I don't know exactly what that means. But something is not right.
I can feel it but I can pinpoint exactly what that means.
My head is spinning and my body hurts.
The sharpness of the pain in my pelvis today made me suck in my breath.
I threw up after therapy today.
My body is persistent in it's messages and I try to push it away, but it will not stop.
I find myself just rocking back and forth...sobbing....
"I don't want to do it...Please don't make me..."
I need to curl up into a little ball and hide somewhere.
I don't know what any of this means right now.
But something is not right.
I am not okay.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
I don't have a good feeling about this...
I'm not sure what that means, really. I don't put much stock in my 'feelings' ~ because let's face it ~ I learned a long time ago that my feelings don't really matter. It doesn't matter what I think ,or what I think I need...it didn't then, and from my perspective, that still holds true now.
I have a session with DT tomorrow and I don't have a good feeling about it... History has shown that Monday sessions aren't good and I end up wasting my time, unwilling to focus or talk about what I need to talk about, and I leave pissed up and unheard.
And I'm afraid it will be that way during tomorrow's session...and since I'm going out of town on Tuesday, I desperately need it NOT to go that way. And my fear is that it will. And then I will rebel and do something really stupid while I'm out of town, or the rational Grace will be no where to be found, leaving me unprepared and lost during a crucial meeting...
I'm not sure what to do ~ part of me wants to cancel and avoid the session all-together - therefore eliminating the chance that it will go poorly...Especially since it's been a really hard weekend for me (they typically are) and I'm angry because of it.
I don't what to do with that.... No show?
I have a session with DT tomorrow and I don't have a good feeling about it... History has shown that Monday sessions aren't good and I end up wasting my time, unwilling to focus or talk about what I need to talk about, and I leave pissed up and unheard.
And I'm afraid it will be that way during tomorrow's session...and since I'm going out of town on Tuesday, I desperately need it NOT to go that way. And my fear is that it will. And then I will rebel and do something really stupid while I'm out of town, or the rational Grace will be no where to be found, leaving me unprepared and lost during a crucial meeting...
I'm not sure what to do ~ part of me wants to cancel and avoid the session all-together - therefore eliminating the chance that it will go poorly...Especially since it's been a really hard weekend for me (they typically are) and I'm angry because of it.
I don't what to do with that.... No show?
Gracie is a big girl now! She has reached a milestone on the growth chart!
LET'S CELEBRATE GRACE'S NEWFOUND INDEPENDENCE! WITH THE RIGHT 'TOOLS' SHE CAN MANAGE ALL THE PARTS OF GRACE WITHOUT SEEING BLOOD OR CRYING FOR DT!!!!
“Grace: It sounds like you found that "strong" part of you, while simultaneously feeling intense anger, fear, grief, smallness, weakness, and power. Ultimately bearing witness, holding, managing and perhaps negotiating a truce with all these experiences inside you…DT”
Yes, DT! I totally did it "all by myself"!! I'm so awesome! The biggest relief is that I have found the perfect combo to alleviate the cutting, at least for now. It doesn't stop the conflicting voices inside my fucked up head- BUT- it does allow me to simply pass out before it gets to the cutting stage. And I can do it "all by myself". The perfect combo of ativan, seroquel and liquor…at just the right time….
As I see it, there are only 2 drawbacks- I have only 1 liver, and when I finally make it to bed- which most of the time I don't remember getting there- I'm not conscious enough to build the fortress correctly so I wake up w/o the security and typically no blanket or comforters- which leads to the whole fear and insecurity issues. But a minor price to pay- for the lack of newfound scars (at least any scars visible to the public). And I deal with it all by myself because I am such a "big girl" now. It’s so very exciting!!!
“Grace, Take a moment and realize what all you have learned, practiced, and are able to do that you couldn't even consider 3 yrs ago. In your proactively you were able to practice self love and a "presence" that felt too frightening or overwhelming for you 3 yrs ago. This is no small accomplishment! Bring the "strong" part of you to sit with the scared part of you. The little scared part of you isn't the one that needs to be strong; it is that adult part of you that is by nature a protector. The adult part of you that keeps protective radar out…That part of you is nearby….DT”
You are right! I have figured out how to shut them all up…and I could not have done this without your *consistent boundaries*. I had to be consistent with them. Hold my boundaries through their rage, let them fight and struggle and argue and attempt to kill themselves…and I just hold steady - just like you do with me. And it’s working! Eventually they shut up! (or maybe it’s just that I can no longer hear them because I’m unconscious from the drugs and booze- but either way, it’s working!!!!) Like you said, I can’t keep them safe, or alive. I can just be there for them, “in the limited ways that I can be”~ until I lose consciousness, go on my own DFW hiatus…and then I don’t worry or care anymore. Just like you!
I am so proud! This is a HUGE breakthrough. I am so awesome! Of course I also give ample credit to you for teaching me how to “tolerate” them, as you do. But please understand there is no “love” for them; I will never accept them, embrace them, or even like them…but like you, I will *tolerate* them until I pass out and no longer have to…just like you do me!
Thank you so much for the "kudos" and recognition, DT - because I too am happy at this newfound "independence" - especially since you're so busy now, and everyone else is more important than I am (which I totally get~ it’s a familiar message – I am no one and am just here to serve the needs of others).
You give yourself a giant pat on the back too! In fact, we should totally celebrate this new milestone of mine on Monday! I'll bring the wine, or grey goose, if you prefer, but only, of course, if that's acceptable to you- I don't want you to get the impression that I would be giving you a "gift"—like, we've been there, and the whole Christmas candy thing made me feel very uncomfortable! I'd prefer not to go there again, DT.
I think I’ll celebrate early…you don’t mind if I get the party started without you, do you? Of course you don’t – it’s Sunday, which is…as we know…a DFW *free* day! Yes, I will celebrate my achievement…DT…without you – as it should be.
You’re Beautiful!~ Grace
P.S. if you reflect back, I think you’ll find that 3 years ago, I was very independent…as that was BEFORE my "dependence" on you-before you worked so ‘diligently’ to get me to trust you. ALL of which happened prior to your life changing and you dumped the 5 year old for a man…and so now we have finally learned to be independent again. (I'm just sayin'....)
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The ticking clock, a symbol of time moving forward, leaves me in a peculiar paradox, wishing time forward and also fearing the night
I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. But what choice do I have other than to trudge on like a quivering, jangling, empty cadaver, shuffling slowly and quietly in the dark, flinching at shadows, caught up in the cluttered mishmash inside my mind. I ache and I throb with exhaustion. I am fearful and crazed and the machinery controlling me continues; whirring along, shifting gears frequently, and causing my words to become disjointed. As my heart beats it sends something blistering and rancorous coursing through my veins. The sadness of the past few days has given way to an acidic anger that I am having trouble harnessing at the moment. There is no prioritizing the distress. I have attempted to alleviate the pain but seem to have lost the ability to soothe and pacify them today. It is not possible to mitigate or ‘make space’ for the parts of Grace right now, and the fear of the familiar internal hostility is hanging above me like a looming funnel cloud.
The clock ambles on…slowly…leaving me in bizarre paradox as I seek to wish time forward and yet at the same time I fear the darkness of the night. This constant battle within myself stretches me to the threshold of my very existence. So many nights I find myself here, in the early hours of the morning, trying to write out the congealed sediment of my mind just to keep myself from dying. I realize that sounds dramatic and theatrical, but it’s how it feels – as if at any moment, it will finally become too much and my heart will simply stop beating. It’s like somehow I believe that if I can just purge all of these thoughts, memories, feelings…if I can somehow allow all the parts of myself to write out the pain and the anguish that is rooted into the innermost part of my being, that the lethal depression will dissipate and I can salvage what is left of me. Metaphorically speaking, I want to dig deep and wide until I pull all of the shame and pain out by the very roots that continue to allow it to grow like a weed inside of me, smothering me, taking away my oxygen, until I can no longer breathe and I just wither away… and I’ve tried. The struggle of putting it out there, on paper - words that I have been unable to write, or speak, even to DT, the one who knows more about me than anyone else, still feels like too much, and my own fear of judgment and ridicule, disgust and abhorrence, prevent me from exposing too much of myself. I cannot permit those parts of me to be seen, taking the chance that anyone who may read my words might see the true me, the real me, as I often see myself~ bad, dirty, worthless, unlovable…disgusting and ugly.
Unable to purge all of this shame out of myself, like arsenic, it continues to poison me, as each night I find the different parts of myself thrashing and straining, fighting each other until every muscle in my body aches and cries out in pain and anguish. They carry me away to somewhere so dark and desolate that each night I fear I may never return. And each morning I feel even more battered and bruised from the battles of the previous night and each night I struggle to make it till morning.
Every night, as I wait for the cocktail combo of drugs and alcohol to take away some of the pain, I listen to the clock ticking away the minutes, the minutes turning into the hours, as I face the East, awaiting the first light of dawn, a sign that I made it through the darkness of yet another seemingly hopeless night…
The clock ambles on…slowly…leaving me in bizarre paradox as I seek to wish time forward and yet at the same time I fear the darkness of the night. This constant battle within myself stretches me to the threshold of my very existence. So many nights I find myself here, in the early hours of the morning, trying to write out the congealed sediment of my mind just to keep myself from dying. I realize that sounds dramatic and theatrical, but it’s how it feels – as if at any moment, it will finally become too much and my heart will simply stop beating. It’s like somehow I believe that if I can just purge all of these thoughts, memories, feelings…if I can somehow allow all the parts of myself to write out the pain and the anguish that is rooted into the innermost part of my being, that the lethal depression will dissipate and I can salvage what is left of me. Metaphorically speaking, I want to dig deep and wide until I pull all of the shame and pain out by the very roots that continue to allow it to grow like a weed inside of me, smothering me, taking away my oxygen, until I can no longer breathe and I just wither away… and I’ve tried. The struggle of putting it out there, on paper - words that I have been unable to write, or speak, even to DT, the one who knows more about me than anyone else, still feels like too much, and my own fear of judgment and ridicule, disgust and abhorrence, prevent me from exposing too much of myself. I cannot permit those parts of me to be seen, taking the chance that anyone who may read my words might see the true me, the real me, as I often see myself~ bad, dirty, worthless, unlovable…disgusting and ugly.
Unable to purge all of this shame out of myself, like arsenic, it continues to poison me, as each night I find the different parts of myself thrashing and straining, fighting each other until every muscle in my body aches and cries out in pain and anguish. They carry me away to somewhere so dark and desolate that each night I fear I may never return. And each morning I feel even more battered and bruised from the battles of the previous night and each night I struggle to make it till morning.
Every night, as I wait for the cocktail combo of drugs and alcohol to take away some of the pain, I listen to the clock ticking away the minutes, the minutes turning into the hours, as I face the East, awaiting the first light of dawn, a sign that I made it through the darkness of yet another seemingly hopeless night…
Friday, September 25, 2009
Please sit with me and hold me. I'm doing everything I can right now.
Last night, when I found myself in the bad place again, I wrapped up in my blanket, grabbed the healing rock and my headphones and went outside to the deck, sat on the swing and rocked…feeling the cool air on my face, listening to Whitney Houston’s new song, “I didn’t know my own strength”... crying (but not sobbing), trying to just breathe. But then I started thinking about how the bad place leaves, and then there is a moment, just a moment, of relief, and then the bad place comes back…and I started to think, “Is this all there is? Is it ever going to get better?” And that’s when the voice inside of me told me that she couldn’t do it any longer…couldn’t hurt any more, it was too much, and she was way too tired to fight the darkness anymore.
She took over my mind, I couldn’t fight her, and like a caterpillar eating a leaf, she began to eat away at the coherent part of my brain…she is now in control, she controls us, her decisions rule, I cannot fight her.
She went inside and locked herself in the bathroom. The fighting began again…the little girl was shaking, and rocking and crying, afraid in the dark, afraid of what was going to happen but unable to stop it. She sobbed and begged for the strong one to help her, to hold her, to come back. But then another voice, the one who has had more than enough of this pain, the one who sees no way out grabbed the scissors and held them tightly. And it was so loud, the arguing, the crying, the pleading, the begging…the little girl, so scared, sitting on the cold tile, curled into a ball, rocking and crying…the hopeless one, holding the scissors, wanting to cut. And me, watching this girl from above…as she struggled…holding the scissors to her wrist as the little girl fought to live, shaking in her fear, crying out for the strong one to come to her, to hold her, to comfort her.
Eventually, the struggle ended without bloodshed…and I found myself sitting on the cold bathroom tile, with scissors in my left hand, poised at the artery on my right wrist, shaking, and crying, and rocking myself...they must have fought until they wore themselves out – and physically and mentally exhausted, I picked myself up, put the scissors away, wiped my face, and crawled up the stairs.
I’m doing everything I can right now. And I need to know when it will get better? I hurt every day. And tonight, I curl up in my chair, with a heating pad on my hips, wrapped in a blanket…feeling the darkness fall upon me. It will get better soon, right DT? Because it’s not that late here and I feel it…and it hurts…
Please, sit with me tonight? Because I am small and frightened…. Please? Sit with me and hold me…
She took over my mind, I couldn’t fight her, and like a caterpillar eating a leaf, she began to eat away at the coherent part of my brain…she is now in control, she controls us, her decisions rule, I cannot fight her.
She went inside and locked herself in the bathroom. The fighting began again…the little girl was shaking, and rocking and crying, afraid in the dark, afraid of what was going to happen but unable to stop it. She sobbed and begged for the strong one to help her, to hold her, to come back. But then another voice, the one who has had more than enough of this pain, the one who sees no way out grabbed the scissors and held them tightly. And it was so loud, the arguing, the crying, the pleading, the begging…the little girl, so scared, sitting on the cold tile, curled into a ball, rocking and crying…the hopeless one, holding the scissors, wanting to cut. And me, watching this girl from above…as she struggled…holding the scissors to her wrist as the little girl fought to live, shaking in her fear, crying out for the strong one to come to her, to hold her, to comfort her.
Eventually, the struggle ended without bloodshed…and I found myself sitting on the cold bathroom tile, with scissors in my left hand, poised at the artery on my right wrist, shaking, and crying, and rocking myself...they must have fought until they wore themselves out – and physically and mentally exhausted, I picked myself up, put the scissors away, wiped my face, and crawled up the stairs.
I’m doing everything I can right now. And I need to know when it will get better? I hurt every day. And tonight, I curl up in my chair, with a heating pad on my hips, wrapped in a blanket…feeling the darkness fall upon me. It will get better soon, right DT? Because it’s not that late here and I feel it…and it hurts…
Please, sit with me tonight? Because I am small and frightened…. Please? Sit with me and hold me…
Thursday, September 24, 2009
It hurts...this grief, this emptiness, this ache for what will never be...it hurts
It hurts...the pain is unbearable. It feels like someone has surgically removed my heart and they forgot to sew me back up, they forgot to put me back together.
It's like this unbearable grief, this emptiness inside of me.
It's as though someone very close to me as died.
It's like this huge longing for something that will never be...it hurts...it hurts so much.
And I cannot stop crying from the ache.
I don't know how to get past it.
I don't know if I can.
I don't know if it's possible.
It hurts
It hurts so much to have this aching need that will never be real.
And I sit here, moving around, unable to find a comfortable position to have some relief from the constant pain in my entire pelvis which burns and aches and strains...I've tried stretching, yoga, lying straight, on my side...I've used heating pads and ice...but nothing seems to work.
I've been keeping DT's rock heart on my own heart thinking it can somehow bring me this healing energy...help put me back together. All these broken pieces of Grace.
I miss DT tonight. I miss her safety, and her comfort...she makes us feel safe. I need that tonight. I need her to comfort me tonight. It hurts so much. It hurts...
It's like this unbearable grief, this emptiness inside of me.
It's as though someone very close to me as died.
It's like this huge longing for something that will never be...it hurts...it hurts so much.
And I cannot stop crying from the ache.
I don't know how to get past it.
I don't know if I can.
I don't know if it's possible.
It hurts
It hurts so much to have this aching need that will never be real.
And I sit here, moving around, unable to find a comfortable position to have some relief from the constant pain in my entire pelvis which burns and aches and strains...I've tried stretching, yoga, lying straight, on my side...I've used heating pads and ice...but nothing seems to work.
I've been keeping DT's rock heart on my own heart thinking it can somehow bring me this healing energy...help put me back together. All these broken pieces of Grace.
I miss DT tonight. I miss her safety, and her comfort...she makes us feel safe. I need that tonight. I need her to comfort me tonight. It hurts so much. It hurts...
I want a mother and I want one now! **STOMPING FEET & CROSSING ARMS*** (yes, whining)
I'M MAD AS HELL
&
I WANT ANSWERS!
I WANT ANSWERS!
Its not fair! It isn't fair that I didn't get a mother and I instead get delivered to an abusing bitch who told me she hated me and let her husband fuck me for years! And I'm pisssed about it and it's not fair!
And DT was so nice to me on Sunday night...and she spoke so calm and so caring and she called the 5 year old sweetie - and the little girl desperately wanted DT to hold her and tuck her in and kiss her good night and wake up the next morning with DT still there.
She wants DT to be her mother - to be something she never had. But it will never be. I never had a mother. I'll never have a mother. And that sucks!
And DT was so nice to me on Sunday night...and she spoke so calm and so caring and she called the 5 year old sweetie - and the little girl desperately wanted DT to hold her and tuck her in and kiss her good night and wake up the next morning with DT still there.
She wants DT to be her mother - to be something she never had. But it will never be. I never had a mother. I'll never have a mother. And that sucks!
And when DT acts all 'motherly' it hurts even more ~ because she isn't the 5 year old's mother, and she isn't going to reparent her...and it SUCKS! And I hate it!
I just wanted a mother to love me and protect me and teach me how to love and trust. Why the hell is that too much to ask???? God? Can you hear me now? Wanna let me in on the secret as to why the child abusing, satanic, fuckers were chosen as MY parents? Just curious! Maybe if I knew the "reason" and what I'm supposed to "learn" from it - it might make it a bit easier to swallow!
Wanna let me in on why that decision was made?
I'd really appreciate it
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Can you hold me but not touch me? Can you touch me but not hurt me?
Dear DT: I know that last night you were not utilizing flying lesbo nun skills with respect to the boxes, I know it was a trauma approach you were using…and I hope you know that I do try hard to get through each night. Not a night goes by that I don’t feel the hatred boiling inside of me…remember those scars written within of me – it feels like deep jagged cuts that have been sealed off from the outside, yet remain an open wound visible only to me, and those within me…my past self bleeding relentlessly into my present, intrusive and uninvited. Not a night goes by that I don’t try to throw it all in those boxes and fight like hell not to cut through my skin in a last ditch effort to get it out of me. It’s like having a baby – you’re scared about the thought of actually giving birth but the pain of labor is so intense that you’ll do anything it get the kid out of you! That’s how this feels.
I shake constantly at night now. I curl up in my comfy chair, shaking and freezing cold…wrapped in blankets, sobbing and begging that girl to come back. The strong girl – the fearless girl… I need her to come back. I need her desperately. And every night it’s like a tsunami hits me and I try to find some sort of shelter for if I do not, it will surely kill me. And I begin to question my trust in everyone and everything.
I did not believe this process would be “easy” but I did not comprehend the depth of the pain, and I miscalculated how much it would hurt, how complex it would be, and how long it would take. I did not realize the extent of the damage, the overwhelming feelings of helplessness and sheer terror. I overestimated my strength in the present and didn’t realize how strong she was back then. When I shoved everything in those “boxes” I had no idea how much it had impacted my life, how much it has continued to impact my life.
You told me that you understand why I continue to question you and why, after 4 years, this trust barrier keeps bubbling to the surface…and that I should trust you on some level because you have not abandoned me in four years. But there are questions that cycle through my head over and over again, surfacing at different times, brought up by different voices…questions about trust, questions about your ability to stand with me and not leave me in the middle of all of this pain.
Questions…Uncertainty…Doubt…Insecurity...Fear…Reliance…Hesitation
Can you accept knowing I may never be whole?
If I need you too, can you take this box and lock it away so it can’t hurt me anymore?
Can you take the crying one, and the worthless one, the one who hurts me, and the one who pushes you away…and hear them?
Can you “create a nurturing space” for all of them, and “hold” them week after week for the next who knows how many years?
Can you *accept* me as broken?
Can you hold me but not touch me?
Can you touch me but not hurt me?
Can you refrain from using the WORDS ON THE “BAD” LIST (words that typically trigger me to shut down or go on a borderline rampage): CONSISTENT, DBT, CONTAINMENT, DRUGS…the phrase “I know my changes don’t feel fair to you”…and please, please, please, please…don’t tell me that you are sorry you are not here now.
There are always “exceptions”: You may use DBT in a ‘humorous’ way…such as making fun of your crush on the flying nun or any other humor as it relates to that Brady girl, or her philosophical bullshit.
You can say you’re “sorry” that we still hurt, that the 5 year old feels unsafe , and for the continued pain we feel – but please do not say that you’re sorry you aren’t here “the way you were” – because we both know you’re not sorry you’re not “here” –why would you be? Why should you be?
You can say it isn’t fair for adults to fuck kids, but please do not say you know that your availability changes “still don’t feel fair to me.” Because fair doesn’t matter…we both know that.
You can send ‘virtual’ hugs, angels, pink-decorated boxes with sequins!
You can help me create a ‘safe’ place, but please understand that I can’t always find it.
You can tell me that you know I am stronger than I feel, and I have been through worse, and I can and will survive.
You can remind me that I have the heart rock and to wrap up in my blue blanket.
I like it when you tell me that you will “be with me in spirit’…and “hold me in your heart” and “keep me in your thoughts”…and call me “sweetie” like you do sometimes on the phone and in your office – all of those things you say are soothing and calming, and make me feel cared for…but please – don’t use the bad list, DT.
Because I don’t feel well now…and I feel small and sad –but I am okay with feeling sad for now~ I would rather feel sad than to feel that all-consuming rage. Sadness is quieter…it doesn’t take as much energy. And I really don’t have much to give right now.
Please, DT…no bad words...bad words hurt Gracie
*************************
Grace, I wish that I could arrange these boxes or line them up, open them up with extra filters and resealable cracks, so that you could carefully and with whatever control you need and want...look, feel, taste, hear, etc just as little or much as you want. I wish that we could use x-ray glasses to be able to look inside without the fear or it all spilling out. Oh, how I wish there was a way for you to titrate all this like a tiny little dropper into your delicate, yet strong body, slowly enough for you to assimilate and digest it fully.
I will continue to remember that you need me to "hold" all the parts of you. Your request that I accept that you may never be "whole" is reasonable. However, while I will always accept you in your experience of feeling broken, I will still ask you if you are content enough with your healing process. I will continue to ask you to remain true to yourself and be courageous in this process of learning how to "hold" the parts of you that feel "unholdable”...as horribly difficult and aversive as this is much of the time.
I will continue to remember that you try every night and that some nights are just "too much". I wish you some quietness in your sadness tonight and to know that if I had an angel, I would ask her to fly over to you and wipe off your tears as the roll down your face.
Get some rest and give some strength back to the part of you that is tired....
G-night, DT
I shake constantly at night now. I curl up in my comfy chair, shaking and freezing cold…wrapped in blankets, sobbing and begging that girl to come back. The strong girl – the fearless girl… I need her to come back. I need her desperately. And every night it’s like a tsunami hits me and I try to find some sort of shelter for if I do not, it will surely kill me. And I begin to question my trust in everyone and everything.
I did not believe this process would be “easy” but I did not comprehend the depth of the pain, and I miscalculated how much it would hurt, how complex it would be, and how long it would take. I did not realize the extent of the damage, the overwhelming feelings of helplessness and sheer terror. I overestimated my strength in the present and didn’t realize how strong she was back then. When I shoved everything in those “boxes” I had no idea how much it had impacted my life, how much it has continued to impact my life.
You told me that you understand why I continue to question you and why, after 4 years, this trust barrier keeps bubbling to the surface…and that I should trust you on some level because you have not abandoned me in four years. But there are questions that cycle through my head over and over again, surfacing at different times, brought up by different voices…questions about trust, questions about your ability to stand with me and not leave me in the middle of all of this pain.
Questions…Uncertainty…Doubt…Insecurity...Fear…Reliance…Hesitation
Can you accept knowing I may never be whole?
If I need you too, can you take this box and lock it away so it can’t hurt me anymore?
Can you take the crying one, and the worthless one, the one who hurts me, and the one who pushes you away…and hear them?
Can you “create a nurturing space” for all of them, and “hold” them week after week for the next who knows how many years?
Can you *accept* me as broken?
Can you hold me but not touch me?
Can you touch me but not hurt me?
Can you refrain from using the WORDS ON THE “BAD” LIST (words that typically trigger me to shut down or go on a borderline rampage): CONSISTENT, DBT, CONTAINMENT, DRUGS…the phrase “I know my changes don’t feel fair to you”…and please, please, please, please…don’t tell me that you are sorry you are not here now.
There are always “exceptions”: You may use DBT in a ‘humorous’ way…such as making fun of your crush on the flying nun or any other humor as it relates to that Brady girl, or her philosophical bullshit.
You can say you’re “sorry” that we still hurt, that the 5 year old feels unsafe , and for the continued pain we feel – but please do not say that you’re sorry you aren’t here “the way you were” – because we both know you’re not sorry you’re not “here” –why would you be? Why should you be?
You can say it isn’t fair for adults to fuck kids, but please do not say you know that your availability changes “still don’t feel fair to me.” Because fair doesn’t matter…we both know that.
You can send ‘virtual’ hugs, angels, pink-decorated boxes with sequins!
You can help me create a ‘safe’ place, but please understand that I can’t always find it.
You can tell me that you know I am stronger than I feel, and I have been through worse, and I can and will survive.
You can remind me that I have the heart rock and to wrap up in my blue blanket.
I like it when you tell me that you will “be with me in spirit’…and “hold me in your heart” and “keep me in your thoughts”…and call me “sweetie” like you do sometimes on the phone and in your office – all of those things you say are soothing and calming, and make me feel cared for…but please – don’t use the bad list, DT.
Because I don’t feel well now…and I feel small and sad –but I am okay with feeling sad for now~ I would rather feel sad than to feel that all-consuming rage. Sadness is quieter…it doesn’t take as much energy. And I really don’t have much to give right now.
Please, DT…no bad words...bad words hurt Gracie
*************************
Grace, I wish that I could arrange these boxes or line them up, open them up with extra filters and resealable cracks, so that you could carefully and with whatever control you need and want...look, feel, taste, hear, etc just as little or much as you want. I wish that we could use x-ray glasses to be able to look inside without the fear or it all spilling out. Oh, how I wish there was a way for you to titrate all this like a tiny little dropper into your delicate, yet strong body, slowly enough for you to assimilate and digest it fully.
I will continue to remember that you need me to "hold" all the parts of you. Your request that I accept that you may never be "whole" is reasonable. However, while I will always accept you in your experience of feeling broken, I will still ask you if you are content enough with your healing process. I will continue to ask you to remain true to yourself and be courageous in this process of learning how to "hold" the parts of you that feel "unholdable”...as horribly difficult and aversive as this is much of the time.
I will continue to remember that you try every night and that some nights are just "too much". I wish you some quietness in your sadness tonight and to know that if I had an angel, I would ask her to fly over to you and wipe off your tears as the roll down your face.
Get some rest and give some strength back to the part of you that is tired....
G-night, DT
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
When my road is rough ahead...I have a friend in her...
There are friends…and then there are “friends”… and I write this to a “friend”
You know what I mean…we all have friends who we can hang out with, go to dinner with, take in a movie, talk about the weather and the job…maybe the spouse and the children…”shop talk”….
And then there are “FRIENDS”…
Friends who know you, friends you’ve been “real” with and still felt accepted. Friends who will give you the space you need, but know when to push you. Today, I had a conversation with a “friend” like that. She has been in my life for just over 3 years but at times I feel like we’ve known each other forever. She is a “real” friend, a friend I can share “me” with, not just enjoy a movie or dinner with. Her personality reminds me much of my own. Although she is friendly, like me, she guards her ‘personal’ self and allows only a trusted few to see inside her shaded windows.
I was chatting with my friend this afternoon, I hadn’t really talked to her much in a couple of weeks, and I was happy to find some time to “catch up”. We spent a few minutes talking about the ‘usual’ chit chat…how are you, how was vacation…did you watch “said show” last week? How are the bruises from that “fall” a couple of weeks ago?
The chit-chat took a more serious tone when she asked me about my SI –and I told her it had been a while since I had cut. She called me a liar – right then and there – and (jokingly) told me to “strip down” and prove it (at least I hope it was a joke). Of course, I had to tell the truth then – I mean, who wants to be standing naked in someone’s office at 6pm…when I told her the truth, there was no judgment in her words or her face, she was supportive and understanding – recognizing that there are times when there are no other options.
I appreciate her more than she realizes…and tonight, I keep finding myself with a smile on my face as I remember her calling me out for being dishonest about my pain…and for accepting me anyway when I shared the truth of me.
For you…friend… You’ve got a friend in me….
THANK YOU FOR STICKING BY ME!!!!!
You know what I mean…we all have friends who we can hang out with, go to dinner with, take in a movie, talk about the weather and the job…maybe the spouse and the children…”shop talk”….
And then there are “FRIENDS”…
Friends who know you, friends you’ve been “real” with and still felt accepted. Friends who will give you the space you need, but know when to push you. Today, I had a conversation with a “friend” like that. She has been in my life for just over 3 years but at times I feel like we’ve known each other forever. She is a “real” friend, a friend I can share “me” with, not just enjoy a movie or dinner with. Her personality reminds me much of my own. Although she is friendly, like me, she guards her ‘personal’ self and allows only a trusted few to see inside her shaded windows.
I was chatting with my friend this afternoon, I hadn’t really talked to her much in a couple of weeks, and I was happy to find some time to “catch up”. We spent a few minutes talking about the ‘usual’ chit chat…how are you, how was vacation…did you watch “said show” last week? How are the bruises from that “fall” a couple of weeks ago?
The chit-chat took a more serious tone when she asked me about my SI –and I told her it had been a while since I had cut. She called me a liar – right then and there – and (jokingly) told me to “strip down” and prove it (at least I hope it was a joke). Of course, I had to tell the truth then – I mean, who wants to be standing naked in someone’s office at 6pm…when I told her the truth, there was no judgment in her words or her face, she was supportive and understanding – recognizing that there are times when there are no other options.
I appreciate her more than she realizes…and tonight, I keep finding myself with a smile on my face as I remember her calling me out for being dishonest about my pain…and for accepting me anyway when I shared the truth of me.
For you…friend… You’ve got a friend in me….
THANK YOU FOR STICKING BY ME!!!!!
I can no longer deny who I used to be, what I used to be, what they did to me
So many years ago, I packed away my childhood, each year was placed neatly in a box, labeled and sealed shut with packing tape. And I took those boxes full of memories; memories full of pain, fear, sadness, abuse…and I placed them in the far back corner of the attic of my mind. I made the boxes diminutive and negligible, they were nothing special and I tried to forget they were there. I did this so I could get through each day without the painful reminder of who I used to be, what I used to be, what they did to me. I did this so I could live.I knew the boxes were there, and I would go into the attic and check on the boxes…just to make sure the packing tape that held all the contents, all the filth and the same, was still secure, that nothing I was unable to face could escape. At times the tape would peal back, allowing the contents of the boxes to peak through the cracks, and I could see things so horrible I would be physically sick. The contents in the boxes would taunt me, beg me to look inside, to admit that they existed, and I would have to hurry and close the door to resist them. I resisted the temptation so I could live. So I could protect myself, and those I loved, from who I used to be, what I used to be, what they did to me.
I knew that eventually I would have to unpack those boxes, and put them away, where they belonged. And at times I tried to do it – but the contents were so rotten, so dirty and shameful, I couldn’t put them out for anyone to see. And I denied that they belonged to me. I denied them so I could live. So I could protect myself, and those I loved, from who I used to be, what I used to be, what they did to me.
Panic grew inside of me as the pain leaked out of the aged boxes, pain that was always there, but like the sound of my own heart beating, I no longer noticed it. It just *was*. And then the pain became overwhelming, loud and intrusive, I could hear screaming and crying, and noises that did not sound human , an animal in pain, I thought. I closed my eyes and put my hands over my ears but the screaming didn’t stop. It would not stop. I could no longer deny them. I could no longer protect myself. I could no longer deny who I used to be, what I used to be, what they did to me.
Now, today, all these years later, we sit “criss-cross apple sauce” (as my 7 year old would say) in the middle of all of these ½ opened boxes…these boxes that represent ME. And as I look around me, at the pain, and the shame, and the sadness, I not only see what these boxes held, I feel it…I hear it…I taste it…I breathe it. My vision is blurred from my tears…spilling over, some streaming down cheeks; others poised on the edges of my eyelashes, awaiting their turn to fall...right into the content of those boxes filled with my pain. Her pain. The pain of a little girl, abused and broken, unloved and unheard…
I can hear her screaming and crying. I can feel her pain…it is real. And I can feel it, and I can hear it, and I can taste it…I breathe it.
And I can no longer deny who I used to be, what I used to be, what they did to me.
Monday, September 21, 2009
I don’t know what happened to that girl ~ but when I find her I’m going to embrace her like a long lost friend
I was 18 years old, and a freshman in college, the last time I saw the evil step-father.
My younger brother called me to tell me that “dad was beating mom”. I’m not sure why I went back to the trailer that day… for years I had hoped that the host body and the man whore would kill each other. I think I went because of the fear in my little brother’s voice.
When I walked in he was truly beating her…not an uncommon scene, I had witnessed him beat her for years. I felt no sympathy for either of them – just my baby brother. When the evil SF saw me, he stopped for a minute and from the look on his face it was obvious that he was startled to see me. He walked toward me and for the first time in my life I did not back away from him.
He started calling me the usual names but I felt immune to them. It was as though I was wearing armor that day and his sharp words could not infiltrate through the steel or hurt me in any way. My staring back at him, looking him in the eyes for the first time, fearless, made him even angrier, but still I did not back away. Instead I taunted him with my newfound power, practically instigating him, daring him to strike me now, as he had all those years. We stood there, nearly eye to eye, neither of us speaking – his eyes telling me to back down, to submit to his non-verbal command as I had all those years. I stood so close to him I could feel his breath on my face. And in those few moments I felt invincible. I WANTED him to raise his hand to me so I could have him arrested. I was not afraid.
It was that moment he spoke to me, in his venomous vile voice he said, “Grace, life is a tavern and all you need is a good fuck.”
And that powerful teenage girl did not back down, or turn away from him, and for the first and only time, she struck back, using her own strong voice, looking him straight in the eye, she replied, “You are so right, ESF, all these years that is what I needed, a drink and a fuck.” Her voice stable and without emotion, she continued, “When I grow up, I want to be just like you. I want to beat my spouse and abuse my kids to feel powerful and strong. I want to live off my in-laws and never hold a job. I want to be a bum…a weak, lazy bum. I want to be just like you.”
He said nothing. The host body said nothing. And that girl, the girl who has since disappeared, turned away, motioned for her little brother to follow her, and they walked out the door. She did not turn around but she could imagine them, standing there, jaws open, in bewilderment and surprise.
That girl never went back to that trailer. She never saw the step-father again after that day.
I have since lost touch with that courageous girl. But I know she’s still alive, she is out there somewhere (or should I say, “in here”) and I won’t stop looking for her until I find her again.
And when I find her, and I will find her, I will embrace her like a long lost dear friend, and I will never let her go... she was 18 years old...her name was Grace, and she was so strong. And I miss her so much.
My younger brother called me to tell me that “dad was beating mom”. I’m not sure why I went back to the trailer that day… for years I had hoped that the host body and the man whore would kill each other. I think I went because of the fear in my little brother’s voice.
When I walked in he was truly beating her…not an uncommon scene, I had witnessed him beat her for years. I felt no sympathy for either of them – just my baby brother. When the evil SF saw me, he stopped for a minute and from the look on his face it was obvious that he was startled to see me. He walked toward me and for the first time in my life I did not back away from him.
He started calling me the usual names but I felt immune to them. It was as though I was wearing armor that day and his sharp words could not infiltrate through the steel or hurt me in any way. My staring back at him, looking him in the eyes for the first time, fearless, made him even angrier, but still I did not back away. Instead I taunted him with my newfound power, practically instigating him, daring him to strike me now, as he had all those years. We stood there, nearly eye to eye, neither of us speaking – his eyes telling me to back down, to submit to his non-verbal command as I had all those years. I stood so close to him I could feel his breath on my face. And in those few moments I felt invincible. I WANTED him to raise his hand to me so I could have him arrested. I was not afraid.
It was that moment he spoke to me, in his venomous vile voice he said, “Grace, life is a tavern and all you need is a good fuck.”
And that powerful teenage girl did not back down, or turn away from him, and for the first and only time, she struck back, using her own strong voice, looking him straight in the eye, she replied, “You are so right, ESF, all these years that is what I needed, a drink and a fuck.” Her voice stable and without emotion, she continued, “When I grow up, I want to be just like you. I want to beat my spouse and abuse my kids to feel powerful and strong. I want to live off my in-laws and never hold a job. I want to be a bum…a weak, lazy bum. I want to be just like you.”
He said nothing. The host body said nothing. And that girl, the girl who has since disappeared, turned away, motioned for her little brother to follow her, and they walked out the door. She did not turn around but she could imagine them, standing there, jaws open, in bewilderment and surprise.
That girl never went back to that trailer. She never saw the step-father again after that day.
I have since lost touch with that courageous girl. But I know she’s still alive, she is out there somewhere (or should I say, “in here”) and I won’t stop looking for her until I find her again.
And when I find her, and I will find her, I will embrace her like a long lost dear friend, and I will never let her go... she was 18 years old...her name was Grace, and she was so strong. And I miss her so much.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
I have a SERIOUS attachment disorder!!!
My Dearest Therapist:
As I know you are already aware since you’re the head-doc (Just felt the need to throw it out there so you know that I am also “aware”) I have a serious attachment disorder and I’m still mad as hell at you for leaving me when you went on vacation and you didn’t even care!!! I guess being left in an apartment for a few days as a baby, while my parents went on a drinking binge doesn’t really bode well for “healthy attachment”. When you go away, then come back, then go away again so quickly, then I begin to feel insecure and instead of realizing that you have not abandoned me in nearly 4 years, PAG brings your changes to the forefront of our mind…and I become angry and resentful because I need you and you aren’t here. And to further complicate the situation, a couple of days before your return, I’m as excited as a child on Christmas morning (a normal child)…and then when I see you for the first time, after your return, I’m angry and distant with you.
So I act out all the old feelings of abandonment by my mother…you don’t care…you don’t want to help me…you hate me… and instead of appropriately directing the anger at the host body I turn it inward and hurt and hate myself because I was never good enough for her, and obviously, says PAG, if your own mother couldn’t love you, you’re clearly unlovable! And frankly, just saying all that makes me feel even more screwed up. Not because it doesn’t make sense but because it feels ridiculous and childish! And perhaps if I were to trade places with you…and I was not the lab rat, but the sane one, watching and analyzing the lab rat, I might see this as attention-grabbing and compelling, but being the lab rat I instead find myself in a widespread panic as this continues to surface time and time again.
And I still cannot seem to tolerate the dramatic shifting between PAG, 5 year old, sad/lonely, need no one…I can find no synthesis, no cohesiveness, there is nothing but obstinate arguing and hatred. And I can’t seem to bang the gavel and call them all to order… This leaves me in a quandary because I fear that PAG will kill 5 year old (and thereby the rest of us) and sad/lonely will become so depressed we’ll never again leave the house, and the one who needs no one will find nothing to live for and end up…well, you know… And that makes me feel too attached to you so PAG panics and wants out….enter shitty emails and irrational cancelling of appointments to both punish myself and prohibit myself from GOD FORBID continuing to feel any sort of attachment to you.
So what do we do about that? And if you say ANYTHING resembling DBT in any response to this – in or out of session – I will seriously construct an intelligent and heartfelt letter to the flying nun (on pink paper with hearts on it) – letting her know what a HUGE lesbian crush you have on her and sign your name to it, spray it with Ralph Lauren ‘Romance’ perfume and seal it with a kiss – red lipstick and all. Perhaps that may sound dramatic and childish – but stop and consider the source!)
And to add to the messed up 'abandonment' issues, the past several days, my body has been expressing all this pain, and I try to suppress it, to dissociate and push it away…as though it isn’t really me….but it isn’t working anymore. Much like the ‘pushing away’ of the memories and the past as I did for so many years, it is here, demanding to be felt! But I don’t want to feel it- I don’t want to remember any of it. Buy my body and I – we’re now in this tug of war, and suddenly my body has become “Mission Impossible” spilling over with pain and aches and then memories connect to the pain and suddenly I’m in the middle of a full-fledged flashback hell and I can do everything in my “pink little self-soothing box” but none of it will work. And I hear you saying, you need to be kind to your body, find a way to live in your body – but right now that is not possible…because my body represents something bad and dirty and I cannot be connected to that right now. My body belonged to him, and I still associate it with him – we are not one.
And at night, when this happens, I am freaked out and you aren’t there to help me through it and I can’t seem to do it alone, and then I want to hurt myself even more – up, to, and including termination. This is not about “SUICIDE” but rather making the pain STOP! (And, again, at this point, enter attachment disorder running unbridled inside that kid in my head!)
And, that, DT, is the LONG version of telling you that I do not really want to cancel my appointment for Monday. However, I cannot, at this point, commit to staying ‘sane’ tonight – so I don’t know if there will be further emails or voicemails quitting the whole process. However, I am about 50% sure that if I am able to drag my ass out of the house tomorrow I will show up unshowered (which I recognize is not a word – but I didn’t want to say ‘dirty’ because I don’t want to be ‘dirty’) and possibly in jammies, for my appointment.
And thank you, DT, for the hug over the phone tonight, and the reassurance that you won’t leave me…5 year old heard you….and she cried but not in a sad way. I appreciate your telling us that we are strong and that we will survive this because we have survived both…I really wish I had that recorded on DT-Bear’s heart so I could listen to it over and over again when I am afraid.
I will see you tomorrow…
Love, The Childish, attachment disordered, angry/sad, psycho, dissociative patient of yours….
As I know you are already aware since you’re the head-doc (Just felt the need to throw it out there so you know that I am also “aware”) I have a serious attachment disorder and I’m still mad as hell at you for leaving me when you went on vacation and you didn’t even care!!! I guess being left in an apartment for a few days as a baby, while my parents went on a drinking binge doesn’t really bode well for “healthy attachment”. When you go away, then come back, then go away again so quickly, then I begin to feel insecure and instead of realizing that you have not abandoned me in nearly 4 years, PAG brings your changes to the forefront of our mind…and I become angry and resentful because I need you and you aren’t here. And to further complicate the situation, a couple of days before your return, I’m as excited as a child on Christmas morning (a normal child)…and then when I see you for the first time, after your return, I’m angry and distant with you.
So I act out all the old feelings of abandonment by my mother…you don’t care…you don’t want to help me…you hate me… and instead of appropriately directing the anger at the host body I turn it inward and hurt and hate myself because I was never good enough for her, and obviously, says PAG, if your own mother couldn’t love you, you’re clearly unlovable! And frankly, just saying all that makes me feel even more screwed up. Not because it doesn’t make sense but because it feels ridiculous and childish! And perhaps if I were to trade places with you…and I was not the lab rat, but the sane one, watching and analyzing the lab rat, I might see this as attention-grabbing and compelling, but being the lab rat I instead find myself in a widespread panic as this continues to surface time and time again.
And I still cannot seem to tolerate the dramatic shifting between PAG, 5 year old, sad/lonely, need no one…I can find no synthesis, no cohesiveness, there is nothing but obstinate arguing and hatred. And I can’t seem to bang the gavel and call them all to order… This leaves me in a quandary because I fear that PAG will kill 5 year old (and thereby the rest of us) and sad/lonely will become so depressed we’ll never again leave the house, and the one who needs no one will find nothing to live for and end up…well, you know… And that makes me feel too attached to you so PAG panics and wants out….enter shitty emails and irrational cancelling of appointments to both punish myself and prohibit myself from GOD FORBID continuing to feel any sort of attachment to you.
So what do we do about that? And if you say ANYTHING resembling DBT in any response to this – in or out of session – I will seriously construct an intelligent and heartfelt letter to the flying nun (on pink paper with hearts on it) – letting her know what a HUGE lesbian crush you have on her and sign your name to it, spray it with Ralph Lauren ‘Romance’ perfume and seal it with a kiss – red lipstick and all. Perhaps that may sound dramatic and childish – but stop and consider the source!)
And to add to the messed up 'abandonment' issues, the past several days, my body has been expressing all this pain, and I try to suppress it, to dissociate and push it away…as though it isn’t really me….but it isn’t working anymore. Much like the ‘pushing away’ of the memories and the past as I did for so many years, it is here, demanding to be felt! But I don’t want to feel it- I don’t want to remember any of it. Buy my body and I – we’re now in this tug of war, and suddenly my body has become “Mission Impossible” spilling over with pain and aches and then memories connect to the pain and suddenly I’m in the middle of a full-fledged flashback hell and I can do everything in my “pink little self-soothing box” but none of it will work. And I hear you saying, you need to be kind to your body, find a way to live in your body – but right now that is not possible…because my body represents something bad and dirty and I cannot be connected to that right now. My body belonged to him, and I still associate it with him – we are not one.
And at night, when this happens, I am freaked out and you aren’t there to help me through it and I can’t seem to do it alone, and then I want to hurt myself even more – up, to, and including termination. This is not about “SUICIDE” but rather making the pain STOP! (And, again, at this point, enter attachment disorder running unbridled inside that kid in my head!)
And, that, DT, is the LONG version of telling you that I do not really want to cancel my appointment for Monday. However, I cannot, at this point, commit to staying ‘sane’ tonight – so I don’t know if there will be further emails or voicemails quitting the whole process. However, I am about 50% sure that if I am able to drag my ass out of the house tomorrow I will show up unshowered (which I recognize is not a word – but I didn’t want to say ‘dirty’ because I don’t want to be ‘dirty’) and possibly in jammies, for my appointment.
And thank you, DT, for the hug over the phone tonight, and the reassurance that you won’t leave me…5 year old heard you….and she cried but not in a sad way. I appreciate your telling us that we are strong and that we will survive this because we have survived both…I really wish I had that recorded on DT-Bear’s heart so I could listen to it over and over again when I am afraid.
I will see you tomorrow…
Love, The Childish, attachment disordered, angry/sad, psycho, dissociative patient of yours….
Are we doing the "United States of Grace" Tonight?
Lately, I find myself vacillating between PAG, little 5 year old, sad/lonely girl/humorous sarcastic girl….constantly...it seems that they each have to make an appearance several times a day. It is tormenting just about everyone in my life, including me.
One minute I’m laughing with my son as we are walking to across a walkway that goes over a busy Interstate and the next minute I’m imagining myself jumping over the bridge into the traffic below.
One minute I can be Ms. Social Butterfly…a picture of perfection and humor…and then an hour later I’ve fallen into my favorite chair, wrapped in my blue blanket crying and shaking in pain and fear.
One minute I’m full of energy, pulling weeds, trimming rose bushes…cleaning the kitchen until it sparkles, a couple of hours later…depressed and so exhausted it takes every ounce of energy to breathe.
I cancel my T appointment at noon – and call to say I really don’t want to cancel at 8.
One minute I’m laughing with my son as we are walking to across a walkway that goes over a busy Interstate and the next minute I’m imagining myself jumping over the bridge into the traffic below.
One minute I can be Ms. Social Butterfly…a picture of perfection and humor…and then an hour later I’ve fallen into my favorite chair, wrapped in my blue blanket crying and shaking in pain and fear.
One minute I’m full of energy, pulling weeds, trimming rose bushes…cleaning the kitchen until it sparkles, a couple of hours later…depressed and so exhausted it takes every ounce of energy to breathe.
I cancel my T appointment at noon – and call to say I really don’t want to cancel at 8.
During a ‘bad’ moment this evening - my children were arguing over a card game, and I raise my voice and told them to stop fighting or they would both go to their rooms and no TV ~ and then DS says something funny that happened earlier today, and suddenly the 3 of us are laughing and singing “Ding-Dong-the witch is dead”….
During the last exchange listed above, DH was in another room on the phone, and when he hung up and came out of the den…he asked me (in a humorous way): “Is this going to be a “United States of Tara” night?” Referencing the show, United States of Tara on Showtime about a woman with DID.Of course…one minute I was offended and angry…10 seconds later I found it funny. 
Being in the “okay” Grace personality at this moment, I am thankful for my family, friends, DT and ‘blog friends’ for hanging in there with me during these “United States of Grace” times… It isn’t easy to be supportive to someone who can be so crazy…lucky for me! Just keep trying...every day...just keep trying.
Being in the “okay” Grace personality at this moment, I am thankful for my family, friends, DT and ‘blog friends’ for hanging in there with me during these “United States of Grace” times… It isn’t easy to be supportive to someone who can be so crazy…lucky for me! Just keep trying...every day...just keep trying.
I will be PERFECT, or locked away in a mental institution for good….I’m hoping for “acceptance – and self-like”.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
What's that, DT Mary Poppins? "Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down...."
BEFORE: "Grace, if you don't feel like you can keep yourself safe, you can always call me and we can make a plan."
AFTER: "Grace, it is not my responsibility to keep you safe. And I will not respond to any call after 10pm."
Well, DT, it's well after 10...I'm not safe. I did leave you a voicemail expressing my "feelings" of "unsafely" ~ I'm sorry ~ I must have mixed the past with the present...because NOW you don't give a flying fuck about my "safety" after 1o, or Tuesdays, or Fridays or Saturdays or Sundays.
Since I'm crazy...I'm going to interpret that to mean that you are actually encouraging me to hurt myself, or....something else.
So I hear you *Oh Wise One...And I Obey*
I sure wish you would have taught me the *skills* you used to use to make me feel safe and cared for BEFORE your life changed...because it seems to have left me unprepared to deal with any of this SHIT that continues to fucking pound me like golf ball sized hail night...after night...after night.
"Your best is always good enough"...OK - then - my "best" it is....
Sing it for me, DT Poppins...."Just a *spoonful* of sugar helps the medicine go down. The medicine go dowwwn...the medicine go down...Just a *spoonful* of sugar helps Grace go down, in a most delightful and pain-free way.
AFTER: "Grace, it is not my responsibility to keep you safe. And I will not respond to any call after 10pm."
Well, DT, it's well after 10...I'm not safe. I did leave you a voicemail expressing my "feelings" of "unsafely" ~ I'm sorry ~ I must have mixed the past with the present...because NOW you don't give a flying fuck about my "safety" after 1o, or Tuesdays, or Fridays or Saturdays or Sundays.
Since I'm crazy...I'm going to interpret that to mean that you are actually encouraging me to hurt myself, or....something else.
So I hear you *Oh Wise One...And I Obey*
I sure wish you would have taught me the *skills* you used to use to make me feel safe and cared for BEFORE your life changed...because it seems to have left me unprepared to deal with any of this SHIT that continues to fucking pound me like golf ball sized hail night...after night...after night.
"Your best is always good enough"...OK - then - my "best" it is....Sing it for me, DT Poppins...."Just a *spoonful* of sugar helps the medicine go down. The medicine go dowwwn...the medicine go down...Just a *spoonful* of sugar helps Grace go down, in a most delightful and pain-free way.
You musen't fuck with the "MHPS" ~ They do what they want ---- and you will NEVER win!
I'm trying to prevent the Titanic from sinking by using a bucket to get the water out...it's never going to work!
Why do I continue to try to fight a losing battle?
DT told me that she won’t ‘abandon’ me…she said that continuing therapy is my decision …but I often think that I’m way too demanding and unfair and I should ‘abandon’ her – so she can finally have relief from the border. She really is a nice caring person – I truly believe that – and she doesn’t deserve all the horrible shit I project onto her. She doesn’t. I do believe that she screwed up with the whole email/trust thing – but we all screw up, right? Still, even with that, I’m like a walking time bomb and I have land mines hidden all over the place and she walks carefully because she never knows when she’s going to step on one.
I’m just so tired and frustrated. I feel like I’m in quicksand. My body, specifically my hips, ache so bad that I swear I have arthritis (hypochondria voice)…my head always hurts, I constantly vacillate between sad/lonely girl, 5 year old, PAG…CONSTANTLY! I feel like I’m walking through a haunted house…I can turn a corner and something horrible can be there that will send me reeling – and then I’m terrified, curled up in a corner, wrapped in a blanket, trying to hide. And I can’t stop it. I can’t just throw it in a box and shut the lid. I can’t just walk out of the movie theater and demand my money back. IT DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY! I can’t ‘ignore’ my body when it hurts, I can’t ignore the voices, I can’t stop “feeling”…IT DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY! Containment and DBT can go fuck themselves! The flying nun can go fuck herself too – and I’m pretty sure that’s the only way she will get laid!
But DT doesn’t deserve it…no one does. I am way more trouble than I’m worth. It’s taking too long. I’m so tired and such a burden to everyone. Nothing works – there’s no “self-soothing” machine anywhere hidden away behind my heart, or deep inside my fucked up brain.
This whole process SUCKS BIG TIME! AND I’M TIRED AND I DON’T WANT TO DO IT ANYMORE! And I am such a selfish unfair bitch to DT. She doesn’t deserve my ‘wrath’. But I still get so angry at her because she just pulled back and left me here to deal with the shit – and I CAN’T DO IT!
I only see one way out of this. And I know that DT needs the ‘relief’ just as much as I do. The whiny 5 year old DFW will continue to ‘demand’ DT’s help and comfort…and DT doesn’t have the time, or desire, to deal with her anymore. I don’t blame her, truly, 5 year old DFW is unbearable. But the fact remains that there is only 1 way to get her to shut up…only 1 way to provide relief and peace to DT and to Grace.
DT told me that she won’t ‘abandon’ me…she said that continuing therapy is my decision …but I often think that I’m way too demanding and unfair and I should ‘abandon’ her – so she can finally have relief from the border. She really is a nice caring person – I truly believe that – and she doesn’t deserve all the horrible shit I project onto her. She doesn’t. I do believe that she screwed up with the whole email/trust thing – but we all screw up, right? Still, even with that, I’m like a walking time bomb and I have land mines hidden all over the place and she walks carefully because she never knows when she’s going to step on one.
I’m just so tired and frustrated. I feel like I’m in quicksand. My body, specifically my hips, ache so bad that I swear I have arthritis (hypochondria voice)…my head always hurts, I constantly vacillate between sad/lonely girl, 5 year old, PAG…CONSTANTLY! I feel like I’m walking through a haunted house…I can turn a corner and something horrible can be there that will send me reeling – and then I’m terrified, curled up in a corner, wrapped in a blanket, trying to hide. And I can’t stop it. I can’t just throw it in a box and shut the lid. I can’t just walk out of the movie theater and demand my money back. IT DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY! I can’t ‘ignore’ my body when it hurts, I can’t ignore the voices, I can’t stop “feeling”…IT DOES NOT WORK THAT WAY! Containment and DBT can go fuck themselves! The flying nun can go fuck herself too – and I’m pretty sure that’s the only way she will get laid!
But DT doesn’t deserve it…no one does. I am way more trouble than I’m worth. It’s taking too long. I’m so tired and such a burden to everyone. Nothing works – there’s no “self-soothing” machine anywhere hidden away behind my heart, or deep inside my fucked up brain.
This whole process SUCKS BIG TIME! AND I’M TIRED AND I DON’T WANT TO DO IT ANYMORE! And I am such a selfish unfair bitch to DT. She doesn’t deserve my ‘wrath’. But I still get so angry at her because she just pulled back and left me here to deal with the shit – and I CAN’T DO IT!
I only see one way out of this. And I know that DT needs the ‘relief’ just as much as I do. The whiny 5 year old DFW will continue to ‘demand’ DT’s help and comfort…and DT doesn’t have the time, or desire, to deal with her anymore. I don’t blame her, truly, 5 year old DFW is unbearable. But the fact remains that there is only 1 way to get her to shut up…only 1 way to provide relief and peace to DT and to Grace.
Friday, September 18, 2009
That’s what you get when you play the THERAPEUTIC PROCESS with trauma patients backwards…
DS & DD think that Rascal Flatts song, "Backwards" is hilarious....for those of you not familiar with that song, it talks about what you get "back" when you play a country song backwards...you get everything back that you *lost* when your relationship didn't work out...(your house, dog, truck, farm, barn, boat, truck, hair, etc)
I've been reading a lot of posts recently about becoming dependent on your therapist.
* fear of becoming dependent on your therapist
* feelings of being dependent on your therapist
* panicked feelings of abandonment when you become dependent on your therapist for help and your T suddenly changes his/her "boundaries' (availability, communication process, etc)
I have struggled with my own dependence on DT. It took me a long, long, long, time to trust DT - and this trust was built by her being there for me in a way no one else ever has. When I say she was *there* for me, I don't mean in just the "hour a week session at her office". My trust for DT was not built through that one hour a week. One week I mentioned to DT that it was impossible for me to tell her things because of the shame and fear involved in my past. I could not be in the same room and talk about my childhood, and all that it entailed. I suggested that writing might be a better way for me to tell her things that would be important in this process and we agreed that email would be the mode of communication.
I will say that initially, it was never discussed whether DT would respond to my email communication, but she did respond. And not only did she respond, but she responded every single day, encouraging me, telling me that she could *hear* me, comforting me...every single day. And although there was never a 'contract' drawn up about her responding to my emails- my dependence on this communication grew and because she did respond every singe day for a year and a half, I guess it became an expectation of mine.
I "trusted" that DT would be there...she had trained me like Pavlov trained his dog. I would write, she would respond. Every day. Until one day - she wouldn't. And then all trust was broken - the walls went up and I couldn't believe that I allowed myself to trust her, to depend on her, to believe in her.
I had never depended on anyone before! I learned at a very young age that people could not be trusted and I would never allow myself to be dependent on anyone for anything. I would always take care of myself. This is not to say that I didn't develop relationships with people because I did. But I did not DEPEND on them. I was an independent woman who lived an independent life. How did I fall into this "TRAP" of depending on this woman, who, in reality, I knew NOTHING about? What was I thinking????
She made it so easy. I found comfort in her. I felt accepted. I felt cared for. And for the first time in my life, I allowed myself to feel cared for. Could this be real? Could someone who knew more about my past than anyone else actually care about me? Could someone see the shame of my past and still accept me, still care?
But then her life "changed". And where she was able to do those "special" things for me then - she could not now because now she didn't have time. WHAT? She no longer had time? But that isn't fair! I'm still in the same place - even though her life "changed"...what about me? She had not yet "taught" me the skills I needed to "deal" with the pain of my past. She was the mother I never had, she did it for me. How could she pull her care and, as I saw it, herself, away from me, when I didn't know how to do the things for myself that she had done for me? Before, she would email me at 1:30 in the morning, when I felt unsafe, and she made me feel safe. Now that her life changed, instead of finding comfort I was met with: "It is not my job to keep you safe." WHAT?
I felt like a stuffed animal won at a carnival. Someone spent time, money and effort to win me...and then took me home and stuffed me in the back of their closet - forgotten.
Tonight I was thinking about that song by the Rascal Flatts, "Backwards" - and I found myself wondering what would I get back if I could "play" out my "therapeutic relationship" with DT backwards.... What if she had taught me the 'self-soothing' skills - the ability to actually DEAL with the different parts of myself first! I think I'd be a lot further along this road of "healing and integration"... than I am now....
And I wonder, if things had played "backwards", if right now, tonight, instead of hearing the fighting voices inside my head, and being unable to calm them, instead of not knowing if I can find a way to soothe them without dissociating, taking too many drugs, drinking too much, or any other self-destructive behavior I keep in my back pocket - I would have everything back that I lost by allowing myself to trust her and depend on her.
Perhaps this process would be more effective, played backwards.... Because tonight I'm angry and afraid...and I know that DT isn't going to "be here" helping me, like she was before I "trusted" her...and "depended" on her....because tonight, a typical Friday - PAG won't have the "skills" to do this without hurting that 5 year old - because DT comforted the 5 year old "before" her life changed - never teaching PAG to do it.
I've seen so many other survivors struggling because of the SAME SITUATION - And I think it sucks!
I personally think this process is played out backwards.
And I'm kind of pissed off about it tonight ~ and not just for myself ~ but also for everyone else out there 'struggling' with this "dependence" bullshit that we all bought into...finding an empty void where she once felt comfort, feeling frightened and reaching out - but now finding no one there, crying but unable to soothe herself... and beating herself up for ever allowing the trust and dependence to occur.
I've been reading a lot of posts recently about becoming dependent on your therapist.
* fear of becoming dependent on your therapist
* feelings of being dependent on your therapist
* panicked feelings of abandonment when you become dependent on your therapist for help and your T suddenly changes his/her "boundaries' (availability, communication process, etc)
I have struggled with my own dependence on DT. It took me a long, long, long, time to trust DT - and this trust was built by her being there for me in a way no one else ever has. When I say she was *there* for me, I don't mean in just the "hour a week session at her office". My trust for DT was not built through that one hour a week. One week I mentioned to DT that it was impossible for me to tell her things because of the shame and fear involved in my past. I could not be in the same room and talk about my childhood, and all that it entailed. I suggested that writing might be a better way for me to tell her things that would be important in this process and we agreed that email would be the mode of communication.
I will say that initially, it was never discussed whether DT would respond to my email communication, but she did respond. And not only did she respond, but she responded every single day, encouraging me, telling me that she could *hear* me, comforting me...every single day. And although there was never a 'contract' drawn up about her responding to my emails- my dependence on this communication grew and because she did respond every singe day for a year and a half, I guess it became an expectation of mine.
I "trusted" that DT would be there...she had trained me like Pavlov trained his dog. I would write, she would respond. Every day. Until one day - she wouldn't. And then all trust was broken - the walls went up and I couldn't believe that I allowed myself to trust her, to depend on her, to believe in her.
I had never depended on anyone before! I learned at a very young age that people could not be trusted and I would never allow myself to be dependent on anyone for anything. I would always take care of myself. This is not to say that I didn't develop relationships with people because I did. But I did not DEPEND on them. I was an independent woman who lived an independent life. How did I fall into this "TRAP" of depending on this woman, who, in reality, I knew NOTHING about? What was I thinking????
She made it so easy. I found comfort in her. I felt accepted. I felt cared for. And for the first time in my life, I allowed myself to feel cared for. Could this be real? Could someone who knew more about my past than anyone else actually care about me? Could someone see the shame of my past and still accept me, still care?
But then her life "changed". And where she was able to do those "special" things for me then - she could not now because now she didn't have time. WHAT? She no longer had time? But that isn't fair! I'm still in the same place - even though her life "changed"...what about me? She had not yet "taught" me the skills I needed to "deal" with the pain of my past. She was the mother I never had, she did it for me. How could she pull her care and, as I saw it, herself, away from me, when I didn't know how to do the things for myself that she had done for me? Before, she would email me at 1:30 in the morning, when I felt unsafe, and she made me feel safe. Now that her life changed, instead of finding comfort I was met with: "It is not my job to keep you safe." WHAT?
I felt like a stuffed animal won at a carnival. Someone spent time, money and effort to win me...and then took me home and stuffed me in the back of their closet - forgotten.
Tonight I was thinking about that song by the Rascal Flatts, "Backwards" - and I found myself wondering what would I get back if I could "play" out my "therapeutic relationship" with DT backwards.... What if she had taught me the 'self-soothing' skills - the ability to actually DEAL with the different parts of myself first! I think I'd be a lot further along this road of "healing and integration"... than I am now....
And I wonder, if things had played "backwards", if right now, tonight, instead of hearing the fighting voices inside my head, and being unable to calm them, instead of not knowing if I can find a way to soothe them without dissociating, taking too many drugs, drinking too much, or any other self-destructive behavior I keep in my back pocket - I would have everything back that I lost by allowing myself to trust her and depend on her.
I'd have my independence back, my nerve back, my pride back, my mind back, my LIFE back.
That's what I'd get if we played the 'therapeutic relationship' backwards.
Perhaps this process would be more effective, played backwards.... Because tonight I'm angry and afraid...and I know that DT isn't going to "be here" helping me, like she was before I "trusted" her...and "depended" on her....because tonight, a typical Friday - PAG won't have the "skills" to do this without hurting that 5 year old - because DT comforted the 5 year old "before" her life changed - never teaching PAG to do it.
I've seen so many other survivors struggling because of the SAME SITUATION - And I think it sucks!
I personally think this process is played out backwards.
And I'm kind of pissed off about it tonight ~ and not just for myself ~ but also for everyone else out there 'struggling' with this "dependence" bullshit that we all bought into...finding an empty void where she once felt comfort, feeling frightened and reaching out - but now finding no one there, crying but unable to soothe herself... and beating herself up for ever allowing the trust and dependence to occur.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
She cries for you, you know...
That's what my SIL said in a recent email to me. "She" is my 95 year old grandmother.
I have so many good memories of my grandma and my grandpa. They are my mother's (the host body) parents ~ they adopted the host body when she was 8 years old, their only child.
I was thinking about my gramma on Monday, during session. When I was a little girl, and I was sick, my gramma used to hold me in this old gold upholstered rocking chair. She would rock me and rub my back and she used to sing to me...bye-o-baby...baby-bye...bye-o-baby...oh, bye-bye...
I remember when I was in the hospital when I was 5 or 6, and my gramma sang to me every night the whole week...bye-o-baby... She was an elementary school teacher and every day, after school, she came and sat with me, and rubbed my back, and sang to me...bye-o-baby... The host body never came to see me when I was in the hospital then, not one time.
But gramma was there every day, sitting with me, rubbing my back and singing to me....
My gramma was a big gentle woman, tall, over 5'8" ~ never overweight, but stocky. She always wore pant-suits, giant clip-on earrings. Make-up for her was face powder and red lipstick...never anything else. She has always been this big protective woman to me.
I saw my gramma a little over a year ago (she lives across the country) and she's this tiny little old lady now. She's no bigger than I am, and I'm 5'3". She's fragile and it is so hard for me to see her that way...
I haven't been back to see her since because I haven't been able to 'deal' with the rest of my family. Emotionally, I don't feel strong enough. But when I got the email from my SIL, I talked to DH and we have agreed to go "back there" for the week of Thanksgiving. I want to see gramma, but don't want to see the host body. The "man-whore" is dead...but just going back there, to the very town I grew up in fills me with angst...and fear. And I am afraid. DH said it's up to me, but we had better not buy plane tickets only to have me freak out the day before we are supposed to leave...(that happened last time). DT says I shouldn't feel "forced" to go, or go out of guilt, but I will.
I cried on Monday, in session. I desperately wanted my gramma to hold me, to rock me in that gold rocking chair, and to sing bye-o-baby to me. I ached for the safety of her arms, for her protection. I longed to feel her safe hands on my back, to hear her calm voice singing to me...bye-oh baby....just rocking and singing quietly to me, in the darkness of her living room. Just me and my gramma.
I cry for you too...Gramma...I cry for you too...
I have so many good memories of my grandma and my grandpa. They are my mother's (the host body) parents ~ they adopted the host body when she was 8 years old, their only child.
I was thinking about my gramma on Monday, during session. When I was a little girl, and I was sick, my gramma used to hold me in this old gold upholstered rocking chair. She would rock me and rub my back and she used to sing to me...bye-o-baby...baby-bye...bye-o-baby...oh, bye-bye...
I remember when I was in the hospital when I was 5 or 6, and my gramma sang to me every night the whole week...bye-o-baby... She was an elementary school teacher and every day, after school, she came and sat with me, and rubbed my back, and sang to me...bye-o-baby... The host body never came to see me when I was in the hospital then, not one time.
But gramma was there every day, sitting with me, rubbing my back and singing to me....
My gramma was a big gentle woman, tall, over 5'8" ~ never overweight, but stocky. She always wore pant-suits, giant clip-on earrings. Make-up for her was face powder and red lipstick...never anything else. She has always been this big protective woman to me.
I saw my gramma a little over a year ago (she lives across the country) and she's this tiny little old lady now. She's no bigger than I am, and I'm 5'3". She's fragile and it is so hard for me to see her that way...
I haven't been back to see her since because I haven't been able to 'deal' with the rest of my family. Emotionally, I don't feel strong enough. But when I got the email from my SIL, I talked to DH and we have agreed to go "back there" for the week of Thanksgiving. I want to see gramma, but don't want to see the host body. The "man-whore" is dead...but just going back there, to the very town I grew up in fills me with angst...and fear. And I am afraid. DH said it's up to me, but we had better not buy plane tickets only to have me freak out the day before we are supposed to leave...(that happened last time). DT says I shouldn't feel "forced" to go, or go out of guilt, but I will.
I cried on Monday, in session. I desperately wanted my gramma to hold me, to rock me in that gold rocking chair, and to sing bye-o-baby to me. I ached for the safety of her arms, for her protection. I longed to feel her safe hands on my back, to hear her calm voice singing to me...bye-oh baby....just rocking and singing quietly to me, in the darkness of her living room. Just me and my gramma.
I cry for you too...Gramma...I cry for you too...
I'm sick of being tired! And I'm tired of being sick!
i'm so tired and sick
sick of being tired
tired of being sick
like im too tired to breathe
discouraged becuz i feel like a little kid
dont want to eat drink shower get dressed
i guess i shouldn'thave cancelled my appt today
i didnt cancel out of anger for once
but it doesnt matter anyway cuz im too tired to get there
just curl up in the chair and wrap up in my blue blanket
and be sick and tired
not really another option is there
sick of being tired
tired of being sick
like im too tired to breathe
discouraged becuz i feel like a little kid
dont want to eat drink shower get dressed
i guess i shouldn'thave cancelled my appt today
i didnt cancel out of anger for once
but it doesnt matter anyway cuz im too tired to get there
just curl up in the chair and wrap up in my blue blanket
and be sick and tired
not really another option is there
It's NOT an ED if it's 'involuntary', right?
I hate carpet! Carpet is ALWAYS dirty! Even if you can’t see the dirt ~ it’s there. DH loves carpet – he thinks it’s warm and cozy – who wants to step on a cold tile/wood floor when it’s the middle of Winter. I see only GERMS & DIRT! I hate carpet – and upholstered furniture too. Leather is cleaner. DH hates our leather furniture too – too hard, too cold, not comfortable like his cozy, filthy, upholstered recliner (which he keeps in the man cave). We do have another recliner in the man cave – its leather, guess which one I sit in if we happen to watch a movie together…
And in the 3 ½ years we’ve lived here, not one puking accident on the carpet. Not one! I think that’s pretty impressive since we have 2 children and a dog. But the 3 ½ record has now been broken. I no longer have to make myself puke, which I used to do on a daily basis– now the constant stomach aches and headaches play nicely into my habitual “maladaptive ED behavior”. Now it just happens. The main problem with that is that with self-induced vomiting can be controlled. If I wanted to make myself throw up, I did – THIS is involuntary and can strike at any moment…and this time it struck at a time I was unable to make it to the bathroom or the sink.
And for once I suppose I’m thankful that DH has not cleaned the dirty/filthy/icky carpet that I’ve been asking him to do for a couple of months…since I puked cranberry juice (no vodka, swear!) on the family room carpet early this morning. Being the polite “thoughtful” person I am I stayed downstairs all night since I kept getting up – I spent most of the night alternating between dozing on the bathroom tile and vomiting. Great idea to move to the couch!
So today, I am cleaning the carpet and puking…not self-induced though. And I haven’t cut myself since the Sept 5th. So look how much better I’m doing!
Next time I fly I’m stealing all the barf bags.
Grace is *half-smiling* and wishing I had the energy to go to the store to get some medicine to make me NOT puke…
And in the 3 ½ years we’ve lived here, not one puking accident on the carpet. Not one! I think that’s pretty impressive since we have 2 children and a dog. But the 3 ½ record has now been broken. I no longer have to make myself puke, which I used to do on a daily basis– now the constant stomach aches and headaches play nicely into my habitual “maladaptive ED behavior”. Now it just happens. The main problem with that is that with self-induced vomiting can be controlled. If I wanted to make myself throw up, I did – THIS is involuntary and can strike at any moment…and this time it struck at a time I was unable to make it to the bathroom or the sink.
And for once I suppose I’m thankful that DH has not cleaned the dirty/filthy/icky carpet that I’ve been asking him to do for a couple of months…since I puked cranberry juice (no vodka, swear!) on the family room carpet early this morning. Being the polite “thoughtful” person I am I stayed downstairs all night since I kept getting up – I spent most of the night alternating between dozing on the bathroom tile and vomiting. Great idea to move to the couch!
So today, I am cleaning the carpet and puking…not self-induced though. And I haven’t cut myself since the Sept 5th. So look how much better I’m doing!
Next time I fly I’m stealing all the barf bags.
Grace is *half-smiling* and wishing I had the energy to go to the store to get some medicine to make me NOT puke…
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
There's Something Inside so Strong....
Tonight, DT reminded me of CD I gave her with this song on it.
It feels right for me tonight...they can try to take away my voice, but I will just sing louder! Even when I feel so weak I can barely breathe, DT reminds me, as she did tonight - There's Something inside me that's so strong...
JBR - I feel your strength and your faith...and I feel you holding me, safely, on my darkest days
Lynn - I hear your voice singing that you will survive! Even on your darkest day, it's there....
JIP - I know you all will make it, even though you were done so wrong
eeabee- You speak to me with calmness and strength
Ivory - Those high barriers will only make you taller and you will know when that time is right
Tammy - Your support and strength have meant so much to me....
Marj - Your voice has inspired so many others to speak up & realize they are NOT alone.
Superlagirl - Your humor and honesty are inspiring - never censor!
ALL of "US" They cannot take our rights away! We are good enough!
(I'll take off the cheerleading uniform now...the sudden burst of inspiring, positive, energy - I gotta take it when I can get it...) I'll return when the shuttle lands....
It feels right for me tonight...they can try to take away my voice, but I will just sing louder! Even when I feel so weak I can barely breathe, DT reminds me, as she did tonight - There's Something inside me that's so strong...
JBR - I feel your strength and your faith...and I feel you holding me, safely, on my darkest days
Lynn - I hear your voice singing that you will survive! Even on your darkest day, it's there....
JIP - I know you all will make it, even though you were done so wrong
eeabee- You speak to me with calmness and strength
Ivory - Those high barriers will only make you taller and you will know when that time is right
Tammy - Your support and strength have meant so much to me....
Marj - Your voice has inspired so many others to speak up & realize they are NOT alone.
Superlagirl - Your humor and honesty are inspiring - never censor!
ALL of "US" They cannot take our rights away! We are good enough!
(I'll take off the cheerleading uniform now...the sudden burst of inspiring, positive, energy - I gotta take it when I can get it...) I'll return when the shuttle lands....
I AM NOT HER! SHE IS NOT ME! IT IS NOT FAIR!
On Monday I went into DT’s office, armed, poised, and ready for a fight. Wait…that’s not accurate. I was there to start a fight. Tough girl was out and she was fuming over the drastic change (yes, from over a year ago -she has a hard time letting things go – on guard 24/7 searching for any grain of perceived breach of trust or abandonment. And this change…to her…was abandonment. PAG had printed both emails and threw them on DT’s desk, her “proof” that DT didn’t care! DT remained calm and reminded PAG of her erratic behavior (self destructive behavior, suicidal, drinking), and the phone call at 1am telling PAG to either call DT and *promise* to keep herself safe until the morning when they could meet and come up with something more formal, or, if PAG chose not to call, DT would call 911 for her. (How nice of her!) PAG emerges again and again, still, over a year later, throwing this change up in DT’s face…again and again.
Monday was no different. DT told PAG to tell her how angry she was…and PAG screamed it out (like I can’t believe the upstairs tenets didn’t come to check on DT’s safety she was so loud). And the anger that emerged was really NOT about DT but more about the inability to tolerate the 5 year old. PAG screamed that 5 year old is a DFWC and she HATES her and will never accept her.
Then 5 year old bursts into tears (baby!)…fear, pain, sadness…physically hurting she moved fro the couch to the floor, rocking and freezing cold…sobbing but unable to speak. DT had a blanket and 5 year old wrapped up in the blanket and even though it felt safer, it was not safe enough. Still scared…still hurting….can’t talk. Still! No one will let her talk. She just sobs and rocks. There was this enormous internal struggle because when DT sat down on the floor too, she asked if the distance was okay – and 5 year old wanted DT to sit next to her, not touch her – but close enough for her to feel safer. But PAG wouldn’t allow it. DT talked, but no one heard much of what she said.
And I hate that because it feels like such a waste. I just end up leaving the office all disheveled and achy and tired and I have no idea what she even said. And it’s that 5 year old’s fault. And that’s what I told DT tonight. It’s her fault. Because if she would pull it together and not be such a whiny crybaby – this wouldn’t be an issue!
TO DT: She gets to sit and cry for 45 minutes and then I have to clean up her mess and try to act normal when the bell rings! And that makes me hate her. And tonight I’m pissed…so let me just puke it out there – and pardon me for not painting it like a flower – although I’m sure that would shock the hell out of you if I did. I recognize that I do have the right to remain silent, however, tonight, I lack the ability. I hate her and wish she was never born! She’s stupid and weak! And if she would have done something about it- unstead of ‘rolling over and taking it’ then none of this would exist right now! And don’t go there with your, “not her fault, BS…she was a child…none of this was her fault…” Because I’ve heard it all and I already KNOW that! And now the pain and shame are killing me and it’s her fault. Maybe not her fault but why does she get to “demand” to be heard? That’s not fair! I don’t want to “hear” her! But it’s not fair to lock her away either – that doesn’t help any of us. What does that leave? “Face it, deal with it, move on?” That seems easy enough, doesn’t it? If you shrug your shoulders while you say it fast, it just rolls right off your tongue. So easy to say, simple, really…but an unattainable goal! See, if I accept her, I accept him, and what he did. And I accept that people look away while adults fuck kids and hurt them and no one cares and no one stops it. And I won’t accept that! I won’t accept her! She is not free to move in here ~ there’s no vacancy, no room for rent. She is not me! I resent that she spends an hour crying in DT’s office and I can’t even talk! And then I have to pull it together, push her away, grab my bag and my sunglasses and walk out into the sunshine like everything is grand! Yes, DT – it is just that easy – just snap your fingers & wave your magic wand – and *POOF* she’s gone. Maybe next time, birds can gently place my jacket on my shoulders while you sing, “A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down…” as you expect me to just “BE IN CHARGE” as you sweep me out the door like the dirt that SHE is! It isn’t fair! I am NOT her! She is NOT me! And it is NOT fair!
DT said: I don't expect or want you to "paint it like a flower." What you say and feel here is real, valid and understandable. You do not have to "be all of her", esp. right now. You don't have take on all of what she represents to you. Absolutely it makes sense that she also represents all of what "he" did and the thought that if you "accept" her, you have to accept him. This is an understandable conclusion, but one that with time you will slowly grow to differentiate. You don't have to accept all of those words that he implanted into her/your brain. You are not all those things that he called you or those things that he did to you. Yes, you will need to continue to explore the possibilities of viewing the world in a manner that is not all bad and dangerous, but certainly worthy of caution, attention and self advocacy. In all this, I hear the adult/parent voice saying how unreasonable this is and that it is so unfair to you. I also hear the child finally figuring out that she can yell, cry, protest and test the realities of her current safety and acceptance. She too will have to gain frustration tolerance and patience as you remind her that the world does not totally revolve around her wants, grievances and intense emotions. Grace, you are negotiating all this with courage and persistence. You are strong, while feeling weak and ineffectual. You are doing the best that you can and I realize that this often this doesn't feel like enough. As the song you gave me on a CD awhile ago says...."something inside so strong..... “Holding in spirit your pain and frustration...DT.
Monday was no different. DT told PAG to tell her how angry she was…and PAG screamed it out (like I can’t believe the upstairs tenets didn’t come to check on DT’s safety she was so loud). And the anger that emerged was really NOT about DT but more about the inability to tolerate the 5 year old. PAG screamed that 5 year old is a DFWC and she HATES her and will never accept her.
Then 5 year old bursts into tears (baby!)…fear, pain, sadness…physically hurting she moved fro the couch to the floor, rocking and freezing cold…sobbing but unable to speak. DT had a blanket and 5 year old wrapped up in the blanket and even though it felt safer, it was not safe enough. Still scared…still hurting….can’t talk. Still! No one will let her talk. She just sobs and rocks. There was this enormous internal struggle because when DT sat down on the floor too, she asked if the distance was okay – and 5 year old wanted DT to sit next to her, not touch her – but close enough for her to feel safer. But PAG wouldn’t allow it. DT talked, but no one heard much of what she said.
And I hate that because it feels like such a waste. I just end up leaving the office all disheveled and achy and tired and I have no idea what she even said. And it’s that 5 year old’s fault. And that’s what I told DT tonight. It’s her fault. Because if she would pull it together and not be such a whiny crybaby – this wouldn’t be an issue!
TO DT: She gets to sit and cry for 45 minutes and then I have to clean up her mess and try to act normal when the bell rings! And that makes me hate her. And tonight I’m pissed…so let me just puke it out there – and pardon me for not painting it like a flower – although I’m sure that would shock the hell out of you if I did. I recognize that I do have the right to remain silent, however, tonight, I lack the ability. I hate her and wish she was never born! She’s stupid and weak! And if she would have done something about it- unstead of ‘rolling over and taking it’ then none of this would exist right now! And don’t go there with your, “not her fault, BS…she was a child…none of this was her fault…” Because I’ve heard it all and I already KNOW that! And now the pain and shame are killing me and it’s her fault. Maybe not her fault but why does she get to “demand” to be heard? That’s not fair! I don’t want to “hear” her! But it’s not fair to lock her away either – that doesn’t help any of us. What does that leave? “Face it, deal with it, move on?” That seems easy enough, doesn’t it? If you shrug your shoulders while you say it fast, it just rolls right off your tongue. So easy to say, simple, really…but an unattainable goal! See, if I accept her, I accept him, and what he did. And I accept that people look away while adults fuck kids and hurt them and no one cares and no one stops it. And I won’t accept that! I won’t accept her! She is not free to move in here ~ there’s no vacancy, no room for rent. She is not me! I resent that she spends an hour crying in DT’s office and I can’t even talk! And then I have to pull it together, push her away, grab my bag and my sunglasses and walk out into the sunshine like everything is grand! Yes, DT – it is just that easy – just snap your fingers & wave your magic wand – and *POOF* she’s gone. Maybe next time, birds can gently place my jacket on my shoulders while you sing, “A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down…” as you expect me to just “BE IN CHARGE” as you sweep me out the door like the dirt that SHE is! It isn’t fair! I am NOT her! She is NOT me! And it is NOT fair!
DT said: I don't expect or want you to "paint it like a flower." What you say and feel here is real, valid and understandable. You do not have to "be all of her", esp. right now. You don't have take on all of what she represents to you. Absolutely it makes sense that she also represents all of what "he" did and the thought that if you "accept" her, you have to accept him. This is an understandable conclusion, but one that with time you will slowly grow to differentiate. You don't have to accept all of those words that he implanted into her/your brain. You are not all those things that he called you or those things that he did to you. Yes, you will need to continue to explore the possibilities of viewing the world in a manner that is not all bad and dangerous, but certainly worthy of caution, attention and self advocacy. In all this, I hear the adult/parent voice saying how unreasonable this is and that it is so unfair to you. I also hear the child finally figuring out that she can yell, cry, protest and test the realities of her current safety and acceptance. She too will have to gain frustration tolerance and patience as you remind her that the world does not totally revolve around her wants, grievances and intense emotions. Grace, you are negotiating all this with courage and persistence. You are strong, while feeling weak and ineffectual. You are doing the best that you can and I realize that this often this doesn't feel like enough. As the song you gave me on a CD awhile ago says...."something inside so strong..... “Holding in spirit your pain and frustration...DT.
How the hell can I be so pissed off at her on Monday and love her so much today? ... Oh, that’s right, I’m crazy!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
For just this minute, It's going to be alright...
I can't sleep tonight...and my head has that familiar ache.
But somehow tonight, PAG isn't going to hurt 5 year old tonight. She isn't so angry and 5 year old isn't crying too hard.
So just for tonight, for this minute (Becasue sometimes we can only live minute by minute)....it's going to be alright. You're going to be alright....I'm going to be alright...we're going to be alright...
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright
I can tell by your eyes that you're not getting any sleep
And you try to rise above it, but feel you're sinking in too deep
Oh, oh I believe, I believe that
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright
I believe you'll outlive this pain in you heart
And you'll gain such a strength from what is tearing you apart
Oh, oh I believe I believe that
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright
When some time has past us, and the story if retold
It will mirror the strength and the courage in your soul
Oh, oh, I believe I believe,
I believe
I believe
I did not come here to offer you cliches
I will not pretend to know of all your pain
Just when you cannot, then I will hold out faith, for you
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright
But somehow tonight, PAG isn't going to hurt 5 year old tonight. She isn't so angry and 5 year old isn't crying too hard.
So just for tonight, for this minute (Becasue sometimes we can only live minute by minute)....it's going to be alright. You're going to be alright....I'm going to be alright...we're going to be alright...
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright
I can tell by your eyes that you're not getting any sleep
And you try to rise above it, but feel you're sinking in too deep
Oh, oh I believe, I believe that
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright
I believe you'll outlive this pain in you heart
And you'll gain such a strength from what is tearing you apart
Oh, oh I believe I believe that
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright
When some time has past us, and the story if retold
It will mirror the strength and the courage in your soul
Oh, oh, I believe I believe,
I believe
I believe
I did not come here to offer you cliches
I will not pretend to know of all your pain
Just when you cannot, then I will hold out faith, for you
It's going to be alright
It's going to be alright
The Butterfly Effect
Last night I deviated from my typical nightly ritual of…well, you know…staying up till all hours, drinking, taking anti/anxiety meds and watching the 5 year old and PAG duke it out. Last night, I thought, hey Grace, why not try something different! And my plan wasn’t just a deviation, it was a complete detour!
I wasn’t feeling well, and left my T session in a pissed off rage – the cliff notes of the session being the typical “I am trying to be consistent for you and I will not promise something I cannot do”….(regarding, of course, the email situation the border keeps going off about). “Grace, I will email you on Monday, Wednesday and Friday – this is what we agreed too. And you can call me until 10pm, you know that.” (Forgetting to add that the phone calls are pretty much limited to 1 day a week – due to her “busy schedule”) And then as I’m walking out of her office, she says, “Oh, it’s Monday, I forgot that I have an all night engagement with a colleague – so I can either email you at 6pm, or email you on Tuesday instead.” It was already 4:30pm. Seriously? So the “consistent” M-W-F thing CAN be modified if it fits YOUR schedule? But if I need you to respond to me on Thursday too f-ing bad! And the best part is this was less than an hour later of the “I am being consistent and will email you on M-W-F” speech. I shit you not!
Of course I left pissed off, slamming the door and then calling from the parking lot to tell her that I was pissed off! Being the “good” DT she is, she offered to call me at 9:30 to “check in” – for 5/10 minutes. SURE! That’d be super! If it isn’t too much of an inconvenience in the middle of your “all night colleague engagement”…she assured me that she could take a “break” and “check-in”. Which BTW, I’m still struggling with the ‘all-night colleague engagement’…do shrinks go to rages and drink and party ‘all night’, OR, was it really a ‘personal BF’ engagement – and she didn’t want to tell me that.
I had to stop at WalGreens on the way home to buy some face powder so my husband wouldn’t know I had been crying. And during the drive home I started to send about 4 emails to DT, one of which had something to do with driving into a tree, but I caught that one before hitting the send button on my blackberry – some voice in the back of my head screaming, "Cool it, Border, she might actually call the authorities. "
In an effort to ward off the demons, and since I wasn’t feeling well anyway, I did not take “more than the recommended dose of medication” and was in bed by 9pm. I called DT and left her a message at 8:45pm, telling her how much I appreciated her offer to ‘check-in’, however, I was going to bed, so it wouldn’t be necessary to interrupt her ‘all night meeting’ because I was planning to be asleep.
Yea me, right? Wrong!
I turned my phone off, crawled into bed, tried to concentrate on my breathing, tossed and turned for about an hour, rearranged my 9 pillows 14 times, took the covers off, put them back on…I swear I was doing the hokey-pokey in the bed as DH slumbered, undisturbed to my right. Then, as I started to doze off (FINALLY!) I had one of those abrupt, “I can’t breathe!” moments and it took a while to calm back down. Then the whole pillow/cover ritual started again. At some point I fell asleep because I woke up a bit after 1am (my usual bed time) because I had to pee. Got up, went to the bathroom, and decided that since my stomach still hurt, I would drink some sprite. In my tired (NOT drunken!) state I hit the glass on a front tooth and chipped my tooth (well, veneer). I have never done that ONCE on a wine glass! Another reason wine is better than soda!
I called my dentist’s office as soon as it opened (it was a small chip – but to me it looked like my entire tooth was missing!) – he was able to graciously *sqeeze me in* between appointments – and $100.00 later, it’s fixed. Now, my dentist is a super nice man, but I hate going to the dentist. I gag brushing my teeth every day, and I don’t like having anyone hands, or any. foreign objects in my mouth as I’m lying in a chair and gagging from the instruments. (Grace, find a happy place!)
And I can’t help but wonder if ANY of the above had been different:
* If DT would have emailed on Monday as she has ‘agreed’ to do
* If DT would have emailed on Monday as she has ‘agreed’ to do
* If I had not gone to bed early
* If I had followed my ‘typical nightly ritual
Would the end result have been different? Which would have been worse~ the fight between pag & the 5 year old, or a chipped tooth and an unscheduled trip to the dentist?
* If I had followed my ‘typical nightly ritual
Would the end result have been different? Which would have been worse~ the fight between pag & the 5 year old, or a chipped tooth and an unscheduled trip to the dentist?
Tonight, I’m going to with option 1...
Anyone care for a glass of wine?
I’m buying!
Oh, I should add one more thing...Being that DT knows me much better than I tend to give her credit for, I had a voicemail wating this morning which she left at 9:30 (our agreed upon time). She said she did get my message and she was hoping that I was getting some rest, but wanted to 'check-in' in case I wasn't.... I'm guessing that was about the time I was 'dancing in the sheets' - as in rearranging the pillows/blankets/myself over and over again - finding no comfortable position.
I think it was because she left the voicemail anyway - after she got my message - that the Border didn't blame her for the tooth thing...
Monday, September 14, 2009
My “Expectations” changed THAT drastically in 7 days?
I spent all morning wondering, “Why does it always come back to this...”“THIS” being my anger at DT for the new “boundaries” she implemented over a year ago regarding email communication. For 2 years, I would email DT and she would respond, DAILY! It was helpful for the 5 year old to have this ‘connection’ and slowly, our trust grew…unfortunately, so did our ‘dependence’.
Then (PAUSE) DT’s life “changed”….
On June 29th, DT emailed me and told me that she would be away from her computer for the rest of the day, but if I needed her, I could call, or text her.
I responded and asked her if the email was getting on her nerves. And she replied:
June 29th
DT: Nope, the emailing is definitely not getting on my nerves. I just want you to know that there are times when I don't have access due to my spending time with someone now and then who does not have internet access at his home. As archaic as this may sound. So, i am sorry about this and so if I don't respond for a day or two, that is why.. I always read everything you send, thought I obviously don't reply to everything. I have to set a limit there and I hope that you understand this limit. Remember Grace, that I am straight up with things, so if I was needing you to cease or decrease, I would say so. I acknowledge emailing has been and I assume still is one way of staying connected to some extent with me and/or to share your thoughts out of sessions, and I want you to have this if it serves a good purpose for you. Course, the safety agreements needs to still stand. You can also always text or call to check in or leave a message.
THEN! A WEEK LATER, 7 DAYS LATER…She sent this:
July 5th
DT: I have always known how important the emailing was for you, but you developed some unrealistic expectations that were unfair to you and me and that because of the inherent inconsistencies and disappointments in this communication, it created serious repercussions for our working relationship. I recognize that one hour a week feels unmanagable, so let us talk further about what we can work out.
All this time I’ve thought all of this was my fault. I became to dependent on her, expected too much, held unrealistic expectations... Drained her energy and now she just “can’t” do it anymore. (Keeping in mind that she DID email daily for nearly 2 years! – A few times as late as 1:30am).
Soon after her telling me that my expectations had become ‘unrealistic’ and I was being ‘unfair’ to her, she begin the DBT preaching. And the new “policy” became this: If Grace needed to talk to DT, outside of session, Grace had to call, and not email. And if I called, DT would put on the DBT mantra of “phone coaching” which was SSSOOOOOO NOT helpful! But Grace is a good girl, and complied. Signed up for DBT, went to a PDOC to drug up.... ALL of the things DT "strongly suggested". None of it worked! The anger at DT for her "perceived abandonment" (as she called it) - and her "new boundaries and limitations" never went away. And at the same time, Grace felt guilty for not being "gracious" and being mean to DT for being unfair and unrealistic.
At the same time, DT stated that the “phone contact” was limited to times she was not working at the hospital (which is 4 nights a week!) and the limit would be 10:00pm. After 10, too bad, Grace! Since most of the “crazy” doesn’t begin until after 10, this didn’t’ feel too helpful (nor has it been).
After further temper tantrums, cussing out, going borderline, enrolling in DBT classes (reluctantly) and repeatedly canceling sessions, DT and I negotiated that she would email 2x per week, Monday and Friday, and the phone “contact” still remained in place – and she would SEND ‘an’ email on Monday and Friday, but there would be NO back and forth communication (as there was prior) just the 2 emails per week.
For a few weeks, we “dealt” with it…but then it wasn’t enough (Grace’s unrealistic expectations…Grace’s fault – she is unfair and unreasonable to DT…bad Grace) – so DT graciously added Wednesday to email list. DT would email Grace on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
All this time – I have been beating myself up because my expectations are ‘unfair’ and ‘unrealistic’ and why can’t I be satisfied with what she can offer me! And look how great she has been ‘negociating’ with me with respect to out of office communication. I am such a bitch for not being able to accept that. (Grace is BAD!)
And today, I went back and read her emails, 1 week apart…and to me the *message* is quite different, and quite drastic! It went from “Email is not getting on my nerves, and I’m sorry if I can’t respond for a couple of days”…too “Grace is unrealistic and unfair to DT.” IN 7 DAYS!
In 7 days, Grace went from “good” to “unfair – to DT???? After 2 years of “validation” – “I’m here for you.” “What do you need” “How can I help you”...and actually CHECKING in on me if I didn't email for her a couple of days! All that changed in 7 days!?
SHE made this MY fault! This wasn’t MY FAULT! Of course the 5 year old grew to “depend” on her – because she WAS THERE! And you can’t go from being there every night to telling a 5 year old that she is being unfair and unrealistic.
That wasn’t fair, DT, to tell her that! That was mean and selfish of you to throw all of that onto a 5 year old! And all this time she believed it was HER fault and that she was mean and unfair to you! She wasn't being "unfair" - she was being 5! You were the “unfair” one!
And now she’s really screwed up! Because she NEEDS you to be there and feels bad about it because you told her she was “unfair” to you and “expected too much” from you.”
**Thank you, EH, for making me 'pause' to think about this**
Then (PAUSE) DT’s life “changed”….
On June 29th, DT emailed me and told me that she would be away from her computer for the rest of the day, but if I needed her, I could call, or text her.
I responded and asked her if the email was getting on her nerves. And she replied:
June 29th
DT: Nope, the emailing is definitely not getting on my nerves. I just want you to know that there are times when I don't have access due to my spending time with someone now and then who does not have internet access at his home. As archaic as this may sound. So, i am sorry about this and so if I don't respond for a day or two, that is why.. I always read everything you send, thought I obviously don't reply to everything. I have to set a limit there and I hope that you understand this limit. Remember Grace, that I am straight up with things, so if I was needing you to cease or decrease, I would say so. I acknowledge emailing has been and I assume still is one way of staying connected to some extent with me and/or to share your thoughts out of sessions, and I want you to have this if it serves a good purpose for you. Course, the safety agreements needs to still stand. You can also always text or call to check in or leave a message.
THEN! A WEEK LATER, 7 DAYS LATER…She sent this:
July 5th
DT: I have always known how important the emailing was for you, but you developed some unrealistic expectations that were unfair to you and me and that because of the inherent inconsistencies and disappointments in this communication, it created serious repercussions for our working relationship. I recognize that one hour a week feels unmanagable, so let us talk further about what we can work out.
All this time I’ve thought all of this was my fault. I became to dependent on her, expected too much, held unrealistic expectations... Drained her energy and now she just “can’t” do it anymore. (Keeping in mind that she DID email daily for nearly 2 years! – A few times as late as 1:30am).
Soon after her telling me that my expectations had become ‘unrealistic’ and I was being ‘unfair’ to her, she begin the DBT preaching. And the new “policy” became this: If Grace needed to talk to DT, outside of session, Grace had to call, and not email. And if I called, DT would put on the DBT mantra of “phone coaching” which was SSSOOOOOO NOT helpful! But Grace is a good girl, and complied. Signed up for DBT, went to a PDOC to drug up.... ALL of the things DT "strongly suggested". None of it worked! The anger at DT for her "perceived abandonment" (as she called it) - and her "new boundaries and limitations" never went away. And at the same time, Grace felt guilty for not being "gracious" and being mean to DT for being unfair and unrealistic.
At the same time, DT stated that the “phone contact” was limited to times she was not working at the hospital (which is 4 nights a week!) and the limit would be 10:00pm. After 10, too bad, Grace! Since most of the “crazy” doesn’t begin until after 10, this didn’t’ feel too helpful (nor has it been).
After further temper tantrums, cussing out, going borderline, enrolling in DBT classes (reluctantly) and repeatedly canceling sessions, DT and I negotiated that she would email 2x per week, Monday and Friday, and the phone “contact” still remained in place – and she would SEND ‘an’ email on Monday and Friday, but there would be NO back and forth communication (as there was prior) just the 2 emails per week.
For a few weeks, we “dealt” with it…but then it wasn’t enough (Grace’s unrealistic expectations…Grace’s fault – she is unfair and unreasonable to DT…bad Grace) – so DT graciously added Wednesday to email list. DT would email Grace on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
All this time – I have been beating myself up because my expectations are ‘unfair’ and ‘unrealistic’ and why can’t I be satisfied with what she can offer me! And look how great she has been ‘negociating’ with me with respect to out of office communication. I am such a bitch for not being able to accept that. (Grace is BAD!)
And today, I went back and read her emails, 1 week apart…and to me the *message* is quite different, and quite drastic! It went from “Email is not getting on my nerves, and I’m sorry if I can’t respond for a couple of days”…too “Grace is unrealistic and unfair to DT.” IN 7 DAYS!
In 7 days, Grace went from “good” to “unfair – to DT???? After 2 years of “validation” – “I’m here for you.” “What do you need” “How can I help you”...and actually CHECKING in on me if I didn't email for her a couple of days! All that changed in 7 days!?
SHE made this MY fault! This wasn’t MY FAULT! Of course the 5 year old grew to “depend” on her – because she WAS THERE! And you can’t go from being there every night to telling a 5 year old that she is being unfair and unrealistic.
That wasn’t fair, DT, to tell her that! That was mean and selfish of you to throw all of that onto a 5 year old! And all this time she believed it was HER fault and that she was mean and unfair to you! She wasn't being "unfair" - she was being 5! You were the “unfair” one!
And now she’s really screwed up! Because she NEEDS you to be there and feels bad about it because you told her she was “unfair” to you and “expected too much” from you.”
**Thank you, EH, for making me 'pause' to think about this**
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Gracie b good tonight - take your pills and go to bed
Last night I took 6x the prescribed dose of seroquel (pdoc prescribed for sleep).
Slept 11 hours, dream free!
But had a difficult time waking up.
Ultimately my dog's bad breaath in my face did the trick.
As I heard DHs voice downstairs telling the children, "I thought I shut the bedroom door. Is that the dog I hear in mom's room?"
As thoug he didn't do it on purpose, being it was 1030.
So to proavtively avoid thee looming darkness tonight I'm going to bed at 8.
Isn't that what the drugs are for?
Mind numbing drugs to keep you from calling out to a MHP in "distress".
Fine, DT, you win.
I'm tired of all of it tonight.
6x the prescribed dose will surely let me sleep dreamlessly till daybreak.
Say goodnight Gracie."
G'nite Gracie...
'sweet dreams. No nightmares.'
Slept 11 hours, dream free!
But had a difficult time waking up.
Ultimately my dog's bad breaath in my face did the trick.
As I heard DHs voice downstairs telling the children, "I thought I shut the bedroom door. Is that the dog I hear in mom's room?"
As thoug he didn't do it on purpose, being it was 1030.
So to proavtively avoid thee looming darkness tonight I'm going to bed at 8.
Isn't that what the drugs are for?
Mind numbing drugs to keep you from calling out to a MHP in "distress".
Fine, DT, you win.
I'm tired of all of it tonight.
6x the prescribed dose will surely let me sleep dreamlessly till daybreak.
Say goodnight Gracie."
G'nite Gracie...
'sweet dreams. No nightmares.'
I DON'T WANT TO DIE! But she does. And I do not expect you to understand. I just want you to BE HERE for her!
Dear Therapist:
When you say things like, “The adult part of you needs to step it up and return …This has to happen NOW!” - it feels like everything that’s going on inside of me…the pain, the nightmares, the helplessness, the hopelessness, the anger, the sadness, the fear… isn’t even real. It makes me feel like I’m so inadequate and a failure and over-dramatic. It makes me feel like you think it’s all in my head and I have the power to just stop all of it and if I would just “step up” and use that power – I’d be HEALED! Yea Me! And I wonder why I don’t feel that way – why I still feel so much pain. Because of your invalidation I doubt my feelings, what happens to me, because I “choose” this because I want to feel this way. I must be a stubborn ridiculous drama because I can’t just “summon” the adult to take over when psycho chick’s in charge. Just figure it out, Grace! You’re such a whiny baby…come on! Get over it! Deal with it…” That’s what it sounds like. AGAIN! I’ve told you that there are times when I CAN do it – but there are just as many times I can’t!
I am not asking you to ‘understand’ it – or say you ‘understand’ it – that’s not possible. But it isn’t that easy to just “summon the internal ‘rational’ Grace”– and it’s overwhelming and it feels like a boulder has fallen on top of me and there’s no strength to lift it off. And I don’t want to die – but I fear every night that PAG is going to kill me… that one night, she is going to be in charge, and the ‘tools’ I have presently are not going to work, you are not going to be ‘available’ and it’s going to be the wrong night…and it’s going to be my last night. That’s *real* to me. Let me say this again. I DON’T WANT TO DIE! ME! I DON’T WANT TO DIE! But she does – because it doesn’t stop. And she can’t make it go away nor will she relinquish control. Not right now. Let me say this again, too: I do NOT expect you to understand how horrific it really is those nights.
You couldn’t possibly because :
1. You aren’t ‘living/experiencing’ it.
2. If you did understand, you wouldn’t tell me to “step it up and take charge” because you would understand that it isn’t even possible to do that.
I know that you have tolerated my pain for a long, long, very long time. And I am immeasurably grateful. I go back and read the ‘old’ emails you sent to me (PRIOR to all of your CHANGES) and I feel such love and acceptance in your compassion and hope and commitment to our ‘therapeutic relationship – that you had THEN – before all of your CHANGES. My experience now feels so dramatically different and I feel so disconnected from you. And I think I know why that is- but I don’t want to accept it, or believe it. And I know that all the ‘pain and fear’ is not going to let up any time soon and I am so exhausted I don’t know how much more I can survive, or if I even want to. It’s so depressing that some days I cannot even move and I want to die just to get some relief!
Regarding our appointment tomorrow: I have cancelled and then recanted that cancellation a couple of times both yesterday and today. I think about another session and I feel panic and confusion…PAG cancels because she hates you and 5 year old desperately seeks the safety of your presence. Unfeeling thinks it’s all a complete waste of time and sad/lonely girl can take it or leave it.
Tonight the pain in my head is excruciating – it travels down the back of my neck into my back – and nothing touches it. I desperately want to hurt myself tonight. It will make it stop – at least temporarily. I bite the inside of my lip until blood flows – trying not to do further damage. No one is here with me right now. I can’t call you to “direct you toward compassionate and specific actions that will request of you to take care of yourself, instead of abuse yourself” because according to my calendar…tonight, like MORE NIGHTS THAN NOT, you’re “UNAVAILABLE”.
There are voices all talking at once now, and at this moment, I don’t know if I will be here tomorrow, or if I am if I will be able to move…and I surely don’t know if “any” of us will show up at your office at all.
When you say things like, “The adult part of you needs to step it up and return …This has to happen NOW!” - it feels like everything that’s going on inside of me…the pain, the nightmares, the helplessness, the hopelessness, the anger, the sadness, the fear… isn’t even real. It makes me feel like I’m so inadequate and a failure and over-dramatic. It makes me feel like you think it’s all in my head and I have the power to just stop all of it and if I would just “step up” and use that power – I’d be HEALED! Yea Me! And I wonder why I don’t feel that way – why I still feel so much pain. Because of your invalidation I doubt my feelings, what happens to me, because I “choose” this because I want to feel this way. I must be a stubborn ridiculous drama because I can’t just “summon” the adult to take over when psycho chick’s in charge. Just figure it out, Grace! You’re such a whiny baby…come on! Get over it! Deal with it…” That’s what it sounds like. AGAIN! I’ve told you that there are times when I CAN do it – but there are just as many times I can’t!
I am not asking you to ‘understand’ it – or say you ‘understand’ it – that’s not possible. But it isn’t that easy to just “summon the internal ‘rational’ Grace”– and it’s overwhelming and it feels like a boulder has fallen on top of me and there’s no strength to lift it off. And I don’t want to die – but I fear every night that PAG is going to kill me… that one night, she is going to be in charge, and the ‘tools’ I have presently are not going to work, you are not going to be ‘available’ and it’s going to be the wrong night…and it’s going to be my last night. That’s *real* to me. Let me say this again. I DON’T WANT TO DIE! ME! I DON’T WANT TO DIE! But she does – because it doesn’t stop. And she can’t make it go away nor will she relinquish control. Not right now. Let me say this again, too: I do NOT expect you to understand how horrific it really is those nights.
You couldn’t possibly because :
1. You aren’t ‘living/experiencing’ it.
2. If you did understand, you wouldn’t tell me to “step it up and take charge” because you would understand that it isn’t even possible to do that.
I know that you have tolerated my pain for a long, long, very long time. And I am immeasurably grateful. I go back and read the ‘old’ emails you sent to me (PRIOR to all of your CHANGES) and I feel such love and acceptance in your compassion and hope and commitment to our ‘therapeutic relationship – that you had THEN – before all of your CHANGES. My experience now feels so dramatically different and I feel so disconnected from you. And I think I know why that is- but I don’t want to accept it, or believe it. And I know that all the ‘pain and fear’ is not going to let up any time soon and I am so exhausted I don’t know how much more I can survive, or if I even want to. It’s so depressing that some days I cannot even move and I want to die just to get some relief!
Regarding our appointment tomorrow: I have cancelled and then recanted that cancellation a couple of times both yesterday and today. I think about another session and I feel panic and confusion…PAG cancels because she hates you and 5 year old desperately seeks the safety of your presence. Unfeeling thinks it’s all a complete waste of time and sad/lonely girl can take it or leave it.
Tonight the pain in my head is excruciating – it travels down the back of my neck into my back – and nothing touches it. I desperately want to hurt myself tonight. It will make it stop – at least temporarily. I bite the inside of my lip until blood flows – trying not to do further damage. No one is here with me right now. I can’t call you to “direct you toward compassionate and specific actions that will request of you to take care of yourself, instead of abuse yourself” because according to my calendar…tonight, like MORE NIGHTS THAN NOT, you’re “UNAVAILABLE”.
There are voices all talking at once now, and at this moment, I don’t know if I will be here tomorrow, or if I am if I will be able to move…and I surely don’t know if “any” of us will show up at your office at all.
Between me and everybody else there's all this space...it's lonely
I have felt incredibly 'alone' recently. Not alone in the physical sense of the word, not in the 'borderline' definition of the word. I have family & I have friends...contrary to what some may think by reading my blog, I am not an introvert or a hermit.
But, at the same time, when I'm interacting with people, be it working or social, there is this ache, this emptiness inside of me. It's like there's all this space between me and everybody else. And each night it keeps growing and growing and I'm on one side of this gaping chasm and I'm screaming to everyone on the other side but no one can hear me. Not even the "ME" who is standing on the other side....she's laughing and smiling with everyone else.
The Grace standing on the light side of this seemingly endless abyss is surrounded by people...and she seems at ease with them. But they don't know the darkness that exists inside of her. The darkness that she will never share. She will instead keep it far away, in the darkness of the night, and it will never bleed over into the light.
It is so lonely when no one can hear your cries and screams for help. Each night I cry out in fear and the one person I think is holding it is afraid of it too.
But, at the same time, when I'm interacting with people, be it working or social, there is this ache, this emptiness inside of me. It's like there's all this space between me and everybody else. And each night it keeps growing and growing and I'm on one side of this gaping chasm and I'm screaming to everyone on the other side but no one can hear me. Not even the "ME" who is standing on the other side....she's laughing and smiling with everyone else.
The Grace standing on the light side of this seemingly endless abyss is surrounded by people...and she seems at ease with them. But they don't know the darkness that exists inside of her. The darkness that she will never share. She will instead keep it far away, in the darkness of the night, and it will never bleed over into the light.
It is so lonely when no one can hear your cries and screams for help. Each night I cry out in fear and the one person I think is holding it is afraid of it too.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
No one gave Grace permission to hurt.
DT: “The angry and abusive part of you that is acting out anger and abuses of power has no place or permission to treat the hurt parts of you in such terrorizing ways.”
Yes, you are right, DT. No one gave Grace “permission” to hurt. She forgot, no one has to ASK her permission before hurting Grace, but everyone must “grant” Grace permission to hurt….or ‘feel’, or ‘express’ her feelings. Grace ‘expressed’ her feelings and pain- unacceptable!
“The adult part of you needs to step it up and return to making compassionate and loving efforts toward the hurt, scared and lonely part of you. This has to happen NOW!”
I should have left all of the pain and hurt and shame and ALL of the past in your office…. I'll drop it off for you. I’d suggest you keep an extra can of Lysol& perhaps some Febreze Because it won’t be long before the STINK of the rottenness will overwhelm you…just as it has me for the past 30+ years! 
Now listen to me very carefully, Grace: “You have some tools and supports and you need to do this now!” I trust that you will hear what I am saying and make the decisions to not further the abuses of the past...
Now listen to me very carefully, Grace: “You have some tools and supports and you need to do this now!” I trust that you will hear what I am saying and make the decisions to not further the abuses of the past...
Yes, DT, Gracie will stuff it all of it back into Pandora's Box and shut the lid permanently. You used to say you "wanted to hear *all* of Grace"...but CLEARLY you no longer have time. 
Grace is going to go away now…Thank you for trying to help her...until your life changed and you ran out of time. It's okay. Grace is out of time too...and too tired to do it alone anymore.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Little Gracie does not like Fridays. *Family Movie Night*
Every Friday night we watched a “Sammy Terry”
Sammy Terry, which is a play on the word "Cemetery" was the host of Nightmare Theater. "Sammy Terry," Every Friday, Sammy Terry would show a horror film. Scary movies scared the little girl. Vampires, Witches, Dracula....scare little Gracie.
Sammy Terry came out of a coffin and he scared little Gracie. So scared of his spider. Still scared of all spiders. Every Friday, night sat next to him…his arm around her shoulder, his hand resting casually on her chest. She doesn’t like it but she doesn’t try to move his hand away. Why? She can smell him. Cigarette smoke and stale beer. She wants the movie to hurry up and end. Hurry up! It lasts for a long time. Her heart is beating fast because the movie is too long. She thinks he can hear her heart beating. Mother asleep. He will hurt her when the movie is over.
He says, “Mother get up and go to bed.”
“Go to bed Gracie. I’ll be in to tuck you in.” Gracie isn’t allowed to wear panties to bed. Only a cotton nightgown. This is because of all the UTIs and kidney infections. That’s why she isn’t allowed.
Gracie gets in bed and waits. Hurry up! Hurry up! Gracie is bad. She didn’t wish for it NOT to happen, she wished for it to happen FASTER. Why? She liked it. She wanted it. That’s why and she is a bad girl. She wanted her father to fuck her. What a terrible little girl she is! Bad! She wished he would do it. Don’t feel good today. Smells bad. Throat hurts. Acid in my stomach. Head hurts. Body hurts. Tired. Hurts to sit. Hurts to walk. Couldn’t work today. Can’t focus. Don’t feel good.
Psycho angry girl so mean. She knows DT will go away again. Just like last week. So DT go away now. For good. Hurry up! Hurry up! Get it over with! Hurry up! Hurry up so she will stop crying! Hurry up! Go now! She wants DT to go away! Go away, DT! Go away NOW!
Sammy Terry, which is a play on the word "Cemetery" was the host of Nightmare Theater. "Sammy Terry," Every Friday, Sammy Terry would show a horror film. Scary movies scared the little girl. Vampires, Witches, Dracula....scare little Gracie.
Sammy Terry came out of a coffin and he scared little Gracie. So scared of his spider. Still scared of all spiders. Every Friday, night sat next to him…his arm around her shoulder, his hand resting casually on her chest. She doesn’t like it but she doesn’t try to move his hand away. Why? She can smell him. Cigarette smoke and stale beer. She wants the movie to hurry up and end. Hurry up! It lasts for a long time. Her heart is beating fast because the movie is too long. She thinks he can hear her heart beating. Mother asleep. He will hurt her when the movie is over.
He says, “Mother get up and go to bed.”
“Go to bed Gracie. I’ll be in to tuck you in.” Gracie isn’t allowed to wear panties to bed. Only a cotton nightgown. This is because of all the UTIs and kidney infections. That’s why she isn’t allowed.
Gracie gets in bed and waits. Hurry up! Hurry up! Gracie is bad. She didn’t wish for it NOT to happen, she wished for it to happen FASTER. Why? She liked it. She wanted it. That’s why and she is a bad girl. She wanted her father to fuck her. What a terrible little girl she is! Bad! She wished he would do it. Don’t feel good today. Smells bad. Throat hurts. Acid in my stomach. Head hurts. Body hurts. Tired. Hurts to sit. Hurts to walk. Couldn’t work today. Can’t focus. Don’t feel good.
Psycho angry girl so mean. She knows DT will go away again. Just like last week. So DT go away now. For good. Hurry up! Hurry up! Get it over with! Hurry up! Hurry up so she will stop crying! Hurry up! Go now! She wants DT to go away! Go away, DT! Go away NOW!
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