Sunday, November 29, 2009

I love you and I will never let anyone take away your self-respect or steal your soul!

I do not know what is happening to me right now but since I’ve been home (well, technically, since the incident at the spa) I have been having perverse and warped physical reactions to the flashbacks that are spilling out of me. Last night I felt like I was suffocating…I couldn’t swallow… I couldn’t breathe - I was too drained to fight it and I dialed the therapist’s number but hung up when she answered.

Still convinced I have to do it on my own I stumbled back down the stairs and turned on the lights. I walked around the kitchen, talking myself through each step, picking things up and telling myself what I was holding and seeing…this is my house, this is my kitchen, this is my desk, this is an envelope with my name on it…my phone bill – I am an adult, I am a wife, a mother, a friend, a homeowner…How crazy does that sound? I had to talk out loud to keep him away from hurting me again.

I don’t remember what happened after that – a couple of hours later I woke up on my daughter’s bedroom floor, my body between her bed and the door, as though I was trying to protect her from…from what? Because she was me when I went into her room? Because I so desperately wanted my mother to say to me, “I love you and I will protect you. I will never let anyone steal your soul or hurt you beyond repair.” I stood up and walked over to her bed where she was breathing peacefully, holding her pink bear and using her pink elephant as a pillow. I touched her cheek and her red curly hair, and gently pulled up her ballerina quilt, and walked quietly out of her room.

What am I so scared of? Why can’t I snap out of it???

It is all so warped and cruel. Experiences like sexual abuse and rape do more than just bump into us in the night…they critically wound us, sometimes fatally. Every single ounce of our being is ripped to shreds, our souls shattered. And we are left to pick up the pieces of what never should have been ~ angry…hurt…sad…hopeless…traumatized…full of shame and unable to trust anyone enough to talk about it.

Does anyone who hasn’t *been there* really understand how traumatic and painful it is to hold all of this inside because of the fear of being told to ‘get over it’, or ‘shut up and behave’ or ‘It wouldn’t be so traumatic if you stayed in the present moment and out of the past’….so many secrets…so many years…so much energy it takes to keep it all in and ‘act normal’.  Does anyone understand how much it hurts to be told 'oops - sorry, it's after 10 now - you will be abandoned so make a different choice.'  It’s exhausting…But exhaustion feels like the better choice...rather than bein abandoned.  And that's why I no longer reach out for help.  That's why she once again hides.  Because she was hurt time and time again...and now she's too scared.  Now, like then, 'in the face of expected abandonment...she makes a different choice.'

Maybe I am just too traumatized to ever fully trust anyone.  What if that is really my 'truth'?  Please don't let tonight be like last night.  I am too tired...I am so scared and tired. 

Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is ask for help ~ I don't feel that strong right now.

I find the phrase *what if* toying with me again. It creeps up on me, sometimes out of nowhere, and murmurs in my ear, “Grace, what if you would have done this, said that, reacted this way…” Obviously, I don’t mean “what if I could have made it not happen…or…what if I had been born into a family who wanted me, loved me…” ~ those were not things I could have changed. Today, *what if* is whispering about decisions that I made, things I decided to do, choices I made then that have lead to the life I live today.

I never cried ~ I was always happy, polite, funny, and energetic. I laughed a lot but I never cried. I had many friends, I excelled academically and participated in sports and theater, worked hard to ensure I “fit in”. I think back sometimes and wonder if I was really “happy”. I think there were times when I was happy, but even back then, I made decisions based my desire to *pretend* I was a normal kid. Even back then I was designed for public. I dated boys I didn’t like because they were popular, I hung out with friends I secretly despised because they were popular and had ‘normal’ families. I tucked it all away deep inside of the dark place and put all of my energy toward getting out, fitting in, being successful and pretending like nothing ever happened, nothing was wrong.

When I was 7 years old I used to take pencil erasers and try to erase my skin just as a child will erase a mistake made on paper~ I was a mistake and I tried to erase myself with the erasers at the end of my #2 pencils. Yet I could not erase my skin, I could not erase what happened ~ it’s all still here…my skin, my past and that horribly scared little girl.

What if I had been honest with my grandma when I was 12 and she asked me if the evil SF ever touched me? What if I would have said YES and buried my head in her lap instead of saying no and thinking, why would she even ask me such a thing - does she think I’m a whore?  What would he do to me if I did tell?

What if I would have just fallen apart then ~ would someone have taken notice? But I didn’t fall apart...I sailed through all of it with flying colors. Successful Grace, Smart Grace, Funny Grace, Hardworking Grace…

I have fallen once again into that Grace. I look at my life from the outside and so much of it is good…but it feels like that’s someone else’s life.  I see it but I can’t feel it.

I still don’t know how to let the therapist back in. Once again I cannot believe that she wants to know what my feelings were then, what they are now….once again I ask the question: how could she possibly understand, how could she ever get what it was like for me, you know? Two years ago I wanted her to be there for me, to protect me in the ways my own mother never did because I could not protect myself at the time. That little girl still needs the therapist's help, but the others – the angry rebellious teenager, the sarcastic girl, PAG? They all just want her to f-off and go away.

And the "what ifs" are indefatigable now...
What if we let her back in and she hurts us again?
What if the 5 year old never stops crying?
What if her life changes again and she has no room for us?
What if we screw up again and she over-reacts?
What if we walk away right now?
What if she walks away?
What if we fall apart?

Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is ask for help….I don’t feel that strong right now…
I just hope I am strong enough to show up for my appointment on Tuesday. 
I just hope I am strong enough to be honest with her...I don't feel that strong right now.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Withdrawn and Disconnected...from everyone and everything...

I think I need a break from everything...I just don't think there is help for any of this right now.
Deep inside of me there is this yearning- this deep sadness.

And I have once again withdrawn inside myself.  I feel confused....like the person I went to for help can't help me either.  And she *knows* more about the real ME than anyone.


Hopeless!  I hate the holidays as much as my parents hated me!


I'm overtaken by hurt, and pain. And I am now sinking into the darkness-the bad place.
Inside my soul is this realm of darkness, the endless horror, the familiar hopelessness.

I hate this f'ing house! Perhaps its because its the house where the hus fucked my **friend**.
I hate this body!  Perhaps it's because this is the body the SF fucked - and made his whore.
Tonight I hate all of Grace!

No hope for Grace....just smile and pretend everything is okay.  I don't think I'll go back to therapy. 
What's the effing point - it's all a big facade...she pretends she cares and pretends to listen and I pretend I'm not the most fucked up woman on the face of the earth!

We all know none of that is true!  The jig is up!  I fold...and walk away...find a new fucked up client you can 'pretend' to care about!  Because as we know..."in the face of expected abandonment -don't you dare reach out - make another choice!"

I will, DT, don't worry...I will...no body cares...whatever!  Final cours~ I am FINISHED! 
OH, I'm making a different choice, DT, thanks for the advice!

Friday, November 27, 2009

Packed the WWDTD Paraphernalia away a couple of months ago...now it's sink or swim in the emotional hurricanes of Grace

“You are in my thoughts…”
That’s what the standard DT line is now in her emails she still faithfully sends on Sunday, Wednesday and Friday. What does that mean exactly? I could say the same thing to the man whore and the host body for they are also “in my thoughts”…. Way the hell more than I would like them to be.

Since I made the decision not to email the therapist anymore with my innermost thoughts/feelings, troubles, psychobabblebullshit (not her decision ~ mine~ but made because I really don't think she read them or truly cared to read them...) I have found that I am way less dependent upon her for help...like I wouldn't call her now if I had an emotional crisis and was standing on the ledge of the New York New York hotel in Vegas.  I just ‘deal with it’. Not that I previously had a delicate gold engraved bracelet with “WWDTD” (what would dear therapist do) that I took off two months ago and carefully stored in a crystal jewelry box, but the email communication between us was like an anchor for me, something to steady me in the turbulent water of this seemingly never-ending trip in and out of hell.  Now its sink or swim, Gracie!  And much of the time I don't really care which of the two outcomes come to pass.

And yet it is clear from the past several emails she has sent that she has no idea what to even say now…so I say what’s the point anymore? Just like everything else~ What’s the effing point? Evidently she has nothing to say to me, clearly I have nothing to say to her…so if we aren’t going to communicate at all ‘in the 3 emails she graciously agreed too’ then why bother? I mean, she doesn’t have time to sit by her computer and compose email as she has so politely told me by her booming words of:

“I have always known how important the emailing was for you, but you developed some unrealistic expectations that were unfair to you and me and that because of the inherent inconsistencies and disappointments in this communication, it created serious repercussions for our working relationship.”
And 
"in those moments of tempting the face of expected rejection/abandonment...make a different choice.”

Those word choices still sting and will continue to ring in my ears when I start to dial the therapist's number or hit the send button in email (as I nearly did tonight....and last weekend, and many times before that in the past 2 months). Yes, she always knew how important it was...just didn't care when she decided it was too much for her.  But it's better this way - because I'm certainly not dependent on her 'care' - and I really don't give a shit anymore.  Yes, this feels much more healthy...I get to figure it all out on my own ~ just as I have always done.  "EVERYTHING IS AS IT SHOULD BE..." 

But like the energizer bunny she will continue to construct 2 line emails three times a week (as we “agreed” too..that’s a familiar phrase and not just as it pertains to the therapist’s emails) until I tell her I no longer want her to send them (and I’m certain she has her fingers crossed that that will happen soon). Are the emails helpful? They used to be. Now it really feels like it’s just an unnecessary hardship for her. Like that old Dunkin Donuts commercial…”Time to make the donuts”…each Sun Wed Fri…I can almost hear her voice say, “time to email the psycho”. And I won’t be anyone’s “obligation”. Not hers or anyone else’s. I can take care of myself and I will NOT be dependent on anyone else to help me. Ever! Let’s face it…Grace is a more than a handful! And when I have a panic attack, or become overwhelmed, I’ll deal with it, just like I did then, just like I did today. And I don’t need anyone to feel obligated to help me, or feel sorry for me or to “keep poor little Grace in her thoughts”. 

Gee whiz, how important does that make me feel, oh great therapist? That you would actually *make space* for me in your thoughts?  Does it pop up as a reminder in your outlook calendar? “Take a moment to think of Grace”. Give me a b-r-e-a-k!

And I won't bother to tell her about the panic attack today or the fact that I forgot to pack my day meds when I left for vacation and actually felt better without them for the first 5 days of vacation. I won't tell her about the puking or the nightmares or insomnia...frankly, it doesn't seem all that important - and I probably won't remember during the 50 minutes next Tuesday afternoon....

I don’t believe in love and I don’t believe in care…how could I possibly believe that those things are real when the people who were supposed to love me, and protect me, and care for me never did?...and never will! 

Now I shall make haste and finish packing so I can puke, have a drink and then take the prescribed sleeping medication so I can get my standard 2 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Sweet dreams!
~ Grace

I feel trapped with the ghosts on the 13th floor of the Hollywood Hotel


Since the spa incident this morning I have been trapped in a void, locked in a place where no one can reach me.  Trapped with the ghosts on the 13th floor of the Hollywood Hotel. 

Ironically, no one seems to notice that I'm not here. I don't know if that is good or bad.  Is this a tribute to my acting skills or an inability of others to see through the mask? 

I don't know which is worse...dissociating to the point where you have no idea what is happening, or watching it without the ability to stop it.

I don't feel real today. 
Going down?



In the disney magic I forgot my own rule

Grace rule:  Grace does not like to be touched.  

In the magic of disney I forgot my own rule when I agreed to spend the morning at the Grand Californian Spa with my friend.  No big deal- it'll be fun, right?  Wrong!  I don't like to be touched.  Not lying face down on a massage table practically naked while someone puts their hands on me.  My brain cannot make the distinction between 'this is safe' and 'this will hurt' and what was supposed to be a calm relaxing experience ended in panicked chaos.

I forgot how to breathe, and then I couldn't hear anything but the ringing in my ears and a voice screaming, 'dont touch me!' over and over and over.  Dizzy and nauseated I moved to the corner of the room and sat down.  Too many people, too many questions- not enough space.  I couldn't breathe or hear and I couldn't move or talk.  My friend was trying to talk to me but I couldn't understand her or respond.  I don't know how long it was before I finally got up, walked into the bathroom and vomited.

It's embarrassing enough to have something like this happen in the therapist's office- but at the hotel spa and in front of my sane friend? I told her I must have some sort of stomach issue...but that's not really it. No, its more of a 'Grace is crazy and can't deal with normal situations like normal people' issue.

I should have known better!  Disney is not magical enough to make me *normal*.  I want to talk to DT because she would tell the 5 year old she will be okay.  I just want to be okay.

I'm really tired and I want to go to sleep but now I'm too scared.

I don't want to be crazy and scared anymore.  I just want to be okay.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

My Mood Ring is not a fashion statement ~ it's a court order...

My mood ring has changed from amber & black to blue and green this week. 
It must be the California sun...I wish I could be a California girl!

I have been in a good place this week.  In fact, I can't remember the last time I have felt this good, both physically and mentally.  Instead of going back east to see the family - we went west to see Mickey and friends...and call it 'disney magic' - or perhaps fairy dust in the air...I don't know - but I sure hope I can bottle it up and take it back home with me!

At first I felt really guilty for not going to see my grandmother - but this week I have watched my children hug Mickey and Friends, ride rides, laugh and play with their friends who are with us on the trip...and the joy on their faces has warmed my heart and I know that I made the right decision. 

And I have laughed and played irght beside them here....and my mood ring has stayed blue all week.
I am in a good place right now...I don't know how long it will last ~ so for now I'll just enjoy the ride.

And give thanks for the good things I have in my life:
My children, the hus, my friends ~ IRL and BL, and DT....and, of course, Mickey and all his little disney friends....

She never cried...neither did I

Tonight the hus and I somehow stumbled onto the topic of the host body.  I don't exactly remember how it caome up...something about parents fighting in front of their children.  He told me that he had seen his parents argue in front of him 1 time.

And I told him I don't remember a night when the host body and the man whore did not fight.  And not the 'it's your turn to do the dishes fighting.  One afternoon, my brothers and I walked into the fight of all fights.  The SF had the host body face down in the trash can and was beating her in the head with a dark eyes vodka bottle (which were glass then, not plastic).  There was blood everywhere and I thought sure she was dead.  She wasn't.

I witnessed them arguing and physically fighting every single day...she never cried.  The host body never cried.  I remember seeing my mother cry only one time my entire childhood - and that was when Elvis Presley died! 

When he beat me I didn't cry either.  Crying meant I would be beaten worse ~ or he would win. 
I never cried.

Monday, November 23, 2009

I think I will go dance with Mickey Mouse and dine with Snow White (but no apples)

A friend of mine is spending Thanksgiving at Disneyland with her husband and children.  Our kids are the same ages, attend the same school, summer camp and play on the same sports teams.  A couple of weeks ago I was talking to my friend K and I mentioned that we were planning to go 'home' for the holiday and that I really wasn't sure I wanted to go...and she said, 'you should come to Disneyland with us...it'll be fun'.  At the time I kind of laughed it off- but now I thought what the heck!  Got a whole week off of work and the last thing I need to do is spend it unshowered in my pajamas-depressed and grouchy...

So I asked myself, 'Grace, after blowing off your 'family' for Thankgiving what are you going to do?'
And I answered, 'I'm taking my kids to Disneyland'.  And so I made reservations @ the Grand Californian Resort and and bought a 3 day pass to Disneyland. And we will spend the week with 'friends'....starting tonight for dinner.
Do you think Mickey would mind terribly if I wear jammies while we dance to regae music in the cool California air?

Sunday, November 22, 2009

When did the silence begin?

The silence began when he hurt me.  When he raped me it was done in the quiet darkness.  In the darkness if that small room where I bled silently on the sesame street sheets, in the room where the darkness turned fear into horror, the quiet began.


That silence has never worn off, it merely fades and morphs into other silences.  That's why I can't go back there. To the darkness, to the silence.  The last time I went back the darkness grew into this abyss and I could not escape.  I felt constant fear, small voices screaming in my mind, my mind disconnecting itself from my body again and again.  The smell of stale cigarettes and bleach overwhelmed me to the point of not being able to breathe.  That's why I can't go back there.


I gave that hurt, that pain to  the therapist 2 years ago.  And she felt it- the pain of a child. But then the silence came back.  And with it came all the pain and shame and fear and sadness. I have tried to take back the hurt I gave the therapist and the only way I can free her, release her from my pain is to pull away.  

But she still doesn't leave.  Why?

Saturday, November 21, 2009

What kind of intimacy and trust would it take totalk about such things?

Thursday night I left several messages for the therspaist.  I say 'I' but I've no idea what I said, I only know what the phone records told me the next morning.  The therapist returned my call on Friday, but I didn't answer, or call her back.  It was over by then, and the 5 year old and all her fear and physical and emotional pain had retreated.


A part of me still yearns for the care she still offers me and yet I cannot remove the barrier between us.  I sit and hold a pillow in front of my face, I look past her through the window as I try to hide myself.  I will not let her look inside of me.  I refuse her, as she refused the 5 year old.  Even though I know she is trying to give us another chance I refuse her and then after I leave her office parts of me sob and ache for refusing her. She asks me how I am I tell her I'm fine; I lie to her just as I lie to everyone else IRL.  Even though parts of me beg and plead to tell the truth.  

What would the truth even sound like?
What kind of intimacy would it take to make it possible to speak of such shame and pain?  
What kind of trust would it take to believe she would listen and care and be able to emotionally stay with me?  
Is there such a language?  
No one can answer my questions: Why did he do that to me?  Why didn't my family love me?

So the pain is still here.  And the child Grace uses her childlike logic of wanting to ask for help but not wanting to admit she needs help- and not believing that she would get the help even if she did ask.  That childish logic feeds my thought process and conscious conclusion that my desperate longg to reach out for her help is ridiculous and wrong. And anyway, who could possibly tell me that having experienced what I have, having lost what I have, that I could possibly be healed.

Dear therapist helped me get through the trip 2 years ago when I went back home to see my grandma.  And although at times I can still feel the tenderness of her care and concern, I still won't admit that the thought makes me squirm and wish I didn't feel like I need her help.  I do know enough to know that I could not go back there without her help and yet a strong part of me would not ask for her help to get through it.  

The constraint between us feels absolute.

I remember 2 years ago when I felt intense fear and panic overtake me and I reached for her in childlike grief- yearning to just fold myself into a tiny little ball and just listen to her voice as I lay safely at her feet. And she would let me, she welcomed 'all' of me then.

But then I also remember the after, when I didn't feel welcome, when acceptance turned into: don't reach out knowing you will be abandoned, Grace.  Make a different choice. To me that means never reach out...then you expect nothing so there can be no disappointment.

I feel I've been exiled from her care, unworthy, whether by my own doing, or by her, or maybe both.  I can't do it alone and I can't reach out.

I would like nothing more tonight as I'm overwhelmed with guilt and pain then to reach out to the therapist, to run to the safety of her care...but I don't feel secure now.
It hurts.

Oops! I did it again...

I was up all night last night pacing, puking, crying.  Is it possible to panic at the thought of panicking?
The hus finally got up around 330am, saw what a mess I was and let out this huge sigh...oops, I did it again.

The reality is he gets tired of my panicky overwhelming emotions...and he has no idea how bad it truly is right now.  I may have had myhead in the tiolet but at least I wasn't covered in blood. I can't go back there.  I am officially a selfish bitch- but being a high status frequent flyer has perks- like no fee transfers.  The hus has never been to Vegas or Cali and West/South feels safer than East.  And I can just send some flowers to my gramma with a card that says,'In the face of expected abandonment...make a different choice.  Becuz I am the worlds worst granddaughter...esp knowing how much you gave up to keep us all together...and I love you and I'm so sorry...Grace"

I feel a terminal weariness, an intimation of death.  I feel haunted and I imagine this is much how my gramma must feel @ 95- seen it all and no longer has a reason to live.

I feel 'old'- very old. And small and hidden.  And yes, a coward who is still unable to face her past...

Friday, November 20, 2009

“How shameful and absurd it is for the spirit to surrender when the body is able to fight on ”

An ancient Rome Emperor said, “How shameful and absurd it is for the spirit to surrender when the body is able to fight on.”

His words resonate through me tonight, like many nights before…I am borrowing the Emporer’s words tonight to express how I feel. I feel like my soul was murdered a long time ago. My body is here – as f’d up as it is – my heart still beats – but my body is empty, void of a soul.

I have no fight left in me now.  My heart is still beating ~ but I'm no longer here. 

"We gave up everything for you kids..."

"Grandpa and I gave up everything for *you kids*."…my grandmother repeated this phrase to me from childhood to well into my adult life. Yes, we were instilled... well, I shouldn't speak for my brothers, so I should say "I" came pre-programmed with feelings of culpability and inadequacy. Not only was I born to a  mother who had nothing but regret for my very existence, my grandparents gave up everything so my brothers and I could *live*…and I suppose I can never repay them for that.

My grandmother was not able to have children. She had 5 miscarriages before she and my grandfather adopted my mother. My mother was 8 years old when they adopted her. My grandma told me that due to their ‘advanced’ age (she was in her early 30s!), they were not able to adopt a baby and they were on a waiting list to adopt a child around age 3, but then they met my mother.

My mother’s biological father left her and her 6 siblings with her alcoholic mother, and she was unable to provide for them, so they were all taken to the orphanage (not foster care, it was actually called, “The Francis Comfort Home for Orphans and Destitute Children”.)  My mother was in the orphanage for nearly a year before being adopted by my middle-class, hard-working, Christian grandparents.

My grandpa was an electrician and he worked nights at the University in town where we grew up, my grandmother was an elementary school teacher. They worked hard to provide for my mother, who now had to adjust from being in an alcoholic, abusive home to an orphanage and now to live the rest of her childhood in a middle-class, religious home where not a drop of alcohol passed the lips of her new parents. My mother has never talked about her childhood, the 8 years before she was adopted, not to me, but then again, my mother and I have actually never had a real ‘conversation’….ever.

Grandma claims that my mother was 15 years old when she started dragging her out of the local taverns. And after my younger brother was born, grandma got a court order to have my mother sterilized so she could no longer procreate. The way grandma tells the story is the judge said, “Do you know what you’re doing to your daughter.” And grandma replied, “Yes, I am paying for the 3 children she has now.”

My mother met my step-father when my younger brother was 6 weeks old. My grandma told me that my brother was in the hospital with pneumonia and grandma would drop her off at the hospital every morning on her way to school to stay with my brother. Grandma said she gave my mother money for lunch, and instead of staying with her infant son, mother would leave every day with my step-father and drink until my grandma picked her up again.

My grandparents never liked the man whore...they knew he beat my mother, and us...they knew he was a worthless bum.  My mother only had one job that I can remember, and the man whore had a few, but nothing permanent.  I remember he was a janitor at a local Catholic church and was fired for drinking the communion wine.  He was a bum...a worthless, disgusting, child-fucking bum! 

My grandparents supported us. They were not 'wealthy' but they paid for a roof over our heads...and the neccessary things to keep us alive.  They supported us; my mother, her 3 children, and the man whore.  They paid for the dingy white trailor with green trim...the trailor where my step-father made me his whore.  They paid for the apartment in the trashy area of town that came after the trailor, the apartment on Pigeon Hill where he beat my mother, and my brothers...where he beat, raped and sodomized me.  They paid for my mother's multitude of rehab treatments. They paid for all of it. 


One Christmas, when I was about 10, my older brother got into a physical fight with the step-father.  My mother was passed out drunk and my 11 year old brother decided we were leaving and going to grandma's house.  So we left the trailor and walked 2 miles in the snow to a 7-11, where he called a cab to drive us to grandma's house.  I remember the look of surprise on her face when we pulled up into the driveway.  And I remember she had to dig into her tea-kettle to find the cash to pay for the taxi.  Yes, she paid for that too.

Yes...grandma gave up everything so we we could live...and I gave up everything to just survive the hell we lived in, the one she paid for...a fact she reminded me of whenever she could.

I paid too.  I gave up everything too.  I still do. 


Wednesday, November 18, 2009

I will leave this life...

Tonight I have been overcome by the weary darkening of overwhelming feelings. They pulsate through my veins, taking control... I fight all the frantic thoughts and I'm not sure what's becoming of me.
At times I don't care; I just want to be empty and so I push everyone away and close the doors around me.

I have lost my way. I've been dropped on a desert island and it's just me here, alone with my thoughts. My head has become a war zone

You see it doesn't matter how you try to escape it, doesn't matter how hard you try to run you'll never run fast enough. For it has no features or feelings, it is flat and lifeless yet it hates me and seeks to ruin me more than anything else could. If I were to die  would it be gone to? Its only reason for existence is to wreck me.  There's nowhere to go from here.  I will leave this life...

To most I seem so strong ~ but I cry myself to sleep every night

Tuesday night, after everyone was safely tucked into bed, alone in the quiet darkness, I cried from the overwhelming feelings of what I can only describe as hoplessness.

Not the "oh, that's so sad I could cry" kind of hopelessness...it was open the floodgates the dam has broken SOBBING...tears pouring out of me, nose running, eyes swollen and bloodshot. And once it started it did not stop for hours. 

Today in addition to the swollen and bloodshot eyes I have had a nauseating migraine from all the crying last night and I feel drained and empty. 

Today I feel angry for the 6 month old left in an apartment to die.

Today I feel terribly sad for that little girl who did nothing wrong but was beaten and raped and broken.

Today I feel so much rage for that angry teenager who will not allow her to reach out or feel any sort of comfort.

Today I feel despondent for the girl who has continued to hurt herself and repeat what was done to her because she cannot find another way. 

Today I feel rage for the girl who cannot live in her body because it doesn't feel right or safe.

Today I feel sad for the woman who is overwhelmed with feelings of shame and unable to express her feelings because she cannot trust.

Today I feel sorry for the woman who tried to outrun the pain, the memories, the shame because she couldn't.

Today I feel sorrow for the woman who continues to feel tormented by her past to the point of hoplessness....and I feel angry because she can't escape her own prison of fear and she cannot allow anyone else in to help.

I don't feel well tonight...I am freezing cold, my head is throbbing and it continues to make me nauseous.  I am not doing well...and I'm sure a lot of it has to do with the upcoming 'vacation'.  I cannot have another night like last night...it was bad. 

I know..wwwaaaahhhh!  Break out the violins, Grace!  Get a Grip Girl! Ain't no one going to do it for you, or even co-pilot! 

I am afraid....

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

I think it's going to rain today...

I cried all the way home from work. I kept repeating to myself, “It’s going to be okay…it’s going to be okay…you’re going to be okay…” But is it? Is everything going to be “okay”? I no longer hear that voice inside of me telling me I can do this~ that I have to keep fighting because I am worth it. I don’t know where she went but I have not been able to find her.

It’s been a really long time since I’ve felt this disconnected from, well, everything. Everything…it’s lonely…it’s scary how alone one can feel in a room full of people. It’s chilling how I can watch myself from outside my body as someone else ‘lives’ inside of it. Someone I am not connected too, someone I don’t know.

Tonight, as I was brushing my teeth, I looked at my face in the mirror. I leaned forward, as if to touch the reflection there ~ and I looked deeply into her eyes and I felt nothing. I was not connected to those eyes, or to that face…those eyes were empty and hollow. I did not feel empathy or compassion for her, that face, those eyes in the mirror…I felt anger and hate for her failure to feel alive, for her incapability to feel any kind of connection to anyone or anything.

I spit toothpaste right in her face! That daft woman in the mirror! I hate her right now! For everything she has been through, for all the pain she has made me feel. I am not her! Not right now.

I rarely inhibit her body now. I can’t. I am doing the best I can… I am doing the best I can right now. I do not have to be here right now. I can’t. Not now…not right now. 

I don't remember the last time I have felt this disconnected from everything. 
I am struggling.  I am afraid. I am lost. 

I desperately need help right now but I am afraid to ask for help, or even accept help if it is offered...I don't know how.  I can't reach out because...yeah, all I hear: in those moments of tempting the face of expected rejection/abandonment...make a different choice.....I can't face anymore *rejection* or *abandonment* ~ not right now. 

I want to crawl inside of myself and just feel nothing. 
And I am sorry ~ I am so sorry.....

Monday, November 16, 2009

6 Weeks? Tell me, Grace, What's your secret? Why that's easy!

Yesterday if I would have had the energy to go the ceremony, I would have recieved my 6 week pin for the following:

*  No getting shit-faced drunk
*  No od'ing on benzos and sleeping pills
*  No waking up on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood
*  No drunk emailing the therapist in fits of dissociative rage...
***  I suppose that's it.

Wait, "That's it"?  Hell!  That's "Enough"! For now!

I am not 'undermining' the above successes...
I just find it ironic that I can divert my feelings of rage, and desire to control to other ways that are perhaps as maladaptive, but just don't seem to bother anyone else because I have chosen to keep quiet and they don't show on the outside. 

See, as long as there's no od'ing, outward cries for help, or visual scabs/scars or burns...no one notices, or cares...because it doesn't show.  I cannot believe it took me this long to figure this out!  I've decided there is no reason to cut myself to alleviate the overwhelming pain...I've wanted too - but I haven't done it.  There's still pain ~ all the time...I just control it in other ways, socially acceptable ways that do not bleed out into other folks present moments. 

Stubborn petulant child!  She is a willful one, isn't she? 
Her secret, you ask?
A pretty smile and a mask...you can get one too - and decorate it however you like...but it must always be worn in public. 

I'm so awesome!

Take a bow Grace....Keep Living the Dream, Girl!
and never, ever....ever...cry out loud!

Fallen Angel

She's scared...

She sighs,
the whole world is crashing down
piece by piece it falls upon the ground.

She's tired,
of dealing with all this pain
she wants it to stop, she feels insane

She's sad,
even though you see a smile
they've all been fake for a long time now

She hopes,
that things will be okay
but she's tired of fighting every day.

She wants,
to just feel happy in her life
no more running to that glistening knife.

She cares,
but things now seem to mean a lot less
like the heart that's bleeding in her chest.

She cries,
but no one's around to hear
she knows she's alone; her greatest fear.

She's scared,
she can feel herself dim from sight
there seems to be nothing left tonight.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Grab your mittens and warm up your vocal cords! Get over it, girl! *Everything is as it should be*

I don't deal with the cold well - and it isn't triggered by the memory of my older brother locking me out of the house, shoeless, in the snow ~ Better to have been locked out of the house than inside the house.

I was having a atrocious weekend until I received such a lovely email from Dr. PollyAnna. Now I am putting on some snow boots and headed outside in the 10 degree weather to make a snow angel in the 7 inches of snow that fell this weekend!  Last night I was struggling, literally fighting with myself not to cut my wrists, and then I got an email from Positive Pauline - and I am bathed in warmth and powdery white! Truly, Optimistic Olive is such a treasure!

This morning when I finally dragged my sleep-deprived, achy body out of bed at 830 – my hips and lower back yelling at me with every step I take each step I take from my bedroom to the kitchen – only to be greeted with the irritated voice of the hus wanting me to finally make the commitment and book a hotel gd!!! – I had no idea the weekend would end up leaving me with such a present moment of peace.

But as you said, you “know” me…you “know” what I struggle with, despite the fact that I don’t email you or call you for help – you “KNOW”….so let me give you a recap… Another weekend past, and I hope that there were some moments that were not all painful, dark and alone for you. No, unfortunately there weren't. But you won't know - because I don't tell you. Because we don't see you as safe now. Let's see - there was the defining moment that began the weekend of spiraling out of control of being pinned down on Friday night and there's no reason to fight because, "Please, you're not strong enough to squash a mosquito."....it really just went downhill from there....

But then, I got the positive power of these words, and somehow just reading about the beauty of the snow made me strip off the 7 blankets I had covering my aching body and run outside to breathe in the cold air. Despite the cold and snow, there is some beauty in the white blankets of frozen rain. The sounds of busy life and cars are muted slightly and there is a stillness that makes one stop and observe the underlying silence. Sometimes the joy of watching the family dog and children play in the fresh white powder can be slightly smile inducing. I read your words and I truly thought I was reading a beloved Charles Dickens novel. I am still wondering, though, when I might experience the ‘underlying silence’ ~ and the stillness that you write about…unfortunately this weekend I’ve more felt pain and defeat ravaging my body, and my mind is anything but silent.

You always float in and out of my thoughts (like the snow that moves in wind...I know corney :-) These words did actually warm me for a minute until I read that you thought they were 'corny', which, by the way, when you say something is corny- it makes it less believable for the receiver~ that aside, I did think this was sweet of you to say…in an effort to *connect* ~ even though it was clearly a ‘corny' joke, as you state after.   I hope that Tues we can co-create a level of safety for you that will allow you to feel some type of a healing space again. Yeah, I wish us luck with this – because I’m not real sure it’s ever going to happen.  With that in mind, though, remember: "everything is as it needs to be"... and your "Voice" is still inside you, waiting to continue to teach, guide and lead you....See, the “inner” voice I have ~ it “guides” me into darkness and self destructive behavior…both of which you have frowned upon – so truly you don’t think THAT is as it should be, since when it happens you turn into a marsha-obese-pod-person. But that’s the answer, is it? “Everything is as it should be? “Deal with it” because all is right with the world and everything happens for a reason…. You can continue to try to deal with the lingering emotional, mental and physical effects of being fucked as a kid, or you can grab your mittens and warm up your vocal cords and have a rocking weekend in the snow! In fact, maybe you can beam me in the head with a rock hard snowball!

And what a good girl you are, Grace, continuing to make a different choice and not ‘bother’ anyone else with your pain when it bubbles out of your bucket! That in itself is a true FESTIVUS miracle!  You know, what would be really great is if instead of a gingerbread man I could get one of those cool yellow mylar balloons with a giant smiley face on it to remind me to 'half-smile' and stay in the present moment.  But that would be boundary crossing…huh?

As we are rocking around the therapy tree…I’d really like to know some answers and a time line. I’d really like to know why I am still in so much pain. I’d really like to know why it doesn’t get any better for any significant period of time, but instead, just as I get a strong foothold and some confidence and I’m ready to take the next step up, my feet begin to slip again. I can pay for the answers! Not being a ‘present moment liver’ I’ve saved for a *snowy* day. In fact, I’ve got years of snowy days covered, come retirement…and I’d be willing to pay it all to you for some answers! (Let’s face it, we both know that the chances of my living to see retirement are pretty slim anyway).

I’d really like answers, solutions, support. I’d really like to know how to make it stop! Because even though I threw your caroling ass in a bucket and you no longer care to hear about any of it – it’s all still here!!!! ALL OF IT! In fact, right now, it’s getting worse, not better! And I am inches of way from sliding on some black ice right into the snow packed rocky mountains! 

 But all is as it should be….AND! The colts beat New England, coming back for a win after a 17 point deficit…that PROVES all is as it should be! Touche’!
….God rest the merry MHPs, let not the crazies express their pain. Remember Marsha your savior ~ and tell them to *shut up and behave*

I’m really dizzy now – so I should go bury my head in the snow…perhaps the cold will keep me present, in this 87 year old body and help me just “feel” all of this…in my present moment.

....left behind


I got off of the school bus at 2:50 each afternoon. That gave me 10 minutes to get home before General Hospital started. Her name was Ginny Blake Webber and she was beautiful; dark curly hair and the most beautiful blue expressive eyes. I swear she could see me through the TV with those eyes. Ginny Blake Webber. As soap operas go, Ginny wasn’t on every episode, usually every other day, and I had no interest in watching any of the other story lines. Really, I wasn’t interested in any of the story lines, just the fantasy I had in my head that Ginny Webber was my mother. My “real” mother. Even though Ginny was about as dysfunctional as they come (typical of any soap opera character, I suppose) I felt a strange childish attachment to her. And when she left the show I was devastated- and in my maladaptive child way – she left me. I’ve never watched a soap opera since. Ginny Blake Webber...she was beautiful and she left me.


And I keep replaying in my mind all the times I felt *attached* to someone in my life (mainly teachers growing up)...whether in reality, or a fantasy in my child-like brain – longing for someone to love me for me...not “friend” love, but parental love. And I remember feeling the loss of those attachments and logically I know that the relationship with the therapist is not the same – but I look back to that time well over a year ago when she took her support (as the 5 year old saw it) away and why should I let her back in? It’s a big trigger for me now....how do I make it “feel” different? I will never be anything more than a *client* to the therapist – she doesn’t *need* me, not in the way that I *needed* her then when she left me behind. And I can’t let myself feel any attachment to her now, not outwardly, no matter how much I long to connect with her *internally*.

I took a huge risk in trusting her...and even though she hasn’t technically left...it feels like she left anyway -that night – I remember standing on deck, standing in my basement, knowing I was going to die, just not knowing how.  And she did not have time for me.  She did not care then if I lived or died. "Pull it together until Monday, Grace.  I don't have time..."  I remember begging her to help me a week later – and I remember her voice was different, stern and clinical. Out came the list of *rules*. The 5 year old pushed the limit – the therapist had no more room for her, not anymore.

Years later, flipping through the television channels – I remember seeing Ginny Blake Webber again on a different soap opera. She still had the same dark curly hair, the same expressive blue eyes, the same voice, but she wasn’t Ginny anymore, she was someone else. Someone I knew from the past but not anymore....

I grew up in dangerous situations. I learned very early on how to read a person by just the sound of a voice. By the mere sound of my mother or step-father’s voice I would know how the night would turn out. I can tell where the therapist is too – by her words, her posture...and especially her voice. I can tell if she has time for me or if she thinks I am acting like a ‘petulant child’ simply by the way she says my name. Or even her name if I leave her a message and she calls me back.

I don’t know how to connect with her now...not in real life. I don’t know if I can trust her or if she will really be there for me when I need her...or if she will say my name, with an inflection at the end, which tells she does not have time for me... and once again tell me to deal with it.  So I won't take that calculated risk...I won't allow any reaching out for her...."in those moments of tempting the face of expected rejection/abandonment...make a different choice." 

It has been a horrible weekend!  I haven't left the house or even gotten dressed.  My hips and lower back ache - I have cramps, my head aches, and I keep having to run to the bathroom from waves of nausea and crying jags.  And I am fighting myself every minute ~ all day and all night....What would happen if I called the therapist righ now for help?  Would I hear an inflection in her voice indicating that she has no time for me?  And I know there is no way I can handle seeing the host body without her support.  I can't. 

What if the therapist doesn’t have room for me anymore?

Enter to the right ~ Exit to the left...for me there is no escape

Enter to the Right ~ and when you get scared ~  Exit stage Left...
For me there is no escape....
Front row seat into the life of Grace?

The movie that plays inside this theater is frightening and graphic.
You said you wanted to see "all" of Grace.
I tried to warn you...but you did not listen.
You said you wanted to see my pain.
You said you wanted to hear my sadness & fear.
You said you would not run or turn away from me.
Now you know...Now you have seen me and you have heard me....
Not "all" of me, but enough.
Too much for you.
Goodbye ~  You may now exit to the left...
Scared yet? You should be
Scared yet? You should be by GracefullyGrowing on Polyvore.com


The movie that plays inside this theater is frightening and graphic. 
I tried to warn you...but you did not listen. 
Now you know... You may now exit to the left...

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Someone slapped me in the *handbucket* last night and sent me to hell...

I got scared last night and went into flight mode. It started with a conversation and my fear of someone invading my personal space – and suddenly what little was left of my mental health quickly went to hell in a *handbucket*. (I hate my ‘significant other’ right now! I can’t deal with any of it!) By nightfall I am so exhausted and emotionally volatile that it doesn’t take much to send me right over the ledge and into any number of rooms in the pit of hell; each one perhaps a bit different, but equally detrimental to Grace.

The self destructive voice was strident and relentless last night. She and her friends stood in front of me each with a briefcase, the contents of which remained classified until I agreed to play the game: Deal or no Deal! The hostess with the mostest, this coy woman…she told me that I could either continue to writhe in pain, or I could sign the consent form and the game would begin…the ending of which would surely provide relief, at least temporarily. But it’s something.

And I am so ashamed that I have started to hear that voice again: What would happen if you took the whole bottle of seroquel– maybe chase it down with the vodka in the freezer? At least you would be able to get some sleep. It would calm you down if you did cut yourself. I don’t want to die – it’s not about that. It is about making it stop. It’s about stopping the crazy thoughts and voices in my head. It’s about killing the emotional and physical pain, not me. And I realize that sounds disordered and twisted. But last night, these were my thoughts. I did not act on those thoughts – nor do I intend too. But I am not always present with it happens...and it could happen. I need to figure out a way to keep this at bay at night - I don’t know what the answer is...but I do know what it is not.

I am not a fan of this! I am in a bad effing place right now. It feels like acid is burning through my flesh. It’s hard to hold on. The bad thoughts are back and I am inches away from grabbing a sharp instrument. I don’t want to hurt me. I want help and I want it to stop. But I don’t know where to find that right now.

The impending doom of the trip back east that is scheduled in 6 days ~ and other issues that seem to be out of my control right now have left me tangled in the seaweed while the tide crashes over me bringing harmful debris with it.

I need something – but I don’t know what.

Friday, November 13, 2009

I’d like a drink now...something that is guaranteed to numb my brain and knock me out!

So here it is…I am a shadow of Grace – a shadow of my former self- the Grace most people know and love. Certain parts of me that are so lacking now…energy, drive, stamina… I am so tired all the time. I have spent the past 2 months thinking I can outrun it. But I can’t. I can hide it away from everyone else but I can’t outrun it.

I don’t sleep anymore. The hus tells me I constantly whimper and cry in my sleeip.  And I wake up multiple times a night in the middle of a panic attack. I cannot sleep without being terrorized - I get that it’s irrational – and the logical side of my brain tells me that, but the paranoid side is tipping the scales these days…I am not in control really. All the drive and spirit and strength and determination that I used to have has been drained from me.

I feel crazy. I’m paranoid. I am anxious. I’m depressed. I am in the dark place every single night. I just need something to renew my courage and determination. But it just seems like everything is a temporary ray of sunshine in the darkness. Every night is scary...every night a potential set back into self injury hell.

I keep having these panic attacks...I feel dizzy and flushed – nausea that I try to breathe through so I don’t vomit. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere – and I have to stop in the middle of something, grab the wall and just try to breathe. It happens during the day too now not just at night, but I don’t tell anyone. I know I need help – but I can’t ask for help...I’m too embarrassed. This isn’t me. I don’t know who this is...she’s been around way too long – and that makes me scared that she is me forever.

I can't do this anymore tonight...the scary movies have started....Where are you? 



“Grace, what do you need right now?” 
Oh, right...what I need right now...in my “present moment”.
Oh demon bartender?
I’d like a drink now...something that is guaranteed to numb my brain and knock me out!

Wake me up when it's over...when he's gone away and taken everything, wake me up

Nother Friday night...another storm rolling in....

I’m not much of a present moment thinker…and I am not ready to face another Friday night! I am not ready for another weekend; especially one that includes snow and sub-zero weather. Thinking about another Friday night is like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun. I’m just waiting for the bullets to come….waiting for all of the pain to start once again ravaging my body. Im too tired. I don’t want it to be Friday.

I hate Fridays! I hate how I cannot sleep and sometimes that horrible torturous girl inside of me makes me relive it…I hate how my mind goes fuzzy and I can’t focus or concentrate or stay in my body. I hate how I wake up in front of the TV terrorized by some scary movie. I hate it! I hate being overwhelmed by the fear and the darkness. I hate the thunder and lightning that rage in my head!

It’s all part of the ‘journey’…everyone has their struggles and Friday nights are one of my biggest struggles. You can’t have a hill without a valley – and I’m in a valley right now. I’m just trying to grit my teeth and get through this one…just like the last one…

In the words of the great and powerful therapist: “Another Friday night will come and go, like tonight, and I will continue to hope that you will surf the waves of emotion and thought with patience and compassion. While I remain in "your bucket", I will know that you continue to muster the strength and motivation to stay with your journey and all the uncertainty, fear and anguish that it brings, despite how exhausting it is. I will carry you with me, even when that part of you feels a need to hide and "feel safe". I will continue to encourage you to find the courage to peek in and out of your preferred space to see that I am still around and you can connect with the world on your own terms.”

I personally think she’s much too comfortable in that damn bucket because she is really out of the loop on my ‘sufing’ capabilities….

Tonight, like the Friday nights of past…wake me up when it’s over…wake me up when it’s done…when he’s gone away and taken everything, wake me up…

Bubble, bubble...toil and trouble...it is at night when the fear bubbles over...

The fear I keep buried deep down inside....

Will I ever be free of this? Is it better to not know the challenges that lay ahead? If I did know would I be willing to face them, willing to take them on? I don’t know if I have that kind of strength.

All week I have had to hold back my tears, my stress, my emotions until I was alone, repeating to myself over and over again: Grace, don’t start crying tonight...you’ll never stop. Do not start crying tonight you will never stop. But last night it was too much. Memories from the past running together inside my head like someone splashed water on them, everything clear like a picture drawn on the sidewalk with chalk and then the rain starts and everything runs together. My head started to spin and I felt vomit begin to rise in the back of my throat. I thought I was going to be sick – it always feels so real, so “present moment” so tangible...and I feel so small and fragile...like I am going to break. I ran into the bathroom unable to breathe, thinking I was going to vomit, but only choked on sobs.

I can’t pick just one emotion to focus on because there are so many… I still feel the aching loneliness ... I feel angry... I feel disappointed in myself for mistakes I’ve made, for the set-backs I feel I’ve had now in therapy. I feel locked inside of myself... But mostly when I look back, I feel tired. I have been through so much. I could fill volumes of books with the hodgepodge of memories that haunt me repeatedly. It’s exhausting… and I feel like I’ve been sick for a long time. I’m tired… and I long to be free of all of this.

I often wonder how I ever got to be an adult...and yet I don’t really remember being a *child*.


...Happy Friday...

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Be one with the couch

Last night the therapist sent me an email that has left a lot of questions in my head....not many answers, just a lot of questions - none of which I'm sure she would be able to answer from the bucket; which, ironically, I think she likes being in the bucket - sure makes her job easier that way. 
Grace, I know that you are struggling with the fact that you "can't get me out of the bucket". I suspect that there is a reason why this needs to be right now, so try not to be impatient with yourself, even if you are uncertain as to why this is. I know that there is a whole lot of emotion, pain, turmoil and fear behind the humor, sarcasm and apparent confidence when I last saw you. I also know that you are working hard at soothing the parts of you at night that feel overwhelmed, alone and afraid. Remember that your desire to feel "in control" is one way you have found to help you feel strong and safer....as fears of vulnerability or feelings becoming out of control continue to rise and fall. This too is ok. Let yourself honor and seek to understand what the renovated "wall" has to serve you and how you can work with it in your own way and time. .....The Therapist
If Grace were to reply, she won't, but if she were, the reply might look something like this:
Dear Therapist,
You and I have worked together nearly 4 years and I am still living most nights in fear, crying until I'm so exhausted I fall into a restless sleep full of nightmares.  And you are now telling me to "be patient"?  You ‘suspect’ there is a reason why you’re in the bucket and I should leave you there? Hum…perhaps because that’s what your preference is too – it is sure easier for you if I leave you in the bucket and NEVER reach out to you for help, huh? It’s so much easier to sit and chat about flavored coffee and gingerbread cookies while the clock ticks away the 50 minutes…and then I get to go home and find myself in the pit of hell because I can’t breathe and I’m panicked and afraid I might die? Oh, don’t worry, I did actually reach out to a friend – and she doesn’t want to be thrown into the slop bucket so she helped me calm down so I could at least breathe – although the fear and crying continued…But at least it all happens at night and not your office where you would have actually had to “witness” it – funny, my friend and I – we have been able to be there for each other…I can help her and she can help me…Yes, I would say that’s what a “relationship” is called – although I don’t think I would say the same thing about “OUR” (yes, you and I) relationship.

But I should leave you in the bucket and be patient? Shall I use the *patience meter* you used when you were cramming DBT down my throat due to my SI Bx? Because you were sure quick to jump on the “Shut up and drug up” and “Shut up and behave” train then, huh? Now that you have no clue what is going on for me…well, other than the fact that I don’t like gingerbread cookies…things must feel much more calm and peaceful for you in your present moment, huh?  Don't worry I would never bother you with the HELL I live in every night - it would 'interfere' with your "present moment" and I surely wouldn't want that!

Yes, there is a reason why you’re in the bucket! Aside from the fact that you want to be in there so you don’t have to deal with me…maybe the “needs” this is meeting are YOURS. Nearly 4 years ago you tried so hard to help me tear down the wall…but now it seems like you were just eager to rebuild it – and ensure it is reinforced. Exactly how is this going to “serve” me? Your last sentence: Let yourself honor and seek to understand what the renovated "wall" has to serve you and how you can work with it in your own way and time.” I think you forgot to add: But leave me the hell out of it! Come back when you want to talk about cookies and milk – not any of the shit you deal with at night.

See, what I am doing right now ~~~ Starving myself in hopes of disappearing so he can’t hurt me anymore at night - (yeah, got it – not nearly thin enough to worry about yet – but it is a goal of mine – I've done it before and I'll do it again.Because you know what a ‘petulant child’ (your words) I can be!)of course you don't want to hear about that!…And at night when I’m afraid and lost – and fighting the one who wants to hurt me – fighting and fighting with the 5 year old and the teenager – trying to hide from him….THIS ISN’T WORKING! Particularly since you do not seem to even WANT to help me – just stay in your comfortable little bucket – where you hear no evil, speak no evil, or see no evil from Grace…

Oh, yes, I am feeling SSSOOOO much stronger and safer now…I am bathed in strength! NO! You just don’t care to hear about the rest of it! You do NOT know how “hard” I am working – nor do you want to know! You don’t want to hear that I do not even feel alive. I am not even real – the “real” me does not even exist anymore! There is just the perfect little shell of a stepford woman who is living for everyone else! I am just going through the motions, being the perfect little cheerleader – if my own THERAPIST doesn’t want to hear about any of this, or help me with it – why the hell would anyone else???? Just shove it all away and deal with it on your own, Grace. AYE AYE- Oh, Captain, my captain. No, this “too” is NOT okay! And if you don’t want to help me, or even try to connect or break down the wall – then why the hell am I wasting my time sitting on your uncomfortable ratty couch week after week?

NO! I DESERVE BETTER! And if you can’t help me, than stay in the bucket forever and don’t tell me you KNOW or I need to HONOR feeling DEAD and FAKE….because I want to live! And NOT LIKE THIS! I do not want to die!  And I cannot continue to 'be patient' for the next 4 years, suffering with no relief, because it will once again lead to self-injury or sui attempts.  Or maybe you don't care about that either as long as it doesn't interfere with your 'present moments' in the bucket?


And as far as your “exposure” therapy goes – I am scared of spiders – ALL spiders – terrified – and I’ve been “exposed” to them for over 38 years…still scared! Are there any cockroaches in your bucket? – I could toss some in for you, you know, for “exposure” therapy.

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? No - because you are comfortably seated behind the brick wall!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

...it hurts ~ these things I'll never forget...

My memories make me wince
Push it away you had me convinced
But it all comes out in the blink of an eye
Can you see the pain reflected in my eyes
I'm tired of feeling weak inside
My soul dies every day
Because the pain inside refuses to go away
Why did this have to happen?
Why couldn't my past have stayed a phantom?
Beaten down into submission
Unable to ignore~ I'm  forced to listen
Pain I now know all too well
I can't claw my way out of hell
A deep hidden fear of darkness and sleep
Little girl rocks, shakes and then weeps
The ghosts they visit me in my dreams
I awake to the sound of my own silent screams
It Hurts

It does not bother me that my mask hides my thoughts, my emotions...

What bothers me is I have forgotten how to remove the mask....

Yesterday when I met with the therapist, I thanked her for not forgetting to email me as she said she would (3x/week).  I guess that's part of the whole "consistency" thing - I get that it would have been difficult for her to forget, previously, since I would email her at least once a day - but I can't know.  She didn't tell me I can't email her - but I just can't.  But she still hasn't forgotten - I guess she has a reminder set in her calendar that pops up: "WARNING WARNING - Don't forget to email Grace!  She will self destruct in 3-2-1..."  (Petulant child!)

I told her I can't email her because she's in the bucket - she didn't even act like that was the strangest thing she had even heard that day.  But I really miss emailing her...it feels like this big communication gap that was once filled with words and thoughts is now just...empty.   In email I could tell her things... in writing... that I could not speak about - or at least not bring up, in session.  For example, yesterday I desperately wanted to talk about last Friday incident with the hus...and also the fact that the word  NO has suddenly disappeared from my vocabulary.  And lots of other stuff.... 

And when I was emailing her then she would know *where I was* (so to speak) and could respond based on that.  I don't know...It made me feel connected in a way - and now I don't feel that.  Yesterday, when I walked into her office it didn't feel like I was walking into "dear therapist's" office. the woman who I've worked with for nearly 4 years... It felt like i was walking into someone's office I don't know, someone I don't feel comfortable with or trust...

And that mask that I wear - the one that hides all my true feelings and emotions...IRL, the one I used to be able to take off when she and I emailed or met at her office.  Well, I can't remove that mask now - anywhere but "here" out in anon blogland...

The wall that was slowly torn down, brick by painful brick, over the course of the past 3 1/2 years...has been rebuilt - with steel reinforcements, protecting the vulnerable Grace, the fearful Grace, the sad and lonely Grace.  It's a beautiful wall...and it does it's job well; but the "Graces" behind that wall....they are the "Grace" behind the mask.  The mask DT and I worked so hard to remove....it's back now, more stubborn than ever. 

***SIGH*** I don't know what to do now.    I am terribly lonely and scared at night now.  And I don't know how to change it.  Because I'm behind that wall too...and I don't know how to climb over it, or under it...I don't know how to even begin tearing it down again, or if it's even possible.  But I do know that I cannot continue to struggle night after night (especially nights like last night when I am screaming and crying and rocking)  I can't do it much longer without the ability or trust to reach out to someone who is supposed to help me.

And *THIS* right now - 'this' isn't working for me....and I have to find something that will....

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

I'm so scared! I need DT to hold my hand tonight...

I have so many things swirling around in my head right now – SO many feelings I cannot even begin to name. I feel safer writing than sitting and I am unable to talk about them. I am living in crippling fear…unable to sleep, unable to eat…and fighting with everything inside of me to get through each night. And it’s too much tonight…so much I want to talk, there’s so much to say…but she won’t let me talk. I’m scared. It’s overwhelming me tonight, I cannot breathe and I am poised and ready for flight now.


Nights like tonight…there have been a lot of them…I would reach out to DT and beg her to help me, just to get through this moment…and she would comfort me and tell me that I am okay…but I can’t hear her now. I know I should be able to do this. I am an adult…but I don’t feel like an adult. I feel like a scared little girl- living for others at the expense of my own needs.

I want DT to hold my hand tonight because it is crushing me and I am afraid…

I need it to stop for awhile. I can throw it all in a bucket during the day and I can dazzle the world…so why does it have to hurt so bad at night? Why can’t I make it stop? It's like a pressure cooker...and I can 'contain' it and deflect, and divert attention, but it is bubbling over tonight and scalding me!
What happened? I just want to be okay…I just want it to stop.

I am not afraid of the dark anymore

I remember as a child
I wanted a nightlight because the darkness was frightening and forbidding
But then you showed me that there are more terrifying things than darkness

I remember as a child
I used to pull the covers up at night glaring at the closet afraid of the boogey man
My small body would tremble as I waited in the darkness…certain that an ominous presence was watching
But then you taught me that there are things more evil than the boogie man
… and they don't hide in closets

I remember as a child
Walking in the rain and the sight of a small slug, slimy and slick on the sidewalk was enough to paralyze me in disgust
But then I was left alone with you and I discovered that there are things much more disgusting than a slug

You left me in the dark with no light switch
You taught me to watch for monsters in the daylight
You held my face so I couldn't escape
You were the thief in the night stealing from me what I didn't know I had
Robbing me of the entitlement of innocence, feelings of safety and trust

Labeled a "survivor",
You left your oppressive sun burning in my sky
But at least I'm not afraid of the dark anymore

Silent all these years...

My mouth opens but nothing comes out....I am not sure why but I am unable to speak now. 

Instead the willful arrogant one shows you her face ~ the one you call 'petulant'.  You do not understand how much pain there is inside of this body, how could you, when the parts who hold the pain are no longer allowed to speak to you.  Instead the ill-tempered one talks; you find her to be 'annoying' and peevish, in fact, it seems as though she feels the need to be on defense all the time.  She is contempuous in her behavior shielding any feelings of vulnerability from you with her supercilious speech.  

She stands behind the wall that has been rebuilt between you and her and the wall is made of brick, the mortar solid and unforgiving.   If you could see behind the icy blue of her eyes as they tell you confidently that she is doing well…if you could see behind her, you would be able to see that all is not okay. You would be able to see that she is not a petulant child, but rather a frightened girl, teenager, woman. You would be able to see that the arrogance and cockiness of her speech and stance, her willfulness…is a defense tactic.  If you could see behind the brick wall you would see that she feels like she has tumbled backwards and she has lost her voice.  

BEHIND THE WALL:
She is not defensive...she is scared.
She is not petulant...she is guarded.
She is not confident...she is uncertain.

If you could see behind the wall, you could see that she waited years for someone to come into her life and tell her that it was okay to tear down that wall.  Behind the wall she chokes back tears of sadness and shakes in fear.  Behind the wall she hides in dark corner...afraid she has now become one more casualty in this bloody war as she struggles to once again find her voice.