Saturday, October 31, 2009

Send in the Clowns..and the ghosts and goblins, and princesses and even Buzz Lightyear

DH *promised* he would hand out Halloween Candy to the trick-or-treaters tonight.  Alas, he forgot that we have an overly friendly, quite large Golden Retriever who rushes to the door each time the door bell rings...because of course, he is the center of the universe, and whoever has rung the doorbell is surely here to see him (the dog- not DH).  So since both DS and DD are at sleepovers he decided that he should sit with the dog in the man cave with the giant high definition TV - therefore 'protecting' the trick-or-treaters since the dog would be safely closed behind french doors...probably watching some type of sporting event.  Male bonding at its finest!

Enter Grace, now the official candy-hander-outer...(I believe that falls into the 'other duties as assigned' section of my job description).  The problem is I don't much care for Halloween.  Halloween was not about dressing up and going out for candy...that wasn't Halloween.  In fact, I was trying to watch TV tonight and a commercial came on for a movie about a woman acsused of being a witch and being burned alive.  And for God's sake it was Lifetime! 

Our neighborhood isn't big nor is it overflowing with children so there weren't that many trick-or-treaters...but the thing is I don't like it.  I don't like the costumes or the fact that these kids walk up to houses where people they don't know live...all in the name of candy!...and other stuff.

One Halloween Eve when I was a kid, I was sitting on the front steps and I looked over to the right to the back of the trailor where we lived at the time and out of no where came this figure dressed like a devil...only with a green face, not a red one.  And he stood there looking at me walking closer, sort of dancing....I realize now it was probably a teenager but it scared the hell out of me then.

I don't like halloween!  And the hus knows it too!  So I'm kind of pissed off that he said he wanted to hand out candy and then bailed on his deal!  I should have set the whole basket on the porch with a sign that said take one, or two, or a handful - don't really care.  Instead I handed out all the snickers first since those are his favorite....(i am such a bitch!)  And since he is safely tucked into bed with visions of (now) non-existent snicker bars in his head...I'm thinking of making a clown mask to put next to his pillow!   

He knows I hate Halloween!  I hope PAG doesn't flip on freakin' Freddy Krueger, or Mike Myers tonight!  She is like that - does shit to deliberately torture the kid.  I hate her! 

I'd go torture her by staring at a reece's peanut butter cup - but I handed them all out... I am not going to sleep tonight - no way!  And I cannot allow that stupid baby to call the therapist again tonight!  I can see tht is the path we are headed down tonight.  She is such a baby!  I am turning off the phone - and whatever happens, happens. 

It is Halloween, after all.  Satan's night!  "Officially"!  She is scared as hell - but oh, well...she can learn to deal with it as it whiny messages crying for God knows what to the therapist tonight!  Phone privaleges...DENIED!

I am trapped in the shadows, where skeletons rise from the dead and moan in this cold and dead world

I detest the night ~ Thoughts tear through my head like a tempest pausing not for rest nor sleep. My past stalks me like the black shadow of death; a silhouette as thick as the everlasting night. She has manifested herself inside skin and bones, burrowed deep within a weak and hollow body. I walk around half dead and half human, unaware of any truth or peace. The truth only makes me hurt worse. It’s a brilliant paradox, really, that I can search so desperately for something that merely causes me pain.

I sit alone on Halloween night feeling trapped in a moment. Time moves back instead of forward. She is screaming within me and I know not what to do. I try desperately to suffocate the terrifying voices rambling inside my head. There is an abundant amount of anger and frustration, memories and regret, loneliness and terror. Again and again everything surfaces and erupts like a volcano spreading hot lava, scorching every inch of my body. I try to desperately to see the line separating my past from my present but I am unable separate myself, instead wavering from one side to the other time and time again.

It is like trying to climb mount Everest with no training.  It is over before you begin. 

I cry harder. I feel swallowed by pain; unable to speak and unable to breathe, longing for someone to help me~ but there is no one here. The room is filled with a heavy silence, the aroma of the past drifts through the air, the pungent smell pierces through my nasal passage, and my stomach churns with the overwhelming urge to vomit.

If I push it away it stays away for awhile, but it always comes back. I cannot do it now. Tonight I find myself without hope. Without hope. The darkness chokes me and I feel completely powerless – fear is etched into my spine. I am unable to face the fear alone, and yet I have no one to help me. I can no longer stash it away inside of a box or a bucket, it will not stay and I cannot do this alone. How do I face this fear? How? Never again will I allow myself to show the scary and shameful side to another. Never again will I allow myself to be vulnerable as another bears witness, showing me not acceptance but abhorrence.  There is no coach for this.

This task seems insurmountable. I have failed once again.

I sit here, shaking and staring up at the dark sky and I cannot find a single star hovering. I take that as a sign that more darkness is yet to come. And so I sit, and I wait; and I continue to stare into space ~ no star to wish upon~ no light to follow. Just the darkness, the chill of the night air...the hopelessness. 

Tonight, on Halloween, I feel physically sick and I am trapped in the shadows, where skeletons rise from the dead and moan together inside  this cold and dead world.

One two~he's coming back for you...three four~try and lock the door...five six~he'll never ever eight~she doesn't care; it's too late... nine ten~scared to sleep again...  He's back...


He yells at night:  Gracie, Come out, come out, where ever you are...

She has been playing hide and seek at night.
Last night was really bad...
She LOST it emotionally! 
and there was no rationalizing with her.
Friday night/night before Halloween combination sent her over the edge.
She tries desperately to find a safe place so he cannot find her, so he cannot hurt her.
Last night she hid in the laundry room
she hid in the office
she hid in the chair, covered by blankets
she hid on the guest room where she left her bean bag pillow 
The call log on the phone tells she made several calls to the therapist,
perhaps in an effort to feel safe. 
There is no safe place for her at night. 
She searches and searches...
wandering the house at night...
seeking shelter from the storm anywhere she can.   
She wonders when it will stop
She feels small and tired, weak and afraid...all the time.
And he always seems to find her...

Friday, October 30, 2009

Should I stay or should I go… If I stay there could be trouble...if I go it could be double

...Nope – not a reunion of “The Clash” at my house tonight…
Tonight it is about what I am now left to call the “WHAT IF…” factor…

What if” I decide to trust her and she hurts me again with the nun?

“What if” I decide not to go back and the pain I’m ‘stashing’ overwhelms me and I hurt myself again…or worse!

“What if” she is only saying I can come back because she feels ‘professionally obligated’ to do so?

“What if” I really can’t trust her…

“What if” I need her and I’m afraid and she tells me to *deal with it*?

“What if” I do go back and she has rented a storage locker for all my feelings?

What if?  What if?  What if?  What if?  What if?  What if?   What if?  What if?  What if?  
I was talking to a friend of mine last night, and she was in pain…like the pain that happens when you are thrust back into the past and you can’t even move, kind of pain…I know that pain, and I know how it feels when you reach out to someone you trust and that person tells you to ‘deal with it’ or the closed sign is out because it’s after 10pm. Sorry! Try a suicide hotline – pansy!

I would make a really crappy therapist because when my friend expressed her pain to me, I cried with her! When she said, “Grace, I am so scared – and I just want to be okay.” - I knew exactly what she was saying! Part of me thought how difficult it must be to be a therapist and to ‘listen’ to the pain that we can’t be easy, right? And we are a volatile clientele aren’t we?

But the hardest part, the most difficult part is that the ‘pain’ and the ‘fear’ and the child…they typically come out at night – when it’s dark and we’re alone, and when we used to be fucked by the ‘trusted’ adult in our lives. And THAT is when we need the help! Is it realistic or ‘fair’ to expect our therapist to be there for us at night? No, not really…they have their own lives, the expectation is not that they are on call 24/7 – but when they do express their availability and what we believe to be actual ‘care’ and when we actually reach out and do call –only to be met with words like “entitlement’” and “manipulation” and “you make me uncomfortable” and “deal with it, I’m busy” or “put it in the bucket and we’ll deal with it next week” and “I don’t think your meds are working – call the PDOC” …well, it just isn’t that helpful, and in fact, can be even more harmful.

I, like my friend, grew up never trusting anyone. I mean, I could *trust* the fact that my SF would fuck me, and my mother hated me and never helped me, and the rest of the people kept their heads up their ass’s and pretended like everything was okay and nothing was happening! There was no ‘balance’ and he who held the power ruled the world. And we know that we don’t hold the power.  We never have and we never will

My friend had the “WHAT IF” factor last night…what if the therapist goes on vacation this week and I need her and then she invalidates me just like last time…and tells me to just ‘deal with it’.  And I am afraid it will happen again.  And she will abandon my in my pain.  And I should just abandon her first because I know it's going to happen and for god's sake just fuck me and beat me and get it over with already because I KNOW that's what you're going to do!  Just do it already!  Just do it now!  So I can deal with the aftermath!

Just do it!   Just do it!  Just do it!  Just do it!  Just do it! 

And I am afraid…. How do you get past that?

I surely don’t know…

Thursday, October 29, 2009

I am the product of a woman who never wanted me and a man who wanted me in controlling and abusive ways

Last night, The Therapist (obviously a glutton for punishment) gave me a 'reserved' sense of hope and desire to continue to try, and maybe believe that I did not fail after all. 

Dear Grace,
Having not spoken with you since our exchange of emails re: scheduling (which isn't really speaking with one another), I am left to wonder how you are handling the quiet desperation that I know that you experience day to day. I suspect that you are working very at trying to nurture yourself and manage the "voices" of self invalidation. I wonder how well you are managing the temptation to isolate and instead letting others from cyberspace and otherwise provide you with support.

I would like to share that the conference I have been attending has guided me in some ways that I hope with benefit our ability to renegotiate our goals and methods of work together, not to mention hopefully my ability to help you find a way to reach your goals. With the help of this conference and self reflection, I am clearer on how my shifts and or comments could have felt invalidating and/or unreasonable, while also recognizing that some "shifts" are/were necessary. The pain and emotions that overcome you feel truly too much for you to bear and sometimes "healthy ways to cope" just don't work. I am better recognizing that there are many situations in which you are overly competent and other ones in which those abilities don't generalize. I also hope that we can find a way to accomplish a greater sense of being able to feel or need without it either overcoming you or forcing you to have to totally suppress it. I am re-recognizing that the hidden shame that you attempt to cope with each day is in need of further validation and care. I truly hope that next Monday we can restart a dialogue about identifying your goals, needs, etc. and how best to get there.
With hope and patience,
Dear Therapist

Dear Therapist,
I made an appointment to see you next week, even though I continue to have portentous reservations about talking to you; and I am assiduously trying to quiet the part of me who is screaming that it is better to just continue to avoid any type of contact at all. She continues to believe that it is better to just walk away from you then to continue to head down a path filled with buckets which as I have tried to convey time and time again leads to hostility, defensiveness, and further resistance. I admit that your email brought with it a flicker of hope to continue on this journey, but the ‘what if’ gang is singing kareoke songs of doubt inside my head.

As much as I regret to say this, I did not come with an owner’s manual, nor is it possible to run a quick diagnostic test on me and diagnose the ‘problem’. It took me a very long time to trust you and it seems that at some point you lost your trust in me and we began working against each other. Obviously, I'm no therapist, but I do know that if neither of us can trust or have faith in the other, moving forward is not possible. And I question the sudden change and I am somewhat saddened that you suddenly believe and ‘trust’ in something you hear from another ‘mental health professional’ and yet you did not hear it, or trust me, when I said it.  And I am still searching for signs of the flying nun in your message.  And I wonder why you even want to try to help me since...well, because I am "ME"...

I recognize that I am not easy to work with someone with my “history” ~ and my constant hyper-vigilance and defensiveness incessantly tire and frustrate you. I question things I do not understand and I can be a rainbow of ‘personalities’ in one session leaving you feeling exasperated and wanting to pull your hair out. I know that I am different than you (or at least who I ‘know’ you to be). I know that I experienced way too much, way too early, and these things make me react to situations in aberrant and strange ways which perhaps leave you to question your own sanity for not throwing me out of your office into the tree-hugging recycling bin.
I am a high-maintenance client.
I am a sad scared little girl.
I am an angry rebellious teenager.
I am a self-reliant woman with above average intelligence.
I am sad and small.
I am overbearing and demanding.
I am questioning and untrusting.
I am sarcastic and amusing.
I am outgoing and reserved.
I am determined and strong but also fearful and weak.
I am honest but withholding.
I am compassionate and giving and yet also hard and cold.
I am stubborn and willful.
I hide behind the façade of a woman I want to be.
I feel nothing and too much at the same time.
I am the life of the party but never really present.

I am beautiful crystal on the outside but shards of broken glass on the inside.
I will endure a hurricane to take away someone else’s pain and turmoil and yet I cannot seem to do the same for myself.
I am the product of a woman who never wanted me and a man who wanted me in controlling and abusive ways.
YOU: Dear therapist, are a compassionate woman with the patience of a saint, but I hope you understand that none of the above intrinsic personality quirks have changed since we last spoke.   I don't know exactly why you still have not given up...for the love of God....but I guess for now, I will allow myself to ‘trust’ what you say above, and that you still have the patience to deal with *all* of me.

So I guess I will see you next week....
~ Grace

P.S.  I hope you are not just reaching out because much like my feelings and emotions you are tired of being in a bucket.

She is scared to go on...

She tries hard to hide her feelings ~ and not wear them on her face
But look closely and you can see them ~ things that time cannot erase

The secrets that she carries ~She is not allowed to share
Although she wants to tell you ~Fearing judgment she won’t dare

She struggles just to stay alive~ Trying her best but you can’t see
Others tell her to lay down her burdens ~So then she can be free

Her vulnerabilty invisible to others ~ Tears shed only when alone
On the outside she is perfect~On the inside broken and alone

She hesitates to continue on ~balancing high up on the ledge
She wonders what would happen~If she were to leap off of the edge

Fearful of the future~Unable to work through the past
Strength and courage once her armour~Are now things of the past

Her trust and faith once again shattered~Why take another chance
She wonders if it is better to walk away without a second glance

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

"Why the long face, Grace?"

Last night, on his way to bed, DH walked over to me and asked me what was wrong.  He said I looked sad.  I told him I was fine, he kissed me goodnight and headed into dreamworld (which for him does not consist of demons and rapists).

But I wasn't fine...what I really wanted to say was I was overwhelmed!  I feel scared and sad and alone.  I feel like a ship without a rudder...dare I say I am F-A-R from fine!  But I told him I was 'fine'.

After everyone went to bed I started to cry. Tears were pouring out of me and I could not make them stop. I am just overwhelmed with everything right now…I even broke down and c alled the therapist’s voicemail just to hear her voice (it was after 10 so I knew she wouldn’t asnwer…and I just wanted to hear her voice) I didn’t leave a message, I just thought that somehow hearing her voice would help me, or at least comfort the little girl, because I couldn't seem to do it.

How pathetic am I?

I sat in the laundry room for awhile, wrapped in my blanket, and then I decided that I’d better go to bed before things spiraled out of control. So I climbed into bed and cried myself to sleep. I had terrible dreams and woke up several times painicked and drenched in sweat…Restless and scared. I am not now, nor have I ever been, someone who likes to ‘cuddle’…ever. But each time I woke up I was sleeping right against DH.  But I still didn’t feel safe…I don’t know if I ever will.

My body feels so heavy today my eyes are so tired from crying.   I am not okay and I do not know how to make it stop. 

I’ve pulled away from the therapist, and have refused to feel any connection with her at all.
And I am afraid to let myself come back.
I have lost the map and I don't think I can even remember the way...

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

My friend died of cancer today

She was 38.
It was not unexpected, she was in hospice care, terminal brain cancer...but she was not even 40 years old.
She DIED!  She didn't have a choice - and I do!
Tell me how that's "Fair"?
Tell me why God chose to take my friend, "A" who was living her life happily along -and is stricken with brain cancer?
Tell me why God takes Amy - 38 years old?
Tell me why that's "fair"????
Tell me why it's "Fair" that kids get fucked and people suffer and die when they are young and in the prime of their life?
Tell my friend's family why that's "fair"!
There is no "fairness" and that really sucks!
And don't say "it was her time"  NO!  It wasn't!  I'll bet her parents who raised her and then took care of her while she DIED don't think it was her time!

I would really appreciate it - if someone "spiritual" someone "close" to God - could please enlighten me on why my friend Amy died today?  And why all these kids are suffering as they're being fucked and beaten by their parents...because I surely cannot make any sense of it!!!!  Of course I'm sure it must be because she didnt pray enough, or all the kids who were and are being fucked didn't pray enough.

Tell me what the hell is the point of any of it?  To suffer so you can just DIE in pain and humiliation???
Because I truly and honestly, from the bottom of my heart, do not fucking get it!

Not trying to be offensive...but I won't hold my breath for any *answers*  The closest thing I had to answers flew the coop when there was a discovery during an archeological dig - I surely don't expect any deep answers to this quesion!

And I am mad as hell!!!

I have Vuja De right now!

I have a feeling I'm doing it wrong all over again!!!!

Would you ALL go to bed already! 
I don't feel well and I need to be by myself so I can fall apart!

This evening is dragging ON AND ON AND ON!!! 
And I desperately need DH and the children to go to bed because I am going to cry & possibly scream and definately puke - and I cannot do it in front of anyone! 
This is one of those - "I need to hurt myself so the pain will go away" kind of nights....

...Hand me the bloody bucket!

I feel better now that I've given up hope.

Monday, October 26, 2009

It is mine and mine fight~talk~cry~scream~hate~hold...and hopefully someday face and accept. How could I have possibly believed that someone else could understand...

I feel like I am so many different people disconnected from each other wrapped tightly inside this lost little body with no escape.

I am a mother
I am a wife
I am a friend
I am a professional
I am so much more…
I am an incest survivor…she is the part that is wholly separate from the rest of ‘Grace’.

I have never faced her, accepted her or anything that happened to her, she was not me…now she has grown into this big all-consuming monster growing inside of me. And the bigger she gets, the louder she is, the faster I have tried to bury her and push her away. But she is now way too big and I am way too old to bury her anymore. And I have to figure out a way to be okay with her being a part of me.

Why do I continue to run and fight who I used to be and who I am? Why am I so scared and so ashamed? Why do I continue to live in doubt and hopelessness? Why can’t I trust anyone? Why can I not understand and accept her? If this is what I so desperately wish for, what I have worked so hard for the past 3 years, why can I not just DO it? Why? Why can’t I be okay with ALL of me?

I am rambling tonight because I do not feel well and I am afraid to keep all of this inside of my head for fear that tonight could end with the unaccepted being punished. And there is no ‘support system’ in place right now to help me with that. There is just ‘me’, logical adult Grace, trying desperately to remain in charge. I catch myself not breathing, and it feels like I have to talk myself through a few breaths before it becomes subconscious again. And yet even when I concentrate on my breathing, I cannot breathe deeply, I cannot let all the air out of my lungs. Why? Is that because I am afraid and untrusting that air will fill my lungs in the next breath? Not only can I not trust another human being, I cannot trust my own body to breathe? 

I am not crazy. I am not weak. I am alive and I am lucky. I am alive…so now what? Is this where I say, “Yes, I am an incest survivor~ time to move on.” And then I walk away? I keep trying that. I am an incest survivor. I am an incest survivor. (I suppose that is a step forward, I still can’t say the words out loud, but I can write them now.)


But I need help with the second part. I mean, I have moved on, I am an adult, I am not helpless. I can function in society, and the majority of the people in my life probably think I am a product of the Cleaver’s. But it has affected so many parts of me, parts of me I am possibly not even aware of yet. That is the only way to explain the nightmares and the triggers and the strange reactions to what most people consider normal situations. I try to keep track of these moments, events, feelings, and I think I am doing better, right now…and yet I also feel like I am waiting for Shaquille O’Neal’s size 23 shoe to stomp on me and squash me like an ant. 

I wish I could talk to people in my real life and trust that they won’t look at me in shame, embarrassment, or worse, pity…but I cannot. Nope – my past is mine…and I am left here alone now – to fight with it, talk to it, hate it, deal with it, cry with it – and maybe someday accept it.

And I will do it alone because it is my past…no one else’s.
How I could I have possibly thought that someone else could understand.

Um...Hello ~ I wasn't looking for a pen-pal

The Therapist popped out of the box on Friday night (HA! A “Therapist” in a Box) to tell me that she cannot support me ‘via the internet’ – and I needed to call and make an appointment and let her know what I wanted to do since I haven’t been to see her in a couple of weeks, nor have I talked to her since she called me Veruca Salt.

The Therapist: I am hoping that this email finds you ok and managing your struggles skillfully and compassionately. Since our last session, I am still unclear as to what your intentions are re: our work together. It is ultimately up to you as to whether you are content with your life and healing at this point or you what something different for yourself, which in "our" case includes our therapeutic relationship/contract/goals. In either case, it is most prudent that you and I have a face to face discussion about your needs and decision at this time. In addition, in keeping with good clinical and ethical conscience, I can not continue to engage in emailing without continued appropriate in-office sessions and agreed upon goals, etc. I hope that you can understand that I would like to find a way for us to continue to work together toward your "rebuilding" and "healing", and it can not solely occur over the internet. I ask that you strongly consider what I am asking and that you give me a call to schedule a session during the week of Nov 2nd.


I did not miss an appointment EVER until you put on the Marsha Suit and ordered buckets from OVERSTOCK.COM! I don’t need your help to “STORE” things, my dear therapist! I have plenty of storage space and am quite educated on how the storage process works.

Newsflash!  I was not looking for a pen-pal! I was looking for someone to provide guidance, compassion, support and validation while I try to fight my way through all of this. But, as usual, my communication skills must really SUCK since you obviously thought I was looking for a pen-pal and an abundant supply of buckets.

It's just a symptom (ED) masking the problem (CONTROL)...

It is not a big secret that I tend to trade in one maladaptive coping skill for another....but it's all about symptom management, isn't it?  Manage the symptoms - but ne'er to discover what the real problem is, or if you do, do not address the real problem, ever...because it's much too scary....

Right now, I do realize that the problem is "CONTROL".   If I cannot negotiate or find a workable solution to something, I feel a loss of control, so I latch onto something that I can control.  And right now I can control what I eat or do not eat.  And I can divert my willfullness from one thing to another quite easily.  Divert - not conquer.  And I have diverted my willfullness to not eating, quite successfully, I might add.  I don't typically 'half-ass' anything - when I commit to something - I COMMIT!  I'll leave it to the 'experts' to decide which "Mental Label" those 'characteristics' lend themselves too.

I still feel hurt and angry and therefore I am undeserving of food - and if I fail at this f'd up therapy process than I will succeed at I've spent the last two weeks in ED 'training'.  I called it willpower, but a friend of mine enlightened me today with her direct honesty that it isn't about will-power, it is really just a symptom of a bigger problem that needs to be looked at and resolved.

Her exact words were, "You really need to identify and work through the problem...if you don't you're going to end up lonely and unfullfilled.  And you'll find yourself miserable and staring at a reeces cup for 3 days and not allowing yourself to eat it." 

(This statement was made after I mentioned that I am in a test of willpower, so after not eating all day, I sit and stare at a Reece's but I won't eat it. - Control - I do it to make sure that I can.)

I appreciate her directness!  No judgement ~ just direct honesty.  I only wish everyone were as honest...

I decided that she was probably right...and in an effort to not get too attached to the Reece's ~ I threw it in the bucket.  And just like that *POOF*  -  it ceases to be a problem.  Maybe I can deal with eating/food aversions next week, if I feel more "emotionally" prepared, and can do it in a way in which it does not offend or sicken anyone else.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

I will hold you till the hurt is gone...

When I was a child I would imagine myself as an angel in a peaceful place with nothing but white surrounding me. My body was not my own ~ In my mind I was tall and beautiful, wearing a exquisite flowing white gown with pearls sewn delicately into satin…and striking white wings.

And I was be surrounded by other angels.

Everyone thinks of angels as being purity and light~ peaceful. But I think angels are agonizing creatures. We call on them only when we are desperate and hurting, frightened and hopeless. And they take our pain and internalize it and it forever becomes a part of them.

I want to believe that I was sent here ease the suffering of other people. That somehow, everything I have endured will somehow help others. Not on a grand scale ~I am certainly not a prophet. But maybe I would feel a sense of peace in knowing I had a purpose in this life ~ to help and to heal their spirits and take on their pain when they were unable to do it any longer. To give them something I never had, something I will never have.

There’s so much pain in the world. At times I do not believe I belong here in this world. And I am searching for a way to anchor my soul here so it does not threaten to fly away.

Where have all the angels gone?
Have the demons frightened them away?

Not Then & Not Now

Saturday, October 24, 2009

If nothing else works...a total refusal to see the facts will see us through...

Earlier this week we established the fact that Grace has a sense of entitlement because she wanted an Oompa Loompa NOW! Even though Mr. Wonka said that she could not have one.

*If you have not read my most recent posts on entitlement in the *therapeutic relationship*  you may perhaps think Grace is smoking crack – but I assure you this is not the case…I am completely drug free and lucid and the only bucket I have with me is the one with the therapist in it.  (Marsha told me to put her in there...just to notice her, not attach to her...and throw her in the appropriate labeled bucket until I am ready to deal with her).

I have avoided speaking or corresponding with the therapist since the Sunday, “Veruca, get yourself in check, you are not getting an Oompa Loompa or a squirrel!”, incident. I suppose in a sense one might say I’ve thrown the therapist in a bucket and distracted myself so as to avoid her.  Kind of like everyone did to the 5 year old ~ it works!  And she thinks I did not even try to learn the skills…oh contraire’, therapist extraordinaire. ..I have listened and learned and can ‘mirror’ the skills and behavior. 

But like rest of my ‘bad’ness she is just not staying in the bucket and is insisting that I face her and either ‘come up with a plan to continue working together’ or…(as she politely said) “take a vacation”...(Where am I going? I hope it's somewhere tropical!) Humorously, she let me know at 9:50 on Wednesday night, that she was working on Thursday, and she encouraged me to find a time on Thursay morning to meet with her~ and contact her as quickly as possible...I guess so, since she only talkes calls till 10pm - no pressure. Unfortunately, my schedule was already exploding with prior commitments so I had to put the therapist back into the bucket – as I was not able to fit her in that day.

Where is that Oompa Loompa – in the mail? 

I am only doing what I was told to do to protect those around me who are unable to deal with my ‘emotional disregulation’.  Avoid, distract, and half-smile.  Shut up and behave yourself, Gracie!  I do care about the therapist and I do think she has helped me, but she believes in buckets and I do not. I have admitted that I failed at therapy…failed at the unfailable. I don’t understand why I need to go to her office to admit that in person.

One thing I have realized this past week is that what I was previously fighting her about, the email support and her *changes*~ is really not about email support at all. It is about the WAY it was presented to me, and the TIME and surrounding situations in which it played out. I don’t want to sit by the computer and send her 20 emails a day and wait until a specific time on the clock awaiting her answer. That’s a bit co-dependent, and would really just create another problem for me by my becoming more dependent on her…and I am not going to run out and get a bracelet that says “What would the therapist do”.   (Not a good idea~  I've been there, done that, just dusted the mantel with the t-shirt!)

I realize that would not be taking the train to ‘Healthy-ville” and I appreciate her recognizing that and continuing to stand her ground even when the 5 year old cries relentlessly. That boundary I can respect and accept. I am more than fine with the ‘email’ support she now offers but I am still not fine with the change getting thrown onto me and my internalizing the changes as all MY FAULT…and what I think is dishonesty and avoidance of what really happened when everything ‘changed’.

I don’t know how to take her out of the bucket and ‘deal’ with the “therapeutic relationship” right now…in a way that is healthy for me.  And I admit I am not sure how to move forward. Wouldn’t Marsha say to leave her in the bucket until I am ready?

Interesting fact…since I haven’t had to listen to the DBT MANTRA for a couple of weeks, I have not had any urges to SI that I have not been able to negotiate or deal with in a more appropriate manner. Today is day 21 since I have SI'd and I assure you the solution had absolutely nothing to do with buckets or boxes. Oh, I have been depressed and I’ve sobbed and lived a lot of nights in fear and pain, I’ve felt failure and hopelessness – but the sun is up now and I am still alive.

There are still questions that remain: 
Am I healthy?  No
Do I think I can just *stop* this process and move on and forget about it and be happy?  No
Am I ever going to be able to move forward?  I don't know...

I don’t know what to do right now….but I’m still here…and I still believe that some day there will be beauty from my pain.

I just don't know what to do about the therapist in the bucket....
So I guess I'll *distract* myself  for now...HIT IT SHIRLEY!

Friday, October 23, 2009

What would you do if it happened to you?

I was reading this post by Ivory:  Shades of Ivory

Why did you seek therapy? I left a comment on Ivory's blog and then I thought about what I had written and it made me feel vulnerable (yes, even in blogland ~ behind the safety of a computer screen) though I had said something that would allow others to judge me. But then I thought, hell, people are always judging other people anyway, so who cares. And so I've decided to write here what lead me to seek the help of DT, initially...the 'moment' that lead up to the phone call for that initial appointment.
I had always thought that I could *outgrow* the abuse, just as a child outgrows a pair of jeans. I was convinced I could *outrun* my past if I stayed busy enough, if I could become everything the host body and the man-whore were not...then I could (at least in my mind) make it 'not happen'. I made a mental checklist when I was 5 years old, a child's list for her future, and  in my mind if I accomplished everything on that list it would allow me to finally be free from them, disconnected from the SF and the HB and everything they did to me, everything they represented.
And so the journey began…and I used the host body as a reference for what I would NEVER become. I wanted to be everything she was not. And I spent the next 25 years staying busy and checking off the goals on my list. That’s not to say that there were not times during those years when I would become depressed or anxious, just that I rarely addressed the depression and anxiety, choosing instead to scoot it under the rug, not realizing that someday the rug would become so lumpy that I would trip and fall over it.

In early 2006, I had a career opportunity which would take 1200 miles away from all of my friends and everything I had known, my ‘busy comfort zone’. I have always been career driven so I took the job and I moved across the country with only DH, DS, and DD.

The quiet began…
Four months after the move, I walked in on my husband having sex with a woman I had thought was my friend.  It was one of those moments that maybe you read about, or see on TV - and maybe even thought, "I wonder what I would do in that situation."  But you never think it will happen.  My 'real' reaction' to the situation was not what I imagined.  I stood there...I just stood there, in disbelief, watching my drunk husband fuck this woman who was supposed to be my friend.  Watching.  I was frozen, unable to move, unable to speak and what's worse, I was unable to close my eyes.  It is one thing to "hear" about your spouse, significant other, or BF screwing someone else, but seeing it, witnessing it, while it is happening, takes it to a whole new level. 

After that night, the nightmares started.  I went to my GP and started taking an anti-depressant, but it didn't help.  I started waking up in a panic, unable to breathe.  I was so depressed I could barely function.  A friend that I had known since college suggested I contact a therapist.  And not just because of the incident above...
So I did...
I remember a friend of mine coining the phrase, "What's done in the dark will come to the light."
Yes, I believe that to be true. 
I pushed it all away.  I swept it under the rug.  I hung a picture over the stain and pretended the stain wasn't there.  But then I tripped over the rug and I knocked the picture off the wall...and here it all is.  This is why I strongly oppose DBT and found it to be more harmful than helpful.  I can push it away all day long.  I can keep myself busy with work and play...I can run, write, talk, laugh, put it in buckets and boxes delicately crafted by hand...I can half-smile all day long...but at the end of the day, when I finally sit's all still here.
I ran for 20+ years!  I stopped it doesn't go away now.  It won't fit back into the box!
But I cannot seem to get the therapist to understand that.  I cannot ignore it or make it go away.  It does not matter if I feel "emotionally" prepared to deal with it.  I was not emotionally prepared to see what I saw that night in my house, I was not emotionally, or physically, prepared for what happened to me as a child...but it all happened regardless of my ability to 'accept' it.  It happened!

DBT does not work!  Teach me some skills that WILL!   But no one hears me ~ so I suppose now I am left to do what I did as a child.  "Deal with it"...but not speak of it.  Pretend it doesn't exist to the outside world ~ keep it hidden because it is unspeakable. 
That night, when I stood in the doorway of my own house, watching my husband fuck my "friend" on the was not him, it was my SF I saw, it was not her, it was me on the floor...and I pictured my mother standing in the doorway, frozen and watching the SF fuck me, doing nothing...and that vision, those feelings, they do not just get 'pushed away' or thrown into a bucket to stay. 
I cannot just sweep it all under the rug. Believe me, I have tried.  And it trips me up every night.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

She sat with me, and she held me, and she cried with me...and she was "here" and "present" and "unafraid" and "nonjudgemental"

When I was a senior in high school I was raped.  I don't talk about the details of that night, I shared them with the therapist, but I won't share them again, and that is not the purpose for my writing tonight. 

The morning  after the rape, I went to work (I worked at McDonald's at the time) but standing there, pouring hot cakes on the grill, I started to cry and I could not stop.  I told the manager I was sick and needed to leave...and I went to a friend's house.

I had been up all night, afraid to go to sleep after what had happened, and I was tired and I was scared.  She sat with me, my friend.  Together, the two of us sat together on her couch, not talking, just sitting together. 

I started to cry and she held me. 
She held me while I cried for what seemed like hours...and she held me, not talking, just sitting with me, holding me, while I cried. 

Eventually the tears stopped and I fell asleep. 
She held me while I slept, not talking, just holding me, while I slept.

And when I woke up, she was still there, sitting with me, holding me, in my pain, and my inability to talk about what happened.  She did not tell me to push it away or forget about it.  She did not judge me or tell me it was my fault.  She sat with  me.  She held me.  She made me feel safe.   

20 years have passed and she is still my friend.  She sat with me then.  She was there for me.  She did not judge me.  She did not walk away from me when I told her what happened. 

20 years later and I still remember her support.  She lives 1200 miles away from me now ~ and we see each other once or twice a year...but I always know she is there if I need her...and I will always remember how safe and cared for she made me feel that night.

And the only time she brought me a bucket was when I needed to throw up.

I am hurting...and I am crying...but no one is here for me now.  Just a blanket and a stuffed bear.  I just wanted someone to listen to me, to sit with me, to hear me, hold me if I cried...  And the only time I wanted her to throw me a bucket was when I needed to vomit. 

My friend Jamie sat with me and held me and let me cry....she knew that buckets hold puke, not 'feelings'.   My friend jamie is an urban planner (whatever that is (?) ...she is not a therapist.  But she knew that buckets aren't for feelings...buckets are for puke! 

I'd like to drop kick that stupid rabbit and his horse friend into MY "present moment"

I think the Velveteen Rabbit is a nonsensical book. I had never read the book…not a huge “fairy tale” fan…as you can imagine. But then a fre years ago, the therapist gave me a homework assignment: Read the Velveteen Rabbit and focus on becoming “real”

There are many definitions of the word “real”…in reminiscing about the “real” conversation in DT’s office, I think the following definitions are the most relevant to the concept of ‘realness’ as she was relating it to me.
~ Being or occurring in fact or actuality; having verifiable existence.
~ True and actual; not imaginary, alleged, or ideal
~ Genuine and authentic; not artificial or spurious
~ Being no less than what is stated; worthy of the name
~ Free of pretense, falsehood, or affectation

Well I was confused by her statement and homework assignment. Was she saying I wasn’t ‘real’? I didn’t really exist? After leaving her office I went straight to the internet and read the story. As typical of children’s fairy tales, I wasn’t impressed. But putting on my intellectual hat I was determined to figure out what message the therapist was trying to convey to me…

Being real hurt?
Being real is something that “happens” to you when somebody REALLY loves you?
It takes a long time to become real? And you’ll know you’re real because you look like shit?
Once you become ‘real’ ~ you’re always real?

~ Cynical Grace steps into the room~

I don’t believe in fairy tales. There’s no fairy godmother, there’s no cabin of dwarves in the woods who will save you when your evil mother tries to kill you. There’s no such thing as a prince on a white horse and let me tell you, honey, ain’t nobody going to ‘rescue’ you…ever. In fact, I do not believe there is a “happily ever after’.

3 Years "post" Velveteen Rabbit" I still have a few questions...
Am I “REAL” now, Doctor Therapist?
Am I real now that I’ve once again been contaminated by the past and retraumatized and thrown into a paper bag to be burned with all the other trash?
Am I real now that I hurt?
Am I real now that I can cut my own skin and SEE blood?
Does that make me real?
Am I real now that I can be hurt by other people and feel pain?

Tell me, please... AM I REAL NOW?

I’d really like to drop kick the Skin Horse (who is always ‘honest’) into MY present moment!

If this is being ‘real’ then being real sucks!

And the Velveteen Rabbit can kiss my clumsy, entertaining, dissociative, cynical, fake ass with his “realness”!

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

I can 'hear' her words ~ but I cannot 'feel' them or believe them ~ they're just *words*

I miss her and even still last week, after every evil, horrible, scary, disgusting thing I’ve said to her, she still told me she “believes” in me. And I “hear” what she says, but I can’t “feel” it. I feel only the bad…and I remember only the bad…because I know that I am bad. And I don’t believe her because I can’t “FEEL” it.

I can’t FEEL anything. And I need her to go away now because I cannot allow myself to trust her the way I once did because her life changed and I interpreted and still internalize her changes as her abandoning me. And it hurt and it still makes me so angry and afraid to trust her again.

And the things she does know about me ~ tip of the iceberg ~ and all the overwhelming feelings and thoughts and memories that I cannot control at night~ I cannot even express the depth of despair I suffer when I see it all over again, and feel it all over again…because I cannot talk about it. I cannot speak or write about it because it is shameful and horrible and I know that she can’t handle it. But it never goes away. It never goes away. It won’t stay in a bucket or a container but it is all me. It buries me in darkness and takes away my breath.

And I don’t believe that she can care about someone that has done all that I’ve done. No one can. And that is why I never talked about any of it before. Not until her. And I shouldn’t have showed her the badness. She is overwhelmed by my presence and it’s too much.

Sadly, I really do care about her....I care about her more than I care about myself.  And that’s why I don’t want to overwhelm her, or hurt her anymore. I wish I didn’t exist at all! I wish he would have killed me because it would be better than feeling like this and hurting other people with MY shit!

I am exhausted and broken and fucked up right now!  And there's nothing that's going to help me tonight.  I am in the way deepest pit of hell tonight. 

I'm closing comments for this post...please don't take offense...
I really appreicate all the support you *all* give to me, my dear blog friends, but I'm not really deserving of any support right now. 

I'll be back when I can find my way out
Till then...

Donkey to Shrek, "You know, not everybody like onions."

Thank you Donkey, you are so very insightful! I hate onions…all onions, I can’t even stand the smell of onions. When I was a child, my SF used to cook chili…with lots of onions, big chunks of onions. I didn’t like the onions, so I ate around the onions and left them in the bowl. That was unacceptable behavior and so I spent the next several hours sitting at the kitchen table, eating onions, while the SF stood in the corner, smoking camels and drinking beer; watching me with this smug look on his face. “I am big and you are little. I am everything and you are nothing and I hold the power and can do anything I want to you.” And he did.

Not everybody likes onions….

I like to be in charge and I like to be in control. I have intense reactions when I feel cornered and powerless. This need for control has played a very positive role in my career, feeding my drive to climb my way into a position of respected authority. I do not like to be micro-managed, and I do not micro manage my own direct reports. I respect authority, and can take direction from superiors; however, I also ensure that my opinion is taken into consideration as well. I am level-headed and business savvy, and in the professional world, I treat people the way I want to be treated.

I like to be in control…

There are parts of me who are aching inside for the therapist and there is little I can do to comfort them. Parts of me are heartbroken because they are attached to her and I want nothing more than to quiet them and comfort them by running back to the comfort of her office and her guidance. I do what I can to ‘get through’...even if that means constantly trying to remind all of these sad, scared, angry, hostile, hopeless parts that we just have to make it until dawn…and last night that meant wrapping up in my blue blanket, rocking and crying, while I listened to the same song over and over again…losing track of time, returning again…fighting like hell not to hurt that little girl. She was aware of my hostile feelings due to her overwhelming sadness and fear, and she desperately wanted to call the therapist…but I am stronger than her and I would not let her use the phone or email. I did let her hold the angel that the therapist gave her for her birthday but she can suffer through it just like the rest of us and there are no phone or email privileges.

I am not eating and I am not sleeping and I feel trapped every single night, but I am still good at hiding and pretending. Laughing and joking still come easy to me in my daily interactions. I use humor like synthetic adrenaline and no one knows I feel crushed by my own inadequacies to work through any of this. I fake strength and confidence to hide the true weakness I feel and I remain detached from myself. But on the outside no one knows how scared I really am, how hopeless I really feel.

No one hears me cry…

No one follows me home to see the truth underneath the business suit and the make up. And I will not allow anyone to scratch the surface of the cheap paint job to see the cuts and scars that remain beneath. The physical pain and the ‘irrational fear’ remain but I do not wear my raw feelings of hopelessness and shame on my sleeves.

Each night I am consumed with self-destructive fury and I want to lie down and surrender. Each night I wrap up in my blue blanket and sob as I become small and afraid and hide myself away…praying for daylight. But each morning I fold up my blanket and scold the child for needing it and I get myself dressed and out the door…and on my way to work, I fall into the role I have played for years...and I pretend to be strong and happy, optimistic and full of hope. And each night I find myself in the same place, wrapped in a blanket, struggling to control the overwhelming and conflicting emotions, sobbing and rocking…and feeling horribly alone and lost.

I am afraid...

I am not okay...but I don’t think there is anything else that can be done. The therapist clearly believes I am a self-centered manipulative bitch and she is right. And I cannot go back (if she would even let me) because that would mean eating bowls of onions (DBT) with the therapist standing in the corner, minus the camels and the beer, reminding me that she is in charge. She is big and I am little. She knows what is best for me and she holds the power. She is everything and I am nothing. And she is…

Not that long ago, I asked the therapist not to give up on me...
she said, "Grace, you make it really hard."

Well, let me make it easier...I'll give up so you don't have too...

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

The truth is...I don't know what happened...and it scares me

I previously wrote that I had a bad weekend and I called the the therapist on Sunday night.  I remember talking to her.  I remember asking her about an appointment.  I remember the comment about entitlement. I was sitting in the laundry room when we were talking.  The call did not end 'well' - she told me to go and listen to a recording..and basically that she had to go (not in a rude way - a matter of fact, kind of way).  I think I may have hung up on her.  

I don't remember what happened after that, I had NOT been drinking or taking extra meds, but I left her 2 more voicemails after that call.  I don't know what I said, maybe nothing, obviously did not threaten to hurt myself since the feelings  police did not show up on my doorstep.  I recently got in the habit of checking not only my sent file in email, but also my phone records since she told me last summer I left a SUI voicemail. 

When I woke up on Monday morning, my arm was bruised and swollen and hurt like hell.  There was no blood.   I went to work, it got worse, and as it turns out, I fractured my wrist.  I don't know what happened.
I don't know how it happened.  I told people I fell.

I have dissociated before, in fact, I prefer to be 'gone' at night.  Things have happened that I do not remember.  There have also been times when I will have 'snippets' of things that I have done (although those times typically involve alcohol).  Many, many, many times there have been emails that were way out there in crazy land - but that has decreased significantly.  Small messes to clean up...

I don't know what happened.  Maybe I did fall. That's really the only logical explanation, right?

"Grace, there is no failing on this 'journey'...well, with the exception of YOU! YOU FAIL!"

Way back in 2007, former"DT" ~now 'the therapist' said, "Grace, there is no failing in this journey, my dear.  I am in this with you no matter what..." 

BUT!  That was before I failed *Containment 101* and *Shut up & Behave 102*. 
I have FAILED therapy!  FAILED!  I am both sad & angry.  I feel defeated.  ME!  Grace!  The perfect, over-achiever, successful, educated, 'living the dream', 'never had a bad day look at my perfect smile, cheerleader...has failed! 

It is too much, there is too much pain and instead of feeling support I feel only pressure to keep any sign of distress hidden and feel only pressure to believe in something I cannot and no one will listen to me.  So I fail.  I am too tired to keep trying to fight for what I feel like I "need" and doesn't matter anyway.  I've been fooling myself thinking that it ever did.   

So, this is it.  This is all there is, the "Fate of Grace".  This is as good as it gets.  Living behind a mask every day and scared and hiding from my 'irrational fears' at night.  I wonder what the point is...why was I ever 'created' in the first place?  I have had enough of this endless 'cyclical' cruelty of whatever this's not a 'life'...that's for sure!  I am sick of struggling and I am sick of 'sitting' with all of this alone!  Sick! Sick! Sick! 


If I were a character from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I would definately be Veruca Salt...

Veruca Salt - A spoiled brat. Veruca demands anything she wants and throws tantrums until her parents meet her demands. She is mean and completely self-involved, and her parents always acquiesce to her wishes. Veruca’s impetuousness causes her trouble at the factory. She demands to own one of Wonka’s trained squirrels, but when she marches in to claim it, it deems her a “bad nut” and sends her down the garbage chute. Mingled with garbage, she comes out changed at the end of the story.

Grace - A spoiled brat.  Grace makes unreasonalbe demands on DT and throws 3 year old temper tantrums because she doesn't get her way.  She is mean and arrogant, never taking anyone's feelings into consideration but her own...and DT is tired of her self-absorbed nature and is trying to teach her that she is not all that...with her 'boundaries'.  She, like Veruca is a 'bad nut" as in 'head case' - and should also be sent down the garbage chute to mingle with her own kind (garbage).  I don't know how Grace's story will end...but I'm pretty sure who it will end without.

Veruca Salt: Daddy, I want a squirrel. Get me one of those squirrels, I want one!

Mr. Salt: Veruca dear, you have many marvelous pets.
Veruca Salt: All I've got at home is one pony and two dogs and four cats and six bunny rabbits and two parakeets and three canaries and a green parrot and a turtle, and a silly old hamster! I WANT a SQUIRREL!
Mr. Salt: All right, pet. Daddy'll get you a squirrel just as soon as he possibly can.
Veruca Salt: But I don't want any old squirrel! I want a *trained* squirrel!
Mr. Salt: [wearily] Very well. Mr. Wonka? How much do you want for one of these squirrels? Name your price.
Willy Wonka: Oh they're not for sale. She can't have one.
Veruca Salt: Daddy!
Willy Wonka: [imitating Mr. Salt] I'm sorry, darling. Mr. Wonka's being unreasonable.

Sunrise...Sunrise...looks like morning in your eyes...

It's really come to "light" for me how much a lot of people struggle with sleep.  I know I do...more often than not.  For a variety of reasons, one being I'm afraid of sleep because of the nightmares and I can't be "on guard" and protect myself (an irrational fear, I get that ~ but try to tell the 5 year old it's irrational)...but a friend of mine recently let me borrow her 'bad-ass' Rambo and that has seemed to help some.

My friend, the one who loaned me Rambo to watch over me while I sleep - well, she has "sleep issues" too - and she mentioned to me that she never sees the sunrise.  So, this morning, on my way to work, I noticed how brilliant the sunrise was and I wanted her to see it.  Since she was sleeping, well, and she lives 1500 miles away from me, I thought the best way to show her the sunrise was here.  The photos aren't the best since I snapped them with a phone camera, and while driving...but it's still the sunrise.

So, here you are, my friend, the sunrise through my eyes this morning...

Monday, October 19, 2009

I am the 6 year old "green-eyed monster"

I was 6 years old the first time I remember feeling envy.  I had a new friend and she invited me over to play at her house after school.  She had this amazing family...They were like that barbie family from the 70's ~ "The Sunshine Family".  My friend had loving parents and even a little brother...just like the sunshine family.  She had her own room complete with a canopy bed!  I always wanted a canopy bed.  She took me into their den to show me a doll house that her dad was making was beautiful!  I looked in awe at this blue house complete with a porch and real shutters!  There were even shingles on the roof that her dad glued on one by one!  Inside the doll house was tiny little doll furniture...the whole house was decorated - there was wallpaper on the walls with tiny little flowers on it.  The little girl's room in the dollhouse had a GD canopy bed!  Her DOLLS lived in a better house than I did!  My friend's DOLLS had a "home" and they were not even real! 

I was green with envy...and I was sad because I knew that my 'family' was not normal.  And I knew then that I would never have a canopy bed, or a dollhouse...I knew that I would never feel safe or loved.  And it wasn't fair!  How come I would never have any of those things?  What did I do wrong that I didn't get to have a family like that?  Why? 

I feel that way now.  I read about the support and genuine care that some feel on their 'healing journey' and it makes me sad.  The difference between the current green-eyed monster and the 6 year old green-eyed monster is that I actually think I had that  for a couple of years.  Sometimes I think that makes it even harder.  I HAD what I thought was care and warmth from DT and it felt 'genuine'...and I messed it all up.  I was bad and I didn't deserve it - and that's why. 

I used to go away in my mind, sometimes, well, a lot - I still do- and when I was 6 I used to pretend in my mind that I had the Sunshine Family...and I named the little girl, Rachel, and the baby Jason. And Rachel and Jason were loved by their parents and their parents never ever hurt them.  And so many times I would sit in DT's office and just stare at the dollhouse on the floor...the 5 year old begging me to let her play with those dolls...but I never did.  Why didn't I deserve a stupid blue dollhouse with  flowered wallpaper and a canopy bed?  I wanted a dollhouse too. 

I cannot do this by myself.  I can't.
I am so flipping sad tonight!  Like "Cry Me a River" kind of sad! 
And my GD bucket is full of tears!

"Grace, you have a sense of entitlement"... GET OVER IT!

I had a bit of a mental breakdown last night. Yeah, what's new. I called DT to see if she had any appointments open for today (Monday). And she told me that she did not have any appointments for Monday, but had 2 available on Wednesday and I could check my calendar and let her know if I wanted one of the two.

I may have said something about needing to see her, I really don't remember what I said exactly, but she then said, "Grace, you have a sense of entitlement and I cannot always accomodate you when you need to meet."

It really hurt my feelings because I have NEVER EVER asked for a 'handout'... and things like what she said - that's why I don't reach out to anyone for help. Because I don't deserve help and if I ask for help then I am a smug little spoiled brat.  And I don't understand why she would say she "cares" and will "be patient" and then she says that.  Although I felt self destructive last night, after that conversaion, I didn't need to cut myself...I felt like she did it for me...and it was sufficient punishment for the night.  

"Go write that down in your book and tell Granny, Grace." He used to say that to me all the time. He told me I thought I was better than everyone else and that I would find out that I was really nothing. My sense of *entitlement* and *conceit* must have started way before I was aware of it...I am aware now, though.
Yeah, I'm a spoiled brat.

I spent the rest of the night replaying what she said in my head, licking my wounds while I hid in the laundry room

"Grace, you are such a stupid selfish bitch! You don't deserve her help so stop even asking! You are BROKEN and no one will ever be able to help you put yourself back together again. Did you hear me, Grace? You are a stupid selfish bitch! You are a STUPID SELFISH BITCH!"

Sunday, October 18, 2009

For me there is no escape ~ the box is to protect you...

Little girl, I have made you lovely box
Delicate pink with with shiny golden lines
It’s a hiding place for your memories
I cannot be with you all of the time

Put your emotions in the bottle
Put your bottle in this box
Little girl – its what’s safest
Disobey me you best not

Where is the tiny little key
That fits the iron arms of the lock
Why I swallowed that key long ago
While the demons around me mocked

Little girl can you stop it
Repress it before it drowns you
Can you listen to your soothing music
Wrap up in your blanket of blue

There used to be a spare key
But I have lost that one too
Now there is no way to contain this
and you have bid me adieu

Just leave me alone! As you now know, if you get close to me, I will hurt you!

"It wasn't your fault"  The words follow me wherever I go; inked into the many pages of a torn journal, etched bloodily into the flesh of my arms.  Haunting me endlessly and echoing inside my mind in bursts of staining black.
"Why do you hurt yourself?"  I want to scream an answer to this question,  yet I never do, I never will. I don't have the answer they want.  Yet my mouth wants to spit the venomous words out at them.  My tongue, however, is empty of the truth.  I smile condescendingly at their horrified faces, doing whatever I can to escape.
"Just be a good girl and everything will be fine"  Can you not understand?  I'm not good. I'm bad, tainted, my very essence poisoned and corrupted.   Don't touch me. I'll contaminate you.  Just stay away, keep an image in your head of me, smiling, happy, innocent.  Never come close enough to look past my mask, and then  everything will be okay.  I don't want anyone to put me back together again, I deserve to be shattered.
"You don't understand!"  How many times have I heard that?  Too many to count  Being misunderstood is part of me, when people finally understand, their empathy will eventually turn to pity. I can't stand it, hate would be easier to tolerate than sadness.  Don't be sad for me, be sad for yourself, you're much more important than I'll ever be.  Just leave me alone, if you get to close to me I'll hurt you.  Somehow, I will. I will kick my way around you, until you have no other option but to loathe me. But I deserve it.  I always break everything, it's now my turn to be broken.
"It's not your fault."  Sure, keep saying that while you're 'holding' me. I know you don't mean it.  But I'll nod my head like the doll I should be, as if I believed you.  I'll just go along with it.  The need to make me feel pure, good… shut out all the other signs.  My hands can't stop shaking, the cuts I inflict upon myself are pale white yet swollen.  The scars are reminders of how I deserve pain, and the hideous ecstasy that comes along with it.  But just ignore them, I don't want you to know anyway.  Keep repeating those words to yourself, over and over again, trying to reassure me  I'll just sit there and nod soundlessly.  Watch me smile the way you want me to as I repeat it back to you.  I'm blameless. It’s not my fault.
You won't even notice the lie behind the words………

Saturday, October 17, 2009

What Would Marsha Do? Who cares! PAG is in charge tonight! And she will "take care of things"

I am hurting, and scared and it is not good. I am lost because I am denying myself again...I am struggleing and I am failing and tonight may be the end of my 2 week's of 'Good Little Gracie'. I am overwhemed with thoughts of self hate. I can feel it. And I've tried to "contain" it and "push it awy" and it is not working tonight!

My 'coach' has recently relocated to the Island of Shut Up & Behave and I cannot do it alone. She said she would not leave me in the middle of all of this...but she did.

I have pulled out my "WHAT WOULD MARSHA DO" list and checked everything off...and it's still here. This burning inside of me ~ the bad place ~ and I need to cut it out of me! Perhaps what's I know it help alleviate the pain ~ albeit temporarily. But right now- I'll take 'temporarily''s better than no relief at all. The quest to fix the hole in my bucket was unsuccessful. And frankly, I really can't make myself care right now. I'm finished with staying 'in the present'. Who would want to stay present in this body? For God's sake, the nun says we have 'no emotional skin'. Who wants to live like that?

This is not about finding a 'safe place', or taking allies, or throwing your troubles in a bucket, it is not about 'courage' or 'wisdom' this is about 'managing the symptoms', is is not? This is about making 'functioning less exhausting and difficult. This is about not speaking, in real life, about the pain and despair, the fear and the anger. This is about managing the 'symptoms' and 'masking' the problem.

So tonight I will 'manage' the 'symptoms' so they do not spill over and have a negative affect on anyone else. I will 'manage' and I will 'deal with her' myself.

THIS is about being'numb' and 'ignoring' what needs attention.
THIS is about not questioning and popping a pill.
THIS is about suffering in silence and doing what has to be done to continue to "live" for everyone else because you do not matter, and what you want and need do not matter.
They never have.

This is about putting a beautiful expensive picture and placing it over an ugly stain on the wall. The stain will still be there, even when something beautiful and breath-taking is covering it up...and if the picture is never removed the stain will always remain. It will stay there, dirty & forgotten.

I should not be alone tonight but I want to be alone. I want to hurt myself - because I deserve to be hurt. But then there is that '24 hour rule' - fuck it - it's not like there's anyone to call for help anyway! Clearly that little girl is so ugly, so dirty, so revolting - she even traumatized a valued member of the mental health community.

No one will know that I am suffering. No one will be allowed to see the scars beneath the clothing - lest they be revolted just like the FT
They will know only this:

I am Grace. I am strong and I am beautiful and I can do anything.
*Smile Pretty Gracie*
And they, unlike me, will believe it.

There's a *HOLE* in my Bucket! So I'm sorry if my badness contaminated you last night!

I tried to contain it all in my bucket but my bucket has a hole in it and all the *BADNESS* is leaking out! I am now in search of a bucket repair system so I can keep everything properly stored and contained so as not to bother anyone with my pain and badness.

I am sorry for the dissocation and the visable badness that leaked through the hole last night. The duct tape clearly is not as strong as they I do hope I can find that bucket repair kit today so you will never have to see the badness and filth again.

I hope that I did not traumatize you too badly with my badness and I hope that you will forgive me for showing it to you. I do know how horribly traumatizing even hearing about my badness can be...which is why I tried so hard to keep it in the bucket.

I'm sorry for the frustration and pain I caused you and I will do my best to repair the bucket, using the tools you tried so diligently to teach me, and you will never have to be exposed to Gracie's badness again. Promise!

Friday, October 16, 2009

There is no hope...this will not end well...

I do not feel well. The 2 hour dentist appointment ended up being 3 ½ hours and I don’t feel well still. I recognize that it is mostly my fault. I haven’t taken care of myself this week – but I wanted to try to eat tonight…but I can’t – my teeth hurt really bad – like I can barely open my mouth there is no way I can eat anything. Since I haven’t eaten in 4 days I feel sort of shaky and weak and I really want ‘old’ DT to tell me what to do…but there’s no ‘old’ DT anymore and so I will stay here within myself praying for something (?) sleep? Dissociation to take me away so I can escape all of it for awhile.

I just cannot turn around and ask for help. I wouldn’t even know who to ask. Why? I don’t know exactly. Fear… Maybe… Stubbornness…Perhaps. I don’t know why. When you get hurt it’s difficult to put yourself out there again – for fear of being hurt again. And right now it’s just easier to pretend to the outside world that all is well and I am a-ok – even though that isn’t true. But honestly, I don’t think it matters...anyway…the “truth”.

Aren’t I being a good little Gracie by not facing any of it? I mean, I showered today, I dressed myself into a white button down shirt and a pair of baggy black slacks. But the unrelenting darkness…it’s still here – it’s just as strong as it was before, but I will do what others expect of me…throwing it all into a leaky bucket so it does not bother anyone else.

I have nowhere to go for help, really. I am no longer burdening DT with any of this…it’s not fair – it’s just too much for her to deal with. Anyone really. Too many things, too much trauma from childhood, from the teens…and any work done this far has felt like someone putting a band-aid on a gaping stab wound. And then someone gives me a strong dose of DBT which I am allergic too and not only does it have permanent damage – it has set me back at least a year in therapy – well, maybe it’s ended therapy for me.

I don’t feel well now. I am afraid of Fridays. I tried to be proactive, rent movies, spend time with “business” to avoid feeling. And yet here they are – the overwhelming ‘feelings’…relentlessly returning to my front door, insisting they have their say and I remain their captive audience.

This won’t end well. There is no hope. There is only *this*. There is no hope. I want to wrap up in my blanket…into a quiet dark corner and cry and pray for something to make it all end. I need it to stop. It has to stop. Please, just stop.

I’m scared. 5 year old cries for DT, for her comfort, for the look of safety in her eyes. I want DT to help me but she isn’t here anymore…it was too much for her too. But I’m scared. Scared…miserable….frightened. No one to help. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t feel well. No help – but I don’t deserve help anyway. I deserve nothing. So I ask for nothing. I will never ask again. Never.

Stay away from me, everyone. I am no good. Not even my own mother would stand by me because she knew…she knew! DT knew! She knew too! I showed her all of me and she knew that I was bad. There’s no hope. There is nothing. I feel nothing. I will never feel. Nothing. I am nothing. Nothing.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

It's Official ~ I am *Hiding*

I am officially hiding…hibernating. I have curled up as small as I can, tucked myself away in the corner and shut down.

I feel sick & I feel overwhelmed and I want to be alone.

I was triggered big time at the dentist this morning when they had to make an impression of my teeth and the dental hygienist fills this HUGE mouth piece with this gross pink stuff which she then proceeded to stick into my mouth and when she pressed it up into my teeth the pink stuff literally filled my mouth to the point I gagged and thought I was going to throw up. Only a minute and a half...that's what she kept telling me. But by then I could no longer hear her talking. I closed my eyes and left. Then afterwards she tried to wipe the leftover 'goo' off of my lips and it was just too much! And tomorrow I have to go back for a two hour appointment. And I don't know if I can do it.

I don't know if I can do anything right now.
Sometimes it’s just too much.

“If you would like to leave a message, feel free to do so, and I will do my best to get back with you…”…well, when and if I can.

Until Then ~ Gracie

Perhaps DH would like me to complete a "diary card" too?

I haven't been feeling well ~ In "general". The Therapist would ask me to be "specific" if I said that to her and I would say that I have caught the crud from DS. Not a good time to be sick in my business world so since Tuesday I have been working as much as I "can" more at home than in the office.

Unfortunately I still cannot sleep which makes things worse and last night I found myself scared and sick and huddled in my laundry room wrapped in a blanket sobbing for a couple of hours. I don't feel well and I don't have the energy to take care of myself. So I fake it to get through...I used to be an expert at it but have not practiced the skill for awhile so I am now a bit rusty. I'm sure I'll be back in full force fake mode soon...
I haven't eaten since Monday and DH who never notices anything appears to have noticed this. Our conversation yesterday evening went something like this:
DH: Grace, what did you have for lunch today?
Grace: Nothing
DH: What did you eat for dinner?
Grace: Nothing - I'm not hungry.
DH: So basically you haven't eaten today.
Grace goes into defense mode: "Are we seriously going to go there?"
DH: Where? (DH is now standing in the kitchen eating Halloween candy - that was not purchased for him)
Grace: The 'eating' arena. I dont' need a nutritional lecture from you of all people
DH dropped the subject and retired to the man cave...probably to watch an episode of "man vs food"
Grace retired to the bathroom to cry.

Perhaps DH would like me to complete a "Diary Card" as well? Well, sorry - never going to happen. The defiant one is here now dealing with the food even more determined not to eat because of the DH conversation.

Grace, Why do you feel the need to be defiant and defensive if someone is "concerned"?
Because if I tell the "truth" ~ about how I am really feeling, about how much I am struggling right now? If I say, out loud, that I sometimes want to hurt myself so bad I have to put my head down until it passes... then they will just tell me to shut up, or write it on a diary card, or take more medication...and I don't find that to be helpful at all.
So I will struggle inside and fake Grace will present outside.