Sunday Evening Random Ramblings...

I'm here.  Surviving.  Busy. There's good. There's bad.  There's really good. And then there's really bad. It is an never ending up and down battle.

There is good in many things.  My children are growing. Thriving. And seem to have adjusted well to school.  We've got some personal issues with one of my children that has triggered some pretty crappy things w/in my own trauma history.  My youngest did not come home from school every day the first week begging to be home schooled.  He was super excited that one of his buddies from church, who has been home schooled until this grade, was in everyone of his classes.  They sit together or w/in a few seats in every class.  It was a great start to what was highly dreaded.

This was the first time in many years, okay ever, that I didn't want to send my kids back to school.  I've been off work since the beginning of February. I had surgery again right before school ended.  We had some pretty sweet moments this summer.  I loved having them home and I miss them after 4 day being back at school.

Twin Falls, Idaho
Day 8 of 15

We took a 15 day, 5000 mile, to many states to count, cross country road trip.  We visited my grandparents, my birth father's family, and then went to Utah and stayed w/my BFF for a night, spent the day w/her family on the weekend, and stayed w/my in laws.  We were ready to pull into our driveway after 15 days of being gone.  It was a wonderful trip and we made some good memories.

My children were not thrilled about riding in the car.  They wanted to fly. We've never done anything like this.  Our furthest road trip was about 5-6 hr drive.  Having the 1st leg of our trip be 28 hrs of driving was a bit scary.  We made it fun and stopped in a few different places along the way to stretch and do some sight seeing.  My 15 yr old is a budding photographer and kept her camera in her lap/near by the entire trip.

Today, there was a comment to something posted on my facebook blog page.  The first sentence was a kick in the gut.  "Think more positive."  Sure. Yep. I know I need to be more positive.  The remaining part of the message didn't come across well, either.  My gut tells me it was all in support and love. However, that is not what I heard.  The timing wasn't the best.

I've been at a fairly low place.  Therapy is hard.  It is *insert several curse words* hard.  The more intense it gets the more alone I feel. Yet, I know I am not. Truthfully,  I haven't felt this alone since sitting in hospital a week before the court hearing to disrupt our adoption. It's the kind of alone that makes me think...nobody gets it.  My therapist doesn't. My husband doesn't. My bff doesn't. My family doesn't.  During that time in the hospital, I had a visitor who happened to be the Relief Society President.  Her and I go way way back.   Sitting with another friend in church today, who I know 'gets mental illness' on a very personal level, I was reminded of the same message that my relief society president shared with me several years ago.  The Lord put the same message in my head today as he did that day.  And it brought me to tears.

Fear not! I am with thee.
Oh, be not dismayed.
For I am thy God.
And will still give thee aid!
I'll strengthen thee,
Help thee
And cause thee to stand.
Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.

I know that I am loved. I know that I am not alone. I know these things.  However, it is so very hard to remember in the depths of hell.

Alone

This picture has came across my pinterest feed before.  I've probably even shared on this blog or my FB blog page before.  I frankly don't remember.

What I know is this:  this picture describes exactly what I'm thinking and feeling.

I've laid on my couch the last 2 hours in silence.  Staring aimlessly at a computer screen with nothing but mumbled up words, playing candy crush until I run out of lives, gasps of air in between the tears, pretty much sums it up where I'm at right now.

DBT, Self Sabotage, Fear, and Acceptance

This morning I received a phone call from the psychologist that facilitates the DBT group I previously attended.  I wasn't in a spot to talk to my therapist at the time the call came in and so I sent it straight to voicemail.

I know the DBT skills.  I was in the group for 9-10 months about a year and half ago.  I do use the tools I was taught.  However, there is a very strong part of me that is unable to use those tools from time to time. Okay, often I'm unable to use them.

As I drove home this afternoon from an appointment w/my orthopedic surgeon, the reality of I really do need to attend this group again.  Many feelings came up over the course of the next few hours.

This picture kind of illustrates some of those feelings. A small scared kitten...coming upon big bad puppies at the door in front of me.  Those puppies are nothing but lovable, endearing, and probably will be my best allies in due time. Just as healing can provide the same comfort.

Overwhelmed with fear.  Urges came to the surfaces.  Ones that I couldn't fight off.  I want to hide and run away at the same time.  I've wanted to do everything possible to not feel the true feelings about "What is really behind the emotions regarding this group..."  

I came home and took the DBT binder and put it in the trash.  Determined that I don't need this group.  I don't want to attend. I am overwhelmed with the thought of it.  And so, forget it. I'm not going there again.  Hell to the no.

This is where the self sabotage comes into play.  I have the opportunity to give this group a try again.  I have the opportunity to get the help that I need.  Not everyone is blessed with the ability to have unlimited mental health coverage like I do.  It comes at a high price (stress of my job) and I don't for a moment take it for granted.

What the hell am I so afraid of?  Why throw the damn book in the garbage?  WHY?  I took it out of the garbage.  Put it back in the drawer where I took out of and walked away.  The urges were more than I could fight off, again. I gave in.  Again.  For as long as there was hot water, I hide ran away from the intense feelings of where this was all coming from.  The fear became tears.  I could feel (or taste) the tears as I stood  in the hot shower.  I could feel those feelings.  And at that moment....I knew what the hell I'm so incredible afraid of.  What was driving the fear.  The self sabotage.  The self harm.

Holy Hannah it has taken me forever to write this far....to admit it...what I'm afraid of..I'm stuck.  Stuck in being honest with myself.

I think I'm afraid of finding out who the real ME is.  I'm afraid I will find out that I have the ability to beat this.  I'm afraid I will find out that I have the ability to live the best life I can and it is a life worth living.  I'm afraid of finally having to feel the real emotions,  and figuring out at the end of the day, who "ME" is.  Oh my hell that is freaking terrifying...being afraid of yourself is scary as hell.

Typing that..,,took me over an hour.  In between puking and typing...I got it out there.

I've done DBT before.  I know what the work is.  I know it isn't easy.  Nothing in life worth fighting for is easy.  I fear that a second go around won't work.  And if that is the case I don't know what will.  I know that I need to find acceptance with where I am at the moment.  That taking things one step at a time is the only way out.

Yet it is so f*cking terrifying.  I am acutely aware of who one of the psychologist working with this group is.  She is understanding, compassionate, and she knows how incredible difficult dealing with this shit is.  I know she only expects each participant to do the best she can do and be honest with herself (and them).  It is all anyone can ask and it has to be enough.

My options right now are limited.
Self sabotage is not an option.
I know that I need to find healing.

I know that finding acceptance in all of this will come.  In due time.  My options for this evening and the days ahead are to breathe and accept the challenges that lay ahead of me and accepting this group is something that would be in my best interest (along with whatever type of treatment that is needed).

Not sure where I heard this quote....it fits perfectly with today's theme.

"Sometimes the most courageous act is showing love and kindness towards yourself..."

I need to remember this. I want to remember this. At the very moment I can't remember it.

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.

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.)

Cry for Help? Maybe. Maybe, not.

This evening after a long day of appts (5 different appts folks...3 of the 5 were shoulder related, an appt with my therapist and a massage....thank heaven for wonderful massage therapists!!!)

When I got in my car and ready to head home I saw I had several private messages from our sons foster mom.  He turned 18 and has been on his own since he got out of jail a few months ago.  I keep tabs on him ever so often via FB. Sometimes more than others.

I've not heard from the FM for a while. I had just came out of my last appt...a therapy appt with J*.  And I couldn't really decide if I should respond back or not.  My gut told me I should.  And so I did.  And one thing led to another in a 2 minute conversation and I gave her my cell to call me since I was going to be driving and couldn't be texting and driving.

For the next 50 minutes the range of emotions went from pure rage, heartbreak over and over, anger, and over and over.

Our mental health system is broken.  It is broken in a really bad way.  Our police departments are not equiped to deal with people who are ill.  This young man is more than ill.  He's not received transition services and is on his own.  In a world that is cruel.  Doctors are cruel.

He needs help.
He doesn't have the mental or emotional capacity to ask for help.
Beacuse he is now 18 and his OWN guardian he can refuse help.

Today because of his mental illness he broke cour orders to and showed up at FM's house (they have phone contact and she sets up meetings with him in public only bc he's hurt her before).  When reminded he needed to leave he insisted that 'he was worried she was in jail or the hospital or something because she hadn't returned or taken his calls.  He WANTED help."  She called 911. And the small town police department, who are tired of hearing about/from him arrived.  He resisted arrest bc he broke court orders not to be there.  He was then tazed.  NOT ONCE...but TWICE.  He's asking for help. On more than one occasion in the last few weeks.  He's just not been able to 'ask' in the right ways. I believe strongly his emotional disabilities are getting in the way.

My heart aches for him. I've tried hard to distance myself. To protect myself and children.  Yet, this kid whom once called me mommy...whom...I was his mommy....he's hurting. He needs help. And doesn't have the ability to advocate for himself.  It is all so wrong.  So very wrong.  The system has failed this kid from the very day his birth mom abandoned him when he was 6 months old at her parents home.

It rips my heart apart.  I want to help him so incredible bad.  And I can't.  For my own mental health and safety.  And the safety of my children.

I came home and talked to my husband about my conversation with FM.  He seemed so incredible distant.  Concrete.  And just plain made it clear that 'he really doesn't care'.  I want to scream "how can you not care?"  I know. I know. He didn't say that. That is what I think and feel...that he doesn't care.

All I've ever wanted for this kid was for him to get the help he needed....for 14 yrs that has been my prayer.  I'm obviously praying for the wrong thing or not doing it faithfully enough...or something.

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.

Silence the Mind

It has been 2 months since I wrote this post "Loss".  Interesting how time moves so slowly at times.  Then at other times it seems it moves so quickly.  At the time I thought the days would never end.

The past trauma that resurfaced with my birth fathers death was never something I would have imagined happening.  Interesting enough, I had fantasized many times (even in recent months) that he died.  Sometimes, in those day dreams/wishes it was a horrible painful death just as hurt those around him.

I had the opportunity, and still do, to work extensively on the abuse/trauma at his hands.  As I work with my massage therapist on the mind/body portion of healing and with my therapist, I am sure that healing will come in due time.  When I am ready.

At this moment, I sit in my recliner trying to make sense of some of this stuff.  I woke around 2am (pretty normal these days) in a world of pain.  As I laid in bed, for the first time in a few weeks, I tried to make sense of what the thoughts and feelings that were surfacing.  Initially thinking I woke because it was the usual time at night and I was due up for pain medication.  I laid there for a few moments, noticing what my body was telling me.  Trying hard to NOTICE everything about that moment...why I was awake.

This is just a 'little bit' of the thoughts that raced in and out of my thinking...
Is it positional?
Is it pain in my shoulder or low back? or both?
What kind of pain?
Do I really need to take pain medication? Would plain tylenol work?
Should I try to move position.  No, medication is needed.  Shit, I can't move my fingers again bc they are numb. Damn this is positional.
As I sit up there is pain EVERYWHERE.  I hear R*'s voice.
He can't hurt you. He's dead. Remember?

As I continue to get out of bed...noticing the overall heavy feeling that my entire body has.  I waited to take pain medication.  Trying hard to silence the mind.  Thinking over and over how incredible shit face that these feelings/thoughts are.

By this time I'm fully aware that I do need to take something for pain. My shoulder is screaming and it isn't just the mind/body/trauma piece that is screaming.  It is...time for me to take medication.  So I do.  And I make my way to my recliner.

There are specific memories that woke me up. I'm pretty sure they are connected with the overall pain I experienced upon waking up. Which happens often. I'm not sure what to think or how to feel about some of the the different memories that continue to surface.

 It is nearly an hour and half later and I am still wide awake. I shouldn't be wide awake.  The combination of medication should have been enough to make me fall asleep.

Mixture of not feeling safe. I check the doors and make sure they are all locked. I have convinced myself that maybe R* really didn't die.  He is a sneaky bastard.  He's not been out of jail less than a year. I'm sure he had some other reason he got in trouble and was due back in jail.  Why not fake your own death?  Rational thinking, I know. What can I say...it is nearly 4am.  And I've had 2 hours of sleep.  I know he is no longer living.  I have received the Medical Examiner's report and cause of death.  And I'm reminded all the more reason why I really REALLY really need to stop taking narcotic pain medication.

I don't resort to taking a hot bath or any other sort self harm behaviors.  Which, in many ways is progress.  Regardless of the suicidal ideation, negative self talk, and all over hopelessness that comes along with the shame and guilt associated with this shit.  I didn't resort to some of the things that easily numb out that pain.

 Stronger by Kelly Clarkson comes on the radio that I have playing on my radio.  I'm reminded as I listen to this song and write this blog post at the same time that I have a therapy appointment with Jodi in a few hours. And I really need to get some sleep and the need to silence my mind is really important.

Hopefully, this middle of the night random ramblings and purging of thoughts will assist in some of the silencing that is needed.

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.  

Finding Hope - Unreedemed

I've posted this video before.  This evening it is speaking to my heart.  It is what I need to hear.  I need to find that hope....I don't know where that Grace will be.  It will appear...and I know in my heart it will be amazing.  It just may take me longer to find it.

Spiral downward

I'm home. I didn't go far to begin with.  I didn't really have anywhere to go.  And leaving w/o any essential items such as clothes makes it even harder to just show up somewhere.

I found a country road and drove back and forth for a rather long time.  Thoughts of missing one turn or the other were rampid as ever.  I've gotten in my car and left before.  I've went somewhere.  Tonight, I didn't have it in me to get out of my car or do anything other than just drive.  And drive.

And then I got tired of doing that and trusted myself less and less.

And so I came home and I sat in my driveway.  For several hours.  With my sunroof open.  Tears falling.  It wasn't very pretty.  My husband texting me I needed to come home.  Wanting to know where I was. Demanding that I call my therapist office.  Refusing to do anything but just sit there w/the sunroof open.

I've spiraled into a deep hole today.  It's been in the works for a long time.  I keep thinking that tmw will be different.  And tmw isn't ever different.  I had high hopes for today.  And then I screwed it up.

Obstacle

Trauma sucks.  It has reared its ugly head in my life right now (and in the past) in a way that is much more than I can handle at moments.

Insomnia sucks on a good day.  When it is related to trauma...it sucks even more.  It is in the wee hours of the morning and I"m sitting at my kitchen table.  Once asleep night terrors wake me up or they don't and my husband ends up waking me up.  Wondering "why are you breathing like that?" and many other things as he attempts to wake me, make sense of it for himself, and get me to talk to him.  There is no talking about anything. I give up and get out of bed.

The last week has thrown some things smack dab in my face.  It may appear that I've completely fallen apart.  This isn't really true.  I've come unglued.  Fraid and tattered a bit.  But I'm holding on little by little.

I've managed to stay away from self harm/destruct behaviors over the last month or so.  It hasn't been easy.  It is a slippery slope. And one that I've come close to falling down many times. Each time I've picked myself up, choosen to not engage myself in the battle and continued to move fwd and face the pain and ugliness at that moment.  J* mentioned today she wanted to hear me "own it...and mean it".  I will OWN IT...I KNOW I've done it.

At times that obstacle of staying on top of the slope is to much.  Nothing is accomplished.  Nothing is gained.  Everything is lost.  All of the internal dialog work to find a safe space and not engage in self harm.........it was gone in a split second tonight.  All to numb/drown out the pain.

Here...Kind Of.

Having a hard time picking myself up over the last few days.  It's a different kind of low.  One filled with anger and grief.  Which ends up being filled with just plain depressed.

I find myself all over the map when it comes to thinking about how life turned out.  What the future holds for him.  What our furture holds with him.  I go from thinking about picking up a card and sending it to him, to wanting to change all our phone numbers (he knows my husbands number), to asking my husband to contact his FM and setting up a lunch date with him, and the internal dialogue goes on and on and on...

Why is it so damn tough to know what the right thing to do is?

People I Want to Punch

*The birth family who abused him.
*The placing social worker who lied to us.
*The therapist who blamed me for not loving him enough.
*The psychiatrist who blamed me for not loving him enough, for being to harsh, for parenting him in a way that was not the norm.
*The RTC/Foster Care agency therapist who believed that I was the abuser when he was abusing me.
*And anyone else who pointed their fingers at me.  Which was everyonne.  Everyone in my life. 
*My husband for making me give him the ultimatem to choose either our younger children or the child who could not/would not/choose not to attach and would/choose not to be 'safe" to be around.  For making him resent me at times for that choice.
*The group home person who called my husband a few years ago and got this kid in contact w/my husband and re-opening up the grief and level of fear on my part.

Those people....I often want to punch.  Tonight.....there is no often.  I would do it.

I'm angry tonight.  Down right vile and angry.  Of course when I can't sleep I get angry. I close my eyes, come close to falling asleep and wake in a furry of fear w/the 8yr old child he was in my home standing over me while i slept, with a knife in his hand.....these are the things that haunt me.  Somehow, I'm supposed to find happiness and be proud of him.  Fuck that.

 I'm angry for many reasons. Not sleeping has nothing to do with it.  I know that anger doesn't help grief. I know that anger fuels depression. I dont' much give a shit. 

I'm not a violent person.  I say or think about hitting things often.  I don't. Yet, the urge tonight is there like it never has been before. 

I know this is more a topic for my disruption blog.  Here's the deal...the people that read that...they want to tell me positive things.  Fuck you probably will too.  Go right ahead.  I will read them. I will not agree with them. I will not even be angry at your for doing it.  But damn it all....it wasn't because of me.  And I don't want to hear that. I don't want to hear that I should be happy for him.  Because you know what...I'm not.  I'm fucking pissed.  I'm pissed that HE CHOOSE to not heal.  He was given all the tools.  He was given everything he needed.  He continued to choose..and STILL DOES to be violent.  And I'm angry that he choose these things.  He choose to not accept my love.  He choose to not let me be his mom.  To love him.  To be there for him and heal his hurts.  And damn it all I'm fucking pissed off --- at him!

Million and One Pieces

That is what my heart has been broken into this evening.  I have done fairly well over the last few weeks emotionally.  Up and down as usual.  Tonight the sense of failure, guilt, and grief have overcome me in a way that I can't even describe.

I was looking for something on Facebook.  I came across my adopted son (whom we disrupted) foster moms FB page.  Actually, it was her pictures of her dogs that I came across from a mutual friend.  I've seen her page before. 

I'm not processing this information very well.  He graduated a year early.  A YEAR early.  I did not get to take his senior portraits.  I did not get to see him graduate.  I did not get to be there for his special moments.  I know I made that choice.  I know I made the choice to protect our younger children.  It hurts no less.  I know he made it against all odds and I should be happy for him.  I can't see that right now.  It brings with it a mixture of many thoughts and feelings.

Why doesn't this shit ever happen before therapy appts?  (J* answer that one for me, please!)

I started a blog post earlier in the day from my phone....I just deleted it.  It would have been very blog share-worthy. It was positive, upbeat, encouraging, and maybe even helpful for someone who may be looking for a little bit of hope that it gets better.  I don't spell proof my posts...typos and all...I decided that post needed to be spell checked.  And then as the tears streamed and in a fit of whatever you might call it...I decided it wasn't share-worthy and deleted it.

I'm making no sense, I know.  It will be an early night for me tonight.  Going to bed and pulling the covers over my head....somehow wishing this experience never happened....ever!

Sh*t or Get off the Pot

This morning I started my day by making the trek to see the "new" surgeon.  He is conservative that is for sure.  I wonder have asked myself over and over in the last few weeks...today..."Did you make the right choice by choosing this guy over his best friend and fellow surgeon.  I will probably never know the answer to this question.  Since this is a work related injury and I'm on my 2nd opinion since the Jackhole, I saw a month ago...I cant change doctors.  Which, is fine with me.  He's not ready to jump into doing surgery until he is confident he knows 100% what is going on and what the source of my pain is.  However, I'm struggling w/being patient.  Patience and I don't always get along.  And this is one of those times. 

I left the clinic today thinking that old saying my mom used to say to all.the.freeking.time.  "Just shit or get off the pot".  And that is where I'm at.

Until then...I remain w/the same restrictions.  I return in 3 weeks.  In hopes for more answers.  He gave me an answer today as to what the problem is right now...  adhesiv.e capulitis....AKA:  froze.n s.houlder.  I've got a long road to recovery, I think.  Which is depressing.

I returned to work for a few hours and then made the trek back to the same side of town I was on earlier in the day to see H*.  I have seen her weekly for the last 3 weeks.  Last week and today some pretty heavy stuff came up.  As in staying present was very difficult.  I struggled getting dressed. I struggled sitting in her office afterwards talking for a few moments.  The fight or flight internal mode was in high gear.  As she shared w/me her experience and what she felt happened and the shifts she felt, I thought I didn't think about it on the same level.  She felt like there was a shift.  Shift in energy, shift in my own personal trauma work, shift in general.  An area that she has never felt to be an issue before screamed very loud and clear.  It was a bit of a different shift for me.  I felt the shift and definately agree that it was different than usual.  I got up feeling stuck.  Stuck and unbalanced so to speak.  The intense pain and areas that were screaming to me while I was there....left shortly after I left her home/office. 

I had a psychiatrist appt w/K*.  I sat outside her office trying to gather my thoughts.  After getting to a place where I was feeling pretty good I went in to my appt.  As usual, K* irked me.  I let her know she was irking me.  I also made it loud and clear that I was not going to continue to have the disagreement that we were having.  She was agreeing with the first Jackhole surgeon.  She did not hear what I was attempting to say.  She was not hearing that I've followed the treatment plan for my shoulder 100%+.  She had it stuck in her head that "after your WLS you ate nothing but popcorn....when asked you said nope not supposed to but....its good and thats what I want".  SHe failed to remember that was the ONLY FOOD (other than toast) that didn't make me vomit for months on end.  When she got stuck on that fact...I got a bit pissed.  And made it VERY CLEAR she could "remember those things if she so choose...and that was 8 fucking years ago (okay I didn't say fuck but came fucking close),  I also made it clear that I would not change her perception, thoughts, or whatever it was that needed to be changed. SHe could think those things if she wanted.  But she did not have all the facts and I was no longer going to debate or argue the point w/her.  I have a new surgeon. He will make an informed choice about surgery and if I'm a canidate based on his findings. Not based on a dx on my chart for which I was never questioned about."  I got my point across. Which was good.

The guilt factor is really coming on hard after yesterdays blow up w/little man.  He sees someone at the same clinic that my pdoc/therapist work at.  I took the kids to dinner after our appts.  I asked little man how his appt was and was there anything he wanted to share w/me.  His face got red, looked away and said nope.  I poked a little bit and said "Did you talk w/Dr. K* about mommy's bad day ysterday and how I got upset and yelled at you?"  He sheepishly shook his head yes.  I told him I was proud that he could talk to him and he was honest w/me about it.  I followed the conversation up with "I hope you were able to remember that mommy did apologize?"  He didn't remember me coming to him afterwards in tears, telling him there was nothing that he did that was his fault and it was all mommy....and blah blah blah...  My heart sank.  And the last several hours guilt has crept in and I feel horrible.  I don't want to be that mom.  I've tried so fucking hard to change that and not blow up at my kids.  The damage is done.  Damn it all.

My heart continues to be heavy as I attempt to find and describe what that safe space will be, how I will get myself there, and what it would look like...in moments of distress, suicidal ideations, and severe downward spirals.  The heaviness comes from the resistance of doing the work.  It is work that I know needs to be done.  Work that I know in my heart I'm ready to do...to move fwd...to shit and get off the pot..  The other part is being able to describe those spaces...I was able for the first time in a very very long time....remove myself from the situation yesterday, to that spot that is safest and quietest for me....I was able to consiously choose NOT to use the hottest water possible...instead just hot enough to be soothing and drown out what needed to be drowned out at that moment.  In doing so, after using all the hot water, I was able to return to what I was doing, attempt to repair the damage w/little man (which i realize today didn't work) and move on. 

I've rambled in this post more than I ever intended to.  It's late.  Everyone is asleep.  The demon puppy is asleep and has finally stopped terrorizing everything/one insight. 

I blog for my own therapy.  Tonight...I needed that therapy.  I've wrote several blog posts and have them in the drafts.  Most likely they will never be published.  And maybe someday, when I'm not in a vulnerable space, when I'm able to speak about the sexual abuse and other crap....I will share them.  For now, it's off my chest.  And I know that I don't have to share them w/anyone but myself.

Silence the Mind

Silence the Mind....holy buckets is this ever true!!  My sgtruggles today are just that....the mind.  The constant chatter.  The constant negative whirlwind of activity. 

I could somewhat feel this coming on.  I hoped and prayed that this time would be different.  Oh my head did I ever.  Actually, I think I have wrote this before.  I know I've told J* this before. 

Last night as I sat in my dark living room; no tv, radio, noise of any kind.  No computer.  Nothing.  Just sitting in my husbands recliner....in complete silence and dark.  Trying hard to silence the whirlwind of thoughts. 

Earlier in evening before my night went from crap to shit in .02 seconds, I limit (more than I already have been) the blogs that I read.  I've had 2 separate blog posts today that just increased my 'you suck(ed) mindset'.  I try very hard to read w/an open mind, heart, and take little to no offense.  After reading the 2nd post...I have decided to scale way back for a few days.  Somehow, I need to find some balance and not add insult to injury.

When I Least Expect It

((EDITED: hit enter before I was done)

Overall, I've had several good days.  There have been moments and even hours that have been tough.  That is life.  We all....regardless of whether you struggle with depression or any sort of mental health illness....will have tough moments in life.  And in those moments, I try to remind myself...that this is what life is all about.

The longer/more good days I have the less I tend to panic when those bad moments /days hit.  And then there are moments like tonight..where I'm hit.  Unexpected.  And there is only one way out. It is in those moments that I find myself more vulnerable.  And those are the moments that tend to scare me the most. 

This evening, I spent a rather long time stopped along side the interstate.  Rational enough that I knew I needed to pull over; compose myself and continue on home.  Yet, irrational enough that it took me a very long time to "continue" on.  I knew at that moment if I countined to keep driving....it would be ugly. I attempted making a few calls to people I knew would distract me from the inevitable.  Instead; I sat for quite sometime. I didn't continue on on my own.  I had a State Trooper stop and see if I needed help.  Dear Lord, I wanted to say something more than "Sir, I pulled over because I needed to call and text someone."  He made a comment that nothing is that urgent and he knew by my plates I wasn't far from home.  I responded with a "yes, sir...I know I'm close to home.  However, I needed to compose myself. It is a tad hard to drive and have a good cry at the same time".  I assured him I would soon be on my way.  And that I indeed was okay.  He offered to check up on me in a little while at my home.  And I reassured him that it was best if he didn't.  PTSD would rear it's ugly head if a police officer came to our door...for both of my children.  I gave him my DL and cell number and welcomed him to call but please do not stop by my house.....

I received a call a few short minutes ago..