Friday, January 25, 2019
Saturday, January 12, 2019
Friday, January 11, 2019
NEW YEAR, NEW ME?
Not so fast. That's not how it works. When the clock strikes midnight on December 31st, you don't magically morph into the person you want to be. After 37 years I am finally facing my demons head on. And you know what's happening? People are bailing. So perhaps, instead of focusing on a new me, I should also focus on a new entourage. I don't really have a substantial one to begin with, but I know there are people out there that love me and respect me and get me. They say when you become really sick (like cancer-sick) you find out who really loves you; you find out who is sticking by you.
Right now the 2 main stressors in my life are my mother and my partner. They are talking behind my back, gaslighting me at every opportunity, and attacking me because I am traumatized (which is only triggering me further). They are guilt-tripping me, judging me, and essentially sick of me and my "problems." I get it. I'm a difficult person to love. It is a result of the ongoing abuse and neglect I suffered at my caretaker's hand. I am literally acting out of a place of fear and rejection. And they are blaming me for it, even though it is a direct reaction to the suffering I endured, and continue to endure, on a regular basis. If I was suffering from any other disease, say diabetes or cancer, I fear I would be telling an entirely different tale. But this is the story of my life: a harsh, unsafe, battered childhood. Growing up feeling worthless, then unable to have meaningful, interpersonal relationships. Enter marriage. Enter more feelings of worthlessness. Enter disappointment, disgust, and anger from spouse. Enter guilt and resentment. Depression doesn't magically go away. Thoughts of suicide don't stop badgering your brain just because you wish it so. Every 3 months, my review always comes back the same: unsatisfactory. Spouse is literally doing the exact thing my mother did to me for decades—telling me to snap out of it. This gives one the idea that "it" is a choice. It's not. When I was not being abused, I was being neglected. When I was not being neglected, I was being abused. I did not choose these things to happen to me. I am working to get better, but apparently the rate I am going at is too slow. Not enough satisfactory improvements are visible. These evaluations, along with the backtalk and judgement, do not help me move forward. If anything, they contribute to my feelings of utter worthlessness, and ultimately propel my suicidal ideations to a fevered pitch. I know for a fact that these individuals are not doing this on purpose. Thanks to Dr. Ben, he has shown me that most people do *not* know how to deal with suicidal people. In fact, they often mistakenly say or do triggering things without even realizing it (sadly, they think they are helping). So I no longer take these punches personal. However, they still hurt me to my core. And that's what I need to continue to work on: my pain. It has such thrall over me, that I don't even know what it feels like to be safe, happy, and light-hearted. Being forced to grow up very quickly (homeschool myself and younger sibling; protect self and sibling from unstable, violent home, etc.), I never had a moment to rest or be a child. I was raped—emotionally, mentally, psychologically. I honestly feel like I have brain damage from the experience.
I'm not writing this for myself. I am writing this for anyone out there who is struggling with severe and debilitating mental illness. You are not alone. I know that doesn't ease the pain, or make the battle any easier, but know that I am here for you in solidarity. I will never turn my back on the broken, discarded, and misunderstood. You are my brethren. We will get together someday, you and I. We will be in heaven, not the one above, but the one in our hearts. The heaven that unfurls when 2 broken pieces find each other in perfect harmony and love.
Until then I keep my animals and books close. Nothing has changed.
Right now the 2 main stressors in my life are my mother and my partner. They are talking behind my back, gaslighting me at every opportunity, and attacking me because I am traumatized (which is only triggering me further). They are guilt-tripping me, judging me, and essentially sick of me and my "problems." I get it. I'm a difficult person to love. It is a result of the ongoing abuse and neglect I suffered at my caretaker's hand. I am literally acting out of a place of fear and rejection. And they are blaming me for it, even though it is a direct reaction to the suffering I endured, and continue to endure, on a regular basis. If I was suffering from any other disease, say diabetes or cancer, I fear I would be telling an entirely different tale. But this is the story of my life: a harsh, unsafe, battered childhood. Growing up feeling worthless, then unable to have meaningful, interpersonal relationships. Enter marriage. Enter more feelings of worthlessness. Enter disappointment, disgust, and anger from spouse. Enter guilt and resentment. Depression doesn't magically go away. Thoughts of suicide don't stop badgering your brain just because you wish it so. Every 3 months, my review always comes back the same: unsatisfactory. Spouse is literally doing the exact thing my mother did to me for decades—telling me to snap out of it. This gives one the idea that "it" is a choice. It's not. When I was not being abused, I was being neglected. When I was not being neglected, I was being abused. I did not choose these things to happen to me. I am working to get better, but apparently the rate I am going at is too slow. Not enough satisfactory improvements are visible. These evaluations, along with the backtalk and judgement, do not help me move forward. If anything, they contribute to my feelings of utter worthlessness, and ultimately propel my suicidal ideations to a fevered pitch. I know for a fact that these individuals are not doing this on purpose. Thanks to Dr. Ben, he has shown me that most people do *not* know how to deal with suicidal people. In fact, they often mistakenly say or do triggering things without even realizing it (sadly, they think they are helping). So I no longer take these punches personal. However, they still hurt me to my core. And that's what I need to continue to work on: my pain. It has such thrall over me, that I don't even know what it feels like to be safe, happy, and light-hearted. Being forced to grow up very quickly (homeschool myself and younger sibling; protect self and sibling from unstable, violent home, etc.), I never had a moment to rest or be a child. I was raped—emotionally, mentally, psychologically. I honestly feel like I have brain damage from the experience.
I'm not writing this for myself. I am writing this for anyone out there who is struggling with severe and debilitating mental illness. You are not alone. I know that doesn't ease the pain, or make the battle any easier, but know that I am here for you in solidarity. I will never turn my back on the broken, discarded, and misunderstood. You are my brethren. We will get together someday, you and I. We will be in heaven, not the one above, but the one in our hearts. The heaven that unfurls when 2 broken pieces find each other in perfect harmony and love.
Until then I keep my animals and books close. Nothing has changed.
Thursday, January 10, 2019
Tuesday, January 8, 2019
2019 YOU PESKY DEVIL
Today was not a very good day. I ended up going to therapy pre-anxious, wanting to talk about certain topics. In the end, I just rambled for the entire hour, going off on a million different tangents. I felt like Trump when he vomits a word salad without really saying anything substantial. Then the topic shifted, and things got really Twin Peaks-esque. The word "transference" came up (he said it; I had it in my head from before), and then I told him I felt like I was Dale Cooper's big faded face saying, "We live inside a dream."
Then after therapy, I recorded a 26 minute video of myself discussing mental health, the New Year, etc. I put a lot into it, getting really emotional and even tearing up at some points. At the 26 minute mark I noted that my phone only had enough room to record 10 more minutes of video. Then my phone battery died. When I turned my phone back on, the video was *gone*gone*gone*.
I have no room on my phone for the UberEats app.
Then after therapy, I recorded a 26 minute video of myself discussing mental health, the New Year, etc. I put a lot into it, getting really emotional and even tearing up at some points. At the 26 minute mark I noted that my phone only had enough room to record 10 more minutes of video. Then my phone battery died. When I turned my phone back on, the video was *gone*gone*gone*.
I have no room on my phone for the UberEats app.
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