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.
Showing posts with label Evil Step-father. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Evil Step-father. Show all posts
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
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
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
“No,” I said, “I’m not ok.”
Yesterday in session when I told the therapist that I was nervous about her vacation because I depend on her for support right now, she’s a big life-line for me – and she said, “Well, maybe we shouldn’t talk until after my vacation.” And it really hurt my feelings because of course the neon sign starts flashing “ABANDONMENT”. And I was all, “WTH, that’s the answer? To not talk from now to then so I can get used to your being gone before you’re gone??” But maybe she’s right. Maybe this is one of those, “Grace, I’m doing this for your own good, things.” And maybe it’s best for her too, if we don’t talk, if she doesn’t know how I “feel”. Yes, the more that I think about it…the more I think it’s best. She doesn’t need to know how I *feel*. I can come up with my own *plan*. In fact, I already have one I can just it *dust off*. It doesn’t need to involve her at all. She should just enjoy her vacation and not be frustrated by the whiny DFW baby. I can take care of that kid! No problem!
I am in sort of a capricarious volatile state of mind right now. I know that I have no right to be upset with the therapist about leaving for vacation for 2 weeks. But I am… I’m overwhelmed to the point I am bursting at the seams. Boiling over…. And her answer is to not talk and hand me a business card of someone I’ve never even met, nor do I know her protocol, and when something happens, I can call her? I imagine that conversation might go something like this, “I can’t breathe…I just f’d the hus and it’s Friday and I can’t stop watching this scary movie and I can’t get him off of me. I can’t breathe…” in a 5 year old voice. Wonder what would happen then? Does Subbie T have “TraumaBrain” experience with dissoicative mentalists, dear therapist? Because you of all people should know how “difficult” I can be…
I am so lost right now. I have tried to believe that it won’t always be this way but I feel so depleted and hopeless. I cannot take care of myself right now. I want to be alone but when I’m alone, with no one to distract me, or talk to me, the piercing truth of my reality cuts into my heart and burns through my soul. I am so drained I cannot even think straight. My heart aches….this is the roughest patch I’ve hit and I can’t believe I’m still alive.
The pain I feel is unexplainable. I’m so tired and frustrated and I feel like it’s all just too complex to deal with. Too multifarious for me to understand…and the therapist would say, “It’s not, it’s so common and understandable, and you can do this…just keep on keeping on.” But she’s wrong. Clearly she doesn’t understand…I can assure you…I am dying more every day.
Oh, wait, I’m a “survivor”, right? I forgot. I have tried to collaborate my shattered thinking to form some rational simplicity from my emotional intricacy. I’ve tried to understand. But my mouth forms words my brain is unable to process. What I do understand is that the human mind and body shields a child from the horrible truth so the child can survive. She can survive but not realize how she has been shaped, altered, wounded, until she grows up to become a woman and it gets so bad that she feels like she’s nothing, nobody, worthless. I understand that because I had no idea how much he really shaped who I am today. I feel nameless, fragmented, unlovable because I cannot love myself. Both he and the host body cut me into pieces…so many pieces I don’t know which pieces belong to “me” and which belong to “them”. I cannot sort through them.
See, now I am afraid that the only way I see this working for me is to shut down completely. I really do not know how else to do it, the “feelings” are just too big and overwhelming for me right now and she’s going away for 2 weeks. I barely make it week to week, day to day, really. I do not have a good support system in place right now, and I can do a lot of damage in 2 weeks time. Right now, I have been seeing the therapist twice a week because I am having trouble managing from week to week. So much is happening inside of me and I don’t want to rely on her, I don’t want to “count on” her for support, but I have been lately. And she was very supportive and helpful recently…
I’m struck by how little my life has become. I am afraid and I can’t even tell anyone. Afraid and overhwelmed by what goes on inside my head and my body. So big, so real, so much stronger than what is outside of me. So sharp…I feel it, cutting me, stabbing me, with it’s serrated razor-sharp pieces. It’s painful…
LINK to Grace's new Website: "No," I said, "I'm not ok."
I am in sort of a capricarious volatile state of mind right now. I know that I have no right to be upset with the therapist about leaving for vacation for 2 weeks. But I am… I’m overwhelmed to the point I am bursting at the seams. Boiling over…. And her answer is to not talk and hand me a business card of someone I’ve never even met, nor do I know her protocol, and when something happens, I can call her? I imagine that conversation might go something like this, “I can’t breathe…I just f’d the hus and it’s Friday and I can’t stop watching this scary movie and I can’t get him off of me. I can’t breathe…” in a 5 year old voice. Wonder what would happen then? Does Subbie T have “TraumaBrain” experience with dissoicative mentalists, dear therapist? Because you of all people should know how “difficult” I can be…
I am so lost right now. I have tried to believe that it won’t always be this way but I feel so depleted and hopeless. I cannot take care of myself right now. I want to be alone but when I’m alone, with no one to distract me, or talk to me, the piercing truth of my reality cuts into my heart and burns through my soul. I am so drained I cannot even think straight. My heart aches….this is the roughest patch I’ve hit and I can’t believe I’m still alive.
The pain I feel is unexplainable. I’m so tired and frustrated and I feel like it’s all just too complex to deal with. Too multifarious for me to understand…and the therapist would say, “It’s not, it’s so common and understandable, and you can do this…just keep on keeping on.” But she’s wrong. Clearly she doesn’t understand…I can assure you…I am dying more every day.
Oh, wait, I’m a “survivor”, right? I forgot. I have tried to collaborate my shattered thinking to form some rational simplicity from my emotional intricacy. I’ve tried to understand. But my mouth forms words my brain is unable to process. What I do understand is that the human mind and body shields a child from the horrible truth so the child can survive. She can survive but not realize how she has been shaped, altered, wounded, until she grows up to become a woman and it gets so bad that she feels like she’s nothing, nobody, worthless. I understand that because I had no idea how much he really shaped who I am today. I feel nameless, fragmented, unlovable because I cannot love myself. Both he and the host body cut me into pieces…so many pieces I don’t know which pieces belong to “me” and which belong to “them”. I cannot sort through them.
See, now I am afraid that the only way I see this working for me is to shut down completely. I really do not know how else to do it, the “feelings” are just too big and overwhelming for me right now and she’s going away for 2 weeks. I barely make it week to week, day to day, really. I do not have a good support system in place right now, and I can do a lot of damage in 2 weeks time. Right now, I have been seeing the therapist twice a week because I am having trouble managing from week to week. So much is happening inside of me and I don’t want to rely on her, I don’t want to “count on” her for support, but I have been lately. And she was very supportive and helpful recently…
I’m struck by how little my life has become. I am afraid and I can’t even tell anyone. Afraid and overhwelmed by what goes on inside my head and my body. So big, so real, so much stronger than what is outside of me. So sharp…I feel it, cutting me, stabbing me, with it’s serrated razor-sharp pieces. It’s painful…
LINK to Grace's new Website: "No," I said, "I'm not ok."
She never stopped crying
She never stopped crying…and I am sick. Secrets too terrible to be spoken…every part of my mind and body are aching. His words mock me, constantly repeating in my mind. He is dead and I am still haunted, tortured , paralyzed with fear. My body is so sore and not just physically…poison is eating me from the inside out. It is so not okay to be me right now.
I exist in two places at once now. The hus has suddenly stumbled upon some newly found sexual energy and as I am spending most nights in a past filled with hell, he wants to spend most nights with me, in the present…like every night. And the problem is I can’t be there or here because the lines get blurred. I’m all over the place. And it usually doesn’t end well.
I spend half the day trying to escape the fb follies and then I spend the evening trying to fight off the anxiety about my current situation, now as an adult. So that’s how it goes, the day: wake up after a couple of hours of sleep, fight the follies all day (which typically means minimal concentration, lots of dissociation, headaches, nausea and vomiting, random crying) spend the late afternoon and evening consumed with anxiety about the possibility that the hus will want to have sex, if so – pray to either get through it without crying or get through it and not be there, spend the next several hours watching scary movies/crying/hurting/not being present. It is so not cool to be me.
Take last night, for instance. The hus is on vacation so he was up late. Grace’s anxiety was off the charts because that typically means he wants to have sex. Then try distraction which, in turn, lead to heading back to the past over a freakin’ lollipop! She never stops crying…
On minute I’m trying to use the big ‘distraction skills’ the next minute I’m falling…I cant breathe! I don’t know where I am. All I feel is pain. Pain that reaches all the way to my fingertips and makes my chest throb. And then I am angry. Then I hate myself, that kid, the past. Then comes the frustration at not being able to calm down…followed by the “I AM CRAZY” screaming, followed by the “bad thoughts” we don’t speak of. And I can’t make it stop.
How do you stop that? Oh! That’s right, distraction and “thought stopping”. Or a shitload of benzos and booze. One minute I’m watching Shirley Temple singing, “Good ship, lollipop” in her cute little 5 year old body, chubby cheeks and curly hair…singing in her short little dress and matching short shorts. The next minute I AM Shirley Temple…and my singing is interrupted by HIS voice, “Gracie, my sugar coated lollipop is ready for you…” WTF! I don’t want it! I want to go to sleep! “You make me do this…this candy is only for you.” And it hurts! But he won’t let me move.
I’m frozen. That fight or flight ‘theory’ is complete BS. I am frozen. I’m hurting. The pain is real..splitting me apart, screaming in my head…pain, confusion, shame….it’s real. I’m not good at this…I’m not dealing with any of this.
LINK to Grace's new Website: She never stopped crying
I exist in two places at once now. The hus has suddenly stumbled upon some newly found sexual energy and as I am spending most nights in a past filled with hell, he wants to spend most nights with me, in the present…like every night. And the problem is I can’t be there or here because the lines get blurred. I’m all over the place. And it usually doesn’t end well.
I spend half the day trying to escape the fb follies and then I spend the evening trying to fight off the anxiety about my current situation, now as an adult. So that’s how it goes, the day: wake up after a couple of hours of sleep, fight the follies all day (which typically means minimal concentration, lots of dissociation, headaches, nausea and vomiting, random crying) spend the late afternoon and evening consumed with anxiety about the possibility that the hus will want to have sex, if so – pray to either get through it without crying or get through it and not be there, spend the next several hours watching scary movies/crying/hurting/not being present. It is so not cool to be me.
Take last night, for instance. The hus is on vacation so he was up late. Grace’s anxiety was off the charts because that typically means he wants to have sex. Then try distraction which, in turn, lead to heading back to the past over a freakin’ lollipop! She never stops crying…
On minute I’m trying to use the big ‘distraction skills’ the next minute I’m falling…I cant breathe! I don’t know where I am. All I feel is pain. Pain that reaches all the way to my fingertips and makes my chest throb. And then I am angry. Then I hate myself, that kid, the past. Then comes the frustration at not being able to calm down…followed by the “I AM CRAZY” screaming, followed by the “bad thoughts” we don’t speak of. And I can’t make it stop.
How do you stop that? Oh! That’s right, distraction and “thought stopping”. Or a shitload of benzos and booze. One minute I’m watching Shirley Temple singing, “Good ship, lollipop” in her cute little 5 year old body, chubby cheeks and curly hair…singing in her short little dress and matching short shorts. The next minute I AM Shirley Temple…and my singing is interrupted by HIS voice, “Gracie, my sugar coated lollipop is ready for you…” WTF! I don’t want it! I want to go to sleep! “You make me do this…this candy is only for you.” And it hurts! But he won’t let me move.
I’m frozen. That fight or flight ‘theory’ is complete BS. I am frozen. I’m hurting. The pain is real..splitting me apart, screaming in my head…pain, confusion, shame….it’s real. I’m not good at this…I’m not dealing with any of this.
LINK to Grace's new Website: She never stopped crying
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