Tuesday, January 31, 2006
One of the questions was "What is your favorite childhood toy?"
It was really easy to answer that question, but at the same time it brought up a lot of happiness and sadness.
It was a Gizmo doll. From the Gremlins.
I got Gizmo for my 5th birthday.
I loved that little guy. I took him everywhere with me, he was like my protection. I remember putting him under my pillow at night, clutching him while I lied there, waiting for the inevitable to happen. I want another Gizmo...
I remember the night my father took him. I think I cried more that night for losing Gizmo than for what my father did to me.
It was the night of the hot curling iron...
Monday, January 30, 2006
I decided to do it all at once because there's no better time than the present and if I'm giving one thing up, might as well give 'em all up... well not all... I still drink!
But as of Friday...
I have not had a cigarette...
I have not practised SI...
And it's been over a week since I smoked pot...
Amazingly enough I'm doing really well!
I'm on the patch for smoking and am getting a wicked rash at each patch location... but I'd rather be itchy...
One day at a time....
Friday, January 27, 2006
After cutting myself I did feel relief. For a short time. I went through most of yesterday feeling worse than I did before I cut. I'm incredibly glad this was the was outcome.
I realized that by cutting or burning myself I am causing myself more pain and trauma. I am mutilating my body, scarring my body. I am repeating the actions of my father through burning. When I cut or burn, sometimes there is relief, sometimes those feelings I am cutting to get away from increase. Every time I hurt myself I am causing more shame, more guilt, more pain (physical and mental) and more secrets to carry.
In realizing this, I can really truly see how maladaptive and dangerous this behavior is. I have been told prior that it is maladaptive, but I finally experienced it on my own. I guess that is what I needed to do in order to put a REAL action plan into place.
I don't want to keep hurting myself. I don't want to keep scarring my body and adding to the guilt, shame, anger, pain, and any of the other feelings I feel that I haven't learned to name yet.
I also know this isn't going to stop happening over night. I may have relapses, and if I do, it has to be OK that I fall backwards while I work at creating and adapting healthier coping strategies. I have to make it OK so I don't beat myself up and end up repeating the self harm. I also know I'm going to need a lot of support to incorporate these changes. I feel ready. I feel stronger than I have in a long time.
I am also embarrassed about my last couple of posts. I'm fighting the urge to delete them because that is how I was feeling and thinking. This is my journal. This is my story of my healing, and even though people read it, it is very personal. As I go back and read what I wrote, I see it is irrational, but I will not edit it.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
I've lost interest again in mostly everything I enjoy... the only things I want to do are lay in bed and stare at the wall or drink myself stupid. I'm not performing at work, I haven't been for a while now. I'm late everyday and spend most of my time just sitting there like a blob. I'm not taking care of myself, I'm not sleeping, I'm either starving myself or binging on comfort food... I'm going through the motions of being alive, I'm putting on such a wonderful act for my friends they are completely clueless.
I've been looking for things to keep going. Making plans of sorts that I can hold on to and keep living for... I'm trying to create aspirations for myself, goals to reach before I die but I really don't give a fuck.
I'm scared to share this because I'm terrified of the reaction I may get...
I cut myself again. Four times. Once on my upper arm, once on my chest, twice on my legs.
My counsellor asked if there was a correlation between my hurting myself and our relationship. This time, I would have to yes. A lot of the emotions I was trying to dampen were directly related to her being disappointed in me and the guilt and shame and disappointment in myself I felt as a result. Those feelings were already present before hand coupled with fear of being honest and admitting to her what I did. I am absolutely terrified to tell her I cut myself yet again, terrified of the reaction I am going to get. I can't handle hearing more disappointment. I can't handle having her disappointment mounted on top of my giant pile of disappointment and self loathing.
At the same time, I need to be held accountable for my actions and how my actions affect others.
I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I feel like I've completely lost my mind...
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
The tears just won't stop coming...
I'm trying to fight the urge to flee from my feelings. To run from writing. To hide from the process of healing.
I haven't been being honest with anyone lately, especially myself.
I keep telling myself that I'm OK. That there's nothing wrong. That I'm happy. That there is no reason for feeling the way I've been feeling. I've been trying to minimize my pain, to make it go away. It's only making everything that much worse.
I have an incredible hold on my feelings. I can put a pin in them and tuck them away deep inside. I can put myself in such deep denial I actually scare myself sometimes.
So, I'm going to be honest right now. I need to clarify that these feelings and thoughts are not a result of recent events, these are things that I've been feeling and thinking for a very long time, I've just been denying them... trying to will them away...
I hate myself. I wish I was dead. I drive myself crazy with negative thoughts all the time - I'm a failure, I'm stupid, I'm worthless, I don't deserve help, I don't deserve the people who care about me, I don't deserve support, I don't deserve to be happy, I don't deserve the fortunes I do have. And honestly, I don't want them either. I have incredible friends, people whom I love and deeply care for. I want them to go away, I want them to leave me alone, I want them to forget I exist - I want to isolate myself completely so as I continue to self destruct the only person it hurts is me, and honestly, I don't really give a fuck if I get hurt. I stopped caring about that right around the same time my ex-husband broke my jaw. The man who supposedly loved me hurt me constantly.
In my mind, if I keep hurting myself in the worst possible ways, then no one else can hurt me again.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
I don't remember ever disappointing someone who actually mattered, who I trust and respect. I'm sure I have numerous times, but don't remember being told that. It actually hurt. The disappointment and anger with myself increased ten fold.
I've been thinking a lot about this, about the impact and why it was so powerful and overwhelming.... because of growing up with people letting me down, disappointing me... I try so hard not to let anyone else down and I'm sure I have but they've never actually told me that I have... I've been disappointed an enormous amount in my 25 years, and disappointing someone else makes me feel like a failure.
Disappointing myself makes me feel like the ultimate fuck up.
Not only did I break the contract and do drugs, I cut the fuck out of my arm.
Here I am, continuing to beat myself up. I made a mistake. People make mistakes all the time. I need to resolve that I made a mistake, and I am going to do everything I can not to repeat that mistake. I'm going to take this as a learning experience, a very harsh learning experience and do just that... learn!
I have now.
I took a really big risk and and told her that I hurt myself, burning and cutting. I asked her if I could call her when I feel like hurting myself. She said yes, day or night.
Thank you sweet friend, you have no idea how much that means to me.
Monday, January 23, 2006
I broke a promise. A contract. I broke my word... going back to my belief that we're only as good as our word... well...
I couldn't handle what was happening. I NEEDED it to go away.
I honestly tried to put a "container" around it until the next session with my counsellor but it wasn't working.
Sharing the flashback or memory or whatever the hell these images are was too much for me. Sharing in the moment... making it real. Having to acknowledge that it happened, having to share the ineffable is like reliving the trauma over again.
Regardless, there is no excuse for my actions.
I feel incredibly guilty and shameful and have this undying urge to run away and hide rather than face the broken promise.
I don't know what to expect when I tell my counsellor I broke the contract. Will there be disappointment? Will there be a break of trust?
Trust. Such a simple word for such a strong and fragile feeling.
There's nothing I can do but apologize for my mistakes and work harder to ensure there isn't a repeat.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Thursday, January 19, 2006
I was crying during the session, trying my hardest to conceal the shaky voice that often accompanies tears. I'm starting to cry again now...
The flashback and the words. I hate hate hate seeing this. It won't go away...
I have tried to push it away by visualizing my empty black room, but it's invaded the black room. It's no longer a safe space for me. I tried twisting the flashback, putting me in control, but I wasn't successful.
The flashback hit me really hard. I hadn't correlated words my father said to me during the abuse with the anger and hatred I have towards to my mother. My counsellor put it together, and I was blindsided with his words... "because your mother won't do it"
It keeps repeating over and over in my head... because your mother won't do it because your mother won't do it because your mother won't do it... all I can see is him standing in front of me forcing me to give him oral sex. It's like I'm standing on the sidelines watching this little girl (me) being forced... because your mother won't do it...
I want to say I'm sad, and really hurting... but I'm sick of being sad and hurting
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
I can understand being scared for I have been scared my entire life. Living in fear is not living, it is merely etching out a meager existence. This I think we can both agree on.
You have told me stories of your life growing up with an abusive mother and father. Your stories of being sexually abused and the anger, fear, shame, and guilt that surrounded your experiences. I empathize with you as I live that very darkness myself.
What I don't understand, as being a victim and survivor yourself, how you could possibly turn your head and look the other way? Were you so afraid of what was happening that you couldn't bear to see the truth? Or, did you simply just not know? Personally, I don't believe that you couldn't have not known what was happening. I think you had to feign ignorance, dawn the rose colored glasses and pretend everything was OK, that the man you loved was not harming your children.
I also don't understand how you could possibly stand by and do nothing after your eldest daughter came forth and told you she was being molested. As a victim, as a survivor, HOW could you do nothing? HOW could you continue to love the man who caused so much harm to us? HOW could you not approach me and ask if he hurt me too?
I often fantasize what my life would be like had I not been molested. I dream that my life would be marvelous! In turn, dreaming is torture. At the same time, I look at my life and am thankful for the fortune I have been blessed with in amongst the darkness. I'm an accomplished writer with two published works. I was successful in theatre as a triple threat. I have many wonderful friends whom I consider my family. This is what I hold on to, what helps me continue with the daily struggles.
I am telling you this because you failed me as a mother. You failed to protect me, to love me, to support me, to guide me, to help me. I have spent most of my life floundering in a sea of pain and loneliness, in turn protecting you, helping you, supporting you, guiding you. I need you to know how your actions affected me as a teenager. Spending my "informative" years listening to your troubles, preventing your suicide attempts, having to have the police intervene on many occasions, coming home to discover you had constructed your grave in the living room with you standing in front of it holding a knife to your wrist. I often wonder what I would have walked into had I been a few minutes later, would you have been bleeding to death on the floor? Having to monitor your pills, to lock up all the alcohol and anything that could possibly be used as a weapon. To having so much anger and pity for you... for feeling trapped and burdened. For the loss of the beautiful mother-daughter relationship I long for. For being unable to go to you to tell you how much I was hurting, how I was hurting myself, how I wanted to commit suicide, what Dad did to me, that I was raped. I had to escape you. I ran off and got married at the age of twenty, spent five years of my life in a living hell, all to escape you. Yet, when you called and begged me to come back, I did. I knew it wouldn't be any different, any iota of trouble in your life would again become my fault. I would again have to pick up the pieces, to put me and my health on the back burner to care for you. I came back because I hoped upon all hope that you would protect me from the man I called my husband. That for once you would intervene and stop me from being hurt. Instead, you sat back and ignored it. You often closed your door and turned up the television so you wouldn't have to hear my screams of pain. At least this time you didn't yell at me to shut up, although, I would have rather been yelled at, being ignored caused me more pain.
I am incredibly angry with you. I have every reason in the world to hold as much anger and hatred towards you as I do.
Yet, I also love you because you are my mom.
I love to hate you...
Monday, January 16, 2006
Reading The Lovely Bones has triggered every facet of being raped. Every emotion, every physical feeling is so real it feels like it just happened. It's like living a waking nightmare. I'm frozen in time, being hit with snippets of the rape constantly. If I close my eyes I can feel his breath on my neck, his whispers in my ear. The searing pain. The feeling of absolute terror and being frozen, unable to fight, unable to protect myself.
I do wish I was dead. I do wish I didn't have to feel this, didn't have to relive it.
I need to stop writing about this, I can't handle it.
I don't understand the way our minds work. If something is so traumatic, why must we relive it?
I was at a party Friday night, offered a joint, I said no!
Was at a party again tonight, was offered a joint, I said no!
I haven't signed the contract yet and sent it back to my counsellor. I'm scared that I might end up breaking the contract in a drunken stupor and facing huge disappointment in myself and possible disappointment from my counsellor. Without signing it I said no twice when offered, so that's a definite step in the right direction.
At both parties as well I didn't drink. I just wasn't in the mood, and there wasn't any emotions that needed chasing away. I was the sober one for a change, and it's rather funny laughing at the drunk people. It's actually more entertaining than joining in on the festivities.
I'm proud of myself for not doing either. But I also think it was so easy because I'm still sick and on antibiotics...
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Went to the doctor today, I hate going to the doctor. Just brings back memories of the exams from when I was a kid. I'm procrastinating big time as well, 4 months late in getting the oh so much fun yearly exam! It was never a problem before, but now I just can't bring myself to make the appointment. And if I make the appointment, I probably won't go to it. I went to the medicenter today, didn't feel like driving all the way to my actual doctor. I have strep throat, a sinus infection and an ear infection in both ears. I went all out this time! I rarely get sick anymore, but when I do, wow! I get sick!
My mind has been pretty cloudy the past few days, like a dense fog has settled in and taken up residence. I don't mind much. I've been able to sleep, it's actually more like a sickness induced coma. My dreams have been very strange, not nightmares thankfully, but odd none the less.
I'm going back to sleep...
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Something is eating away at me.
It's driving me crazy.
I don't know what it is.
I'm trying to dig beneath the surface. But it's not working, I can't get there and I don't what it is.
It's a feeling of uneasiness. Wow! I named another new feeling!
I really dislike this feeling and not knowing what is there...
On the other hand... I now know what is wrong with my knee.
My knee cap slides over the tendons and the bones that hold it in place, which is causing the bursa sack to slowly rupture, hence the fluid build up in my knee. The cartilage under my knee cap is being chipped off every time it slides off course which is causing the cracking. So all in all, it's incredibly painful and some days I am unable to walk, I just kinda hobble or hop! I have exercises to do that will strengthen the muscles to help reduce the symptoms and was told to take Motrin for pain and swelling. There's not much they can do for me at this point except knee replacement, but I'm having that done at my age. Maybe in ten years or so...
I also got sleeping pills! Clonazepam - it's actually seizure medication. But it controls some stuff in the brain that will help with my nightmares and causes drowsiness so I'll actually fall asleep. I haven't had a chance to read up on it very much yet, but I will find out exactly how it works and which chemicals and neurotransmitters it affects. I'll be taking my first pill tomorrow so we'll see how it goes....
Monday, January 09, 2006
I can see how it would be so easy to fall further into this trap of drugs and alcohol. I've been here before, only much much worse. I can feel myself falling, but I can see the warning signs this time. It's time to decide if I want to pay attention to the warning signs and walk away, or continue to have fun and take a huge risk with my life.
It's so much easier to smoke a joint and forget about everything. It's so much easier to drink a bottle of wine and forget about everything. Maybe this is a part of my healing, maybe this is just me being a dumbass. Maybe I'm doing this because there is something going on inside me that is so unbearable I'm using more maladaptive coping methods. There is one positive to my actions, I have not burned or cut myself in 17 days. However, I am replacing one maladaptive behaviour with another.
The current behavior is much more enjoyable and isn't leaving any noticeable scars. And the effects last much longer. A burn only ceases the emotional pain momentarily, whereas smoking a joint takes it all away for a few hours. Drinking a bottle of wine lasts all night.
Choices... which one do I choose?
Friday, January 06, 2006
My uncle had his surgery today - the cancer has metastasized. They had to remove his entire small intestine and they were still unable to get it all.
The only course of action is chemo. Very intense chemo. It needs to be started immediately.
I don't understand how they can do a colonoscopy and a CT scan and miss the fact that the cancer had spread and infected the inside and outside of his small intestine. Even doing a barium x ray should show the blockage of the small intestine being more than a tennis ball. A CT scan certainly should have picked it up...
My uncle hasn't been told yet. They are going to wait until tomorrow to break the news.
I'm holding on to hope and praying for him and my aunt.
I really think he will. I'm a walking encyclopedia for biology and related subjects, so I know and understand the seriousness and possible complications. It really does look promising. The cancer hasn't metastasized, and it's a relatively small tumor. To remove the tumor they are removing one foot of the small intestine, which is good because he shouldn't have to have a colostomy bag. I really hate hospitals, but might visit him tomorrow.
This week has been fairly uneventful except for the above. Work of course is driving me crazy, but that's not far from the norm!
Finally getting my knee checked out today. For about a month and a half it's been swollen and full of fluid, I can barely walk some days. It has started popping and cracking now and when that happens I almost fall over doubled up in pain. We'll see... maybe get some good pain meds... kind of worried that my doctor is going to drain the fluid with a needle - I'm terrified of needles. Or send me for x rays where they make you contort into all kinds of painful positions that even if you weren't in pain before hand, you're certainly in pain during and after the x rays.
Going to inquire about sleeping pills as well...
Going to a couple parties this weekend, will be drinking for sure, as for pot, I don't know. I really want to but I don't want to at the same time. I KNOW I shouldn't... but what I KNOW and what I DO isn't always what is best for me.
I guess we'll see...
Thursday, January 05, 2006
I started reading this book, "The Lovely Bones" and a few pages in, the main character is raped.
It doesn't go into great detail, but great enough that my own rape was flashing before my eyes.
I couldn't stop reading. I couldn't stop the flashes.
For lack of a better word...
I made a promise to myself and I broke it. I'm disappointed, but only slightly.
When I make promises to others, I do my absolute best to keep them. After all, we are only as good as our word. I am firm believer in that.
I promised myself that I wouldn't smoke pot anymore. Well, I broke that promise. This past weekend, I got seriously messed up. It was a mind and body stone - the kind where you're just struck dumb and everything is funny. I drank a bottle of my favorite wine smoked a joint with friends. It erased everything, my past, my present and the future. It was a few hours of complete and utter escape. I must say I really enjoyed it, and that kind of scares me. As I said before, I had a real problem with pot and alcohol in high school. Now I am drinking Friday and Saturday night, no exceptions. I'm starting to couple in pot with the alcohol to complete the numbing effect, and presto! Could have a real problem in no time flat!
The other problem is the fact that I like it. I really really like feeling that way. It's an escape from feeling shitty most of the time.
It is the magic eraser I have been wanting for so long, it just wipes everything out. I know the other time I smoked, it brought everything up and it was incredibly hard to keep the face on, to stuff everything down. This past weekend was the complete opposite.
I liked it.
And it scares me...
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
I can actually say I was happy and giddy, smiling and not faking it.
Monday, January 02, 2006
I'm incredibly restless and bored. I can't concentrate on anything. I can't sleep, I just lay in bed tossing and turning, looking at the clock, dreading having to go to work in a few hours.
My body feels kind of funny. Tingly almost. I'm trying to get in touch with these feelings, to name them, to honor them and then let them go.
I think I'm anxious, about what I'm not sure. Well, actually lets dig a little bit here. I don't want to go to work. I really dislike my job. I always say it pays the bills, but being utterly unhappy and seriously stressed out for 8 hours a day is not good enough to pay the bills. Some days I would rather be living in a cardboard box then go to work. But at the same time I at least have a well paying job that does more than pay the bills. So I guess it evens out, to some extent anyway.
I am also excited. I haven't seen my boyfriend in over 2 weeks, he gets back in town on the 3rd and I'm picking him up from the airport. I can't wait to see him. We've only been together for about 2 months now, but I've fallen pretty hard. He treats me like gold, something I've never experienced in a relationship before. And I trust him. I trust that he won't hurt me physically. I can actually sleep soundly when we are together. I feel safe in his arms, like no one can ever hurt me again. I miss him terribly.
I am also sad. Sad because... I don't know. I'm sad. I can feel the tears pressing behind my eyes, but I won't let them out. I won't let them fall. I can't. I've still got the stigma that crying is weak ingrained so far into me that I just can't cry. I can only cry when things mount to a certain point and then I've lost control, and my tears take over. Until that point, there are no tears. I fight, I exert an incredible amount of energy into not crying, that if I just cried and let it out I don't think I'd be quite as exhausted. I just don't know how to get the words of my mother out of my mind, "crying is for babies... you're not a baby are you?" Every time I start to cry, I can hear her screaming that to me as a child, only making me cry harder. And when that happened, out came the belt "you want something to cry about, I'll give you something to cry about" and down went my pants and she would repeatedly hit me with the belt until I either screamed or just stopped crying. Sometimes it was so bad it hurt to stand, sit, walk, anything. I would lay in bed for hours on my stomach staring at the wall wishing I was dead.
We were out at the cabin, I'm not sure how old I was, probably 9 or 10. There was a cabinet between the beds with these hinges that stuck out about 1/2 an inch from the door. When I was climbing up onto the top bunk I hit my knee on the hinge. It cut my knee down to the bone. I remember sitting there staring at it. It hadn't started bleeding yet, and I knew if I said something I would just get in trouble for interrupting my parents. I don't remember it hurting very much either. So I just sat on the bed, looking at the huge gash in my knee when it started pouring blood. I didn't know what to do. There was blood on the bed, blood dripping down onto the floor, I didn't want to get in trouble for making a mess. I lowered myself off the top bunk and went to get towels to clean up the blood, but the blood was running down my leg, leaving a trail on the carpet. I was so scared, not because of the cut, but because of what would happen if my mother and father saw the blood and the mess that I made, never mind the fact that my knee cap is exposed and I have a gash of about an inch on my knee. I didn't even make it to the bathroom before my mother walked into the cabin and saw the blood. She started screaming at me, I started to cry. She slapped me really hard and told me to clean it up. I pointed to my knee and she looked at, told me it was my problem and to clean up the fucking mess, that there better not be a drop of blood anywhere or else I would really get it. I went to the medicine cabinet and all we had were band-aids. I got a little creative. I grabbed an Always Pad and cut it in half. I took the skin that was hanging there and pushed it on top of the gash the best I could and put pressure on it to stop the bleeding, grabbed some duct tape and taped the pad to my knee. I then proceeded to clean up the blood, not a drop was left behind. I had to change the pad a couple of times on my knee before I went to bed. By this time, it was throbbing and incredibly painful. It was at the upper part of my knee, so every time I bent my knee slightly it would just reopen and start bleeding again. They never did take me to the doctor to get stitches. It took a very long time for my knee to heal, and to this day, there is a large malformed lump of skin that turns purple when I'm cold or wet, like going swimming.
I guess I'm sad because of the above, and all the other memories that are floating around in my head that I wish I could just take a plunger and flush out. I don't really remember anything happy about my childhood. I'm sad because I never had love as child, not the way a child should be loved. Protected. Cared for. I'm starting to realize the loss, and the fact that it can never be recovered. Sometimes I think writing about this stuff just causes more pain, more sadness. Sometimes I think it's not worth it. But the goal here is to realize these things, to understand them, acknowledge them and accept them.
Sometimes I don't think I will ever reach that goal.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
I see 2006 as I saw 2005 - another year of healing.