of reasons, there is, of course, the anonymity factor, but also because I think most people who ‘read’ my blog feel and struggle with much of the same things I do. In my *real* life that isn’t the case.
On Monday I shared the puking in the IHOP parking lot with the therapist, and I told her that I just told the hus and DS & DD that I wasn’t feeling well and that I swallowed wrong…and she asked me if I thought it might be better if I shared the truth with them…not like the gross explicit details of what was running rampant through my crazybrain, but just that the waitress had said something that triggered a past memory for me and it made me sick. And without even thinking about it, I said, “No way! I don’t want them to know!” It’s hard to share the bad things in real life with real life people because I don’t want them to see me the way I see myself; weak and gross and dirty and depressed. I want them to see the Grace that I’ve always been….because I’m embarrassed of the other “graces”. And they are to be kept in the dark, as they have always been.
Monday’s therapy session was very difficult because we continued to talk about the ‘hard stuff’ the stuff I don’t talk about and I pushed myself to share more of the *bad* stuff with her than I ever have before and at one point she even asked me if I wanted to stop talking about it and I said no. And I think I pushed myself because I want to feel better so badly that I just want to spew it all out of me so “we” can figure out how to deal with it so there is less confusion and craziness and fighting inside my head. But my plan kind of back-fired on me because Monday night there was even more craziness and fighting…voices screaming that we shared too much with the therapist. Embarrassment, shame, fear, pain…all pummeled me until I wanted to cut the voices right out of my brain! What was I thinking? Why did I tell her that? What she must think of me now! Holy shit! Now I can never go back there she knows way to much! And this continuous tape recorder did not stop until late Tuesday night.
I had text messages and VM messages and emails from friends and I couldn’t answer any of them because I couldn’t let anyone know (IRL) how much pain I was in and how much shame I felt from therapy on Monday. But then last night, I did respond to some of the emails and text messages, apologizing for my lack of response but that I wasn’t really in a place to talk on Monday. And I realized that I do have friends who love me and would be there for me, if I would let them… I responded to one friend and told her I wasn’t in a good place on Monday so I couldn’t respond to her then…and she said, “That’s when you walk up to me for a hug and know that I am here for you always.”
Another friend emailed this to me: Grace, there's a difference between being independent and being so self-reliant as to shut people out :) Not that I feel shut out! It's just that you have some reason why you have to keep everything locked up inside and can't talk to anybody. I mean if it's for your own benefit that's one thing, if it's a control thing or whatever, but if you seriously think you're benefiting ME by holding it in...get a grip, girl! I care about you, I care about what happens to you, what goes on in your mind, for good OR bad, and I always will. You matter to me. What you feel matters to me too. You don't have to talk when you don't feel like it, I promise you that, but if you feel like it and you're sitting on it cause you're worried about ME, I'm gonna have to...I dunno, mail you a fruitcake as punishment. Fruuuuuitcake *ghostly voice* Be afraid. Fear the fruitcake!
I have some really good friends out there…but you know what still holds me back from reaching out to them? That voice inside who says, “Grace, they don’t KNOW the truth about you. That’s why they love you. If they knew the truth they would surely run away…just as you have run away from yourself for so many years…” and so I didn’t respond to either of them.
And until they invent water-proof mascara that is truly water-proof,
I ain't crying in front of anyone...but dear therapist!
On Monday I shared the puking in the IHOP parking lot with the therapist, and I told her that I just told the hus and DS & DD that I wasn’t feeling well and that I swallowed wrong…and she asked me if I thought it might be better if I shared the truth with them…not like the gross explicit details of what was running rampant through my crazybrain, but just that the waitress had said something that triggered a past memory for me and it made me sick. And without even thinking about it, I said, “No way! I don’t want them to know!” It’s hard to share the bad things in real life with real life people because I don’t want them to see me the way I see myself; weak and gross and dirty and depressed. I want them to see the Grace that I’ve always been….because I’m embarrassed of the other “graces”. And they are to be kept in the dark, as they have always been.
Monday’s therapy session was very difficult because we continued to talk about the ‘hard stuff’ the stuff I don’t talk about and I pushed myself to share more of the *bad* stuff with her than I ever have before and at one point she even asked me if I wanted to stop talking about it and I said no. And I think I pushed myself because I want to feel better so badly that I just want to spew it all out of me so “we” can figure out how to deal with it so there is less confusion and craziness and fighting inside my head. But my plan kind of back-fired on me because Monday night there was even more craziness and fighting…voices screaming that we shared too much with the therapist. Embarrassment, shame, fear, pain…all pummeled me until I wanted to cut the voices right out of my brain! What was I thinking? Why did I tell her that? What she must think of me now! Holy shit! Now I can never go back there she knows way to much! And this continuous tape recorder did not stop until late Tuesday night.
I had text messages and VM messages and emails from friends and I couldn’t answer any of them because I couldn’t let anyone know (IRL) how much pain I was in and how much shame I felt from therapy on Monday. But then last night, I did respond to some of the emails and text messages, apologizing for my lack of response but that I wasn’t really in a place to talk on Monday. And I realized that I do have friends who love me and would be there for me, if I would let them… I responded to one friend and told her I wasn’t in a good place on Monday so I couldn’t respond to her then…and she said, “That’s when you walk up to me for a hug and know that I am here for you always.”
Another friend emailed this to me: Grace, there's a difference between being independent and being so self-reliant as to shut people out :) Not that I feel shut out! It's just that you have some reason why you have to keep everything locked up inside and can't talk to anybody. I mean if it's for your own benefit that's one thing, if it's a control thing or whatever, but if you seriously think you're benefiting ME by holding it in...get a grip, girl! I care about you, I care about what happens to you, what goes on in your mind, for good OR bad, and I always will. You matter to me. What you feel matters to me too. You don't have to talk when you don't feel like it, I promise you that, but if you feel like it and you're sitting on it cause you're worried about ME, I'm gonna have to...I dunno, mail you a fruitcake as punishment. Fruuuuuitcake *ghostly voice* Be afraid. Fear the fruitcake!
I have some really good friends out there…but you know what still holds me back from reaching out to them? That voice inside who says, “Grace, they don’t KNOW the truth about you. That’s why they love you. If they knew the truth they would surely run away…just as you have run away from yourself for so many years…” and so I didn’t respond to either of them.
And until they invent water-proof mascara that is truly water-proof,
I ain't crying in front of anyone...but dear therapist!
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
I have learned that I CAN get from here to there without hurting myself...and there is no such thing as "water-proof" mascara
It’s a wonder to me why my heart keeps beating – I see it as a burden most days…I cry, I scream, I grieve, I hurt. I have no idea what happened to my mind; I think perhaps I left it in the freezer behind the frozen blueberries.
I realize everyone has sorrow and hate and rudeness in them and we are all capable of doing things we never thought we would do. And I also understand that we all have kindness in us too, and that's the part we have to hold tight to when the pain feels all-consuming. I know that life is not fair, or just –and I know that, like last night, even though I rant and rave and scream and cry; if I just hang on by my pinky nail, I can get through it without hurting myself because as hurt and angry and confused as I feel most of the time, I do not have to hurt myself like he hurt me. I’ve realized that crying is a pretty inexpensive hobby and I also know that there is no such thing as water proof mascara. Really…there is no such thing.
I live with ghosts ~ ghosts from my past that haunt me every night. I used to not believe in ghosts but the truth is, I see them at night…sometimes out of the corner of my eye, inching toward me as I curl into a tight little ball and hide under the covers. And I know that ghosts can hurt me and that I cannot ignore them, but instead, I must face them...as painful as that continues to be.
And therapy…Gawd! Therapy! One of the things that surprises me is that it doesn’t get any better…at least not so far. The further you dig, the more you reveal, the worse the wound hurts. But I've learned that if I want help, I have to trust my dear therapist, and I have to be willing to share things that hurt and bleed, things that are full of shame and pain. Before this “round” of therapy, I used to view the world surrounded by a sea of apathy. I could always keep up appearances but as for feeling? Well, all *feelings* just fell into the sea before reaching me. And now I am surrounded by a sea of pain and grief. It’s a strange realization, after spending so many years not feeling anything at all. It’s like looking at your hand and discovering you have an extra finger; it must have been there all along, but you’ve never noticed it before.
I sit here at gloomy grove, crying my eyes out from the pain, screaming my head off from the betrayal. And I tell myself over and over, “Things will get better – just hold on – you will see a light, you will find some relief.” I have cried enough tears to solve any water crisis! I don’t understand how parents can treat their children the way mine treated me and I don’t understand why I have continued to treat myself in much the same way. I don't understand and I don't accept it. I don't know if I ever will.
I spent today alternating between crying and screaming to hate music as my children innocently played in the snow outside, oblivious to the terror currently reigning inside of their mother. I love them so much, as long as I'm alive, they will never know the pain that I know…they are why I am still here.
And I am still screaming, silently: Help me find my soul. Tell me I have a heart. Tell me I am not crazy. Tell me I will be okay. Please…someone HELP ME!
I realize everyone has sorrow and hate and rudeness in them and we are all capable of doing things we never thought we would do. And I also understand that we all have kindness in us too, and that's the part we have to hold tight to when the pain feels all-consuming. I know that life is not fair, or just –and I know that, like last night, even though I rant and rave and scream and cry; if I just hang on by my pinky nail, I can get through it without hurting myself because as hurt and angry and confused as I feel most of the time, I do not have to hurt myself like he hurt me. I’ve realized that crying is a pretty inexpensive hobby and I also know that there is no such thing as water proof mascara. Really…there is no such thing.
I live with ghosts ~ ghosts from my past that haunt me every night. I used to not believe in ghosts but the truth is, I see them at night…sometimes out of the corner of my eye, inching toward me as I curl into a tight little ball and hide under the covers. And I know that ghosts can hurt me and that I cannot ignore them, but instead, I must face them...as painful as that continues to be.
And therapy…Gawd! Therapy! One of the things that surprises me is that it doesn’t get any better…at least not so far. The further you dig, the more you reveal, the worse the wound hurts. But I've learned that if I want help, I have to trust my dear therapist, and I have to be willing to share things that hurt and bleed, things that are full of shame and pain. Before this “round” of therapy, I used to view the world surrounded by a sea of apathy. I could always keep up appearances but as for feeling? Well, all *feelings* just fell into the sea before reaching me. And now I am surrounded by a sea of pain and grief. It’s a strange realization, after spending so many years not feeling anything at all. It’s like looking at your hand and discovering you have an extra finger; it must have been there all along, but you’ve never noticed it before.
I sit here at gloomy grove, crying my eyes out from the pain, screaming my head off from the betrayal. And I tell myself over and over, “Things will get better – just hold on – you will see a light, you will find some relief.” I have cried enough tears to solve any water crisis! I don’t understand how parents can treat their children the way mine treated me and I don’t understand why I have continued to treat myself in much the same way. I don't understand and I don't accept it. I don't know if I ever will.
I spent today alternating between crying and screaming to hate music as my children innocently played in the snow outside, oblivious to the terror currently reigning inside of their mother. I love them so much, as long as I'm alive, they will never know the pain that I know…they are why I am still here.
And I am still screaming, silently: Help me find my soul. Tell me I have a heart. Tell me I am not crazy. Tell me I will be okay. Please…someone HELP ME!
Monday, December 28, 2009
Never do anything you wouldn’t want to explain to the paramedics
I am way sick tonight. I spent over an hour in the bathtub just watching the steam rise from my knees. I am dizzy and shaky and my heart is beating out of my chest. I’m sure the therapist would tell me it is an anxiety reaction to session today, but that’s really not very helpful to know when I feel like I can’t breathe. I picked up the phone to call her ten times tonight but the one who can do this all by herself will not allow it. I took xanax that PDOC gave me…and I’m sitting here holding another desperate to take it too, but trying to talk myself out of it. If the ativan script allows 1mg Q6 and the xanax reads Q4, by my logic, I can take them every 2 hours, alternately. I’m not a doctor so I could certainly misread a script, or two, but I’m guessing that is going to be the only way to get through tonight…and I’m not 100% sure that will work.
I would love to give a therapy update as I’m sure it would probably be helpful to spew the words out of me out into cyberspace but I cannot right now. And talking about it sucks (as patient as the therapist is…talking about it sucks!) I feel worse now than I did before I went! It was like all of these horrible experiences running me over again and again, and the therapist says, “It’s just words, Grace. Just words. No one here can hurt you.” Yeah, only after I leave, dear therapist…only tonight, when it isn’t safe, here, in *this* environment.
I am not good right now. Let me speak from my nebulous crazybrain and just say I feel really fucked up and unsafe. I just need to know what’s happening inside my trauma head and body right now?!? The snapshots and physical jolting needs to stop right now. Please, I am begging you! Tell me what is happening and how to make it stop. Fuck patience. I need to know now! I need help now. I am in serious physical and emotional pain and I don't understand it and I can't stop it.
And why the hell isn’t the xanax working!!!! I am desperate for relief right this fucking minute!
I would love to give a therapy update as I’m sure it would probably be helpful to spew the words out of me out into cyberspace but I cannot right now. And talking about it sucks (as patient as the therapist is…talking about it sucks!) I feel worse now than I did before I went! It was like all of these horrible experiences running me over again and again, and the therapist says, “It’s just words, Grace. Just words. No one here can hurt you.” Yeah, only after I leave, dear therapist…only tonight, when it isn’t safe, here, in *this* environment.
I am not good right now. Let me speak from my nebulous crazybrain and just say I feel really fucked up and unsafe. I just need to know what’s happening inside my trauma head and body right now?!? The snapshots and physical jolting needs to stop right now. Please, I am begging you! Tell me what is happening and how to make it stop. Fuck patience. I need to know now! I need help now. I am in serious physical and emotional pain and I don't understand it and I can't stop it.
And why the hell isn’t the xanax working!!!! I am desperate for relief right this fucking minute!
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Once upon a time...there was silence
Do you know what it's like to feel trapped? That no matter where you turn there is no way out. The light is gradually sucked out of your life. You live in darkness. At first you are afraid of the dark and the agony, but after a while you get used to it. No matter where you turned, you find only pain and abandonment. And at first you find this unsettling you’re human and you crave love and connection. But as time passes you begin to realize that you are undeserving of this bond, and you become a shell with no soul. You no longer exist; you simply drift from moment to moment trying to keep some semblance of sanity. Certain people take notice, but fear overwhelms you and you remain silent. They cannot be trusted. No one can be trusted.
You were little, though in reality you were never allowed to be so, and you realized that is just isn't worth it. It is not worth the pain and heartache - and so you wait....in silence. You do what is expected of you and expect nothing of anyone else. It hurts more than anyone will ever know.
You put up a front for show. You try to shield others from this darkness You were always a pawn in a sick and twisted game; you still are. Your pain does not matter, you do not matter. You become what he wants you to be. And nothing else. You give in to his commands. Partially out of fear but also because you no longer care, and it’s all you’ve ever known. You realized early on that your life is meaningless. You are an object, void of emotion or need. Evil things are said and done, and this is their warped vision of fun. You must deserve this. You must be inherently evil because a kind and gracious God would not allow this to happen. Time passes.......you are in need of guidance but too afraid to ask.
The nightmares from the past still linger, bleeding into your life now. Still, you wait, in silence. Still, you live in fear. There is too much confusion and chaos in your head. You want to scream, but you cry instead.
It is the same now as it was then - crying - alone, lying bleeding on the cold floor. Praying for it all to end. Praying for it to be over. Praying to a God who never heard you then, the God who does not hear you now.
You were little, though in reality you were never allowed to be so, and you realized that is just isn't worth it. It is not worth the pain and heartache - and so you wait....in silence. You do what is expected of you and expect nothing of anyone else. It hurts more than anyone will ever know.
You put up a front for show. You try to shield others from this darkness You were always a pawn in a sick and twisted game; you still are. Your pain does not matter, you do not matter. You become what he wants you to be. And nothing else. You give in to his commands. Partially out of fear but also because you no longer care, and it’s all you’ve ever known. You realized early on that your life is meaningless. You are an object, void of emotion or need. Evil things are said and done, and this is their warped vision of fun. You must deserve this. You must be inherently evil because a kind and gracious God would not allow this to happen. Time passes.......you are in need of guidance but too afraid to ask.
The nightmares from the past still linger, bleeding into your life now. Still, you wait, in silence. Still, you live in fear. There is too much confusion and chaos in your head. You want to scream, but you cry instead.
It is the same now as it was then - crying - alone, lying bleeding on the cold floor. Praying for it all to end. Praying for it to be over. Praying to a God who never heard you then, the God who does not hear you now.
Grace’s safety advisory system been elevated to *RED*
Please be aware of your surroundings at all times and do NOT leave your body unattended....but! I should capitalize that...BUT it is not always a choice. And lately, awareness and attendance to my body have not been a choice. I cannot stay in this body at night. It is uninhabitable. And I tell the therapist there is so much I can’t talk about. So many things that happened that I’m so ashamed of ~ things I cannot believe I did. And I don’t trust myself. I don’t like the huge blackness that surrounds me that continues to threaten me every night.
I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my *present moment*. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate with the therapist about this stuff in 50 minutes a week, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. The therapist tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible. But still she says, be patient, she says she has respect and patience and she will *be here* when I'm ready to talk. But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary. I offered to draw her a picture instead. Her patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and she is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.
It has taken me nearly 4 years to find the ability to say the word sex in front of the therapist ~ and that doesn’t even begin the discussion of the *problems* I have with sex. And for the love of God, if she were to utter the word incest I would fly off into the corner of her office, above the bookshelf with the toys and I would never come back down.
I feel sick. And I feel worried. The food thing is torturing me again…and the puking is back with a vengeance. If I make it through my therapy appointment tomorrow without vomiting on her floor, it will be a festivus miracle! It’s that bad right now. I carry a toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse, and keep them in every bathroom of the house ~ I’ve spent a fortune on toothpaste this past month. I have not cut myself ~ but it’s been a struggle.
And I feel worried. And not just for me. My good friend is also struggling and I don’t know how to help her because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help her but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell her that it’s going to be *okay* ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to *okay* ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far. Right now I don’t have the energy to even get myself out of bed and dressed. And I feel sick, and disgusting, and unlovable
The Grace Security threat level* has now been raised to *RED*. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.
I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my *present moment*. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate with the therapist about this stuff in 50 minutes a week, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. The therapist tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible. But still she says, be patient, she says she has respect and patience and she will *be here* when I'm ready to talk. But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary. I offered to draw her a picture instead. Her patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and she is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.
It has taken me nearly 4 years to find the ability to say the word sex in front of the therapist ~ and that doesn’t even begin the discussion of the *problems* I have with sex. And for the love of God, if she were to utter the word incest I would fly off into the corner of her office, above the bookshelf with the toys and I would never come back down.
I feel sick. And I feel worried. The food thing is torturing me again…and the puking is back with a vengeance. If I make it through my therapy appointment tomorrow without vomiting on her floor, it will be a festivus miracle! It’s that bad right now. I carry a toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse, and keep them in every bathroom of the house ~ I’ve spent a fortune on toothpaste this past month. I have not cut myself ~ but it’s been a struggle.
And I feel worried. And not just for me. My good friend is also struggling and I don’t know how to help her because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help her but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell her that it’s going to be *okay* ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to *okay* ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far. Right now I don’t have the energy to even get myself out of bed and dressed. And I feel sick, and disgusting, and unlovable
The Grace Security threat level* has now been raised to *RED*. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.
**WARNING** Do NOT Download!
Well, I suppose a 38 year old woman can only take so much Hannah Montana, Wizards of Waverly & I-Carly (...and I'm not saying that they are not quality shows...in fact, I love Hannah Montana - I can sing just like her!).
What I do not like, however, are scary movies. Not at all. I was forced to watch scary movies as a kid and I hate them now. Unfortunately, there is a crazy ass kid inside of me who enjoys torturing the rest of us by watching scary movies. And it is one thing to wake up in front of the TV scared out of your wits, but it is another to actually purchase the movies from itunes and download them onto my IPOD! And apparently there was a $4.99 special on horror flicks ~ so I now have:
THE OMEN ~ INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS ~ ROSEMARY'S BABY
WTF? Can I get a refund??????
I think I will work on inventing something that will singe the tips of your fingers if you're in a dissociative state and *unmindfully* get on itunes.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Gracefully Insane
"Even in your pain, you WILL be okay and you are NOT crazy...in spite what you may think sometimes."
That's what the therapist said to me last May, and again last night. When she tells me I am not insane, it always makes me raise an eyebrow in her direction because clearly, dear therapist, we both know that I am insane. And if ANYONE is aware of that fact, it is her. For the love of God! In the past four years, I've interrupted her life a thousand times, left her insane borderline voicemails threatening to kill myself, sent hateful borderline emails, OD'd and cut myself in the parking lot of her office, cried, yelled, screamed, cussed her out, told her to fuck off, and begged her to help me~ and she can seriously look me in the eye and tell me I'm not crazy?
Um, I don't think so...that aside, though, I am starting to see some of the root of where the craziness has grown from ~ not that that vision has lead me gracefully into the land of the sane. I only wish that were true. Sane people do not find bottles of vicodin and wonder how many she would have to take before respiration ceases. Sane people do not lose all sense of reality and dissociate and do things they don't remember doing ~ and I don't mean not remembering a stop light on the way to work! Sane people do not have to count out anxiety and sleeping medication and hide the rest so a suididal part of her doesn't *accidentally* take them all. I ain't sane!
If I really dig deep, I think that I have always been insane, in a twisted sort of way.Starting in the 6th grade I would let boys do things to me; not because I wanted to do them, but because I thought it would hurt the evil SF if someone else touched me. I don’t know why I thought that ~ I suppose it’s the runaway thought train that rushes through my maladaptive brain even now~ when I abruptly cancel a therapy appointment out of anger, or deliberately shut the therapist out in session. Does it punish the therapist? No, Grace, it’s just you again, punishing you. See, sane people don't think that way~ not even in the 6th grade. This is a reason why you should not fuck kids ~ they go insane and then try to drive their therapists insane. It's a terrible thing, really....
Um, I don't think so...that aside, though, I am starting to see some of the root of where the craziness has grown from ~ not that that vision has lead me gracefully into the land of the sane. I only wish that were true. Sane people do not find bottles of vicodin and wonder how many she would have to take before respiration ceases. Sane people do not lose all sense of reality and dissociate and do things they don't remember doing ~ and I don't mean not remembering a stop light on the way to work! Sane people do not have to count out anxiety and sleeping medication and hide the rest so a suididal part of her doesn't *accidentally* take them all. I ain't sane!
If I really dig deep, I think that I have always been insane, in a twisted sort of way.Starting in the 6th grade I would let boys do things to me; not because I wanted to do them, but because I thought it would hurt the evil SF if someone else touched me. I don’t know why I thought that ~ I suppose it’s the runaway thought train that rushes through my maladaptive brain even now~ when I abruptly cancel a therapy appointment out of anger, or deliberately shut the therapist out in session. Does it punish the therapist? No, Grace, it’s just you again, punishing you. See, sane people don't think that way~ not even in the 6th grade. This is a reason why you should not fuck kids ~ they go insane and then try to drive their therapists insane. It's a terrible thing, really....
You are not her ~ She is not you ~ You do not have to live it...until I did, again, again, & again
Growing up I understood that my parents were not devoted to parenthood, but rather the destruction of my *being* ~ not to be confused with my ‘well-being’ ~ I mean *me*, all that is me, my very essence, my very existence. I lived in a world of shame and fear. I feared his hands, his black leather belt with the silver buckle. I lived in fear of his arms that would grip my shoulders and force me to look him straight in the eyes.
Stop making him mad, Grace. You’d better be careful, Grace. You’re the most willful child on the planet, Grace. Just a bad child. And I knew it, when I looked him in the eyes. I was evil. Of course I was and I could admit it.
But no one would ever know…because if someone knew, surely they would see me as unworthy, evil, dirty. But I told myself, “You are not her. She is not you…you do not have to live it.” And I left that place and I didn’t go back. Until that fateful day I walked by the den.
And it all came back when I saw them there…fucking like dogs in my house. And as I stood there, watching them, I could feel him again, even though he was not with me in that moment, it felt like it. I could feel him exploding though my body, in my mouth. And it's never gone away. It complicates things for me now because I have no words to describe how much it affects in my present life. The therapist tells me it is like the tide, the waves ebb in and then they flow back out and she is teaching me how to ride the waves. And I know she is right, but what I try to communicate back to her is that there are times when something now will trigger a panic inside of me that denies all reason and the waves then crash into me like a hurricane and there is no way to ride them.
Let me give you an example from today. The fam decided to run some after Christmas errands and since I hadn't been out of the house since Tuesday, I thought maybe it was a good idea. "Errands" included lunch out and I've no idea how it came up, the waitress mentioned something her mother used to cook for dinner, "Shit on a Shingle", she said (it was a real classy joint...). She went on to say that she always knew it was right before payday because they would have Shit on a Shingle (chipped beef gravy on toast... the SF cooked that in a cast iron skillet all the time) and I couldn't eat. And when we left, my face was flushed and I was choking back vomit...literally, until I choked and had to puke in the parking lot. That's the part I cannot control~ the 'external' environment...and staying in the house forever is obviously not an option.
And although I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, and when I can think logically, I understand that what he did was not my fault; many nights I am unable to find rationale and logic and on those nights I lack understanding. I find no logic in the deep, dark, murky water. And its during those times when I want to throw myself on the floor like a child and beg the therapist to keep me safe from him...to please make him stop hurting me. It's during those times when I cannot form the words because if I were to form them, speak them aloud, then I would have to admit the truth of the sins I have committed.
Stop making him mad, Grace. You’d better be careful, Grace. You’re the most willful child on the planet, Grace. Just a bad child. And I knew it, when I looked him in the eyes. I was evil. Of course I was and I could admit it.
But no one would ever know…because if someone knew, surely they would see me as unworthy, evil, dirty. But I told myself, “You are not her. She is not you…you do not have to live it.” And I left that place and I didn’t go back. Until that fateful day I walked by the den.
And it all came back when I saw them there…fucking like dogs in my house. And as I stood there, watching them, I could feel him again, even though he was not with me in that moment, it felt like it. I could feel him exploding though my body, in my mouth. And it's never gone away. It complicates things for me now because I have no words to describe how much it affects in my present life. The therapist tells me it is like the tide, the waves ebb in and then they flow back out and she is teaching me how to ride the waves. And I know she is right, but what I try to communicate back to her is that there are times when something now will trigger a panic inside of me that denies all reason and the waves then crash into me like a hurricane and there is no way to ride them.
Let me give you an example from today. The fam decided to run some after Christmas errands and since I hadn't been out of the house since Tuesday, I thought maybe it was a good idea. "Errands" included lunch out and I've no idea how it came up, the waitress mentioned something her mother used to cook for dinner, "Shit on a Shingle", she said (it was a real classy joint...). She went on to say that she always knew it was right before payday because they would have Shit on a Shingle (chipped beef gravy on toast... the SF cooked that in a cast iron skillet all the time) and I couldn't eat. And when we left, my face was flushed and I was choking back vomit...literally, until I choked and had to puke in the parking lot. That's the part I cannot control~ the 'external' environment...and staying in the house forever is obviously not an option.
And although I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, and when I can think logically, I understand that what he did was not my fault; many nights I am unable to find rationale and logic and on those nights I lack understanding. I find no logic in the deep, dark, murky water. And its during those times when I want to throw myself on the floor like a child and beg the therapist to keep me safe from him...to please make him stop hurting me. It's during those times when I cannot form the words because if I were to form them, speak them aloud, then I would have to admit the truth of the sins I have committed.
Do you ever wonder what the quality of *life* will be like when you die?
Recently, I was engaged in a conversation with the therapist about what happens after you die. Who doesn’t think about death sometimes and whether there is truly a heaven and/or a hell ~ if there’s really a bright light, if you’ll see your ‘loved ones’ again, or if it’s really just *lights out*…like an eternal sleep kinda thing.
Being the capricious *crazyhead* that I can be, I think different things at different times. Sometimes I find myself fascinated by the subject, especially when I have an acute flair-up from my chronic trauma brain and I’m unable to find even a moment of relief, mentally or physically. It’s in those moments I wonder what it’s like to be ‘dead’.
No one really knows, right?
No one comes back after dying and says “Hey – I was dead for 3 days and death is like club med!” No one ever gets a postcard from someone who died that reads, “It’s hot ~ bring a fan."
You don’t get an itinerary emailed to you a week prior to your death.
… there’s nothing ‘helpful’ so you can be ‘prepared’.
Last week's conversation between the therapist and the crazy brain which played out something like this:
Crazybrain: Sometimes I think I’d like to die because I just need it to stop.
The therapist: What do you think it’s like after you die?
Crazybrain: Quiet…nothing. I don’t really believe in reincarnation (I don’t think) but I can’t imagine death is worse than living like this.
The therapist: But you don’t know that…what if death is worse than life? What if it’s worse?
Crazybrain: I don’t think it’s worse. (at this point, Crazybrain goes way off into left field, as she often does…) I sometimes think my dog is my grandfather reincarnated. He seems really sensitive to my feelings and always tries to comfort me when I’m sad or troubled. (of course, this statement was made AFTER Crazybrain told the therapist that she didn’t think she believed in reincarnation. (Told ya ~ Crazybrain’s thinking pattern can sometimes be a bit erratic.)..I may have also said something to the effect of having a séance (in a joking kinda way).
The therapist: (always trying to follow Crazybrain’s lead...not always easy) …Yeah, pets are sensitive to human emotions.
So last night I was once again contemplating what it’s like to be dead (this was after cleaning my closet and finding a bottle of vicodin left over from a broken bone ~ no ~ I did not take the vicodin). Anyway, reflecting back to the conversation with the therapist, Crazybrain was somewhat troubled that the therapist actually thought death could be more painful than life, and she picked up the phone, dialed the therapist’s number and left a message about how it is really distressing that the therapist thinks death could be worse than living like *this* ~ and that she, Crazybrain, did not believe that could possibly be true! Yeah, um, your guess as to why this surfaced last night is as good as mine ~ I suspect it had something to do with the vicodin….but I’m still not sure).
A couple of hours later, the therapist sent an email (it was Friday ~ so current *standard* protocal between therapist and Crazybrain). And in her email, she wrote, “I heard from your voice mail this evening that you are fighting another night and that you are angry that I remain in question as to what the quality of life will be like after death (better or worse, etc.). This is simply my view and of course does not have to be yours.”
At the time of receipt, Crazybrain had already traveled to far into crazyworld and was not really in a position read and absorb what the therapist had said in her email; but this morning, while Crazybrain was still asleep, I read what the therapist wrote and it struck me funny: The quality of *life* after death?
Being the capricious *crazyhead* that I can be, I think different things at different times. Sometimes I find myself fascinated by the subject, especially when I have an acute flair-up from my chronic trauma brain and I’m unable to find even a moment of relief, mentally or physically. It’s in those moments I wonder what it’s like to be ‘dead’.
No one really knows, right?
No one comes back after dying and says “Hey – I was dead for 3 days and death is like club med!” No one ever gets a postcard from someone who died that reads, “It’s hot ~ bring a fan."
You don’t get an itinerary emailed to you a week prior to your death.
… there’s nothing ‘helpful’ so you can be ‘prepared’.
Last week's conversation between the therapist and the crazy brain which played out something like this:
Crazybrain: Sometimes I think I’d like to die because I just need it to stop.
The therapist: What do you think it’s like after you die?
Crazybrain: Quiet…nothing. I don’t really believe in reincarnation (I don’t think) but I can’t imagine death is worse than living like this.
The therapist: But you don’t know that…what if death is worse than life? What if it’s worse?
Crazybrain: I don’t think it’s worse. (at this point, Crazybrain goes way off into left field, as she often does…) I sometimes think my dog is my grandfather reincarnated. He seems really sensitive to my feelings and always tries to comfort me when I’m sad or troubled. (of course, this statement was made AFTER Crazybrain told the therapist that she didn’t think she believed in reincarnation. (Told ya ~ Crazybrain’s thinking pattern can sometimes be a bit erratic.)..I may have also said something to the effect of having a séance (in a joking kinda way).
The therapist: (always trying to follow Crazybrain’s lead...not always easy) …Yeah, pets are sensitive to human emotions.
So last night I was once again contemplating what it’s like to be dead (this was after cleaning my closet and finding a bottle of vicodin left over from a broken bone ~ no ~ I did not take the vicodin). Anyway, reflecting back to the conversation with the therapist, Crazybrain was somewhat troubled that the therapist actually thought death could be more painful than life, and she picked up the phone, dialed the therapist’s number and left a message about how it is really distressing that the therapist thinks death could be worse than living like *this* ~ and that she, Crazybrain, did not believe that could possibly be true! Yeah, um, your guess as to why this surfaced last night is as good as mine ~ I suspect it had something to do with the vicodin….but I’m still not sure).
A couple of hours later, the therapist sent an email (it was Friday ~ so current *standard* protocal between therapist and Crazybrain). And in her email, she wrote, “I heard from your voice mail this evening that you are fighting another night and that you are angry that I remain in question as to what the quality of life will be like after death (better or worse, etc.). This is simply my view and of course does not have to be yours.”
At the time of receipt, Crazybrain had already traveled to far into crazyworld and was not really in a position read and absorb what the therapist had said in her email; but this morning, while Crazybrain was still asleep, I read what the therapist wrote and it struck me funny: The quality of *life* after death?
Is there a QUALITY of LIFE after death? Or, are you just “dead”.
What if it's like an eternity of downloading episodes of Hannah Montana on my daughter's IPOD? Crap!
What if it's like an eternity of downloading episodes of Hannah Montana on my daughter's IPOD? Crap!
Maybe I’ll ask my dog….
Friday, December 25, 2009
How are you *feeling* today, Grace? Well, DT, let me check the chart....
The therapist has this *feeling* chart up on her wall (who's therapist doesn't, right?) ~ I look at it sometimes although it's on the same wall as the couch so it's difficult to see ~ I'd suggest she move it ~ but you know how us *crazyheads* are ~ we don't like change - so it's probably not a good idea. Anyway, I was thinking about that chart today, and how hard it is for me to even know how I'm "feeling" at any given point in time. Today I feel like a big fat fucking failure ~ yep ~ that's how I *FEEL* ~ I can't find that on the chart, dear therapist...does that mean I'm not *allowed* to FEEL that way? Cuz I do!
Yup ~ big fat fucking failure...that would be a combination of many of these stupid-ass faces!
Fuck it! Who cares! I sure don't!!!
Fuck it! Who cares! I sure don't!!!
This is just a terrible time and we just have to get through it. But how?
My life here is not a secret. The Grace in this blog is a lot more of me than I would ever reveal in my real life. Writing what I write here, expressing what and how I feel, is far beyond what I would ever reveal in real life ~ even to my close friends. I cannot remember the last time I let anyone see me cry or let them see the pain I go through (exception being the therapist). But here I am, typing away, open and raw. The painful truth that is me...and that truth is that I am in pain. I pray to just sleep now so I can get relief from the pain. I pray for answers and solutions because I know that long-term sleeping isn’t the answer and I really want to feel better but in my present moment I am settling for any relief I can find. I’m grateful to have this outlet, a way to express what I cannot say aloud, or show to anyone in my real life. It is difficult for me to allow people to see this side of me, to be vulnerable, even on-line. It is certainly not something I can do in real life.
Right now I feel like I am standing above a tornado, watching it wreck mayhem on the girl who was me. But I am beyond expecting anything right now. With every step there is a twist, every fork in the road feels like a dead end. I am ready to fight. I am ready to get past this. It all still mystifies me; how this happens. Just I begin to feel better, things are going well, I can control my thoughts and maintain control over the crazies who dwell within ~ then suddenly it’s like a hammer crashes into my head and a g-force of reality rains down. I had myself convinced that I was better. The hardest part was finally over and the next part will be a breeze! Then it all catches up with me again...I cannot outrun it.
I thought taking this time off from work was a good idea. But I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that it might do more harm than good. Each night I just feel empty and drawn...haven’t I felt enough already? Is there anything left to feel? I feel desperate for relief. It is so hard to find hope and promise when you can’t seem to see past the thick fog of the pain. And it still amazes me how *crazyhead* can manifest itself inside me causing not just mental anguish but also phsyical torment. The first thing I did this morning before coming downstairs to watch DS & DD open presents is vomit until my stomach muscles ache. And the queasiness and headache will not go away.
And it's overwhelming, you know? It's just too much. All of it running through my head ~ horrible things that I cannot even write here. And I want to talk to the therapist about it - I do - because I know I need her help. But when I picture myself sitting there, on her couch, actually speaking aloud the horrible disgusting things from my past and my present - I imagine her sitting there, disgusted with me...she wouldn't be able to handle it. She wouldn't. And I cannot fathom how I would feel to see a look of disgust on her face. To have her see me, Grace, as I truly am...so I am stuck in this terrible paradox ~ needing her help but not being able to express to her what I need help with.
I am trying to see past this time of pain and once again find hope, find joy in life and let other people IRL help me when I am lost. There must be a solution...so what is it? Maybe I’ll go lie down and explore answers to that question. I had better find something quick ~ because it is Friday once again.
Right now I feel like I am standing above a tornado, watching it wreck mayhem on the girl who was me. But I am beyond expecting anything right now. With every step there is a twist, every fork in the road feels like a dead end. I am ready to fight. I am ready to get past this. It all still mystifies me; how this happens. Just I begin to feel better, things are going well, I can control my thoughts and maintain control over the crazies who dwell within ~ then suddenly it’s like a hammer crashes into my head and a g-force of reality rains down. I had myself convinced that I was better. The hardest part was finally over and the next part will be a breeze! Then it all catches up with me again...I cannot outrun it.
I thought taking this time off from work was a good idea. But I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that it might do more harm than good. Each night I just feel empty and drawn...haven’t I felt enough already? Is there anything left to feel? I feel desperate for relief. It is so hard to find hope and promise when you can’t seem to see past the thick fog of the pain. And it still amazes me how *crazyhead* can manifest itself inside me causing not just mental anguish but also phsyical torment. The first thing I did this morning before coming downstairs to watch DS & DD open presents is vomit until my stomach muscles ache. And the queasiness and headache will not go away.
And it's overwhelming, you know? It's just too much. All of it running through my head ~ horrible things that I cannot even write here. And I want to talk to the therapist about it - I do - because I know I need her help. But when I picture myself sitting there, on her couch, actually speaking aloud the horrible disgusting things from my past and my present - I imagine her sitting there, disgusted with me...she wouldn't be able to handle it. She wouldn't. And I cannot fathom how I would feel to see a look of disgust on her face. To have her see me, Grace, as I truly am...so I am stuck in this terrible paradox ~ needing her help but not being able to express to her what I need help with.
I am trying to see past this time of pain and once again find hope, find joy in life and let other people IRL help me when I am lost. There must be a solution...so what is it? Maybe I’ll go lie down and explore answers to that question. I had better find something quick ~ because it is Friday once again.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
You say that I'm the boy, who can make it all come true....
I feel really bad after my last confession about the hus not even knowing me after being married for 15 years. That's not really fair to him. He had no idea what he was marrying. He thought he was the boy who could make all my dreams come true....He had no idea of the nightmares I had already lived through. All he wanted was a "normal" life ~ a normal family...the white picket fence, lots of kids and the big family dog...and I can't even give him that. I can't even do that right. Stamp a big *you fail* sign on my forehead. It isn't his fault ~ it's mine.
I have fallen ~ and there doesn't seem to be a way to be redeemed...
I was just telling a friend of mine that there is so much running through my head and it is preventing me from sleeping. Which I suppose is okay since it's Christmas Eve and I need to be "present" for my children. And the therapist would tell me to stop "indulging" and live up to my responsibilities....(Like anyone ever "mirrored" that for me!) The therapist would probably tell me to stop listening to music that seems to make me feel even more depressed ~ but here I am, anyway, head phones on, listening anyway. Not to be contrary ~ PAG is not in charge right now.
But I feel so effing worthless and sad right now. Here I sit in the midst of two Christmas trees, a mantle full of poinsettas and lights, garland strung on the banisters, frosty jingling behind me and I cannot FEEL any of it. And I want to FEEL it right now! I want to feel all the good things in my life ~ and I can't, which makes me even more frustrated. And the only way to force it is to hit the liquor cabinet (which I have not yet ruled out).
I don't think I intentionally planned it this way but the holidays are usually very busy here...DS and the hus both have birthdays in December ~ DDs birthday is in January as is my 15th anniversary. And I can't get caught up in it this year! I want to and I can't. And my grandpa would have been 100 years old tomorrow, on Christmas day.
And here I sit thinking how I have been married to a man for 15 years and he does not even know me and I'm wondering how that happened. But the reality is, no one really knows me... He loves who he "thinks" Grace is...but I am not really that person at all. And it's really tiring for me to keep pretending to be her after 15 years.
It's been a long long week ~ and it's not even Friday....I guess I got caught up in the suburban fantasy...it happens...I have fallen and the past can't be undone.
I messed up...I don't feel well at all tonight...not at all...
But I feel so effing worthless and sad right now. Here I sit in the midst of two Christmas trees, a mantle full of poinsettas and lights, garland strung on the banisters, frosty jingling behind me and I cannot FEEL any of it. And I want to FEEL it right now! I want to feel all the good things in my life ~ and I can't, which makes me even more frustrated. And the only way to force it is to hit the liquor cabinet (which I have not yet ruled out).
I don't think I intentionally planned it this way but the holidays are usually very busy here...DS and the hus both have birthdays in December ~ DDs birthday is in January as is my 15th anniversary. And I can't get caught up in it this year! I want to and I can't. And my grandpa would have been 100 years old tomorrow, on Christmas day.
And here I sit thinking how I have been married to a man for 15 years and he does not even know me and I'm wondering how that happened. But the reality is, no one really knows me... He loves who he "thinks" Grace is...but I am not really that person at all. And it's really tiring for me to keep pretending to be her after 15 years.
It's been a long long week ~ and it's not even Friday....I guess I got caught up in the suburban fantasy...it happens...I have fallen and the past can't be undone.
I messed up...I don't feel well at all tonight...not at all...
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
I am still in pieces...
It still hurts I am still broken and it never goes away. I don't understand why no one ever says, "It's going to be okay. You're going to be okay and you are not broken." Nobody ever did that. Nobody ever held me and told me I would be okay, that I would be safe, that he wouldn't hurt me anymore.
I am still broken into a million pieces. And I cannot put myself back together again.
I am still broken into a million pieces. And I cannot put myself back together again.
Avoid Life! It'll kill you in the end...
I have been sleeping off and on since Saturday…more ‘on’ than ‘off’…and I still don’t feel *rested*. The dissociation at night is bad again so it’s better to take the sleeping meds in an effort to ward off any borderline rants ~ they eventually take effect and I wake up, blood-free, somewhere and then try to find my way to bed after taking more. I got up after 11 today and have slept most of the afternoon.
It feels as though I am constantly fighting against the winds of fear and paranoia so I try to avoid the peaks by taking sleeping pills and going to bed. The darkness still invades my sleep but the more medicated I am the less I remember any dreams. I don't know what happened to me. I had gotten myself to a point where I could actually function most days. I had nights when I wasn’t in dreadful pain, or weighed down by the fear and panic. But now I have that gut-wrenching feeling again, the one where you feel like the bottom drops out from underneath your feet and your heart is racing and your stomach is in your throat. I cannot get warm or comfortable, in spite of the down comforters and pillows and the giant golden retriever I surround myself with.
It feels as though I am constantly fighting against the winds of fear and paranoia so I try to avoid the peaks by taking sleeping pills and going to bed. The darkness still invades my sleep but the more medicated I am the less I remember any dreams. I don't know what happened to me. I had gotten myself to a point where I could actually function most days. I had nights when I wasn’t in dreadful pain, or weighed down by the fear and panic. But now I have that gut-wrenching feeling again, the one where you feel like the bottom drops out from underneath your feet and your heart is racing and your stomach is in your throat. I cannot get warm or comfortable, in spite of the down comforters and pillows and the giant golden retriever I surround myself with.
But of course everything has to come to an end, right?
So for now I am avoiding life. I don’t know why I feel like my entire sense of security has suddenly disappeared. I know there is so much more than this and still I find myself so afraid that I will not find it. I know I have a purpose, I know that somewhere I still have drive and ambition. But there is that nagging voice in my head who tells me that maybe I’m not strong enough, that maybe all of this is for nothing and this is as good as it gets. That’s what scares me. Because the truth is I don’t know my purpose.
For now I have to sleep because when I am awake I feel snowed under and paralyzed.
And I’m really tired.
And I’m really tired.
Rock a Bye Angel
Rock-a-bye angel soon you will fall
Soon your tears will be known to all.
Rock-a-bye angel please don't cry
Just close your eyes and say goodbye
Rock-a-bye angel say your prayers
Say goodbye to taunts and stares
Goodbye to those who never cared
Rock-a-bye angel fallen from the sky
Just take the pills and close your eyes
Soon your tears will be known to all.
Rock-a-bye angel please don't cry
Just close your eyes and say goodbye
Rock-a-bye angel say your prayers
Say goodbye to taunts and stares
Goodbye to those who never cared
Rock-a-bye angel fallen from the sky
Just take the pills and close your eyes
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
The *Room* we don't speak of....
You like, I could draw you a picture...but we don't speak of it....It's too scary.
Grace is bad.
Grace is bad.
You keep on knocking but I am still afraid to let you in...
Last night I left a voicemail for the therapist telling her I was not able to come to session today because I cannot leave the house. She left me a response telling me that it's not a good idea for me to miss session and that I sounded really upset and overwhelmed…and that I could call her if I would like help "problem solving" and developing an action plan to get myself out of bed, and then out of the house. But what the therapist doesn’t seem to understand is that I don’t want to get out of bed, nor do I have any desire to leave the house. I don’t want to get dressed or leave my bed at all. I want to take a sleeping pill and go to sleep – and when I wake up – I want to take another sleeping pill and go to sleep – and over and over and over again, until it stops. And even if I show up for my appointment ~ I’m just going to go back home and climb back into bed and go back to sleep. And she has always told me I should listen to my body and do what my body tells me to do, and right now, it is telling me to sleep 24/7. But then last night she asked me, “Do you know the difference between indulgence and doing just what your body needs?” Evidently not, DT, clearly I do not... Very confusing....because I know that if I do not stay asleep ~ something terrible and irreversable is going to happen to me, by me.
But I called her back so we could ‘develop a plan’ to get my ass out of the house and onto her couch…and I told her I would do my best. I love it when she tells me that if I don’t show up and it’s less than 24 hours, I have to pay anyway…and I retort: it ain’t about the money, DT, I don’t give a shit about the money. I’d pay my entire retirement fund (and believe me, it’s significant!...and it's not a big gamble ~ because she and I both know I ain't going to live that long) for a “happy pill” that will make me forget all this shit and give me the ability to move on with my life, pain free. $120.00 bucks does not mean shit to me! Add in the $50.00 I had to pay someone to watch my kids? Still a drop in the *bucket*. I may be one generation away from poor white trash…but believe me, I make enough money in a month to pay for the trailor I grew up in! It ain’t about the money!
I did show up. I wanted to wear my jams but I thought the sitter might question where I might be going to pajamas…and the only answer I could come up with was: my shrink’s for a slumber party (?). So I got dressed, drank some coffee and found my way to the therapist’s couch.
I sat there on her couch, and I was so tired and so sick to my stomach that I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to be back in my bed, asleep! And she would not let me look at the therapist because the therapist is good and we are bad. That’s when the therapist said, “Grace, there is nothing you can tell me that I cannot hear. I can take and accept anything you want to tell me. I will not see you differently.” Really? Because when I name dropped (compared myself to someone…a *famous* whore) she said she didn’t even know who that was…Yeah, me either…Gawd love the therapist...she is so cute and innocent – yeah, I’m sure I could never say anything that has happened to me, or that I’ve done, that would make the therapist blush, or puke into the trash can next to her desk. No – nothing ~ yeah, right! You just don't KNOW enough DT. And I don't know if you ever will.
I wish I could say I feel better tonight…but regrettably, that is not the case. I am barely breathing…in fact, it’s nearly 7:00pm so I think I will go to bed. I don't feel well tonight, not at all...
While I was dressed and out of the house I did mange to get a few presents for DS & DD ~ and I let them wrap each other's tonight and put them under the tree...so at least that's done. But I am not leaving the house again this year. And I told the therapist I cannot make an appointment for next week because I've no one to watch the kids and I'm not taking them.
No – DT, I still do not know the difference between what my body “needs” and “indulgence”…my body doesn’t talk to me like maybe yours does. But I do know that I have to stay asleep to "stay safe" right now. I do know that much, DT ~ to "stay alive" and not call you, or anyone in a "crisis" I must stay asleep.
The good news is that I am on vacation for 2 weeks ~ that's 2 weeks straight I can sleep and not get dressed ~ so I'd better make sure I have enough meds to make that happen- I'm pretty sure I do....
But I called her back so we could ‘develop a plan’ to get my ass out of the house and onto her couch…and I told her I would do my best. I love it when she tells me that if I don’t show up and it’s less than 24 hours, I have to pay anyway…and I retort: it ain’t about the money, DT, I don’t give a shit about the money. I’d pay my entire retirement fund (and believe me, it’s significant!...and it's not a big gamble ~ because she and I both know I ain't going to live that long) for a “happy pill” that will make me forget all this shit and give me the ability to move on with my life, pain free. $120.00 bucks does not mean shit to me! Add in the $50.00 I had to pay someone to watch my kids? Still a drop in the *bucket*. I may be one generation away from poor white trash…but believe me, I make enough money in a month to pay for the trailor I grew up in! It ain’t about the money!
I did show up. I wanted to wear my jams but I thought the sitter might question where I might be going to pajamas…and the only answer I could come up with was: my shrink’s for a slumber party (?). So I got dressed, drank some coffee and found my way to the therapist’s couch.
I sat there on her couch, and I was so tired and so sick to my stomach that I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to be back in my bed, asleep! And she would not let me look at the therapist because the therapist is good and we are bad. That’s when the therapist said, “Grace, there is nothing you can tell me that I cannot hear. I can take and accept anything you want to tell me. I will not see you differently.” Really? Because when I name dropped (compared myself to someone…a *famous* whore) she said she didn’t even know who that was…Yeah, me either…Gawd love the therapist...she is so cute and innocent – yeah, I’m sure I could never say anything that has happened to me, or that I’ve done, that would make the therapist blush, or puke into the trash can next to her desk. No – nothing ~ yeah, right! You just don't KNOW enough DT. And I don't know if you ever will.
I wish I could say I feel better tonight…but regrettably, that is not the case. I am barely breathing…in fact, it’s nearly 7:00pm so I think I will go to bed. I don't feel well tonight, not at all...
While I was dressed and out of the house I did mange to get a few presents for DS & DD ~ and I let them wrap each other's tonight and put them under the tree...so at least that's done. But I am not leaving the house again this year. And I told the therapist I cannot make an appointment for next week because I've no one to watch the kids and I'm not taking them.
No – DT, I still do not know the difference between what my body “needs” and “indulgence”…my body doesn’t talk to me like maybe yours does. But I do know that I have to stay asleep to "stay safe" right now. I do know that much, DT ~ to "stay alive" and not call you, or anyone in a "crisis" I must stay asleep.
The good news is that I am on vacation for 2 weeks ~ that's 2 weeks straight I can sleep and not get dressed ~ so I'd better make sure I have enough meds to make that happen- I'm pretty sure I do....
My body and I ~ we are not connected. And I don’t know how to make that happen.
I had *crazyhead* on Friday
Last Friday I got confused between then and now. I thought I was past that but obviously I'm not.
Because it happened again. I was 9 when my mother took my little brother and went away for 2 weeks with my biological father and left me with the evil step-father. And last Friday I got *crazyhead* early in the evening and when I was talking to the therapist I cried and told her she couldn't help me. And I got confused. The therapist was suddenly the host body and she left me with the evil kid-f'ing SF. And I told the therapist I did not need her and she could not help me and I hung up on her. And I don't remember much else after that.
I don't know how to get the crazy out of my head. I need to find a cure soon ~ because although I didn't find any cuts/scabs/burns later...this last case of the crazies was worse than most.
I can't get out of bed now...all I want to do is stay asleep...I just want to sleep...
Because it happened again. I was 9 when my mother took my little brother and went away for 2 weeks with my biological father and left me with the evil step-father. And last Friday I got *crazyhead* early in the evening and when I was talking to the therapist I cried and told her she couldn't help me. And I got confused. The therapist was suddenly the host body and she left me with the evil kid-f'ing SF. And I told the therapist I did not need her and she could not help me and I hung up on her. And I don't remember much else after that.
I don't know how to get the crazy out of my head. I need to find a cure soon ~ because although I didn't find any cuts/scabs/burns later...this last case of the crazies was worse than most.
I can't get out of bed now...all I want to do is stay asleep...I just want to sleep...
Monday, December 21, 2009
I am hanging on to the words you say ~ that I am not crazy, and I will be okay
"You are not crazy and you will be okay". I am holding tightly onto your words, dear therapist. I have hidden them under my tear stained pillow where they can be easily reached when I wake up in terror and confusion.
Last Friday night was the worst I’ve experienced in a long time. I know in part it was due to the shameful disclosures I made in the therapist’s office, but there is more to it than that. And I have been trying to put the puzzle together, yet there are still missing pieces lost in the darkness, and it seems as though I have caught another case of trauma brain, in addition to a head cold. As you know *borderline freak outs* are a common side effect of trauma brain and I appreciate her endless patience when dealing with PAG. I understand there is no reasoning with her, which is why I choose to leave when she comes around.
I am sorry that I told the therapist that she doesn’t “get it” ~ that wasn’t fair, and I am sorry for hanging up on her and telling her that I do not need anything from her, including her ‘support’. Last Friday when I was talking to her the giddy sound in her voice and the fact that I perceived she called me back in front of the BF made me feel even more ashamed and embarrassed. And she sounded so happy and from my perspective not in a place where she could possibly understand that Grace’s internal security threat level had gone from a barely supportable ‘orange’ to unendurable “RED” and yet I had no way to communicate that to her because…well, I don’t really know why, exactly…I can only hypothesize and surmise and draw my own conclusions drawn from assumptions and guesswork:
1. I was angry that the therapist called me back from her BF’s house (although, I have to say I do like him better than the fossil – obviously he has email and a dog – and anyone who loves dogs is a-ok in my book) but I didn’t want to be a high-maintenance pain in the ass ~ or rain on her *happy parade* especially since she sounded so giggly and happy and I was in hell.
2. The kids were not home on Friday night and I knew that would make it worse for me ~ they are at least a distraction for part of the night.
3. The hus had already made some inferences that had kicked the 5 year old fear into full defcon 5 trauma brain.
4. I could not regain control of any situation on Friday night. I was not able to control what came out of my mouth, or what my body would do. Nothing! And the later it got ~ the worse it got. I could not stay in my body, or mind, for even 10 minutes.
5. I was not able to soothe any part of me or find any safety at all.
6. I felt like an inconvenience ~ she did not say that...in fact, she was trying to help me, but I felt like an inconvenience because…well, because that’s how I’ve always felt when I need help.
7. ....and other stuff
I know at one point on Friday night I was talking to my friend Lynn on one phone and the therapist on another…but I remember only a snippet of each conversation. It was all surreal – like I was not attached to my body at all – and I couldn’t feel anything, but could see what was happening- and it was complete chaos. I felt like the body I was seeing was dead and there were these people around her trying to help her live but she couldn’t understand them. And it was so loud and chaotic and confusing that I could not handle any of it so I stopped watching because it was weird and scary and tiring and no one could make that girl understand anything – and she just wanted it all to stop. The next thing I remember was the hus waking me up outside at 3am – wondering what the hell I was doing outside, as was I.
And just as I told the therapist she doesn’t “get” what it’s like for me at night, I surely cannot “get” what it must be like for her to try to figure out where I am and what’s going on when I cannot communicate with her and we are on the phone so it’s not like she can ‘see me’ – and I certainly do not “get” what it’s like for her to get a frantic phone call from me when I am in that state…and it’s discouraging because I thought I was doing better. I really did.
And I couldn’t deal with any of it the rest of the weekend so I just stayed in bed. But I’m still holding on…the therapist told me that I will be okay and I am not crazy. I am holding onto her words right now. Because I do not feel okay ~ and I do feel crazy. I feel like I am falling apart…
Last Friday night was the worst I’ve experienced in a long time. I know in part it was due to the shameful disclosures I made in the therapist’s office, but there is more to it than that. And I have been trying to put the puzzle together, yet there are still missing pieces lost in the darkness, and it seems as though I have caught another case of trauma brain, in addition to a head cold. As you know *borderline freak outs* are a common side effect of trauma brain and I appreciate her endless patience when dealing with PAG. I understand there is no reasoning with her, which is why I choose to leave when she comes around.
I am sorry that I told the therapist that she doesn’t “get it” ~ that wasn’t fair, and I am sorry for hanging up on her and telling her that I do not need anything from her, including her ‘support’. Last Friday when I was talking to her the giddy sound in her voice and the fact that I perceived she called me back in front of the BF made me feel even more ashamed and embarrassed. And she sounded so happy and from my perspective not in a place where she could possibly understand that Grace’s internal security threat level had gone from a barely supportable ‘orange’ to unendurable “RED” and yet I had no way to communicate that to her because…well, I don’t really know why, exactly…I can only hypothesize and surmise and draw my own conclusions drawn from assumptions and guesswork:
1. I was angry that the therapist called me back from her BF’s house (although, I have to say I do like him better than the fossil – obviously he has email and a dog – and anyone who loves dogs is a-ok in my book) but I didn’t want to be a high-maintenance pain in the ass ~ or rain on her *happy parade* especially since she sounded so giggly and happy and I was in hell.
2. The kids were not home on Friday night and I knew that would make it worse for me ~ they are at least a distraction for part of the night.
3. The hus had already made some inferences that had kicked the 5 year old fear into full defcon 5 trauma brain.
4. I could not regain control of any situation on Friday night. I was not able to control what came out of my mouth, or what my body would do. Nothing! And the later it got ~ the worse it got. I could not stay in my body, or mind, for even 10 minutes.
5. I was not able to soothe any part of me or find any safety at all.
6. I felt like an inconvenience ~ she did not say that...in fact, she was trying to help me, but I felt like an inconvenience because…well, because that’s how I’ve always felt when I need help.
7. ....and other stuff
I know at one point on Friday night I was talking to my friend Lynn on one phone and the therapist on another…but I remember only a snippet of each conversation. It was all surreal – like I was not attached to my body at all – and I couldn’t feel anything, but could see what was happening- and it was complete chaos. I felt like the body I was seeing was dead and there were these people around her trying to help her live but she couldn’t understand them. And it was so loud and chaotic and confusing that I could not handle any of it so I stopped watching because it was weird and scary and tiring and no one could make that girl understand anything – and she just wanted it all to stop. The next thing I remember was the hus waking me up outside at 3am – wondering what the hell I was doing outside, as was I.
And just as I told the therapist she doesn’t “get” what it’s like for me at night, I surely cannot “get” what it must be like for her to try to figure out where I am and what’s going on when I cannot communicate with her and we are on the phone so it’s not like she can ‘see me’ – and I certainly do not “get” what it’s like for her to get a frantic phone call from me when I am in that state…and it’s discouraging because I thought I was doing better. I really did.
And I couldn’t deal with any of it the rest of the weekend so I just stayed in bed. But I’m still holding on…the therapist told me that I will be okay and I am not crazy. I am holding onto her words right now. Because I do not feel okay ~ and I do feel crazy. I feel like I am falling apart…
And the best you can hope for is to die in your sleep...
Right now I'd rather turn around and walk away forever…make that RUN. It's much easier than facing the truth. I will do virtually anything to keep from ‘feeling’ the searing pain that has manifested itself in my soul in both my 'past' and 'present moment'...and it has made me so very tired. And frankly I don’t know how to survive right now. I have nothing left~ I lack the energy to even make it through the days. So I have been taking advantage of the copious amount of anti-anxiety drugs that PDOC so graciously prescribed for me during *times like these* (aka: “crazy grace” times).
Every hand is a winner and every hand’s a loser…and I have come to the decision that the winning hand for me is to stay asleep as much as possible. I haven’t been feeling well physically – perhaps a cold from sleeping outside until after 3am on Friday night in the below freezing weather...I am not really sure.
And the fact is that I have been plagued by nightmares when awake and asleep. Sunday morning I opened my eyes for the first time at 11:30am and not even a strong cup of coffee could keep me awake and functioning, so I saw the light for only a short time. Why fight it ~ isn’t that what the therapist would say? “Grace, listen to your body and if you need to sleep 22 hours out of the day, then *be okay* with that." So I have been listening to this sluggish, disgusting, hurting body telling me to just take the drugs and go to sleep. And take enough of them to ensure we all stay asleep.
The drugs do not prevent the nightmares but somehow make them more bearable, if that makes any sense at all. I still feel fear, still wake up in a cold sweat with my heart pounding, but right now it is still more tolerable than being awake.
I don’t think I have been this numb to the reality of life in a long time. I have been 'present' and 'in my body' and 'aware' of my surroundings for about 10 minutes the entire weekend. I'm okay with that because in this body is the last place I want to be right now. I’ve done zero Christmas shopping for my children. An inner critic is screaming about the Christmas shopping thing and yet I still cannot seem to rid my brain of the infinite dark cloudiness in my head long enough to even muster up the cognitive ability to order anything from Amazon.
And so I have a bedside table with the necessities to make it through the rest of this festive holiday season: bottles of seroquel, lorazapam, xanax and a bottle of water to wash them down with...and a bottle of wine and some vodka...if need be. I just want to be totally and completely 100% numb for now.
Every hand is a winner and every hand’s a loser…and I have come to the decision that the winning hand for me is to stay asleep as much as possible. I haven’t been feeling well physically – perhaps a cold from sleeping outside until after 3am on Friday night in the below freezing weather...I am not really sure.
And the fact is that I have been plagued by nightmares when awake and asleep. Sunday morning I opened my eyes for the first time at 11:30am and not even a strong cup of coffee could keep me awake and functioning, so I saw the light for only a short time. Why fight it ~ isn’t that what the therapist would say? “Grace, listen to your body and if you need to sleep 22 hours out of the day, then *be okay* with that." So I have been listening to this sluggish, disgusting, hurting body telling me to just take the drugs and go to sleep. And take enough of them to ensure we all stay asleep.
The drugs do not prevent the nightmares but somehow make them more bearable, if that makes any sense at all. I still feel fear, still wake up in a cold sweat with my heart pounding, but right now it is still more tolerable than being awake.
I don’t think I have been this numb to the reality of life in a long time. I have been 'present' and 'in my body' and 'aware' of my surroundings for about 10 minutes the entire weekend. I'm okay with that because in this body is the last place I want to be right now. I’ve done zero Christmas shopping for my children. An inner critic is screaming about the Christmas shopping thing and yet I still cannot seem to rid my brain of the infinite dark cloudiness in my head long enough to even muster up the cognitive ability to order anything from Amazon.
I am tired ~ drained ~ unwell
I wish I could talk about what has happened but I cannot. So please forgive me if I check out for a while...I did not plan this ~ but it is what it is ~ and I cannot change it right this minute. I amdiscouraged, angry, frustrated, fearful, confused...and I cannot face any of that right now.
And so I have a bedside table with the necessities to make it through the rest of this festive holiday season: bottles of seroquel, lorazapam, xanax and a bottle of water to wash them down with...and a bottle of wine and some vodka...if need be. I just want to be totally and completely 100% numb for now.
What? Grace, I thought you were past that? Yeah, me too…but I was wrong.
Now the best I can hope for is to turn toward the window and hope that somewhere in the darkess, I, like the gambler, will *break even*~ because I'm currently out of aces...
Friday, December 18, 2009
Everyone has secrets, right?
Everyone has something they are ashamed of, right? Everyone has something in their in their past that they do not want anyone to know about, don't they? There is no one in the exempt category for this, is there? Even my ultra-religious, never told a lie, grandparents had a secret. They were married for 55 years and when he died, I learned that he had been married before WWII ~ I never knew that ~ neither of them ever mentioned it.
Sometimes secrets are on a 'need to know basis' ~ some secrets are on a 'never to be known' list.
Some things make me feel untouchable ~ some things I do because I don't think I have the right to say no, sometimes I lack the ability ~ sometimes I just give up. Sometimes it just doesn't matter.
Sometimes secrets are on a 'need to know basis' ~ some secrets are on a 'never to be known' list.
Some things make me feel untouchable ~ some things I do because I don't think I have the right to say no, sometimes I lack the ability ~ sometimes I just give up. Sometimes it just doesn't matter.
TEMPORARILY AWAY: relocated to the Island of Misfit Survivors
I don’t know where to go from here. I am bleeding inside and it hurts. I want the hurt to go away and yet I do not want to reach out for any type of help. I continue to struggle with the conflict inside of me, and making decisions that are not consensual with all parts of me, and the backlash that occurs as a result. Once the decision is made there is pushback and anxiety and I while I realize there are no ‘take backs’ I feel like I need to run away to the Island of Misfit Toys right now.
I want some semblance of sanity in my life. I want the pain to go away, or at least dull ~ I want the body stuff to stop and the movies to stop at night. And I know I need help for that to happen….but I don’t want help because I don’t want to depend on someone to help me, and I don’t want the vulnerability of actually talking about it. So where does that leave me? Yes, exactly! On the “Island of Misfit Survivors”, that’s where! Feelings of vulnerability compromise my ‘inner security’, which then sends out alerts to PAG, who then makes life hell, and not just for me. Who doesn’t have issues with trust and vulnerability, right? That’s not a unique quality that simply I must bear. Especially in a one-sided relationship like therapy.
My mind is reeling with the thoughts of someone else seeing the ugly death inside my body that has metastasized into all 5 foot 3 inches of me; and I'm wondering if I even have the ability and strength to try to figure out a way to communicate what I can only describe as an intense pain that cannot be expressed in the verbiage of the human language. The words simply do not exist. And even if they did I don’t know that I would be able to verbalize them.
Last night I found myself literally “Rocking around the Christmas Tree” in the quiet desperation of the darkness. And I sat on the floor, crying and wrapped in a blanket, rocking and counting the white and red lights on the tree in my living room. And when the lights would blur from the tears in my eyes, I would close my eyes, reopen them, and start again…counting and rocking…counting to save myself from shattering, counting to save myself from falling deeper into the pit of hopeless abandonment. Counting and rocking… counting to save my life.
I don’t know what I need ~ to pray harder? That doesn’t work well for me. I should ask someone to pray for me? Maybe that would work. Prayer for strength? I cannot believe I that I am doubting myself yet again just when I thought I had taken a step forward in this fight. My mind is a chaotic mess! I need to go throw up and then try to find something else to focus on. The less I think about this right now, the better.
I want some semblance of sanity in my life. I want the pain to go away, or at least dull ~ I want the body stuff to stop and the movies to stop at night. And I know I need help for that to happen….but I don’t want help because I don’t want to depend on someone to help me, and I don’t want the vulnerability of actually talking about it. So where does that leave me? Yes, exactly! On the “Island of Misfit Survivors”, that’s where! Feelings of vulnerability compromise my ‘inner security’, which then sends out alerts to PAG, who then makes life hell, and not just for me. Who doesn’t have issues with trust and vulnerability, right? That’s not a unique quality that simply I must bear. Especially in a one-sided relationship like therapy.
My mind is reeling with the thoughts of someone else seeing the ugly death inside my body that has metastasized into all 5 foot 3 inches of me; and I'm wondering if I even have the ability and strength to try to figure out a way to communicate what I can only describe as an intense pain that cannot be expressed in the verbiage of the human language. The words simply do not exist. And even if they did I don’t know that I would be able to verbalize them.
Last night I found myself literally “Rocking around the Christmas Tree” in the quiet desperation of the darkness. And I sat on the floor, crying and wrapped in a blanket, rocking and counting the white and red lights on the tree in my living room. And when the lights would blur from the tears in my eyes, I would close my eyes, reopen them, and start again…counting and rocking…counting to save myself from shattering, counting to save myself from falling deeper into the pit of hopeless abandonment. Counting and rocking… counting to save my life.
I don’t know what I need ~ to pray harder? That doesn’t work well for me. I should ask someone to pray for me? Maybe that would work. Prayer for strength? I cannot believe I that I am doubting myself yet again just when I thought I had taken a step forward in this fight. My mind is a chaotic mess! I need to go throw up and then try to find something else to focus on. The less I think about this right now, the better.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
To all the ones I've *wronged* before ~ and an extra special gift to the man to "accidentally" grabbed my ass tonight...
I had to apologize and make amends to a friend of mine this afternoon for something I said last week, as well as some unbecoming behavior exhibited in the course of the conversation. I don't remember the conversation, but I've no doubt it happened....
Late this afternoon a friend of mine walked into my office and in such a kind way she told me how nice I looked and how much she liked my sweater (I, too, think it's a great sweater ~ I wore it once on a day I had T ~ and the therapist told me it looked like a Rorschach test...Really, dear therapist, and just what did you see in the sweater pattern? ~ I guess that was a compliment coming from a shrink?) Anyway, my friend went on to tell me that the last time I wore the sweater....let me use her words, "It wasn't you!" She told me I was mean to her (well, I never!)...and I don't remember the conversation at all. She went on to tell me that I had stormed out of her office in the middle of the conversation, telling her she was acting like a shrink (Ok - I said my shrink) and when she called me a bit later I refused to talk to her. What? I'm sure she's telling the truth (must be the brain tumor) so I apologized to her and she said, "Well, it's nice to have Grace back...."
I hate it when I do things I don't remember...yesterday in T I told the therapist I thought I was doing better and I haven't had any borderline freak outs and sent her any crazy, hateful emails in a long time. And she said I did send one not too long ago...(?) WTF~ wasn't in my sent file! So I freakin' apologized to her too yesterday!
It's not been a great couple of days...in fact, I've had some of those freaky body issues, more than a few crying spells, done a couple of really stupid things (I tend to *act out* when I get really angry or feel unheard about something ~ even if I don't say out loud what that *something* is...something to do with a local police officer who came to pick up the toys we collected for the local kids and I have *priors* with him), have a horrible migraine, and a terrible case of insomnia...my mind has been racing ~ and I haven't been able to focus for a week now!
And I hate that the therapist isn't working tomororw night (although I'm sure she isn't hating having the weekend off...) because I know I'm going to need help tomorrow night ~ especially now that both DS and DD are spending the night with friends and won't be home ~ GREAT! WTF! I don't really like DH right now! But really, I don't like myself because I can't talk to him about ANYTHING! And there ain't no way I'm asking for help tomorrow night ~ not even if there's bloodshed!
Now ~ the kicker to my week, thus far! Tonight, I was shopping with a friend and this disgusting man 'accidentally' hit my shoulder and then grabbed my ass! WTF! Of course, I didn't say anything ~not even when he invaded my personal space at the cash register later, loudly proclaiming how he was shopping for his 'god-daughter' and 'aunt' ~ I care because???? Again, WTF? What the hell gave him to right to grab my ass and fuck up my night!? Of course, marsha dear, would tell me no one but me can eff up my night and I should let it go....cuz I sure can't change it...but it has jacked up my already messed up week!
I am SSSOOOOO a grown-up and I am NOT reaching out for help! Not tonight or tomorrow or the next night! I can and will do this on my own! And I don't care of that does mean some 'maladaptive' behavior and bloodshed! I don't care!!!!!
And what I'd really like is a martini right now! Where the hell is that demon bartender???? Make it a double ~ STAT!!!!!
F**K!!! SH*T!!!!!! DAMN!!!!!!
Late this afternoon a friend of mine walked into my office and in such a kind way she told me how nice I looked and how much she liked my sweater (I, too, think it's a great sweater ~ I wore it once on a day I had T ~ and the therapist told me it looked like a Rorschach test...Really, dear therapist, and just what did you see in the sweater pattern? ~ I guess that was a compliment coming from a shrink?) Anyway, my friend went on to tell me that the last time I wore the sweater....let me use her words, "It wasn't you!" She told me I was mean to her (well, I never!)...and I don't remember the conversation at all. She went on to tell me that I had stormed out of her office in the middle of the conversation, telling her she was acting like a shrink (Ok - I said my shrink) and when she called me a bit later I refused to talk to her. What? I'm sure she's telling the truth (must be the brain tumor) so I apologized to her and she said, "Well, it's nice to have Grace back...."
I hate it when I do things I don't remember...yesterday in T I told the therapist I thought I was doing better and I haven't had any borderline freak outs and sent her any crazy, hateful emails in a long time. And she said I did send one not too long ago...(?) WTF~ wasn't in my sent file! So I freakin' apologized to her too yesterday!
It's not been a great couple of days...in fact, I've had some of those freaky body issues, more than a few crying spells, done a couple of really stupid things (I tend to *act out* when I get really angry or feel unheard about something ~ even if I don't say out loud what that *something* is...something to do with a local police officer who came to pick up the toys we collected for the local kids and I have *priors* with him), have a horrible migraine, and a terrible case of insomnia...my mind has been racing ~ and I haven't been able to focus for a week now!
And I hate that the therapist isn't working tomororw night (although I'm sure she isn't hating having the weekend off...) because I know I'm going to need help tomorrow night ~ especially now that both DS and DD are spending the night with friends and won't be home ~ GREAT! WTF! I don't really like DH right now! But really, I don't like myself because I can't talk to him about ANYTHING! And there ain't no way I'm asking for help tomorrow night ~ not even if there's bloodshed!
Now ~ the kicker to my week, thus far! Tonight, I was shopping with a friend and this disgusting man 'accidentally' hit my shoulder and then grabbed my ass! WTF! Of course, I didn't say anything ~not even when he invaded my personal space at the cash register later, loudly proclaiming how he was shopping for his 'god-daughter' and 'aunt' ~ I care because???? Again, WTF? What the hell gave him to right to grab my ass and fuck up my night!? Of course, marsha dear, would tell me no one but me can eff up my night and I should let it go....cuz I sure can't change it...but it has jacked up my already messed up week!
I am SSSOOOOO a grown-up and I am NOT reaching out for help! Not tonight or tomorrow or the next night! I can and will do this on my own! And I don't care of that does mean some 'maladaptive' behavior and bloodshed! I don't care!!!!!
And what I'd really like is a martini right now! Where the hell is that demon bartender???? Make it a double ~ STAT!!!!!
F**K!!! SH*T!!!!!! DAMN!!!!!!
Better to understand a little than to misunderstand a lot...
I slept about 10 minutes last night...plagued off an on by dreams and body 'issues'...I wasn't sleepy when I finally decided to lie down in bed and that's always a bad sign for me. I usually wait until I can barely stumble up the stairs before I go to bed. But that wasn't happening last night. I had already taken the nightly allotment of meds and they were not slowing down either my body or my brain. I won't pretend to understand why the exact same drug cocktail can work one night but not another, I'll just hope that tonight will be a night they will work.
Too much on my mind to rest. My eyes are hurting today and even though my body is tired and my eyes want to close, I am not sleepy. This week there has been a small deviation in my schedule which has seemingly thrown a part of me off track. I'm not sure why. But I do know that I am not allowed the ability to multi-task today which is not working out well as I have a 60 page report to review for a meeting on Friday which I now have to take page by page and try to focus. And what would typically take me a couple of hours is going to take me all day today, throwing the rest of my work behind. But I realize this lack of concentration and focus is temporary, so that in itself is not the cause of my current distress. And I am trying to find a way to soothe and alleviate the pain inside of me today and the little girl that wants to sit, wrapped tightly in her blue blanket, and rock herself is going to have to give me another option because I have to work so that isn't possible right now.
And now that I have spoken aloud, in my own voice, some of my friday night fright festivities (both then and now), to the therapist, the restlessness~ and both the physical and mental reminders of the past are bubbling up and spilling over ~ creating an internal environment that is even more unsettling, which leaves me on a tightrope trying to keep the delicate balance necessary to ensure no one falls to their death. Inside there is screaming and crying...and it is loud and piercing...and I have not yet found a way to quiet them.
Despite the screaming and crying, and inability to soothe those inside of me, I am not regretful of the disclosures I made to the therapist yesterday. Painful...embarrassing...full of shame...hell yes ~ necessary and something I needed and wanted to say? I think so. Agreement from everyone inside my brain? Still working on that. But I seem to have developed a stronger sense of control over the defiant one for now. I have to take advantage of this time because I fear she will take back charge in my moments of weakness ~ like today. Because one slip on even the smallest sliver of ice...and I'm in the 'bad' place.
A friend of mine said to me on Monday, "Grace, you just don't seem like yourself today." And I replied back to her, "P, my friend, I don't even know who my "self" is..." And I really don't." But I hope that someday I will....
I don't know how I am going to get through the rest of this week. I will ~ I'm just not sure how.
Too much on my mind to rest. My eyes are hurting today and even though my body is tired and my eyes want to close, I am not sleepy. This week there has been a small deviation in my schedule which has seemingly thrown a part of me off track. I'm not sure why. But I do know that I am not allowed the ability to multi-task today which is not working out well as I have a 60 page report to review for a meeting on Friday which I now have to take page by page and try to focus. And what would typically take me a couple of hours is going to take me all day today, throwing the rest of my work behind. But I realize this lack of concentration and focus is temporary, so that in itself is not the cause of my current distress. And I am trying to find a way to soothe and alleviate the pain inside of me today and the little girl that wants to sit, wrapped tightly in her blue blanket, and rock herself is going to have to give me another option because I have to work so that isn't possible right now.
And now that I have spoken aloud, in my own voice, some of my friday night fright festivities (both then and now), to the therapist, the restlessness~ and both the physical and mental reminders of the past are bubbling up and spilling over ~ creating an internal environment that is even more unsettling, which leaves me on a tightrope trying to keep the delicate balance necessary to ensure no one falls to their death. Inside there is screaming and crying...and it is loud and piercing...and I have not yet found a way to quiet them.
Despite the screaming and crying, and inability to soothe those inside of me, I am not regretful of the disclosures I made to the therapist yesterday. Painful...embarrassing...full of shame...hell yes ~ necessary and something I needed and wanted to say? I think so. Agreement from everyone inside my brain? Still working on that. But I seem to have developed a stronger sense of control over the defiant one for now. I have to take advantage of this time because I fear she will take back charge in my moments of weakness ~ like today. Because one slip on even the smallest sliver of ice...and I'm in the 'bad' place.
A friend of mine said to me on Monday, "Grace, you just don't seem like yourself today." And I replied back to her, "P, my friend, I don't even know who my "self" is..." And I really don't." But I hope that someday I will....
I don't know how I am going to get through the rest of this week. I will ~ I'm just not sure how.
Get it? I get it. Got it? I got it. Good! *no judgement*
I think that the therapist and I have come to a mutual understanding of sorts...for now. I will agree to not take an abundant supply of benzos or slit my wrists in an effort to avoid the inner pain and turmoil ~ and she will agree to not wear the Marsha Suit in my presense and be supportive.
And I can tell her when I feel dizzy and nauseous instead of just leaving my body and flying off into the corner, when I can't continue talking about something. And I find that voicing some random useless trivia facts work just as well as doing math problems in my head to ground me when I feel like I'm going to 'go away' ~ and maybe someday, the fact I shared yesterday with the therapist (in the middle of a conversation - no less) that the average woman owns 18 pair of shoes, but wears only 3-4 ~ will come in handy for her some day during an awkward moment of silence when you feel like you have to say something but you don't know what to say.
Dear Grace, I noticed that at the end of the session, you were looking sad and I hope that my attempts to follow your lead in session today re: Friday nights was not too much. I know that you had asked me not to talk about Friday nights and I was sensitive to this. I also suspect that there is still a lot to these nights that remain to be sorted out. I will continue to honor your pace and needs as you move through this terribly difficult process. And, let me remind you that I seek to understand the whys, what’s, how’s of Friday nights so that I can help you find some type of peace in these nights. There is NO ROOM for judgment in this process of understanding and healing. K? Got it? :0) I think that what was spoken about today re: Friday took a lot of strength from you and you did it in a fully aware and present state of mind. This is courageous and progress. When you get dizzy, then we work to get you back in your body and in the present. Today you only had a brief moment. Despite the inner critic in you, you get to take the pace you need. Let us both honor this fully. ~ The Therapist
Dear Therapist, Yes, there is still a lot to be sorted out and my mind feels very jumbled and messy today. I ain't going to say that it's easy and I appreicate you not making me feel freakishly crazy during session yesterday. I still feel dizzy and nauseous today, tearful and afraid, because I cannot seem to turn off my brain, or quiet the crying and screaming. But I hope that I will be okay some day. I still need the rock, DT. I thought I didn't, but I do. Did you know that the average woman spends $17,000.00 on make-up during her life-time?
~ Grace
And I can tell her when I feel dizzy and nauseous instead of just leaving my body and flying off into the corner, when I can't continue talking about something. And I find that voicing some random useless trivia facts work just as well as doing math problems in my head to ground me when I feel like I'm going to 'go away' ~ and maybe someday, the fact I shared yesterday with the therapist (in the middle of a conversation - no less) that the average woman owns 18 pair of shoes, but wears only 3-4 ~ will come in handy for her some day during an awkward moment of silence when you feel like you have to say something but you don't know what to say.
Dear Grace, I noticed that at the end of the session, you were looking sad and I hope that my attempts to follow your lead in session today re: Friday nights was not too much. I know that you had asked me not to talk about Friday nights and I was sensitive to this. I also suspect that there is still a lot to these nights that remain to be sorted out. I will continue to honor your pace and needs as you move through this terribly difficult process. And, let me remind you that I seek to understand the whys, what’s, how’s of Friday nights so that I can help you find some type of peace in these nights. There is NO ROOM for judgment in this process of understanding and healing. K? Got it? :0) I think that what was spoken about today re: Friday took a lot of strength from you and you did it in a fully aware and present state of mind. This is courageous and progress. When you get dizzy, then we work to get you back in your body and in the present. Today you only had a brief moment. Despite the inner critic in you, you get to take the pace you need. Let us both honor this fully. ~ The Therapist
Dear Therapist, Yes, there is still a lot to be sorted out and my mind feels very jumbled and messy today. I ain't going to say that it's easy and I appreicate you not making me feel freakishly crazy during session yesterday. I still feel dizzy and nauseous today, tearful and afraid, because I cannot seem to turn off my brain, or quiet the crying and screaming. But I hope that I will be okay some day. I still need the rock, DT. I thought I didn't, but I do. Did you know that the average woman spends $17,000.00 on make-up during her life-time?
~ Grace
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
If no one trusts, does it matter if everyone lies?
It's hard to talk to the therapist about embarrassing and shameful things ~ 'bad' things. I can talk to my survivor friend, I can write about it here. It feels different for me, to talk to someone who has shared similar experiences…like speaks to like I guess. I’m not saying I have any idea of the therapist’s past ~ but I don’t get the feeling she was f'd by her father, or hated by her mother…and it embarrasses me to talk about where I came from. What I was ~ what he did, and what I continue to do to myself…it sickens me, and it’s f’d up. So I don’t understand how someone cannot judge something so terrible (not what happened to me as a kid –I know she isn’t going to judge that ~ but the stuff I continue to do now that is messed up). I email a friend and I tell her something that is fucked up and she will say, “Yeah, Grace ~ that’s f’d up.” And I know she’s being honest. That was a topic of conversation today during T.
Yesterday I told the therapist some of what happens on Friday nights and then part of me regretted telling her ~ and so I freaked last night and left her a frantic voicemail that she had to promise me she wouldn’t mention anything about Fridays because otherwise I couldn’t come to my appointment…because I was too embarrassed and ashamed and I can’t believe I said anything in the first place. She called me back and told me that she would not mention it and she would wait until all of us were ready to talk about it.
We did talk a little about Friday nights during my appointment today, and I told her it’s f’d up and I’m a freak…and I know she says she’s all nonjudgmental but I don’t believe that ~ how could anyone NOT be…and I wish she would really tell me what she was thinking, even if it is to say, “Gawd Grace, that’s f’d up!” (and not just because it’s always a goal of mine to get the therapist to say the “F” word…) but because Fridays are, in fact, f’d up! And she said she wasn’t thinking that at all…but I don’t believe that. Isn’t that what all therapists say? Like it’s written on page 246 of the ‘manual’ ~ never tell a client she is f’d up.
And so the therapist told me that I should just tell the hus why Friday nights are hard for me and then maybe we could agree to have sex on another night that isn’t so triggering for me. I nearly laughed at that suggestion, since I did not obviously give enough details to allow her to fully understand that it's not about having sex on Fridays…nope, not enough details. It was kinda cute ~ though, her suggestion., and the way she said it. It was almost like making an alternative suggestion to a 5 year old, “Well, Gracie, we don’t have any chocolate ice cream maybe you can have vanilla with chocolate syrup instead?” For the love of God, if she only knew! She would say, “Grace, that’s f’d up…”
Anyway, I’m already dreading this Friday~ and it’s only Wednesday! And I’m not strong enough to tell anyone why, or stop any of it. Sometimes I don’t understand how I got to be an adult….*huge exasperated sigh*!!! The therapist offered a check in call on Friday, but the past 2 Fridays she was working and that means I can talk to her around 11:30 at night. This Friday she is off so she said we could plan a time earlier in the evening…I graciously declined her offer for 2 reasons: (1) she has the weekend off and I’m sure she has plans, and (2) earlier than 11 won’t work for me. Sammy Terry starts at 10… And I can’t stop it - and the last 2 Fridays I talked to her at 11:30 and I was able to at least not hurt myself, or worse. But it was nice of her to offer. I told her I would be okay…even if I hang on by my pinky fingernail, I’ll be okay. And even though I won’t really be “okay” I'm not telling her that…I’ll live.
But Fridays are not “just another night”. Not for me. I cried all the way back to work when I left her office…I don’t even know why….that's f'd up...
Yesterday I told the therapist some of what happens on Friday nights and then part of me regretted telling her ~ and so I freaked last night and left her a frantic voicemail that she had to promise me she wouldn’t mention anything about Fridays because otherwise I couldn’t come to my appointment…because I was too embarrassed and ashamed and I can’t believe I said anything in the first place. She called me back and told me that she would not mention it and she would wait until all of us were ready to talk about it.
We did talk a little about Friday nights during my appointment today, and I told her it’s f’d up and I’m a freak…and I know she says she’s all nonjudgmental but I don’t believe that ~ how could anyone NOT be…and I wish she would really tell me what she was thinking, even if it is to say, “Gawd Grace, that’s f’d up!” (and not just because it’s always a goal of mine to get the therapist to say the “F” word…) but because Fridays are, in fact, f’d up! And she said she wasn’t thinking that at all…but I don’t believe that. Isn’t that what all therapists say? Like it’s written on page 246 of the ‘manual’ ~ never tell a client she is f’d up.
And so the therapist told me that I should just tell the hus why Friday nights are hard for me and then maybe we could agree to have sex on another night that isn’t so triggering for me. I nearly laughed at that suggestion, since I did not obviously give enough details to allow her to fully understand that it's not about having sex on Fridays…nope, not enough details. It was kinda cute ~ though, her suggestion., and the way she said it. It was almost like making an alternative suggestion to a 5 year old, “Well, Gracie, we don’t have any chocolate ice cream maybe you can have vanilla with chocolate syrup instead?” For the love of God, if she only knew! She would say, “Grace, that’s f’d up…”
Anyway, I’m already dreading this Friday~ and it’s only Wednesday! And I’m not strong enough to tell anyone why, or stop any of it. Sometimes I don’t understand how I got to be an adult….*huge exasperated sigh*!!! The therapist offered a check in call on Friday, but the past 2 Fridays she was working and that means I can talk to her around 11:30 at night. This Friday she is off so she said we could plan a time earlier in the evening…I graciously declined her offer for 2 reasons: (1) she has the weekend off and I’m sure she has plans, and (2) earlier than 11 won’t work for me. Sammy Terry starts at 10… And I can’t stop it - and the last 2 Fridays I talked to her at 11:30 and I was able to at least not hurt myself, or worse. But it was nice of her to offer. I told her I would be okay…even if I hang on by my pinky fingernail, I’ll be okay. And even though I won’t really be “okay” I'm not telling her that…I’ll live.
But Fridays are not “just another night”. Not for me. I cried all the way back to work when I left her office…I don’t even know why….that's f'd up...
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Please brace yourself and assume the crash landing position...
Inside, all is not calm ~ all is not bright.
Those who dwell inside of me are struggling in this internal civil war ~ and all the while I try to retain some sort of reasonable life and carry out my responsibilities and obligations. It ain't easy...it really hurts to be inside this mind and this body right now. I'm bracing myself for a crash landing tomorrow in therapy and I should probably forwarn the therapist that I feel this way so she can do the same. Even though she probably wouldn't anyway ~ but rather still be "the same" calm and nonjudging woman she always is (which I hate, by the way). I would much prefer her to grab me by the shoulders and tell me to get a grip!
I have tried really hard to listen and dialogue with all the internal voices but there's still no cohesiveness. One will allow the therapist in, trust her enough to tell her something shameful and horrifying, and then later there's all of this anxiety and doubt that jolts me like an electrical shock. I am struggling to make sense of things; questioning decisions and disclosures. Even though the therapist continues to try to establish trust and safety with/for me there are still so many feelings of hurt and distrust toward her. Parts of me are still skeptical and defiant and still are ready to flee. And a very strong part of me still stands behind this brick wall of emotional boundaries and I know that she walks a fine line when trying to reach out to me, ask questions, offer suggestions for help. I know that I am more than a handful, but I have good reasons for being scared ~ my struggles with fear and distrust are valid and real.
I feel irritable and angry because I cannot seem to work through this. I am agitated to the point I have not been able to sit still since about last Thursday. And I know that I have choices, there's always a choice. I can choose to go see the therapist tomorrow and be as honest as I am here and know that I will feel utterly vulnerable that she will be horrified by my weaknesses and disappointed in my lack of growth, or, I can sit behind the facade of togetherness and be humorous and strong, intelligent and masked, and then leave her office in a state of inner turmoil because I continue to stand close enough to touch even a minute of relief from all of this and yet still deny myself from reaching out and grabbing it. The decision may sound like a no-brainer, but it's so much more complicated than the surface choices. And I feel overwhelmed with both choices.
I am coping....but just barely....
Monday, December 14, 2009
I am lost
I am lost. Unable to find my way. Pieces of me are crumbling, falling to the ground.
I am scrambling to grab them all before they smash on the ground - but I'm not that fast. Pieces of me, lost, broken on the ground, unable to be recovered, never to be seen again. I need a way to solve this but there is no way. There is no way out and I am afraid…and so tired. Tonight I am unable to stop the madness…I cannot get them off of me, out of me. I can feel them with every inch of my body. Everything they did ~ everything they touched. I want these feelings to end. I need them out of me. But I think about the days afterward, when I feel so weak and pathetic and like such a failure. But then again, how is that different than right now? I want to be invisible. I want to hide away forever. I have no body. This is not mine. But I feel it. I am trying to ignore it, telling myself to stop being crazy, but I cannot stop my body from remembering. I want to be invisible. Maybe if everyone saw what I was, what I let them do to me they could see how revolting I really am. I am so good at hiding it now but it is a mask, a façade. He told me I was a little whore. And if I was a whore at 5, what does that make me now? There is no word for me, are there? It wasn’t just him…so many others, so many other things…I am an accomplice to all that is evil. I want it to stop but it doesn’t comply. I need my head to stop thinking and my skin to stop crawling, and my stomach to stop churning, and I need my body to stop feeling things that are not happening now.
I am scrambling to grab them all before they smash on the ground - but I'm not that fast. Pieces of me, lost, broken on the ground, unable to be recovered, never to be seen again. I need a way to solve this but there is no way. There is no way out and I am afraid…and so tired. Tonight I am unable to stop the madness…I cannot get them off of me, out of me. I can feel them with every inch of my body. Everything they did ~ everything they touched. I want these feelings to end. I need them out of me. But I think about the days afterward, when I feel so weak and pathetic and like such a failure. But then again, how is that different than right now? I want to be invisible. I want to hide away forever. I have no body. This is not mine. But I feel it. I am trying to ignore it, telling myself to stop being crazy, but I cannot stop my body from remembering. I want to be invisible. Maybe if everyone saw what I was, what I let them do to me they could see how revolting I really am. I am so good at hiding it now but it is a mask, a façade. He told me I was a little whore. And if I was a whore at 5, what does that make me now? There is no word for me, are there? It wasn’t just him…so many others, so many other things…I am an accomplice to all that is evil. I want it to stop but it doesn’t comply. I need my head to stop thinking and my skin to stop crawling, and my stomach to stop churning, and I need my body to stop feeling things that are not happening now.
More hay *TRIGGER*? No thanks, I'm stuffed!
I have been having some difficulty navigating my way through the darkness lately. I have been able to *keep myself safe*, for the most part, but it's terribly hard work. Tiring! So many things I feel like I need to *purge* out of my body, so many questions, situations I continue to find myself in that feel retraumatizing to me, and yet I am uable to get help for them because I am unable to speak of them, aloud, to the therapist.
Most recently, it's been Friday nights AGAIN! And my strange unconscious need to relive now what happened then. It's more than just the scary movie thing...but that's the part I cannot speak of. The past two Fridays I have called the therapist late at night because of the scary movie thing...and she keeps asking me, "Grace, why in the world would you purposely watch a scary movie ~ KNOWING that it is a trigger for you?" And I will say, "Gosh, DT, I don't know...but I did it...and I'll probably do it again next week." For the love of God! It isn't the movie! The movie is just the missing part that must play out...the movie is just the part of the evening that sends me past the point of no return! But, of course, that's the part I won't speak about on Wednesday "on the couch".
If I can't understand it, or verbalize what happens, how can I expect help? I'm sure if I call the therapist again this Friday she will flip a gasket and tell me to get a grip and stop triggering myself on purpose. As she has said in the past, "The nights are long because you still struggle with the dread, fear and expectation of being hurt, even though the rational logical part of you knows that the SF is not alive. You have patterns of expectations and conditioned responses that are easily triggered by certain factors related to your immediate environment and your orientation/awareness. You have internalized this history, so you expect it now. In order to bring relief to the anxiety and terror of waiting often irrationally creating ways to bring relief to the anxiety by acting out the expected harm.. Grace, you don't have to fear anything or anyone before bed. Try to connect with your inner angels, Gramma, or some soothing words and objects you have from me. Wrap yourself up in a blanket and use these resources to comfort you. I know it is so very hard and I will be sending you my strength to beat off your fears that linger from the past."
Oh, contraire' DT ~ there are still things to fear here. I assure you...Fridays suck! "BUT I DON'T WANT TOO!" ~ " BUT YOU WILL, GRACE...just like you do every single Friday....you will." And then bring on the scary movie!
The triggering part that leads up to the movie~ That's what I need help with. But that's the hard part...the shameful and embarrassing part. That's what I cannot seem to stop...the movie? That's just the icing on the cake! Dessert to finish off the "meal"! Enough to make me sick...every single Friday night!
So since I continue to stuff myself sick on the icing ~ and I can't talk about it ~ I figure why bother trying anymore! It's not like anyone can read my mind...so let me not waste further time and money with my *SILENCE*.
Not having a super great night!
Most recently, it's been Friday nights AGAIN! And my strange unconscious need to relive now what happened then. It's more than just the scary movie thing...but that's the part I cannot speak of. The past two Fridays I have called the therapist late at night because of the scary movie thing...and she keeps asking me, "Grace, why in the world would you purposely watch a scary movie ~ KNOWING that it is a trigger for you?" And I will say, "Gosh, DT, I don't know...but I did it...and I'll probably do it again next week." For the love of God! It isn't the movie! The movie is just the missing part that must play out...the movie is just the part of the evening that sends me past the point of no return! But, of course, that's the part I won't speak about on Wednesday "on the couch".
If I can't understand it, or verbalize what happens, how can I expect help? I'm sure if I call the therapist again this Friday she will flip a gasket and tell me to get a grip and stop triggering myself on purpose. As she has said in the past, "The nights are long because you still struggle with the dread, fear and expectation of being hurt, even though the rational logical part of you knows that the SF is not alive. You have patterns of expectations and conditioned responses that are easily triggered by certain factors related to your immediate environment and your orientation/awareness. You have internalized this history, so you expect it now. In order to bring relief to the anxiety and terror of waiting often irrationally creating ways to bring relief to the anxiety by acting out the expected harm.. Grace, you don't have to fear anything or anyone before bed. Try to connect with your inner angels, Gramma, or some soothing words and objects you have from me. Wrap yourself up in a blanket and use these resources to comfort you. I know it is so very hard and I will be sending you my strength to beat off your fears that linger from the past."
Oh, contraire' DT ~ there are still things to fear here. I assure you...Fridays suck! "BUT I DON'T WANT TOO!" ~ " BUT YOU WILL, GRACE...just like you do every single Friday....you will." And then bring on the scary movie!
The triggering part that leads up to the movie~ That's what I need help with. But that's the hard part...the shameful and embarrassing part. That's what I cannot seem to stop...the movie? That's just the icing on the cake! Dessert to finish off the "meal"! Enough to make me sick...every single Friday night!
So since I continue to stuff myself sick on the icing ~ and I can't talk about it ~ I figure why bother trying anymore! It's not like anyone can read my mind...so let me not waste further time and money with my *SILENCE*.
Not having a super great night!
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