I’ve been fighting. Fighting, struggling, lashing out at the faceless, formless thing that chases me ever since I can remember. I’m so very angry now, tonight, all day, for two weeks – technically a lifetime…whatever. Angry and tired, I sit with my hands on my knees and my head bent, rocking…weak but wishing to be strong; held captive but wishing to be free; alone and afraid, wishing for comfort and courage.
I am sad as hell and I have no one in real life to talk to because no one cares or understands and whatever I know that it’s my “fault” that I don’t have the support system in place when I am in dire need of it…which would be now. I know that I suck. Got. It. I am a bit on the ‘not-lucid’ side tonight and a tad drunky so the shield that blocks the unbecoming *Grace you made me blush and gasp* at the same time…that shield…well, it seems to have disappeared with the last shot of vodka so I guess I don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of me or my lack of ladylike skills in prose or behavior. Come on, ya’ll, I grew up in a trailor park! Fuck was probably my first word!
Oh – I feel like I should put a disclaimer here…one that states WARNING: this post will contain a LOT of swearing and probably not make a lot of sense cuz the logical Grace left a while ago and will likely not be back till daybreak so you're stuck with me, the un-polished part.
There is a part inside who has been researching how to die…quickly and painlessly. Last Friday it was an overdose of medication (I won’t say what med it was because it is now in the past and I don’t need some well intended person yelling at me OH MY GOD THAT COULD KILL YOU in all caps - sometimes we are still in quite a fragile state. I write this because I feel like those of you who have been a part of this journey with me should know what’s going on. This is what’s going on: I do not feel better. I do not have a good support in place here. Shame. On. Us. We have not done a good job at getting this done. I have continued to pretend like everything is fine when there everything is so very *un-fine*. *not-fine*…so very opposite of fine.
I can’t cope with the frustration and invalidation tonight. I can’t cope with the screaming. I am not coping at all. I’ve tried. I can’t. I am struggling right now, tonight, to make it minute to minute. I’m not sure what I’m doing. I feel like I am fighting a losing battle and I have no coach. And I do not feel better.
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
*IT* has been named
So the therapist has named her back-up who will cover for her during her vacation. And *Grace wipes sweat from her brow* I can rest easy because I KNOW *IT*! I am bathed in relief! Because now I KNOW there ain’t no way I’m gonna get through the two weeks…well, that was before I came up with my own “back-up”….I shall elaborate.
THE BACK UP (fat ass Marsha ‘wannabe’ posing as a “therapist) When the therapist pulled the execution boundary card and insisted that I attend DBT classes, she “strongly” suggested I take these classes with this social worker/pseudo-therapist she works with at the hospital so the two of them could meet on a regular basis and discuss how they would like to torture me next. I did NOT take the classes w/therapist’s *friend* MWB (Marsha Wanna Be) and let tell you why.
But first, some background music… Hit it Barb! (memories, by Barbara Streisand)
In January 2008, I met with this DBTC for an “evaluation” (yes, an interview process to get into the “this is your last chance to shut up and behave class…what would happen if you don’t get in and it’s “your last hope”?) This chick is truly a Marsha pod person, only without the awesome brooch and barrette…but they obviously eat at the same buffet together since they’re both “mindfully” obese. Which, hey, whatever…my opinion on that is “Eat to please yourself, dress to please others.” In other words, eat all you can eat, in fact, pull up a chair and stick your face under the ice cream dispenser…but please don’t wear a mini-skirt when I have to look at your fat ass….cuz that’s just nasty! In fact, I’m still traumatized by seeing this woman’s pudgy thighs and crotch because she likes to wear mini-skirts and she doesn’t know how to keep her legs closed (hey- no judging on that one, cuz… ) And apparently she did not take Laura Linney’s advice – because Laura says, “You can’t be fat and mean. You can either be fat and jolly or a skinny bitch -it’s up to you.” Cuz this woman is a fat bitch!
So this MWB pod-*IT* drilled me for 20 minutes on my biological father … who is he, were my parents together when I was born, did he have “mental illness”…and on, and on, and on…and this was AFTER I completed her “questionnaire” and stated that I did not KNOW my bio-father, I had NEVER met him. In fact, I’m not really certain that my bio father is who the host body says he is…ain’t no *father’s* name on my birth certificate and she was a whore. WTF! For real! Then she told me that by hiding my SI from the hus that I was a liar and obviously didn’t care about my marriage. Awesome! Anything else? Yes, there was more….but I’ve blocked it out with the vision of her cellulite smothering me. Oh, except for the fact that she told me it was once job-ordered that she attend anger management classes. Which, thank you for your honesty…I’m assuming that was “pre-dbt”. She also told me that her DBT classes consisted of only “professionals”…and when I left her office, there was a woman with minimal teeth in the lobby, so I’m not sure what type of “professionals” MWB was referring too.
Shit…I hope MWB doesn’t *google* DBT-MINDFUCK* and find my blog post…she might be “offended”. Oh well…if she does, and she is “offended” then I guess she knows how I felt when she DRILLED ME FOR 20 MINUTES ABOUT MY BIOLOGICAL FATHER WHO I’VE NEVER MET AND CLEARLY DID NOT WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME – AS HE DID COME AROUND (EVENTUALLY) TO MEET MY OLDER BROTHER). OH – but I am INTIMATELY accquainted with my stepfather who fucked me repeatedly for YEARS – should you like to talk about THAT! The fuck! Of course she’d have no idea I was speaking of her anyway…unless she should happen to read the whole post, remembers the *short skirt/flashing the blonde chick* incident and her initials are CLF. (Quid Pro Quo ~ CLF)
So this is the news that the therapist drops on me yesterday…and hello, I’d rather die than call that fat bitch! Which is exactly what I told the therapist And the therapist told me I was “judging” MWB and I told her the MWB judged me…so whatever! The therapist went on to tell me that maybe MWB was “testing” me. Testing me? Um…The F, therapist! What did that mean? “Testing me?” Really? Did she want to F**K me too – like he did?
I told the therapist “no-can-do” on the back-up. In fact, I was talking to my admin about this and she said thinks the therapist does shit like this on purpose to piss me off. Maybe so…but as I’ve already stated, there is no way in hell I’m calling that marshawannabecunny, nor will I be taking her business card “to make therapist feel better”. NFW! And I said as much to the therapist. So she would like to know my back-up plan. And yes, I do have one. I have purchased a trak-phone at Wal-Mart which I will mail to the host body and I can call her in distress…cuz that would be about as invalidating and unhelpful as calling the back-up MWB. Although, maybe MWB would be nice to me if I mailed her a chocolate fountain.
F**K – ya’ll…I seriously wanted this to be a humorous post…like one of those, “who is the last person you would want to talk to” kind of things…like, I can’t make this shit up…kinda posts. But it isn’t funny. Really, there’s nothing funny about it. Therapist thinks so little of my “well-being” that she assigns that bitch to be the back-up KNOWING goddamn well how I feel about contacting her? Oh-well…”it is what it is,..” and I’m not angry at the therapist. I’m angry at that stupid kid who will not be able to get through the 2 weeks w/o the therapist’s support. That’s who I’m angry with…but I’ll “deal with her”. In fact, that just makes things easier for me. Frankly, I don’t need a back up – and therapist knows goddamn well that I would never call some woman who suckles so often at the nun’s teet.
And when I die, please write cause of death as: SUFFOCATION FROM DBT CELLULITE AND LACK OF REAL CARING BY THE MHP COMMUNITY. Oh, well, fuck her…she wasn’t worth it anyway…she was born trash and she shall die trash. And therapist won’t know anyway because she’ll probably get eaten by a bear on vacation.
Yes, therapist, clearly, I am just that “SHALLOW”…but why would I think that my *leaving* would have a lasting affect on someone who obviously cares so little about me she assigns me a back-up therapist that I would rather chew my arm off of caught in a bear trap than call? Yeah, she’s real concerned….whatever. That’s like leaving your kid at a daycare run by Susan Smith! *Well sorry it was the best I could do…but pls know that in the unforseen event of your *accidental drowning* …I did care.* But I’m *shallow*.
I think I’m done here. No one gives a shit about my bullshit life (obviously) and I’ll be gone soon anyway…and I doubt anyone will even notice.
LINK TO READ: *IT* has been named
THE BACK UP (fat ass Marsha ‘wannabe’ posing as a “therapist) When the therapist pulled the execution boundary card and insisted that I attend DBT classes, she “strongly” suggested I take these classes with this social worker/pseudo-therapist she works with at the hospital so the two of them could meet on a regular basis and discuss how they would like to torture me next. I did NOT take the classes w/therapist’s *friend* MWB (Marsha Wanna Be) and let tell you why.
But first, some background music… Hit it Barb! (memories, by Barbara Streisand)
In January 2008, I met with this DBTC for an “evaluation” (yes, an interview process to get into the “this is your last chance to shut up and behave class…what would happen if you don’t get in and it’s “your last hope”?) This chick is truly a Marsha pod person, only without the awesome brooch and barrette…but they obviously eat at the same buffet together since they’re both “mindfully” obese. Which, hey, whatever…my opinion on that is “Eat to please yourself, dress to please others.” In other words, eat all you can eat, in fact, pull up a chair and stick your face under the ice cream dispenser…but please don’t wear a mini-skirt when I have to look at your fat ass….cuz that’s just nasty! In fact, I’m still traumatized by seeing this woman’s pudgy thighs and crotch because she likes to wear mini-skirts and she doesn’t know how to keep her legs closed (hey- no judging on that one, cuz… ) And apparently she did not take Laura Linney’s advice – because Laura says, “You can’t be fat and mean. You can either be fat and jolly or a skinny bitch -it’s up to you.” Cuz this woman is a fat bitch!
So this MWB pod-*IT* drilled me for 20 minutes on my biological father … who is he, were my parents together when I was born, did he have “mental illness”…and on, and on, and on…and this was AFTER I completed her “questionnaire” and stated that I did not KNOW my bio-father, I had NEVER met him. In fact, I’m not really certain that my bio father is who the host body says he is…ain’t no *father’s* name on my birth certificate and she was a whore. WTF! For real! Then she told me that by hiding my SI from the hus that I was a liar and obviously didn’t care about my marriage. Awesome! Anything else? Yes, there was more….but I’ve blocked it out with the vision of her cellulite smothering me. Oh, except for the fact that she told me it was once job-ordered that she attend anger management classes. Which, thank you for your honesty…I’m assuming that was “pre-dbt”. She also told me that her DBT classes consisted of only “professionals”…and when I left her office, there was a woman with minimal teeth in the lobby, so I’m not sure what type of “professionals” MWB was referring too.
Shit…I hope MWB doesn’t *google* DBT-MINDFUCK* and find my blog post…she might be “offended”. Oh well…if she does, and she is “offended” then I guess she knows how I felt when she DRILLED ME FOR 20 MINUTES ABOUT MY BIOLOGICAL FATHER WHO I’VE NEVER MET AND CLEARLY DID NOT WANT ANYTHING TO DO WITH ME – AS HE DID COME AROUND (EVENTUALLY) TO MEET MY OLDER BROTHER). OH – but I am INTIMATELY accquainted with my stepfather who fucked me repeatedly for YEARS – should you like to talk about THAT! The fuck! Of course she’d have no idea I was speaking of her anyway…unless she should happen to read the whole post, remembers the *short skirt/flashing the blonde chick* incident and her initials are CLF. (Quid Pro Quo ~ CLF)
So this is the news that the therapist drops on me yesterday…and hello, I’d rather die than call that fat bitch! Which is exactly what I told the therapist And the therapist told me I was “judging” MWB and I told her the MWB judged me…so whatever! The therapist went on to tell me that maybe MWB was “testing” me. Testing me? Um…The F, therapist! What did that mean? “Testing me?” Really? Did she want to F**K me too – like he did?
I told the therapist “no-can-do” on the back-up. In fact, I was talking to my admin about this and she said thinks the therapist does shit like this on purpose to piss me off. Maybe so…but as I’ve already stated, there is no way in hell I’m calling that marshawannabecunny, nor will I be taking her business card “to make therapist feel better”. NFW! And I said as much to the therapist. So she would like to know my back-up plan. And yes, I do have one. I have purchased a trak-phone at Wal-Mart which I will mail to the host body and I can call her in distress…cuz that would be about as invalidating and unhelpful as calling the back-up MWB. Although, maybe MWB would be nice to me if I mailed her a chocolate fountain.
F**K – ya’ll…I seriously wanted this to be a humorous post…like one of those, “who is the last person you would want to talk to” kind of things…like, I can’t make this shit up…kinda posts. But it isn’t funny. Really, there’s nothing funny about it. Therapist thinks so little of my “well-being” that she assigns that bitch to be the back-up KNOWING goddamn well how I feel about contacting her? Oh-well…”it is what it is,..” and I’m not angry at the therapist. I’m angry at that stupid kid who will not be able to get through the 2 weeks w/o the therapist’s support. That’s who I’m angry with…but I’ll “deal with her”. In fact, that just makes things easier for me. Frankly, I don’t need a back up – and therapist knows goddamn well that I would never call some woman who suckles so often at the nun’s teet.
And when I die, please write cause of death as: SUFFOCATION FROM DBT CELLULITE AND LACK OF REAL CARING BY THE MHP COMMUNITY. Oh, well, fuck her…she wasn’t worth it anyway…she was born trash and she shall die trash. And therapist won’t know anyway because she’ll probably get eaten by a bear on vacation.
Yes, therapist, clearly, I am just that “SHALLOW”…but why would I think that my *leaving* would have a lasting affect on someone who obviously cares so little about me she assigns me a back-up therapist that I would rather chew my arm off of caught in a bear trap than call? Yeah, she’s real concerned….whatever. That’s like leaving your kid at a daycare run by Susan Smith! *Well sorry it was the best I could do…but pls know that in the unforseen event of your *accidental drowning* …I did care.* But I’m *shallow*.
I think I’m done here. No one gives a shit about my bullshit life (obviously) and I’ll be gone soon anyway…and I doubt anyone will even notice.
LINK TO READ: *IT* has been named
No safety Net
I am not sure who or where I am. It appears as though my gravitational pull toward si/sui is not something I am able to resist. The child’s safety net is gone and no one else can cope with that. I need an escape route because the urge to self-destruct is intensely powerful and everything is pointless and I am worthless and this is just way too hard. Once again shit is happening when I’m not here and I’m not around to stop it…left only to try to piece it all together when I return.
LINK TO READ: NO SAFETY NET
LINK TO READ: NO SAFETY NET
Boo-fing-hoo
This post is set to self destruct in T-10Ds…as am I. I should also warn you that it this is a very insane crazybrain ranting that you should ignore altogether. I, on the other hand, cannot ignore it, since it is happening INSIDE OF ME! Oh how I wish it were not so…. I have been sitting here for 30 minutes methodically cutting vicodin and seroquel in half and listening to this fucking new-age relaxation music and I cannot relax. Go figure!
LINK TO READ: Boo-fing-hoo
LINK TO READ: Boo-fing-hoo
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Grace has a plan
As I said yesterday I’ve been in a bit of a quandary about the therapist’s upcoming vacation. I did talk to her about how I took her phrase of, “Well maybe we shouldn’t talk until after I get back.” I told her it hurt my feelings and I didn’t really understand how that would be helpful after I had just told her that I am really not doing well right now, and I feel like I have very minimal support outside of her. I get that I need to have a support system in place, and that I can’t “rely” on the therapist for that support. But the problem is, most of my “support system” is in exactly the same position I am in and the support we’ll probably be able to provide is something to the effect of, “Yeah, I’m in the same boat. She knew I had no support when she left. Screw it! I can’t live like this anymore. You send me 20 percocet and I’ll send you 20 seroquel and we’ll skype and take them together watch the Vrigin Suicides and leave *quietly*.” Anyway, so I told her how I felt about what she said and she told me that she did say it, but that she said it out of a place of frustration because she feels helpless. And she was talking about phone support. And she said we should talk about developing a plan together for her absence.
I got to thinking about her feeling frustrated and helpless and then that trauma therapist’s voice starts chiming in, reminding me that I can’t tell the therapist I feel suicidal or depend on her to help me, because that’s considered *holding her hostage* and that’s not fair.” And then those other voices, you know the ones, the ones that tell me I am a manipulative bitch who should just straighten up or I’ll get something to really cry about . His voice, “You are worthless anyway. No one cares about you – you are bad and evil and you are worth nothing. Just a whore. That’s all you are. No one will ever love you.” and others….
And then I did some research on the internet, the whole, “How to get through the T vacation” (especially important when they take 4 or 5 a year!!!!! ) and I read an excerpt about a therapist who had a suicidal client when he was leaving for vacation and so he asked her to give him 30 minutes of lead time before jumping from a bridge so he could call the fire department and they could put out a net to catch her. When she seemed puzzled, he went on to say, “If you threaten me with something so outrageous as suicide and show such little ability to handle a MINOR stress like a 2 week absence…” And I realized that is exactly what our feelings mean to them. We make a big deal out of something so “MINOR” and we are just being ridiculous. So Grace, shut up and behave! Grow up, you are such a stupid whiny worthless piece of trash….bad…unlovable.
I felt much better about my decision to shut it all down after reading that we are all just *drama* making a big deal out of a *minor* situation. And obviously, that’s what I was doing by being HONEST about how I FEEL emotionally right now…and my honesty lead the therapist to feel frustrated and helpless. That’s not fair to her because she should be able to go and enjoy her FORTH WEEK OFF this year – and so I’m done talking about it.
She was really nice …offering to “come up with a plan” but what would be the point. What’s going to happen is going to happen and I can’t be all drama anymore over something so trivial…like hang-nail kinda pain. None of which is her problem. So get over it drama freak – you’re ruining the therapist’s vacation! Grown up Grace has a whole bucket full of shit that will shut the kid up…no worries! She won’t be able to whine and cry over such a trivial thing like the therapist’s 2 week vacation. (I hate that crying dependent shit that brat pulls anyway! I’m happy to take charge!)
Grace is going on vacation too! I know I’ll be fucked up and unable to concentrate or do anything really, so I’m going to take the time off of work, and just hole up here at the homestead – alone. That way I’m not *bothering* anyone else with my *minor* attachment disorder and childish *fears of abandonment*. It’ll be awesome! I’ll stock up on all of the things I will need so I don’t have to shower, get dressed, or leave the house.
Grace has a *plan*. Yay me.
LINK to Grace new Website: Grace has a plan
I got to thinking about her feeling frustrated and helpless and then that trauma therapist’s voice starts chiming in, reminding me that I can’t tell the therapist I feel suicidal or depend on her to help me, because that’s considered *holding her hostage* and that’s not fair.” And then those other voices, you know the ones, the ones that tell me I am a manipulative bitch who should just straighten up or I’ll get something to really cry about . His voice, “You are worthless anyway. No one cares about you – you are bad and evil and you are worth nothing. Just a whore. That’s all you are. No one will ever love you.” and others….
And then I did some research on the internet, the whole, “How to get through the T vacation” (especially important when they take 4 or 5 a year!!!!! ) and I read an excerpt about a therapist who had a suicidal client when he was leaving for vacation and so he asked her to give him 30 minutes of lead time before jumping from a bridge so he could call the fire department and they could put out a net to catch her. When she seemed puzzled, he went on to say, “If you threaten me with something so outrageous as suicide and show such little ability to handle a MINOR stress like a 2 week absence…” And I realized that is exactly what our feelings mean to them. We make a big deal out of something so “MINOR” and we are just being ridiculous. So Grace, shut up and behave! Grow up, you are such a stupid whiny worthless piece of trash….bad…unlovable.
I felt much better about my decision to shut it all down after reading that we are all just *drama* making a big deal out of a *minor* situation. And obviously, that’s what I was doing by being HONEST about how I FEEL emotionally right now…and my honesty lead the therapist to feel frustrated and helpless. That’s not fair to her because she should be able to go and enjoy her FORTH WEEK OFF this year – and so I’m done talking about it.
She was really nice …offering to “come up with a plan” but what would be the point. What’s going to happen is going to happen and I can’t be all drama anymore over something so trivial…like hang-nail kinda pain. None of which is her problem. So get over it drama freak – you’re ruining the therapist’s vacation! Grown up Grace has a whole bucket full of shit that will shut the kid up…no worries! She won’t be able to whine and cry over such a trivial thing like the therapist’s 2 week vacation. (I hate that crying dependent shit that brat pulls anyway! I’m happy to take charge!)
Grace is going on vacation too! I know I’ll be fucked up and unable to concentrate or do anything really, so I’m going to take the time off of work, and just hole up here at the homestead – alone. That way I’m not *bothering* anyone else with my *minor* attachment disorder and childish *fears of abandonment*. It’ll be awesome! I’ll stock up on all of the things I will need so I don’t have to shower, get dressed, or leave the house.
Grace has a *plan*. Yay me.
LINK to Grace new Website: Grace has a plan
Hi, it's me, Grace
And Just Me. No clichés…No humor…No pretending… Just Grace without the famous mask talking to you….and you know who you are, if you’re still *here*, and if you read this (however, if you read this and you even think it’s you, but it isn’t then it probably applies to you – so yeah, then I’m talking to *you* too)
Last night I cried for you…I cried for you and I cried for me…I cried for all of us. I cried for all of the hardship & pain you have had to endure in this life, and I cried at the unfairness of it all. I cried for all the kids and adults where were damaged beyond repair by the people who were supposed to love them the most.
I cried because you trusted me enough to reach out to me and I cried because I wasn’t sure what to do to help. It broke my heart to hear you say that no one loves you and to know that you really believe you are bad and unlovable. I know you’re scared and I know you hurt and I know that you think there is only one way out of the all-consuming pain. I know that the one person who has stood by you and believed in you is not there now and the fear is overwhelming now. I believe you when you say you can’t do it anymore. I know you feel that way. I know because I feel that way too.
I know about all of those things. What I don’t know is how to help you get through it. How to make it *okay* for you. For any of us.
I care about you. I love you. But I know that my voice is not nearly as loud as the critic inside of you. The one who has convinced you that you don’t matter and that you are bad and unlovable the world would be better off without you. I don’t know how to fight that voice either.
If I were with you right now I would sit with you and I would bandage your cuts for you. I would tell you in person that I care. I think of you and I cry for you and I wonder how you are doing. In fact, I’m wondering how you are doing right now. I don’t know if you are dead or alive. I don’t know if you made it through the night. I hope you did but I don’t know. That’s selfish of me to say – because I understand not wanting to, and the mere pain of actually “waking up” day after day.
I’m sorry if my suggestions last night seemed to you like putting a Barbie band-aid on a point blank shotgun wound to the chest. I’m sure it must have felt like that. Sometimes I wish I had a tourniquet instead. But I don’t. But at least I didn’t offer you any kool-aid, or tell you to hold an ice cube, or peel an orange , right? (cuz we know that shit don’t work for sure!)
I don’t know the way out of this, my friend. If I did, I would scream it from the rooftops. But I hope you know that even though I am absolutely 200% insane & totally unhelpful, I do care about you. And I thank you for inviting me into your life…and for leaving your footprint on mine.
LINK to Grace new Website: Hi, it's me, Grace
Last night I cried for you…I cried for you and I cried for me…I cried for all of us. I cried for all of the hardship & pain you have had to endure in this life, and I cried at the unfairness of it all. I cried for all the kids and adults where were damaged beyond repair by the people who were supposed to love them the most.
I cried because you trusted me enough to reach out to me and I cried because I wasn’t sure what to do to help. It broke my heart to hear you say that no one loves you and to know that you really believe you are bad and unlovable. I know you’re scared and I know you hurt and I know that you think there is only one way out of the all-consuming pain. I know that the one person who has stood by you and believed in you is not there now and the fear is overwhelming now. I believe you when you say you can’t do it anymore. I know you feel that way. I know because I feel that way too.
I know about all of those things. What I don’t know is how to help you get through it. How to make it *okay* for you. For any of us.
I care about you. I love you. But I know that my voice is not nearly as loud as the critic inside of you. The one who has convinced you that you don’t matter and that you are bad and unlovable the world would be better off without you. I don’t know how to fight that voice either.
If I were with you right now I would sit with you and I would bandage your cuts for you. I would tell you in person that I care. I think of you and I cry for you and I wonder how you are doing. In fact, I’m wondering how you are doing right now. I don’t know if you are dead or alive. I don’t know if you made it through the night. I hope you did but I don’t know. That’s selfish of me to say – because I understand not wanting to, and the mere pain of actually “waking up” day after day.
I’m sorry if my suggestions last night seemed to you like putting a Barbie band-aid on a point blank shotgun wound to the chest. I’m sure it must have felt like that. Sometimes I wish I had a tourniquet instead. But I don’t. But at least I didn’t offer you any kool-aid, or tell you to hold an ice cube, or peel an orange , right? (cuz we know that shit don’t work for sure!)
I don’t know the way out of this, my friend. If I did, I would scream it from the rooftops. But I hope you know that even though I am absolutely 200% insane & totally unhelpful, I do care about you. And I thank you for inviting me into your life…and for leaving your footprint on mine.
LINK to Grace new Website: Hi, it's me, Grace
“No,” I said, “I’m not ok.”
Yesterday in session when I told the therapist that I was nervous about her vacation because I depend on her for support right now, she’s a big life-line for me – and she said, “Well, maybe we shouldn’t talk until after my vacation.” And it really hurt my feelings because of course the neon sign starts flashing “ABANDONMENT”. And I was all, “WTH, that’s the answer? To not talk from now to then so I can get used to your being gone before you’re gone??” But maybe she’s right. Maybe this is one of those, “Grace, I’m doing this for your own good, things.” And maybe it’s best for her too, if we don’t talk, if she doesn’t know how I “feel”. Yes, the more that I think about it…the more I think it’s best. She doesn’t need to know how I *feel*. I can come up with my own *plan*. In fact, I already have one I can just it *dust off*. It doesn’t need to involve her at all. She should just enjoy her vacation and not be frustrated by the whiny DFW baby. I can take care of that kid! No problem!
I am in sort of a capricarious volatile state of mind right now. I know that I have no right to be upset with the therapist about leaving for vacation for 2 weeks. But I am… I’m overwhelmed to the point I am bursting at the seams. Boiling over…. And her answer is to not talk and hand me a business card of someone I’ve never even met, nor do I know her protocol, and when something happens, I can call her? I imagine that conversation might go something like this, “I can’t breathe…I just f’d the hus and it’s Friday and I can’t stop watching this scary movie and I can’t get him off of me. I can’t breathe…” in a 5 year old voice. Wonder what would happen then? Does Subbie T have “TraumaBrain” experience with dissoicative mentalists, dear therapist? Because you of all people should know how “difficult” I can be…
I am so lost right now. I have tried to believe that it won’t always be this way but I feel so depleted and hopeless. I cannot take care of myself right now. I want to be alone but when I’m alone, with no one to distract me, or talk to me, the piercing truth of my reality cuts into my heart and burns through my soul. I am so drained I cannot even think straight. My heart aches….this is the roughest patch I’ve hit and I can’t believe I’m still alive.
The pain I feel is unexplainable. I’m so tired and frustrated and I feel like it’s all just too complex to deal with. Too multifarious for me to understand…and the therapist would say, “It’s not, it’s so common and understandable, and you can do this…just keep on keeping on.” But she’s wrong. Clearly she doesn’t understand…I can assure you…I am dying more every day.
Oh, wait, I’m a “survivor”, right? I forgot. I have tried to collaborate my shattered thinking to form some rational simplicity from my emotional intricacy. I’ve tried to understand. But my mouth forms words my brain is unable to process. What I do understand is that the human mind and body shields a child from the horrible truth so the child can survive. She can survive but not realize how she has been shaped, altered, wounded, until she grows up to become a woman and it gets so bad that she feels like she’s nothing, nobody, worthless. I understand that because I had no idea how much he really shaped who I am today. I feel nameless, fragmented, unlovable because I cannot love myself. Both he and the host body cut me into pieces…so many pieces I don’t know which pieces belong to “me” and which belong to “them”. I cannot sort through them.
See, now I am afraid that the only way I see this working for me is to shut down completely. I really do not know how else to do it, the “feelings” are just too big and overwhelming for me right now and she’s going away for 2 weeks. I barely make it week to week, day to day, really. I do not have a good support system in place right now, and I can do a lot of damage in 2 weeks time. Right now, I have been seeing the therapist twice a week because I am having trouble managing from week to week. So much is happening inside of me and I don’t want to rely on her, I don’t want to “count on” her for support, but I have been lately. And she was very supportive and helpful recently…
I’m struck by how little my life has become. I am afraid and I can’t even tell anyone. Afraid and overhwelmed by what goes on inside my head and my body. So big, so real, so much stronger than what is outside of me. So sharp…I feel it, cutting me, stabbing me, with it’s serrated razor-sharp pieces. It’s painful…
LINK to Grace's new Website: "No," I said, "I'm not ok."
I am in sort of a capricarious volatile state of mind right now. I know that I have no right to be upset with the therapist about leaving for vacation for 2 weeks. But I am… I’m overwhelmed to the point I am bursting at the seams. Boiling over…. And her answer is to not talk and hand me a business card of someone I’ve never even met, nor do I know her protocol, and when something happens, I can call her? I imagine that conversation might go something like this, “I can’t breathe…I just f’d the hus and it’s Friday and I can’t stop watching this scary movie and I can’t get him off of me. I can’t breathe…” in a 5 year old voice. Wonder what would happen then? Does Subbie T have “TraumaBrain” experience with dissoicative mentalists, dear therapist? Because you of all people should know how “difficult” I can be…
I am so lost right now. I have tried to believe that it won’t always be this way but I feel so depleted and hopeless. I cannot take care of myself right now. I want to be alone but when I’m alone, with no one to distract me, or talk to me, the piercing truth of my reality cuts into my heart and burns through my soul. I am so drained I cannot even think straight. My heart aches….this is the roughest patch I’ve hit and I can’t believe I’m still alive.
The pain I feel is unexplainable. I’m so tired and frustrated and I feel like it’s all just too complex to deal with. Too multifarious for me to understand…and the therapist would say, “It’s not, it’s so common and understandable, and you can do this…just keep on keeping on.” But she’s wrong. Clearly she doesn’t understand…I can assure you…I am dying more every day.
Oh, wait, I’m a “survivor”, right? I forgot. I have tried to collaborate my shattered thinking to form some rational simplicity from my emotional intricacy. I’ve tried to understand. But my mouth forms words my brain is unable to process. What I do understand is that the human mind and body shields a child from the horrible truth so the child can survive. She can survive but not realize how she has been shaped, altered, wounded, until she grows up to become a woman and it gets so bad that she feels like she’s nothing, nobody, worthless. I understand that because I had no idea how much he really shaped who I am today. I feel nameless, fragmented, unlovable because I cannot love myself. Both he and the host body cut me into pieces…so many pieces I don’t know which pieces belong to “me” and which belong to “them”. I cannot sort through them.
See, now I am afraid that the only way I see this working for me is to shut down completely. I really do not know how else to do it, the “feelings” are just too big and overwhelming for me right now and she’s going away for 2 weeks. I barely make it week to week, day to day, really. I do not have a good support system in place right now, and I can do a lot of damage in 2 weeks time. Right now, I have been seeing the therapist twice a week because I am having trouble managing from week to week. So much is happening inside of me and I don’t want to rely on her, I don’t want to “count on” her for support, but I have been lately. And she was very supportive and helpful recently…
I’m struck by how little my life has become. I am afraid and I can’t even tell anyone. Afraid and overhwelmed by what goes on inside my head and my body. So big, so real, so much stronger than what is outside of me. So sharp…I feel it, cutting me, stabbing me, with it’s serrated razor-sharp pieces. It’s painful…
LINK to Grace's new Website: "No," I said, "I'm not ok."
Wonderland of despair sprinkled w/lunacy
I am totally going mad- crazy – insane… Not that you wake up one morning and you’ve tumbled into the wonderland of insanity…no! Sadly, it is a slow and painful process. Fortunately no one is around at night to watch the horror show of Grace as it plays out. Since contact with and assistance from a Demonologist seems unlikely, perhaps a stake through the heart would work. She’s joking…that would be a painful way to die. But nonetheless, the internal natives are restless.
I was supposed to do something with a friend today but then I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I finally texted her back this morning and apologized…I’m a terrible friend, I said. I’m terrible at a lot of things right now. I can’t seem to shake this horrible darkness. I can’t. Its applied for permanent residence and I’ve no idea how to evict it. And fuck you if you say “medication” or “mindfullness” is the answer. And the fucking suicidal thoughts and general feelings of doom are compounded by the fact that the therapist is going to be on vacation for two weeks
And this time I’m so depressed I can’t even be angry with her. I can’t say, “Don’t make this about your vacation, therapist…” because well, my reality is that it is about her vacation. It is about the fact that she’s going to be gone for two weeks and it is about the fact that I’ve really *radically accepted* that I’m not going to be able to get through it. Oh, I won’t run away before she leaves. I’ll go through the motions the next two weeks with her, play the therapeutic mind games of planning Grace’s social life so she can stay alive and “connected” while the therapist is out fucking rock climbing for two weeks AGAIN! I can scream and beg and cry and *cling* to her as though I am a child in fear of losing her mother forever (not that I really have any idea what that feels like…) But I suspect it feels something like I’m feeling now, only I’m an adult, not a child, and I’m insane and dissociative. Bad shit can happen. Shit a lot worse than throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the floor.
And she and I can “plan” my life while she’s gone down to the minute… but the fact is that even when I make plans I cannot follow through with them because….listen carefully, I am too fucking depressed to do anything. I just don’t care about anything anymore. I see my *future* stretched out before me and it’s the same pattern as the past…long depressing periods of self hate and destruction followed by 10 minute of happiness and sense of accomplishing something. Really, there’s so little to look forward to- except more of the same. Endless years spent in isolation…cheery, eh?
What it all comes down too, really, is the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness. I wasnt worth anything to anyone or someone would have noticed, someone would have cared, helped me, seen me. But I just didn’t matter. Everything else and everyone else mattered and I didn’t matter. I still feel that way. Hence the overhwelming thoughts of sui. It’s hard to want to live when all you can see are the ways you don’t matter. And yes, I get that the therapist cares during that hour or two spent a week in the confines of the “safe space” she has tried so hard to create for me…but the reality is that I pay her to care. As my friend Harriet M. Welch says, it’s truly a one-way relationship. She wouldn’t give me a second thought were I just another statistic in a clinical handbook. The truth is I need her but she doesn’t need me and I’m tired of needing. The truth is the therapist will wave good-bye and not give a second thought about me and my feelings of worthlessness and wanting to die. And I’m not angry about it….that’s the way it is, the way it’s supposed to be in the big TR.
I don’t matter. Rationally I know that I do matter a little to a couple of people. And they want me around. But that doesn’t change the fact that deep inside of me, I don’t believe it. I know they would be better off without my depressed self in their lives. I’m too tired. It’s too overwhelming to know that I’ll just keep fighting the same fucking battle of trying to unsuccessfully convince myself that I’m worth anything at all for the rest of my pointless fucking life. No thanks….
Besides, I’m tired. I feel old. Mostly, I’m just waiting around to die, anyway. It’s unbearably sad. I see myself from the outside and I think – what a waste. What a beautiful girl. What an empty life she leads. Poor lonely thing, she’ll never know that thrill of living, of actually feeling alive. If only she could have mattered maybe it could have been different. But she didn’t…
LINK to Grace's Website: Wonderland of despair sprinkled w/lunacy
I was supposed to do something with a friend today but then I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I finally texted her back this morning and apologized…I’m a terrible friend, I said. I’m terrible at a lot of things right now. I can’t seem to shake this horrible darkness. I can’t. Its applied for permanent residence and I’ve no idea how to evict it. And fuck you if you say “medication” or “mindfullness” is the answer. And the fucking suicidal thoughts and general feelings of doom are compounded by the fact that the therapist is going to be on vacation for two weeks
And this time I’m so depressed I can’t even be angry with her. I can’t say, “Don’t make this about your vacation, therapist…” because well, my reality is that it is about her vacation. It is about the fact that she’s going to be gone for two weeks and it is about the fact that I’ve really *radically accepted* that I’m not going to be able to get through it. Oh, I won’t run away before she leaves. I’ll go through the motions the next two weeks with her, play the therapeutic mind games of planning Grace’s social life so she can stay alive and “connected” while the therapist is out fucking rock climbing for two weeks AGAIN! I can scream and beg and cry and *cling* to her as though I am a child in fear of losing her mother forever (not that I really have any idea what that feels like…) But I suspect it feels something like I’m feeling now, only I’m an adult, not a child, and I’m insane and dissociative. Bad shit can happen. Shit a lot worse than throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the floor.
And she and I can “plan” my life while she’s gone down to the minute… but the fact is that even when I make plans I cannot follow through with them because….listen carefully, I am too fucking depressed to do anything. I just don’t care about anything anymore. I see my *future* stretched out before me and it’s the same pattern as the past…long depressing periods of self hate and destruction followed by 10 minute of happiness and sense of accomplishing something. Really, there’s so little to look forward to- except more of the same. Endless years spent in isolation…cheery, eh?
What it all comes down too, really, is the overwhelming feelings of worthlessness. I wasnt worth anything to anyone or someone would have noticed, someone would have cared, helped me, seen me. But I just didn’t matter. Everything else and everyone else mattered and I didn’t matter. I still feel that way. Hence the overhwelming thoughts of sui. It’s hard to want to live when all you can see are the ways you don’t matter. And yes, I get that the therapist cares during that hour or two spent a week in the confines of the “safe space” she has tried so hard to create for me…but the reality is that I pay her to care. As my friend Harriet M. Welch says, it’s truly a one-way relationship. She wouldn’t give me a second thought were I just another statistic in a clinical handbook. The truth is I need her but she doesn’t need me and I’m tired of needing. The truth is the therapist will wave good-bye and not give a second thought about me and my feelings of worthlessness and wanting to die. And I’m not angry about it….that’s the way it is, the way it’s supposed to be in the big TR.
I don’t matter. Rationally I know that I do matter a little to a couple of people. And they want me around. But that doesn’t change the fact that deep inside of me, I don’t believe it. I know they would be better off without my depressed self in their lives. I’m too tired. It’s too overwhelming to know that I’ll just keep fighting the same fucking battle of trying to unsuccessfully convince myself that I’m worth anything at all for the rest of my pointless fucking life. No thanks….
Besides, I’m tired. I feel old. Mostly, I’m just waiting around to die, anyway. It’s unbearably sad. I see myself from the outside and I think – what a waste. What a beautiful girl. What an empty life she leads. Poor lonely thing, she’ll never know that thrill of living, of actually feeling alive. If only she could have mattered maybe it could have been different. But she didn’t…
LINK to Grace's Website: Wonderland of despair sprinkled w/lunacy
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
I killed her ~ with a razor blade ~ in the 'secret hiding place'
Tonight, CrazyBrain has metastastized into this huge fatal tumor. Must cut her out of me after numbing with copious amounts of ketel one.
FINISHED!
I don't give a fuck if I am imposed with the death penalty!
It'll be worth it!
In the death of CrazyBrain- how do you plead?
Guilty, your honor - by reason of insanity!
** having major sui thoughts tonight. As I see it- it will pass, or i will follow thru with them- either way is fine with me right now.
DEATH TO CRAZYBRAIN!
I fucking hate her! FINISHED!
I don't give a fuck if I am imposed with the death penalty!
It'll be worth it!
In the death of CrazyBrain- how do you plead?
Guilty, your honor - by reason of insanity!
** having major sui thoughts tonight. As I see it- it will pass, or i will follow thru with them- either way is fine with me right now.
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
Friday, January 22, 2010
I am so tired just trying to 'survive' ~ I don't have the energy to 'live'
When I was a child I just focused on surviving. Now I am sick of working so hard to survive…when do I get to just live? Not ‘relive’ ~ live.
How do you find the balance? How do you let yourself feel and not become overwhelmed? How do you listen to the hurt ones and not blame them, feel too much, and become incapacitated by them?
Both Wednesday and Thursday nights I found myself so overwhelmed with the pain that I was lying on the bathroom floor in a full-fledged panic attack; alternating between shaking uncontrollably and hitting my head on the floor, to pacing the floor considering ways to kill myself. In that moment, anything, including death, is better than living like that night after night. Major crazybrain freak outs both nights!
I feel so far away from myself. Each morning, after a night of dissociative fear and destruction, I try to put myself back together again. But each time I break apart, it gets harder and harder to fit the pieces back together again. Somewhere in the midst of these nightmares I lost my soul. I am not connected to this soulless body ~ it is merely a carrier for my traumatized brain. I feel tangled inside a mind I cannot escape.
Every night so many voices, so much confusion. His face before me, his hands on my body, his breath breathing on my neck. She takes a step back to avoid contact with him. She cries out. He advances toward her. She takes another step back, retreats further into the dark abyss waiting for another to help with the pain. Hopeless. She reaches out faintly while being overtaken by the memories boiling over. Step back! Get back! Step back! Get away! Over and over, night after night. Shame. The unspoken pain and shame. What happens when it truly becomes so overwhelming that it does kill me?
This is not good. Every single night I fight for a reason to live. Every night a coin is tossed ~ one night I'm going to lose the toss. Why does my body continue to scream at me? Why is it so hard? Why is there no end in sight? When will it get better? I am so tired *surviving* ~ I don't have any energy left to *live*!
How do you find the balance? How do you let yourself feel and not become overwhelmed? How do you listen to the hurt ones and not blame them, feel too much, and become incapacitated by them?
Both Wednesday and Thursday nights I found myself so overwhelmed with the pain that I was lying on the bathroom floor in a full-fledged panic attack; alternating between shaking uncontrollably and hitting my head on the floor, to pacing the floor considering ways to kill myself. In that moment, anything, including death, is better than living like that night after night. Major crazybrain freak outs both nights!
I feel so far away from myself. Each morning, after a night of dissociative fear and destruction, I try to put myself back together again. But each time I break apart, it gets harder and harder to fit the pieces back together again. Somewhere in the midst of these nightmares I lost my soul. I am not connected to this soulless body ~ it is merely a carrier for my traumatized brain. I feel tangled inside a mind I cannot escape.
Every night so many voices, so much confusion. His face before me, his hands on my body, his breath breathing on my neck. She takes a step back to avoid contact with him. She cries out. He advances toward her. She takes another step back, retreats further into the dark abyss waiting for another to help with the pain. Hopeless. She reaches out faintly while being overtaken by the memories boiling over. Step back! Get back! Step back! Get away! Over and over, night after night. Shame. The unspoken pain and shame. What happens when it truly becomes so overwhelming that it does kill me?
This is not good. Every single night I fight for a reason to live. Every night a coin is tossed ~ one night I'm going to lose the toss. Why does my body continue to scream at me? Why is it so hard? Why is there no end in sight? When will it get better? I am so tired *surviving* ~ I don't have any energy left to *live*!
Thursday, January 21, 2010
I cannot find a way out tonight
I will take responsibility for all of it. It is not her fault. I blame me and I punish myself for being bad. I was bad. She loved J & G so I must have been the bad child. I’m not coping well. I feel trapped, caged, with nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide, I cannot find a way out. I run away from them, but I can’t escape them.
I am heartless, cruel, a seductress. I am bad. I betrayed them by telling. I shouldn’t have told. I have poisoned them and myself, hurt those who hurt me. I am responsible. I should have continued to deny. I should have continued to let it poison me...but unknown, unseen, it would cause harm to no one else. No one but me. There was no one to protect me then, but I never protected myself.
Why did I speak? It did not change anything. The reality is it still happened. He still hurt me, she still hates me. Nothing will change that. But I will not longer ask for help because the rejection hurts worse than what they did to her. Maybe it is true that I do not deserve help. I should only suffer silently, secretly, alone. I should not have reached out. Reaching out and finding nothing is worse than not reaching out at all.
I reached out for help, “within the parameters that were set forth” by the therapist, and to no avail. Why? Because I am a pathetic, inconsequential, wounded failure. I want to hurt myself. I want to make myself suffer and bleed. I want too. I tried the other route. I hasn’t worked. Now I just want to bleed and hurt. I wanted help. But there is none. I have a really bad feeling about tonight...bad...
I am heartless, cruel, a seductress. I am bad. I betrayed them by telling. I shouldn’t have told. I have poisoned them and myself, hurt those who hurt me. I am responsible. I should have continued to deny. I should have continued to let it poison me...but unknown, unseen, it would cause harm to no one else. No one but me. There was no one to protect me then, but I never protected myself.
Why did I speak? It did not change anything. The reality is it still happened. He still hurt me, she still hates me. Nothing will change that. But I will not longer ask for help because the rejection hurts worse than what they did to her. Maybe it is true that I do not deserve help. I should only suffer silently, secretly, alone. I should not have reached out. Reaching out and finding nothing is worse than not reaching out at all.
I reached out for help, “within the parameters that were set forth” by the therapist, and to no avail. Why? Because I am a pathetic, inconsequential, wounded failure. I want to hurt myself. I want to make myself suffer and bleed. I want too. I tried the other route. I hasn’t worked. Now I just want to bleed and hurt. I wanted help. But there is none. I have a really bad feeling about tonight...bad...
Wednesday, January 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.
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.
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.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Grace, you come with a lotta *baggage* ~ but no safety, trust, or directions!
I carry about 3 different bags with me at all times (see for yourself). I have a lot of baggage…and I have searched through every single bag I carry with me and taken inventory and there’s a lot of stuff. Believe me. And this is just stuff I carry with me in my *present moment*. But what seems to be missing from my baggage are directions and flow charts to explain what to do when I lose my way and things go array.
TRUST: Trust is also missing from my baggage. The Therapist is ‘teaching’ me to ‘trust’. Grace, I’m asking you to trust what I say…Grace, Trust yourself…Grace, Trust the process…Grace, Trust me on this…” But what she forgets, when she says these things to me, is that I don’t know how to trust – my trust was shattered time and time again. The people who were supposed to “care” about me and “love” me broke me, and so I no longer trust. And just when I inch out into a branch of the trusting tree…the therapist forgets to do what she says she’ll do (not a life-altering, unforgivable issue, I know…well, to a *non-crazybrain*) but still something so small and seemingly trivial can send *crazybrain* on the fast track down Borderline Boulevard to an all night party which dead-ends at the SUI Souvenir Shop! And it is not beyond *crazybrain* to send a memento of the previous night’s SI party to the therapist…signed, sealed and delivered.
And this is precisely why I do not share things of a most personal nature and why I lost faith in people’s ability to actually understand and care without judgment or ridicule. No, I do not *trust*. Let me step off of the trauma trust trail for a moment to clarify that I do have the ability to trust, just not as it relates to the trust of my sharing myself with another human being and *trusting* that that person will not judge me, and will be able to accept me, the real me. What would be really handy, is if someone could just replace the “trust” factor with some clearly defined directions specifically drawn out and documented for *crazybrain*. Perhaps a visio flow chart with specific “if this ~then this” instructions. That’s what would be really helpful. It would have been really nice to have a * trauma flowchart* the other night that I could have referred too when I lost all touch reality and was teetering on the edge.
SAFETY: Because *THIS* ~ all of this is just an overwhelming, confusing, internal mess. There is no internal communication…there’s just complete chaos! I have to make lists for everything and even then there is rebuttal and rebellion at the smallest thing. What seems strange to me though, is that I have these urges to SI, strong urges, like visions of it in my mind, but then I don’t do it. I’m not sure if I can even articulate what goes through my head during these times. It’s so unlike what has previously played out when in CB is in charge. Like in the past, if CB had decided to cut, even under protest, she would be on the bathroom floor with a glass of vodka and a razor and in 10 seconds flat, blood would be flowing from a wound somewhere on her body. But the past few weeks have been different. The thoughts, the urges, the desires, are all still there, but the follow through is what seems to be missing. But it’s like a scene in a movie playing over and over again. (I’d make a flow-chart but I don’t know how in blogworld… ) but it’s sort of like this: Something will trigger CB into flashback hell, overwhelmed by mental and physical ickiness, a thought of: cut yourself to make it stop, might flash forward…and then I can picture actually doing it (the SI), but I don't actually do it, and then it starts all over again. A memory from the past, contfusion of where I am - who I am, desire to SI, to make it stop, fear, anger, etc....But not always in the same order. It’s like pieces of a puzzle randomly falling from the sky. Fragmented pieces of me; my past and my present, physical and mental feelings and images…I can’t stop it and I can’t articulate what happens, what day it is, or even what year it is, whether I am an adult or a child. It's like the part who wants to cut is only here for a second, and then the crying scared child takes over, followed by a second of the angry teenager, followed by another memory or icky physical feeling...and then again and again....for hours!
It’s sort of like this post. A big jumbled mess of different things…
I have a lot of baggage (no trust or safety)…no directions ~ and no flow-charts.
Should you happen to have the directions, please feel free to mail them to me at:
Saving Grace
C/O CrazyBrain
Gracefully Going Insane
Somewhere On Borderline Boulevard
TraumaTown, USA
Send priority ~ I’ll pay the extra postage!
Saturday, January 2, 2010
I was dizzy and sick. I was scared and bleeding all over the place and the therapist forgot it was Friday
All day long Friday I wanted to hurt myself, and I would have, but I couldn’t figure out a way to stay aware of myself, or my surroundings, long enough to find a razor. I felt confused, and tired, and frustrated, and discouraged...I felt suicidal...an overwhelming desire for it all to just stop. And yet still holding tightly onto knowing that it was Friday and the therapist emails me on Fridays so if I could just get through all of it, I would at least have her “words”, which are a connection of sorts for me on Friday nights, and typically helpful. She had communicated to me on Tues that she wasn’t working so I knew the 5 year old would have to deal without calling her so hopefully the email would help.
But, even still, adult, rational Grace made only brief appearances throughout the day, making it difficult to be aware of anything that was playing out in the “present moment”. I spent the day in a fog, doing things but not remembering I did them, saying things I did not know I said. Strange thoughts like push-pins, pierced painfully through my skull, using my brain as a pin cushion, reminding me of things I want to forget. There was no safe place. Frankly, there never is, there never has been, there’s no “base” no “comfort zone” ~ that’s truly a therapeutic mind-fuck.
I don’t know how the time was spent between the time CB left the therapist a voicemail asking about her cats and the time the therapist called back and left CB a vm stating it was a strange question, and her cats were fine and someone looks after them when she can’t be there, and that CB sounded upset and could call her if there is something she can help with. But the kitties don’t want someone else to look in on them. They want the therapist because she is their mother, and how does she know they are safe if she isn’t with them. What if they need her? They cannot pick up the phone and call her! Why did she act so nonchalant about it? All of these thoughts are racing through CB’s head. According to the phone record, the therapist called back at 6:58pm.
I did not feel well and I had been spotting off and on since Monday’s appointment, it started right when I got home after therapy, and I had brushed off as just a minor annoyance because sometimes weird physical things happen when I talk about that *stuff*. But by Friday night it felt like I was hemorrhaging - like all the uterine lining from the past year of menstrual activity hadn't actually shed itself in a timely fashion and thought it should perhaps do so in that moment...all in one night! Terrible cramps and the blood made me dizzy...and scared.
And the therapist didn’t email me. I’m dizzy and sick and scared and bleeding all over the place and the therapist forgot it was Friday.
But, even still, adult, rational Grace made only brief appearances throughout the day, making it difficult to be aware of anything that was playing out in the “present moment”. I spent the day in a fog, doing things but not remembering I did them, saying things I did not know I said. Strange thoughts like push-pins, pierced painfully through my skull, using my brain as a pin cushion, reminding me of things I want to forget. There was no safe place. Frankly, there never is, there never has been, there’s no “base” no “comfort zone” ~ that’s truly a therapeutic mind-fuck.
I don’t know how the time was spent between the time CB left the therapist a voicemail asking about her cats and the time the therapist called back and left CB a vm stating it was a strange question, and her cats were fine and someone looks after them when she can’t be there, and that CB sounded upset and could call her if there is something she can help with. But the kitties don’t want someone else to look in on them. They want the therapist because she is their mother, and how does she know they are safe if she isn’t with them. What if they need her? They cannot pick up the phone and call her! Why did she act so nonchalant about it? All of these thoughts are racing through CB’s head. According to the phone record, the therapist called back at 6:58pm.
I did not feel well and I had been spotting off and on since Monday’s appointment, it started right when I got home after therapy, and I had brushed off as just a minor annoyance because sometimes weird physical things happen when I talk about that *stuff*. But by Friday night it felt like I was hemorrhaging - like all the uterine lining from the past year of menstrual activity hadn't actually shed itself in a timely fashion and thought it should perhaps do so in that moment...all in one night! Terrible cramps and the blood made me dizzy...and scared.
And the therapist didn’t email me. I’m dizzy and sick and scared and bleeding all over the place and the therapist forgot it was Friday.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Grace’s safety advisory system been elevated to *RED*
Please be aware of your surroundings at all times and do NOT leave your body unattended....but! I should capitalize that...BUT it is not always a choice. And lately, awareness and attendance to my body have not been a choice. I cannot stay in this body at night. It is uninhabitable. And I tell the therapist there is so much I can’t talk about. So many things that happened that I’m so ashamed of ~ things I cannot believe I did. And I don’t trust myself. I don’t like the huge blackness that surrounds me that continues to threaten me every night.
I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my *present moment*. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate with the therapist about this stuff in 50 minutes a week, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. The therapist tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible. But still she says, be patient, she says she has respect and patience and she will *be here* when I'm ready to talk. But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary. I offered to draw her a picture instead. Her patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and she is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.
It has taken me nearly 4 years to find the ability to say the word sex in front of the therapist ~ and that doesn’t even begin the discussion of the *problems* I have with sex. And for the love of God, if she were to utter the word incest I would fly off into the corner of her office, above the bookshelf with the toys and I would never come back down.
I feel sick. And I feel worried. The food thing is torturing me again…and the puking is back with a vengeance. If I make it through my therapy appointment tomorrow without vomiting on her floor, it will be a festivus miracle! It’s that bad right now. I carry a toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse, and keep them in every bathroom of the house ~ I’ve spent a fortune on toothpaste this past month. I have not cut myself ~ but it’s been a struggle.
And I feel worried. And not just for me. My good friend is also struggling and I don’t know how to help her because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help her but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell her that it’s going to be *okay* ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to *okay* ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far. Right now I don’t have the energy to even get myself out of bed and dressed. And I feel sick, and disgusting, and unlovable
The Grace Security threat level* has now been raised to *RED*. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.
I don’t want to remember. I want to forget it all. All of it. Because at night, when the anguish and pain torment me to the point I consider taking a bottle of vicodin, and slitting my wrists in the bathtub, it scares me. So many things that remind me of back then terrorize me now, in my *present moment*. And I know I need help with it ~ but at the rate I’m able to communicate with the therapist about this stuff in 50 minutes a week, I will surely be dead before the torment stops. The therapist tells me to be patient, be patient…but it just keeps getting worse and one night my patience is going to run out and I will do something irreversible. But still she says, be patient, she says she has respect and patience and she will *be here* when I'm ready to talk. But I'm afraid to speak because the truth is too scary. I offered to draw her a picture instead. Her patience feels infinite and yet I still feel as though I am drowning and she is taking too much time blowing up the life raft.
It has taken me nearly 4 years to find the ability to say the word sex in front of the therapist ~ and that doesn’t even begin the discussion of the *problems* I have with sex. And for the love of God, if she were to utter the word incest I would fly off into the corner of her office, above the bookshelf with the toys and I would never come back down.
I feel sick. And I feel worried. The food thing is torturing me again…and the puking is back with a vengeance. If I make it through my therapy appointment tomorrow without vomiting on her floor, it will be a festivus miracle! It’s that bad right now. I carry a toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse, and keep them in every bathroom of the house ~ I’ve spent a fortune on toothpaste this past month. I have not cut myself ~ but it’s been a struggle.
And I feel worried. And not just for me. My good friend is also struggling and I don’t know how to help her because I feel so lost too right now. I want to help her but I don’t know what to do. Just be right here, I guess. I wish I could tell her that it’s going to be *okay* ~ and I could say that, but I don’t know how long it will be before we make it to *okay* ~ and I don’t know if I have the energy make it that far. Right now I don’t have the energy to even get myself out of bed and dressed. And I feel sick, and disgusting, and unlovable
The Grace Security threat level* has now been raised to *RED*. I am safe right this minute, but I don’t know how long I can stay that way…there is no way to tell.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Gracefully Insane
"Even in your pain, you WILL be okay and you are NOT crazy...in spite what you may think sometimes."
That's what the therapist said to me last May, and again last night. When she tells me I am not insane, it always makes me raise an eyebrow in her direction because clearly, dear therapist, we both know that I am insane. And if ANYONE is aware of that fact, it is her. For the love of God! In the past four years, I've interrupted her life a thousand times, left her insane borderline voicemails threatening to kill myself, sent hateful borderline emails, OD'd and cut myself in the parking lot of her office, cried, yelled, screamed, cussed her out, told her to fuck off, and begged her to help me~ and she can seriously look me in the eye and tell me I'm not crazy?
Um, I don't think so...that aside, though, I am starting to see some of the root of where the craziness has grown from ~ not that that vision has lead me gracefully into the land of the sane. I only wish that were true. Sane people do not find bottles of vicodin and wonder how many she would have to take before respiration ceases. Sane people do not lose all sense of reality and dissociate and do things they don't remember doing ~ and I don't mean not remembering a stop light on the way to work! Sane people do not have to count out anxiety and sleeping medication and hide the rest so a suididal part of her doesn't *accidentally* take them all. I ain't sane!
If I really dig deep, I think that I have always been insane, in a twisted sort of way.Starting in the 6th grade I would let boys do things to me; not because I wanted to do them, but because I thought it would hurt the evil SF if someone else touched me. I don’t know why I thought that ~ I suppose it’s the runaway thought train that rushes through my maladaptive brain even now~ when I abruptly cancel a therapy appointment out of anger, or deliberately shut the therapist out in session. Does it punish the therapist? No, Grace, it’s just you again, punishing you. See, sane people don't think that way~ not even in the 6th grade. This is a reason why you should not fuck kids ~ they go insane and then try to drive their therapists insane. It's a terrible thing, really....
Um, I don't think so...that aside, though, I am starting to see some of the root of where the craziness has grown from ~ not that that vision has lead me gracefully into the land of the sane. I only wish that were true. Sane people do not find bottles of vicodin and wonder how many she would have to take before respiration ceases. Sane people do not lose all sense of reality and dissociate and do things they don't remember doing ~ and I don't mean not remembering a stop light on the way to work! Sane people do not have to count out anxiety and sleeping medication and hide the rest so a suididal part of her doesn't *accidentally* take them all. I ain't sane!
If I really dig deep, I think that I have always been insane, in a twisted sort of way.Starting in the 6th grade I would let boys do things to me; not because I wanted to do them, but because I thought it would hurt the evil SF if someone else touched me. I don’t know why I thought that ~ I suppose it’s the runaway thought train that rushes through my maladaptive brain even now~ when I abruptly cancel a therapy appointment out of anger, or deliberately shut the therapist out in session. Does it punish the therapist? No, Grace, it’s just you again, punishing you. See, sane people don't think that way~ not even in the 6th grade. This is a reason why you should not fuck kids ~ they go insane and then try to drive their therapists insane. It's a terrible thing, really....
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