Tag Archives: family


I think that word has very different meanings for me.

We were always taught separation. My dad’s blood family was all that mattered to him, so that’s all he acknowledged. Everyone else was just “shit”. He didn’t promote contact with anyone outside his immediate family of origin (foo). We were isolated from almost everyone else, and even within his own foo, bitch was top, then him, then grandma, then K. Mom factored very little. K’s husband, T factored very little. Moms family was just unheard of (he made sure of that). We talked a bit about them and to them, but overall, they were essentially non-existent (in his eyes anyway).

I’ve only recently (like maybe the last decade or so) gotten in somewhat more regular contact with one of my cousins. We chat online a bit, but I think I’ve only seen her maybe 6 times my entire life (and we lived relatively close, like maybe a 4 hour drive, for several years). I’ve seen her parents a few more times, but that was only after she & her siblings had grown up and moved out… even then, I think I can count less than a dozen times.

Tonight, my mom informed me that her brother (my cousins’ father, my uncle) had gone to the hospital for a head injury. Apparently, this happened sometime last week, and no one thought to tell us (at least my brother and I. Mom may have known, but she’s not big on communicating stuff like that about/with anyone).

When I found out, it hit me just how disconnected I am from my extended family; I have no real emotions around him being in seriously ill health… I’m not even all that connected to any emotions my mom may have around it (though she’s never been big on emotions either. None of my family has).

I feel like it’s wrong somehow, like society is generally connected with their families unless there’s been some big rupture. The only rupture was my father. I should be connected with my aunt & uncle & cousins, but I’m not… and I think I’m a bit resentful about it.

I see L with her family (it’s a HUGE family), and I feel like we got the short end of the stick.

My dad made enormous effort to keep us isolated from everyone.

It sucks.

So now I have no real connection to family. I get the concept that we have an extended family, but… it’s just not in my radar for the most part. And I’m mad.

His isolation enabled the abuses that happened night after night. His anger resulted in a fear of reaching out, or attempting to connect with anyone (after all, any connection would be promptly severed once found out). We weren’t allowed to care for anyone outside the little dysfunctional circle that happened to include his foo…

The dissociation doesn’t help any. I feel like I’m just floating in a world where I don’t belong (or even truly exist). People have no clue about so much of my life. Everyone’s merely an acquaintance. Aside of L (and as of today, our friend DO), no one knows I have a dissociative disorder. At most, they’ve been told I have ptsd, but no one knows what it’s from; they assume I served in the military…

Most everyone in my life sees this shell, this act. They might notice I hit some bumps along the way, but mostly, I’m either shy and awkward (99% of the time), or chatty and awkward. I’m the crazy animal lady with the pet snakes, who also does art here and there…

I feel like I don’t actually exist. I must just be a ghost floating around.

I never expect people to remember me from one meeting to the next, or care about anything about me. I’m the awkward tag-along friend you invite because you feel sorry for them. I’m the wife you tolerate because we come as a package deal. I’m really not sure why L married me. I’m just the awkward one tagging along behind her to family functions. I don’t deserve to be there, nor am I really wanted there, but I’m crashing the party…

I shouldn’t be here still. I have no purpose or usefulness… but here I am, tagging along in this weird body that feels like a poorly-fitting borrowed dress. If I think hard enough about it, I can kinda find some connection to the C they think they’re supposed to get, but… I dunno. It just feels like a suit, like pretend. That girl who graduated college? Not me. The one who had a career? Not me. The one with friends and family? Not me.

I’m just that shadow in the corner… nothing to notice or want to be around; no substance, no presence, no worth…

on trust

Someone on a forum asked about trusting people in life. I believe she meant it in terms of trusting someone to not hurt her, but I defined trust slightly differently. I took it in a more universal scope…

I don’t trust anyone 100%. I trust my wife the most, though I don’t burden her with most of my trauma stuff. I trust her to work on the relationship. I trust her to call me out on my crap. I trust her to tell me when something is bugging her… I trust my critters. They are easy to figure out and rarely have ulterior motives except maybe food and adventure… I can build trust with a therapist. I trusted TM to work with me on what I brought to therapy. I trusted her to be open to helping me figure out my reactions. I trusted her to help build that trust, and to work with my best interests in mind within the bounds of her expertise and ability. I’ve trusted the same with some past therapists… I trust other members of my family to live up to what I have experienced from them in the past. I trust my dad will continue to be an abusive *** who will never learn. I trust my mom will be distant and in denial but loving in her own way. I trust my brother to be a geek and creative and funny but not emotionally accessible. I trust my wife, my mom, and my brother will be there for me. I trust my dad will push the boundaries I put up and bulldoze them (or try his best to do so). I trust his oldest sister will forever be crazy, abusive, and a plight on society. I trust my best friends to be people I can always come back to regardless of the time and distance between us…
So I guess you can say I trust a bunch of people, just in different ways.
I wish I was able to trust someone completely in a positive way, but I don’t even trust myself completely. People will come and go. Critters will come and go. Nothing in life is guaranteed, but I trust certain people will do their best to be loving… I also trust everyone is imperfect…

Who do you trust? How do you define that trust?

site on suicide prevention, support, and treatment resources

someone pointed me to this site. it’s really good. check it out. Speaking of Suicide

it has resources for suicidal people, friends, family, treatment providers… all around good info. (I will also list it under my “resources” page so it’s always relatively easily available).

There’s finally hope for a sense of safety in the world

I’m not sure how to explain this without sounding like a scary psychopath, so please bear with me.

Earlier this morning, my dad (whom I no longer have contact with and who lives in another country) was Skyping with my mom. The topic of his oldest sister came up. He described some of the things she has been saying and doing lately that have caused even him to sever ties with her (she would probably qualify for a dx of psychopath. she was always horribly abusive to everyone in the family, but my dad was wrapped around her little finger for a lot of years)… Anyway, he was concerned about her behavior and current level of delusions. I chimed in that he should probably call social services on her and ask them to check up on her because what she was saying leads the family to believe she will seriously harm someone… He actually agreed (something he has never done before, but I guess even he is scared of her now).

The part that has me feeling shitty is my reaction to the thought of someone coming in, forcibly taking her away and forcibly medicating her: I’m elated. This is more than just happy, I’m ready to jump for joy and throw a party… I would love to be a fly on the wall if they actually do take her away, and I would be smiling from ear to ear as she screams that they are just trying to kill her (I think she’s got some dementia going on at this point, because she’s quite delusional). This reaction is so far from who I see myself as, that it really bothers me. But, she is the only person on the planet that elicits this kind of reaction. Literally anyone else I will argue that their background has brought them to where they are today, and I will feel bad for them. Pick any horrific serial killer or psychopath on the planet, and I will feel compassion for them (not saying they shouldn’t pay for their crimes or abuses, but that I can see how what they went through in life brought them to the point they are at and I feel bad for them). I can understand the same with bitch, but I don’t feel bad for her and I still really want her to suffer. I don’t care about her circumstances growing up, I don’t care about her trauma history, I don’t care about her mental illnesses. She fucked with too many people I do care about for me to even remotely feel any compassion for her at all. She was horribly abusive to everyone… I want to see her suffer for it.

While I would never act on some of the fantasies I hold about what I would like to see done to her, the level of pleasure I get from thinking about them scares me. I don’t like this aspect of myself (it makes me too much like her)… The more I think about what may happen to her if social services steps in and gets her out of society, the more relief I feel. I really want this to happen. I really want her not to be able to hurt anyone else any more. I would love to find out that they took her and have her on high levels of antipsychotics and sedatives. Finally, the world would feel kinda safe…

Does being so utterly happy about the thought of her locked up and heavily medicated make me as bad as her?


Someone on a support forum helped me re-frame his pretty well. She pointed out that it sounded like I was looking for validation around the abuse. She hit the nail on the head. My whole life, the only 2 people who ever agreed that bitch was a horrid person were my mom and my aunt (the middle sister on my dad’s side). Everyone else bought into her charm and her “woe is me. they hate little, innocent me for no reason!”. She was really good at charming the pants off everyone while she beat you down behind their backs. Seeing her finally have to face some sort of consequences for her behavior would finally be external validation that we are not the crazy, abusive ones…

Updates to my Wreck This Journal

Still going at it little by little.  I should be doing other things, but sometimes a girl needs a distraction (and sometimes this is all I can muster)… These are not all the updates to date, but all I have pictures of at the moment.

[insert appropriate parent here]-less

I had just had several conversations with several people about this concept, and I’m happy to find it in print. I did not read the whole thing, because it is long and my Benadryl is kicking in (it is also a bit detailed on some of the “milder” abuse).  Anyway, here’s the link to the blog on being “motherless” by choice.

I think it’s important to understand that everyone has their reasons for cutting someone out off their lives; often, it’s a damn good reason.  It’s a difficult decision made more so by others’ reactions to the choice.  Aside of my therapist, my wife, and recently my mother, no one gets the concept of why I would ever cut my father out of my life (least of all him).  I feel the need to defend my choices when I am told “but he is your father!”  or “family is the most important thing in life” when in reality, it’s being able to live safely and happily (or some measure of happiness and safety, even if you are not necessarily safe from yourself, but that’s a whole other topic).  We need to stop judging people. Without knowing anyone’s full story, we cannot make informed decisions about what they choose to do with their lives (and the people in it), and we will never be fully able to understand another’s plight as long as we are busy forming opinions and judgements about everything…

today is a new day

I ended up at the beach last night.  It was nice.  I will really miss the beach after the move (it’s a mere 20 minutes from here, but will be about an hour from where we will be living… and there will be no palm trees or wading in the winter months).  I really needed the time away.  I needed to think and drown in my music.

I can’t remember which blog turned me on to Angel Haze, but I am in love.  She’s inspirational, positive, and kicks ass.  I can’t pick a favorite song because I like almost all of them.  Dirty Gold is my current obsession, but there’s also Battle Cry (ft. Sia), Angels and Airwaves, A Tribe Called Red, Same Love (remake)… and ok, just about all of them…

I have been fighting strong self-harm urges since the TSA line back up north.  I guess it’s a good thing they no longer allow sharps in the airport because I would have shredded my arm and leg in the airport bathroom before boarding, they were that intense (and I had that little resolve at the moment).  Music has been my centering tool.  I have not picked my art up again yet, but the iPod is glued to my side, with earbuds wedged into at least one ear.  If I don’t have my iPod on, I am playing music through the computer or my phone.  I am sure I will run through the gamut of coping skills in my repertoire before De returns from vacation.  This weekend is a long weekend and most people already have plans.  M and I will be spending more quality time together. It’s not a bad thing, but we have forgotten how to interact. We don’t have simple casual conversations, it’s only ever stuff that lights one of us on fire (if not both).  I wish I remembered how to talk to her.  I wish I knew how to rekindle that close relationship we had back in the day (or at least I think we had).  We are both lost in our own drama.  When we meet, we tend to collide because the spinning arms of the drama hit before we meet causing sparks to fly and fires to light.

I volunteered for a research project on reporting sexual violence.  I’m not 100% sure what they are looking into, but I believe De had said they are looking into how to improve the reporting experience, and what causes barriers to reporting.  I was supposed to meet the lady tomorrow at De’s office, but they will be closing early for the long weekend.  The lady will be coming here later on this afternoon.  I hope the dogs don’t maul her while trying to get her attention (they LOVE people SO MUCH they are not quite sure how to contain themselves. I also suck at keeping up with their training, and they don’t get out as much down here. They do better when they have seen other humans recently).  The questionnaire should take no longer than 15 minutes she says, so it shouldn’t be too painful.  I don’t think it will be too triggering either, so it should be well worth the money I get from it… I miss research opportunities.  While I was never a fan of writing the papers, I did enjoy coming up with the ideas for the papers.  I love expanding the knowledge base on things that we don’t quite know too much about.  I love education, and helping people understand things.  I wish someone would do more research on the after-effects of sexual violence.  There’s so much anecdotal stuff out there, but so little “official” understanding of a lot of it.  I recently found a blog entry on a topic I have never really seen discussed in print.  I know I have been told that it is not uncommon for assault/abuse survivors, but I had not seen anything even remotely close to educational about it anywhere before.  It is also one of the few places to write about it as a function of coping with the abuse vs a pathology simply deemed psychotic.  I wish medical professionals had access to that information.  I think I may have gotten some more effective treatment earlier on had the doctors seen it as something that makes sense in the context of my trauma.  I’m fighting with the thought of posting a link to it here because I don’t think it’s something I’m ready to admit to anyone outside of a few select people.  I know it would have helped me immensely seeing it before now. It helps ease some of the shame to know (other than just hear one or two professionals tell me it is not uncommon and it makes sense) that others struggle with it.  I was surprised to see the number of comments on that post (well over 200?!) from people all struggling with it in one form or another. I’m just not ready to go public with that aspect of my struggle. I guess I could post a link to the blog itself, and let you wade through the posts to find the one I’m talking about… I just… I can’t say it right now. Not yet.  It’s still something I’m working on with De (and eventually with whomever I see up north)… Anyway, the blog is called Blooming Lotus. She has not written recently, but there’s a ton of good stuff on there (at least stuff that can help you feel less alone).  I hope, if you struggle with anything she speaks about, you will find some peace in knowing that it really is something others struggle with… and that’s coming from people who know it first-hand, not just through trainings or clients…

On a totally random note (random because I’m not 100% sure what train of thought led to this) but how can you hold two completely opposite and contradictory ideas as true at one time?  I know DBT covers some of this, but I am allergic to DBT, so I don’t really remember the concept behind the “dialectics”.  I’m talking about such opposing ideas that they should not be able to be held as true at the same time because they virtually cancel each other out.  If I tweak one idea, it’s a little easier to understand how I can hold them both true and correct at the same time, but they are not tweaked, nor do I wish to tweak them.  One is the concept of  “never, ever give up.” The other is the right to “bow out” as each individual sees fit.  Suicide is seen as giving up, so how can I hold that sentiment with the belief that everyone has a right to give up if they choose to do so? How can I advocate for life at any cost in one breath, and the freedom of choice to end your own life in the next?  I am not currently suicidal, though the freedom to have that “escape route” is calming to me.  I hold at once the obligation to fight any and all demons, and the option to give in to the desire for peace and an ending.  How is that even possible?  Maybe it’s that I understand the pain on both sides.  I have felt the desperate need for relief, and I have felt the devastating black hole born of the death of someone I care for deeply.  I grew up with the women in my family (and possibly even the men, but I don’t remember that as explicitly) lamenting about death being around the corner.  My grandmother said that she would die soon (should die soon, needed to die soon) since before I was born.  My mom would always say she wanted the right to kill herself should she ever be incapacitated (she wanted to make sure we all understood and agreed with her right to choose to end her life if she could no longer live it the way she was used to living, be it physical or mental).  I think I recall my father saying similar things.  No one ever expected to “get old”, yet the only person who did not speak regularly of death died at a young age.  My grandmother was 94.  Both my parents are still alive (despite saying neither of them wished to reach the age they are currently).  Bitch is still alive in her late 70’s (all of us wish she wasn’t).  But K is gone, and has been for 20 years this year.  She was 52 when she died, but she was the only one who wanted to grow old… I was indoctrinated to believe that every human has the right to decide to end their own lives.  But I’ve also felt the loss, and had the training that ingrained in me the instinct to preserve the life of others (and maybe even my own)… so I hold those opposing truths at once. Sometimes it’s a mind-fuck.

pass almost 2 hours: The lady for the research study came and it took me an hour and a half to complete the survey.  Her computer was slow, but I also think I kinda spaced on some of it.  it was only supposed to take 15-30 minutes.  Clearly, I did not fit that time frame.  It was ok.  I thought it would ask more about any history, but most of the questions revolved around the last 12 months.  I remembered an incident I had not thought anything of because of where it happened and the circumstances surrounding it.  It was during a hospitalization last year. It happened on a locked unit, by another patient, and in front of staff.  It wasn’t anything major, he was having a psychotic episode (or so they said) and tried to grope me after another patient mentioned that I was a lesbian.  I pulled away. I was able to re-direct him in no uncertain terms, and staff told him to stay away from me (and really everyone).  Despite the fact that I was in there due to my PTSD reactions over past assaults, I was never spoken to about the incident, no one asked if I was ok.  I simply stayed out of the common areas for a while, and later had some really bad body memories that ended in an uncomfortable verbal incident with another staff member.  The thing is, you lose all rights when you are hospitalized for psych issues.  You lose your personhood. You become a thing without feelings, needs, or any control over anything.  They treat you like prisoners (though I tend to think prisoners may be better off in some respects).  If you don’t do what you are told, you are lectured and called “defiant”.  Things slide that would never slide outside those locked doors. People (other patients as well as staff) can treat you like crap, violate all sorts of boundaries, order you to do things, and you just have to accept it.  You have no rights, you have no decision-making capabilities, and anything you say is clearly an exaggeration due to your mental instability.  I was expected to have no real reaction to this man invading my space and trying to invade my body because he was a patient and so was I.  It’s counter-intuitive that a patient’s reactions and feelings are not taken into account on a psych unit, but it’s true way too often.  The minute you step foot onto that floor, you are no longer a functioning, reasonable human being who is simply having a difficult time, you are a crazy person that needs containment (even if you are there for depression or anxiety). With or without a psychotic diagnosis, you are treated as if you are actively psychotic.  At least, that is how the hospitals in this state are.  Up north, I felt a bit more human, a bit more sane.

Anyway, I digress… the survey took longer than I had expected, but I did get paid, so that’s good.

at an opposite pace

While I have fallen back into being up north during this brief vacation, L and I are glaringly at very different paces.  I feel a frantic pressure to see everyone and do everything before my departure on Tuesday morning.  L is taking her time, getting back into the groove of things, and planning for the coming weeks.  I feel bad unintentionally putting all this pressure on her.  I want to be able to go out and visit friends, eat at our favorite restaurants, and check out my “old stomping grounds” in this very short 4 days we have left.  I hurried trying to settle the car, I am making plans with friends and putting it on the calendar.  The pressure is rubbing off on her.  I don’t feel like just sitting around doing nothing.  The nap we took today (while very much-needed and appreciated) felt like a waste of time.  I need to be engaged and actively doing things because I want to cram SO MUCH into these few short days.  Like I said, I feel bad about pressuring her.  L is working on the time-table of remaining here where she can see friends and family as she pleases.  If it doesn’t get done this weekend, it can happen next weekend.  And I think she might be trying to slow time.  Neither of us is looking forward to my departure… I hope the interim months go by quickly and we can get things settled so I can move up.   As much as I love the semi-tropics, the beach, and the friends and family down south, I really miss here also.  I miss the mountains and the hiking with the dogs.  I miss seeing our friends and getting together just to hang out for a few hours.  I miss seeing the kids. I will really miss L when I go back. In the almost 6 years we have been together, we have never been apart for more than 2 weeks, and even that was peppered with brief stays at home between my myriad of hospitalizations.  This is the first time we will voluntarily and “healthfully” be spending time apart.  It’s a little daunting.

In preparation for the return, I have been eyeballing houses with “for sale” signs on them in hopes we can swing a “rent-to-own” situation with one.  The prospect of settling once again is appealing. I like the idea of trying to get our lives back on track.  The thought of having to work again full-time is a bit nerve-wracking, but this whole environment is generally healthier for me, so it should be doable.  The memories are quieter here (they did not originate here).  I find it easier to fall back into a groove of trying to be productive.  My head and heart feel lighter away from all those triggers at home (the physical environment).  It feels emotionally easier to breathe, even if it’s just because I’m only visiting at the moment.

Anyway, it’s glaringly obvious that our heads are on different schedules.  We will make it work though.  I keep trying to remind myself to slow down, and L is very accommodating about my urgent need to do everything all at once.  I know we will get through these changes in one piece.

“One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, …”

I like this. we are so often told to be mindful of the moment, but remain silent in our pain. It’s in our pain that we need to speak out and have someone share it. I even struggle with this in therapy lately. De isn’t big on talking about what’s eating me, just how to cope with it. Sometimes that’s helpful, but a lot of the time I need to be able to give voice to what’s inside. It took me so long to be able to talk about things, then I get a therapist who focuses on the distractions and coping skills without much energy devoted to just being in the moment of the struggle. I know she has helped me learn some invaluable skills, but at the same time, I feel more alone than I ever have much of the time. My family does not hold a culture of speaking about what bothers you. L tries, but I resist much of the time. It’s so easy to fall back into pushing things away. We need to pay more attention to opening ourselves, to feeling and being less alone in our hurt…

I Dont Want To Talk About It

wolf-howl-silhouette1 “…but by making the darkness conscious.” I went to my Men’s meeting the other morning.   As usual it was an interesting place to be.   One of my issues with AA is the unwillingness to making the darkness conscious at the meeting level.   My wonderful friends who are suffering from the effects of PTSD and other “mental health,” issues express confusion that when they are in meetings and they struggling, most of the other people in the rooms are speaking of gratitude, acceptance and/or tolerance.  They ask me and I question also whether the people speaking of gratitude etc. aren’t just “imagining figures of light,”  because they can’t/won’t deal with the darkness that they carry.

When I am struggling, and much of the time my depression makes me feel like I am searching for a life raft in the middle of this sea of hopelessness, I have a hard time with…

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I know De and I met today, and we talked about a lot of stuff, but I’ve already lost the specifics.  I had gone in feeling spent, and the session just intensified the feeling.  I remember playing with playdoh and what I made, but I don’t really remember the content.  I know when we talked about remembering things, I made an elephant without realizing it.  When we switched the topic to moods, I ended up with a creature face that matched the mood we happened to be talking about at the moment… I noticed all these things because I was not really making them on purpose, just ended up with them as we were talking.  I made sure to take mental note of the connections, but I am not totally sure she noticed them.

I returned home spent and tired.  I took a 2 hour nap, then had a heavy conversation with mom.  I remain spent all day.  I just feel drained and out of “fight”.  There’s only so long I can go defending myself and standing up for myself before I lose steam.  Today took everything out of me.  I don’t even want these stupid beers I opened and inherited (L did not like hers, so now I have 2)…

why is it not ok?

Why is it frowned-upon to cut a family member out of your life if they cause nothing but grief?  Why is it not accepted that I no longer want to speak to my father or hear about him, or have him anywhere near me?  We have a long history of disappointments and abuse.  I don’t need to have that in my life anymore.  I have made the decision to not speak to him or see him.  Why is that considered selfish?  I had a long conversation with my mom today about him. Several times, she tried to convince me that I should “forgive” (not her word, but the gist of what she meant) him and not be so staunch in my refusal to see him or have him visit.  I tried to make my point that we are now all adults.  For me, this is a self-preservation thing.  I no longer want him in my life because he has proven time and time again that he is only ever thinking of himself.  She tried to convince me to “just ignore him”, but why should I set myself up for stress and frustration? Why should I allow myself to be put into another abusive situation.  Mom and I agreed to disagree.  She is also an adult and can do as she wishes with her personal relationships.  If she wants to keep bringing him into her life, so be it, but I will not allow him to continue to damage mine.  He has been nothing but hateful towards my family and friends.  I don’t need that in my life.  To me, chosen family is often times much stronger and more valuable than “blood” family (at least when it comes to my dad and his bitch of a sister).  There is no expectation to stick around through abuse and disrespect, but for whatever reason, there is with “blood” relatives.  I don’t accept that.  If you are hurtful to me and the people/things I care about, you are out of my life. I will not be bullied back into that relationship because now I do know better and I do have a choice.

A tad bit stressed

I’ve done it again; ignored something until it’s too late… now there really isn’t much of a choice. J’s fire that she’s been looking for is firmly lit. We will be moving back up north sooner than expected and under a lot more pressure. This sucks… I’m kicking myself for putting off the asking for help for this long. Now we just have to suck it up and move on. It looks like we will have to re-home two of our pups (one of mom’s and one of our’s), which is totally breaking my heart. I knew we wore out our welcome, but now it’s also our grace period. The house needs to be sold and we will be left with nothing to show for it but more debt. I just want to hide from everything right now (lot of good it’s done so far). Trying not to panic, but not sure how to make things happen. We either find roommates that can cover half the mortgage and stand living here, or we throw in the towel and lose what we have. Pretty shitty choices since I don’t think anyone would want to live here (too many critters, too much stress, too little space)… :/

family fun times (no, seriously)

1604597_10152238872164892_2106478565_nWe don’t have visitors often here, so it’s really nice when someone comes to stay.  My brother and his wife are in town for the next 2 weeks, and he is staying with s for a few days while his wife visits her brother in another part of the state.  L and I are really happy that we get to see them.  We used to hang out when we lived up north, and it’s nice to hang out once again.  My brother is a really charismatic guy.  You would never guess at the level of social anxiety he faces when you see him laughing it up with friends.  People come out of the woodwork when he comes for a visit, and suddenly our house is the place to hang.  So last night we had an impromptu party.  Because my family pretty much revolves around alcohol, it ended up being a beer tasting party (one of my other guilty pleasures is writing a beer blog so I can keep track of the things we like and don’t like).  Needless to say, I had to take notes on everything we tried last night.  For me, that totaled about 10 beers tasted (and the equivalent of drinking a good 5-6 beers worth total).  To put that in perspective: I drink one, maybe two drinks at a time. Last night severely over-did it for me.  Today is being spent trying to re-hydrate and quell the monster head-ache threatening to blow up my brain.  It was fun though.  We had friends over that I have not seen in years, and it was a (mostly) chill night drinking, eating pizza, and watching the logs burn in the fire pit.  There were a few snags in the evening (3 of the 5 dogs managed to break leashes while hanging out with us – one a chain leash… and L had a bout of really cranky time for about 3 hours in the middle).  Overall however, it was a good time had by most.  I think we even inspired our neighbors to start a fire as they dragged out their pit and had a gathering also.

Anyway, it was nice to see people and nice to have a change of pace.  I don’t have much family that I see and enjoy hanging out with, but my brother and his wife are some.  It’s always nice when they come around.  🙂

The appropriateness of tears

I was journaling to De, and the topic of crying snuck its way in.  I don’t remember if I have talked about it here yet.  It’s not an easy thing for me (crying).  There has to be a really damn good reason to cry “legit” tears (not the ones that seem to spill uncontrollably from my eyes at random commercials or sappy stories, but tears that are backed by deeper emotion, tears that actually mean something or are connected to something).  It’s never appropriate in front of another human being.

Crying was not accepted growing up.  It was never soothed, only discouraged (and in some cases punished).  The only exception to this was when K died; then it was ok to legitimately cry (though only up until the funeral and burial in my recollection).  It wasn’t ok to cry for T though, “because he wasn’t real family” (G hated T and refused to consider him a relative because he “wasn’t blood”… I think love makes a family, not genetic material.  I will never consider Bitch family though she is my father’s biological sister).  T married K.  He was kind to her (mostly), and to us.  He will always be family to me and I have a right to cry when I miss him… But I digress. G never allowed crying.  Mom looks down on it also, though she was more consoling about it than G ever was.  Regardless, crying was like a sick day: hell froze over before it was allowed (or the school kicked us out because we were contagious).

Despite new learning and a cognitive understanding of the benefits of crying, I still have a lot of trouble allowing myself to cry in front of anyone else. That rarely happens.  It has taken me over a decade to learn to talk myself into crying when I need it, not just when it falls under the “ok” column set by my early experiences.  I have to have a drawn-out conversation with myself to convince that gate-keeper to let the tears fall.  Sometimes I can’t convince her to let go, but a few times every few years, I can actually manage to cry as an emotional release.  Most of the time, blood had taken the place of tears… I haven’t cut in months, but I haven’t cried either (except maybe twice in the ER or the hospital).  Tears tumble forth at stupid sappy stories, or emotional moments in movies, but there’s nothing really behind them.  It’s not a full-fledged cry, but just leaking eyes.  I wish I could bring myself to release through crying more often.  I think it might do me some good, but the keys needed to open that gate are stashed away somewhere “safe” from my prying.

One of the few things I remember from my childhood is a recurring nightmare.  I would be crying, and Skeletor would yell at me to stop.  He would tell me that if I didn’t stop right then, he would kill me.  He would grab me and physically threaten until the dream me stopped crying… I think the dream me, conditioned by Skeletor, is the gate-keeper to allowing the adult me to cry.  She’s terrified though, and repeats Skeletor’s words over and over again even when I try to tell her it’s ok to cry.

The other fear of crying comes from the fear of being overwhelmed by it.  If I start to cry, will I ever be able to stop?  I’m reminded of one day in 2007 when I cried hysterically for about 8 hours straight.  I would stop only long enough to catch my breath for a few seconds, then the choking sobs would start again.  I remember calling 211 because I hoped talking to someone would help me stop.  They sent out an ambulance without telling me and I was hospitalized (I cried hysterically the whole time until they drugged me up enough to put me to sleep for a few hours before they admitted me upstairs)… Kinda shitty experience.  Similar in “turn-off” factor as the Skeletor dream.

Anyway, I’m not really sure what the purpose of this post is… We all learn different things growing up (many of us learn really warped stuff), and it tends to affect us into adulthood even when we try our best to shake the lessons.  I look forward to the day that I can cry “as needed” without having to go through a 30 minute back-and-forth with the old tapes.

It’s the little (big) things

I’m feeling somewhat accomplished today.  I was able to fix my mom’s brakes on her car.  It took seven hours, several trips to the parts store, and lots of muscling loose rusted-together parts, but she now has a new rear braking system (calipers, high-performance rotors & pads). Tomorrow’s goal is to make sure the fluids are set before anyone drives it (I ran out of daylight and energy). I didn’t think it possible, but she ran her brakes top to the point where even the metal backing to the pads had worn away… hopefully these will last longer for her. I made her spring for the performance grade because she drives like she was practicing for NASCAR. Next month will be her front brakes (I hope they don’t get as bad as these ones because these were a pain in the butt to fix). To her credit, she helped quite a lot, as did L. I couldn’t have done it without them. ♥

I also found a few ways to cut down on the light intensity of the fish tank (huge help as I will not have to DIY a freshwater LED set-up for it). I also found some really neat fish at a local store: green neon tetras. They pretty much have the same blue stripe as the red neons, but their accent is a green stripe, not red. Neon and cardinal tetras are some of my favorite community fish and I’m so psyched to find such a variety locally (there was none up north). Among the various stores in driving distance, I can find green, red, black, and yellow neon tetras, as well as several other tetra species. I’m in heaven 🙂 I will have to choose wisely though. I can only get one species of tetra (max 2) for this tank. And if I get 2 species, I can’t get any bottom-dwellers… it’s an ok trade-off in my book.

I got to spend time with family (we also have friends coming over tomorrow), learned a new skill, sold some unused stuff (empty gecko tanks), and figured out the lighting so I can get the plants and fish I want for this tank. A few months ago I would not have been able to accomplish all this in 2 days, let alone feel good about it. I’m really liking the ability to appreciate the smaller things in life. I hope it keeps up. I wish I knew what was behind it (well, I have a theory but it isn’t pretty). I would work towards this more often if I could (well, not if it’s because I put up walls around everything and it’s all just waiting to break through when I crack). I like the distance and the sunshine. I hope I can keep it up even when tackling the cruddy stuff that is hidden right now…

speaking to SJ’s panic

I saw De today.  It was good.  She helped ease some of my fears.  She spoke to the scared little kid in me who was terrified of losing the connection with her.   She did most of the talking, but it was stuff I needed to hear (SJ busied herself coloring a minion).  I was able to ask the main questions weighing on me.  She was able to explain that a discharge for being unstable would be looked at case-by-case.  We will be playing the next few weeks by ear.  She underscored that my safety was her top concern, and she wanted me to feel comfortable asking for help as needed without the fear of immediately losing the relationship.  She was very careful not to make any promises she would not be able to keep, but she was able to promise a termination session if it came down to it.  She explained a bit better what the bounds of that decision would approximate, which gave me a bit better idea of the whole process.  She also agreed we could do more art either in the art room, or her office if the art room is not available… I found out today she has play dough in her office… We may need to break that out next session.

De also seemed relieved that I am willing to go to the IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program – 9am-1pm, three days a week for about 8 weeks) and give it a shot even though it’s not exactly what I’m looking for.  The holidays will be dicey for scheduling, and she will be away for 2 weeks between Christmas and New Year.  She was quite up-front about being relieved that I will have the added support of the program during the time she will be gone.  I kinda feel bad.  I never meant to worry her like that.

Because of our conversation, I was able to admit that the hopelessness is still very heavy.  She encouraged me to ask for whatever help I think I need. She wants me to be able to ask for inpatient if that is something I feel I need at any time.  I’m going to give this IOP a try, and see how it works out.  I hope it will provide the safety net I am so desperately seeking.  I am a bit hesitant about trusting anyone there with my hopelessness.  I have been misunderstood/over-reacted to in the past by people at IOP’s which lead to multiple involuntary hospitalizations (and that was in a state that had stricter guidelines for involuntary commitment.  here, you just have to “appear to have a mental illness” in order to be able to be involuntarily held for up to 72 hours for psychiatric evaluation.  That’s a really broad phrase open to much interpretation… SCARY!).  I worry about saying things the wrong way (as is often the case) or confessing to my hopelessness and being hospitalized because of it.  To help with those fears, I am filling out paperwork that gives my wife power to make decisions for me (and if she is unable/unwilling, my mom gets the honor) in case they declare me “incompetent to make decisions” for any length of time.  I know both L and my mom are on the same page as I in terms of my mental health treatment.  I am confident they would support any decision I ask for.  It’s scary how paranoid that makes me sound.  However, having been in battles regarding my mental/emotional competence in the past, I want to make sure all my bases are covered.  One of my greatest fears is being forced into a treatment I do not want.

Dilemma decisions

So, in talking to our couple’s therapist (whose main job is working for hospice), I just need to suck it up and call adult protective services on my friend’s mother.  It is highly unlikely any of the girls will do anything to help their mother (historically the family dynamic) so I would be the one left to care for her and make sure she gets what she needs.  Since that is way more than I have energy for, I’ve been told I need to just call APS. I’m totally feeling guilty about it, because I know how shitty it can be to suddenly have a stranger take over, but I also know that she will just get overwhelmed and not be able to care for herself very soon.  It’s really sad.  I wish I had the energy to help her out in a more personal way…
I was able to avoid J questioning too much about my mood today by taking up the last part of the session with this stuff.  Of course, this stuff brought about a whole other layer to the depression… and I was reminded that P’s daughter is probably in as bad a state, and they left her alone. Ugh.  I hate having a conscience and a heart… it just hurts.  I’m pretty sure I will be making that call tonight. :/

Depression sucks

Like you needed me to tell you that…
But anyway, today was a mess.  I got angry over stupid things that had not a lot to do with the moment.  I lashed out.  I wanted to cry (still do). There’s nothing that helps these crazy mood swings.  I hate them.

I’m frustrated with commitments and responsibilities (home and outside). I don’t want to do anything; I’d much rather hole myself up and hide away from the world.  Even as I write this, tears threaten to erupt from my eyes. There’s no reason for them; I just feel like crying.  I really hate crying.  Stray tears escape here and there, but actual, real crying sucks. I can’t breathe when my sinuses get so congested. And I can rarely really cry in front of another human being. Crying in front of others brings shame and fear and drama. No reason for crying is ever accepted as valid.  Tears are never welcome (and Skeletor will kill you).  Problems are never big enough to wear you down, because others have lived with them for years, and they have not broken like you have.  Nothing should ever be too much or overwhelming. Nothing should ever bring about tears or frustration.  It’s an awesome [sarcasm sign] double standard that you have always lived with.  You know it well.

There’s never an excuse for being weak or showing any signs of weakness (crying, depression, anger, frustration, despair, hopelessness).  You are certainly never allowed to take anything personally (translate that to being hurt by hurtful words, actions,  and sentiments). Anorexia and disordered eating are not allowed, but highly idealized.  Other negative coping skills are equally forbidden (though less idealized).  Heaven forbid you suggest something to another that has been dictated upon you by that other.  Never ask for anything that takes work (or attention, or effort, or thought) that is not already being expended.  Never suggest anything that may put another out, but be prepared to have to work like hell to keep others happy.  Remember: you are worth/worthy of nothing; they are worth/worthy of everything. You know nothing (forget that you have the education) but others know everything (again, note appropriate – or lack-there-of – education)…
Funny how loud and present these distorted lessons can be when everything internally is shot to shit.  Gotta love disordered f.o.o…


some days I realize just how different my parents and I are.

I requested that my mom not let one of her cats outside until I take her to the vet (one of her paws is significantly swollen). Mom’s first concern: she won’t leave that room to use the litter box. Ok, well, the simple solution to that would be to get a litter box into the room she is in. Then G comments “well, she’s an old cat anyway” ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!! are you f-ing kidding me? she’s got an injury or infection that can be easily treated. I am willing to make this happen. And she’s not all that old. If it were cancer or heart disease, ok, think twice about spending the money. A simple swollen paw (before it becomes a larger issue) is easy and cheap to take care of. And at 13, she’s not all that old for a cat. So f that. UGH! I miss having my own space far away from the constant battles in ideology and common sense. I miss having my own space.

I took the puppy for his first run with the bike. He was a bit freaked out, and had a better hang of it earlier on then he did towards the end of the ride. Almost home, I clipped his back legs with the tire a few times as he stopped paying attention to where he was running, and ran into the bike. Luckily, I wasn’t going too fast, so he didn’t really get hurt, but just startled. It worked to tire him out tho. I took our little dog along also, and he is exhausted as well. Score one for SJ and the bike idea. I just have to make sure they learn to run along side, and not to suddenly stop or pull in any direction. I wish the other 3 were good candidates for bike runs, because it would tire them out and be good exercise for us all.

I see De again tomorrow. I’m looking forward to the venting session. This visit from G is driving me nuts. The repetitive conversations are grating on me (there’s only so many times I can hear about the stupid court case, or how G was screwed with his pension, or how crooked lawyers are). They literally have the same conversation every time, verbatim! And they don’t seem to notice that they repeat themselves exactly the same way each time. Neither are listening to the other based on their comments, questions, and answers, but both go through the same thing at least 5 times a day. I have moved to wearing my headphones nearly all the time in order to not go mad. I really couldn’t stand watching groundhog day more than once… I hate living it.

I need to make it through to Thursday. It’s just 2.5 days away, but I may just run away before that time comes around. Someone shoot me?

So anyway, yeah. Therapy tomorrow and I really need it…

Monday already?!

I’m not quite sure where that weekend went… well, ok.  That’s a lie; I know exactly where the weekend went, and it was pretty good.  And yet, I feel like bawling my eyes out today.  I feel trapped and rushed and smothered by commitments.  G is down, and it’s also adding to the stress.  We don’t necessarily have much out of the ordinary going on this week, but having no space at home makes everything that much more overwhelming.

I’m an introvert.  I need my space to be able to re-charge.  Since G arrived, I have had none.  He has no personal space boundaries.  He follows me around worse than the dogs do.  It would be flattering and loving if I didn’t see it as such a bother.   When I was 3, petting my head and wanting to touch my shoulder or rub my back was ok (though not all the time), but in my mid-30’s, it’s just intrusive and skeevey.  I don’t much like to be touched in the first place, but add to it that it’s my dad and I really have not yet chosen to let him back into my life, it amplifies my discomfort yet again.  He doesn’t get it.  He thinks I’m just busy, but I really don’t want to see him or spend much time with him.  If I were living on my own, he would not be here (he is not welcome in my & L’s home).  I would not be spending time with him, or visiting with him.  The only reason he is here is because it’s (mostly) my mom’s house.  If it were up to me, we would still have little to no contact.  He rubs me the wrong way.  He triggers anger just by being in the vicinity… and he does not respect my animals (whom I tend to see as my kids).  He yells at them for no reason, and is harsh.  I tell him over and over again not to be like that with them, but he refuses to respect that.  He’s still pissed I choose them over him in a heartbeat any day of the week… They have not traumatized me, but he certainly has.  They win.

Part of me is glad to be volunteering tomorrow.  It means I get to be out of the house.  But another part of me is still really tired.  I don’t want to have to be social yet again.  I made a commitment however, so I need to stick with it.  Tomorrow is also the first day of this year’s school program.  They will be piloting a bunch of new curricula for the different grades.  It should be more in line with what is covered in the students’ standardized testing… None of us have done it live yet, so tomorrow will be a learning experience for all.  I also have to remember to get there on time, as I have to do the animal husbandry before the class starts (usually takes me about an hour and a half, but it will need to be completed in an hour).  No pressure there… ugh!

So anyway, I will be out and forced to be social yet again tomorrow.  And I’m sure G will be ever-so-clingy again when I get home… There’s no rest for the wicked I tell you!

On a sidebar, I may have to put my sleeve on hold for a bit longer, one of the cats has a super-swollen paw.  It doesn’t seem sore (she puts her full weight on it, and she lets me squish at it without complaint), but I would rather be safe than sorry.  If it’s simply a matter of infection that can be taken care of with an antibiotic, I would prefer that to her getting septic from it down the line and either dying or losing the leg.  I know we don’t really have the money to take the cat to the vet, this is something that needs attention, especially because she is mostly an outdoor cat.  It’s hard enough to monitor her. I happened to be lucky enough to snag her inside before a storm, and she hasn’t wanted to leave again these last 2 days (unusual in and of itself, so she must be feeling off).  Anyway, I’m hoping I can get away with it being a simple fix, and her being ok relatively soon.  I definitely cannot afford any major illnesses with any of the critters.  It was bad enough that last night one of the dogs decided to try to eat a cane toad out back.  Luckily, she only got high.  I managed to wash her mouth out fast enough and well enough to keep her from going toxic.  I am pretty sure she was hallucinating at one point though, as she refused to step on the grass (lava or broken glass or blades or something I’m guessing).  She never developed symptoms beyond the excessive drooling (this toxin acts pretty quickly, she would have had a full-blown reaction within 10-15 minutes if it was to happen – according to the vet.  L had not realized that some people licked toads to get high.  She said as much when I mentioned that the dog was likely tripping from the toxins.  Drugs/toxins can cause hallucinations and/or euphoria when ingested in smaller doses.  I don;t recommend licking toads though.  You never know where they’ve been, what you’re ingesting, and how toxic it will actually be… and they must taste awful too!  I’m all for responsible, natural substance use, but licking frogs doesn’t fall under that category for me… eeewww! ok, getting grossed-out by that thought.

On to bigger and better things: I must set my alarm so I can wake in time not only to shower before “work” but also get the dogs all situated for the day. Oh, and I need the car, so I will be taking L to work way before even the ass crack of dawn…

Here’s to hoping Monday (and the week) will go smoothly! Remember: no licking toads!

feeling defeated

I know I should be talking about this with the appropriate people, but it is difficult, so I will write it here.

It’s not fair.  It’s not fair that you invite him here and then get mad when I choose to leave for the duration of his visit (I shut him out of my life for a reason, and I really have no desire to let him back in).  You can choose to have him come around, but don’t try to guilt me into sticking around for it.  I don’t want to spend time with him.  That kind of interaction is just not good for me.  I know this last time wasn’t so bad, but I refuse to push my luck.  I have enough trouble with all the crap in my head as it is, I don’t need help going over the edge.

I chose to stay away most of the time last visit because I wanted to limit the chances of me being really triggered.  I want to be completely gone this next time, because I don’t want to deal with all that he brings up in me (and quite frankly, I don’t want to deal with your anger either.  You refuse to tell me what’s bothering you.  You may hint at it, but you leave me pretty much guessing. I don’t want to have to keep guessing).  It’s better for all concerned if we just took off while he was slated to visit.

I get it, we are annoying and frustrating, and you want us gone asap.  We are working on that.  But in the mean time, I refuse to forego everything that helps keep me sane.  I will choose to spend my money how I see fit.  I am saving what I can, and we will be out of your hair asap because that seems like what you desperately want.  Hell, if I could afford to move us out today, I would because you are clearly bothered by our presence.  But that’s just not realistic unless we suddenly win the lottery.

We try to help out around the house, but nothing is ever good enough for you.  It’s always too messy, or too noisy, or too chaotic, or too quiet.  Sorry.  I don’t know how to win with that.  Like I said, we are working on getting out of here so that you can go back to your quiet and solitary existence.  My bad for assuming I could move back to my own house and be welcome.

I know the dogs are bothersome.  I try to work on it, but I can’t do that alone.  I had asked for help with it, but it seems to be too much to ask.  Coming here has thrown everyone off.  It will take extra work to get them settled again (it’s also really hard to do anything with them outside of the house down here.  The state and municipalities make it impossible to go anywhere with them).

I’m also sorry that trying to include you in what we do outside of the house makes you so uncomfortable.  I’m sorry us leaving the house bothers you (but then again, staying home seems to do the same thing).  I know I can’t handle being cooped up all the time, and I’m pretty sure it drives L nuts also.  If we could take the dogs, we would, but again, too hot and too restrictive around here,

I feel like everything we do is wrong.  I feel like everything we do is too little.  If we don’t to the dishes, that’s a problem.  If we do the dishes but don’t do them correctly, that’s a problem.  If we clean up, we never do it to your standards.  If we don’t, you just make passive-aggressive comments about the mess, but don’t attempt to help take care of it.  I feel like we can’t win… and I feel like we can’t ever talk about it because, at this point, you are too angry and we are too defensive.


I don’t want to do this anymore.  I don’t want to keep running from things and trying to dodge bullets flying at me from the dark…  I want to fix my shit and move on with my life.  I miss my “friends” and my safe spaces.  I miss being away from all this chaos and triggers.  I miss having some idea of where to turn for support…  I hate feeling so lost and hopeless and broken.  I want to figure shit out, get off disability, and get back to working again… I want my freedom back…

Really? Why are we testing my mental health so soon?

I just found out my dad will be staying here for the second half of the week.  It’s sudden.  He has a court thing that he has to show up for… I pretty much cut him out of my life a few years ago after he was really abusive to my little family. I’m not looking forward to seeing him or him staying here.  He hates animals (of which we have a small army), he’s loud, and he is very critical of everyone and everything. I’m not at all looking forward to seeing him again. I wish we had more time, because we would be saving money to be gone while he is here. But it’s in 2 days. :/
Hoping the new t has some extra hours in her week… I will call tomorrow and ask. :gulp:

The weekend wasn’t so bad after all

I know it’s not over yet, but N leaves in a few hours, so that part is over.  It was good to see her again.  There were some awkward moments, and we did nowhere near all of what we had talked about doing, but it was good.  It was nice to catch up with her, and I think L was happy to have someone understand her frustrations with my quirks. it was nice to have another friend around. We have so few down here. 
I also got my disability determination letter and I’m truly humbled and grateful for what they will be helping with.  I hope we can get our act in gear and save what we need to be able to accomplish what we need to.  Now I just have to figure out how the insurance part of it works…
I think for the first time in almost a year I finally can picture a future again.


How deep is too deep for a drop in support group? Why do I resist participating in even that these days?

L brought to my attention that I “never go there” in terms of participation…I admit, I have not been covering much lately, but it’s because I don’t even know how to address it without going in way too deep for my comfort level.   I don’t feel it’s an appropriate forum in group to cover that stuff (and I don’t know the new group leader well enough to be able to even try skimming the surface).  I cover a lot of that in individual.  It’s safer that way.

Do you want me to admit that I never allowed myself to get angry at anyone else until about 2 years ago?  Do you want me to admit that it scares me, because the anger is everything I feared – I am everyone I feared when I get angry.  I don’t want to do it.  I don’t want to learn to be ok with being angry, because that would mean being ok with being that monster inside (she shows herself sometimes, and I die a little more inside whenever she surfaces).  She’s one scary sonofabitch.  It’s beyond anger, it’s rage.  She could break the house down, and beat the pulp out of anyone in her way… She is so far from who I see myself as.  So, no, I don’t wan to go there.  I don’t want to talk about it, or tell you that all the things I do to myself out of anger I feel as if I could do worse to someone else when I feel her there.  It’s terrifying to hear some of the thoughts that go through my head when I am angry.  It’s scary how little control I feel inside.  I never ever want to hurt anyone or anything else, but I fear I may lose control to her and hurt those I care the most about.  I’d rather hurt myself than anyone or anything else…

Do you want me to admit that I’m terrified of having to trust someone else again… and risking so much with that trust?  I’m scared she will over-react to the complete mess that is me.  I’m afraid she will under-react.  I’m afraid I will not be able to tell her what I need to because I’m afraid she will commit me.  I’m afraid that talking to her about duck-boy and that asshole will be too triggering and I won’t know how to handle it.  I’m afraid I will have no glue left to hold me together.  I’m afraid she won’t be helpful, but by then I will have lost D, so there will be no one again… I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing and then being labeled for it.  I’m afraid I won’t know what to say. And I’m afraid I’ll not care anymore, and get back to that place where it’s a battle just to keep alive.

I was all “whatever” today because I needed that veil.  I needed to avoid this fear and insecurity…

my voice escapes me

There are times when what’s inside is just not able to be formed into sounds… I can type them, but I can’t speak them… It’s funny, because written words are so much more permanent, but the courage to say it is not there.  Writing is more impersonal, more detached… it’s easier… and I’m so much better at it in times like these than I am at giving voice to the thoughts.  It requires less effort. Less commitment to connect with another because I don’t have to hear your voice when you see what it is I am saying.  I don’t have to see your face… I can hide and do it anonymously… I suppose I could do that over the phone also, but then you may not hear what I am not saying… and I am reminded again why I should just melt into the fibers of the carpet…

It’s not happening… the sense of relief that washed over me earlier has given way once again to that dark cloud that seems to permeate everything.  I am alone because I chose to be this way.  I build up the walls not only for myself, but against others seeing in.  I really miss my old therapist.  I miss that I could call her and be squeezed in that week as early as she had available, or she would talk to me over the phone.  I miss that I trusted her… while I am not running from D, I don’t yet trust him… and that makes me feel so alone in this.  I don’t want to burden other people with the weight of my thoughts.  I choose not to let my family in because they have their own shit, and they don’t need to hear what is in my head.

The weight bears down on me almost too much at times, and I just wish it would finally squish me out of existence… but that won’t happen… and even if it did, it would be incredibly selfish of me (as I am so often reminded) .  I wouldn’t want to do that to anyone else… they don’t deserve it… but the peace on my end would be nice…