I’ve been fighting. Fighting, struggling, lashing out at the faceless, formless thing that chases me ever since I can remember. I’m so very angry now, tonight, all day, for two weeks – technically a lifetime…whatever. Angry and tired, I sit with my hands on my knees and my head bent, rocking…weak but wishing to be strong; held captive but wishing to be free; alone and afraid, wishing for comfort and courage.
I am sad as hell and I have no one in real life to talk to because no one cares or understands and whatever I know that it’s my “fault” that I don’t have the support system in place when I am in dire need of it…which would be now. I know that I suck. Got. It. I am a bit on the ‘not-lucid’ side tonight and a tad drunky so the shield that blocks the unbecoming *Grace you made me blush and gasp* at the same time…that shield…well, it seems to have disappeared with the last shot of vodka so I guess I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of me or my lack of ladylike skills in prose or behavior. Come on, ya’ll, I grew up in a trailor park! Fuck was probably my first word!
Oh – I feel like I should put a disclaimer here…one that states WARNING: this post will contain a LOT of swearing and probably not make a lot of sense cuz the logical Grace left a while ago and will likely not be back till daybreak so you're stuck with me, the un-polished part.
There is a part inside who has been researching how to die…quickly and painlessly. Last Friday it was an overdose of medication (I won’t say what med it was because it is now in the past and I don’t need some well intended person yelling at me OH MY GOD THAT COULD KILL YOU in all caps - sometimes we are still in quite a fragile state. I write this because I feel like those of you who have been a part of this journey with me should know what’s going on. This is what’s going on: I do not feel better. I do not have a good support in place here. Shame. On. Us. We have not done a good job at getting this done. I have continued to pretend like everything is fine when there everything is so very *un-fine*. *not-fine*…so very opposite of fine.
I can’t cope with the frustration and invalidation tonight. I can’t cope with the screaming. I am not coping at all. I’ve tried. I can’t. I am struggling right now, tonight, to make it minute to minute. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I feel like I am fighting a losing battle and I have no coach. And I do not feel better.
Showing posts with label dissociation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dissociation. Show all posts
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Hot slice of crazy pie!
Life is not running smoothly at the moment. I feel alone, directionless and desperate. I am worn out, emotionally and physically. Sometimes the burden of “keeping myself safe” is too heavy. It is asking too much of me to “manage” all of follies, the nightmares, the triggers, the shame, the embarrassment, the rage – the internal voices who scream and cry and rage…all with no support. It is too much! And trying to avoid all of that shit is like avoiding breathing, which I wouldn’t mind doing right now. Something has to give. There is only so much one person can deal with day in and day out every single day and night! There is only so much!
I am not equipped to handle an entire Pie of Crazy
LINK TO READ: HOT SLICE OF CRAZY PIE
I am not equipped to handle an entire Pie of Crazy
LINK TO READ: HOT SLICE OF CRAZY PIE
No safety Net
I am not sure who or where I am. It appears as though my gravitational pull toward si/sui is not something I am able to resist. The child’s safety net is gone and no one else can cope with that. I need an escape route because the urge to self-destruct is intensely powerful and everything is pointless and I am worthless and this is just way too hard. Once again shit is happening when I’m not here and I’m not around to stop it…left only to try to piece it all together when I return.
LINK TO READ: NO SAFETY NET
LINK TO READ: NO SAFETY NET
Boo-fing-hoo
This post is set to self destruct in T-10Ds…as am I. I should also warn you that it this is a very insane crazybrain ranting that you should ignore altogether. I, on the other hand, cannot ignore it, since it is happening INSIDE OF ME! Oh how I wish it were not so…. I have been sitting here for 30 minutes methodically cutting vicodin and seroquel in half and listening to this fucking new-age relaxation music and I cannot relax. Go figure!
LINK TO READ: Boo-fing-hoo
LINK TO READ: Boo-fing-hoo
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
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
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
Wasted away again in Margaritaville
I’m not searching for my lost shaker of salt though…I don’t really like salt. Awesome! None of you knew that about me, did you? It’s true, I never add salt to anything. I’m wondering what that says about me. Not the salt thing…but the fact that I share all this personal information here, but not something simple like, “Hi, I’m Grace, I like my margaritas frozen, but no salt. I don’t really like salt.” Oh, well, you know now….
Sometimes when you’re alone in the middle of the night, it’s okay to *distract* yourself by singing Jimmy Buffet and blending up some frozen margs….(TIP: if you close the pantry door and put a towel over the blender, you can barely hear it so it won’t wake anyone up when you decide to make margaritas @ 2am– you’re welcome).
I’m distracting myself from the razor calling my name – thanks Marsha for the *tools*. I’m doing everything I can tonight to not regress into a bawling 5 year old or a psychotically angry teenager. So if that means making frozen margaritas on the floor of the panty and singing Jimmy Buffet…well then “That’s the best I can do right now…”
I don’t know…sometimes I think I’ll just stop all of it. Therapy, talking, writing, reaching out at all, breathing…I mean, is there really a point in verbalizing your feelings of hopelessness and defeat when you’re just going to be dismissed or trivialized? Is it better to just shut up & pretend, to half-smile till you die, rather than reach out? As I’ve always said, why express needs that will never be met. Childish needs and fears that have no right to exist in my adult head.
Why…why…why…why in the world should I embarrass myself by speaking aloud all of this fear inside my head only to be told that it’s okay to have this need, or that need, but there’s no way for it to be met. I don’t get that. And it only makes me hate myself more for ”needing” anything in the first place. Ah, the sordid talk of self-hatred. But is that what this is about now? Maybe…but maybe not. Maybe it’s more like shamefully wallowing in self-pity on the pantry floor.
Jimmy Buffet is singing, “Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know, it’s my own damn fault.” It’s YOUR fault, Grace. No one else’s. How long are you going to hold this grudge against the host body, Grace? When will you realize that you can’t change the past…you can’t change how she feels about you now, Grace. You’ll never be loved – you’ll never have a mother. Too bad. Get over it. It is time to move on.”
I have completely misplaced my gratitude and love for life and I am searching for it….I am desperately searching for it here in the middle of the night…I am looking all around. I am reaching far down into the bottom of my gut, the base of my soul, the deepest place in my heart… God! This weakness! This weak depressed worthless woman! I can’t stand her! Give it up girl! Stop with the wretched self-pity, the craving for normalcy…just stop with the whining, “Why the hell don’t I get to be like everyone else?”. Just stop! I have been brought to my knees, shaken to the core. I have forgotten who I really am.
My whole life, my entire 39 years I have been straddling this teeter totter, pressing my feet back and forth, seeking the balance I have never been able to find… Gawd!! Dammit! I feel flushed and panicked and my head is spinning. I am screaming inside, “Please help me. Please come to me now and stay. Please stay with me in this place of darkness, this place of no hope or light.” (as if)
*Grace takes a break to wipe away the never-ending flow of tears, blow her nose, and blend another round of margaritas for one!* No salt… Cheers!
Feelings…feelings…feelings. They assault me like sniper fire, the bullets ricochet off of their unsuspecting target and slice open my thighs, my hip, my side…red, angry slashes. I have been hit again. I am walking around wounded, scarred, stunned. I’ve been told not to judge these feelings, or attach to them. They are neither good nor bad, Grace. Open the door to the pantry, Grace, and invite them in for expresso and scones…get to know them, no matter how hostile they seem. All of them? There’s not enough room here. The guilt, as pure and raw as sugar cane, comes to show me the terrible things I’ve done, the shameful places I’ve been, the faces of those I have harmed. The rage! It cannot be quelled or quieted. The overwhelming smothering rage hits me square in the chest after I have removed my bullet-proof vest. I feel the sharp shrapnel piercing my skin, reaching the very core of me. You self-righteousness woman…you selfish, bitter woman…
I can’t control it. I can’t think or reason my way out. I can’t figure out how to fix it, or breathe through it. I feel the blood draining out of me, warm and cold at the same time; the bitterness, the anger, the badness, it drains out of me and soaks into the soft cotton of my clothing. The patterns speak to me: You are weak, Grace. You are a lesser person, negative, selfish, dramatic, needy. How I loathe you, girl…
A knock on the door bringing yet another guest? Shame…welcome one of my oldest and best friends. Shame…she is always there for me…there is always room for her. She sits next to me and slides her warm calloused hand over my shoulder and down my chest… just as he used to do. Her hot breath hisses in my ear, “You are nothing without me. You cannot speak without me. You cannot breathe without me, write without me, feel without me. Without me you are neither interesting nor desirable. Without me by your side you cannot cope or deal with anything. You are mine and I am yours. You are nothing without me. I am your secret. This is our secret. I will keep you safe. I will keep your secrets.” My dearest friend. I offer her a drink and she begins to bandage my wounds…our secret, our secret. I lean into her, my oldest friend, and I let her hold me, even as she cruelly speaks my biggest failures aloud to me. She knows what I deserve. She is mine and I am hers.
Here we sit together and alone, my friend and I… Wasted away again in Margaritaville….she is searching for a sign of worth…strength…purpose…will…of anything that resembles life…but she didn’t find it.
LINK to Grace's new website: Wasted away again in Margaritaville
Sometimes when you’re alone in the middle of the night, it’s okay to *distract* yourself by singing Jimmy Buffet and blending up some frozen margs….(TIP: if you close the pantry door and put a towel over the blender, you can barely hear it so it won’t wake anyone up when you decide to make margaritas @ 2am– you’re welcome).
I’m distracting myself from the razor calling my name – thanks Marsha for the *tools*. I’m doing everything I can tonight to not regress into a bawling 5 year old or a psychotically angry teenager. So if that means making frozen margaritas on the floor of the panty and singing Jimmy Buffet…well then “That’s the best I can do right now…”
I don’t know…sometimes I think I’ll just stop all of it. Therapy, talking, writing, reaching out at all, breathing…I mean, is there really a point in verbalizing your feelings of hopelessness and defeat when you’re just going to be dismissed or trivialized? Is it better to just shut up & pretend, to half-smile till you die, rather than reach out? As I’ve always said, why express needs that will never be met. Childish needs and fears that have no right to exist in my adult head.
Why…why…why…why in the world should I embarrass myself by speaking aloud all of this fear inside my head only to be told that it’s okay to have this need, or that need, but there’s no way for it to be met. I don’t get that. And it only makes me hate myself more for ”needing” anything in the first place. Ah, the sordid talk of self-hatred. But is that what this is about now? Maybe…but maybe not. Maybe it’s more like shamefully wallowing in self-pity on the pantry floor.
Jimmy Buffet is singing, “Some people claim that there’s a woman to blame, but I know, it’s my own damn fault.” It’s YOUR fault, Grace. No one else’s. How long are you going to hold this grudge against the host body, Grace? When will you realize that you can’t change the past…you can’t change how she feels about you now, Grace. You’ll never be loved – you’ll never have a mother. Too bad. Get over it. It is time to move on.”
I have completely misplaced my gratitude and love for life and I am searching for it….I am desperately searching for it here in the middle of the night…I am looking all around. I am reaching far down into the bottom of my gut, the base of my soul, the deepest place in my heart… God! This weakness! This weak depressed worthless woman! I can’t stand her! Give it up girl! Stop with the wretched self-pity, the craving for normalcy…just stop with the whining, “Why the hell don’t I get to be like everyone else?”. Just stop! I have been brought to my knees, shaken to the core. I have forgotten who I really am.
My whole life, my entire 39 years I have been straddling this teeter totter, pressing my feet back and forth, seeking the balance I have never been able to find… Gawd!! Dammit! I feel flushed and panicked and my head is spinning. I am screaming inside, “Please help me. Please come to me now and stay. Please stay with me in this place of darkness, this place of no hope or light.” (as if)
*Grace takes a break to wipe away the never-ending flow of tears, blow her nose, and blend another round of margaritas for one!* No salt… Cheers!
Feelings…feelings…feelings. They assault me like sniper fire, the bullets ricochet off of their unsuspecting target and slice open my thighs, my hip, my side…red, angry slashes. I have been hit again. I am walking around wounded, scarred, stunned. I’ve been told not to judge these feelings, or attach to them. They are neither good nor bad, Grace. Open the door to the pantry, Grace, and invite them in for expresso and scones…get to know them, no matter how hostile they seem. All of them? There’s not enough room here. The guilt, as pure and raw as sugar cane, comes to show me the terrible things I’ve done, the shameful places I’ve been, the faces of those I have harmed. The rage! It cannot be quelled or quieted. The overwhelming smothering rage hits me square in the chest after I have removed my bullet-proof vest. I feel the sharp shrapnel piercing my skin, reaching the very core of me. You self-righteousness woman…you selfish, bitter woman…
I can’t control it. I can’t think or reason my way out. I can’t figure out how to fix it, or breathe through it. I feel the blood draining out of me, warm and cold at the same time; the bitterness, the anger, the badness, it drains out of me and soaks into the soft cotton of my clothing. The patterns speak to me: You are weak, Grace. You are a lesser person, negative, selfish, dramatic, needy. How I loathe you, girl…
A knock on the door bringing yet another guest? Shame…welcome one of my oldest and best friends. Shame…she is always there for me…there is always room for her. She sits next to me and slides her warm calloused hand over my shoulder and down my chest… just as he used to do. Her hot breath hisses in my ear, “You are nothing without me. You cannot speak without me. You cannot breathe without me, write without me, feel without me. Without me you are neither interesting nor desirable. Without me by your side you cannot cope or deal with anything. You are mine and I am yours. You are nothing without me. I am your secret. This is our secret. I will keep you safe. I will keep your secrets.” My dearest friend. I offer her a drink and she begins to bandage my wounds…our secret, our secret. I lean into her, my oldest friend, and I let her hold me, even as she cruelly speaks my biggest failures aloud to me. She knows what I deserve. She is mine and I am hers.
Here we sit together and alone, my friend and I… Wasted away again in Margaritaville….she is searching for a sign of worth…strength…purpose…will…of anything that resembles life…but she didn’t find it.
LINK to Grace's new website: Wasted away again in Margaritaville
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Nod if you can hear me…
I feel stunningly depressed…really, like rock bottom is above me now. You know that moment when you can “feel” and you have minimal recollection of what happened the night before and you try and try to quell the tidal wave of panic that is threatening to drown you and then you wish you were still in that place where you were unable to feel? Yeah, that’s where I’ve been today, well, it’s where I’ve been for awhile now.
I talked to the therapist last night – but I don’t remember what she said. I don’t remember her words or her tone or anything at all. I wish I could remember. I hope I didn’t make her mad. I have that deep feeling of despair in the pit of my stomach today. If you’ve ever suffered from depression and panic and free for all nights of dissociation and self-destruction where you only see flashes of information that sends chills you’re your spine…you know what I’m talking about.
LINK: NOD IF YOU CAN HEAR ME...
I talked to the therapist last night – but I don’t remember what she said. I don’t remember her words or her tone or anything at all. I wish I could remember. I hope I didn’t make her mad. I have that deep feeling of despair in the pit of my stomach today. If you’ve ever suffered from depression and panic and free for all nights of dissociation and self-destruction where you only see flashes of information that sends chills you’re your spine…you know what I’m talking about.
LINK: NOD IF YOU CAN HEAR ME...
Monday, February 1, 2010
"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"!
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"!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
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 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!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Are we ready to stop being 16 now Grace?
Sometimes I have to sit back for a minute to really appreciate all that the therapist does for me. Like she has totally put up with a lot of shit from me…like she never knows who will show up for session and so I imagine she braces herself right before she opens the door to “greet me and invite me in”…which as I’ve told her a million times – I won’t enter her office until she officially asks me to come in- even if she stands there all *smiley and welcomy* in the therapisty way… evil cannot cross a threshold without being invited in. She knows that! Hum…maybe that’s why her office always smells like garlic (well, when she doesn’t eat onions before my session!) because she’s trying to ward of Grace’s evil spirit…I’ll have to spend some time thinking about that…
And I know that the therapist gets me…like most of the time, she can deal with all of me – but then, there are those times when she will say something so completely off the wall, I’m all like, WHAT? Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? Today, she made one of those suggestions that made me loudly interrupt her and want to scream, OMG! Do you know me at all??? She said she’d been thinking about my inability to sleep…compounded by the nightmares and terror when I do actually sleep – and she suggested that I go have a sleep study done. (WTF!) ..now she thinks my brain is oxygen deprived and I have sleep apnea? YES! I'll be that IS it! I'm sure it's really low O2 sats and not the fucking kid flashbacks!
Hello! I cannot FALL asleep! I cannot RELAX enough to fall asleep! So she quotes some ridiculous study about how people who with sleep apnea have more nightmares, etc. OMG! Seriously! How big was that brain tumor you ate Doc? The majority of the time I fall into panicky flashback hell is way before I fall over from exhaustion! HELLO!?!?! AND! Just to be clear – I can barely find a safe freaking place in my own home to feel relaxed enough to sleep – so what the fuck would make her think I would actually go to a sleep lab – surrounded by a bunch of freaky clinicians – with wires all over my exposed body and SLEEP??? Gee – is there free WIFI there at that sleep lab, DT? Cuz, maybe then I’d do it – since I’D BE UP ALL NIGHT! Jumping out of my freaking skin at the slightest movement! Like, I cannot even believe she suggested that! And would she make herself available after 10 when the freak outs start, or just let me completely lose it – OUTSIDE the “safety” of my own home until some freak at the clinic slaps my ass in the looney bin! I doubt it!(Maybe that was her “alterior” motive…get Grace locked away so she can run away and marry some Zen Monk and live *spiritually ever after*) Get a freakin’ clue!!!! NEWSFLASH: Afraid to sleep! F-E-A-R!!! BEFORE sleep! Unless the O2 is lacking when I’m awake – I’m nearly positive that is NOT the problem here ~ Doc!
And then like she KNOWS I haven’t been on top of my game, right? Ya know, with the late night panic attacks, the dissociative freak outs that last for hours, the cutting relapse. So after the “sleep lab” suggestion and the cutting analysis, she decides to say,“Oh, by the way, I’m going out of town for a week in February, do you want to spend some time talking about that?” WTF! What’s to *talk about*? What are we going to plan? You’re going out of town, and that’s just it….You gonna leave me your rock to carry around as a transitional object while you’re gone? Get a clue, DT! What does she want me to say or do? Beg her not to go? Like hello! She is entitled to vaca – deserves time off, just like everyone else - especially from crazybrain! I totally get that! But does she want me to “guarantee” her that I’ll stay safe while she’s gone? Well, I can say it – if that makes her feel better – but truth be told – I’m on the ledge every effing night – and I typically call her about 3x a week right now for help – so even if I say the words – words mean nothing! So whatever! I asked her what did she want me to say? Bon-voyage? Have a good time? And what if I don’t feel *safe*? What’s she going to do about it? Wrap up her rock in a blue blanket and tuck it in my purse? Threaten to slap me in the psych ward like she threatened 2 years ago? Yell at me to grow up like she did before? Doubt it! No matter what I say – it doesn’t matter. She is going to “trust” that I’ll keep myself safe.
And sometimes I wonder if what would happen if I didn’t spend so much time trying to “prove” to her that I was okay. I mean really! Like today, all of this crazy shit is streaming through my head like the Michael Jackson Thriller video – but I just sat there and chewed gum, playing with my headphones while she talks about sleep labs and her upcoming vacation. Whatever! She has done so much for me in the past I am NOT asking for any sort of retarded transitional object while she’s away. Maybe that's why she forgot the 2 emails. Maybe she did it on purpose as a "test" -- to the upcoming DT departure. Whatever! I say make the break now and then no one has to worry about it!
Like it doesn’t matter anyway – since I’m going to be gone the 2 weeks prior to that. And I told her that today, too. I’ll be gone Mon-Thursday 2 weeks in a row and then she leaves the Thursday I get back for a week. So that’s 3 weeks, sans therapy…since she doesn’t do Friday or weekend appointments. And I guess I didn’t look distressed because she sure didn’t offer up any suggestions! Fine! So next week is my last appointment until March. Whatever – I’m so not going next week either! Fuck it!
And then she got frustrated and said, “Are we done being 16 today?” Gee – I guess not, DT.” You know, for the record, I have a friend I’ll be seeing in a couple of weeks who PREFERS the 16 year old! She’s much more adventurous than most of us and she is always up for a party! And I’m sure her teenage defiant ass will be out in full force without the therapist’s “help” for 3 weeks – in fact, an email contact in preparation has already been sent.
Dear *Friend* ~ I will be in town on (these dates) and I would LOVE to *get together*.
Dear Scarlet ~ I am confident something will work out…C U THEN!
Ms. 16 year old is now going to go raid the liquor cabinet and the anti-anxiety meds...Let's Party! I totally love that she "Trusts" me ~ though - I really do. Hilarious! Sad...but still funny!
And I know that the therapist gets me…like most of the time, she can deal with all of me – but then, there are those times when she will say something so completely off the wall, I’m all like, WHAT? Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? Today, she made one of those suggestions that made me loudly interrupt her and want to scream, OMG! Do you know me at all??? She said she’d been thinking about my inability to sleep…compounded by the nightmares and terror when I do actually sleep – and she suggested that I go have a sleep study done. (WTF!) ..now she thinks my brain is oxygen deprived and I have sleep apnea? YES! I'll be that IS it! I'm sure it's really low O2 sats and not the fucking kid flashbacks!
Hello! I cannot FALL asleep! I cannot RELAX enough to fall asleep! So she quotes some ridiculous study about how people who with sleep apnea have more nightmares, etc. OMG! Seriously! How big was that brain tumor you ate Doc? The majority of the time I fall into panicky flashback hell is way before I fall over from exhaustion! HELLO!?!?! AND! Just to be clear – I can barely find a safe freaking place in my own home to feel relaxed enough to sleep – so what the fuck would make her think I would actually go to a sleep lab – surrounded by a bunch of freaky clinicians – with wires all over my exposed body and SLEEP??? Gee – is there free WIFI there at that sleep lab, DT? Cuz, maybe then I’d do it – since I’D BE UP ALL NIGHT! Jumping out of my freaking skin at the slightest movement! Like, I cannot even believe she suggested that! And would she make herself available after 10 when the freak outs start, or just let me completely lose it – OUTSIDE the “safety” of my own home until some freak at the clinic slaps my ass in the looney bin! I doubt it!(Maybe that was her “alterior” motive…get Grace locked away so she can run away and marry some Zen Monk and live *spiritually ever after*) Get a freakin’ clue!!!! NEWSFLASH: Afraid to sleep! F-E-A-R!!! BEFORE sleep! Unless the O2 is lacking when I’m awake – I’m nearly positive that is NOT the problem here ~ Doc!
And then like she KNOWS I haven’t been on top of my game, right? Ya know, with the late night panic attacks, the dissociative freak outs that last for hours, the cutting relapse. So after the “sleep lab” suggestion and the cutting analysis, she decides to say,“Oh, by the way, I’m going out of town for a week in February, do you want to spend some time talking about that?” WTF! What’s to *talk about*? What are we going to plan? You’re going out of town, and that’s just it….You gonna leave me your rock to carry around as a transitional object while you’re gone? Get a clue, DT! What does she want me to say or do? Beg her not to go? Like hello! She is entitled to vaca – deserves time off, just like everyone else - especially from crazybrain! I totally get that! But does she want me to “guarantee” her that I’ll stay safe while she’s gone? Well, I can say it – if that makes her feel better – but truth be told – I’m on the ledge every effing night – and I typically call her about 3x a week right now for help – so even if I say the words – words mean nothing! So whatever! I asked her what did she want me to say? Bon-voyage? Have a good time? And what if I don’t feel *safe*? What’s she going to do about it? Wrap up her rock in a blue blanket and tuck it in my purse? Threaten to slap me in the psych ward like she threatened 2 years ago? Yell at me to grow up like she did before? Doubt it! No matter what I say – it doesn’t matter. She is going to “trust” that I’ll keep myself safe.
And sometimes I wonder if what would happen if I didn’t spend so much time trying to “prove” to her that I was okay. I mean really! Like today, all of this crazy shit is streaming through my head like the Michael Jackson Thriller video – but I just sat there and chewed gum, playing with my headphones while she talks about sleep labs and her upcoming vacation. Whatever! She has done so much for me in the past I am NOT asking for any sort of retarded transitional object while she’s away. Maybe that's why she forgot the 2 emails. Maybe she did it on purpose as a "test" -- to the upcoming DT departure. Whatever! I say make the break now and then no one has to worry about it!
Like it doesn’t matter anyway – since I’m going to be gone the 2 weeks prior to that. And I told her that today, too. I’ll be gone Mon-Thursday 2 weeks in a row and then she leaves the Thursday I get back for a week. So that’s 3 weeks, sans therapy…since she doesn’t do Friday or weekend appointments. And I guess I didn’t look distressed because she sure didn’t offer up any suggestions! Fine! So next week is my last appointment until March. Whatever – I’m so not going next week either! Fuck it!
And then she got frustrated and said, “Are we done being 16 today?” Gee – I guess not, DT.” You know, for the record, I have a friend I’ll be seeing in a couple of weeks who PREFERS the 16 year old! She’s much more adventurous than most of us and she is always up for a party! And I’m sure her teenage defiant ass will be out in full force without the therapist’s “help” for 3 weeks – in fact, an email contact in preparation has already been sent.
Dear *Friend* ~ I will be in town on (these dates) and I would LOVE to *get together*.
Dear Scarlet ~ I am confident something will work out…C U THEN!
Ms. 16 year old is now going to go raid the liquor cabinet and the anti-anxiety meds...Let's Party! I totally love that she "Trusts" me ~ though - I really do. Hilarious! Sad...but still funny!
Monday, January 25, 2010
"Sometimes the injury is so bad – you have to cut – and cut big."
In last episode of Grey’s Anatomy ("I like you so much better when you’re naked" - no, really, that's the episode title) Meredith Grey says, “Sometimes you can’t limit exposure. Sometimes the injury is so bad, you have to cut, and cut big....and once the incision has been closed, you wait...and you hope that you haven’t, in fact, just made everything worse.”
Meredith was, of course, talking about surgery in a literal way, but I am now going to take her words and apply them to my night last Wednesday when my 4 month SI hiatus came to an end, and the clock had to be reset.
Some nights the pain overwhelms me and I do not know what to do with it. It suffocates me and traps me and I cannot find a way out of it. Nothing feels safe and nothing brings comfort. I shake and cry and try to quiet the angry scared screaming voices inside of me – but I cannot escape the brokenness.
That happened to me last Wednesday night. I locked myself in the bathroom and at first I tried to talk quietly to those inside as I rocked myself in an effort to soothe them. But it didn’t work and so I tried to call a friend, she didn’t answer. So I tried to call the therapist, she didn’t answer but she did return my call an hour later. In the chaos of my mind I did not hear the phone ring, but I did get a voicemail from her. In her voicemail she said, “ I’m sorry you’re having a rough night. If you feel the need to give me a call back I’ll be up till 10. I do ask that if you call me back I do want to know not just what the problem is but the things you’re trying to do to at least tolerate whatever’s going on...so we need to have a constructive conversation. If all is alright, that’s fine too - you don’t have to call me back, but if you do, bear that information in mind and we’ll talk later.
The therapist’s voicemail made me feel like a failure. Obviously she didn’t think I had tried to *self-soothe* and just expected her to fix everything. I felt angry and ashamed and I did not her back. I took a razor and I cut myself instead. I cut myself because I could not limit my exposure to the chaos inside my mind. It hurt so bad I tried to cut it out of me. I cut myself because it felt like the only option left for me. My body was shaking so bad I could not escape. I wanted someone to help me calm them, calm myself, but I felt like a failure for reaching out because I couldn’t do it on my own. And I shouldn’t have relied on someone else to help me. And so I cut myself.
And I was too tired to move Thursday and Friday. I felt even more ashamed and I really just wanted to stop breathing – I wanted it to stop – I was afraid I would cut again because I was constantly thinking about it.
I marked the calendar in my daytimer with a big red “S” for shame and I started the clock at zero. Four months of SI free is now only 5 days free. I touch the scab of shame and I chide myself for giving in, for giving up. Tomorrow I have to feel even more ashamed because I have to face what I did in front of the therapist. I tried, nothing else was working. I was not able to limit my exposure. I was drowning in the poison and I had to cut- and cut big. And now I have to wait for the incision to heal – and hope I haven’t made everything worse.
Meredith was, of course, talking about surgery in a literal way, but I am now going to take her words and apply them to my night last Wednesday when my 4 month SI hiatus came to an end, and the clock had to be reset.
Some nights the pain overwhelms me and I do not know what to do with it. It suffocates me and traps me and I cannot find a way out of it. Nothing feels safe and nothing brings comfort. I shake and cry and try to quiet the angry scared screaming voices inside of me – but I cannot escape the brokenness.
That happened to me last Wednesday night. I locked myself in the bathroom and at first I tried to talk quietly to those inside as I rocked myself in an effort to soothe them. But it didn’t work and so I tried to call a friend, she didn’t answer. So I tried to call the therapist, she didn’t answer but she did return my call an hour later. In the chaos of my mind I did not hear the phone ring, but I did get a voicemail from her. In her voicemail she said, “ I’m sorry you’re having a rough night. If you feel the need to give me a call back I’ll be up till 10. I do ask that if you call me back I do want to know not just what the problem is but the things you’re trying to do to at least tolerate whatever’s going on...so we need to have a constructive conversation. If all is alright, that’s fine too - you don’t have to call me back, but if you do, bear that information in mind and we’ll talk later.
The therapist’s voicemail made me feel like a failure. Obviously she didn’t think I had tried to *self-soothe* and just expected her to fix everything. I felt angry and ashamed and I did not her back. I took a razor and I cut myself instead. I cut myself because I could not limit my exposure to the chaos inside my mind. It hurt so bad I tried to cut it out of me. I cut myself because it felt like the only option left for me. My body was shaking so bad I could not escape. I wanted someone to help me calm them, calm myself, but I felt like a failure for reaching out because I couldn’t do it on my own. And I shouldn’t have relied on someone else to help me. And so I cut myself.
And I was too tired to move Thursday and Friday. I felt even more ashamed and I really just wanted to stop breathing – I wanted it to stop – I was afraid I would cut again because I was constantly thinking about it.
I marked the calendar in my daytimer with a big red “S” for shame and I started the clock at zero. Four months of SI free is now only 5 days free. I touch the scab of shame and I chide myself for giving in, for giving up. Tomorrow I have to feel even more ashamed because I have to face what I did in front of the therapist. I tried, nothing else was working. I was not able to limit my exposure. I was drowning in the poison and I had to cut- and cut big. And now I have to wait for the incision to heal – and hope I haven’t made everything worse.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
There is no monster in your house, Grace...turn the light on and look around. You are safe now.
The therapist tells me I should not sit in the dark. I know she thinks I never listen to her or work on my own to improve the nights as they exist currently, but I do. And so I’ve been trying to leave a light or two on at night. But it doesn’t seem to make any difference. I find myself in this paradoxical conundrum: the little girl is afraid of the dark ~ but she can also hide in the dark. The therapist tells the 5 year old and CB that there is no reason to be afraid anymore. Turn on the light and see, Grace. There’s no monster there with you now. There is no lion in the room. Get up and turn the lights on, Grace. And do it now!
So in an effort to "learn" from the CB/5 year old freak out last night, I tried to remember what happened right before the irrational hide/shake fest began on the stairs. It happened another time last week. The running to the darkness of the stairs peering under the door to where the light is; heart racing, wating for the shadow to appear under the door... What the hell did she see that freaked her out? Because the goal is to figure it out-and "reframe" it so she doesn't freak out again, right? Was the freak out caused by a shadow on the kitchen counter?
I know it is hard for a non-crazybrain to take what I am saying at face value and not roll their eyes and call me psychotic – but at night she cannot hide when the lights are on! And there are freakish shadows in the light, and a freakish monster looking face on the counter in the kitchn. Yes, adult rational Grace understands that the monster face on the granite in the kitchen is a reflection of the pictures and stuff on the wall ~ but you cannot tell that to a 5 year old who was fucked by a monster. And she stood up from the chair (chair with the blue blanket on it) and looked into the kitchen, saw something, freaked out and ran straight for the stairs where she slammed the door shut and called the therapist in full-fledged crazybrain panic. It was obvious from the huge exasperating sigh on the other end of the phone that the therapist was not happy about the late night phone call but she helped crazybrain anyway.
The therapist said no one ever died from a panic attack and we weren’t going to die either. But it feels like it when can’t slow down your heart and you can’t breathe – it feels like you’re going to die. Anyway, the therapist helped calm CB down and she slept in the laundry room by the dryer with Hello Kitty blanket and blue blanket.
The therapist said she wasn’t mad, just tired (yeah, tired of Grace!). But the 5 year old did see a monster in the kitchen! I didn’t mean to make the therapist mad. I should be able to do it on my own. I should be able to count on the hus to help me sometimes...but the truth is – he’s sort of the monster too. I didn’t mean to make the therapist mad last night. I don’t think I’ll leave the kitchen light on at night anymore.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Dear Little Gracie...
Dear (5 year old) Little Gracie,
Please just stop it. I do not know how to help you right now. I am as lost as you are and I really need you to stop crying because if you do not I am going to cut you right out of me. And I know that neither of us want that. I know it hurts and I know it sucks right now. I know you’re scared because there is no one to help you and you have to lean on me and we all know that I do not have a clue. Hell – I don’t even like kids (no offense).
Yeah, I screwed you up. I know that. I would tell you I’m sorry for last night but sorry doesn’t really mean much…people say it all the time and to say I’m sorry would imply that it won’t happen again, and we both know that it will. I know that I am the grown up and I should be better at dealing with this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Gracie, I don’t know why I cannot get a grip. But how can I possibly take care of you when I cannot even take care of myself?
It just feels like nothing consoles you, you know? And I don’t know what to do except scream at you to go away. I want to cut you out of me, Gracie, I do. I know you feel that too. I know it isn’t nice but gawd I’m as fucked up as you are! And I blame you for that. I do. I get that it isn’t fair to blame you for everything- but I do it anyway. I blame you because you make me remember and I don’t want to remember, Gracie, I don’t want to see it again. It was way bad the first time around- now the pain is unbearable. I don’t know why you survived. And a lot of the time I wish you wouldn’t have lived. I know that’s a horrible thing to say but it’s how I feel.
I’m sorry the therapist forgot you last night…but you know better than to count on anyone else to do what they say they will do. You’re not worth it! I know you think the therapist cares about you –and I’m sure she does: “In the limited ways that she can…” –and I don’t get how it happened either but she forgot- so get over it and stop crying about it because if you don’t – I will cut you. I will. You know I’ve done it before – a thousand times- and I’ll do it again if you don’t stop crying. I will! And stop depending on the therapist to do what she says she’ll do – would you? It’s not like she’s going to be around forever – it’s not like she can take your pain away either! No one can! We’re on our own girl! Just as it’s always been – so suck it up! You have to stop with the crying! And you have to stop crying now because if you don’t – I’ll have to shut you up – and that will only hurt you more, Gracie, you know that. I’m all you got girl – and we both know I don’t even like you. But I’m all you’ve got.
Yeah, he hurt you. And then I let everyone else hurt you too. The therapist forgot you last night. I let him fuck you again last night. The list of your grievances is endless, isn't it? But I will not tell you I’m sorry and I will no longer listen to your crying today. So stop it right now – or I will give you something to cry about! And neither of us want that. Right? I swear I will! And I will pour vodka down your throat and I'll let him do it again tonight. You have to stop it right now, Gracie. Stop it right now!
Be quiet kid – life’s a bitch! You should know that by now….be a good girl and shut up and behave yourself.
In Frustration, Grace
Please just stop it. I do not know how to help you right now. I am as lost as you are and I really need you to stop crying because if you do not I am going to cut you right out of me. And I know that neither of us want that. I know it hurts and I know it sucks right now. I know you’re scared because there is no one to help you and you have to lean on me and we all know that I do not have a clue. Hell – I don’t even like kids (no offense).
Yeah, I screwed you up. I know that. I would tell you I’m sorry for last night but sorry doesn’t really mean much…people say it all the time and to say I’m sorry would imply that it won’t happen again, and we both know that it will. I know that I am the grown up and I should be better at dealing with this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Gracie, I don’t know why I cannot get a grip. But how can I possibly take care of you when I cannot even take care of myself?
It just feels like nothing consoles you, you know? And I don’t know what to do except scream at you to go away. I want to cut you out of me, Gracie, I do. I know you feel that too. I know it isn’t nice but gawd I’m as fucked up as you are! And I blame you for that. I do. I get that it isn’t fair to blame you for everything- but I do it anyway. I blame you because you make me remember and I don’t want to remember, Gracie, I don’t want to see it again. It was way bad the first time around- now the pain is unbearable. I don’t know why you survived. And a lot of the time I wish you wouldn’t have lived. I know that’s a horrible thing to say but it’s how I feel.
I’m sorry the therapist forgot you last night…but you know better than to count on anyone else to do what they say they will do. You’re not worth it! I know you think the therapist cares about you –and I’m sure she does: “In the limited ways that she can…” –and I don’t get how it happened either but she forgot- so get over it and stop crying about it because if you don’t – I will cut you. I will. You know I’ve done it before – a thousand times- and I’ll do it again if you don’t stop crying. I will! And stop depending on the therapist to do what she says she’ll do – would you? It’s not like she’s going to be around forever – it’s not like she can take your pain away either! No one can! We’re on our own girl! Just as it’s always been – so suck it up! You have to stop with the crying! And you have to stop crying now because if you don’t – I’ll have to shut you up – and that will only hurt you more, Gracie, you know that. I’m all you got girl – and we both know I don’t even like you. But I’m all you’ve got.
Yeah, he hurt you. And then I let everyone else hurt you too. The therapist forgot you last night. I let him fuck you again last night. The list of your grievances is endless, isn't it? But I will not tell you I’m sorry and I will no longer listen to your crying today. So stop it right now – or I will give you something to cry about! And neither of us want that. Right? I swear I will! And I will pour vodka down your throat and I'll let him do it again tonight. You have to stop it right now, Gracie. Stop it right now!
Be quiet kid – life’s a bitch! You should know that by now….be a good girl and shut up and behave yourself.
In Frustration, Grace
Last night felt like a Friday. But it's been a bad week, so maybe it wasn't really...
Last night wasn’t Friday was it? I know Fridays are really bad for me, but this past week, every night has been bad. But last night couldn’t have been Friday because I did not get an email from the therapist –and the therapist ALWAYS emails on Fridays (well, when she doesn’t forget –which has now happened 2x this month). But maybe last night wasn’t really Friday because I only remember about 10 minutes of the night anyway. And those 10 minutes are sort of sporadic and not really a “whole” picture of the happenings of last night. Which is probably a good thing – since the 10 minutes I do remember are not pleasant, and when I woke up at 3:34am in the basement, sans clothing and freezing cold, I tried to put more together but it just isn’t there. It felt like Friday but as I said, it’s been a bad week, so maybe it wasn’t really.
I haven't eaten or slept in days. I called in sick to work Thurs and Fri because I could not bear to leave the house....and it looks as though today will be more of the same. I am so tired of all of this. I can barely move right now. But I'm not "calling" out for help…It doesn't matter anymore.
I haven't eaten or slept in days. I called in sick to work Thurs and Fri because I could not bear to leave the house....and it looks as though today will be more of the same. I am so tired of all of this. I can barely move right now. But I'm not "calling" out for help…It doesn't matter anymore.
Friday, January 22, 2010
I am so tired just trying to 'survive' ~ I don't have the energy to 'live'
When I was a child I just focused on surviving. Now I am sick of working so hard to survive…when do I get to just live? Not ‘relive’ ~ live.
How do you find the balance? How do you let yourself feel and not become overwhelmed? How do you listen to the hurt ones and not blame them, feel too much, and become incapacitated by them?
Both Wednesday and Thursday nights I found myself so overwhelmed with the pain that I was lying on the bathroom floor in a full-fledged panic attack; alternating between shaking uncontrollably and hitting my head on the floor, to pacing the floor considering ways to kill myself. In that moment, anything, including death, is better than living like that night after night. Major crazybrain freak outs both nights!
I feel so far away from myself. Each morning, after a night of dissociative fear and destruction, I try to put myself back together again. But each time I break apart, it gets harder and harder to fit the pieces back together again. Somewhere in the midst of these nightmares I lost my soul. I am not connected to this soulless body ~ it is merely a carrier for my traumatized brain. I feel tangled inside a mind I cannot escape.
Every night so many voices, so much confusion. His face before me, his hands on my body, his breath breathing on my neck. She takes a step back to avoid contact with him. She cries out. He advances toward her. She takes another step back, retreats further into the dark abyss waiting for another to help with the pain. Hopeless. She reaches out faintly while being overtaken by the memories boiling over. Step back! Get back! Step back! Get away! Over and over, night after night. Shame. The unspoken pain and shame. What happens when it truly becomes so overwhelming that it does kill me?
This is not good. Every single night I fight for a reason to live. Every night a coin is tossed ~ one night I'm going to lose the toss. Why does my body continue to scream at me? Why is it so hard? Why is there no end in sight? When will it get better? I am so tired *surviving* ~ I don't have any energy left to *live*!
How do you find the balance? How do you let yourself feel and not become overwhelmed? How do you listen to the hurt ones and not blame them, feel too much, and become incapacitated by them?
Both Wednesday and Thursday nights I found myself so overwhelmed with the pain that I was lying on the bathroom floor in a full-fledged panic attack; alternating between shaking uncontrollably and hitting my head on the floor, to pacing the floor considering ways to kill myself. In that moment, anything, including death, is better than living like that night after night. Major crazybrain freak outs both nights!
I feel so far away from myself. Each morning, after a night of dissociative fear and destruction, I try to put myself back together again. But each time I break apart, it gets harder and harder to fit the pieces back together again. Somewhere in the midst of these nightmares I lost my soul. I am not connected to this soulless body ~ it is merely a carrier for my traumatized brain. I feel tangled inside a mind I cannot escape.
Every night so many voices, so much confusion. His face before me, his hands on my body, his breath breathing on my neck. She takes a step back to avoid contact with him. She cries out. He advances toward her. She takes another step back, retreats further into the dark abyss waiting for another to help with the pain. Hopeless. She reaches out faintly while being overtaken by the memories boiling over. Step back! Get back! Step back! Get away! Over and over, night after night. Shame. The unspoken pain and shame. What happens when it truly becomes so overwhelming that it does kill me?
This is not good. Every single night I fight for a reason to live. Every night a coin is tossed ~ one night I'm going to lose the toss. Why does my body continue to scream at me? Why is it so hard? Why is there no end in sight? When will it get better? I am so tired *surviving* ~ I don't have any energy left to *live*!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
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 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...
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, January 18, 2010
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!
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!
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