Dear Suicidal Thoughts...

Trigger Warning.
Talk of suicide and swearing.

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Dear Suicidal Thoughts...

I hate you. I hate everything you have taken from me. I really fucking hate you.

I hate how I have to spend so much time and energy keeping my guard up and making sure that I don't fall to your fucking grips again and again.

I hate how draining that it is.

I hate what you've taken from my family.

I hate that you make me believe these bad things will be better for my family in the end.

I fucking hate you.

I hate how evil you are.  You are an evil fucking bitch.

I hate how you scare me.

I hate that I'm always waiting for the next shoe to drop and you will creep back into my life.

I hate how you are always lingering around teasing me.

I hate how, even when I know I'm not OK, I feel guilty because I feel like I should be just fine. 

Dear Suicidal Thoughts...


I will continue to keep trying.... not to let you back into my life the way you have been in the past.

I may not be successful today, or last week, or last month.  But one day I will.

If, despite all that I am doing, you manage to come back, I will not let you take over my life as you have in the past.  I will kick you in the fucking balls as I am trying to today.  You might be winning today. But be reminded, you will not fucking win. You will not!

I will continue to try and keep myself safe and protect my body, mind and spirit from you.
You will never beat me.  Never.  I promise you one thing.  You will NEVER fucking win.


Dear Suicidal Thoughts...

You will NEVER kill me.  No matter how hard you try.  I still wish you would go to hell and leave me the hell alone.  

Monday Musings...When Depression Strikes

For every individual, depression is a very personal situation.  Each person, each experience is unique in its own way.  Today, for me, it is a dark shadow hanging over my head and everything I do.  It has followed me from home to my therapy appointment and back home.  It doesn't matter how much I love my family, the glitch in my brain chemistry has me feeling very alone, inadequate, worthless, and in a downright very dark space.

These dips are common.  They wax and wane. Some days are brought on by circumstances.  Other days they are part of the how things roll.  Sometimes it is a mixture of both.  There are days that it takes me by surprise and others times it is terrifying because I know what is next.

Taking medications isn't for me.  Most have come with pretty significant side effects.  Life altering, life threatening, doing the opposite of what they were intended to side effects.  None have truly helped.

It isn't that I don't have very good tools and don't know how to pull myself out of the dark hole that I am in.
I do.  I've been here before.  Most days I'm pretty successful at using the tools to keep my head above water.  Today those tools are garbage.  Just like someone who has high blood pressure, diabetes, or high cholesterol tries to keep their numbers w/in range to remain healthy, I have and do try very hard to stay above water.

Most of the time I am effective.  Sometimes, like today, it gets away from me. I've used the tools and done what I know has (and usually helps).  I've reminded myself over and over something that my current therapist has said.  None of it has helped. And with each attempt to pull my shit together. I fall deeper and deeper. The one thing I know to do is to shut down.  Push everyone around me away and create a bubble in order to protect myself from further pain.

One of the things I have learned over and over is that silence magnifies the state that I'm in.  A sure way to add fuel to the fire is isolate myself from those around me and it is only a matter of time before the fire is burning to bright and I can't hide it any longer.  Yet, pulling out of the silence is sometimes to much.

I'm sharing this not because I want or need sympathy or pity from you.  I want whomever may be reading this to know that perfectly normal people, strong people, the father sitting next to you in church, the bus driver who took you to work this morning, the clergyman sitting in front of his congregation....each of them sometimes have a condition that can get out of control.

I am not an oddball by any stretch of the imagination when it comes to sharing my own struggles.  Millions of individuals suffer from one or more mental disorders. Far to many go undiagnosed because of the stigma that is associated with mental illness.

If your best friend had a brain tumor, you wouldn't tell her to try harder.   You wouldn't tell her that if she did XYZ than she would for sure feel better.  You probably wouldn't drop off the face of the earth because it was to much to handle and she was full of drama.

Last summer, when I went through TMS therapy, I went alone.  Every.single.day.for.several.weeks.  My husband did not go with me.  My local friends and family did not go with me.  Yet, for someone who has to have chemotherapy, you may take a meal, offer to clean their house, or offer to help in some other manner. I felt those around me were expecting this miracle and I would be much better.  And when I wasn't much better, I walked away feeling like I failed.  I still feel like I've failed.  My father has cancer.  If the treatment regimen he is enduring doesn't work he is not the one that failed.  We as a society will not look at him and think he failed and didn't do everything he could have done.

There are plenty blogs and articles wrote on 'mental illness vs physical illness' and how family and friends treat it so different.  I've found this to be extremely true in my own life.

I write this in hopes that somehow, someone, will find a way to reach out if you sense someone close to you is struggling with mental illness.  Speak from your heart.  Speak honestly.  Speak without harsh judgement. You wouldn't speak harsh to someone with a brain tumor.  Don't do it to someone who is struggling on any level.

This illness.  This stigma.  It is debilitating.  It is overwhelmingly lonely. It can be deadly.

TMS Update ~ Mental Illness Sucks

I've ended TMS Therapy.  I finished 2 weeks ago with 61 treatments.  Not the suggested and usual 25-35 treatments.

61 Treatments. (update: the report I received today said 48 treatments.  I'm pretty sure it was 61.  I counted 61 day on my calendar.  And that was what the therapist said on the last day.)

I lost track on how many of those treatments were dual for anxiety and depression.  AKA: Both sides.

Nearly 11 weeks of going every single day.  There were a few weeks of 4 days.  And when tapering began it was over the course of 3-4 weeks.  

I wish I could sit here and write how much better life is.  How much better controlled depression, anxiety, and mental illness is in my life.  Reality is...I can't.  That hurts my heart more than you can even begin to imagine.  I gave it my all.  Every single day.  I didn't cancel or miss appointments.  

If I'm anything, I am brutally honest.  And this blog has never been anything but that.  I've pretty much told those who don't like that where the door is.  You won't find rainbows and unicorns shooting out my ass.  

That being said....TMS isn't all it is talked into being.  It isn't this one day you wake up and "oh my freaking word the cloud was gone..."  No it wasn't like that.  It hasn't been like that.  Yet, every testimonial I've read has pretty much been JUST THAT.  Because those people...the ones who are so much better after 3-4 weeks of treatment...those people...they shoot rainbows out their ass.  They eat unicorn poop cookies for lunch.  And while I'm extremely happy for them.  I want to trip them.  I really do.  Because they gave me false hope.  Almost every single day I sat down in that chair I had high hopes.  Really high hopes.  

Slow and steady wins the race.  I know that.  I also know that I've hit a block.  A really big block.  It isn't going anywhere anytime soon.  Despite my attempts to barge over it, under it, through it, or around it.  It's there.  The elephant in the room.  

The hope has slowly faded over the last 2 weeks.  The reality that this...this life that I'm living...although a smidge better than it was....it is still pretty damn horrible.  There is no amount positive thinking, reiki, tapping, prayer, faith, you name it....none that will change that. 

Mental illness sucks. 

Trauma sucks.

And I'm tired of fighting it.  Fighting the thought that 'it will get better'.
Tired of buying into the thought that 'it will get better'.

I'm not very positive today.  You could probably say I"m never positive.  And honestly, I don't care.  I got out of bed yesterday to go to a massage.  And came back home.  Went back to bed.  I'm writing this from my bed. I'm not working right now.  Which it gives for more reason to not get up.

In the last 24 hours depression has hit hard.  Honestly, it has been long standing.  Yet, the last 24-48 hours has hit hard.  

I hope my next post can be a bit brighter.  Until then...this is what I've got.

The Last 3 days....

...and then some have been incredible hard.
...as in gut wrenching hard.

I'm struggling to keep my head above water.
To find balance among the waves.
I know that I'm not alone in this struggle.
Yet at the same time it feels as though I am.
I've pulled out all the tools.  All the stops.
Everything I can to keep swimming.
It hasn't been enough.

My hair hurts.
My teeth hurt.
My ears hurt.
My toes hurt.
Everything hurts.
I know why.
Relaxation tools have went out the window. I've done them.
Over and over...from deep breathing to some mindfulness.

I'm not positive tonight. I don't see much positive ahead of me.  I got up today. I went to church.  I made a crockpot dinner.  It is the extent of my ability to cope for today.

Living in the Dark - Guest Post for My Daily Jenn-ism

The following is the blog post I wrote for Jenn for her March Mental Health Awareness Month Guest Blog posts. Thank you Jenn for opening up your blog and giving a voice to the many areas of mental health this month (and often). If you've not been to My Daily Jenn-ism. head on over..you may just want to go check her out.

LIVING IN THE DARKNESS

Readers of my blog know that I’ve struggled with various forms of depression and suicidal ideation off and on for several years.  Consistently since my youngest was born in 2002. The intensity spiked up ten notches after I had gastric bypass and the ability to absorb medication properly came to an abrupt halt in 2004.

Some days I believe I am the Queen of Suicidal Ideation.  I imagine my psychiatrist believes the same thing.  Several years ago, shortly after I was released from a short inpatient hospitalization, she said to me “Do you really believe you will eventually kill yourself?”  I can’t even tell you what my response to her was.  What she said next, I know I will never forget.  Ever.  It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to process.  I didn’t process it.  I didn’t even let it affect me.  She was right.  I knew it.  And just like many other areas things in my life...I stuffed what she said...deep down in the ‘don’t go there’ emotional bin.  

It wasn’t until about 18 months ago, when she said it to me again, that it dug deep. Even deeper than the first time. When I left her office, I spent another hour sitting in my car.  Processing what she said.  The depth of her comment.  And how incredible hard it was to hear.  

“__, I’m not convinced you won’t kill yourself.  And that haunts me each night.”

This was a continued conversation regarding medication, the lack of being able to take them, being at the end of another failed attempt, and pure frustration for both of us.  

I had no hope at that point and the pros/cons of being hospitalized was thrown around. To hear Dr. KSB confirm she didn’t have that hope, was a bit devastating.  Initially, few years earlier, it didn’t have the same effect.

I contemplated never going back to see her.

I made an appointment with a psychiatrist that specializes in gastric bypass, whom I had seen when I was in the hospital, whom had done an evaluation on me prior to my WLS, and whom even though I didn’t like...I did trust his knowledge was extensive.  It was a 6 month wait to see him.  I was desperate when I scheduled that appointment.  The appointment came and went.  He confirmed that I was seeing one of the best psychiatrists and that I needed to continue my treatment with her.  He gave me his recommendations and sent them to Dr. KSB.  Telling me to follow-up with her in a week or two.  He also, added several dx to my permanent chart.  That appointment was a year ago.  None of his recommendations were options at the time.  Dr. KSB has left the one recommendation as a last case scenario.  Agreeing that the only way she would suggest it being an option, would be if there was an attempt to end my life.  It would be, as he said...”LAST CASE SCENARIO”.  

And so...I continue to see her.  

She knows me. I know her. She trusts me (I think). I trust her.  

And she knows that filling me with all sorts of medications is not an option.  

At my last appointment with Dr. KSB, we discussed the current state of my marriage.  My husband and I are both patients of hers.  Once again, she told me ‘my gut tells me you would not survive a separation or divorce’.  Damn as much as I know that. It is harder to hear it.  Once again, I sat in my car for a good hour after my appointment trying to process what she had to say.

Currently, mental illness waxes and wanes in my life.  There are a few good days here and there.  There are suicidal days where I’m holding on to the last bit of the frayed string, trying everything in the book to stay alive.  Some days all I can do is lay on the couch and watch my dogs play, listen to my children's voices, fighting against everything to hold on to their sweet voices.  Praying and hoping against all hope that the depression will lift.  Leave me alone.  At least for a day.  

A few weeks ago, I wasn’t suicidal.  I had more than an entire day without the constant thoughts of hurting myself, the bad thoughts, the self hatred, and self harm impulses.  Just sadness.  Sadness that this is my life.  The next few days, I wasn’t so lucky.

That is the nature of this beast.  The last 18-24 months this has been my life.  It is a constant battle to get up every day.  Some days, the darkness lifts.  

Everybody Hurts by REM rings a bell.  I woke up thinking about this song this morning.

And so....I leave you with that.

Everybody Hurts.

Everybody Cries.

Hold On.

EVERYBODY HURTS Youtube Link

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And I will add I've had a bad week of suicidal ideation.  Self harm crap has been sky high.  My BFF informed me I'm to negative and need to try to increase positive in my life.  And while I know she is right, when every ounce of my energy is taken by going to work....there is nothing left.  Excuse?  Sure as hell is.  Bit it is where I'm at.  I have went as far as have plan in place and need to be talked down off the ledge by one of my Orlando Moms.  She gets this place.  I know she does.  And somehow that makes it that much harder.

Jenn added the following to this post. And I will do the same.

If you or anyone you know is struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts, please contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline.

No matter what problems you are struggling with, hurting yourself isn't the answer. Call 1-800-273-TALK (8255) to talk to a counselor at a Lifeline crisis center near you.

Someone loves you and someone WILL miss you.  I promise! 

Dear Asshole (Part 1)

**I tried to keep this short. For my own sanity. This is a FAIR WARNING there is very likely going to be several explicits. It is what it is. It is where my heart and head is with this.  This is just the beginning of a series of "Dear Asshole" posts.  More will come as I'm able to process.  Each time I've ever started to write something similar to this I've ended in a pretty rough space.  Never got past the first few sentences and ended up in fetal position on my bathroom floor/tub for heaven only knows how long afterwards.

As the title states: Dear Asshole.  He is just that. An asshole.  And so much more.  As mentioned above it is likely these will not be pretty.  

Dear Asshole,
You may have been excited to see this letter from me since we've not had contact in over 30 years.  What pictures and information you have from me you received from your mother.  Good for her for caring.
I didn't want to write this when I was overly angry, emotional, or depressed.  However, those 3 words seem to be part of my every day life. And have been for several months.

This last bought of severe depression was not triggered by the trauma piece you help create. It is very likely it was just part of much more going on.  Each time I get closer to rising above the fog this particular piece begins to boil over. Causing there to be a ripple effect into my everyday life. You destroyed me in more ways than not.

I spent years trying to figure out reasoning's for your actions.  I've spent countless hours talking to other victims. I've spent countless hours reading and trying to sift to the bottom of why abusers abuse.  The more information I have found, the worse I've felt abut the situation.  They say that abusers have the domino effect.  The abuser was once abused.  That's bullshit.  I'm nearly certain that never happened to you.  Next option?  You strive to dominate.  That is exactly what you did.  When you could no longer hurt my mother, you choose to hurt me.  Fuck you!  You rat bastard.

I hope you woke up each day of the last 33 yrs of your life and took a good look at your shit-filled self and were eaten alive by what you did to me.  I hope you never forgave yourself for it.  I always thought I would be thankful for the day you died.  Each day I got closer and closer.  And the day that I got the phone call was the day when the previous 33 yrs of attempting to stuff deep down came boiling over.  Each day, I prayed for closure that you would die.  Instead, rage took over deep w/in my heart.  Rage that you took the easy way out.  Rage that you didn't suffer.  Sure, I'm sure you suffered.  You have never suffered a moment of the torment that I live each day.  You don't wear the physical and emotional scars that I do.  Those scars that are not seen.  Only heard by the rage that has built within me.

I can only hope hell is as it is chalked up to be!!  There is no amount of repentance that would bring you closer to the pearly gates of heaven. None. I know first hand that in order to cross that gate you would have needed to make amends to those you hurt.

Screw you!
Your Daughter

When the Unthinkable Becomes Your Reality

Yesterdays events in CT have torn me from one side to the other.  I sat at work in near comatose trance as I thought about "the parents of the gunman".  Thinking to myself that "this Unthinkable act of terror could easily be my reality".

I've started and deleted more blog posts in the last 24 hours than I ever have.  The thoughts, words, and feelings that are racing from one side to the other of my brain are not printable. They are stuck in a world of pain, hurt, grief, and so much more.  I can't get those words out. I've not slept. I tossed and turned. I would fall asleep only to wake in terror that 'this was my reality coming true'.  PTSD sux.  Heaven have mercy does it ever.

So I leave you with 3 separate posts that speak the words that I am unable to speak.

They are real.
They are raw.
They are hard to read.

I know 2 of the 3 of these ladies personally.

Please take the time to read them. Visit their blogs and share with them your love and support.

Soul Cancer/The Hearts and Hands behind the Guns (L* is fellow trauma momma. I love and respect her so incredible much.

When Reality Goes Beyond the Imaginable  (Kristine is a dear sweet friend. I wish we lived closer. I wish we could sit..her with her wine...me with my Diet Cherry Pepsi, wipe away our tears and love in each other like we both so desperately need.  I will get to do that with her in March.  March will not come soon enough)

Thinking the Unthinkable (this is a new blog to me.  Mommy Needs Therapy or a Bottle of Wine shared this link with me.)

Hellacious

I'm not doing well.
Terrible day today.  Actually, been several tough days.
 I don't want to go over it again.  I had a therapy appt with J* today.
 I didn't want to go.   Often, I say that. I always do.  Usually with hope and a desire to get to the end of some of the ick.  That didn't happen today.
Instead fear, depression, anxiety, and all kinds of other ick took over.   Leaving me unable to communicate with here to what depth I'm struggling.  
I wish it was different.  It wasn't.
I've been here before. Yet, it is different.
Today's therapy appt was more draining than any I've had in a very long time.  The aftermath has been numbing. Hell it was numbing while I was there. Shutting down completely.  Moving closer to the edge.  Came home and just wanted to rest.  Laid my head down and as I sunk into my bed, hearing my dh's words, I tuned the rest of the house out.  I wasn't sleeping. I could hear the TV and my dh folding laundry.  He knew things weren't okay. My body heavy. Shoulder, feet, back and head trapped inside with a prickly metal wire feeling.  It is the longest and most intense dissociating experience that has occurred in as long as I can remember.

I was reminded of this little saying "Sometimes it's okay if the only thing you did today was breathe" as I got out of bed to use the bathroom.  I crawled in the shower and sat there till the water ran cold. And sat there longer with cold water running over my face.  Wake up. Snap out of this.

About this time of my children came in the bedroom/bathroom complaining that he/she needed to shower and there was no hot water.  And so I get out and sit in the recliner.  Still numb. Still trying to process what it is that seems to have grabbed a hold of me by the horns and yanked me down under.

And so it continues.

Random Ramblings

~We write so we don't feel so alone.~

It sums up in a few words why I blog.  Why I write some of the nonsense jibber-jabber that I do.  Ultimately it is because I feel so d*amn alone so much of the time.

Tonights post is jumbled up mess.  As I am at the present moment.  The day was filled with tons of ups and downs.  When I left work I felt the world come crushing down on me.  In a rather crushing way!!

I can't even write about it in depth.  Physical therapy was tough...really tough.  Two words you don't want to hear ever...specially AFTER you have shoulder surgery is adhesive capulitis aka: frozen shoulder.  And given the degree of severity....don't wanna hear that either.  And more daggers in the heart (OR head) when it comes to our older son.

I've had to remind myself this evening several times WHY it is that I don't drink.  I'm certain if I did.....I would never get back up. Ever.  And right about now.....that sounds pretty damn good.

The Missing Piece

During an appt with H* today some tough stuff came to the surface.  Again.  In the past I've scheduled massage appointments to be back to back or same day as my therapy appointments with J*. Somehow, I need to go back to that routine.  Granted, my appt with H* was a last minute schedule because J* is off for the week.

I've attempted to write the things that were fresh on my mind as I left that appointment.  The body-work that jolted me once again...has left me speechless...once again.  The space that was created by H* to continue moving forward and finding healing was what I needed.

Even though the work was tough.  Even though it has jolted me to my core.  Even though my heart hurts in ways that I can't even begin to describe.  Even though grief on so many levels is raging it's ugly head.  Even though all these things....I still feel desire to keep going back.  One more missing piece that I'm not the only person that knows.  Somehow, having someone else know it takes the power away from it.

Still doesn't make it easier.
Tonight it makes it much tougher.

Crushing

Overall I've been doing much better than I was Thursday/Friday.  I tried very hard to have a good weekend with my kids.

I spent the morning/early afternoon on Saturday with my daughter. We did a little bit of shopping, were going to get lunch and then decided to stop and at the pretzel store at the mall since we were there.

Sunday, I met my mom's siblings, cousins, and Step-Dad at the zoo for a picnic lunch and fun at the zoo. I stayed w/the food and table while everyone else went off to play.  The hour of sitting in the shade helped my aching soul.

I've had very few flashbacks/memories to this point.  And what I've had being able to actually put words or understand them has been tough.  Since last week it has been an ongoing flood of flashbacks/memories.  My mom on several occasions has started crying when I've spoke to her. I've been pretty mums-the-word with her with letting her know how I'm actually doing.

  She scolded me for calling him a mother-fucker to his sister and told me I should tell his sister I was sorry. I'm not sorry.  She also told me I shouldn't have said what I did to his mom.  Again, I meant every fucking word I said...and...I will NOT tell her I'm sorry. I won't do it.   

My mom has on several different occasions apologized over and over.  She told me tonight "I used to stand and look out our living room window waiting for him to come home from work.  Wishing that he would be in a car accident and die on his way home.  He wouldn't be able to hurt me or you anymore.  He never died. And by the grace of God his dad and step-mom got me out of that hell hole."  She has never admitted that he ever hurt me.  I don't know what is harder...her not acknowledging it or acknowledging it.

Regardless, it is crushing!!  I wake up feeling like I can't breathe. My chest is being crushed. Nigh terrors are much worse than they were.  I had 2 really good nights sleep.  So far tonight....not so good.     There is an ambulance and State Troopers next door.  The lights woke me up, again.  And that last time I saw him...is being replayed over and over.  I can't help but wonder what would have happened...if those police officers wouldn't have showed up when they did.  And I'm filled with anger....once again.

No Words

There are no words to accurately described how incredible upset I am this evening. 

None.

I've cried till I can't cry.
I've cursed till I can't curse.

I've thrown shit till there was nothing more to throw.

I've cursed some more, cried some more....

Because I am the next of kin and the ONLY child that was not adopted at birth or by step-parent and because he never married the GF he lived with for the last many years.....

I am responsible for releasing his body.
I am responsible for giving permission to his parents, sister, GF....whomever to do as they wish.

And I'm pissed.

I hope the SOB rots in hell.

And in the mean time....I'm left to pick up the pieces. 

I am not an evil person.
I want my Grandfather, Aunt, his GF and whomever else to have that closure.
I don't want to be responsible for giving that permission.  

I shouldn't have to.

And shit it if isn't being laid on my lap.

I don't want to call the Medical Examiner's office.
I don't want to be told how/why he died.
I didn't want my Aunt to tell me how he died.
I don't want to know.

He never cared about me.  Why should I care about him?

F* this sucks.

I can't do this right now.  I barely have had my head above water long enough to take a breathe. I was just at a point where I could see the light flicke.  And son of a bitch if it wasn't all thrown back in my face.  

It is Piss.

I saw this picture on another blog this morning. To be honest I can't remember whose blog it was on.  I know it was a fellow trauma mama whose blog is in my reader.

It kind of fits me perfectly.
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There's much I want to blog about...as in get off my chest.  I do this for me. Not for others.  In blogging about these things, I know I'm opening myself up for criticism. 


I was told today by several people that I've over reacted to something that was rather hurtful to me.  It started with my BIL and then my mom.  And then just went down the line from there.  I'm choosing to not go into detail because in all honesty....I'm not in a space that I can take the criticism.  (If we are FB friends, you follow my FB page, or you just know me IRL...you are aware of the issue.  And once again, I respectfully ask you to respectfully keep your own opinions to yourself if you are going to be critical...SORRY...it's just where I'm at emotionally right now...fragile would be an understatement)

As I've thought about this situation and the various different outcomes today...I keep thinking about this "glass half empty-half full-this is piss" picture.

Here are my thoughts on this situation and so much more:

It is piss.   There's no "thinking" about it.  It is pure piss!


I'm sure that taking this issue up in therapy might be helpful...it's the beating a dead horse mantra in my ever so humble opinion.  Thus, for the most part I try not to go there.

Safe Place and Getting There

I'm a bit resistant in hand writing things and so I'm going to put this on here instead of writing it out in detail on the workbook paperwork from J* (therapist).

I think it could/will be particularly helpful since I am often not far from my phone.  Since I have access to my blog posts via my phone...this simple reminder is much easier/better than the hand written notes  J* has given me.  I will still write them out on the workbook papers.  Only this will be a bit more detailed.

Creating and Getting to My/Your Safe Space.  It means exactly what it reads.  Creating a safe space.  And how do you/I plan on getting there.

Last week I wrote out on the workbook paperwork in brief detail 'what my safe space would be'.  I don't think I fully comprehended the extent that J* wanted me to go into detail and why I needed to do so.  As the week has progressed, as I had a particular upsetting outburst over the weekend that left me ridden with guilt and trying to not be triggered in the failure mode, as I encountered some difficult feeling/memories/triggers during massage on Monday....as these things and a few other things have been put on my plate the last week....I've been able to see a little bit clearer why/what exactly J* was talking about.  Some of it is pretty private, some of this I can write...but don't know I can accurately talk about unless it is brought up. 

Creating a safe space isn't just about finding a place w/in your home, work, environment that you can go.  It is about finding that safe space w/in yourself.  As I read the homework assignment this week and it talked about 'getting to my safe space....whenever I am in distress or feel the need to do so' it made me think more about expanding this area.  It isn't just the place w/in my home that I feel is "my safe space..." but something that I can access when I'm not home.  I often carry w/me in my car (actually ALWAYS in my car) are 2 things from my Orlando 2011 ETAAM trip.  I have my damnit doll and 'you are not alone' rock.  These 2 items in the past I've found myself rubbing.  Often, when I'm working doing my normal job the rock is in my pocket.  Being able to rub it, feel the smoothness, the edge where the printed paper was put on it...and meaning behind it...will make the difference.  I've got a few of these rocks and I will in the very near future be getting them out. 
One space that works for me is a hot shower/bath.  I've struggled in the past with this being a borderline self injury tool.

Two days in a row this week I was able to get myself to that space and have it remain helpful.  Getting to this 'safe space' was not hard on Sunday.  I was able to put my computer down, lock my bedroom door and lock the bathroom (I Know...I know...locking myself behind 2 doors isn't the brightest idea) and get into the shower where I was able to decompress for whatever length of time. 

Getting myself there the 2nd day was not  as easy.  Life got in the way.  This is where finding something "outside" of my home is important. Having some sort of object to concentrate on would be helpful.  By the time I got home on Monday evening and was able to shower it was late.  It was quite a few hours later.  And I had worked myself up in a tizzy.  My head hurt. My jaw hurt.  My shoulder hurt.  My entire body hurt. 

I had spent several hours attempting to push back the swirling thoughts/memories.  Hell, I sat in my Psychiatrists office....did I mention it to her.  Hell to the No!!  If I had an appt w/J*...it might have been a good thing.  My pdoc and I have a love/hate relationship and I wasn't loving her that much on Monday.  Shit, I wasn't loving myself.  So loving/liking someone else was not in the works.

((((I KNOW I"M RAMBLING......But this is FOR ME)))))

Creating and getting to safe space are 2 very different things.  Yet, as I think about it...I find it very much the same.  If I have the item/space available to me....choosing to use them is much easier. 

H* (massage therapist) often uses different oils.  I am not real good about remembering which oils/scents she uses.  One of these days I will remember to ask her (or email her before an appt to ask her to remind me) which one it is that seems to be the most helpful.  Valor is one scent that she uses often. 

***************

The Courage to Heal

Today I opened the book:  "The Courage to Heal:  A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse" by Ellen Bass & Laura Davis.     !!!!holy hannah intense is an understatement!!!!

I am not naive.  I knew it would be intense.  I knew there would be parts that were tough.  I barely got to the end of the Preface without an overwhelming feeling of panic and fear.  The effects that sexual abuse has had on me in my life....clearly screaming loud and clear.  I have put the book down and walked away on several occasions in the last several hours.  Unable to read any further.  Paralyzed with fear.  It isn't the fear of feeling unsafe, being abused, or feeling vulnerable.  The fear of speaking...breaking the silence...breaking the power that it has had over me.

Over the last several years I've remained in a world of denial, so to speak.  For nearly 35 years I've maintained silence.  If I don't speak about it.  It didn't happen, right?  Not so much.  I've protected myself.  I've been able to only let bits and pieces of this and that out in the open as I felt safe to do so.  I've been unable to figure out how or why there is such power in not speaking about the details.

The writing exercise at the end of the first chapter is geared towards the way it has affected me and still does.  What kinds of things do I still carry in the terms of my feelings of self worth, my relationships, sexuality, work, ect ect.  It also suggests writing about strengths I've developed because of the abuse. And a few other positives in my life.

As part of the writing method it suggests sharing what you write relatively soon after writing it with a friend, loved one, therapist, someone...ect ect.  I've wrote very openly here on this blog.  However, I'm not sure I'm able (or wanting) to expose myself in this manner here on this blog.  I'm struggling with what sort of balance.  Obviously, sharing these writings with my therapist would be helpful.  And I'm sure at some point will.  I also know that J* reads this blog from time to time.  It is helpful for both of us.  She is able to see me in a different view point...often uncensored, so to speak.    I wish this blog was on word press.  Being able to "password protect" certain posts is VERY VERY attractive to me. 

I could make this blog private.  However, I'm not sure that want to deal with that aspect.  I blog for ME and ME only.  However, as I've said before...if along the way someone...somewhere finds strength in what I've wrote, is able to know that they are not alone....then damn it was worth exposing myself.  I know how much comfort I've received from reading other posts of fellow bloggers.  Some whom I know very intimately.  Many whom all I know is their screen name or blogger name.  Whatever it might be...it has been a life line that I am so thankful that I've had.

I've rambled....I know (you read here often you know that happens...OFTEN).

I will end with something that touched my heart today. Made me smile.  Made me think of my sweet ETAAM Soul Sisters....the intimate group of "tiara wearing mamma's" and how much I miss each of them!! 

Strength in the Broken Places

Finding strength in the broken places can be exhausting.  This is exactly where I'm at this evening as I try and find strength in those places that have left me raw and vulnerable.

I often find myself struggling with bits and pieces of the broken places.

I'm fortunate to have found an amazing massage therapist who is compassionate about the work she does.  After receiving two cortisone injections that left me in extreme amount of pain last night and today I was somewhat hesitant to have a massage.  Knowing that I needed to go...I embarked on a journey today that left me somewhat speechless.

I've spent a majority of the last several hours after leaving my massage trying to process what exactly happened. What I know is....This afternoon I had an experience that left me truly struggling to catch my breathe.  To find strength where there is very little.  It was something that took me completely by suprise.  And has left me trying to find the strength I know I have and hold on tight.  What a blessing it is to have a massage therapist who is passionate about the work she does and was able to guide me back to place of being present, to a place that I was safe and would remain safe and more importantly express to me her knowledge and understanding in what happened as she gentle touched a scar on my head.  Being able to know what happened and understand it is crucial

Much to my surprise when she asked me "How did you get that scar?" I was able in a matter of fact manner tell her.  And even more suprising was able to elaborate on a bit more of  'my story'.  The one that I try so very hard to hide.  And have went to great lengths not to discuss, supress and just move on.

Earlier this week I ordered a few different books.  I'm hoping that these books will give me the Courage that I need to continue healing.

My shoulders are both signficantly better this evening than when I got up this morning.  Still pretty dang painful but much better than they were earlier in the day.

Day 5 Efexior

Jittery crap still happening.  Severity not as bad.  Enough that I'm hesitant to up the dose on 2 days.
It takes a few weeks I know to see a difference.  I also know from experience generally around Day 4-6 on an antidepressant....I begin to start feeling REALLY GOOD and don't need sleep, want to clean everything, ready to be on the go none stop, sexual interest is beyond the norm, cook non stop and I'm not interested in eating.
Day 5 has brought on all of the above.  It's a tough balance.  I'm fearful of "the fall" that I'm used to happening.   Praying or stays away and this medication will be the one that changes things for the better.

Pick Me Up...

Plain and simple..

You can't help but smile when seeing something like this portrait. 
I know I did. 

It is a simple "pick me up" type of portrait.
Lil' babe....carefree and innocent.

Today was a bit of a lighter day in the realm of things.  I came close to having a mini meltdown in drs office when requesting a copy of the report from last weeks new psych appt.  They would not give it to me.  Telling me they would fax it to my primary psychiatrist.  Whatever. It wasn't a battle I was willing to fight today.  I will see Dr. S in the morning.  I don't see J* for about 4 weeks.  One of them will discuss it with me I'm sure. If not...then it will become a battle that I will fight.

I had a PT eval for my shoulder this morning.  I love how the man told me that I have rounded shoulders and poor posture.  Uh' yeah....I have rounded shoulders because I drive for a living....with my arms extended out....with a 40,000 lb vehicle.  Duh'.  He quickly caught himself and corrected himself, somewhat.  Whatever. I don't need PT. I know what he is going to have me do.  Whatever I need to do to make work comp happy.

I'm serious about finding more information out in regards to EMDR.  I know that J* doesn't do it.  I'm past the part of "I don't want to learn about it, see if it would be a good fit for me, ect bc J* doesn't do it and I don't want to see yet...someone else."  The happenings of Sunday were enough for me to realize that I need to at least look into it.  Stop asking questions and move fwd with a consultation.  Stop thinking about it...and DO IT.  I see Dr. S in the morning and will attempt to bring it up with her. 

I'm tired beyond tired this evening.  Lack of sleep and plain BUSY freeking day has led me to be....TIRED.

 

On the Wings

Shortly before landing in Orlando on March 1.

I would give anything to be on that plane...again!  Headed to ETAAM-Orlando.  It seems like it was so long ago.  Yet it was only 3 weeks ago today, that I got up early and returned home.  As I looked out the window at the wing of this particular plane I recall seeing and feeling so much hope for the coming days.  Hope in finding brighter moments...even if just for a few moments/days. 

I am not actively parenting a child with R.A.D.  However, the after effects have played their toll.  The last few days those after effects have crept into my heart.  Taken up residence in a rather negative toll.  The timing has been horrible.  There is never any good time.  However, right now is really not good.

Add this into the mixture that I'm still trying to figure out which way to turn and which end is up after the psychiatry appt I had w/the new pdoc last Friday.  I am scheduled to see my primary psychiatrist tmw.  The appt may need to be rescheduled because of some technical issues between the two clinics.  And even though I just want to get it done and over with, there is a small part of me that just doesn't want to go.  Accept the fact that this is as good as it gets.

I woke up yesterday morning determined that it was a new day.  No matter what I would revel in that aspect. I would find hope where hope was to be found.  It wasn't for naught....I tried. 

It is now into the wee hours of the next day.  Unable to sleep, searching for some sort of comfort.  It isn't in the M & M's that were on my table.  It isn't in the Dt. Cherry Pepsi that was in our fridge.  It is nowhere to be found in the food that has entered my mouth in hopes to drown out what seems to be taking over. 

The mind is a dangerous thing.  It is a weapon like none other.  It is moments like these that I know I need to pull out the tools and use them.  The tools that several years of therapy have provided me.  Yet, it isn't happening. 

Praying that I can have a bit of a relief.  Get back some of that fight that I had last week.  Once again...it's gone. 

Sometime Today

I will get out of bed....sometime. 
I know it is.nearly 10am.  Quite frankly I don't give a.Shit.
I made the mistake of talking to my mom last night about my appt.  I should have known better.  Her thoughts and comments were hurtful, as usual.
I've felt isolated and alone before.  This morning that reality shines even brighter as I think about moving forward. 
My best friend for the last 18 years and I, have slowly drifted apart.  I know it is in part because I have distanced myself from her.  She is filled with unending drama.  She had an affair with my BIL and continues to be good friends with his family. I don't live those values and so I get that I'm part this is my doing.
It doesn't change the fact that we are still close.  She called yesterday morning while I was on my way home from my Dr appt.  She had asked what I was doing and I told her.  It was once again a confirmation that I am on my own here in my world. 
My husband asks if I am not feeling well or if my shoulder is hurting.  I tell him the truth.   He has nothing to offer.  Nothing to say.  Not even as much as 'I'm sorry'.  As I type this out on my phone in bed...that last bit hurts.  Deep.  And ai cant stop the tears.  I want him to care.  To show me he cares.   He can't.  It isn't in his realm of conscious thinking. And after 18 years of marriage I should be know this.  I do know it. 
I know I'm not alone.  I know there are a few people who will read this and think otherwise.  I know who you are and I appreciate your random FB messages of support very early yesterday morning while I was sitting in the drs office.  And the phone call saying "how did it go?"  The distance between us is to much some days. And try as I might there is no changing it.
There was a nice break in this fucked up cycle of severe depression and suicidal ideation.  I should be thankful I guess.