I can't cope

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.

*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

Hot slice of crazy pie!

Life is not running smoothly at the moment. I feel alone, directionless and desperate. I am worn out, emotionally and physically. Sometimes the burden of “keeping myself safe” is too heavy. It is asking too much of me to “manage” all of follies, the nightmares, the triggers, the shame, the embarrassment, the rage – the internal voices who scream and cry and rage…all with no support. It is too much! And trying to avoid all of that shit is like avoiding breathing, which I wouldn’t mind doing right now. Something has to give. There is only so much one person can deal with day in and day out every single day and night! There is only so much!


I am not equipped to handle an entire Pie of Crazy


LINK TO READ: HOT SLICE OF CRAZY PIE

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

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

Screams of Abandonment

Dreamed about the therapist all night last night, like one of those nights where you dream, wake up, fall back asleep and continue in the same dream. Obviously I know why I dreamed about the therapist…the “abandonment” threat level currently being *red* and all, but there were other people in the dreams, too. Some of them I think I get the significance of their presence, others I’m not so sure.

Dreams with the therapist in them are rare. From what I can remember, this is only the third time she’s appeared in my dreams. The first time was over 3 years ago and I was walking around the block by her office and a man started chasing me…I called the therapist and she didn’t answer her phone. The second dream with the therapist in it was just this past June where she just stood there watching the EST hurt me…and she did nothing.

In last night’s dream, I was young, but the therapist was the same age she is now. She looked the same, sounded the same, she was “therapist”. I was with the therapist and her BF (I call him Rocky…I don’t know him, but I know they like to rock-climb, so I’ve nicknamed him Rocky…hope she would not find that ‘offensive’…cuz it’s better than the fossil, imo). So anyway, therapist and Rocky were together and I was there, as was the host body, and there was also a young attractive black woman there.

I will step out of ‘dreamland’ for a moment to say something enormously embarrassing for me, and if it weren’t an important piece of the dream, I wouldn’t add this, but it is. The therapist and Rocky have been together a long while (from what I can tell) taken vacations together, and other things I do know but shall leave out for the protection of both her and I. As part of my *disorder*, I notice things, little things, differences in body language, clothing, a new hair-cut, something different in therapist’s office…I notice things. Like last Friday, I noticed that the therapist was wearing eye-liner. In over 4 years I’ve never seen therapist wear eye-liner. She’s like one of those “natural dove beauty” women. She doesn’t wear a lot of make-up…and she doesn’t need to. Of course when I said something about her spontaneous eye-liner application she said, “I knew you would notice that.” The 5 year old has horrible anxiety around abandonment issues. And she waits for the day therapist will say, “Well, that’s it. We’re through here.” Obviously a lot of this relates back to never having any stable adult in our life who didn’t abandon or abuse us…so we’re still waiting for the therapist to join the ranks of those from the past. Now, each week, the 5 year old looks for any *sign* that the therapist is going to kick her aside because she knows she doesn’t matter anyway. Seemingly trivial things that should be inconsequential can carry the weight of the world to the 5 year old and can lead to feelings of insecurity for her – which then lead to angry girl needing to punish the 5 year old for *needing* anyone. Then last week, irritable girl was complaining about the discomfort of therapist’s couch “it’s too squishy” and therapist said, “Well, soon I’ll bring my good leather couch in – it isn’t getting much use at home.” Another questionable flag: that’s because therapist doesn’t live at home – she lives with Rocky and so she doesn’t need her couch anymore? Now the 5 year old is sure the therapist is getting married and when she gets married she won’t need to work anymore and she will have her own family, and yes, there goes the 5 year old, right to the curbside with the rest of the unneeded garbage. So 5 year old searches every week for a ring. Get the fucked up picture? K – back to the dream then….

BACK TO THE DREAM: Therapist and Rocky are in the kitchen, his kitchen, (which was very small, btw – there was barely enough room for therapist and rocky to stand next to each other – and I was watching from the table but over what looked like a washing machine. Were any part of this humorous, I might add something like, “any more people in here and we’re going to need a lubricant”…but the dream wasn’t funny and I’m still sort of fucked up over the whole thing and it’s aftenroon here) …so little Grace notices the therapist is wearing a ring. Grace points out the ring and Rocky looks annoyed, like it ain’t any of the kid’s business and he (not so nicely) tells her so. Therapist self-consciously puts her right hand over her left, looks sadly at Grace, sighs, and says, “I’m sorry, Grace. I forgot to take off the ring.” What? Therapist tells Grace that she and Rocky have been married for months but she knew that because of her *issues* that Grace would feel like Therapist didn’t care if she knew so she consciously decided to take off the ring whenever she saw Grace but this time she forgot. She lied? Grace started to cry which made Rocky angry, and he bellowed, “Who is this stupid ugly brat anyway? She isn’t part of our life? Why is she even here?” Therapist didn’t say anything in response to Rocky’s questions or Grace’s tears; she seemed to be caught in the middle, unsure of what to say…so she stood there, next to Rocky, and she said nothing. And then they both turned away from Grace, and stood in the kitchen together, talking and laughing and drinking red wine. (Yes, red wine, I don’t know why).

Grace sat on her knees at the table, tears streaming down her face, and she watched therapist and Rocky laughing and loving and living…experiencing everything Grace was not allowed, is not allowed, will never know. Rocky made Therapist not care about Grace anymore. Rocky didn’t like Grace, she could tell by the way he looked at her. (I have no idea what Rocky looks like, IRL, but in my dream he was quite tall and thin, with dark brown, nearly black curly hair and brown eyes; eyes that met my gaze and showed nothing but disdain for me.)

The host body showed up and took Grace away from therapist and Rocky’s house. Host body grabbed Grace tightly by the wrist and yanked her out the door and down the street, and she told Grace she should never have been there in the first place. She told Grace that therapist doesn’t love her or care for her, that she is a burden. “Why can’t you see that Grace? She doesn’t care about you. No one cares about you! I let you stay here because I don’t have a choice, but I hate you too. You are unlovable and I wish you had never been born. So does therapist. So does Rocky. When are you going to see that?” She jerks Grace into the house and right inside the door, just past the shelf to the right, sitting at the kitchen table in a white pocket t-shirt smoking camel unfiltered cigarettes was the ESF. I was frozen there, staring at him. I don’t want to be here. He hurts me. She hates me. But now therapist hates me too. She didn’t even look at me she let her take me away. In my head I could still see Rocky and therapist in the kitchen, standing at the sink, drinking red wine and laughing – maybe doing the dishes (?) – and I tried to call her, in my head, I tried to call therapist, but she ignored me…and he was staring at me, through me, the host body no longer there. I stood there, holding onto the shelf that separates the kitchen from the living room, right inside the door…frozen stiff, unable to move, freezing cold watching him watch me. He picks up a glass filled with clear liquid (maybe vodka?) the glass had pictures of Fred Flinstone and family on it…it used to have grape jelly in it, that glass, now it has that stuff that smells like pure alcohol when he breathes it in my face. I want to move – but I can’t. My legs don’t belong to my body I cant feel them. Where did host body go? She isn’t here now…and he wont stop looking at me and I can’t move! He puts the glass back down, and the cigarette is dangling from his mouth as he puts his hands on the table to push himself up. I still can’t move. I am not breathing. I’m cold…frozen and wet…did I just pee down my leg? I think I did.

And that’s when I woke up- shaking and wet and nauseous. ..tears, real tears, no dream tears on my cheeks. Confusion as to where I was and who I was and how old I was and what really happened and what was a dream. And since I’ve already embarrassed the hell out of myself I should go on to say that I fucking peed the bed! Like for real! Not 5 year old Grace…but ME…in “adult” form, on my egyption cotton sheets! It sure as hell doesn’t get any better than that does it? This is truly *living the dream*!

After I went back to sleep…the dreams continued…

Grace was playing with the cute little black girl, walking in the woods, picking up sticks and talking. It was near dusk and no one else was around. They were young, 5 or 6 years old, and though they were alone, they were not afraid. Sad, but not afraid. The two girls walked until they came to a movie theater. An outside movie theater, but not a drive-in…there were seats made of logs to sit on. The girls sat down on a log and when Grace (I) looked down she noticed that neither of us had on shoes and both girls feet were dirty and cut. There was a movie playing on the big screen; a scary movie and there was a girl being chased by a car of men and she was running through the woods…but it was the woods Grace and her friend were just walking through (?) and the car sounded like it was behind them and not in the movie playing on the screen in front of them. The two girls were sitting close together and Grace’s friend sees something glimmering in the dirt. She bends down to pick it up and it’s a ring. It’s gold and its bent, like someone stepped on it – and the stone is square…it doesn’t look like a diamond, it’s kind of yellow. But I know that ring. That’s the therapist’s ring. Why is it here? I tell my friend that that ring is the therapist’s and see, look close on the side – there are her initials on it. It’s therapist’s ring alright. I begin to frantically look around for therapist because she must be here somewhere, here is her ring. She has to be here, why would she have left it behind? Why is it bent? Grace’s friend tells Grace that she shouldn’t even care about that stupid ring because therapist doesn’t care about her, if she did she wouldn’t have left her. “It’s okay, Grace. Mine left me too. That’s why we’re here, remember? We don’t need them. They don’t love us, they don’t care about us because we don’t matter, we never mattered. That’s why we’re here, remember?” That’s why we’re here? I’m confused. Where’s here and why did therapist leave her ring here? Friend (who I have now identified as friend S) takes Grace’s hand and they walk to the front of the movie screen where S points to the screen. I just noticed there’s no one else here, just S and me. Playing on the movie screen now are jumbled pictures of therapist and Rocky, esf and host body, lot of other men of various ages that I recognize, and other people I don’t recognize (maybe S’s T and abusers?). The audio is a man’s voice, deep and full of hate and anger…”You are bad. You are worthless. You mean nothing. You don’t matter. Worthess…bad…nothing… You are dead.” S still pointing to the screen, looks over at me, nods her head and mouths, we are dead…

This is why sleep is bad…dreams of abuse, abandonment, and death… I’m tired. Up and down all night…afraid, sick, dissociative…other embarrassing shit that I refuse to acknowledge right now! But it’s too much! Way to much! And I’m tired of struggling and trying to manage all of the emotional, psychological, and physical stuff going on…I’m not handling any of this now. I can’t do anymore. I’m too tired to talk about it, and I don’t think it really matters anyway. There’s no one to “talk” to anyway. Therapist is leaving anyway and I’m not allowed to talk to her before then so it no longer matters. Because I know I won’t be able to “contain” it or “distract” myself and stay safe while she’s gone. I continue to scream silently…no one listens, no one hears, no one helps, no one cares. And I understand it’s because I’m not worth it – so it just doesn’t matter anymore. Time keeps ticking away…the sun comes up, the sun goes down. I’m just waiting for it all to end. Why prolong the inevitable? I don’t expect an answer from anyone else – but I sure can’t think of a reason.

LINK to Grace new Website:  Screams of Abandonment

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

“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."

Give ME you anger...NO!

That’s what the therapist said to me today. She told me that she would rather I be angry at her than myself. Whatever… I am NOT angry at her. It isn’t her fault that the 5 year old is screaming in fear and abandonment that she’s going on vacation. I’m not angry at the therapist, I’m angry at the parts of ME who depend on her and care about her and need her. That’s who I’m angry with….ME – for allowing someone else “in” our world…for allowing someone else to see some of our pain and past. Angry…angry…angry…for letting someone on the outside “in”. She didn’t do that…I did that. Therapist didn’t put a gun to our head and say, “Depend on me! Attach to me! Love me!” Nope…that was all that bratty kid who actually thought someone cared about her for once in her stupid life. Get over it brat! I’ll show you what “love” is!

But there’s no reason to be angry with the therapist about something I did.

Then she tells me that I have all the “choices” to meet my needs within my reach. That made me feel like a whiny little kid for telling her that I don’t feel safe and I don’t know how I’m going to get through the two weeks she’s gone. I also told her that I talk to her like twice a week now and how can I go two weeks with no support! Especially since she was just gone a week in July!!! And she said, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t talk to me then.” The fuck therapist!? Okay – therapist, maybe I shouldn’t! So much for being honest…

So now I will just tell her all is well…I got a whole treasure chest full up on “tools” – and a genie in a bottle too! Ready to grant my every wish! So we are g-o-o-d! Better than good…perfect! Perfect little Gracie! No worries. So now that we’ve established and taken inventory of my vast supply of “healthy choices” (and I’m not talking about those frozen meals that taste like cardboard…) I am g-o-o-d… t-o…g-o! What a relief! *Grace turns her frown upside-down*

I knew it wasn’t a good idea to actually be honest about my *feelings*. I’ll just shut up and behave until she leaves for yet another vacation (3rd one this year, btw, must be nice to be rich and carefree!)…then we shall throw a party!

Nope – this rage is all about ME! Excuse me for being so self-centered… ME~ME~ME! ALL OF ME

Ciao! I’m going to go pour myself a drink! I’m even MORE perfect (if that’s even possible) when I’m drinking! Martini anyone? Grace’s demon bartender makes the best martinis!

LINK to Grace's new Website:  Give ME your anger... NO!

Nod if you can hear me…

I feel stunningly depressed…really, like rock bottom is above me now. You know that moment when you can “feel” and you have minimal recollection of what happened the night before and you try and try to quell the tidal wave of panic that is threatening to drown you and then you wish you were still in that place where you were unable to feel? Yeah, that’s where I’ve been today, well, it’s where I’ve been for awhile now.

I talked to the therapist last night – but I don’t remember what she said. I don’t remember her words or her tone or anything at all. I wish I could remember. I hope I didn’t make her mad. I have that deep feeling of despair in the pit of my stomach today. If you’ve ever suffered from depression and panic and free for all nights of dissociation and self-destruction where you only see flashes of information that sends chills you’re your spine…you know what I’m talking about.


LINK:  NOD IF YOU CAN HEAR ME...

She laughed until she cried

She laughed until she cried

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(excerpt from article)

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


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

"CRAZYHEAD"...I don't get it!

I cannot figure out why CrazyBrain freaks over some things but not others.  Let me give an example:
On Saturday, I wrote that on Friday night, the therapist's patience won over CBs anger and distrust, but what I did not share was the fact that early last week CB made a connection (which may or may not be true) that the therapist was marrying a for Zen Monk who has some (IMO) f'd up practices and meditates 14 hours a day.  So that's what CB freaked out about on Friday night.  Now, I get that the therapist's private life is just that 'private' and therefore none of CB's business...but when reading the articles written by the zen master and then reflecting on the changes in the therapist's approaches over the past 2 years...I do think I have the right to know if the therapist is going to be engaging in some freaked out spiritual crap that I have no interest in bringing into the TR - and then how could she help me find *balance* in my life if she's meditating with a controling freak zen master 14 hours a day??? I realize this is sorta vague, but CB did not pull all of this out of her ass ~ there was a "glowing" review of the zen monk, a picture, a video, and then this way out there article that tied all of the above together.  Anyway, the therapist said CB's 2+2 math did not accurately add up to 4.  So, we'll see....  But there  was major freak out for about 4 days!..CB is still not 100% convinced she is wrong about it - like - there are a lot of "coincidences"...looks like a duck' kinda thing
PART 2  This morning, I get on a call called, "Budget reductions" - kinda knew what that was about going in....and my boss delivers the message that I have to cut 10% in  wre from my 2010 projections.  And, one would think I'd be freakin' right?  Like, I'd be sitting here right now shaking and screaming, "OMG! That's 10% of my WRE budget!  There's no way in hell I can do that and still be successful.  There's no hope! It's a lost cause! I should just quit or kill myself!"  But nope....it's not going to be easey...it's going to be a difficult message to deliver.  'Well, let's all work smarter, harder, and get even better results with less people!  Come on team, we can do it!'  But the thing is, it's a very rare occasion that anything work related raises my blood pressure.  My entire calm, cool, collected demeanor in the office is so the opposite of anything relating to the past, or the therapist.  I am always operating on the professional platform and taking whatever I'm handed and just "dealing with it." 
In my career, I can take a sack full of lemons and make the best lemonade ever!
In the TR, and dealing with the past, CB takes the lemons, uses the knife to cut them, then herself, and adds a bottle of vodka for lemon drop martinis, and dissociation reigns for hours, sometimes days!
WTH?
Why can't I be the same in ALL situations?????
I don't get it.
I want to be THAT Grace.  I hate the rest of "her"! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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

You can GUARANTEE me all that? Well, where do I sign up! I think we got ourselves a ZEN revival!

I will concede that I don’t take very good care of my body – in fact, I take pretty bad care of my body…and I know it. I never learned how to take care of my body – and in fact, truth be told…I hate it. If there were some scientific research study looking for volunteers to learn to live without their body, I’d be the first to sign up! Obviously, an area I need to work on. I get that. The therapist wants me to take a self-defense class, a yoga class, do some meditation…something that will help me (as she says) learn to “love” my body. I told her I would look into it. I would LOVE to have a punching bag with Marsha’s face on it…but I haven’t been able to find one yet!

I like to stay busy…I like to work on a lot of things at one time…I call it multi-tasking – but it’s really the only way for me to stay out of my head. I’ve done this for so many years I don’t know how NOT to do it. What’s that old definition of insanity? Trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results? But, see, here’s the thing…I don’t expect to get different results by doing this. I expect the same results I’ve gotten for years – and that is to NOT feel crazy, to NOT stop and listen to the craziness inside my head. This is a way for me to do that…I multi-task- I learn- I’m successful at it, professionally..in fact, on paper – I could not look better!  You should see my professional and financial portfolios - you'd be amazed that a crazybrain could accomplish so much:-)

I have asked friends about their interest in taking a yoga/self-defense class…and I have had positive responses. But *yoga* ain’t going to make me “love” my body. Been there, done that…still have the water bottle. But I can commit to yoga….

The Zen spiritual stuff ~ not so much. Since I live less than 20 miles away from the Granola capital of the U.S – there are a lot of people practicing meditation – and from what I’ve read experiencing quite the *soulgasms* (that cracked me up!)…but I cannot buy into the spiritual BS that these Meditation Masters are selling. I raise an eyebrow and feel vomit rise into my throat when I try to “accept” that they really believe that their “prayers” and “meditations” take away all their “needs”. Really? ALL of your NEEDS? Don’t we, as humans, always have “needs”? I guess not if you’re a Zen Master.

Here’s what I have to say to those “Meditation Ads” that *promise* if we spiritualize our lives we will: BECOME HAPPIER, SMARTER, MORE LOVING, MORE POWERFUL, MORE ATTRACTIVE, MORE STABLE IN OUR FINANCES, LESS ADDICTED, LESS DEPENDENT, and LESS SICK.

Is that a money back guarantee? Because the “GOD” I prayed to as a kid while being fucked- yeah, that “Church” promised me that too. I didn’t get it! I guess I didn’t *want it bad enough* right? I didn’t “pray” hard enough? NOW I can’t stay in my body because I need to meditate more? No one can hurt you if you meditate hard enough.

WoW! That readin’ was more enlightening than the Billy Graham crusade my grandmother took me too when I was a kid – I prayed and prayed there-and it felt great! It was the day I gave myself to GOD…but I guess he didn’t want me- cuz the SF still f’d me when I got home).

But wait, let me read that again: Are you ready to spiritualize your life? Everything will go better. WE BECOME HAPPIER, SMARTER, MORE LOVING, MORE POWERFUL, MORE ATTRACTIVE, MORE STABLE IN OUR FINANCES, LESS ADDICTED, LESS DEPENDENT, and LESS SICK. Really? You can teach me all that?  What if I already think I'm smart enough, invest my money soundly, physically attractive enough (on the ouside)?  Can I skip those classes or are they prerequisites?  Where do I sign up? Does that include the soulgasms, too, or is that all “sold-separately”? Are buckets included too?

I think we got ourselves a ZEN REVIVAL!
This ranting has been brought to you by the untrusting, angry, willful, disbelieving one who knows better than to believe a sleep study and some BS meditation is the "cure all".

Are we ready to stop being 16 now Grace?

Sometimes I have to sit back for a minute to really appreciate all that the therapist does for me. Like she has totally put up with a lot of shit from me…like she never knows who will show up for session and so I imagine she braces herself right before she opens the door to “greet me and invite me in”…which as I’ve told her a million times – I won’t enter her office until she officially asks me to come in- even if she stands there all *smiley and welcomy* in the therapisty way… evil cannot cross a threshold without being invited in. She knows that! Hum…maybe that’s why her office always smells like garlic (well, when she doesn’t eat onions before my session!) because she’s trying to ward of Grace’s evil spirit…I’ll have to spend some time thinking about that…

And I know that the therapist gets me…like most of the time, she can deal with all of me – but then, there are those times when she will say something so completely off the wall, I’m all like, WHAT? Did you have a brain tumor for breakfast? Today, she made one of those suggestions that made me loudly interrupt her and want to scream, OMG! Do you know me at all??? She said she’d been thinking about my inability to sleep…compounded by the nightmares and terror when I do actually sleep – and she suggested that I go have a sleep study done. (WTF!) ..now she thinks my brain is oxygen deprived and I have sleep apnea? YES!  I'll be that IS it!  I'm sure it's really low O2 sats and not the fucking kid flashbacks!
Hello! I cannot FALL asleep! I cannot RELAX enough to fall asleep! So she quotes some ridiculous study about how people who with sleep apnea have more nightmares, etc. OMG! Seriously! How big was that brain tumor you ate Doc? The majority of the time I fall into panicky flashback hell is way before I fall over from exhaustion! HELLO!?!?! AND! Just to be clear – I can barely find a safe freaking place in my own home to feel relaxed enough to sleep – so what the fuck would make her think I would actually go to a sleep lab – surrounded by a bunch of freaky clinicians – with wires all over my exposed body and SLEEP??? Gee – is there free WIFI there at that sleep lab, DT? Cuz, maybe then I’d do it – since I’D BE UP ALL NIGHT! Jumping out of my freaking skin at the slightest movement! Like, I cannot even believe she suggested that! And would she make herself available after 10 when the freak outs start, or just let me completely lose it – OUTSIDE the “safety” of my own home until some freak at the clinic slaps my ass in the looney bin! I doubt it!(Maybe that was her “alterior” motive…get Grace locked away so she can run away and marry some Zen Monk and live *spiritually ever after*) Get a freakin’ clue!!!! NEWSFLASH: Afraid to sleep! F-E-A-R!!! BEFORE sleep! Unless the O2 is lacking when I’m awake – I’m nearly positive that is NOT the problem here ~ Doc! 

And then like she KNOWS I haven’t been on top of my game, right? Ya know, with the late night panic attacks, the dissociative freak outs that last for hours, the cutting relapse.  So after the “sleep lab” suggestion and the cutting analysis, she decides to say,“Oh, by the way, I’m going out of town for a week in February, do you want to spend some time talking about that?” WTF! What’s to *talk about*? What are we going to plan? You’re going out of town, and that’s just it….You gonna leave me your rock to carry around as a transitional object while you’re gone? Get a clue, DT! What does she want me to say or do? Beg her not to go? Like hello! She is entitled to vaca – deserves time off, just like everyone else - especially from crazybrain! I totally get that! But does she want me to “guarantee” her that I’ll stay safe while she’s gone? Well, I can say it – if that makes her feel better – but truth be told – I’m on the ledge every effing night – and I typically call her about 3x a week right now for help – so even if I say the words – words mean nothing! So whatever! I asked her what did she want me to say? Bon-voyage? Have a good time? And what if I don’t feel *safe*? What’s she going to do about it? Wrap up her rock in a blue blanket and tuck it in my purse? Threaten to slap me in the psych ward like she threatened 2 years ago?  Yell at me to grow up like she did before? Doubt it! No matter what I say – it doesn’t matter. She is going to “trust” that I’ll keep myself safe. 

And sometimes I wonder if what would happen if I didn’t spend so much time trying to “prove” to her that I was okay. I mean really! Like today, all of this crazy shit is streaming through my head like the Michael Jackson Thriller video – but I just sat there and chewed gum, playing with my headphones while she talks about sleep labs and her upcoming vacation. Whatever! She has done so much for me in the past I am NOT asking for any sort of retarded transitional object while she’s away.  Maybe that's why she forgot the 2 emails.  Maybe she did it on purpose as a "test" -- to the upcoming DT departure.  Whatever!  I say make the break now and then no one has to worry about it!

Like it doesn’t matter anyway – since I’m going to be gone the 2 weeks prior to that. And I told her that today, too. I’ll be gone Mon-Thursday 2 weeks in a row and then she leaves the Thursday I get back for a week. So that’s 3 weeks, sans therapy…since she doesn’t do Friday or weekend appointments. And I guess I didn’t look distressed because she sure didn’t offer up any suggestions! Fine! So next week is my last appointment until March. Whatever – I’m so not going next week either! Fuck it!

And then she got frustrated and said, “Are we done being 16 today?” Gee – I guess not, DT.” You know, for the record, I have a friend I’ll be seeing in a couple of weeks who PREFERS the 16 year old! She’s much more adventurous than most of us and she is always up for a party! And I’m sure her teenage defiant ass will be out in full force without the therapist’s “help” for 3 weeks – in fact, an email contact in preparation has already been sent.

Dear *Friend* ~ I will be in town on (these dates) and I would LOVE to *get together*.
Dear Scarlet ~ I am confident something will work out…C U THEN! 

Ms. 16 year old is now going to go raid the liquor cabinet and the anti-anxiety meds...Let's Party!  I totally love that she "Trusts" me ~ though - I really do. Hilarious!  Sad...but still funny! 

There seems to be a book burning party going on in the survivor community...

The book is called: The Trauma Myth: The Truth About the Sexual Abuse of Children and it is written by Harvard educated Susan A Clancy. (I think the “A” may stand for asinine) In her book, Ivy league degreed, yet still *uneducated* Clancy claims that children who are sexually abused are rarely damaged physically OR psychologically.
In an interview, Clancy was asked, “What do you mean by the "trauma myth"? 
Her explanation: “The title refers to the fact that although sexual abuse is usually portrayed by professionals and the media as a traumatic experience for the victims when it happens — meaning frightening, overwhelming, painful — it rarely is. Most victims do not understand they are being victimized, because they are too young to understand sex, the perpetrators are almost always people they know and trust, and violence or penetration rarely occurs. "Confusion" is the most frequently reported word when victims are asked to describe what the experience was like. Confusion is a far cry from trauma.”  Clancy went on to say, “For 30 years we've been working on preventing sexual abuse. But we've skirted around what sexual abuse really is. The kids don't know what's going on, and they often enjoy it. They're not going to resist.”
Clancy also shares that she experienced quite a backlash from her book while working at Harvard. When asked how bad it was she says this: “It's bad enough I moved to Nicaragua. When I was at Harvard — the peak of my career, at the university you want to be, surrounded by all the people who were the titans in the field — there was just so much bullshit going on. People focused on a type of abuse that affects maybe 2 percent of the population, millions of dollars for funding that doesn't apply to most victims, bestselling books written by therapists misportraying sexual abuse. I would try to tell the truth. I would be attacked. Grad students wouldn't talk to me. Professors would tell me to leave for other fields. I just felt disillusioned. I got this opportunity from the World Bank to do cross-cultural research on how sexual abuse is understood in Latin America. I came down to Central America, and I've stayed.”
I have so many thoughts swirling around in my pea-sized trauma-brain I am not yet sure how to process what she is saying. I vacillate from wanting to tell her it is “that bad” to just shaking my head and letting it be –because clearly she will never understand. But my problem with letting it be is so many people already ignore what goes on, or believes that it isn’t “that bad”, that I cannot, in good conscious, not speak my peace about this outrageous misleading book, written by an uneducated woman who not only believes that there are no lasting physical or psychological effects from being sexually abused as a child but also believes it is not the abuse itself that is traumatic, but rather, the “Therapeutic” culture dictating to the victims how they should feel about the abuse they experienced.

Listen up, Susan Clancy:  It is that bad. And 5 year olds do not “enjoy” being fucked by grown men, in their own homes, which is supposed to be a place of safety. A 5 year old's vagina is not meant to be penetrated by a grown man’s penis. A 5 year old does not find it “pleasurable” to have a grown man’s dick shoved down her throat. It is that bad, Susan Clancy, and it does have life-long lingering effects. And as far as the “therapeutic” culture telling me how I should “feel” about it? Well, I have trusted only one therapist with how I “feel” about it, she did not ever force her opinions on me of what I should feel. I’m fairly certain she wishes I didn’t *feel* as bad as I do most of the time, as I’m sure she does not want to continue taking dissociative midnight phone calls from a child who relives the pain over and over and over again.  I'm pretty sure she hates that I continue to test her care and question her trustworthiness after we've worked together for nearly 4 years.  But she has never once said, "Grace, it wasn't that bad."  And she believes me when I tell her it is that bad. 

There are lasting effects, Susan Clancy. I could write a BOOK on the effects, both physical and psychological. Just because someone chooses not to disclose the abuse for 30 years, or even in their lifetime; just because someone can outlive the abuse and grow up and function in society so no one would ever guess what happened – that doesn’t mean it was okay.

I was 5 years old when my mother brought my step-father into our home. I was 5 years old when he first touched me. I did not find it pleasurable to have a drunk man pawing my 5 year old chest. I felt only searing pain the first time he fucked me. And he did it again, and again, and again. Year after year he fucked me and sodomized me, Susan Clancy. And if you met me on the street, you would never know that. You would think I am an educated, polite, well-functioning woman, living the American dream. But I cannot even pour bleach into the washing machine because it reminds me of the SF’s semen in my mouth. I cannot eat or smell specific foods. I have no idea what intimacy is and I cannot make any sort of connection between sex and love. I have trouble fucking my husband not because I don't like to have sex, but because of the "lingering effects" that happen after I fuck him. I cannot trust people to see the "real" me, because of the ignorance of people like you who will say, "It was not that bad.",  and on most nights there is no safe place. But you would never know of those “lingering effects” of being fucked as a child. 

And for me there is no escape Susan Clancy. I was 5 years old and I could not jump on a plane to another country to escape the “backlash” I lived in. For me, it was “that bad”, Susan Clancy, and there was no escape.  And it's uneducated nitwits like you who speak on a subject they know nothing about; people like you, Susan Clancy, who make us believe that we should be ashamed for believing it was "that bad". 

It is people like you, Susan Clancy, who make me thankful for my therapist who does believe me when I say it was "that bad".  It's people like you, Susan Clancy, who make me want to flush my shame right down the toilet and write my own book telling everyone just how bad it was to be fucked as a kid.   And some day, I just might!  And when I do, I will send an autographed copy, first edition, to you - in Nicaragua, where you ran away to hide, because the backlash of your unsubstantiated theory was too great for you to bear. 
*Oh the Humanity!*

There is no monster in your house, Grace...turn the light on and look around. You are safe now.

The therapist tells me I should not sit in the dark. I know she thinks I never listen to her or work on my own to improve the nights as they exist currently, but I do. And so I’ve been trying to leave a light or two on at night. But it doesn’t seem to make any difference. I find myself in this paradoxical conundrum: the little girl is afraid of the dark ~ but she can also hide in the dark. The therapist tells the 5 year old and CB that there is no reason to be afraid anymore. Turn on the light and see, Grace. There’s no monster there with you now. There is no lion in the room. Get up and turn the lights on, Grace. And do it now!

So in an effort to "learn" from the CB/5 year old freak out last night, I tried to remember what happened right before the irrational hide/shake fest began on the stairs. It happened another time last week. The running to the darkness of the stairs peering under the door to where the light is; heart racing, wating for the shadow to appear under the door... What the hell did she see that freaked her out? Because the goal is to figure it out-and "reframe" it so she doesn't freak out again, right? Was the freak out caused by a shadow on the kitchen counter?

I know it is hard for a non-crazybrain to take what I am saying at face value and not roll their eyes and call me psychotic – but at night she cannot hide when the lights are on! And there are freakish shadows in the light, and a freakish monster looking face on the counter in the kitchn. Yes, adult rational Grace understands that the monster face on the granite in the kitchen is a reflection of the pictures and stuff on the wall ~ but you cannot tell that to a 5 year old who was fucked by a monster. And she stood up from the chair (chair with the blue blanket on it) and looked into the kitchen, saw something, freaked out and ran straight for the stairs where she slammed the door shut and called the therapist in full-fledged crazybrain panic. It was obvious from the huge exasperating sigh on the other end of the phone that the therapist was not happy about the late night phone call but she helped crazybrain anyway.

The therapist said no one ever died from a panic attack and we weren’t going to die either. But it feels like it when can’t slow down your heart and you can’t breathe – it feels like you’re going to die. Anyway, the therapist helped calm CB down and she slept in the laundry room by the dryer with Hello Kitty blanket and blue blanket.

The therapist said she wasn’t mad, just tired (yeah, tired of Grace!). But the 5 year old did see a monster in the kitchen! I didn’t mean to make the therapist mad. I should be able to do it on my own. I should be able to count on the hus to help me sometimes...but the truth is – he’s sort of the monster too. I didn’t mean to make the therapist mad last night. I don’t think I’ll leave the kitchen light on at night anymore. 

Dear Little Gracie...

Dear (5 year old) Little Gracie,

Please just stop it. I do not know how to help you right now. I am as lost as you are and I really need you to stop crying because if you do not I am going to cut you right out of me. And I know that neither of us want that. I know it hurts and I know it sucks right now. I know you’re scared because there is no one to help you and you have to lean on me and we all know that I do not have a clue. Hell – I don’t even like kids (no offense).

Yeah, I screwed you up. I know that. I would tell you I’m sorry for last night but sorry doesn’t really mean much…people say it all the time and to say I’m sorry would imply that it won’t happen again, and we both know that it will. I know that I am the grown up and I should be better at dealing with this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Gracie, I don’t know why I cannot get a grip. But how can I possibly take care of you when I cannot even take care of myself?

It just feels like nothing consoles you, you know? And I don’t know what to do except scream at you to go away. I want to cut you out of me, Gracie, I do. I know you feel that too. I know it isn’t nice but gawd I’m as fucked up as you are! And I blame you for that. I do. I get that it isn’t fair to blame you for everything- but I do it anyway. I blame you because you make me remember and I don’t want to remember, Gracie, I don’t want to see it again. It was way bad the first time around- now the pain is unbearable. I don’t know why you survived. And a lot of the time I wish you wouldn’t have lived. I know that’s a horrible thing to say but it’s how I feel.

I’m sorry the therapist forgot you last night…but you know better than to count on anyone else to do what they say they will do. You’re not worth it! I know you think the therapist cares about you –and I’m sure she does: “In the limited ways that she can…” –and I don’t get how it happened either but she forgot- so get over it and stop crying about it because if you don’t – I will cut you. I will. You know I’ve done it before – a thousand times- and I’ll do it again if you don’t stop crying. I will!   And stop depending on the therapist to do what she says she’ll do – would you? It’s not like she’s going to be around forever – it’s not like she can take your pain away either! No one can! We’re on our own girl! Just as it’s always been – so suck it up! You have to stop with the crying! And you have to stop crying now because if you don’t – I’ll have to shut you up – and that will only hurt you more, Gracie, you know that. I’m all you got girl – and we both know I don’t even like you. But I’m all you’ve got.

Yeah, he hurt you. And then I let everyone else hurt you too. The therapist forgot you last night. I let him fuck you again last night. The list of your grievances is endless, isn't it?  But I will not tell you I’m sorry and I will no longer listen to your crying today.  So stop it right now – or I will give you something to cry about! And neither of us want that. Right? I swear I will!  And I will pour vodka down your throat and I'll let him do it again tonight.  You have to stop it right now, Gracie.  Stop it right now!

Be quiet kid – life’s a bitch! You should know that by now….be a good girl and shut up and behave yourself.

In Frustration, Grace

Last night felt like a Friday. But it's been a bad week, so maybe it wasn't really...

Last night wasn’t Friday was it? I know Fridays are really bad for me, but this past week, every night has been bad. But last night couldn’t have been Friday because I did not get an email from the therapist –and the therapist ALWAYS emails on Fridays (well, when she doesn’t forget –which has now happened 2x this month). But maybe last night wasn’t really Friday because I only remember about 10 minutes of the night anyway. And those 10 minutes are sort of sporadic and not really a “whole” picture of the happenings of last night. Which is probably a good thing – since the 10 minutes I do remember are not pleasant, and when I woke up at 3:34am in the basement, sans clothing and freezing cold, I tried to put more together but it just isn’t there. It felt like Friday but as I said, it’s been a bad week, so maybe it wasn’t really.

I haven't eaten or slept in days. I called in sick to work Thurs and Fri because I could not bear to leave the house....and it looks as though today will be more of the same. I am so tired of all of this. I can barely move right now. But I'm not "calling" out for help…It doesn't matter anymore.