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...