To The Man Who Raised Me

It feels like I’ll never get rid of you.
I constantly feel you inside me.
Like a second layer of skin.
I see you when I look in the mirror.
And I hate what I see.

You’re putting a roof over my head.
But you’re not doing it because you love me.
You don’t know how to love anyone but yourself.
You’re just doing it to keep control over me.
To show the world what a good man you are.

But you’re not a man.
You’re a monster.

I asked you to stop doing something.
You got mad, and still just keep doing it.
“That’s what family does. At least our family”.
But I don’t want to be part of that “family”.
I cringe and feel nauseous every time, but bite my tongue.

I was never your little girl.
I was just an object for you. Someone to control.
Just like you did with the rest of them.
You make me question my memories, my sanity.
My beliefs. Myself. Who am I?

I am who you say I am.
Isn’t that right?

You’re giving me so much right now.
Except that which I’ve always needed.
But you’ve taken away even more.
I wish I wasn’t yours.
But I can’t cut you out of my life.

I can’t stand the sight of you most days.
When I look at your face, I want to scream.
Memories flash on the screen of my mind.
Your voice sickens me.
Your touch destroys me little by little.

You broke what was shiny and new.
And have the audacity to say it was them that ruined me.
It’s never you, is it? It’s always everyone else.
You can do no wrong.
Your worldview is sick and twisted. Just like you.

I should have just let you die those times.
I shouldn’t have intervened.
Just go to my room and pretend I didn’t know.
Let others find you on the floor.
She says I did what I thought was right. But was it?

You think you’re a god, sitting on your throne.
Everyone must bow down and and worship you
Or face the consequences of your rage.
It works, because we’re so fucking scared of you.

I can’t escape. I’m trying so hard to find a way.
But I fail time and time again. I’m a failure.
I’m letting go of the hope that you’ll change.
That you’ll be the father I’ve always wanted.
I wish I could get you off me and out of me.

Will it ever end?

I can’t get away from you.
I’m helpless. Trapped.
“Get out” they say.
I’ve tried. I’m still trying.

And it hurts. It fucking hurts.
because even though I hate you,
I love you.

I Want It To Stop

The excruciating physical pain I’ve been in this week has subsided quite a bit. It’s not as unbearable as it was. But the emotional pain has stuck around.

In my previous post, I wrote how I feel like crying when thinking about the next day, week, etc. But now, its escalated into panic. How the hell am I going to make it through the next few days? The next week? My usual “one hour at a time” mantra isn’t holding up. It’s one excruciating hour at a time, and feels like too much to handle. I can’t do this! It’s too hard.

I don’t know what to do. I just need everything to stop! Please, please, please make it stop! How can one person hurt this much?

I need and want a friend right now, but none of them are available this weekend. And they don’t even have decent excuses. It’s frustrating and makes me extremely sad that when I really need them, they’re nowhere to be found. But when they need me, I’m there, no matter what mood I’m in. Even if I’m hurting as well. But I obviously don’t tell them that. In that moment, it’s about them. I put my own shit away to be there and support them.

Today I found myself repeating a pattern of something that I used to do a lot of in my teen years. Every time someone hurt me, or let me down in certain ways, I would feel this defiance and anger inside. But I didn’t want them to see or hear how it affected me. I was scared I might lose them if I mentioned it or showed it. So I’d hide it until I was alone. Then the anger would come, and I’d repeat “I don’t need anyone, I’m fine on my own.” But when the anger died down, I’d break down, with sadness consuming every inch of my being. I’d feel so alone. I preferred the anger, because it covered the disappointment, the rejection, the hurt. Anger is always so much easier to deal with, isn’t it.

I’ve had to cancel a few birthday “celebrations” over the years. Even as an adult. I’ll never forgot my 21st birthday. I was at a co-worker’s house (I was staying with her for a few weeks- I just can’t remember why), and everyone I had invited to my little party had been unable to attend. One of them cancelled an hour before it was due to start. My co-worker had gone to visit her son, as it was his birthday as well. So I was alone that night. The power went out at some point. So I lit a candle, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat on the floor, against the couch (I seem to find it comforting sitting on the floor instead of a couch for some reason- only couches though. Normal chairs- I’ll sit in them rather than on the floor). This might sound really silly, but I pretended there were other people there. Like my mom, little sisters, friends. Making up conversations in my head (there were some pretty funny ones). I had to do that, because if I stopped, the reality hurt too much. Remembering that makes my heart ache. So I’m not a fan of the day of my birth. Besides, I was a mistake. I never should have been born. I don’t even know why birthdays are celebrated in the first place. Who came up with that idea?

I’m writing about all this because I want to prove a point. I’m convinced that there’s something I’m doing wrong. That’s there’s something fundamentally wrong with me. That it’s why friends and family seem to want to spend as little time with me as possible. The things I mentioned above seem to prove it. I don’t know why, but I’ve always had this feeling (and believed) that I deserved everything that happened to me. And right now, I feel it’s especially true. Looking in the mirror earlier today, I wondered who that face belonged to. What’s her life worth?

I want my therapist. She always seems to know what to say, and has a calming influence on me. It’s weekend, so I can’t even reach out to her. And I’m not seeing her anytime soon either, which just feels so messed up. I just want to be held by her. No CBT, DBT, REBT, FFST (Okay, I made that last one up). Just one of those talking sessions. We all need one of those from time to time. Those sessions where she just listens and doesn’t make me work through techniques, skills, etc. I just need someone to listen to me, without judging. That’s what I mean when I say I want to held by her. In that protective therapeutic cocoon. Where it’s warm and safe. Even when it’s hard.

In one of the letters my therapist had written me, she told me that I’m brave. And now I keep hearing her words “be brave” (from another note), but I don’t feel brave right now.

I will try to be though. I’m trying. I’m really, really trying. I just need to get through tonight and tomorrow. That thought makes me panic. I’m trying to just stay in the moment, practice mindfulness, but it only works for a few seconds and I swing right back. These flashbacks that I’ve been having don’t make it any easier. I don’t even know anymore what’s a nightmare, and what’s a real memory. They seem to blend into each other. Swinging from adult to child mode. The nightmares and flashbacks are all from that young part. I should never have opened that door to let that inner child in. When we started working with that whole thing, I knew it was going to be difficult, but I didn’t know just how painful it would be.

“Stop crying. You’re not a baby.”

But big girls cry too.

Going Out Of My Mind

I haven’t been in a good place. Hell, I feel like I’m barely hanging on.

I’ve been dealing with so many flashbacks, and so many things are triggering me. I’ve discovered even more triggers. They’re fucking everywhere lately!

In group on Tuesday, I skipped the first half, which is usually just the check-in anyway. I saw my OT before group and told her that I’m going home (we didn’t have a session that day). She encouraged me to stay, but I felt like I just couldn’t. I was walking to my car when panic set in, and I realized I didn’t want to go back to the house. I’m walking out of my safe place, only to go to a place I desperately want to get away from. I went back, but sat outside in the coffee shop for the first hour. I just needed to be alone in that moment, while being in a secure, comfortable environment.

One of the psychiatrists at the clinic led the group on Tuesday. I don’t really like it when he runs it, because he’s so clinical, and it feels more like school, sitting in a boring class. I like it when the OT’s run the groups, as they make it fun and interactive.

During the break, my OT wanted to talk to me. She asked me what was going on. I told her that I didn’t want to sit in on the check-in’s, because firstly, it was a big group that night, and secondly I didn’t want to talk. (There was something that had happened that day before the group, but I didn’t want to talk about it. And I still don’t. At least not in the near future). OT said that I didn’t have to talk, but that it’s good to be there and just listen to other’s, because it helps with not feeling alone with our struggles/problems. She’s right of course. But what I didn’t tell her was that I was terrified that if someone said or spoke about something that was triggering, it would send me into full-blown panic attack mode (I didn’t have my Ativan with me, as I had forgotten my bag at home).

I just didn’t feel like talking that day. I barely spoke to my friends who also attend the group. One of them asked me why I’m so quiet and distant. I told her that I’m just tired. I wish it was just that.

I’ve been advertising my photography business, posted adverts on bulletin boards in the shops, but nothing has come from it. I feel like I’ll never get out of this situation I’m in. I’m trying so many different things, and I’m just so tired of problem solving when nothing seems to be working. I’m tired of fighting. I feel like I’ll be stuck forever. I don’t see any hope for my future right now. Everything feels hopeless and pointless. I feel useless.

To add insult to injury, I had a wisdom tooth removed two weeks ago, and developed “dry socket” recently. Look it up on Google if you don’t know what that is. The pain is excruciating. I wake up a few times during the night to radiating pain that just doesn’t stop, and keeps me awake for another hour or two. Prescription pain killers barely work. Give me Morphine please! This is the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. It’s a little better today, and I only woke up once last night, so I’m hoping that’s a sign that it’s finally healing.

Having two of my other wisdom teeth removed a couple of years ago was traumatic enough, but this is so much worse. That was a walk in the park compared to this time. I never want to see a dentist again in my life! I had to go back to her yesterday so that she could pack the socket, but she first had to clean it out, and that hurt! She told me that unfortunately she couldn’t do anything about the pain while doing that. Before I went in to go see her, I took a double dose of one of my benzo’s (not the Ativan), and I was still terrified. She told me I might have to come back, and have it done again, as it’s just palliative treatment and not a “cure”. Afterward, I was so light-headed and nauseous from the stress and anxiety that I almost passed out, and had to lie down on the waiting room’s couch for about 20 minutes. In that moment I didn’t care what anyone else might have thought. Any other time, I would have.

I told my dad last night that I’m not coming into work today, as I’m exhausted and need to try sleep a little and I couldn’t concentrate with the pain. He told me it’s fine (thankfully), but then said that I’m making the pain worse for myself. “Stop thinking about it”, were his words. Stop thinking about it? Are you fucking kidding me? It feels like my face is going to explode at any minute, but I mustn’t think about the pain. I would give anything to be able to not think about it.

Emotional pain and physical pain don’t mix. Physical pain already makes a person feel miserable. Add in depression and anxiety, and it’s a disaster.

I have no appetite. I have to force myself to eat, and then it takes me an hour. I dread breakfast, lunch and dinner time. I feel like crying when it comes time to eat. Which seems overly dramatic, and it probably is. But that’s how it is for me at the moment.

Talking about crying. When I think about tomorrow, the weekend, the week after, etc, I just want to cry. I don’t feel like there’s anything to look forward to. I wish I could cry. But I just can’t. I never know what’s worse. Crying so much and being tearful the entire day, with the smallest little thing setting it off again, or not being able to cry, even though I desperately want and need to. I guess it depends on which state I’m in at that moment. This time I really want to cry.

During hard times, I usually think “I could really use (therapist) right about now. I need her.” But this time is different (and a first). While I would like to see her now, I think I want/need a friend more.

I’m struggling so much, and I don’t know where to turn. Or who to turn to.

But I just want to die.

This has been a long post, but I needed to get all this out.

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Letter To The 14 Year Old

Every now and then I go through my computer and delete everything I don’t want or need anymore. Those things that I won’t need soon, but still want access to, I put on my external HDD. I don’t like clutter. Not even on my computer. Everything needs to be named properly and be in neat folders.

Today was my clearing day. I came across a letter I had written in December. I don’t want it on my computer anymore, neither on my external. So I’m posting it here instead.

This is the letter I referred to in my post “The Inner Child & Teen“.

Letter To The 14 Year Old

Dear (Me),

Today I heard you.
I heard your silent screams.
Today I felt your pain.
I cried your tears.
I’ve never allowed you in before.
But today I stayed with you.
And I was you back there again.

Disorientated and confused as you lay your head down.
Not sure what had just happened. Nothing seeming real.
“Help me”, those words spinning round and round your head.
Could anyone hear you? Did anyone know? Could anyone see?

Even within the darkness, unable to see everything…
I feel. I feel your pain and despair. The hopelessness.
The all consuming loneliness.
You just wanted someone to hold you, didn’t you?
The soothing sound of a heart beat, not yours.

Fear. Confusion. Shame. Pain. So much pain.

I wish I could tell you it all works out.
I wish I could tell you the wounds fade quickly.
But I can’t tell you this. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.

It hurts to listen to you. It hurts to be you.
But I’ll try to not leave you alone again.

A Long, Hard Week

On Monday morning, after my step grandparents left, I was still in my Sunday good mood. I sent my therapist a text telling her that I’m looking forward to our session on Thursday. That I’m having a good day and have high hopes for the week.

Later that afternoon, I went to get something from the store. When I got home I found a note from my younger step brother, with the words “I’m sorry”. I ran through the house, and outside, calling him. But he was gone.

So many thoughts rushed through my mind at that moment. What did that “I’m sorry” mean? “I’m sorry, but I’m running away” or “I’m sorry, but I’m going to jump in front of a bus”? I was panicking. We phoned all of his friends, everyone we could think of, but no one knew where he was. I was terrified.

For a little background, I don’t see him as a step brother. To me, he’s just my little brother. I love him to bits. He’s very quiet and keeps to himself at home. I’m the only one he opens up to. He’s cried to me (he never cries in front of anyone- always appears calm and strong), he’s told me things that he’s never told anyone. He lets me into his heart. So we have a very close relationship. I’m very protective over him. In our session on Thursday, my therapist said that he is my most significant connection, other than ours. And that’s the truth.

When I realized that he wasn’t there, I was heartbroken and confused. Why didn’t he tell me? He’s told me before that he often thinks about running away, and I told him that he should tell me when and if he does. I know I’m not able to change his mind, that I can’t force him to stay. But I would want to know anyway. I would support him any way I could. Such as bringing him clean clothes when he needs them, etc.

I also felt guilty. If I had just come back from the store sooner, or hadn’t left, could I have done something to stop him? Or at least tell him to let me know every day that he’s safe? I could have asked him where he was going, and told him that I wouldn’t tell my dad. I was so angry with myself, but more so, my dad. They say we shouldn’t blame people for things, but I do blame him. He treats my brother like crap, while he puts my step sister up on a golden pedestal. He left because he hates my dad, and I don’t blame him. I wanted to run away so often while growing up (at least the parts of my childhood that I remember).

I just kept thinking what if something happens to him? What if he’s not okay or safe? I wouldn’t even know about it. Would I ever see him again? This situation was made worse due to a previous experience I had. My first step sister who had been in my life for 13 years also ran away from home. And she never came back. I can’t remember if she had left a note. I can’t actually remember anything about that time, other than one moment where I was walking from one classroom to the next at school, and hoping I would see her at school that day. A while after she left, my step mom also left. And I was scared that my current step mother would take her daughter and also disappear. So this all hit a little too close to home. It triggered me. Flashbacks, old emotions, all rushing to the surface, along with all the current feelings. In other words, a huge mess.

During this time, I found myself becoming protective of my step mom and sister. I focused all my attention on them. Doing things for them, being there for whatever they needed and wanted. Which is a pattern in my life. I push myself and my emotions to the side, in order to take care of others. My OT has a good theory about this, which I’ll mention later in this post.

I didn’t want to go to my session with her on Tuesday, and I didn’t want to attend group either. But I decided that it would be better if I do. Even if it was just to get out of the house and away from the heavy, dark energy. I ended up telling my OT about the situation, even though I initially didn’t want to. She was compassionate and supportive. Let me experience the emotions. She told me that my reactions and emotions were valid. She held space for me. She was everything that I needed someone to be during that time.

I told her how I was trying to be as supportive as possible toward my step family. Obviously I can’t remember every word she said, but it came down to this. She said that she was wondering whether my need to take care of others, and be attentive to their needs and emotions, wasn’t because I don’t want to deal with my own emotions. So I take on others emotions, as it’s easier than dealing with my own. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and looking at previous times in my life where I did the same thing. It makes so much sense, and I think she hit the nail on the head with that one.

After our session, I had a few minutes before group was due to start, and I wondered whether I should stay for it. I figured I was already there, so I might as well. When I saw my roommate from my clinic stay was there, I knew I wanted to stay.

I don’t really open up much in group. When we do the emotional check-ins, I usually just say it’s been an okay week, or not good, but that I don’t want to talk about it, or I just don’t elaborate. But I did this time. I was so emotionally exhausted by that point, that I felt numb. So that made it easier.

A few of the group members came up to me during the break, telling me that it was nice to have me open up. We have a two-week break from group, and I don’t feel too good about that. It’s my time every week to get away from home and meet up with others who “get it”.

Finally, on Wednesday we heard from my brother. He said that he was coming home on Friday. I was worried that he might not come back on Friday. What if he had just said that? But he did come home. When I saw him, I gave him the biggest hug I’ve ever given anyone, and I didn’t want to let go. He looked so happy to see me too, and hugged me again when I finally let go. When everyone was downstairs, he told me what he’d been up to. And while I wasn’t too happy about some of the things (nothing serious), it’s not my job to parent him. He’s his own person. I obviously didn’t show or let him know that I didn’t approve. All I want is to continue being supportive, and someone he can trust and open up to about anything.

I still feel some after effects of the situation. I guess I’m still a little shaken up about it, even though I’m trying to just let it go. It seems my body hasn’t yet gotten the message that everything is okay. I felt very suicidal on Sunday evening. More than I have in months. To the point that I considered going to the hospital. But I made it through. I’m also experiencing the pain of losing my first step family all those years ago. This whole weekend I felt exhausted. No matter how much I slept, my days were spent feeling in a half asleep state. Even today, I feel like night of the walking dead. Today I spent a few hours with Jasmine (which isn’t awkward anymore- thank goodness), and she commented on how tired I look. Usually people can’t see that, so that’s when you know that it’s bad.

I’m really glad that my little brother is back and safe.

My Friend, Disassociation

Sometimes I need the disassociation. In those moments, I don’t want to ground myself. I want to stay in that safe space. I don’t always want to fight it.

Today was one of those days.

I woke up feeling uneasy. I know the why, and didn’t want to stay there. I didn’t want to feel the emotion. The emotions that came along with it. I didn’t want to see the image that appeared last night during a session with my OT. A session that brought it to the surface again. And now it won’t go away.

I struggled for a few hours this morning with the feelings and the image- a fragment of a memory. I just felt like crying the entire time, but the pain didn’t allow the tears to come. Sometimes the pain can’t get out, while other times it rushes to the surface. At some point I shut down. And I’m glad I did.

I’m currently working at my dad’s business on a temp basis. I help out with a few things here and there.

Sometime during the morning, my stepmom was talking to me and I didn’t realize it until she called my name. She had to repeat the question she had been asking me. She asked me why I look “spacey”, and like I’m half asleep. I didn’t want to explain disassocation to her, so I just told her that I feel half-asleep. I still did my work, but in autopilot mode. And I wanted to be in that mode. Where emotions don’t affect me. Where nothing can touch me. Safe in my bubble, with the world, and the bad, on the outside.

The fog is lifting now. So I’m taking a pill and going to sleep, with the hope that I don’t get any nightmares. I did last night, so I think I deserve a nightmare free sleep. I’ll deal with things tomorrow.

Sometimes disassociation is a gift. A protective friend.

There is a pain so utter that it swallows substance up
Then covers the abyss with trance—
So memory can step around—across—upon it
As one within a swoon goes safely where an open-eye would drop him—
—Bone by bone

~Emily Dickinson

Is It True?

I have been in a relatively good mood today. Nothing special happened, I was just at peace.

But right now I’m not doing so well. Right now I feel as though I was hit by a truck carrying huge stone pillars, and I’m lying in the road, unable to move.

A few hours ago, I randomly (friend of a friend of a friend, I can’t remember) came across one of the guys who had taken something very valuable away from me, and suddenly I had a way to contact him. When I saw his picture, I froze, and it felt as though all the blood had drained from my body. Then I had the sensation of things crawling all over me. But within a few seconds, I just went numb.

I’ve been wanting to write a letter to this particular guy for years now, but never had a way to get into contact. And I also wasn’t sure whether I really wanted to send him one. So tonight, I wrote that letter, while feeling unreal, as though I just didn’t exist. Someone else was writing. The world seemed to move in slow motion.

But I couldn’t send it. I was terrified. And then, suddenly nothing felt real. All my memories of everything that ever happened, not just this event, didn’t feel real. I felt, and still feel so confused. What if this never really happened? That nothing that happened in my life, happened? What if my mind had created this elaborate set of memories that I have carried with me all these years, but they weren’t true? That all the ‘memories’ that I felt, and feel, emotionally and physically aren’t really there? I don’t know what to believe anymore. I feel lost, and like I don’t even know where I am right now.

I don’t want to bring it up in therapy, because I’ve spent a few sessions already on what this guy did to me and how it’s affected, and still is, affecting me. I don’t want to rehash it all the damn time. A part of me also feels ashamed to keep bringing it up. Like I don’t have the right to.

I haven’t had any episodes of suicidal ideation for more than a month now (which was a welcome change), but right now, tonight, it’s back. I’m hoping that by writing this, I’ll get out of this mindset.

I’m doubting myself. And right now it hurts. It all hurts so damn much.