Tag Archives: parts

ramblings about interim therapists and trauma work and body stuff

I’ve been seeing another therapist in Dr C’s practice while she’s been away. It’s been weird, but helpful in maintaining balance, especially with all this physical stuff going on. I didn’t really talk to her about much outside of “safe” things (things going on in the moment, dealing with the physical stuff that doesn’t have a medical explanation yet (or ever?), surface stuff). There were times I wanted to cover other stuff that wove its way into the session, but I couldn’t open my mouth. It felt like my lips were glued together, and even if I did manage to open them, all that would come out were sobs and screams…

That’s not a new phenomenon for me. I’m not sure I’ve ever managed to open my mouth and tried to speak at a time like that. It taps into something I still don’t have an understanding of, and it never feels safe or comfortable enough to just let that part of me do whatever it needs to do for release… maybe I can bring it up with Dr C once she’s back again next week. I wish I could remember what it was that triggered that feeling.

I know before walking into the building, I had wanted to address the body memories that always get triggered (or more intense) when I get my period. We had kinda started taking about bodies, and how comfortable I was in mine (or not comfortable). We had talked a bit about liking or hating any particular part of my body. I said there wasn’t any part I liked. I should have said, there wasn’t any part I liked anymore because at one point, I had liked my eyes and my hands… but both have failed me since. My eyes either hide too much or tell too much; and my hands don’t create to my standards anymore (stupid trembling and fatigue). So no, right now there’s no part of me I like.

She also asked if there was any part I really hated. Of course there are parts I hate more than others, but there wasn’t enough time in the hour to tell her about it and still come out of the session balanced enough to go on with my day… I’m not totally sure I even want to write about it now, though there would be less explanation involved here than with her… I hate my pelvic area, and my stomach, and the insides of my legs. It’s where I feel the most uncomfortable memories, and what triggers the easiest. It’s the fastest way to send me to space…

A had asked if I’d ever done any body work (on paper) with Dr C. I told her I hadn’t, because even though Dr C had offered it, I panicked at the thought of tracing my body. A clarified that she meant doing it smaller scale. No, we never did do that… I’m not sure why the subject changed with A in that session. I think I started panicking and backpedaling into my head, because at some point, she asked how present I was & busted out a ball as a means of grounding (side note: it worked too! Who knew playing catch could actually bring me back? Normally, I can still do that stuff while dissociated. This time, the act of catching and tossing was balancing. Maybe it was the inconsistent way she did it? She would pause, look at the ball, change the speed of her toss… whatever it was, it worked).

Anyway… yeah. There were so many times I could have said more to her, but I didn’t want to get into it knowing that the hour would end too son, and I’d be left dealing with whatever came up for the rest of the week. At least with Dr C, I can reach out during the week if I need to. A did say to call if I needed anything, but I wouldn’t bother her. It takes me a long time to trust that it’s really ok to bug someone outside of the time they are getting paid to interact with me. Even with Dr C, I still hesitate much of the time, and I’ve worked with her on and off for almost 10 years now…

Oh, I remembered what I was originally going to say about the body drawing; it’s another thing where I feel frozen for fear of what I might do or say. There’s still that urge to destroy my body, even if it’s just a drawing. I still want to take a knife and stab the drawing on the parts I hate the most… or, since I no longer carry a knife with me, stab it with the pencil… that would probably freak her out, so… maybe some day I can mention that to Dr C, and we could find a way for me to be ok doing it in some form. The kid really wants to talk about it still. He has no words, just screams and sobs and anger… or silence. He’s usually just silent because the other stuff is not acceptable…

I really wish Dr C was back now. I wish this could be addressed while it’s still here & “relevant.” It’ll be gone again by next week. This is when that concept of easily accessible, more intensive treatment would be helpful; when stuff comes up and would benefit from being addressed in the moment, so it would be nice to be able to walk back into the room and get to work… let’s tackle this shit coz it’s here. Gimme that little body drawing, tack it to a tree, and let me stab the shit out of it. Let me rip it up and scream and cry and cover it in red paint so it bleeds like my body would if I did that to myself. Let me burn the page so it all goes up in smoke. He needs the release. I need the release…

Let me rip the legs off a toy, and bash it and destroy it… but then I’d need to apologize, because the toy did nothing, it’s just a receptacle for the anger. So let me run out into the woods and scream until my voice is hoarse, and my legs are so tired they want to fall off, and my breath burns in my chest (maybe my lungs would actually burn up. That would be an interesting medical & scientific impossibility)…

Sometimes the anger and the hurt is too much. Sometimes I want to disappear to a safe place where I can do something about it without weird looks and panic over my safety, because ultimately, I’ll be safe, this just all needs a release…

Why aren’t there trauma treatment centers in the middle of the woods, with animals and drop-in massage and art and yoga and holistic therapy like they have for substance abuse? And why is nothing local? Why is the only treatment center even remotely like that all the way across the country, and religious?! I want something with no BS about higher powers or gods or spiritual anything. Why does that not exist?! And why aren’t there more art or play therapists around? The kids want time too, but everything’s in an adult world, so they use translators instead…

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SJ’S playing?

Woke up very aware of the little kid. She’s kinda skipping around and anxiously bouncing alternated with just sitting there waiting for me to notice her. The memories are playing at the edge of my awareness.
I think she’s reminding me to talk to TM about her. The angry, defensive teenager side was around for a few sessions, but she didn’t want to be revealed. She rarely does… maybe this is SJ thinking TM will be safe? Or maybe she is just around because the memories are within reach (or they’re within reach because she’s here?)
Strange though, I’m picturing her playing. She doesn’t often play. Most of the time she hides or is just very reserved.
No, she’s not a whole other, but she’s the most distinct. I don’t know what she doesn’t tell me except the emotions. I can feel her emotions… the other sides are less distinct. I know they are all me, just different aspects with very set emotions and responses. SJ’s just… well, she’s SJ…


Unable to read others’ blogs today, and some blathering

I’m not sure what is up with my WordPress reader today, but when I click on a blog to read it, the application stalls and I’m forced to back out completely.  I apologize for not being able to keep up with everyone tonight :/ Hopefully it’s just a one-night bug that is only happening on my phone… sorry all!

Today was an ok day.  De called and we scheduled something for Tuesday. I hope I still am connected to the stuff that came up yesterday. She did not sound mad or frustrated that I asked for extra time.  I hope I can keep reminding myself of that when the fear of pissing her off comes up.  I obsess over boundaries not only because I fear rejection/anger, but also because sometimes I have trouble reigning myself in. I wind up relying too much on someone and it works to push them away.  I’m trying to find a happy middle ground (it’s harder than it looks). Most of the time when I was growing up, getting emotional needs met was nearly impossible in the chaos of all the domestic violence. Asking for support was often responded to with anger, frustration, or simply ignored (mostly anger tho).  I have trouble stepping back and knowing that I am allowed to ask for things, and that the response will not being a hugely disproportionate display of anger. The old hyper-vigilance to anger is made stronger when I feel more vulnerable.  I know I drive L nuts when I constantly check in to see if she’s mad at me.  I know I’ve driven others nuts with it also.  I’m sure De is getting frustrated with my constant checking and fear, but she has not said anything yet. It’s just difficult to step out of when so much is the same as my childhood once again (physical environment, and displays of anger or frustration all the time from those around me). I have trouble remembering that I am an adult who does not have to fear anger all the time from my dad or other adults. Once again I find myself stuck as both a small child and an adult.  I have more autonomy now, but I’m still very much a little kid emotionally… it’s quite frustrating (especially when the flashbacks or really strong memories hit. There’s not much I have found that lets me ground into the present because I get confused about what the present actually is. The people around me begin to look like those I grew up with, so I struggle to notice that I am no longer a kid.  Once again, my dog is mistaken for my dog growing up.  My wife is mistaken for my best friend in high school. It gets very confusing). It hits harder when other memories start to surface.  It feels like a domino effect of memories that come spilling at me. I can look at L, know she is L, then something gets triggered and she suddenly looks like C. I’ve noticed it more today and yesterday since the memories of DuckBoy bubbled up again.  When we are out of the house it’s not so difficult to recognize it as the past rather than the present. But when we are home, I forget and get lost quite easily. It doesn’t help that the energy in the house is still very much the same as it had been growing up. There’s anger and frustration busting at the seams. I hate it…

Anyway, yeah.  Asking De for some more support next week.  I’m hoping I can find something to get me through the two weeks she will be out between Christmas and New Year’s.  This program hasn’t called me back, and I don’t want to be left floundering for that long.  I know we meant to hold off on trauma processing until after the new year, but my brain has its own ideas. I’m partly worried about losing trust completely with her, so I think my head has kicked remembering into high gear (that, and holidays are always hard for me. Triggers get more frequent and varied while my ability to cope with them gets severely tested).

I seem to have an inability to leave an art project solely for work with De, even when I consciously choose to leave the piece at her office.  I have started drawing (and re-drawing) the image started with her on Friday. It’s in its third incarnation since yesterday morning.  I’m hoping I will be happy enough with one finally.  There’s still a few days till Tuesday when I go back to work on the one she is holding.  I’m hoping I will be able to get it right by then… one day, I will leave the work purely for there, but I have trouble reigning in the creative perfectionism to just one hour a week. If I end up happy with one of the versions, I will post it here.


buckling under myself

there are just some things that cannot be expressed to another human being because of the risk involved… and the weight of it is crushing.  I just left the hospital, and it all hits again.  there’s no use in fighting it.  the win will never come, so what’s the point?

there are definitely 2 parts (if not more) to me.  not DID, but just over-bearing attitudes that take over at various times.  i wish it would all just go away.  I’m so tired of this.