Fading Out for a Bit

September 2, 2011

The past several months have been very difficult to live and work through. I feel like I haven’t found the support in blog world or in real life that I’ve needed lately. I don’t even know what kind of support I’m expecting. I feel I tried to reach out for help or advice and I wasn’t understood. I think my choice of words didn’t convey what I was feeling properly, either. I don’t seem to be getting across how I feel in therapy, and I’ve only been able to see her twice since summer began. That is my own fault and I blame myself for being screwy and misunderstood.

I am in a better place than I was two years ago.

I’m angry at the world and at myself.

Time slips away and I’m unable to use it effectively.

All my energy is focused on my family making it through the day safely and intact. They are fine, but that’s because I make sure they are.

I have no focus and no purpose. I’ve lost interest in my hobbies and I don’t have any time for them anyway.

There is no time to make time. It’s all accounted for.

Things I hate:

My parents (Die already, you fucking assholes!)

My life

My thoughts

My body

Food

Sex

Time

People in my community

People in general

Responsibility

The Internet

Television

Telephone

My in-laws

Money

Sleep

Anxiety

Love

Memories

Universe

Mental health

Hope

Truth

Optimism

News

I’m going to lay low again for a while. Life is punishment. I feel I’m being punished for surviving child sexual abuse. I feel my only purpose now is to see my own children live safe and free. My life has little meaning for me and I don’t see the reason for giving it a purpose. Two years I’ve been actively trying to make and find my life, not in a selfish way, but trying to integrate myself internally and externally. I have the diagnosis and the tools and the desire, but I feel the Universe just pushes me back into a box where I am a mom and wife and that’s it.

Things go much more smoothly when I play mom and wife. If a DID issue arises I deal with it and get back to mom and wife. When I try to find my purpose, or try new things bad things happen or get complicated.

I’m not going to try anymore to find myself or be more than I am for now. It’s depressing, tiring, and it unravels all the mommy and wife work I’ve done. It feels like the Universe wants me in a box for now and I’m willing to be there. I’m not a hero, I don’t have the strength to fight constantly, and I have no reason or purpose that I understand.

If this makes no sense to anyone, I’m sorry. This isn’t a pity party. I’m just giving up for now. I can’t find inspiration in myself or from others and I’m tired. Maybe things will start looking up this fall. Rose is tired of roaring.

WordPress is either loading verrryyy slowly or not at all and it’s not easy keeping up with other people’s blogs or simply managing my own.

A mechanical problem forced me to cancel a therapy appointment. I have many questions about recent events, inside and out, and there is no one to turn to.

All this work over the past couple of years and I’m nothing more than a whiny, old bitch.

Nothing will get done if I’m a silly, stupid, scardey cat, so it’s time to just do stuff. No more over-analyzing every possible outcome of every situation. I am tired of just sitting there, waiting for something to happen and then nothing gets done. No more sitting on my ass wondering if this will hurt, this might trigger, etc.

This DID shit keeps holding me back from life. It puts my life in perspective and helps me understand myself, but it has also been limiting. That is my own fault. I get a diagnosis and I freeze. Bullshit. Everything I do lately is bullshit. I won’t sit here and let DID be my life or my excuse for life.

I don’t know how others deal with day-to-day life, but I have been afraid to do anything for fear of losing control, being triggered, or being hurt. I’m so tired and disappointed in myself for watching life drift by and not joining in.

From the novel that was my only friend, confidant, and inspiration through middle school:

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.”

Facta non verba – Deeds not words

Sometimes the most important action you can perform is the one that says “I don’t need you”. It’s very empowering and helps release anger, frustration, and powerlessness. It’s not necessary to say it in front of the person, especially when your actions demonstrate to all around you and the person that this person no longer has any hold on you and cannot touch you or affect your life.

It just feels good. It feels even better when you don’t even have to try, or think about it, and it just comes naturally.

Save the anger for something else………like the person who washed the red shirt with the whites. Now there’s justification for anger.

 

Oh yeah!

 

There’s more to this, but I’ve never written about the abuse inflicted by my ex-husband. It was nasty.

My oldest graduated from high school today and while he was there with his wife and they did a very foolish, childish, very public display of stupidity I was okay and was able to laugh it off around them for the brief time I was near them. But enough of that silly stuff – my boy graduated! Yay!  *whew*

I think they can see me, like maybe there’s a camera that they placed somewhere in here that I haven’t found yet.

When I get dressed it has to be in a small, closed space so no one can see me. I would be horrified if I had to dress elsewhere.

Sitting in my own house with the windows open I am extremely aware of how I look, move, breathe, talk, everything because someone may be watching from outside a window.

When I walk across the yard or to the mail box I have to put one foot carefully in front of the other, put my shoulders back, and walk with purpose. I don’t know why.

I can’t type anything on the computer if someone else is in the room.

My food needs to be spaced a particular way on my plate and eaten in a certain order or I can’t eat it and my appetite will just disappear.

All the surfaces have to be clean in the house or I go nuts.

The bathroom is always meticulously clean. I don’t want any germs there.

It’s sad. I can’t navigate through this if I don’t know what the rules are.

Been here seven years and I’ve been invited to only one house party. Until last year I volunteered whenever I could, listened to people, etc., but I think I must look and act so weird that people don’t want to be around me or wish to try and find out more about me. I don’t volunteer anymore and I don’t shop local anymore. Now I drive 15 minutes to shop in a city where I’m anonymous.

Abusing a child and beating into them that they are nothing, and exist only as an experiment, an object, and less than human makes it hard to get through the day. I can’t see where I’m going, so I just keep moving and moving until I stop.

I’m so scatterbrained and feel so weird.

 

 

 

DID is a busy disorder. So much to do, so little time. I feel like I am the leader of a small country with my citizens constantly clamoring to be heard.

I wanted to write about the last couple of weeks, but a few little girls need to express how they experienced mother-daughter sexual abuse.  **trigger** It goes something like this:

WHY? WHY?
I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!
STOP IT!
OKAY! OKAY!

Only she never got to say that out loud. Mom hurt her, belittled her, and made her believe what was happening was her fault. Mom stripped her essence and beat into her that she was an unworthy whore. She watched and she laughed and she did nothing. She still watches and she still laughs and she still belittles.

She hurt me and she let me be hurt. She put me in serious situations that no child should ever be in. She told me to shut up and stop faking when I said I hurt.

I have always remembered the way she treated (treats) me. I have always had little glimpses and funny feelings about other things she did to me. Now a few little girls are helping me understand what did happen and why I had those funny feelings. I’m trying very hard to accept and respect their experiences. These girls hurt so bad. I’m beginning to feel their rage, humiliation, and disgust and I keep pushing it down so I can get through the day.

Tomorrow is therapy and I hope I can bring these girls to the forefront and learn to work through these feelings safely.

I didn’t mean to trigger anyone.

Note to Self

March 22, 2011

There are many things I need to keep reminding myself of. Things such as:

*My opinion is not important

*I enjoy being interrupted mid-sentence since I couldn’t possibly have anything relevant or interesting to say

*I really do only exist to serve others (Bene Gesserit maybe? If you get this reference I’ll love you forever.)

*It’s not necessary that I have time to myself

*I must always be at the beck and call of others, and always within hearing range

*If anything should happen to me I must deal with it alone and unsupported

*Anything medical-related is my own problem and cannot inconvenience anyone else

*I am responsible for any and all negative happenings to anyone

*The only hobbies I need to have are those that benefit others in any way I can

*There is nothing I can do or say that have any worthwhile contribution in human society

If all you knew for years and years and years was abuse then you make decisions based on that experience. Can changes be made? Yes. Is it worth the pain, agony, misunderstanding, confusion, and anger to make those changes? Maybe. Do you need to reinforce those changes constantly? Yes. Does it ever end? I doubt it. Will you die frustrated and unfulfilled? Probably. Is this what life is all about? I have no fucking idea.

Febuary 9th Was a Long Day

February 10, 2011

Step 1. Ask therapist to PROMISE not to get mad at you before you even sit on the floor.

Step 2. Hand her suicide kit containing 40-50 narcotic pain killers, X-Acto knife, and alcohol pads along with note for her that reads “I’m really, really, really sorry”, etc., and expresses urge to self-harm while she watches.

Step 3. Let it all fall out. Don’t think about anything. Just let it fall, fall, fall, fall out.

Step 4. Buy a Caramel Mocha at McDonald’s, after she feels you can drive, with the window down, so that freezing cold keeps you aware all the way home.

Step 5. Don’t stop at the grocery store. That is a bad idea.

We talked about why I felt I wasn’t using my time in therapy to a better advantage, and why I felt I couldn’t bring the emotions of the girls in my flashbacks together with the adult who is overwhelmed with what happened. My therapist asked me how I usually felt when I did that with her during our hour and I had no clue. I often say, “I think I’m good to drive.” at the end of the hour, but have little to no memory of what went on. This didn’t bother me before because I didn’t realize it. So how do you know if you’re making progress if you can’t remember?

If you can’t remember an hour with your therapist, which I feel is an important hour, or have no memory of any holidays prior to 1998, where is this healing going? 1968-1972 is gone. 1974-1977 is gone. 1979 is gone. 1983-1989 is gone. Much of 1994-1997 is gone, too. I’m slowly understanding the reasons those years are gone. My thought is that dissociating is such a natural response that it happens for any little stressful or emotional reason.

My therapist and I felt it might be a good idea not to read any books about DID or sexual abuse during this phase of treatment. We discussed that a couple of months ago. I’m not reading as many blogs, or I stop reading if it becomes a teeny bit triggering.

Suicidal ideation is at an all-time high. Self-injury continues. So, I’m not reading books or as many blog entries, I’m getting more exercise, eating better, pursuing hobbies, and trying to maintain some stability inside. Is it too much? Where the hell am I in healing? Which part of DID therapy is this called, the Try As You Might You’ll Still Fuck-Up?

I don’t want to rant. I want to be supportive and informative. I want people to say, “Thanks! That really helped.”. All I see is a chubby, short, middle-aged woman who constantly beats her head (literally) against the wall and cannot come together inside or outside.

Here.  Have a picture.

Chuggin’ along…

December 27, 2010

It has been very heartening to read how well, average, not-so-well, or okay many people managed the holidays. I feel it’s important to write it out, whether it is a good or bad or so-so experience. I don’t believe writing it out and/or reading others experiences just for comparison, but rather for inspiration and ideas. Certain times of the year are triggering, or just plain annoying, and reading about how people approach those times of year and deal with it help me feel a little less alone.

Over the past few days I’ve been debating writing about how it has been for me. It was not good. It is not good now, but I’m still here and my kids had a wonderful time. I tried really hard to see this time of year through their eyes and that almost helped. I never want them to associate the holidays with anything other than wonder and joy, so that’s my focus.

I will do whatever I need to do to move through these next couple of weeks intact. Hopefully I will look back and see how I can do things better next time.

Holiday happenings…or not

November 23, 2010

We’re staying home for holidays for the rest of our lives. It’s no longer important to visit with people who trigger us (hubby and I), behave like idiots in front of everyone, upset the kids, and just depress us in general. Most are very upset with our decision. Fuck them. I’m no longer wasting my time, life, etc. because it’s “expected”. I take enough Xanax already. And this was all hubby’s idea, too. The holidays are just another day to us, anyway, but we try to fake through them for the kids.

– We’re smoking our turkey this year and it will take 14 hours to cook! We thought a horror movie marathon would help us stay awake.

– The chocolate pudding and pumpkin pies, as well as the cranberry bread were made in partnership with a 22-month old I’ve been babysitting the past two days. They are messy, probably unsanitary, but yummy, and I send home bread and pies to her mom, too.

– Each kid picked out a side dish, so we have mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry relish, sausage stuffing, chicken fingers, french fries, cheesy quesidillas, and cocktail meatballs. The table should look quite interesting if everything fits.

– Everyone also picked out what to watch over vacation. We have “Mork and Mindy”, “Happy Tree Friends”, “The Tick” (live version), and “Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince” so far.

I don’t make a list of things to be thankful for. I just try to make it through a day. If I didn’t have a little-bitty to watch this week I’d be carving up myself as well as a turkey. Any contact with the abusers will be terminated as of January, but hopefully they will die in some freakish, painful accident before then.

Life is okay here in the house, but not in my head, or in my body and I can’t disengage. I don’t know why. Having little-bitty-Mia-Monster is a big help, though. I’m so glad I kept all of these toys. It’s fun to play with her. I half-wish her mom had asked me to watch her more often. At least she knows I can do it in a pinch.

That’s all. The kids will be home Wednesday through Monday. That should keep me safe.

Mia just finished lunch (I think. If it’s on the couch I think that means she’s done.) and we have two more pie crusts to roll out. Huzzah!