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...
Showing posts with label scared/frightened girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label scared/frightened girl. Show all posts
Saturday, August 14, 2010
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!
Friday, January 29, 2010
"After the first death there is no other." ~ Dylan Thomas
I have been screaming inside…and yet no one can hear me.
I needed her to see the message I was trying to communicate. I needed her to understand what I was saying. For many years now…I’ve been screaming inside, yet my screams remain unacknowledged, unheard, by the outside world.
I’ve been waiting for a light to go on…like she’s finally going to understand this terribly important thing that I’m struggling with and she’ll help me understand too, and she’ll explain it to me. But instead, she offers some ‘mindfullness’ thoughts and says, “Keep doing the best you can, Grace. Just as you have been doing. You’re making progress, Grace. “ Meditate harder, Grace
Pray harder, Grace
Find your spirit connection, Grace
Try harder Grace.
You can do it Grace
I tried…I did. I have no spirit guide. No ‘inner wisdom’.
There is no one left to talk too…no one to trust.
Clearly I am of no importance at all. I am less than a client. I am not even a person. I am scared I am not going to get through this…and yet, at the same time, I don’t care if I do, and a part of me actually hopes that I won’t.
I died over 30 years ago. Yet I am still here until I learn to mourn my death. As the great poet Dylan Thomas said, “After the first death there is no other.”
A refusal to mourn the Death, by Fire, of a child in London
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness
And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn
The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.
Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.
~ Dylan Thomas
I needed her to see the message I was trying to communicate. I needed her to understand what I was saying. For many years now…I’ve been screaming inside, yet my screams remain unacknowledged, unheard, by the outside world.
I’ve been waiting for a light to go on…like she’s finally going to understand this terribly important thing that I’m struggling with and she’ll help me understand too, and she’ll explain it to me. But instead, she offers some ‘mindfullness’ thoughts and says, “Keep doing the best you can, Grace. Just as you have been doing. You’re making progress, Grace. “ Meditate harder, Grace
Pray harder, Grace
Find your spirit connection, Grace
Try harder Grace.
You can do it Grace
I tried…I did. I have no spirit guide. No ‘inner wisdom’.
There is no one left to talk too…no one to trust.
Clearly I am of no importance at all. I am less than a client. I am not even a person. I am scared I am not going to get through this…and yet, at the same time, I don’t care if I do, and a part of me actually hopes that I won’t.
I died over 30 years ago. Yet I am still here until I learn to mourn my death. As the great poet Dylan Thomas said, “After the first death there is no other.”
A refusal to mourn the Death, by Fire, of a child in London
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness
And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn
The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not murder
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.
Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.
~ Dylan Thomas
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Her Death
Death is a dark, cold, house full of malice.
Surrounded by a garden of dead flowers and trees with a deadly disease
Surrounded by a garden of dead flowers and trees with a deadly disease
With black leaves covering the hateful lawn.
It is the darkest place I've ever seen.
I hear things, snakes, spiders, slivering in the ground
I want to turn away but something keeps me tempted into this scene.
So I keep walking in the twisting darkness, a faint whisper of cold air blowing.
The leaves rustle beneath my feet, swirling in the wind and bleeding on my clothes.
The damp air has turned my tears to ice and the black memories of my past are now drawn about my shoulders.
I close my eyes.
When I open my eyes I gasp in horror at what is before me in this house of loath.
The room is lightened with red broken hearts.
I am surrounded by bodies with empty eyes
the smell of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke is overwhelming.
It is too much to bear, but as I stare into the darkness,
I force myself to face the darkness inside myself.
I sink down to my knees and sob big, heart wrenching, horrible sobs that shake my entire body. I feel bile rising up into my throat and I vomit until my stomach is as empty as my heart and soul.
Eyes tired
Mouth dry
Heart beats
Death she cries
No emotion
No devotion
No creation
Dead inside
Sweet silent sleep
Awake no more
Blessed her heart
Death she greets
It is the darkest place I've ever seen.
I hear things, snakes, spiders, slivering in the ground
I want to turn away but something keeps me tempted into this scene.
So I keep walking in the twisting darkness, a faint whisper of cold air blowing.
The leaves rustle beneath my feet, swirling in the wind and bleeding on my clothes.
The damp air has turned my tears to ice and the black memories of my past are now drawn about my shoulders.
I close my eyes.
When I open my eyes I gasp in horror at what is before me in this house of loath.
The room is lightened with red broken hearts.
I am surrounded by bodies with empty eyes
the smell of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke is overwhelming.
It is too much to bear, but as I stare into the darkness,
I force myself to face the darkness inside myself.
I sink down to my knees and sob big, heart wrenching, horrible sobs that shake my entire body. I feel bile rising up into my throat and I vomit until my stomach is as empty as my heart and soul.
Eyes tired
Mouth dry
Heart beats
Death she cries
No emotion
No devotion
No creation
Dead inside
Sweet silent sleep
Awake no more
Blessed her heart
Death she greets
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
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*!
I know so much ~ but I do not know myself
I am a stranger to myself. I do not know how to be gentle, compassionate, or loving, to any part of myself.
I have always been able to present myself well in most public situations, be it work, school, parental obligations, parties. I can be calm and level-headed. I am able to problem solve in logical and intelligent ways. I can be humorous and glamorous when need be. But it seems as though that power and confidence, that grace and strength, is only a mask. I now have more days when that mask feels heavy. And when I lack the strength to put it on, I have to hide myself. And I’ve been hiding a lot lately. I hid yesterday. I am hiding today.
I hear the words of care that others speak, but they don’t feel real to me. Sometimes I can accept their words while knowing that they do not realize that I am a disgusting person who deserves to be treated badly. They see what I want them to see. I watch them interact with the humorous Grace, the intelligent Grace, and I watch it all from the outside. I want so much more for myself. Who is this Grace that is respected by so many?
I want to be loved and to feel love. I want to be free from the step-father and the host body. I desperately wish to be free from them, and not just in a surface way. I want them out of me forever. My soul cries out for kindness and gentleness – and yet when it is offered I cannot accept it. I want to be respected and loved and yet I do not know how to love or respect myself.
I know how to pretend. I wrote the book on how to hide your feelings. I know how to smile, I know how to laugh. I know that I have been given gifts but I don’t know how to use them. And the ones who were abused, raped, assaulted, degraded…they are afraid to dream that there is more to life than this. They cannot fathom that there exists a world where they can be loved in a gentle way, touched in a way that does not hurt. They stopped dreaming a long time ago.
I want to stop fighting so hard, so much of the time...fighting myself, the therapist ~ the fighting stubborn one just comes out in full-force at any perceived threat and I want her to stop fighting when there is no reason to fight. I want to learn to trust in myself and others. I want the chaos and confusion inside my mind to clear and I want some sense of cohesiveness and togetherness inside of me. I want to believe that there is more to life than pretending behind an illusion of imaginary togetherness...more than just feeling ashamed and degraded. I want to trust that I am allowed to heal. I want to believe that I am worth the time and the effort it is taking, and the pain I endure every day. I want to believe that I am not what they said I am, that real love actually exists, and that I am worthy of receiving it.
And even as I write this, there is that voice inside speaking to me, "But what if you're not worthy, Grace? What if you are what they said?" She is a big part of me~ she has a loud voice. And if I don't believe in myself - how can I convince that part of me that I am good and I am worthy?
I have always been able to present myself well in most public situations, be it work, school, parental obligations, parties. I can be calm and level-headed. I am able to problem solve in logical and intelligent ways. I can be humorous and glamorous when need be. But it seems as though that power and confidence, that grace and strength, is only a mask. I now have more days when that mask feels heavy. And when I lack the strength to put it on, I have to hide myself. And I’ve been hiding a lot lately. I hid yesterday. I am hiding today.
I hear the words of care that others speak, but they don’t feel real to me. Sometimes I can accept their words while knowing that they do not realize that I am a disgusting person who deserves to be treated badly. They see what I want them to see. I watch them interact with the humorous Grace, the intelligent Grace, and I watch it all from the outside. I want so much more for myself. Who is this Grace that is respected by so many?
I want to be loved and to feel love. I want to be free from the step-father and the host body. I desperately wish to be free from them, and not just in a surface way. I want them out of me forever. My soul cries out for kindness and gentleness – and yet when it is offered I cannot accept it. I want to be respected and loved and yet I do not know how to love or respect myself.
I know how to pretend. I wrote the book on how to hide your feelings. I know how to smile, I know how to laugh. I know that I have been given gifts but I don’t know how to use them. And the ones who were abused, raped, assaulted, degraded…they are afraid to dream that there is more to life than this. They cannot fathom that there exists a world where they can be loved in a gentle way, touched in a way that does not hurt. They stopped dreaming a long time ago.
I want to stop fighting so hard, so much of the time...fighting myself, the therapist ~ the fighting stubborn one just comes out in full-force at any perceived threat and I want her to stop fighting when there is no reason to fight. I want to learn to trust in myself and others. I want the chaos and confusion inside my mind to clear and I want some sense of cohesiveness and togetherness inside of me. I want to believe that there is more to life than pretending behind an illusion of imaginary togetherness...more than just feeling ashamed and degraded. I want to trust that I am allowed to heal. I want to believe that I am worth the time and the effort it is taking, and the pain I endure every day. I want to believe that I am not what they said I am, that real love actually exists, and that I am worthy of receiving it.
And even as I write this, there is that voice inside speaking to me, "But what if you're not worthy, Grace? What if you are what they said?" She is a big part of me~ she has a loud voice. And if I don't believe in myself - how can I convince that part of me that I am good and I am worthy?
Today I am wrapping myself in bubble wrap...and hiding the arsenal
That should keep me safe today, right?
Yup, I've come unglued and this unglued non-pulled together Grace is not fit for private, nor may she be viewed by the public eye. I cannot imagine going outside or doing anything for myself. I cannot imagine taking a shower or getting dressed right now. So again today, like yesterday, I am going to hide inside myself and pretend I have no responsibilities. In fact, I think I will stay hidden until next week sometime. Maybe it will feel safer then.
I feel disconnected and detached from everything, including myself.
Last night I struggled with the strong desires to SI. The screaming inside is overwhelming! And I cannot take care of myself right now. I know that. So until I can I will wrap myself in bubble wrap and hide the SI arsenal.
Yup, I've come unglued and this unglued non-pulled together Grace is not fit for private, nor may she be viewed by the public eye. I cannot imagine going outside or doing anything for myself. I cannot imagine taking a shower or getting dressed right now. So again today, like yesterday, I am going to hide inside myself and pretend I have no responsibilities. In fact, I think I will stay hidden until next week sometime. Maybe it will feel safer then.
I feel disconnected and detached from everything, including myself.
Last night I struggled with the strong desires to SI. The screaming inside is overwhelming! And I cannot take care of myself right now. I know that. So until I can I will wrap myself in bubble wrap and hide the SI arsenal.
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.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
"I don't know what I need", cried the eight year old girl, "But I hate my life the way it is."
My daughter celebrated her 8th birthday today. There were 10 little girls in the house, running around, singing and dancing, eating pizza and cupcakes…and how there are 4. DD has3 friends spending the night tonight for her birthday. She must have caught me in a serious moment of weakness because nights are bad for me and to have 3 additional 8 year old girls in the house...
It always makes me nervous to have a lot of kids in my house. Maybe because I never know when I might have a crazybrain freak out and although I can typically *act* normal during daylight hours, the additional people in the house tend to put me on high alert and of course the hus (who has always wanted a big family) is absolutely ZERO help with any of it. In fact, I haven’t even seen him in over 4 hours now, as he is quietly tucked away in the mancave watching the football playoffs.
As I have always said, I am one generation away from poor-white-trash. The fam and I live the American dream as do the majority of the friends DD spends her time with. There are, however, a couple of exceptions. And I wonder about them…their parents – what they are thinking, how they are really feeling. I worry about the kids - I don’t know why – but I do.
Friend 1 for the sleepover: dropped off 30 minutes early by her mother and drunk boyfriend. Her overnight bag reeked of cigarette smoke and pot and her mother and her boyfriend were practically screwing in the entryway of my house. Friend 1’s mother goes upstairs chasing after her daughter to say goodbye, her boyfriend tells me he likes my stairs and my choice in paint colors (what?). He then tells me that he wants to show me some pictures of some stairs he built and he takes out his blackberry; and as he starts to thumb through photos he says, “There may be some naked photos on here, but ignore those…” Seriously? Then he proceeds to tell me he’s a little buzzed, but not near enough. And all I keep thinking about is my daughter’s little friend and what her life at home must be like.
Friend 2 for the sleepover: had a meltdown about an hour ago, crying and telling the other girls that she hates her life the way it is. I went upstairs and she told me the same thing; she hates her life. What? She’s 8. I sat with her for a while and I asked her what she needed. Of course, that was a really stupid question; I know…I hate it when the therapist asks me that – so I cannot even believe it came out of my mouth. And she said, “I don’t know.” I told her that was okay, I don’t always know what I need either…a lot of the time. And she and I sat on my daughter’s bed and I held her while she cried, rocking her as I do myself when I don’t know what I need. After she cried she asked me for a glass of water and after she drank her water she went back upstairs to play with the other girls.
Friend 3 has always been my favorite of DD’s friends. She’s an old soul. Her calmness and patience amaze me and I often think she may actually be older than me. She used to call me her step-mom…now she calls me her second mom. I absolutely adore her. She is the most beautiful child I have ever met, inside and out. I think because she’s here tonight, I might actually get through the night.
Being responsible for other people’s children makes me nervous. I’m always afraid I won’t be able to do it. I’m afraid I’ll have one of those fear nights where I cannot move and just sit on the stairs for hours at a time unable to figure out where I am, or what year it is. But then I feel it unfair to punish my children and not allow them to do normal kid stuff ~ like sleepovers, and birthday parties – because crazybrain might show up. Gawd ~ I hope she stays away tonight…I can’t have a basement stair night with other people’s children in my house.
I had a night like that last night…one of those~ I hate my life but I don't know what I need ~ I don’t want another one tonight. It’s so unfair to everyone. I really just want to be normal.
It always makes me nervous to have a lot of kids in my house. Maybe because I never know when I might have a crazybrain freak out and although I can typically *act* normal during daylight hours, the additional people in the house tend to put me on high alert and of course the hus (who has always wanted a big family) is absolutely ZERO help with any of it. In fact, I haven’t even seen him in over 4 hours now, as he is quietly tucked away in the mancave watching the football playoffs.
As I have always said, I am one generation away from poor-white-trash. The fam and I live the American dream as do the majority of the friends DD spends her time with. There are, however, a couple of exceptions. And I wonder about them…their parents – what they are thinking, how they are really feeling. I worry about the kids - I don’t know why – but I do.
Friend 1 for the sleepover: dropped off 30 minutes early by her mother and drunk boyfriend. Her overnight bag reeked of cigarette smoke and pot and her mother and her boyfriend were practically screwing in the entryway of my house. Friend 1’s mother goes upstairs chasing after her daughter to say goodbye, her boyfriend tells me he likes my stairs and my choice in paint colors (what?). He then tells me that he wants to show me some pictures of some stairs he built and he takes out his blackberry; and as he starts to thumb through photos he says, “There may be some naked photos on here, but ignore those…” Seriously? Then he proceeds to tell me he’s a little buzzed, but not near enough. And all I keep thinking about is my daughter’s little friend and what her life at home must be like.
Friend 2 for the sleepover: had a meltdown about an hour ago, crying and telling the other girls that she hates her life the way it is. I went upstairs and she told me the same thing; she hates her life. What? She’s 8. I sat with her for a while and I asked her what she needed. Of course, that was a really stupid question; I know…I hate it when the therapist asks me that – so I cannot even believe it came out of my mouth. And she said, “I don’t know.” I told her that was okay, I don’t always know what I need either…a lot of the time. And she and I sat on my daughter’s bed and I held her while she cried, rocking her as I do myself when I don’t know what I need. After she cried she asked me for a glass of water and after she drank her water she went back upstairs to play with the other girls.
Friend 3 has always been my favorite of DD’s friends. She’s an old soul. Her calmness and patience amaze me and I often think she may actually be older than me. She used to call me her step-mom…now she calls me her second mom. I absolutely adore her. She is the most beautiful child I have ever met, inside and out. I think because she’s here tonight, I might actually get through the night.
Being responsible for other people’s children makes me nervous. I’m always afraid I won’t be able to do it. I’m afraid I’ll have one of those fear nights where I cannot move and just sit on the stairs for hours at a time unable to figure out where I am, or what year it is. But then I feel it unfair to punish my children and not allow them to do normal kid stuff ~ like sleepovers, and birthday parties – because crazybrain might show up. Gawd ~ I hope she stays away tonight…I can’t have a basement stair night with other people’s children in my house.
I had a night like that last night…one of those~ I hate my life but I don't know what I need ~ I don’t want another one tonight. It’s so unfair to everyone. I really just want to be normal.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
I can see the shadow of the freak-out monster in my peripheral vision
Tuesday in session I talked a little more about the Friday night creepshows of the past and present. And even as I spoke, it wasn’t me saying the words. I heard the words come out of my mouth. I could hear the words, I could see the therapist sitting across from me, but it didn’t even feel like ME ~ it wasn’t like I was consciously speaking the words, but yet they were pouring out of me in a steady tone of voice. A voice I was not able to stop. Was that my voice? I did not speak those words.
After the words were spoken, I told the therapist that I hoped to not freak out later. But I can see the freak-out shadow in my peripheral vision; it frightens me and now I can move only my eyes but not the rest of my head, or my body. I want to be disconnected from my body tonight and yet try as I might; I still feel the churning in my stomach, the pounding ache on the left side of my head. I feel the burning in my eyes and the tightness in my chest. It is difficult to keep my eyes open and impossible to take a deep breath.
She has cried non-stop since last night. Even in bed, huddled in the corner, far away from the door and wrapped tightly in her blue blanket and surrounded by pillows, she shook and cried. And still tonight she cries in fear and pain. She cries about sticky humiliating smelly messes. She cries about mirrors and blood. She cries and she cannot be soothed.
Why does she remember? Why does she remind me all of the time? Why does she ruin everything? Why can’t she just go away? Why does it still hurt so bad? It shouldn’t hurt now. It does but it shouldn’t. And she continues to cry...
I hear her crying, I see her crying ~ but I don't know how to stop her cries. I don't know how to make her pain go away. All I can do is watch her and hear her.
After the words were spoken, I told the therapist that I hoped to not freak out later. But I can see the freak-out shadow in my peripheral vision; it frightens me and now I can move only my eyes but not the rest of my head, or my body. I want to be disconnected from my body tonight and yet try as I might; I still feel the churning in my stomach, the pounding ache on the left side of my head. I feel the burning in my eyes and the tightness in my chest. It is difficult to keep my eyes open and impossible to take a deep breath.
She has cried non-stop since last night. Even in bed, huddled in the corner, far away from the door and wrapped tightly in her blue blanket and surrounded by pillows, she shook and cried. And still tonight she cries in fear and pain. She cries about sticky humiliating smelly messes. She cries about mirrors and blood. She cries and she cannot be soothed.
Why does she remember? Why does she remind me all of the time? Why does she ruin everything? Why can’t she just go away? Why does it still hurt so bad? It shouldn’t hurt now. It does but it shouldn’t. And she continues to cry...
I hear her crying, I see her crying ~ but I don't know how to stop her cries. I don't know how to make her pain go away. All I can do is watch her and hear her.
I cannot figure out how to unplug the *Emotional Pin-Ball* Game. And I am finished playing for now!
There are nights when I am absolutely afraid to move. Anxiety and fear ~ my current nemesis. Like, one night, when I was on the phone with the therapist and she was telling me to get up and do something, I could not do it. And it was not because I was trying (in that very moment) to be argumentative and defiant, it was literally because my body was frozen and I could not move. And she seemed frustrated, which I understand, as she was trying to help me, and it’s not like she could grab my arm and physically move me (not that she would do that in her office either, but I suspect it’s a little bit easier for her to deal with me in that situation when we are in the same room). It’s so difficult for me to communicate at that point.
Right now I am in this space where I really wonder how I can continue to live up to the person everyone thinks that I am. Who is this person that everyone has created in their minds with my name attached to it? Yesterday I took a phone call from my boss in the middle of therapy. Even though she didn’t say anything, I’m sure the therapist was thinking, “Gawd ~ can’t she even stick up for herself during this hour?” Dang! Grace cannot set limits with her boss, her husband, or anyone else for that matter…
And I have to say that I am not really in the position right now to be all warrior-like and face all of it head-on. It is really one of those days when I want to curl up in a fetal position with a heating pad and pull the covers over my head. Even though the therapist would say that isn’t a good idea for me to hide myself away from all human contact…I still want too. I don’t have any desires to hurt myself; I’m just tired and I don’t want to be all happy and sunshiny for other people right now.
My body hurts today. I told the therapist I think I have a brain tumor and she was all like, “Well, then you should go get an MRI.” What else is she supposed to say; she is a PhD, not a medical doctor. And of course my head is hurting now and I’m constantly dizzy so that’s probably the brain tumor too. But what about all the other gross body issues?
WAH! I’m sure it’s all “emotional” overload, right? I feel like a pin-ball machine…hit the emotional ball and see where it bounces around and what part of my body it hits! Headache/dizziness: 100 points. Hip pain: 50 points. Nausea/vomiting: 150 points. Insomnia: 200 points. Cramps/bleeding: 300 points. Uncontrollable shaking or inability to move at all: 1000 bonus points.
*SIGH* I cannot figure out how to unplug the Emotional Pin-Ball Game....
Right now I am in this space where I really wonder how I can continue to live up to the person everyone thinks that I am. Who is this person that everyone has created in their minds with my name attached to it? Yesterday I took a phone call from my boss in the middle of therapy. Even though she didn’t say anything, I’m sure the therapist was thinking, “Gawd ~ can’t she even stick up for herself during this hour?” Dang! Grace cannot set limits with her boss, her husband, or anyone else for that matter…
And I have to say that I am not really in the position right now to be all warrior-like and face all of it head-on. It is really one of those days when I want to curl up in a fetal position with a heating pad and pull the covers over my head. Even though the therapist would say that isn’t a good idea for me to hide myself away from all human contact…I still want too. I don’t have any desires to hurt myself; I’m just tired and I don’t want to be all happy and sunshiny for other people right now.
My body hurts today. I told the therapist I think I have a brain tumor and she was all like, “Well, then you should go get an MRI.” What else is she supposed to say; she is a PhD, not a medical doctor. And of course my head is hurting now and I’m constantly dizzy so that’s probably the brain tumor too. But what about all the other gross body issues?
WAH! I’m sure it’s all “emotional” overload, right? I feel like a pin-ball machine…hit the emotional ball and see where it bounces around and what part of my body it hits! Headache/dizziness: 100 points. Hip pain: 50 points. Nausea/vomiting: 150 points. Insomnia: 200 points. Cramps/bleeding: 300 points. Uncontrollable shaking or inability to move at all: 1000 bonus points.
*SIGH* I cannot figure out how to unplug the Emotional Pin-Ball Game....
I didn't have the words
I don’t remember ever being innocent or pure. I remember how wrong and dirty and secretive it felt. I was 5 years old. But I didn’t talk about it. I was not supposed to talk about it and, really, I didn’t even have the words. I spent my whole life telling myself it wasn’t that bad…maybe I could even forget. And then I would try on the feelings of denial and pretend to be okay.
But it was that bad. It really was. Some nights it still is that bad. And I still can’t find the words. But I feel the words. I feel them physically in my body. Terrible things that I don’t understand. And then I wonder if they are really true. I asked the therapist that today. I asked her about the physical things that happen that have no explanation. I asked her if she believed they could happen. I find them to be distressing. I have a headache and I cannot sleep.
But it was that bad. It really was. Some nights it still is that bad. And I still can’t find the words. But I feel the words. I feel them physically in my body. Terrible things that I don’t understand. And then I wonder if they are really true. I asked the therapist that today. I asked her about the physical things that happen that have no explanation. I asked her if she believed they could happen. I find them to be distressing. I have a headache and I cannot sleep.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Maybe you fight me because you are afraid if you don’t, you will lose me
It makes me tired sometimes, the constant fighting inside my head, the constant aruging, yelling, fear, discord. It's tiring. And PAG fights the therapist like the female version of Rocky. Today, as I was leaving the therapist's office, she said, "Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't you will lose me." When I asked her what she meant, she said she didn't know, that it was just something that popped into her head right that very minute. Popped right into her head...like she could have had a V-8! What? I'm not really sure if she just wanted me to take the statement and try it on, or if she really just said the first thing that popped in her head.
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't, you will lose me"
After I left her office, I stopped to get a diet coke, and I thought about what she said.
When I got back to my office, I walked into my office and took off my coat, and I thought about what she said. I logged on to my computer, and pulled up a report I needed to prepare for an afternoon meeting, and I thought about what she said.
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't you will lose me."
Early this evening, I was talking to my friend L and I thought about what the therapist said. I decided to ask L what she thought it meant, and L said, "I think she means that you look for things to argue with her about to try to push her and test her; but deep down you know she won't leave you. However, you continue to battle with her so there is a state of constant conflict in your relationship so you don't have to deal with the real issues, the real problems that you need her help with. " Maybe she's right...
Since L has been so insightful and has had her own "therapist" hat on, I decided to ask for her help with another crazybrain issue that's been dormant for awhile, but has again reared it's ugly head. Something that I haven't asked for the therapists help on because I know that it won't matter what she says, PAG will just be pissed about it. This issue surfaced nearly 2 years ago, and reappears at times, but not nearly as strong as it was in the past. It's so irrational and embarrassing, and logically it makes no sense - I KNOW that! But yet, here it is, as irrational and embarrassing as walking out of the ladies room with your skirt tucked into your panties and not noticing (not that that's ever happened to me - but it would be really embarrassing - this is that kind of embarrassing).... The 5 year old is scared again that the therapist will leave her when she gets married. And the 5 year old is once again jealous of the therapists' BF. OMG! TOTALLY irrational, Grace - you are so crazy! It is so NOYB and so not fair to the therapist. Yah, I know that...but the 5 year old is still sad sometimes. And if I were to bring it up with the therapist, I'm afraid she would say something like, "Grace, my life - NOYB." Which would totally freak out the 5 year old and piss off PAG. And adult rational Grace "gets" that it isn't about the therapist and her BF - it's really about the host body leaving me for men. And I hope someday the 5 year old will understand that too - but she doesn't right now. And I don't know how to get her from point A to point B.
L said she totally gets it. She said that she still gets jealous of the time her mom spends with her sister and she's 37 years old, not 5. She said that in a kid's mind it doesn't matter - feelings are feelings - and it's not a horrible thing. She didn't think it was nearly as embarrassing as the wardrobe malfunction described above. I, however, still do.
L tried to reassure me that we all have our shit. We all have things we are embarrassed about, and she said that I have to be honest and patient with the therapist and she has helped me, and she will continue to help me, if I let her. L told me that I have to someday find a way to accept that my childhood was less than ideal and it wasn't my fault. And that the things I have done as an adult, willingly, and/or unwillingly, that may feel shameful and wrong to me, I'll have to accept that too...but it will probably take a long time because I have never let anyone know me before, I've never let anyone "in"side my head to really know me...except the therapist. Not even the hus. She said that hopefully someday I will learn to trust other people too, and know who I should trust. I hope she's right.
Before I left, L told me to text her if I felt alone, scared, just needed to talk...and went on to say, "As long as I'm not having sex with the married man I've been telling no for 6 months, but he still comes by and I do it even though I don't want too...I'll text you back."....I fell out of the chair onto the floor in hysterical laughter! See...we all have our shit.
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't, you will lose me"
After I left her office, I stopped to get a diet coke, and I thought about what she said.
When I got back to my office, I walked into my office and took off my coat, and I thought about what she said. I logged on to my computer, and pulled up a report I needed to prepare for an afternoon meeting, and I thought about what she said.
"Maybe you fight me because you are afraid that if you don't you will lose me."
Early this evening, I was talking to my friend L and I thought about what the therapist said. I decided to ask L what she thought it meant, and L said, "I think she means that you look for things to argue with her about to try to push her and test her; but deep down you know she won't leave you. However, you continue to battle with her so there is a state of constant conflict in your relationship so you don't have to deal with the real issues, the real problems that you need her help with. " Maybe she's right...
Since L has been so insightful and has had her own "therapist" hat on, I decided to ask for her help with another crazybrain issue that's been dormant for awhile, but has again reared it's ugly head. Something that I haven't asked for the therapists help on because I know that it won't matter what she says, PAG will just be pissed about it. This issue surfaced nearly 2 years ago, and reappears at times, but not nearly as strong as it was in the past. It's so irrational and embarrassing, and logically it makes no sense - I KNOW that! But yet, here it is, as irrational and embarrassing as walking out of the ladies room with your skirt tucked into your panties and not noticing (not that that's ever happened to me - but it would be really embarrassing - this is that kind of embarrassing).... The 5 year old is scared again that the therapist will leave her when she gets married. And the 5 year old is once again jealous of the therapists' BF. OMG! TOTALLY irrational, Grace - you are so crazy! It is so NOYB and so not fair to the therapist. Yah, I know that...but the 5 year old is still sad sometimes. And if I were to bring it up with the therapist, I'm afraid she would say something like, "Grace, my life - NOYB." Which would totally freak out the 5 year old and piss off PAG. And adult rational Grace "gets" that it isn't about the therapist and her BF - it's really about the host body leaving me for men. And I hope someday the 5 year old will understand that too - but she doesn't right now. And I don't know how to get her from point A to point B.
L said she totally gets it. She said that she still gets jealous of the time her mom spends with her sister and she's 37 years old, not 5. She said that in a kid's mind it doesn't matter - feelings are feelings - and it's not a horrible thing. She didn't think it was nearly as embarrassing as the wardrobe malfunction described above. I, however, still do.
L tried to reassure me that we all have our shit. We all have things we are embarrassed about, and she said that I have to be honest and patient with the therapist and she has helped me, and she will continue to help me, if I let her. L told me that I have to someday find a way to accept that my childhood was less than ideal and it wasn't my fault. And that the things I have done as an adult, willingly, and/or unwillingly, that may feel shameful and wrong to me, I'll have to accept that too...but it will probably take a long time because I have never let anyone know me before, I've never let anyone "in"side my head to really know me...except the therapist. Not even the hus. She said that hopefully someday I will learn to trust other people too, and know who I should trust. I hope she's right.
Before I left, L told me to text her if I felt alone, scared, just needed to talk...and went on to say, "As long as I'm not having sex with the married man I've been telling no for 6 months, but he still comes by and I do it even though I don't want too...I'll text you back."....I fell out of the chair onto the floor in hysterical laughter! See...we all have our shit.
Maybe you fight me because you are afraid if you don't that you will lose me
What does that MEAN?
I just want to feel safe, dear therapist. It’s been a really long time since I’ve felt safe.
I had a bit of a mental meltdown last night. (That's a big shocker, Grace!)
The therapist had not emailed me by 10pm, and it had already been a really emotionally charged weekend. By 10:01~ the 5 year old was crying from fear and feelings of abandonment, and PAG was hoping the therapist would forget again so she would have a reason to be pissed off at the therapist. Okay, that isn’t a fair statement~ PAG gets pissed off at the therapist all the time for reasons she makes up in her crazybrain. Maybe it would be more accurate to say PAG wanted a reason to that she could throw in the 5 year old’s face to PROVE to the 5 year old that the therapist doesn’t care about her. Anyway, it didn’t happen for her because the therapist emailed a few minutes later. It didn’t matter though. Crazybrain was already at defcon 4 and inches away from self inflicted pain. So Grace called the therapist for help, but PAG wouldn’t let the therapist help, she just wanted to fight with the therapist….the therapist was not in the mood for a fight (she never is) so she told Grace that if she wanted help she had to listen and stop fighting the therapist! Eventually Grace listened because there are no cuts or bruises today.
Thanks to the therapist’s help and patience, we stayed safe from self-jury, but were still unable to find a sense of safety, it was a constant battle to stay present and not dissociate but it was a losing battle for most of the night. In the moments I was in my body, I felt like there was a bolt of lightning constantly circulating through my body. I could not relax, I could not concentrate, I couldn’t even order coffee at Starbucks! Calling in sick was not an option because it was a day packed with deadlines and yet I could not even find a folder that was right in front of my face. I thought I should make a list of things that I had to get done but I couldn’t even figure out how to get that done! Extremely frustrating to find myself in a position where I cannot concentrate at work. Typically, work is a place I can escape the craziness in my head but it wasn’t working! Nothing felt safe and yet a small rational voice knew there was no logical reason for the fear and anxiety which increased the frustration, leading to more anxiety…and suddenly Grace is on her own personal Crazy~Brain~Carousel, complete with the circus music!
I met with the therapist at 10am this morning but I still couldn’t explain what was happening with the lightning inside my body or the fear inside my head. I couldn’t speak or look at her for the longest time. Eventually she asked me what I wanted to get from the session today and I said I didn’t know. But I did know. I just wanted to feel safe…even if only for a few minutes. I just wanted to feel safe. And the therapist made me feel safe today. Today, even just sitting there, in her office, my body full of electricity and 10 different voices inside my head, the therapist made me feel safe….just because she was there. Just because she’s the therapist....
She listened, she sat with me, she tried to help me stay grounded today...but most importantly, she made me feel safe. She was still there...still trying to listen and understand *all* of Grace...because she is kind and patient. Because she is the therapist.
The therapist had not emailed me by 10pm, and it had already been a really emotionally charged weekend. By 10:01~ the 5 year old was crying from fear and feelings of abandonment, and PAG was hoping the therapist would forget again so she would have a reason to be pissed off at the therapist. Okay, that isn’t a fair statement~ PAG gets pissed off at the therapist all the time for reasons she makes up in her crazybrain. Maybe it would be more accurate to say PAG wanted a reason to that she could throw in the 5 year old’s face to PROVE to the 5 year old that the therapist doesn’t care about her. Anyway, it didn’t happen for her because the therapist emailed a few minutes later. It didn’t matter though. Crazybrain was already at defcon 4 and inches away from self inflicted pain. So Grace called the therapist for help, but PAG wouldn’t let the therapist help, she just wanted to fight with the therapist….the therapist was not in the mood for a fight (she never is) so she told Grace that if she wanted help she had to listen and stop fighting the therapist! Eventually Grace listened because there are no cuts or bruises today.
Thanks to the therapist’s help and patience, we stayed safe from self-jury, but were still unable to find a sense of safety, it was a constant battle to stay present and not dissociate but it was a losing battle for most of the night. In the moments I was in my body, I felt like there was a bolt of lightning constantly circulating through my body. I could not relax, I could not concentrate, I couldn’t even order coffee at Starbucks! Calling in sick was not an option because it was a day packed with deadlines and yet I could not even find a folder that was right in front of my face. I thought I should make a list of things that I had to get done but I couldn’t even figure out how to get that done! Extremely frustrating to find myself in a position where I cannot concentrate at work. Typically, work is a place I can escape the craziness in my head but it wasn’t working! Nothing felt safe and yet a small rational voice knew there was no logical reason for the fear and anxiety which increased the frustration, leading to more anxiety…and suddenly Grace is on her own personal Crazy~Brain~Carousel, complete with the circus music!
I met with the therapist at 10am this morning but I still couldn’t explain what was happening with the lightning inside my body or the fear inside my head. I couldn’t speak or look at her for the longest time. Eventually she asked me what I wanted to get from the session today and I said I didn’t know. But I did know. I just wanted to feel safe…even if only for a few minutes. I just wanted to feel safe. And the therapist made me feel safe today. Today, even just sitting there, in her office, my body full of electricity and 10 different voices inside my head, the therapist made me feel safe….just because she was there. Just because she’s the therapist....
She listened, she sat with me, she tried to help me stay grounded today...but most importantly, she made me feel safe. She was still there...still trying to listen and understand *all* of Grace...because she is kind and patient. Because she is the therapist.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
How low can you go....anyone for the Limbo?
Many years ago I won a weekend trip to Vegas by doing the Limbo…how low can you go….how low can you go…these past couple of weeks I feel like I’m playing the Limbo again. Just when I think I’ve hit the lowest point I can possibly hit, I get “challenged” to go even lower….and lower I go.
I am on the cutting edge tonight. I feel it. Earlier, DD wanted me to cut something out for an art project she was working on, and as I held the scissors in my hand, I could feel it…the overwhelming urge to cut. I finally told her to go see her father, and have him cut the paper for her. He didn’t, and she came back to me. I cut the paper for her, and the scissors are right here, still beside me. She never put them away. Looking for a sign? This is it.
When this all bubbles up I can no longer just shove it all back down again, not like I used to. It just lingers in the back of my throat, in the pit of my stomach, and threatens me with nausea and the taste of vomit when I least expect it. I want the therpaist to help me but PAG pushes her away and is so mean to her. But I need her help but don't deserve it. I want to scream! I want to just get what I deserve! Just do it already! I want to disappear from it all. I hate it! I want to destroy the parts of myself that make me “her”. I’m so tired of feeling overwhelmed and alone in this. I don’t want to remember. I want it to go away, and yet still, it lingers. It feels like a pair of razor sharp scissors slowly piercing my skin from my elbow right down to my wrist. It leaves me bleeding, an open wound, scars on my soul. I know exactly how it feels, I can imagine it right now, the sensation of the scissors piercing my skin and it thrills me and repulses me at the same time. Why won’t someone take it away? Even just for a day.
I am on the cutting edge tonight. I feel it. Earlier, DD wanted me to cut something out for an art project she was working on, and as I held the scissors in my hand, I could feel it…the overwhelming urge to cut. I finally told her to go see her father, and have him cut the paper for her. He didn’t, and she came back to me. I cut the paper for her, and the scissors are right here, still beside me. She never put them away. Looking for a sign? This is it.
When this all bubbles up I can no longer just shove it all back down again, not like I used to. It just lingers in the back of my throat, in the pit of my stomach, and threatens me with nausea and the taste of vomit when I least expect it. I want the therpaist to help me but PAG pushes her away and is so mean to her. But I need her help but don't deserve it. I want to scream! I want to just get what I deserve! Just do it already! I want to disappear from it all. I hate it! I want to destroy the parts of myself that make me “her”. I’m so tired of feeling overwhelmed and alone in this. I don’t want to remember. I want it to go away, and yet still, it lingers. It feels like a pair of razor sharp scissors slowly piercing my skin from my elbow right down to my wrist. It leaves me bleeding, an open wound, scars on my soul. I know exactly how it feels, I can imagine it right now, the sensation of the scissors piercing my skin and it thrills me and repulses me at the same time. Why won’t someone take it away? Even just for a day.
Why doesn’t it go away? Why can’t I trust? Why can’t I get through this?
I am lost and afraid.
If I reach out, she could hurt us, if I don’t, I could die.
Reached out. Bad Idea. She was mad at me for bothering her.
I could tell.
I don't want to play anymore.
Reached out. Bad Idea. She was mad at me for bothering her.
I could tell.
I don't want to play anymore.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Grace, if it wouldn’t have been the onion – you would have found something else to be mad about, another reason to push her away…
I had lunch with my friend L today. L is my friend who will “tell it like it is” no matter what (not in a rude way, but she isn’t that friend who just agrees with you no matter what you say…I like that about her). It’s been such a long time since L and I have really “talked” ~ so it was really nice to catch up with her. We always go to the same restaurant and we always sit at the same table…silly, I know, but it’s “familiar”. I’ve been in a really bad place for awhile (really, captain obvious, I hadn’t noticed!) so having lunch with L was really something I really needed today.
We talked about everything! Christmas, how much her parents spoiled her during the holidays, her BF…and then the dreaded topic of *therapy* came up. I told L about the fact that I’ve been really f’d up since I shared way too much of myself with the therapist, and then about the onions and the cat thing, and then the fact that she forgot Grace last Friday~ thing…and on and on…and she actively listened to me.
And when I had finished speaking, she said, “Grace, you do realize that if it wouldn’t have been the onions, you would have found another reason to be pissed at the therapist. You felt like you shared too much of yourself, which made you uncomfortable, you got scared, and so you’re now trying to find a reason to pull away, to push her away, to really piss her off so she will tell you to go away….instead of really dealing with the real problems.”
“Yes”, I told L, “But then the therapist said she would be patient again, and I hate that because I want her to tell me to F off because I am so mean and disgusting! And I know she thinks that too – and she just won’t say it. NO ONE is that patient! And I’m not getting any better. I mean, I haven’t SI’d in over 3 months – but I think about it all the time, and I think about SUI all the time...and I have so much time late at night that I don’t remember but I’m not asleep – and I just don’t think I can get better.”
L told me that she does think the therapist knows what’s going on with me, and why I’m *acting out* right now, and that if I haven’t pushed the therapist away with the behavior I exhibited in 2008 and early 2009 then she ain’t going to leave now –and I have to learn to be patient with myself, just like the therapist has said she will be patient with me. L said that she KNOWS I am better now than I was 2 years ago – because she has been there to witness it.
I don’t know…I love L and I treasure her friendship and I trust her… and I know she made some honest and valid points today…but I just feel freakin’ lost! And tired! Ya know? Like I feel like I paddle so fast and hard to get upstream and then I stop for a minute and I’m suddenly back to where I started. I don’t know the answers. But L got me to eat something which is more than I’ve been able to do for myself in nearly 4 days… And she’s right – about the therapist. I know that. And yet still…there’s doubt. And I'm still scared.
We talked about everything! Christmas, how much her parents spoiled her during the holidays, her BF…and then the dreaded topic of *therapy* came up. I told L about the fact that I’ve been really f’d up since I shared way too much of myself with the therapist, and then about the onions and the cat thing, and then the fact that she forgot Grace last Friday~ thing…and on and on…and she actively listened to me.
And when I had finished speaking, she said, “Grace, you do realize that if it wouldn’t have been the onions, you would have found another reason to be pissed at the therapist. You felt like you shared too much of yourself, which made you uncomfortable, you got scared, and so you’re now trying to find a reason to pull away, to push her away, to really piss her off so she will tell you to go away….instead of really dealing with the real problems.”
“Yes”, I told L, “But then the therapist said she would be patient again, and I hate that because I want her to tell me to F off because I am so mean and disgusting! And I know she thinks that too – and she just won’t say it. NO ONE is that patient! And I’m not getting any better. I mean, I haven’t SI’d in over 3 months – but I think about it all the time, and I think about SUI all the time...and I have so much time late at night that I don’t remember but I’m not asleep – and I just don’t think I can get better.”
L told me that she does think the therapist knows what’s going on with me, and why I’m *acting out* right now, and that if I haven’t pushed the therapist away with the behavior I exhibited in 2008 and early 2009 then she ain’t going to leave now –and I have to learn to be patient with myself, just like the therapist has said she will be patient with me. L said that she KNOWS I am better now than I was 2 years ago – because she has been there to witness it.
I don’t know…I love L and I treasure her friendship and I trust her… and I know she made some honest and valid points today…but I just feel freakin’ lost! And tired! Ya know? Like I feel like I paddle so fast and hard to get upstream and then I stop for a minute and I’m suddenly back to where I started. I don’t know the answers. But L got me to eat something which is more than I’ve been able to do for myself in nearly 4 days… And she’s right – about the therapist. I know that. And yet still…there’s doubt. And I'm still scared.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
I'll be patient while you work through your anger, Grace...."...or you could just die already, that'd be fine, too
That’s what the therapist said to me last night, in the Wed night email, that we “agreed” too ~ when she doesn’t forget…. She said, “I am optimistic that you will find a way through this irritation at me. And if not, the part of you that continues to be angry must feel a need to stay protective and guarded...and so I will wait, seek to understand and gently challenge when called for from my perceptions.”
So, since I’ve had a couple glasses of wine, let me just throw it all out there, before I go puke (having some serious digestive issues as a result of the wine, no food intake, no sleep – and some overwhelming rage/anxiety/depression). Here it is…coming around again…her seemingly endless “patience” at my acting out behavior (I will use that because I know that’s what she thinks it is). Gawd, Grace is acting out again! But like the parent of a 2 year old in the midst of a temper tantrum…I will just wait it out, until she calms down and I can reason with her. When really, I would prefer her to just scream right back at me, tell me I’m a GD baby and that she HATES dealing with me and wishes I had never crossed the threshold of her onion smelling office, and that I would never return again! That’s what I would prefer…and I think it would make me less angry – if she would just say it! I’m not 3 years old! I’m a 38 year old bitch! Sometimes the tears of frustration fall and I want to call her up and tell her that I hate her! Because I know she isn’t really that “patient” ~ no one is! And I know she must truly hate me. I'm sure of it!
And then when things start to calm down, there is that part of me who is attached to her, and when that part of me starts to feel cared for, safe, and trusting again, then another part of me goes on high-alert and starts looking for some reason why the therapist cannot be trusted. And the most recent reasons: she leaves her cats alone for days, she forgot to email me on Friday when she know how hard Fridays are for me, and she ate onions right before my appointment, in her office, stinking up the whole joint – and not taking me into consideration when she knows my history about onions (because the trusting part told her...told her way too much!).
When I get angry and pull away from the therapist, the 5 year old screams even more ~ and rather than try anything to comfort her, I wish she would just DIE already! She is so GD annoying! The week after Christmas when the therapist changed my appointment time by 15 minutes, the 5 year old freaked out like there was some big announcement going to be made and the therapist needed the 15 minutes between appointments because she knew the 5 year old was going to be a complete mess....something the 5 year old can't handle because life is so "unpredictible" and all. That's why I hate that stupid whiny baby! I want her to shut up and if she can't - then I want her to die!
So now what…now comes the part where she throws out the whole, “I’ll be patient while you work through your hurt and anger at me, Grace.” And what she doesn’t realize, is a really big part of me believes that she either cannot see how close I am to just ending it all, or she doesn’t care. My stubbornness is as endless as her patience…I wonder who will win because I am ready to die for my cause!
And why should we“trust”the therapist? Every time we do, she does something that hurts and makes me pull away –and then PAG goes on a BL rampage trying to hurt both of us because she obviously doesn’t care or she wouldn’t have (enter: forgot to email ,eaten onions etc). So, in an effort to make me think she’s all non-judgmental of my out of control behavior directed toward her (inappropriately, I’m sure) she will be “patient”. And that’s because no one was ever “patient” or “listened” too little Grace…so the therapist thinks she can change this? Really, it just makes me think she is just biding her time, avoiding me, until I get my behavior in check and act like an adult…so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And I just hope that I can go long enough without eating or drinking anything that my heart will just stop. Yes, it really does hurt that much now! I was in the bathtub earlier today and I curled my arms around my legs, like a pretzel, and put my face in the surface of the water…and I wondered how hard and painful it would be to just leave my head there, under the water…until my heart really did stop.
I wish it would have. But it didn’t. But she can continue to be *patient* until I’m dead. And even though her patience seems “endless” ~ I hope it doesn’t take that long because I'm really effin' tired….and I don't want to hurt anymore ~ I don't want to feel anything anymore. I want to go away. I want the therapist to go away. I just want it all to stop.
So, since I’ve had a couple glasses of wine, let me just throw it all out there, before I go puke (having some serious digestive issues as a result of the wine, no food intake, no sleep – and some overwhelming rage/anxiety/depression). Here it is…coming around again…her seemingly endless “patience” at my acting out behavior (I will use that because I know that’s what she thinks it is). Gawd, Grace is acting out again! But like the parent of a 2 year old in the midst of a temper tantrum…I will just wait it out, until she calms down and I can reason with her. When really, I would prefer her to just scream right back at me, tell me I’m a GD baby and that she HATES dealing with me and wishes I had never crossed the threshold of her onion smelling office, and that I would never return again! That’s what I would prefer…and I think it would make me less angry – if she would just say it! I’m not 3 years old! I’m a 38 year old bitch! Sometimes the tears of frustration fall and I want to call her up and tell her that I hate her! Because I know she isn’t really that “patient” ~ no one is! And I know she must truly hate me. I'm sure of it!
And then when things start to calm down, there is that part of me who is attached to her, and when that part of me starts to feel cared for, safe, and trusting again, then another part of me goes on high-alert and starts looking for some reason why the therapist cannot be trusted. And the most recent reasons: she leaves her cats alone for days, she forgot to email me on Friday when she know how hard Fridays are for me, and she ate onions right before my appointment, in her office, stinking up the whole joint – and not taking me into consideration when she knows my history about onions (because the trusting part told her...told her way too much!).
When I get angry and pull away from the therapist, the 5 year old screams even more ~ and rather than try anything to comfort her, I wish she would just DIE already! She is so GD annoying! The week after Christmas when the therapist changed my appointment time by 15 minutes, the 5 year old freaked out like there was some big announcement going to be made and the therapist needed the 15 minutes between appointments because she knew the 5 year old was going to be a complete mess....something the 5 year old can't handle because life is so "unpredictible" and all. That's why I hate that stupid whiny baby! I want her to shut up and if she can't - then I want her to die!
So now what…now comes the part where she throws out the whole, “I’ll be patient while you work through your hurt and anger at me, Grace.” And what she doesn’t realize, is a really big part of me believes that she either cannot see how close I am to just ending it all, or she doesn’t care. My stubbornness is as endless as her patience…I wonder who will win because I am ready to die for my cause!
And why should we“trust”the therapist? Every time we do, she does something that hurts and makes me pull away –and then PAG goes on a BL rampage trying to hurt both of us because she obviously doesn’t care or she wouldn’t have (enter: forgot to email ,eaten onions etc). So, in an effort to make me think she’s all non-judgmental of my out of control behavior directed toward her (inappropriately, I’m sure) she will be “patient”. And that’s because no one was ever “patient” or “listened” too little Grace…so the therapist thinks she can change this? Really, it just makes me think she is just biding her time, avoiding me, until I get my behavior in check and act like an adult…so she doesn’t have to deal with me. And I just hope that I can go long enough without eating or drinking anything that my heart will just stop. Yes, it really does hurt that much now! I was in the bathtub earlier today and I curled my arms around my legs, like a pretzel, and put my face in the surface of the water…and I wondered how hard and painful it would be to just leave my head there, under the water…until my heart really did stop.
I wish it would have. But it didn’t. But she can continue to be *patient* until I’m dead. And even though her patience seems “endless” ~ I hope it doesn’t take that long because I'm really effin' tired….and I don't want to hurt anymore ~ I don't want to feel anything anymore. I want to go away. I want the therapist to go away. I just want it all to stop.
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