"I Am Lovable"

Oh, yeah... so this is the latest thing we're trying at therapy. Doc wants me to start with affirmations in an attempt to rewire my brain. I hate myself, have for some time, and her idea is to use affirmations to get my brain to rethink.

The brain has neural pathways. Over time, these pathways become well worn and easy for synapses to fire and connect. The problem comes when these pathways are making negative connections-- "I hate myself", "I'm no good", "I'm useless," etc. Pathways can become highways, expressways, or the Autobahn! Muscle memory is really neurological memory, the pathway is extremely well worn.

In the case of negative thinking, the path from something said or done to the thought of "I suck, etc" is well worn. In my case, as with many who have depression and other mental illnesses, its like riding a motorcycle flat out with no traffic on an empty highway!

The point of affirmations is to change the neurology of the brain. Instead of saying "I hate myself" I have to say "I am lovable" and mean it. This starts to slowly make a new path in the brain. At the moment... this just sounds stupid and corny! For the reason that it sounds stupid, my therapist wants me to repeat it. She showed me a collection of cards she has with affirmations on them. No lie... they have unicorns on them.

Been a Year

Woah, been over a year since my last post. I'm still in therapy, still battling depression, though the PTSD rears its ugly head less often, the meds seem to be helping. I'm still on sprintek and I've started zoloft in the past year, which also seems to be helping.

I've been pulling away from Katie lately. She's flighty, scattered, and only seems to want me around when she needs me for something, like driving a long distance. I've tried talking to her and she always says that I'm reading too much into something. Doesn't seem fair, I work my butt off to allow myself to trust enough for a friendship and this happens?

Honestly, it seems that no one really wants me, I'm just there for convenience. I mean, out side of work, I don't have a life. Certainly no real time for a social life. The little time I do have is wasted when people change plans last minute on me. I gave up making plans with Katie. Its an exercise in futility.

Worthless

Any one that actually reads this is going to think I keeled over or something...


So the last few months haven't been bad, really. I've been busy with work and by the time I get in I'm so knackered its pointless to write anything. Went from a butt-crack o'dawn job off-loading trucks to working evenings cleaning other people's offices. The other night there was a pair of men's knickers in a waste bin. I really DO NOT want to know the story behind that, seriously.

I went a grand total of 80 days without harming, so there was a plus. I can't remember what triggered me to break the streak but it did and here we are. As of today its been 2 weeks since my last injury.

I'm feeling ignored, worthless. I figured out why its so hard for me to believe that Doc cares a plug nickle for me. I don't feel I deserve it. I haven't earned it, not really. I care for the people that I do because I feel they deserve the love and protection that I give them freely. I don't feel that I'm worth it. I suppose that's why It always confuses me when people worry about me.

Its funny, tell a person who feels like this that they have value... and they won't believe you.

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...

A Conversation With Myself

All right, so Doc thought it would be a good idea for me to write out the opposing sides of my brain, of myself, when I want to injure or am thinking of injuring in general. What goes through my mind when I think of harming? All right... I've decided to write this as a conversation. Italics will be the "for" side of myself. Regular will the be "against" side.

I hate feeling this way, this anger at my parents, at the world in general. Or worse, I hate feeling numb. Numb is dangerous, it makes me desperate to feel something tangible. When its not the feeling of being numb, its that anger. It wells up and makes me feel out of control. That isn't something I am willing to forfeit, that control. 

Its perfectly fine to get angry once in a while. On the bright side, feeling numb means I'm not angry. Feeling something "tangible"? That's understandable, but something like a very hot or very cold cold shower might be a better idea. Control doesn't have to be forfeit, but I may not the strangle hold on it either.

It feels so good though, that high, that peace. That moment of calm. Those minutes and even hours in which I actually feel calm, feel good. Of course, those are also the moments that I don't want to scream at people. 

How long does that high last? Cutting is only a few hours, burning might last me a few days. In the end I'm right back where I started, so what good was it? All I end up with is another scar and no better off then I was at first.

Doesn't matter how long as long as there's a result. The scars are nothing important. No one ever notices them anyway. Not even the therapist, who seems to notice everything else, saw the scars until I showed her. Remember, harming keeps me in control and makes sure that the only person I hurt is me. 

That's a load of crap! The scars will always be there, some may fade, but many will remain. And someday some one that I don't expect will notice and I'll have to come up with an idea or another lie. Its the lies that get to me, they add to the guilt. That crushing guilt that makes me hate myself a little more every time I injure. I'm sick of the guilt, of the lies, of the nightmares, of everything!!

Those are perfectly good arguments for injuring. Why feel all that? Its perfectly acceptable to do something to feel better.

But not self harm. There are major risks involved! I could cut too deep, or a burn could get infected. Worse, there may come a time when I'm impelled (read forced) to go into an inpatient centre. There is not a valid to reason to self harm, no matter how well I may seem to justify it.

Hate to say this, but it is my body. I can do what I want to it.

That's a load of bull! I know full well that I have no right to destroy my body this way. Screwing around with pills and booze, blades, matches... That is not what God intended when He created me. There was a better purpose for my life than adding scars to my skin.

True, but that doesn't mean it still doesn't help those times when I'm feeling so terrible. Or confused. Or angry. Or any other emotion that I can't seem to handle. I like how I feel afterwards. There I said it. I like how I feel. 

Doesn't matter though! Feeling good or calm but using self harm to do it isn't going to last forever. What happens when burning isn't enough? Gonna start doing lines or something just as stupid? Of course, not, but still the point is: There will come a time when these current forms of harming won't be enough. Then what?

I don't know. I hate not knowing. 

So we are at the end of the conversation and nothing has been accomplished. I'm tired, I have a headache that I've been fighting all day. No, been fighting it for several days. 

This running dialog is similar to what goes through my head every single time I injure. Its exhausting, it really is. I have no idea how this is going to help Doc help me.

I Did It

So I did it and showed Doc my scars. Her response was, "That is a lot of pain." No kidding.  Honestly, it went better than I thought. After a while, she asked me what I was feeling. A bit scared, a bit relieved. Honestly, I'm not sure if I want to quit. Part of me does, part of me doesn't.

Doc suggested that I write out both sides of that debate. I put the arguments in my journal and will post a similar account later. Right now I'm exhausted and need to sleep. I'd been mulling over this moment of telling Dc for a week and lost much sleep worrying over nothing.

I'm glad it went so well, really. I'm in hury to tell the world mind, but it does make it easier.

Request From the Doc

So today, Doc asked if I thought it might be helpful to myself if I let her see my scars. Really see them, not just the glances that I'm sure she's gotten. Honestly, I think it might be time. The thought alone makes me edgy and slightly panicked, I've never really offered to or allowed someone to see the scars. Nightengale is the exception. Maybe it would be helpful, to her and to me.

You see, self harm has become this huge secret that gets in my way. Maybe by allowing her in a little more, it'll help me to be more open in general? Am I scared? Yes. Am I willing to try something new? Yes. Do I think it'll help? I'm not so sure, but willing to try.

Honestly, the scars, while mentioned, are not address directly. Feels like an elephant in the room that I don't want to think about, which of course makes me think about it more. I think that showing her will take away some of the guilt or shame in hiding.

All right... here goes. Next week, I'll show her my scars. God... did I just say that? Must have done, I feel slightly nauseous. And a bit light headed. But there it is, I said it, I'll do it.

"You Don't Deserve It"

At least, that's what the therapist says. Anger is something I always have to deal with, not easy. I tend to turn such an emotion onto myself in an effort to protect others. My arms tell the story of loosing my temper. I grew up with the phrase, "good girls don't loose their temper, good girls are ladies, good girls don't shout." To this day, I think those same things every time I loose my temper. It only makes it worse.

The thing is, sometimes I feel that I do deserve it, every single scar. Lost my temper, failed at whatever, lost jobs, no money, over stressing when I should be calm. I don't process anger well, so I tend to injure when I loose that temper. I know that its self punishment. Logically, I realize that I don't deserve it, but you try arguing with my subconcious.

This was the topic today, but I feel it should be gone further into at a later date.

Extra Session

I called Doc and left a message for to see if there was still an opening on her schedule last Friday. She returned my message in about a half hour, answering me with "Are you all right?" You see, I never call her, I leave emails. For me to call and request an extra session is unheard of, so of course she was worried.

When I got to her office, her face was marked with concern. I told her how I was feeling, that an extra bit of talk might help. She listened. I fought back tears like always.

"Why don't you want to cry? You always fight back tears."
"Because I'm supposed to be the strong one, because crying only ever gives me a headache and nothing more. Because I never feel that emotional release others do."

Maybe next time...

Even now, I'm still urgy. I am jonesin' for a burn. Not sure how much longer I can hold out. I've tried most of my usual distractions. Pinterest, chatroom, Avengers, blogging, reading. I'm running out of options.

I had to buy a new bra the other day, finally got one in my size and, while its comfortable, its also a great way to make me feel like a lard. Lucky me, I'm proportioned the way I am, otherwise these breasts would be way too big. Hence, why I am taking my ass to a gym, whether or not my mother wants met to.

I mentioned this to Doc as well. She's all behind me going to a gym. "Exercise releases endorphins. I think this is a great idea!" Not something that people tell me. So upon my Doc's recommendation, I'm going to a gym! I'll start Monday, loose a few pounds, hopefully get into a size 16. That's the goal.

My worry though is my mentality. It wouldn't take much for me to start going too far and wind up with an eating disorder. I already have a tentative relationship with food. I'm trying to nibble more and "eat" less. Should boost the metabolism. I'm just so sick of how I look.

Sick of how I look, sick of the scars, sick of the depression! Damn it!! I'm sick of everything. Tired, exhausted!

I'll see Doc again on Tuesday. We'll go over it all again.... Maybe it'll stop, this sick and twisted cycle of self hate.

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.

Fear of Loss

I can feel myself starting to talk in circles again while in therapy. I'm sure that Doc has noticed. I think I'm a bit scared to let go of so much, of so many secrets. Its hard to let go of things that I've held onto for so long. Its just strange that I should want to hang onto such things.

Today we discussed abnormalities, at least in the way that the average adult thinks of them. I'm a geek and I love it. Most of my friends and acquaintances are not so there is often a gap. Even among injurers, I feel a bit strange because burning isn't nearly as common as eating disorders and cutting. I never really feel as if I belong anywhere.

The only place I feel myself is online, in my chatroom. I can be myself, I don't have to lie or fake it. I guess in a way I feel that if I talk too much, I may loose parts of myself instead of gaining. Strange, I never think that I'm worth saving. I'm self-deprecating, self-loathing. Honestly, it surprises me that I have friends at all.

Its funny, I think of all these things that I would want to talk to Doc about during the week, but when I get to her office that all goes right out the damned window. 

Long Battles

Today was a bit harder in therapy. Doc is always gentle, though today she was firm as well, like a parent teaching their child to swim or ride a bike. They have to push a little before the child will have success. That was today.

Last week, I gave her permission to be more direct, that she could ask or steer the conversation to places where I normally do not go. I feel that I am my own worst enemy because I'll divert the conversation or beat about the bush, as they say. This afternoon, Doc took advantage of that and said she was thinking about something I'd said last week.

"You said that sometimes you miss self harm, what did you mean by that?"

I must admit I was very close to telling her to back off, but in all honesty, its not the worst question she could ask and it was one that desperately needed answering... for myself. All of my siblings are addicts. One's an alcoholic, another is a drug addict, two are addicted to their own misery. Me? I worked very hard to not be a junkie, not be an alcoholic. Look at me now. Addicted to self harm.

I know a few out there ( okay... probably more than a few) will disagree with me, and that's fine. That's you. For me, injuring is an addiction. When you're stressed out, pissed off, in emotional pain, or feeling numb, do you have something you say you need? "I need a cigarette, I need a hit, I need a beer". I tell myself, "I need a tool." I hate thinking that I'm an addict, I hate it! But there is no getting around that fact. It is what it is, I am what I am.

Hells bells, I talked more about self harm today alone than I have in the whole of the time I've been seeing Doc. This tells me one thing that I hadn't really wanted to think about: Its going to be a very long time before I am no longer seeing her. It took years for me to get this bad, years to go from one method of injury to another, years.... Its going to take a while, maybe even years, to get myself "normal", or at the very least to conquer my addiction.

Am I up for that challenge? A few months ago, maybe a year ago, I would have answered "I don't know." But right now? I've fought all my life to survive. Its what I do, its how I function in this big, bad world. Its all I've ever known, and its exhausting.

I'll tell you this... I Want To Live. There are so many times when I should have died, when I could have died. Yes, that implies I had a choice and made the right one.

So here we go, its going to be one hell of a long battle, but I've fought this long. I'm worth it.

Medicaid and Me

So therapy today went well. It looks like I can use medicaid to continue therapy starting in January, only a few weeks away. There was talk of cognitive behavioural therapy. I've not had the best of luck with people that have gone through that process. They come out being annoying and preachy, sounding much like a religious zealot. We'll see.

I'm just tired of feeling like this all the time. I'm always depressed, its hard for me to be motivated to do anything. I'm almost always on edge these days, its like that's my new normal and I hate it. I hate it! The feelings of being worthless are weighing on me.

I told Doc something I never have outside of my little blog that no one seems to read. I told her that "I'm stupid with sleeping pills". She asked for clarification. I have taken sleeping pills with alcohol because I don't want to deal with anything, just sleep and forget. Bingo, pills and booze. Technically, its self harm because its not the best thing for the liver and because the goal is to make the pain go away. Not something I'm proud of and it could easily have become a very bad and addictive habit. Now I have rules when it comes to pills like that.

I think that my sleep patterns worry Doc. I'm doing better! I can get at least five to seven hours of sleep these days. Better then even a few months back where four to five was the limit. So come January, we'll see how things are going.

Does it really matter?

I have no insurance and therefore cannot afford therapy. Of course once I do have private insurance, I also cannot afford therapy. Email to my therapist what I've found for health care and that its still not affordable and she replies, "Its a flawed system". No shit, Sherlock. Of course she isn't on the receiving end of the shit storm! She has health care, and the money to afford whatever the hell she needs. At $170 a session before insurance and "sliding scale" no wonder. Of course whatever she doesn't get directly in cash that day, the insurance reimburses to the point that she only has her office open to the psychos like me for three days in the work week.

I shouldn't be angry with Dr B, its not her fault. She's trying to help in her own way. She is a prisoner to the system just as much as I am. She can only do so much whilst my hands are tied completely.

I'm angry, pissed off, fucking furious and there is not a bloody thing I can do about any of it. Sure, I can injure, like I did last night. Doesn't help, none of it helps. I could change my injury spot again, new pain... No, doesn't help forever. Numb in the skin and pain in the brain. What a way to go. I close my eyes to try and calm myself, to not see that my life is nothing but a waste most of the time. My parents are disappointed in me because I can't move out and leave them alone. I have few friends and none of which I would ever tell my darkest secret. I have virtually no support.

I. Am. Alone.

I feel it every day I breathe, every night I try to dream. Part of me is so close to saying "fuck it" and giving up. But what of the other part? Too subbourne to die, to give in, to leave. I'm screaming in my head, I'm begging to be heard, but on one seems to hear me. Maybe I'm not loud enough, maybe none of them care, maybe maybe maybe... Does any of it really matter? Do I?

Unemployed

This hasn't been the easiest week. I was forced to quit my job as a cashier, not a big loss, but I don't have any income at the moment. My mother watches too much late night "news" and is convinced that I am "handicapped" and can't "have other people working" with me. I told her that if I'm disabled I better be able to get money for this. My therapist tells me that she's never heard of such a thing. I think I'll trust the woman who has the degree in the mental department.

Since I'm unemployed, I canceled the appointment I had with Dr B and emailed her an explanation as to why. Basically I have to save whatever money I can and she's a commodity that I can scarce afford. She replied that she'd give me a session because she felt that I was having too much at once and needed some encouragement. THANK YOU, DR B!! I don't know if she realizes how much I needed to hear that I'm not useless, that I'm not "handicapped", that I can do this. I know my coping skills aren't great, but at least I'm coping. She doesn't berate me for injury, though she does agree that coping by cutting isn't healthy. She encouraged me to do things more creative, like my jewelry or knitting.

I'm hunting for work, probably end up in a restaurant or something. I'll lie to my parents of course. Plaster that damned smile on my face and make everything look all peaches and roses. No one notices, nobody sees... they never do. Not even when I'm looking them in the eye, they can't see the pain in my own. I can, I see it plane, every morning and every night when I look in the mirror.

Disjointed

I'm worried that I'm not seeing any true progress. I've been going to therapy for over a year now and not much seems to be any different. Of course, only going every other week doesn't help. I see her again tomorrow and I'll ask about progress. I need better coping skills.

Last night was hard on me. All I wanted to do was injure. I had no real reason, just that I could not deal with feeling the way that I did. I felt all disjointed and not really connected to the world in general and myself in particular. My hands don't feel like they are truly mine, but slightly off kilter. I want to cut now just to feel something solid. I could risk it, I know I could. No one is paying attention to me, few do.

But what would it accomplish? Nothing really. Sure I'd feel 'together' for a while but then the guilt would set into me. I'm so tired of all this, all this topsy turvy shit going on in my head. Its hard for me to even close my eyes without feeling like I'm about to blow away.  There has to be something better to do, there has to be...

Special Treat

I usually don't eat breakfast on my days off. I don't care, which is a problem. Anyway... I have therapy tomorrow and decided that if I left a little early I can go to a local cafe and finally try their breakfast. I plan on having "Fancy Toast"-- French toast with apple and cinnamon swirl with whipped cream cheese and fruit. Add a cup of coffee and I think that will do. I have grocery shopping to do as well.

I'm still job hunting, there's a place that I need to check tomorrow as well. A company that provides care takers for the elderly. Not nurses, just people to help with doctor's appointments and grocery shopping, that kind of thing. Seems that would be more fulfilling then what I'm doing now. I feel like a waste of energy just ringing through groceries all damned day.

We'll see what a nice breakfast, therapy of difficulty, a hope and a prayer can accomplish tomorrow.

Partial Suicide

So I talked to Dr B about sharing parts of my blog with her mainly because I think it would help her in our sessions. I have this abhorrent inability to talk directly about my self harm. I dance around the issue like you wouldn't believe. How the hell is she supposed to help me if I say nothing about why I'm there? She suggested that I "cherry pick" posts that I want to discuss and she'll help me. All right, that's fair. And I appreciate that she gives me the freedom to choose.

I'd love to tell her that I snap rubber bands at work, or bang my wrists and hands till they bruise. I cut to feel something other than anger. I burn to calm down because I can't handle the screaming in my head anymore. "It makes me feel sad when you say things like that, that you hurt yourself," Dr B said once. Really? How do you think I feel when I have to fight my demons alone?! I'm tired, exhausted from living. Sometimes I feel like giving up, but I'm too damned stubborn for that. Besides, I know that I don't want to die. I guess Susanna Kaysen said it best, "I didn't want to die. I wanted to kill the part of myself that wanted to die. A form of partial suicide." What she had done was swallow a bottle of aspirin then go to the grocer's and pass out in front of the meat counter. She'd succeeded in some way, killing only a piece of herself.

Maybe that's what I'm after, killing the part of myself that hates breathing, that finds life a daily struggle. Cutting, burning, bruising as a way to find an inner peace that is beyond me. I can almost grasp it sometimes, barely touching it before it slips away like a butterfly in a breeze. I can find beauty in the most filthy alley, but not when I look into my own eyes... eyes that have watched as my pen slides across paper and writes poetry that others find moving.

You have no idea how damn tired I am, I can't seem to close my eyes without feeling a sense of foreboding. That can't be normal.

Do you know how you can tell that you aren't crazy? You're asking what is or isn't normal. Sane people don't need to ask, crazy people don't care. 

I Know I Shouldn't...

...but I just can't help it. I cut my wrist about a four days ago, but I keep picking at it. Its going to scar over eventually and that doesn't really bother me in the slightest. I feel as if I deserve the scar. I got angry, lost my temper and injured... Am I going crazy? Do I care? Answers: Not sure and Yes.

I'm starting to see shadows shift in the night and bend unnaturally during the day. That's one of the ways I know that I am stressing too much. Yes, I do care if I'm going mad... it means I may be committed and I do not want that. Maybe I'll discuss this with Dr B at our next session.

I'm also considering giving her access to this blog. Not my private journal, that is strictly for me. It may have some bearing come Thursday when we speak again.

Lost Time

I mentioned this to Doctor B at our last session. The last few days I've lost track of time, I've been ahead of myself. For instance, if the clock reads three in the afternoon I'd be convinced its seven in the evening. Then I shut down in a way. Kind of like leaving your computer on and the screen saver goes? Like that. People would have to say something for me to pop back awake again. Its rather disconcerting.

The lost time makes me edgy and need something to hold myself in place. Usually this means injuring, which is exactly what I've done. Several times. I have four fresh sets of cuts as of today. I really want to burn, but feel like I should hold off, that I have to. There are far too many marks on my arms as it is, but I seem to crave it more when I shouldn't. Doc has told me that I should try allowing myself to cry more often, that the release of emotions would be better for me. She's right, of course, but my problem is that I seem unable to cry when I need to the most. Its troubling.

I'm having trouble sleeping again and that is probably adding to everything. I wonder if I should ask for sleep aides? No, best not. Most are addictive and I'll forget to take them anyhow. I was also thinking that letting my T read my blog may offer some insights since I am more free with my thoughts as a writer then a talker. I'll ask about it with some friends of mine that have had similar situations and get their input.