And that's all I need....

DT is leaving for vacation (AGAIN!) tomorrow morning. I expressed my concerns about staying “safe” while she’s away. The rational part of my brain is currently on strike, and my thoughts feel jumbled and disorganized now. I try to summon the adult, rational, Grace, but she is nowhere to be found. I have thoughts of suicide every day, and every night is a struggle not to SI. Frankly, I’m amazed that I can function at all.

Each morning, I review the sent file in my email, and I find whacked out, incomprehensible emails to DT from a frightened little child. A child who lives in fear of being raped and beaten…a child that relives being raped and beaten every night…still reaching out for help, not realizing that there is no help at night.

DT suggestion today, “Grace, do you want to sign the suicide contract?”


Um, why? How is that going to do any good, DT?

A. There is no rationality to be found when it gets to the point where I will slice my arm a mere millimeter away from an artery.
and....
B. How in the world are you going to hold me accountable to a “suicide contract” if I am dead?

I don’t get that. I told her I would sign it but I don’t think it would help when it gets to that point.

I argued with her like a 5 year old child. Inside I was pleading with her to please offer a fail-safe solution that will keep me alive. Put me in a drug-induced coma, put me on a ventilator…something or someone…please breathe for me until I can do it on my own!!!! But there’s no magical wand in real life, there’s no fairy god mother, no Mary Poppins. In real life you can’t click your heels together three times and find yourself somewhere over the rainbow. Real life has real pain. And sometimes it’s overwhelming.

When she offered to give me something from her office to keep during her vacation, I felt like Steve Martin, on the movie, “The Jerk”. I could just see myself walking around DT’s office, “All I need is this pillow. And that’s all I need. I don’t need the dollhouse, or the play-doh…just this pillow. And this Barbie, and the Elmo hand puppet, and the Time magazine in the hallway, and that’s all I need. Oh, and the pony-tail holder in DT’s hair. The pillow, the crocheted throw on the back of DT’s couch, the Elmo hand puppet, the magazine and DT’s pony-tail holder. Not one other thing…for sure. And DT’s chair…and that’s all I need. The pillow, the crocheted throw on the back of DT’s couch , the Elmo hand puppet, the magazine and DT’s pony-tail holder and DT’s chair. "

On the outside I was rolling my eyes, but the child inside was screaming:

“YOU! I WANT YOU! I AM SO SCARED & I’M AFRAID OF WHAT HE WILL DO TO ME WHILE YOU’RE AWAY. I DON’T WANT A PILLOW! YOU MAKE ME FEEL SAFE, I LOVE YOU! I WANT YOU!”

She is so sweet and tries so hard…I don’t understand why she cares so much, why she keeps trying to help the ‘unhelpable’. .. I don’t what she sees in me that I can’t see. Tonight, the night before she leaves for her vacation (AGAIN!!!) she is doing a recording for me on my MP3. A reading from a ZEN depression book I dropped off at her office this afternoon. I’m sure she had a 1000 other things that she wanted to do, but instead she is spending the evening making a soothing recording for the crazy girl.

Why does she care so much when my parents hated me?

Can she still not see what they saw?

And why the hell can't I stop crying tonight?