Tag Archives: pets

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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Eternity and no time at all

It’s been 2 weeks since Chow died… yesterday would have been her 7th birthday.

It feels like she’s been gone forever, and like it was just yesterday. 

Ordered new name tags for the other two yesterday because Shutterfly had a promo going. Both L and I felt like we should be picking one for Chow also…

It’s so weird without her here. 

My anxiety is hitting hard again, especially days when I work at the front desk at the kennel. It feels really wrong without her there with me. I bring the other two, but they get noisy and need to be sent back into the kennel when that happens… Cow would just sit quietly with me and I didn’t have to worry that she would disrupt things. 

The other two dogs are also experiencing a lot more anxiety. They don’t want to be left alone anywhere. They used to tolerate being home alone for a few hours, but now the little guy barks himself hoarse. Sadie doesn’t like us sleeping in past 6:30 am anymore. If we are in the bedroom too long, she yells for us to wake up. She also panics a lot after we get home. She still sometimes goes outside looking for hints of Chow in all the spots she used to frequent… neither tolerates that half-hour alone in the camp room at work between the time we get there and the time camp actually starts…

I still expect chow to knock me in the head with the bathroom door if I don’t close it all the way. Both L and I look for her to pick up dropped food in the kitchen… 

It really sucks…


RIP Cow…

There aren’t words to describe how heartbroken we are. Chow passed away this afternoon… I almost went to work (and she would have died alone at home), but I tripped over her when getting ready, and she was unresponsive. I called the vet to tell them we were coming in, called L to ask her to leave work, and then called my work to tell them I would be late (my boss told me not to worry about coming in, she’d find coverage)…
Chow lasted till I  pulled into the parking lot at the vet. I heard her take her last breath before I got out of the car. They were able to get her heart started again for a few minutes, but she died shortly after…

We are still in a combination of shock and denial. She tanked so quickly… 

💔😭

Miss you tons baby girl…


…oh, and the dog is sick :(

I don’t want to live in a world where it’s so acceptable to hate and oppress…

I don’t want to live in a world where we struggle so much around so much. 

I’m constantly rendered speechless and shocked at the bigotry and rhetoric that seems to flow so freely from so many (and how quick they are too assume the other is stupid or wrong for disagreeing – on either side, really)…

On top of the current climate of hate, one of the dogs is sicker than we had hoped. We don’t know what exactly is wrong with her because we don’t have the funds available to get the appropriate testing done yet (come on Thursday!). We had hoped it was merely something antibiotics would clear up, but she’s not as dramatically better (if at all) as she should be after 2 days on meds… even if we get the testing done though, I’m not sure we will be able to afford treatment since the blood tests alone are over $300. 

I hate that I can’t take care of one of my babies. I hate that I know she feels like shit, but right now there’s nothing we can do to help. The vet’s office called earlier to check up on her, and told me they would consult the vet and potentially get back to us today. I told them we don’t have any money till Thursday… I hope between the relationship we’ve built with them, and the lack of positive progress with the dog’s health, they might extend some credit to at least be able to get tests done… 😢 I really want our puppy to be ok (by the way, when did just-under-7-years-old become “senior” for medium sized dogs? I had always thought of 8 or older falling into that category).


Figured out I’m not actually sleeping well

For the past week or two, i’ve been extremely tired. I thought I’d been sleeping all night for the most part. I realized tonight how wrong I am. I’m constantly waking up. Either the little dog barks, or my back hurts from 4 months of nights on the couch, or louder-than-usual traffic passes us by… tonight I counted waking at least 5 times during the 7 hours I tried to sleep. I think the worst one is the dogs all barking when the neighbor’s dog barrels down the stairs to go outside between 4-5a.m. I can’t seem to fall back asleep after that one…

We are supposed to get a mattress this month. I can hardly wait. It will take some getting used to in order to be able to sleep comfortably in the bedroom, but I’m so excited to try.

Maybe tonight I can utilize some benadryl to help me get more rest.


crying

woke up crying today. it’s lasted all day. crying at the slightest thing.

the depression is harming others now too. killed one of my snakes without meaning to. didn’t check on her enough. missed signs that something was wrong. found her dead today. she’s always been a difficult feeder (refused food for the first 9 months I had her. she’d also regularly miss 3 or 4 feedings in a row) so I didn’t really think too much of it that she refused food the last 2 times… should have realized something was wrong this time. hadn’t been weighing her, so didn’t notice she was losing weight… so I put out feelers to two people about possibly taking on most of the snakes and the rest of the lizards. they deserve better. and I hope that having only 4 will be easier than the (now) 9… 😦

if i still feel like this tomorrow, i will call TL and ask for another session this week (and hope I can hold it together for my trip coming up)…

supposed to get creative with the journal class teacher tomorrow. hoping I can at least fake it to get to her house and get some art time in. can fall apart again when I get home, but need to keep faking it for that. TL wants me to keep making plans and sticking to them. already let one friend down this weekend…

not sure why the depression hits so hard in the fall/winter lately. hate it. though maybe it always has and I just can’t remember… my memory is not the most reliable thing…


“Surviving” (post link)

…why is it that we are shamed not only by those perpetrating the abuse, but also those that don’t want to bear witness to it?  “Surviving” is so well-written in its brutal honesty… what happens to those of us who survive whatever degree of abuse we endure?  We are labeled “impossible” and “worthless” by the system and by society that has made a choice to ignore the conditions of survival.

I really struggle with not being able to speak about what I endured.  There is so much to the foundations of my shame.  One phrase that always echos in my head is one my dad said often: “what happens in the family stays in the family”  It screamed in my head as I was telling De about some things yesterday.  His voice thundered in my memory as I was suddenly hiding under the bed again, terrified that he was coming into my room… The memory drowned out De’s voice.  The memories to follow sent shudders through me, and yet I couldn’t tell De how loud my head was in the moment.  I couldn’t give voice to the full-on virtual reality playing behind my eyes. I couldn’t even tell her I was lost in the memory. I noticed my mouth moving and speaking to her, but I was hiding under my bed again. G had just had a huge blow-out with mom, and I had run to hide.  I tried to take the dog with me, but she stayed with mom… I don;t know how long I was hiding, but I do remember my brother coming into my room looking for me because the house was so quiet.  I screamed and jumped when I saw his feet from under the bed, I thought he was G… I scared my poor brother.  He had been at a friend’s house while hell broke out that night.  He was spared.  Mom got most of it… and the dog, she got a lot of it… G would kick her just because he could, because he was mad and needed to hurt the thing that everyone loved more than they loved him… and she just took it… :(…

Why is it that society underscores what our abusers tell us?

(With the way some of this stuff slams me, I do not know how my mom survived… I just watched my dad, but she was on the receiving end of so much more… I don’t know how it hasn’t crushed her.  She has some incredible strength…)