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 I have bad genes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I have bad genes. Show all posts
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
I feel it too, every day
I know how it feels because I feel it too. I feel it all the time. And people who have never felt it…they don’t understand. Sometimes I hate those people for never feeling it, but I hate them because I wish I could be them. And it isn’t fair… no it sure isn’t. I have been trying to hold it back, and sometimes I’m successful, but it’s getting harder and harder. I know other people who are like me. They’ve tried the same drugs I’ve tried. They’ve been in therapy for years. They are brilliant and amazing women…and yet, like me, they are forever broken. Some of these women are feeling it now: that overwhelming desire to disappear, to just…make the pain stop. That horrible debilitating pain that never goes away. I know that pain well. And the thoughts that go along with it.
I once told a friend of mine that she was not allowed to kill herself, ever, ever, ever. Depression SUX! It does…Tonight I’m not going to say, “Don’t kill yourself. It’s incredibly selfish…and I will haunt you forever if you do it! I will be so angry and I will never forgive you.” That’s not helpful really, when you want to die. I’ve heard all of those words. I’ve heard, “It will get better. It won’t always feel like this.” I’ve been told, “You are intelligent and beautiful and have so much to live for. Think about all the people who love you!” And sometimes those words uttered are enough to “guilt” me into staying alive for another day. Stay alive for everyone else.
It doesn’t go away, I know that. I know how incredibly unfair it feels and I know how much it hurts. I know that there are times when it’s too overwhelming to even get out of bed, let alone out of the house. I know what it feels like to cry for hours at a time. I know what it feels like to obsess about “making it stop” and planning, and counting, and thinking, and writing… I know.
And it isn’t just the “depression”! It’s the headaches, and the nausea, the chronic pain, the lack of energy and hope. It’s the horrible anxiety and panic that build inside up inside of you and claw their way out of your throat. It’s that feeling like there is an elephant sitting on your chest and you can’t catch your breath. And the fear…my god the constant fear of never feeling safe! Sometimes my jaw aches from keeping my mouth clinched so tight because I’m afraid if I open my mouth I will start screaming and it will never stop. My body shakes involuntarily and it feels like there’s an electrical current running through every nerve ending– and if the panic hits you in public – that’s the worst because you feel like everyone is staring at you, their eyes are screaming, “MENTAL ILLNESS”.
It feels defeating. You fight and you fight and you can’t get out! You want the world to see how much pain you’re in…on your way out because it is so incredibly LONELY! And it feels like no one understands and no one will help you. And you feel worthless and like you’re just a burden to everyone you know. Useless heavy baggage. A waste. No one would miss you if you were just gone. It would actually be a relief! You should have never been born in the first place. You were never wanted, never loved. You’ve no idea how to love yourself…fuck, you’re not worthy of love…obviously, your own parents didn’t love you. So why not just make it stop!
It would be hypocritical of me to say, “Don’t kill yourself. Take that right off the table because it’s not an option.” And I’m tired of all the hypocrites I’ve met. So tired… I will tell you that I care about you more than I care about myself. That I can honestly say. But I can’t beg you to stay alive. I don’t want you to die, but it would make me the biggest hypocrite in the world (next to Nancy Pelosi) because I feel it too… S: I meant every word I said to you tonight. I KNOW those thoughts, those feelings…but I would have answered exactly the same way…”I understand why you abandoned me because I am bad and I don’t deserve love.” I suspect you know I understand…
It sucks! All of it sucks. It isn’t fair and it’s so fucking lonely! I can’t say “hang in there, it will get better.” Because I don’t know if it will. I don’t feel that hope for myself…. Not anymore. And I refuse to be a hypocrite and sell you something that may not exist.
I can say: Encourage each other! Be there for each other! You’re not alone…even though it feels like it. Is that enough…or do those words feel empty and meaningless to you? I can’t say….
LINK: I feel it too, every day
I once told a friend of mine that she was not allowed to kill herself, ever, ever, ever. Depression SUX! It does…Tonight I’m not going to say, “Don’t kill yourself. It’s incredibly selfish…and I will haunt you forever if you do it! I will be so angry and I will never forgive you.” That’s not helpful really, when you want to die. I’ve heard all of those words. I’ve heard, “It will get better. It won’t always feel like this.” I’ve been told, “You are intelligent and beautiful and have so much to live for. Think about all the people who love you!” And sometimes those words uttered are enough to “guilt” me into staying alive for another day. Stay alive for everyone else.
It doesn’t go away, I know that. I know how incredibly unfair it feels and I know how much it hurts. I know that there are times when it’s too overwhelming to even get out of bed, let alone out of the house. I know what it feels like to cry for hours at a time. I know what it feels like to obsess about “making it stop” and planning, and counting, and thinking, and writing… I know.
And it isn’t just the “depression”! It’s the headaches, and the nausea, the chronic pain, the lack of energy and hope. It’s the horrible anxiety and panic that build inside up inside of you and claw their way out of your throat. It’s that feeling like there is an elephant sitting on your chest and you can’t catch your breath. And the fear…my god the constant fear of never feeling safe! Sometimes my jaw aches from keeping my mouth clinched so tight because I’m afraid if I open my mouth I will start screaming and it will never stop. My body shakes involuntarily and it feels like there’s an electrical current running through every nerve ending– and if the panic hits you in public – that’s the worst because you feel like everyone is staring at you, their eyes are screaming, “MENTAL ILLNESS”.
It feels defeating. You fight and you fight and you can’t get out! You want the world to see how much pain you’re in…on your way out because it is so incredibly LONELY! And it feels like no one understands and no one will help you. And you feel worthless and like you’re just a burden to everyone you know. Useless heavy baggage. A waste. No one would miss you if you were just gone. It would actually be a relief! You should have never been born in the first place. You were never wanted, never loved. You’ve no idea how to love yourself…fuck, you’re not worthy of love…obviously, your own parents didn’t love you. So why not just make it stop!
It would be hypocritical of me to say, “Don’t kill yourself. Take that right off the table because it’s not an option.” And I’m tired of all the hypocrites I’ve met. So tired… I will tell you that I care about you more than I care about myself. That I can honestly say. But I can’t beg you to stay alive. I don’t want you to die, but it would make me the biggest hypocrite in the world (next to Nancy Pelosi) because I feel it too… S: I meant every word I said to you tonight. I KNOW those thoughts, those feelings…but I would have answered exactly the same way…”I understand why you abandoned me because I am bad and I don’t deserve love.” I suspect you know I understand…
It sucks! All of it sucks. It isn’t fair and it’s so fucking lonely! I can’t say “hang in there, it will get better.” Because I don’t know if it will. I don’t feel that hope for myself…. Not anymore. And I refuse to be a hypocrite and sell you something that may not exist.
I can say: Encourage each other! Be there for each other! You’re not alone…even though it feels like it. Is that enough…or do those words feel empty and meaningless to you? I can’t say….
LINK: I feel it too, every day
“No,” I said, “I’m not ok.”
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."
Wonderland of despair sprinkled w/lunacy
I am totally going mad- crazy – insane… Not that you wake up one morning and you’ve tumbled into the wonderland of insanity…no! Sadly, it is a slow and painful process. Fortunately no one is around at night to watch the horror show of Grace as it plays out. Since contact with and assistance from a Demonologist seems unlikely, perhaps a stake through the heart would work. She’s joking…that would be a painful way to die. But nonetheless, the internal natives are restless.
I was supposed to do something with a friend today but then I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I finally texted her back this morning and apologized…I’m a terrible friend, I said. I’m terrible at a lot of things right now. I can’t seem to shake this horrible darkness. I can’t. Its applied for permanent residence and I’ve no idea how to evict it. And fuck you if you say “medication” or “mindfullness” is the answer. And the fucking suicidal thoughts and general feelings of doom are compounded by the fact that the therapist is going to be on vacation for two weeks
And this time I’m so depressed I can’t even be angry with her. I can’t say, “Don’t make this about your vacation, therapist…” because well, my reality is that it is about her vacation. It is about the fact that she’s going to be gone for two weeks and it is about the fact that I’ve really *radically accepted* that I’m not going to be able to get through it. Oh, I won’t run away before she leaves. I’ll go through the motions the next two weeks with her, play the therapeutic mind games of planning Grace’s social life so she can stay alive and “connected” while the therapist is out fucking rock climbing for two weeks AGAIN! I can scream and beg and cry and *cling* to her as though I am a child in fear of losing her mother forever (not that I really have any idea what that feels like…) But I suspect it feels something like I’m feeling now, only I’m an adult, not a child, and I’m insane and dissociative. Bad shit can happen. Shit a lot worse than throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the floor.
And she and I can “plan” my life while she’s gone down to the minute… but the fact is that even when I make plans I cannot follow through with them because….listen carefully, I am too fucking depressed to do anything. I just don’t care about anything anymore. I see my *future* stretched out before me and it’s the same pattern as the past…long depressing periods of self hate and destruction followed by 10 minute of happiness and sense of accomplishing something. Really, there’s so little to look forward to- except more of the same. Endless years spent in isolation…cheery, eh?
What it all comes down too, really, is the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness. I wasnt worth anything to anyone or someone would have noticed, someone would have cared, helped me, seen me. But I just didn’t matter. Everything else and everyone else mattered and I didn’t matter. I still feel that way. Hence the overhwelming thoughts of sui. It’s hard to want to live when all you can see are the ways you don’t matter. And yes, I get that the therapist cares during that hour or two spent a week in the confines of the “safe space” she has tried so hard to create for me…but the reality is that I pay her to care. As my friend Harriet M. Welch says, it’s truly a one-way relationship. She wouldn’t give me a second thought were I just another statistic in a clinical handbook. The truth is I need her but she doesn’t need me and I’m tired of needing. The truth is the therapist will wave good-bye and not give a second thought about me and my feelings of worthlessness and wanting to die. And I’m not angry about it….that’s the way it is, the way it’s supposed to be in the big TR.
I don’t matter. Rationally I know that I do matter a little to a couple of people. And they want me around. But that doesn’t change the fact that deep inside of me, I don’t believe it. I know they would be better off without my depressed self in their lives. I’m too tired. It’s too overwhelming to know that I’ll just keep fighting the same fucking battle of trying to unsuccessfully convince myself that I’m worth anything at all for the rest of my pointless fucking life. No thanks….
Besides, I’m tired. I feel old. Mostly, I’m just waiting around to die, anyway. It’s unbearably sad. I see myself from the outside and I think – what a waste. What a beautiful girl. What an empty life she leads. Poor lonely thing, she’ll never know that thrill of living, of actually feeling alive. If only she could have mattered maybe it could have been different. But she didn’t…
LINK to Grace's Website: Wonderland of despair sprinkled w/lunacy
I was supposed to do something with a friend today but then I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I finally texted her back this morning and apologized…I’m a terrible friend, I said. I’m terrible at a lot of things right now. I can’t seem to shake this horrible darkness. I can’t. Its applied for permanent residence and I’ve no idea how to evict it. And fuck you if you say “medication” or “mindfullness” is the answer. And the fucking suicidal thoughts and general feelings of doom are compounded by the fact that the therapist is going to be on vacation for two weeks
And this time I’m so depressed I can’t even be angry with her. I can’t say, “Don’t make this about your vacation, therapist…” because well, my reality is that it is about her vacation. It is about the fact that she’s going to be gone for two weeks and it is about the fact that I’ve really *radically accepted* that I’m not going to be able to get through it. Oh, I won’t run away before she leaves. I’ll go through the motions the next two weeks with her, play the therapeutic mind games of planning Grace’s social life so she can stay alive and “connected” while the therapist is out fucking rock climbing for two weeks AGAIN! I can scream and beg and cry and *cling* to her as though I am a child in fear of losing her mother forever (not that I really have any idea what that feels like…) But I suspect it feels something like I’m feeling now, only I’m an adult, not a child, and I’m insane and dissociative. Bad shit can happen. Shit a lot worse than throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the floor.
And she and I can “plan” my life while she’s gone down to the minute… but the fact is that even when I make plans I cannot follow through with them because….listen carefully, I am too fucking depressed to do anything. I just don’t care about anything anymore. I see my *future* stretched out before me and it’s the same pattern as the past…long depressing periods of self hate and destruction followed by 10 minute of happiness and sense of accomplishing something. Really, there’s so little to look forward to- except more of the same. Endless years spent in isolation…cheery, eh?
What it all comes down too, really, is the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness. I wasnt worth anything to anyone or someone would have noticed, someone would have cared, helped me, seen me. But I just didn’t matter. Everything else and everyone else mattered and I didn’t matter. I still feel that way. Hence the overhwelming thoughts of sui. It’s hard to want to live when all you can see are the ways you don’t matter. And yes, I get that the therapist cares during that hour or two spent a week in the confines of the “safe space” she has tried so hard to create for me…but the reality is that I pay her to care. As my friend Harriet M. Welch says, it’s truly a one-way relationship. She wouldn’t give me a second thought were I just another statistic in a clinical handbook. The truth is I need her but she doesn’t need me and I’m tired of needing. The truth is the therapist will wave good-bye and not give a second thought about me and my feelings of worthlessness and wanting to die. And I’m not angry about it….that’s the way it is, the way it’s supposed to be in the big TR.
I don’t matter. Rationally I know that I do matter a little to a couple of people. And they want me around. But that doesn’t change the fact that deep inside of me, I don’t believe it. I know they would be better off without my depressed self in their lives. I’m too tired. It’s too overwhelming to know that I’ll just keep fighting the same fucking battle of trying to unsuccessfully convince myself that I’m worth anything at all for the rest of my pointless fucking life. No thanks….
Besides, I’m tired. I feel old. Mostly, I’m just waiting around to die, anyway. It’s unbearably sad. I see myself from the outside and I think – what a waste. What a beautiful girl. What an empty life she leads. Poor lonely thing, she’ll never know that thrill of living, of actually feeling alive. If only she could have mattered maybe it could have been different. But she didn’t…
LINK to Grace's Website: Wonderland of despair sprinkled w/lunacy
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