Tag Archives: doubt

Themes much? (Art Journal)

Done over the last few days. I’m obsessed with the pebeo mirror foil… and needing some reminders apparently.
Also, new gelato colors are wonderful.

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anxiety around starting again

I start my “horse hours” at the therapeutic farm tomorrow morning.

I’m terrified.

I don’t want to make a commitment I can’t keep. I don’t want to have to be reliable (because I worry I won’t be).

Maybe it’s not the right environment to try back into. Maybe it’s too close to the mh field (though not at all involving therapy, simply support presence). Maybe I worry that I haven’t dealt effectively with my own grief issues enough. Maybe I worry too much about my stability. Maybe the depression is worse than I care to admit because I really don;t want to have to drag myself there. I’m sure I will like it once I get there, but the getting there and smiling and being social is the hard part. I can pick up horse care fairly easily (at least the basics), I’m not worried about that or interactions with them… It’s the people I’m worried about. It’s having to smile and be competent and not as painfully socially awkward as I have become. It’s the thought of the upcoming weekend intensive training that will likely trigger me (and be a large expense I can’t necessarily afford)…

I want to curl back into myself and hide. I want to shrug off responsibilities and give in to the screaming anxiety; “How the hell did I think this was a good idea? What crack was I smoking?!” Sure, I love animals and helping people, but… this is really scary right now. o_O

 


Translations from the dark side

Why is it that something genuinely supportive and helpful comes off as condescending and invalidating? What lens do I put on that turns all the nice into hate? I know my stress is skyrocketing, and that the depression is creeping back in. I guess that’s the lens right there: depression. I had reached out to someone in hopes of finding support, but all I read from their response was how wrong I was doing things, how deliberately miserable I am, and how inadequate I am. In actuality, their response was uplifting, supportive, positive, and understanding.  My head instantly turned that positive into disparaging. Even as I recognize this, my head is battling itself. There’s the side that is berating me for being inadequate and stupid.  Then there’s the side of me that is taking the response at face value and trying to convince that other side that it’s reading into things. Depression will do that to you. Self – doubt and self – loathing become a way of life.
So my eyes will read “you’ve had so much success until now, you need to focus on that” and my brain will understand “you worthless piece of shit, you can’t even get recovery right. I told you you’d never amount to anything more that a useless waste of space. People tell you all the time to focus on the positive, but all you do is choose to be miserable. You’re a horrid person. You deserve everything you get and then some” (note here that a simple line of text has been translated into a tirade of the self…).

I’m writing this and the voice in my head is reminding me how stupid I have become. This is all stuff I should already know. It’s not supposed to be such a revelation… when I try to change the voice, it gets louder, then more sly when the loud doesn’t work.  It rationalizes the negative self-talk and starts whispering little doubts “you have been really off lately,” “you’re such a flake , the driving is getting bad,” “pretty soon you’ll be completely worthless in everything”… it makes the negative sound like logical conclusions. It plants seeds of doubt “everyone can see you’re crazy. It’s written all over you.  Why do you think you can’t get a job?” “Even if you did land one, they’d notice the crazy and find a reason to fire you if you don’t end up walking out first because you can’t take it”

We went to a volunteer meeting tonight at the nature center. We got hugs from people we hadn’t seen in a while, and all I could think was that they were pity hugs. Like they knew I was crazy and wanted to pat me on the head for making it out anyway but figured a hug would be less condescending… I know they are all about the hugs anyway, but my head screamed at me that they knew and just felt sorry for me.

Mental illness, self-doubt, and self loathing have a way of turning even the most positive interactions into something terrible. I wonder how much of my therapy is viewed this way.  I know the obvious ones, but what about the things that don’t necessarily hit my awareness? What about everyday encounters? What if everyone is really a wonderful person and it’s all just me that views them as hating me? I know I really dislike spending time with G. L pointed it out that my disdain for him was very evident earlier today.  I tried to be nicer when we got back home, but I have a lot of work to do on that front. He may be a perfectly wonderful person these days (ok, that’s an exaggeration. He may be at least tolerable), but I only see him through these angry glasses. Everything he says and does I interpret to be mean and hateful so I respond in kind. Then I feel bad for being an asshole. The cycle begins again. I’m once again battling the translation of simple words. I’m twisting what I’m saying to prove to myself how worthless and horrid I am. I just don’t know how to stop it.  There’s only so much arguing one can do with oneself before a splitting headache ensues. I think it’s once again time for sleep.


Let The Child Speak

I couldn’t have said it better. And I will always believe the child regardless of my relationship to the adult. Even working in group homes and with kids that have been disproven in their accusations, I will always believe the child first…

The Chatter Blog

Please.

I want you to imagine me sitting with you.   Across from you.  Speaking softly.  Intensely.  Passionately.  I speak softly trying to control my emotions.  But the truth is – it is a tremendous strain.  I want you to listen.  To hear me.    I’ll try to be careful with my words.  But I will say that my position regarding a child being sexually abused is extremely biased.  It’s the position I am in because I was put there.

This isn’t  about the headlines.

It’s about the story.

We read them.  We judge.  We assume.  We read  into things that are hinted at.  Or not said which makes them seem all the louder.

Someone is claiming to have been sexually abused as a child.

It’s only a headline because a famous person is involved.  Otherwise you don’t see headlines about a child having been sexually abused.  Unless it includes…

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That doubt no one ever talks about…

Disclaimer: this may be triggering. Use caution when reading. I only write this in hopes that it may help someone.
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No one ever talks about the doubt that bursts onto the scene in the moment between making the decision to actively take your life, and the moment you actually try it.  That moment when FEAR creeps in, but you made the commitment (to yourself) to go through with it. So you hunker down and hug your teddy bear tight as the music plays through your headphones… you fight the fear as you’re shaking in your boots. This is not really what you want all of a sudden… but it’s too late, even if only in your head…

Then you wake up the next evening as if nothing ever happened. You have momentarily forgotten the hell that is your life, and you smile and laugh with concerned friends and family, oblivious to what you just narrowly missed. You get confused about why you can’t move your arms and legs too far (they are strapped to the bed). As the hours of consciousness wear on, the memories slowly seep through the mud. You remember what you tried, and you get angry that it didn’t work. The pain returns. Only this time, there is no escape. You are trapped, physically. There is no release… you forget that moment of fear and doubt until years later… you just know you failed yet again.