Lots of Pain, Lots of Tears

It has been a rough week. Lots of pain. Lots of tears.

Excerpt from an e-mail to V last night:

"I didn't realize how much of me could hurt at one time. And as stupid as it sounds being 27 years old, I just wish my mom was someone I could go to. I wish I could drive home, crawl into her bed right now and just cry. Cry and tell her how much I hurt and how I want her to make it all go away... to tell me it'll get better... that she loves me and is sorry I'm hurting.

Yet, I'm here alone. Even when she was physically there when I needed to be told these things before, she was never really there. I was still alone. Nothing's changed.

Maybe this is what a broken heart feels like."

So Long Self

My peace is gone.

Why has God teased me? Why did he let me feel something I have been trying to achieve for so long, just to take it away from me so quickly?

It feels like a dream. Like those few short weeks when I felt better than I have in years were just a figment of my imagination. In my mind I picture the evil one hiding behind the scenes, laughing that I ever held the hope that I was getting better. Laughing even louder now that it's gone and I am back to fearing every choice, feeling and thought. Laughing at my tears and my pain.

And I don't even have the strength to care. Why work so hard if it can all be taken away just like that?

Saying Goodbye

My grandma died this morning.

I watched her take her last breath. I know she is being welcomed in heaven by my cousin and grandpa. I am so glad she is no longer in pain.

I'm on my way to A's office right now. Don't worry, I brought tissues.

The Elephant On My Chest

Every heart beat feels like a challenge, like it takes all my worldly energy just to pump blood to sustain my life. Every breath feels hollow, as though I won't ever get enough oxygen to satiate myself. I have been walking around feeling this elephant on my chest for the past 3 days. The tattered seams that are holding me together are about to bust loose. I feel like I'm on the verge of melting down.

The ticking clock reminds me constantly that time is my worst enemy. My grandma is getting worse. Family is flying in this weekend. I have to be back at work full-time on the 16th. I have until then to "get better". Every day that passes with no improvement or even a decline incites even more anxiety that I am going to run out of time.

I would imagine some of this is attributed to the fact that I have slept about 75% less than what I'm used to during the last 3 weeks. My body doesn't even feel like my own. It hurts just to move. I shake with the slightest lift of my hand. My appetite is almost non-existent. I imagine some of this is grief as well. Knowing my grandma is going to die soon is weighing heavily on me. I'm taking on too much (false) responsibility in trying to take care of/protect my own mother during this time and I know I am causing myself harm. Some of it may also be medication induced. With so many changes, increases and reductions in dosing and scripts over the last 4 weeks, I wouldn't doubt that my body is on high alert for anything that appears intrusive or unusual... and it's fighting back.

And through all of this, I feel even more alone than normal. I don't feel God's presence. I don't feel the Spirit inside me. I feel as though I could beg and plead for Him to scoop me up in His arms and He will remain hidden, leaving me to suffer in the darkness.

Eggshells

I'm walking on eggshells. Afraid to feel anything too happy, because the rug will just be yanked out from under me again. It hurts less if you don't fall from so high.

Seeds of doubt are forming. What if my life will always be like this? You're up, thinking you'll stay up, finally start forming a life, then CRASH. No hope, no light. Just overwhelming depression. Anxiety returns. No desire to see friends. Just stay locked in my house, my room, my bed.

Then I start thinking about what I want in life. Marriage, kids, peace. Then I start thinking about my age. Sure I'm still in my mid 20's now, but that soon is going to change to mid to upper 20's. If I can't get myself on track soon, I'm going to run out of time. I'm going to end up alone. No one will want me. Then the anxiety peaks and I feel even more hopeless than before.

Soon those eggshells will turn to glass and it will be nothing but pain.

Lost in the Dark

I am so lost. Lost within the darkness of my mind.

Why am I feeling like this again? Why am I not getting better?

Every second that passes takes another ounce of hope. I don't know how much longer I can keep trying to find the light, just to be thrown even further into the dark.

I'm praying. Gosh, I am praying so much but I feel so alone. Why is He leaving me in this place of such pain?

I don't want to keep living like this. It is just too hard.

No One Else Knows

Funny how a song you listen to all the time suddenly becomes something much more. Like the lyrics were written just for you. On my way to my 2nd session today, I hooked up my iPhone and chose the shuffle feature. Out of almost 800 songs, this is the one that was first.

Building 429 - No One Else Knows

My world is closing in
On the inside
But I’m not showing it
When all I am is crying out
I hold it in and fake a smile
Still I’m broken
I’m broken
Only one can understand
And only one can hold the hand
Of the broken
Of the broken

When no one else knows how I feel
Your love for me is proven real
When no one else cares where I’ve been
You run to me with outstretched hands
And You hold me in your arms
Again

I need no explanation of why me
I just need confirmation
Only You could understand the
emptiness inside my head
I am falling
I am falling
I’m falling down upon my knees
To find the one who gives me peace
I am flying
Lord I am flying

When no one else knows how I feel
Your love for me is proven real
When no one else cares where I’ve been
You run to me with outstretched hands
And You hold me in Your arms
Again

I have come to you in search of faith
Cause I can’t see beyond this place
Oh You are God and I am man
So I’ll leave it in Your hands

When no one else knows how I feel
Your love for me is proven real
When no one else cares where I've been
You run to me with outstretched hands

When no one else knows how I feel
Your love for me is proven real
When no one else cares where I've been
You run to me with outstretched hands
And You hold me in Your arms,
Ohh You hold me in Your arms,
I know that You'll hold me in Your arms
Again

My heart longs for what it will probably never have. Cutting has filled that void for me.

But as A reminded me today, that's where God can step in. I just have to make the choice to let Him in.

Self-Harm

******TRIGGER WARNING******

Why is it that at the age of 7 years old I turned to harming myself as an outlet for whatever I was feeling at the time? I had suffered nothing traumatic (yet). I lived in a wonderful neighborhood, was very involved in sports/activities, had lots of friends, a great family, did great in school, etc. Everything you expect to be able to give your children, I had. And yet, something inside of me at this age had me turn my feelings into physical punishment.

After my parents divorced and I was abused, I had more feelings than I knew what to do with. Unfortunately, my parents didn't know what to do with them either, so I ended up doing what I learned to do at a young age. I took it out on my body. I would go to my room at night and lie in bed for hours pulling out my own hair. Every night. I have vague memories of beating myself with my fists while sitting on the bathroom floor. The only time I ever felt "safe" with my own feelings was when I was locked in the bathroom with the shower on.

It was really hard to hide the aesthetic aspects of the hair pulling, so my mom attempted to "fix" the situation by making me take medication. I can't really say that it helped all that much. The only thing I learned was how to hide it better.

I was lucky (is that the right word?) to be so far in denial during college that I had a reprieve from any desire to self-harm. I still would pull out my hair, but it was more an obsessive action (evening out eyebrows/eyelashes every night) rather than a soothing mechanism. If I'd get really stressed, then I'd revert back to my nightly sessions, but they'd only last for 5 minutes or so. Much improved.

So to be honest, I was kind of surprised when that desire came back about 15 months ago. I had just started working with A, but was getting a loose grip on my anxiety and panic attacks. I was dancing around verbalizing my abuse for the first time ever. I remember sitting on the floor in my bathroom (a habit that I cannot seem to break), listening to the shower and crying. I was so overwhelmed with my life that I just couldn't internalize any more emotions. I started pounding on myself with my fists. The pain was too widespread, just like the emotional pain I was used to feeling.

I started thinking. What else can I do to get my mind off of that? I need a pain that is more precise. More concentrated. I had heard of cutting before. Mainly on TV and through comments/conversations others had, most of the time making fun of it as an "emo" activity. I didn't care. Whatever worked at that point. I started off using my cuticle scissors just to scratch myself. I had to get an idea as to the pain I would inflict, the proof of the actions and just how far I had to go to get relief. I don't remember when I switched to razor blades, but it wasn't long after. I didn't even know I had them till the scissors no longer did the trick. Something in my brain honed in on the toolbox I keep in the closet and the fact that part of the kit I got had an exacto-knife like contraption. There had to be razors in there too, right?! Jackpot.

The boldness of my own step really helped in keeping the frequency down. I'd venture to say that I cut only once a month, maybe more if there was something extremely triggering for me at the time. There was a time last year where I went almost 4 months without cutting. Things were going well with A and I was on anti-anxiety meds.

Then I opened my big fat mouth. I remember accidentally saying something towards the end of last summer. Part of me was worried. I didn't want anyone to know because I knew they wouldn't understand. Especially A. Her job is to make sure I am using healthy ways to grow. I knew cutting was wrong and detrimental to my healing, but I just didn't care.

The subject would come up from time to time, sometimes initiated by me because I felt I could trust A, sometimes by her to try and get more information. But I was so closed off to an in-depth conversation about it that I always squashed any attempt to delve further into it. I just wasn't ready yet.

So sufficed to say that I was horrified/enraged/crushed when I had a setback in May with my PTSD and I cut myself after signing a contract A presented in an emergency session saying that I wouldn't. In all honesty, I didn't take it seriously. I signed it because my alternative was to go to the hospital... but I didn't feel that I was bound to abide by it. Big mistake on my part.

My world has been hanging on by a thread since then, with the reality that A has presented me. Cutting again will say to her that her ability to treat me is not enough to meet my needs and that I need more intensive therapy. Something that she unfortunately cannot provide me. Which means that I will have to find someone else who can. In essence, start over. The mere thought of that invokes such anxiety and fear that the feeling alone has kept me from cutting since then.

But the desire is still there. I am constantly having to remind myself that if I slip, there is a consequence. And at this point, it's not a consequence that is worth the few minutes of control and power I will feel. But it is getting harder. Over the past couple of weeks I have had a harder time dealing with that compulsion. It is on my mind much more than it has been. And that scares me. I don't know how long I can keep abstaining before it just becomes too much.

So I told A today. I told her how much I'm still struggling with it. That just because I haven't cut because of her "ultimatum" doesn't mean that I don't want to, or won't in the future. I've got to figure out how to fix the compulsion. So for the next 7 weeks I will be seeing her 2x/week to start fighting this demon. This demon that has been a part of my life for close to 20 years.

Uphill battle, anyone?

Waiting for Relief

Horrible, no good, very bad week.

Complications with recovery. One trip to my general doctor and will be back to the surgeon on Thursday. Hoping for something positive.

Little sleep because of so much stress. Combined 8 hrs in the last 3 nights. I am exhausted.

Heading to see A in about an hour. Should be a fabulous train wreck.

When it rains...

... it pours. And right now I'm drowning.

I don't even have words to describe how I feel right now. I'm so confused and upset that I don't know what to do with myself.

The conversation I had last night with the parent is still weighing heavily on me. I don't feel ready to do what I need to do. I wasn't expecting to still feel this way.

Tonight I was taken completely off guard by a meeting with our senior pastor to explain something that had come to light the night before with one of our members. I don't know what to do with it. I understand, yet I HATE it. I just don't get why. I don't agree with it at all.

I have been struggling with the decision to step down as a "leader" at Celeb.rate Rec.overy (loose term considering I don't really lead anything) for about a month now. I never really felt ready to step up to that position, but with the shift in leadership back in December I got swept up in it and thought I could do it. I have been struggling with feeling obligated to go to CR as opposed to wanting to go for the sole purpose of healing and growing closer to God. I have skipped out on most of the meetings within the past month because of this. I have felt so trapped. And when I feel trapped, I pull away. God gave me the opportunity to step down tonight in the midst of this unexpected meeting. I took it. I still have to get a placement in order, but I can already feel this is the right decision for me.

And after all of this coming to a head, I get a nasty message from my sister. I wasn't surprised by any means, but I was hopeful that we had reached a place where her jealousy and competitiveness would not interfere in our relationship. My sister is (undiagnosed) bipolar and does not live in reality, but rather her own world where I am constantly out to get her. She is extremely verbally abusive to me and knows exactly how to hurt me. I hate to say she is succeeding, but you can't argue with someone who doesn't live in reality. It's like trying to argue quantum physics with a 5 year old. She just doesn't understand. And every time I try to help her understand, I just end up getting hurt more. So now I'm left to wait for the next wave of guilt, shame and hatred to come my way.

Maybe if I sink far enough away, she won't hurt me anymore.

Hard Times

I am having a hard time taking care of myself.

I'm not eating, I'm cutting, I'm beating myself down.

I am having a hard time believing that I am worth anything to anyone.

The shame of the abuse and my secret being discovered Tuesday is messing with my mind. It's distorting my thoughts.

I am having a hard time locating God's spirit in me right now.

How many challenges can I possibly face before I crumble under the pressure? I feel lost.

I am having a hard time wanting to keep going on this path.

I'm tired. I want to rest.

No Words

I can't seem to form connected thoughts to try and explain how I am feeling. I wish I could seep back into denial for a bit just to have some relief. I just want to curl up in my bed and stay there forever.

The Flood Gates

I feel as though I've opened the flood gates. There's no stopping it now. You can't push it all back in.

Crap.

Last night my session with A focused strictly on my SI behaviors. Although it was easier to discuss today, I was still shaking the whole time. I read her what I wrote about my cutting and was really worried about what she was going to say because I know how she feels about it. She doesn't approve. Nor do I expect her to on a professional level. But just thinking about her disapproval makes it all the more hard to talk about. It's part of the reason why I've never allowed deep discussion about it.

I have always had SI behaviors as part of my coping mechanisms, even before my parents divorce and the abuse. Around the age of 6, I started showing signs of trichotillamania and by age 7 I was completely devoid of all eyelashes and eyebrows. Couldn't tell you why I did it. I just remember thinking "Hmmm, I think I'll rip out all my hair tonight!" That became my way to cope with stress. It got really bad during my pre-teen/teenage years and was basically the only way I dealt with anything. That pain/sensation was my release. I still do it now, at times unconsciously. Sitting watching TV or on the phone. I don't even realize it. It's more of a bad habit now than a coping mechanism.

I mentioned this to A, one because I wasn't sure that I ever had, and two because I thought it pertained to me trying to explain to her my experience with SI. It's not a bad thing to me. It's something to help me feel better.

"I never had people telling me as a kid, "You better stop pulling out your hair. It is an unhealthy coping mechanism!" I don't know why this is any different. It's not jeopardizing my well-being."

At some point I got really frustrated and upset with the course of our conversations that I stopped talking. A looked at me and asked:

"What are you afraid of?" (as fear is what stops me from talking)

I had to stop and think... I wasn't really sure. It took me a while to figure out exactly what it was.

"I'm afraid of being pressured into giving this up when I'm not ready. I'm afraid that you are disappointed in me."

I don't think she was expecting that. The look on her face changed. Her response is not what I was expecting either.

"I am NOT disappointed in you. I don't think I could ever be disappointed in you. We are having this discussion because I'm concerned for you. That is what you deserve. That is something you didn't ever get, even when you broadcast your SI as a small child. I am doing this out of love and concern, not anger and disappointment."

And I believe her. I just would have never thought that was why she would not let the topic go.

We are both at somewhat of an impasse in getting past this. I am not ready to change this aspect of my life. She is not ever going to approve and say it is OK for me to continue cutting when she can offer so many other options that do not have the risk (however extreme and improbable) of accidental death. I have a lot of respect for her in standing her ground even though it is not what I want to hear. It presents an interesting dynamic in our relationship as I have never blatantly disregarded what she has said and offered to me for healing. Again, I feel as if I am letting her down. It's my fault I haven't learned enough from her to be able to get past this. It's my fault that I won't let this go. I'm an awful person for not doing what she says I should do, etc, etc.

I wish I could go back in time and not allow discussion of this topic. I wish I could close those flood gates.

Please Stop

Last night we broached a topic that A knows about, but something I have yet to allow discussion on. I'm not really sure how it suddenly became the only thing we were talking about, but it was. I had to ask her to stop. I had to beg her. "PLEASE STOP." It makes me feel crazy. Not mentally, but physiologically. Immediate panic attacks. She didn't let me avoid it this time. She pushed me. I got angry; passive-aggressive, curt. But I didn't completely shut her down. I did the best I could to talk through the fear. It did not go well, but it was more than what I've done in the past.

I left with this prompt for next week: "Is cutting my way of meeting my needs rather than depending on God, others or healthy coping skills?"

I don't know why the topic of my cutting is so scary for me to talk about, but it is. I sat down when I got home and processed through what A said during the session. I read and re-read her question to me. It didn't take me long to pour it all out.

Cutting is my way to feel in control. When things get too overwhelming and painful, I can take hold of a razor blade and feel at peace for a short while. All of a sudden I'm the one making the decisions. How deep? Where? How much? How long? In that moment my needs can only be met by cutting. It is the only thing I want. It is the only thing I can rely on. It is always there when I need it. It doesn't need a reason. I will bleed whether or not my driving force was due to pain or anxiety or hatred. My body is always reliable. The buzz of fear, like stealing. That feeling you are doing something you shouldn't. The pain itself. It suddenly has a real existence. I can see the feeling. The adrenaline that suddenly makes way for the calm after the storm. It never disappoints. My body never lets me down. Everyone else does. Maybe for a short while they are exactly what I need them to be; a friend, someone I can trust. But people are not perfect. I don't expect them to be. God, however is. Or at least, that's what people say. I see His perfection in the lives of others and I see it at times in my own life. But it is rarely there for me when I need it the most. When I am in the pain that has me crying out to Him to heal; praying and begging for Him to take notice and all I feel is alone? That only amplifies the pain. This pain has no name, no location and no appearance until I take control. Then I'm heard. My body hears my cries. Then I'm healed. My body heals my scars. My body never lets me down.

Pushing Away

This is my coping mechanism when I am scared. I push away. More so, distance myself before you can hurt me.

My session Tuesday with A was centered around this letter that I wrote to myself. Almost everything in it was an "I'm sorry" statement for something that someone did (or didn't do) that hurt me.

There are many times in my childhood where I was in pain. Doing as kids do, I tested my boundaries and tried to determine what kind of response I was going to get for my pain. Physical pain got the most immediate response/attention. I was a clumsy kid, but never broke any bones or had anything catastrophic happen. I remember two specific instances where I tried to intentionally sprain or break my wrist to get attention. I did a pretty good job, as both got me trips to the ER, but the attention was short lived and left me yearning for more.

Emotional pain acknowledgement was almost non-existent. My parents never were in tune with how things made me feel, what I needed from them, or if things hurt me. They still think that because I cried easily (when appropriate, like at a sad movie or when something upset me) that it meant I could release my emotions and not need anything else.

So I learned that unless I wanted to be in constant physical pain (self-inflicted of course) that I wasn't going to get what I wanted and needed from my parents. So what do kids do when they have no options? I got myself an attitude and terrorized my little sister. Bad attention was better than no attention. I started stealing when I was in the 6th grade. From my teachers mostly, but then I graduated to my mom. I felt less guilt there. She owed me right? I just kept pushing and pushing, hoping that I'd find a way to get what I wanted.

All of these instances and behaviors were already in place BEFORE I was abused. I wasn't getting what I needed before my life got upended with the life-altering experience of sexual abuse. So when I disclosed to my mom what had happened, I really expected her to be there for me. If this wasn't bad enough for me to get a hug, a tear, some screaming rage at who hurt me, then nothing would be.

I was a kid. Kids are resilient. Kids are trusting. Kids are hopeful. In the face of a life where everything has proved to them otherwise, they still think the good things can happen. I still hoped they could, too.

So I started testing the waters again. What support was I going to get? How do I have to play this? My support was being handed off to a counselor once a week. I remember her, she was nice. I don't ever remember talking about the abuse. I didn't want her. The first 4 months after the abuse, it was everywhere. Counseling, visits to the police station, interviews with the detectives, meeting the prosecutors, etc. Even with all of that going on... nothing. Not even a discussion, let alone support. When everything died down, my hope went with it. Insurance got changed and I no longer could go to counseling. The continued silence at home told me I wasn't going to get what I wanted. So my resiliency turned into denial. I shoved everything inside myself and went on with life, keeping everyone at an arm's length so they couldn't hurt me.

I started realizing all of this around April of last year. I started noticing how much I hated being around my mom, that just her presence or the thought of her brought out this bitter, angry, passive aggressive person. I pushed myself away from her, for my own sanity, but due to the co-dependent nature of my mom, she would not let go. She confronted me about my behavior in June of last year and I let her have it. The truth. Not 100% of the truth, but enough of the truth for her to know what I was going through at the time for her to know that I needed some space to figure things out without having her hovering over me. (See this post for more info).

Things settled down and are at a more comfortable place for me now, but around Christmas I started noticing my patience and desire to be around her were heading in the same direction. I can feel myself pushing away from her again. All of this work dealing with the absence of things I needed as an abused child is bringing up so much pain that I can hardly look at my mom and think of anything else.

The girl who has done so much healing in this past year is falling back on hope again. She's hoping that her mom will be different this time. She's hoping her mom will acknowledge her pain; past, present and future. The hope is what hurts the most.

Looking Into My Eyes

I've felt so silenced lately. It was a stark contrast to how I have felt since I started counseling and started this blog. It has really wreaked havoc on my emotions.

I was terrified of Tuesday. I knew that reading what I wrote was going to be really hard. Normally I can gauge just how bad it is going to be by how hard it was for me to write it. Sometimes that is misleading because I can dissociate from the writing then be hit hard when reading. Not this time. I cried when I put those words on paper. But there was a strange sense of desire to read what I wrote this week. I have felt silenced. Even though it was going to be hard, I wanted to read it. I wanted to not hide. I wanted to be heard.

I got to the third paragraph and had to stop. I wrote about something I've never admitted to anyone. My dad is an alcoholic. He has been since I was born. He still is today. I never really thought about it all that much until I started writing this letter to myself; myself as a child. As an adult it doesn't affect me that much, but when I thought of myself as a child, it hurt. It surprised me just how much it hurt.

A talked me back down out of the panic and I was able to pull together the strength to keep going. I did fine until I got to acknowledging my abuse to myself. To me; the child. Looking into my own eyes and saying I'm sorry. Saying the very words that no one ever told me or admitting I deserved the things no one gave me.

Looking into my own eyes and realizing just how much I wanted my mom to be there for me and let me know it wasn't my fault, that she was sorry, that I didn't deserve it. To hold me in her arms. To cry with me. To be mad. To do ANYTHING.

Lots of pain in those eyes. Lots of pain to try and deal with at once. Lots of pain I never let myself think about.

Up and Down

Wow, this week has been certifiably insane. Seriously.

I finally am sitting down now to do some reflection on the challenges that I have faced over the past 7 days and I a tad overwhelmed just thinking about it all. Tuesday night was the absolute worst, throwing me for a huge loop that I wouldn't have even dreamed about. I initially was very upset. I called out to God...

"Why is this happening?! Of all things? Of all people? What is the purpose of this? What am I supposed to learn here because it just seems unfair!"

I sat with my frustration and anger and realized that God was keeping me safe. I could adapt.

I chose to do my homework Wednesday, and although it was easy enough to punch out, the subject material is what scares me. I'm going to have to talk about it; work through it. It's something I have been avoiding for quite some time. Until I work through my fears with A, I won't be able to be in a relationship. My fears are holding me back. I just have never admitted this fear to anyone before.

Thursday was C.R. and this week's focus was on a testimony rather than a lesson. Our min.istry leader was going to be sharing her story again. When I walked into my first C.R. meeting at my current church, her testimony was the focus for that night as well. It was the reason I felt strong enough to stay. Listening to it again, I was surprised at how I reacted to it. The main thing that I focused on and connected to the first time was the fact that she was sexually abused too. It made me feel validated even though our stories are so different. Thursday night was harder. I have been struggling big time with minimizing my abuse, so when I sat there listening to the repeated horrors of her life, there was this little voice in the back of my head telling me I shouldn't be so upset about mine, or that mine didn't count. Sharp contrast from 7 months ago. I talked a little bit about that during our small group time, as well as my relapse with cutting. Every week I am with these amazing women that are going through such life-altering journies and I can see their pain. Right now I don't feel the same pain that I used to, and it's causing me to convince (brainwash?) myself that I made it up. It's frustrating.

I spent most of Sunday in a bubble of anxiety because I had my annual appointment with my OBGYN today. Last year was a catastrophe. I disclosed to her my abuse, depression, suicidal thoughts, etc. and proceeded to have multiple panic attacks during my exam. I was so afraid that was going to happen again. Logic wasn't really working for me.

When I decided to cut last weekend, it was for a couple of reasons. One because I was so out of control emotionally and just WANTED to, and two because I knew this appointment was coming up. I was having such a hard time even convincing myself that my abuse really affects me, let alone other people. I wanted proof. Proof that it is still affecting me. Proof that someone else could see. The cutting proves that. So Sunday night I took a peek at my cuts and decided they weren't BOLD enough. I fixed that.

*sigh*

What am I going to tell A? I promised her I wouldn't. I did it for a stupidly crazy reason that I am ashamed to write about, let alone disclose to her.

And I still feel the same way I did before. I'm sure she saw them, but what did she think?? Crazy dog attack or purposeful self harm? Recognition of a hard journey or the thought that maybe it wasn't that bad after all? I have a feeling if I can't get myself out of this unhealthy mindset I am in, I'll be trying to figure it out again when I have to go back next month.

Ready or Not

I've been wondering what to blog about for my 100th post in 2009. I didn't want something trivial, but something that really spoke to those who read this blog and something that really came from within.

I've been somewhat disconnected these last two weeks, focusing more on getting through the last week of work, then heading out to spend time with my dad and stepmom, all the while having to get over the fact that my sister couldn't come with me. I got stuck in the vicious cycle of "should" statements and guilt, followed by bouts of entitlement.

"I should be journaling like A asked."

(Guilt)

"But I don't want to. I've earned a week off where I am not constantly observing and analyzing my every thought and emotion."

And repeat. I'm not sure if my entitlement is warranted or if it my denial finding more clever ways of surfacing. Either way, I didn't journal a single day since I last saw A. I never really felt I had anything to journal about until Friday, when my sister picked me up at the airport. She hesitantly told me that she and her BF were patching things up (after a nasty break-up 6 months ago ending a 5 year relationship). This really took me off guard. I don't approve of her getting back together with him because I don't think he will change, but I didn't say anything to her that made her aware of my disapproval. I know she already seeks my approval, so I don't want to make her feel guilty for making choices in her life. She is an adult.

That being said, I could not let it go. I obsessed over it all weekend. Why is she doing this? More so, why do I care so much? Of course I care because she is my sister and I don't want her to get hurt, but this was something more. It took me a while to put my finger on it.

Envy. How green it is.

However unhealthy her relationship with him is, she has someone who cares about her. She has someone she calls her best friend and can talk to about anything. She is getting that back, and it was a sharp slap in the face. I've never had that. Of course, I've never been in a place where I could get that, but as scary as it is for me to acknowledge, I think I'm ready for that now. I'm ready for the best friend and confidante. I'm ready for the trust and emotional connection. Realizing this has brought out my old friend anxiety.

I am not ready for the physical connection.

I think about it and it almost brings me to tears. It made me want to cut this weekend. It has been the number one source of pain and unanswerable questions since Friday... and I don't think it is going away any time soon.

Seeing the Pain

Chi.ca.go was so much fun! It ended up being just me and my cousin which was wonderful. She and I are more like sisters than anything. We ate, shopped and talked. It was just what I needed to start off my break. Thankfully I have the entire week off from work. I have been going non-stop since August without a single day off. It's the longest stretch in the year with no break, so I am very thankful for the time to regroup!

I had a conversation with my cousin one night while in Chi.ca.go that brought out some thoughts that have been deeply buried for a while. She is the only person in my family who knows about everything that I have been through the past two years and a lot of the personal struggles I have had as a result of that. So I updated her on counseling and how hard it has been, but how grateful I am that she pushes me to do the work I need to be doing. I talked about my current state of being afraid of confronting God and what all that means. She asked me about my dad (her uncle) and how he fits into my recovery. At the time I honestly told her that he didn't. I never expected anything from him, so it wasn't a surprise when that is exactly what I got. She went on to say that both of her parents (my aunt and uncle, dad's brother) are both so upset with how my dad handled everything with me and my sister. I don't think she meant the abuse specifically, I think she meant more of how he handles his relationship with us, but I was shocked to be so stung at the fact that they too have acknowledged his inaction. I sort of shrugged it off for the time being, but I felt inclined to mention it yesterday in session.

I was surprised at the emotions I had when I talked about that conversation. I never felt the need to confront my dad with the way he handled/didn't handle my abuse as well as other aspects of our relationship. I came to terms with the fact that he was not the type of dad that would be there emotionally for me. I had tried changing that for a while but just became angry and resentful. But once I made that realization, I was able to accept him for who he was and not expect that support. I have spent the last 8 years or so really enjoying being around him and not harboring any bad feelings of anything. Even after all of this, I still will be able to do the same thing. But now I am realizing the hurt I feel because of this. I never thought about it. Now that it has been brought to my attention I am realizing how much I have avoided that because it brings me so much pain.

Same thing with God. The underlying pain being that He was also the one I wanted and needed to protect me and that didn't happen. The pain that comes with those two acknowledgements have caused me to drag my feet a lot in session. It almost seems like too much to think about at once so I am finding myself shutting down. Even A mentioned it. For 6 weeks I have been letting this wall keep me from moving forward and I haven't really been pushing myself (with the exception of last week) to get past it. With that was said that she realizes how huge these two things are because I have kept them so buried because they both cause so much pain. She realizes how hard these two things are for me to talk about.

I told her that I do want things to get better, but I don't know what I have to do to start pushing forward. When first acknowledging my abuse, I knew that I had to eventually tell her my story to start healing. With trying to improve my relationship with my mom I knew I had to acknowledge everything she had done that hurt me. I knew that... but this is different. I don't know what I have to do to make things better. I'm scared of what it is I will have to do. I have proven that I will do almost anything I need to do in order to get better once I know what that is. So she told me where a starting point is for me... and that is what I am working on this week.

I wrote a little bit yesterday and kept myself from dis.sociating while writing. I cried more than I expected to while writing to my Dad. I then started a little bit with God. I found myself more confused and annoyed than hurt while writing, but it could have been because I tried doing too much at one time. I'm planning on revisiting it again soon.

I just want to get past this. It's bringing out an angry, hurt side to me that I am not enjoying.

Rain

Chapter 2 "On the Threshold"

This is one of the shortest chapters of the book, a mere 3 pages in length. It is begun with a story from the Bible. A Levite took in and managed to lose his concubine by his arrogancy and unloving treatment. When she fled, he went after her and demanded she come back. On their way back to their town, they had to stop choosing a town that was much further along because it offered them safety. The nearest town had no Israelites and the Levite did not feel safe there. They were taken in by an old man and given dinner, before some of the townsmen came beating on the door demanding to have sex with the concubine. The old man, feeling he could not allow his guest to be taken advantage of in this manner, offered his virgin daughter. This did not please these men and they continued their raucous arguing. The Levite, finally frustrated with all the noise pushed his concubine out in the street where she was beaten and raped all night by these men. When they finally let her go, she dragged herself back to the steps in front of the home, to die alone and broken. When the Levite finally opened the door and saw her crushed figure there, his reply was "Well come on... let's get going!".

The main reason for this story is to validate the anger and disgust you feel when you are able to connect with the atrocities of this story. To not be protected by the ones who are supposed to love you. To be taken by strangers and held against your will, thinking the night will never end, wishing death to arrive to take away the pain. To the lacksadaisical response of those around you; "Well come on!" or "Don't dwell on the past" or "Just get over it".

Those that read this book are on that threshold, dying as the concubine was. But the response will be different. Instead of "Let's get going" the voices of survivors in this book will offer new responses: "There is hope. I have been there. I can help."