Good Enough

Fight like a girl!

2011-12-12T14:48:00.001-07:00

It was Christmastime and I carefully untied the pink ribbon from box and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in pink tissue paper were two tank tops. My friends looked at me and smiled as I lifted the first one out and held it up. It was light pink and on the front were a pair of red boxing gloves and written in black script was the phrase, "Fight like a girl." the other tank was white with a red post it note on the front and the post it note said, "To do - kick cancer's ass.". I looked at my friends and returned their smiles.

"We thought you could wear them to chemo." they had them made especially for me. They are such good friends. I am blessed...well, except for the cancer thing, and the PTSD thing, and the history of child abuse, no parents- but hey - we all have our "issues", don't we! And you cannot go to chemo without the right t-shirt!

I can fight. I have had to fight my entire life. When you're born into a family where you're not wanted, and, in fact, hated and abused, you learn how to fight. There were times I fought myself...beat myself up just because. I spent the last few years trying to find some peace from the internal fighting. Now...now another internal fight was beginning. But fight cancer? I was really good at kicking my own ass- an expert really...but kick cancer's ass? How?

That was last Christmas...I'm still fighting...

Back in the hospital...major PTSD triggers!

2011-04-09T17:46:00.002-06:00

And…I’m in the hospital. And…I currently have more platelets dripping into my veins – which, depending upon your view – look like cloudy pee or cloudy lemonade. And I’m sure that once the new platelets enter my body, they will either wither and die or join the existing platelet union and do nothing or work when they want –but I highly doubt they will “be fruitful and multiply” if you’re picking up what I’m laying down.

Last night I was allowed two doses of ambien and a percocet for my sleeplessness and pain; to which I said, “I accept!” graciously and I slept for five straight hours (which I barely remember) – and then went back to sleep until…well I dunno – I’ve been basically sleeping off and on all day and the clock is about to strike 3pm. I was thinking (okay – it was “suggested”) I eat something – but upon detailed scrutiny of the “room service” menu – there isn’t one thing that sounds good, or even decent – so I dunno how that’ll work out –besides they don’t even have wine suggestions on the menu…hello!

My favorite time of the day is when the docs ask me how I “feel”. It’s funny in that they don’t care…but also in that I’m all sick and cancery looking and they’re all, “how are you ffeeeelllliiinnngggg this morning?” Hello! How do you think I feel? But I’ve been fever free all day today and my platelet count is up to 44 – yay me. So “keep up the good work and that means chemo will resume on Monday.” Again…yay me.

I have to say I’ve come to the conclusion that hair is way over-rated. For real – I mean it’s really high maintenance and think of the time and money you save when you don’t have to do your hair or use mascara or any of that…I could spend a hundred bucks easy on hair spray and mousse and gel….. And summer is coming up – haven’t you ever wanted to shave your head because it gets so hot out? Add to that ‘chemically induced’ menopause hot flashes - and I really think I'm getting the better end of the deal here.

My gramma used to wear a lot of scarves. Every day she wore a silk scarf – mostly to keep the wind from blowing her hair, she would wrap them around her head and tie them under her chin. I have only one of her scarves, a blue one, and I don’t know what happened to the rest. I’ve been wearing it a lot the past week because it reminds me of her and makes me feel closer to her. When I feel like I can’t get through one more minute of this I touch the cool soft blue silk on my head and I think of her and I imagine her here with me , singing to me like she used to when I was a child in the hospital with recurrent kidney problems.

I haven’t spoken to the therapist in over two weeks. I have been vacillating between being terrified and wanting her to save me to being angry at her for continued miscommunications. Cancer sucks…it sucks even more when you feel alone and have a mental disorder from past abuse that screams at you never to trust or depend on anyone to “be there” for you – for you will surely only be deserted again. She sent me an email last night saying she would call me tomorrow to touch base since we haven't spoken or seen each other in a couple of weeks, but I don't know if I'm prepared to talk to her. The whole 'attachment' fear is looming again...

The past week of invasive medical procedures has left me raw and edgy and I imagine I would be headed toward the mental floor after being dismissed from the oncology unit were it not for the continued dosing of Ativan. PTSD triggers lurk around every corner in the hospital and my phobia of being touched and severe physical boundary issues are becoming difficult to manage.

Thank you – to all of you who emailed me, text, called…etc…I’m sorry I haven’t responded. I’ve been overwhelmed, self-absorbed, whacked out on meds, too depressed, afraid to reach out – and more! The lottery of bullshit feelings and emotions of the ‘mental patient’… I’m still feeling all of those things – and I don’t know when (or if) it will get better. Those of you who know me well know I spend way too much time in my head ~ thinking…and when the time comes to talk about what it is I’m thinking about, or how I’m feeling, I’m just too exhausted to talk about it. Some days it’s too much to face – and I know that ultimately, I’m the only one who can “face” this …

Love to all ~ G.

Of all the things I've lost...I miss my eyelashes the most

2011-04-05T22:31:00.009-06:00

I was supposed to start a new round of chemo yesterday but I'm sick, so, as the soup nazi would say, "No chemo for you!" Each time a chemo treatment gets pushed back I feel a sense of bitter-sweetness because it's poison, yet I know it's poison that is meant to kill the disease that's trying to kill me, so I'm caught in a paradox...I hate it - but yet I hate it when it's postponed too.

Everything is so unpredictable and nothing is the same as it was...I feel old and tired and I'm not yet 40. Today I was talking to a couple of friends of mine who were visiting with me; I was feeling down about my physical appearance and I jokingly said, "Of all the things I've lost I miss my eyelashes the most..." I have like 4 eyelashes left! One of my friends, "the fixer" quickly rushed to my aid, offering to bring in fake eyelashes, wish some glue and some mascara she could fix me up as good as new! My other friend, very practical, told me that my eyelashes will grow back. True nuff...but so can the cancer.

I don't know what's wrong with me right now. It's late and I'm tired but I can't sleep. I have so much to be thankful for and here I am in the darkness of the night complaining about the fact that the chemotherapy has stolen my eyelashes. That sounds pretty stupid, doesn't it? It's just that I *feel* bad right now. I know it will pass but it's here now - the fear and the sadness - perched right next to me, uninvited guests to the surprise pity party.

My body has changed beyond recognition over the past 6 months. The original structure is still there - but it's as though a tornado has ripped through and demolished much of it.

I have been searching but I am unable to find any peace tonight.

This too shall pass

2011-04-02T10:43:00.002-06:00

Or will it…

This time last year when I would become overwhelmed with feelings and emotions I would cut myself or drink myself into a dissociative state. There were times I would wake up in a pool of blood and not know how it happened. Friday nights were the worst night of the week for me because more than twenty years later I would still play out the same scenario of abuse over and over again. I couldn’t get through a Friday night without hurting myself – most of the time I didn’t realize it was even happening.

I never learned how to sit with my feelings or even “feel” them – or allow them – and know that they would eventually pass – no matter what they were. When I would fall into the pit of despair it felt like I would never climb out…all that has changed now. I don’t know why so I can’t explain it. I still have the same emotions, the same thoughts – there are times I’m still depressed, and I still want to hurt myself – but I haven’t. Not since I was diagnosed with ‘the cancer’.

They say a cancer diagnosis changes your life. It’s true. Since I was diagnosed with cancer my life has changed dramatically. I have an incurable, but ‘treatable’, form of blood cancer. My life now is so different from what it was a year ago I don’t even recognize it. My life is now chemotherapy and cancer centers and hospitals and fighting to live and not die. I look back on my life now and I want those days, weeks, years back. But I can’t have them… I only have right now.

I hear people say cancer is a gift and they’re thankful for having cancer. I’m not thankful for cancer. Having cancer sucks. I am being attacked by from the inside out. I’ve spent more time in the hospital in the past 6 months than the previous 38 years. Chemotherapy is poison and the side effects are severe and frightening; fatigue, nausea/vomiting, weight loss, hair loss, neutropenia. Cancer takes from you your pride, your energy, your confidence. It’s not much different than the abuse of the past: cancer can bring people together and tear people apart.

Last week I learned that my best chance for surviving this is a stem cell transplant and even then the cancer will most likely eventually come back. That’s the reality. Yesterday I spent hours crying on the bathroom floor, and then I got angry and threw a water bottle at the wall and screamed, “why me” into a pillow. Last night I was unable to sleep as my cancer ridden body tries to fight off another infection and I alternate between sweating and chills.

This morning my pelvis, hips, back, and chest are throbbing in excruciating pain as my body tries to produce white blood cells in mass quantities…wow! That hurts. But the sun is shining and I am blessed to have family and friends who reach out with love and support and truly make days like yesterday bearable. I don’t know what today will bring, what the future will hold, or if I will even have one – yesterday wasn’t a good day, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid, but I’ve already been to hell and back, cancer obviously didn’t get the message…I will win…every time.

It's back again

2011-03-16T17:15:00.000-06:00

It’s back again ~ that uninvited feeling.
It never asks if it’s welcome.

It just comes back again and again, that feeling of absolute hopelessness.
It wells up inside of you, consumes you, you try to hide it, but you can’t.
The darkness shows in the shallow tears that fill your wretched blue eyes.
The hollow despair is visible in the sardonic smile that sits heavily on your face.
You wonder why it’s there…
You wonder if it will ever end…
You want to scream and cry and rant and rave!
You want to run away. You want out of this life! You want a better one!
A life without all of these tears! A life without the fears!
You want a life without pain and disillusionment…
One with love and not lies…
But there is no out.
So you sit…and you wait…
And it hurts…and it’s lonely…
And there’s pain and there’s fear
Because there is no out…
There’s only ‘this’…

The end of my world as I knew it

2011-03-06T15:50:00.000-07:00

Hello? Is there anybody out there? Just nod if you can hear me…is there anyone (still) home. Okay – enough with the Pink Floyd already. So if no one is out there – I understand since it’s been, oh, just over four months since my last post here. Wow – I feel like I should re-introduce myself, something like, Hi, I’m Grace, I’m a mental patient, and it’s been just over four months since I last wrote here on my blog. Not that anyone has been searching for me, or even read my blog…I dunno…but it was cathartic to write, so I’m hoping that will be the case today, too. We’ll see…

So, here goes…

This is hard to write – probably why it’s gone unwritten for four months. I started writing this blog as a way to write about my mental health *worries* and *therapy* troubles, and “stuff”. Well, “stuff” has evolved. “Stuff” has taken the form of a plama cell gone wrong and evolved into cancer. Yeah, the last post I wrote, when I said something wasn’t right, well, something was very wrong. Nine days after I wrote that last post, I was diagnosed with cancer, bone marrow cancer.

Did you know that they now tell you that stuff over the phone? Talk about crazy? I was driving when I got the call…on my way to my office! And the doctor was all, “Um, yeah, Grace, we got your test results back, and there is cause for concern.” Yes, he said “cause for concern”. There was no, “Are you in a place where you can talk?” or anything like that, he was just calling to “deliver the news: Congratulations, you are the proud new owner of bone marrow cancer: Go, Fight, Win! Okay, he was more diplomatic than that, I joke…but seriously, you tell someone over the phone they have cancer? So after the doctor tells me that I will need to be referred to a hematologist oncologist, and he’ll have the nurse call me with some referrals… I somehow make it to my office and close the door.

My ears are ringing and I think I may vomit but I don’t. I sit down and put my head down because nothing feels real and my first thought was: I need my grandma. But my grandmother is dead so I can’t call her. I started to call a friend of mine but suddenly everything felt so loud and overwhelming I hung up before she answered. What was I going to say to her anyway – I couldn’t say the word cancer out loud and I didn’t want to sound needy and pathetic. Or afraid.

So I called the therapist. She knew I had been having health problems, she knew I had been having tests done, she wouldn’t be surprised to hear fear in my voice, and I didn’t know who else to call. It was the middle of the afternoon and I didn’t expect her to answer the phone anyway. I could leave her a voicemail and try to compose myself to speak coherently by the time she called me back. She answered. I tried to squeak out the words, “I have cancer.” I don’t know how successful I was since she kept asking me to speak louder…slower. Finally I told her that I would email her and we hung up.

It’s funny, looking back, as I write this now, tears welling in my eyes, it feels as though I am reliving it again. You never know the day you’re world will change forever, it’s a day that starts out as any other day; you get up, tired from not getting enough sleep, shower quickly, dress the kids and get them off to school. You check your calendar as you stand in line at starbucks and nod your head when offered that extra shot of expresso…you need an extra kick to get through this day, for sure. And then in the middle of the day your phone rings and your life takes a dramatic change when you learn you have a rare bone marrow cancer. And what you thought was *body-memories* (pelvic/hip pain) for the past two years, wasn’t “all in your head” it was really plasma cells in your bone marrow are on a rampage; multiplying and squeezing out your red blood cells, it was cancer ravaging your body, in real life, not memories of your step-father ravaging your body from when you were a child.

Quietly Ill

2010-11-01T15:25:00.000-06:00

I think something is very wrong with me. Yes, logic and all the villagers and the people ‘IRL’ surrounding me tell me otherwise…And I am only one while you are many… Who to believe? Who to believe? I know who I WANT to believe – but I also know I am the only one living in my body – and I am the only one who knows how it feels to live in this body right now.

And the truth is I am dreadfully ill something like 20 hours a day – and even after being saturated in medications for a month to kill the bacteria in my body that isn’t supposed to be there…I am still not getting any better. And there is rarely a night that passes that I don’t have a serious thoughts of going to the hospital emergency room…and multiple times when I have gone.

‘The Docs’ want me to see yet another “specialist”… because they have no-clue-what-else-to-do – and I’m running out of brave.

But I also realize it does me no good to complain about it. Complaining doesn’t make me feel any better and it only leaves the people around me feeling helpless and sorry for me which then puts them into a position of wanting to either protect me or try to *fix* me and my ‘sickness’ and they can’t. They can physically wrap their bodies around mine, but their barriers offer little protection from the raging sickness that is on the inside of me; which leaves them frustrated and helpless when they are unable to to fix me.

So….I have been staying quiet –rather than complain – which is why I haven’t been around…

I knew you’d understand.

Abby-Normal

2010-10-06T17:48:00.000-06:00

You don’t have to read this or comment. I just need to get this out.

Today I asked the doc for a printout of all my blood work…you know so I could pretend to be a doctor and obsess over all the numbers…I’m a numbers gal! Especially since the apparently my blood is as depressed as I am. It’s probably not a good idea for a hypochondriac to have the detail of her own blood work…which I knew even as the words were coming out of my mouth…as usual I could not stop them. I took the paper, looked at it, folded it, put it away…took it back out when I got into my car and looked at it again and quickly put it away, briefly thought about shredding it when I got home, but did not…because its ‘abnormal’…because I’m ‘abnormal’.

I’ve been sick so much of my life that it’s almost a joke. “Sickly”…chronic kidney infections, utis, strep, ear infections, fevers, colds, pneumonia, 5 miscarriages – 2 that were quite serious second trimester mc’s. Then all the other “stuff” stomach issues, insomnia, back pain, hip pain, headaches…. Really – it is a joke here at my house…the hus is, “You’re always sick!” Everyone stay away from mom – she’s sick again.” The 11 year old, “Make sure we have sierra mist and yellow gatorade cuz that’s what she likes to drink when she throws up.” The 8 year old draws me cards and pictures, “I love you…Hang in there…Feel better soon.” I swear I’m Beth from Little Women. Sometimes I think I should have died a long time ago, or that soon whatever it is in my body that makes me so sick will finally just kill me.

I KNOW it’s just the “raging” infection talking here (that’s probably who’s been talking for about the last week) but right now I don’t have much else.

And when I get sick, like really sick, like I am right now…I get scared. Like “child” scared. And when people start saying things like, “You need to take care of yourself, Grace.” Or worse, “Well, I’m not surprised your sick…you don’t take care of yourself.” A tornado of confusion and fear begins swirling around inside…of course we should be able to do something so simple. Of course you should judge a 39 year old woman with a master’s degree in finance who cannot do something so simple as to take care of her own body and prevent herself from getting sick, for heaven sake that is such a simple task…Gawd Grace you are such a stupid girl!! And we feel judged…judged and criticized and hopeless. And because of the judgment being passed – there is so much anger. It is RAGING inside of me, ripping me apart. (Again, I apologize for the incoherent psychotic trash talk ranting in the previous post).

But I am so tired of being judged because I cannot do that which I was never taught. And because of the criticism and the judgment I would rather die than reach out for help. (Not that anyone has offered to help) I would rather starve to death than beg for food. I can take care of myself! Obviously…I have proven that to be the case. I am thriving (in bacteria-as it is raging through my bloodstream).

I hurt…all over. I hurt from exhaustion after weeks of not being able to fall asleep until after 3 or 4am. I hurt from the physical wounds and the mental pain. I hurt. I hurt from thinking, ’it cannot get any worse than this Grace, so stay still, hold on tight, it won’t get worse’…but then it does.

Yes, the world still turns today– but my world stopped…My soul withered as demons took hold of my being and twisted it like a dirty wet rag. And God- right now I miss my gramma so much my chest literally aches from the void of her.

And I am still really, really sick.

Too tired to think of a clever title

2010-10-04T07:34:00.000-06:00

The truth: I’m tired…and sick.. I’ve spent the majority of this week feeling truly awful but haven’t been able to actually “feel” truly awful because my boss (my dear sweet boss who I adore and respect) was in town on a project and I have worked no less than 14 hours a day every day…this week – until today, when I snuck out of the office after my last conference call ended at 3pm -but my first call started at 7am – so it’s not like it wasn’t a full day. I haven’t spent much time on the computer at all- well, that’s not exactly true, I’ve spent hours and hours on the computer but it’s been on spreadsheets analytical crap that is my work world and no time writing here –or reading any of my friends updates.

So – well, awesome – the pendulum has swung me right back here to this space tonight, so pull up a chair, couch, pillow…whatever – bring a glass of water, wine, milk, jose quervo (he’s still on my shit-list from the still not forgotten smashed foot incident but you may still partake – I won’t be offended) cuz apparently I’m in a mood tonight (or so I’ve been told).

Gosh, where to start…You totally missed my bitching and moaning about the physical shit that doesn’t seem to go away, right? Well, say no more! No more migraines – but now I have this constant pressure in the front of my head. It’s not a migraine…it’s literally like the front of my skull is being pushed from the inside out. Nothing alleviates the pain and it is there 24/7. (go on, Grace, that can’t be all…) No, that isn’t all…the hip pain – still there! And add to it a sharp pain in my left hip bone several times a day like someone taking a knife and stabbing me with it. Like suck in your breath – sharp pain. Major stomach issues…like redecorate the bathroom I’m bored issues- nuff said. I think I have a serious infection on a wound I don’t really remember inflicting. Wah, wah, wah, bitch, bitch, bitch, oh…I nearly forgot – moan!

Last week I broke in a way I’ve not broken before. The prior week I sent an email to my boss alerting him to my distress by simply saying, “I’m about done.” This week I said, in a professional way, “I quit.” Because I am too tired… I am tired of being strong. I am tired of smiling through the shit and doing more! With less! And doing it better! I’m tired of taking on the burdens and trying to sell it to the staff like it’s a fucking rainbow and building them up while it is k-i-l-l-i-n-g me. I’m tired of all of it! Tired-tired-tired! And what did bossy do Grace? He gave me a pep talk, reminded me of my successes, and how I “set the bar” and then he left for the store (probably to renew his xanax prescription) and then called me and offered to buy me starbucks…we’ll talk later. (? When hysterical female calms down and regains her senses and realizes what she is saying) I was talking to my friend L and I was telling her how I feel bad for bossy because he doesn’t look well. He looks so tired and just worn down…and then I laughed and told her that he was probably thinking the same thing about me. I do feel bad…he devotes so much of his life to his job and he’s so knowledgeable and compassionate and great to work with – and I don’t think he gets the respect he deserves. And L said, “It’s funny how you always have so much compassion for other people but none for yourself.” “Well,” I said back to L, giving her the Grace death glare, “That ‘s because I don’t really care about myself.” (Like she doesn’t already know that.) “Fine,” L said, “Then if you care so much about bossy, think about how your leaving will stress him out.” I just continued to give her the Grace death glare, but it doesn’t seem to have quite the impact it used to (note to self – work on new death stare). L continues, “I know you want to go off on me, so go ahead…” No, L…I’m way too tired…and it’s really not even important to me anymore. I don’t care enough to fight about it.

Ohmygod – I am not well….I can’t keep up…I plug one leak and another has sprung somewhere else – my crazybrain has never bled into my career before…it’s tiring. I’m forever waiting for a “better day”. Tomorrow I will feel better….Tomorrow will be a better day….What if tomorrow never comes? Like I said to bossy-m… I’m about done.

SCREAM!

2010-09-12T22:36:00.000-06:00

I am currently hanging on to my sanity by the barest threads, doing everything in my power to ignore the tightness in my neck and the pain behind my eyes and my back and hips which are screaming at me as I TRY NOT TO FREAK OUT RIGHT NOW AFTER NO SLEEP FOR OVER 48 HOURS!!! Internal terror! And I. am. Going. Insane! I have a strong will. Yes, I am quite willful! I am sitting on the floor. And rocking. And my body is screaming. And I cannot get warm.

I am trying to slow my breathing. I am trying to calm myself down. I am trying to remember where I am. I am trying to figure out where I am. I am trying to know that I am safe. I am trying to keep myself safe. I am trying to keep myself safe. I am trying to keep myself alive. I am trying to stay alive. I am trying to keep breathing. I am trying to breathe.

But it is still this moment, right now, this frightful moment, and all I can do is just try to live through it.

I press a pillow to my face and scream.

I can't cope

2010-09-11T13:53:00.009-06:00

I’ve been fighting. Fighting, struggling, lashing out at the faceless, formless thing that chases me ever since I can remember. I’m so very angry now, tonight, all day, for two weeks – technically a lifetime…whatever. Angry and tired, I sit with my hands on my knees and my head bent, rocking…weak but wishing to be strong; held captive but wishing to be free; alone and afraid, wishing for comfort and courage.

I am sad as hell and I have no one in real life to talk to because no one cares or understands and whatever I know that it’s my “fault” that I don’t have the support system in place when I am in dire need of it…which would be now. I know that I suck. Got. It. I am a bit on the ‘not-lucid’ side tonight and a tad drunky so the shield that blocks the unbecoming *Grace you made me blush and gasp* at the same time…that shield…well, it seems to have disappeared with the last shot of vodka so I guess I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of me or my lack of ladylike skills in prose or behavior. Come on, ya’ll, I grew up in a trailor park! Fuck was probably my first word!

Oh – I feel like I should put a disclaimer here…one that states WARNING: this post will contain a LOT of swearing and probably not make a lot of sense cuz the logical Grace left a while ago and will likely not be back till daybreak so you're stuck with me, the un-polished part.

There is a part inside who has been researching how to die…quickly and painlessly. Last Friday it was an overdose of medication (I won’t say what med it was because it is now in the past and I don’t need some well intended person yelling at me OH MY GOD THAT COULD KILL YOU in all caps - sometimes we are still in quite a fragile state. I write this because I feel like those of you who have been a part of this journey with me should know what’s going on. This is what’s going on: I do not feel better. I do not have a good support in place here. Shame. On. Us. We have not done a good job at getting this done. I have continued to pretend like everything is fine when there everything is so very *un-fine*. *not-fine*…so very opposite of fine.

I can’t cope with the frustration and invalidation tonight. I can’t cope with the screaming. I am not coping at all. I’ve tried. I can’t. I am struggling right now, tonight, to make it minute to minute. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I feel like I am fighting a losing battle and I have no coach. And I do not feel better.

Help me, I am dying

2010-09-07T21:31:00.001-06:00

I internalized all the bad things they said to me. I hear them, I feel them. But I don’t feel the good. That’s it in a nutshell. I watch the “good” Grace from outside of this body and I don’t know her, I don’t see her as part of me. I have no idea who she is even though she is “me”. Instead I carry around this sense of ‘badness’ that was drilled into my head for so many years: You are bad. You will never be anything. You are worthless. You are an evil whore. You are unlovable. No one will ever care about you. And I see that as the “real” Grace. I believed those things and I built walls to keep people out so they would not see the “real” me…the badness.

But I still see that girl. She is five, eight, ten, twelve…they are still inside me, screaming in pain, yelling at me to help them and here I am 25 years later, standing here alone with all of these girls so wounded and afraid and I am unable to help them. All of this pain from recent years has shattered me, ghosts haunt me, and I realize just how much hurt I never let go of. Every night takes me back to the most painful times in that girl’s life and I see just how little I have recovered from the destruction they left behind – the wreckage that was supposed to be me! All of the pain, all of the baggage they put on me, forced me to carry, it is too heavy! And I am so tired.

I plead with them at night, “Please don’t be like this…” And it is so frustrating because I don’t know how to make them be any other way. Every night I feel like I am trapped behind this one-way mirror and I can see everyone but no one can see me. And I am screaming for help but no one hears me. No one sees me. No one will help me manage them and I have no idea how to do it on my own. I feel diminutive and insignificant in a way that feels simply dreadful and it makes me feel worthless. I feel a bit like I don’t exist. I watch and listen and look and I am pleading…please help me…please see me here…but they don’t.

I know that’s not true. I know that can’t be true. People care about me, people love me, want to be with me, offer me help, try to get me to talk to them, but no one really SEES me. No one sees beyond the obvious projection of who I *appear* to be and into my shattered heart and deep into my soul. No one really knows her and that is what makes it feel so extraordinarily lonely, that’s what pushes me over the edge of the cliff and into the darkness…falling, falling, falling…and there’s no one to catch me. Where is everybody? Where are you? I can’t see the bottom and it’s so black and cold and I’m so afraid… but I have to believe that there is someone down there in the darkness that is strong enough to catch me because I’m not strong enough to catch myself. Because I am not strong enough to say out loud, “Please take my hand and help me, I am dying.”

And of course now I am crying and can barely see the computer screen and my dog, Sammy, is pressing his face under my arm and putting his paw in my lap as he tries to get as close to me as possible. He loves me and he’s trying to tell me, “It’s going to be okay Grace, I promise, we’re gonna make it after all.”

I need to take a deep breath and know that it’s okay. Because it is. Because it has to be.

Even if only for 1 minute

2010-09-07T21:29:00.000-06:00

I’m sitting here and the last thing I want to do is write. Oh, that’s not entirely true. I have wanted to write…but I haven’t been able to do it. I have been aching to talk about last Friday night but unable to find the words. I have been silent online. I know that. It was on purpose. I have come here several times today, and a few times yesterday, but my mind has been unable to take the myriad of fragmented thoughts and memories and put them down on paper in a way they will be able to be read and understood. My thoughts don’t form fluid complete sentences right now. They have no eloquence or beauty…perhaps they also lack the passion that was once at my fingertips – words begging to be written, screaming to be spoken out loud, even if only a whisper.

I am sitting here with my heart in my throat and I need to be here. I want to be here. I crave being a part of this community but at the same time I fear the judgment. I have felt so deeply absorbed in my own pain and yet wanting so desperately to express my thoughts and feelings here. Voices inside of me begging to be heard, to connect with someone who might possibly understand how it is I feel. I have poured my energy and channeled my anger into writing. The hurt, the sadness, the rage, the hurt, the shame, and my Lord, the unbearable pain…all made me write…and write…and write. I pour my heart, my soul, my very self out here and the sense of belonging and community here make me better. Even if only for a minute…

Sometimes it is just too heavy and I am having a hard time coping. With the crazyiness…with life. I move from wanting to change to giving up on myself constantly. I am not yet ready to explain what giving up feels like, but Friday night, I gave up. And I want you to give up on me too. I want you to be angry at me for giving up.

And yet I want you to care and I want your help. There is so very much to fix inside of my crazy-brain.

The path of "Madness"

2010-09-07T21:27:00.002-06:00

THURS 8/31/10

I felt tired and empty and aching and oh.so.alone in this struggle. Life is so damn painful sometimes and yet we still are supposed to stay here, people are still “counting” on us to put on a happy face and carry on with our head and chin rasied! NO! You must not deter from LIVING even in the face of Hurricane Earl and gale-force winds that tear through your body and blacken your soul.

I walk on this path where madness and insanity are the only stepping stones. And the voices get louder with each step I take. They speak in familiar tones telling me how much I am hated, loathed, despised, unlovable. And I know…I know how close I come…when my vision becomes wavy and the voices grow louder and the counting begins…Everyone hates you. You are worthless. No one cares. Not a soul in this world would miss you. So close…closer…closer…I can feel his breath in my ear and there is only one way to make him go away.

Yup. Thanks to the wine, loraz, and insanity, I’m speaking freely tonight! I got a lotta worthless shit to say and I’m spilling it here in the internet, so sit down, shut up, and listen (Hilarical!I just told an inaminate object to shut up!).

I am scared. Sometimes petrified! I work hard…so hard to just stay here, and it’s difficult at times. Like I use EVERYTHING in me to fight it. And I’m scared. What if I can’t? What if nothing I have will work? What if I succumb to the madness? The clock is ticking so loud in my ear and I am shaking and digging through this box of keys, frantically searching for the right one. And I know time is limited. I know that I have to find that key before the clock stops. What if I can’t find it?

Yesterday on my way home from work, there was an accident and the police had the road blocked, which forced me to drive on a kind of detour, weaving through some country roads, driving around the reservoir. The road isn’t really paved, so you have to drive fairly slow…and as I rounded the east side of the reservoir, the sun was reflecting off of the water as it began to descend behind the mountains and it was breathtaking. You know those people (maybe you’re one of them) who spends a lot of time in “nature” and you see beauty and you feel at peace? I saw beauty and I felt at peace for a brief moment. And I thought, this would be a good place to spend your last moments, right here, in this water, as the sun sets behind the mountains…peaceful.

Madness is just another ford for fucked up. Don’t you think? Gawd…I am a quite literally *mad*. I hate this – this rattling on and on until I fall off into the abyss. Tumbling into the darkness and not knowing where, or even if, I will land. I hate to think of everyone judging me. I think you hate me. I’m fairly certain it’s true. Weak. Mad. Insane. I hate me. Why wouldn’t you? I judge me…why shouldn’t you? Weak…Mad…Insane…

It is too much sometimes…never really feeling alive, so never really capable of dying to escape the cruel evil abusive people who tear and claw at me, skinning me, burning me, killing me slowly and oh.so.painfully. And I hear his anger and I feel his hate. And I fight…I stay in survival mode and pretend everything is okay. But why? When I am certain not a soul would truly miss me.

What Now?

2010-08-25T21:42:00.002-06:00

What now? by GracefullyGrowing featuring umbrellas

There are too many of them and I can't comfort them. I can't help them. I don't want them here. They feel too much.

IT has been named

2010-08-24T18:25:00.001-06:00

So the therapist has named her back-up who will cover for her during her vacation. And *Grace wipes sweat from her brow* I can rest easy because I KNOW *IT*! I am bathed in relief! Because now I KNOW there ain’t no way I’m gonna get through the two weeks…well, that was before I came up with my own “back-up”….I shall elaborate.

THE BACK UP (fat ass Marsha ‘wannabe’ posing as a “therapist) When the therapist pulled the execution boundary card and insisted that I attend DBT classes, she “strongly” suggested I take these classes with this social worker/pseudo-therapist she works with at the hospital so the two of them could meet on a regular basis and discuss how they would like to torture me next. I did NOT take the classes w/therapist’s *friend* MWB (Marsha Wanna Be) and let tell you why.

But first, some background music… Hit it Barb! (memories, by Barbara Streisand)

In January 2008, I met with this DBTC for an “evaluation” (yes, an interview process to get into the “this is your last chance to shut up and behave class…what would happen if you don’t get in and it’s “your last hope”?) This chick is truly a Marsha pod person, only without the awesome brooch and barrette…but they obviously eat at the same buffet together since they’re both “mindfully” obese. Which, hey, whatever…my opinion on that is “Eat to please yourself, dress to please others.” In other words, eat all you can eat, in fact, pull up a chair and stick your face under the ice cream dispenser…but please don’t wear a mini-skirt when I have to look at your fat ass….cuz that’s just nasty! In fact, I’m still traumatized by seeing this woman’s pudgy thighs and crotch because she likes to wear mini-skirts and she doesn’t know how to keep her legs closed (hey- no judging on that one, cuz… ) And apparently she did not take Laura Linney’s advice – because Laura says, “You can’t be fat and mean. You can either be fat and jolly or a skinny bitch -it’s up to you.” Cuz this woman is a fat bitch!

So this MWB pod-*IT* drilled me for 20 minutes on my biological father … who is he, were my parents together when I was born, did he have “mental illness”…and on, and on, and on…and this was AFTER I completed her “questionnaire” and stated that I did not KNOW my bio-father, I had NEVER met him. In fact, I’m not really certain that my bio father is who the host body says he is…ain’t no *father’s* name on my birth certificate and she was a whore. WTF! For real! Then she told me that by hiding my SI from the hus that I was a liar and obviously didn’t care about my marriage. Awesome! Anything else? Yes, there was more….but I’ve blocked it out with the vision of her cellulite smothering me. Oh, except for the fact that she told me it was once job-ordered that she attend anger management classes. Which, thank you for your honesty…I’m assuming that was “pre-dbt”. She also told me that her DBT classes consisted of only “professionals”…and when I left her office, there was a woman with minimal teeth in the lobby, so I’m not sure what type of “professionals” MWB was referring too.

Shit…I hope MWB doesn’t *google* DBT-MINDFUCK* and find my blog post…she might be “offended”. Oh well…if she does, and she is “offended” then I guess she knows how I felt when she DRILLED ME FOR 20 MINUTES ABOUT MY BIOLOGICAL FATHER WHO I’VE NEVER MET AND CLEARLY DID NOT WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME – AS HE DID COME AROUND (EVENTUALLY) TO MEET MY OLDER BROTHER). OH – but I am INTIMATELY accquainted with my stepfather who fucked me repeatedly for YEARS – should you like to talk about THAT! The fuck! Of course she’d have no idea I was speaking of her anyway…unless she should happen to read the whole post, remembers the *short skirt/flashing the blonde chick* incident and her initials are CLF. (Quid Pro Quo ~ CLF)

So this is the news that the therapist drops on me yesterday…and hello, I’d rather die than call that fat bitch! Which is exactly what I told the therapist And the therapist told me I was “judging” MWB and I told her the MWB judged me…so whatever! The therapist went on to tell me that maybe MWB was “testing” me. Testing me? Um…The F, therapist! What did that mean? “Testing me?” Really? Did she want to F**K me too – like he did?

I told the therapist “no-can-do” on the back-up. In fact, I was talking to my admin about this and she said thinks the therapist does shit like this on purpose to piss me off. Maybe so…but as I’ve already stated, there is no way in hell I’m calling that marshawannabecunny, nor will I be taking her business card “to make therapist feel better”. NFW! And I said as much to the therapist. So she would like to know my back-up plan. And yes, I do have one. I have purchased a trak-phone at Wal-Mart which I will mail to the host body and I can call her in distress…cuz that would be about as invalidating and unhelpful as calling the back-up MWB. Although, maybe MWB would be nice to me if I mailed her a chocolate fountain.

F**K – ya’ll…I seriously wanted this to be a humorous post…like one of those, “who is the last person you would want to talk to” kind of things…like, I can’t make this shit up…kinda posts. But it isn’t funny. Really, there’s nothing funny about it. Therapist thinks so little of my “well-being” that she assigns that bitch to be the back-up KNOWING goddamn well how I feel about contacting her? Oh-well…”it is what it is,..” and I’m not angry at the therapist. I’m angry at that stupid kid who will not be able to get through the 2 weeks w/o the therapist’s support. That’s who I’m angry with…but I’ll “deal with her”. In fact, that just makes things easier for me. Frankly, I don’t need a back up – and therapist knows goddamn well that I would never call some woman who suckles so often at the nun’s teet.

And when I die, please write cause of death as: SUFFOCATION FROM DBT CELLULITE AND LACK OF REAL CARING BY THE MHP COMMUNITY. Oh, well, fuck her…she wasn’t worth it anyway…she was born trash and she shall die trash. And therapist won’t know anyway because she’ll probably get eaten by a bear on vacation.

Yes, therapist, clearly, I am just that “SHALLOW”…but why would I think that my *leaving* would have a lasting affect on someone who obviously cares so little about me she assigns me a back-up therapist that I would rather chew my arm off of caught in a bear trap than call? Yeah, she’s real concerned….whatever. That’s like leaving your kid at a daycare run by Susan Smith! *Well sorry it was the best I could do…but pls know that in the unforseen event of your *accidental drowning* …I did care.* But I’m *shallow*.

I think I’m done here. No one gives a shit about my bullshit life (obviously) and I’ll be gone soon anyway…and I doubt anyone will even notice.

LINK TO READ: *IT* has been named

Hot slice of crazy pie!

2010-08-24T18:22:00.000-06:00

Life is not running smoothly at the moment. I feel alone, directionless and desperate. I am worn out, emotionally and physically. Sometimes the burden of “keeping myself safe” is too heavy. It is asking too much of me to “manage” all of follies, the nightmares, the triggers, the shame, the embarrassment, the rage – the internal voices who scream and cry and rage…all with no support. It is too much! And trying to avoid all of that shit is like avoiding breathing, which I wouldn’t mind doing right now. Something has to give. There is only so much one person can deal with day in and day out every single day and night! There is only so much!

I am not equipped to handle an entire Pie of Crazy

LINK TO READ: HOT SLICE OF CRAZY PIE

No safety Net

2010-08-24T18:19:00.000-06:00

I am not sure who or where I am. It appears as though my gravitational pull toward si/sui is not something I am able to resist. The child’s safety net is gone and no one else can cope with that. I need an escape route because the urge to self-destruct is intensely powerful and everything is pointless and I am worthless and this is just way too hard. Once again shit is happening when I’m not here and I’m not around to stop it…left only to try to piece it all together when I return.

LINK TO READ: NO SAFETY NET

Boo-fing-hoo

2010-08-24T18:16:00.000-06:00

This post is set to self destruct in T-10Ds…as am I. I should also warn you that it this is a very insane crazybrain ranting that you should ignore altogether. I, on the other hand, cannot ignore it, since it is happening INSIDE OF ME! Oh how I wish it were not so…. I have been sitting here for 30 minutes methodically cutting vicodin and seroquel in half and listening to this fucking new-age relaxation music and I cannot relax. Go figure!

LINK TO READ: Boo-fing-hoo

Tremble weakly & collapse

2010-08-24T18:12:00.000-06:00

I stayed up way way way too late last night trembling and crying and trying to hide. When I finally collapsed into bed I was overwhelmed with fear and I started to wake up the hus but he was sleeping peacefully so I surrounded myself with 9 pillows and tried to fall into sleep. But it’s too much. I can’t hide. My body aches from the fear and the night sends a shiver through my curled up body and there are whispers in the room empty of regard........

LINK: Tremble weakly and collapse

Bad girls are not angels

2010-08-21T13:03:00.000-06:00

LINK to new website: Saving Grace

The grandparents adopted the host body when she was 8 years old. The host body’s bio father left her alcoholic bio mother with 6 kids and no income and the children were take away from her. Oh, the irony. That just hit me right this minute as I type this…that she was taken away from her mother when she was 8 years old and the host body and my bio father left my older brother and I alone in an apartment in Immokalee, Florida when we were 21 months and 6 months old, respectively, for 3 days while they were picking oranges and boozing it up. My brother and I were found by a catholic church member who happened to see my brother J hanging out of the 3rd floor apartment window. But we were not taken away from them. We were returned to them to continue to be tortured…which, I guess that means we weren’t even as important as her when we were babies. Hum…anyway, that’s not the point of this post so I’ll table that for now and possibly come back to it later.

When I was about 9 years old, 2 of the host body’s bio sisters *found* her. It was an exciting and confusing time around our joint during that time! I imagine it would be quite exciting to discover your siblings lost long ago…but I suppose it would be disappointing to discover your sibling was a raging alcoholic married to an abusive sadistic man (as was the case with the host body). The host body’s oldest sister, J, was a SAHM with 6 children, and her other sister was a nurse with 2 sons. J had 2 daughters and 4 sons and one of her daughters was my age. J’s youngest son had the same name as my younger brother, first and middle name, and I always thought that was so weird- that host body and J did not know each other and yet they chose the same name for their sons. Something else that seemed strange to me was that the host body’s sisters called her by a different name. Her name, as I’ve always known it, is Mary, and yet they called her Stella.

The host body’s sisters lived in a town about 2 hours away and we used to visit them often. The summer after J & W found the host body, the host body and ESF took my brothers and I to J’s house and left us there. I think for about a week – but I’m not exactly sure – it was a lot of “nights” – that I remember. J and her hus were nice people, they didn’t have a lot of money, but they made do with what they had. They lived in a small house at the end of a cul-de-sac- the house had only one bathroom and 3 small bedrooms. But J and her hus loved and provided for their children. I liked it there, but when we had been there for a few days I started to get concerned that the host body was going to leave us there forever. That she would never come back for us. You might perhaps be wondering why in the world I wanted them to come back for us since J and her hus didn’t hurt their children . The truth is – I’m not sure. Maybe I wanted to see my gramma again, I don’t know. But I remember feeling *homesick* and afraid. I thought, “She did it. She finally got rid of us!” Now we’ll never see them again. You would think I would have been happy, elated to be away from host body and ESF, but I wasn’t. Sometimes memories like this remind me that I wanted to be abused. I went back there, didn’t I? They did come back for us.

It was about a year later that my mother’s sisters decided that “Stella” “Mary” – whatever…was not someone they wanted to keep in contact with…she was a raging alcoholic and they knew that ESF beat her on a regular basis (believe me when I say it was obvious). So they disappeared and we never saw them again. Not even her bio family wanted to be around her. After they disappeared, life went on as though they had never existed. Host body never talked about them again. Neither did ESF. My brothers and I were surely not going to mention them.

Life went on…the beatings and abuse continued…I was still his whore and she still hated me. Life went on then as it does now….slow and painful, with me begging for it to end. Praying to God to make it stop or kill me. A prayer I am still familiar with. A prayer I still pray every single night.

“Dear Mr. Jesus, if you can hear me please do not let him hurt me anymore, Mr. Jesus. Please come and take me away with you. I want to be an angel with soft fluffy white wings. Don’t you need an angel like me, Mr. Jesus? I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be a good angel.” Apparently, he didn’t. And it was because bad girls can’t be angels. Bad little girls have to stay with bad people and be punished for being bad.

She is still bad. Bad bad girl. That is why therapist doesn’t want to talk to her and why she is leaving and she doesn’t care that we are hurting. All because she is a bad bad girl. Bad girls don’t get to be angels. Bad girls get punished.

Screams of Abandonment

2010-08-19T14:31:00.000-06:00

Dreamed about the therapist all night last night, like one of those nights where you dream, wake up, fall back asleep and continue in the same dream. Obviously I know why I dreamed about the therapist…the “abandonment” threat level currently being *red* and all, but there were other people in the dreams, too. Some of them I think I get the significance of their presence, others I’m not so sure.

Dreams with the therapist in them are rare. From what I can remember, this is only the third time she’s appeared in my dreams. The first time was over 3 years ago and I was walking around the block by her office and a man started chasing me…I called the therapist and she didn’t answer her phone. The second dream with the therapist in it was just this past June where she just stood there watching the EST hurt me…and she did nothing.

In last night’s dream, I was young, but the therapist was the same age she is now. She looked the same, sounded the same, she was “therapist”. I was with the therapist and her BF (I call him Rocky…I don’t know him, but I know they like to rock-climb, so I’ve nicknamed him Rocky…hope she would not find that ‘offensive’…cuz it’s better than the fossil, imo). So anyway, therapist and Rocky were together and I was there, as was the host body, and there was also a young attractive black woman there.

I will step out of ‘dreamland’ for a moment to say something enormously embarrassing for me, and if it weren’t an important piece of the dream, I wouldn’t add this, but it is. The therapist and Rocky have been together a long while (from what I can tell) taken vacations together, and other things I do know but shall leave out for the protection of both her and I. As part of my *disorder*, I notice things, little things, differences in body language, clothing, a new hair-cut, something different in therapist’s office…I notice things. Like last Friday, I noticed that the therapist was wearing eye-liner. In over 4 years I’ve never seen therapist wear eye-liner. She’s like one of those “natural dove beauty” women. She doesn’t wear a lot of make-up…and she doesn’t need to. Of course when I said something about her spontaneous eye-liner application she said, “I knew you would notice that.” The 5 year old has horrible anxiety around abandonment issues. And she waits for the day therapist will say, “Well, that’s it. We’re through here.” Obviously a lot of this relates back to never having any stable adult in our life who didn’t abandon or abuse us…so we’re still waiting for the therapist to join the ranks of those from the past. Now, each week, the 5 year old looks for any *sign* that the therapist is going to kick her aside because she knows she doesn’t matter anyway. Seemingly trivial things that should be inconsequential can carry the weight of the world to the 5 year old and can lead to feelings of insecurity for her – which then lead to angry girl needing to punish the 5 year old for *needing* anyone. Then last week, irritable girl was complaining about the discomfort of therapist’s couch “it’s too squishy” and therapist said, “Well, soon I’ll bring my good leather couch in – it isn’t getting much use at home.” Another questionable flag: that’s because therapist doesn’t live at home – she lives with Rocky and so she doesn’t need her couch anymore? Now the 5 year old is sure the therapist is getting married and when she gets married she won’t need to work anymore and she will have her own family, and yes, there goes the 5 year old, right to the curbside with the rest of the unneeded garbage. So 5 year old searches every week for a ring. Get the fucked up picture? K – back to the dream then….

BACK TO THE DREAM: Therapist and Rocky are in the kitchen, his kitchen, (which was very small, btw – there was barely enough room for therapist and rocky to stand next to each other – and I was watching from the table but over what looked like a washing machine. Were any part of this humorous, I might add something like, “any more people in here and we’re going to need a lubricant”…but the dream wasn’t funny and I’m still sort of fucked up over the whole thing and it’s aftenroon here) …so little Grace notices the therapist is wearing a ring. Grace points out the ring and Rocky looks annoyed, like it ain’t any of the kid’s business and he (not so nicely) tells her so. Therapist self-consciously puts her right hand over her left, looks sadly at Grace, sighs, and says, “I’m sorry, Grace. I forgot to take off the ring.” What? Therapist tells Grace that she and Rocky have been married for months but she knew that because of her *issues* that Grace would feel like Therapist didn’t care if she knew so she consciously decided to take off the ring whenever she saw Grace but this time she forgot. She lied? Grace started to cry which made Rocky angry, and he bellowed, “Who is this stupid ugly brat anyway? She isn’t part of our life? Why is she even here?” Therapist didn’t say anything in response to Rocky’s questions or Grace’s tears; she seemed to be caught in the middle, unsure of what to say…so she stood there, next to Rocky, and she said nothing. And then they both turned away from Grace, and stood in the kitchen together, talking and laughing and drinking red wine. (Yes, red wine, I don’t know why).

Grace sat on her knees at the table, tears streaming down her face, and she watched therapist and Rocky laughing and loving and living…experiencing everything Grace was not allowed, is not allowed, will never know. Rocky made Therapist not care about Grace anymore. Rocky didn’t like Grace, she could tell by the way he looked at her. (I have no idea what Rocky looks like, IRL, but in my dream he was quite tall and thin, with dark brown, nearly black curly hair and brown eyes; eyes that met my gaze and showed nothing but disdain for me.)

The host body showed up and took Grace away from therapist and Rocky’s house. Host body grabbed Grace tightly by the wrist and yanked her out the door and down the street, and she told Grace she should never have been there in the first place. She told Grace that therapist doesn’t love her or care for her, that she is a burden. “Why can’t you see that Grace? She doesn’t care about you. No one cares about you! I let you stay here because I don’t have a choice, but I hate you too. You are unlovable and I wish you had never been born. So does therapist. So does Rocky. When are you going to see that?” She jerks Grace into the house and right inside the door, just past the shelf to the right, sitting at the kitchen table in a white pocket t-shirt smoking camel unfiltered cigarettes was the ESF. I was frozen there, staring at him. I don’t want to be here. He hurts me. She hates me. But now therapist hates me too. She didn’t even look at me she let her take me away. In my head I could still see Rocky and therapist in the kitchen, standing at the sink, drinking red wine and laughing – maybe doing the dishes (?) – and I tried to call her, in my head, I tried to call therapist, but she ignored me…and he was staring at me, through me, the host body no longer there. I stood there, holding onto the shelf that separates the kitchen from the living room, right inside the door…frozen stiff, unable to move, freezing cold watching him watch me. He picks up a glass filled with clear liquid (maybe vodka?) the glass had pictures of Fred Flinstone and family on it…it used to have grape jelly in it, that glass, now it has that stuff that smells like pure alcohol when he breathes it in my face. I want to move – but I can’t. My legs don’t belong to my body I cant feel them. Where did host body go? She isn’t here now…and he wont stop looking at me and I can’t move! He puts the glass back down, and the cigarette is dangling from his mouth as he puts his hands on the table to push himself up. I still can’t move. I am not breathing. I’m cold…frozen and wet…did I just pee down my leg? I think I did.

And that’s when I woke up- shaking and wet and nauseous. ..tears, real tears, no dream tears on my cheeks. Confusion as to where I was and who I was and how old I was and what really happened and what was a dream. And since I’ve already embarrassed the hell out of myself I should go on to say that I fucking peed the bed! Like for real! Not 5 year old Grace…but ME…in “adult” form, on my egyption cotton sheets! It sure as hell doesn’t get any better than that does it? This is truly *living the dream*!

After I went back to sleep…the dreams continued…

Grace was playing with the cute little black girl, walking in the woods, picking up sticks and talking. It was near dusk and no one else was around. They were young, 5 or 6 years old, and though they were alone, they were not afraid. Sad, but not afraid. The two girls walked until they came to a movie theater. An outside movie theater, but not a drive-in…there were seats made of logs to sit on. The girls sat down on a log and when Grace (I) looked down she noticed that neither of us had on shoes and both girls feet were dirty and cut. There was a movie playing on the big screen; a scary movie and there was a girl being chased by a car of men and she was running through the woods…but it was the woods Grace and her friend were just walking through (?) and the car sounded like it was behind them and not in the movie playing on the screen in front of them. The two girls were sitting close together and Grace’s friend sees something glimmering in the dirt. She bends down to pick it up and it’s a ring. It’s gold and its bent, like someone stepped on it – and the stone is square…it doesn’t look like a diamond, it’s kind of yellow. But I know that ring. That’s the therapist’s ring. Why is it here? I tell my friend that that ring is the therapist’s and see, look close on the side – there are her initials on it. It’s therapist’s ring alright. I begin to frantically look around for therapist because she must be here somewhere, here is her ring. She has to be here, why would she have left it behind? Why is it bent? Grace’s friend tells Grace that she shouldn’t even care about that stupid ring because therapist doesn’t care about her, if she did she wouldn’t have left her. “It’s okay, Grace. Mine left me too. That’s why we’re here, remember? We don’t need them. They don’t love us, they don’t care about us because we don’t matter, we never mattered. That’s why we’re here, remember?” That’s why we’re here? I’m confused. Where’s here and why did therapist leave her ring here? Friend (who I have now identified as friend S) takes Grace’s hand and they walk to the front of the movie screen where S points to the screen. I just noticed there’s no one else here, just S and me. Playing on the movie screen now are jumbled pictures of therapist and Rocky, esf and host body, lot of other men of various ages that I recognize, and other people I don’t recognize (maybe S’s T and abusers?). The audio is a man’s voice, deep and full of hate and anger…”You are bad. You are worthless. You mean nothing. You don’t matter. Worthess…bad…nothing… You are dead.” S still pointing to the screen, looks over at me, nods her head and mouths, we are dead…

This is why sleep is bad…dreams of abuse, abandonment, and death… I’m tired. Up and down all night…afraid, sick, dissociative…other embarrassing shit that I refuse to acknowledge right now! But it’s too much! Way to much! And I’m tired of struggling and trying to manage all of the emotional, psychological, and physical stuff going on…I’m not handling any of this now. I can’t do anymore. I’m too tired to talk about it, and I don’t think it really matters anyway. There’s no one to “talk” to anyway. Therapist is leaving anyway and I’m not allowed to talk to her before then so it no longer matters. Because I know I won’t be able to “contain” it or “distract” myself and stay safe while she’s gone. I continue to scream silently…no one listens, no one hears, no one helps, no one cares. And I understand it’s because I’m not worth it – so it just doesn’t matter anymore. Time keeps ticking away…the sun comes up, the sun goes down. I’m just waiting for it all to end. Why prolong the inevitable? I don’t expect an answer from anyone else – but I sure can’t think of a reason.

LINK to Grace new Website: Screams of Abandonment

Grace has a plan

2010-08-19T14:25:00.001-06:00

As I said yesterday I’ve been in a bit of a quandary about the therapist’s upcoming vacation. I did talk to her about how I took her phrase of, “Well maybe we shouldn’t talk until after I get back.” I told her it hurt my feelings and I didn’t really understand how that would be helpful after I had just told her that I am really not doing well right now, and I feel like I have very minimal support outside of her. I get that I need to have a support system in place, and that I can’t “rely” on the therapist for that support. But the problem is, most of my “support system” is in exactly the same position I am in and the support we’ll probably be able to provide is something to the effect of, “Yeah, I’m in the same boat. She knew I had no support when she left. Screw it! I can’t live like this anymore. You send me 20 percocet and I’ll send you 20 seroquel and we’ll skype and take them together watch the Vrigin Suicides and leave *quietly*.” Anyway, so I told her how I felt about what she said and she told me that she did say it, but that she said it out of a place of frustration because she feels helpless. And she was talking about phone support. And she said we should talk about developing a plan together for her absence.

I got to thinking about her feeling frustrated and helpless and then that trauma therapist’s voice starts chiming in, reminding me that I can’t tell the therapist I feel suicidal or depend on her to help me, because that’s considered *holding her hostage* and that’s not fair.” And then those other voices, you know the ones, the ones that tell me I am a manipulative bitch who should just straighten up or I’ll get something to really cry about . His voice, “You are worthless anyway. No one cares about you – you are bad and evil and you are worth nothing. Just a whore. That’s all you are. No one will ever love you.” and others….

And then I did some research on the internet, the whole, “How to get through the T vacation” (especially important when they take 4 or 5 a year!!!!! ) and I read an excerpt about a therapist who had a suicidal client when he was leaving for vacation and so he asked her to give him 30 minutes of lead time before jumping from a bridge so he could call the fire department and they could put out a net to catch her. When she seemed puzzled, he went on to say, “If you threaten me with something so outrageous as suicide and show such little ability to handle a MINOR stress like a 2 week absence…” And I realized that is exactly what our feelings mean to them. We make a big deal out of something so “MINOR” and we are just being ridiculous. So Grace, shut up and behave! Grow up, you are such a stupid whiny worthless piece of trash….bad…unlovable.

I felt much better about my decision to shut it all down after reading that we are all just *drama* making a big deal out of a *minor* situation. And obviously, that’s what I was doing by being HONEST about how I FEEL emotionally right now…and my honesty lead the therapist to feel frustrated and helpless. That’s not fair to her because she should be able to go and enjoy her FORTH WEEK OFF this year – and so I’m done talking about it.

She was really nice …offering to “come up with a plan” but what would be the point. What’s going to happen is going to happen and I can’t be all drama anymore over something so trivial…like hang-nail kinda pain. None of which is her problem. So get over it drama freak – you’re ruining the therapist’s vacation! Grown up Grace has a whole bucket full of shit that will shut the kid up…no worries! She won’t be able to whine and cry over such a trivial thing like the therapist’s 2 week vacation. (I hate that crying dependent shit that brat pulls anyway! I’m happy to take charge!)

Grace is going on vacation too! I know I’ll be fucked up and unable to concentrate or do anything really, so I’m going to take the time off of work, and just hole up here at the homestead – alone. That way I’m not *bothering* anyone else with my *minor* attachment disorder and childish *fears of abandonment*. It’ll be awesome! I’ll stock up on all of the things I will need so I don’t have to shower, get dressed, or leave the house.

Grace has a *plan*. Yay me.

LINK to Grace new Website: Grace has a plan

Hi, it's me, Grace

2010-08-19T14:16:00.000-06:00

And Just Me. No clichés…No humor…No pretending… Just Grace without the famous mask talking to you….and you know who you are, if you’re still *here*, and if you read this (however, if you read this and you even think it’s you, but it isn’t then it probably applies to you – so yeah, then I’m talking to *you* too)

Last night I cried for you…I cried for you and I cried for me…I cried for all of us. I cried for all of the hardship & pain you have had to endure in this life, and I cried at the unfairness of it all. I cried for all the kids and adults where were damaged beyond repair by the people who were supposed to love them the most.

I cried because you trusted me enough to reach out to me and I cried because I wasn’t sure what to do to help. It broke my heart to hear you say that no one loves you and to know that you really believe you are bad and unlovable. I know you’re scared and I know you hurt and I know that you think there is only one way out of the all-consuming pain. I know that the one person who has stood by you and believed in you is not there now and the fear is overwhelming now. I believe you when you say you can’t do it anymore. I know you feel that way. I know because I feel that way too.

I know about all of those things. What I don’t know is how to help you get through it. How to make it *okay* for you. For any of us.

I care about you. I love you. But I know that my voice is not nearly as loud as the critic inside of you. The one who has convinced you that you don’t matter and that you are bad and unlovable the world would be better off without you. I don’t know how to fight that voice either.

If I were with you right now I would sit with you and I would bandage your cuts for you. I would tell you in person that I care. I think of you and I cry for you and I wonder how you are doing. In fact, I’m wondering how you are doing right now. I don’t know if you are dead or alive. I don’t know if you made it through the night. I hope you did but I don’t know. That’s selfish of me to say – because I understand not wanting to, and the mere pain of actually “waking up” day after day.

I’m sorry if my suggestions last night seemed to you like putting a Barbie band-aid on a point blank shotgun wound to the chest. I’m sure it must have felt like that. Sometimes I wish I had a tourniquet instead. But I don’t. But at least I didn’t offer you any kool-aid, or tell you to hold an ice cube, or peel an orange , right? (cuz we know that shit don’t work for sure!)

I don’t know the way out of this, my friend. If I did, I would scream it from the rooftops. But I hope you know that even though I am absolutely 200% insane & totally unhelpful, I do care about you. And I thank you for inviting me into your life…and for leaving your footprint on mine.

LINK to Grace new Website: Hi, it's me, Grace

I feel it too, every day

2010-08-19T14:11:00.001-06:00

I know how it feels because I feel it too. I feel it all the time. And people who have never felt it…they don’t understand. Sometimes I hate those people for never feeling it, but I hate them because I wish I could be them. And it isn’t fair… no it sure isn’t. I have been trying to hold it back, and sometimes I’m successful, but it’s getting harder and harder. I know other people who are like me. They’ve tried the same drugs I’ve tried. They’ve been in therapy for years. They are brilliant and amazing women…and yet, like me, they are forever broken. Some of these women are feeling it now: that overwhelming desire to disappear, to just…make the pain stop. That horrible debilitating pain that never goes away. I know that pain well. And the thoughts that go along with it.

I once told a friend of mine that she was not allowed to kill herself, ever, ever, ever. Depression SUX! It does…Tonight I’m not going to say, “Don’t kill yourself. It’s incredibly selfish…and I will haunt you forever if you do it! I will be so angry and I will never forgive you.” That’s not helpful really, when you want to die. I’ve heard all of those words. I’ve heard, “It will get better. It won’t always feel like this.” I’ve been told, “You are intelligent and beautiful and have so much to live for. Think about all the people who love you!” And sometimes those words uttered are enough to “guilt” me into staying alive for another day. Stay alive for everyone else.

It doesn’t go away, I know that. I know how incredibly unfair it feels and I know how much it hurts. I know that there are times when it’s too overwhelming to even get out of bed, let alone out of the house. I know what it feels like to cry for hours at a time. I know what it feels like to obsess about “making it stop” and planning, and counting, and thinking, and writing… I know.

And it isn’t just the “depression”! It’s the headaches, and the nausea, the chronic pain, the lack of energy and hope. It’s the horrible anxiety and panic that build inside up inside of you and claw their way out of your throat. It’s that feeling like there is an elephant sitting on your chest and you can’t catch your breath. And the fear…my god the constant fear of never feeling safe! Sometimes my jaw aches from keeping my mouth clinched so tight because I’m afraid if I open my mouth I will start screaming and it will never stop. My body shakes involuntarily and it feels like there’s an electrical current running through every nerve ending– and if the panic hits you in public – that’s the worst because you feel like everyone is staring at you, their eyes are screaming, “MENTAL ILLNESS”.

It feels defeating. You fight and you fight and you can’t get out! You want the world to see how much pain you’re in…on your way out because it is so incredibly LONELY! And it feels like no one understands and no one will help you. And you feel worthless and like you’re just a burden to everyone you know. Useless heavy baggage. A waste. No one would miss you if you were just gone. It would actually be a relief! You should have never been born in the first place. You were never wanted, never loved. You’ve no idea how to love yourself…fuck, you’re not worthy of love…obviously, your own parents didn’t love you. So why not just make it stop!

It would be hypocritical of me to say, “Don’t kill yourself. Take that right off the table because it’s not an option.” And I’m tired of all the hypocrites I’ve met. So tired… I will tell you that I care about you more than I care about myself. That I can honestly say. But I can’t beg you to stay alive. I don’t want you to die, but it would make me the biggest hypocrite in the world (next to Nancy Pelosi) because I feel it too… S: I meant every word I said to you tonight. I KNOW those thoughts, those feelings…but I would have answered exactly the same way…”I understand why you abandoned me because I am bad and I don’t deserve love.” I suspect you know I understand…

It sucks! All of it sucks. It isn’t fair and it’s so fucking lonely! I can’t say “hang in there, it will get better.” Because I don’t know if it will. I don’t feel that hope for myself…. Not anymore. And I refuse to be a hypocrite and sell you something that may not exist.

I can say: Encourage each other! Be there for each other! You’re not alone…even though it feels like it. Is that enough…or do those words feel empty and meaningless to you? I can’t say….

LINK: I feel it too, every day

“No,” I said, “I’m not ok.”

2010-08-19T14:00:00.000-06:00

Yesterday in session when I told the therapist that I was nervous about her vacation because I depend on her for support right now, she’s a big life-line for me – and she said, “Well, maybe we shouldn’t talk until after my vacation.” And it really hurt my feelings because of course the neon sign starts flashing “ABANDONMENT”. And I was all, “WTH, that’s the answer? To not talk from now to then so I can get used to your being gone before you’re gone??” But maybe she’s right. Maybe this is one of those, “Grace, I’m doing this for your own good, things.” And maybe it’s best for her too, if we don’t talk, if she doesn’t know how I “feel”. Yes, the more that I think about it…the more I think it’s best. She doesn’t need to know how I *feel*. I can come up with my own *plan*. In fact, I already have one I can just it *dust off*. It doesn’t need to involve her at all. She should just enjoy her vacation and not be frustrated by the whiny DFW baby. I can take care of that kid! No problem!

I am in sort of a capricarious volatile state of mind right now. I know that I have no right to be upset with the therapist about leaving for vacation for 2 weeks. But I am… I’m overwhelmed to the point I am bursting at the seams. Boiling over…. And her answer is to not talk and hand me a business card of someone I’ve never even met, nor do I know her protocol, and when something happens, I can call her? I imagine that conversation might go something like this, “I can’t breathe…I just f’d the hus and it’s Friday and I can’t stop watching this scary movie and I can’t get him off of me. I can’t breathe…” in a 5 year old voice. Wonder what would happen then? Does Subbie T have “TraumaBrain” experience with dissoicative mentalists, dear therapist? Because you of all people should know how “difficult” I can be…

I am so lost right now. I have tried to believe that it won’t always be this way but I feel so depleted and hopeless. I cannot take care of myself right now. I want to be alone but when I’m alone, with no one to distract me, or talk to me, the piercing truth of my reality cuts into my heart and burns through my soul. I am so drained I cannot even think straight. My heart aches….this is the roughest patch I’ve hit and I can’t believe I’m still alive.

The pain I feel is unexplainable. I’m so tired and frustrated and I feel like it’s all just too complex to deal with. Too multifarious for me to understand…and the therapist would say, “It’s not, it’s so common and understandable, and you can do this…just keep on keeping on.” But she’s wrong. Clearly she doesn’t understand…I can assure you…I am dying more every day.

Oh, wait, I’m a “survivor”, right? I forgot. I have tried to collaborate my shattered thinking to form some rational simplicity from my emotional intricacy. I’ve tried to understand. But my mouth forms words my brain is unable to process. What I do understand is that the human mind and body shields a child from the horrible truth so the child can survive. She can survive but not realize how she has been shaped, altered, wounded, until she grows up to become a woman and it gets so bad that she feels like she’s nothing, nobody, worthless. I understand that because I had no idea how much he really shaped who I am today. I feel nameless, fragmented, unlovable because I cannot love myself. Both he and the host body cut me into pieces…so many pieces I don’t know which pieces belong to “me” and which belong to “them”. I cannot sort through them.

See, now I am afraid that the only way I see this working for me is to shut down completely. I really do not know how else to do it, the “feelings” are just too big and overwhelming for me right now and she’s going away for 2 weeks. I barely make it week to week, day to day, really. I do not have a good support system in place right now, and I can do a lot of damage in 2 weeks time. Right now, I have been seeing the therapist twice a week because I am having trouble managing from week to week. So much is happening inside of me and I don’t want to rely on her, I don’t want to “count on” her for support, but I have been lately. And she was very supportive and helpful recently…

I’m struck by how little my life has become. I am afraid and I can’t even tell anyone. Afraid and overhwelmed by what goes on inside my head and my body. So big, so real, so much stronger than what is outside of me. So sharp…I feel it, cutting me, stabbing me, with it’s serrated razor-sharp pieces. It’s painful…

LINK to Grace's new Website: "No," I said, "I'm not ok."

She never stopped crying

2010-08-19T13:50:00.000-06:00

She never stopped crying…and I am sick. Secrets too terrible to be spoken…every part of my mind and body are aching. His words mock me, constantly repeating in my mind. He is dead and I am still haunted, tortured , paralyzed with fear. My body is so sore and not just physically…poison is eating me from the inside out. It is so not okay to be me right now.

I exist in two places at once now. The hus has suddenly stumbled upon some newly found sexual energy and as I am spending most nights in a past filled with hell, he wants to spend most nights with me, in the present…like every night. And the problem is I can’t be there or here because the lines get blurred. I’m all over the place. And it usually doesn’t end well.

I spend half the day trying to escape the fb follies and then I spend the evening trying to fight off the anxiety about my current situation, now as an adult. So that’s how it goes, the day: wake up after a couple of hours of sleep, fight the follies all day (which typically means minimal concentration, lots of dissociation, headaches, nausea and vomiting, random crying) spend the late afternoon and evening consumed with anxiety about the possibility that the hus will want to have sex, if so – pray to either get through it without crying or get through it and not be there, spend the next several hours watching scary movies/crying/hurting/not being present. It is so not cool to be me.

Take last night, for instance. The hus is on vacation so he was up late. Grace’s anxiety was off the charts because that typically means he wants to have sex. Then try distraction which, in turn, lead to heading back to the past over a freakin’ lollipop! She never stops crying…

On minute I’m trying to use the big ‘distraction skills’ the next minute I’m falling…I cant breathe! I don’t know where I am. All I feel is pain. Pain that reaches all the way to my fingertips and makes my chest throb. And then I am angry. Then I hate myself, that kid, the past. Then comes the frustration at not being able to calm down…followed by the “I AM CRAZY” screaming, followed by the “bad thoughts” we don’t speak of. And I can’t make it stop.

How do you stop that? Oh! That’s right, distraction and “thought stopping”. Or a shitload of benzos and booze. One minute I’m watching Shirley Temple singing, “Good ship, lollipop” in her cute little 5 year old body, chubby cheeks and curly hair…singing in her short little dress and matching short shorts. The next minute I AM Shirley Temple…and my singing is interrupted by HIS voice, “Gracie, my sugar coated lollipop is ready for you…” WTF! I don’t want it! I want to go to sleep! “You make me do this…this candy is only for you.” And it hurts! But he won’t let me move.

I’m frozen. That fight or flight ‘theory’ is complete BS. I am frozen. I’m hurting. The pain is real..splitting me apart, screaming in my head…pain, confusion, shame….it’s real. I’m not good at this…I’m not dealing with any of this.

LINK to Grace's new Website: She never stopped crying

Give ME you anger...NO!

2010-08-19T13:43:00.001-06:00

That’s what the therapist said to me today. She told me that she would rather I be angry at her than myself. Whatever… I am NOT angry at her. It isn’t her fault that the 5 year old is screaming in fear and abandonment that she’s going on vacation. I’m not angry at the therapist, I’m angry at the parts of ME who depend on her and care about her and need her. That’s who I’m angry with….ME – for allowing someone else “in” our world…for allowing someone else to see some of our pain and past. Angry…angry…angry…for letting someone on the outside “in”. She didn’t do that…I did that. Therapist didn’t put a gun to our head and say, “Depend on me! Attach to me! Love me!” Nope…that was all that bratty kid who actually thought someone cared about her for once in her stupid life. Get over it brat! I’ll show you what “love” is!

But there’s no reason to be angry with the therapist about something I did.

Then she tells me that I have all the “choices” to meet my needs within my reach. That made me feel like a whiny little kid for telling her that I don’t feel safe and I don’t know how I’m going to get through the two weeks she’s gone. I also told her that I talk to her like twice a week now and how can I go two weeks with no support! Especially since she was just gone a week in July!!! And she said, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t talk to me then.” The fuck therapist!? Okay – therapist, maybe I shouldn’t! So much for being honest…

So now I will just tell her all is well…I got a whole treasure chest full up on “tools” – and a genie in a bottle too! Ready to grant my every wish! So we are g-o-o-d! Better than good…perfect! Perfect little Gracie! No worries. So now that we’ve established and taken inventory of my vast supply of “healthy choices” (and I’m not talking about those frozen meals that taste like cardboard…) I am g-o-o-d… t-o…g-o! What a relief! *Grace turns her frown upside-down*

I knew it wasn’t a good idea to actually be honest about my *feelings*. I’ll just shut up and behave until she leaves for yet another vacation (3rd one this year, btw, must be nice to be rich and carefree!)…then we shall throw a party!

Nope – this rage is all about ME! Excuse me for being so self-centered… ME~ME~ME! ALL OF ME

Ciao! I’m going to go pour myself a drink! I’m even MORE perfect (if that’s even possible) when I’m drinking! Martini anyone? Grace’s demon bartender makes the best martinis!

LINK to Grace's new Website: Give ME your anger... NO!

Wonderland of despair sprinkled w/lunacy

2010-08-19T13:35:00.000-06:00

I am totally going mad- crazy – insane… Not that you wake up one morning and you’ve tumbled into the wonderland of insanity…no! Sadly, it is a slow and painful process. Fortunately no one is around at night to watch the horror show of Grace as it plays out. Since contact with and assistance from a Demonologist seems unlikely, perhaps a stake through the heart would work. She’s joking…that would be a painful way to die. But nonetheless, the internal natives are restless.

I was supposed to do something with a friend today but then I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I finally texted her back this morning and apologized…I’m a terrible friend, I said. I’m terrible at a lot of things right now. I can’t seem to shake this horrible darkness. I can’t. Its applied for permanent residence and I’ve no idea how to evict it. And fuck you if you say “medication” or “mindfullness” is the answer. And the fucking suicidal thoughts and general feelings of doom are compounded by the fact that the therapist is going to be on vacation for two weeks

And this time I’m so depressed I can’t even be angry with her. I can’t say, “Don’t make this about your vacation, therapist…” because well, my reality is that it is about her vacation. It is about the fact that she’s going to be gone for two weeks and it is about the fact that I’ve really *radically accepted* that I’m not going to be able to get through it. Oh, I won’t run away before she leaves. I’ll go through the motions the next two weeks with her, play the therapeutic mind games of planning Grace’s social life so she can stay alive and “connected” while the therapist is out fucking rock climbing for two weeks AGAIN! I can scream and beg and cry and *cling* to her as though I am a child in fear of losing her mother forever (not that I really have any idea what that feels like…) But I suspect it feels something like I’m feeling now, only I’m an adult, not a child, and I’m insane and dissociative. Bad shit can happen. Shit a lot worse than throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the floor.

And she and I can “plan” my life while she’s gone down to the minute… but the fact is that even when I make plans I cannot follow through with them because….listen carefully, I am too fucking depressed to do anything. I just don’t care about anything anymore. I see my *future* stretched out before me and it’s the same pattern as the past…long depressing periods of self hate and destruction followed by 10 minute of happiness and sense of accomplishing something. Really, there’s so little to look forward to- except more of the same. Endless years spent in isolation…cheery, eh?

What it all comes down too, really, is the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness. I wasnt worth anything to anyone or someone would have noticed, someone would have cared, helped me, seen me. But I just didn’t matter. Everything else and everyone else mattered and I didn’t matter. I still feel that way. Hence the overhwelming thoughts of sui. It’s hard to want to live when all you can see are the ways you don’t matter. And yes, I get that the therapist cares during that hour or two spent a week in the confines of the “safe space” she has tried so hard to create for me…but the reality is that I pay her to care. As my friend Harriet M. Welch says, it’s truly a one-way relationship. She wouldn’t give me a second thought were I just another statistic in a clinical handbook. The truth is I need her but she doesn’t need me and I’m tired of needing. The truth is the therapist will wave good-bye and not give a second thought about me and my feelings of worthlessness and wanting to die. And I’m not angry about it….that’s the way it is, the way it’s supposed to be in the big TR.

I don’t matter. Rationally I know that I do matter a little to a couple of people. And they want me around. But that doesn’t change the fact that deep inside of me, I don’t believe it. I know they would be better off without my depressed self in their lives. I’m too tired. It’s too overwhelming to know that I’ll just keep fighting the same fucking battle of trying to unsuccessfully convince myself that I’m worth anything at all for the rest of my pointless fucking life. No thanks….

Besides, I’m tired. I feel old. Mostly, I’m just waiting around to die, anyway. It’s unbearably sad. I see myself from the outside and I think – what a waste. What a beautiful girl. What an empty life she leads. Poor lonely thing, she’ll never know that thrill of living, of actually feeling alive. If only she could have mattered maybe it could have been different. But she didn’t…

LINK to Grace's Website: Wonderland of despair sprinkled w/lunacy

Wasted away again in Margaritaville

2010-08-19T13:31:00.000-06:00

I’m not searching for my lost shaker of salt though…I don’t really like salt. Awesome! None of you knew that about me, did you? It’s true, I never add salt to anything. I’m wondering what that says about me. Not the salt thing…but the fact that I share all this personal information here, but not something simple like, “Hi, I’m Grace, I like my margaritas frozen, but no salt. I don’t really like salt.” Oh, well, you know now….

Sometimes when you’re alone in the middle of the night, it’s okay to *distract* yourself by singing Jimmy Buffet and blending up some frozen margs….(TIP: if you close the pantry door and put a towel over the blender, you can barely hear it so it won’t wake anyone up when you decide to make margaritas @ 2am– you’re welcome).

I’m distracting myself from the razor calling my name – thanks Marsha for the *tools*. I’m doing everything I can tonight to not regress into a bawling 5 year old or a psychotically angry teenager. So if that means making frozen margaritas on the floor of the panty and singing Jimmy Buffet…well then “That’s the best I can do right now…”

I don’t know…sometimes I think I’ll just stop all of it. Therapy, talking, writing, reaching out at all, breathing…I mean, is there really a point in verbalizing your feelings of hopelessness and defeat when you’re just going to be dismissed or trivialized? Is it better to just shut up & pretend, to half-smile till you die, rather than reach out? As I’ve always said, why express needs that will never be met. Childish needs and fears that have no right to exist in my adult head.

Why…why…why…why in the world should I embarrass myself by speaking aloud all of this fear inside my head only to be told that it’s okay to have this need, or that need, but there’s no way for it to be met. I don’t get that. And it only makes me hate myself more for ”needing” anything in the first place. Ah, the sordid talk of self-hatred. But is that what this is about now? Maybe…but maybe not. Maybe it’s more like shamefully wallowing in self-pity on the pantry floor.

Jimmy Buffet is singing, “Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know, it’s my own damn fault.” It’s YOUR fault, Grace. No one else’s. How long are you going to hold this grudge against the host body, Grace? When will you realize that you can’t change the past…you can’t change how she feels about you now, Grace. You’ll never be loved – you’ll never have a mother. Too bad. Get over it. It is time to move on.”

I have completely misplaced my gratitude and love for life and I am searching for it….I am desperately searching for it here in the middle of the night…I am looking all around. I am reaching far down into the bottom of my gut, the base of my soul, the deepest place in my heart… God! This weakness! This weak depressed worthless woman! I can’t stand her! Give it up girl! Stop with the wretched self-pity, the craving for normalcy…just stop with the whining, “Why the hell don’t I get to be like everyone else?”. Just stop! I have been brought to my knees, shaken to the core. I have forgotten who I really am.

My whole life, my entire 39 years I have been straddling this teeter totter, pressing my feet back and forth, seeking the balance I have never been able to find… Gawd!! Dammit! I feel flushed and panicked and my head is spinning. I am screaming inside, “Please help me. Please come to me now and stay. Please stay with me in this place of darkness, this place of no hope or light.” (as if)

*Grace takes a break to wipe away the never-ending flow of tears, blow her nose, and blend another round of margaritas for one!* No salt… Cheers!

Feelings…feelings…feelings. They assault me like sniper fire, the bullets ricochet off of their unsuspecting target and slice open my thighs, my hip, my side…red, angry slashes. I have been hit again. I am walking around wounded, scarred, stunned. I’ve been told not to judge these feelings, or attach to them. They are neither good nor bad, Grace. Open the door to the pantry, Grace, and invite them in for expresso and scones…get to know them, no matter how hostile they seem. All of them? There’s not enough room here. The guilt, as pure and raw as sugar cane, comes to show me the terrible things I’ve done, the shameful places I’ve been, the faces of those I have harmed. The rage! It cannot be quelled or quieted. The overwhelming smothering rage hits me square in the chest after I have removed my bullet-proof vest. I feel the sharp shrapnel piercing my skin, reaching the very core of me. You self-righteousness woman…you selfish, bitter woman…

I can’t control it. I can’t think or reason my way out. I can’t figure out how to fix it, or breathe through it. I feel the blood draining out of me, warm and cold at the same time; the bitterness, the anger, the badness, it drains out of me and soaks into the soft cotton of my clothing. The patterns speak to me: You are weak, Grace. You are a lesser person, negative, selfish, dramatic, needy. How I loathe you, girl…

A knock on the door bringing yet another guest? Shame…welcome one of my oldest and best friends. Shame…she is always there for me…there is always room for her. She sits next to me and slides her warm calloused hand over my shoulder and down my chest… just as he used to do. Her hot breath hisses in my ear, “You are nothing without me. You cannot speak without me. You cannot breathe without me, write without me, feel without me. Without me you are neither interesting nor desirable. Without me by your side you cannot cope or deal with anything. You are mine and I am yours. You are nothing without me. I am your secret. This is our secret. I will keep you safe. I will keep your secrets.” My dearest friend. I offer her a drink and she begins to bandage my wounds…our secret, our secret. I lean into her, my oldest friend, and I let her hold me, even as she cruelly speaks my biggest failures aloud to me. She knows what I deserve. She is mine and I am hers.

Here we sit together and alone, my friend and I… Wasted away again in Margaritaville….she is searching for a sign of worth…strength…purpose…will…of anything that resembles life…but she didn’t find it.

LINK to Grace's new website: Wasted away again in Margaritaville

Nod if you can hear me…

2010-08-14T17:17:00.000-06:00

I feel stunningly depressed…really, like rock bottom is above me now. You know that moment when you can “feel” and you have minimal recollection of what happened the night before and you try and try to quell the tidal wave of panic that is threatening to drown you and then you wish you were still in that place where you were unable to feel? Yeah, that’s where I’ve been today, well, it’s where I’ve been for awhile now.

I talked to the therapist last night – but I don’t remember what she said. I don’t remember her words or her tone or anything at all. I wish I could remember. I hope I didn’t make her mad. I have that deep feeling of despair in the pit of my stomach today. If you’ve ever suffered from depression and panic and free for all nights of dissociation and self-destruction where you only see flashes of information that sends chills you’re your spine…you know what I’m talking about.

LINK: NOD IF YOU CAN HEAR ME...

I can't do this...

2010-08-14T10:02:00.000-06:00

Therapist is leaving for vacation AGAIN…for 2 weeks this time. I had a huge panic attack on Wednesday night and called her all freaked out. (EMBARRASSING!) What are you afraid of, Grace? What are you afraid of? She was all therapisty and tried to calm me down in her calm therapeutic therapist voice. But it didn’t help the 5 year old. She is still paralyzed with fear. She cries all the time. And it isn’t getting any better.

LINK: I can't do this...

Damn the bear trap that snagged me

2010-08-06T08:25:00.000-06:00

I have been struggling the past few weeks. I hurt…like all over but I think it’s mostly in my head. I hurt from pain, and fear, and exhaustion. Somewhere along this path I seemed to have stepped into a bear trap. Not a humane kind either, but rather one with claws of steel that dig into your legs tearing through your flesh and sending waves of pain throughout your entire body. But that is all so irrational, you say. To you, maybe so but for me…I am afraid this will never pass.

LINK: Damn the bear that snagged me

She laughed until she cried

2010-08-05T09:45:00.000-06:00

She laughed until she cried

Do you ever laugh at something that seems strikingly funny – and then suddenly you realize you’re no longer laughing, but rather crying, and what seemed so insanely funny a minute ago doesn’t seem funny at all now, and you feel incredibly sad and hopeless?

That happened to me today. The therapist has been throwing different techniques, ideas, suggestions at me to see what might stick. Which, knowing me, she will probably throw 100 different things and maybe 5 will Velcro to my skin and infiltrate into my crazybrain in a way I can incorporate it into my life in a helpful way. I know that…and she knows that.

Today we spent a lot of time talking about the somatic sensations that happen at night when the follies begin and she told me about a trauma therapist, J. Eric Gentry, PhD, and his suggestion that relaxing the muscles of the pelvic region will lead to self-regulation, which, as you can see from the excerpts below, this can pretty much lead to winning the lottery.

As I read through this alone, and then with a couple of trusty friends, humorous Grace began to show her face laughing and joking that the *pelvic* muscles can be the key to happiness. (Makes sense…they were always the key to someone’s happiness, just never mine) For real, I wish someone would have told me years ago that relaxing the vag muscles (the anti-kegal exercise) is like the holy grail! The paper goes on to say that many trauma survivors cannot feel these muscles and should this happen to you, you might perhaps seek the assistance of a professional massage therapist who can assist you in “locating and releasing your pelvic muscles.” Um what? Can I also get a Brazilian wax while I’m there? You mean if I relax my “pelvic floor” muscles I can handle criticism with grace? Like bossman could call with a complaint and I’d be all, “Hold on, I gotta relax the vag muscles so I don’t get defensive.” I always knew that men think with their dick a lot of times, but I had no idea that I could find peace just in my vagina! Who knew! And who knew that just relaxing your ass and vag you will feel safe and connected. AND! Bonus! I just need to get in touch with my “core” and “realax” the muscles “Down There” and I’ll Experience INTIMACY! OMG! I’ve always wondered what that was like!!! For real! And she went on and on and on…and we were all laughing like Humorous Grace was performing a stand up routine!

Then she called the therapist and inquired if this perhaps was meant for another, more “new agey” client, and the therapist insisted it was not, and that we could “work on this” in session. And Humorous Grace was all, “Um, if you think you and I are going to sit around and practice vaginal relaxation exercises, I’ll pass.” And the therapist was beginning to get annoyed so she was all like, “Grace, it was just a suggestion – you can take parts of it, or not, or store it somewhere and pick it back up later.” And Humorous Grace, clearly with un-relaxed vag and ass muscles was like, “Cool – T…shall I store it in the box of tampons?” and suddenly Humorous Grace disappeared and was replaced by hopeless Grace, and hopeless Grace said, “I don’t get it.” As her voice started to crack. Hopeless Grace cried tears of frustration because she really does not get it.

Hopeless Grace remains in charge tonight, and she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t get any of it. She is hurting and feeling like there is nothing left to be done. With each passing moment the distant flickering light that did represent hope grows dimmer and dimmer….

I don’t get it. I don’t FEEL anything. I don’t UNDERSTAND this. I am left without hope. That isn’t funny…

(excerpt from article)

If you keep your pelvic muscles released and relaxed for 30 seconds you will begin to notice the clear differences in yourself as you transition from sympathetic to parasympathetic dominance. You will first notice comfort in your body. As you release the tension and stress that you yourself have been generating you will become aware that your body is comfortable-no matter what is going on around you. If we are able to keep our pelvic muscles relaxed then we will be rewarded with a lessening of “stress” and the restoration of optimal functioning in our thinking and actions. With this self-regulation, we will be able to comfortably seek creative solutions to problems and situations that used to leave us baffled, exhausted, and frustrated.

By practicing the release and relaxation of these muscles, we can gradually shift from sympathetic to parasympathetic dominance. The rewards of this transformation include comfort in our bodies, maximal morot and cognitive functioning, ability to tolerate intimacy, self-regulation, internal vs external locus of control, ability to remain mission/principle driven, increased tolerance, increased effectiveness, and increased health of our body’s systems.

I see dead people

2010-08-05T09:41:00.002-06:00

The past two weeks he has relentlessly haunted me day and night. There have been moments of excruciating mental and physical pain and it’s felt like I’ve moved into the Amityville house of horrors. There was one night in a panic I had thoughts of calling a Demonologist to come and exorcise my body.

I’m not fond of reliving the past. I do not wish to watch this horror film over and over and not only is it in 3-D, I can feel the actual physical sensations over and over again. There are times when I watch from outside my body, floating above that little girl, not feeling her pain, but seeing the pain in her eyes as she stares into mine pleading with me to help her. Other times I feel that I am her, trapped, in pain, unable to breathe. I hurt where she hurt, I feel what she felt, I see what she saw, I relive what she lived. I see the look of pleasure and power in his eyes as he made me into who he wanted me to be. It was a look of supremacy. Ownership. I was his.

The shame and humiliation of this continuous looping has left me battered and torn. I have tried to continue to live with an outward persona of a woman who is somewhat normal but that in itself has made me weary and vulnerable. I have done my best to get through each night but the scars within me feel like deep jagged cuts which are sealed off from the outside world, but remain a gaping wound visible only to me, and those within me.

I am doing the best I can right now. It will get better soon, right? Soon I won’t feel so small and frightened, right? I wish I had someone to sit with me tonight. Help me stay safe. I don’t feel safe.

He is dead but I still see him. I still feel him. I still hear him. I am dead. He is dead.

I see dead people.

Must-Stop-the-Nun

2010-08-01T16:33:00.000-06:00

I have been partying at the flashback fun frolic for just about 2 weeks now. And contrary to what the nun thinks works best I have been unable to distract (dissociate) it all away. And when this happens, there’s no “mindfullness” or “bucket-slinging”…there’s only watching the clock and struggling to getting through each minute. I cannot sweep it under the rug or pretend it doesn’t exist. Unfortunately, neither have I been able to talk about it with my dear sweet therapist because there is always that little voice who questions the trustworthiness during times like these because it was during one of the most vulnerable moments of my life when I was held down and tortured to the point of retraumatization (metaphorically speaking) because of DBT.

Friday night the therapist did not throw DBT darts at me or invalidate or enrage me. Friday night the therapist told me that I was doing better because I wasn’t hurting myself, I wasn’t drinking it away, I wasn’t using other ways to dissociate myself from what I was feeling (which, is the anti-dbt – yes, folks, it is…). She heard me when I said this is killing me and she didn’t tell me to shut up and the next day I woke up, still tired, still hurting, but with significantly decreased anger, and injury free.

LINK: must-stop-the-nun

What if she never was...

2010-08-01T16:29:00.000-06:00

Nothing will make it better. The shame clings to me like a slip filled with static. It moves with me – it molds to my very essence. It doesn’t go away. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I am not normal. I carry all this anger and pain and this overwhelming shame. I fantasize about what it would be like if I didn’t exist. If I was never born. If I never existed he could not have hurt me. How lovely it would have been to have never been abused.

LINK: What if she never was

Broken

2010-08-01T16:25:00.000-06:00

I woke up this morning feeling like my insides have been completely ravaged and wasted of any good feelings and the desire to just give up and never come out of hiding again is strong. I am not in a good place right now. I am too tired to battle the demons in my head. I am broken! Broken! And broken Grace cannot deal with the constant headaches and nausea. She cannot handle the chronic pain with no relief. She’s broken. Shattered.

LINK: Broken

Food glorious food

2010-07-28T14:02:00.000-06:00

I realize I have control issues at times but this isn’t about “control”. This is about the fact that I am literally repulsed by food. The texture, the thought of food, looking at food….all of it. I have had some type of food aversion in one form or another for as long as I can remember. But now it is as extreme as I can remember since college. There was a point in college where I spent several months living on bagels and rocky road ice cream because that’s all I could eat.

I am not eating disordered right now. Do not suggest CBT, DBT, or any type of “cognitive restructuring” now. Do not suggest that eating is “simple” and I should just “make myself eat 3 meals a day.” It doesn’t work! This is not about control, or being thin, or punishing myself in some maladaptive way. This is about the bad shit I am not prepared to talk about that is constantly reeling through my head on a blue ray disc in 3-D, and the asshole ghost of the past who continues to haunt both my mind and my body. And now I can’t eat anything because the smell and the texture and even visual presentation of pretty much all foods is deplorable.

LINK: Food glorious food

Careful the things you say

2010-07-28T14:00:00.001-06:00

I haven’t been able to write for a few days. I tried but every time I would sit down to write – I became fearful of telling the truth. And pretending and posting some Sally Sunshine bullshit is just not an option for me here, so I just didn’t write at all.

Last week was a bad week. It started on a Sunday night and as the week wore on – my body hurt worse and worse, the nights grew more and more impossible – and there was nothing in my bag of ‘cope’ that was helping. I begged and pleaded and cried until I finally gave up and just crawled into a hole somewhere so deep inside of me, I was lost even to myself.

LINK: Careful the things you say

I need hope

2010-07-26T19:52:00.000-06:00

I have been disengaged…from my family, my friends, from you, from myself. You have tried to be here for me. My friends IRL have tried to be here for me. At times, they have physically wrapped my body with theirs as a shield of protection from the outside world. But when the war is raging from the inside, their barriers between my body and the outside world offers little protection.

LINK: I need hope

I've run out of cope

2010-07-21T21:47:00.000-06:00

I can’t make it stop. I’ve tried. I can’t make it stop. I can’t make him stop. My screams echo inside my mind. The physical horror of his hands on my body, his needs, his power. The mental terror. There is no protection in this world of pain. He pulls my hair. He rips away my nightgown. He touches me with his cold hands. I close my eyes in shame. His face is filled with pleasure while mine is filled with pain. I silently beg him to stop as he rips me in two. My body is burning My body is on fire.

LINK: I've run out of *cope*

Pop Goes the Weasel

2010-07-20T21:29:00.000-06:00

Did you ever have one of those Jack in the Box toys as a kid where you would wind it up and it would play “Pop Goes the Weasel” faster and faster until a clown popped out and scared the shit out of you? Me either…but I did play with one somewhere. Maybe it was church.

That’s how last night and today have felt for me. I can hear the music playing in the background, “All around the mulberry bush the monkey chased the weasel…the monkey thought it was such fun – POP goes the weasel….” And it plays over and over and over again, non-stop. And my heart beats faster and faster as the music gets faster and that damn clown keeps popping out and scaring the shit out of me!

LINK: Pop Goes the Weasel

Are you afraid I might fall?

2010-07-20T21:27:00.001-06:00

Therapist is leaving for vacation: Rock Climbing So today in session I told her not to fall from a cliff and she said, “Are you worried I might fall off a cliff and not come back?” Typical therapist response, eh? I said, “No, I’m not. You’re a big girl and I think you can take care of yourself.” But what I was thinking was, “No, I’m more worried that I am going to fall off a cliff to my death while you’re gone.” Which, if that does happen, I suppose I could call the “back-up” shrink she provided to me today- on a very aesthetically pleasing business card. Nice prep work since she’s never had a back up before during her vacations. Of course I have no idea who this chick is or what her office hours are – or “crisis” management protocol….just her name on her business card. Not that I would call her anyway.

LINK: Are you afraid I might fall?

By my fingernails

2010-07-20T21:24:00.000-06:00

I have been in pain today. I have tried to stay busy, intermittently doing some of the “adult” things I need to do…although not super successful because as of 10:30pm tonight -there are still piles of laundry all over the place. I put some clothes in the washer and then suddenly I feel like a small child…consumed with unbearable pain. I still don’t really understand how the emotional pain becomes somatic.

LINK: By my fingernails

It’s Friday, I’m in love…

2010-07-17T09:28:00.000-06:00

Earlier this week I was having a hard time coping. All I could focus on was taking one breath and then another and then another…focusing on that until the sun would rise again. But tonight I feel warmth in my heart. I just can’t express to you how much encouragement your words provide me. I am amazed by your words…I am amazed by you.

LINK: It's Friday, I'm in love...

How ’bout a caring Shrink

2010-07-17T09:26:00.000-06:00

This morning I had a voicemail from the therapist letting me know she did get my email, and that she does understands that I might be feeling overwhelmed from everything and that she also understood my feelings of shame and embarrassment because of my history. She offered to meet today (Friday) since she knew I was feeling afraid and overwhelmed in the middle of all of this and…because it’s Friday! (I hate Fridays!). I so appreciated her voicemail this morning, and the fact that she took the time to leave me a voicemail to let me know she got my email, and offering to meet today. But I’m still afraid to talk to her about this, face to face. Despite her voicemail, letting me know that she did hear me, and she does care, the shame meter is still pointing to *full*, and I’m not sure I can talk about the content of the email now.

LINK How 'bout a caring Shrink

Dear Guardian Angels

2010-07-15T20:05:00.000-06:00

Tonight I want to express my gratitude but my words seem to fail me. The support I receive is part of the reason why I fight so hard. You send me strength when I have none. Even far away, you are still right here, listening to me, encouraging me, holding me, loving me, sending me hope. Shared history explains the how, but love explains the why. You, my guardian angels, carry me through, reminding me that my life is worth fighting for, that I am worth fighting for, I deserve to be here. That Grace can be saved.

LINK: Dear Guardian Angels

The sigh that captured me

2010-07-15T20:04:00.000-06:00

There is so much to say – emotions flow through me, coursing through my veins, reminding me of past hurt, of someone I do not want to be. Pain, hurt, anger, sadness…cycle through me ~ each coming around again and again.
I allowed myself to try on all of these emotions and feelings this afternoon – and I did it without self-destructing. I don’t want to find myself at the end unable to communicate, leaving so much unsaid. I don’t want to feel hideously ugly inside and out. I can’t do everything right now, but I can do something.

LINK: The sigh that captured me

What to expect when you're not expecting

2010-07-13T17:59:00.000-06:00

I saw the therapist Friday afternoon and she said to me, “You will probably spend a lot of time this weekend crying…are you okay with that?” She was right, there were moments I would burst into tears that came out of nowhere. And each time I would start to cry I would think about what the therapist told me on Friday and I would let myself be sad and cry and be “okay” with that.

LINK: What to expect when you're not expecting

How did you get through it?

2010-07-09T16:55:00.000-06:00

I have prayed…many many times in the past few weeks/months. I have lifted my tear stained face to the sky and I have prayed. I have felt so much pain that it was nearly unbearable.

LINK: How did you get through it?

Right here ~ Right now

2010-07-09T09:21:00.000-06:00

I had hoped for a different outcome at today’s appointment. But it was not to be. I cried all the way home from her office. I’m so tired and weak…I was sort of scared to go to sleep again last night. I’ve lost 5 pounds since last week. I need to eat, and I need to eat healthy. My iron is low (big surprise) but most of the iron filled foods gross me out.

But I hang on because I know I’m not alone. I know I have people who care about me. People who listen, care, and give a damn about me; not the fake me, but the REAL me. Accept me and love me despite all of my flaws. You believe in me and send me love every day.

One moment at a time… I can keep trying. I can keep hoping. I will do this. I can do this. I am doing this.

Thank you for believing in me.

LINK: Right here ~ Right now

Tangled

2010-07-09T09:18:00.002-06:00

Collapsing into myself… My body feels too heavy and so very empty at the same time. Pulled down by the weight of not wanting to go on – I have found myself slipping, once again trying on the thoughts of…’I want out’. I feel terrible. Physically I am bone weary tired, bleeding and empty, filled with pain. I wander around, lost and confused…unable to grasp onto any reality.

LINK: Tangled

Broken thoughts from the black hole

2010-07-07T23:01:00.001-06:00

I feel very overwhelmed…like unable to think about what I need to do – overwhelmed. I guess it’s a good thing breathing is involuntary

My favorite pajama pants are all bloody and I think I’m going to throw them away.

I want someone to hold me but I don’t want to be touched

LINK: Broken thoughts from the black hole

There is not much else to do but wait

2010-07-07T18:12:00.001-06:00

Tonight my desperate body is trying hard to release the pain inside. The pain that tries to push its way out of me. Crying no longer helps. And I am unable to talk.

I force myself to continue to experience this because there is no other way out.
Pain flows through me and I shiver as I allow it to pull me beneath the surface. It disappears and I float back to the surface and drift until another wave drags me under again.

LINK: There is not much else to do but wait

Sometimes these things happen…

2010-07-07T18:11:00.001-06:00

Sometimes these things happen. Sometimes good things happen. Sometimes bad things happen.

But things just happen. These are reassuring words to comfort someone when something (good or bad) happens and you aren’t sure what to say… I have heard these words a lot the past few days – when both good and bad things have happened.

**** VERY GRAPHIC POST ABOUT MISCARRIAGE ****

LINK: Sometimes these things happen

Not everything is about The big TR

2010-07-06T13:06:00.000-06:00

I am too sick to come to session, even though she certainly “recommends” that I come. I think it unwise to drive across town to a session that will perhaps leave me even more distraught than I already am; as I sit here now, bleeding insanely and doubled over in pain.

LINK: Not everything is about *The Big TR*

Why are you such a disappointment, Grace?

2010-07-03T14:48:00.001-06:00

I have been hanging on by a thread for a couple of months now. I feel so emotionally fragile that I feel like a strong wind could blow me away. I don’t expect anyone to understand. I used to…but I really don’t anymore. Because of the uncontrollable rage and terror and hopelessness, I have engaged in self-destructive behavior (nothing illegal) and written detailed suicide plans. I have cut myself, drank too much, taken too many pills. I have screamed and cried and banged my head against the wall and the floor. I have begged God to let me die and begged him to help me live.

LINK: Why are you such a disappointment, Grace?

What would YOU like to say?

2010-07-03T14:46:00.000-06:00

about the Tuesday ~~fiasco~~ *event* (Had I known u were coming Id have baked a cake )

THERAPIST would like to say: I imagine that you are still trying to sort out the many painful and confusing feelings related to the events on Tues. From what you shared briefly on the phone on Tues, the memories of childhood that were elicited has to be terribly painful for you.
5 YEAR OLD would like to say: why did you do that, Therapist? It scared me very much and I’m still crying and scared. I feel sick too.
LOGICAL GRACE would like to say: Yes, the memories that your actions elicited were, and are still, quite painful. I’m sure you realize that your actions have put more than a minor dent in my trust for you.
PAG would like to say: Here’s the thing: I dont think I can EVER trust you AGAIN! I don’t really understand how my *requesting meds* from you on a day you have office hours turns into your calling the cops to come check in on me and my “well being” !!!!

LINK: What would YOU like to say?

Had I known u were coming Id have baked a cake

2010-07-03T14:37:00.000-06:00

I feel put off by unexpected guests. I really prefer someone to CALL first before coming over. That way I can ensure I am prepared for a visit. That I look presentable, the house looks presentable, and I have prepared tea and cookies. Unfortunately, I was caught off guard this morning, and I had none of the above in place!

I also prefer a PHONE CALL before someone should send someone else to my house. For example, should someone like to arrange a play date with the 8 year old, I’d prefer some advance notice, and not just a parent dropping off a child at my house. Likewise, should my shrink decide I’m *unsafe* – I’d prefer she CALL ME and TALK TO ME DIRECTLY! Prior to sending the authorities to my house!
Gosh, imagine my embarrassment at being unprepared when they showed up THIS MORNING!

LINK: Had I known you were coming I'd have baked a cake

Hopelessness meets despair on the couch

2010-07-03T14:34:00.000-06:00

Sometimes life seems like it’s too much. Everything seems to go wrong at once. This is one of those times. A couple of weeks ago the therapist thought it would be a good idea to dig into some of my *present* day experiences and it has lead to an onslaught of self-destructive behavior and major sui thoughts and I am not coping – at the f**k all. I am overwhelmed with anxiety and chronic sui thoughts and the panic I feel inside of my body and mind have left me unable to sleep, or eat, sometimes even to breathe. I am screaming…but there is no sound. There are parts inside of me screaming and fighting and choking the life out of me and still I cannot speak. I am filled with agony, disgust and self hatred and I don’t know what to do with all of this because I can’t deny it – it rages in me, and I resent it and I try to push it away, but it is still here. The agony of it all makes me fold in half; desperate to become so small I might trick it into believing I am no longer here. There is no end to it – there’s not enough sand in the world to stop this flooding!

LINK: Hopelessness meets despair *on the couch*

And then there was WE

2010-07-03T14:33:00.000-06:00

I am not sure at what point in the big TR “Therapist” and “Grace”, “I” and “You” merged into a “WE”. I try to reflect back and I can’t pinpoint when she and I became “we”. I shall clarify, although it will still sound like some crazybrain irrational ranting, I’m sure. The thoughts inside my head about this are not really flowing together in any sort of fluid movement…they are broken up; they feel sharp and cold against my skin, bitter and acidic on my tongue. I have noticed however, it is randomly “we” – not a consistent “we”. And I’m not exactly sure what determines which situation is a “we” vs. a “you”.

link: And then there was *WE*

My fault

2010-06-25T21:17:00.001-06:00

Earlier this week I heard that there was an employee in our office who had been arrested on suspicion of sexual assault on a child by one in a position of trust, sexual exploitation of a child and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. He is 30. The minor is 14. I don’t know him – I don’t know her. I know only what the paper printed and the rumor mill around the office threw up. But it was enough. Enough to reaffirm my initial beliefs that society is still quite quick to point fingers at the *victims* of sexual assault and continue to make excuses for those who choose to assault and rape and victimize others. This fact has been painfully brought to my attention many times throughout the years, including a college class I took where we participated in a “blame the victim” exercise and more than half of the class admitted to blaming a woman for her rape because she was walking late at night, in the dark, wearing revealing clothing.

CONTINUE READING: MY FAULT

You could have saved me

2010-06-18T10:30:00.001-06:00

**** SPOILER ALERT ***** SHUTTER ISLAND *******

“You could have saved me.” the little girl told Teddy as she looked at him with her sad little face. He knew her mother was going to hurt her. He KNEW! He could have saved her but he chose not too. And she died. He turned his back on her. He stood by and basically allowed her to die…while the little girl just gave up hope for any sort of rescue and just faded away…resigned to her fate in this world.
I watched that movie last weekend and when the little girl would repeatedly show up, telling her father that he could have saved her, and each time she would appear I could feel my breathing become more and more shallow and my eyes begin to sting with tears of sadness.

LINK to post: You could have saved me

Which came first?

2010-06-07T12:44:00.002-06:00

I have a T appointment this afternoon. I was wondering if I could call in “sick” to that too. Do you think the therapist would believe that I’m sick, or think I am just trying to *avoid* something…like talking about last Friday night. Which, I’m totally NOT avoiding anything…because I am feeling sick. But then I’m wondering if I am feeling sick BECAUSE I want to avoid talking about Friday….
Link: Which came first?

Temporary Home

2010-06-04T13:10:00.003-06:00

Today I am trying to remember this is just my ”Temporary Home”…it’s not where I belong. Windows and rooms that I’m passing through…this is just a stop on the way to where I’m going – I’m not afraid because because I know – this is my Temporary Home.

continue reading: Temporary Home

Depression SUX!

2010-06-04T13:08:00.002-06:00

My dear friend:

If you were gone, it would leave a hole in the lives of many people, including me. You do matter! You are not replaceable! And if I were there with you right now I would hug you and tell you in person how much you mean to me. I would tell you how much I love you and if needed, CrazyBrain would make an appearance and threaten to hurt you. Because suicide is not an option. And if I have to stay alive in this hellhole then so do you. Yes, those are the rules. And if you were to commit suicide then I would become suicidal and you should keep in mind that I have a complete pharmacy at my very fingertips….full of sleeping pills and benzos and more. Things no CrazyBrain should have access too – but I do. I’m a danger to myself and so I need you here to support me when I feel like dying.

continue reading... Depression SUX!

My body remembers

2010-05-29T19:17:00.000-06:00

My mind remembers a lot….too much. Some nights I beg God, the universe, whatever – to not let me remember. But lately, my body remembers more. And the physical pain is intense and debilitating. In fact, there are moments it’s nearly unbearable. And there’s no real reason or explanation for it. But it hurts. Migraines the pain medication won’t touch. They never seems to go away – especially on the left side of my head and down my neck. Even when it isn’t a full-blown migraine there’s always a dull ache that is irritating.

continue reading here: My body remembers

What can I do to make you feel better right now?

2010-05-25T20:26:00.000-06:00

EXCERPT: That’s what the therapist asked me today…What can I do to make you feel better right now, while you’re here? Right NOW? In my present moment? Remember Grace, you are safe in your body …am I, dear therapist, am I? I hope you’re right…because I really would like to feel safe…I really would.

Continue reading here: What can I do to make you feel better right now?

I get by with a little help from my friends

2010-05-22T18:41:00.000-06:00

EXCERPT: All of these struggles make us the way we are, don’t they? And even though we’ve never met we still share these qualities. And sometimes we give hope to others and sometimes we take hope from others when we have none of our own.
continue reading here: I get by with a little help from my friends

A reason...

2010-05-22T18:39:00.002-06:00

EXCERPT: Sometimes the darkest nights lead to the brightest days….K ~ So automatically you’re wondering who is currently bogarting Grace’s blog…but I assure you – it’s really me. Lately, I’ve been stuck in this overwhelming darkness, I’ve been lulled by my own fatigue, weary from fighting and worn out from crying. I can’t remember a day without tears. Last night was unspeakably horrible – until I finally left – and now there are only snippets of the evening in my brain…which I’m actually thankful for.
Continue reading A reason here: A reason

So cute how she thinks I’m sane

2010-05-21T09:13:00.000-06:00

EXCERPT: I had a PDOC appointment this afternoon. She was waiting in the lobby when I got there with this big smile on her face like she was looking forward to my *visit* ~ very much unlike the therapist who always seems tired. I suppose that’s the joy of seeing me only 20 minutes every 3 months. I guess I can be pretty cool in small doses.

continue reading here: So cute how she thinks I'm sane

Grounding, Soothing, Safe Places, oh my…

2010-05-21T09:10:00.001-06:00

EXCERPT: Lately, this has been a recurring statement in my life. Sometimes, it is said as a statement to my continued feelings of fear and unsafety, “Ground yourself, Grace, remember, you are safe in your soothed body.” Other times, it’s a directive, “Grace, you need to find your safe space.” These statements used to piss me off but now I just nod my head and try to understand that the people who are saying things probably don’t understand that people like me have no idea what a *safe space* even is. No idea.

continue reading here: Grounding, Soothing, Safe Places, oh my...

this handbasket and this ice-pick...that's all I need

2010-05-16T10:40:00.019-06:00

I have scared myself this past week with these overwhelming with thoughts of death. My head is in overdrive and nothing I do is making it stop. I have moments where I feel so suicidal it’s scary. I haven’t eaten in a few days and I feel weak and shaky. I am so tired I had to stop halfway down the stairs to rest and stave off the dizziness

The past few nights I’ve had dissociative occurrences where I have done things I have absolutely no memory of doing. Phone calls, written words, waking up in places I’ve no memory of visiting. It scares me because bad shit happens when I’m not around. And I can’t seem to stop it. I took seroquel early thinking I could go to bed early and avoid any possibility of a crazybrain freak out session – and I woke up at 2:30 curled up in the back seat of my car rocking and sobbing like a little girl. It is so very overwhelming now.

I am not eating, I am not sleeping well, and the near blinding migraines are becoming unbearable. I have this exaggerated startle response that is nearly sending my heart into paroxysmal A-fib when the wind blows against the window.

I am not stupid. I know exactly where this road will lead me. But even that knowledge is not enough to make me turn around. It’s like I don’t have a choice in this anymore. There is no ‘free will’. There is no "me". The urge to destroy myself is so strong now. I thought I could control things – that I could keep things at a manageable level so that I could at least function. But that is no longer the case.

The hus and DS are headed out to a baseball game soon. DD is at a friend’s house. I will finally be alone, which, I know in my current state of mind it is neither safe nor advisable for me to be alone, and yet at the same time I am craving it. And after they leave I will take an ice pick and stab my brain repeatedly, beginning with the hippocampus and the hypothalamus until it all just stops.

Even with a 'safety plan' in place I have found loop-holes. And the truth is I wasn’t worth anything then and I am not worth anything now. There's no hope.

I am getting my hand-basket because I know right where I’m headed. And I hope to find peace there.

I need help

2010-05-15T19:41:00.013-06:00

Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is ask for help. I need help…gawd…I need help. And I desperately want to throw up my arms and have someone to make all of the decisions for me-- either put me in a hospital or do something to make a change in my brain. I'm afraid of myself. I do not feel safe. The therapist made me promise not to kill myself last Tuesday night –and I didn’t. Maybe I need to be in the hospital. But I would never go because I'm way too stubborn and I think it would make things worse because the thought of losing even my freedom is even more overwhelming, I feel like I've lost so much already. I want someone to save me because I can't save myself. Which sounds ridiculous and obviously isn’t possible since I am an adult and have to save myself.

The past few weeks have been dreadful. I have not felt this suicidal and self destructive since March 2008, which, ironically is the last time I went back to the hometown. I am so depressed and dissociative that I barely know what to do with myself, on the rare occasions when I am myself. I almost called the suicide hotline but decided against it because I really didn’t think they could help me, even though I know it is a very real possiblity that I could die. Very real.

There isn’t much anyone can do for me. This morning when I become conscious of just how bad it had been last night I realized I should probably make a safety plan. And so I did. I reached out to a friend of mine and asked her to check on me at night. And that if I did not respond to wait 15 minutes and try again – and then if no response…well, that’s where I get lost. Then what? Call the therapist? Call 911? Then what? I don’t want to go to the hospital.

And I didn’t even call the therapist to tell her just how bad it is right now. For a couple of reasons: I’m unsure of her thoughts about Thursday’s meeting and I’m projecting the TS’s words into the therapist, thinking she took in and believes everything TS woman said is gold. And if she doesn’t care, or tells me to call someone else, or “grow up”…or anything of the sort – it will surely make things worse now….so I did not call her. Bad decision? Maybe – but I’m famous for those lately.

I want to write….but not on my other blog because of the space I am in now will worry people who care about me and I don’t want that- so I write here for now. I know I have people who love me, who care about me greatly…and I love them in return. I don’t know what’s wrong with me – why can’t I FEEL it? Why isn’t it enough? I surely don't know. All I do know is that I am filled with depression and thoughts of death are being knocked around my head like a game of pool. I'm just waiting for the 8-ball to hit the corner pocket...and that'll be it.

Where is the anchor that is supposed to tie me to this world?

Hello Darkness My Old Friend

2010-05-15T16:28:00.002-06:00

Visit Grace's NEW place

2010-03-20T10:00:00.000-06:00

Grace's new web address

I have been working on a new website....and you can find it by clicking on the link above.
Still under construction, but there are some recent posts.
~ Grace

I killed her ~ with a razor blade ~ in the 'secret hiding place'

2010-02-02T19:38:00.004-07:00

Tonight, CrazyBrain has metastastized into this huge fatal tumor. Must cut her out of me after numbing with copious amounts of ketel one.

DEATH TO CRAZYBRAIN!

I fucking hate her!
FINISHED!
I don't give a fuck if I am imposed with the death penalty!
It'll be worth it!

In the death of CrazyBrain- how do you plead?
Guilty, your honor - by reason of insanity!
** having major sui thoughts tonight. As I see it- it will pass, or i will follow thru with them- either way is fine with me right now.

"CRAZYHEAD"...I don't get it!

2010-02-01T12:31:00.009-07:00

I cannot figure out why CrazyBrain freaks over some things but not others. Let me give an example:
On Saturday, I wrote that on Friday night, the therapist's patience won over CBs anger and distrust, but what I did not share was the fact that early last week CB made a connection (which may or may not be true) that the therapist was marrying a for Zen Monk who has some (IMO) f'd up practices and meditates 14 hours a day. So that's what CB freaked out about on Friday night. Now, I get that the therapist's private life is just that 'private' and therefore none of CB's business...but when reading the articles written by the zen master and then reflecting on the changes in the therapist's approaches over the past 2 years...I do think I have the right to know if the therapist is going to be engaging in some freaked out spiritual crap that I have no interest in bringing into the TR - and then how could she help me find *balance* in my life if she's meditating with a controling freak zen master 14 hours a day??? I realize this is sorta vague, but CB did not pull all of this out of her ass ~ there was a "glowing" review of the zen monk, a picture, a video, and then this way out there article that tied all of the above together. Anyway, the therapist said CB's 2+2 math did not accurately add up to 4. So, we'll see.... But there was major freak out for about 4 days!..CB is still not 100% convinced she is wrong about it - like - there are a lot of "coincidences"...looks like a duck' kinda thing
PART 2 This morning, I get on a call called, "Budget reductions" - kinda knew what that was about going in....and my boss delivers the message that I have to cut 10% in wre from my 2010 projections. And, one would think I'd be freakin' right? Like, I'd be sitting here right now shaking and screaming, "OMG! That's 10% of my WRE budget! There's no way in hell I can do that and still be successful. There's no hope! It's a lost cause! I should just quit or kill myself!" But nope....it's not going to be easey...it's going to be a difficult message to deliver. 'Well, let's all work smarter, harder, and get even better results with less people! Come on team, we can do it!' But the thing is, it's a very rare occasion that anything work related raises my blood pressure. My entire calm, cool, collected demeanor in the office is so the opposite of anything relating to the past, or the therapist. I am always operating on the professional platform and taking whatever I'm handed and just "dealing with it."
In my career, I can take a sack full of lemons and make the best lemonade ever!
In the TR, and dealing with the past, CB takes the lemons, uses the knife to cut them, then herself, and adds a bottle of vodka for lemon drop martinis, and dissociation reigns for hours, sometimes days!
WTH?
Why can't I be the same in ALL situations?????
I don't get it.
I want to be THAT Grace. I hate the rest of "her"!

Let’s go surfing now ~ everybody’s learning how….(surfing the trauma waves)

2010-01-31T16:40:00.003-07:00

Yes, the therapist would say, “You have to learn to ride the waves, Grace.” I surfed once, in College, on Spring Break ~ Daytona Beach…it didn’t work out so well. Turns out I wasn’t able to ‘ride the waves’. Ride the waves…study the tides, Grace.

I sometimes feel trapped inside my head – worry that I've made no progress in therapy since it comes back time after time after time. And each time I get up on that surfboard, the cresting waves slam me into the beach of hell. But I keep trying.

I remember the pain of that child, and I remember it in vivid detail. I can’t forget them. She won’t let me…and if I dare try to forget she reminds me – not so gently. And the therapist can say it a million more times, “Grace, you are not a child. You are not a child.” And yet the thoughts and memories still play out as though I am a child; the nightly attacks that leave me struggling to find some battle armor and I don’t mean a scented candle and a peppermint tucked away in a pink basket. I mean Maximus Decimus Meridius armor…and his gladiator fighting skills would be handy to have too…you know, in a pinch.

But I’ve promised myself I’ll fight through it this time. Try to learn and someday be able to predict the ‘tides’. I write that, but inside there are 5 voices screaming, “We can’t do it! You are a liar!” I have so many different color marks in my calendar –Last day for SI (11 days), bleeding AGAIN!, alcohol, ativan, bad night, crazybrain freak out, lost time, and now even the therapist's Feb hospital schedule! …- I now need a key to keep track of all of the different things I’m trying to keep track of. It reminds me of when my son was an infant and we had this feeding/changing schedule posted on the fridge...yeah, after about 2 weeks of that, I was smart enough to realize he had his own agenda and didn't care what the fridge calendar said. Um...3 years later, I still carry around a pink daytimer and a selection of colored shapries for the "Grace" calendar... When will I learn???!!!!....

I need a new brain ~ my mother was right, clearly mine was wired wrong. My mother always said to me, “Grace, when God was passing out brains, you thought they said trains, and you ran away.” I think I know what she meant now when she said that to me as a child. Too bad I didn’t run away when God was passing out parents!

Simmer Down, CrazyBrain...

2010-01-30T14:15:00.003-07:00

All week CrazyBrain has been boiling with anger and last night the emotional volcano erupted; CrazyBrain slipped past the internal guards, who obviously had fallen asleep on the job, and went on a full -fledged crazybrain freak out! Like, in my house, the FREAKS really do come out at night! Angry and shaking uncontrollably, screaming for it to stop...but it wouldn’t stop. CrazyBrain is angry and distrusting all the time.

I keep thinking there has to be a way for her to get past this…work through it, once and for all - and put it behind her and move forward. I know the core issue is “trust”. Shattered and broken~ pieces of trust swirl around inside of me like a tornado. And it all comes down to finding a way to stop the tornado inside of CrazyBrain, and rebuild the trust. But how? Sometimes I think it’s futile…a waste of my time, a waste of the therapist’s time…like- if CrazyBrain hasn’t learned it by now – it ain’t gettin’ in! In the argument of CBs distrust and the therapist’s patience…the therapist’s patience won last night. I don’t know why she still cares…but I’m really glad she does.

After the week of screaming and fighting you would think that I would eventually fall into a slumber that would mirror that of Rip Van Winkle – but it never happens. At night, the monsters and demons play games in my head and they keep me awake. And I am scared every night.

The therapist doesn’t have an extensive background in dealing with “traumaheads” like me…but she can juggle all of the parts of Grace pretty successfully. In the past 4 years she has fought and argued, pleaded and struggled…she has built trust and set limits with “all” of Grace. I imagine there have been times when she has done all she can and has to go on hope that I can stay alive for another day. And depending on the moment, I curse her and thank her for helping me stay alive. I know that I am lucky to have her in my life. I hope someday, the really traumatized and untrusting parts of me will see that too. And I hope that until that happens, the therapist will continue to hang in there, knowing that she has already helped me so much, and I do love her.

"After the first death there is no other." ~ Dylan Thomas

2010-01-29T21:47:00.003-07:00

I have been screaming inside…and yet no one can hear me.
I needed her to see the message I was trying to communicate. I needed her to understand what I was saying. For many years now…I’ve been screaming inside, yet my screams remain unacknowledged, unheard, by the outside world.

I’ve been waiting for a light to go on…like she’s finally going to understand this terribly important thing that I’m struggling with and she’ll help me understand too, and she’ll explain it to me. But instead, she offers some ‘mindfullness’ thoughts and says, “Keep doing the best you can, Grace. Just as you have been doing. You’re making progress, Grace. “ Meditate harder, Grace
Pray harder, Grace
Find your spirit connection, Grace
Try harder Grace.
You can do it Grace
I tried…I did. I have no spirit guide. No ‘inner wisdom’.
There is no one left to talk too…no one to trust.

Clearly I am of no importance at all. I am less than a client. I am not even a person. I am scared I am not going to get through this…and yet, at the same time, I don’t care if I do, and a part of me actually hopes that I won’t.

I died over 30 years ago. Yet I am still here until I learn to mourn my death. As the great poet Dylan Thomas said, “After the first death there is no other.”

A refusal to mourn the Death, by Fire, of a child in London
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness
And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn
The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.
Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.
~ Dylan Thomas

Her Death

2010-01-28T22:28:00.000-07:00

Death is a dark, cold, house full of malice.
Surrounded by a garden of dead flowers and trees with a deadly disease

With black leaves covering the hateful lawn.
It is the darkest place I've ever seen.
I hear things, snakes, spiders, slivering in the ground
I want to turn away but something keeps me tempted into this scene.
So I keep walking in the twisting darkness, a faint whisper of cold air blowing.
The leaves rustle beneath my feet, swirling in the wind and bleeding on my clothes.
The damp air has turned my tears to ice and the black memories of my past are now drawn about my shoulders.
I close my eyes.
When I open my eyes I gasp in horror at what is before me in this house of loath.
The room is lightened with red broken hearts.
I am surrounded by bodies with empty eyes
the smell of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke is overwhelming.
It is too much to bear, but as I stare into the darkness,
I force myself to face the darkness inside myself.
I sink down to my knees and sob big, heart wrenching, horrible sobs that shake my entire body. I feel bile rising up into my throat and I vomit until my stomach is as empty as my heart and soul.
Eyes tired
Mouth dry
Heart beats
Death she cries
No emotion
No devotion
No creation
Dead inside
Sweet silent sleep
Awake no more
Blessed her heart
Death she greets

Feeling the same way all over again...singing the same lines all over again...No matter how much I pretend

2010-01-28T17:49:00.002-07:00

Do you ever have this feeling in your gut that you are in a relationship and you aren’t sure you want to be in it anymore? And it isn’t because you dislike the other person, you just feel unsure if this person can offer you what you need any longer, or maybe they never did…which seems such an odd thing to say when you don’t know what you need, really…but maybe you would know it if you had it?
Sadly, I feel this way right now. I think I’ve felt this way, off and on, for quite some time, but not being the best communicator (in personal relationships)the unease just gets pushed back, and I try to continue to trudge along, gripping tightly onto hope that may or may not really exist. And I hear the conflicting voices: walk away, stay...you've felt this before. You know this person, this person knows you...you love this person...it'll pass.
For better or for worse...
There is a certain level of comfort that comes from being in a relationship for a long time, isn’t there? Realizing there is no perfect relationship, we have both overlooked things. I have compromised, my partner has compromised…but sometimes I feel like I have compromised too much, and for the wrong reasons, and I wonder if I can ever be happy in this relationship.
I do care about this person and I believe this person cares about me – I also wonder if sometimes we stay in relationships out of comfort, or maybe because it’s easier than starting over. And I am afraid if I leave, I will regret it. And is it fair to leave without being honest about my feelings? What happens if I stay and then many more years pass by, and it still feels the same...and then it's too late to start over.

Nothing makes sense right now. I don’t know what to do…it feels lonely. I’ve no one to talk too…

Oh, I'm sorry! I was under the assumption that since I gave birth to him ~ that I get to make the decisions about what's best for his safety...

2010-01-28T08:11:00.002-07:00

I didn't realize the "transportation" department was more qualified to assess the safety of my child. Thank you for clearing that up for me, dear lady who answers the phones at the school.
My son is scheduled to go on a field trip tomorrow. That'll be fun...kids love field trips. But here's the thing: I live in an area of the country where it snows...a lot. And it's supposed to snow tonight and tomorrow...and the field trip is nearly 2 hours away - and guess what will cover the roads at 7:30am when the bus leaves? Yes! SNOW & ICE!
I tend to be a *smidge* overprotective, so I called the school and asked about the field trip tomorrow and what should happen should there be inclement weather. Phone lady said that the transportation department will make the decision. So I said, dear woman, what if I make the decision not to let my son go on the field trip tomorrow due to my concerns of his safety. She said, "Well, Grace, that will be an unexcused absence." I'm sorry, what? She went on to say that "we" don't even know what the weather will be like on Thursday. Well, dear lady, I'm no meterologist, this is true...however I can read a weather report which states there will be snow and slick roads where my son will be traveling.
I'm not sure who the genius is who plans these *field trips* in January where I live...but I hope they are not also in charge of academics. I think I'll now call the transportation department and chap their ass with my worry meter!
And if need be, I will be prepared to list my qualifications that makes me "head decision maker" for Grace's son's safety:
I laid on my left side for 15 weeks with terbutaline dripping into my veins so his lungs could develop so he could be born "safely"~ I went through 12 hours of back labor with an epidural that did not work~ I had an emergency c-section when his heart rate dropped to a level that was not "safe"~ I paid the NICU bill and home health when he was born premature~ I got up every two hours to feed him for 6 months~I hug him when he's sad, laugh with him when he's happy.~I check on him while he's sleeping~I feed him, clothe him, help him with his homework~Cheer him on at sporting events~Make sure he gets enough rest. ~Schedule play dates, birthday parties, and sleepovers.~I will be the one to pay for his college education
I fight sui thoughts every day to be here for him because I know he needs me.
I am his mother. Not the school. Not the transportation department. Me! I am not the perfect parent, but I'm pretty sure I am the best decision maker when it comes to the safety of my child.
(And I dare anyone to disagree)

You can GUARANTEE me all that? Well, where do I sign up! I think we got ourselves a ZEN revival!

2010-01-27T20:03:00.010-07:00

I will concede that I don’t take very good care of my body – in fact, I take pretty bad care of my body…and I know it. I never learned how to take care of my body – and in fact, truth be told…I hate it. If there were some scientific research study looking for volunteers to learn to live without their body, I’d be the first to sign up! Obviously, an area I need to work on. I get that. The therapist wants me to take a self-defense class, a yoga class, do some meditation…something that will help me (as she says) learn to “love” my body. I told her I would look into it. I would LOVE to have a punching bag with Marsha’s face on it…but I haven’t been able to find one yet!

I like to stay busy…I like to work on a lot of things at one time…I call it multi-tasking – but it’s really the only way for me to stay out of my head. I’ve done this for so many years I don’t know how NOT to do it. What’s that old definition of insanity? Trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results? But, see, here’s the thing…I don’t expect to get different results by doing this. I expect the same results I’ve gotten for years – and that is to NOT feel crazy, to NOT stop and listen to the craziness inside my head. This is a way for me to do that…I multi-task- I learn- I’m successful at it, professionally..in fact, on paper – I could not look better! You should see my professional and financial portfolios - you'd be amazed that a crazybrain could accomplish so much:-)

I have asked friends about their interest in taking a yoga/self-defense class…and I have had positive responses. But *yoga* ain’t going to make me “love” my body. Been there, done that…still have the water bottle. But I can commit to yoga….

The Zen spiritual stuff ~ not so much. Since I live less than 20 miles away from the Granola capital of the U.S – there are a lot of people practicing meditation – and from what I’ve read experiencing quite the *soulgasms* (that cracked me up!)…but I cannot buy into the spiritual BS that these Meditation Masters are selling. I raise an eyebrow and feel vomit rise into my throat when I try to “accept” that they really believe that their “prayers” and “meditations” take away all their “needs”. Really? ALL of your NEEDS? Don’t we, as humans, always have “needs”? I guess not if you’re a Zen Master.

Here’s what I have to say to those “Meditation Ads” that *promise* if we spiritualize our lives we will: BECOME HAPPIER, SMARTER, MORE LOVING, MORE POWERFUL, MORE ATTRACTIVE, MORE STABLE IN OUR FINANCES, LESS ADDICTED, LESS DEPENDENT, and LESS SICK.

Is that a money back guarantee? Because the “GOD” I prayed to as a kid while being fucked- yeah, that “Church” promised me that too. I didn’t get it! I guess I didn’t *want it bad enough* right? I didn’t “pray” hard enough? NOW I can’t stay in my body because I need to meditate more? No one can hurt you if you meditate hard enough.

WoW! That readin’ was more enlightening than the Billy Graham crusade my grandmother took me too when I was a kid – I prayed and prayed there-and it felt great! It was the day I gave myself to GOD…but I guess he didn’t want me- cuz the SF still f’d me when I got home).

But wait, let me read that again: Are you ready to spiritualize your life? Everything will go better. WE BECOME HAPPIER, SMARTER, MORE LOVING, MORE POWERFUL, MORE ATTRACTIVE, MORE STABLE IN OUR FINANCES, LESS ADDICTED, LESS DEPENDENT, and LESS SICK. Really? You can teach me all that? What if I already think I'm smart enough, invest my money soundly, physically attractive enough (on the ouside)? Can I skip those classes or are they prerequisites? Where do I sign up? Does that include the soulgasms, too, or is that all “sold-separately”? Are buckets included too?

I think we got ourselves a ZEN REVIVAL!
This ranting has been brought to you by the untrusting, angry, willful, disbelieving one who knows better than to believe a sleep study and some BS meditation is the "cure all".

Are we ready to stop being 16 now Grace?

2010-01-26T19:18:00.007-07:00

Sometimes I have to sit back for a minute to really appreciate all that the therapist does for me. Like she has totally put up with a lot of shit from me…like she never knows who will show up for session and so I imagine she braces herself right before she opens the door to “greet me and invite me in”…which as I’ve told her a million times – I won’t enter her office until she officially asks me to come in- even if she stands there all *smiley and welcomy* in the therapisty way… evil cannot cross a threshold without being invited in. She knows that! Hum…maybe that’s why her office always smells like garlic (well, when she doesn’t eat onions before my session!) because she’s trying to ward of Grace’s evil spirit…I’ll have to spend some time thinking about that…

And I know that the therapist gets me…like most of the time, she can deal with all of me – but then, there are those times when she will say something so completely off the wall, I’m all like, WHAT? Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? Today, she made one of those suggestions that made me loudly interrupt her and want to scream, OMG! Do you know me at all??? She said she’d been thinking about my inability to sleep…compounded by the nightmares and terror when I do actually sleep – and she suggested that I go have a sleep study done. (WTF!) ..now she thinks my brain is oxygen deprived and I have sleep apnea? YES! I'll be that IS it! I'm sure it's really low O2 sats and not the fucking kid flashbacks!
Hello! I cannot FALL asleep! I cannot RELAX enough to fall asleep! So she quotes some ridiculous study about how people who with sleep apnea have more nightmares, etc. OMG! Seriously! How big was that brain tumor you ate Doc? The majority of the time I fall into panicky flashback hell is way before I fall over from exhaustion! HELLO!?!?! AND! Just to be clear – I can barely find a safe freaking place in my own home to feel relaxed enough to sleep – so what the fuck would make her think I would actually go to a sleep lab – surrounded by a bunch of freaky clinicians – with wires all over my exposed body and SLEEP??? Gee – is there free WIFI there at that sleep lab, DT? Cuz, maybe then I’d do it – since I’D BE UP ALL NIGHT! Jumping out of my freaking skin at the slightest movement! Like, I cannot even believe she suggested that! And would she make herself available after 10 when the freak outs start, or just let me completely lose it – OUTSIDE the “safety” of my own home until some freak at the clinic slaps my ass in the looney bin! I doubt it!(Maybe that was her “alterior” motive…get Grace locked away so she can run away and marry some Zen Monk and live *spiritually ever after*) Get a freakin’ clue!!!! NEWSFLASH: Afraid to sleep! F-E-A-R!!! BEFORE sleep! Unless the O2 is lacking when I’m awake – I’m nearly positive that is NOT the problem here ~ Doc!

And then like she KNOWS I haven’t been on top of my game, right? Ya know, with the late night panic attacks, the dissociative freak outs that last for hours, the cutting relapse. So after the “sleep lab” suggestion and the cutting analysis, she decides to say,“Oh, by the way, I’m going out of town for a week in February, do you want to spend some time talking about that?” WTF! What’s to *talk about*? What are we going to plan? You’re going out of town, and that’s just it….You gonna leave me your rock to carry around as a transitional object while you’re gone? Get a clue, DT! What does she want me to say or do? Beg her not to go? Like hello! She is entitled to vaca – deserves time off, just like everyone else - especially from crazybrain! I totally get that! But does she want me to “guarantee” her that I’ll stay safe while she’s gone? Well, I can say it – if that makes her feel better – but truth be told – I’m on the ledge every effing night – and I typically call her about 3x a week right now for help – so even if I say the words – words mean nothing! So whatever! I asked her what did she want me to say? Bon-voyage? Have a good time? And what if I don’t feel *safe*? What’s she going to do about it? Wrap up her rock in a blue blanket and tuck it in my purse? Threaten to slap me in the psych ward like she threatened 2 years ago? Yell at me to grow up like she did before? Doubt it! No matter what I say – it doesn’t matter. She is going to “trust” that I’ll keep myself safe.

And sometimes I wonder if what would happen if I didn’t spend so much time trying to “prove” to her that I was okay. I mean really! Like today, all of this crazy shit is streaming through my head like the Michael Jackson Thriller video – but I just sat there and chewed gum, playing with my headphones while she talks about sleep labs and her upcoming vacation. Whatever! She has done so much for me in the past I am NOT asking for any sort of retarded transitional object while she’s away. Maybe that's why she forgot the 2 emails. Maybe she did it on purpose as a "test" -- to the upcoming DT departure. Whatever! I say make the break now and then no one has to worry about it!

Like it doesn’t matter anyway – since I’m going to be gone the 2 weeks prior to that. And I told her that today, too. I’ll be gone Mon-Thursday 2 weeks in a row and then she leaves the Thursday I get back for a week. So that’s 3 weeks, sans therapy…since she doesn’t do Friday or weekend appointments. And I guess I didn’t look distressed because she sure didn’t offer up any suggestions! Fine! So next week is my last appointment until March. Whatever – I’m so not going next week either! Fuck it!

And then she got frustrated and said, “Are we done being 16 today?” Gee – I guess not, DT.” You know, for the record, I have a friend I’ll be seeing in a couple of weeks who PREFERS the 16 year old! She’s much more adventurous than most of us and she is always up for a party! And I’m sure her teenage defiant ass will be out in full force without the therapist’s “help” for 3 weeks – in fact, an email contact in preparation has already been sent.

Dear *Friend* ~ I will be in town on (these dates) and I would LOVE to *get together*.
Dear Scarlet ~ I am confident something will work out…C U THEN!

Ms. 16 year old is now going to go raid the liquor cabinet and the anti-anxiety meds...Let's Party! I totally love that she "Trusts" me ~ though - I really do. Hilarious! Sad...but still funny!

"Sometimes the injury is so bad – you have to cut – and cut big."

2010-01-25T18:55:00.004-07:00

In last episode of Grey’s Anatomy ("I like you so much better when you’re naked" - no, really, that's the episode title) Meredith Grey says, “Sometimes you can’t limit exposure. Sometimes the injury is so bad, you have to cut, and cut big....and once the incision has been closed, you wait...and you hope that you haven’t, in fact, just made everything worse.”

Meredith was, of course, talking about surgery in a literal way, but I am now going to take her words and apply them to my night last Wednesday when my 4 month SI hiatus came to an end, and the clock had to be reset.
Some nights the pain overwhelms me and I do not know what to do with it. It suffocates me and traps me and I cannot find a way out of it. Nothing feels safe and nothing brings comfort. I shake and cry and try to quiet the angry scared screaming voices inside of me – but I cannot escape the brokenness.
That happened to me last Wednesday night. I locked myself in the bathroom and at first I tried to talk quietly to those inside as I rocked myself in an effort to soothe them. But it didn’t work and so I tried to call a friend, she didn’t answer. So I tried to call the therapist, she didn’t answer but she did return my call an hour later. In the chaos of my mind I did not hear the phone ring, but I did get a voicemail from her. In her voicemail she said, “ I’m sorry you’re having a rough night. If you feel the need to give me a call back I’ll be up till 10. I do ask that if you call me back I do want to know not just what the problem is but the things you’re trying to do to at least tolerate whatever’s going on...so we need to have a constructive conversation. If all is alright, that’s fine too - you don’t have to call me back, but if you do, bear that information in mind and we’ll talk later.
The therapist’s voicemail made me feel like a failure. Obviously she didn’t think I had tried to *self-soothe* and just expected her to fix everything. I felt angry and ashamed and I did not her back. I took a razor and I cut myself instead. I cut myself because I could not limit my exposure to the chaos inside my mind. It hurt so bad I tried to cut it out of me. I cut myself because it felt like the only option left for me. My body was shaking so bad I could not escape. I wanted someone to help me calm them, calm myself, but I felt like a failure for reaching out because I couldn’t do it on my own. And I shouldn’t have relied on someone else to help me. And so I cut myself.
And I was too tired to move Thursday and Friday. I felt even more ashamed and I really just wanted to stop breathing – I wanted it to stop – I was afraid I would cut again because I was constantly thinking about it.
I marked the calendar in my daytimer with a big red “S” for shame and I started the clock at zero. Four months of SI free is now only 5 days free. I touch the scab of shame and I chide myself for giving in, for giving up. Tomorrow I have to feel even more ashamed because I have to face what I did in front of the therapist. I tried, nothing else was working. I was not able to limit my exposure. I was drowning in the poison and I had to cut- and cut big. And now I have to wait for the incision to heal – and hope I haven’t made everything worse.

There seems to be a book burning party going on in the survivor community...

2010-01-24T16:07:00.012-07:00

The book is called: The Trauma Myth: The Truth About the Sexual Abuse of Children and it is written by Harvard educated Susan A Clancy. (I think the “A” may stand for asinine) In her book, Ivy league degreed, yet still *uneducated* Clancy claims that children who are sexually abused are rarely damaged physically OR psychologically.
In an interview, Clancy was asked, “What do you mean by the "trauma myth"?
Her explanation: “The title refers to the fact that although sexual abuse is usually portrayed by professionals and the media as a traumatic experience for the victims when it happens — meaning frightening, overwhelming, painful — it rarely is. Most victims do not understand they are being victimized, because they are too young to understand sex, the perpetrators are almost always people they know and trust, and violence or penetration rarely occurs. "Confusion" is the most frequently reported word when victims are asked to describe what the experience was like. Confusion is a far cry from trauma.” Clancy went on to say, “For 30 years we've been working on preventing sexual abuse. But we've skirted around what sexual abuse really is. The kids don't know what's going on, and they often enjoy it. They're not going to resist.”
Clancy also shares that she experienced quite a backlash from her book while working at Harvard. When asked how bad it was she says this: “It's bad enough I moved to Nicaragua. When I was at Harvard — the peak of my career, at the university you want to be, surrounded by all the people who were the titans in the field — there was just so much bullshit going on. People focused on a type of abuse that affects maybe 2 percent of the population, millions of dollars for funding that doesn't apply to most victims, bestselling books written by therapists misportraying sexual abuse. I would try to tell the truth. I would be attacked. Grad students wouldn't talk to me. Professors would tell me to leave for other fields. I just felt disillusioned. I got this opportunity from the World Bank to do cross-cultural research on how sexual abuse is understood in Latin America. I came down to Central America, and I've stayed.”
I have so many thoughts swirling around in my pea-sized trauma-brain I am not yet sure how to process what she is saying. I vacillate from wanting to tell her it is “that bad” to just shaking my head and letting it be –because clearly she will never understand. But my problem with letting it be is so many people already ignore what goes on, or believes that it isn’t “that bad”, that I cannot, in good conscious, not speak my peace about this outrageous misleading book, written by an uneducated woman who not only believes that there are no lasting physical or psychological effects from being sexually abused as a child but also believes it is not the abuse itself that is traumatic, but rather, the “Therapeutic” culture dictating to the victims how they should feel about the abuse they experienced.

Listen up, Susan Clancy: It is that bad. And 5 year olds do not “enjoy” being fucked by grown men, in their own homes, which is supposed to be a place of safety. A 5 year old's vagina is not meant to be penetrated by a grown man’s penis. A 5 year old does not find it “pleasurable” to have a grown man’s dick shoved down her throat. It is that bad, Susan Clancy, and it does have life-long lingering effects. And as far as the “therapeutic” culture telling me how I should “feel” about it? Well, I have trusted only one therapist with how I “feel” about it, she did not ever force her opinions on me of what I should feel. I’m fairly certain she wishes I didn’t *feel* as bad as I do most of the time, as I’m sure she does not want to continue taking dissociative midnight phone calls from a child who relives the pain over and over and over again. I'm pretty sure she hates that I continue to test her care and question her trustworthiness after we've worked together for nearly 4 years. But she has never once said, "Grace, it wasn't that bad." And she believes me when I tell her it is that bad.

There are lasting effects, Susan Clancy. I could write a BOOK on the effects, both physical and psychological. Just because someone chooses not to disclose the abuse for 30 years, or even in their lifetime; just because someone can outlive the abuse and grow up and function in society so no one would ever guess what happened – that doesn’t mean it was okay.

I was 5 years old when my mother brought my step-father into our home. I was 5 years old when he first touched me. I did not find it pleasurable to have a drunk man pawing my 5 year old chest. I felt only searing pain the first time he fucked me. And he did it again, and again, and again. Year after year he fucked me and sodomized me, Susan Clancy. And if you met me on the street, you would never know that. You would think I am an educated, polite, well-functioning woman, living the American dream. But I cannot even pour bleach into the washing machine because it reminds me of the SF’s semen in my mouth. I cannot eat or smell specific foods. I have no idea what intimacy is and I cannot make any sort of connection between sex and love. I have trouble fucking my husband not because I don't like to have sex, but because of the "lingering effects" that happen after I fuck him. I cannot trust people to see the "real" me, because of the ignorance of people like you who will say, "It was not that bad.", and on most nights there is no safe place. But you would never know of those “lingering effects” of being fucked as a child.

And for me there is no escape Susan Clancy. I was 5 years old and I could not jump on a plane to another country to escape the “backlash” I lived in. For me, it was “that bad”, Susan Clancy, and there was no escape. And it's uneducated nitwits like you who speak on a subject they know nothing about; people like you, Susan Clancy, who make us believe that we should be ashamed for believing it was "that bad".

It is people like you, Susan Clancy, who make me thankful for my therapist who does believe me when I say it was "that bad". It's people like you, Susan Clancy, who make me want to flush my shame right down the toilet and write my own book telling everyone just how bad it was to be fucked as a kid. And some day, I just might! And when I do, I will send an autographed copy, first edition, to you - in Nicaragua, where you ran away to hide, because the backlash of your unsubstantiated theory was too great for you to bear.
*Oh the Humanity!*

There is no monster in your house, Grace...turn the light on and look around. You are safe now.

2010-01-24T13:28:00.001-07:00

The therapist tells me I should not sit in the dark. I know she thinks I never listen to her or work on my own to improve the nights as they exist currently, but I do. And so I’ve been trying to leave a light or two on at night. But it doesn’t seem to make any difference. I find myself in this paradoxical conundrum: the little girl is afraid of the dark ~ but she can also hide in the dark. The therapist tells the 5 year old and CB that there is no reason to be afraid anymore. Turn on the light and see, Grace. There’s no monster there with you now. There is no lion in the room. Get up and turn the lights on, Grace. And do it now!

So in an effort to "learn" from the CB/5 year old freak out last night, I tried to remember what happened right before the irrational hide/shake fest began on the stairs. It happened another time last week. The running to the darkness of the stairs peering under the door to where the light is; heart racing, wating for the shadow to appear under the door... What the hell did she see that freaked her out? Because the goal is to figure it out-and "reframe" it so she doesn't freak out again, right? Was the freak out caused by a shadow on the kitchen counter?

I know it is hard for a non-crazybrain to take what I am saying at face value and not roll their eyes and call me psychotic – but at night she cannot hide when the lights are on! And there are freakish shadows in the light, and a freakish monster looking face on the counter in the kitchn. Yes, adult rational Grace understands that the monster face on the granite in the kitchen is a reflection of the pictures and stuff on the wall ~ but you cannot tell that to a 5 year old who was fucked by a monster. And she stood up from the chair (chair with the blue blanket on it) and looked into the kitchen, saw something, freaked out and ran straight for the stairs where she slammed the door shut and called the therapist in full-fledged crazybrain panic. It was obvious from the huge exasperating sigh on the other end of the phone that the therapist was not happy about the late night phone call but she helped crazybrain anyway.

The therapist said no one ever died from a panic attack and we weren’t going to die either. But it feels like it when can’t slow down your heart and you can’t breathe – it feels like you’re going to die. Anyway, the therapist helped calm CB down and she slept in the laundry room by the dryer with Hello Kitty blanket and blue blanket.

The therapist said she wasn’t mad, just tired (yeah, tired of Grace!). But the 5 year old did see a monster in the kitchen! I didn’t mean to make the therapist mad. I should be able to do it on my own. I should be able to count on the hus to help me sometimes...but the truth is – he’s sort of the monster too. I didn’t mean to make the therapist mad last night. I don’t think I’ll leave the kitchen light on at night anymore.

Dear Little Gracie...

2010-01-23T16:52:00.003-07:00

Dear (5 year old) Little Gracie,

Please just stop it. I do not know how to help you right now. I am as lost as you are and I really need you to stop crying because if you do not I am going to cut you right out of me. And I know that neither of us want that. I know it hurts and I know it sucks right now. I know you’re scared because there is no one to help you and you have to lean on me and we all know that I do not have a clue. Hell – I don’t even like kids (no offense).

Yeah, I screwed you up. I know that. I would tell you I’m sorry for last night but sorry doesn’t really mean much…people say it all the time and to say I’m sorry would imply that it won’t happen again, and we both know that it will. I know that I am the grown up and I should be better at dealing with this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Gracie, I don’t know why I cannot get a grip. But how can I possibly take care of you when I cannot even take care of myself?

It just feels like nothing consoles you, you know? And I don’t know what to do except scream at you to go away. I want to cut you out of me, Gracie, I do. I know you feel that too. I know it isn’t nice but gawd I’m as fucked up as you are! And I blame you for that. I do. I get that it isn’t fair to blame you for everything- but I do it anyway. I blame you because you make me remember and I don’t want to remember, Gracie, I don’t want to see it again. It was way bad the first time around- now the pain is unbearable. I don’t know why you survived. And a lot of the time I wish you wouldn’t have lived. I know that’s a horrible thing to say but it’s how I feel.

I’m sorry the therapist forgot you last night…but you know better than to count on anyone else to do what they say they will do. You’re not worth it! I know you think the therapist cares about you –and I’m sure she does: “In the limited ways that she can…” –and I don’t get how it happened either but she forgot- so get over it and stop crying about it because if you don’t – I will cut you. I will. You know I’ve done it before – a thousand times- and I’ll do it again if you don’t stop crying. I will! And stop depending on the therapist to do what she says she’ll do – would you? It’s not like she’s going to be around forever – it’s not like she can take your pain away either! No one can! We’re on our own girl! Just as it’s always been – so suck it up! You have to stop with the crying! And you have to stop crying now because if you don’t – I’ll have to shut you up – and that will only hurt you more, Gracie, you know that. I’m all you got girl – and we both know I don’t even like you. But I’m all you’ve got.

Yeah, he hurt you. And then I let everyone else hurt you too. The therapist forgot you last night. I let him fuck you again last night. The list of your grievances is endless, isn't it? But I will not tell you I’m sorry and I will no longer listen to your crying today. So stop it right now – or I will give you something to cry about! And neither of us want that. Right? I swear I will! And I will pour vodka down your throat and I'll let him do it again tonight. You have to stop it right now, Gracie. Stop it right now!

Be quiet kid – life’s a bitch! You should know that by now….be a good girl and shut up and behave yourself.

In Frustration, Grace

Last night felt like a Friday. But it's been a bad week, so maybe it wasn't really...

2010-01-23T08:23:00.003-07:00

Last night wasn’t Friday was it? I know Fridays are really bad for me, but this past week, every night has been bad. But last night couldn’t have been Friday because I did not get an email from the therapist –and the therapist ALWAYS emails on Fridays (well, when she doesn’t forget –which has now happened 2x this month). But maybe last night wasn’t really Friday because I only remember about 10 minutes of the night anyway. And those 10 minutes are sort of sporadic and not really a “whole” picture of the happenings of last night. Which is probably a good thing – since the 10 minutes I do remember are not pleasant, and when I woke up at 3:34am in the basement, sans clothing and freezing cold, I tried to put more together but it just isn’t there. It felt like Friday but as I said, it’s been a bad week, so maybe it wasn’t really.

I haven't eaten or slept in days. I called in sick to work Thurs and Fri because I could not bear to leave the house....and it looks as though today will be more of the same. I am so tired of all of this. I can barely move right now. But I'm not "calling" out for help…It doesn't matter anymore.

I am so tired just trying to 'survive' ~ I don't have the energy to 'live'

2010-01-22T18:04:00.000-07:00

When I was a child I just focused on surviving. Now I am sick of working so hard to survive…when do I get to just live? Not ‘relive’ ~ live.
How do you find the balance? How do you let yourself feel and not become overwhelmed? How do you listen to the hurt ones and not blame them, feel too much, and become incapacitated by them?

Both Wednesday and Thursday nights I found myself so overwhelmed with the pain that I was lying on the bathroom floor in a full-fledged panic attack; alternating between shaking uncontrollably and hitting my head on the floor, to pacing the floor considering ways to kill myself. In that moment, anything, including death, is better than living like that night after night. Major crazybrain freak outs both nights!
I feel so far away from myself. Each morning, after a night of dissociative fear and destruction, I try to put myself back together again. But each time I break apart, it gets harder and harder to fit the pieces back together again. Somewhere in the midst of these nightmares I lost my soul. I am not connected to this soulless body ~ it is merely a carrier for my traumatized brain. I feel tangled inside a mind I cannot escape.
Every night so many voices, so much confusion. His face before me, his hands on my body, his breath breathing on my neck. She takes a step back to avoid contact with him. She cries out. He advances toward her. She takes another step back, retreats further into the dark abyss waiting for another to help with the pain. Hopeless. She reaches out faintly while being overtaken by the memories boiling over. Step back! Get back! Step back! Get away! Over and over, night after night. Shame. The unspoken pain and shame. What happens when it truly becomes so overwhelming that it does kill me?

This is not good. Every single night I fight for a reason to live. Every night a coin is tossed ~ one night I'm going to lose the toss. Why does my body continue to scream at me? Why is it so hard? Why is there no end in sight? When will it get better? I am so tired *surviving* ~ I don't have any energy left to *live*!

I know so much ~ but I do not know myself

2010-01-22T11:23:00.009-07:00

I am a stranger to myself. I do not know how to be gentle, compassionate, or loving, to any part of myself.

I have always been able to present myself well in most public situations, be it work, school, parental obligations, parties. I can be calm and level-headed. I am able to problem solve in logical and intelligent ways. I can be humorous and glamorous when need be. But it seems as though that power and confidence, that grace and strength, is only a mask. I now have more days when that mask feels heavy. And when I lack the strength to put it on, I have to hide myself. And I’ve been hiding a lot lately. I hid yesterday. I am hiding today.

I hear the words of care that others speak, but they don’t feel real to me. Sometimes I can accept their words while knowing that they do not realize that I am a disgusting person who deserves to be treated badly. They see what I want them to see. I watch them interact with the humorous Grace, the intelligent Grace, and I watch it all from the outside. I want so much more for myself. Who is this Grace that is respected by so many?

I want to be loved and to feel love. I want to be free from the step-father and the host body. I desperately wish to be free from them, and not just in a surface way. I want them out of me forever. My soul cries out for kindness and gentleness – and yet when it is offered I cannot accept it. I want to be respected and loved and yet I do not know how to love or respect myself.

I know how to pretend. I wrote the book on how to hide your feelings. I know how to smile, I know how to laugh. I know that I have been given gifts but I don’t know how to use them. And the ones who were abused, raped, assaulted, degraded…they are afraid to dream that there is more to life than this. They cannot fathom that there exists a world where they can be loved in a gentle way, touched in a way that does not hurt. They stopped dreaming a long time ago.

I want to stop fighting so hard, so much of the time...fighting myself, the therapist ~ the fighting stubborn one just comes out in full-force at any perceived threat and I want her to stop fighting when there is no reason to fight. I want to learn to trust in myself and others. I want the chaos and confusion inside my mind to clear and I want some sense of cohesiveness and togetherness inside of me. I want to believe that there is more to life than pretending behind an illusion of imaginary togetherness...more than just feeling ashamed and degraded. I want to trust that I am allowed to heal. I want to believe that I am worth the time and the effort it is taking, and the pain I endure every day. I want to believe that I am not what they said I am, that real love actually exists, and that I am worthy of receiving it.

And even as I write this, there is that voice inside speaking to me, "But what if you're not worthy, Grace? What if you are what they said?" She is a big part of me~ she has a loud voice. And if I don't believe in myself - how can I convince that part of me that I am good and I am worthy?

Today I am wrapping myself in bubble wrap...and hiding the arsenal

2010-01-22T04:58:00.001-07:00

That should keep me safe today, right?

Yup, I've come unglued and this unglued non-pulled together Grace is not fit for private, nor may she be viewed by the public eye. I cannot imagine going outside or doing anything for myself. I cannot imagine taking a shower or getting dressed right now. So again today, like yesterday, I am going to hide inside myself and pretend I have no responsibilities. In fact, I think I will stay hidden until next week sometime. Maybe it will feel safer then.

I feel disconnected and detached from everything, including myself.

Last night I struggled with the strong desires to SI. The screaming inside is overwhelming! And I cannot take care of myself right now. I know that. So until I can I will wrap myself in bubble wrap and hide the SI arsenal.

I cannot find a way out tonight

2010-01-21T22:31:00.000-07:00

I will take responsibility for all of it. It is not her fault. I blame me and I punish myself for being bad. I was bad. She loved J & G so I must have been the bad child. I’m not coping well. I feel trapped, caged, with nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide, I cannot find a way out. I run away from them, but I can’t escape them.

I am heartless, cruel, a seductress. I am bad. I betrayed them by telling. I shouldn’t have told. I have poisoned them and myself, hurt those who hurt me. I am responsible. I should have continued to deny. I should have continued to let it poison me...but unknown, unseen, it would cause harm to no one else. No one but me. There was no one to protect me then, but I never protected myself.

Why did I speak? It did not change anything. The reality is it still happened. He still hurt me, she still hates me. Nothing will change that. But I will not longer ask for help because the rejection hurts worse than what they did to her. Maybe it is true that I do not deserve help. I should only suffer silently, secretly, alone. I should not have reached out. Reaching out and finding nothing is worse than not reaching out at all.

I reached out for help, “within the parameters that were set forth” by the therapist, and to no avail. Why? Because I am a pathetic, inconsequential, wounded failure. I want to hurt myself. I want to make myself suffer and bleed. I want too. I tried the other route. I hasn’t worked. Now I just want to bleed and hurt. I wanted help. But there is none. I have a really bad feeling about tonight...bad...

I have reached the bottom of the well of logic & rationality today ~ and it is bone dry!

2010-01-20T12:08:00.004-07:00

Gosh, it sounds like you had a really *scary* night last night.
Really? I hadn't noticed Dr. Obvious! I don't need "validation" about how hard the night was!
***NEWSFLASH***
I WAS THERE! At least for some of it!
And the most fabulous thing is...if you hang on till the next day, no matter how much it sucks, you get a quick pat on the back for not "hurting" yourself.
***NEWSFLASH # 2***
Doesn't make it suck any less!!!!!

I have reached deep into the well of logic and rationality today and the well is dry.
So I'm done! FINISHED!
NO MORE TALKING OR REACHING OUT!
It doesn't matter. It never did.
I can't do it. I am not strong enough.
And it seems as though it doesn't matter how difficult it is as long as you don't cut yourself - then everyone thinks everything is fine.
And I want to just scream out: NOTHING IS FINE!!! CAN'T YOU SEE THAT?
I COULD NOT BE FURTHER THAN FINE!
But it wouldn't matter if I did...no one listens.
If there are no external scars - no one listens - so it doesn't matter.

I am taking away your maladaptive coping skills!

2010-01-18T16:34:00.007-07:00

YOU MUST ELIMINATE THE FOLLOWING BEHAVIORS:
cutting, boozing, promescuity, ODing on benzos, vomiting, excessive spending....

I am taking away all of your maladaptive coping skills...if you need them, they will be in either my purse or the refrigerator - neither of which you are allowed to prowl without my permission, which of course you do not have.....
And what will we be replacing them with?
Oh -I'm glad you asked, Crazybrain!
We are replacing them with the following:
Radical acceptance
Wisemind
Half smile
Oh, you could exercise too, if you want: fat-ass!
Just deal with it!
I personally think it's stupid to take away a person's crutches in life and expect them to deal effectively for more than a couple of days - without a mental meltdown!
Because then you get to live in hell until you can learn to short-circuit the brain's automatic responses that you developed because of a lifetime of f**kedupness.
DUMB! I'm just sayin' D~U~M~B!

Grace, put down the cupcake and no one gets hurt!

2010-01-18T11:36:00.003-07:00

I wrote a month or so ago that I have been making myself vomit again. I had stopped for a few months but now it's back. I dont' really talk in much detail about the puking to the therapist - like, there are other, more serious things, we discuss each week.
And then last week, when we were talking about food, she said, "Well, Grace, something's getting in or you would be wasting away in front of me." OMG! Did the therapist just call me fat???? And since then the 'Grace is fat' crew is on high alert and anytime I think about food, I hear her. If I eat something, I hear her. So now it's even worse! Yesterday I ate lunch AND dinner - and so I made myself puke 4 times and took 5 laxatives. And I STILL feel fat and bloated today!
In my office, there's 1 bathroom that's off the beaten path, and it's a private bathroom. So I've been making myself vomit at work now too. And I always take a tooth brush and toothpaste with me - so I can brush my teeth right after.
And the past two weeks I have had horrible acid reflux - I don't know if it's from the puking, or not, but now it's constantly annoying me. It happened before and I became reliant on zantac...I'm trying to remember if it was associated with a previous vomit-attack monster - but I'm not sure.... But it's either that or throat cancer...see, the hypochondriac monster is trying to attack me as well.
And if the therapist thinks I'm fat - that probably means everyone else does too - and just doesn't say anything - that's why I got the adipex from a friend who ordered them on the internet. And bought more laxatives on Saturday. I don't want to be called Chubs...that's what the SF called me when I was a kid.

Feelings ~ Woe-oh-oh ~ Feelings...

2010-01-17T17:05:00.076-07:00

Nothing more than feelings....(I hate that song!). Holy smokes! I am so sick of feelings! I am so drained from all the *feelings* she feels, which, in turn, makes me feel too much...and unable to juggle them all. I am *feeling(d)* out! Today I feel tired and drained. I suppose drained is acceptable - compared to the anxiety-ridden frazzled crazybrain I’ve been for a few weeks now. I detest that she overwhelms me and I don’t know what to do with her. I don’t want to feel what she feels because it hurts too much. She feels too much – and even though the therapist says, “Grace, they’re just feelings. Let her feel. Grace, they’re just tears, let her cry.” Can’t she see that she feels too much?
When she overwhelms me and I don’t know what to do with her I want someone to help me take care of her. She isn’t like a colicky baby. I cannot just walk away from her until I have the patience to deal with her because she is inside of my head and try as I might, I have not been successful in getting her out. I no longer try to cut her out of me - that never worked, so why add additional scars that are visible from the outside. I now just try to keep the scars on the inside.
Last week was a difficult *feeling* week...overwhelmed by the anxiety and fear, the feelings of helplessness which lead to anger, which ALWAYS lead to something destructive (even if that something no longer involves a razor). So I spent some time today thinking about how to identify what happens right before Ms. Destructo~ Crazybrain feels abandoned and goes to great lengths to prove to the 5 year old that she is unwanted and unloved and only good for one thing. Crazybrain won on Thursday ~ she wouldn't let the therapist help her, but just wanted to fight and *prove* to the therapist that she is bad...which I know I need to talk to the therapist about - but I don't know if I can without CB freakin' out. Friday was not great but I was able to "live" through it, thanks to my friend Lynn I reached out, she took my hand and helped me come up with a workable plan to do what I wanted, and needed, to do. And Saturday night I even succeeded in telling the hus *no* and not giving in to something I know would have upset the 5 year old terribly - which made today much more tolerable than Thursday and Friday night.

So, Grace, how has the weekend made you "Feel"?...cheese~n~rice!

Feelings...woe-oh-oh-feelings...