I hurt myself today...

I hurt myself today. It had been just over 3 months.
I had a terrible phone conversation with DT and I still feel like her new process is hurtful. I talked to her while sitting in the waiting room for DBT class. After I hung up the phone, very distraught, not that she gives a flying fuck, I went into the public ladies room and slammed the door on my arm a few times. It didn't bring the kind of pain I needed so I was scouring the room looking for something to hurt myself with. Finally, I remembered I carry a small pair of scissors in my purse and I took them out, pulled down my jeans and cut 3 - 4" gashes in my thigh. And once the blood began to flow out of my leg, I started to feel my breathing slow back to normal.

It wasn't a question of IF I was going to do it - I would have found a cutting device somewhere. I didn't stop to think if I had a band aid with me (It's not on the list of things I carry every day since I hadn't cut in over 3 months). I just rolled some toilet paper and placed it against my thigh, and kept watching during DBT class to make sure no blood was seeping through my jeans.

I really think it's hopeless for me. I think this is 'as good as it gets'. And if that is the case, then I don't need a fucking therapist who really brings me more grief and anger than my actual fucking past. I can do it on my own!

I don't know.... I think I may ween myself of all of the meds I'm taking - they're not working anyway. Therapy, meds, group...all a huge waste of fucking time! But damn! Somehow a lot of us get sucked into the processes... "God - I couldn't survive a week without seeing my therapist." "I have a chemical imbalance in my brain, I'd be dead in 3 days if I didn't take my medication." All bullshit! All what they want us to believe.

Give me a fucking break!
I've seen DT for 3 years and I'm in worse mental health than ever! In fact, I don't think I've been in a MORE dysfunctional relationship than the one I have with her! For Fucks sake! Am I learning anything from DBT classes if I slice my skin open in the bathroom 5 fucking minutes before the class starts?????

Oh, and don't worry, DT, or DBTC, Grace has dealt with the pain for now.....she isn't going to call you. She will talk to you Wed, during her regularly scheduled appointment time.... and now a word from our sponser.

SEROQUEL! Even though it is NOT a drug that should be prescribed for sleep, my PDOC gave it to me. I'd question it, but really, the MPH community, they all stick together, do what they want- because the clientale they see? All crazy and would never have the guts to question them or their 'treatment' plan. And if you do question them? Well, then you're labeled a difficult client and stamped with a borderline diagnosis...and given even more meds! I swear to God I could could treat the entire 'mentally diabled' population in a small town with the amount of prescribed drugs in my cabinets right now! Zoloft, trazadone, celexa, effexor, paxil, wellbutrin, ativan, seroquel, lamictal, reglin, amatryptiline... (not that I would, because I know better than to pass out prescription medications....and more importantly, because they ARE NOT fucking helpful!!!!!

Well, I should close for now...my insurance company sent me a survey on 'my experience' with the mental health professionals/services...I think now would be a good time to complete that!

G'night!
Grace

You think you *know* me? You will NEVER *know* ME!

You may think you know me, but you have no idea. You don’t know the real me. Me, who has no feelings, who feels no pain, me, who does not love. You don’t know the me who survives despite the struggle not to. I will punish myself, I will take everything I have and make it disappear…far away from me because I can’t be trusted not to cave in emotionally. I am empty. I want to be emptier, to feel nothing, to feel even less than nothing, to disappear, and this time I will NOT BE AFRAID when it hurts because hurt has power over me. I want to feel pain, to hurt, a reminder of the fact that I do not fucking need anyone but myself to take care of me. I will make myself disappear.

I have been betrayed, abused, and broken. I feel there is nothing inside of me holding me up~ if you blow on me, I will disintegrate like ash. I want to see my bones, to feel them to know that something inside of me is stable. Leave me alone because alone is where i am safe. Alone is where i want to be. Alone is where I can take care of myself. But you, the girl within me: Your emotions are explosive, noisy, come rushing out of you, before you think. They are not deliberate, but are accidental like a crash, you never "MEAN" what you say, your words are chaotic; they overwhelm you every time, they get in your way. And yet you are full of them, they spill out of you like trash and you can’t contain them, you don’t know how.

Your emotions are reactive and impulsive. What you say does not affect me, but your neediness weighs me down, you overwhelm me. Your feelings consume me, they envelop me and make me forget that I have any feelings of my own. I can’t even hear my self because YOU GET IN THE WAY. You need so much. You can’t even take care of yourself! I CAN'T take care of you. You wear your weakness like a badge, yet you seem strong because you are loud. Invasive! You force yourself on me, your feelings choke me, until i want to throw up. If I throw up, maybe I get rid of it and there will be nothing left. Then maybe I can catch my breath. You are filling me up with you and I can no longer feel me. I thought you were strong. at one time,long before you wrapped the cord around my neck and began to drag me down. But you are weak and you want me to be weak with you, so you can control because deep down you know I don’t need you. Every time your emotions show, they prove just how weak you really are. You need everything and I need nothing!!! Go away! Stay away! I have nothing to left to give!!!

I am Empty

I have an ache in my heart and my thoughts are running wild. I try to find the words to express how I feel, but the words won't come.


If this were a poem, I could express myself. If this were a song, I could sing what I wanted to say. But to just write it down, no euphemisms, no bullshit... no matter what I write- it isn't exactly what I want to convey. My heart beats itself against my ribcage in hopes of escaping this ugly and unwanted shell of an empty dying soul. Where do I go from here?

I feel nothing now… I am an empty, hollow “done with all the emotions” and stuck in neutral….and for the life of me I can’t figure out what’s wrong. What led to this moment?


What’s wrong with me? I think I may be broken.I struggle with faith, my purpose in life, my value. I wish I could just forget. Forget about the people who hurt me. Forget about the pain. Why does it matter? I'm afraid of the girl inside of me. She's full of rage, bitterness, hate, guilt and sadness....... (she's not a nice person) and yet, even with all of these feelings inside of her, she's totally empty... she is a hollow shell.

Why can't I "feel" what she says? Why don't I believe it?

On of my best friends said this to me:
"I don't know how to say this to you. I can say the words, but they won't mean anything to you. It's not that you won't believe it, it's that you CAN'T, and I don't know how to take you from here to there. I'll say it anyway because there's nothing else I can do.

What you "allowed" people to do to you...you have to be in control of a situation to allow something to happen. You weren't in control. Other people were controlling YOU. You didn't allow anything ,these things were done TO you, regardless of your won will, your own character. What other people do TO you says NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING about who YOU are. THEY are disgusting, revolting, and worthless. Them! Not you! You are not responsible for this! And you are not tainted by it. You are devastated, scarred, shattered, not like other people, yes. But my disgust and hatred is reserved for your abusers and them alone. It has absolutely NOTHING to do with you and it never will. This was a destruction that was inflicted, not a disease that was transmitted.

You don't deserve to be hurt. You haven't earned it or asked for it. There is not some terribleness within you that made you merit this, attracted it to you. You were a victim of someone else's crime, someone else's warped, twisted, disgusting, oozing rotten seriously f'd up brain. These people had no right to do what they did to you.

And you are not nothing. You want to be nothing, I think. And I can understand why. But you're not. You're such an incredible person. You're an amazing friend to me. Think of what I know about you (and I don't know everything) and think how much I STILL love you and find you amazing even with everything I know. You don't have to understand it from where you are, you just have to know that it's possible for me to know what I know and still love you without any HINT of disgust or of hatred."

I heard her say it... but I can't FEEL it.
I can't feel the goodness, I can't see what she sees.
Maybe she meant to say it to someone else....

Victory is *his* ~ I am no more...

Late nights seep into me like the silence that screams from the sky.

Drenched in questions, I wish to be dried in the answers, but there’s never enough shelter from the rain.

The deader the heart, the louder the beating.

The ringing in my ears, the sounds of what it was to be alive, resonates through the chaos in my wake.

Wings spread, black feathers reaching one hundred feet high, the ground echoes my name and feeds upon its nightmares.

I see the rage in the grey face of my past.

The demon looks at me with hollowed black eyes.

His focus is on me, the razors mounted, the venom poised.

The start of the end is here.

The wall that surrounds me is now a broken dam.

The blood and blackness stick to me like molten glass.

The screams from my truth is heard worlds away, the pain now past words.

The fire raining from the demon’s mouth scalds away my skin, bleaches my bones and buries my soul.

There’s nothing left.

The demon now sits aloft over his dynasty.
Alone and smiling.
Victory is his – he has won.

I am no more

Thank you for showing me the light!

Dear Therapist,

I’m not good. I’m scared and angry and I hurt from the inside out…but I know it isn’t your fault. I know you can’t be here with me now, in this moment of pain. I know I can’t depend on you to help me, outside of “our scheduled time” together. And so I just have to hurt. It isn’t your fault, it isn’t my fault. But that doesn’t change the fact that this hurts like hell! But I’m not mad at you. It’s just that I can’t handle the darkness… the darkness is when the demons come and carry me away. It’s in the dark that I feel him, smell him, hear him and there’s no escape. And as much as you may negate my next statement, I know in my heart that it’s true: it helped me so much when you were there for me, at night. That’s what’s really hard for me now. You WERE there. And I knew that I could reach out and find you. But now I reach out…and there’s a gaping chasm between where I am and where you are.

I allowed myself to fall into this ‘dependency’ on you, this habit of thinking you would be there for me; that when I reached out, I would find your hand there. But it’s not there now. And that hurts. I know it isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to believe that you would always be there, you’re not my ‘mother’, or my ‘friend’…you’re my therapist. But for 2 years you were there, every night, I would reach out to you, and I’d find you there, at 11pm, midnight, sometimes even one in the morning… you were there.

I know that you have a new life now, and I shouldn’t have allowed myself to depend on you at night, I should have realized that it was temporary. I’m sorry I allowed that to happen, that I didn’t protect myself. That’s always been an area of struggle for me. And I’ll try not to get angry at you anymore because it’s not your fault, it’s my fault. I was the one who believed it, who ‘trusted’ that it was ‘real’. I allowed myself to depend on you, to count on you at night when I was unable to cope. But now there are people in “your real life” that need you at night and he depends on you to be there for him, and you no longer have time to deal with my nightly freak outs. I’m not real anyway.

I understand now that I will suffer, here in the dark, with no one to help me…and so I'll ‘deal’ with it, I'll handle it now, in the present, just like I did then. It’s no different.
I hate it, and it sucks! But I hated it when my father came into my room at night; I hated the feelings of his hands on my body. I hated that my mother never protected me. It sucked! But that’s life, huh? You used to be there for me, when you had time, but now you have other obligations and you no longer have time.

I hear you when you say that you’re the “same as you’ve always been”, I hear you tell me that you’re “still here”. But we both know that you’re not ‘here’ to the extent that you ‘were’.
The last several sessions that we’ve had, you keep asking me, “What do you want?” I’d really like it if you would stop asking me that. Because what I ‘want’ doesn’t matter, it never has. The fact that I want you to once again be ‘here’ for me at night when I am overwhelmed with fear doesn’t matter, because the decision was made…it just ‘is’ regardless of what I ‘want’ and I can’t change it. Can’t fight that! So, please stop asking me what I want. My wants and needs are irrelevant because I don’t know what’s best for me, you do, my parents did and your colleagues, they know.

What is it you always say, “Acceptance, then Change”? You changed your availability and I have to accept that – so what’s the change? Oh, that you took your support away at night, that’s the change…and I have to accept that.

Thank you for helping me see that…it’s much easier to accept my fate that way.

The Voices Violated the Restraining Order!

A few months ago, I thought PDOC was a miracle worker. Finally, I thought, I've received the combination of drugs that will stop the voices, calm the storm and allow me to live a 'normal' life. A life free of the flashbacks of the past. A mind void of the ever present chatter of those that dwell within. I was singing praises for Lamical! I wanted to do a commercial, post it on a billboard, "Grace has been cured of mental illness, thanks to Lamictal, the wonder drug!"

But a few weeks ago the internal voices returned. What? I had taken out a restraining order against them in the form of a pill. They weren't allowed to be within 500 feet of me! They whisper to me now, when before they were screaming, but they came back, despite the drugs...and their message is the same, just quieter. And though quiet, I can still hear them. Once again, I had fallen for their tricks, I had settled back into the comfort of my irrationality and unequivocal anger. I thought I had outrun them, the demons, but I must have left a trail of breadcrumbs, they followed them, and here they are back inside my head, whispering of anger, shame, sadness, and self-doubt.

I don't know what triggered the set back this time but here it was, uninvited and unannounced.

Each day...I defeat you!

Each morning I wake

Each day I live

Each night I sleep

Is one more day that I defeat you!

Each moment through this fear

Each step that I take here

Is one more way you lose a part of me ~

A part of me that you stole!

Each time I take back a part

Each time I repair something you broke

Is one more what I show myself that I will not be beaten!

My heart continues to beat,

Blood continues to pump through my veins

And each day I continue this journey

Every single day I breathe...

Is one more way I defeat you!

You don't know me

Admittedly born by mistake

I am an unwanted casualty
Although I prefer to walk alone

Isolation is not an option

If you just understood me

You'd know why I am this way

Take a metaphorical walk in my shoes

How long would you want to stay

My tainted angel wings

Made to bear the weight

A thousand secrets on my shoulders

Put me in a poor psychological state

Apathy is last of my emotions

I don't ask for your sympathy

Judge me as you will

But don't pretend for a second you know me

There is this girl...

there
there is
there is this
there is this girl

there is this girl
who
who doesn't
who doesn't quite
who doesn't quite know
who doesn't quite know how to live

she is unhappy
she is scared
she is weak
she is lonely

she sits
she sits there
she sits there all by herself
she sits there all by herself in the dark

and she's
f
a
l
l
i
n
g

she's falling
she's falling through her mind
through her memories
through her past
through her life
in her mind she is falling
where will she land?

You'll never know...

You'll never know...

You'll never know how it feels to be powerless, numb to your actions and their consequences

You'll never know how it feels to be so far gone, to look into the mirror and not recognize the face of the person looking back at you with blank eyes and an unwritten expression

You'll never know how it feels to hate yourself for what and who you are, but still know that you can't change, that you're not that strong

You'll never know why I do it, or why I can't stop

You'll never know how it feels to think eyes are constantly starting through you

You'll never know what its like to have so much shame for yourself built up inside of you ~ threatening to boil over

You'll never know the pain of this disease, this chronic illness, or the fact that no one you seek help from seems to understand

You'll never know me, or how I feel inside

You'll never know how it feels to never be yourself, always an actress playing the role of a normal person with no 'problems'

You'll never know how powerless I feel at night, when the darkness falls and the memories come

You'll never know how afraid I am

You'll never know the taste of your own tears as you cry yourself to sleep at night

You'll never know, but if I told you, you'd 'pretend' to know how I feel, you'll 'pretend' to empathize' with me

But you'll never know

DBT (Yes, again) Inspired by *Little Sheep*

Well, after a virtual conversation with Little Sheep, I have been inspired to share more about my “experience” with DBT.

Anyone who has read my posts about DBT know that I think the benefits of the program are…hum…NONE…well, occasionally, there is some humor involved…I’m still shocked at what people will share about themselves (IRL) with a group of others who don’t even know *last names*!
Anyway, I digress…

I actually connected with 1 group member; basically because she is a *free spirit* and shares a lot of personal information in class, and I do NOT, and so I ask questions based on her examples. She and I could not be more opposite, and I’m sure in real life we would not get along, but in class we do. So we sit together and there are times when we laugh, and, well, putting it politely, probably irritate the hell out of the “serious/quiet” group members. She has bi-polar II and chooses not to medicate, and she said early on that she tends to share too much with people she doesn’t know and not enough with those close to her.

A few weeks ago I walked in a few minutes late (is that considered “Therapy Interfering Behavior”?) – The bad part is I was actually THERE 20 minutes early, but sitting in my car reading and forgot the time! There are 7 “emotionally disregulated” group members. When I walked in, there was only 1 chair left and that was in-between the instructor and some chick I had never seen before – who was later introduced as the new “intern”. The instructor said to me, “Sit anywhere you like except by “my BP friend” – I couldn’t tell if she was joking, or not, so I was pissed about it. We went around the room and gave examples of “judgment vs. consequences” and I used that as my example. My BP friend about jumped out of her chair, but was quick to agree that it pissed her off too. I think the entire class was astounded that I said it – but it needed to be said. The instructor was quick to say that she was kidding and “validated” my feelings (she’s really big on that!). But she did not negate the fact that someone had complained about BP and I disrupting the class. I told her I would “shut up & behave” because the last thing I wanted to do was prevent someone from “learning”….

That lead to a class conversation about “what hinders you from learning and participating in class”. I said, “Confidentiality” – and went on to explain that I wasn’t comfortable with the new intern taking notes in class on a paper that had everyone’s last names on it. Of course, I prefaced my comment with “no offense” (always sure to put someone on the defensive). Intern asked if she could respond to my comment…feel free! She said that she’s “bound by the same contract” as instructor. Again, no offense, but you’re a college student and why should I believe you. A couple of other people agreed with me about her having our information. At least it was an interesting class…..

I’ve been pissed off ever since. So last week, during the “meditation”~ brought to you by none other than “Marsha Marsha Marsha” herself – I was texting on my phone (very quietly). After the ‘weekly meditations’ we go around the room (we do that a lot) and “share our experience” about what we “felt” during “meditation time”. So a group member, when it was her turn to “share”, looked at me and said, “No offense, but I think we need to have a no cell phone/texting policy while in class”…here we go with the “no offense” phrase again…. So I responded, “No offense taken, I realized it was disrespectful when I was doing it, I just decided I didn’t care.”
Now, normally, I’m a “rule follower” ~ I follow rules, I respect others, but I was just up to here *hand at top of forehead* with the meditation bullshit – like who can *think* about the skin between their nose and upper lip for 5 minutes! Give me a break.

If you’re still with me, read this next part very carefully: The instructor told that group member, “I want you to be less vulnerable to what others are doing, and more in tune with yourself.” She did NOT say one word about me texting in class! I’m still laughing about that!
What it comes down to for me is this: Marsha Linehan developed this “Therapy” (and I use the term “therapy” even though I don’t think it is “therapy”) and if you do research on Ms. Linehan you’ll find that she grew up in the Cleaver home, never married, no children, was a NUN before she became a “world renowned psychologist who can “heal” those who have been diagnosed with *whisper* BPD.

Here’s my 2-cents, for what it’s worth: I came from a home where my mother HATED me, and validated that hate on a regular basis, I was physically and sexually assaulted by my step-father for 10 years and threatened if I were to tell, I was raped twice as a teen and an adult, once at knife-point. I now have a husband, 2 children and a very stressful full-time job and I don’t have time to “sit and watch my feelings go by” and place them in labeled buckets for hours a day when my kids are picking up a goldfish and throwing it back in the bowl just to see how the skin on the damn fish feels! All the while dealing with the 10 different people inside of me fighting each other, and the constant video feed from my past looping in my head.

If, God forbid, Marsha Linehan, was raped at knifepoint after suffering years of constant abuse ~ I wonder how *mindfulness* would work out for her? If she had a family and a full-time job, I wonder how much time she would have to sit and meditate and *watch* her GD feelings and place them in labeled f-ing buckets? Quid pro quo Marsha, tell me how helpful your f-ing DBT would be then!!!!!
*This*, what I’m living, is real life! And I don’t need a fucking nun, who has NEVER experienced abuse first hand, to tell me how to *mindfully* deal with the flashbacks and body memories of my step-father raping me day after day, and year after year!
D - Dense
B – barren
T –therapy
Hey – I have an idea….. HOW ABOUT YOU ASK THE ABUSED WHAT WOULD BE HELPFUL?

Does God ever give you more than you can handle?

Someone recently said to me, “God does not give you more than you can handle.” That’s really been weighing on my mind, it inches to the surface, and I feel a surge of anger, then it’s tucked back into the back of my mind. Good does not give you more than you can handle? I know my grandma believed that with all of her heart. Week after week, she would pray for the salvation of my mother, my step-father, my brothers and I. Every single night, she was down on her knees praying for redemption, and thanking God for the gifts he has given to her. And she believed it! I admired her strength and her belief in God, because I learned as a small child that God can give you more than you can handle, and when that happens , and you reach out for help, sometimes there’s no one there. I’m not going to sit here and write out examples and questions…such as, really, then why do children suffer and die from cancer?...because I’m sure there are those out there who can provide justification for that.
Sometimes I would ask my grandma about her unending faith in God. “Grandma, what if God doesn’t answer? Is he too busy? “ I’d ask. And grandma would answer, “Grace, you just need to pray harder, God will hear you…just pray harder.” And I would remember her words at night,when I was scared and alone, I would think about her words when my step-father would touch me, and I would pray harder.
God doesn’t give you more than you can handle! Now, in the present, I know that I am “handling” it, but there’s no other choice, is there? Handle it, or give up? I don’t want to be here, facing all of this, and yet, here I am, “handling” it. Is this what it means? That God doesn’t give you more than you can handle? Sure, my family and friends have suffered as a result of the abuse of my past. Is God giving them more than they can handle?
Maybe God expects me to be stronger than I feel.

My mother said I wasn't "Good Enough", Dear Therapist said she was wrong.... I AM Good Enough!

I Wrote to my mother:
Your words cut through me like knives, shattering my soul,
I could feel my insides bleeding, as you sat there not seeming to know that you have hurt me at all.
People speak so greatly of a mothers love, but I guess I didn't deserve that, I guess I wasn't good enough. What did I do, tell me why I was never worthy of your love?
Do you see my heart barely beating that lies on the ground before you?
Do you see it? Do you see the cuts from the knives you have thrown? Do you see my heart as it begins to beat faster, trying to get your attention, trying to show that it's in dire need of repair?
Look back, do you see what you have missed?
It was your daughter's dead heart that you walked upon back there.
It was your daughter's screams that you chose not to hear.
Now it's too late.



Dear Therapist answered:
You did nothing wrong little Grace. Your mother was incapable of giving you the love you needed and deserved, it had nothing to do with your "worth". Little girls are always "good enough" because they are innocent and come into the world with hearts full of energy and open to the world. Your mother deserves your anger, not the little Gracie.

My Heart Bleeds

My heart is in utter confusion.

It bleeds.

Tiny razors prick and torment and cut me and my heart bleeds.

No one really understands the extent of the damage caused by such a deep betrayal of trust.

No one really gets why you turn into an emotional gibbering mess trying to hold your sanity together with duct tape and super glue.

No one with the exception of those who have been through it themselves.

Trust broken is like a crystal glass shattered by a screeching high pitched discord.

It can never be fixed - best to just throw it away.

My heart bleeds again.

Just as I thought I'd bleed out, my soul would die, and I would become this empty shell of functioning learned reactions with no thought or feeling, something happened.

Fate opted to show me another side.

Dared me to learn to trust, teased me with small glimmers of hope.

So my heart bleeds for what I hope is the final time.

Not in pain or disappointments, or even self loathing and rejection of the hearts purest feelings.

No, this time my heart bleeds with longing.

This may be my saving grace.

And yet I am scared to death that this may destroy me yet.

My Heart Beats for No Reason

Do you ever feel like your heart beats for no reason?
That it hurts and bleeds without your permission?
My heart beats in my chest, but it’s filled with sharp thorns, and every time it beats, it rips another hole in my soul. Every breath I take is burdensome. I force the air down my throat with volatile fury. The pain in my chest continues to surge with relentless abomination and at moments I find myself gasping for cool air and deliverance from this pain and anguish.

But there is no relief…

I Have Broken into Even More Pieces

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the king's horses

And all the king's men

Couldn't put Humpty DumptyTogether again.

****************************************

Hopeless Little Gracie sat on the wall,

Hopeless Little Gracie had a great fall.

All the psych meds

And all of the docs

Tried to help Gracie but they could not.

I HAVE BROKEN INTO EVEN MORE PIECES!

Trust ~ no more...

I wonder why you don't see it
See these tears streaming down my face
Just a reminder of these failures
Every single fall from grace

I wonder if you will read this
Leave me a comment, or two
Tell me that it's all my fault
The blame never seems to rest on you

I wonder if you actually heard me
When I I told you, when I said it all
I actually did mean it, but I'm out of words
Echoing in my head, the names they call

I wonder if you hate me
Just a little bit
Think about it hard enough
I'm sure that's the nerve I've hit

I don't blame you, no
I hate me too
I'm pretty sure I told you
That by the end that's what you would do

Sometimes we learn the hard way
Then we write about those times
The times when tears weren't visible on our faces
And upon our wrists weren't crimes

But it's obvious that you won't read this
If you do, I'll never know
I hope that somewhere out there
You'll see this is as low as I go

Just one more word of wisdom
For this clock is running out
You were the last one to trust
I know now that time has run out

Memories.... of how DT used to "be here" for me....

Memories.....light the corners of my mind..... This is how DT used to react to my pain. I miss her…I should look at this and reread every night – except that I can’t - I'm too full of *hate* for the "now" and too full of *sadness* for the "then"
*** **** **** ***
Sweet Grace,
I am so sorry for you pain and sadness. If you were my little girl I would surely hold you, sing to you, give you medicine and whatever we figured might help. As horribly painful as all this feeling of processing of grief, anger, fear, etc., I would be there next to you comforting you and I will continue to do what I can.

Please understand that when you email me, there is a great likelihood that I will not be able "to hear you". Of course, you can also try calling, if for no other reason that to know that I know that you are in pain and that I care.

I understand that a lot of your anger is not ALL about me. Maybe some of it is, justifiably so at times. But, you are in the middle of a giant, long term test of me and others on whom you might have some trust.

You do understand enough right now. It is not an intellectual pursuit at this point. Trust in your goodness and the validity of the little girls pain and sadness. Trust that you are going to do a better job of being a mommy to her then your own biological "mother". I am here and please take the things I have given you in my heart, voice and tangibleness and comfort the little girl as I would try too.

~Dear Therapist
***** **** ***** ****
That was in September of 2008

Tell me, how would you “comfort” the little girl NOW, DT?Tell her to *HOLD* all her pain and sickness and you’ll get back with her on Wed at noon?HAHAHAHAHA!!! ON the *trust* comment you state above… I would give you an *A* for the short term test, but definitely and an *F* for the long term test of Trust. I will never trust anyone again. Hey- did my mother call you and give you advice on how to treat me? Just curious... because your “treatment plan” is very similar to hers.

Can someone tell me what it's like? I need to know...

To just be held one time
To feel a mother's arms wrapped around me
To be surrounding by love and tenderness
Is all I have ever longed for
All those little girls out there
That know what it's like to be held
Please tell me about the warmth
Please tell me about the safety
Tell me what it's like to just be held
How it feels to lay your head on her chest
And to hear her heart beating
How does it feel to cuddle close to her
And to fall asleep in the arms of love
I've never felt any of this
I've never had a mother's arms of comfort
I don't know the safety of those arms
All I have ever wanted
Is to just be held by her
Whether it be as I cry heavy tears of sorrow
Or I am scared, and just need to feel safe
Or maybe just to fall fast asleep
And to know she will be there when I wake
The little girl inside of me
As well as the grown woman
Just longs to be held...

"I'm right here and I'm not leaving"

I know you are in pain. I can see it in your eyes, in your body. What can I do do comfort you? Come sit next to me, you can lay your head on my lap if you wish, and tell me what you need? You are safe here, I will not hurt you.

Cry if you need to~I won't ask you to stop. Sometimes crying helps get out the bad and makes room for the good. If you want to hold my hand, I will leave it out and open and ready for your grasp. If you don't want to hold my hand, that's okay, too, but I will leave it out just in case you decide you do want too.

Breathe, let it all out. Take long, deep breaths... you are safe here, no one will hurt you.
You will be okay. You have so much strength and power to heal, it is within you, and I will help you find it.

If you want to be silent, I will wait with you and the beating of our hearts can be the only sound in the stillness. It is okay if you don't want to talk now. But if you do want to talk, I am right here, and I will listen to whatever you have to say. I accept you for who you are~you are safe with me.

You can relax and lean into me if you want too. I know you're tired, I know you are struggling~ I am here and you do not have to hold yourself up right now. You can rest and lean against me if you want too.

Get warm, feel cared for and loved.
Do not be afraid~ You are safe here.
I am right here, and I am not leaving you.
I will not leave you alone in the darkness.
You have a long journey ahead of you, but I will be with you, help guide you, each step along the way.
Rest, now, little one.
You are safe now.
**************************************************************
I have never heard these words, but when the sun goes down, and the darkness fills the night~ it fills me at the same time, and I become afraid.
I long for someone to hold me, to tell me I'm safe.
I know it will never happen though....

My *HAPPY PLACE*

When you tell me to close my eyes and find a safe place, I go to the beach, the ocean. And it stretches for miles before it meets the mountains way off in the distance. The sky is nearing dusk when all the colors melt together on the horizon to form a cosmos of reds, blues, yellows … The Ocean is very calm and I have to listen carefully in order to hear any sounds. When I listen carefully I hear the gentle lapping of the waves against a rock … The sand is so soft, I bury my feet in it and they melt away in the softness. Somewhere in the distance I can hear a small waterfall trickling into the ocean … When I look out toward the ocean I can see the endless miles of water. It’s crystal blue water. And I can sense freedom; the endless miles of freedom.

There’s a girl on that beach. She appears to be calm on the outside. It’s ironic that it is the calmness within her that is scaring her. She’s the only one there. She just came from a very scary and dark place: a place where she has trouble breathing; a place where the space is limited; a place where it’s dark; a place where the walls close in on her and get smaller and smaller. It’s a suffocating place. She cries there because she’s sacred she’ll lose her breath and die... The girl on the beach is the ‘real’ me at the present moment. It ISN’T me “the director” It ISN’T me “the mother” It ISN’T me “the wife” It ISN’T me “the friend, … the victim, the survivor or any other label” It’s the REAL me. She’s sitting on the sand curled up in the fetal position. She has all this beautiful landscape before her but she’s afraid to move from this one spot, but that is ‘ok’ for now because at least she’s safe from the scary, dark place. She takes a small stick and doodles across the sand with it. She WANTS so badly to speak but her voice is silent. As if the “logical” me is telling her to be quiet and stay silent.

The REAL “ME” wants the logical ME to know this: The real me hates herself and who she has become. She is worthless; she is a body merely going through the motions of living and being void of any feelings. She feels a profound sense of sadness. She feels as though she’s grieving the loss of a friend, only that “friend” is herself. She is so sad because she can’t find this ‘friend’ any longer and she was such a huge part of her life: The “friend” that loved her family, loved her friends, loved to laugh, loved scrap-booking, loved reading, loved dancing, loved singing and loved her career. Now, she just feels hollow and empty. As though her life has no meaning, as if it’s going nowhere and she is just ‘going through the motions” of what appears to be her life … she’s unfulfilled so she fills her life with negative obsessions. She’s a drinker. Alcohol seems to let her ‘forget’ and feel something again but inside she hates the person she becomes when she drinks. When she’s drinking she becomes uninhibited, free...she can pretend to be someone she’s not. But she hates how she feels after the alcohol wears off the next morning and she feels a profound sense of guilt for doing this to her body.

She feels lonely even though she has so many friends who love her and want to do things with her. She only does it out of obligation; she feels that she ‘SHOULD’ do it. She fears that if she doesn’t she’ll end up losing them because they will get tired of inviting her to do things and always having her turn them down. But the truth is it exhausts her to be social. She finds it exhausting to laugh when she isn’t happy. She finds it exhausting to make conversation and ‘small’ talk when her mind is so preoccupied with such bigger issues. Though she can laugh on cue, she feels as though she has nothing of value to contribute to the conversation. And, even worse, she tends to ‘check out’ of the conversation. She ‘sees’ their mouths moving but she’s so far away that she has no idea what it is they’re saying. She feels like a burden of negative energy so instead she chooses to be anti -social. It’s amazing that you can feel so incredibly alone yet have so many people around you.

She feels lonely because she is so disconnected from everybody. She is disconnected because she is carrying this secret and keeping it from them and she feels that every time she looks each of them in the eyes. But she’s afraid of their reaction if she told. She doesn’t know if she can handle the reaction. She doesn’t know if the ‘disconnect’ will ever be able to be reconnected…She’s mad and angry at her mother especially. She feels like she should have been there to protect her, love her child, not show hatred. She believes that she hates herself because she was not worthy of her own mother’s love.

She’s struggling with God, she’s so angry at him for letting this happen to her. She did what she was supposed to do … and where did it get her? She wonders where God was during those years she was being raped. Why he let it happen … why, why, why. Where were you God? Obviously you didn’t hear her cries, she wasn’t important.

The real ME gazes up from her tucked position. She’s waiting for a response … for a show of validation of her feelings, or any gesture of understanding. It doesn’t happen because the logical ME is fighting so hard to tell her to “shut the fuck up …” And so she silently returns to her tucked position but now it’s gotten cold on the beach, there are dark clouds descending over the horizon and the ocean waves beat louder against the rocks …

The real ME wants you to know that she hates being cold because it reminds her so much of being a helpless little girl. She takes her a stick and continues to doodle in the sand … she’s trying to remain calm and realizes that was the calm version of her feelings … but she knows that everyone reaches a breaking point …She’s so angry because she ALWAYS followed the rules. She always did what she “SHOULD” do: don’t be a rebel, you should follow the rules, you should go to college, you should get married, you should have kids, you should never talk about the “bad” things, you should put the past behind you, what’s done is done … you should, you should, you should … she’s so tired of it … where did it get her?…She DID what she SHOULD DO and look, look what happened. … don’t pile your God damn garbage about what she ‘should’ do … because it never got her anywhere …

Here’s the truth. the truth is that I HATE MYSELF. I do. i hateeeeeeeeeee myself. If you can't deal with hearing that ... then to bad, stop listening! If that means throwing up after every meal then that’s what I’ll do! If that means drinking myself silly, then so be it. I don't care what you think. it didn't happen to YOU! And you don’t and never will know how i feel. You can leave it all behind and go on and live and I’m stuck here in this “HELL” day after day. There’s no escape! And I hate it!

What does it feel like to be robbed of something? To be treated like a whore when you’re only 4 years old….to be told you are hated so many times you actually believe you are unlovable….to learn how to give a blow job years before you learn how to put on mascara…to not be able to tell anyone because you are too scared.I feel like my heart has been stabbed, cut open and then cut into a million little pieces for me to put back together. And I'm so scared …I am so scared of EVERYTHING ... no, you can't know what that feels like ... to feel like you're going insane. To wonder constantly what you did to cause all of it….to lie in bed, night after night, shivering in the cold, afraid to move .

In the words of Carol Burnett, “Thanks for the memories”, you bastard! Thanks a million! I want to say thanks … thanks for teaching me about “love” and “pain” and “humiliation” and “shame” and “vulnerability” and “trust”... for allowing me the opportunity to walk around for years letting me believe I was actually normal – that none of it affected me. Thank you, you bastard! Maybe I can repay the favor sometime? NO? Oh, that’s right, I won’t be able to because you’re dead… your pain has ended, but not mine! And for what? WHAT was it all for? Was it fun?! Was it fun to fuck a little girl... oh God I hate you so much ...And no one noticed? yeah everything is normal I’m just here covered in blood and vomit…. I’m the quiet one who overachieves and stares at you, teacher, begging you with my eyes to do something to help me! I’m tired. I am so tired of the mental exhaustion ... of the replaying of the trying to figure out .... I'm never GOING TO have answers. And never is a hard thing to deal with. The real ME feels a knot being pulled tighter in her stomach, she feels like she's going to explode ... she gazes up from her spot on the beach, it's cold now and very windy ... The logical ME looks down at her, and tells her to shut up! "Don't speak", she says ... and so the real ME tucks all this way back down inside her ...... curls up in her blanket, hugs her teddy bear, and hides her face. The beach is suddenly very calm again. She slowly gets up and turns back, walking back toward her scary, dark place with everything tucked neatly inside her again ....

That’s my *HAPPY PLACE*!

I have to walk away.... It's the best decision for both her and me...

For the past 2 weeks I’ve felt sick – dizzy, achy…
Several times a day my stomach tightens and my head starts spinning…maybe it’s psychosomatic – I don’t know. But my mind won’t stop – the same old thoughts: I’m disgusting, damaged, dirty, shameful…thoughts I cannot share, thoughts that must be contained in silence. I have learned that it is better to hold them in then to let them out, speak them aloud. I know in my logical/adult mind, that it isn’t true, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel that way.

And DT validated for me that I can’t trust my instincts anyway – as if I really thought I could. That’s why no one can possibly care about me, love me…but at least now I know that it’s hopeless and I’m meant to be this way – never trust, never care…and definitely never share! If I could step back– I wouldn’t do it all over again. A friend of mine told me that I needed therapy. That I kept myself too busy to avoid what was really going on inside of me…I needed to get in touch with “me”. That was a good idea! And you know what? My tendency to keep myself too busy kept me from cutting, from puking, from LOATHING myself…. So, I guess I’d have to say that my friend was wrong! I’d like to tell her, “You’re so right… How do you like me now?” Now that I’m scarred on the outside – it matches the inside of me – the drugs, the anxiety, the depression…yes, staying to busy was absolutely the wrong thing to do…this, this beautiful and charming life, is much, much better! What the hell did she know?

I envy people that can just be normal…and I loathe those who don’t feel abused, paranoid, insane. I resent people whose biggest problem is, “What should I eat for dinner” and not, “How do I get out of eating dinner” or “I’d better not eat cheese – it really burns my throat when it comes back up.” I wonder what it would be like to not wonder how much money to put away in a health savings plan each year…how much will it take this year, how much money will it take to maintain some sense of normalcy. How much money will be spent on PDOC, Therapy, DBT, prescriptions – in an effort to keep me not only sane, but alive. And is it even worth it~ what is the price for a human life? Does worth depend on the person, or is everyone the same price? How much is too much? I'm pretty sure I would be found on the clearance rack ~ the little girl no one loved.

I can’t deal with it, not now, not anymore. I can’t do it anymore and I feel a loss because I push everyone away because of my “perceived” perception and underlying inability to trust. Apparently, I have always vacillated between being “really independent” and “really dependant”. And when I’m independent, I pretend that the dependent side of me doesn’t exist and my problems have been cured. I realize that I have buried the little dependent girl under layers of shame. I am ashamed of her and angry with her at the same time – that’s how I’ve controlled her in my life. That’s how I’ve navigated all of her pain. By yelling at her to shut up and stop ruining my life! But it obviously hasn’t worked – she’s still here – feeling scared and lonely, wishing someone would just take her away from all of this pain . I try to tell her that no one will, that no one will take it away….. Nothing can heal that part of me – I deserve the pain, the hurt, and everything else that goes with it. I know that DT tried, truly tried, to help me, to show me that she is *here*….but my head tells me that she isn’t here, that she doesn’t care because she changed her “approach”. And she used to be here for me, at night, the times when I struggled, the times I feel alone and abandoned, and now she isn’t. I mean, get real, she actually tried to convince me that she thought I was a *good* person. Like each time I introduced her to a new skeleton locked away in the closet that is my past, she would shake its hand and hug it and accept it. And that’s truly unfathomable to me. It can’t be….its all fucked up. She changed her “approach” because she finally realized that she can’t accept me because she is a good person and I am a bad person. I see the way she would look at me sometimes – like she didn’t even know what to say, like she was thinking, “I have no idea how to help this woman…I’m not even sure help is possible.”And I feel scared and overwhelmed and angry…and alone. I see the shadows – and experience the nightmares of dark monsters that seem so real I wake up in a panic…and when I wake up, I am not a grown woman, I am a child. A child crushed by hurt and pain. And I lash out at DT, in anger, as though it’s her fault; that she didn’t protect me and then the anger turns to sadness and confusion. And remorse, for hurting the one person who tried to help me.

I should thank her for her work during the past three years, or for even acknowledging that I do *exist* as a person. I need to thank her for telling me that I am worthy of kindness, that I deserve to be seen and heard, even if she didn’t mean it, I could never believe the words she would say. I can’t.

I wish I knew what would help – I guess there are no miracle cures here, huh? It’s not like I can isolate the *badness* in me and treat it with radiation, or cut it out like a tumor.

I am a burden to her…nothing but a tiresome problem, sucking up her time…and I know I need to just disappear. I see the writing on the wall. The giant letters that say, “She tried to earn your trust, then you trusted her, she pulled back and changed her “approach” and set strict boundaries. Can’t you see the writing on the wall? The next step: she will leave turn her back on you completely, leave you standing here alone, while she walks away, just as my mother did so many times in my life.” Only this time, it will hurt even worse, because DT did try to help me, she was nice to me –she at least pretended like she cared, my mother never did.

PLEASE! I don’t want to hurt anymore! I have to be the first to walk away.

I will never be Good Enough

I'm not doing well, the past few weeks have been yet another dark period in my life. So much happening... most of which I can't bring myself to discuss even in an anonymous setting like this.. it's not YOU~ it’s me, and the fact that I can't seem to admit the nasty truths to myself. I'm falling apart, I know it. I feel myself slipping. I am aware of the panic building deep inside of me. I know what the trigger is, but I don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know how to “fix” it.. and IT SUCKS! Everything feels like it’s upside down, I cry one minute and I laugh the next. Sometimes it starts as a laugh and ends as a cry. And I wonder how much strength and will power I really possess, taking a moral inventory, trying to figure out who the hell I am.
It's just not a good time; I suppose I should just leave it at that. I have good ideas, but not enough heart to stick it out. Or maybe I’m just not good enough, period? That's how I feel... not good enough... not smart enough,or pretty enough, or thin enough,or rich enough,or successful enough,I’m not good enough. Not Good Enough. That’s why I named this blog, “Good Enough”. I long to be good enough, and yet that dream has not been realized, and I wonder if it ever will be.

Lately, I feel nothing...except emptiness, and hollow... and I can't for the life of me figure out what's wrong. How did I get this way? What led to this? What's wrong with me? Why can't I make sense of it all. I think I'm broken. I feel a heaviness in my heart- something is trying to happen far away within a part of me I don't remember how to find. I feel lost and I'm just wandering around within my mind, waiting. Wishing for someone to tell me what to do and how –but there’s no one to help me – I cannot allow myself to trust, to lean on anyone. Been there, done that, it only ends in more pain, more shame and hurt. I am on my own with this. So I write about it, because that's what I know how to do…and the writing pacifies me and teases me out of my own thoughts.I have so much hurt and anger and it’s bubbling to the surface.

Everything around me, and the very fact that I have to go on in the midst of it, whispers to me of my own failure and horribleness as a human being. I know all that I tell myself is not true, but this is not the kind of thing I can just tell myself to stop and be happy.

I see myself as a child. I see a little girl sitting in a dark corner, hugging her knees and trying to be as small and "out of the way" as possible. When she looks at me, her eyes are full of a terrible anger- rage, really- and pain. She is scared. I have never seen myself so dark. But she is undeniably me, and she must have existed during that time of my life. I have ignored her, I choose to ignore her, because she did not fit the image I held for myself. She makes me think about everything that happened to me. So much anger, so much hurt. She was rejected, hated, abused; never good enough. She was insulted, ridiculed, hated, ignored, and abused. The pain from the aftermath is unspeakable. I try to list the things my mother and step-father said to me- did to me- not to relive the memories but to acknowledge the suffering I never could when I was actually going through it. I try to describe the pain and it's so overwhelming that no words will come. I don't know what to say to her-this child of my past. I don't know how to help her exist, how to let myself be angry and hurt, how to bring to life all of the things that I've repressed. I want to express it all, but I don't know where to begin. And I look for something anything, a book, a person, a therapist; anything to show me the way. I suppose there is no way, no road map, nothing but fumbling in the dark, at least that’s been my experience. I try to ignore her, but every night when I close my eyes and I see her, but I cannot sit with her or tell her I am here for her. I am unable to tell her that her pain is real and that she has every right to be angry . I cannot help her or stop her anger or pain. I don’t know how. No one has ever shown me how. And she wants, needs, something, and I don't know what to do, or how to help her. I am so tired of walking this road alone. I am tired of the pain and anger, but they are mine- a part of me.

And I don’t know where to go from here. Or if there is anywhere to go from here.

I will never be good enough.

There is nothing anyone can do...

When I was young I was touched

When I was young I was used

When I was young I was robbed

When I was young I wanted help so I cried

Now that I am older I don't want to be touched

Now that I am older I am afraid I will be used

Now that I am older I am scared to share what was once taken

Now that I am older I cry for help because I want to feel loved

There is nothing anyone can do...

This Demon

I feel it racing through my soul..through my veins~it’s power courses
Controlling, maneuvering...and manipulating...
My mind, my body…my very essence
This is not me! But who am I?

It robs me of my true identity.

Others see the *me* from the outside, and yet they fail to see the inner turmoil.

This Demon...

Can hide, can deceive and fool others.

It lays dormant inside me...waiting in the depths and shadows of my soul

Patiently waiting for the moment he has me alone...isolated

Where he will laugh and mock me

I long for friends, social connections,

Knowing if I am with others, he will stay away

He will be held at bay...but no one comes.

He fools them...I fool them...

I pretend all is fine~knowing it's not

Crying silently for help.

Why doesn't anyone hear me?

Why can't they see the truth?

Be strong, take charge, cease the falseness...

Challenge me, guide me, be strong for me...
This Demon...

He wants no friends...only me...forever controlling...

Stop this...Stop it!

See things for what they really are!

See through me, my words...my actions...they are not mine...

Don't leave me...please...please don't go...

It's what the Demon wants...

He waits in solitude, yearning for the moments I am alone...

He hates you...he wants me...I hate him...and yet I cannot let him go...

This Demon...

He thrives on my inner turmoil~ he revels in my sadness & my pain...

Stay with me...you are my only hope...

Don't you see my words are false, they are controlled & manipulated?

They are not me! Not mine...

They are the words of the Demon...

His strength is great but yours is greater...

Please stay, be my strength...reach out...save me...

Hold on to me... please don't turn away...believe in me...

Where is the light, the peace,the calm?

I feel only the storm...please~hold me; pull me away from the depths of his grip...

This Demon...my enemy...

Can you? Will you? Are you patient enough?

Can you show me... Will you teach me...

Please, challenge me...my words and my actions...

They are not mine, they are his...

This Demon...

Help me beat him...for I cannot without you...

Don't leave me...please...

When I push you...push back...for I am losing...

My strength is my weakness...this is not me...

See me! Please, before it's too late...

See me...

Help me.... total radio silence

These past 2 weeks have been difficult – in the sense that I have felt so much better the past 3 months and it appears as though I’m once again on a downward trend. I haven’t cut myself~ but old self destructive patterns are once gain emerging and showing their ugly heads. I have found myself withdrawing from others, bouts of unprovoked anger, feelings of hate and doubt. I don’t entirely know what is happening, nor do I know what to do about it.
I have noticed that although I haven’t cut my skin, bled out, scarred my body externally…I have starved myself to the point I have no energy. I hear dt and pdoc telling me that it isn’t the healthy…but I ignore their voices and withhold food from myself. I am doing it for two reasons, well, I can recognize 2 reasons, perhaps there are more.
1. I have this intense anger at dt about my perceived abandonment issues
2. I really don’t care enough about myself to eat. I need to be invisible.
I have had trouble regulating my body temperature these past few weeks, so I decided to take a shower when I got home from work. And because I had a terrible night last night, and I had these overwhelming feelings of anger at dt for not responding to my cries for help…I made myself vomit in the shower. I want to punish myself, because I deserve to be punished. If I didn’t she would of responded to me. If I were good, she would care about me. I puked until my throat hurt and I had nothing left inside of me. I wish I could say I felt better, but I don’t.
And the whole time I’m in the shower vomiting, I am crying out, “help me, someone, please help me.” And no one answers. Just as no one answered me then….

SEE ME....

See Me

Look at me!
Look and see me and who I am.

Have I not made it visible to the world yet?
Can no one see my hurt, my shame?
My anger, my fear?
My Mistrust...

Should I strive harder to help you see my world?

Hear Me!
Someone please...

I am screaming for you,

Can't you look into my eyes?
Can't you see the lost girl?

Everyday, it grows,

Everyday, it gets easier,

Everyday, I care less,

Everyday, I grow weary...

And everyday, my want, my wish, for hope disintegrates.

For you saw me and I was a disappointment

You looked at me and saw my shame

Please...

Don't look at me, don't listen to me.

Do not read my words for what they really mean.

Let me go!
Let me disappear....

Never to be seen again.....

Then & Now

Late at night, after my children are fast asleep, safe in their beds, and my husband is just entering REM sleep, I sit alone, in the darkness~ alone with my feelings, my emotions. And when I become overwhelmed, I wrap up in my favorite blanket, and hold a child's teddy bear, and I rock back and forth, while repeating, "I'm okay, I'm okay" over and over to myself. I do this in an effort to "comfort" myself.

When I was a little girl, I would wrap up in a blanket, hold my Mrs Beasley doll, and rock back and forth in an effort to comfort myself~ alone, in the darkness. Substitute the Mrs Beasley doll for the teddy bear and it's the exact same scene.

Then: Cry while being screwed by my stepfather, then cry after it was over, alone, in the dark~ comforting myself with a blanket and a doll.

Now: Cry while being screwed by my husband, never allowing him to see my tears. And then cry after it's over and he is fast asleep while I'm alone, in the dark~ comforting myself with a blanket and a silly stuffed bear.

It's no different now~ 30 years later ~ and it's no different.

I guess old habits die hard, don't they?

Walk With Me...see my shame and sadness, witness my hopes and dreams

Come and walk with me!

I take your hand and allow you to push open the heavy, creaking door to my thoughts.

Together we pause at the vast emptiness before us, creaking dreams beneath our feet, memories and beliefs casting shadows on the vast walls.

We move cautiously inside the entrance, tread carefully on my forgotten memories and dreams, their hold on me lost through time.

Please ignore the twitching corpses and further explore darkened, hidden, cobwebbed corners.

Gliding through the room, I pull you down, ducking as another thought flies through the air hitting the opposite wall with a loud *splat*~ then landing in the pile of screaming thoughts below, where they stay, awaiting the inevitable time when they will either be dismissed or built upon.

Allow me to guide you through the room, dodging the memories best forgotten, notice the shame and fear apparent on my face as we view them together.

Take a moment to scan the dark room, breathe in the fresh hopes and dreams; their bright bodies hung carefully on the sun drenched walls, waiting for the eventual time when they will be realized or floored.

Their hopes shimmer in vivid brilliance to the limited few who are trusted enough to view them. Laugh as you catch glimpses of the insane images before you, cry at those of more morbid times. Feel yourself being dragged into the moment, your sleeve being tugged at by a crying child.

And in the blink of an eye that same child scrambles over to you.

Pull yourself back into the present, realizing the child before you is me.
Explore the room further, try to avoid the tear filled pool, where all tears are recorded and verified at being shed~wept through time.

Stop and hover at the shrine of the memories of my life.

Images and clips are projected throughout me and are now available for your viewing.

Notice how the salty pool of tears deepens while you witness me recounting the losses, the pain.
As we walk further into the room, journeying through time, moving closer and closer to the present~remember to observe the moments and memories of time, suspended in mid-air, burning in a golden light.

Now witness the smugness~ the only part of my mind visable now, its golden beauty being cast throughout my body, washing me in an aura-like glow.

The warmth of the complacency keeps me sane, urging thoughts to be formed, its magnetism pulling words from the neglected pile and painting them into pictures, parading them in the room until they are given attention and brought to life.

As we move toward the door, look over your shoulder at what you have witnessed, the room now a hub of excitement, never before viewed by anyone.

The air think with scents of raw emotion, its nakedness daunting and yet liberating.

Its shadow and mediocre existence no longer locked away but instead~camouflaged in an attitude and personality of an unexpected level.

Pursued by many, their relentless banging, wasted energy, their persistence jamming the door further, while the rusted lock twists tighter and tighter, until the eventual breaking of the lock, shattering all ties with the pursuer.

We step over the threshold, out of the house and into the sun.

I close the heavy doors to the my thoughts, and replace the rusted lock on my soul.

I glance over at you and you catch my gaze.

You nod your head at me and reach out your hand.

I am unable to reach for you~ I don't believe in myself, I don't love myself.

But I hope that eventually I will find peace from the inner turmoil that has me vice grip, tightening with each passing day.

I look at you with desperation in my eyes, longing to believe the wisdom you speak is "truth".

You will never be free of her...

She has no address or phone number

She stays with you, uninvited, a squatter

Yet you don't have the energy to escape her, nor the guts to ask her to leave.

It's almost as though she is dependent upon you, but really it is your independence that is the key to being able to escape her.

She takes advantage of you, controls every aspect of your life.

If you fail to take care of her, she will punish you.

You will suffer at her hands: hurt, cut, vomit...she tells you that you're *bad* and you believe her.

She thrives on your shortcoming...and she will never let you go...

I don't understand why no one else can hear my silent cries for help...

I have days when I feel like I am healing....at least on the 'road' to healing, rather than the dead end road I traveled for so long. And then suddenly it hits me...the pain stabs through my heart, sudden and sharp and I find myself unable to breathe. My face and chest flushed with heat but cool to the touch.

Tonight I hear the screaming in my head, the sound is deafening and I don't understand why no one else can hear it. Deep within me, there is screaming, and pleading and begging - and yet no one hears me. I pray for silence and yet my prayers go unanswered. The ache in my head sends waves of nausea through my body. The dizziness makes me put my head down in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. The beat of my heart pounds in my ears and my breath feels shallow.

These are not unfamiliar feelings....these days come less frequently now than a few months ago, but when they hit~ they send me reeling back into feelings of helplessness and fear. I try to talk myself out of it. I pick up the phone, think of dialing a friends number, or DT, but a voice talks me out of it. "Grace, you're nearly 40 years old!"....yes, that's true, but I feel 6 again.

I needed to hear from someone tonight - I screamed for her in my head....but she didn't hear me, she didn't see me. And I am alone.

Gates of Hell

I find myself standing before the gates of hell. It is here, in this place of fear and pain, that I must fight my battles and face my enemies. The smell engulfs me~ the stench of ignorance and glutting fill the air. The wind blows with the sounds of nothingness and you destroy who I was and I try to hold back who I want to be.

It is before the gates of hell I face you. My blood flows with each blow I allow you to make. My adrenaline pumps with each strike and contact. Vengefullness lingers in my heart. My body is hot while my skin is cold to the touch. With each thought I relive the pain you inflicted on me. I bleed from the wounds you made. My heart aches and my soul cries out.

I stand alone, here at the gates of hell. No one to have my back. No one to put you in your place. I stand alone to fight a battle I ignored for many years. Trying to erase the marks you left on my body. Trying to eliminate the scars you put in my memories. Blocking out the sounds when I said NO and you refused to hear me.

I stand here at the gates of hell; alone, cowering, crying, and searching for someone to hold me, to tell me all will be okay, to keep me safe, and help me up when I fall. Someone who will be there for me when I seek help.

It is at the gates of hell I throw my punches, scream my brains outs, and there is nothing but silence and emptiness. My punches make no impact, my screams have no sound. It is here at the gates of hell I stand.

My own personal hell.

She was designed more for public than for private

To the outside world she looks normal...she's beautiful, her smile can light up a room. She is witty and intelligent. You watch her walk in her 4 inch heels and business attire and you marvel at her success. She carries herself with such confidence, almost arrogance, and yet when you speak to her you are surprised to see care and concern in her eyes. If only you could be like her- she has everything.

Now stop and take a closer look. Look deep into her blue eyes and tell me what you see? Do you see her self knowledge of how wonderful and successful she is? No? Look again, what is it you see in her blue eyes?
"They look sad", you sound surprised. You are confused. What does this successful woman have to be sad about? She has us all spellbound with her magnetism, and yet, there is something in her eyes that is heartbreaking. Your heart wants to reach out to hers, to comfort it, to understand what it is that haunts her so much that the pain leaks out of her eyes. You approach her to say hello, you look deep into her eyes, and she knows. Immediately she senses that you see deep into her soul and she forcefully closes her eyes, but not before you see the depth of her pain.

You sit together. You reach out to hold her hand in yours, a gesture that makes her noticeably uncomfortable and she pulls away.

"Tell me", you say quietly, "tell me of your pain and I will share it and help you carry it."
She slowly opens her eyes and looks at you, the intensity is almost too much to bear and you fight the urge to look away. You see the pain of abandonment and loneliness. You feel the neglect she felt as a child having been denied basic human rights of love and nurture and safety. You feel her losses and her triumphs and the fact that she shares them with no one. You see the pain of losing a child. You see the love she has for her living children, so sure and so strong. Yet you feel her fear of not being around for them, of not raising them well, of letting them down. Your heart fills up with the knowledge that this woman has such wonderful gifts and a great capacity to love, so strong and so deeply. But you see her soul, shattered, filled with the feelings of heartbreak and emptiness when that love was ripped out of her heart.

Now you are the one who closes your eyes, against the glimpse of a soul crying out for comfort. This woman does not have it all. She suffers like everyone else. She has hopes and dreams, feelings of self-loathing, doubt and despair. She is no better than anyone else, the mask she wears is just more convincing.

Writing my Thoughts...again!

Nearly every day I write my thoughts and feelings in a journal ~now a collection of journals documenting my walk through the dark forest of PTSD are stored in a dark cedar chest with a locked lid. I chose to lock them there because there are so many pages filled with my rambling words that I don't even remember writing. Pages upon pages of horrific dark nights~ so much pain and anger. Different handwriting styles and syntax~ clearly the writing is done by different entities deep inside of me, each one wanting to have her say, expressing her feelings on paper. Many of the pages prove to me just how close I was to dying, and that even though I was alive, much like a hospice patient, I was just medicating the keep the pain at bay, waiting for death to take me away. There are dreadful thoughts of death and documented self-destructive moments, complete with some color photos. Each time I complete a journal, I lock it away and for a few minutes it represents closure to me. It feels good to put that part of me to rest, to move forward, but it also brings feelings of sadness, emptiness~ no one will ever know the history of the scars I carry with me each and every day. No one will know that there are parts of me who fought to kill us, and parts who struggled to stay alive and still other parts who received no respite from the demons who dwell inside.

I have been here before. I see the place clearly~ it is a place I visited as a child, and now, as an adult, I've passed by that same place, and I think to myself, "I've been here before, and it looks now just as it did then." I feel that now. The overwhelming anger, the pretending, the tiredness...the desire to prove to everyone that I am okay, better than okay - I am someone no one ever thought I could be! I am successful, I am smart, I am educated, and I don't need anyone, certainly no one to give me a directive. I am the one who gives directives. I control and direct others, people do not control and direct me.

I now spend time researching and looking for evidence to discount that which I don't believe in. I am angry at those who I loved that betrayed me, and with everything in me, I will prove to them that I am fine, great, and I don't need them! I don't need anyone because I am the one in control. And I can't help but think if I had not walked into DT office 3 years ago I would be in a different place than I am now. I was independent, strong - but all of a sudden, I became the 35 year old woman who needed a mother she never had? I didn't need a mother then, why the hell would it occur to me that all of a sudden I needed someone else to "care" about me, to "hear" me say the things that never needed to be said? To explore parts of me that never needed to be explored, open doors that never needed to be opened....I have cried more tears in the past 3 years than the previous 35 combined. And where am I now? In the exact same place I was before. The anger and the endless craving to discount that which I believe is unhelpful, and perhaps, even harmful in some circumstances. The passion inside of me now is on an endless journey to prove what I believe in, or I should say, disprove (or as Marsha, Marsha, Marsha, might say: "UN" prove or "NOT" prove or "NON" prove) that which I do NOT believe in, or find helpful. I long to find any piece of evidence to discount the "therapies" and "techniques" offered. Just as I did before...

Alcoholism is a "disease"...God! It used to make me SICK that everyone made excuses for alcoholics! "It's a disease, she/he can't help it." "She/he would never do that sober."..."That's not the "real" her, that's the booze talking." Give me a break! Because someone "chooses" to drink, they can act the way they want to act, do what they want to do, and have everyone make excuses for them? They can even drink themselves to the point where they can apply and receive disability benefits! For being a drunk? My parents did. What a fine use of our tax dollars! How about saving that money for the "Victims" of the drunk abusers? At first I bought into it...yeah, maybe they're right...maybe it is the vodka talking. I bet she doesn't really hate me, and I started to have these fantasies that if my mother were sober we would do everything together...she would love me, we would shop together, have these great girl "talks"....and on and on and on. Guess what? It never happened. And eventually the fantasies went away, and I was jilted back into the "real world". The thought I had started very early on....if they would just stop drinking, he wouldn't beat her, and us, all the time...she wouldn't cry and try to kill herself...he wouldn't come into my room expecting me to do things SHE should be doing if she wasn't passed out drunk!

My fantasy went so far at one point I honestly believed that since I looked nothing like my mother that I had been switched with another baby at the hospital and someday my "real" parents would figure that out and come back for me. I used to go to the park, with my walkman and my Lionel Richie cassette and swing on the swing and dream about the day my parents would come for me...but that day never came.

And what's so hard to understand is that even during the times when the demons of my past aren't tormenting me, I'm still not "well", not emotionally, mentally or physically, I'm not "well". There are so many layers to this and when I peel one layer away, there are so many, many more. And sometimes the pain is overwhelming, it is no longer constant, it now comes and goes, like arthritis or an old injury. And there's the nagging side-effects that have to be cleaned, dressed and bandaged...the anger, depression, pain, sadness - the resentment Tedious things like anger, resentment of those who don't understand. Those are the things that really wear me out. Those are the things that literally exhaust me, I cannot get enough sleep.

But the wound that hurts the most, the one that bleeds out, is the overwhelming feeling of worthlessness. If I had been worth anything to anyone, someone would have taken notice, someone would have helped me...but no one did. Why? Because I just didn't matter. I did not matter to anyone as a child - no one ever reached out to me, no one! Not my friends parents, no one in the church, my grandmother, my teachers, no one at school - the many MHPs my mother saw.... It was so painful at the time but I actually used that to my advantage. I developed a desire to prove to all of them that I was worth something, that even if they couldn't see it now - they would eventually see it. And so it began...I came from nothing and I made something out of my life. And I did it all to prove that despite what everyone thought about me, I was worth something. I did matter! I am good enough! And I overcame it all not because I am more intelligent than anyone else, but because I had the burning desire to overcome. And then I wanted to climb to the top of that mountain and look down at everyone from my past....both the abusers and the ones who never took notice, or chose to ignore my screaming, "HOW DO YOU LIKE ME KNOW? DO YOU STILL THINK I AM NOTHING?" I am GOOD ENOUGH! And I believed that was true.

But then I opened the forbidden door, and once again, I fell back into the trap of my past, and once again, I screamed out for help and no one noticed, no one helped me. Once again, the ones I looked up to, the ones I needed ~ thought I was nothing, undeserving of their help. But I made a fatal mistake this time, one that I didn't make as a child. I made the mistake of wallowing in self pity and not making a 'fall back' plan. I had no safe room this time. I allowed myself to become too trusting, too vulnerable. I became too dependent, too believing in those in the 'helping field'. That was my fatal mistake. And I am so angry now, not at myself, but at those who said they would help me - those who said they would 'be here' for me if I chose to continue this journey. And they lied. I stepped out of my comfort zone, my safe place and into the darkness of the past...and when it got to scary for someone else, they hit the road and left me in the midst of all of demons and dragons and darkness...the rapists and pedophiles. Had I known that was going to happen, I would have probably chosen a different way. There were many times I wanted to tell someone, but I never did. And now the decision I made then has been reinforced because of what has happened now.

"Good girls don't do that""Bad things happen to bad people"I went to church, I knew it was a sin. Even though I never spoke of it, I knew that was why the other girls at church didn't like me~ they could sense that I was evil, shameful. It never seemed to happen to anyone else, so obviously my fault, I was a sin, I was bad. I was a horrible disgusting little girl~ dirty, wrong and bad! No wonder I never told anyone! And I know underneath all of this anger, this burning desire to prove that I am worthy (I am smart and resourceful and I don't need anyone!) I know underneath this tough brick exterior there are termites eating me from the inside out . The part of me that has kept it at bay for so long - it's worn thin. Defenses unraveling. And very day, I go on with my life and you would never know it was me who got fucked. Except sometimes I drink too much so I can forget it all, sometimes the pain and shame inside of me are so intense I make myself vomit to get it out of me, and sometimes I have to talk out loud to quiet the voices in my head. And there are times when I become overwhelmed, so filled with pain, that I have to put my head down until it passes. But every day of my life I go on...and I act so normal that no one would guess the things that happened to me, the things I've done. No one sees the edges fraying inside of me- like a worn out pillow, or the hem of your favorite pair of jeans. But each day I go on being the same woman I was before I opened the forbidden door -but under it all - they don't know me. But they don't know me. There's them, and there's me. I don't want them to see any of it. I will never, ever be 'real', not with anyone. I showed someone the 'real' me, and I now feel rejected, abandoned. It's okay - really - I don't like that girl either. But I'm angry.And what I fear now, what scares me, is what will happen once the anger ceases.....DBTC would say, don't worry about that now, stay in the present.So I will, for now....I'll "sit" with my anger at DT, and the others in the MHP....

I trusted her...I believed that she believed in me. I don't know if I believe that now and if I cannot believe that, embrace that,in there's really nothing left, is there? I mean, she knows so much about me now, I can't take any of it back. I will never trust, or allow myself, my "real" self to be seen to anyone again. That part of me no longer exists.So I go back to being "Senior Executive, professional and confident- the woman who had no childhood at all - I was BORN an adult...and DT can go back to whatever it is she do....helping people, caring about people....giving herself to the "helping" profession, getting people to "trust" her and rely on her, to believe that she cares. And I hope that she doesn't abandon them, invalidate her other clients. Because, from my recent experience, it feels like having the floor drop out from under me.
I'll get through it because I'm strong.I survived but others may not...I won't be her "first" suicide...I hope no one else will either.

I need something~ I need someone

I knew that I things weren't going well this week. And I know that this process is cyclical - but today - I spent today trying to find myself. I have been lost this week, and I don't know where I've gone. I feel things inside of me that are trying to break out~ and if I give in to them~ I will once again find myself in a mess...useless to everyone, including myself. By mid-morning, I was overwhelmed, and I tried to brace myself, to focus on something other than the thoughts and feelings that were overwhelming me. I have been holding it together since the New Year, ignoring any negative thoughts, focusing on the positive~ I am trying so hard to 'emotionally regulate' - but underneath it all I am so broken and I don't know how to fix it. It takes so much energy to hold it together all week long that by Sunday I do not even have the energy to get dressed, forget leaving the house!

I make progress, or at least it seems like progress to me, for a few weeks but then once again, I have hit the brick wall~ and I lose all motivation and become frustrated with the entire process. It's not that I expect to click my heels together 3 times and be healed, I know it doesn't work that way...but this constant back and forth, and up and down for the past 3 years...I have nothing left to give. I have heard over and over and over again, "the process is slow~it will take years, you are making progress"....but it's impossible to live a normal life like this. I can't seem to put my finger on the trigger, I could feel the familiar pain and the hurt...and then I fall back into my old coping mechanisms, I find solace in them, I wrap myself up in the familiarity of starving myself, abusing the anti-anxiety and sleeping meds, puking out the pain...I haven't cut myself, but last night I wanted too - and it was the first time I have had that feelings since December. It scared me~ and yet I didn't reach out to anyone. What good would it have done? My friends would just say, "Grace, You've come so far, pull it together. You're stronger than this." Well, that is assuming they even answered my calls. And DT? I feel so distant from her that I wouldn't call her if I was standing on the roof trying to decide if I'm going to jump from the front, or the back, of the house.

The past several days have been difficult, even with the distraction of work, so I'm going to brace myself, because as hard as they've been, it's nothing compared to what the next few days are going to bring.

I'm not okay tonight. I need something, someone....I can't put into words how much it aches, deep inside my heart... Why does this happen? That everything seems to be okay and then suddenly, from no where, the bottom drops out and once again it starts all over again....the hurt, the pain, the feelings of hopelessness. I don't understand...but I don't feel safe tonight. I haven't felt safe all week. I feel like a frightened little girl.

But I can do this, I will be okay... there isn't another choice, is there?