De sparked a thought about this a few sessions ago, and reading it on several forums has me wondering: am I the only one who si’s because it feels “right” and not as a form of punishment? De (and other T’s before her) seemed taken aback when I told her it was never really something that felt “deserved” so much as just what simply “must be”… In my head, there’s no real judgement towards it. It just is what it is. It’s what’s “supposed” to be. Things don’t feel right if I avoid si when I really need it. It’s a release. It’s an actuality, but never a punishment.
Am I in the minority with that? Where does that stem from? I can’t remember a time when I was hurt like that just because that is what was supposed to be… but there were other times that simply felt like the crap that happened in life just happened because they were supposed to…
I don’t know if that’s making much sense. Sorry if I’m unclear. I have yet to be able to describe it well to any T also, so I don’t think I communicated that correctly…
kinda like a kid who gets beaten every day just because – they grow up expecting that to always happen because it HAS always happened… no real judgement, just acceptance.
That’s what si has been like for me. The judgement has always come from the outside.
anyone else feel that way?
(weirdest sense of deja-vu writing this just now… I had formatted this exact post this exact way some “when” ago… It floated to the surface as I was finishing the post. Sometimes I remember things that are happening in the present as if I had been through them before. Sometimes it’s a dream I’m remembering, other times it’s a memory, but I know it’s not the first time I had done the exact thing in the exact way… only it was… time is fluid whether we care to acknowledge it or not)…
Found a few journal entries from a few years ago. I’m afraid I may lose them in my email, so I’ll be putting them here. Many will be private, but some I may make public… I’m far-enough removed from the experiences to risk putting them out there… I may make this one private shortly, but for the moment it’s out there for everyone to read.
This one has some graphic descriptions of SI, a suicide attempt, eating disorder behavior, and details of sexual assault… please don’t read it if it will trigger you.
Names have been removed and replaced with initials to maintain anonymity. Spelling errors have been fixed, but the rest has been left in tact in the form that was sent to my therapist at the time.
had a good day. signed c’s lease. we will be moving in around dec 1st… it’ll be a bit weird, but whatever… we need to get out of here, so it’s a step up.. and cheaper over-all then here…
I feel like I should be writing something, but I am not sure what. Been feeling weird lately. wanting to take klonpin during the day instead of how it’s prescribed… wanting to drink… wanting to float away. not as off as I was feeling last week… seem to have alighted on a branch somewhere on my way down. kinda like that I didn’t take a huge fall. i can’t afford it; financially, emotionally & in terms of our relationship… it would just be too much for her… I have fleeting thoughts of od’ing… thoughts of crashing the car, or jumping out in front of a train… just thoughts… and just fleeting. but fleeting thoughts can sometimes lead to impulsive actions. I’m not going to go down that road any more… i’m wearing everyone around me out… i’m too much. too much drama, too much emotion, too much to handle… I really wish L would get some more support for herself, and use it regularly… she’s frying out her friends and supports and me… it’s a catch-22… I stress her out & she stresses me out in response to my stressing… and it just cycles. I got her in touch with a therapist in Dr. C’s office, but she only went once and didn’t even call about being sick for the second session, I had to do that… i hope she goes back to her. she needs more then I or her friends can give her. and she needs to learn more about depression and ptsd and suicidality… I can’t teach her that, because I am too wrapped up in it…
I miss Samantha Jane. she was only with me for a short time (well, she had been there for a while, but rarely showed herself. just hid in the closet or in the fibers of the carpet… Dr. C said she thought it may be some mild DID going on, but it wasn’t/isn’t… just someone I can picture loving, coz it’s hard to picture myself as a person during my childhood and much of my teens… I see pictures, but i don’t necessarily connect them to myself. I try, but it’s hard. it’s like memorizing what people have said about the events in the picture to know what to say when someone asks what was happening then… I have no real memory of it, just the stories I’ve been told… it’s sad… and empty-feeling, like I’ve just now become worthy of person-hood… but still at the bottom of the ladder… not totally a whole person, but on my way there… that’s where Samantha Jane should have come in… giving me some link to the world of being a human… i felt sub-human (proto-human as Andy would call it) for most of my life. this is a very new feeling. i don’t think anyone really gets it. I don’t really know how to describe it to anyone. It’s just that before I was empty and just a shell… now I’m slowly trying to fill up that shell with something that vaguely resembles a human being… but it’s hard. I feel like that wire statue that someone has filled with wet sand. while the sand is moist, it holds the shape. as the sand dries, it falls out of that form, turning into a pile at her feet. I’ve wanted to make that piece for a long time now, I just don’t really know how to execute it. I’ve never really done wire-work before.. and I don’t know how to keep wetting and drying out the sand… it’s a fluid piece that needs that slow progression from emptiness to form to a pile of sand at her feet… Maybe if i figured out the wire-work, then took a video of the process of filling her up, moistening the sand, then letting it dry… that might work… but I really like the idea of an actual piece that you can see and touch… feel the sand, both wet & dry… pick up the piece in both states and get the metaphor of the feeling… but I will likely sit in my head for a longer while until I gain the skills to produce it. I wish i was better at my art. I wish I didn’t take the easy way out with photographs lately… but I just can’t draw anymore. I can’t paint… it’s all left me. I try, but nothing looks right… nothing feels right when I’m done… except those pieces from the hospital (and even out of those, I only liked a few). I need to take a class or something… join a group… anything to get me flowing in art again. pics are great, but I feel like they take less and less creativity… eventually, everyone’s photos all look the same… even on dA where people are supposed to be growing and finding unique and new ways to present the subject… it’s all really the same. all the fall pics look alike. you can’t tell one sunrise from another… even in my own work. I don’t feel there’s much originality to it…
Speaking of work on dA… I read some moving journals and notes… they were on recent suicides of people… everyone seems to know how to describe the Hollywood version of it, the romanticized version of suicide where it all goes well and you never have second thoughts… truth is, you do, and it doesn’t always all go as planned. If it did, i wouldn’t be here today. I would have died that time with N… No one ever recognizes the second-guessing part. I don’t even think therapists get it (unless maybe they’ve been there and tried it…). There’s that momentary feeling of fear and being trapped by your decision… even though you have only made the decision to end your life by yourself, you’ve only committed to doing it to yourself, you somehow feel trapped in that decision… I hadn’t even started taking the pills, but I felt compelled to go through with it, even though I was frightened and unsure… I felt like I had to do it… so I started taking the pills, and the fear slipped away. I was once again ok (not sure, but ok) with my decision… I didn’t know what to do after I swallowed them all… would I just wait? would I know what was happening? would I just fall asleep and never wake up? I grabbed Beary and my iPod on repeat with Breaking Benjamin’s “Phobia” and curled up under the blanket hoping that it would all be quick… I don’t remember stumbling out of bed and throwing up… I don’t remember N finding me. I don’t remember the ride to the hospital, or having my stomach pumped and charcoal dumped down a tube into my stomach. I don’t remember getting the IV’s. I don’t remember watching tv with N and laughing as if nothing had happened… as if I wasn’t in the ICU for a suicide attempt… I don’t even remember the first 20 times my doctor introduced herself to me… (this was all told to me after the fact). I vaguely remember floating in a soft cloud… someone smacking my hand because it was going for the IV again… someone telling me I would be restrained if I didn’t leave my IV alone… me telling them my arm hurt… them reminding me I had IV’s… vague memories of being tied to the bed… of being talked around and at by the nurses and the visitors (though I have no idea who visited or who my doctors or nurses were…) It was all just a fluffy dream… the impact of not having taken my life did not sink in until I was in IOL… I became angry at N & those that “helped save my life” because I did not want to be saved… I wanted to put an end to the depression, hurt and emptiness… the worthlessness and chaos inside my head… the feeling of being left alone in this world, because I wasn’t worth the energy to fight to keep me… I had lost someone every time I had gone to the hospital… you think I would have figured it out by then… by now… but it still hits me sometimes… in the car yesterday, L was saying how she never thought she’d be so poor that she would have to go to a food pantry to get food into the house… that she never thought she’d be this sad… in my head, I thought that none of this would have happened if she never had gotten to know me. If we had never talked that first night… she would be so much better off if she wasn’t with me… if she was with someone stable and caring and easy-going and so much better then me. she deserves that. everyone deserves that. I am not sure why anyone considers me worth a second glance. I guess I know why when I put on my smile and my happy face… but I don’t know why anyone would want to know me when I’m a mess… which is a lot these days… and people still think I am worth attention… I don’t really get it. My dad thinks all of this is for attention… all of this is to get away from the attention. to hide and float away from myself and everyone else. I threw out M’s pot… I should have kept it, even though I know it would have messed me up for the next few days, and that I can get better stuff if I just ask around… I want to drink or take pills or something to get me away from myself… but the bad part about it all is that it’s only temporary, and i will “wake up” to myself once the substance wears off… sucks… I wish there was a way to be high all the time, without ruining my life, my relationship, or having all the detrimental effect of substances… cutting does that, but again it’s only for a while… disassociation helps that, but then I end up missing life and just getting myself deeper into a hole… and I want to be present for L & the kids… I want to know and feel them… but at times, being numb would feel great… and not that kind of numb where you know something’s bubbling just under the surface, destined to break out… but the kind of numb where the bad feelings go away, and you are left with the normal, even mood that most normal people experience… where memories don’t intrude daily, and nightmares are about monsters under the bed, not in your bed with you. agh… I want to cut… I want to float away… I want to be at peace… not pieces… I’m afraid to bring this up to L or Dr. C because I’m not suicidal… and I don’t want to go there (or maybe i really am more comfortable in the blackness and push myself there deliberately…). I know I should want to be happy, and part of me really does want to leave all this behind… but there’s another part of me that feels really uncomfortable and out of place in a happy world. she’s the part of me that survived so much… dealt with so much… and gave up so much… she’s the child that Samantha Jane represents… she’s the one who just wants to stop hurting and being scared, but has been like that for so long, that the outside world really scares her… she doesn’t know what to do with it all. it’s overwhelming and troublesome because the ways she learned to survive all this time doesn’t work there, and she has to learn a whole new way of life… maybe that’s why she ran away… maybe she just doesn’t have the energy to learn it all just yet… maybe she’s really just hiding under the blanket with Beary listening to her iPod to keep her company… music and art have always been comfort to her… and Floppy-dog… I really miss her… I so wanted Budda because he looks and acts like her, though intellectually I know he isn’t her… he just brought me & Samantha Jane comfort… another throw-back to what works… I love Sadie & Alex, but it’s just not the same… there was something very special about Flops… and I think part of it had to do with the situations we were living though. She did the best she could to protect me, mom & A & K from dad & bitch… she took a lot of abuse for it… but she somehow felt responsible to do it… like I felt responsible to take care of everyone to make it all better… and neither of us succeeded… both Floppy and I ended up just getting more hurt the more we tried… I miss her so much. And she reminds me of Kl… I miss her too though I’ve been slowly realizing that she wasn’t as great as I remember… she was abusive in her own way… but she also protected us in so many ways. T tried too… he stayed away from my dad unless he had to physically intervene to protect us… and he stayed away from A because he did not want to end up like his family and abuse him… he really was a good man… but so tortured and protective. I think that’s why he and K fought so many times… he hated to see dad being abusive to us… he rarely said anything, and was always “a grouch”… but I think that’s how he protected himself from feeling too helpless in protecting us. I don’t know… nor will I ever know for sure… but i guess that’s my fantasy of him, because I needed to have some sort of positive role-model in my family… everyone else took part in the fights and abuse… everyone else was caught in the mix. He made sure to stay out of it the best he could…
I feel sad and longing for a real sense of self… longing to have SJ back to be able to assure her and protect her like I couldn’t do with everyone else… like I couldn’t do with myself even with duck-boy… mom even called one time because she thought something was wrong… because she had heard me call out in her head, and needed to make sure I was ok. I had thought about her helping me just then, but I couldn’t grab the phone, and he wouldn’t leave me alone… to keep him happy, I didn’t tell mom anything, just sat there while he touched me and groped me and told me it all wasn’t sexual… he would lock his bedroom door even when no one was around. He made sure I always wore short shorts around him so he could feel me whenever he wanted… he would zip open his pants and rub himself on me… but it wasn’t anything sexual… we had intercourse in his parent’s pool… but it wasn’t sexual because we both had our bathing suits on… he put his fingers inside me when we sat on the couch babysitting his little brother… but it wasn’t sexual… he made me dry-hump his erect penis, but it wan’t sexual because we had our clothes on… he made me suck his penis… stroke him and feel him and lick him and fondle him until he came, but it wasn’t sexual… I can feel his fingers touching me and making way for his penis… i can feel him inside me still as I write this. the memories are strong and painful… it was painful… i remember crying inside, and wishing the date would end so I could go home and curl up… so i could wash him off of me… but I kept going back… for months I kept going back… then he graduated and I thought I’d be free of him when he went away to FSU… it was far enough away, and he would meet other girls… but in reality he called me every night to “chat” which was really checking up on me and grilling me on what I had been doing all day, who I was with, and what I thought about. Did I miss him? Did I think of him every second of the day? Did I know he was coming home this weekend and he wanted me to spend the night at his parent’s place with him…? We did more sexual acts on those weekends then we had ever done before. He’d claim it wasn’t sexual, but by then I knew better… I had lost my total submission to him… when he went back to school, I would talk to J and try to find a way to get out of the relationship. She would even offer me to stay at her house the weekends he was home… but he would come looking for me, so I declined. I tried to break up with him for months… every time he said he loved me and that we could make it work and that he couldn’t go on without me… the day after he gave me a suicide note, I had J call his school and report it… he got SO mad at me for it… even though I just wanted to protect his life… he said if I really cared about him and wanted him to live, I would not break up with him… so I stayed a few more months, all the time half-assed trying to break up with him… them finally he came home for the summer, and I told him I did not want to see him anymore. He yelled at me over the phone. When I hung up, he drove over in the middle of the night crying, begging me to take him back… J and I had written out a script for just this occasion… I kept reading it back to him. he kept begging me and threatening his life… finally,I told him he had to leave or my mom would call the cops (told him she was there with me, in the bedroom, and if he didn’t leave by 1am, she would call the police)… it made him leave… at least for then. he kept trying to get back together, but I don’t remember much of that… My anorexia got worse… I started cutting while I was with him… he pretended to care… i pretended to care… but I really didn’t care about anything but being afraid to gain weight… afraid to keep living. I didn’t remember this part (the early start of the cutting and suicidal ideation) until I read a profile I had written for a website a college student & I had started together… it was supposed to be a peer-run support site for teens and young adults… I vaguely remember doing it for about a year and a half, then it fading away as she & I both got busier (though I think it was mostly her…). we dropped updating the site and checking the email… so the site closed down… and as I was cleaning to pack today, I found a rough draft of that profile… i didn’t remember that everything had started that early… I know the eating disorder started after K died, and increased significantly while I was with duck-boy… I went from a size 13-14 to a size 3 in a matter of a few months… the woman I babysat for kept asking me if I was losing weight… I kept saying no, coz at the time it wasn’t about the weight, it was just a sub-conscious attempt to deal with life… if I could only fade away, nothing could hurt me anymore… then the cutting started… as scratches with a pin at first for a long time… about the first two years or so of my bout with self-injury remained at scratching with pins, paper clips & keys… that night at the play, when I got no recognition at all for my work behind the scenes, I ran out the back and grabbed the car keys from my pocket. I scratched my arm so long and hard behind the building that my entire left arm was a huge raw bruise for the next few weeks… I remember G coming after me when I ran out of the auditorium, but not finding me till later… she caught me scratching, but didn’t tell on me… she scratched too… that was the first time I had encountered anyone else that did it. As the months progressed, and my anorexia got worse, J called my parents to tell them about it b/c she was scared for me… my dad said that I was just doing it for attention, and hung up the phone… I had made J promise to call me back after she had spoken to my parents… she told me how it went… i am not sure what else happened, but I remember searching like mad for something to scratch with and only finding scissors… that was my graduation to cutting… she never told them about that though… One time when I got back from Kairos and felt really depressed, I called her and left her a scary message (so she says… I didn’t mean anything by it other then being really tired and wanting an out…) I went to a Kairos post-event that night, and she almost ended up calling the cops on me because she thought I had tried to kill myself. She had called my mom first though, and she told J that I was at the Kairos thing… later that night J called me and told me how scared I had made her, and that I shouldn’t do that again… so I only left her happy messages after that. She still knew I was sad and hurting, but we only talked about that stuff in her office… I kept my nightly despair to myself… She saved my life in so many ways… if she and her boyfriend hadn’t been so caring and helpful, I would have died a long time ago… I forgot I had tried to kill myself then… but it was only a mild overdose if anything… not even enough to make me sleepy… how is it that I forgot all this until writing it? it’s all coming back to me. that night after the play, the stays at J’s… the panic of gaining weight again (once it finally became about the weight, and no longer just a method of control), the vomiting… the half-spoon of fruit baby food or yogurt that I could barely force down because it felt too much (slowly trying to kill myself with starvation). It’s funny, I lost so much weight, and refused to eat so blatantly, yet no one noticed except Mrs. K (the woman whose sons I babysat). Her & J… but J gave up on my parent’s helping me (she had tried so many times) that she just referred me herself to Renfrew for a support group (you had to have been in the hospital before to get out-patient or in-patient treatment…) and then my parents would have to realize I had a problem that was deeper then attention-seeking… so I stuck to the support groups… mom actually came with me a few times… then dad yelled at both of us for wasting gas and time… so we stopped going, and that was the end of my treatment till i came to UConn… That part is where my memory gets better…
Wow, that was a dump… maybe I should send this to Dr. C and maybe she will have time to read it by tomorrow… (please tell me if you mind that I sent this to you)…
There was this article on HuffingtonPost.com. I would not necessarily say they are lies so much as they are beliefs I hold. I would change #1 slightly to read “You are not a worthy person, you deserve only this.” I equate being a bad person with rapists and murderers of which I am neither, so I find I do not feel I am a bad person, I just deserve all the bad that has, is, and will happen…
I would also add:
11) You have no energy, just go back to bed.
12) No one wants to hang out with you anyway.
13) Since nothing safe makes any of this better, keep on keeping on with the si, pills, and drinking.
I ended up taking on a chat for a while. I figured out why I was so off, and what I needed to make sure to address next appointment. The person also convinced me to just leave a message for De to let her know I was struggling with some stuff. I’m not sure she works again until Monday, but even just leaving the message helped. I guess sometimes admitting the struggle helps relieve it a bit… it’s not stuff I feel comfortable taking to L or mom about quite yet, but maybe down the line that will happen. I need to come to terms with it a bit more first.
My trazodone is finally kicking in. Night.
Didn’t know what this would be
But I knew I didn’t see
What you thought
You saw in me
I jumped the gun
So sure you’d split and run
Ready for the worst
Before the damage was done
The storm never came
Or it never was
Didn’t know getting lost in the blue
It meant I wound up losing you
Welcome to the inner workings of my mind
So dark and foul I can’t disguise
Can’t disguise
Nights like this
I become afraid
Of the darkness in my heart
Hurricane
What’s wrong with me
Why not understand and see
I never saw
What you saw in me
Keep my eyes open
My lips sealed
My heart closed
And my ears peeled
Welcome to the inner workings of my mind
So dark and foul I can’t disguise
Can’t disguise
Nights like this I become afraid
Of the darkness in my heart
Hurricane
Make ash and leave the dust behind
Lady diamond in the sky
Wild light
Glowing bright
To guide me
When I fall
I fall on tragedy
Welcome to the inner workings of my mind
So dark and foul I can’t disguise
Can’t disguise
Nights like this I become afraid
Of the darkness in my heart
Hurricane
I’m spent, and I don’t know what to do. At the end of last week, my T suggested I seek some other outside support, like a case manager and a psych consult to talk meds again… I immediately got hung up on the meds thing. I do not want any more to try. I feel they just destroy me rather than help. I do not know how to effectively put this in words… we talked about it briefly, and he ended with “you can still refuse, but it may be good to at least get a consult.”
The whole thing just made me feel so hopeless… I know this is what I had been asking for from the start (the added support), but not the meds thing… I’m having a hard enough time trying to swallow the thought of applying for disability, forget anything else… I know I can’t work in my chosen field right now. I know that disability is likely the only way to get into an appropriate treatment program. I know it is only temporary… but… ugh! I’m having such a hard time accepting the thought of being “disabled” for a mental health thing… BUT, I know I need it to get me back on track…
I feel so hopeless lately. Nothing seems to change that for long. I really wish something would help, but I don’t have access to that right now. I called one of the organizations he suggested yesterday. They are not sure I qualify, and meds are a required part of the program. I wish they took it more individualized. I told the lady I would be willing to discuss meds, but that I have had very bad experiences with it in the past, and they tend to screw me up more than help. She said she would take it to her supervisor and call me back this morning. It’s only 10:30, so I still have time left to hear back, but something tells me it’s not going to happen. The only other place he suggested is a place that requires a notarized letter of support since I am unemployed and with no income… I don’t want to put anyone in the position of having to be responsible for paying my medical bills, and I feel like that is what they are looking for… I just need help getting onto state benefits and applying for disability… and it would help to have some extra support, but I don’t want meds. I’m not sure if their program requires it or not… but first I will wait to see what this other program says. I could probably also reach out to the GLBT services center that my wife uses (and I go to a drop-in group there). I was told they have case management, and they could also give me names for a psychiatric assessment… I just don’t want to be given meds and told I have to take them… Part of me fears that if I go and talk to someone like that, I will be forced into it… D reminded me I have more freedoms now than I would if I were hospitalized (especially if it were involuntary). I still get hung up on some of the worse experiences I had in the past. They haunt me… It’s sad that so many systems that are supposed to help people end up just traumatizing them more…
(on a side note, I’m sorry I’m not reading much lately. I don’t feel like I have much useful to contribute… I’ll catch up again some day…)
I’ve been having a really rough time these last few weeks, and yesterday was better, until I went to therapy, and opened a can of worms I could not re-capture… I told him more than I had intended, and it triggered a chain reaction of emotions that I don’ really know how to deal with… I stopped in the middle of my processing, because we were out of time, and I wasn’t able to put everything back away… so it spilled over into the car ride home, and I vented to my wife, with a whole lot of honesty that I know scared her… and it continued on once at home, and I vented to my mom too… and it was all too much, too overwhelming… It triggered a whole lot of self-destructive urges, and I’m having trouble containing those also. I’m doing it, but I feel like that stereotypical daffy-duck version of going crazy is just a breath away… I can’t sit still. The anxiety is rising higher, and I wonder if it would not be beneficial for me to call someone to talk to, even if it just means being reminded of what I need to do to get through all this. I’m afraid of this feeling. I don’t like it. It’s uncomfortable and it makes my skin crawl…
I don’t want to wind up in the hospital, so I need to work to keep this from over-taking me. I need to just notice (good little dbt student that I have been in the past should know how to do this)… My chest is tight and skipping. My asthma is making it difficult to breathe, but so is the anxiety. My brain feels like it is doing a million things at once to keep distracted from the desire to obliterate myself. It’s just a feeling though; they are just thoughts. I do not have to act on them. The urges can come, but I can sit through it and come out on the other side.
I wish I could cry… I Wish I could express myself in normal and healthful ways… Why is it so hard to get through all this? why can I be perfectly rational in one moment, and perfectly irrational the next? I know my music helps ground me, so I will keep using that. We get to go shopping for a few things tonight, so I hope that helps. Maybe a lot of this anxiety is coming from knowing that we are getting a bit of money to help, but that it our last resource to turn to… If I don’t find a job soon, we are really screwed… but my bouts of depression and “daffy-duck crazy” make it hard to do that effectively right now… ugh…
I’m not 100% sure what I was hoping would happen today in therapy, but whatever it was did not happen. I left feeling just as lost and frantic as when I had entered… I keep trying to tell myself that similar feelings popped up with Dr. C when I first started seeing her, but it’s of little comfort… ugh…
I need something but I have no real idea what. I know what I want, but not what I need. How do you reconcile that with yourself? How do you get both satisfied, if you don’t really know what part of it is?
I do not currently self injure, but the urges are there. I know the consequences would (emotionally) kill me if I picked it up again… but I want to do it again SO badly. I think about it most of the day, and most of my energy is spent on fighting the urges. I smile on the outside, but that one thought floats around my neurons and synapses. I know people say you have to stop for yourself, or it will not work (like drugs, alcohol or smoking), but the external consequences have kept me from doing it for a year and a half. I know that I would lose my marriage (or in the very least seriously damage it), and potentially lose my freedom by once again being hospitalized… but some days I think (just for a fraction of a second) that it would all be worth it just to feel that way again (the relief). So many people just don’t get this (tho I am guessing other people who self injure and anyone fighting any other addiction would get it). It’s not that my relationship is devalued in any way, or that I would even want to endanger it. It’s just that the “high” from the si would feel so good. That moment of amazing just gnaws at me… I want it again, and have not found any other way to produce it. It makes my anxiety go away, and my thoughts stop racing, and it gives me a really good feeling, up until the second the regret and shame kick in. If I could find something that did all that without the regret and shame, I would take it in a heartbeat. I would do it every day because that part feels so wonderful. Its powers are great… but so is the crash afterwards. And that part sucks…
There are days I wish it were socially acceptable to cut. I wish I wouldn’t have to fight the urges. I wish I could just do it… but that’s an addiction for you.
So, in an attempt to find a way to make money fast, and relieve some of the financial pressures on us, I stumbled upon a blog that is all about doing what you love, and making what you do meaningful (the guy makes money off of this, which is how it connected to making money fast), but his original idea is founded in doing what you love…
That got me thinking… I have this blog that, while mainly started for myself, I would really like it to also help others. I began thinking about my struggles to find treatment that works. What are the barriers to finding other helpful and effectual treatments for trauma? What are the instinctual defenses and coping strategies we turn to when we don’t know what we are supposed to turn to?
It reminded me of the way EMDR came about. The woman who developed it noticed that she would go for a walk thinking about her problem, noticed that she unconsciously looked from side to side during her walk, and noticed that she felt better when she returned from her walk. So I began thinking about what my instincts are when I’m stressed. I thought about what others do. People around me are constantly talking and talking about the things that bother them. I do the same thing, I need to get it out and tell someone (or more than one person) what happened or what is bothering me. I think it is not only the telling, but also the audience. So I have 2 ideas that I need to flesh out.
The first is to actually tell the details of the trauma. This poses some dilemmas. One is that it triggers the hell out of me to think about or tell my trauma, so I will need to have support after the telling (that, or I am rendered speechless by the pure force of the emotion and the events in my head, which makes the telling piece difficult). The other is that it has the potential to overwhelm the other person… Clinicians and treaters are just people. They are people with their own troubles, fears, and vulnerabilities. To come up with a viable treatment model that utilizes this spilling of trauma, I’d have to develop (or utilize) a really good support system for the treaters as well as the clients. I would want someone to be able to talk to whenever I needed them, either in person or over the phone. I would want to provide this, or something similar, for the treaters also. I would want to ensure that talk about suicidal thoughts or self-injury would prompt support, and not automatic hospitalization. This somewhat builds on the DBT concepts of riding the wave of emotions, but this time with support and someone “holding your hand” through it all. While I see the value in learning to handle your triggers and urges on your own, there is also something very powerful about having someone there with you to witness it. I have always felt this want for someone to be there through the experience; to help keep me safe when I can’t do it anymore. I turned that desire into action one day while I was working with a particularly difficult adolescent. She was bent on destroying the house, and pushing the limits of all the staff present (and her house-mates), At one point, she managed to turn on the stove and was about to put her hands on it to burn herself. None of what we were saying was getting through to her, so I stepped in front of the stove and took her hands. I held them as she tried to push past me (she was about a foot taller and a good 80lbs heavier than me, and I’m not small). I told her again and again that I would keep her safe and I would keep the house safe. In that moment that I held her wrists, she looked at me and something clicked. She moved away from the stove after several minutes (and a few half-assed attempts to pull her hands free of mine) and stopped pushing my buttons for the rest of the day. It only lasted like that for the rest of the shift, but it made a difference for that time. I think it’s a very powerful thing to have someone there with you in a non-threatening way to help keep you safe when you cannot do it yourself…
The other idea is a spin-off of having witnesses to the journey. It also builds on a theory I saw on a PBS special. That theory advocated the telling and re-telling of the trauma until it lost its impact. They did not flesh out all the points of the treatment plan, but from what they showed, I think it has some merits. Anyway, and please tell me if this is a horrible idea, I think it might be helpful to do this in an intensive group setting. Wait! you may say, this will cause a huge domino effect of triggering… Well, that’s kind of the point. I noticed in groups, the most benefit I got from many of them was when someone’s experiences triggered something in me and I got a chance to deal with it. This would be tricky as a group where the point is to tell triggering things, and not just walk on eggshells around topics. But I think with the proper support available (MANY treaters on hand, at least 1.5+ per person in group, because some people need more than one person to bring them back), this could be a viable path to dealing with all the crap we don’t always think of accessing during treatment. The groups could start with a topic and go from there. Forget necessarily censoring the details of the event… While I understand that ambiguity of the event to another may help them access their own demons, I find it tends to limit me in the telling of the event.
There are definitely details to flesh out, and many, many conversations with other professionals to figure out the viability of these theories… But I’m determined to figure out a treatment option that works for me… and hopefully I can come up with something that may help others too…
Bring on the firestorm of criticism for this horrible idea! (It goes against all convention and current thinking and insurance company standards…)
I think this is an interesting and important conversation that needs to happen more often. I think suicide is an elephant in the room that so many are afraid to talk about because of the taboos around it, and the knee-jerk reactions even some providers have to it… I have been privileged enough to have many thought-provoking conversations with my former therapist…
Writing on suicide is dangerous because suicide is deemed unthinkable. To think about it, then, and here syntax betrays what I’m going to claim, is understood as thinking about how to do it or when to do it. To think about it is to contemplate it. Thus, one says that one is not thinking about it, but even raising the prospect elicits concern and paranoia: why would one think about it if one were not thinking about it? I want to stay with this formulation, because I think its unthinkability is a problem, albeit a problem tied to the unthinkability of death, and the political and aesthetic imperative to think through life and to cultivate thriving life.
Because suicide always elicits confession, let me tell someone else’s story.
My cousin killed himself when I was a freshman. I was in Kenya during my first (and only) summer vacation, and, as…
I ditched the job I accepted earlier in the week… it sounded sketchy. They wanted me to do “creative billing” and tack on extra charges… I just don’t feel comfortable with that. So now I feel lost. I gave up the only work prospect because my gut gave me an uneasy feeling about it. I have learned to go with my gut. The only reason I regret it is that now I have to start over again with the job search. I have no leads, and there are no hopes of any money coming in soon. It’s frustrating. I want to have some resources, but there are none… and its making me feel depressed and hopeless. Everything I used to do to make money is unavailable to me right now. That leads to wanting to hide from the world. Luckily, it hasn’t triggered my self-harm urges. Oh, and I need to cancel next week’s appointment with D because I don’t have the $8 to see him. It just all sucks…
I’ve always had difficulty trusting men in positions of power (real or perceived). I was very, very cautious about the thought of seeing a male clinician, but since the rest of my visits so far have been less-than-productive, I decided to try.
I met with D for the first time today. He is a doctoral student at a local university, and supervised by the psychologist I had hoped to work with. He was calm and affirming and in no way intimidating. I found myself easily taking to him, and spilling more than I intended. I was also more honest than I have been since I got down here. Yes, he used the textbook responses, and I could pinpoint what technique he was using and when… but as much as he seems very inexperienced, he had a very calming presence. Everyone has to start somewhere. I just hope I’m not too much for him and he runs screaming from the building one day…
I see the new EAP lady again tomorrow. It will be my last session. While she was nice, I just didn’t feel like we clicked. Our focus lays in different spots… and today was too late to cancel. Maybe she can get me hooked up with other services to see if we can get out of this hole we are in.
Why is it that certain words trigger such a strong reaction in me? There are sentiments that, when expressed to me, make my blood boil and take away filters for kindness and respect. I’m specifically thinking about all the references to god and how people have a need to tell me that their god will make it all better if I just believed… The truth about that is that, yes, your beliefs can improve or deteriorate a situation. But it doesn’t mean that if I don’t believe in your god, things will stay the same or get worse for me. Faith can be very helpful, or very crippling depending on your beliefs, but it won’t change an abusive situation, or help your finances.
As I was trying to figure out why religion is such a triggering issue for me, I remembered the first time I disclosed my abuse to someone that should have been able to help. I was told to “pray about it and God will make it all better.” That was the sentiment that was supposed to help keep me and the people I cared about safe. There was no follow up requesting details. There was no mention of other possible help on the way. “Just pray about it” and all the physical and emotional anguish will disappear. Bullshit. Things don’t work that way. No amount of prayer healed my aunt. It didn’t stop my dad from being a huge jerk. It didn’t stop his sister from doing all the shit she did. It didn’t stop my then-boyfriend from assaulting me. And it didn’t bring me any solace in the least. So bullshit. Prayer, gods, and religion don’t make anything better. Standing up for yourself does. Reaching out to the right people does. Fighting like hell does. But religion? It brings guilt, resentment, and learned helplessness.
That’s why those stupid posts about bringing god back to schools, and those about trusting god make my blood boil. I had religion in my schools and it didn’t stop, or even lessen, the violence and abuse. It didn’t make kids more tolerant of others (quite the opposite actually). It didn’t prevent students from making bad choices, and it didn’t make the campus safer… Don’t force your belief system on me or anyone. You are free to believe whatever you want, but please stop acting like it’s the only valid belief system in the universe.
lately, I have a short fuse… I snap when I shouldn’t. This is a relatively new thing for me. I don’t like it. I’m a bitch, and that’s not who I really am inside… I get mad at other people for getting frustrated and snapping… but I do the same thing they are doing. It’s really just a huge double-standard. It sucks. I try to be better about it, but I only seem to catch myself after the fact. I hate it. I hate myself for it.
I was all comfortable in my blog page being the way it was when I first came onto wordpress, but now they have gone and changed it… I love blue and all, don’t get me wrong, but the black and grey felt so much more appropriate… and what’s with changing the titles of the functions… now they have me all confused.
On another note, I got a job offer. The pay sucks, but the potential for advancement is great. I also get no benefits (which sucks because I will be losing the ones through my wife as her company continues to drop the ball with her transfer), no paid time off… but I set my own schedule, and work as much or as little as I want (and clients need me) in a given week. It will be tough, as I like having the security of knowing I will at least be getting X number of dollars every paycheck, but again, this is better than nothing, and the learning opportunities are HUGE. I have to formally accept the position on Monday, then meet with my only other co-worker in the state for shadowing, training, and meet-and-greets with my new clients. I will start out with 5, so that guarantees me 5 hours a week… now to get up to the other 35… There will be meetings, calls, and paperwork, so hopefully I can turn that 5 clients into at least 20 hours every week. Here’s to hoping… and hopefully soon I will get a bigger case-load. This will also help me in getting my wife signed up for state services (and possibly myself), as this state does not recognize my marriage, so she’s technically below the poverty level even if I’m working.
Now, I will have to pull it together and function at my best to make this all work, but it sounds cool. Case Managers here have more responsibilities and authority than they did in my last state… That will be cool. While I won’t be doing therapy, I will have more therapeutic contact with my clients and gain the skills I have been dying to get and use since graduating with my BA… And maybe we will be able to save enough money to get our credits out of the endless pit they are in and be able to buy a house… We need our own space.
When I have no support, I’m falling apart. When I finally get someone to talk to, I suddenly can’t remember why it was that I needed it so badly just a few days ago.
That’s the story of my defenses. I freak out when I don’t have the support, but can manage to hold it together when I do. Great. When the clinician asked me today what I hoped to get out of our remaining 2 sessions together, I couldn’t think of a single thing other then support… 4 days ago, I couldn’t see past the huge black cloud surrounding me. Today I can’t remember the look of it.
Maybe part of it comes from knowing that I will likely not see her after these 3 sessions. I don’t think I will have insurance again any time soon, and I can’t afford a self-pay if it’s not a sliding scale.
I see the intern guy for the first time next week. I’m hoping I am comfortable enough to work with him. I can afford his fee ($8) once in a while until I get a job… and maybe I can work on my distrust of men with him. I was able to connect with a male clinician at the trauma program. Maybe I can do it again…
The universe is conspiring to screw us… I swear, someone up there hates me. Things go ok for a moment, then everything crashes again. Our phones are shut off again. We had paid enough to just get it back on, and now it was apparently only for 2 weeks. It went offat noon today… all my applications for work have my number on it, but it is useless. And I still can’t find a therapist to see… I had to cancel my Friday appointment because I will not have the copay… I’m so on my last thread… maybe that EAP lady was right… maybe I’m just a lost cause… hoplessly doomed to this shit for the rest of my life.
I kinda like this in a dark comedy kind of way… I resent that I was ever diagnosed bpd, and I wholly resent the way I was treated by several clinicians & psychiatrists because of the diagnosis, but she puts it well… and I guess I can see myself in the diagnosis the way she describes it (some of it… the abuse history, the fear of abandonment, the preoccupation with death as a means of escape, the self injury, the lack of identity…)
I’ve retreated into my shell. That experience with the EAP clinician triggered a fear deep inside me that has sent my mind scurrying into the wall. This is quite unusual, but happens from time to time. It happens when I’m terrified for my life, or my sanity. It’s that moment when even my analytical side hides, and I shut down. I neither ask for help, not do I have access to the part of me that is crumbling. I fly below the radar. My heart breaks, and I feel the weight in my chest, but I’m suddenly too terrified to even recognize that. The insanity in me takes a back burner…
It’s helpful in a way. I can function again, though every fiber in my being is shaking and pulsing with fear. It keeps the urges at bay (to an extent… i know they are still there and screaming, but they are isolated inside a sound-insulated room). It enables me to move about my day. My only worry is when it will burst free again. It always comes back louder and stronger after it hides for a while.
4:36pm – I had a horrible experience with the clinician recommended by the EAP. Just about as soon as my butt hit her couch, she strongly insisted I see a psychiatrist for meds. I am strongly opposed to medications for myself. They make me a million times worse than I ever was without them. In the 4 years I was on meds, I was hospitalized upwards of 30 times. Before and after, not once. She didn’t want to hear that I do not want to entertain the idea. I thought at one point she may commit me for my refusal. It was the biggest waste of my time, and caused way more anxiety that I could ever have dreamed of it alleviating… my heart is still pounding nearly 2 hours later… this sucks.
(9:10pm) In talking to my wife about the whole experience, we noted several other ways in which she judged me and lumped me in a “hopeless” category… She suggested I go to a day program to “help [me] deal with everything” (not that she knew what exactly I was dealing with, but she assumed my history of depression, PTSD, SI, etc were all current and looming). She asked if I was employed, and when I said “not yet, but I’m looking, since we just moved across the country…” her response was: “I figured” Really?! WTF?! She continued to insist that I see a psychiatrist for “at least a full and proper diagnosis” Um, Lady… I HAVE one! I just listed it to you… She then implied that she had no reason to trust me, and stated I had no reason to trust her… Hmm… great! She also wanted copies of my recent hospital records and seemed put-off when I said I did not have them. I told her I thought my old therapist did, though, and offered to pass on her number so that EAP lady could get in contact with her. EAP’s response: “I don’t have a release to talk to her”. I just looked at her with that one. I was already in flight-or-flight mode (flight being my instinct), and had little energy to retort that I was sitting right there, she could easily get one… She then proceeded to tell me that she is “a straight shooter” and doesn’t “play games”… Like I was looking for someone to play games with?! I took a shaky breath and thanked her for her “honesty”. I told her I had worked with someone in the past that did not know what they were doing, and it just messed everything up. I did not want to repeat that… I sat through the rest of her little speeches, and then launched into one of my own. I told her of my experiences with medications, doctors and hospitals. I told her about the work I had done with my old therapist, and the work I hoped to continue. I explained my dissociative symptoms to her (dumbed it down for her, since she wasn’t getting the more clinical terms), and my reasoning for not wanting meds, DBT, or ECT… to which she tried to interject that I should really give it a second thought, but I cut her off. I told her that the topic of ECT was a hot-button one with me, and came with it’s own mess of trauma. She seemed to get the hint and moved away from that topic. She then spent some time trying to convince me that the local university’s psych clinic was wonderful, with students “experienced in dealing with this sort of stuff”. I cut her off again and told her that I had called the clinic now 8 times in the last 2 months and have yet to receive a return call. She suggested I just show up… to which I replied: “I’m not interested in begging for what I need when they don’t respond to me over the phone”. She suggested I “give it a try”
In the end I left her office with no intention of ever talking to her again. She did the obligatory “call me if you need anything” and actually wanted to hug me as I left… I don’t know her. I dislike her. Why the hell does she want to hug me?! I’m not big on being touched by people I don’t know, let alone don’t like… Don’t hug me. I’ll take hugs from people I’ve built a relationship with, and only if I feel comfortable with them, but perfect strangers creep me out…
My wife looked at me as I walked out the door and commented “How was it? you’re smiling” to which I was able to respond through clenched teeth: “I just need to make it out of the office…” I told her all the things this lady said, and she wished she had gone in with me… I kinda wish she had also… Whatever. I won’t be seeing her ever again that’s for sure.
The whole way home I was worried about the meds issue with the other therapist I’m supposed to meet next week… The anxiety was enough to prompt me to call her. She was very nice when she called back. She said that the clinic had no prescribers, but if I was interested, we could always talk about it. She said she never refused to see a client just because they refused to take medications… She did mention though that she prefers if her colleagues do the intake session, and it would be good if I could manage to come in earlier in the week to do it… I told her of my money concerns for 2 copays in one week. She again suggested the non-profit aspect of the office, and I reminded her that I was very uncomfortable seeing a male clinician in the long-term. She said it was always an option… The more I think about it, the more it may be my only option, as I’m not having any luck with call-backs… and it looks like my wife’s company is totally screwing her over and she will be timed out of their system by the end of the month. That means I lose my insurance, and would have to start all over again looking for a new therapist… This is just way too difficult.
So, I found out today I have insurance for at least a while… I also got a call back from the clinician from the EAP program… but that happened after I made an appointment with the original therapist I had contacted down here… The EAP appointment is free, but the psychologist will cost me the copay… I kinda want to see both to figure out who I click better with, but I also don’t have the $25 for tomorrow’s intake with the psychologist. And, I don’t know when I would be able to get in with the EAP lady… i don’t know. I feel like I should at least call the EAP lady back because the likelihood of continuing with her is greater if I lose the insurance… I’m so confused.
I called the EAP lady. She seems nice, and had time tomorrow, so I decided to make the appointment. It’s free. What is there to lose?
I also called the psychologist’s office and told them I did not have the money for tomorrow’s intake. They kept me on to see her next Friday. If I don’t call them back before then, she will just do the intake at that time (I hope to have some money to be able to see her by then). I’ll let both the EAP clinician and the psychologist know I am interviewing both… then I will make a decision after having met both of them. I’m hoping the psychologist works out, because I know she does EMDR. I really want to keep up with that. It helps immensely.
How strongly should I pursue continuing EMDR? I want to hold out to find a therapist that is adept at it, but I don’t think I can wait long enough. I really need to talk to someone. I need to be able to get my balance back. Almost hourly I have to fight to keep from giving in to the urges to self-harm. I struggle with my doubts about calling a hotline for help. I haven’t had this little support in years. I have trouble asking for help when I feel like I am imposing on someone, so much of the time I don’t ask for anything… and I suffer for it… I torture myself with quiet struggles against self-injury. I don’t reach out even to those around me because I don’t want them to worry. I don’t want to have to explain my every move, so I shut down… which results in the same thing. My actions, facial expressions, web activity and sleep pattern are called into question. I cringe when I get “that look” that questions if I will disappear from life again. I’m trying hard, but not hard enough. I still have trouble over-coming my fear of being a nuisance. I’ve lost too much for being too needy. My after-hours call, no matter what I may be unable to say, is a desperate effort to stay afloat… If I call more than once in a night, I probably should be in the hospital… I won’t ever say that in my message to anyone, but once you get to know me, you know how much I fear becoming a bother… While I would never be upset if a client called me after hours, I become upset at myself for asking for help outside of the 9-5, M-F grind…
The problem with that is I fall apart much more before I finally seek help, and I seem more unstable. I don’t think I can win. I either ask for help when I outwardly seem fine (thus not able to get what I need), or I beg for help when I completely fall to pieces and wind up hospitalized.
Back to my original question: how ardently should I pursue a therapist trained and competent in EMDR? I know it helps (without it I would have lost my battle to refrain from self harm weeks ago), but I also don’t think I can wait to find insurance or a job. I’m lucky enough to have some access to services through my wife’s EAP. I don’t think I should be too picky at this point. The relief I felt when she told me I could see someone through the company was immense. It made that day a little easier to get through. And today, after calling them again, and calling the referral they gave me, I was able to function for the remainder of the day. Even if I am unable to say the things I want to over the phone tomorrow, at least I have the chance. Maybe I should take notes on everything I want to talk about. I know most of it sounds ridiculous to me when I’m not actively crumbling in the moment, but at least I could have reminders to let me choose whether or not to say anything when I talk to her…
It’s so hard to trust people… the idea of potentially only trusting this woman for 3 sessions, then having to find someone else is a scary one. I don’t open up easily, unless I’m desperate… I’m quite desperate of late. But then what? I have to struggle to find someone else to trust that will have a sliding scale and something I can afford on a negative bank account. I need some consistency in treatment again. I need to find someone down here that knows what they are doing. I don’t have the energy to convince a treater that meds are the absolute worst route for me, and that no, I do not have to embrace the diagnosis if I disagree with it… and that I need someone open to different methods of treatment for this trauma and dissociation and self injury than is normally prescribed. I had found someone that I think could be good, but her fees are very high for someone with no job… I really think she would be good (well, her colleague, but close enough), but I asked for a break and got none. although I did not ask for a billing option, I did not feel right doing so with no real prospects of being able to pay her in the foreseeable future. I’m not sure what it was that prompted Dr. C to do that for me from the start, but that is rare… and I didn’t ask for it, she just offered. While first getting in with her was brought on by a huge stress (my then-therapist ditched me at the hospital because I was too much of a liability, too unstable… but wasn’t that what I was paying her to help me with?!), finding her was the best thing. She was ok with me coming off meds (though concerned, I was so far down already, there wasn’t much farther I could have gone). She stood up for me when I had to battle the hospital psychiatrist’s insistence on ECT; supporting my opinion that it would not help for addictions. She is also very kind… she genuinely helped me refute all the voices in my head that tell me how awful I am, how useless and worthless of a thing I am… and she showed compassion for all that pain I carry with myself. She helped me unload some of it. She never once made me feel shameful about my self-injury, despite how sick I got with it… she helped me understand the motivations, and she let me know that I was not alone with it… THAT was huge. It made sense in the light of my trauma… I was the only one supplying the shame for that. I look forward to returning to see her when we move back… I hold that relationship in very high regard… Whomever my next therapist is had giant shoes to fill…
my chest hurts from the anxiety and the pressure of my urges… Waiting to hear back from this clinician associated with wife’s work… EAP works for spouses too. I may just call them again and say she hasn’t gotten back to me. My head is foggy and the days and nights are difficult. I talked to my wife a bit last night, and it helped, but I still have way more to say that I don’t think I can say to her (or anyone, but we will work on that). Trying to stay motivated… applied for a few jobs, but I feel like a fraud doing it… how can I help others when I feel like this?! this all sucks…
on a positive note, this bout of stress brings with it a reduced appetite, instead of an increased one… and I know when not to drink… so that’s both good things… and I keep breathing… shaking, but breathing… heart’s too heavy… wish I could cry, but all that crap from childhood and my over-analytical mind keep me from it… sucks… i crave that other release… but holding steady-ish to the commitment of not picking up a habit of self-injury again…
The trouble with the new year is that everyone expects things to just change. Life does not know the difference, it’s only marked on a calendar. The days will continue to be the same if you let them; if you don’t work to change them… the same is true for every day. We need to put forth effort to improve or change the way things are. Life is not something that simply happens to you. You make big and little choices daily that help steer it in the direction you go. Even not doing anything is a choice…
So I choose to keep persevering in the direction I want my life to go, bumps and all. And maybe I will stop kicking myself for not reaching out. I might actually stop worrying about bothering people on their day off and reach out (or at least try) so I can stop feeling like so much crap.
I know it’s a new year, but it’s changed nothing. My hands brush against my thigh, and I crave a blade. I’m ready for this struggle to be over for good. The thoughts need to go away. I need to be finally happy again.
Trying to figure what it is about me that tries to trigger myself, not so that I will cut, but because I need that feeling to come and go. I watch movies with a very prominent self-injury or abuse component to them. I listen to music that is at once triggering and comforting. I battle with myself about reaching out. I want to give voice to all the dysfunction in my head, but I’m afraid of the consequences. I want to let people in, but I’m scared. So I crave that feeling to have a definite end to it with the change in song or the end of the movie. It gives the wave of emotion a forced, set path to follow. It gives me somewhat of a sense of control; and I desperately need that when I start to feel out of control.
I had written earlier that I was kicking myself for not taking the opportunity to talk earlier on today. I still am. I toy with calling back and trying to talk to her again. I toy with calling a hotline and being upfront that I am not suicidal, but I want to self-harm. I’m scared because I don’t know what that will bring from a stranger in a new state. I just know I need to reach out some more and I need more support than I can give myself. I could talk to my wife more, but I don’t want to scare her. I could talk to my mom, but the same is true… I need someone to talk to that will have a certain level of detachment that can hear me out… I need someone that is strong enough to listen to what I have to say and hear it all, and tell me how fucked-up I am… And I don’t want to end up in the hospital… But I’m afraid that the knee-jerk reaction would be to send me there. It’s a holiday, I don’t want to waste their time… and I really just want someone I can take the risk of talking to without having to see the disgust on their face and the horror in their eyes as I spill the contents of my head… I don’t want them to see me either. I don’t want them to notice the smile play across my lips at the thought of hurting myself and the thought of the relief it would bring, even if just for a moment, since shame and guilt set in pretty much immediately after I realize that someone may find out… and think of how messed-up I am… But the thoughts are supremely comforting, even if the act would bring ridiculous consequences that I know I don’t want or need…
Managed to talk to my old therapist a bit today. She said that my symptoms fit the diagnosis of Dissociative Disorder NOS. The split is there, but not full-fledged people. And I have a very difficult time connecting the two sides when I’m in either (hence this blog). It’s more pronounced here. It’s a physical feeling when I switch from one to the other. It’s a feeling of falling through ice into freezing water when I get to the “dark” side (strangely comforting, not necessarily a panic, but a relief because I know what comes next); and the feeling of patching a wall when I come back here. It’s relatively sudden (a matter of minutes) and I lose touch with what was before… it’s a weird feeling, and quite strong since I moved back to where I grew up. Someone plugged in the amp… I don’t want it to progress like it has been. That would lead to some scary shit…
I keep trying to reach out, but fear prevents me from opening up too much… I’ve had the chance again today, but when asked that crucial question, I said no. I am not suicidal, but I do sometimes want to hurt myself… not to die, but to let the emotion bleed out with the injury… Only I’m afraid if I said that, they would be obligated to send me to the emergency room… because I said I want to hurt myself… so they are legally obligated to act on that… and it’s nowhere near what I want to do, but they may get sued, so I would be sent to sit in an er waiting room for hours on end just to try to convince them that I will not hurt myself… I’ve played that game before because most places don’t understand self-injury even though it’s become a hot-button topic in the last decade or so. Legalities and all… and I don’t know the total scope of the laws in this state that could get me committed against my will. I know it is fairly easy to get at least a 72-hour hold by anyone that suspects you to be even a remote danger to yourself… self-injury would fall under that category to someone who is not familiar with it’s stress-release capabilities… So I stay quiet… and I fight it on my own hoping that the dissociation won’t get as bad as it was last year when I “spaced out” for 2 days and ended up being hospitalized…
Do you ever just sit and wonder…? every choice we make, even the smallest decision can take us miles off our course, or miles down in the direction we want to go. How often do we ponder the meaning of the choices we make? Leaving a moment early or late can make the difference between getting where we are going safely or winding up in a car accident… making a call and asking for a break vs never making it out of the house… it’s the little things that make the biggest difference. The smile to the lost soul, the wave to the lonely old lady… stepping over the bug instead of on it… all those things can save a life…
both sides of the wall 