Help me, I am dying

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.

No safety Net

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

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

Bad girls are not angels

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

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

Nod if you can hear me…

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...

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

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"! 

Simmer Down, CrazyBrain...

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

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

Are we ready to stop being 16 now Grace?

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."

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...

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!*

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*! 

I know so much ~ but I do not know myself

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?

I am taking away your maladaptive coping skills!

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!

I can see the shadow of the freak-out monster in my peripheral vision

Tuesday in session I talked a little more about the Friday night creepshows of the past and present. And even as I spoke, it wasn’t me saying the words. I heard the words come out of my mouth.  I could hear the words, I could see the therapist sitting across from me, but it didn’t even feel like ME ~ it wasn’t like I was consciously speaking the words, but yet they were pouring out of me in a steady tone of voice.  A voice I was not able to stop. Was that my voice? I did not speak those words.

After the words were spoken, I told the therapist that I hoped to not freak out later. But I can see the freak-out shadow in my peripheral vision; it frightens me and now I can move only my eyes but not the rest of my head, or my body. I want to be disconnected from my body tonight and yet try as I might; I still feel the churning in my stomach, the pounding ache on the left side of my head. I feel the burning in my eyes and the tightness in my chest. It is difficult to keep my eyes open and impossible to take a deep breath.

She has cried non-stop since last night. Even in bed, huddled in the corner, far away from the door and wrapped tightly in her blue blanket and surrounded by pillows, she shook and cried. And still tonight she cries in fear and pain. She cries about sticky humiliating smelly messes. She cries about mirrors and blood. She cries and she cannot be soothed.

Why does she remember? Why does she remind me all of the time? Why does she ruin everything? Why can’t she just go away? Why does it still hurt so bad? It shouldn’t hurt now. It does but it shouldn’t.  And she continues to cry...

I hear her crying, I see her crying ~ but I don't know how to stop her cries.  I don't know how to make her pain go away.  All I can do is watch her and hear her.

I cannot figure out how to unplug the *Emotional Pin-Ball* Game. And I am finished playing for now!

There are nights when I am absolutely afraid to move. Anxiety and fear ~ my current nemesis. Like, one night, when I was on the phone with the therapist and she was telling me to get up and do something, I could not do it. And it was not because I was trying (in that very moment) to be argumentative and defiant, it was literally because my body was frozen and I could not move. And she seemed frustrated, which I understand, as she was trying to help me, and it’s not like she could grab my arm and physically move me (not that she would do that in her office either, but I suspect it’s a little bit easier for her to deal with me in that situation when we are in the same room). It’s so difficult for me to communicate at that point.

Right now I am in this space where I really wonder how I can continue to live up to the person everyone thinks that I am. Who is this person that everyone has created in their minds with my name attached to it? Yesterday I took a phone call from my boss in the middle of therapy. Even though she didn’t say anything, I’m sure the therapist was thinking, “Gawd ~ can’t she even stick up for herself during this hour?” Dang! Grace cannot set limits with her boss, her husband, or anyone else for that matter…

And I have to say that I am not really in the position right now to be all warrior-like and face all of it head-on. It is really one of those days when I want to curl up in a fetal position with a heating pad and pull the covers over my head. Even though the therapist would say that isn’t a good idea for me to hide myself away from all human contact…I still want too. I don’t have any desires to hurt myself; I’m just tired and I don’t want to be all happy and sunshiny for other people right now.

My body hurts today. I told the therapist I think I have a brain tumor and she was all like, “Well, then you should go get an MRI.” What else is she supposed to say; she is a PhD, not a medical doctor. And of course my head is hurting now and I’m constantly dizzy so that’s probably the brain tumor too. But what about all the other gross body issues?

WAH! I’m sure it’s all “emotional” overload, right? I feel like a pin-ball machine…hit the emotional ball and see where it bounces around and what part of my body it hits! Headache/dizziness: 100 points. Hip pain: 50 points. Nausea/vomiting: 150 points. Insomnia: 200 points.  Cramps/bleeding: 300 points. Uncontrollable shaking or inability to move at all: 1000 bonus points.

*SIGH*  I cannot figure out how to unplug the Emotional Pin-Ball Game....

Maybe you fight me because you are afraid if you don’t, you will lose me

It makes me tired sometimes, the constant fighting inside my head, the constant aruging, yelling, fear, discord.  It's tiring.  And PAG fights the therapist like the female version of Rocky.  Today, as I was leaving the therapist's office, she said, "Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't you will lose me."  When I asked her what she meant, she said she didn't know, that it was just something that popped into her head right that very minute.  Popped right into her head...like she could have had a V-8!  What?  I'm not really sure if she just wanted me to take the statement and try it on, or if she really just said the first thing that popped in her head.  
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't, you will lose me"
After I left her office, I stopped to get a diet coke, and I thought about what she said.
When I got back to my office, I walked into my office and took off my coat, and I thought about what she said.  I logged on to my computer, and pulled up a report I needed to prepare for an afternoon meeting, and I thought about what she said.
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't you will lose me."
Early this evening, I was talking to my friend L and I thought about what the therapist said.  I decided to ask L what she thought it meant, and L said, "I think she means that you look for things to argue with her about to try to push her and test her; but deep down you know she won't leave you. However, you continue to battle with her so there is a state of constant conflict in your relationship so you don't have to deal with the real issues, the real problems that you need her help with. "  Maybe she's right...

Since L has been so insightful and has had her own "therapist" hat on, I decided to ask for her help with another crazybrain issue that's been dormant for awhile, but has again reared it's ugly head.  Something that I haven't asked for the therapists help on because I know that it won't matter what she says, PAG will just be pissed about it.  This issue surfaced nearly 2 years ago, and reappears at times, but not nearly as strong as it was in the past.  It's so irrational and embarrassing, and logically it makes no sense - I KNOW that!  But yet, here it is, as irrational and embarrassing as walking out of the ladies room with your skirt tucked into your panties and not noticing (not that that's ever happened to me - but it would be really embarrassing - this is that kind of embarrassing).... The 5 year old is scared again that the therapist will leave her when she gets married.  And the 5 year old is once again jealous of the therapists' BF.  OMG!  TOTALLY irrational, Grace - you are so crazy!  It is so NOYB and so not fair to the therapist.  Yah, I know that...but the 5 year old is still sad sometimes.  And if I were to bring it up with the therapist, I'm afraid she would say something like, "Grace, my life - NOYB."  Which would totally freak out the 5 year old and piss off PAG.  And adult rational Grace "gets" that it isn't about the therapist and her BF - it's really about the host body leaving me for men.  And I hope someday the 5 year old will understand that too - but she doesn't right now.  And I don't know how to get her from point A to point B.

L said she totally gets it.  She said that she still gets jealous of the time her mom spends with her sister and she's 37 years old, not 5.  She said that in a kid's mind it doesn't matter - feelings are feelings - and it's not a horrible thing.  She didn't think it was nearly as embarrassing as the wardrobe malfunction described above.  I, however, still do. 

L tried to reassure me that we all have our shit.  We all have things we are embarrassed about, and she said that I have to be honest and patient with the therapist and she has helped me, and she will continue to help me, if I let her.  L told me that I have to someday find a way to accept that my childhood was less than ideal and it wasn't my fault.  And that the things I have done as an adult, willingly, and/or unwillingly, that may feel shameful and wrong to me, I'll have to accept that too...but it will probably take a long time because I have never let anyone know me before, I've never let anyone "in"side my head to really know me...except the therapist.  Not even the hus.  She said that hopefully someday I will learn to trust other people too, and know who I should trust.  I hope she's right.

Before I left, L told me to text her if I felt alone, scared, just needed to talk...and went on to say,  "As long as I'm not having sex with the married man I've been telling no for 6 months, but he still comes by and I do it even though I don't want too...I'll text you back."....I fell out of the chair onto the floor in hysterical laughter!  See...we all have our shit. 

Maybe you fight me because you are afraid if you don't that you will lose me

What does that MEAN?

WHERE ARE YOU TODAY, CRAZYBRAIN?

I woke up this morning in trauma brain hell!  Physical pain, emotionally exhausted - the best part of waking up on a Sunday morning (it's way worse than Folgers)!!!  And I have been desperately trying to ignore it, but I can feel it - I can't make it go away.  I watched a moive...I can feel all of it.  I took a bath...It won't stop.  I cleaned the kitchen...it's still here. I just want it to go away.  Nothing helps.  And I feel so GD worthless and defeated!  What a failure!

It’s like she said it to throw it in my face! I wouldn’t have even known there was a trauma seminar coming to town if she wouldn’t have mentioned it. But she did! And it wasn’t long after she spent 6x the cost on DBT. And of course crazybrain freaks that the therapist isn’t going. And then the therapist says, “Whether I go to the Van der kolk or any other seminar on trauma treatment or otherwise, I feel a need to remind you that the work in therapy right now appears to be your struggles with safety and trust. Of course you are going to be vigilant to whether safety exists in the context of facing your past, in my office or anywhere else when feelings, memories or core issues arise. This is an adaptive self protective function. I think it is important to remember that the safety is not just in my office or in our conversations, but in your ability to care for yourself when experiencing triggered emotions and thoughts. As you know, there have been times when you were not able to do this and this was terrifying. So, the pacing of your process needs lots of respect and time!”

But crazybrain says, it’s not about the safety and trust. Not as she sees it. It’s about the commitment of the therapist to help crazybrain. That’s what she thinks! She isn’t *committed*. Why did she even mention the stupid seminar anyway? Just to throw it in crazybrain’s face that she isn’t committed enough to helping crazybrain so she isn’t going? Even though she had just said she would “jump at the chance to go to a trauma seminar”…if there was one available. How does SHE know how “terrifying” it is? She isn’t here! I’ve been patient! She is committed to DBT –and onions- NOT to me! 
Why does CB think that?  Why can't she just get past it?  Why is she so GD irrational?  Why can CB just not STOP IT!  JUST STOP IT RIGHT NOW!

See, the past keeps coming up anyway!  It continues to haunt me mentally, physically, emotionally - whether I can "deal" with it, or not!  How am I going to LEARN how to "deal with it" when no one will teach me!  It just gets worse!  It keeps getting worse!  And I am still "ill-prepared".  It isn't like it just STOPS because I can't figure out how to find "safety and trust" - no - you know what?  Actually, that just makes it all worse.  It just makes it worse!  Can't *face* it - can't *outrun" it...so what does that leave??? Continuation of circling in hell?  Because I can say I can't do that much longer.  It hurts all the time!  I am ashamed and embarrassed and I feel like I deserve the pain and I take 20 steps backwards every single day and I want to pull my hair out from frustration!  I feel worthless!  I feel useless to even my children right now! I have NO faith anymore! NONE!

Don't *ask* me how I *feel* because no one cares how I *feel*.  I don't feel very safe right now.  Why do I never feel safe?  Why is there no safety anywhere? 

"WHERE ARE YOU TODAY, CB?"  IN HELL...just something else you can't "help" me with...
I'd write about why I'm in hell, but the therapist said that would just make it worse.  And since I am searching for a reason to keep breathing - I'm guessing making it worse wouldn't be a super idea.  THIS is bad enough!

Grace, if it wouldn’t have been the onion – you would have found something else to be mad about, another reason to push her away…

I had lunch with my friend L today. L is my friend who will “tell it like it is” no matter what (not in a rude way, but she isn’t that friend who just agrees with you no matter what you say…I like that about her). It’s been such a long time since L and I have really “talked” ~ so it was really nice to catch up with her. We always go to the same restaurant and we always sit at the same table…silly, I know, but it’s “familiar”. I’ve been in a really bad place for awhile (really, captain obvious, I hadn’t noticed!) so having lunch with L was really something I really needed today.

We talked about everything! Christmas, how much her parents spoiled her during the holidays, her BF…and then the dreaded topic of *therapy* came up. I told L about the fact that I’ve been really f’d up since I shared way too much of myself with the therapist, and then about the onions and the cat thing, and then the fact that she forgot Grace last Friday~ thing…and on and on…and she actively listened to me.

And when I had finished speaking, she said, “Grace, you do realize that if it wouldn’t have been the onions, you would have found another reason to be pissed at the therapist. You felt like you shared too much of yourself, which made you uncomfortable, you got scared, and so you’re now trying to find a reason to pull away, to push her away, to really piss her off so she will tell you to go away….instead of really dealing with the real problems.”

“Yes”, I told L, “But then the therapist said she would be patient again, and I hate that because I want her to tell me to F off because I am so mean and disgusting! And I know she thinks that too – and she just won’t say it. NO ONE is that patient! And I’m not getting any better. I mean, I haven’t SI’d in over 3 months – but I think about it all the time, and I think about SUI all the time...and I have so much time late at night that I don’t remember but I’m not asleep – and I just don’t think I can get better.”

L told me that she does think the therapist knows what’s going on with me, and why I’m *acting out* right now, and that if I haven’t pushed the therapist away with the behavior I exhibited in 2008 and early 2009 then she ain’t going to leave now –and I have to learn to be patient with myself, just like the therapist has said she will be patient with me. L said that she KNOWS I am better now than I was 2 years ago – because she has been there to witness it.

I don’t know…I love L and I treasure her friendship and I trust her… and I know she made some honest and valid points today…but I just feel freakin’ lost! And tired! Ya know? Like I feel like I paddle so fast and hard to get upstream and then I stop for a minute and I’m suddenly back to where I started. I don’t know the answers. But L got me to eat something which is more than I’ve been able to do for myself in nearly 4 days… And she’s right – about the therapist. I know that. And yet still…there’s doubt.  And I'm still scared.