Sucky Saturday-- an email to my therapist

Hey, Doc.

Its 8.20p on Saturday, and it has been one hell of a day... I'm still not stable, though my hands have stopped shaking. Do I start at the beginning or the most interesting?

Woke at about 1am to a strange dream then couldn't get back to sleep. Alarm went off at 5a and I scrambled to get ready for early morning service, only to remember that on Saturday's it starts at 7a, not 6a. Next I had a woman who sucks at planning make the reception after a memorial way more complicated for me than it needed to be. The reception was a blast... guess who had a panic attack? Yep! This girl. OH!! And guess who's meds aren't strong enough? Yep, me again. You're so good at this game, Doc.

But wait there's more! There was a second gathering this evening. I went from a panic attack that lasted,  in varying degrees, about an hour and a half. I had enough time to go home, shower, make coffee, then leave for the next one. I couldn't eat anything beyond a small piece of chicken and a small salad.

Right now I am fighting the overwhelming urge to scream. This day has exhausted the hell out of me. And I get to start it over again tomorrow? Tired, edgy, and a headache from crying all day. I hate these damned attacks. I WANT MY LIFE BACK! I want it back...

I tried breathing, over thinking items (that actually helped some). I now know that the grip on my Bubba mug has ten dots down and 14 around.

Is this what the rest of my life is going to be? Am I going to have to remember all this forever, all these little tricks? I don't want to live this way, this isn't living... its just converting oxygen and nitrogen into carbon dioxide. I scheduled an extra appt this week. I know I need it, though I hope you don't mind.

See you Tuesday...

How To Handle a Nightmare

Therapy today wasn't easy. I never expect it to be, really. If it was easy then there must be something wrong.

Anyway... Therapy. Today we went into something I've briefly mentioned then floated right by, my nightmares. I understand the mechanics of dreaming, the brain processing information that the conscious mind can't or won't. Its amazing that its easier to type this then it is to actually say.

Nightmare: Recurring. Some one is demanding information that I either won't give or can't give. The attacker is a well dressed man, well spoken. I'm being tortured for that information. I don't want to go into the methods, suffice to say that its always brutal.

Therapist Interpretation: The man seems trustworthy, kind spoken, good grammar, but he's not. A representation of all the people that I think I should be able to trust? Information that I won't give or can't... protective instinct.

It all makes sense, but I don't have to like it. I also didn't like telling her about the nightmares. It just doesn't feel right to dream like this. Her suggestion was to try lucid dreaming, to think before I go to bed what I want as an outcome. For example, could the bonds turn to things like licorice? What would I want to happen to the attacker? The answer is always the same: I don't know.

She suggested allowing myself to daydream. Really? Daydreaming? All right, my issue is that it feels silly. What's the point? To learn to think outside the box, exercise the imagination I use when I'm writing. She thinks I can manipulate, rewrite my nightmares in the same way that I edit a story.

But what would I have the man do? Melt like wax left out in the sun? Vanish like fog in the morning sun? What of the bonds? Licorice is just not my gig. Butterflies? Silly string?

Damn... it feels hopeless. As though this is going to be my life forever. I can see Doc sitting in her chair, smiling that sad grin she gets just before she says something about the fact she is my cheerleader.

Next week, she wants to help me find ways to feel grounded. Though, I think we'll probably talk more about these nightmares.

How do I feel right this moment? Same as I felt when I left her office, and I told her the truth. Edgy, urgy, shaky. There are going to be many, many more sessions like this before I am normal. That is just the way it works.

What's the Hatter With Me?

I'm feeling a bit manic today. I can't keep still, I have to move something. My hands are shaky, a foot is tapping to nothing and not in beat with the music on the iPod. I went to bed upset, though I don't know why. Took everything I had not to scream my lungs out. Right now, I want to scream until my throat is raw. I want to cut until I'm a mess. The stinging would set me straight, at least a little bit right? Right?? No...? Oh well.

I don't know what's wrong with me, but its like I'm trying to crawl out of my skin. The sudden thought of throwing a rock through my bedroom wall came to me and now I'm having a hard time getting that out of my head along with the thoughts of harming. Oh the joy!

I have worship in about an hour, at least that's when I leave for it. Like this? Of course. By the time I get there I may even appear to be normal. I know I'm going to have to injure to get that done though. I'm too flipping out right now.

Did you ever see Johnny Depp as the Hatter? I feel that way, everyplace at once and only lucid when absolutely necessary. "What's the hatter with me?" Yep, crazy as a deaf bat in the nighttime! WOOHOO!

Someone Noticed the Broken Angel

Last night, I was working on a project at my congregation with Nightingale. We were brain storming and everything was perfectly normal until she touched my left wrist and asked, "What happened here?" She had noticed the scars and a fresh burn that was only a couple days old. Shutting the door, I told her that I couldn't lie to her, though I had a fleeting moment in which I could have. I swore her to secrecy, begged her not to tell a soul. She promised by everything she holds sacred and holy not to tell anyone, ever.

She asked me why, I told her there were many reasons. Anger, self punishment, stress. She tried to be understanding, telling me that everyone has something that "makes them weird", meaning that everyone has a past they aren't proud of. She reminded me that I'm not alone, many people hurt themselves. I know that.

Nightingale asked how long I'd been hurting myself. Thirteen years, was the answer, but I just realized its been sixteen years. Over half my life, hurting myself. She was surprised I'd kept the secret that long, that I'd hidden it for so long. Its not hard once you master being invisible. She even told me that she wants to know more and will do some research on the subject. There were some recent articles that I'd read and pointed her towards.

How did I feel? Scared, terrified, like a caged animal. I came inches from a panic attack. I couldn't think straight, just stared at the floor even after she insisted that I look at her. I couldn't. Its said that the eyes are the windows to the soul, I'm not sure how much of me I want her to see or how much I'd burden her with. As it is she has to carry my secret and I don't think its fair to her. Such a heavy burden, I know. I apologized for telling her because I feel bad. She told me not to worry, that she was happy I trusted her enough. She knows I have trust issues.

"You're the first one to notice, Nightingale, no one else has," I told her. She looked a little sad fora moment and hugged me. I cried so hard, I thought I'd break. I promised not to avoid her, she's worried that I'll pull away from her now that she knows. Its tempting, but I won't. Its also tempting to look for reasons not to trust her, but I won't.

I'm scared, but relieved. She saw the broken angel on bended knees.

Which Is Worse?

I'm not sure which is worse, sleeping or waking, the night or the morning? At night, I don't want to sleep, despite how tired I am. In the morning, all I want to do is sleep. The night means I will sleep eventually and in so doing dream those nightmares that are haunting me. The dawn means the nightmares are finally over, but then I have to work. You can see the dilemma.

My nightmares of late are resembling something from a thriller movie. For instance, one of my latest dreams found me strung up in a warehouse, dangling from my wrists. Two men emerge from the shadows, one clearly in charge, the other a stooge. The leader is demanding me to answer his questions. In the dreams, I either cannot or will not answer, all depends on what he is asking. No matter which, he is always dissatisfied with my responses and orders the other man to do something. That "something" varies, but it always graphic and painful. I have been electrocuted, beaten, burned with cigarettes, branded with hot irons, and whipped. Never all in the same dream, but often paired together in some way. I wake in a cold sweat, thankful that it was all just a dream, though that word seems too soft for what has been going on in my head.

I cannot tell you what is making me think these things before I sleep. I've tried everything from watching cheerful cartoons to not reading or watching anything remotely graphic in nature to no avail. I am wondering what the flying hell is wrong with me. Does everyone dream like this? Or is it just me?