Monthly Archives: June 2013

just not comfortable

I’m totally antsy and restless today. I want to go out and play with plants, but I don’t have the cash to buy any at the moment… and no one wants to tag along to the flea market “just to look” so I feel totally trapped. Anyone else get that way? It’s like my brain suddenly has energy in excess, so I can’t sit still. I wish there was more to do, and I wish I was more into messing with the vivs I have at the moment instead of dreaming up what else I can make… I do have an empty one that needs to be set up for one of the juvi cresteds that has outgrown his current set-up. Maybe I will do that and make it a nice jungle in there. I still have some plants on the patio that were supposed to go into vivs but have yet to find a home. Maybe that will be a good project to keep me occupied for a bit.

So what’s everyone north american’s respective holiday week/weekend look like? I will be rounding up the cats at night (if I can) because the fireworks freak them out, and over here people do them all week long…
Ugh!! BORED!!!!!

BPD rearing it’s ugly head

So, if you know me, you know that I am adamantly against the BPD diagnosis I received a while ago.  I hate it and it brings with it a lot of stigma.  I get a lot of flack from psychiatrists, especially in hospitals, for the diagnosis, and there’s little understanding.  They often ignore the PTSD and depression pieces once they hear or see the BPD diagnosis. I get treated like everything I do is simply to annoy others and to get attention (the farthest thing from the truth)… It’s just that sometimes I scare myself, so I freak out and reach out desperately trying to grasp on to any shred of hope or help.  It makes a lot of people hate me…

That being said, the BPD traits are totally screwing with me right now.  I go through crazy mood swings that have me being ok one moment, and wanting to destroy myself the next.  The rage I feel never comes out, but I feel it inside and it drives me crazy (hence the self-destruction).  I also vacillate between hating my therapist, and desperately needing to talk to him about the things in my head.  I forget the things that make me mad at him, or the things I need to talk to him about pretty much as soon as the emotion passes.  I try to write it all down in emails, but I feel bad about sending him a ton of emails in the span of a few days, so I try to send them all to myself and compile them before our session to send it all at once.  Only I no longer feel connected to it after a few days.  So a lot doesn’t get to him… I also don’t want to be that BPD client… I try to rein it in, but it’s really hard sometimes.

I struggle with wanting to be liked, and having this diagnosis means a lot of people will not like me because of all the stupid things I do… and it means dealing with a ton of stigma from mental health professionals (and it means that when I can’t figure out how to keep it under wraps, I lose a lot of people from my life).  No wonder I don’t have friends and everyone thinks I’m hopeless… I really am 😦

phrases I could do without ever hearing again

~you’re not trying hard enough… if you just tried harder…
~stop obsessing/don’t think about it
~just be positive/just choose to be happy
~it’s all in your head
~just don’t do it
~do something else, even if it doesn’t work a million times, it may work on try 1,000,001
~don’t let her get to you
~you are an adult and in control
~don’t get lost in the emotion, just don’t go there

Changing your Inner Landscape

I followed up with K this week about the whole concept of changing one’s inner landscape, and how it helps…

I have to admit, I wasn’t paying too much attention, because I launched back into my own inner landscape pretty fast.  Please bare with me as I likely have this stuff a bit wrong.

The gist of what she said was that visualizing our inner landscapes and being able to change it/cultivate a positive landscape helps a person identify less adamantly with the negative landscape.  It was something along the lines of also helping identify what else you need in your life to get you to where you want to be in life.  She spoke about adding items or taking them away, and what that metaphorical change would represent in real life.

With my particular landscape (blogged about here), she challenged me to look at the tree that I saw a dead and charred, and see the beauty and growth in it.  She said she saw movement and potential there.  I still don’t see what she sees, but whatever.  She then asked me what I would change in the landscape – what would I add or make different.  My answer was to change all of it; to wipe it out and start again in a beach scene by the water with palm trees gently swaying in the breeze, and coconuts dropping from the trees.  It would have my animals around, and my wife there under one of the trees (and because I often take uncomfortable situations and break the tension with humor, I said that occasionally a coconut would fall on L’s head and she would have a Newton-esque moment of realization as she is falling asleep in the peace of the scene).

We did not get into what the implications are of changing the entire scene, but I’m suddenly again reminded of the quote from How To Train Your Dragon where Hiccup is told of people’s displeasure with “all of this” and they gesture to the whole of him, implying that he needs a core change.  I think I need a change like that.  I need to start fresh and wipe out all that is here now, and build something totally new.  I’m not quite sure how to do that, or if it’s even possible, but I feel that dissatisfied with myself.  I know my experiences make me the person I am today, but I would prefer to be less socially awkward and strange.  I would like to be more balanced and in touch with all that is good, not all that is bad… That would involve a complete re-scaping of myself, and a re-working of all the connections in my brain that make things go so awry.  I wish I had that opportunity right now, while I have the energy and drive to do it.  I know in the movie they showed that he had his own talents to bring to the table, but I feel like I just need a total re-programming because mine is so full of glitches and errors in coding.

Back Off

sometimes others need reminders… I wish I had this for that dumb-ass psychiatrist at New Britain General when he insisted I did it for attention… fucker.

lost hope from others as well

I know I don’t have hope for myself much of the time, but it sucks so much worse when others lose hope also.  It’s like everyone expects me to fail at recovery and healing… it really sucks to hear it from professionals.  Why bother trying if the people paid to keep me on track all believe that I am never going to change, and that ultimately, I will kill myself anyway.  Sometimes I feel like my wife is the only person who believes there is good in me, and that I can get out of this hole I so frequently find myself in.  I understand their concern for her well-being, but thanks for dismissing me altogether like that.

Am I really as hopeless as I believe myself to be?  Am I really doomed to take my own life?  Because if so, someone please tell me they know for sure, and then just let me do it.  Don’t force me to struggle through all of this if it inevitably ends with me offing myself.  Don’t make me go to the hospital, don’t force drugs on me, don’t put me through traumatic treatments if it’s all going to fail anyway and I’m just going to be dead.  Let’s all cut our losses and end it here and now.  Cuz really, how else am I supposed to interpret the loss of hope even from professionals?

Today’s blog was supposed to be about my poor communication skills, and recognizing that I have a lot of work to do on that front.  It was supposed to be me recording for myself that I communicate poorly through words because so much of my stuff is rooted in non-verbal.  Much of it is emotions I have no name for, or even true concept of what they are.  And it’s pictures and flashes of images.  It’s verbatim fights between family members, but ones I can’t translate, just feel.  It’s stuff I have no words for, so of course the words fail me when I try to describe or convey it to anyone.  A lot is lost in the translation in my head from thought to word.  This is especially true if I happen to be caught in the emotion.  I have much more trouble finding words amid turmoil than I do when detached from it, even by a few minutes.  And I long ago learned that speaking was dangerous.  Being heard meant that you could get in trouble for what was overheard (especially if it was snippets of conversation).  I learned, quite literally, that having a voice meant being in danger.  I think that is why writing comes so much easier.  It was something I did in private, and left little to misinterpretation because it was all in one spot and accessible more than once.

Writing was also the only way I had to explain myself.  I can’t seem to get across to people what it’s like growing up trying to explain yourself only to be silenced by the phrase “Don’t talk back!”  I heard that from just about every adult in my life, and often.  It’s no mystery why I have trouble standing up for myself in the moment (and verbally) as an adult.   If every time you tried to explain a situation or misunderstanding you were told to stop talking because nothing you say could make things any better, you soon learn to just stop talking.  If every protest or attempt at clarification yielded yelling and anger, it stands to reason that you start shutting up to keep from being in trouble.

I know physically I am an adult, but emotionally, I got stuck somewhere in my childhood.  Much of the time, I don’t see myself as an adult, but as a child that needs to bow down and make everything right.   It’s my responsibility to fix everything, and it’s my responsibility to shut up and take it when people see things go wrong.  There are times I feel more adult, but much of the time I feel like a kid in my head.  I look at this body and wonder where it came from.  I see my face in the mirror, and hold no connection to it.  It’s the weirdest feeling, to be foreign in your own body; to have such a lack of substance in your head contrasted with the very real substance of a human body.  And that goes beyond the “not grown up” feeling in my head.  The disconnect is more of a shock that there is actually anything corporeal there at all, let alone a grown-up.   How do you explain to people that, inside, you are still 5, 6, 10, 17 when your body is so much older?  How do you even begin to tackle the concept of being emotionally and mentally stuck as a child, when you have to look and act like an adult?  This wasn’t as apparent a problem when I lived up north, but down here, I can’t escape that sensation… Maybe more of that can be explained through dissociation, I don’t really know.  I used to know.  I used to have a good handle on this stuff, but that was when I was an adult. It’s all very confusing now, and the details of my training blur, and the details of that understanding blurs.  It truly sucks.

And we are back to hopelessness – both external and internal.


I don’t know what to think about therapy any more…  I think I lost all faith in D today. He was so busy trying to convince me not to dissociate, that he missed why I was doing it.  He didn’t ask, but forged ahead with something he thought was being helpful, but it really just made a huge rift in our relationship.  I know I’m difficult.  I know things are a huge drama with me.  I know I’m frustrating.  But if a client tells you they are putting up protection against something, maybe ask why they feel they need it.  He just told me not to go there and told me I don’t need my protection.  When someone fears something like that, maybe it’s a good idea to figure out what exactly they fear before telling them not to fear it… I didn’t want to talk to him after that.  I didn’t even want to make another appointment, but wanted to tell him I’d call him if I needed (I let him suggest next week and went with it)…

I ended up emailing him after I left.  He called to talk, but my phone was still on silent and I missed it.  I did not want to talk to him right then.  I had no words.  I told him in a second email that maybe we’d talk about it on Monday…  The icon on my phone for his caller ID is Beaker (the Muppet) Meep’ing away.  I put it up because way back when we started I didn’t feel like he understood what I was saying.  For a while I thought things had changed, but again I feel like I’m not saying anything in a way that makes sense to him… I’ve only felt this way about one other therapist.  Sometimes you just don’t click I guess.  He’s a nice guy and all, and I know he truly cares about his work and his clients, but I just don’t feel understood by him, and it feels like more than my usual inability to communicate well.  😦  I feel like such an alien.


What is it about depression that makes you at once exhausted and restless beyond belief?  I am bored by everything I try.  I cannot pay much attention to anything.  The activities that used to occupy me for hours on end now nearly bore me to tears.  My creativity is blocked.  I sit with music in my ears, but it too is boring me and I don’t want the noise in my ears.  I crave silence, but can’t stand it at the same time.  My family moving around and watching tv and occupying themselves is so much chaos to my mind.  I want silence, but not boredom…

But Monday is a new day ………..

this speaks volumes to the difficulty in trusting people enough to tell the truth.

Today was ok, until the devils worst nightmare popped up again

Today was good.  We kept busy.  I finally managed to answer the call-back from the crisis center (they managed to always call the 2 minutes I stepped away from my phone on Saturday). I didn’t really feel the need to talk because I was out and about,  But it was nice to be able to check in.
At home, I did what I needed to with the dogs,  and sat down to play online a bit. I looked at my fb notifications for the first time all day,  and the evil bitch had somehow managed to find me again (despite being blocked several times). She shared some of my pictures.  I reported her to fb,  and proceeded to block her yet again.  But the damage had been done.  I work so hard to block her from finding anything out about my life,  but she always manages to creep up a few times a year.  And it always throws me into a spin.  I know I shouldn’t let her get to me like that. I should know better.  But I don’t.  It’s an instant rush of hatred and rage and homicidal thoughts towards her.  It always ends with me feeling awful and crying.  Not only does the mere idea of her trigger intense memories,  but the cognitive dissonance between the way I feel about her,  and what I hold to be true about myself, causes great distress.  She is the only person in the world I would relish in watching die a very painful death.  I would push her off a cliff if given half the chance.  I would torture her and watch her beg, all the while with a huge grin of satisfaction on my face.  I would relish the act of killing her slowly.  The fantasies of her death play out in my mind fueled by rage and hatred for her.
Now, if you know me,  you know that something like that is the farthest thing from anything I could do to anyone or witness done to anyone… except her.  I argue against the death penalty.  I give perpetrators the benefit of the doubt that they are only acting the way they do because it is what they were taught,  or what they need to do to survive. I see the good in everyone and everything, except her.  I don’t care if she is mentally ill,  a trauma survivor,  or just doesn’t know any other way to get through the world.  I can’t bring myself to give her any leeway.  I can argue to look at the circumstances of the Boston bombers’ lives.  I can try to find the good in the Newtown shooter.  I can try to find the reasons behind the Colorado theater shootings.  I cannot see anything other than evil in this woman.  She actively causes or seeks suffering,  and then looks to make it worse just for her pleasure.  And I wish she would leave existence already.  And that intense hatred for her makes me hate myself.  I value myself as a caring,  just, and minimally judgmental person.  The dichotomy of holding that truth about myself while still holding my disdain for her makes my head and my heart hurt.  I can’t reconcile it with myself.
She was (and still is) the biggest abuser in my life. And I can’t escape her.  And it kills me…  how do you learn to stop giving that one person so much power?

More anxiety, more impulsivity. (Triggering)

They seem to go hand in hand.  I was smart today tho.  I brought my ativan to the volunteer meeting we had.  It was a good thing,  because about 15 minutes into it I started to get antsy and anxious.  It helped me get through the meeting.  Towards the end tho,  the anxiety started to come back.  I started to have self-harm thoughts,  and imagined what I could do to myself.  I feel high,  like I took uppers and they are making me spazzy. I want to be the one driving and do it fast.  I want to be alone in the car so if I get hurt it wouldn’t mess anyone else up.  I want to shred myself,  and reenact any violent stabbing scene I have ever seen,  only I would do it to myself.  I am supposed to call the crisis line if this comes up again,  but my wife will be back in the car soon, and she does not yet know how I’m feeling at the moment.  I want to smash myself.  I wanted to jump out of the car into the path of another car on the highway… bat-shit crazy is back.  I want to hurt myself in so many ways right now… maybe I should just call them and then talk to my wife later… I don’t know.  I hate feeling this way.  I hate the sudden onset.  I hate how strong it is.  And I hate how completely it takes over.

Follow-up to the switching post

I’m pretty sure the people at the Baton Rouge Crisis Center Chat are getting sick of me but they are just not allowed to admit it.  I chatted for a while again last night in hopes of figuring out what triggered last night’s sudden burst of crazy rage.  She reminded me she wasn’t a therapist,  and I told her that was ok,  but I just wanted to bounce ideas around and see if she could pick something out that my wife and I had missed.
She did pretty well. I had mentioned my burst of impulsivity while driving home today. I don’t know why I forgot about that when thinking about my kitchen incident earlier,  but I had.  We got around to talking about how I had been feeling the last few weeks,  and how this could just be an extension of that in different form.  She let me go on about past impulsive experiences for a while.  Then she did the usual safety contracting and such.  In the end she got me to agree to have one of their counselors call me back Saturday evening to check in.  I’m hoping I won’t need to talk at that point,  but I’m glad I will have at least that. 
Part of me feels guilty for not being able to talk to my family about all this,  but it’s just easier to talk to a neutral third party.  Their day-to-day opinion of me doesn’t matter,  and their emotional reactions are tempered by professionalism.  It’s still really hard to open up to anyone,  but at least I don’t worry that I am freaking them out by telling them things.  I worry about that with my family.  I worry that they worry,  and feel helpless in finding a solution.  I don’t always want a solution,  just someone to listen to the crazy and be able to (with genuine knowledge) say I’m not alone in it all.  They hear more stories than my family does,  so they know with some certainty that other people struggle with this kind of thing daily…  and most of all,  I don’t have to see their tears, or hear their voices crack or get frantic when I let them in on the chaos floating through my head.

Sudden switches (triggering)

I really cannot tell you what happened tonight,  but the switch was instant.  I was putting dishes away,  and suddenly the kitchen knives begged to be used.  I wanted to take them all and stab myself.  I wanted to feel them go all the way through my arm,  like the scene in Stigmata… and then I wanted to smash all the dishes.  My wife was there,  so I asked her to put the sharp knives away.

I don’t know what changed.  I know I’ve been feeling like crying for no apparent reason even though it was a good day.  I told my therapist that when I saw him.  I wasn’t connecting to any emotion at that point though.
I collaged tonight,  and they were actually positive pieces:


Then I went to do the dishes so L could make dinner.  That’s when something just changed.  I went from that positive feeling to bat-shit crazy (sudden anger and a need to break things,  especially myself) in an instant.

The resulting collages were a bit darker: (I wish I could put them next to each other. It’s a 2-page spread)


I hate when that happens.  It’s like my brain is unable to handle happy,  so it whips me back to crazy (I skip right over depressed at times like these). I just don’t understand it… I don’t like it.

Morning silliness

Hi mom!  Time to get up! We are hungry and antsy.







(I know this is an unusual post, but they help me through the days, and make me laugh with their antics. So far today is good. I need to document that too).

Inner children and inner landscapes


I have had this image of Samantha Jane in my head for a while.  I finally sketched it out.  She is ok with this representation if herself.


Last night,  K brought up the idea of an inner landscape,  and figuring out what it looks like to help move into changing it.  The above is about what I saw in my head when she talked about it. Not quite what I saw originally,  but only in shading (the tree is the only thing that is supposed to be colored in black,  the rest is just supposed to be lines and shading.  It did not come out that way.  I might be able to accomplish it better in paint,  but I’m not feeling the painting thing at the moment.  I really like charcoal).
Anyway,  take what you will of it.

That ache

My scars tingle and ache.  I hate that.  It makes the act that much harder to distract from.  It feels like a low-grade current of electricity is throbbing through them all.  It also makes me acutely aware of how many places I have cut over my body,  and just how many scars there are… sad and pathetic.

Waiting for sleep

Sometimes writing is the only way I know how to communicate.  It’s frustrating that the crisis chats are not 24/7, because sometimes my voice leaves me.
I think it goes along with the weird dissociation.  My head is in charge of the speaking,  and that’s not always reliable.  But my hands sometimes do things on their own,  prompted by knowing they should be doing something.  My voice does not always have access to that instinct.
K is right,  I need to do more with art and writing.  It helps the expression.
Right now I just need to write until the trazodone kicks in,  because the alternative instinct is to self-harm.  And I promised I would not do that.  So here I am writing.  Not sure what’s coming out,  But it’s keeping my hands occupied.
I really want the release of the other,  but I can’t have that.  Can’t give in to it… I see D on Friday.  Tomorrow will just be a day to get through.  I wish I had the magic wand J talked about today.  I would start myself over,  or at least get into treatment for everything.
I think K was right,  that belief in whatever comes next in life,  what our purpose is, plays a huge role in our ability to maintain through this life.  My belief is that we accomplish the learning we need,  and move on.  I wish I had accomplished my learning.  The torture is crazy.  I hate being in my head.  I hate the darkness I’m constantly trying to outrun,  only to trip on construction barriers.  It’s difficult running in the grey fog.  I can’t see the obstacles until I am on top of them and already falling.
I was able to talk about things with a measure of calm today,  and relatively little emotion because I was detached from it all.  I was able to admit to K the obliteration fantasies because I was disconnected from it at the time.  There was no emotion in the telling,  but I was able to tell it.  I know it came off as manipulative,  but it wasn’t meant that way.  It was meant as protection: to be honest about the place of my head most of the time.  It was that detached self talking,  the one that keeps me alive despite my desperate efforts to end this all.  She was right,  it’s a desire to end the pain and the turmoil,  not necessarily my life (though I am losing connection to the idea that the two can be mutually exclusive).
I was describing some of the dissociation,  and she asked if I was DID because of the level of it.  I told her Dr C once questioned it,  but I did not fit the criteria.  I think I just dissociate really well.  It served to help me through a lot.  It helped through the whole relationship with Duckboy. It helped growing up.  It helped with a lot.  I realized the level of dissociation first with Duckboy and having conversions I did not remember,  and not knowing what we did when we hung out (and a few times that we had even hung out).  I’m sure I had similar dissociative episodes at home before,  but just didn’t notice because it was always in the heat of the moment (I just plain don’t remember 90% of my childhood) and no one ever brought it back up…
I also mentioned to K that I want to try her inner child workshop at some point,  because I do not connect to her – she is someone else,  not a little version of me.  There was no little/younger version of me outside of that kid in the pink feety pajamas that watched her parents scream at each other,  and got caught between her mom and the night stand when her dad pushed mom.  But even then I just watched her cry from a corner high above…
Anyway,  enough for tonight,  The meds are kicking in.

over-reactions to little things

I asked my mom to fix Beary’s clothes, to take it in so I could get rid of the safety pins…
She meant well. She took in the tank top more than it should have been taken in, and it’s freaking me out for no discernible reason. She made her tank more girly, and tight, and it’s not supposed to be that way… and it’s making me want to cry. It’s stupid. It’s just a damn piece of clothing for the bear. And she was just trying to be nice and make it look better… but it’s all wrong and I want to rip it off because it feels stifling. I want to run out and get her a replacement tank top so it’s more loose again, because for some unknown reason this feels like a huge mistake… wtf?! why am I reacting this way to nothing? this is so ridiculous. I should just be thankful that she helped out. she did not have to help out…

Hell is Henderson

I was involuntarily “held” yesterday… I had made my way to the er on my own because I was worried about a cut.  Apparently, it had clotted over, and they deemed it no reason to be there, but because I had gone for self-harm reasons, they felt the need to try to keep me.  Their unit was full, so I was sent to the county “crisis stabilization unit”. They really do suck there.  I was only spoken to during the admission process, and was given no indication of how long I was to be there, or even really where I was going to be.  The psychiatrist refused to see me the first day I was there, and I was instructed to go wait in the other room.  It had a table, 6 chairs, and 2 smaller rooms with 2 beds each.  the beds did not have linens, and were still covered in crumbs from whomever was there last…

I would say that taking a depressed person (or anyone in crisis) and placing them in a room by themselves with not much of anything to do, bars on the windows, and refusing to interact with them is pretty shitty… because I was the only one on the “screening” unit, I was by myself the whole day. I was told I could make calls, but only local ones (we have no intention of changing our cell numbers to local numbers), so I had to wait on my wife to have time to call me… and I had to brave touching the shit-caked phone… I don’t think they ever cleaned the place.  It was a really shitty experience (literally, figuratively).  About 6 hours into my sitting and waiting, they gave me linens for the bed.  I was finally able to lay down and try to sleep (hoping to pass some of the hours).  I slept little and almost no time passed.  The tv options were cartoons or the Spanish channels, so I kept it off.  It was miserable and just left me thinking and my walls going up fast and hard.  I was able to talk to my therapist’s supervisor at one point, but it didn’t help me feel any less confused (the hospital said that I had lied about the self-harm that I went to the er for, that there was no evidence of it.  While I do dissociate quite a bit, and had during the er visit, I know that the doctor had said it had stopped bleeding on its own.  I do not know why they wrote on the form that there was no evidence of any of it.  I gain nothing from lying about that. If I had simply wanted to be admitted, I could have told them that I was feeling unsafe.  That would have been all they needed to keep me there…).  Anyway.  It all sucked.  It reminded me of the old movies of psych hospitals they used to show us in class to prove how far we had come in the evolution of the treatment of mental illness… Clearly not that far.

It was not until the middle of the night that another person arrived on the “unit”… I feel bad for the one lady who came this morning, as she was just as disturbed by the surroundings as I had been.  She also was not seen by the psychiatrist this morning, though he came after she got there.  That means she will be stuck there alone for the rest of the day.  I was discharged, and I think they will be moving the woman who came in the middle of the night.  The only other person there today was a guy who seemed violent when interacted with…  As happy as I was to be able to get out, take a shower, and get into real clothes, I feel for that lady… It can make you feel horrible to feel so alone and trapped.  She will likely get out tomorrow (at least from what she said to me, they have no reason to keep her) but the time will go by slow and torturous for her.  I don’t know how that place is considered the “go-to” for the state… well, maybe I do.  It’s really just sad.  I believe prisoners get more interaction, clean spaces, and help than they provided there.  The staff was nice enough when asked something, but they had no concern with what you were doing unless you were hurting yourself or someone else.  They had no time to sit and talk, even though I understand they are credentialed therapists…  Remind me never to go back there, even if it is the last option on earth to keep from dying a slow and agonizing death  in the apocalypse…

I’m still lost and sad, but holding out for benefits to be able to get some quality treatment, not simply containment. 😦

Time is standing still

Ever notice that time seems to freeze when you are looking for relief?  I see D at noon.  It’s still so far away, and the minutes are taking hours to pass… maybe I’ll shower and do some laundry and get gecko food ready… maybe that will help nudge time along.


I want to run, far and fast… I wish I could fly, because I would take off… I hate crazy mood swings.

comfort in an alien world

The part of me that is desperately seeking comfort is out and active.  I have music glued to my ears at all times, I have my worry stone given to me by my first-ever therapist, and I have started taking my bear places (I know, an adult carrying a stuffy around with her everywhere is pretty ridiculous, but I need her right now).  L has picked up on the fact that the appearance of Beary at my side is generally a sign that things are decompensating pretty far…

I wish there was a safe place to go to get help, but no insurance means only a county psych unit… and at the last one, they treated me like I was totally incompetent, and offered no real help.  I don’t want many meds (except for sleep and occasionally anxiety), but I do want a safe place to process everything that comes up, and a safe person/people to do it with… and I still want access to my comfort animals, people, and items.  So many places strip you of all that in the name of treatment, and they don’t realize that can throw someone for such a loop.  It makes progress that much harder.  I know so many people have struggled to find basic, healthy things to help cope, that when it is taken away in a hospital setting, it makes that whole experience SO much worse.  It’s bad enough that they rip away all your dignity and sense of person-hood, but then they take what little you have found to safely bring you comfort, and they stick you in a room with someone that scares you.  They intrude on you and do it all in the name of safety (which I can understand sometimes, but lately it has just been people on power trips).  And they never once look at the psychological impact of that on people… They just think they know better, and they have the power to do it, so they should.  What happened to individualized treatment to best serve the patient?  They can do it for the countless others on the different units of the hospital…

Why is the psych unit so alien and different? We are all there because we are hurting in incredible ways that would probably break half of the people who work there.  Yet we are told we cannot listen to our music.  We cannot have access to our drawing books and pencils.  We cannot have visitors outside of a few short hours about 3 times a week.  We cannot have out comfort items, we cannot have private conversations even with out treatment providers.  We cannot dare ask for extra fruit on our trays because “you already picked a dessert”…  I am speaking of the last place I went with most of this, because to be honest, many of the places up north were more friendly and helpful, but this last place… we had 3 groups TOTAL in a 4 day stay, and I met with a clinician once (but that was only to take history and get yet another account of why I was there – no conversation around it, just tell her why I was there, and she wrote it down, and we were done).  I only saw the doctor in the hallway, and we never discussed other options.  He noted my side-effect complaints, and told me to try it for a few more days.  I prefer to have a voice in my treatment, but here I got none.  And that scares the crap out of me.

I feel like I’m on the edge of a crisis, and could use a safe place to go, but my options are limited, and my choices don’t feel safe.  So I’m here grasping at anything that might even remotely help keep me afloat.


everything feels so loud today. even my thoughts are loud… I just want to sleep. I only got maybe 4 hours last night. I know I need more, but my head would not stop. Today is creeping by like molasses. I napped for a while, and thought it should be later when I woke. Turned out it was still only 2pm. I feel trapped in my head. I don’t want to have to communicate with anyone, just want to sit quietly. Maybe some music at some point again, but it’s still so very loud.
I’m not hungry either… my chest is pounding. I should take something for anxiety, maybe it would bring me out a bit. I’m not very anxious, but have the physical symptoms of it. I think I locked the emotion away, but my body continues to feel it. I just want the day over with. I don’t really know why except that I’m bored in myself. I don’t want to keep residence in my head anymore.
I appreciate all that people are doing to try to bring me around, but it just feels wasted right now. I want space and quiet and… just quiet. I want to snuggle quietly, and not have to think of anything to say. I want to be with people around, but not necessarily have to interact. Is that weird? It feels weird. We will be going to group in a few minutes. I don’t want to have to talk, just fade into the background, but still be there. I’m sure she will make me at least check in, but I just want to sit (preferably in a corner). I think my bear will be joining me tonight (she came to the nature center and sat in my bag). I’m not sure if she will make an appearance, but she will at least tag along. I’m looking for comfort, but I’m not sure where to find it.
I will definitely take the sleep meds tonight. I need the sleep, and the nap will have screwed me up.

Sudden switches

I’m not 100% sure what happened tonight,  but something changed very fast.  I think it has to do with me hating being tickled,  and equally hating being on camera… I was fine one moment and wanting to get the hell away from everyone the next.  I wanted to cry and hide.  I ended up taking the dog for a walk,  because the urge to lash out at either someone in the house or myself was huge.  Poor dog ran out of steam part way through and I carried her part of the way (not the one with vertigo). We stopped at a canal and sat there for quite some time.  I had my music blasting in my ears.  I probably would have called my therapist if I had my phone,  but I killed the charge earlier.  Walks are good for relieving stress,  but I have to take Goosie next time (she has the stamina for my fevered pace)… I was so close to finally being able to cry,  but the privacy wasn’t there…  maybe another time.

the trouble with hope

When you are exhausted and spent and oh-so-tired, the last hing you want is hope.  It means more fighting and more effort when you just don’t have it in you anymore. It means caring that you are quickly crashing through every bottom you imagined.  It means more work, and it means guilt and shame and a desire for something better.  Give me completely hopeless any day over that when I am this tired.

We talked about this yesterday.  My therapist questioned why I was so adamantly blocking out any glimmer of hope.  I told him I was tired.  I told him I was out of inner resources to keep fighting.  I admitted to him that I wished  something, anything, would kill me so I didn’t have to live with the guilt of wishing I could end my own life.  If I just died one day, without any hand in it, no one could be mad at me for it.   They may be sad and upset, but they would not be traumatized, and they would not be mad.  Again, I was mad at Dr. C for instilling more guilt than I know what to do with over that topic.  I never want to be the cause of someone’s trauma ever again.  I keep coming back to that.  He made me promise to be safe, and reach out if I could not keep myself that way… fucking promises and guilt.  I hate them both.

We also touched on my fears about the next couple’s session this week.  We figured out I am scared because of the negative reactions I have gotten to honesty in the past.  Now I fear it.  I fear telling even the littlest thing because I fear the reactions I will get.  It’s a no-win situation.  I tell the truth, and I get a huge fear/anger response.  I sugar-coat things, and later the truth comes out, and I get the same fear/anger response.  I get it from family and friends and treaters.  I get hospitalized and my freedoms stripped away from me (even my positive coping mechanisms are no longer accessible).  I looked again into the admission requirements to an inpatient place that was recommended to me a while ago.  I read through what you can and cannot bring.  Pretty much: bring clothes only. and maybe some spending money.  Specifically banned are cell phones, music, art supplies, stuffies, anything glass, any books not directly related to treatment… Well that right there eliminates my few positive coping skills.  Now what?  I have worked hard over the years to find those things that help calm me and bring me some peace and expression.  I understand some music can be triggering, but it can also be incredibly releasing and calming.  Stress toys/worry stones are another big coping method for me.  My favorite and most meaningful ones are glass (and not easily broken).  Books help bring me out of myself, and sometimes I need an escape, apparently not at this center.  Guess it’s going off the list then.  Hope for finding something useful is again dwindling.  I prefer black and white in terms of hope.  I either want solid hope that things will change and get better, or I want no hope at all.  Just a sliver of hope is too much like torture.  It’s a tiny piece of carrot dangling from a line just out of your reach, and not nearly enough to satisfy your extreme hunger once you grasp it.

L commented that she thought I was having such a hard time right now because of anxiety over our next couple’s session… in short: yup.  That’s one piece of it (actually  a huge piece) because I am afraid J will not let it drop.  She will over-react, and I will be again left floundering… I meet with D again on Friday.  I hope I can hold it together that long.  I feel like I’m drowning… The rest of it is the creeping anniversary of my first suicide attempt/the anniversary of my aunt’s death.  It’s also the tension at home and my plummeting self-esteem (didn’t really think it could fall farther down, but apparently there is no real bottom to that black hole).

I want to hide again.  I want to take all of my sleeping pills so I would sleep for weeks.  I want the tightness in my chest to go away.  I want my heart to slow it’s frantic pace.  I want some peace, in whatever form.  And I want to cry.  But nothing more than a single tear ever escapes.  Another rule of a dysfunctional family: never let them see you cry, there will be hell to pay.  As much as I tell myself that one is beyond false, I can’t let go of my defenses long enough to cry (except that one day 3 years ago where I cried for several hours straight, and did not stop until they gave me a sedative at the hospital… I hadn’t wanted to go, but when I called the crisis line asking when the crying would stop after 8 hours, they called mobile crisis, who felt that I needed to be taken to the ER… just for crying… more proof that crying is a punishable offense)… ::sigh::

At least my ability to communicate is back somewhat.  It’s all spilling out, but at least it’s moving.  Over the weekend, it just all felt stuck… Sorry for the expected excess of posts.

little (big) distractions and some of the f-ed up things we learn as kids

One of the dogs developed vertigo last night. Poor pup. I first thought it was a seizure because it looked a lot like what happened to a another dog of mine when she had her seizures. It kept me awake all night, and worried this morning until we went to the vet and got this diagnosis. There’s no real cause for it in older dogs, and no cure, just treat the symptoms. The vet said it generally resolves in about 2 weeks, and it will likely get worse before it gets better. She said it might get so bad that she won’t be able to stand or walk, and will pretty much spend the day rolling on the floor because she can’t figure out which direction is up. She said that when that happens, just keep her confined and padded so she doesn’t hurt herself. Poor pooch. I hope it does not get that bad for her. She was prescribed doggie-dramamine to help with the nausea…
We didn’t have the extra $400 for further testing, so I really hope this is what she has. The vet also said to keep an eye out for worsening neurological issues, because then it would be indicative of something more serious.
Now that the vet is over with, the depression is creeping back in. The hyper-vigilance is kicking in also. Any loud noise makes my heart jump. Even talking sounds loud, so the yelling sounds thunderous. I have moved into the bedroom to help keep some distance.

I had read on someone’s blog a few weeks ago about some of the unspoken, wacky, and undisputed “rules” we learn in dysfunctional families. A big one that seems prevalent for me is: even if you are sick, you should be able to control everything and keep from making a mess.” There are no accidents, there is no lee-way for mistakes. It doesn’t matter if you are suddenly projectile-vomiting, or if you knock something over because you are dizzy. You should know better and take care to not make a mess, because then someone has to clean it up, and you were clearly doing it just to annoy them.
Now, just about anyone will look at that statement and think; but you’re sick… you get some slack. Not in my family. Everything is done purely to annoy someone. Whether it actually is or not, that is the impression given.  Everything is ascribed malicious intent, and responded to accordingly. There are no such things as mistakes or accidents, everything is done with cold calculation. I walk on eggshells to not upset the powers-that-be… I find myself falling into the same “people pleasing” patterns to keep people from getting angry, and constantly find myself failing. I though I was free of this. I thought I had grown out of it and moved away. I thought that the main offender was out of my life. Clearly he has passed this along to others, and it is alive and well. The abuse cycle at it’s finest: moving laterally within the generations, and affecting everyone within range.  How do you break the cycle if the participants are mired deep in denial?


How do you say anything when there’s so much to say and there’s no words to adequately convey any of it, so you say nothing at all…

another monster from my past: monthly craziness

I want to rage and cry and scream all at the same time. I hate my cycle. It hasn’t been this bad in years, but last month it started screwing me up again. I can handle being cranky, but the self-destruct urges that come with this lately are frustrating and scary. I don’t like them one bit… I think it’s time to take out the Wreck-It-Ralph hands and go to town (they make a quite satisfying shattering noise, and pad your fists while you pound things. I got them at walmart, but I’m sure you can find them at any self-respecting toy supplier… and they made the hands big enough for adult appendages to fit… My wife takes them to therapy with her, but I prefer to utilize them in the privacy of my own home 😉 Time to “Wreck-It!”

moments of hope

There are still moments in my days that renew my hope for a life not mired in my mental illness and inability to cope with life.  I’m told I need to record them more often, so here goes…

Today we had an orientation refresher on the gopher tortoise exhibit.  It was nice to learn a bit more about them in-depth.  It was also nice to head back to the nature center. It really is a positive and fun place, but I tend to forget that between shifts.  I was able to pet one of the tortoises, and get the proper feeding thing down.  I’m glad they finally made it a class and a bit more formal.

I took one of my scale-kids along for the ride, and was able to show some of the staff.  He thoroughly enjoyed the time out and the opportunity to explore.   i was happy being able to show off one of my kids.  (and he behaved SO well!).  He will be another of my educational snakes.

The dogs are begging to go outside now, so I will catch up with the blog later.  It’s funny how I can write at such length about the struggles, but can’t seem to get out more than a few sentences about the happy times… something to work on for the future.

just… ugh

i’m tired and spent and tipsy and… just… ugh. what’s the purpose of all this again? to do it again tomorrow? to what end? yes, I know the alcohol is speaking, but… it all just seems futile and repetitive and… I don’t know. whatever. i’m going to bed.