Showing posts with label Emotions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Emotions. Show all posts

Crying

cry·ing/ˈkrī-iNG/

1.
to utter inarticulate sounds, especially of lamentation, grief, or suffering, usually with tears.
2.
to weep; shed tears, with or without sound.

This might as well be a 4-letter word in my world. I hate it. It's messy, it's noisy, it makes me feel so out of control. Thinking about how I look when crying makes me cringe.

I am much more partial to the way I think I look when I'm not crying. I'm put together. I'm in control. I'm not leaking from multiple orifices. To me, that emits an aura of strength.

Apparently I'm stuck in some sort of egocentric developmental stage because if you see it, it must be true right? Right.

I wish it were that simple. I have honed my craft of looking one way on the outside and feeling the complete opposite on the inside. I bet if you asked any one of my co-workers, family members (not immediate, like my mom), or even some friends they would describe me as someone who is confident, strong, and happy. Why wouldn't they think that? It's exactly what I put out there for people to see.

But even faking it all day doesn't change how I feel on the inside. Hurt. Angry. Resentful. Confused. Lonely. All the things that I hide within myself, that fuel my depression and anxiety, they are going to stay there regardless of what I make myself look like on the outside. So on the rare occasion that I allow myself to approach one of these topics in therapy, it's akin to walking up to a kennel full of Jack Russell terriers that have been locked up all day and trying to just let one out. I mean, one is all you can handle without losing control right? OK, maybe two, but you don't want all of them at once. So you walk up to the cage and they all start jumping all over each other, barging for the open space to get out. FREEDOM! I MUST ESCAPE! But all of a sudden you're now having to keep the door closed, you can't let them all escape at once, but you've got to wrangle the one or two you let out, keep them in check too.

This is how crying is for me. It's always a struggle. How much can you let out so that you're still in control, yet you're easing the load for what's left in? How can I maintain this incessant need to appear in control and strong, yet let my guard down enough to feel what I'm trying to let out? Or better yet, how can I get to a point where I don't care about what I look like when I'm crying and just let my body do what it needs to do to get the relief it so desperately wants?

Every single time I allow myself to cry that is not because of a death (my sweet kitty, my cousin, my grandparents, etc) it's always controlled. I'm always standing by the door, poised to slam it shut should anything appear to be approaching the "messy" stage. But all the while I'm (cleanly) crying and processing the reason for my tears, I always get this image in my head of what I really wish I could do. Scream, pound my fists, grasp my knees and rock back and forth, shake, curl up into a ball, cry so hard I'm gasping for air. The scenario varies but is always there.

I wish so bad that I could allow myself to feel what's inside of me, but something always holds me back. I don't want anyone to ever see me in that state. So broken and hurt. Because if I don't show it, it's not really there right? Right.

A Hole In My Heart

So in my most recent updates, I haven't talked about what happened on June 8th.

I'll rewind a little.

It's the last week of school and I am already a little stressed because I'm scheduled to go out and see my dad that weekend. I hadn't seen him since he right after he was in the ICU, and I was nervous about having to come to terms with the new way life was going to be for a while. I noticed Monday that my cat, Spazzie, looked a little fatter around the midsection than normal. Made a little mental note to keep an eye on it and went on with the week. By Wednesday she had gotten bigger and it was apparent that she had quite a bit of fluid in her abdomen.

One x-ray and some bloodwork later and it was determined that she had a mass near, possibly in her liver. They couldn't tell without doing more extensive tests, none of which were going to give me anything that was treatable at her age... which was almost 20. They also couldn't tell me how long it would be. She was still eating, drinking and pottying at that point, which were all good signs, but liver cancer is notorious for being very quick to take down animals so I wasn't feeling very confident.

I was supposed to leave in 2 days to see my dad (was planned to be gone for over a week) and now I was thrown into the position of trying to decide to put my baby to sleep before I left so I could say goodbye on my own terms, or playing with chance and hoping she made it until I got back.

Not liking either of those options, I tried calling the airlines to see if I could change my flight, give me more time to make this horrible decision instead of feeling rushed into it. For $600 I could change my departure date. That was more than I paid for the entire roundtrip ticket. Next plan. Buy a one way ticket leaving later in the week, so I could stay here and have more than 48 hrs to decide what to do. Airline again is no help. If I miss my original departing flight, they cancel my whole reservation so I won't have the return flight back. Last plan. Leave on the original date and buy a one way ticket back early. I wasn't thrilled with this plan because by Friday, she wasn't moving as fast or nearly as interested in food as she normally was, but my stepmom had been giving me a hard time about not being there to help and I didn't feel like I could just cancel because my cat might die in the next few days.

I went ahead and took her to my mom's on Saturday, and left for California. I decided that Wednesday (June 8th) was when I needed to come back. It wasn't too long out there that I felt like I was pushing my luck, but long enough where I felt like my stepmom wouldn't give me a hard time.

I was miserable the whole time. Aside from the fact that my dad has gone from the smartest man I know to what I can only describe to you as someone with Alzheimer's was already hard to come to terms with, but it was torture being away, knowing deep in my soul I was going to have to prepare myself to say goodbye to my baby, either on her own time, or mine.

By Monday she wasn't really moving around a lot and barely eating, so I had my mom take her to the vet so they could take care of her until I got back. My flight back Wednesday was set to get in right around rush hour, and the vet was a good 90 minutes from the airport, not to mention my car was still at my mom's house.

I barely made it to the vet in time to pick her up. They brought her in and she looked so pitiful. Her fur was all dry, her tummy all swollen and she didn't have that sparkle in her eyes. The vet (who wasn't the normal guy, he's off on Wednesday's which of course is what day this was) updated me on what they had done for her, the medicines they put her on and the choices I had for making her comfortable while I decided what I wanted to do.

I left the vet in tears, just wanting to get home and sit with her. Hoping she just looked as pitiful as she did because she wasn't at home. When I walked in the door and set down the carrier, she took enough steps to get out then laid down right on the floor. I just sat down next to her and sobbed. She was telling me what I needed to do. I cried and I cried, the way I never have before. I literally could not breathe. I had her for 18 of her almost 20 years of life and I wasn't ready. I still wanted more time... but I knew. I knew keeping her alive would only be for me. That she was ready, that she held on for me to be there with her, the way she had been there for me so many other times in my life.

I couldn't bear having to wait until the next morning to do this. The thought of having her there another night, knowing what I had to do in the morning was just too much. I called my mom and (somehow) managed to stop crying long enough to explain what the vet said and that I couldn't wait until tomorrow. There was an after hours vet that I had taken her to before, that is the 2nd location of the place where I took her regularly. I called them and asked if they had the resources to do this after hours and how late they'd be open. My mom asked if I wanted her there. Normally, emotional situations I tend to fight on my own... but I knew this was too big, even for me.

Next I called my sister and updated her as well. I told her if she wanted to say her goodbyes, she needed to get to my place soon. Calls out of the way, I remained on the floor next to Spazzie just staring at her. I curled up next to her on the floor and just listened to her breathe. Listened to her purr. Like I would always do when I was stressed out because the sound made me feel so much better. I don't know what made me think of it, but I grabbed my phone and held it up to her, recording her purrs so I would have them forever. Time seemed to slow to a near stop as I just laid there with her, thinking of all the things that we had experienced together. She kept looking at me, as to say, I'm thinking of it too. Those last 30 minutes we shared alone I will never forget.

My mom and sister arrived not much later, and before long I found myself in the front seat of my mom's car, clutching Spazzie like a small child might. It seemed like everything from there on out was an auto-pilot response. We arrived at the other location, and the vet wanted to look her over to make sure that putting her to sleep was warranted. It didn't take long for her to see what was there, and she explained what would happen and asked if I wanted to stay in the room with her.

I wasn't about to walk out and leave her there alone. I positioned myself to have one hand on her head and my eyes looking directly to hers. I watched her sweet, sweet soul leave her body and the life go from her eyes. The doc stepped out to give me (and my mom) some time alone with her. I laid my head next to hers on the table, hugging her and crying into her fur, thanking her for being there for me, teaching me how to love and for loving me for who I was.

I never knew my heart could break the way it did at that very moment... and feel so broken and empty after.

June 8th. The day that will never be just another day for me.

I miss her so much. There will always be a hole in my heart where her presence once filled.

11/16/91 - 6/8/11

Learning To Be A New Me

It has been a long time since I have felt drawn to my blog. In fact, it wasn't long ago that I thought I'd never blog again.

Funny how life turns out the exact opposite as you expect it at times. Like all of 2011...

These past three months have been quite weird for me. I was in a vacuum. I was literally incapable of connecting with the "former me", the me I'd become so accustomed to over the past 14 years. The abused, broken, hopeless, forever-destined-to-live-life-in-pain me. But these past few months have offered me a quite different perspective of myself. By default I've learned how to live in the moment, react immediately to emotional situations, and enjoy the happy moments in life.

It's like I was reborn into this new person who had to learn what to do, because most of my former coping skills and mechanisms for life suddenly became unusable... and to tell you the truth, I hated it. I hated not feeling like myself. I hated feeling so out of place and uncomfortable. I hated not knowing how I was going to react to things since my normal "put on a happy face and stuff it, maybe deal with it later" routine was not accessible. When I hate things or disagree with things, I dig in my heels and fight against it with everything I have.

But over the past month or so, my heels let up a bit and I've started to feel more comfortable with this "new" me. This me that is really starting to believe that I deserve all the things I've been working towards, rather than just going through the motions. This me that for the first time since I was 13 years old, has hope for my life.

Balance

Geez, these last few months have been an absolute blur. I have been so busy with work and this new thing called "balance" in my life. Previous to my meltdown in January, I worked and stayed home. That was my life. Now that I have found stability with my depression and moods, and actually want to go out, I'm much more busy than I am used to!

Most days I make myself leave work no later than 5, work out 2 or 3 times a week, and have dinner with at least one friend during the week. On the weekends I am trying to make sure that I have one thing planned ahead of time to do for myself, whether it's going shopping for a new pair of shoes, movies with a friend or just an hour to lay out by the pool.

It's crazy. I never thought that I could be happy being so busy. I was always terrified of not having time to be at home, by myself, to sleep all day, or to cut. But I'm finding that as I'm making more of an effort to surround myself with people who I truly trust and WANT to be around, I am okay with giving up "my" time for "us" time.

It's a baby steps process though. I still give myself permission to hole up at least one night a week so I can have my alone time. I still feel the most comfortable when I am alone, but as I'm building stronger relationships that is slowly changing. Some weekends I still find myself wanting to sleep all day Saturday (because I can!) and not make the effort to connect with anyone. That is still a struggle. The little voice in my head keeps telling me I deserve my time, but it's a fine line I have to keep my eye on to make sure it doesn't turn back into socially withdrawing and feeding the depression.

I've felt very disconnected from the abused side of me since I left IOP a month ago and returned back to normal life. At first it was so frustrating to me because that has been my only side since 2008 and I felt like I didn't even know who I was. I hated it. I felt so uncomfortable without that weight inside of me that I have grown so accustomed to. After a while I found that I actually was able to enjoy things that I hadn't in such a long time. I felt light, clear-minded and happy. For the first time in YEARS, I did something for someone else. I actually thought of someone else first and wanted to do something for them... and not only that, I was excited to do that! Before I was so buried in my own pain I rarely even noticed what was going on with other people, let alone think about their pain and how it might be affecting them.

But in the back of my mind, I see this guillotine raised above me, just waiting for something to come swooping in, cut the rope and send the blade back down on my life. I don't ever want to be thrown back into the depths of darkness like I was when this first happened in 2008, and again this last January. I don't want to put myself in a position where I don't see it coming, or can't act in time to keep myself safe.

I went out on a date last night for the first time in almost 2 years... and I actually enjoyed myself. I wasn't in my head, freaking myself out about the what if's and trying to predict the future. I was just there, in the moment and it was great! I had such a blast and really liked hanging out with this guy.

The ride home, however, was not great. The smile on my face faded after about 5 minutes and my weight suddenly reappeared. I honestly don't remember driving home after that. I remember focusing on trying to keep the memories and old habits, thoughts, feelings from taking me over. I know I had a panic attack. But the 20 minute ride home is a black hole... and I got home and had to put just about every strategy I learned from IOP into play just to keep myself afloat. After about an hour I was able to pull myself out of it and calm down enough to go to bed.

I'm feeling better this morning, but am more afraid of life today. I feel the guillotine blade on the back of my neck and I'm afraid to move. But I'm not going to let this discourage me. My life is new now, and I've got to re-learn how to live with my scars.

Ups and Downs

I feel like a broken record. My life is like one giant never-ending roller coaster. It goes up, up, up and lures me into a false sense of hope and security then speeds downhill at a rate that feels like it might kill me.

Last week was pretty stable. I went to IOP every day, talked about things that were on my mind, allowed myself to process the visit to California, and my continued fears regarding him and his health. All in all, I was feeling really well Friday when I left IOP. My mood improved even more when I found out my dad was taken off the ventilator and was awake for the first time in 3 weeks. I even got to talk to him on the phone for a few seconds. My aunt held the phone up to his ear while I told him I loved him. :)

Feeling so fueled by this great news, I had the energy to start doing things that I have been neglecting; namely cleaning. So I started cleaning my apartment all the while texting with my sister about getting together Saturday afternoon at the dog park. So I go into my bathroom to start scrubbing the tub and thought I heard my phone ringing, but with the water running I couldn't tell. When I turned the water off it was still ringing so I went to see who it was and it said "BLOCKED". Normally I don't pick up when I don't recognize the number, but I was worried it was my stepmom or aunt calling from the hospital so I went ahead and took the call. A guy was on the other end and this was the conversation:

Hey Lily.

Who is this?

What? You don't remember me? Come on Lily. I've seen you, you're looking good.

I hung up the phone and started freaking out. I had no idea who it could be or how he got my number. I saw that I had 5 missed calls, in the span of about 3 minutes and that he had left a message. I listened to it and then really started freaking out.

I saw you driving your black Lexus today. You're looking good. And you're in apartment 1509 right? Yeah, I can't wait for our little reunion. It'll be soon.

Oh. My. God. I was hysterical. I was shaking and crying. I ran to my front door and made sure the door was locked. I ran to my patio and locked that door too (which doesn't even make sense because I'm on the top floor and there's no way anyone can get in that way). I got my phone and called 911. I was expecting someone to beat down my door and chop me to little pieces. The switchboard took my information and said they'd be sending a cop my way. As soon as I hung up I started trying to call friends that lived near me because I knew I wasn't going to be staying at my apartment. After no luck getting ahold of the first couple, I tried calling my mom (which I knew would be futile because she let's her phone charge in the kitchen overnight). I knew I could just drive home (about 30 min away) without reaching her by phone but I needed someone to TALK to while I was waiting for the police to arrive. I finally got ahold of one of my friends who lives about 10 minutes away and asked her if I could stay at her apartment that night, to which she said yes, of course. I talked to her a bit but was still feeling very unsafe so I got off the phone with her and decided to call my sister to see if she and her boyfriend could come over so I wasn't alone. They live about 10 minutes away too and I had no idea how long it would take the cops to show up since it wasn't a time-sensitive emergency. I called her phone like 4 times, her boyfriends phone at least 2, and my cousin's phone (they hang out a lot together) but no one was picking up! I was a basket case! FINALLY she called me back a few minutes later and I explained to her what was going on and that I wanted her and her boyfriend to come over here so I wasn't alone.

She started laughing.

Lily, that was me! I thought you knew it was me. I mean, I used a voice changer but we were just texting each other so I thought you knew it was me. I can't believe you called the cops! We were just playing around. You never come over and hang out with us. We were just trying to include you.

OH. MY. GOD. I just lost it. I had finally gotten to a point that I wasn't shaking or crying and I just LOST IT. I have never wanted to kill anyone so much in my entire life. I yelled at her, which she probably couldn't understand because I was crying too but I just let her have it. Not 10 days ago did I confide in her that I hadn't been working because my PTSD was so bad that I had to seek intensive treatment and she goes and pulls this? I was just beside myself. I was so mad I could barely think. I hung up on her and just sat on my sofa and bawled. I was already full of fear, but to add anger, confusion, (relief that I wasn't in danger) among everything else... I felt like an idiot when the cops finally did show up and I had to explain to them that it was my psychotic sister who thought it would be funny to play a joke on me. Jesus. I was such a mess telling them this I'm sure they could tell how well she pulled off this "prank."

This whole situation completely affected my weekend. I am already having a tough time finding the energy to go out and do things. And an even harder time getting together with people. Aside from my family and doctors, I haven't seen anyone since New Years Eve. My desire to hide is overwhelming, but I was starting to feel more secure in leaving my "safe place" (home) to go see some good friends of mine that live about an hour away. But after Friday night, I didn't even leave my apartment for the entire weekend. In fact, I slept the majority of my weekend. I was so upset about what had happened that I allowed myself to shrink away even more.

I've continued to go to IOP, but the group has gotten so big (we had 9 people on Monday) that it is getting harder for me to have the opportunity to process what is weighing on me. We only have an hour that is designated for "open talk" and some of these women have no respect for other people's time. Today we were missing a few people, so the smaller group was easier to speak up in but I had to walk out at the end of our group. There are these two ladies that just have no idea how overbearing they are. They constantly interrupt each other and our IOP therapist when she is talking and it bugs me. Today, she focused on those two women and their issues, and it was a constant hour of listening to them talk on top her, not letting her finish her sentences, interrupting someone else, raising their voices so that they could be heard on top of someone else... it was just too much. My anxiety was through the roof listening to all of this that I was about to have a panic attack so I just walked out. They have no respect for other people and I refuse to be treated that way while I'm there.

I'm "graduating" IOP on Tuesday and I'm terrified. I'll be heading back to work full-time on Monday, March 7th and I just don't know how I'm going to fare. There are so many things at work that are huge triggers and I just don't know if I'm going to be able to shoulder it all and take care of myself. Only time will tell I guess...

Seriously, God?!

If life wasn't enough to handle right now, God has thrown me another curve.

My dad is in the ICU from an aneurysm that caused bleeding in his brain. My sister and I are flying out there Saturday. I wish it could be sooner but the entire state is covered in ice (I've been stuck at home for 4 days, sometimes with power, sometimes not), temps in the single digits with wind chills bottoming out at -18 this morning and more headed our way tonight.

I have pretty much been in a constant panic attack all day today. Please pray for my dad. He's having surgery tomorrow morning to try and stop the bleeding.

I'm Not Dead

Well, these past few days have been so incredibly difficult, unpredictable and spirit crushing, but I didn't kill myself... so I guess that's good. It's not for lack of wanting to though. I start treatment full time on Monday. Yee haw.

Finding Joy and Peace

It has been hard to find the joy in anything lately. Life has been one hard confrontation after another. One painful truth after another. The holidays have compounded my normal depression and anxiety having all these new emotions on the surface that have rarely, if ever, been a part of my daily life.

It's very hard to not let these new emotions consume me. They are very powerful and I have no experience in allowing myself to feel them when it's safe to, and turn them off when it's not. It is scary to feel like you are being dragged around with no control. It makes me want to run back to my "comfortable" place, where emotions are pushed under the rug and life is just about going through the motions.

I find myself praying for peace more than anything else these days. Will it ever come?

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."

Too Much, Too Fast

I was not looking forward to my session at all yesterday. After the hellacious aftermath of Thursday's session I was about ready to kiss therapy good-bye and welcome back my good friend denial.

So as I settle into V's office last night, she asks me to update her since I last talked to her (which was on Saturday). She had offered to see me Saturday morning, but I declined because I just couldn't imagine trying to process more when my mind was struggling to sift through the overload from Thursday. I was more specific with her about how horrible Friday was, and how it carried over into the weekend but that I was feeling better. I told her I was worried about coming in that evening because I didn't want to leave feeling so unhinged and fearful. I thought about cancelling, which I never do.

What happened next was something I was not expecting. She apologized. Huh? I was confused. Why in the world was she apologizing to me? I was the one calling and e-mailing her when I couldn't keep it together. I should be apologizing for bugging her so much. Yet she apologized for pushing me to confront too much, too fast. She said the way she worded the comment that totally unraveled me ("He could have killed you," see last post) was too harsh and she felt like it was her fault for putting me in a place that forced me to confront some scary feelings that I obviously wasn't ready for (as per my physical and PTSD reactions over the weekend). I hadn't really thought about that, but her comment definitely threw a huge kink in my otherwise very fluid system of fake truths and quasi-denial. Coming to terms with the truth of that statement was extremely unsettling (for obvious reasons) but even more so because it completely shut down the belief system that I have been relying on for the past 13 years. How in the world am I supposed to adjust to that? Apparently I wasn't ready. At all. I guess that's why she was apologizing. I know she did not mean to affect me in that way, nor could she have known I would have reacted as intensely as I did, but she was worried that I was going to be afraid to commit as much and hold back more because of how much it hurt me. LOL, was it that obvious? I didn't even have to say it for her to know that's what I was feeling.

I already hold back a lot when I'm in session. I still have not gotten to the point that I can let something in and immediately react to it. I don't feel comfortable showing raw emotions in front of people. I will go home, process it, go through a whole cycle of emotions by myself, then be ready to talk about it later, still keeping the emotions out of the mix. V and I have talked about this already. I am completely honest in telling her when I am holding back emotions that have been brought up by questions she asked or things I've talked about. But I've also told her I want to eventually be able to react to something initially, without holding anything back. It's exhausting to have to wait to be alone, try to understand a whole slew of confusing feelings, then shove them back down for the sake of feeling safe. I don't want to do that, but right now it's the only thing that I know how to do...

So after talking about all of this, V made sure to let me know that she would not push me as hard as she did Thursday, not because I can't take it (because I could, it would just suck 24/7) but because she wants me to feel safe with her, and does not want to hurt me. That was so comforting to hear, for so many reasons. Knowing that she really does care about my well-being is probably the biggest thing for me, but also knowing that I didn't even have to say anything about this for her to know that it was too much for me to handle. That just blows my mind. I'm so grateful for her.

The rest of our session she lead me back to what we were talking about Thursday, carefully. She asked me more about my reactions to what we talked about as opposed to taking me back to that moment in time. I got upset and teary-eyed a few times when her questions got me thinking about all the emotion that was brought up as I was processing alone. I am horrible at putting what I'm feeling into words, especially emotionally charged things. It was frustrating for me to be so upset and not be able to explain why... and that is basically where I am all the time now, it seems.

All in all, I left Monday night feeling much more stable and safe than I expected. I'm interested to see how tomorrow goes...

Revelations

My session with V on Thursday was intense. My body has responded by throwing me in a tailspin of uncontrollable panic attacks and horrible mood swings. I had to leave work Friday because I couldn't get myself under control. I can't even begin to wrap my head around how much I am going to have to release to heal. God help me.

"He could have killed you." It's scary how true those words are. If he wanted to, he could have killed me. No doubt. He was so much stronger than I was. To hear that I possibly saved my own life by not fighting back is a double-edged sword. Horrible to think that I could have ever been in that much danger, yet good because for once I can sincerely acknowledge that I did not and could not have had as much control as I pretend I could have. That throws a kink in my belief that I could have done anything to stop him... something I've all but convinced myself was true. But seeds of doubt are growing and I'm beginning to see that for exactly what it is: not true. As scary as it is to ponder what my reaction would be if I was placed in the same (or worse) situation now, overpowered by someone bigger than me, terrified and hurt, I wouldn't think my reaction would be any different. I would do what I thought would be safest for me and not fight back; live to see another day. Being able to identify this for the first time ever is already making it harder to blame the 13 year old for doing the exact same thing. Yet, I'm stuck in a place where I don't know what to do with that. So much focus and thought has been spent on the "what if's" that I started taking on the blame. If I suddenly don't acknowledge them anymore, where does all that emotion go? I can attempt to throw it all on him, but it's like two opposing sides of a magnet; no matter how hard you keep pushing, it'll keep getting bounced off or thrown back. Why can't I feel ANYTHING about him? There literally is nothing there. It just doesn't make sense. I wish I could understand why, that of everyone in my life at that time, he is the only one who never got any anger. Everyone else has, either directly or indirectly. I have hated them all for lesser things. But not him. Why have I made him immune to my emotions?
-- Journal writing from Thursday night, post session

Can I Just Hibernate, Please?

Man I wish I was a bear. Sleeping through the winter sounds like a really good solution. I'm starting to find that with each passing year, I dread the holidays more and more. The few family members I was close to have all died in the past couple of years, leaving me to try and look forward to fending off questions about my constant single-ness and underhanded comments by my mom about never having grandchildren. That's Thanksgiving in a nutshell. This year, to make it worse, my mom invited her dad and stepmom, who just recently moved back to the area after living 23 years in Oregon. I have seen them maybe 5 times since I was born.

He scares me. After all the stories I heard of how mean he was when my mom and her brother and sisters were kids, it is hard to want to get to know him. She is nice enough, but has brain damage from a very bad bout of pneumonia that left her without oxygen for too long. She is unpredictable in a childish way; lifting her shirt to show me a scar (god help me) or bursting into tears when talking about her nephew that died. They aren't my grandparents. I don't even consider them family.

It pisses me off that I have to pretend to want to get to know them (as I would never be blatantly disrespectful to them or my mom). I had grandparents. Ones that took care of me, played with me, talked with me, loved me. And now they are both gone and I am not looking for replacements.

Thanksgiving was so uncomfortable. I did anything I could to avoid being in the same room with them, only to be cornered by my aunt who succeeded in calling me a "titty baby" a few times for not getting plastic surgery to fix the after effects (loose skin) of losing so much weight. The only time I actually enjoyed myself was when I was with my sister, her boyfriend, my cousin and his girlfriend. We are all about the same age and it was nice to be able to sit and chat about things that we wanted to; movies, sports, school, etc. We sat down and played cards for almost 2 hours as well. I enjoyed that, but couldn't wait to leave.

And now that brings me to Christmas. Something I dread as well. First and foremost, I enjoy Christmas for the ability to celebrate the birth of my Savior and give back to the community. The thing I enjoy second most to that is being able to go out and see my Dad. With my work schedule, this is one of only two times a year I get to see him. I struggle with everything else.

Christmas with my other family makes me defensive. I don't want their obligatory gifts. The fact that you are buying me something to show me you care just because the date is December 25th ticks me off. You don't show you care any other time, so I don't want you to even bother now. Save your money, it'll just be wasted on someone who can't appreciate your half-hearted attempt "showing love." It's a lose-lose situation, because my family has always worked on the belief that you show how much you love someone by how much you spend on them. I wish every year that my desires of just a small gift card or maybe a new Vera Bradley purse were honored.

Knowing it never works that way, I'm stuck with trying to balance gift giving for everyone else in my family. My sister I tend to spend a little more on because she's still in school and has no money, but I do not want to go overboard on her. The bad thing is, she has experienced much more of the "I love you this much because I bought you this much" message since that is how my Dad is with her. I can see the disappointment on her face when I give her just one thing, or maybe two when she was expecting more. To her, it means I don't love her. Then she goes and spends money she doesn't have on things I don't need to try and show me she loves me. It's a freaking great situation we've got going on. >:(

As far as my mom goes, I'm to the point that everything I think of getting her is so lame (slippers, gift card, etc) that it hardly seems worth the effort. I'd rather find something that we can DO together as opposed to something I can just give her. My sister however, always goes overboard. I swear she spends at least $500 each year on her and wants me to go in on everything she buys. I just don't see the point. My mom would be just as happy to spend time with us as she would with whatever crazy contraption my sister has decided she needs this year. So this year I'm taking my mom, sister, and two youngest nieces to an art studio here in town where they let you paint ceramic plates, bowls, coasters, ornaments, etc and they glaze and fire them for you. My godmother used to have a store like this when we were kids and she would always let us paint something for Christmas. My mom used to do this very often as well so I thought it'd be something fun for all of us to do together. She was so excited about the idea, especially being able to bring the girls and starting a fun tradition with them. My sister on the other hand was like "That's it? What else are you getting her?" *sigh*

All of this "fake" love and obligatory actions tends to put me in a very depressed, somewhat passive-aggressive mood. It doesn't take much to trigger me into a deeper depression, where I fall into the traps of old habits and thought processes and re-route all my pain, anger, sadness, everything that the holidays brings me into myself, where I hold onto it and let it eat me alive. But I'll always put on the happy face... until the holidays blow over and I'm left with a dark cloud of depression and anger that will take me months to get out of. Yay, Christmas.

How Big Are Your Rocks?

V had me do this activity yesterday that I really enjoyed. One it let me learn a little more about her, and two it helped me pinpoint some of the specific things I am carrying around with me.

She handed me this backpack and told me to hold it out while she asked me a few questions. It was really heavy. I asked her what was in it, but she said I couldn't know yet. She asked me various questions, all fun/happy things. It was harder to concentrate on what she was asking the longer I stood there because the heavier the bag felt. Apparently that's exactly what is "supposed" to happen. The bag represents me, what was inside represents what I carry around. Everyone has their own bag, their own weights. The longer you hold onto them, the heavier they feel, even though the weight itself hasn't changed. People often do unhealthy things to temporarily forget their weights (maybe even convince themselves they completely got rid of them) but eventually they return to reality to find out that nothing changed. Quite possibly, these unhealthy things could have created new weights. V thinks my cutting has gotten to a place where it's starting to add weight. When I was younger, self injury was an unhealthy coping mechanism, but it got me through harder things that I had no clue how to deal with. At some point, however, it went from denial of my weights, to contributing to them.

We sat down, she opened the bag and pulled out a rock. It was painted with a word on it. SCARED. She told me that we were going to go through and pull out a rock, one by one, and discuss how big of a weight this was in our own bags. V doesn't strike me as anyone who gets scared a lot, but I was relieved to hear her say that she gets scared at night when her husband is gone and she's home with her kids, or when she's walking to her car alone at night. Thank God I'm not the only one who thinks this!

My first rock was WORRIED. This is a pretty big rock for me. I constantly have to (or attempt to) plan for escape routes and back-up plans when I am doing something outside of my normal activities. I can't ever be taken off guard or surprised. I never get to enjoy myself when I'm doing something different because I'm worried it'll take a turn I wasn't expecting.

V's next rock was ANGRY. First we talked a little bit about why anger is an appropriate emotion for anyone, but that the unhealthy side of it comes out in how people choose to respond to that emotion. She gave me two examples that make her angry. One that doesn't really weigh her down all that often, but she can't stand when she's not being heard. Meaning she is trying to explain or compromise on something, and another party is just not open to it or trying to understand. The second she says weighs on her more. She gets really mad when children get abused. In her line of work, especially working with children and families a bit more than adults, she sees this often and it makes her so angry.

My next rock was HURT. Physically I have been lucky. Never broken a bone. Up until May I had never even had to go to the hospital. Emotionally, that's a little different. I gave her an example that stood out in my mind. My dad was commuting back and forth from where my sister and I lived, and where he lived with his new wife, a good 10 hours away. He'd always come home for our visitations, but didn't live in the state any other time. When I was getting ready to graduate high school, I asked him if he was going to come and he told me no. High school graduations aren't that big of a deal. He'd come when I graduated college. That hurt. A lot. V asked me if I wanted to add anything about cutting with that rock, and I didn't. I don't view cutting as hurt. I view it as relief. She nodded and agreed.

V's next rock ended up weighing on me, a lot. It was GUILTY. I learned a lot about V through this rock, some of which I knew a little of already. V was a teen mom. She grew up in the city. Her parents immigrated from Mexico before she was born. She is Catholic and apparently they feel guilty about everything (she jokes). When she got pregnant at 17, she said telling her family was really hard. She is still married to her high school sweetheart, and their son is 14 now. They also now have a daughter who is 14 mo. old. She told me a few weeks ago about being a teen mom, which I couldn't believe. She volunteers for the advocacy center, leads trainings for other therapists on addiction and abuse, and works with our local school district to provide support for other teen moms. I have so much respect for her beating the odds and making something of herself, when most people would use it as an excuse. She said that when she had her son, something clicked in her. She was not going to be another statistic, especially being a minority. She wanted to be a good role model for her son. Her drive is amazing to me. Anyway, in her story she was telling me how other people tried to make her feel guilty. A girl called her and commented on how she couldn't believe the rumors were true, that SHE was the one who was pregnant. Her response to that girl: "What? So I had sex..."

The normalcy of that statement affected me greatly. It took me a while to recover and I know I missed out on what she said right after that. It pains me to think that most people are able to view sex as anything but a terrifying occurrence. It pains me to think that at 17, I could have been as blase about it, too. But instead, I'm in my 20's and can't even let a man touch me let alone go that far. There's no way she could have known something so little could affect me so greatly.

My next rock was CONFUSED. It took me a while to connect something with this, but I finally identified my spiritual side. We talked a bit about this, but she said we'd go more in depth when we had more time.

Her next rock was EMBARRASSED. Again, V seems someone who is very comfortable with who she is, but she told me a funny story about how she and her husband went out with some friends a few months ago and he congratulated them on being pregnant. They were not. LOL I couldn't help but laugh. I could tell she was still mortified!

My next rock was SAD. This has been a big weight for me lately with the deaths of my grandparents and Tayler, all in less than 2 years. I talked more about Tayler than my grandparents, because her death still affects me. I never have understood why. She was not the cousin I was closest to, but I feel like I lost a sister at times. It confuses me. V asked me some questions about her and was shocked to hear that she was 13. She looked at me and said "My God. How much horror can you take at the age of 13? For you it was abuse, for Tayler it was death. I wonder if her death affects you so much because of that. Or if part of you feels like you died at the age of 13 as well." We have talked a bit about how different I became after the abuse, so she might really be on the right track there.

The next rock she pulled was DIVORCE/ADDICTION. She handed that to me. Cheater, LOL. I identified that the divorce itself wasn't that big of a deal for me, since my life up until that point was mostly a one parent deal, but for me it was how my mom was affected by it and the parenting choices she made that made that rock a huge weight for me. As far as addiction, I know it contributes weight to my bag, but I am just coming out of denial about that so I couldn't really say much.

My turn was next, even though I had just gone. I had avoided picking up this rock that my hand touched next, but went ahead and pulled it out. ABUSE. Crap. I told her I didn't want to talk about that, but recanted and said I would at least acknowledge that it is a weight in my bag, and that it is not just sexual abuse, but emotional abuse and neglect as well.

Two rocks left. V pulls out JEALOUS. She tells me she sometimes gets jealous of people who have "easy" lives, those who don't know what suffering really is. That's understandable.

The last one for me, I pull it out and it says SECRETS. I laugh and tell her this game is rigged. She laughs and agrees. She knows what the rocks were and therefore, which ones to stay away from pulling herself. I look at the rock for a second and tell her this is probably the biggest one for me. It is connected to almost every other rock in my bag, which messes with my mind even more. My whole life has centered around the fact that I couldn't ever say or feel things in front of other people. So the other weights in my bag became secret too. Hide the weights. Pretend they aren't there.

I learned a lot about what I'm carrying around inside of me yesterday. Just acknowledging that was a huge step for me. I left V's office still reeling over her statement to the girl on the phone. I tried to sit and journal to see if that made me feel better, but ended up having a panic attack. I decided that I needed to e-mail V and let her know just how much I was affected by that (and those conversations in general) so that she would know and not accidentally trigger me that way again. As always, she was so gracious and understanding. I am so blessed to have found someone like V.

Peace

Lately I've noticed something. I am at peace.

Maybe not if you see me on the outside, as I have been running non-stop for the last two weeks... but internally. I feel as though the wounds that have been painfully opened the past (almost) two years are finally healing over. They no longer haunt me like they did before. They no longer completely control my life. There are still things that I need to work on, but doing that doesn't scare me anymore. I don't feel as though if I take on one more change that I'm going to crumble under the weight of it all.

This peace that has settled over me over the past month has resulted in me feeling more comfortable forging new friendships and being myself. My actual self. Not a facade of who I want people to see. It's resulted in me working harder to be a good friend to those that I have gotten to know at church, but have been keeping at an arms length. It's resulted in me having a healthier expectation of my family and not letting the fact that I can't change them upset me.

This peace has brought me a lot of internal dialogue as well. My inner voice has been dusted off, polished and is much louder. I still struggle with making sure that voice stays positive and doesn't return to shaming me, but that is one of the things I am working on with A right now. With this internal dialogue, I don't feel as compelled to come here and write.

Before I used this as a platform to put words to emotions that I couldn't get a grasp on and work through myself. It was my outlet. I depended on this like I depended on seeing A every week. I needed it to get through. It was crucial to me being where I am now. But I feel as though my relationship with my blog has moved to a different level. I no longer need to post to understand my own feelings.

In my world, that is a huge step of growth. I will still be posting (sorry if that scared anyone!), but I would expect that it will not be nearly as often as what some of you might be used to. My crazy schedule is part of that reason, but my hope and desire for increased growth and peace for me can only be achieved if I push myself to communicate with myself and others without a keyboard at my fingertips.

Identity

Man, I can't believe it has been a week since I last posted. This was my last week of break, but I was busier this week than I have been all summer! Two baseball games, one game night with friends, two sessions with A, planning meeting with my new partner, one follow up with the pdoc, Bon Voyage dinner for a family friend going off to college, paperwork intake and orientation for work and an additional 3-4 hours getting things set up at work before Monday. Sufficed to say, I didn't actually get much rest this week!

My moods have been very stable lately, which is helping me feel more confident about starting work again on Monday. I can't remember the last time I felt anything bordering on depression, which is so nice. My sleeping is still a little haywire, but I know once I put in an 8 hour work day for the first time in months that'll be easily solved. I'm nervous about going back Monday, but the closer it gets the more excitement starts to creep in.

A and I have been discussing identity a lot lately. Mainly how I allow myself to retreat when in the company of my family and conform to their ideals, opinions, expectations, etc. then let it affect my state of mind when I am away from them. I am a very different person at work, for instance, than I am with my family. Life for me is far less scary and confusing when I am connected to who I am away from my family. It is often why I grapple with guilt because I know this, yet I still feel that desire to connect with them. A calls it hard-wiring. We are hard-wired to rely on our parents and family to teach us, and therefore create an almost unbreakable bond regardless of situation. For instance, your dad beats the crap out of you, yet you still want and hope for that connection, however dysfunctional it may be. Although my situation is much different, the feelings are the same.

So what do I do with this? It's a very complicated dance between denial, loneliness, resentment and strength. Instead of pushing them away or pretending nothing is wrong (both of which I have done plenty of), I need to start letting little pieces of me return when I am in their presence. I don't have to act differently or even draw attention to the fact that anything has changed. This battle will be fought within me. I have to remind myself who I really am. What I believe about myself, not what others tell me should be true. Easier said than done, but as I'm learning more about myself and my strength, I'm finding it to be a little less daunting every day.

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.

The Strong One

Why do I take on this role?

Why do I feel that it is my job to shield others from the pain that I know they are feeling because I am feeling that pain too?

This week has been exceptionally difficult.

We found out Monday that my grandma has 10 tumors in her brain that are threatening her survival. I'm not really sure how much worse it can get. They started her on radiation on Tuesday, to which they told her she will almost assuredly be burned by the process and will lose all her hair. If they can shrink the tumors with radiation (and keep her from having seizures from the increased pressure) then she will still need extensive surgery and chemotherapy to take care of the tumor on her liver.

The vastness of this situation has hit me little by little, and the only reason it hasn't fully hit me yet is because I have thrown up my shield and put on my cape and am carrying the burden of being "The Strong One."

When my mom calls me on the phone delivering more bad news, I listen to her cry. I hear the pain in her voice at the thought of losing her mother. I want to cry too. I want nothing more than to release the pain I feel inside so it can stop eating me alive. But I hold back. If I start crying too, that will just make it worse. I tell her I don't know what to say. Instead, I try to be positive. Focus on what we can control and work towards. Be practical. It seems to help my mom gain some control on an uncontrollable situation. She seems less devastated. More hopeful.

I keep my shield up and my cape on until I walk into A's office Tuesday. Last week all I knew is that my grandma had a tumor on her liver. What a difference a week makes.

What was planned to be our focus that session quickly turned into feeling everything the last week has brought on me. What I hadn't let myself fully think about.

I spent a long time crying. At one point I felt this tsunami of emotion push itself and almost spill over. I barely held it back. I really wish I hadn't, because it is going to manifest itself in other painful ways: panic attacks, SI desires, etc. It was nice to be able to work my way through what I was feeling without worrying that I wasn't being strong enough for someone else.

I'm trying to let the emotions work their way through when they do surface, but it has been hard. It is not my norm and it is leaving me feeling extremely vulnerable.