Self Harm...

Self harm is disturbing. It is brutal.  Yet, often it is the way I feel.  It is a way to bring sensation into my the body and fill a void.  Self harm is something I've battled off and on for the last 10 years. It  probably is something I have battled for more than 10 years.  However, right now it is what I can remember.  It started out very minor.  I can honestly say I never thought of the things I did as self harm.  The important part for me to remember....much of what I've done (and do) is done on an unconscious level.  It is almost always in times of distress and overwhelm.  I often feel like my body is an empty cavern.  Inside that emptiness is a bucket of emotions that are void to my knowledge.  They are locked up and sealed with a ton of duct tape.  It is when I inflict injury upon myself I am able to feel a small portion of those emotions...in a painful, yet satisfying, sensation.

I don't self harm because I like it.  I don't believe anyone does.  I hate every aspect of it.  I don't like it for a moment. I struggle talking about it.  It is like a drug.  Drugs are addicting.  Self harm is addicting.  Instead of washing away all of my emotions and memory with the drug, I allow myself to for once feel something.  Being able to allow the void to fill, even when it is a small smidgen of some sort of emotion.

I'm aware that many parents freak and flip out when they find out their child has been hurting themselves.  I'm a parent.  I can't say that I wouldn't struggle in much of the same way as many parents.  Yet, because I understand some of what lies underneath the behaviors, I hope and pray that if I am presented with the same situation as many parents, I will be able to respond differently.  This isn't about teens. It isn't about my children.  It is about me.  A 40 something adult.  Struggling more with these behaviors and emotions than I ever have in my life.

Not understanding the reasons behind self harm leads people to jump to conclusions like suicide, manipulation, attention seeking, ect ect.  Those who don't understand what self harm is really about believe that those who act upon the urges to hurt themselves are martyers, selfish, seeking attention, and often believe there is a need for major psychological intervention.  

In some cases, the above might be true.  However, in many cases it is completely the opposite.  It is completely the opposite in my case.  What I need is someone who is willing to truly listen and understand.  I've never cut myself and even though I've never done it.... doesn't mean I don't understand it.  I've battled the urges to cut myself many times in recent months.  Often for me, those urges come by accident.  While I'm cutting something for dinner and accidentally slip and hurt myself.  The thought to follow through and cut myself again, on purpose...gets stronger and stronger.

I have recently participated in one or more of self harm behaviors.  I am not proud of myself.  In fact, I hate every aspect and myself.  I have struggled a lot with  not being able to use the tools I know I have.  Finding a safe, useful, method to release and find the sensation and emotions that I am seeking.
Think for a moment or two, that your body is numb.  You can not feel anything.  You have completely lost all feeling.  Then, paralysis starts to sink in.  You get frustrated because you don't know what to do.  You want the sensation back again.  You want to feel your body again.  What do you think you would do?  Take a moment and imagine you have finally found something that will help you get that sensation and emotion you are seeking...that would allow your body to feel again.  Would you act upon it?  Would you take it?

I've said this before and will again, most individuals who act on self harm urges do not do it for attention.  Ultimately, it is to finally feel something.  It is to release an overwhelming abundance of trapped emotions.

It is helpful for me when I have someone who is willing to listen without passing judgement.  This person has to understand and continue to love me through all of the hell that I put myself and them through.  I have a someone in my life who does not freak out.  If she could be with me I'm pretty certain she would sit with me.  She has sat next to me. She has laid next to me, as I've sobbed uncontrollable and the urges to follow through have been flooding every ounce of my body.
Instead of freaking out and feeling like I need to be hospitalized she has cried with me, she has asked what she can do to help me get through every single tough patch.

This is why I am writing this post.   I know there are those of you out thee who are reading this and know someone who struggles with much of the same self harm issues that I do.  I want  to give you some insight and reasoning behind this awful part of mental illness.  I also want to challenge you to do the very same for them that I have had done for me. I have given you the perspective from someone who has and does live with it every.single.day of her life.

I leave you with my hope that you can/will take it upon yourself to listen-truly listen-to whomever it is you may know.  I ask you to love this person no matter what.  Unconditionally... love them with all your heart.  I ask you do do your best not to judge.  It is hard. I know.  Lastly, I ask you to take it upon yourself to try and understand fully.  From their side, not yours.  This is critical if your friend, loved one, spouse, child, whomever it might be, for this person to learn to trust you.

There are extremes to self-harm in which psychiatric help is necessary, I am for not one moment saying there isn't.  However, not everyone needs immediate attention. I am just trying to feel again.  Feel and not be numb.  It is much easier to not be so numb and regain a little bit of the feeling that I'm seeking when those around you are not freaking out about the methods in which you help yourself feel.  Instead, helping them feel your love and understanding may be....all they need!

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.

Monday Musings...When Depression Strikes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

Journey to Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation aka: TMS (Part One)

Shortly after the beginning of the year my therapist mentioned a new(er) treatment for depression.  She gave me the pamphlet that contained basic information, told me a little bit about the seminar/training she had went to, and told me to give it some thought.

I'm pretty certain it wasn't an hour after she gave it to me that I made the call to the clinic.  They were doing consult/intakes at no charge.  At this point in the game...I had NOTHING to loose.  A day or two later I received a phone call from the intake coordinator (or whomever it was) and made an appointment for a day or so later.

I went home the evening after making the appointment and googled TMS Therapy.  I asked on my FB Blog page if anyone had heard about it.  I had a few responses.  Nobody that really had any knowledge.  I read and watched the information on the Neurostar website that was provided in the pamphlet.  It seemed very promising.  The video in my opinion was very cheesy and fake.  I came across the following videos from an excerpt on the Dr. Oz show.

Please check out these videos to learn more:
*Fair warning* Dr. Oz is a bit over the top.  Which he is with many things.  However, this is one of the best descriptions and "real" videos I've come across so far.
Dr. Oz  Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation: nA Cure for Depression? Part One

Dr. Oz  Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation:  A Cure for Depression?  Part Two

I went to the appointment at the TMS Center.  My husband went along.  It was rather tough in many ways.  Telling a complete stranger, someone that I had no trust in about me....and why...I was there....well...it wasn't very easy. I will just say that much.  And add in that my husband was with me.  It just was tough.  In many ways.  Any intake is tough.  Plain.Cut.Simple.Dry.  Little did I know then....that would be the easier part of this entire process!!!

I left with very little hope that anything would come of that appointment.  I knew the treatment wouldn't be covered by my insurance.  The gal was a bit more optimistic than I was.  There were bits and pieces of holes that needed to be cleared up.   Over the next week I received a few phone calls to get more information on my insurance coverage.    I am acutely aware with what my insurance will and will not pay for.  And I knew that this clinic was out of network.

End.of.Story.

I received a phone call about a week or two later telling me they had a financial assistance program and I could apply for a scholarship.

I filled the form out immediately upon receiving it in an email and sent it back the very same evening.  

A few weeks later I received a phone call telling me they would like to offer me a scholarship.  The gal was going to email me the information immediately after talking to her.

It was awesome assistance.  However, it still wasn't feasible. I tried to figure out every way imaginable to make it work.  I knew I was sliding down a very slippery slope. And needed help soon.

It wasn't long after that my husband had his little mini meltdown (in my ever so humble opinion that is what I will call it).  He was faced with having surgery, the possibility of having prostate cancer, and in general he was sick of my shit.  I am sick of myself. I can't imagine what those who live with me must feel like.  I am/wasn't faking it very well.  I know that things were bad.  And they weren't getting any better.

My husband was adamantly against using our tax refund towards partial payment for treatment.  I spoke to my mom about borrowing the money from them.  It wasn't going to be an option.  I let the clinic know that we could not do it right now.  We have tapped out every single penny and then some with taking out a loan with my shoulder injury.  And any more debt was not feasible at this point.

I didn't hear anything again for about a month or two.  Just a quick call letting me know that they had received a denial from my insurance company (not a surprise...I knew it was not going to be approved) and they had filed an appeal.  However, it could take about a year for the appeal process.  She informed me they had requested my medical records from my psychiatrist and therapy notes from my therapist.  A day or so later I saw my therapist and she informed me she had received the request.  She was not going to send all  13 years of treatment notes.  However, did I agree with her sending a letter instead.  I firmly believe that is/was better idea.  Treatment notes can be subjective to whomever is reading/writing them.

Okay.  Fine. I left it at that. I think that was the beginning of March.
Until I got a phone call...not quite a month ago...on a day that I had not gotten out of bed. 

There have been several days that I've not gotten out of bed in the past few months.

It's been rocky at best.
However, treatment has started.
Over the next few blog posts I will write what/how it came about.

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.

~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. 

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.)

~There' s no title for this~

Here is a little scenario that played out last night.  I've tried to write about it in a way that makes sense and it isn't happening.  Bare with me here folks.  If you get to the end of this...bless your heart.  There is a point that I'm trying to get across.  A positive one (kind of) and one that needs to be followed....if you get to the end.

We were gone all day yesterday at my Aunt's house for our Family Thanksgiving.  We left early yesterday morning because I had a chiro appt for my shoulder.  I fell on Thursday in my parents hot tub and did a number on my shoulder.  (Really...I did.  It wasn't pretty.) My appt with Dr. M yesterday morning was a bit tortuous.  I was already in a mood that was to be reckoned with.  

While at my Aunt's house yesterday we were informed that our Family Christmas was going to be held one week earlier than usual.  There was no warning.  Just "this is when we are having it".  The Aunt who is in charge of it this year took it upon herself to 'change it'.  And generally this wouldn't be an issue.  I'm not working weekends right now and won't be for several months.  I had been told by my mom it was possible going to be changed to the Saturday before Christmas. I wasn't very happy about that.  However, that date would be better for us.  We don't ever go anywhere other than to my parents house or my families.  We rarely ever travel and generally don't make plans to go anywhere.  However, I had an idea brewing in my head.  This particular weekend...the last weekend of the year is our "Anniversary Weekend".  We don't do much if anything.  And my husband has been given the opportunity to have a 3 day construction job that weekend.  So we really didn't have much for plans.  But I had been thinking about plans....plans to head to see my BFF.  I had not talked to my dh and was waiting to run it by my BFF before I talk to dh.  And this was going to be the weekend I thought about going.  

In general I don't get myself worked up or upset about things like this.  My mom's family is pretty large (7 siblings total) and I just go with the flow.  I let them all get all po'd at each other. And I stay out of it.

All the way home I stewed and stewed about this bit of information.  The more I thought about it the more upset it made me.  

We got home and I began to prepare our dinner for today.  Cutting veggies and making rice that would end up in the crock pot this morning before we headed to church. While I was chopping the veggies whirlwind of impulsive self harm thoughts became more and more intrusive.  I've never purposely cut myself.  There have been moments where it has taken every ounce of my ability not to.  Last night was one of those times. 

Instead I called my dh into the kitchen.  His response was to 'not use real onions just put in the onion flakes' and he refused to cut the onions and mushrooms.  I wasn't able to fully tell him why I needed him to help me.  He had a mindset that it was my idea to make this dinner for today and so it was me who needed to do it.

We bantered back and forth. It was more me looking for a fight.  I take full responsibility for it.  If I was bantering with him...I wasn't cutting myself.  And at that moment it seemed to be the lessor of two evils.  One thing led to another. I was an emotional mess...I started spewing shit such as...to bad my head wouldn't fit under then damn food chopper thing.  He responded with "you sound like ___ ____".  And back and forth.  I took his phone off the phone charger and threw at him telling him he needed to call ___ ___ and tell him that."
The bantering went back and forth some more. Mostly me. Him ignoring me. Which just pissed me off even more.

What came out of my mouth next kind of surprised me as I said it.  And I know it took the wind out of my dh's sail.  In a nutshell I told him that "__ __ needed a friend.  One that could understand where he was coming from.  One that wasn't judgmental.  Which is where I'm at. The only person I have that somewhat understands lives 6 hours away.  And maybe if I had someone locally who GOT ME who I could call and talk to or show up at their house for whatever reason...that I could just sit on their couch and watch TV with....maybe things would be different."  He responded with "what the hell am I? Chopped liver?"  To which my response was "listen to yourself...just listen to the double bind you just put yourself in? You are telling ME who has a knife and food chopper in my hand that I sound like __ __ bc of what I just said.  I asked you to help me. Not because I don't want to do it. But because I was putting my own safety at risk. I don't need to tell you every time I want to hurt myself.  Nor will I.  Because of the things YOU just said. Do you REALIZE how often I am in that frame of mind or space? No you don't. Because YOU don't fucking listen to me. You refuse to help and said use processed food. I don't want to do that. I'M TRYING to make healthy meals for our family.  He followed with I didn't tell him and if I would have he would helped me.  At that point he was trying to. But I had a knife in my hand and refused to let him.  He knew to back off.

Our friend he mentioned we know from a distance struggles with depression. My husband has been helping them with some remodel projects over the last year.  He was our best man.  They are not close friends and we have never invited them over for dinner.

I put the knife down and proceeded to call this family.  Without talking to my husband or making sure it was okay with him...I decided to invite them over for dinner.  To take that first step and reach out a hand of love and support.  Whatever it might look like.  

Conversation went something like this...

ME:  Hi S...what are you doing tmw afternoon after church?
S:  Nothing, why?
ME: I think it would be great if  J, J and You came over for dinner. Are you up for that?
S: I don't know. I can ask J.

ME: Well, you are more than welcome to come.
S: Well if J doesn't come can I still come?
ME:  Heck yeah S. You know that. I think our families truly need to spend more time together.

Our conversation went on for about 2-3 more minutes while we discussed dinner/time and such.

I got off the phone.  My dh looked at me stunned as hell.  And said "So the G's care coming for dinner.  When do you plan on cleaning the house?"

I responded I dind't give a flying f* what the house looked like. If they didn't like it that was to bad.  At the end of the day....S deals with a husband who struggles in the very same manner than I do.

This evening S showed up w/her 14 yr old son.  Minus her husband.  She apologized over and over.  He left church early because he was stressed and having some severe anxiety over work situation. I told her "S you have no reason to apologize. I get it. I really do."  When my dh came upstairs she apologized again to him.  Telling him "J was stressed and sleeping."  She's from another country and has some really strict cultural manners.  She felt horrible that we had invited their family and he didn't come.  I made it really clear that "I understood....".  Even telling her that 9 out of 10 times you don't see me in church are for the same reasons. I get it. And she doesn't need to apologize.

Before anyone served their dinner I got a dish for her husband, got desert and rolls ready to send home to him.  When she left I made sure to let her know that he was missed and to please let him know that "we...not just I get it."  My husband said nothing. Not one word.

I'm tired.
I'm mentally and emotionally drained.
This incident took my thoughts/impulses off of myself at that moment to not cut, burn, or whatever it might have been.  Instead, it put the reflection (in my opinion) back on my husband that "WE" are not alone in this fight.  He was able to hear S talk a little bit about her frustration.  Their 14 yr old son was able to hear another mom/parent say "this sucks but it is okay and I'm glad you came even though your father didn't".

And now...

The desire and impulse to hide behind what is easy for me...taking hot shower/bath and burning myself has been strong. THUS why I'm writing this post. And from here I will go to bed. Instead of hiding behind the pretense that I need heat on my shoulder and taking a bath.  I will use a microwaveable rice heating pad. And go to bed.    

Fighting the Darkness

These days.  They are dark.  Daylight savings has kicked my ass.  So much swirling.  I saw my psychiatrist this evening.  It was a much over-do appointment.  Some scheduling snaffu's almost made it so the appointment didn't happen.

It was a huge struggle to put it all out there.  The good, the bad, and the ugly.  There wasn't much good.  There was some really ugly.  As I talked to her and told her some of the really ugly that has transpired over the last 8 weeks since I saw her last...I was overcome with a huge sense of broken-ness!  This is one thought that I've tried very hard to overcome, not believe, and not fall into that trap.  For the most part I'm able to keep it at bay.  I don't often see myself as broken.  However, this evening as I sat in Dr. K's office that is the one thing that seemed to resonate.

It was incredible tough being 110% honest with her.  Making her hear me for where I am at.  Not just that I'm in the ever revolving realm of suicidal ideation. A spot she is very used to seeing me in.  But more of getting across to her the depths of where I've been.  We discussed why I've not called to get in sooner, why I didn't agree to see someone else while she was out of the country, and some other things.  There are some things I can't seem to really bring myself to blog about.  It isn't that there is anything to hide.


Being completely honest and real with Dr. K was one of the toughest things I've done in a long time.  I don't always have full faith/trust in her that she won't decide that this time I won't need to be hospitalized.  I'm not okay.  I know that.  It is taking every ounce of my energy to get up every single day.  I can't even begin to express how incredible tough it is.

Yet, I do it.  I can't tell you why. I'm not even sure that I know why.  This evening has been rough.  After leaving Dr. K's office today I had a bit of optimism.  There was a very small flicker of hope that maybe a re-try with her readily availble should things go ary would be helpful.  I spoke with my BFF on my way home and felt confident that this was a good plan that we came up with.  And then somewhere in the 30 miles between her office and my home....it all went down the toilet.

I've been in this space before.  I've danced this horrible choppy slow dance before.  I know how incredible shit filled it is.  It's getting old.  I wish it was as easy as choosing to be more positive, make different choices, change this or that.  Lord knows, I've done it. I'm doing it. This is where this fight becomes to much some days.  

*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.

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly...Meds SUCK

**DISCLAIMER:  This post is a representation of MY thoughts, opinions, and experiences.  DO NOT stop taking your medications just because...I or anyone else say they SUCK or anything else that I may/may not say about them in this post...There. I. Said. It.**

I've not really blogged much about the medication change that transpired little over a month ago.  I was hopeful on many levels.  At the end of the 2nd week, I was seeing some positive changes.  Still a tad reluctant of the positive effects...BUT very thankful there were some definite positives.  There were negatives in the realm of side effects.  That is something I'm very accustomed to at this point.  I've seen my current psychiatrist going on 13 years this next spring.  She knows me inside and out.  I've blogged before about our love/hate relationship.  I love her dearly.  I hate the effects medications have had on my body.  I've taken just about every.single.thing out there.  After my gastric bypass, my ability to tolerate medications became much less.  As in MUCH MUCH MUCH less.  And so the battle continues and as I've said over the last several years....got much worse.

THE GOOD:
Medications are prescribed by doctors to assist symptoms, to target abnormal medical findings, assist and prevent illnesses.  These symptoms range in anything from pain, insomnia, hallucinations, coughing, chest pain, cramping, and many more ailments.  The goal of medications is ultimately to relieve symptoms.  At the end of the day, the goal of medications is to get rid of ailments/symptoms and prevent something worse from happening.  In many cases the goal is both....prevent and get rid of.  At any rate, the goal is to normalize ones quality of life/living.

Medications work.  Sometimes.  In some people.  They have the ability to make bad things go away and allow people to live happier, healthier, and more productive lives.

THE BAD:
The bad thing with medications is they have side effects.  Take trazodone for an example.  It is used as antidepressant, but it makes people sleepy.  SO it is used in a sub-therapeutic (for depression) to help with insomnia.  This particular example can be a good side effect.  Most side effects, though, are bad.  They are uncomfortable the person.  They are often the reason patients stop taking their medications.  Side effects are usually uncomfortable.  Rarely are they fatal.  Usually they are reversible.  Most often these effects go away once the medication is stopped.

The interesting thing about side effects is that few of them happen to everyone that takes them.  Take the side effects of SSRI's for example, a ton of people will experience sexual side effects, not everyone will.  Tremors, sexual side effects, weight gain, and sleepiness are often common side effects of SSRI's and other medications used for psychiatric disorders.

I've struggled with nearly every single psychiatric medication that I've been prescribed since my gastric bypass in 2004.  As a patient who struggles with severe depression, a condition that is impeding my life, it is often worth taking the risk of any given side effect.  Usually, I find myself somewhat hopeful the effects may not happen.

THE UGLY:  (and it can be ugly)
Side effects are unpleasant, at best.  Many have rare and really ugly effects.  The rare and ugly effects are actually not side effects..they are considered ADVERSE REACTIONS.  They can be awful, fatal, and in rare cases irreversible.  Tardive Dyskinesia is an adverse reaction, one that takes time to develop.  One that was a listed as a VERY rare side effect of a medication I took about a year ago.  The usual response to the UGLY is to stop the medication ASAP.

Increased depression, self injury, suicidal ideation in my opinion falls under the ugly category.  This medication is prescribed to relieve these very symptoms and then it increases it.  Occasionally, these reactions/effects can lesson after a few days.  In some cases, they continue to get worse and worse.  Until there is no choice to stop the medication immediately.

THE MEDS SUCK:
I'm currently in the VERY UGLY portion of taking a new(er) medication.  The last paragraph describes what life has been in the last few weeks.  Each and every day increasingly getting worse.  The last few days have been hell.  I've been here before.  I've experienced this before.  I spoke with Jodi last night about the effects.  My pdoc is not in the office at the time.  Seeing someone else is not really an option.  And I've been this route enough times to know that I need to stop the medication immediately before I end up in the hospital.  Jodi and I discussed taking it every other day.  The suicidal ideation wasn't as horrific, was manageable, and not constant prior to reaching the full dose. I'm unable to cut the medication in half, therefore, taking it every other day was the option that seemed like the best action to take.  Giving that a try was something that I was willing to give a try.  After today, I don't believe I will be taking it again. At least not until I can see my doctor in a few weeks.

No Real Words....Only Tears

I really have nothing to add to this picture right now.

Another knife in my gut as I walk the path of "when a friendship fails".
I've walked some really ugly paths over the last 18 yrs.  There were moments/days in my life where this particular friend was the person who is the reason I'm sitting here typing this.  The reason why I didn't create a plan of ending my life.

I've sat along side her hospital bed, as she lay in a coma, feeding her newborn....pleading for her life at the same time.
The disruption of our adoption/loss of our son...was painful enough.  The mere loss of the friendship that I once had w/my sister-in-law because of our choice to disrupt was tough.  To have the failing of this particular friendship....BECAUSE my sister-in-law has gotten in the middle....well it is just as gut wrenching as our disruption.

Going Up? Maybe.

I gave up trying to figure out the ups and downs of depression.  As I'm sure many have said before me...depression and mental illness is much like a roller coaster.  When you are up....your are up.  When you are down...you are down.   Everything in between is messy and sometimes more than one can bare.

I've got my butt securely fastened in the seat. I'm not going anywhere.  Hard to remember that it is a temporary ride, when it has hung around so long.  I'm hanging on tight.  As the gradual incline up has started to appear above the horizon.

With having surgery and having been in such a deep slump many things around my house have been let go.  Sure my husband does most of the cleaning and organizing.  However, there are things that have just plain been let go for way to long.

Slowly beginning to think about changing the look in my house.  Money is very tight.  We are unable to purchase anything at this point.  Keeping my thoughts and actions in line with moving up and forward will help me in my physical recovery.  In the end...that will help me getting back to work full-time.  And then it will only be a matter of time before we are able to add the little luxuries such as chalkboard paint to one of our kitchen walls.  And expanding my daughters closet.  Little things.  Moving forward. Moving up.

One thing and one day at a time.  For today I focused on baking and cooking.  Several different Pinterest recipes were made and tried today....some great and some not so great.  For this week I'm focused on making it to work and physical therapy.  Lessening the amount of pain medication each day.  Today, I've had nothing.  No Nsaids. No Tylenol. No narcotics.  None.  Doesn't mean I'm not in a ton of pain.  Just means...I was able to deal with the pain without giving in.  Without the anxiety around...when can I take the next dose.  Regardless of it being narcotics or nsaids.  I will continue to take one of the narcotics at bedtime in hopes that it will give me added help with sleeping.  This is still a huge issue.  And I need my sleep.  We all need our sleep.

Going Up?  Maybe!



I have not always felt like I am broken.  I have felt from time-to-time that I've been broken to the point that I didn't deserve love from anyone, especially from my Father in Heaven.  

Then I heard this song.  Actually, it was introduced to me a long time ago.  The message has changed my mind.  It is my prayer this evening that I"m able to take the message within this song and continue going up.

And as J* would say....find ease with in this battle.

Get Back Up...Damnit.

1:  Learn the warning signs for suicide

2:  Join the Movement

3: Spread the word

4:  Support a Friend

5: Reach Out


So many things race race in and out of my thoughts.  As I sit here trying hard to fall back asleep..I decide to give up and turn on my computer.  Awake again at the wee hours of the night.  As I turn on my computer, log into bookface (f.acebook)..my family on the west coast has several different messages about what this day is and the painful reminders it brings.

I see the link to a news article and read it.  Again.  Proud and heartbroken all at once. As my cousins pick up the pieces on the anniversary of their father taking his life....it is is gentle reminder to me to keep on getting up.  Over and over. As hard as it is. Regardless of the war that rages on in my head.  I have no choice.  But...to continue to Get Back Up every damn day!

I will not leave that legacy for my children.  As hard as it is to fight the battle on some days.  As hard as it is to keep on moving. I will not do it.

And so for today....and tomorrow...and next week....I will get back up every damn day.  Regardless of how hard it might be.  And for the days that I can't get up....accepting that it's okay to stay in bed.

This is not the life that I envisioned living.  I never in a million years would have imagined that this battle would be one that I would continue to fight over and over.

I came home w/new medication samples and a prescription for antidepressant yesterday after a visit w/my pdoc.  She was a  bit different in her approach with me.  As I left and contemplated the things she said it stung.  She wasn't being harsh. Genuine and loving....and adamant that I'm not living my best life.  And that is her ultimate goal.  Yet, she is unsure which direction to go.  So once again, I try a new medication.  Over the last 2 ys antidepressants and I've not been friends and they've increased the S.I a ton.  Leary of giving it a try is an understatement.  I have nothing to loose by trying it. I have everything to loose by not.

How I Stayed Alive...

........during a very dark period of my adult life this book:

 'How I Stayed Alive When My Brain was Trying to Kill Me'...

Purchase book here

.... was a very vital resource for me.  I've blogged before about this book and how it helped me.

From time to time I still pull it out.  Usually I will open it to a random page and begin reading.  Sometimes it is helpful. Sometimes it is not.  Often I find myself wanting to chuck the damn thing out the window or at something.  BUT BUT BUT....if I'm chucking the book out the window...I am not hurting myself.  And that distraction could be all it takes to change my thoughts from hurting myself to this is going to be okay.

My therapist at the time suggested this book and a few others.  This particular book has a few different crisis plans. I like how they are layed out and how it helps you create one. Often people don't create crisis plans when they are not in crisis.  I mean, I didn't.  I didn't think I was in need of crisis.  Hell, I didn't even believe I was suicidal. I was just extremely overwhelmed with the loss of our adopted son via a disruption and I had gastric bypass complications.

So when I was truly in crisis mode...I was able to sum up the energy and come up with a plan. One that would work for me.  One that was doable.  One that was personalized to ME. Not some standard form the damn hospital gives you and says "before you can be released you need to fill out this crisis plan".  My response to their standardized, not-very-personalized-and-huge-joke-if-i-ever seen one....fill in the blanks crisis plan was....I threw it in the garbage.  The psych that was seeing me wasn't to impressed. He told me that I had to fill out their form if I wanted to go home.  If you have read my blog for long you will know that "Uh...I don't do well with being demanded to do anything...ever."  And well...I pretty much told him where to put his crisis plan. And then I handed him this book..with my 'etched' out crisis plan wrote on a piece of paper.  He said "did you tell the social worker you had this?  Because this is much better than the one we gave you."  I responded somewhere on the lines that "I am the crazy one...and your nurses and staff treat me just like that. They know I have wrote it, that I was reading this book, and if they gave a shit then they would have told you that I already had done a crisis plan...it just wasn't the one your staff insist on me doing."

The KEY is to find something that WORKS for you. I don't give a shit if it is on the back of a receipt with my phone number, your therapist phone number, the number to the local bar, whatever it is.....find what works for you.  That ONE thing and hold on to it.

I did.
I'm still here.

Under Attack? Probably Not.

Over the last week everywhere I turn..I feel like those around me are constantly preaching at me.  Telling me what I should be doing or not be doing.  Everything from how I should GET to work....to how I should dress myself...to...how much pain medication I should be taking and how I should take it....to who I should vote for....to...everything I do....being told what to do and how to do it.

Maybe it is the medication speaking.
Maybe it is the depression speaking.

Maybe it is the pain speaking.

Maybe these people in my life...they know what they are talking about.
Maybe these people in my life...they don't know what they are talking about.

On Friday evening my Grandpa happened to be one of those people.  Telling me what to do. How to vote. What I should be watching on television.  I was in a rather bad space.  I hurt. I was tired. I was crabby.  So when he went on his political verbal diaherrea of the mouth...I put him in his place.  He is the racist person I know.  So, even if our current president was a Repug....he would hate him.  And....I told him that.  As the words came out of my mouth, I couldn't believe I was actually telling my Grandpa off...so to speak.  "You know...you are the racist person I know.  You don't like O.bama because he is black.  And you wouldn't like him even if he was a Repug...so shush it up to me.  This country offers me the freedom to vote for who I want and I will be damned if I'm gonna let you go on a tangent at 10pm on a Friday night because I don't like  the 'want-to-be' VP."  He continued and then told me "oh, I forget...you are a Union lover.  And so, of course you feel this way."  And then...I lost my shit some more.  Reminding him that not only do "I WORK in a service related field that is supported by a union.  HE RETIRED at "WHAT" age a detective?  And why did he do that?  Because he worked for a union.'  I ended our conversation shortly after on a rather abrupt note.  He had to have the last word of course telling me that when I feel better and am not in so much pain AND on so much pain medication I would feel differently.  I held my tongue from telling him to kiss my ass.

Earlier in the week my therapist told me she wasn't going to tell me what to do, how to do it...only that I needed to find it w/in myself to come up with a better plan for where I was headed.   Because she knows that by telling me I need to do XYZ will only end up with me turning the opposite direction and bulking at the matter at hand even more.  I get what she was saying. And I understand it.  F*ck, I'm living it. See my last post.  And yet, even though I know I needed to hear those things she was saying....it left me in a swirl of preaching. I know Jodi wasn't preaching.  Just like I know that my mom isn't trying to preach at me.  It is just how I'm taking it in at the moment.

This morning, I'm being told that I am doing to much and need to stay home.  If I am going to be able to work I need to lay low.  I call bullshit. I need to be able to be up and mobile and keep my strength up.  Sitting at home is not going to build my strength.  And so the battle continues to rage inside of me.

I'm being told over and over by so many people around me to cut back on the pain medication. And I do.  Until, I leave my house and start doing things.  Pain comes back full-force.  Which leaves me in a panic.  The pain is unbearable. Is it true pain from my surgery? Is it in my head? Is it anxiety induced?  I don't know.  As long as I sit somewhat reclined back...I'm okay and can do 'okay'.

 And then, as I cut back at night...it brings an entirely new set of problems with it.  For the last 5 weeks...the trauma issues that were rearing their ugly head, that were constantly flooding every moment of my day...have been on the back burner.  Simmering. Slowly...simmering.  Somewhat numb.  Actually, lots numb.  I've said it before a few weeks ago in therapy.  And I do believe I mentioned it in a blog post.  I've found myself more and more numb. Conflicted if it is a good thing or bad. NOt sure what to think about it.  Yet, as I cut back more at night...that numbness lessons.  Night terrors start slipping back.  Shame and disgust at so many things begin to creep in more and more.  

This post has went no where. It is my own random ramblings.  Trying to sort the crazy's that are plaguing my ever waking moment.  I've never felt so under attack as I do right now...every where I turn. Afraid to ask for help in fear of being judged, critized even more, told it is my own fault (bc damn it all I know it...I don't need to be told it) and thinking back to Jodi's words from my last appt...I need to do it myself. And truth be told...I don't know that I want to find the answers myself.  If I had them...I wouldn't be where I'm at right now. 

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.