Oh, lord. Remember how I said I had my first psychiatric appointment on the 28th? Apparently, it was not meant to be. On Tuesday night, I was going over my paperwork, making sure I had everything in order, when I found a piece of paper that said my appointment was 6/19/12. It was 6/26/12 by this point. I was shocked. I took out my calendar and my iPhone, both of which I had marked the 28th for the appointment. I called the office first thing on Wednesday morning to reschedule. A very rude receptionist told me very snidely that since I had missed my first appointed, I was basically banned from ever seeing their doctors. I explained what had happened, and the receptionist told me there was nothing she could do, and hung up the phone.
I cried, and cried, and cried. I had waited 2 months for this appointment with an excellent doctor. One who had graduated from a top-tier psychology school, and had many years in the business. The receptionist was just so... so cold. How could they talk to someone like that, especially in the business they are in? The people calling them are people that need help the most.
I was miserable the rest of the day. You are probably thinking "Big deal. Call someone else". Yes, this is the conclusion I came to, but I had a very hard time with the way I was spoken to. I've been putting off asking my parents about my "situation" until I talked to a professional. Now, something that had seemed to me was going to be a possibility in the near future, was being put on the back burner for potentially another 2 months. I couldn't handle the thought. I know I can't stay where I'm at, I have to take a step forward.
So, with some liquid courage, I called my dad on Wednesday night. With the time difference between the 2 of us, my mom was just getting home from work and I panicked. I really didn't want to talk to my mom about this just yet. I finally just told my dad (who knows I'm taking a psychiatric appointment) that I needed to talk to him about my childhood, privately, possibly tomorrow after my mom left for work.
He paused. Then he said, "So, you have questions?".
"Yes." I replied.
He exhaled. "Ok. I understand. We'll talk tomorrow".
I think I was in even more shock when I got off the phone. The fact that my dad seemed to know what I was talking about, just seemed to confirm that I was right in thinking something was up.
I cried, and cried, and cried some more. I was emotionally strung out. The "help" I thought I was getting had been yanked out from under my feet, and my dad was seemingly confirming that something happened to me as a kid. I didn't sleep much that night. Instead I had very vivid dreams, covering a vast quantity of weird shit.
It's getting late, and I'm still emotionally tired from this week's events. I'll cover the phone call between my dad and I tomorrow. One thing I've learned is that not resting causes the crazy to come out even more. It's off to bed for this girl.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Monday, June 25, 2012
The Birds... And The BEES
I have a couple of recurring nightmares, ones I have at least once a month. They both involve wasps. I'm deathly afraid of wasps. It's a completely irrational fear. What is the worst thing a wasp can do to you? Sting you. It hurts. So what? I'm a little bit into pain. I like the feeling of getting a tattoo, not to mention I used to cut myself. What gives? There is no rhyme or reason. To run when I see a wasp is a completely ingrained response. And uncontrollable. I've tried.
Dream 1 that haunts me is short. My family (Dad, Mom, Brother, Husband, and I) are vacationing in a cabin somewhere. We are in the common area, playing a board game. Always a board game. There is a knock at the door. My Dad goes to answer it. When he opens the door, a giant wasp flies in. One bigger than I've ever seen. I scream and yell for something to kill it. I run down a long hallway and into a bed room. I slam the door shut, only to realize there is a large gap at the bottom of the door. I'm frantically trying to stuff a towel into the gap when the bee flies under the door and lands on my leg. I scream and it stings me. I am trying to swat the wasp off my leg, but it won't budge. I continue to scream and try to get it off me, and that's when I wake up.
Dream 2 is just weird. I'm in a boat with one of my high school girlfriends and my husband's ex-wife. We are in a speedboat being taken out to the middle of the ocean. We are in the middle of nowhere when the boat tips over, and we are plunged into the water. Apparently, this is a race to see who gets back to shore first. I begin furiously paddling in the direction of the shore, when I realize the water is full of tiny jellyfish. The jellyfish begin to sting me and it just makes me swim faster, scared out of my mind. I finally reach the shore and collapse on the beach. My high school friend and my husband's ex-wife have disappeared at this point, it's only me on shore. A woman with long brown hair meets me on the shore and announces I am the winner of the race. I must get cleaned up for my interview and trophy ceremony. She escorts me to a shower room, much like those you would find at a public pool or gym. There are a million showers out in the open, but very few with a stall and curtain. I'm hurrying around trying to find a stall, when I realize people are running and getting into the private showers. My only option is to shower out in the open. There is no way I'm doing this. I decide to go home and shower. I walk out of the room, and outside. Down a long path to a log cabin, which is apparently my home. I open the door and find my husband reading on the couch. I tell him I won the race and I must shower for the interview. I go into a bedroom. I immediately look up and there is a wasp near the ceiling. I back out of the room and yell for my husband to kill it. I realize there are 3-4 wasps near the ceiling in the hallway, and I run back to the living room. There are even more wasps in the living room, near the ceiling and all in the blinds on the windows. I'm screaming to my husband to kill them. He is crazily running around trying to kill all the wasps when he shouts that he doesn't know where they are coming from. It appears even more wasps are entering the home and I'm just screaming. This is when I wake up.
These are weird dreams. I obviously can't decipher them. From what I've researched on the internet about dream interpretation (not a very scientific topic) wasps symbolize evil. I'll buy that. The first dream is all about trying to keep the evil out, but it seeps in anyway. Very similar to the way memories and images have been creeping into my brain, while my brain is desperately trying to keep them away. The second dream? There are so many facets of this dream, I just have no idea. My high school friend, my husband's ex-wife, the jellyfish, the showers, the wasps. They all could mean something. Interestingly enough, jellyfish are supposed to represent painful memories that are emerging from your subconscious. Whoa. Not sure if I believe all that dream interpretation bullshit.
I've had nightmares all my life, but very few recurring nightmares. These are new, they started about 7 months ago. Along with everything else.
It's been a hell of a ride so far, and unfortunately, I think it's just beginning.
Dream 1 that haunts me is short. My family (Dad, Mom, Brother, Husband, and I) are vacationing in a cabin somewhere. We are in the common area, playing a board game. Always a board game. There is a knock at the door. My Dad goes to answer it. When he opens the door, a giant wasp flies in. One bigger than I've ever seen. I scream and yell for something to kill it. I run down a long hallway and into a bed room. I slam the door shut, only to realize there is a large gap at the bottom of the door. I'm frantically trying to stuff a towel into the gap when the bee flies under the door and lands on my leg. I scream and it stings me. I am trying to swat the wasp off my leg, but it won't budge. I continue to scream and try to get it off me, and that's when I wake up.
Dream 2 is just weird. I'm in a boat with one of my high school girlfriends and my husband's ex-wife. We are in a speedboat being taken out to the middle of the ocean. We are in the middle of nowhere when the boat tips over, and we are plunged into the water. Apparently, this is a race to see who gets back to shore first. I begin furiously paddling in the direction of the shore, when I realize the water is full of tiny jellyfish. The jellyfish begin to sting me and it just makes me swim faster, scared out of my mind. I finally reach the shore and collapse on the beach. My high school friend and my husband's ex-wife have disappeared at this point, it's only me on shore. A woman with long brown hair meets me on the shore and announces I am the winner of the race. I must get cleaned up for my interview and trophy ceremony. She escorts me to a shower room, much like those you would find at a public pool or gym. There are a million showers out in the open, but very few with a stall and curtain. I'm hurrying around trying to find a stall, when I realize people are running and getting into the private showers. My only option is to shower out in the open. There is no way I'm doing this. I decide to go home and shower. I walk out of the room, and outside. Down a long path to a log cabin, which is apparently my home. I open the door and find my husband reading on the couch. I tell him I won the race and I must shower for the interview. I go into a bedroom. I immediately look up and there is a wasp near the ceiling. I back out of the room and yell for my husband to kill it. I realize there are 3-4 wasps near the ceiling in the hallway, and I run back to the living room. There are even more wasps in the living room, near the ceiling and all in the blinds on the windows. I'm screaming to my husband to kill them. He is crazily running around trying to kill all the wasps when he shouts that he doesn't know where they are coming from. It appears even more wasps are entering the home and I'm just screaming. This is when I wake up.
These are weird dreams. I obviously can't decipher them. From what I've researched on the internet about dream interpretation (not a very scientific topic) wasps symbolize evil. I'll buy that. The first dream is all about trying to keep the evil out, but it seeps in anyway. Very similar to the way memories and images have been creeping into my brain, while my brain is desperately trying to keep them away. The second dream? There are so many facets of this dream, I just have no idea. My high school friend, my husband's ex-wife, the jellyfish, the showers, the wasps. They all could mean something. Interestingly enough, jellyfish are supposed to represent painful memories that are emerging from your subconscious. Whoa. Not sure if I believe all that dream interpretation bullshit.
I've had nightmares all my life, but very few recurring nightmares. These are new, they started about 7 months ago. Along with everything else.
It's been a hell of a ride so far, and unfortunately, I think it's just beginning.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Where Did It All Begin?
I'm 4 days away from my first appointment with a psychiatrist, and I've pondered this thought for a long time now. Ever since I kinda, sorta put the puzzle pieces together, I've been reaching and straining to really, really put the pieces together.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
8 More Days
It will be 8 more days before my first official psychiatrist appointment. I'm feeling bittersweet over this. Happy because I feel like I'm drowning here, but slightly saddened that I'm so obviously not normal. Normal people don't have sick, twisted thoughts like I do. Normal people don't have panic attacks. Normal people don't thoughtfully touch a knife, thinking about one little cut, and then using all their willpower not to. Normal people don't have weeks that they mope around the house, having crying jags, and thinking that absolutely everything is hopeless.
I don't know what a psychiatrist is going to do for me, I don't know how they can help me. A large part of me is screaming that I will always be broken, there isn't anything anyone can do. This part of me wants to cancel my appointment, and keep what's happened to me a secret. I dread sharing anything about myself with anyone. I don't know how I'm going to find the words to say to a doctor what has happened to me. I can't even accept what has happened to me, how can I tell someone else what is only a suspicion in my mind? I can picture myself opening my mouth, closing it because I can't say what I want to say, and my cheeks turning very, very red. Even when I talk to my husband about this, I have a hard time saying it out loud. If I do manage to get the words out of my mouth, a wave of sickening feeling washes over me. Dread. I've always been this way, and I will always be this way. But there is a small part of me that is holding out hope. Hope that the emptiness inside of me could go away.
I've been feeling especially low for a couple of days while living with the husband's aunt. She makes us feel like children. Before she left for work today, she told my husband to take a shower if he works in the yard because she doesn't want him sitting dirty on her furniture. Umm, we are adults here. Last night, I got lectured for a good 10 minutes on how to properly clean a crock pot. This does not serve well for my self-esteem. Back when I was working (it's been about one and a half years since I quit working) I was a perfectionist. I hated being corrected at work, my supervisor could tell me something once, and I would always remember. I would go out of my way to make sure all my work was far and away the best, and then wait around like a lost puppy for my praise. When the aunt is lecturing me, she is beating the thought into me that I'm not perfect. That I'm a burden to her. That I'm worthless. That she can't wait to get me out of here.
Realistically, I don't think she actually thinks those things about me. But, that's how she makes me feel. I've already noticed that I feel pretty relaxed during the day when she is at work, and then completely anxious while she is home. I'm afraid to make a step, any step, for fear it's the wrong one. I'm guessing this is not the most healthy situation for me to be living in. Everyday, I just hope the home is done soon and I can get back to my environment. It's such a toss up for me, because I'm anxious here, but I'm also anxious at my mother-in-law's house. There's nowhere we can stay that I won't be anxious.
Argh! I'm feeling very frustrated today. It's going to be a long day.
I don't know what a psychiatrist is going to do for me, I don't know how they can help me. A large part of me is screaming that I will always be broken, there isn't anything anyone can do. This part of me wants to cancel my appointment, and keep what's happened to me a secret. I dread sharing anything about myself with anyone. I don't know how I'm going to find the words to say to a doctor what has happened to me. I can't even accept what has happened to me, how can I tell someone else what is only a suspicion in my mind? I can picture myself opening my mouth, closing it because I can't say what I want to say, and my cheeks turning very, very red. Even when I talk to my husband about this, I have a hard time saying it out loud. If I do manage to get the words out of my mouth, a wave of sickening feeling washes over me. Dread. I've always been this way, and I will always be this way. But there is a small part of me that is holding out hope. Hope that the emptiness inside of me could go away.
I've been feeling especially low for a couple of days while living with the husband's aunt. She makes us feel like children. Before she left for work today, she told my husband to take a shower if he works in the yard because she doesn't want him sitting dirty on her furniture. Umm, we are adults here. Last night, I got lectured for a good 10 minutes on how to properly clean a crock pot. This does not serve well for my self-esteem. Back when I was working (it's been about one and a half years since I quit working) I was a perfectionist. I hated being corrected at work, my supervisor could tell me something once, and I would always remember. I would go out of my way to make sure all my work was far and away the best, and then wait around like a lost puppy for my praise. When the aunt is lecturing me, she is beating the thought into me that I'm not perfect. That I'm a burden to her. That I'm worthless. That she can't wait to get me out of here.
Realistically, I don't think she actually thinks those things about me. But, that's how she makes me feel. I've already noticed that I feel pretty relaxed during the day when she is at work, and then completely anxious while she is home. I'm afraid to make a step, any step, for fear it's the wrong one. I'm guessing this is not the most healthy situation for me to be living in. Everyday, I just hope the home is done soon and I can get back to my environment. It's such a toss up for me, because I'm anxious here, but I'm also anxious at my mother-in-law's house. There's nowhere we can stay that I won't be anxious.
Argh! I'm feeling very frustrated today. It's going to be a long day.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Out of My Element
My husband and I are staying with his aunt and uncle for a couple of months. We are having a house built, and it won't be ready for about 4 months. To say that staying with his family has been difficult would be an understatement. My husband's aunt is anal. She is very, very particular about her home. We have 2 dogs, long-haired chihuahuas, and since they shed, I have to vacuum the house and the furniture every day. Our dogs have specific places in the backyard our dogs can relief themselves. How do you tell a dog to pee on this bush, not that one? We have to dry our dog's private areas before we let them in the house. Purses can't be placed on the counter. Shoes can never be on. Plates must be wiped down with paper towels before you can rinse them in the sink. There are plenty more rules, but I won't continue.
To say that we don't exactly feel welcome would be true. Hence, I'm feeling very out-of-control. I'm having a hard time refraining from cutting, from self-injury. I feel like there is nothing I can do without making her mad. Her house is not homey. One thing I have learned is how I'm not going to act about my new house.
To give Aunt and Uncle a break, they ask us to go to the husband's mother's house for a couple times a week.
I'm very unhappy at her house. She is a very dirty person, she never cleans. I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach when I go there, and all I can focus on is the filth. My eyes dart around her bathroom, from the dog hair on the baseboard, to the cobwebs at the ceiling, to soiled-on dirt in her sink and around the faucet. I cannot handle it. We spent Friday night there, and I didn't sleep a wink. I lay awake all night, and much to my disgust, was haunted by memories.
I didn't recover anything new. It was all a repeat. The main memory that plays and replays in my mind is a memory of my uncle creeping in on me at my grandma's house. This is the first memory I ever recovered, and the one that continues to haunt me the most. The bed I'm sleeping in is always the same, the nightgown always the same, the moon shining through the windows always the same, the actions my uncle takes always the same. I can't stand thinking about these things, yet they come into my head whenever they choose.
I think the fact that my husband and I are so obviously nomadic right now is affecting me greatly. I don't have a home base, I don't have somewhere I can go to get away from it all. I'm almost always with people right now, and I'm having a hard time processing it. I'm used to alone time, time to recharge my batteries. I won't have that for a couple of months. I'm hoping I can make it through this time without blowing my fuse, and without exploding at someone.
It's hard feeling so out of control, having no place to hide. We'll have to see if this time passes my smoothly. Fingers are crossed.
To say that we don't exactly feel welcome would be true. Hence, I'm feeling very out-of-control. I'm having a hard time refraining from cutting, from self-injury. I feel like there is nothing I can do without making her mad. Her house is not homey. One thing I have learned is how I'm not going to act about my new house.
To give Aunt and Uncle a break, they ask us to go to the husband's mother's house for a couple times a week.
I'm very unhappy at her house. She is a very dirty person, she never cleans. I get an uneasy feeling in my stomach when I go there, and all I can focus on is the filth. My eyes dart around her bathroom, from the dog hair on the baseboard, to the cobwebs at the ceiling, to soiled-on dirt in her sink and around the faucet. I cannot handle it. We spent Friday night there, and I didn't sleep a wink. I lay awake all night, and much to my disgust, was haunted by memories.
I didn't recover anything new. It was all a repeat. The main memory that plays and replays in my mind is a memory of my uncle creeping in on me at my grandma's house. This is the first memory I ever recovered, and the one that continues to haunt me the most. The bed I'm sleeping in is always the same, the nightgown always the same, the moon shining through the windows always the same, the actions my uncle takes always the same. I can't stand thinking about these things, yet they come into my head whenever they choose.
I think the fact that my husband and I are so obviously nomadic right now is affecting me greatly. I don't have a home base, I don't have somewhere I can go to get away from it all. I'm almost always with people right now, and I'm having a hard time processing it. I'm used to alone time, time to recharge my batteries. I won't have that for a couple of months. I'm hoping I can make it through this time without blowing my fuse, and without exploding at someone.
It's hard feeling so out of control, having no place to hide. We'll have to see if this time passes my smoothly. Fingers are crossed.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Difficulty Getting Over Loss
I've had a hard time getting over losses my whole life. Every time I lost a pet when I was a child, I was inconsolable for weeks. When I became a teenager and started dating, each breakup was harder than the last. I've lost several "best friends", and I experience a never-ending cascade of hurt and guilt.
I think I must be a hard person to be friends with. I've lost every single best friend I've ever had, save for my high school best friend, who never really knew me anyway. The only one that still hurts to think about, "broke up" with me two and a half years ago. We were so much alike in so many ways. She is an abuse survivor like me, so she has plenty of her own issues. I'll call her D. She left when I had been married for 3 months.
What hurts the most is that I came to depend on her. She has experienced so much of what I've experienced. When my husband and I were first married, he was unemployed. Laid off. We started our marriage with him out of a job, and having a hard time finding a job as well. D. and her husband started their marriage with him unemployed. I struggled with my husband's unemployment and how to help him, and there were times I ached to call D. and ask her how she got through it all. I'm struggling now with my abuse issues, and I'm sad that she could give me advice, but I can't reach out to her.
What happened? Everything exploded in October of 2010. She had been staying at my house when her husband and her got into a huge fight over the phone. She went home later that day. She called me the next day, hysterical. Apparently, she'd been sleeping with her husband's best friend and her husband found out. He was leaving her. She was on the verge of a breakdown, and her father was on his way to take her to the hospital. I was blown away that she had cheated on her husband, she had never confided that in me. She ended the conversation abruptly.
I didn't hear from her for 3 weeks. I called, and called, and called. I left many messages. Coincidently, I got a new cell phone in this time period, and a new phone number. I called her on my new phone and she answered the phone. I was floored. As soon as she heard that it was me on the phone, she became cold. I asked her how she was, and she paused. She proceeded to tell me that she couldn't be my friend anymore. That I was a bad influence. That if she wanted to make things work with her husband, she had to get rid of every thing from her past.
My heart broke. It hurt me to hear these words. In a small voice, I told her "Ok". I said goodbye and I hung up the phone. I stared at the phone in my hand for a minute, and then I deleted her phone number out of my phone. I never called her again. I never spoke to her again.
I still hurt over this today. I'm so hurt that she said I was a bad influence. I hurt that I can't get her advice anymore. How was it so easy for her to walk away and act like I never existed? Did I mean so little to her that I was that easy for her to cut out of her life? I feel I never even knew her, there were secrets she kept from me. Like her affair. I told her everything, I never kept a secret from her. I told her things I've never told anyone else. It's been almost 3 years since she's been gone, and I still think about it. I Google her sometimes on the Internet, and I am enraged and full of hate if I run across anything about her. Anything that shows how easy it was for her to move on with her life.
Often, I was wish I could go all "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and forget about her. All the hurt, the rage, the loneliness. Unfortunately, my mind thinks the lesson I've learned is not to let anyone else in. They are going to leave anyway, they always do. So don't let them in. I haven't let another woman into my life since she left. I don't think I ever will either.
I will add that there is more to this story than what I've said, but that's a tale for another day.
I think I must be a hard person to be friends with. I've lost every single best friend I've ever had, save for my high school best friend, who never really knew me anyway. The only one that still hurts to think about, "broke up" with me two and a half years ago. We were so much alike in so many ways. She is an abuse survivor like me, so she has plenty of her own issues. I'll call her D. She left when I had been married for 3 months.
What hurts the most is that I came to depend on her. She has experienced so much of what I've experienced. When my husband and I were first married, he was unemployed. Laid off. We started our marriage with him out of a job, and having a hard time finding a job as well. D. and her husband started their marriage with him unemployed. I struggled with my husband's unemployment and how to help him, and there were times I ached to call D. and ask her how she got through it all. I'm struggling now with my abuse issues, and I'm sad that she could give me advice, but I can't reach out to her.
What happened? Everything exploded in October of 2010. She had been staying at my house when her husband and her got into a huge fight over the phone. She went home later that day. She called me the next day, hysterical. Apparently, she'd been sleeping with her husband's best friend and her husband found out. He was leaving her. She was on the verge of a breakdown, and her father was on his way to take her to the hospital. I was blown away that she had cheated on her husband, she had never confided that in me. She ended the conversation abruptly.
I didn't hear from her for 3 weeks. I called, and called, and called. I left many messages. Coincidently, I got a new cell phone in this time period, and a new phone number. I called her on my new phone and she answered the phone. I was floored. As soon as she heard that it was me on the phone, she became cold. I asked her how she was, and she paused. She proceeded to tell me that she couldn't be my friend anymore. That I was a bad influence. That if she wanted to make things work with her husband, she had to get rid of every thing from her past.
My heart broke. It hurt me to hear these words. In a small voice, I told her "Ok". I said goodbye and I hung up the phone. I stared at the phone in my hand for a minute, and then I deleted her phone number out of my phone. I never called her again. I never spoke to her again.
I still hurt over this today. I'm so hurt that she said I was a bad influence. I hurt that I can't get her advice anymore. How was it so easy for her to walk away and act like I never existed? Did I mean so little to her that I was that easy for her to cut out of her life? I feel I never even knew her, there were secrets she kept from me. Like her affair. I told her everything, I never kept a secret from her. I told her things I've never told anyone else. It's been almost 3 years since she's been gone, and I still think about it. I Google her sometimes on the Internet, and I am enraged and full of hate if I run across anything about her. Anything that shows how easy it was for her to move on with her life.
Often, I was wish I could go all "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and forget about her. All the hurt, the rage, the loneliness. Unfortunately, my mind thinks the lesson I've learned is not to let anyone else in. They are going to leave anyway, they always do. So don't let them in. I haven't let another woman into my life since she left. I don't think I ever will either.
I will add that there is more to this story than what I've said, but that's a tale for another day.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Things That Go Bump In The Night
My husband and I have just moved out of the rental home we'd been staying in since we moved here a year and a half ago. We moved across the United States, 2700 miles. We left behind my family, our friends, and the place where I grew up. We are now living where the husband grew up.
The rental house we were in caused me much distress. When we got into town a year and a half ago, we didn't have a place to live. Faced with returning our moving truck and getting a storage unit, we snapped up a house that upon first glance we thought would suffice. It didn't take long at all however, to realize what we had done. I grew anxious over the amount mold in the house, which I felt I could smell all the time. I could even smell it on my clothes when we left the house. It drove me crazy. I also had a great deal on anxiety about how old the house was, constantly worrying about the state of the electricity. I never once left the house without having some degree of panic, thinking the house would catch on fire while we were gone. It was quite the trial for me, dealing with the anxiety that this house produced.
For whatever reason, I believe this house reminded me of my grandma's house that she lived in when I was very young. My uncle lived with her at this particular house. I'd never in my life had a single flashback, nor did I ever suspect I may have been abused. This all started after moving away from where I grew up, and moving into this house. I've got extreme insomnia, so a couple of times I would go out to sleep on the couch in the living room so I didn't disturb my husband's sleep. He does make the money for the two of us. Every time I slept on the couch, which only ended being maybe 5 times, I had night terrors.
I've had lucid dreams before, but never night terrors. I didn't even know what they were until I'd had them a couple of times and looked them up on the internet. Whenever I slept there, I constantly felt someone was on top of me. It was a struggle to pull myself out of sleep, yet my mind was screaming at me to run. I just couldn't wake up. I was paralyzed. I'd finally pull myself out of this trance, only to realize I was "dreaming". I'd dose back off, and the same thing would happen. If I stayed on the couch, it would happen the whole time, with me waking up 10 times before I'd high tail it back to bed.
One night of terrors consisted of me swearing I heard the dishwasher hissing my name. Again, I would be unable to pull myself out of sleep and unable to move. I would finally manage to pull myself out, and try to dose back to sleep only to have the dishwasher hissing my name again.
I've since recovered a memory involving the couch in my grandma's old house, blood, pain, and my uncle. I do believe this is why sleeping on the couch in that house never really happened. And the only explanation I have for suddenly "remembering" all these things, is that it's possible the house triggered something. Something that has been dormant my whole life. I'm only guessing on that one though because I haven't even recovered full memories. I've only recovered snippets and body memories.
We are out of that house now. This has me curious as to whether memories will continue to come to me or not. At this point, I'm wishing everything would come back to me so that I can begin to accept it and find a way to move on and heal. Only time will tell, I guess.
The rental house we were in caused me much distress. When we got into town a year and a half ago, we didn't have a place to live. Faced with returning our moving truck and getting a storage unit, we snapped up a house that upon first glance we thought would suffice. It didn't take long at all however, to realize what we had done. I grew anxious over the amount mold in the house, which I felt I could smell all the time. I could even smell it on my clothes when we left the house. It drove me crazy. I also had a great deal on anxiety about how old the house was, constantly worrying about the state of the electricity. I never once left the house without having some degree of panic, thinking the house would catch on fire while we were gone. It was quite the trial for me, dealing with the anxiety that this house produced.
For whatever reason, I believe this house reminded me of my grandma's house that she lived in when I was very young. My uncle lived with her at this particular house. I'd never in my life had a single flashback, nor did I ever suspect I may have been abused. This all started after moving away from where I grew up, and moving into this house. I've got extreme insomnia, so a couple of times I would go out to sleep on the couch in the living room so I didn't disturb my husband's sleep. He does make the money for the two of us. Every time I slept on the couch, which only ended being maybe 5 times, I had night terrors.
I've had lucid dreams before, but never night terrors. I didn't even know what they were until I'd had them a couple of times and looked them up on the internet. Whenever I slept there, I constantly felt someone was on top of me. It was a struggle to pull myself out of sleep, yet my mind was screaming at me to run. I just couldn't wake up. I was paralyzed. I'd finally pull myself out of this trance, only to realize I was "dreaming". I'd dose back off, and the same thing would happen. If I stayed on the couch, it would happen the whole time, with me waking up 10 times before I'd high tail it back to bed.
One night of terrors consisted of me swearing I heard the dishwasher hissing my name. Again, I would be unable to pull myself out of sleep and unable to move. I would finally manage to pull myself out, and try to dose back to sleep only to have the dishwasher hissing my name again.
I've since recovered a memory involving the couch in my grandma's old house, blood, pain, and my uncle. I do believe this is why sleeping on the couch in that house never really happened. And the only explanation I have for suddenly "remembering" all these things, is that it's possible the house triggered something. Something that has been dormant my whole life. I'm only guessing on that one though because I haven't even recovered full memories. I've only recovered snippets and body memories.
We are out of that house now. This has me curious as to whether memories will continue to come to me or not. At this point, I'm wishing everything would come back to me so that I can begin to accept it and find a way to move on and heal. Only time will tell, I guess.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Why The Name?
I feel I should explain why I chose the name for the blog that I did. I heard Gary Allan's song, "Get Off On The Pain" in 2010. It immediately resonated with me. You can find the lyrics to the song here. I think I work out a lot of what's going on with me through music, I always have.
My whole life has been about pain. I'm used to being there, I'm not comfortable anywhere else. And we're talking about emotional pain here. Don't get me wrong, I like physical pain but for now, we are talking about emotions. One of the first times I realized that I like to be miserable was in one of my first relationships. It was a fairly happy relationship, but I was not satisfied. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more. I started fights. Then I broke up with him. Immediately after the breakup, I went into a tailspin. I regretted my decision so much it hurt. I drove myself crazy trying to get him back.
I never did get that guy back. I did realize that I wasn't happy in a happy relationship, so I turned it upside down. The guy I dated after him was more... my style. We fought constantly, and we fought dirty. He cheated on me throughout the entire relationship. I took him back every time, I was obsessed with him. He was emotionally abusive, he would tell me I was fat and ugly, and no one was ever going to want me. I let him do this to me for 4 years. It wasn't until he grew tired of the relationship and moved on, that I was freed from this. And freedom didn't feel free at the time. I realize now I narrowly escaped from him, but it's taken 10 years after the fact to see this.
I ask myself constantly why I stayed. Why did I let him do this me? By the time he left, I had no self-esteem. Yet, I still let him do this to me until he left. I was hung-up on this relationship for years afterwards. It took me 3 years and many self-destructive habits later to finally feel as if I had moved on.
Why did it take me so long? I think it's because I liked it. I was used to pain, and unwilling to change. I was miserable and that's all I'd ever been. I couldn't make myself leave that spot. I'm in a very happy relationship now, and I will never let it go because I actively fear going back to where I was. Abandoned and alone. I almost didn't make it through the last breakup, I'm not sure I could retain my sanity through another one.
At least I've learned my lesson with relationships.
My whole life has been about pain. I'm used to being there, I'm not comfortable anywhere else. And we're talking about emotional pain here. Don't get me wrong, I like physical pain but for now, we are talking about emotions. One of the first times I realized that I like to be miserable was in one of my first relationships. It was a fairly happy relationship, but I was not satisfied. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more. I started fights. Then I broke up with him. Immediately after the breakup, I went into a tailspin. I regretted my decision so much it hurt. I drove myself crazy trying to get him back.
I never did get that guy back. I did realize that I wasn't happy in a happy relationship, so I turned it upside down. The guy I dated after him was more... my style. We fought constantly, and we fought dirty. He cheated on me throughout the entire relationship. I took him back every time, I was obsessed with him. He was emotionally abusive, he would tell me I was fat and ugly, and no one was ever going to want me. I let him do this to me for 4 years. It wasn't until he grew tired of the relationship and moved on, that I was freed from this. And freedom didn't feel free at the time. I realize now I narrowly escaped from him, but it's taken 10 years after the fact to see this.
I ask myself constantly why I stayed. Why did I let him do this me? By the time he left, I had no self-esteem. Yet, I still let him do this to me until he left. I was hung-up on this relationship for years afterwards. It took me 3 years and many self-destructive habits later to finally feel as if I had moved on.
Why did it take me so long? I think it's because I liked it. I was used to pain, and unwilling to change. I was miserable and that's all I'd ever been. I couldn't make myself leave that spot. I'm in a very happy relationship now, and I will never let it go because I actively fear going back to where I was. Abandoned and alone. I almost didn't make it through the last breakup, I'm not sure I could retain my sanity through another one.
At least I've learned my lesson with relationships.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Inaugural Post
Again, I don't even know where to start.
I just know I have to. I'm in a rough spot right now, consumed by "memories" of what happened. Yet I don't know if these are memories, or stuff I made up in my head. I've always been a writer, doing this is the only thing I know how to do. I don't even have diagnosis to give you for what I am. I haven't even started.
I'm meeting with a psychiatrist at the end of the month. This is my first time ever. Will they give me a diagnosis? I don't know.
What prompted all this? Oh, it's been a long time coming. I've had a headache every.single.day since I was 16. I've seen doctors and neurologists, had cat scans and MRI's, and yet, no answer. I've been on drugs for many years. Has this gotten rid of the headaches? No.
I'm living in a state with very poor healthcare now. My doctor has grown tired of seeing me, and has no advice or medicine to help me. I'd seen her twice when she wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist for my headaches. You know what's funny? I'd never had a doctor suggest this before. Why didn't they? From the research I've done on the internet, chronic headaches are not only a symptom of depression, but a symptom of abuse.
Why, oh why, have I never connected the dots? I'm living in a state of confusion these days. I wish I'd been able to see a psychiatrist before the end of this month, but that's when they could get me in. I've got to keep dealing for a couple of weeks now, all by myself. Yes, I've told my husband what's going on, but he's no therapist. While he does give me unconditional love and support (which I'm sooooo thankful for), he can't help me sort through this.
Only a couple more weeks. Sigh.
I just know I have to. I'm in a rough spot right now, consumed by "memories" of what happened. Yet I don't know if these are memories, or stuff I made up in my head. I've always been a writer, doing this is the only thing I know how to do. I don't even have diagnosis to give you for what I am. I haven't even started.
I'm meeting with a psychiatrist at the end of the month. This is my first time ever. Will they give me a diagnosis? I don't know.
What prompted all this? Oh, it's been a long time coming. I've had a headache every.single.day since I was 16. I've seen doctors and neurologists, had cat scans and MRI's, and yet, no answer. I've been on drugs for many years. Has this gotten rid of the headaches? No.
I'm living in a state with very poor healthcare now. My doctor has grown tired of seeing me, and has no advice or medicine to help me. I'd seen her twice when she wanted to refer me to a psychiatrist for my headaches. You know what's funny? I'd never had a doctor suggest this before. Why didn't they? From the research I've done on the internet, chronic headaches are not only a symptom of depression, but a symptom of abuse.
Why, oh why, have I never connected the dots? I'm living in a state of confusion these days. I wish I'd been able to see a psychiatrist before the end of this month, but that's when they could get me in. I've got to keep dealing for a couple of weeks now, all by myself. Yes, I've told my husband what's going on, but he's no therapist. While he does give me unconditional love and support (which I'm sooooo thankful for), he can't help me sort through this.
Only a couple more weeks. Sigh.
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