For those people out there who have been sexually abused, I am sure that you agree that going to the gynecologist is a horrible experience. I am lucky to have finally come across a doctor who believes in putting people under a twilight sleep to do an exam. That is a good thing.
What is not so good is that I have waited years to see a doctor at all. I was just to scared. I had to have a ultrasound today. I will not know anything until the doctor has that report. Most likely sometime next week. The ultrasound today seemed to take a long time and the tech seemed to be focused on something. I shall see.
I know that cats are not people, yet they are my babies. My kitten has been having issues with her stomach and was diagnosed with feline herpes the other week after her eye began running and she began to cough. She seems to be getting better. She just has a very sensitive stomach.
The older cat needs dental surgery next week. I am worried about how much pain she may be in since she cannot tell me. Luckily next week she will have all of her bad teeth removed. I think that she will wake up feeling better. Maybe she will even like her sister more. Hoping.
How does one explain this feeling to someone else? Just existing. Getting up, feeding the pets and hopefully myself, and then going to bed. Repeat. Very little to no joy in anything that one does or happens.
Disconnected from everyone even while in the same room. Feeling like their is a transparent barrier between myself and the rest of the world that I just cannot break through.
I feel this way even with my therapist. In appropriate and predictable fashion, I am not going to therapy. What is the point? To be told that I will feel better is like telling someone that they can touch the stars. No matter how close they seem, that will not happen. The barrier is there as well. I just sit there in silence feeling uncomfortable. What is there to talk about that has not been said before?
It is not that I do not want to feel better. The coping skills I have learned seem to be ineffective. It is pure white knuckling at this point to try to get through the day.
I just want this to be over. This being the flashbacks, nightmares, alienation, and physical illnesses. I thought that therapy would help. All it seems to be doing is going around in circles with no clear purpose.
Words like treatment resistant have been used. Apparently, that just means it will be harder to get better. I go into therapy every week and try to talk, yet I am blocked by all of the old messages of silence.
My emotions are buried. No matter how much I want them to come up, they stay down often leaving impulses to self harm. Why can’t I just communicate feelings like everyone else.
Today, I will try again to talk about ???? What do I talk about when everything seems to be imploding. Even my doctors I believe are sick of me. How much longer can I go on this way?
When I was first admitted to a psychiatric unit, I thought that I did not fit in and did not belong there. Boy was I wrong. Not only did I seem to fit, I could relate to their symptoms and stories.
I heard other patients talking about losing their children, divorces, friends abandoning them, and losing other things in their life. How nieve I was. I thought that would not happen to me.
Life happened. All of the above came true. Then I tried to get myself together. That was a mistake. I realized that I don’t fit in with “normal” people so well. Others can look me up and find out that I lost my kids and that I am sick. They do not want me as a part of their world.
Then I worked with my doctor on getting a degree that I could use. Funny, I thought that other social workers would accept a fellow student with a mental illness. Instead I was alienated and told that I was to ill to complete the program and be an effective social worker.
In order to go to school I had to take out loans. Now, I cannot complete my degree and am having issues paying back the loan. “Permanent Disability”. That is what I apparently am considered at this point. Someone who does not have the ability to get a job and will not be able to for the foreseeable future.
Maybe it is true. I am scared to leave the house and interact with others. I have to take medication just to not feel suicidal all day. I spend many hours going back and forth to doctors and therapy.
Is this really my life? Medications, therapy, doctors. Add to that the physical problems I am now having. Karma is against me.
One of the disadvantages of being a non-custodial parent for me is that I have to have my summer visits approved by my ex. That also means working around his vacation. I feel like I always just get whatever is left over.
This will be our first summer in the new house. It is cooler where we live now and from what I could tell last year, less humid. Because of the house we are not able to go in any overnight trips this year. At least we will be able to do a couple of day trips. There are a lot of places to see around here.
I emailed my weeks this morning. Hopefully, I will hear back by tomorrow. I just keep thinking of how old the kids are getting and that there is only a few years until the agreement will not matter.
15 years of therapy and a cat has changed my entire life. I am not all better, yet I get up to feed her. I also take the time to brush her.
At night, she lays on the desk and purrs while I diamond paint and just keeps me company. She sits on my lap and allows me to pet her to calm my anxiety.
Most of all she keeps me company and gives me unconditional love. Now, I told my husband that I would live another ragdoll for both of us. The kitten could keep her company while I am gone and both would be sweethearts.
Less than 2 years ago I got a tattoo to commemorate my stillborn siblings. Now that I have worked through some of my thoughts about them and how my mother would have rather had them in her life instead of me, I decided that I wanted a tattoo that reflected more of who I am.
So today, I began to have my cover up started. The outline and some coloring was done. I love Florida. The new tattoo has a sea turtle and a dolphin with tropical flowers. The person completing the tattoo is an amazing artist and did a great job today. At least I am happy with it.
I cannot wait for my appointment next month to see some additional color. Until then, this can heal and I can enjoy my new image on my skin.
I had to visit the gynecologist after 14 years of putting it off. I am having issues which need to be addressed.
I was pleasantly surprised to know that an ultrasound needs to be completed. The even better news is that they can use light sedation to complete the exam. That makes me feel so much more comfortable. Apparently the office treats many trauma survivors.
Now, I am off to therapy. I am down to once a week,yet I still feel as if he cannot help me. I am past the point of help.
With Facebook, one can literally connect to the world and find those with the same interests as us. I have joined a few groups on Facebook that focus on my interests.
A couple are for diamond painting. I love seeing everyone’s pieces and reading their stories of why they began to diamond paint. It is great to see people’s works coming together and to get tips. Some of them have made my own time diamond painting much easier.
The cat group is also great for tips, yet sometimes the pictures can make a bad afternoon better. Being in the group has allowed me to interact with people from all over the world. It is interesting how different all of the personalities of the cats are, yet they seem to all own our hearts.
So two loves of mine have kept me going over the past few weeks. Even though I am having a rough time, I can share a picture or see a photo and know why I am still here. I guess my new phrase should be one post at a time!
As I sit here this evening watching the last of the sunset, I am completely disconnected from those around me. How do I come back after being called treatment resistant? After having my therapist say to me that I may need a new therapist.
I have lost friends, my kids, and most of all my motivation from this illness. I used to always have the theory that if I kept putting one foot in front of the other that things would get better.
Instead the facade of a chance for a life has lifted and there is only blank space. There is no motivation to go on anymore. My body and mind are broken. I think I set a record after being told I needed to leave my social work placement after three clinical days. That dream of helping someone else died that day.
I feel worse now then ever. There is just emptiness at this point. A feeling of being out there on my own without a life preserver or survival kit. I am scared to think that things could get worse.