“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."

She laughed until she cried

She laughed until she cried

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(excerpt from article)

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


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

"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"! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

I cannot find a way out tonight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am taking away your maladaptive coping skills!

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!

Just die already!

Today I told the therapist that I wish the host body would die.  I just wish she would die already!  GAWD!  I hate her!    Who wishes their mother, the woman who gave birth to her, to die?  Someone evil, that's who.  I actually wished my mother would die....and I spoke the words out loud to someone else!   Who thinks that?  What kind of person thinks that?  I mean, no matter what he did, what she did, it's so wrong to wish another person would die.

When I was a kid, the host body made several suicide attempts.  Like, every few months, she would lock herself in the bathroom and OD on xanax.  And it was so embarrassing!  The ambulance would show up and all the white trash neighbors would be outside gawking at us, talking about how crazy we were...and I remember that even back then I wished she would just die!  Why did she just keep living?

Even then, I hated her so much.  What kind of child hates their own mother and wishes her dead?  But I did.  I fucking loathed her!  I could barely stand to look at her!  And I wished she would die.  I used to swear she had a damn hospital wing named after her crazy ass she was there so many times....and every time, the doctors would tell my grandmother that the host body had to quit drinking and ODing because she was going to die.  And I would WISH and PRAY that she would die.  OMG ~ what kind of evil person wishes their mother dead???? 

When I was around 16 years old (after the SF had left) my mother was in the hospital after another drunken suicide attempt, and my grandmother and I were with her.  The host body thought she was in the hosptial because she had a baby (thank God that wasn't the case!) and she kept asking my grandmother, "Mom, where is my baby?  Why haven't they brought my baby in?"  And my grandmother would say, "Well, crazy host body, I'm not sure why..."  And then the host body looked at my grandmother and said, "Mom, why do you have that dishrag on your head?"  And my grandmother replied, "Well, host body, I didn't know that was there."  And my grandmother actually raised her arms up, and *pretended* to pull something off of her head that was not ever there in the first place!  WTF!?!  I wanted to punch them both for being so stupid!

I wished my mother would die.  For as long as I could remember, I wished she would die. 
Who does that?  What kind of person wishes her mother would die?  Sadly, I truly believe she wished I would die too... and tonight, as I'm sitting here in my freakin' huge house, crying because I feel like an evil person for wishing my mother was dead, she is probably 1200 miles away, sitting in her trailor, wishing I was dead too.... or maybe, she doesn't even realize I'm still alive at all.  I'm not sure which is worse....

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?

I just want to feel safe, dear therapist. It’s been a really long time since I’ve felt safe.

I had a bit of a mental meltdown last night.  (That's a big shocker, Grace!)

The therapist had not emailed me by 10pm, and it had already been a really emotionally charged weekend. By 10:01~ the 5 year old was crying from fear and feelings of abandonment, and PAG was hoping the therapist would forget again so she would have a reason to be pissed off at the therapist. Okay, that isn’t a fair statement~ PAG gets pissed off at the therapist all the time for reasons she makes up in her crazybrain. Maybe it would be more accurate to say PAG wanted a reason to that she could throw in the 5 year old’s face to PROVE to the 5 year old that the therapist doesn’t care about her. Anyway, it didn’t happen for her because the therapist emailed a few minutes later. It didn’t matter though. Crazybrain was already at defcon 4 and inches away from self inflicted pain. So Grace called the therapist for help, but PAG wouldn’t let the therapist help, she just wanted to fight with the therapist….the therapist was not in the mood for a fight (she never is) so she told Grace that if she wanted help she had to listen and stop fighting the therapist! Eventually Grace listened because there are no cuts or bruises today.

Thanks to the therapist’s help and patience, we stayed safe from self-jury, but were still unable to find a sense of safety, it was a constant battle to stay present and not dissociate but it was a losing battle for most of the night. In the moments I was in my body, I felt like there was a bolt of lightning constantly circulating through my body. I could not relax, I could not concentrate, I couldn’t even order coffee at Starbucks! Calling in sick was not an option because it was a day packed with deadlines and yet I could not even find a folder that was right in front of my face. I thought I should make a list of things that I had to get done but I couldn’t even figure out how to get that done! Extremely frustrating to find myself in a position where I cannot concentrate at work. Typically, work is a place I can escape the craziness in my head but it wasn’t working! Nothing felt safe and yet a small rational voice knew there was no logical reason for the fear and anxiety which increased the frustration, leading to more anxiety…and suddenly Grace is on her own personal Crazy~Brain~Carousel, complete with the circus music!

I met with the therapist at 10am this morning but I still couldn’t explain what was happening with the lightning inside my body or the fear inside my head. I couldn’t speak or look at her for the longest time. Eventually she asked me what I wanted to get from the session today and I said I didn’t know. But I did know. I just wanted to feel safe…even if only for a few minutes. I just wanted to feel safe. And the therapist made me feel safe today. Today, even just sitting there, in her office, my body full of electricity and 10 different voices inside my head, the therapist made me feel safe….just because she was there. Just because she’s the therapist....

She listened, she sat with me, she tried to help me stay grounded today...but most importantly, she made me feel safe.  She was still there...still trying to listen and understand *all* of Grace...because she is kind and patient.  Because she is the therapist.

How low can you go....anyone for the Limbo?

Many years ago I won a weekend trip to Vegas by doing the Limbo…how low can you go….how low can you go…these past couple of weeks I feel like I’m playing the Limbo again. Just when I think I’ve hit the lowest point I can possibly hit, I get “challenged” to go even lower….and lower I go.

I am on the cutting edge tonight. I feel it. Earlier, DD wanted me to cut something out for an art project she was working on, and as I held the scissors in my hand, I could feel it…the overwhelming urge to cut. I finally told her to go see her father, and have him cut the paper for her. He didn’t, and she came back to me. I cut the paper for her, and the scissors are right here, still beside me. She never put them away. Looking for a sign? This is it.

When this all bubbles up I can no longer just shove it all back down again, not like I used to. It just lingers in the back of my throat, in the pit of my stomach, and threatens me with nausea and the taste of vomit when I least expect it. I want the therpaist to help me but PAG pushes her away and is so mean to her.  But I need her help but don't deserve it.  I want to scream! I want to just get what I deserve! Just do it already! I want to disappear from it all. I hate it! I want to destroy the parts of myself that make me “her”. I’m so tired of feeling overwhelmed and alone in this. I don’t want to remember. I want it to go away, and yet still, it lingers. It feels like a pair of razor sharp scissors slowly piercing my skin from my elbow right down to my wrist. It leaves me bleeding, an open wound, scars on my soul. I know exactly how it feels, I can imagine it right now, the sensation of the scissors piercing my skin and it thrills me and repulses me at the same time. Why won’t someone take it away? Even just for a day. 

Why doesn’t it go away? Why can’t I trust? Why can’t I get through this?

I am lost and afraid.

If I reach out, she could hurt us, if I don’t, I could die.
Reached out.  Bad Idea.  She was mad at me for bothering her.
I could tell.
I don't want to play anymore.

I'll be patient while you work through your anger, Grace...."...or you could just die already, that'd be fine, too

That’s what the therapist said to me last night, in the Wed night email, that we “agreed” too ~ when she doesn’t forget…. She said, “I am optimistic that you will find a way through this irritation at me. And if not, the part of you that continues to be angry must feel a need to stay protective and guarded...and so I will wait, seek to understand and gently challenge when called for from my perceptions.”

So, since I’ve had a couple glasses of wine, let me just throw it all out there, before I go puke (having some serious digestive issues as a result of the wine, no food intake, no sleep – and some overwhelming rage/anxiety/depression). Here it is…coming around again…her seemingly endless “patience” at my acting out behavior (I will use that because I know that’s what she thinks it is). Gawd, Grace is acting out again! But like the parent of a 2 year old in the midst of a temper tantrum…I will just wait it out, until she calms down and I can reason with her. When really, I would prefer her to just scream right back at me, tell me I’m a GD baby and that she HATES dealing with me and wishes I had never crossed the threshold of her onion smelling office, and that I would never return again! That’s what I would prefer…and I think it would make me less angry – if she would just say it! I’m not 3 years old! I’m a 38 year old bitch! Sometimes the tears of frustration fall and I want to call her up and tell her that I hate her! Because I know she isn’t really that “patient” ~ no one is! And I know she must truly hate me.  I'm sure of it!

And then when things start to calm down, there is that part of me who is attached to her, and when that part of me starts to feel cared for, safe, and trusting again, then another part of me goes on high-alert and starts looking for some reason why the therapist cannot be trusted. And the most recent reasons: she leaves her cats alone for days, she forgot to email me on Friday when she know how hard Fridays are for me, and she ate onions right before my appointment, in her office, stinking up the whole joint – and not taking me into consideration when she knows my history about onions (because the trusting part told her...told her way too much!).

When I get angry and pull away from the therapist, the 5 year old screams even more ~ and rather than try anything to comfort her, I wish she would just DIE already! She is so GD annoying! The week after Christmas when the therapist changed my appointment time by 15 minutes, the 5 year old freaked out like there was some big announcement going to be made and the therapist needed the 15 minutes between appointments because she knew the 5 year old was going to be a complete mess....something the 5 year old can't handle because life is so "unpredictible" and all.  That's why I hate that stupid whiny baby! I want her to shut up and if she can't - then I want her to die! 

So now what…now comes the part where she throws out the whole, “I’ll be patient while you work through your hurt and anger at me, Grace.” And what she doesn’t realize, is a really big part of me believes that she either cannot see how close I am to just ending it all, or she doesn’t care. My stubbornness is as endless as her patience…I wonder who will win because I am ready to die for my cause!

And why should we“trust”the therapist? Every time we do, she does something that hurts and makes me pull away –and then PAG goes on a BL rampage trying to hurt both of us because she obviously doesn’t care or she wouldn’t have (enter: forgot to email ,eaten onions etc). So, in an effort to make me think she’s all non-judgmental of my out of control behavior directed toward her (inappropriately, I’m sure) she will be “patient”. And that’s because no one was ever “patient” or “listened” too little Grace…so the therapist thinks she can change this? Really, it just makes me think she is just biding her time, avoiding me, until I get my behavior in check and act like an adult…so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And I just hope that I can go long enough without eating or drinking anything that my heart will just stop. Yes, it really does hurt that much now! I was in the bathtub earlier today and I curled my arms around my legs, like a pretzel, and put my face in the surface of the water…and I wondered how hard and painful it would be to just leave my head there, under the water…until my heart really did stop.

I wish it would have. But it didn’t. But she can continue to be *patient* until I’m dead. And even though her patience seems “endless” ~ I hope it doesn’t take that long because I'm really effin' tired….and I don't want to hurt anymore ~ I don't want to feel anything anymore.  I want to go away.  I want the therapist to go away.  I just want it all to stop.

Why are you always such a mega-bitch, Grace?

Tuesday afternoon I gave up my excellent parking space at work to go to a therapy appointment that was worthless and a waste of my time.  AND there were a million distractions AND her whole office smelled like ONIONS - which make me nauseous as F**K!  Which, of course, she totally knows and still ate a bunch of raw onions in her office right before my appointment .  I wanted to puke the whole time!  Maybe she could have saved them and forced me to eat them too!  That would have had about the same affect!  I'm not saying the woman should alter her eating habits to accomodate me, but JC!  She KNOWS I hate onions and they remind me of the SF.  To her credit, she did offer to spray some lovely lemon pledge smelling air freshener - which would be great for the olfactory sense - onions mixed with lemons!  Subconsciously she probably did it on purpose to get PAG back for her rude and borderline expressions of discontent at the therapist's *forgetfullness* on Friday night.  Or, perhaps she just forgot about the "onion" thing too.  Or maybe PAG is right and she just doesn't give a flying fuck about how Grace feels about onions and Friday nights! 

And then when I tell her that I was f'd up all last week after talking about the *bad* stuff and so now she isn't allowed to talk to her, she was all like, "Well, I'll talk for her then..." WTF was that about?  She'll do what?  Um...newsflash!  Can't speak for someone when you don't know what they're thinking and feeling.  That was like the dumbest statement ever!  So stupid!  I can't even talk for her!   Maybe she ate the onions for her too!  Maybe we can watch a really scary movie next week!  Or have pancakes!  GOD!  WTF!
Whatever the *reason* be it conscious or unconscious - I'm sure it's really *none of your business, Grace* - yeah, well, I think it ALL SUCKS and right now I think the therapist sux too - although that's really none of my business either....I got that.
I just love it when she throws out the NOYB in the same sentence as discussing "our relationship".  I get that the fossil situation isn't my business but she doesn't have to be rude about it!  I'll be sure to leave ALL humor outside of "our relationship" from now on.
Strictly business.  I'll talk about my "symptoms" and she can clinically help me get them "resolved"...however, I'd like to be on the advanced, high-potency meds so I can not really see her, or smell her onions, for much longer. 
And then the fact I again brought up the fact that she is billing w/a Dx of BPII and she never said I had BPII, nor does my PDOC bill with it - she told me AGAIN that she bills it to get the claims paid -really?  So it's okay to lie to get the claims paid, or do you really think I'm BPII?  Of couse I get the standard MHP answer of, "I don't like to label..."  Really?  Because you were really f-ing quick to slap it on a HCFA form!!!  Yeah, I'm not big on labels either, but I'd rather not have someone look at my "confidential health records" (come on- we all know there's no such thing) and say, Whoa - I didn't know you had BPII?  And I'd be like, "Well, that makes 2 of us!"  Apparently only the therapist and the ins co knew it until now!  Some F-ING HONESTY would be GREAT about now!!!!!!!!
I feel strangely disconnected from the therapist, anyway, right now.  Yesterday, it was like having a conversation with someone you're sitting next to on a flight from Houston to Dallas - just interesting enough that you don't *pretend* to be asleep for the short jaunt from city to city.

GAWD, GRACE!  Why are you always such a MEGA-Bitch! 

OH!  Because I can be!  That's why!

Today The Therapist is modeling the "AND" technique

*Therapist begins down the therapeutic runway*

Today the therapist is modeling the "AND" technique.

"AND" allows CrazyBrain to be thankful for what she has and yet still be sad for the things she never had~ both Day AND Night! Without fear of Judgement!

AND technique comes in a variety of colors, not just black and white.

During the day accessorize AND with the "Emotion Regulation Earrings”

And for the perfect evening, dress up the AND with the “Mindfullness Mood Ring”

and

“Mind-numbing Medication”

I hope you enjoy the *AND* fashion show as much as sarcastic argumentative Grace did today.

I am now going to go look for my "buckets" ~ I haven't been able to find them in about 2 weeks.

 I think the therapist’s cats stole them when she left them unattended!

Grace is feeling bad and worthless tonight...I don't get it (is it a blonde thing? or maybe a black/white thing?)

*Some things just ain’t getting’ in…no matter how much stimuli is offered.

Me is Unlearnable!

Maybe I should just go weave a basket, or somethin' fun like that..."It's fun to be Grace"

Grace, shut up and go fix me a cheese quesadilla!

I don’t understand how I can sleep for 3 days straight and then not sleep for 3 days. Plagued by nightmares from about 3am (when I finally went to sleep) and 7am when I decided it wasn’t even worth trying to rest. I dreamed of his hands…big and calloused, creeping out from under my bed and hurting me…his hard cold eyes staring through me. Fear was running through me like a river.

At 7:00am when I gave up on sleeping, I decided to take a bath to try to wash the filth from my body. I don’t know why I thought that I would be able to feel clean today, since I haven’t been able to accomplish that in over 30 years. I lay in the bathtub watching the skin on my thighs turn from a milky white to a burning red from the scalding water I started to cry. I sat in the steaming water shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, unable to understand why I still felt so cold when the water was nearly sizzling my skin. Why wasn’t I able to feel the warmth from the water? Why can’t I just forget? Why do I have this stupid body anyway? I hate this body and everything it represents. I seem to be going through another round of “How many baths/showers a day will Grace take before she actually feels clean?” games again. Yesterday it was 3 before I gave up…

All of these highs and lows are so draining and confusing….unpredictable. I never know how I will feel from one minute to the next. I’m not sure what needs to change or happen inside of me, but I need it to happen soon. I don’t want more medication, that isn’t the answer; I don’t know what is… It’s difficult to predict what might set off another acute case of trauma brain and so I live in a constant state of panic. It could be a scene in a movie, a song, a restaurant, a man sitting to close to me on a plane telling me over and over again how much I remind him of his daughter…ugly orange marigold flowers outside the McDonald’s drive thru in the spring. How do you make all that go away? I don’t think I can try any harder.

I’m tired. I extended an invitation to a girlfriend and her family to spend New Years with us here, and she accepted. Right now I refuse to live my life in seclusion because I know it’s better for me to be around people I enjoy spending time with. And yet at the same time I am angry at social Grace for continuing to make plans when I’m so exhausted and I want to crawl inside of my shell and hide.

I am not well, but I continue to feel this invisible force that pushes me gently to trust myself and the therapist (you thought I was going to say *the process*, didn’t you?). But seriously, if the therapist doesn’t stop using those cliché *therapy* phrases on me, I’m going to have to find her “Top 10 things to say to clients inflicted with crazybrain” book and hold a book burning ceremony in the parking lot of her office. “You are courageous and the moments that I can witness this with you are an honor for me.” Didn’t I read that in a Hallmark card for crazybrains? No “honoring” – please – I just want to get through it so it stops hurting.  Even though I think my therapist is rockin' awesome for putting up with me (at least in this *present moment*) how many clients have not heard their therapist utter, "It is an honor to witness your f'd up crazybrain in action." Is that just me? 

I’d better jam now – I am cooking dinner for my friends tonight and I need to ensure there is not one speck of dust in the house lest they think I’m a filthy pig…cleanliness is next to Godliness ya know. On that thought I should go take another bath…

"I hose (hold) you mama. I hose you..."

When my son was little and he wanted me to hold him he would say to me, "I hose you mama, I hose you...." ...and he would hold his arms out to me and wait for me to pick him up.  I was talking to a friend of mine tonight and we were talking about what it would be like to actually feel "held" in safe way. 

I only remember one time I felt "held" safely, ever, in my entire life...and that was 3 years ago when the therapist held me when I cried.  I knew the therapist would never hurt me, I knew that I was *safe* with her...and I'd never felt that way before...nor have I ever felt that way since.  I don't think I ever will.

My friend and I were talking and I asked her, "I wonder what it would be like to feel safely held by someone without that someone wanting to fuck me."  I don't know the answer to that....the only time in my life I ever felt safely held by anyone was during a mental/suicidal breakdown.  That was the time the therapist "held" me - the only time I felt safe...ever...I don't know that I'll ever feel *safe* like that again. 

I wonder what it would be like to take a bath without 3 washclothes covering the most intimate parts of my body... I've no idea....
I wonder what it's like for "normal" people to sleep without a bra and 3 t-shirts on....
I wonder what it's like to fall asleep without a sense of fear even when you're surrounded by 9 pillows and 4 blankets/comforters.
I wonder what sex is like for "normal" people...I really wonder...because I surely don't know...
I wonder what it's like to actually feel "comforted" by someone else who you *know* won't fuck you...

I wonder....I wonder....I'll never know...but I wonder...

"Grace, there's a difference between being independent and being so self-reliant as to shut people out." There is?

In my *real* life I tend to pull inside myself when I find myself in a place of fear or pain; much like a turtle hiding inside her shell when she feels threatened. It’s difficult for me to reach out to someone for help, or even just for ‘company’. I don’t feel that way “here” ~ for a couple of reasons, there is, of course, the anonymity factor, but also because I think most people who ‘read’ my blog feel and struggle with much of the same things I do. In my *real* life that isn’t the case.

On Monday I shared the puking in the IHOP parking lot with the therapist, and I told her that I just told the hus and DS & DD that I wasn’t feeling well and that I swallowed wrong…and she asked me if I thought it might be better if I shared the truth with them…not like the gross explicit details of what was running rampant through my crazybrain, but just that the waitress had said something that triggered a past memory for me and it made me sick. And without even thinking about it, I said, “No way! I don’t want them to know!” It’s hard to share the bad things in real life with real life people because I don’t want them to see me the way I see myself; weak and gross and dirty and depressed. I want them to see the Grace that I’ve always been….because I’m embarrassed of the other “graces”. And they are to be kept in the dark, as they have always been.

Monday’s therapy session was very difficult because we continued to talk about the ‘hard stuff’ the stuff I don’t talk about and I pushed myself to share more of the *bad* stuff with her than I ever have before and at one point she even asked me if I wanted to stop talking about it and I said no. And I think I pushed myself because I want to feel better so badly that I just want to spew it all out of me so “we” can figure out how to deal with it so there is less confusion and craziness and fighting inside my head. But my plan kind of back-fired on me because Monday night there was even more craziness and fighting…voices screaming that we shared too much with the therapist. Embarrassment, shame, fear, pain…all pummeled me until I wanted to cut the voices right out of my brain! What was I thinking? Why did I tell her that? What she must think of me now! Holy shit! Now I can never go back there she knows way to much! And this continuous tape recorder did not stop until late Tuesday night.

I had text messages and VM messages and emails from friends and I couldn’t answer any of them because I couldn’t let anyone know (IRL) how much pain I was in and how much shame I felt from therapy on Monday.  But then last night, I did respond to some of the emails and text messages, apologizing for my lack of response but that I wasn’t really in a place to talk on Monday. And I realized that I do have friends who love me and would be there for me, if I would let them… I responded to one friend and told her I wasn’t in a good place on Monday so I couldn’t respond to her then…and she said, “That’s when you walk up to me for a hug and know that I am here for you always.”
Another friend emailed this to me: Grace, there's a difference between being independent and being so self-reliant as to shut people out :) Not that I feel shut out! It's just that you have some reason why you have to keep everything locked up inside and can't talk to anybody. I mean if it's for your own benefit that's one thing, if it's a control thing or whatever, but if you seriously think you're benefiting ME by holding it in...get a grip, girl! I care about you, I care about what happens to you, what goes on in your mind, for good OR bad, and I always will. You matter to me. What you feel matters to me too. You don't have to talk when you don't feel like it, I promise you that, but if you feel like it and you're sitting on it cause you're worried about ME, I'm gonna have to...I dunno, mail you a fruitcake as punishment. Fruuuuuitcake *ghostly voice* Be afraid. Fear the fruitcake!

I have some really good friends out there…but you know what still holds me back from reaching out to them? That voice inside who says, “Grace, they don’t KNOW the truth about you. That’s why they love you. If they knew the truth they would surely run away…just as you have run away from yourself for so many years…” and so I didn’t respond to either of them.

And until they invent water-proof mascara that is truly water-proof,
I ain't crying in front of anyone...but dear therapist!

I have learned that I CAN get from here to there without hurting myself...and there is no such thing as "water-proof" mascara

It’s a wonder to me why my heart keeps beating – I see it as a burden most days…I cry, I scream, I grieve, I hurt. I have no idea what happened to my mind; I think perhaps I left it in the freezer behind the frozen blueberries.

I realize everyone has sorrow and hate and rudeness in them and we are all capable of doing things we never thought we would do.   And I also understand that we all have kindness in us too, and that's the part we have to hold tight to when the pain feels all-consuming.  I know that life is not fair, or just –and I know that, like last night, even though I rant and rave and scream and cry; if I just hang on  by my pinky nail, I can get through it without hurting myself because as hurt and angry and confused as I feel most of the time, I do not have to hurt myself like he hurt me. I’ve realized that crying is a pretty inexpensive hobby and I also know that there is no such thing as water proof mascara. Really…there is no such thing.

I live with ghosts ~ ghosts from my past that haunt me every night. I used to not believe in ghosts but the truth is, I see them at night…sometimes out of the corner of my eye, inching toward me as I curl into a tight little ball and hide under the covers.  And I know that ghosts can hurt me and that I cannot ignore them, but instead, I must face them...as painful as that continues to be.

And therapy…Gawd! Therapy! One of the things that surprises me is that it doesn’t get any better…at least not so far. The further you dig, the more you reveal, the worse the wound hurts.  But I've learned that if I want help, I have to trust my dear therapist, and I have to be willing to share things that hurt and bleed, things that are full of shame and pain. Before this “round” of therapy, I used to view the world surrounded by a sea of apathy. I could always keep up appearances but as for feeling? Well, all *feelings* just fell into the sea before reaching me. And now I am surrounded by a sea of pain and grief. It’s a strange realization, after spending so many years not feeling anything at all. It’s like looking at your hand and discovering you have an extra finger; it must have been there all along, but you’ve never noticed it before. 

I sit here at gloomy grove, crying my eyes out from the pain, screaming my head off from the betrayal. And I tell myself over and over, “Things will get better – just hold on – you will see a light, you will find some relief.” I have cried enough tears to solve any water crisis! I don’t understand how parents can treat their children the way mine treated me and I don’t understand why I have continued to treat myself in much the same way. I don't understand and I don't accept it. I don't know if I ever will.

I spent today alternating between crying and screaming to hate music as my children innocently played in the snow outside, oblivious to the terror currently reigning inside of their mother. I love them so much, as long as I'm alive, they will never know the pain that I know…they are why I am still here.

And I am still screaming, silently: Help me find my soul. Tell me I have a heart. Tell me I am not crazy. Tell me I will be okay. Please…someone HELP ME!

Gracefully Insane

"Even in your pain, you WILL be okay and you are NOT crazy...in spite what you may think sometimes."

That's what the therapist said to me last May, and again last night.  When she tells me I am not insane, it always makes me raise an eyebrow in her direction because clearly, dear therapist, we both know that I am insane.  And if ANYONE is aware of that fact, it is her.  For the love of God!  In the past four years, I've interrupted her life a thousand times, left her insane borderline voicemails threatening to kill myself, sent hateful borderline emails, OD'd and cut myself in the parking lot of her office, cried, yelled, screamed, cussed her out, told her to fuck off, and begged her to help me~  and she can seriously look me in the eye and tell me I'm not crazy?  

Um, I don't think so...that aside, though, I am starting to see some of the root of where the craziness has grown from ~ not that that vision has lead me gracefully into the land of the sane.  I only wish that were true.  Sane people do not find bottles of vicodin and wonder how many she would have to take before respiration ceases.  Sane people do not lose all sense of reality and dissociate and do things they don't remember doing ~ and I don't mean not remembering a stop light on the way to work! Sane people do not have to count out anxiety and sleeping medication and hide the rest so a suididal part of her doesn't *accidentally* take them all.  I ain't sane!

If I really dig deep, I think that I have always been insane, in a twisted sort of way.Starting in the 6th grade I would let boys do things to me; not because I wanted to do them, but because I thought it would hurt the evil SF if someone else touched me. I don’t know why I thought that ~ I suppose it’s the runaway thought train that rushes through my maladaptive brain even now~ when I abruptly cancel a therapy appointment out of anger, or deliberately shut the therapist out in session. Does it punish the therapist?  No, Grace, it’s just you again, punishing you.  See, sane people don't think that way~ not even in the 6th grade.  This is a reason why you should not fuck kids ~ they go insane and then try to drive their therapists insane.  It's a terrible thing, really....

I think I would say that I am Gracefully Insane 

You are not her ~ She is not you ~ You do not have to live it...until I did, again, again, & again

Growing up I understood that my parents were not devoted to parenthood, but rather the destruction of my *being* ~ not to be confused with my ‘well-being’ ~ I mean *me*, all that is me, my very essence, my very existence. I lived in a world of shame and fear. I feared his hands, his black leather belt with the silver buckle. I lived in fear of his arms that would grip my shoulders and force me to look him straight in the eyes.
Stop making him mad, Grace. You’d better be careful, Grace. You’re the most willful child on the planet, Grace. Just a bad child. And I knew it, when I looked him in the eyes. I was evil. Of course I was and I could admit it.
But no one would ever know…because if someone knew, surely they would see me as unworthy, evil, dirty. But I told myself, “You are not her. She is not you…you do not have to live it.” And I left that place and I didn’t go back. Until that fateful day I walked by the den.
And it all came back when I saw them there…fucking like dogs in my house. And as I stood there, watching them, I could feel him again, even though he was not with me in that moment, it felt like it. I could feel him exploding though my body, in my mouth. And it's never gone away.  It complicates things for me now because I have no words to describe how much it affects in my present life.  The therapist tells me it is like the tide, the waves ebb in and then they flow back out and she is teaching me how to ride the waves.  And I know she is right, but what I try to communicate back to her is that there are times when something now will trigger a panic inside of me that denies all reason and the waves then crash into me like a hurricane and there is no way to ride them. 
Let me give you an example from today.  The fam decided to run some after Christmas errands and since I hadn't been out of the house since Tuesday, I thought maybe it was a good idea.  "Errands" included lunch out and I've no idea how it came up, the waitress mentioned something her mother used to cook for dinner, "Shit on a Shingle", she said (it was a real classy joint...).  She went on to say that she always knew it was right before payday because they would have Shit on a Shingle  (chipped beef gravy on toast... the SF cooked that in a cast iron skillet all the time) and I couldn't eat.  And when we left, my face was flushed and I was choking back vomit...literally, until I choked and had to puke in the parking lot.  That's the part I cannot control~ the 'external' environment...and staying in the house forever is obviously not an option.
And although I consider myself a fairly intelligent person, and when I can think logically, I understand that what he did was not my fault; many nights I am unable to find rationale and logic and on those nights I lack understanding.  I find no logic in the deep, dark, murky water.  And its during those times when I want to throw myself on the floor like a child and beg the therapist to keep me safe from him...to please make him stop hurting me.  It's during those times when I cannot form the words because if I were to form them, speak them aloud, then I would have to admit the truth of the sins I have committed.