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.

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

*To the Voice in My Head*

Dear Self,

I wish it was as easy as this little purple blurp of a saying says. You know... "I'm not listening to you anymore because you are not nice to me."  If that was the case we would all be so much better off in life.

Right?

It isn't that easy.  That voice has been pretty freeking loud the last few days.  Hell it is always loud.  Somedays it is easier to quiet that voice than others.  It is really loud right now.  At the wee hours of the morning or night, whichever you call it...it seems to be even louder than the rest of the day.  Really loud right now.

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.

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.

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!! 

~What WLS Didn't Do~

This has been a very tough post for me to write.  The thoughts, feelings, swirling has been more than I care to admit.  This post is for me more than it is for anyone else.  If you happen to get something out of it; great.  If not, as I said...it is more for me more than anyone else. I hope and pray that one day I can look back and have the same thoughts/feelings that the young lady I will link to in this post has about herself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A fellow blogger and trauma momma wrote a blog post today that didn't settle so well with me.  Let me be sure to point out....I love her post. I think it is awesome on all LEVELS.  It just didn't sit well w/in my own personal self....thus the reason for this post.  Over the last several hours, I've started to email Christine and then deleted it.  I've started this blog post and then deleted it.  Rinse and repeat about 20 times. 

Yet everytime I go back and read her post, I get something different from it.  Something that hits a very raw wound with in myself.  I try very hard to not think of myself as broken.  The broken mantra has been brought up in therapy several times.  Often J* tell me she thinks that I have this mindset.  Often I think to myself she must be crazy because I've never made this comment to her; nor do I think about it.  I understand where she is coming from in her theme with this.  Yet, when I read this blog post I can't help but think and feel broken. 

When I had gastric bypass 7.5 years ago, they gave me all the tools that I needed to loose weight.  I had nutritional appts, psych appts, surgical appts,  group support, and all that jazz.  I attended every single support group meeting AND was a SPEAKER at several of them over the course of a 2-3 year span of time pre and post op.    Sure, I was given the tools to keep the weight off, kind of.  What was never addressed was how I went from being 135 lbs to 330 lbs. And when I went back down to 145 lbs....everyone freeked the hell out!!  I was dx with anorexia.  I was hospitalized for anorexia.  It wasn't until that low point in my life....was anything EVER addressed in the realms of how I went from 135 lbs to 330 lbs to 140 lbs.  The tools at that point were to medicate me.  And that began an even larger battle...a 5-6 year battle.  I'm no longer 140 lbs.  I've gained a ton of weight back.  The negative self-dislike (hate) for my body is off the charts.

I learned from this experience it was better to stuff those things that got me to 330 lbs.  My current battle with my self esteem is as raw and broken as it ever has been.  There, I said it...broken!  You can say distorted or whatever you wish. 

Telling myself:  The truth is: you are sexy.
By: WelcomeToMyBrain.net ....is really stinking hard.  It is all I can do to be present and accepting of my body during a massage let alone feel sexy or anything else.  I dont' look at myself in the mirror other than to blow my hair dry. Having sex repulses me on so many different levels (some abuse related and some pure self hate for my own body).  I can't tell you the last time I looked at my butt.  Dear Lord, taking a picture of my butt...just thinking about it makes me physically ill. 

I've rambled. I know that this post is all over the place.  The moral of the story (remember this is for me) is:  Trauma sucks, abuse sucks, I know first hand how loosing weight will not change the the disorted (broken), stinking thinking.  OI!  Do I ever. 

I also know...it is high time that the issues need to be addressed.  I've attempted to change my thoughts around Christine's theme of Sexuary.  My dh and I've had several conversations over the last few weeks on this very topic.  And it all comes back to the core issues at hand.

Black Hole

It is a long and tough uphill battle.
Climbing out of a black hole.
Nothing hurts worse than depression.
Depression is a lying bastard.  As a fellow blogger stated recently.
I don't see any light at the end of the tunnel.  Actually, I do see a light at the end of the tunnel.  Just need to remind myself....there is a light. It is just turned off sometimes.
I am praying, that somehow...someone will come along and poke a hole in the darkness with a pin and let some light in. 
I know that at the end of the day (or the black hole) it will be me that has to poke that hole.
However, right now I don't even have the ability to find a pin, let alone use it to poke a hole in the darkness.
I have no mental, emotional or physical energy about half of the day.  Today....proved to be a very trying day.  Today...proved to be a day where anxiety medication would have at the very least taken the edge off. I've ate nothing and that is a true test of my anxiety is bad. I know this is somewhat normal given the circumstances around todays events.  However, in the past during stressful days like this having some sort of way to take the edge off....helped.
I feel as if I have nothing left to give to anyone.  Not my husband. Not my children. Not my parents. Not my job.  And definately, not myself. 
If I could will away this deep depression and hole that I've found myself in; I would in a heartbeat.
I've thought hard and often with making a deal with the devil to just feel somewhat whole and normal again.  To laugh, cry, sing, and more importantly to just care about life in general.
It is a long and tough uphill battle....I know. I'm climbing it and it sucks giant donkey balls.

What Next?

I am 7+ years post gastric bypass surgery.  I'm not thin.  I did get thin the year or so after my surgery.  And during that time, things kind of fell apart in the mental health department.  Until my surgery, the medication that I took obviously helped for the most part.  However, the last 7 years has been an up and down ride.  One filled with much frustration, pain, and grief all in one. 

For a very long time after my surgery I said over and over that I would "do it all over again....regardless" of where/what I was enduring at that point in time. 

Today, would not be one of those days.

I've gained a good bit of the weight I lost back.

I had to have a hysterectomy because of iron issues.

I am struggling w/significant iron issues - even after having hysterectomy.

I've been hospitalized a few different times for various different reasons bc of illness' and other issues.

Malabsorption is an issue.....large issue. 

Today, would be one of those days....where I would tell you hell no...I would not do it again.

I contacted the surgical team after leaving a therapy appointment this morning.  The nurse and one of the doctors were great.  Offered to contact my therapist and psychiatrist right away.  The family practice doctor contacted the private mental health clinic that I go to while I was there in the clinic.  Both clinicians I see were in session.  Which is understandable.  The nurse relayed a message from the dr. that suggested I make an appt with the Bariatric Team Psychiatrist.

So up the stairs I went to the 3rd floor to make an appt.  And was told the first appt he had available was "February 27 or 28..." RIGHT BEFORE I go to Orlando.  I did not make the appt. Discouraged and beaten down I left.  Before I did, the receptionist said to me "____ we can get you in at *xyz* clinic with in the next week or two."  At that point, for the 2 or 3rd time today, I fell apart.  The only thing I could muster up the strength to say, I know wasn't very smart, was...."by then I will be 6 ft under".  And I left.

I don't know what is next.

I know that I'm more than frustrated.

I know that I'm beaten down.

I know that I'm discouraged.

I know that I'm trying to find something to hold on to.

After eating lunch, phone call to one of dear Soul Sisters, and a trip to L.ands E.nd - I headed home.

went straight to bed and didn't emerge till dinner was done.

 As soon as my children are in bed, I will be returning to my bed.  One of few things will happen. I will wake up and this shit will be gone. Fixed. And just a horrible dream.  That would be the best outcome.  And the only outcome I care to think about tonight.

Some Days.....

All you can really do is...

And for today...this is what I'm doing.  One breath at a time.  One step at a time.  The TV was not turned on until my son came home from school.  There was no radio.  There was very little sensory input into my brain.

I woke up in the wee hours of the night after having a rather disturbing nightmare.  One that often creeps its way into life and distrubs my sleep.  Last night was not such a good night for such thing to happen.  I woke up with a headache to go along with the panic that seemed to over-ride a good nights sleep.

My alarm was set for 4:10am.  My 2nd alarm was set for 4:15am.  Snooze was hit for both alarms.  I had fallen backk to sleep less than an hour prior.  It was do freeking early.  My head hurt. My neck hurt. My shoulders hurt. My face was on fire.  There was no way I could safely do my job today.  I fought the fight.  Fought the fact that I really can't be calling sick.  I fought w/my own thoughts and negative self talk as I laid in bed staring at the clock.  I've been rather proud of myself....it has been almost 2 full weeks and I've used no FMLA and not called in sick once.  Whoa...come Sunday morning I would have made had 8 full hours of sick time as the new pay period started.  This has not happened since the beginning of summer.  I fought that battle thinking I could just go in for my first part of my shift.  Then I sat up, still fighting the negative thoughts that I should stay home/should go to work.  Walked into the bathroom (which is 20 feet from my bed thankfully) and puked my guts out.  I sat on the bathroom floor puking, sobbing, mad at myself, mad at the world, cursing at everything and everyone.....and holding my head bc it hurt so damn much.  I managed to get back to my bed, speed dial #9 is dispatch....I need speed dial at 4am in the morning bc I could barely make out the 9.  "This is _ calling in for today. No I will not be back for my 2nd piece of work. Yes. Yes. Self. I will be back tmw." click.  I then closed my eyes and it was 7:45 am.  My dh hands on my face.  "You have a fever....do u want to pick up _ or pick up _ and take _ to the dentist and shopping for Sunday outfits".  No, I have a migraine...I need to call Dr. _ office and see about getting in. Maybe if he adjusts my neck I will be better.  Maybe if I just don't move or think or takl to anyone all effing day...I will feel better.  He left to take one of our kids to school. I laid still.  Texted a friend.  Send a FB chat to another friend.  And closed my eyes.  I was not moving.  Shortly after dh came home and brought me breakfast.  Seriously...I laid flat on my back and did not move and ate 2 sandwhiches.  Pig. I know. 

I got into see Dr. M for my neck.  I felt so much better immediately.  The release was amazing.  Another friend text me and told me she was 'late' for work (which she really wasnt but its a stupid system) and she was off for the day unexpected.  I was just leaving the vet w/our new puppy.  (Vet and my Dr. were 5 min. apart).  We were close to her house and so we met for lunch. 

I came home and again spent 2 hrs laying flat in my bed. Not moving. Wishing and praying and hoping that this massive headache of mine would LEAVE.  Be gone. 

I can't tell if it is stress, fear, anxiety, phsyical, or what induced. 

I'm laying on the couch w/my son.  He is watching old cartoons.  I need to lay on the couch. In my room I find myself swirling downward and the guilt, shame, grief, denial, the you're not good enough, you eff'd up...and all that negative crap that feeds into suicdal thinking gets fed into. 

So for now...I'm laying on the couch.  With my new quilt that was made by one of my Soul Sisters mother for a fundraising auction, puppy on one side of me and son on the other.

Saturday is a new day.
I'm hoping that Saturday will be the day I snap out of this current spiral.

How I Stayed Alive..

It has been almost 6 years since my therapist told me she wanted me to check this book out from the library.  My husband bought it for me the day after I was admitted to the hosptial for anorexia 6 years ago this October.  I read the book in one day.  And then again the next day...and the next...and the next.

I pulled it out this morning. Hoping I can find something different in it this time around.  Sometimes refreshers are good. 

Confession

Goodness is this ever the truth!