It's Time To Talk...Stigma

While it may be my goal to write this blog and begin to talk about my experiences living with Dissociative Identity Disorder, I am in many ways very invisible.  There are many who have read this blog over the last few years who know who I am.  Yet, at the same time there will be many who don't know me. I contemplated beginning a new blog where, I can express my views and be honest about my life, my difficulties, my experiences....safe in knowing that no one would know who I was. I have decided it is high time I begin to talk.

This week I have been thinking about why I chose in most circumstances not to discuss my diagnosis. I realized that my fears surrounding the stigma of mental illness really do impact my everyday life.  It is time to talk.

I guess to the outside world looking in I may seem very normal...whatever that might be.   I do not carry a label saying I have mental health issues. However, many who know me know that I do.  I do not carry a label that says "I have D.I.D.".

Obviously, when I meet people for the first time, I tend to skip over the fact that I have DID, and the fact that I have been hospitalized for severe depression and suicidal ideation. I do not lie. I just do not expand on certain issues.  I have a crap load of medical professionals in my life currently. Unless asked, I do not bring this up. Again, I will not lie. However, I do not expand. It is my expectation that they will ask.

My birth father is deceased.  My mother and step-father are still alive.  I do not ever say I was a victim of child sexual abuse and that one of my parents did the best she could and the other was the abuser.  I will tell you that my abuser ended his life a few years ago.  A few years to late....

The fear of rejection is fairly huge. I chose to limit what I tell people, even if I have known someone a long time I am often not upfront and open.  Why?  Truth be told I would like you to judge me as a person and not a label.  To see me as an equal who can contribute to society and can make a difference to this world that I live in.  I want you to see me as a wife and mother of two beautiful, well adjusted and smart teenagers and a wife.  So I try and seamlessly interact with society, despite everything I work at me fitting in to a world that at times is extremely frightening, triggering and scary.

It isn't easy for someone with DID to live in this world and appear normal.  I often switch between parts, my voice changes, my facial expressions change, my mannerisms change.  For many years I have tried very hard to try and plan and prepare for everything just to look normal, you see just being out there and being adult....it takes a huge toll on me...on anyone with DID.

I find it extremely hard to justify why I am so forgetful.  Why am I loosing track of a conversation half way through?  Why I have to keep time in my schedule free...just so I can either rest and recover.  Yet the reality is people don't recognize instantly that I have DID.  They do not realize when we have switched between parts/alters unless of course we react in a very clear physical way or the change is very drastic, they will just assume I am forgetful or pre-occupied with something else.

My husband, best friend (who lives 5 states away) and therapist...they know me well enough to know that these memory lapses are because of DID.  Only my therapist can tell instantly when there has been a change. My bff when we are together is also able to tell instantly.  My husband...he is learning and slowly figuring it out.  Often, my husband is able to prompt me during discussions because he knows where the forgetfulness is coming from.  He attends 99% of all doctor appts with me because of this very reason.

Society views mental health with scepticism.  The statistic that 1 in 4 people will struggle with some sort of mental health related issue....society tells us that it won't happen to us.  Indeed, with the 1 in 4 statistic, you know a minimum of 1 person who struggles with mental health issues.

Fear and stigma surround us.  There are tv programs about mental health, however it is often more for entertainment and just creates more stigma in my opinion.

People do not generally know anything about D.I.D, it is not the most talked about issue.  There is VERY Little coverage in the media about dissociative disorders.  Why? Because the underlying issue is trauma. Media doesn't want to talk about trauma.

Being victim of child abuse and young adult who was victim of abuse leaves a stigma that goes above and beyond mental health.  As a young adult, I was told it was my fault. I tend to hid the shame and the guilt I carry and have carried since being a very young child.  As a very young child I was told I was bad.  The harsh reality is of course I was a child/young adult, who was hurt.  Who suffered at the hands of adults and and employer who should have protected me or at the very least not hurt me.

Ultimately, I tend not to tell people about having a diagnosis of D.I.D because I am ashamed, not of the diagnosis or my parts but of what has happened to me.  I carry an extreme amount of shame that belongs to someone else. My abusers. One who is dead. One who is not.  This is my own self created stigma, I know.

Admitting that I have D.I.D means I am admitting not just to them but to myself, that what happened to me is a reality and as much as I sometimes wish I could, I can't deny my past.  I cant wash it away. I somehow need to embrace it. I need to someone how take up the mantel of rebuilding a life out of my past.

I want to live with this diagnosis and all of its difficulties and challenges. I want to not be a victim but a survivor. I do not want to be a statistic of someone who had a mental illness that is not commonly recognized and went misdiagnosed for 15 years while seeking mental health treatment.

My personal challenge in the coming weeks and months is to start dealing with the stigma. If people stop talking to me, judge me or ignore me. So be it. That is their problem not mine.

I am who I am.

I am the 1 in 4.

It is about damn time I begin talking....

Dear Suicidal Thoughts...

Trigger Warning.
Talk of suicide and swearing.

~~~~

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.  

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.

TMS - Day 2 - Intense Anger

Today was the first full day of treatment. All nearly 90 minutes of it.
It was just myself and the technician.  So much nicer not having an audiance glaring at every twitch and move I make.

So much nicer not having several people there.  As I said previously, so far every single person has been nothing but awesome.  My perception of the entire process isn't as awesome.

Which brings me to the next piece...

The tolerance to treatment was a little bit easier.  The unraveling was not any easier.  Actually, it was a tad bit more unraveling than than the first day.

Over the last few days I've been incredible angry.
Angry that this is where I'm at.
Angry that this is the alternative.
Angry.
Angry that damn it this is my fucking life.

And then the anger subsides for a short time.
And then a variety of other emotions come to the surface.
And then before I know it the barrage of emotions...come crashing down...and I find myself in a pile of tears sobbing.

Because damn it all...this is my life
Because damn it all...I hate this.
Because damn it all...I hate that THIS is basically the only option I have left.

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

~~~~~~~~
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

~Uphill Battle to Get Back Up~

A few weeks ago I wrote this post "Getting Back Up...is the hardest thing to do".  If you have not read it I encourage you do so. I also encourage you to comment and let me know that you...are choosing to get back up. This battle isn't easy. I don't recall ever being told it would be.  I have been told it would be worth it.  I don't really know that I agree.  However, in the meantime I have nothing to loose by trying and everything to loose by not trying. 

I've been sucker punched hard the last few weeks.  So much so that getting back up off the floor has been much harder than in times past.  There have been a few days in the last 2 weeks that I've not managed to get back up.  I'm not proud of those days.  I'm not going to beat myself up over them either.  Yesterday....yesterday...was one of those days....where I was sucker punched to the point of not being able to get up.  And so, I didn't.  Sure I got up....but I never got dressed...and ate just about anything in our house that contained gluten, sugar, and crap.  I didn't brush my hair. I didn't brush my teeth.  And one of the biggest clues to anyone close to me that something isn't right...is I hadn't showered...in several days.  Suggestions from my dh that I might feel better if I showered ended with him regretting saying anything to me.  

I tried hard to fight past it.  If you read my I Will Get Up Again and Again's FB page you might already know what happened later in the day.  I tried hard to fight past having face planted on the floor.  It didn't work so well.  I tried.  I really did. What followed wasn't all that pretty.

I'm thankful for my bestfriend who called and not knowing that I needed to hear her voice. Even if I ignored her call, sent a text telling her I wasn't up to talking, and then called her back.  Who when she hung up told me "I'm going to call you back in a little bit to make sure you went home. You better answer your damn phone when I call you back."

I hadn't went home.  I did answer her call.  And we talked about nothing for quite sometime.

I'm thankful for the friend who keeps pushing me past my comfort zone.  Encouraging me to dig deeper even when digging deeper hurts like hell and is even scarier.  Even when digging deeper brings up some ugly crap. I'm thankful for her persistence when I snap back she is able to snap right back, reminding me to check in w/what the trigger(s) may be at the time.

I got up and fought like hell against the voice in my head that said "* don't get up, stay in bed, you don't need to go..." And I showed up for sacrament. I sat in the foyer.  Spoke to noone. And got up and left as the tears became to much near the end of the closing hymn.  And somone was headed their way to sit near me.  Pretending I didn't see her coming my way, I got up and slipped out of the building.  During one of the talks my son came out to get a drink and go to the bathroom. He sat with me for a few moments and then disappeared back into the chapel.  I came home and sunk back into bed for a majority of the day. 

Confessions of a Thumbsucker

What are your confessions....

This is one of mine.  

Not something that I walk around announcing to the world on a daily basis.  It never occured to me when I had my surgery I would be unable to suck my thumb.  It took me a few weeks to pinpoint what it was that would be bothersome as I fell asleep at night.  The drugs numbed the emotional pain and attempted to take away the physical pain.

  Once I stopped taking v.icodin on a regular basis, for the first time since my surgery (about 6 weeks), some of the deeper emotional bs started to creep slowly back in the need/desire to self soothe has become more of an issue.  

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.

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. 

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

It's Scary...It's Wrong...I'm so Freeking Not Alone

Speechless....I can't even begin to tell you where my day has been.  The whirlwind of emotions.
The nearly 90 minute massage where I laid there fighting back tears.
Holding ice in my hands (as discussed in this video) in an attempt to not harm myself...bc that is just where I was at...at that moment. 

And then listening to this video............and post "Depression Lies"  by The Bloggess



.................it is a reminder that I am not alone.  YOU are not ALONE damnit!

F*ck this shit is scary.  And it is wrong.  So f*cking wrong.  As I stood at the fridge today w/my head resting on the freezer door.  My children outside playing.  My husband off in his own world doing heaven only knows what.  I stood there...and I had enough.  FB message came thru on my phone from my BFF:  'Tell me you are okay.  I'm terribly worried'.  At that moment.  At that very moment I was not okay.  I was never so close to harming myself than I've been in a long time.  There was no rational thinking on my part.  Depression had taken over.  The events of marital stress has/had taken its toll. Returning to work in a different department and being "on" as someone described to me today - taking it's toll.  Effexior kicking my mother effing ass as it has every damn day for the last month plus that I've been on it....and I was done.  DONE.  And there was only one way out. 

One of my children walked in the door.  My reminder of why I GET UP every day was right there in front of me.  He took off back out the door after he got the No-Bake Coconut/PB cookie he wanted that we had made last night.

And once again I rest my head on the freezer door.  One million thoughts racing.  Back and forth.  "Use the tools...what tools do you have....fuck the tools....pick up that phone that you just turned off and turn it back on....fuck the phone I'm not calling anyone..." over and over this mantra played out.  I reached in the freezer to get some ice for the pitcher of ice tea I had made.  I dropped the ice bucket on the floor.  As I bent over to pick up the bucket of ice I recalled something that one of the psychologists in the dbt group I attended said.  "Hold onto ICE....in both fists....You will NOT be able to keep the very same concentration of harming yourself.  It will give you the same release that cutting, banging your head, or whatever self harm behaviors you do..."

And she was right.

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!! 

RAW, LIES, UGLY....all 3 the same.

Sometimes getting to the raw truth underneath the thick exterior can be somewhat ugly. 
Being able to see past the lies that depression fills your mind, body and spirit with....can be ugly.
Today...that is right where I'm at.  In the ugliest of ugly.

Crazy

My heart is heavy (heavier) this evening as my dd questioned me about an upcoming therapy appt.  My dh and I had discussed that we would very cautiously approach this subject with her.  Not give her 'much time' to worry and fret over it before her actual appt.  He let it slip on Saturday and wasn't very good about giving her a 'soft and cautious' approach about why we have felt the need to make her an appt.

This afternoon my husband was gone w/my youngest to a chiropractor appt.  I came home from lunch w/my mom. I had a chiro appt early this morning followed by a massage.  Instead of working on my back and shoulder, H* felt the need to do energy work. I did not really clue her in as to how my weekened went but just said I have had a tough few days.  I left that appt w/her telling me to take plenty of time intergrating back into myself and not to drive until I was ready.  It was draining on all levels.  Driving nearly 3 hours round trip for a 1 hour lunch w/my mom was nice...but even more draining.

The moment I walked in the door my dd asks me about this appt.  I had no clue she knew.  I also had no clue that my husband let the shoe drop and didn't talk to her about it.  He told her it was because of something totally unrelated as to why.  Not knowing why and feeling completely terrified she went to the neighbor girl whom she is very good friends with and asked her "Why do you think my parents would want me to see a therapist". 

Long story short...only crazy people see therapist. She sees me as being crazy and depressed.  It didn't come out in that manner.  It came out in a 12.5 yr olds thinking. It hurts deep.  It was the things that came out...that fuel the "my kids deserve better" montra.  The montra that plays very loud more often than not.  Ultimately...my biggest fears...came out of my daughters mouth this evening. 

I tried to keep myself composed and in a "concerned mom mode".  I explained to her as gentle and loving as I could why her dad and I feel it would be best for her to see someone.  I hope and pray that she was able to know that I am coming from a place of love.  I pray she was not able to see the deep shame, pain and frustration...I tried so hard to keep from her.  She went on her way. I spent 45 minutes sobbing in a hot shower, trying to compose myself....I've not done so well.

I return to work in a few short hours.  My heart hurting more than it has in a very long time.  I have absolutely no clue who I will manage to get to the end of each day.....and the only thing that I can say right now or think is...fuckity fuck fuck.

~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.

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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.

Flicker of Light

There is a very small light flickering that has peeked into the darkness today.  Not very much.  Just enough to remind me that there is hope and healing.

I hurt my shoulder.  Again.  Suck.  There was an incident at work last night that 'made it worse'.  I've been struggling with constant pain over the last few weeks, not just in my shoulder.  This morning was rough.  Really rough.

I had emailed my massage therapist last night asking about any openings this week.  She touched base w/my husband this morning and worked me into her schedule today.  I made it very clear that I was in no space to do body work.  Very light body work, maybe. But nothing intense or close to it.  Just plain..."I need to feel better".  I left with my shoulder feeling 10x's lighter.  Thank Heaven.  I took the afternoon off of work and just plain focused on....being present!!  This was an area that was hard for me this morning during my massage. Pain usually triggers a 'check out' response.  With H* help and constant reminders there wasn't much of that happening.  Actually, I think one or two times she noticed that I had checked out and gently brought me back to a place of breathing into the pain and not shutting down. 

I attempted to remind myself of the wonderful woman I will be surrounded in March.  This time can not come soon enough. 

As I said in the title....there is a very small light flickering.  It is every so tiny.  It is there. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
FRIENDSHIPS

I've been reminded in a rather subtle manner...what true friendship...is really about.  For nearly 18 years, my BFF and I have told each other everything.  We've been through some pretty deep shit together.  She almost died.  I nursed her newborn son while she was in a drug induced comma for 4 weeks, followed by a 4 month hospital stay.  I did not nurse him the entire 4 months. Just in the beginning and then pumped milk till he was fully weaned off and on a special formula. We've seen tough times together.  And yet, as I have swam against the current, so-to-speak, the last few months...and the last month specifically AND the last week...she has been no where to be found.

I'm hurt.  Beyond hurt to be honest.  I've thought this over many times over the last few days.  Telling myself that I can't expect her to be supportive, loving, and there fore me.....if I dont' tell her what is going on.  Yet, I know she knows.  I've heard my husband on his phone.. said "She's not doing well right now.  She's in bed.  She's went to work and come home and went back to bed.  She says to text her...she will return text.  She can't talk to anyone right now.... blah blah blah"  I've heard these conversations.  I know he has had phone calls from her and I know he has told her to send me FB private messages or txt message. 

Just a lil' vent.
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COMFORT ZONE
I've stepped out of my comfort zone and spoke to another trauma momma regarding some pretty heavy stuff.  And...I've not fallen apart.  I'm hear. I heard her.  I think she needs to become LSW in my home state and start taking my insurance and work side-by-side with my therapist.  I *HEART* this woman.  I can't wait to kiss her....ONE month baby....ONE MONTH!!

Ugliest of Days

There have been many ugly days in recent months/weeks/days.  There have been many not so ugly days where life moves foward.  Not wonderful. Not horrible.  It moves and I carry along with it.  Hoping and praying that slowly there will be a shift.

I don't want to go in to details at this point.  I know I have laid almost everything out there in past posts.  Suffice to say that today was a very ugly day.  As in very ugly.  I wanted an out.  I looked for an out at every corner, thought, feeling, ect., ect..

I got in my car to come home from work.  Weather was not good. I pulled out of the parking lot from work and into main road to go home and there was a flood of emergency vehicles.  I was not prepared for what I saw.  It has left me physcially and emotionally ill for the remainder of the evening.  I need to go to sleep and it just isn't happening.  As I close my eyes, I hear the police officers talking.  I hear the man scream at the officers to not come any closer.  I see the flashing lights all over again coming at me from all angles.  Telling the police officer that "I need to be able to move my car and get out of the middle of the chaos...NOW."  And him telling me 'no m'am we need you to stay right here. We can't have anyone move their vehicles.  And me expressing to him in a rather blunt way that I HAD TO MOVE or they would need to have more emergency personal come my way.  I truly...was in a panic.  The officer realized the urgency and made sure I got out of the area. I called my dh. He blew me off. I called my friend L* she was shoveling and turned on the scanner and said just as flurry of activity took place even more...I will call you when you get home...just lookk forward.  I spoke to my dear friend S*.......  I was not prepared to see, hear, be witness to something that I personally think about on a regular basis.

 Someone lost their son, their father, their brother, their husband.....somoene potentially lost a beloved person in their lives tonight.  (I should say that I don't know the ultimate fate of this persons actions.  However, I know that it will be life changing/altering/ending!)

My 9 year old came into my room to put something away.  He saw that I was laying awake in bed and came over and said "Mommy, can I talk to you?"  And we laid in bed and had a great conversation about his week at school.  The good, the bad, the ugly and the awesome.

It is moments like this....laying in bed next to my son that remind me....why I was not the person on that bridge this evening.  Struggle as I might on a day-in-day-out basis with suicidal ideations....I will be damned if I will let this illness take from my children the very thing that they deserve. 

And so.....I continue to fight.  Fight hard.  It is ugly most days.  And not so much many others.  I may drive my husband, best friend, and therapist out of their minds...but damn it all...I will continue to fight and get up each and every damn day. 

For my children.
For me.

*updated to add:  This person involved was drunk.  Involved in a mult-car accident a few blocks away from this bridge.  Fled the scene and decided that jumping off the bridge was the lessor of two evils.  I don't drink and therefore, it is easy for me to call people who do and do stupid shit like this fucking idiots.  It is what it is...and he could probably thanks himself for being to drunk...that is probably what saved his life.  Just like the dumbass who drove their bike into a bus a few months ago....being so drunk saved his life.

~Raging on the Inside~ ****tons of swearing******

My follow up appt today went as I expected.  Fucktastic!

I'm pissed.  PISSED.  Fucking PISSED.

I sat for over an hour in my car after my appt today with my psychiatrist.
RAGING F*CKING MAD!!!

If I didn't have to work, hadn't already missed 10 hrs last week unpaid, and got myself in trouble bc I had a fucking tizzy ass fit and didn't make it to work OR call in....I WOULD STILL BE SITTING THERE!!

Because SITTING THERE....I can scream and cry and be fucking mad.

I can't scream, cry and rage when I walk in my doors of my house or work. 

Yes, being the bread-winner of my family has added stress.  Just ask my psychiatrist...she knows that. She states it.  She gives me her thoughts and quite fucking honestly she can shove them up her ass.  And because of that fucking stress....of loosing my job AND loosing my health insurance....I had to go to work today.  I dont' know how many days I can keep this up.  I really don't.  Then what?

Obviously, therapy isn't going to help or fix this shit.  It is up to me.  Obviously, I'm not doing my part.  I guess fucking not.  I guess the fact that I threw the bottle of meds at the cupboard and up so I couldn't reach them wasn't doing my part or using the tools that I have been given.  I guess, going to work....when all I can think about is just walking out infront of a car...is not using the tools.  And so i'm not doing my part.    According to my dr. today....I should be able to kick this w/o medication bc I dont' hear voices and other stupid shit she said.

Today's appt reminded me of what I have been subject to in other medical related issues w/my PCP's office from time to time.  Specifically, the gastric bypass team members.  Dismissed.  Diminished. 

This is so fucking unfair!

Rash - Huband - Ugly - Trigger

RASH
My son has had a significant rash/eczema/infection stuff going on since July.  It is ont he back of his leg just under his butt.

The current antibiotic is to be a maintence medication for 2 months.

He's been on it 2 weeks.  Just like the last 3 rounds of medication after he ends them (or in this case after day 10) which is the same in both cases.  The rash gets better, goes away...and then comes back w/a vengence.  And I mean...VENGENCE!!

When I took him to the dermatologist 2 weeks ago she suggested the maintance medication OR a biopsy. I opted to do the 'least invasive' and try medication first.

It's not working.

HUSBAND
My husband does not work.  Not by choice. I'm sure he would love to work. However, because of an injury and medical issues he is a stay at home dad.  His job is to tend to our children and their needs.  I know it is hard work.  My children are healthy for the most part.  They don't require many dr. appts.  When my husband needs to be seen he makes an appt. He doesn't wait till its horrible or bad. This rash issue....he's been very lax about making and taking the boy to the dr.  I've done most of it.

UGLY
It is about to get ugly.
The rash is already ugly.  I'm talking 'marriage' ugly.  As in this momma is gonna come unglued in a rather unhealthy  manner.  I made it very clear last night to my dh that HE WILL get this boy an appt and I don't give a rats ass when it is.  He said "Well I have a therapy appt tmw and I will just cancel that if I have to".  That didn't go over so well.  I got ugly....I made it very clear that I am PISSED that I have to take off work to take this kid to the dr. when he coudl CLEARLY have called on MONDAY and made him an appt.  He has SEVERAL days a week where he could DO IT and he has choosen not to.  I then googled "Auto Immune Disorders" and pictures which look just like what our son has.  I let him know that "this is" what Dr. E said we could be dealing with if this round of antibiotics didn't work.  I made it very clear that HE makes appts for himself.  And that I would be taking him to the dr. tmw. I"m tired of this kid suffering.  He is in pain and damn it.

It was ugly.  I'm already depressed. I'm already tired.  I am an ugly person to deal with right now.

So help me God if he does not call the clinic first thing in the morning and make that kid an appt I'm gonna take that baseball that is hanging in my garage that I threatened him (dh) with last week and shove it down his throat. 

I said it was gonna get ugly.  Momma is pissed.

TRIGGERED
Momma is set off...triggered...whatever the heck u wanna call it.
I had a parent who often 'poo-poo'd my health issues.  Who would put things off till I was extremely ill and ended up being hospitalized.  This happened not once, not twice...but three times between the ages of 12-16.  I also had a parent who told me that I was over reacting most every single time.  I know that my dh hasn't said that to my son.  But I see that my dh ignoring this issue as a way of dismissing it and basically saying it isn't a big deal.  DH often (as in currently) does the same thing to me.  He recently told me when HE asked me questions about the suicidal thoughts/ideation that I was struggling with that "well that is just plain retarded".  And this my friends is why I rarely ever mention to him that I'm struggling.  I don't believe in the it's a man thing bc it is plain, cut, simple and dry...uncalled for.

Pray for my son...that my husband makes the call first thing in the morning to get him in to be seen.  I will be working split shift and can't call until 8:30-9 and then not again until 11am.