My husband and I are looking to move. If I were “normal”, I would have a job and income to use for the paperwork. Unfortunately, my PTSD symptoms are not controlled. I still have panic attacks around people and places that I do not know. My short term memory is messed up. I swear that is from the ECT.
And then there is the feeling of anger that I try to suppress each day so that I can at least get through the day.
Because of the complications from my mental illness, we may just have to stay where we are and I am going to have to learn to be ok with that. It just sucks that I am such a large part of the problem.
Some people would bring up getting damages from my abusers, yet the statute of limitations has passed. It still makes me feel like I am limited each day due to the symptoms of my illness.
No one chooses to be abused as a child or suppress those memories. Yet, it seems like we are blamed when we cannot hold a job or function as everyone else does. We fought a fight that we did not choose, yet we get blamed. Why didn’t you just tell someone or why did you not move out. I wish it were that easy. If I would have told, things would have been much worse. I was frozen for so long. I just did as they said to not rock the boat. It was not really a choice, it was a way to get through each day with the least amount of pain.
I just wish recovery would happen sooner. It just seems to take so long and involve so many aspects of my life. I just have to do what I can. Keep going to the doctors and seeing my therapist. One step at a time!
My therapist has a new goal for me: to say hello to people at counters and restaurants. I have become an expert at being invisible over the years. It has led to not having friends and isolating myself inside the house.
I like the house, it is safe and I feel comfortable. I feel like a freak outside. My scars are so noticeable from all of the self harm. I am going to try to have one removed or at least decrease the size.
Therapy is going ok. My therapist and I have come to the realization that my feelings are buried so far down, they may never come up. We are working on trying to feel in the present. That is hard as well. I am used to shutting down.
Right now I am just trying to take one day at a time and know that I did the best that I could each night before I go to sleep.
Maybe I will be able to make friends. There is always hope!
Why does therapy have to be so difficult. I wish that I did not have to go through hell and feel all of my emotions associated with the abuse I had growing up.
Not that not being in therapy would help either. I still have flashbacks when there are certain colors or smells. Locations are the worst. These are not dependent on therapy.
At least a horror movie can be turned off. Not so with memories. They haunt me while awake and asleep. PTSD has taken so much from me. I am always scared to be out of the house and am hyper vigilant. I try to go out and be “normal” yet I have scars that are visible and I am always looking around me waiting for the next event to happen.
Maybe one day I will be able to relax and process all of the horrible things that happened.
On Mother’s Day I had lunch with my husband and the kids. We had played games the day before and it was a great weekend. I had decided that I wanted to visit the cemetery to put a wreath on the graves of the two women in my life that had acted more like a mom to me than my mother.
I have always felt guilty that I was not there when they died. That I did not get to say goodbye. I have carried that feeling around for over twenty years.
When we arrived at the cemetery, I told the kids that they could stay in the car. They did at first, then they came up to the headstones. I was surprised as I looked in back of me. Here were two kids who even if they wanted to go somewhere could not drive and still needed a parents permission.
That is when it hit me. I could not have physically gone to my aunt’s house. There was no one to take me there. I was not allowed to call my aunt or speak to her if I saw her. Seeing my kids gave me a new perspective. One that made me realize that I did not have a say in what I was allowed to do. I still feel bad that I was not there, yet in my heart, I know I did not have a choice. One wall that for years that has been blocking my recovery is slowly coming down.
Sitting here thinking about life is challenging. I feel like I need to make a pros and cons list for continuing to go on.
The kids are a big factor. All of the research shows that a child whose parent commits suicide is more likely to do so. I would not want my kids to get into this dark space.
So much has failed including school, losing touch with one of my children, and constant court cases with my ex. All of this has left me drained. I feel alone no matter how many people are in a room. What do I even talk about with people. The kids are a hard subject and school was a disaster.
People do not want to hear about hospital stays and wound care centers. I believe that eating disorder treatment centers are also not at the top of the list. Those are the topics that I know best at this point.
Maybe a better option would be to talk about the diamond paintings that I have done or the garden that my husband is working on. Yet, those topics do not feel like me at this time. One day blends into another.
What to do? Going back to school is going to be rough. I feel like I am on a never ending ride in that department. Keep seeing the kids until they too realize how damaged and flawed I am. Continue to talk about the worst memories of my life in therapy.
This is not the life that I pictured. Not even close. Being a non-custodial parent was something that I did not even know existed. Failing at school because of an illness that I did not choose and is directly related to negative childhood experiences. Living in a neighborhood where I do not feel safe. Even as I write this there are helicopters circling the block.
One day I need to make a choice. I cannot live in between any longer. There needs to be a clear side to work on and pursue.
There is part of me that lives in the present and another hurt and very raw part from the past. Today life is good, yet I still feel depressed. I have a loving husband, kids who are teens and still tell me they love me and check to see how I am, and the ability to be me with all of my quirks.
Then there is the other part of me. The part that was called ungrateful. The one who’s mother stated over and over that she should of had an abortion with her. The one who carries guilt at some of the losses in her life. The one who was made to feel that she did not exist.
It is hard to have a dichotomy like this going on in my head all of the time. I lead toward believing the negative even when positive things are said. My bruises have healed, yet the words that’s stung then sting just as much today. I am a work in progress. Maybe one day I will like who I am.
As I look at myself, I see scars that will not go away that I have created because of the anxiety and self-hatred. This summer I cannot hide them. I wish I could hear what others think when they see them. Do they see someone who was strong enough to get treatment when she was ready to give up on life itself? Will they just think that it is for attention and snicker behind my back? Maybe both are happening. There are others out there like me who have been through the tunnel of abuse and back. Those that are survivors. Maybe I will get to meet some.
Friday, my cat, whom I consider my best friend, was sick. I thought it was the typical hairball and did not pay much attention. then she was sick again. Soon she was not eating or drinking. By this time, it was well into the weekend and I had no choice but to take her to the ER.
Once there, we were told that she was dehydrated. All of her tests came back normal, but the still wanted to complete an ultrasound. I had a hard time leaving her there overnight and went back the next morning. When I saw her again she had an IV and a cone from pulling out the first IV. Once all tests were completed she checked out ok. I took her back home that night after a long and trying day in the waiting room.
After she came home, she was interested in food and even eating. Then the symptoms started up again. I had not fed her anything but her normal food, which is ProPlan. She went back to the vet yesterday and were told that it was still gastritis. She was hungry last night. The ProPLan has been omitted from her diet and she seems to be on the mend at this point. I question if the food was bad? I have no way of knowing what caused all of this.
Since I took the cat to the vet yesterday, I missed therapy. We are processing right now and some of the memories are uncomfortable. I know that it will only get worse as I delve deeper into the memories and try to connect feelings with events that happened in my life. At least my therapist does not push and I feel comfortable at the rate that things are going.
In other events, my ex will not allow me to have the kids for two one night visits in a row. He thinks that it will send me back into the hospital. I am so glad that he thinks that he is a doctor. He has no clue what I went inpatient for in the fall. What was going on at that time is over and done with and I am getting on with my life as best I can. Having to give up a Masters program was hard, yet it was the right thing to do. Maybe it was the right course of study, yet the school was the wrong fit. At least I see the kids next weekend. High school is looming for both of them. I am concerned with how they will adjust, yet I know that they are strong and that they can come to me with anything.
This morning the cat got me up to be with her. I am grateful that she seems to be on the mend. This weekend scared me. I do not know what I would do without her companionship. She is one of a kind.
I have been off of Facebook today. I celebrated Valentine’s Day on Sunday. Sunday I had an amazing lunch and was able to relax.
Today, I have therapy. Once the bad crap gets let out, it does not go back. The only thing I am going to want to do when I get home is to watch mindless TV and go to bed. I am lucky that I have someone in my life who understands.
I am thinking about a program in the fall that I can get a certificate. I have also signed up for writing sites and am learning more about what it will take to write a book. I think that in my case, it may need more than one. Whatever I am going to do the in the future it will need to accept me for who I am. I wish that the grad school that accepted me would not have now. I do not think that they really wanted someone with a mental illness. I still fell that I was just someone who met a diversity qualification.
For years I have journaled, colored, drawn, and made jewelry. I have found a new interest in Diamond Painting. It is a combination of paint by number and beading. I find that it relaxes me and that I can focus because it is so tedious. I have been successful in purchasing the product online although it is not covered in the local craft stores. If you like color by number or cross stitch you may like diamond painting.
In other news, my therapist is once again requesting that I get out of the house. I think I know every way to not have to leave the house except for therapy. I promised that I would check out some options in order to get out of the house and spend time with people.
My kids, at least the two that speak to me, are growing so quickly. It is nice when they call me and need to talk. That makes me feel like I did something right. Even when they have a birthday party or event the falls on my visitation day, the confirm that it is ok if they go. Of course 99% of the time I say yes. I want them to experience what being a teenager is all about and have fun. I know all to well that one cannot do those years over.
Today, I have already accomplished one goal and plan to complete the other this afternoon. Maybe I need to start to make a goal for everyday. It seems as if it would push me to get more accomplished. I will have to consider that. The other nice thing about today is that most of the work on the house has been completed and it is once again quiet except for the occasional reminder from the kitty that she wants food or attention.
Again, check out diamond painting. It is detail oriented and can be used as artwork when completed. I just wish more people in my area were doing it. It would make for a great meet up group.
Rain. Normally an umbrella and windshield wipers and the rain is taken care of for us. What if there is a hole in the roof or the storm drain is blocked? Then the rain seeps into the house and causes problems. Water damage, costly repairs, ruined memories.
That is how I feel right now with my mental health. The more that I try to convince myself to get it together the more it seems to flare up. I hate leaving the house. It’s not just that I am nervous to go places, it is the fear of seeing my abusers.
My biggest motivation are the kids. I need to do well for them. Then it feels like I am ignoring the problem. Therapy is supposed to be a place to air some of this. I feel guarded in therapy. I feel like I am not bad enough to deserve treatment. This has been going on for 12 years. I feel like if I stay guarded enough then no one will ever know how messed up my life really was and I will not have to voice it.
The silence is trapping me in a place that I feel I cannot get out of. The doctor can only do so much. He cannot read minds! If he. If he could that would be worse.
Just a quick note to try and do something nice for yourself on Valentines Day. Read a book, craft, journal, or watch a movie. I need to remember to take my own advice!!