Monthly Archives: July 2013

faced some anxiety today…

… and the world did not come to an end.  I did not die a horrible, excruciating death.  no one hates me… It felt like the world was about to end and I was going to die immediately before the phone call I was supposed to make, but neither happened.  D was right.  Also, the car place does not hate me, and in fact are happy I got in touch with them…

Weird thing is, even thinking back to having called them, my anxiety sky-rockets again.

I have not yet heard back about disability.  I really want to know either way.  I really need to know.  I want to be able to plan my next steps in treatment, and I feel like I am at a stand-still until I find out.  This is beyond frustrating and maddening.  I hate waiting.  I hate not knowing where things will go next.  I finally have some hope back, and I can’t do anything with it because I’m stuck listening to elevator muzak while waiting for the letter… I was supposed to call my worker and ask her how the decision process was going, but I could only handle one anxiety-provoking call in a day.

Also, random rant, what’s with rice prices lately?!  I used to be able to go to the Indian market and buy a 2-pack of 5lb sacks of really good Basmathi rice for $15… now I have to shell out $25 for a single bag.  I like rice.  A lot.  It sucks to have to buy the crappy American white rice because it’s all I can afford.  I want to make the Persian rice my ex-mother-in-law taught me how to make… It’s just not the same with this crappy rice.  I asked my ex if she could bring zereshk with her when she comes – it’s another thing I can’t find here. Ooh… and the kabob seasoning… man, now I’m really craving zeresk-polow with fake chicken kabob (the chicken in that recipe is not the same as the one I am used to, but that’s how you make the rice & berries).  I haven’t had that in quite a while.  I think I need to go find a market that carries everything I need.  I miss Persian cuisine.

Sensitivity is set to “high” today

I’ve noticed my startle reflex is super-sensitive today, and loud noises make my heart skip several beats. My mom’s been loud already this morning, and it’s sent shivers down my spine. I want to go hide.  I’m not sure why everything is suddenly on over-drive today. I can’t pinpoint the trigger that set me off. I know my whole body has been physically sensitive for the last few days (My boobs hurt, like really ache just sitting here. My skin is crawling with a million imaginary fire ants setting it ablaze with their tiny feet. It feels like a burning steak is being driven through my temples. My muscles are as sore as if I had done a total-body workout for the better part of yesterday).  The depression has been worse lately, but this heightened awareness seems to have blossomed again overnight… I want to cry and hide all day today. I want to be alone. Maybe I will take some of the animals outside with me and do a photo-shoot or something. It should be a mental and physical challenge to wrangle multiple reptiles into one picture.  I wish AJ was over her mites already, I could do a Carpet Python glamor shoot with all of them. I’ll just have to be ok with only 3 snakes in the pic for now.

Does anyone else have days where everything is so much more intense? Are you able to figure out why it happens? I feel like sometimes this stuff just comes out of nowhere… I’m guessing I don’t yet realize all my triggers.

The only other thing different I can think of today is having taken my Trazodone to help me sleep last night.  I have only taken it once since I got the new prescription… I can’t remember how I felt afterwards though.  Maybe the Vistaril can cancel out the extra anxiety today. I will keep that in mind.  I really hate taking all these meds though.  They end up messing my system up, and I am left in a worse space than before I took them.


He put how I feel about dbt into one concise sentence: sometimes the consequences replay the past (but he put it better than that)…

It’s a great thread of posts about the clinician’s experience of suicide… but be warned: you may cry if you read them all.

What he said reminded me of Dr C in how she explained the impact of a client’s suicide on her and her work… we forget sometimes that clinician are human too.  Even though we pay them to listen, a measure of caring develops especially if you see someone for a while… important to keep in mind.


Do I even care anymore?  I’m not sure…

I had a wonderful day with my wife yesterday.  You think the depression would lift?  Nope.

Screw this.


I think I may be getting disability. I can hardly wait.  I really need ssi…
I’m not sure what to do with the next steps in treatment. Hopefully talking to D tomorrow will help.  The program I think will be helpful does not take state or federal insurance. I need to look elsewhere.  I was so happy that it would have been local – I could have also done the iop part… right now it looks like either a program in New England, DC, or New Orleans well be my best bets.  Maybe D can help me figure it out.

I realized today (when our couple’s therapist asked about it) That I did not really expect money from disability, I was just hoping for insurance… the cash will be a huge added bonus. And I’m trying to not feel so hopeless about the future. Disability will just be a stepping stone to health. I need to keep that in the forefront if my mind. I need to not fall apart over that.

I want ice cream again… I’m not hungry, but I want to stuff all this emotion with something. Since I’m not allowed to cut or take too many pills, I need to do something. Ice cream isn’t as destructive as the other 2 coping skills.

I need to find someone to help my wife with the reptiles in case I do go inpatient someplace. Maybe I will reach out to the local herp society.  I’m a member, just never go to meetings because they are over an hour away.  Hopefully someone will be willing to help tho…

I’m lost again…

… but not in the same way I was last week.  Last week’s “lost” translated to hopeless despair.  This week’s “lost” translates to being unsure of my path and my purpose.  I feel the hopelessness, but not the despair.

I saw the SA therapist yesterday.  I have made the decision not to continue seeing her.  She took what little hope I had left for finding helpful treatment and crushed it to the ground.  She made me feel like my goals for treatment and my ideas of what will work are impossible and non-existent.  She spent 20 minutes out of our 30 minute session (I chose to leave early) harping on being involuntarily committed.  She said that she is not above calling the cops to go to someone’s house to pick them up after they leave a session.  My initial question to her was how a voluntary hospitalization would affect our work together.  She insisted that there was no voluntary hospitalization, and that if I even told her I felt the need to be inpatient, she would commit me.    She insisted that, even if I went there on my own, I would lose all input to my treatment (which seems accurate for this state at least at the general hospital level.  I’m not sure about specialized psych hospitals).   She insisted that I would be discharged for not doing exactly as the “professionals” suggested even if I disagreed with the treatment.  I told her I did not respond well to most meds.  She then asked why I would want to go inpatient.  I tried to explain that I was looking for a treatment program, not crisis stabilization.  I told her I wanted to be able to tackle some of the trauma stuff in a safe environment.  She seemed unable to grasp that concept.  She continued on judging me and calling me willful.  She said I will never find treatment to meet my needs because I was not open to medications.  I tried to tell her how all my treaters were amazed at how much better I did off meds, but she said it was just the cyclical nature of my depression…  In the same breath that she told me I would not benefit from therapy with her, she also told me she wanted me to come in twice a week. It was at that point that I gave up, thanked her for her time, and left.  I told her I will get back in contact with the center if I ever needed their help, but I was not interested in it at this time.

What is it about the way I say things that has people so disbelieving and misinterpreting what I say.  Is it that I am a person who struggles with all this, so I can’t possibly know myself enough to know what works and what does not?  Is my education and understanding of treatment invalid because I carry a number of diagnoses? Has my experience in the field been over-shadowed by my struggles?

Hoping to regain some hope, I called a local trauma treatment center (WIIT) for info.  They do not take my potential insurance, so I asked if they knew of any places with a similar treatment model.  The lady on the phone gave me the name to a place in New Orleans, River Oaks Hospital.  They seem promising, and take my potential insurance.  I will probably try to call them soon.  There  is one aspect to their treatment that I cringe at:

Spiritual Integration Group

meets weekly to address issues of spirituality. This group identifies spiritual interfering beliefs and behaviors with a focus on healthy challenges and choices.

I am not religious.  I do not want to find Allah or God or Jehova or Jesus.  I have my beliefs, and I am satisfied with them.  I am also very triggered by talk of turning to organized religion or spirituality.  I can accept Buddhism a little easier, but even that makes my skin crawl.  I can handle the concept of a universal energy.  I can sometimes accept that we are here for a reason, so our souls can learn whatever it is they singed up for when taking on this life, but I certainly cannot handle talk of a god.  I am ok with a heavily scientific bend to my life… So I will call this place and see if I can learn more about this group.  I specifically stay away from any 12-step style programs because it is so triggering to me.  I hate that so many places place such emphasis on that model.  It’s another example of something pervasive in treatment circles, yet does not work for everyone.  When I mention how triggering spirituality and religion are to me, people inevitably label it as resistance to treatment.  They have trouble understanding that I do not believe in it, nor do I wish to convert my belief structure…

Anyway, stepping off my soapbox, I’m lost.  I have trouble seeing much past the immediate circumstance.  I don’t know what to do with myself.  I have little motivation and fewer resources.  This just sucks…


One of my huge stressors from Friday had been that one of my lizards in an outdoor enclosure escaped.  Well, today I found her on the wall about 4 feet from where the cage used to be (it’s now inside in case of any more escapes). I am SO relieved to have found her! Most geckos have a pretty small range, and will often sick close to a favorite tree or cave.  I’m glad she did not venture far, since the patio is open. I was sure she would have been lost forever if she wandered out into the trees.  So happy she’s *home*


She did not share in my elation.  She dropped half her tail trying to escape. She also latched on to my hand and did not let go for over 7 minutes.  I finally remembered she hates being misted, and that made her let go. Tokays are larger geckos (she was 12″ with full tail) and can bite quite hard if they choose to. They are also nervous and will often bite when handled until they get used to being picked up.  I never worked with the girls to get them hand tame.  Maybe I need to think about it now 😉

How we remeber, and how we forget: Trauma, denial and dissociation

interesting read.


How We Remember and How We Forget: Trauma, Denial, and Dissociation

I “forgot” a good part of my life.  I “forgot” the 3-6 months I spent in foster care, the events that led up to it, and the intense grief of being returned to a biological family I felt no connection to.  I “forgot” being trafficked for sex by my own father.  I “forgot” being placed in a freezer, tied to a wall in the dark in the garage like an animal, and forced to hang myself.

For a long time, I “forgot” about appointments, bills, and things I had done and said within the last 24 hours.  Sometimes, I still do.

I know a lot about forgetting.

Since then, I’ve been working at remembering.  I know a lot about that too.

A diagram of a neuron.

We remember information, experiences…

View original post 1,159 more words

a topic for family therapy

I’m realizing that, as difficult as it is to make the decision to go inpatient at any given time, it is made infinitely more difficult by the attitudes of those around me.

I dread going inpatient.  I fear being put in a position that affords me so little control once again.  I don’t take the decision lightly.  It makes me anxious and fearful.  It makes me feel guilty for stepping out on responsibilities… Then I get there and others question the decision (generally made by myself and my therapist).  They wonder why I can’t do it on my own, why their help is not enough to get me through the day… They tell me they manage, why can’t I?  I’m told they miss me, and they wished I was home.  I am told how frustrating it is to have all responsibility dumped onto them.  My own doubts and fears are underscored by their doubts and unintentional guilt.  I know they mean well, and it is not done out of malice.  I know I don’t communicate effectively with most people, least of all about my demons, so I should not expect them to understand the gravity of the decision.  I try to explain how uncomfortable being inpatient makes me.  I try to communicate how hopeless I feel about survival on the outside.  And I cringe every time I hear “I miss you” or “what can I do to help?” (though this last one has been answered time and again, but they dislike the answer, so they keep asking hoping some day the answer will change to “exactly what you are doing”).

I would prefer to hear things along the lines of

  • I love you
  • This is the best decision right now (I know you are doing the best you can)
  • I’ll still be here when you get out
  • You’ll get through this
  • I’ll support you through this
  • What do you need from me while you are there?

Please don’t be mad at me for not answering the phone, or not being able to talk much during a visit, or being too drugged to connect too well, or sleeping the whole day through, or crying… Please don’t tell me how upset you are that I have left you to take care of all the animals yourself, and how frustrating that is.  I know.  I feel bad about it every time.  I’m sorry you have local supports.  I’m sorry I’m not able to be your support right now.  I’m sorry I can;t just get over everything.  I’m sorry I can’t simply push it out of my head.  I’m sorry the emotions effect me all the time.  I’m sorry I don’t know how to handle all this.  I’m sorry I’m too weak in character to be able to pull through it unscathed (or at least too weak to be in denial about the effects of it all).  I’m sorry I seem to have a different take on it all.  I’m sorry I refuse to deal with things your way (it’s just not best for me, even if it inwardly works miracles for you – though I highly doubt it).  I’m sorry…

If I choose to go inpatient, it is because I can no longer fight with any measure of reliability.  The demons are so close, that I may give in.  If I choose to go inpatient, it is because I have battled the self-harm thoughts and suicidal urges as long as I possibly could.  They are now so overwhelming and loud that I do not think I can resist it any more.  I am afraid I may actually act on it, or lose the strength to actively not act on it all. The depression is so overwhelming and the pain is just too much to sit through any longer.  If I choose to go inpatient, it is because you will loose me if I don’t.

If I’m forced inpatient, it is because I gave up the fight and chose dangerous coping mechanisms.  If I’m forced to go, it’s because I either was too desperate to end the chaos of the moment that I took all my pills, or I just wanted to end it all finally.  I prefer to choose to go inpatient (when I am capable of making that decision), and fight for another day.  But honestly, sometimes I lose that fight.

Sometimes I no longer care, and I don’t tell anyone that I don’t care, because they will force me to care… That’s a dangerous space to be in because everything looks fine on the outside (or at least I try my hardest to make it look ok), but the inside is bleak.  I lose all barriers to acting on the suicidal thinking.  I obsess about ways to kill myself that will be successful.  And when I’m in that space, if I find something I think will be lethal, I will make the attempt with little hesitation.  For the most part, no one will know I’m in that space (a perversion of the self-preservation instinct which compels me to protect myself by protecting my decision to end the pain).  I will generally struggle with this for days or weeks before I either act on it, or I break my own code of silence and let it slip to my therapist that I am that desperate…  this is what happened Friday.  I could barely speak at a whisper as I divulged to my therapist that, while he shouldn’t really be worried about me, he should.  I explained to him that I would take my life if I could find something I was sure would be lethal before anyone could stop me or “save” me.  I had been thinking like that for the past 2 weeks, and come very close to an attempt once or twice (foiled by my own fears of failure).  So going to the ER on Friday was a necessity.  It was anxiety-provoking for many reasons.  And it was incredibly difficult to sit there and try not to fall apart while I waited for the psychiatrist to show up.  Sometimes the wait is a good thing.  Sometimes the wait makes the hopelessness amplify itself.  Other times however, the wait allows for defenses to spring into place.  It gives the walls time to go back up, and the disconnect to take effect.  Then, even if I voice the disconnect and the contents of the other side of the wall, it is not taken seriously because the disconnect is so complete.

I suppose it’s good that the wall is there.  I hope it doesn’t crumble any time soon, because I have more time to wait before any benefits are granted.  I can’t afford to give up now.  It would not be fair to the others in my life.

1 word, 1 million hidden meanings

You thought the English language was complicated?  I think the language of trauma survivors is far more complicated than that…

In a previous post, I wrote about “whatever” in terms of how I had used it growing up: truly an un-opinionated statement of “whatever is best for you.”  Recently (well, ok, the last 15 years or so), that word had taken on a whole host of new meanings – all dictated by the emotion of the situation.

My wife often gets frustrated with me when I say “whatever” in response to a situation or conversation.  She interprets it much in the stereotypical “women-speak” used to dismiss the topic of conversation and agree to disagree.  She takes offense to it because she has understood it to mean that the fight is not worth my time, nor is her opinion.  While I cannot say I have never used “whatever” in that capacity, it’s very rare.  More likely, “whatever” is a genuine lack of opinion, or it’s an acceptance of the situation as it stands (“it is what it is”).  It can mean that I don’t know enough about the argument points, or that I don’t want to fight.  It rarely means that I do not care for your opinion and wish to dismiss it…

But I guess that’s difficult to swallow when you have not grown up learning to bend to the wishes of others.  Some books describe it as having a chameleon personality, but I know a fair amount about chameleons, and wish to dispel the myth that they change to blend with their backgrounds perfectly. They change coloration based on mood, hunger states, arousal, and heat.  But I will save the full herpetology lesson for another post…  Anyway.  I can see how someone who has only ever known how to actually express themselves, and learned the cultural definition of something, can have a difficult time integrating a wider understanding.  I’m not saying people are stupid, far from that. I’m saying that just as I have difficulties breaking from the lessons of my past, others can have that same problem when it comes to understanding different perspectives from that which is the only thing they have always known.

some ramblings…

I don’t get it.  I just don’t get where my head goes and why.  I can be perfectly fine, then not, then fine again…

Also, my throat burns from all the bleach I used for the reptile stuff today.  I hate the stuff, but it’s one of the only cleaners that’s both affordable and effective.  I think there is one strain of bacteria common in reptiles that it does not kill, but ammonia will take care of that one (and luckily I have not encountered it).  I wish I could afford the vet-grade stuff, but it’s almost $100 for a 1 gallon bottle.  It’s super-concentrated, but I still don;t have the cash to shell out even for the smaller $40 one (I want to say it’s 16oz)… So I make do with bleach diluted in water… and sometimes cleaning a ton of stuff with it burns my nose, mouth, and throat… I hate it, because the smell stays with me for a long time.

I watched a thriller just now… pretty decent, but got my heart going a million miles a minute.  I should have picked something lighter before bed.  I lost interest during parts of it, but there are very few movies I can walk away from… this one was not one of them, not because it was excellent, but because I needed a resolution.   I should not have picked that movie to start with, forget about watched it all the way through.  Now I don’t have the patience to watch anything else that may clear my head… dumbass.

The cats are sleeping here with me, so peaceful.  They did not watch the movie with me, so they have nothing to worry their little head about except when mom will feed them again in the a.m. or when they can convince someone to let them outside for the morning… I wish that was all I worried about (ok, they worry about being chased and attacked by my little dog, but we are working on that).

I bought a new CD today, and I want to listen to it, but there is no CD player in the house, and I have yet to rip it to the computer so I can upload it to my ipod… grrr.  It would be great to listen to tonight so I can get the movie out of my head.

Last week in couple’s therapy, J gave us the task to communicate honestly about how we are feeling each night.  She suggested if we can’t do it face to face (it’s hard for me to talk to people while looking at them), we could do it back to back… We missed it on Friday and Saturday nights, but L wanted to do it today.  Is it bad that I resent that homework?  I don;t want to talk about how I’m feeling, because if I talk about it, it becomes more real.  Right now, it’s something in the back of my head.  So we talked about relatively mundane things; things that won’t stir the pot too much… it’s stirring in the background, but I don;t necessarily want to bring that all to the fore-front of my brain.  No one wants to hear it anyway.  They get hurt or offended or upset or angry… and I feel guilty for opening my mouth.  I don’t like letting others in on all this (unless I pay you to listen to me, and you are a “removed” professional).  I don’t like burdening others with myself.  I try not to do it often, even when asked.  Most people are just trying to be polite or pc when asking.  I know L is genuine, and mom too, but most others are not.  And clinicians might be genuine because it’s their job… but most human beings on the planet don’t want to know the drivel of monotony from the general population.  They are wrapped up in their own drama (real or created) and that takes precedence.  Take my former bff’s mother… She called today.  I have not seen or spoken to her in more than a decade.  But being back here, I think she thought talking to me would be a thread of connection to her daughter.  C dropped off the face of the earth about 15 years ago… I haven’t spoken to her or heard from her since I pissed her off… but her mother hoped I had.  She spoke and spoke about her life and spilled all that has happened recently, but had no real desire to listen to what I had to say.  She said her piece and then wrapped up the conversation.  The few things she did ask about were turned and related to her somehow… I wonder, do I do that too?  Do I invalidate others as much as I feel I get it from people?  I really don’t mean to.  I think we are all drowning in our own mud, and too busy trying to find solid ground to see that others are stuck with us – different puddle, same bog.  I hope I don;t ignore my friends and family, but something tells me I might be doing just that.  Maybe I need to take stock of my actions and be more open to listening to what others are trying to say… Maybe that’ what J’s communication exercise is supposed to reveal?

re-building the energy I lost along the way

Much of Friday’s session was my therapist trying to convince me that depression is just fooling me into thinking I have no energy.  We went back and forth for a while.  He tried his best.  He tried to tell me that if I really had no energy, I would pass out from trying to do anything.  If I really had no energy, I would not be able to sit in the chair and talk to him because I would not have made it to his office…  I didn’t really have it in me to battle it out.  I just shrugged and conceited at the end I think (or maybe that’s just what I imagined doing, but never managed to do it in real-time – the whole energy thing coming into play).

We ended the session with him asking me to rank “how worried should I be about you”… I said 5, then explained myself (because in my head it should have been a 9) – if I could have guaranteed my demise without being found, and without ending up at Henderson should I fail, I would move to kill myself.  So then we decided I should go to the ER, hence my brief sleep-over.

Since returning home, the depression came back hard for a short time, but I was able to lessen its impact by sleeping some yesterday (you’d be surprised how incredibly uncomfortable hospital stretchers can be when you are not allowed to move from it for longer than it takes you to use the bathroom).  Today, as much as I wanted to do a whole lot of nothing, we ended up running some errands.  We had to return a sewing machine to try to get some money for gas and dog food.  I also needed to fill my scripts.  So we did all that, but also ended up going to Best Buy to try to find a laptop to replace the tablet I broke (the wife was fine with it, since she hated the tablet).  We also went to her work to find out her schedule – they shafted her again with only 12 hours for the week. We then came home, and had to clean the cat/reptile room.  It was a horrid mess. My wife helped (translate that to read – she did most of the work).  I bleached one of the snake cage’s worth of decor and ran out of steam.  The hide, water dish, and log are all still chilling in the bathroom in need of further attention.  All-in-all however, I did more today than I have done in 2 weeks.  And on D’s “worried” scale, I would say I’m back down to a 2.  Pretty good for someone who was contemplating returning to the ER a mere 3 hours after she left.  Let’s hope this all holds up throughout the week.  I have a shit-ton of errands/chores to attend to this week, and an equally appalling amount of stress to go with it.  The car should be ready for pick-up by Tuesday the latest, and we still only have $250 out of the $1000 needed to spring her.  I would offer to sell my body, but I don’t think even scientists would want it…

I think I need a drink now, and another few days worth of sleep.

A crushing weight

The elephant on my chest returned shortly after arriving home.  I questioned the decision to come home.

I called my therapists’ supervisor hoping she would help me figure things out… She wasn’t as helpful this time as she had been while I was hoping for permission to leave the ER yesterday.  She asked what she could do for me, but I had no answers and no ideas.

So I took a vistaril, plugged my earphones into my ears, and fell asleep for a while.

I woke up.  The elephant isn’t so squarely on my chest at the moment. Progress I guess.

That was a long office visit…

So I sat in the er for about 24 hours, just to have the doctor release me with a slight increase in one med and decrease in the other. I told her twice what my therapist and his supervisor asked me to tell her, and she just told me that they were full upstairs.  She said the med change should work. She refused to acknowledge that I told her meds tend to make me worse. She parroted back that I had been suicidal this past week, but was not at the moment I was taking to her.  I told her my defenses were up, and I was anxious about another hospital stay purely for containment purposes.  I think she took that to mean I did not want to stay despite asking to be admitted (again she said they were full). She said to try the meds and follow-up with my regular doctor (funny, because I told her I had no regular doctor and the next community clinic appointment was in late August). I think she was just sick of being there and doing paperwork. I think she figured as long as I was voluntary, I did not need to be there.
I took the discharge without further protest, though as I was waiting in the lobby to be picked up, I thought of walking back to the desk and asking them to admit me anyway. I chickened out.  I could not ask that a second time in less than an hour. Instead I will commit to being safe, and returning if I can’t follow through on that commitment. I also called my therapist’s supervisor to tell her.  I got her voicemail.  I did not specifically ask for a call-back, but left it open if she had any questions. I feel like I need to explain myself to her… Oh well. Here’s to struggling through some more weeks until benefits come through…


It’s super high right now… my therapist and I decided it was time to check in for a bit if I’m to make it through the weekend.
I’m worried they will be full and I will be stuck at Henderson… that would really suck.  But I need to stay safe.  Waiting in the er to be triaged… I want to leave so badly, but then I’d be coming back forcibly… please hope I’m not stuck in Henderson.

It’s crazy waiting, which makes me worried that I may end up where I really don’t want to be. I want to go home, but maybe I can at least get some more anxiety meds and sleep meds from all this. And I’m afraid I’d be committed if I left and came back at another time. Ugh. I hate this system. I hate not having insurance. I hate not having choices :/ we have been in the waiting room for over 3 hours. I’m not sure how much longer I have to wait… is it all worth it?

Just so lost


I don’t know what to say. I feel like shit for writing that op-ed on suicide. I know it hurts people to read that kind of stuff. It drives my wife nuts, and we argue about it. It scares my mom. And, even though the woman who lost her 23yr old daughter to suicide recently said I did no offend her, I feel like I would have been if I happened to read that blog after losing my kid… I would feel like complete shit because this asshole over here is so wrapped in her own shit that she can’t see the pain it causes. The thing is, I CAN see the pain it causes. I can FEEL the pain it causes, but it is over-shadowed by my own pain. And part of me is thinking “F*** that shit! I deserve out. I deserve a break in any way I can get it!”… even if it means bowing out of life permanently. But then I see the tears in my wife’s eyes; tears she doesn’t want to admit to, and I crumble inside. I know I would be lost and SO hurt without her… so what makes it ok for me to think like that? what makes me worth more than anyone else in this world? and I get tired of fighting within myself again… This is all just so much bull shit! I want out! I want my head to stop falling apart. I want a life I can appreciate… but then I worry I won’t be able to be in a place to appreciate it… and I come back to just wanting out in ANY way possible… and I hate myself more, because I know anything I do at this point causes pain. My anger causes pain, my hopelessness causes pain, and my fight causes pain. So I can’t win. fuck.
I’m about to go into marriage counseling with the intent of tackling the topic of how my wife will cope when I eventually end up inpatient (voluntarily, because I need to deal with all this shit). And I’m afraid more will come out, and I’m afraid J will not let me decide to go home. And I’m afraid that I will wind up in Henderson because that’s the only place that will take me without benefits… and I will be trapped. I hate being trapped… I just need to hold it together long enough for either medicare or medicaid to be approved so I can get treatment, and not just containment… shoot me please?

I wish I could handle this shit better. I wish I could do what J says and move on from this place, but my head refuses to budge. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m a stubborn asshole who just wants to wallow… I’m so tired of all this.


finally, the military is recognizing PTSD symptoms in the dogs they force to work for them… I just saw a news blurb that about 5% of the 650 working dogs they have are developing PTSD. They have the same hyper-vigilance, change in appetite, and refusal to work that soldiers and humans exhibit with PTSD.
I assumed one of my dogs was suffering similar experiences from my suicide attempts and depression, but found no studies on PTSD-like symptoms in dogs… this makes me think she may actually have it. She startles easier than before (though she has always had a quick startle response), she gets mad at me when I leave for extended periods of time. She hides when things get loud, she gave me the worst look when had seen me cutting… She gets anxious when my depression gets bad and I am in bed all the time, or pacing or restless or isolating. She will stick close when I start to isolate, or she will also isolate herself. I wish I had the funds to get her some anxiety medication. I originally noticed the first signs of change in her after my first suicide attempt back in 2007. She not only changed her behavior, but she started going grey at the ripe old age of 3…
She had been through a lot in her life. She was a stray from the south. An organization in NY pulled her from the euthanasia list when she was about a year old… they were going to kill her because she was not only a black dog, but a black dog with puppies. I had originally contacted Adopt-A-Dog looking at one of her puppies. The lady emailed me back saying all the puppies were gone, but mom was available, would we be interested in looking at her? My ex and I were just excited that someone had gotten back to us about a dog finally. We had been looking for weeks, and always wound up with dead-ends. We drove the 2 hours that weekend to go see her. They also showed us another dog, but my ex wanted Sadie. I don’t regret it for a minute. Goosie is the best dog ever. I just feel bad that I have traumatized her to the point of increasing her PTSD so much so that she completely freaks out and sulks when one of us leaves for more than a few hours.
Anyway. Yeah, animals can get PTSD also, and from more than just combat. I hope there will be more studies into this, and a treatment devised to help them through all this crap. And I hope we can learn to be more careful around them and with them. Animals are more like us than most people think…

Help is on the way?

I broke down and told my wife what I have not yet told therapist. (He will find out tomorrow).  And now anxiety has set in. I’m regretting mentioning it to anyone in the first place, let alone anyone that can and will do something about it. And I’m scared, because what if things don’t change for the better? What if the pit just gets darker and deeper? I really don’t see the light right now. I wish I could say I saw a glimmer of hope, but it’s all just a face I put on for show. This is all so incredibly tiring.

Loss and thoughts on life, death, suffering and potential (mom & L, please don’t read this…)

Breaking the Silence of Stigma: In Memory of Kaitlyn.

I read the above with mixed emotions.  Loss has come up a lot lately in various forms, and I struggle to make sense of it all…

I had been thinking of Talia Castellano a lot lately, and the news of her death hit me hard yesterday.  I did not know her personally, but I followed her instagram, and wished her strength in her battle with cancer.  But these last few weeks, as she did not post anything because she was so sick in the hospital, I began to think that I wished it was me. I wished that I could give this bright and shinning little girl the energy in my body that was tethering me to this life.  Surely she would make more of it than I ever could.  If I could take on whatever it was that was killing her, if I could switch my life-force with hers, I would have done it.  It was all for selfish reasons though.  Well, not totally, but pretty much so.  I think her impact on the world in her brief 13 years had been greater than my entire 34… She had known suffering and pain, but she would have done better with her life-lessons than I ever could.

Is it wrong of me to be jealous? Probably. Will I ever get over that jealousy? Maybe…

I read the above letter with similar jealousy.  Yes, there is empathy and that gut-reaction of wishing her life was spared and her pain erased so she could live the rest of it happily, but there was also recognition and acceptance of Kaitlyn’s decision to step out of her role and move on.  While I feel for her family and friends, I also greatly empathize with her hopelessness.  I know what it’s like to be so far down there is no longer a light.  I know the crushing weight of depression.  I know what it’s like to long for death because at least it would bring peace.

I also know the guilt for the sadness my death would bring.  I know what it’s like to lose someone you love way before you are ready (are you ever ready?).  I know that lives are shattered and people are shattered by the death of a loved one… but that brings me little comfort when my own thoughts are focused in on any escape.

This understanding puts me in a sticky ethical and philosophical spot when debating the merits of death and suicide.  Why is it ok for a cancer patient to be over-taken by their disease and pass away, but not a depressed patient?  Why can people with terminal physical ailments choose to sign a Do Not Resuscitate order, but not a person with PTSD?  How do we draw the line?  Yes, a person’s body may be so far gone that living is painful, but what about when a person’s mind is so far gone that they experience the same pain?  Why is it ok to send a terminally physically ill patient into hospice care, but not a terminally mentally ill patient?  Just because we can’t pinpoint the mechanisms of failure in mental illness does not mean that they are not there.  This is a morally slippery slope.  I’m pretty sure I will catch hell for writing this, but think about it.  Remove your stereotypes and prejudices for a moment… Yes, there can be treatment for mental illness, but it doesn’t always work. There are some cases that are just too far along, some pain that is just too great, and it is beyond our capacity as humans at this juncture to know how to fix it.  So why is there such a push to then strip away that person’s rights, confine them against their will, and treat them with every last ditch effort we can think of, even if they don’t wish for the treatment?  Why do we not do this to cancer patients?  Why do we not do this to physically ill people?  Because we give them the benefit of the doubt that they are “of sound mind” to make their own treatment decisions.  We accept that if they choose not to go through with a particular treatment for whatever reason, they know what they are talking about…

When I was in the hospital the last time up North, my attending psychiatrist attempted to convince me to try ECT.  Having quite a bit of training in mental health, I have a reasonable understanding of that particular “treatment”.  I know enough about it, and doctor’s lack of knowledge about it, to know that it is something I will NEVER subject myself to (much like I would never choose a lobotomy, no matter how bad I get).  So why was it then, despite my knowledge and rational thinking behind my decision, that Dr. Fucker decided I was wrong, incapable of making decisions for myself, and that this treatment must be forced upon me?  Why did it suddenly become my job to provide scientific refutes for the use of ECT in PTSD cases?  I had no access to the internet, a library, or any articles on the topic.  How was it that I was supposed to show him that his line of pressuring was wrong?  When I asked for scientific proof, or even just an article, on the benefits of ECT with addictions and PTSD, he told me it was not his responsibility to provide it?  Where was the rational thought behind the response “but you are going to kill yourself if you don’t do it!” And how is it rational that I need to access this information while in the hospital, though I have no actual resources available to me?  He simply told me to “figure it out”… I had told him there were other options I was willing to try.  I had told him of different treatment centers and therapies still available, I just had to find a place to access them.  He refused to listen, and we engaged in a week long battle of wills.  Thankfully, according to CT law, I needed to have 3 independent psychiatrists agree that I was incompetent to make my own decisions before he could bring me in front of a judge.  He did try though.  I was visited my his friends (fellow psychiatrists that worked with him) several times while waiting for the independent interviews.  I was bullied and made to cry.  I was threatened with sedatives that would render me incapacitated so I could no longer resist.  I was yelled at and cornered and they tried all sorts of messed-up logic to get me to agree.  I think they may have even called my family at one point, but I am not sure.  They would have said no as well in any case.  They respected my decision, and equally felt that ECT is scary and barbaric.  I also had a few allies on the unit; nurses and mental health professionals who agreed that I should not be forced into it if I did not want it.  That’s not to say that they did not have conversations with me about it, and try to tell me the benefits they saw come from it, but they did not harass me like Dr. Fucker did.  My case worker was awesome, she told him a few times (in my presence) that she thought ECT was wrong for my case.  She dug around until she found a treatment center willing to take me, and that she hoped would be of help. Also, the additional psychiatrists needed to assert that I was incompetent never were able to do so.  I had individual assessments with each of them, and was able to assert my (very valid) reasons for not wanting ECT.  I was also able to tell them how the procedure worked, and had a good understanding of the outcome.  I was told a few times by nurses and one doctor, that I seemed to have a better grasp on the whole thing than even most medical professionals… It totally saved me.  I’m glad I had the education iIdid, and learned the things I did in the past that helped me escape that fate… but I digress from my initial reason for telling you about my ECT trauma story… I had wanted to tell you because at one point I brought up to Dr. Fucker that a cancer patient would be allowed to refuse treatment, even if the doctors thought it would help, if they felt it was not something they wanted to go through.  So why could I not do the same?  Dr. Fucker’s answer: I would force them into it.  He must have forgotten that they only take away the rights of the mentally ill, and not those only struggling with physical illness… He would have no grounds to force a physically ill person into treatment, and could easily get sued or have his license revoked if he did something like that.

But with mental illness, it’s different.  We justify stripping individuals of their rights as human beings.  We take our own will and exert it upon them because “they don’t know any better” or they “are too ill to be able to make a rational decision”… What about then the times when the illness is in remission, but they make a rational decision about their lives?  Suddenly the illness is considered back, and you lose your rights again… Nowhere else would we stand for such oppression.  But it’s culturally acceptable to degrade and dehumanize a mentally ill individual.  It’s ok to treat them like animals and confine them and take away all their coping skills.  It’s ok to forcibly medicate them.  It’s ok to violate them.  It’s ok to demand unreasonable feats from them… because they don’t have the mental capacity (legally) to know what is best.  I’m beyond happy that we have come leaps and bounds in mental disability rights, but we don’t clump mental illness under those benefits.  If I made the decision to sign a DNR order while I was “mentally fit” and my depression, PTSD, anxiety is considered in remission, I can guarantee that it would not be enforced should I choose to try to take my life at any later point. The wishes of my family, friends, and of strangers would be granted more clout then my own, and I would be forced into emergency treatment… They may honor it if I were accidentally injured, but if it even remotely looked like a suicide attempt, I would be “saved” and carted off to a locked unit, where all my personal freedoms and dignity would be stripped from me while they force me to “get better”…

Have you ever been to a psych unit?  Have you ever experienced what it’s like to be a “patient” there?  While there are some that are better than others, most involve indecency the general public would cringe at.  Initially, you are made to strip bare (fun times for an assault survivor) and examined.  Strangers touch you and poke you and prod you.  They ask questions that they expect honest answers to, though they are things you have yet to admit to your own therapist, forget a stranger. Most places will put you on 1:1 when you first get there, or in the least, 5 minute checks.  1:1 may sound innocuous, but imagine having to do EVERYTHING within arms length of a stranger while they watch (I have huge anxiety about using the bathroom with anyone else around, or even knowing… they watch me as I try).  Every move is scrutinized, every action is analyzed… If you complain or look for space (I’m an introvert and need time to myself to feel comfortable), you are put on higher level of watch because you are clearly looking to hurt yourself.  You are told to spill your very private story to a host of strangers time and time again.  Everyone reacts differently, and many judge you (they are not supposed to, but they do anyway).  If you are not comfortable talking to someone, you are being defiant and resistant to treatment.  If you question your medications, refuse to take them, or ask for a change, you are labeled as a problem and resistant to treatment.  If you acknowledge the thoughts in your head that got you there in the first place, you are deemed incompetent to make your own decisions, and you are excluded from treatment decisions…  You are heavily sedated at the first sign of emotion, because they would rather hand you pills than deal with your crying.  If you refuse the pills and choose to cry, you are put on 1:1 again.  If you dare to lose your shit and scream, you are tackled, injected with medication, and tied to the floor in a “secure” room (never actually had that happen, but have seen it many times.  Even the first time was enough to know that I would NEVER want to be in that position)… All those movies where they show the horrific things that happen behind the doors of a psych unit, they really are mostly accurate… and in most units, things have not changed since the 40’s.

There are a few good ones though.  I’ll give them that.  There are a few places that try their best to keep you feeling human while they degrade you.  There are units that actually try to help you while you are there, but they are rare. (insurance restrictions and budget cuts see to that).  They try to hire people that are not in it only for the cash.  They make sure that you can get in contact with a therapeutic person at least once a day.  They try to be nice as they do the body checks and the physicals.  They attempt to respect you as you go through the triggered reactions to their intrusions… but if you happen to wind up there more than once, they give up on you, label you hopeless, and stop trying…  More and more I am finding that people who work on psych units are there for a short list of reasons, and caring does not make it’s way onto that list for most staff.  It’s either 1) they need money badly, 2) they are trying to get their foot in the door to advance to other positions elsewhere in the hospital, or 3) are on a serious power trip, because that is the only place it is tolerated and even expected.  Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s a high-stress, high-burnout job, but when you go into it for all the wrong reasons, you wind up burning out faster and harder.  You are supposed to be able to ask to do your laundry (you are expected to do your own), but when you ask, you are interrupting their solitaire game or their tv watching or their magazine reading, so you are denied and scolded for bothering them in the first place.  If you happen to be having a rough time and want to talk outside of the check-in times, the power-hungry ones will always turn you away with a scowl.  The nice ones will ask you to wait a minute if they truly are engaged in something else.  And heaven forbid you can’t sleep or need to talk in the middle of the night.  You are scolded and ordered to return to your room – they take lights out as seriously as prisons do, only you are not supposed to be a prisoner, you are supposed to be there for help…  I have to admit, I miss the hospitals in CT where more people cared… I met some monsters there, but I also met some really nice people who were at their jobs because they wanted to be there, not because they had to be there… down here it feels like everyone is only it it for the wrong reasons, and we are all just an inconvenience to their otherwise boring shift that they simply want to suffer through…

he said it better than I could

I was reading this blog, when I stumbled upon this little paragraph written better than I could ever express:

…my trouble feeling connected with others. Let’s just stipulate that it’s hard, nearly impossible, for me to believe in my heart that anyone cares about me. I can feel it with my dogs, and I see evidence for it in my wife’s behavior, but the idea that I might actually matter to others is hard to grasp. It feels presumptuous. Preposterous and undeserved.

therapy today: I’m just as fucked-up as Chapman is…

I put people in awkward and uncomfortable situations without really paying attention to what I am doing.  I desperately reach out for any sign of comfort, and then cringe when the consequences hit me in the face.

I put my therapist in a really shitty position: I asked for something I knew he could never (and would never) grant me… I didn’t realize it at the time, because I just needed to talk about what was going on in my head.  Then he voiced his discomfort with my unspoken request… I felt like such an ass.  It wasn’t really what I was looking for (though maybe deep down I was hoping I’d get permission)… I back-tracked and told him that I had really just needed to talk about the contents of my head.

Before that, we talked about safety and feeling safe when all situations were unsafe.  Sometimes you pick the least of all the evils.  That may be where my penchant for picking the less destructive method to my downfall comes from.  They are all bad choices, I just end up picking the one that is closer to better choices on the sliding scale.  It’s probably also where all my screwed-up coping strategies come from.  It’s where I learned to ingratiate myself to those in power (perceived or real).  It’s where I learned to have no opinion and no self because that self needs to be whatever is needed to keep safe in the company of others.

People used to get hung up on the thought of me being upset about something when I said they should pick “whatever [they] want” to do at the time.  In all honesty, I had no opinion.  Opinions and desires were dangerous.  Saying the wrong thing could get you in a heap of trouble.  I learned long ago that I needed to defer to the present company.  I learned that there is no such thing as speaking up for yourself, only talking back.  There is no defending anyone, only attacking another.  There is no room for your own opinion, especially if it differs from the present company, because that is seen as an aggressive and spiteful act meant to demean present company… So I learned to shut up.  I learned to apologize like there is no tomorrow (even if I did nothing wrong).  I learned that you agreed with whomever was closest (and loudest), or you too became the enemy.  I learned it’s always boys against girls, even when it’s not.  I learned that boys are allowed to do anything and carry no responsibility; while girls can do nothing and carry all the responsibility.  I learned that double-standards are the norm, and very accepted.  I learned you can never do anything right, even if everything is done to the last known specs, because the specs always change so the holes fit the current situation.  I learned that perfection is the ultimate goal, but it is never reached.  No one else ever has the chance to be perfect, and you don’t hold them to that, but you must ALWAYS strive for perfect, and catch hell if you don’t measure up.  I learned that asking for help meant getting in more trouble.  I learned that being quiet was a fault, but so was talking. I learned that when you pretend everything’s fine (because you must, or you are committing immeasurable acts of betrayal), no one believes you when you finally tell them everything is not.  Tears will only get you in more trouble (any outward sign of emotion will do that).  Anger means violence.  Rage can mean death (or the fear/threat of it).  The biggest and loudest can do as he wishes, even if it destroys everyone and everything else along the way.  Quiet rebellion and dissociation will only protect you for so long, then even that becomes a trigger, and associating with it will get you in trouble.  I learned people can’t be trusted, and you can only ultimately rely on yourself (everyone else will fail or betray you). I learned I can dissociate quite well by getting lost in a book.  I learned that you are never allowed to love anything too much, because it will be seen as competition (that never really stuck well though).  I learned that I could float away in my head when things became too difficult to bear.  I learned the art of being invisible.  I learned I can never stop anything bad from happening (I’m just not worth it).  I learned that needs and requests were bothersome (even the basic ones).  I learned that you have to smile for everyone, but stay out of the limelight.  You can be smart, but don’t show off and don’t let it go to your head.  The only time the limelight and intelligence worked to your favor was for bragging purposes of those in power, but then they really had to ham it up in public to make everyone else feel like shit… I learned that anything and everything done to help cope was only “for attention”.  I learned that even hidden coping was considered attention-seeking as soon as anyone found out.  I learned you can never truly feel sad or hurt because it reflected poorly on those in power.  And I learned that you could never cry because Skeletor would kill you.  I learned that bad people and monsters get in despite the best security systems, and I learned that nothing can protect you from them. Nothing. The people who you call for protection will always come to side with those from whom you need protecting… or they will tell you to pray about it after you tell them the events of the prior week that nearly caused a death… and you grow bitter and resentful and hopeless…

How do you unlearn all of that?  How do you finally give up the survival skills that you so desperately needed to make it this far (even if they now serve to suffocate you)?  How do you walk away from the nightmares and the flashbacks when triggers lay just around every corner.  And how do you reconcile the realization that those you sought refuge with were really just as messed up as those you needed protection from?  How do you come to terms with the cycle of trauma and violence that started generations before you were born?  How do you heal from that?  How do you help others heal from it? How do you ensure that you will break the cycle (because now you are just as messed up as those that came before you)?

Pins and needles

Just called to follow-up with the worker for the disability determination.  She said they will likely make a decision today or tomorrow. I know most of the time they say no the first few times. I need to figure out how to prepare myself for that, and get the energy to appeal the decision… it’s something I’m really counting on to be able to get myself the help I need. I don’t want to have to wait for months on end for this. It’s been hard enough to hold it together for this long. At least before the decision I have hope that they will say yes in a relatively timely manner. Most appeals take many months. I don’t think I have it in me to keep treading water for that long… please say yes?

Orange is the New Black

Watching that Netflix series, and it’s actually GOOD!
It’s a bit scary tho, that I can draw so many parallels between Chapman’s prison experience and a psych hospital stay…
The dynamics between the prisoners and CO’s is the same as the dysfunctional dynamics between staff and patients. The dynamics are also similar amongst patients…
I liked one scene in one of the early episodes where her fiance told her to stay out of the politics. She responded with “but I have to LIVE here!” I think family and friends don’t quite get that when you go someplace like that… you do what you have to to live in the situation while you are there. You work with what you have.

touching you could kill

ever have that time when you cringe at every touch… it feels like you may crumble, or they may catch what you have, only to crumble to dust once the blackness over-takes them (you)? the disease is highly contagious, and spreads quickly.  or at least that’s what it looks like in your head… every brush of someone else’s hand against your skin is painful not only because it may kill them, but it may also cause the ashes of you to suddenly lose cohesion and fly away in the wind.  there’s not much holding those ashes together. like when the outline of a tree puffs out of existence as the bird tries to land on the burnt branches, you fear anyone even breathing near you may cause collapse.

it’s a tenuous grip you have on that last little bit of hope they dangled off the string just out of your reach. it’s all just out of your reach.  you want to hide and pad your being with blankets and a warm darkness (it’s safe after all).

every touch sears your skin.  it hurts like blistering burns whenever someone is nearby.  it hurts because you suddenly don’t know why you are an open sore…  things were not like this yesterday. they were not like this when you woke up.  what changed?

I want to scratch my skin off everywhere another living thing has touched me in the last 2 hours (the dogs included).  I feel like… I don’t know.  I have no words for this…

needing space

I need space today. everyone and everything feels trapping and claustrophobic. I was good though, I was able to ask for it, and have it granted 🙂
I don’t know why I feel so suffocated today of all days, but I do…

Holy hunger games!

Talk about stressful movie night.  First I had the bright idea of watching a documentary on suicides off the Golden Gate Bridge (called The Bridge). Then we decided to watch Hunger Games… I took 2 vistaril just to have my breathing return to normal… awesome movie though.

“Every breath, every hour has come to this…”

Listening to music and feeling free in it.  It finally works again.  There’s some measure of peace. I was able to accomplish one task that I had to finish before 4pm today, so that is good.  The other call is based on that person’s availability, so we will see how that works out.

A blogger I follow described her morning as a good one, though she doubted anyone else would understand.  I think I relate.  I want to bawl my eyes out and hide, but it’s a good morning.  the si thinking has taken a back-burner for the first time in a long time without the use of medication or alcohol… it’s allowing the desire to cry actual tears to seep through (I was going to write “bleed through”, but figured it would sound wrong… or be taken wrong… not sure why I told you that).  The depression is still here and immense, but the obsessive thinking has stepped off, so I can breathe a bit.  We will see how long it lasts (probably not too long, as I can feel it tugging the door to my consciousness again already).

Sometimes the stupidest little things can help you make it through the moment.  Yesterday and today, it’s the thought of others working to help me get what I need.  (the thought of hurting my loved ones is always there, and always a consideration).  I can’t do anything to jeopardize the work they are doing… I don’t want them to have gone through all that effort for not.   So here I am treading water through another day.  I need to cry, but it’s not coming… maybe later today during couple’s therapy (where I don’t want to go, but will anyway – it’s very difficult to work on relationship issues when you are mired in your own muck)… I think I decided I need to try some art today, but the spark of creativity is not here at the moment… that too, will likely come when I am away from my supplies (in therapy, where I will try to occupy myself with other things so I don’t have to address the very pressing issues of “us”).

I am so thankful my therapist left open tomorrow for me… I could not ask for it (and was very ambivalent about wanting to take it) when we met on Monday, but I know I need it.  I feel bad taking so much of his time.  He has limited time, and I take up too much of it sometimes.  He left Friday even though I had not committed to it, and he said he would not schedule anyone in the slot.  He said there was no obligation to show up, but it was there if I needed it.  Again, people caring and I really don’t know why.  So I need to keep hanging on even when all the energy and fight has left me… Maybe if I get approved for disability, I will finally be able to get that intensive therapy I’m holding my breath for, and maybe it will be the miracle I’m hoping for.  It’s tough to hold out hope when so far everything has met with disaster and failure.  The only thing that helped the last time I was like this was the trauma therapy at The Center.  I’m hoping being able to get into another intensive program will have a similar effect… and maybe if I’m going to one close by, I can keep up the outpatient piece also, and the effects would be more lasting.  I really hope I’m not putting all my stock into this treatment only to find it doesn’t work – putting all my eggs into one basket and all – but I’m running out of options.  Medications don’t work, I’m flat-out and forever refusing ECT, DBT triggers me… There are not many options out there that people are willing to try with me.  I run out of steam advocating for myself, and the people around me run out of steam trying to do the same.

Our wedding song just came on my pandora station.  🙂  …or maybe I’ll just cry now.

K will be missed

She is leaving the organization to do her own practice. It’s really cool and a wonderful opportunity, but she will be missed. She brings great energy to the group, and I’m not sure how this new facilitator will work out – she’s nice, but no K.
Anyway, she offered to put us on the mailing list. I really want to do her inner child workshop, and the rest of the offerings are also cool… Hope it works out for her.

it’s all rooted in…

Anxiety: I get frantic, so I need to si. And the anxiety meds are not really doing much lately… I just want to release the pressure of everything. I will not have my car again until the end of the month. It’s our only car. We are relying on my mom allowing us to use hers when needed, but she is possessive of hers, and doesn’t want us using it too much… she doesn’t like feeling trapped.
it’s also rooted in feeling trapped. and I feel so trapped right now. I have no place to write the graphic detail of my head without worry that someone will read it. I have no release, so my head turns to thoughts of si and the other si… and I can’t tell anyone either, because it would cause worry and over-blown protectiveness. So I try to sleep and take as many of my meds as I can without going through the whole bottle in one day. I have no way to get more at least until the end of the month, and even then I am skeptical.
I can’t watch the graphic movies that make me feel better because they disturb the others around me. The SA therapist says I can’t see her if I get hospitalized because talking about it needs to be done when I’m stable – but it’s there anyway, talking about it won’t make it worse. If anything, talking about it will help alleviate some of it…
And I feel trapped, and anxious, and SO alone in this (because I choose not to let anyone in real life in. it causes too much trouble for all involved). They say I need to let others in, but I don’t know how to do it safely… How do you let others in and be able to ask them not to take your coping skills away from you?
The music isn’t working, the journaling isn’t working, the art isn’t coming, the movies are met with disapproval, the running isn’t possible without being followed (even when I promise to be safe and be back by a certain time, and I tell them where I go, and I take a dog with me). I feel like a small child with no resources to turn to without fear of repercussions… and I feel trapped… which brings more anxiety, which intensifies the trapped feeling, which intensifies all the negative coping urges… Fucking cycles from which I can’t break free. and I don’t know how to ask for help in any way that’s successful or understood. So what do I do now?