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

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*! 

She hides on the basement step...she is too scared to talk now

Some nights she hides on the basement stairs. She hides on the basement stairs because this house feels too big, too open, and much too scary. There are too many big rooms, too many windows and doors, the ceiling is too high. She doesn’t like this house. She used to hide in other places but now she hides on the 4th basement step because he won’t find her there. There were no stairs, no basement then. So that’s where she hides now…in the dark, huddled in her blue blanket on the 4th step that leads down into the basement - that’s a place that feels safe for her right now. It’s warm there and it feels small when she hides on the step with her back against one wall and the other wall at her toes. She plays skee ball and UNO on her IPOD there, hiding under her blue blanket, in the dark, on that 4th basement step. Sometimes she listens to the music that the therapist gave her – and she tries to remember that eventually the night will end, and then she will be okay again.

She went to bed scared last night, instead of spending hours hiding in the stairs, she went to bed scared last night. She surrounded herself with pillows and blankets but it didn’t help. She woke up from nightmares huddled in the very top corner of the bed, shaking and scared, hugging her knees tight to her chest. She remembers the nightmares but she won’t talk about them. She’s too scared so she won’t talk now. Last week was too scary and now she won’t talk to the therapist. She won’t and she isn’t allowed. But she is too scared to sleep tonight. She’ll hide instead, on the basement steps, huddled in a blue blanket, shaking and scared.

To all the ones I've *wronged* before ~ and an extra special gift to the man to "accidentally" grabbed my ass tonight...

I had to apologize and make amends to a friend of mine this afternoon for something I said last week, as well as some unbecoming behavior exhibited in the course of the conversation.  I don't remember the conversation, but I've no doubt it happened....

Late this afternoon a friend of mine walked into my office and in such a kind way she told me how nice I looked and how much she liked my sweater (I, too, think it's a great sweater ~ I wore it once on a day I had T ~ and the therapist told me it looked like a Rorschach test...Really, dear therapist, and just what did you see in the sweater pattern? ~ I guess that was a compliment coming from a shrink?)  Anyway, my friend went on to tell me that the last time I wore the sweater....let me use her words, "It wasn't you!"  She told me I was mean to her (well, I never!)...and I don't remember the conversation at all.  She went on to tell me that I had stormed out of her office in the middle of the conversation, telling her she was acting like a shrink (Ok - I said my shrink) and when she called me a bit later I refused to talk to her.  What?  I'm sure she's telling the truth (must be the brain tumor) so I apologized to her and she said, "Well, it's nice to have Grace back...." 

I hate it when I do things I don't remember...yesterday in T I told the therapist I thought I was doing better and I haven't had any borderline freak outs and sent her any crazy, hateful emails in a long time.  And she said I did send one not too long ago...(?)  WTF~ wasn't in my sent file!  So I freakin' apologized to her too yesterday! 

It's not been a great couple of days...in fact, I've had some of those freaky body issues, more than a few crying spells, done a couple of really stupid things (I tend to *act out* when I get really angry or feel unheard about something ~ even if I don't say out loud what that *something* is...something to do with a local police officer who came to pick up the toys we collected for the local kids and I have *priors* with him), have a horrible migraine, and a terrible case of insomnia...my mind has been racing ~ and I haven't been able to focus for a week now!

And I hate that the therapist isn't working tomororw night (although I'm sure she isn't hating having the weekend off...) because I know I'm going to need help tomorrow night ~ especially now that both DS and DD are spending the night with friends and won't be home ~ GREAT!  WTF!  I don't really like DH right now!  But really, I don't like myself because I can't talk to him about ANYTHING!   And there ain't no way I'm asking for help tomorrow night ~ not even if there's bloodshed!

Now ~ the kicker to my week, thus far!  Tonight, I was shopping with a friend and this disgusting man 'accidentally' hit my shoulder and then grabbed my ass! WTF!  Of course, I didn't say anything ~not even when he invaded my personal space at the cash register later, loudly proclaiming how he was shopping for his 'god-daughter' and 'aunt' ~ I care because???? Again, WTF?  What the hell gave him to right to grab my ass and fuck up my night!?  Of course, marsha dear, would tell me no one but me can eff up my night and I should let it go....cuz I sure can't change it...but it has jacked up my already messed up week! 

I am SSSOOOOO a grown-up and I am NOT reaching out for help!  Not tonight or tomorrow or the next night!  I can and will do this on my own!  And I don't care of that does mean some 'maladaptive' behavior and bloodshed!  I don't care!!!!! 
And what I'd really like is a martini right now!  Where the hell is that demon bartender???? Make it a double ~ STAT!!!!! 

F**K!!!   SH*T!!!!!!   DAMN!!!!!!

Nightmares buy one get 3 free last night, or, perhaps on "blue light special"?

Last night I thought I would try to go to bed early to maybe try to get some sleep...I have no idea why I even continue to try to go down that path as it always ends in disaster.  But I tried it again!  I went to bed around 11:30 and tried to sleep.  I was already in that beginning stage of panic ~ the one where your heart is beating fast and loud and it's difficult to breathe...but I was still determined to sleep.

I woke up in a full-blown anxiety attack; shaking, sweaty and cold, unable to breathe...threw up and then stumbled downstairs for water and ativan - didn't help...so I took a shower...didn't help...so I finally gave up, made some hot tea and watched TV until dawn....

The nightmares were chilling and frightening.  In  the first one, I was with a friend of mine watching fireworks and suddenly there was this creepy man walking down the street (it looked like we were in a subdivision of houses) and this old woman wearing a dingy housecoat that was nearly worn sheer, turned to us and told us that she thought we left the lights on in our car.  The man was still walking toward us and we could see headlights behind this big wooden gate - but we couldn't get back there - it was locked.  The woman had disappeared and there was no one else to ask for help - so we just kept pulling at the lock trying to get it open.  Through the cracks in the gate, we could see the headlights fading as though the battery was dying in the car.  I was trying not to panic - knowing if I did - my friend would panic too.  So I just kept telling her, "We'll be okay.  I promise - we'll be okay..."  She started shaking and was crying, and I just kept repeating, "We will be okay...I promise...we'll be okay...."

I don't know if we were 'okay' or not - because I woke up. 

I NEED SLEEP!

I can't fall asleep OR stay asleep OR avoid the nightmares.... and I can't knock the angry wench from her post!

This morning I emailed a good friend of mine who works with me:

Grace: "Dear Friend, Please talk me into coming to work today."

Dear Friend: "Grace, what's wrong?"

Grace: "Tired- run down- no sleep- depressed- old...
Shall I continue? :-)"

Dear Friend: "I got the jest of it. I think you should come in because if you are depressed, home is not the place to be. "

Grace reluctantly gets dressed and heads to the office...

1 hour later:
Dear Friend emails: "Grace, are you in the office?"

Grace: "Yes, I'm here"

Feel better? No.

Erase Me

i've decided that i'm no longer worthy of capitalization of the letter "I", when referencing myself. Why? Who knows, but that's what i decided. Save the importance of the punctuation and correct grammar for one who deserves such recognition. There's something physically tangible to the depression i'm feeling. It's stopping me from doing things i used to do.

i still can't sleep! There's really no point, because even if i lay down, i end up getting out of bed again. Then i watch pointless late-night infomercials selling everything from jewelry to face cream that will miraculously make all blemishes disappear. The infomercials on weight loss fascinate me, though. i study the "before" and "after" pictures, trying to determine if the two pictures are really the same person. i look at hair color, smile, eyes. i wonder how many other people are up late, watching TV, trying to picture themselves 50 pounds lighter—even though the fine print at the bottom of the screen says, "results not typical". i wonder how many people ignore that, thinking that they, too, can be a success story. Maybe this process of “healing” is the same way. Maybe it won’t work

There really are no "good" days, just different levels of "bad". i am so frustrated with things changing every single day! Monday – let's do it this way, Tues – let's try this. "Think outside the box" , "embrace change", "Gotta go with it, the train has already left the station." i feel like i'm on the edge.

There's this gradual darkening, like something is closing around me. i can feel the tears choking me, threatening to fall should i let them. It's overwhelming! i want to bang my head in to the wall, cut, punch something. Physical pain is much easier to handle.i don't know – just an overwhelming feeling of "aloneness" – nowhere to go, nowhere to turn, it's like I'm trapped somewhere between reality and my own mind.

DH and i had another 'discussion' this morning. i don't even remember how it first started, and i know he thinks i'm crazy~ i can't handle my own problems? (He did not say those words) Then he made a comment that i'm "vanishing" right in front of him. Asked me what's left if i let every part of me disappear? i told him, "me", and left it at that (but i don’t know who ‘me’ is ~ who is the real “grace”?). He doesn't get it though. Doesn't get that part. Use it all up. Strip it all away. Whatever is real is what remains in the end. What if that's nothing?

Fear. It keeps me locked inside my own little world, destroying the courage, the strength it takes to escape. It feels like i've been fighting back tears nearly every day for the last several weeks. Everything seems to get to me. Every song i hear every thought in my head. I can’t tame the girls inside me. And i try harder and harder to keep the tears from falling. To stop the thoughts, the unidentifiable feelings inside that bring me to this point. Even as i sit here writing, the screen in front of me is blurry. Out of focus from the tears threatening to fall. Where the hell is the exit? It's getting harder and harder to find, harder and harder to believe an exit exists in the first place.

And i'm dying a little more each day. i am disappearing.

Can someone remind me again of the point to any of this? Including this pseudo LIFE?

I haven’t been sleeping well for over a week… Nightmares, tossing, turning – it comes in waves I can sleep for a few nights – then it starts again. The tossing and turning – I can’t lie on my side because my hips & ribs hurt, so I try to lie on my back – but then I feel like something is crushing me and I can’t breathe…and I toss and turn back and forth – for hours. Sometimes I cry and try to talk to myself, tell myself that it’s okay to cry, that it will pass, and I’ll be okay – I try to forget the pain in my hips and my ribs- sometimes I touch DH’s arm, remind myself where I am, repeat my address, go check on my children…see? I’m a grown up now. This is my house, these are my kids and I’m okay. Sometimes I lie down in the guest room and open the window to feel the cool air on my body and listen to the sounds outside. Other times I lie on the floor in the bathroom, feel the cool tile on my face. Sometimes I fall asleep but then I wake up, startled, from a dream…sometimes I can remember the dreams, sometimes not. But it’s been a really long week, and I’m really tired. I am sooooo tired. And nothing is working now. I’m so tired. And I can’t sleep.

And the lack of sleep exacerbates everything else. The anxiety, the anger, the panic & fear. And there’s no relief…no help. My problem, I get it – at night when everything happens it’s just me here – by myself. No one else. My problem. My issues…all mine – I own it. Me. No one else’s problem – why bother even talking anymore.

I don't even bother calling DT for help anymore - because really - it doesn't matter. It just "is" and nothing can be done about it. And maybe I'll get a "good" night soon - a night where I actually sleep...a night with no body memories or nightmares, no panic attacks or anxiety, no voices, no SI...and then maybe that will be enough to get through another few nights of hell. Maybe - Maybe not.

Just "riding the waves" as you say, DT - I won't call - I won't ask for an "extra" session or bother you on your weekend off. Because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore. I've ridden the waves for 38 years now! BY MYSELF! Has it gotten any less turbulent? Um, no - so again, I have to ask the question: Why fucking bother? I sure don't have an answer to that question, do you?

And I wish I had the courage to *STOP* all of it. But I don't today...and even if I had the courage - I don't have the energy.

I am "GRACE" ... I am NOT a *label* - I am not a "text book case* Call me Grace!

Emotion regulation sux! And it’s hard! And I'm tired! And I don't really care if you believe anything I say- it doesn't matter to me- I mean, I'm not *doubting* that you "care" I know you do... It’s not like you haven’t put up with a lot of BS from me and my irrational, angry, willful selves... I recognize that. I know that.

I couldn't sleep last night despite the seroquel I had taken - it was so hard to try to stay present, in my body, but I went to bed. And I kept telling myself that I was "okay". I took dear husband's hand and held it close to mine squeezing it while I kept talking to myself. “You are okay…you are an adult, this is your home, this is your bed, this is your husband. You are not back there, this is not him, you are not her. DT is not the host body. You are okay. You are okay. There’s no need to cry, you’re safe now.” DH was asleep- he had no idea I was squeezing his hand, tears streaming down my cheeks while I was softly talking, trying to soothe myself.

I'm not having a good night tonight. Not in an irrational, "I hate DT and myself" kind of way... More like a "defeated", sad kind of way. DT suggested I read this book called, “PTSD/borderlines in Therapy…finding the balance” author: Dr. Jerome Kroll. And it feels like I’m going to be treated at like a borderline no matter what I say now- and I don't think that's the answer. I've made some connections in the past 2 weeks, I think. I can see why I was behaving the way I was- I continually tell myself, "make a different choice"- and it does help sometimes. But it still hurts- it still feels like no one really understands what I feel. And it pisses me off because the book I read by Dr. Dusty Miller, “Women who hurt themselves” states the treatment program for CSA survivors is the complete opposite from the treatment plan that Dr Kroll thinks is effective. *huge sigh*…

I don't know- I sometimes wonder if it even matters anymore. Does it? I mean DT’s done a LOT - like way a lot, and I have moments when I'm okay- but I'm kind of disappointed in that book- like it doesn't feel right- it isn't me, and it’s all so subjective, and then I wonder if there's really anything that will make it go away- it still seems as though no one understands how to treat “us”…it’s all so biased and opinion based, I don't like that. Not in a black/white way, either- that's not what I mean- it’s just that no one gets it- all the studies are based on "inpatient" studies. Most of the women are unemployed, welfare recipients, never held a job, never had a stable relationship- that isn't me. It’s not me. I’m not singing "woe is me" I was abused so society owes me, and should take care of me. I'm not that woman. I've worked hard to get where I am! I've worked since I was 13 years old! I worked 2 jobs to pay for college, 1 full-time, 1 part time. I paid my own way and I never felt sorry for myself! I never expected anyone to give me a "hand out". I never accepted anything I didn't "earn". I'm not that woman! I don't have a chronic illness that keeps me from working. I show up, and I perform! In fact, I’m considered a “senior executive”. I've never let my emotions or my "feelings" interfere with my job/career. I can stand up and give a presentation in front of 300 people and never let them see me sweat! If you talk to any of the 280 people who work in my office, they will tell you that I am hard working, professional, respectful and respected! I'm not that woman! I am successful, intelligent, educated, and by o’bama's standards, "upper class"- I can, and always have, taken care of myself- provided for myself- paid my own bills- and consider myself an honest, giving woman. I am not that girl! I don't have a sense of "entitlement" - I know where I came from, and I fought my way out of that- and I am not that woman!

I've made mistakes, done things I shouldn't have done, but we all have regrets- mine are probably no different than yours or anyone else's. But I was never, am not now, nor will I ever be that woman! I will continue to work hard, I will continue to depend on myself and fight as hard as I need too- and I will never, ever, ever, be that woman.

You, society, my so-called “parents”, obama... Owe me nothing! I don't want a "hand out" I don't want anyone to feel sorry for me- I don't want to depend on anyone- I will pay my own way, no matter what! And I am not a label, I am not psychotic, I am not a "borderline" I am not a statistic. I am a person! I am ME! My childhood was less than ideal, my mother hates me, my s-father used me as his toy- but I am not that woman. I knew from the time I was 5 years old that I was better than them, that one day I would get out, and that NO ONE would ever know where I came from. I do not have a sense of *entitlement* or think anyone owes me anything! I am not that woman! Even in my darkest, most depressed moments- even when I act like a child, even when dissociate, do things I don't remember doing, even when I'm 5 again- I will always, always, always- be honest, successful, independent and caring. And I will not be that woman!

And frankly, I don't care what DT, or anyone she consults with thinks. I am strong, successful- hard-working and honest. I came from nothing and I've made something out of my life! And it matters not to me that some pretentious psychiatrist thinks that based on some limited, biased studies- publishes a book that states claims on how "borderlines" should be treated- I know what's best for me- and no matter what - I will be okay- and although I will never forgive them for how they treated me, I also know that I fought so hard to get where I am because of it. Me! I am a college educated, articulate, intelligent, successful woman- I am respected- I am a good person. I am beautiful, I am funny, I have friends who care about me!

I am not that woman!

I am GRACE! I’m not a number, or a diagnosis, or a ‘label’ I am Grace…my favorite color is pink. I love to sing and dance to “Girls just want to have fun” with my beautiful red-head daughter. I love it when my son tells me he loves me in private but not in public because he’s at that “age”. I love it when my husband tells me I’m more beautiful now than I was the day we were married, and I love cuddling with my big ole’ puppy. I love making people laugh…I love the smell in the air after a rainfall…and the smell of clean laundry. I sleep with feather pillows, and I have a blanket I have slept with since I was a kid. I am Grace ! I am not “the borderline” or the “CSA survivor” or the “psychotic patient”… I have several people living inside of me, but I am still Grace. Call me Grace! Don’t call me “the borderline” or the “victim of child abuse” or the “CSA survivor”…don’t feel sorry for me, or pity me. I am Grace; I am a strong, successful, confident woman.

I am Grace!

I don't know what I'm asking for...Prayer? Strength? Faith?

I often wonder if depression and anxiety manifest in your body in a physical sense. I feel despondent today…I’ve been nauseous all day and have vomited profusely. I turn on the water so no one hears me. I lack the enthusiasm and energy to do anything. I am fearful every evening of what will come in the night. I know I should just grit my teeth and push through this phase. ..but l currently lack the fervor and oomph.

Darkness has closed in. The storm clouds that were looming over the Rocky Mountains has finally rolled in and settled right over Boulder County. My body feels like it’s filled with lead. I am exhausted physically and mentally. I’m walking in the rain and the wind caught under my umbrella and pummeled me into a brick wall. I am constantly fighting against the winds. The winds of my fear, my anxiety, my depression, my hopelessness and shame…and the anger, holy smokes! The horrible anger that overwhelms me.

I don’t sleep, the darkness invades my dreams. When I do finally fall asleep, it’s only a half sleep. I toss and turn and wake up multiple times during the night. I don’t eat because it always comes right back up.

So much of what I feel is irrational and the logical part of my brain tells me that – but Ms. Logic can’t win against Ms. Scared –Angry (she has a hyphenated last name). I need help – I know that. I know that I am not “me” and I am not in control of us, not anymore. I know that the strength and spirit and determination I had has been drained from me.

I have been thinking terrible thoughts at night. Thoughts like: what if I just take the entire bottle of ativan and chase it down with a chug of vodka. It isn’t about suicide – I assure you, it’s about making it stop! It’s about stopping the crazy voices inside my head; it’s about killing the physical and mental pain in my body. I realize how twisted that sounds…like the mentality of an ‘addict’. Something I never want to be.

I never wanted to be ‘this’ woman. I used to be strong – a fighter! And I have been through worse! But I feel like a runner who hit the wall. I just don’t feel like I can push forward anymore, not now. Thinking about the darkness that overwhelms me at night is like looking down the barrel of a shot-gun. I just wait for the bullet to come…wait for the past to start ravaging my body and my mind once again. And I hate it! I hate it! I hate the voices, I hate the feeling that he’s here with me. I hate the way my body aches, the way my hips hurt and my chest feels tight. I hate the way my breathing gets shallow and I hate that I can’t seem to stop it. DT said I should be able to stop it. I don’t understand why I can’t do that. Why can’t I do it?

I feel so depressed, so anxious so sad and scared. I am such a disappointment. I’m so ashamed of myself. People tell me how inspired they are by my courage and perseverance, and here I am…thinking of overdosing on anti-anxiety and sleeping meds. I need help. I’m so ashamed. This isn’t me – I don’t even know who this is. What do I need to do? I don’t know what the answer is. All I know is that I need something – something to hold on to. I’m overwhelmed by fear and darkness. Thunder and lightning are raging in my head ALL OF THE TIME! And I’m scared.

The SI is back, and I’m so utterly disgusted with myself for falling back into that! But like an alcoholic, I cannot stop after I make that first cut. The endless crying is back – it’s all back with a vengeance! The deep hole inside of me is growing like a cancerous tumor. It’s so hard to even stay alive and no one gets it. Each day is more and more difficult to get out of bed, there isn’t a better day now – and there isn’t another escape that I can think of. This is killing me anyway – a slow painful death, eating me from the inside out – what’s the difference? Why hang on for more pain, when I could just take a bottle of ativan and a bottle of seroquel and stop it myself. Take control of my own destiny. I just don’t know how much more I can take – I’m drained, worthless, helpless, sad, angry, disgusted, depressed, self-destructive…I hate it! I hate all of it! And I need it to STOP!

I am an evil, bad, mean, nasty girl! Mother and father were right. I am terrible! I don’t deserve love or care. I am undeserving. Hopeless. It is hopeless. There’s nothing left. I’m too tired. I can’t bleed or puke the badness out of me. It won’t leave!

If you even read this I am not writing to cause concern and alarm. I am writing this because this is it! This is my struggle~ this is a transparent and honest account of what I’m feeling. I realize everyone has their *struggle* – this is mine. There cannot be hills without valleys – but I’m caught in a landslide! I don’t know what I’m asking for… I just can’t seem to face it anymore. Prayer? Strength? I’m so flipping sick and tired!

A storm is gonna come...

The storm clouds have been hovering all day and now the darkness has closed in. The dark portentous clouds that have been looming ominously overhead have finally rolled in with the force of a category 4 hurricane. My body no longer feels like it belongs to me. Even little things are such an effort. I feel ravaged by the torrential rain and devastating winds of the hurricane.

The burly winds have destroyed lawn furniture and sent backyard grills reeling from decks and porches – they have scattered tumbleweeds across the plains ~ the ability to keep your eyes open in the midst of the flying dirt and dust has diminished. I am blowing in the wind…tossed like the tumbleweeds. I am constantly fighting the winds of depression, fear, sadness, hopelessness and tonight my overwhelming feelings are a force to be reckoned with!

Sleep fails to bring relief ~ the darkness invades my sleep, my dreams….I fight sleep – fear it, even. And when I do sleep, dear husband tells me I talk and moan, thrash around and whimper frequently. I wake up multiple times a night from a nightmare only to find a broken compass and an inability to navigate myself from the past back to the present.

So much of it is irrational – and the small, logical voice inside of me tells me that – but the logical part of me cannot overpower, or balance, the other irrational, illogical voices of the terrified children trapped inside my mind and my body. I know I'm not in control. All the drive and spirit and determination that made me *ME* has been drained from me and most of the time I just feel like a rag doll….just do with me what you will…I'll just wait here.

And I have these horrible thoughts…what if I took a few extra sleeping pills, anxiety med…maybe chase them down with the vodka in the freezer…..

It's not about suicide….although I'll admit I have fleeting thoughts that death would be easier on everyone around me who suffer with me, despite my trying to keep it all inside of me. But it isn't about suicide – it's about making it stop! And I know that sounds sick and perhaps like the mind of my mother – someone I certainly NEVER want to be….

I have always been strong, a fighter! Always! And certainly I've been through worse than this…… But I hate this! I hate the panicky feeling when I wake up from a nightmare and I'm in a state of half-consciousness. I hate the overwhelming feelings of rage that make me lash out at those undeserving and sometimes unsuspecting souls. I hate the external scars I've inflicted upon myself. I hate that I have these overwhelming urges to hurt myself and I sometimes act on those urges and then suffer the feelings of guilt and shame that come afterward. I hate that I've given them my joy and that means they win! I hate feeling and acting like a child! I hate the memories, and the crying and all of the feelings, feelings, feelings!!!!!!! I hate it! All of it!

I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm in such a state of darkness tonight and I need something to renew my courage, to get back my determination and drive. I had 8 good days…8! And it was a good 8 days…and now I feel like my body and mind have been taken over by a poltergeist! It’s all fear & darkness now.

There is thunder, and wind and lightening and hail raging in my head and I'm caught in this storm with no protection, no umbrella, no coat or boots.

I'm not writing this as some psycho irrational woman getting ready to climb to the top of the empire state building and jump off – so please don't think I need to be committed to some psych ward. I'm writing because this is how I feel right now. This is my struggle, my journey through the rocky terrain.

There are no valleys without hills, and I've hit a landslide. I can't talk to my friends about this, or dear husband, I can't face the looks of fear, or pity, or concern, or maybe even anger and rage. I just can't. I just need to figure out how to find my way back to the land of the living. I want to feel the warmth of the sun again, see the brightness – feel the heat. I want to sleep 8 hours without fear and panic. I want to feel safe again. I want to get through a weekend without completely losing my mind. And I'm not sure how to do that, or if I even have the strength.

The Picture of the Woman at the Zoo

"I am not a morning person", Grace mumbles, as she flips off the “early bird’ chirping outside of the bedroom window, thrilled to find the worm to satiate her hunger. One of the reasons for this early morning grogginess is that I stay up so late at night, listening to the voice of apprehension, warning me of the nightmares that are sure to engulf me after I drift off to sleep. And while I am slumbering and the nightmares creep forward from my sub-conscious onto the 3-D video screen in front of me, I am unable to escape or defend myself. At night I prop my eyelids open and watch the comedy channel until the vampires settle in for their siesta and then I crawl up the stairs and into bed for a good 3-4 hours. I am NOT a morning person!

This morning when I dragged myself out of bed and slowly crept down the stairs, I found dear husband sitting at the kitchen table listening to 80’s hair band music and surfing the net. He knows not to speak to me before I ingest at least a sip of strong black coffee and so he patiently waited until I tip-toed quietly over to the coffee maker, poured a cup of coffee from the carafe and headed to the kitchen table to engage in the Sunday morning discussion of “why did you spend (enter $ amount) at (enter retail store)?” I sat down at the table and took a sip of coffee and in my groggy mind, tried to recall the money I spent last week at (enter retail stores), as I waited for the weekly question. But this morning, a different question escaped his lips.

And the question was this: “Honey, there’s a picture of a woman at the zoo on our computer and I have no idea who she is?” He has met DT once before, when we stopped by her house to pick up pick up my MP3 player because she made me a relaxation recording so I could relax/sleep better. But that was last year and he didn’t remember what she looked like.

I smiled a ‘half-smile’ (the best I can muster at 8:00 on a Sunday morning) as I remembered that dear therapist had emailed me a couple of photos earlier in the week, at my request, and I stored them on the hard-drive in our laptop. I pondered how I should answer this question as dh already thinks my attachment to DT is…how should I say this…strange and crazy (?).

There really wasn’t a clever way to answer his question, that I could think of, so I just came out and said, “Oh, that’s DT. I asked her to send me a photo so I can look at it when I’m (enter: scared, lonely, sad, other painful feeling).

I could tell by the look on his face that he did, in fact, think that was ‘odd’. So I continued (as though he didn’t already know this) “I think of her like the ‘mother’ I didn’t have and so I need that ‘connection’ to her when she can’t be here for me.” I know I must have sounded like a child, and he was probably wondering what happened to his wife, the adult Grace who is nearly 40 years old. But much to my surprise, he didn’t ask further questions. And I didn’t offer additional information to further explain or illuminate why I had added this addition to my ‘objects of dependence’ *collection*. My current collection includes: several recordings of her “talking” to me ~ relaxation, meditation, readings from books, a few CDs she has made me (meditations, healing trauma, and even music), a healing bead she brought me that I made into a bracelet, emails, and even a bear that I sleep with that when you press her left hand is DT talking to me. In fact, there are times when I inadvertently hit the bear’s hand and it wakes him up when DT talks and sort of freaks him out. And of course the bear’s name is “dear therapist bear”. And now photos? I’m sure he’s wondering, “WHAT NEXT?”

He has no idea of the story I’ve written in my head that I have left home for, let’s say, college (although that changes~ sometimes college, sometimes I’ve moved overseas or to a different coast…) and the connection I have with DT is that I can email her, she will email me back twice a week, I can call her if I need her, and see her once a week. I hope this ‘story’ will help the little Gracie’s know that DT cares and hasn’t abandoned us.

I can’t wait to see his reaction when I frame a 5 x 7 picture of DT at the zoo in a frame I decorate with some ‘grounding’ sayings written on it, and put it on my night stand!

Okay – I’m kidding about the picture frame…
But at least he didn't ask me why I spent a hundred bucks at Victoria Secret last week.