Monday, August 31, 2009
I am literally swarming with the urge to hurt myself tonight. My skin feels like bugs are crawling all over me. I'm barely breathing. Right now I am tense. I am frustrated. I am angry. I have a migraine. I feel out of control. I can’t breathe.
What do I hear? I can hear that stupid new Disney movie, Eloise at the Plaza, spoiled brat! I want to grab her by her spoiled blonde curls and hurl her from the Plaza hotel to the trailor park Stupid Disney movies…come on! How about a movie about “real life”! Argh!!!! I want to take 10 ativan and wash them down with a bottle of white & a bottle of red, but I don’t want to deal with the side effects tomorrow. But seeing that my head hurts already, I should probably refrain from adding bountiful amounts of sulfates to the never-ending ache. Breathe. I’ll give it an hour. I would think that if they can make glasses in about an hour, surely I can talk myself in from this ledge.
I just need to breathe. It’s that simple – freaking breathe!I’m sure I’m rambling now…I'm just trying to ride this out, “Ride the Waves,” isn’t that what you’d say? Well~ break out the surf-board DT – Grace has entered an episode of Hawaii five-O. We just need to breathe.
GD! Shut up about the breathing! I'm trying to breathe. God, my chest hurts right now. It feels tight, constricted – that’s why I can’t breathe! Okay.....think…what will help? I wish I could hear your GD voice right now! Tell me to freaking breathe! Remind me where I am! What the hell am I sitting on….I’m not hot or cold. But my freaking chest hurts! Should I add congestive heart failure to my already self-diagnosed bone CA with brain mets?
Still trying to not go down the “dead-end street of self hatred”…trying…trying…that’s all I can do, right? Try. Breathe. Trying to understand why? I seriously need to puke. And I want to cut myself. But instead I’ll go shut myself in the pantry and scream into a kitchen towel. I need an escape and I want to go away right the fuck now! From what? Frustration – anger – fear- no one listening to me? Is anyone out there? Nope – all I hear are the voices inside of me. Nothing else! Just the freaks inside of me who won’t shut up!!!!!!
I just have to “reason” with the frustrated unheard little one, yes? But I hate that whiny DFW brat and she can’t be reasoned with! WTH do I do to shut her up? A freakin’ glass of milk with ice in it??? Shove a Barbie doll down her throat? What?
I’m breathing…. Okay!....I’m freaking breathing! I am exhausted. I have zero energy - there are dishes in the sink and I’m too tired to do them (I’m sure DT thinks that’s actually progress- but I’m just saying tomorrow morning when I have to look at the filthy mess in my kitchen, I’m going to beat myself up about it).
I think I’m getting sick– “sick-er”!)
No one listens!
Make her shut up!!!!
Or I will!
doesn't she get it by now?
I am trying really hard not to hurt her right now
but she is pressing it
and its going to happen if she doesnt shut up
I know you said it takes a long time, but what do I do in the meantime to deal with it all…the headaches, the nausea and puking, the nightmares, the body aches, the questions, the sadness, the fear….and on and on… I’m not asking for an answer to that question, I don’t know if there is one. (Do NOT mention anything resembling DBT or I will hang myself from the deck railing).
But just because I don’t speak these things aloud, doesn’t mean they don’t rattle around in my brain night after night. And how I wish I could just spew everything in my head out and lay it on the table, and then toss it all in the garbage like a dissected fetal pig.
When a little girl is raped night after night, by her father, at first the little girl cries and pleads for someone to help. But when the little girl’s mother ignores her cries, when no one will help protect her, and when the crying just makes things worse, the little girl just stops crying, and protesting, because she realizes no one cares. Yes, she becomes strong, very strong, she survives…but she feels void of all emotion.
I am trying really hard not to hate myself tonight.
Sometimes it's just a dull nauseating ache, not unbearable, but always "there". Other times it's a full blown migraine and it feels like the left side of my head and neck are stuck in a vice that just gets tighter and tighter until my vision begins to blur and it makes me vomit.
I have tried about every migraine medication that has been approved by the FDA~ imitrex, maxalt, midrin, treximet...nothing helps. In fact, after taking prescription migraine medications, the side effects are worse than the migraine itself. So I try to just suffer through them now. But the dull ache that exists in my left temple...annoying.
DT tells me migraines are common for CSA survivors. I tell her that my paranoia tells me that the (imagined) bone cancer, from the joint and body pain, has now spread to my brain.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
To clarify what I was asking, I said, “There are many times I look in the mirror at work, and I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me.” I don’t feel connected to her in any way. I KNOW it’s me, obviously, but I can’t feel her, I don’t recognize her. But it is undeniably Grace. I touch my face and I see the reflection touch her face, and I can feel that. But I still wonder if that is really what “I” look like."
I don’t have any ghastly feelings toward her, really, it’s quite the opposite. She’s an attractive confident woman, I like her smile and there is light in her blue eyes. That woman, the one I see in the mirror, she seems secure and self-assured…happy. The woman in the mirror is respected, she’s sharp and witty. I like her and others like her too. She seems so *alive*, she isn’t full of the pain and fear that I feel, so how can she be me?
DT said, “That part of you that is "alive" and confident and happy IS YOU. You are all and more of the qualities, emotions and experiences that you describe. Yes, some feel VERY painful and frightening, but the dark painful stuff, with light and space and "work", will slowly evolve into a part of you that is viewed with honor and benevolence.”
I still don’t *FEEL* connected to that woman looking into my eyes when I look into hers, I still wonder if she is me, and if she is, I wonder how I can be so ugly on the inside, and so beautiful on the outside.
Friday, August 28, 2009
The extra stop put me behind about 20 minutes, so by the time we got to work, the parking lot was full, and we had to park on the back of the building…what I call: the “Scooby Doo 4” section of the parking lot because it’s so far away from the building, but unlike amusement parks, there is no shuttle to take you to the door.
Now, let me provide a prologue to this morning: I am not now, nor have I ever been, a morning person. I believe this has something to do with the fact that I can never get to sleep before 2am and on more nights than not, I’m plagued with iniquitous and fear-provoking dreams and nightmares. Last night was one of those nights. Due to the above, I find my head cloudy and my body clumsy before about 9 am.
Now, on a “normal” morning, I can handle to walk from my car to the building where my office is housed without too much difficulty. This is because I typically get to work before the rest of the characters and I’m able to park within a ½ mile radius of the building…in an area I like to call, “SpongeBob 1”, an area where you can walk right up to the turnstile with ease.
After parking in the Scooby Doo 4 section of the parking lot, my co-worker and I begin the arduous walk into the office. I was juggling my purse, a cup of coffee, a cup of ice, and a bag filled with files, and my laptop when my heel suddenly got caught in a crack on the pavement and I stumbled and tripped (in slow motion, of course), spilling my ice & coffee, and dropping my purse and bag. I was off of the ground in less than 2 seconds, my employee didn’t even have time to ask, “Are you okay?”
The first thing I did was of course look around to see if anyone else was around, you know, filming my clumsiness to put on YouTube (because I am just that important and interesting). Luckily I saw no one, with the exception of one young lady at the “smoke-table” but she was “in the zone” smoking and texting so surely she didn’t catch the mad lady fall in the parking lot.
I didn’t see anything fall out of my bag so I picked myself up and continued my trek into the building, pretending nothing out of the ordinary just happened. My employee says, “Um, you dropped your rock.” My brain made no connection to what he said. And I thought to myself, “My rock?” He bends down, picks up *my rock* and hands it to me. It was the heart rock that DT loaned me…and of course I carry it around with me, “in case of an emergency” ( I know – FREAK)! I also carry lots of other things in my bag, computer glasses, gum, altoids, a book or two, even dental floss. Did any of that fall out of my bag? NO! Just DT’s rock.
He said nothing else…but I’m sure he walked away wondering why in the world his boss is walking around with a rock in her bag.
Oh, well, I need the rock, so I carry the rock…I’m not embarrassed about it. Okay, maybe I’m a little embarrassed about carrying a rock. But, hey – at least it wasn’t a teddy bear.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
I have rolled out the welcome mat and made hors d'oeuvres for the numbness I feel right now, hoping it will stay awhile.
I pulled the typical “GRACE” move, and cancelled my T appointment for today, stating that I’ve shut myself down from all feelings. Nothing will help, so what’s the point? A waste of both mine and DT’s time. Why bother? I told DT yesterday not to send me any Pollyanna, pink-tinged, sunshiny “cheerleader”…”you’re not crazy and you’re going to be “ok” bullshit, because it isn’t true and I’m sick of hearing it!
So last night, DT said, “Re: your cancelled appt tomorrow and your week thus far as you have described in the last two days of email..... I understand that your work pressures and the like are paramount...and the need to cancel your appt may be necessary. I also hear that your frustrations with how you still feel during and/or after sessions leave you questioning the usefulness of sessions and the desire to request a reschedule. Your decision to shut yourself down to anything helping is ultimately your decision....however I think that this comes from a place of exhaustion and desperation. I am not sending a "pink Pollyannaish cheerleading" email.... You can do and have better for yourself and there is hope...I hope that you can hear this with the intention of direct care and concern....I will be continue to be here to encourage you and help you recover and dry off through the storms.”
She is right…so I rescheduled for a time she had available this afternoon. And I’m glad I did. Like I said, she’s always right, I just don’t always see it at the time (but don’t tell her I said that…don’t want her thinking she’s the greatest thing since sliced bread – even though I think she is…definitely is- to continue to put up with all of our shit!) I do love that woman, well, parts of me do. She tells me that I have never trusted because it’s a way I’ve always survived. And that’s why I keep looking for things in “our” relationship that will lead to my not trusting her, my accusing her of lying, etc.
She said she would never lie to me, I reply, how do I know that?
I want to believe her, but it's SSOOOOOOO hard.
I can breathe tonight! That may seems like such a strange thing to say to a *non-crazy* person, but believe me when I say, it has been difficult to just BREATHE these past few days. And breathing took all of my energy. Of course it was a crazy week at work, too. BUSY, BUSY, BUSY. And I had a difficult time focusing on the tasks I needed too. Thankfully, no one noticed. Except for me....
Thankfully, DT stepped in and said, "I will continue to ask the question as to why you feel the need to batter yourself as well as how your mental and physical self abuse helps after essentially being forced to contend with a coworker's abuses." Unfortunately, I couldn't HEAR what she was saying until today.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
No one hears.
No one cares.
No asking for anything!
You don't matter!
None of you!
You are not a person
You are nothing
Don't cry out loud!
The voices that yell and scream and fight and argue.
The cutting the puking burning the alcohol and the drugs (which OVIOUSLY don't work or I wouldn't be awake now)
The family responsibilities ~ believe me, they're better off without me!
Therapy? Yeah, that's working. That's why I spent an hour in the car yelling at the voices, sobbing...yeah, I feel so much better now! Especially since IN THE DARK! DT just walks right by me - gets in her own car and drives off. (I guess I should be used to that by now!) Of course she was "off the clock" and no longer responsible to listen to my craziness.
Breathing? Not worth it.
Screw ALL OF IT!!!!I'm DONE WITH ALL OF IT!!!!! EVERYTHING>
"Life worth living..."Give me a break!"THIS" DT - "THIS" is a life NOT worth living!...and so it goes.
Ever tasted milk that seemed sour even though it was before the expiration date? Well, I'm sour and rotten and even though it may not be my "Stamped" expiration date - I'm throwing me out!
Monday, August 24, 2009
no one hears
no one understnd
no one will help
so we cant find another way to stop the pain
and so another one bites the dust.
we reached out but no one hears
its okay now
we will work it out
no bother dt
we work it out
it will be okay
stop hurting me
stop touching me
please i can't do it anymore
he won't stop hurting me
no one hears me
no one helps me
i can't do it anymore
it hurts to much
i'm so tired
no one listens
we tell her
she dont hear us
he will kill us
we dont want to die
but no one will help
Sunday, August 23, 2009
What she said popped into my conscious awareness many times this weekend, begging to be analyzed. What was the significance of what she said? My house doesn't looked 'lived in'...especially for someone who has kids. My house looks more like a show home, a model home, than a home a family lives in.
And it occurred to me that my house is a reflection of me. I mean, aside from the obvious...My body isn't really lived in either. My body, like my house, is a "model" of a woman I want to be...on the outside, there is no clutter, no baggage...nothing but expensive clothes, a pricey haircut, and carefully applied make-up. No one sees the structure of my body, the termite-ridden, broken down, non-reparable parts of this body.
From the outside, everyone would want to be me! DT says we will keep working at "keeping me in my body"...I still claim that this body is possessed and I don't want to live here...but I'll give her her props and say she doesn't stop trying to convince me otherwise.
Tonight, after everyone 'retired' to their bedrooms, I walked into the kitchen and noticed dinner dishes in the sink, and I thought, I'll just leave those dishes until later...And then I walked into the family room and noticed that a couple of the pillows had been thrown off of the couch and were on the floor, and I thought, I'll just leave those pillows on the floor, no worries....
But I could NOT do it! Much like walking out of the house without being dressed as the "model" woman...I could not sit down until the dishes were done, the counters wiped clean of fingerprints, and the pillows put into the appropriate spot on the couch.
Go figure...DT is a very insightful woman....
People live in my house...even though to those on the outside, it appears as though they do not.
People live in my body...even though to those on the outside, it appears as though they do not.
My house is a reflection of my body.
He only wants to use her, abuse her
She goes to her room and searches for a place to hide
He always finds her ~ she always cries
He has beaten her, held her down, taken off her clothes
She can’t scream, she can’t breathe
She can only pray for it to stop
She wonders what she did that was so wrong
Days go by, years go by.
But it never stops
He told her lies, took away her life, left her with no future
Now he is gone, but she still hurts
She trusts no one, she feels alone
Sometimes she can’t understand “good” and “bad”
She looks at the cuts she has made on her body
She knows what each cut stands for
She can’t get it out of her head,
The pain is too much
She prays to die
She doesn’t sleep, she can’t close her eyes
She can feel the pain, she tries not to cry
She keeps to herself, the memories are overwhelming
She can’t stand being in her own skin
She cuts, starves, purges….
These things take the pain away….for a minute
She is stuck with these memories, alone in this space.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Your physical and emotional pain is so great; I wish that I could take it all away. I wish that you had that special bean bag as you described that you could curl up in and find some piece of comfort or solace. I realize this is email and "far away", but I can hear you, your tears, and your words as if spoken directly to me. I realize this does not make it go away or make it better. You are courageous soul and when I asked about your physical discomfort TH, it is/was because I wish to help to keep working at finding a way to live in your body AND mind with more coherence and peace. They are closely connected, as you know... Of course I also want to know about all that you write here. I want you to hold on to whatever safe place you create and keep it with you so you can revisit this place and experience. We can work in session to strengthen this place if you would like. Your choice. You are also welcome to borrow my rock if you want to. I will drop it off at my office for you to have this weekend.
Soothing words and rest can only help.... Stay in the now with what you are and feel (even though it hurts and feels weak) and don't worry about tomorrow. You will do what you need you to tomorrow....not for today
Your compassionate work on yourself today is significant and honorable and it takes a lot of strength and vulnerability together.
You are in my thoughts tonight while I send imaginary "angels" to comfort you.
I'm telling you that last week she was pissed at me for (as I said last week) "going medieval on her ass". Now she's pissed because I wouldn't let her talk to DT on Thursday - so she makes me feel like I'm being crushed by the Incredible Hulk all day long and I can barely move. That’s not fair!
So, what needs to happen? I have let her to talk to you because I have obviously not killed her! And she is such a conniving little bitch! Because the pattern seems to be that when she doesn't get her way she takes it out on me physically, or in dreams - and I seriously can't deal with that much longer!
I feel like crap and if she keeps it up I'm going to cash in my IRA, and my 401K too, if need be, and I’m going hire a member of the DFW mafia to kill her!
I am standing at the bottom of a deep trench. It is my trench because I dug this dark & dingy trough that I spend each night in. And I cannot focus on change right now because it takes every scrap of energy residing inside of me just to stay alive. And I am working so hard to shove the dirtiness and shame deep down inside of my blackened soul. DT is right (she usually is, even though angry girl has a hard time accepting what DT says as the truth…eventually it sinks in…when logical/rational Grace comes around and has a chance to absorb it.
After everything I’ve supposedly “survived” – its pisses me off that this part, this “healing & acceptance” of myself is by far the hardest part, by far. (I did NOT say *forgiveness* - that will never, ever happen – and DT supports my decision on this). Having my step-father’s dick shoved down my throat when I was 5 years old is not nearly as unbearable or traumatizing as reliving it is now. It scared me then, confused me, and hurt me…I didn’t like it. it hurt…but I didn’t comprehend what he was doing, I had no idea what I was losing…my innocence, my trust, all of the things that affect me now. I was a confused little girl who always wondered if this was normal behavior, if it happened in all families. I was an anxious teenager, struggling to be perfect, a chameleon, changing to fit the mold of what everyone else wanted from me.
Now I’m a grown woman who knows about the dangers of abusing alcohol and prescription anti-anxiety medications, I know the risks of the nightly rituals of SI and SIB that we engage in and yet I cannot stop myself from continuing to use these “maladaptive” methods to cope (and I use that term loosely). I want so badly to erase it all. I know my nightly behavior is harmful but I am not able to change that right now, I do not have the energy, every bit of it goes into just getting through the day…minute by minute.
I tried so hard this past week – to let it all go, to push it down and act like a normal human being, but since Thursday night I have felt beaten down, crushed by the feelings and thoughts and memories that are running rampantly through my mind like a drove of cattle, crushing everything in their path. I cannot control them…as DT says, it’s like trying to herd cats. I am not armed to face the girl I am supposed to accept. And this stupid worthless body is aching and it won’t stop. I have my blue blanket…but I desperately want DT’s heart rock right now. And I still don’t have the right freaking chair!
I tried to help but eventually hypochondria set in because the achy hips joints, the lower back pain… happen so often that I started to panic yesterday, in my pain and think that maybe I had bone cancer.
She desperately wanted a bean bag chair; a giant, soft-pink bean bag chair that we could sink into and be swallowed up in, and hide away in the softness. I imagine it would feel like lying inside of a cloud Nothing harsh or sharp, or hot or cold, could touch me. A giant soft-pink squashy bean bag chair to cradle me and my blue blanket. I don’t think my body would hurt in a chair like that. I think I could hide deep inside the softness and I could feel safe in a chair like that.
I don’t feel well, and I can’t get comfortable because this stupid body aches and I don’t have the right chair!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
I am overwhelmed with fear
It crawls slowly up my body...
leaving my skin burning from it's touch
It chokes me until I can no longer breathe
I can feel the weight of it on my chest ~ crushing me
I feel its tendrils on my legs~preventing me from running
I feel it's filthy fingers across my mouth ~ leaving me without voice
It sucks all faith from my pores~ rendering me hopeless
MHPs would ask, "Is it a fear based in reality?"
It's my reality right now. It's my reality.
I was still pissed off about the “…it may feel like there are some pros in engaging in ultra harsh self denigration” comment DT made on Wednesday, so I really didn’t feel like talking today. I didn’t feel like going at all but I didn’t really have a choice since it was too late to cancel.
Following a few moments of silence, that uncomfortable kind of silence of sitting there, starring at each other, wondering who will be the first to speak…
DT says, “How are you feeling?” (WHAT?)
“Physically, how are you feeling?” (again, WHAT?)
Realizing she expected me to answer, I said, “Never better.”
She decided to start again, “I mean how are you feeling? How is your head, stomach, have you been nauseous, vomiting, are your hips hurting, how is your back?” WHAT?
“Same Shit ~ Different Day, DT.”
After she glared at me, I added, “I had a headache this morning, but it’s better now.”
“Why do you think that is?” …Um, because I took some Excedrin maybe?
Sweet Jesus! I thought she was more interested in my “mental health” not my “physical health”. I found myself looking around because I thought I had perhaps ended up in my primary care docs office, rather than DTs.
This is not the ‘typical’ DT line of questioning. I’m guessing that perhaps that might be because I haven’t emailed her how I’ve been “feeling” which is atypical of me. Typically, I send her at least 1 email a day. And that’s on a *normal* day…god forbid the child or angry teenager break loose because then it’s more like the borderline billion! The stubborn one will not let anyone email her…and truly, it’s not like she’s noticed, as I’m sure we are a HUGE high maintenance inconvenience to her. I still miss the ‘old’ DT. But she’s never coming back, so we settle for this one…the one who ‘imposed’ all the limitations and boundaries when HER life changed. So since she isn’t going to respond to my emails, even when I ask for her help, then why bother????
“So, Grace, how does that make you feel??”
D-E-F-E-A-T-E-D and like I don’t matter
I did tell her that I fell asleep last night outside on my deck, and when I woke up I was disoriented that I had no idea where I was and I was scared. Her response: Well, you were tired. Um, no, DT, I’m pretty sure it was because of the 4 ativan, 50 mg of seroquel…and the bottle of wine I drank to wash them all down with. Since I ate nothing all day long, the drugs and alcohol knocked my ass out! Eventually my nightly ritual is going to have dire, perhaps even fatal consequences…and she says, “Well, you were tired.”
So even though my hips have been hurting so bad I can barely move some nights, even though I have had a headache every single day for 2 weeks, and I can’t sleep or find any comfort at night…I was silent. I desperately wanted to tell her how much it hurts, how afraid I am that I’m going to die…I wanted to scream at her, “Do you realize how much I don’t want to be here anymore? How much I want to disappear?” I wanted to tell her that I feel like she lied to me because OBVIOUSLY she does think I’m better since I haven’t emailed her. Because she can’t hear me right now. I don’t know why.
I felt like she wasn’t really focused today, like I was inconveniencing her for even being in her office. It was very unproductive.
“Do you have to be productive every minute of every day, Grace?”
Well, when I’m paying a hundred bucks an hour, yes. What do you want to do, watch the latest chick flick?
And then she would say, “Grace, it’s your time, I welcome you to bring what you want to bring to session. And what you choose to bring to session will best allow me to better understanding you...as this affords 2 way real time communication and clarification, etc. “
Yeah, whatever! I “choose” but I have to “choose” from the MENU offered. And right now, the “Transparency/vulnerability” entrée isn’t being “offered”. Why? Because I feel unheard and like she doesn’t care!
DT recently said, “I know that there are many, many nights in which you see yourself with very few options to "get through the nights", so I simply want you to remember that I have not forgotten this. “
I hope you still remember writing that, DT, because I suspect you hate surprises as much as I do...
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Yes! I rubbed a Buddha's belly on Monday and I've BEEN HEALED! What a bunch of "psycho-babble" bullshit!
WTF does that mean? “pros to engaging in ultra harsh self-denigration”... Does that mean I “attack my own character or reputation” Are you saying I am criticizing myself on purpose because I want to feel bad???? Yes, DT…I CUT myself on purpose! I drink myself into a non-feeling stupor, and take too many ativan and seroquel because I want to die…YES!!! GOD!!! You’re so “insightful”… I didn’t even realize it until you just said that, but YES! I rubbed a Buddha belly on Monday and I’ve been HEALED!! Now I couldn’t love myself more! And I “love and cuddle” the “little Grace” (you know, the 5 year old DFW!) she’s so sweet and innocent… NOT!
Gee, I’m so sorry I’m not as “well adjusted” and full of “self-love” as you are. Here’s the deal: when you’re told that you’re “worthless” and “lazy” and “hated” your entire childhood – you actually begin to believe it’s true!!! And I don’t think the spiritual Buddhists are going to “heal” me into self-love with their “3-doors” BS! But, again, I stand firm on my affirmation that I’ll rub a Buddhist's belly a million times before I’d go back to DBT!
I’m sure when you wrote the above; your well adjusted, self-loving confident, educated, gorgeous, witty…full-fucking package self…was just trying to be helpful, “in the limited ways that you can” (addendum to be added to each phrase the great and powerful DT mutters, as of July 2008). And thanks for the 10 word email too…as you were probably running out the door saying, “Shit, that inconvenient self-hating, high-maintenance, terminally mentally ill, patient may actually kill herself if I don’t follow through and send her an email as I agreed to do on Mon, Wed & Friday..(we both remember what occurred the last time you “forgot”).
You know, I find it ironic that even though you have said (on several occasions): “I realize that just because you are limiting and censoring the nature of your emails, does not mean that you are feeling or doing any better.” And “ I know that when you are not in a "cry of distress' to me (as you have put it), you are hurting and struggling.” And, “. I know that when you don't email or call is not always an indication that you are "doing ok".”
REALLY??? Because I haven’t emailed you all week, and it appears as though you’ve forgotten already!!!! That’s unreal! You think because I haven’t “emailed” you all week that I haven’t thought of killing myself every single night??? Oh, contraire', DT!
And, again, let me state, that I KNOW what my ultimate “demise” will be, I accept it…and I hope you are insightful enough to know, that when it happens, it will not be a shock to you! As I have told you 1000 times (probably more), eventually, it will happen! Eventually, the pain will become too great and it WILL end for me! Be it tonight, or tomorrow, next week, next month. It WILL happen!
But you go ahead and keep your “pink-tinged” glasses on DT…and see what you want to see…but don’t be “surprised” if, sometime soon, I neglect to show up to an “appointment” because I’m NO LONGER HERE! You are UNBELIEVABLE! But of course, it makes it easier for you…which is why I’ve stopped emailing you. No need for you to “work off the clock” after all you get paid by the “hour”. (Again, I adapt well to the "needs" of others...even YOU). So, go ahead and believe what you want to believe. I’m already dead. Just because I don’t email you, or call you, or cry out for you, like I have done for the past 3 years…doesn’t mean I’m any better…I’m still dead. You just don’t know it!
Just when I think you may actually "get it" - you say something completely asinine! So, I see your spiritual BS and I raise you 3 vodka shots (Belvedere, of course - only the best!), 6 ativan, and 2 razors! You wanna "fold" yet?
P.S. "All day I think about it, then at night I say it. Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea. My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that, and I intend to end up there.” Jalal ad-Din Rumi ...just a quote from your "spiritual hero"...(Yes, I intend to end up there too!)
Yesterday, an old friend of mine said something to me that touched my heart...and set off a multitude of feelings inside of me. Memories...not memories of the pain from my own past history of abuse, but memories of the friendship she and I shared from 2nd grade through High School Graduation.
I spent much of the evening thinking about my friend. Reliving, in my mind, the good times we spent together...all the smiles and laughs (and there are many). But I also remembered the hard times, the difficult times...the trying times that tests a friendship, as well as strength, courage and the will to survive and triumph through the pain of *life*. The tumultuous times we shared strengthened our friendship through the years and much of the time we lived on faith, but we lived it together.
I look back now and I can see the strength and endurance she had. The will and the fight not to give up and to overcome. And like me there were days when she wanted to roll over and give up. Wave the white flag...fall on the floor and kick and scream, "WHY ME!"
So Tuesday evening, when I read her message to me, I locked myself in the bathroom and I cried. I cried because of all she had to go through growing up. I cried because we are all so vulnerable and we all hurt and ache and struggle. And I cried because sometimes, all it takes is a few compassionate & caring words, maybe a hand to hold, from an old friend to give you "hope", even if for only an hour.
And after that hour I washed my face and walked out of that bathroom, every bit as vulnerable as I was when I went in...and as I walked past DH, he asked me why I had been crying. And I immediately responded that I had not been crying, but had just taken my make-up off and that was why my face was red.
I don't know why I didn't tell him the truth. Maybe it was fear that he wouldn't understand or think I was "a stupid baby"...but maybe it was fear because he would understand and he would offer to comfort me and a part of me couldn't accept that either.
It's been 20 years since we graduated high school...so much has changed and yet so much has remained the same.
And late Tuesday night, when I once again fell deep inside the pit of darkness, I reached up and held out my hand...and my 7 year old childhood friend, in her jeans and pink Izod...with her brown hair cut like Dorothy Hamill....looked at me with her caring hazel eyes, reached out and grabbed my hand. And I remembered....for an hour, I had *hope*.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
I have no reason to stay here and endure the endless pain that exists each night. DT says, “Grace, stay in your body.” Um, why? That’s the LAST place I want to be! That’s where the HELL is, doesn’t she get that? Geez – this “body” is possessed, and since she wouldn’t agree to an exorcism – I’m moving out each night when the ghosts from the past come calling. And if the place doesn’t burn down or bleed out, I will return in the daylight.
I’d much like to find the “Grace of old” ~ but the tide has swept her out to sea, leaving me, the new Grace, covered in seaweed. The fundamental stress is still here but now an ache edges into the limits of my consciousness. I don’t feel armed to face the girl I’m supposed to meet and accept.
I feel past my prime. My subconscious pulls at my arms, whispers in my ear memories…bits and pieces of that young girl who was also named Grace. I try to look away but I see her and I hear her. She tells me is too sick to be healed. She is emaciated, listless, naked and cold. Her eyes are glassy, she is bleeding and she speaks of vanishing. You can’t save her and I don’t want too.
This is what I’m reduced to each night. Screaming , fighting girls inside of me who are all vying for control. I don’t care which one wins, I’m not sticking around tonight to find out.
Sometimes I’m scared of how much I don’t want to be here.
Monday, August 17, 2009
You’re right – I do have so much going for me. I have an education, a career, financial security – the beautiful house w/the picket fence, the 2 kids and the golden retriever. And it’s all a huge sham! You can take the girl out of the trailer park, but you can’t take the trailer park out of the girl. And that’s what I’m to be commended for??? That doesn’t make me special. I should be commended because I have an education? Things could sure be a lot worse, huh? I could be a crack whore living on the street with 10 kids in foster care, unable to afford therapy even if I wanted to go. I could be like “them”.
Wow! I’m so awesome. Yay for me! Kudos to the smart chick that spent years being hated by her mother, beaten and fucked by her stepdad and ACTUALLY made something of her life. It’s a miracle!
It’s all such a sham – a dog and pony show. Smoke and Mirrors, my dear! Put on a stylish suit, make-up and heels, paste on a cheerful smile, and everyone thinks you have it all together….. No one would ever know different. You wouldn’t have known. If I’d have kept my big fat mouth shut!!!!! I should have known better….I should have sat down and weighed the risks, possible opportunities, the roadblocks the problems, and definitely a cost analysis of plan A – trying to work through the bullshit of the past, B – continue to live in denial, C – kill myself. …. That’s what a smart business woman would have done. And after all, I’m super smart, huh? A real genius!
I would stare out the window, into the stars and clouds, stare at the "face" in the moon and
P-R-A-Y for an Angel.
Sometimes I still pray...for that "Angel".
I really need an angel to save "this" Grace....
Anyone know where I can get one?
One time around the block
Two times around the clock
Three times, don't cross the little lady (lady)
So pretty and, oh, so bold
Got a heart full of gold on a lonely road
She said, "I don't even think that God can save me" (save me)
(Am I) gainin' ground
(Am I) losin' face
(Have I) lost and found my saving grace
Thankful for the gift my angels gave me
Born alone, we die alone
'n' I'm just sittin' here by the phone
Waitin' for the Lord to send my callin'
Street wise from the boulevard
Jesus only knows that she tries too hard
She's only tryin' to keep the sky from fallin'
("How'd you know my name"
"God sent me"
"God sent you"
Any man who says it's Heaven and Hell
Prob'ly got somethin' useless to sell
You ask me if I'm saved, but what's it to ya?
Blow a quarter, cop another eight
You're runnin' out of high, you're losin' your faith
Throw your hands up and scream, "Hallelujah"
("You're headed for hell, Grace
But God's givin' you one last chance
He sent me to help ya
Ha, ha, ha, ha")
One time around the sun
Another year older and my work ain't done
It's time for me to write the final chapter (chapter)
Deal the cards and roll the dice
Sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll are my only vice
Tryin' to figure out just what's here after (here after)
Sunday, August 16, 2009
I don’t have a great feeling of fear about how my life will end. We all have to “die” right? Everything and everyone has an expiration date. I don’t want to die right now, I don’t. But at night, when I am no longer in charge, it is no longer my choice. At night, she will try to reach out, to make contact with someone safe…but there will be no one. Friends will be asleep, DT will not answer after 10, and she will NOT EVER reach out to a stranger…no 911, or hotline for us! She will never talk to a stranger about any of this!
I have shared these thoughts with a couple of close friends as well as DT…but no one seems overly concerned about it. Maybe they accept it as our fate too. Perhaps they realize there is nothing anyone can do to interfere with ‘fate’. So there should be no surprise when it does happen.
So I should accept that suicidal thoughts and my ultimate fate of demise just “is”. Much like other things in life…it just is. So whether it be tonight, or next week, or next month…or whenever – that’s how it will end for me. I will become another victim of accidental overdose, just like Marilyn Monroe, just like Anna Nicole Smith…I’ve always known this to be my "future", and somehow we find comfort in knowing that someday the pain will end and there will be peace.
Just a fact. It’s pointless to try to continue to outrun it...it is my fate. It will happen. I accept it. The only unanswered question is “when”.
Everything around me, and the very fact that I have to go on, whispers to me of my own failure and horribleness as a human being. I know all that I tell myself is not true. I could name a dozen things that make me a good person, but this is not the kind of thing I can just stop and tell myself, “Grace, be thankful and happy.” If there is a switch I can flick I’m unable to locate it and turn it off.
I see myself as a child. I see a little girl sitting in a dark corner, hugging her knees and trying to be as small and "out of the way" as possible. When she looks at me, her eyes are full of a terrible anger- rage, really- and pain. She is scared. I have never seen myself so dark. But she is undeniably me, and she must have existed during that time of my life. I have ignored her, I chose to ignore her because she did not fit the image I held for myself. She makes me think about everything that happened to me. So pain and hurt. She was rejected, never good enough. She was insulted, ridiculed, hated, ignored, abused, and coerced. The pain from it is unspeakable. I try to list the things my mother and step-father said to me- did to me- not to relive the memories but to acknowledge the suffering I never could when I was actually going through it. I try to describe the pain and it's so overwhelming that no words will come.
I suppose there is no way, no road map, nothing but fumbling in the dark. I am so tired of walking this road alone. I am not tired of the pain and anger; they are mine- a part of me. But where do I go from here? So many people…they all say different things, no one agrees on anything. How do you know if you’re right or wrong? How do you know if you hurt or don’t hurt, or even if you have the right to hurt?
It’s dark now, the night, the darkness… its killing me! I can’t sleep, when I try I dream. The ativan, the seroquel, they don’t really help anymore. And I’m so tired all day long. I’m really not sure how much more of this I can take.
I think, “Grace, reach out to DT. Email her…call her…don’t let it end like this. But I know it’s Sunday – and DT is not going to email Grace on Sunday. Nor is she going to call Grace back on Sunday. DT is working at the hospital….so work it out Grace. DT doesn't care about Grace on Sunday's --- that's the "RULE"
So, grab the razor, reach for the broken glass….let’s have a look at the badness that resides inside of you. Get it out, Gracie, let it out. That’s a good girl…watch the blood flow out of your body. It’s bad! It’s evil! It’s part of them.
You deserve to die! Do it already! Just do it! We hate you!
10pm...Then out goes the "out of office" sign! So "take 2 doses of *work it out* and call me in the morning...if you have too."
On the nights she doesn't climb into bed with me, she'll wake me up and ask me to "re-tuck" her in. Which is really cute when you speak of it in the daylight, but, at 3am, after an hour of sleep when you're mind is fuzzy from the ativan and seroquel "sleep aids"...not so cute.
DT set the time limitation of 10pm for me about a year ago, and I figure that my "mental" age was about 7 or 8. So after 10, I just have to "deal" with it! I'm wondering....would it be inappropriate to set that same limit for my daughter?
Put the big "CLOSED" sign on the door? Sorry, sista, save it for the morning. Not to early, though! Gotta set the limits or you're never gonna grow up.
Of course I'm joking about telling my daughter I won't *help* her after 10.
I guess I'm just continuing to spit out the bitterness about DT doing that to me!
Angry teenager says, "Told you she would...you're such a dumbass for believing she would be there! HELLO! Just because she was there for 2 years - oh, let me add again...she was doing everything in her power to win over your *trust*...and once she had it - SORRY - the office is now closed!"
I've been there 24-7 for over 7 years- don't you think I can set the 10 pm boundary with her? She has to learn sometime not to count on people.
So, I got my drugged up, dissociative ass out of bed at 3am last night, and "re-tucked" DD back into bed and then stumbled my way back down the hall to my own room to once again enjoy the drive-in horror movies.
No bitterness! It's all part of the MHMP (mental health manipulative process) ~ I'm sure.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
A few weeks ago DT said, “Grace, I know you are angry with me for some legitimate reasons, but do you think, perhaps, you also take anger out on me that should be directed at your parents. But you direct it to me because that’s safer for you, and it also may be a way for you to avoid working through some things.”
Hummn…well…yes, I do. But somehow, her speaking those words out loud to me made me see it more clearly. (Gee – strange huh…NOT – isn’t that her job?) Since that time the 5 year old still gets scared and sad and wants DT to be there for her, even though other parts of me realizes that that’s not DT’s job. And then the angry teenager gets mad at both DT and the 5 year old…but there has been improvement. But the critical one ~ well, she just directs all the anger at me…if I think the wrong thing, if I make a mistake, if I do something she doesn’t like…then she rains down on us telling us how worthless and dirty and revolting we are. That hasn’t changed.
The only way I can explain the feelings about DT – is that I feel like a child being left at daycare…maybe angry and sad at first, and then *okay* because of the daily distractions. Then throughout the day (really, night for me, but for the sake of the metaphor I’m using day) I have glimpses of anger for being left, and sadness for feeling unsafe, scared and abandoned by her . But then she returns (via session, or email) and suddenly I feel safe again. Before, it was all feelings of anger about her not being here at night when I’m hurt and scared. And the anger would continue to spew over into the times she was actually there, and I couldn’t *see* her there, all I could see was the raging anger at her for NOT being there at night. I’m okay with that realization and that reality right now. That doesn’t mean that I’m not still scared and angry at night when I want her to be here (she is the “representation” of “safety” for me…the “substitute” safe mother I never had). I think I could be in the middle of a category 4 hurricane and if she was with me I wouldn’t be frightened.
Anyway, I’m sure that will change at some point…hell – maybe in 15 minutes. But for now, I feel *okay* and it feels really f-ing good to feel *okay* for now.
DT scrunches up her nose, "Eeewwww I hate cockroaches!"
Last night I got an email from DT telling me to hang in there....and humorously adding, "More power to the cockroach" is my new motto... (gotta get over my fear?)"
Does this mean that DT is the "Roach Whisperer"?
Friday, August 14, 2009
Again...WHAT? "No offense"? I am offended on SO MANY LEVELS!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
And if there is no little girl there is no pain.
She will never know what it’s like to live without the feelings of fear.
And today it hit me…this kid carried around a flipping rock heart that DT gave her to borrow during her vacation. Are you kidding me? She carried around a rock in her pocket for the entire weekend! Never letting it out of her sight! She infuriates me with her dependence – and I want to cut her out of my body. And believe me, I’ve tried, many, many times, to no avail. I hurt her every night and she still won’t leave! She is STILL HERE! Whining…crying…annoying the hell out of everyone else.
I cannot stand her! I hate her – and there is NO WAY I will EVER *accept* or *embrace* her. What the hell? She needs DT to leave her a *transitional object* and she thinks this means DT “cares” because of this gesture!?!?!?!?
She whines and cries! She is such a baby! I hate her! We all hate her! Gawd! Why doesn’t she just go away! Next she’ll be walking around with her thumb in her mouth, wrapped in a blanket with a flipping teddy bear! Doesn’t she get it? She is DEAD! She’s been DEAD for a long time! She no longer exists!
GO AWAY! We HATE you!
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
She thinks the heart stone is a part of DT's heart. She holds it and feels how smooth it is, the stone feels cool in her hand. She runs her hands over the pointedness at the bottom of the heart and the smooth roundness at the top. Over and over again, she studies the heart by feeling and holding it. It makes her feel cared for that DT trusted her with the heart stone, it must be important to DT, she's never seen it the stone at her office.
DT also sent an email before she left and little one reads the email over and over every night trying to internalize the words DT wrote.
I know you are trying very hard and every day/night has a new or familiar experience(s) that is filled with pain and promise. "WE" will do our best to be "care-full" of those who need our love, care and listening. I will be nurturing the spirit of my family while I keep you close to my heart. You too will pay attention to the needs of those in your life (outer and inner) and ask for the support of others when needed in the best ways that you can right now....no perfection...just presence and honest effort. Keep the faith...I do and will.
Little one loves and misses DT tonight
The "usual" tonight, Gracie? No, tonight I'm ordering tranquility & calmnes...not anger, fear and sadness
Anger both rational and irrational anger: directed at DT for her vacation, directed at the 5 year old baby who feels so needy and dependent on someone, angry at the constant arguing and changing all the time. Angry at my father for fucking me and beating me and angry at my mother for hating me and for letting it happen.
LOTS OF ANGER! But, it isn’t that intense, unable to breathe anger. Not right now.
Sadness: Sadness because I feel like I was never ‘good enough’. Sadness because my mother never loved me or protected me. Sadness because I’ll never have that, I’ll never “FEEL” what’s its like to be loved and protected by a mother. Sadness because I fear the irrational one in me will end up killing us and leaving behind my own children.
LOTS OF SADNESS! But, it isn’t constant sadness, it hasn’t reduced me to hiding under the covers today. I did cry at work for few minutes this afternoon, just overwhelmed – it passed. But the sadness remains. It’s like a bucket with a hole in it. I can fill the bucket with happy thoughts…and they leak out leaving an empty bucket of sadness.
Fear: So many nights I find myself frozen with fear. Fear of the memories, fear of the darkness, the nightmares. Fear of him. Today I fear the angry teenager will call DT and cancel our appointment when that’s the last thing that needs to happen. And DT has been very supportive…but no matter how many times we say that to her, she still will not believe it.
LOTS OF FEAR! But I didn’t hurt myself last night, and I do plan to actually get my crabby butt to bed at a decent time tonight. I told DH to “kindly coerce” me to go to bed when he does so I won’t stay up until the wee hours of the morning; reliving the past, drinking, popping pills, hurting myself. Not tonight. I haven’t slept all week and I’m really tired.
Tonight I’m ordering a supersized combo of tranquility and calmness…
Tonight I am breathing.
Unfortunately, these skills have been on vacation this week. I have a couple of different thoughts on why this has happened. My initial thought is that DT accidently packed my skills away in her luggage when she left on the jet plane. However, the rational Grace told me that I was delusional and that couldn’t really happen. And even if it was possible, DT wouldn’t do that, she’s a good DT (even though the angry teenager hates her…and the 5 year old feels abandoned this week) – she would want us to do well while she was gone, so, for the most part I circular filed that idea…I didn’t shred it though – so I have occasionally taken it out of the circular file to re-read again.
My second thought is that because DT is on vacation and unavailable, the ability to actually be myself is feeling uneasy and invalidated this week and as a result I have said a few things I shouldn’t have. Nothing horrible, but certainly ‘impolite’. But strangely, I don’t realize I’ve even said anything until after the words are ‘out there’ and cannot be taken back.
Let me give an example. Stalker co-worker (SCW) has been working on a ‘project’ this week. Now, SCW tends to make things um…2000x more difficult than they need to be, thereby creating a cluster for himself and drama for his staff. Frankly, in my opinion, he just likes the attention of making a big production out of things. So yesterday, I walk by his office and he had 4000 pieces of paper stacked everywhere! On my return trip (I have to walk by his office to get anywhere in the building, even the bathroom!) he came around the corner and I busted out laughing right in front of him. Like that “gut-wrenching” I’m totally laughing AT you and not with you, kinda laugh. He looked ridiculous! His tie was crooked, as were his geeky glasses. His hair was sticking up everywhere, he was sweating and he had this crazed look on his face. Okay, maybe the crazed look is normal... It was hilarious! He had made this 4 hour project into this mammoth 4 day task stressing not only himself to the max, but also his staff.
So, I’ve reasoned (in the crazy Grace way of 'reason') that THIS is another reason why DT should not go on vacation…I have lost my ability to think before I speak!