So last Friday, I had an extra session with Doc. Along the conversation she said, "I don't know how you handle that must frustration all the time." I think her statement was rhetorical, either way I told her exactly how. I pulled up my 3/4 sleeves past the elbow and showed her a fresh burn and a couple week old cuts. "That... That is how I deal with the frustration!"
It was a flair of dramatics, something I am not prone to and that I felt the need to apologize for today. Her response was good. She was actually proud of the progress I've made. When I first started seeing her, I wouldn't say a thing about self harm even though I sought her out because of her work with it. I would talk in circles, I still do, its just not as bad.
Its not easy, carrying this with me every day. I'm tired, exhausted. I feel that there should be an end, but it seems to be going on forever. I don't feel that I have made any progress, though Doc disagrees. The secret I'm carrying seems so all-encompassing, so enormous.
Great, now I'm feeling that old foe, Depression, tugging at me with his buddies, Shame and Guilt. Screw it... I'm going to bed soon. I'll deal with this mess my life has become tomorrow.
Tuesday, July 1, 2014
Friday, June 20, 2014
Frozen
So I've finally seen the animated film everyone is singing to, Disney's Frozen. I must say that I was impressed. Lately, Disney has been just one major disappointment, but this wasn't bad. Its also the first of Disney's films that deals with depression, something that I heartily applaud.
TG had me over and we watched it. I can completely identify with Elsa, for many reasons. She keeps her pain to herself and doesn't let others into her thoughts or heart. To protect the person she loves most, she makes sure that there is no way she can be hurt by either her force or her pain. I get it. I do the same thing.
I don't cry in front of people; I hide my emotions under jokes, sarcasm, or bravado. The problem is that I see I do this and still make that a habit. TG is amazing, on two occasions she has just let me cry a little, didn't push me to talk about it. "Did you want to tell me?" That's how she asks, if I want to, no pressure. I love her for that. I should tell her more often.
I also understand Elsa feeling numb. "Conceal, don't feel." Shove emotion into a bottle and leave it there until you explode and create an everlasting winter. Sure, we've all been there, right? Ok maybe not turning the village and surrounding areas into winter wonderland, but we've all gotten to a point in which we either crumble into ourselves or explode.
I'm trying to not explode and send ice crystals all over the place, trying to keep myself together. I'm fighting, fighting... fighting. There has to be a moment in which I see the end, isn't there?
Lately, I've been feeling as if this darkness is trying to drag me into an abyss again. Its getting harder and harder to survive. There are more forced days, days in which everything is an effort. This week I had two days that I had to force myself through every motion, hells I even had to remind myself to breathe. In... out. In... out. An annoying mantra. "Remember, you still have to breathe."
Time, that's what I need. Time to heal and try to recover. I'll be 30 in a month... Thirty. And I'm still doing this?
TG had me over and we watched it. I can completely identify with Elsa, for many reasons. She keeps her pain to herself and doesn't let others into her thoughts or heart. To protect the person she loves most, she makes sure that there is no way she can be hurt by either her force or her pain. I get it. I do the same thing.
I don't cry in front of people; I hide my emotions under jokes, sarcasm, or bravado. The problem is that I see I do this and still make that a habit. TG is amazing, on two occasions she has just let me cry a little, didn't push me to talk about it. "Did you want to tell me?" That's how she asks, if I want to, no pressure. I love her for that. I should tell her more often.
I also understand Elsa feeling numb. "Conceal, don't feel." Shove emotion into a bottle and leave it there until you explode and create an everlasting winter. Sure, we've all been there, right? Ok maybe not turning the village and surrounding areas into winter wonderland, but we've all gotten to a point in which we either crumble into ourselves or explode.
I'm trying to not explode and send ice crystals all over the place, trying to keep myself together. I'm fighting, fighting... fighting. There has to be a moment in which I see the end, isn't there?
Lately, I've been feeling as if this darkness is trying to drag me into an abyss again. Its getting harder and harder to survive. There are more forced days, days in which everything is an effort. This week I had two days that I had to force myself through every motion, hells I even had to remind myself to breathe. In... out. In... out. An annoying mantra. "Remember, you still have to breathe."
Time, that's what I need. Time to heal and try to recover. I'll be 30 in a month... Thirty. And I'm still doing this?
Saturday, June 14, 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, June 12, 2014
Feeling Hopeless
I've been feeling so hopeless these last few days. I feel on the edge of tears, borderline despair. Its hard to find a reason to keep going. I'm tired and just want to give up.
People are dying left and right every night on the news. Children with guns are throwing temper tantrums and killing others. Its just a mess. I see these things and it breaks what's left of my heart. Yesterday, TG and I were talking and the shootings of the last few weeks came up. I was also thinking of a report I'd heard about a former child soldier in Uganda. I cried the loss of lives of such young ones, children that barely had a chance to live before their innocence was stolen from them. It breaks my heart.
These thoughts are haunting me. I wake with them, and have to survive my waking hours with news reports and people talking. I want to escape through music, through books, through self harm. Anything to feel better.
No one seems to hear me, to see me, crying in a corner or hiding in plain sight. I'm so done! There has to be an end! I long for release, for sleep without haunted thoughts of the waking.
People are dying left and right every night on the news. Children with guns are throwing temper tantrums and killing others. Its just a mess. I see these things and it breaks what's left of my heart. Yesterday, TG and I were talking and the shootings of the last few weeks came up. I was also thinking of a report I'd heard about a former child soldier in Uganda. I cried the loss of lives of such young ones, children that barely had a chance to live before their innocence was stolen from them. It breaks my heart.
These thoughts are haunting me. I wake with them, and have to survive my waking hours with news reports and people talking. I want to escape through music, through books, through self harm. Anything to feel better.
No one seems to hear me, to see me, crying in a corner or hiding in plain sight. I'm so done! There has to be an end! I long for release, for sleep without haunted thoughts of the waking.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Misery Loves Company
I come home to see my mother near tears. Apparently, after I left the house this afternoon, everything went wrong. She had trouble with the dishes, tripped over the rug, slammed her shoulder into the table, bashed her hand against a door jam, dropped wet clothes on the way to the dryer. All in all not a great hour!
I tell here that my friend, TG (Tangle Girl), had a rough day too. She said she wanted a giant chocolate bar. Mother's reply?
"If'd get one for her, if I new she'd accept it."
The Fuck?!?! I love that she does this, plays the damned martyr. Its almost like she wants people to hate her to give her an excuse to be this way. She's paranoid and loves to push those fears on me. I'm just not in the damned mood to deal with this! I'm urgy and drinking a beer. Trying to stay away from the sleeping pills, something I do when I don't want to deal with people's shit anymore.
Trying to be good. I'm tired and this is just not helping. She loves to do this, wallow in her misery. I can't be like this.
I tell here that my friend, TG (Tangle Girl), had a rough day too. She said she wanted a giant chocolate bar. Mother's reply?
"If'd get one for her, if I new she'd accept it."
The Fuck?!?! I love that she does this, plays the damned martyr. Its almost like she wants people to hate her to give her an excuse to be this way. She's paranoid and loves to push those fears on me. I'm just not in the damned mood to deal with this! I'm urgy and drinking a beer. Trying to stay away from the sleeping pills, something I do when I don't want to deal with people's shit anymore.
Trying to be good. I'm tired and this is just not helping. She loves to do this, wallow in her misery. I can't be like this.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Bad Night
So tonight there was a thing... Mum got upset with someone who ignored her, according to her. She always sees things that aren't there. A person may not have ignored you, just not noticed, but I can't say that nor anything similar because she goes all "you don't need to defend them! I understand its your friend." Her voice is always full of venom when she says that, like she's now pissed at me for doing what she taught me, looking on the fucking bright side like Pollyanna.
So I cam home, made lunch for tomorrow, put on a damn happy show for about an hour then went to my room, cut my arm, and slammed a shot of schnapps. The alcohol has gone to my head, I want to sleep. I may have blown a three week stretch, but I didn't mix alcohol and sleep aides. Yay me...
Therapy today and Doc has decided that we need to go into the trauma of my school years. Joy... That was hell then and I'm not excited to go back into it, but it needs to be done. All my life, my emotions have been shoved into a box and locked away. I've been told that I have to just leave my past behind me, but its not working. I've tried it everyone else's way, but all its done is drive me to self harm.
Damn... just damn it.
So I cam home, made lunch for tomorrow, put on a damn happy show for about an hour then went to my room, cut my arm, and slammed a shot of schnapps. The alcohol has gone to my head, I want to sleep. I may have blown a three week stretch, but I didn't mix alcohol and sleep aides. Yay me...
Therapy today and Doc has decided that we need to go into the trauma of my school years. Joy... That was hell then and I'm not excited to go back into it, but it needs to be done. All my life, my emotions have been shoved into a box and locked away. I've been told that I have to just leave my past behind me, but its not working. I've tried it everyone else's way, but all its done is drive me to self harm.
Damn... just damn it.
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