Imploding

I'm struggling. Badly. It was a bad weekend. I had a horrible body memory Saturday night, a new one. Not as invasive as the one that usually comes but it was frightening enough. I woke up in terror convinced it was happening in the moment. This prevented me from being able to shower Sunday morning which meant I couldn't go to church. I wasn't happy about it but thought I was OK with it. Nope, saw pictures on Facebook later and cried because I was unable to go. All because I couldn't take a shower.

I can't take baths and haven't been able to in years. I've tried various ways to do it and gave up when just sitting in a dry tub in clothes made me panicky. Showers were never a problem until yesterday. If I'd showered more recently I would have sprayed perfume and gone to church in a hat. But I'd last showered Thursday morning and hadn't changed clothes since Thursday afternoon. That wasn't going to cut it.

Everything is confusing me. Life is totally overwhelming. I'm realizing even more how inequitable mental health treatment is to say, care for someone with cancer. Someone with cancer can have something incurable and elect for chemotherapy. It costs tons of money and won't save the person's life. It might buy them time, it might not. But they have that option to choose. Because my illnesses are trauma related I don't get that option. My coverage is limited and is pretty much gone for the rest of my life (inpatient wise). In my early thirties that is a huge concern.

I feel like my life is totally worthless to the insurance people and the government. If I could get proper treatment I might be able to do what I want most and get off disability in the future and work. Nope, sorry because I'm not wealthy and am a trauma survivor I get to just suck it up and try to get by with what is available, which is pretty much nothing.

Two forty-five minute visits a week with my therapist aren't cutting it at this point. I'm rapidly imploding and not sure what is going to be the end result. i don't even know if I care anymore.

This is horrible to say. I'm not suicidal but wish I was so I could just do it and die and get the hell out of this life.

You Are Loved (Don't Give Up)

Things are still very difficult. It's been a horribly hard week. I've been too dissociated to drive or really do anything. I made it to therapy on Tuesday because my case manager took me. I couldn't get there on Thursday. I spent Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday at church. I was trying to do things to help but also trying to be around people. Safe people who know the whole story and wouldn't overreact. I had some helpful conversations with the two people there. The one with my minister yesterday was so nice. She doesn't get it, she knows she doesn't get it, but she relates to it as much as she can in a way that no one ever has while stating she knows its not the same.

I'm too tired to think much or write much tonight. But I stumbled across this song tonight. I love Josh Groban's music but had never heard this song. It's giving me so much comfort and it currently on repeat on my iPod. I'll fall asleep listening to it tonight I'm sure.



I'm so grateful to those who are loving me. Who aren't giving up on me or allowing me to give up on myself. I've been in frequent email contact with my t the past week. I would normally never send her a YouTube link but sent the above link to her thanking her for being the first to ever really truly hear me. And not only did she hear me she also hasn't given up or allowed me to give up.

Things are still rough. I'm still fairly dissociated and am not sure what tomorrow will bring. But I can't give up.

Adjusting

I'm here. Kinda, sorta, maybe. I'm pretty dissociated still. I've been incredibly dissociated since Wednesday night. You know when I was crying and hugged and held. It meant an incredible amount to me. It also apparently sent me into shock and then flight mode. And I'm so good at flight mode that I took off. I haven't felt grounded or real since then.

Therapy on Thursday was a bit of a mess. I dissociated completely the whole session. She said she thinks it was Wendy, the fourteen year old. She got to where she thought I was grounded enough to leave. I got my stuff and she started walking me out and I didn't make it. I couldn't feel the ground and so couldn't walk. She looked at me and said I didn't look good and I said I wasn't. It took 30 minutes of her sitting with me in a group room before I could ground enough to walk and safely drive home. Having someone come to get me would have been ideal but there wasn't anyone and so I had to get home. I got home and haven't left since.

I still don't feel real. I still don't feel attached to things. I still feel like I'm watching a movie that is actually my life. I can't connect to any of it.

I spent yesterday emailing my therapist a lot. She's pretty worried. She emailed my minister. I finally got brave enough to text my minister tonight and asked her to call me when she could. It was so hard for me to text her and ask for that. She called me and I just got off the phone with her.

I feel better. I'm still not grounded at all but I feel a bit lighter. She gets it as much as she can. She even made me laugh. She thinks my reactions are normal.

She said, "You are just getting used to being loved. That's all."

I'm just being loved, accepted, wanted, and valued for being who I am. Just for being me. And given my upbringing its new to me and so its an adjustment. And she thinks its normal.

She's only been at our church for a year. Exactly a year today. She posted that on her blog and I was dumbfounded by the fact that its only been a year. It feels like so much longer. She has made such a profound difference in my life, as have other people at my church.

I'm not real again yet. But I will be. I think. I hope. And until then there are people to help me.

She held me

It's been awhile. I've been pretty sick the last few weeks. It started with headaches and weakness for about two weeks. That turned into laryngitis for two and a half weeks. I finally got my voice back today. Two and a half weeks without being able to really talk was torture on many levels, although it was nice to have a valid reason to not talk to family members. But seriously, four therapy sessions without really being able talk was rather difficult. Last Thursday she didn't let me talk at all and we did exercises with my body. And then Monday I woke up in horrible pain in my left lower stomach. I had to get a CT scan and turns out I have diverticulitis. I can't remember the last time I took antibiotics and now I've been on three in the space of six days. Let's not make this a trend.

But today I've finally gotten my voice back. All the way back. My stomach still hurts a little but but it isn't horrible. I can function and move. I might even try eating a more normal diet tomorrow. I've been trying to do the liquid diet the doctor wants me to do but that is so hard and leaves me so hungry. I had a baked potato with my soup at lunch today which seemed fine. And then at dinner there was salad and being a good vegan I couldn't stand seeing yummy veggies and so caved and had some. I guess I'll see what happens as they digest.

But now to turn the subject to why I'm writing this tonight. There was a small group at my church tonight. Of the people who were there tonight two know the entire story, DID and all. One of those is the minister. Two others know of the abuse and PTSD everything else but not the DID. The last woman knows none of those details. We were talking about love tonight. One of the tangents was on whether we aspired to love the entire human race without exception. Who is worthy or unworthy of love?

I started crying at some point which I was OK with. I'm used to crying in front of people. I'm a crier. I even cry when I'm mad. But I thought I was going to throw up and so left and went and sat in the bathroom. My minister came and found me which I felt bad about because she was leading the group. She came and sat on the floor with me and held me. She held me and hugged me.

I need to repeat and bold that last sentence because of how much it means to me. She held me and she hugged me. She got down on the floor with me and held me, hugged me, and let me cry like no one ever has before. People let me cry but she held me. No one has ever held me and hugged me when I've cried. Then she asked if she could pray with/for me and I agreed. She put her hands on mine or on my head, I can't remember now. I think she put her hands on mine and I put my head on her hands. And when that was too hard for me and I pulled away she just went with me and continued holding me.

I didn't want to go back to the group right away but she got me to go back. I cried more there and still felt sick but it was OK. I stayed around a bit after the group ended and played with her kids a bit. Everyone pretty much left in a group. I'm feeling a bit triggered and unsettled and don't want to sleep right now.

I was held and hugged. I was loved tonight.

In awesome news

In awesome news my therapist isn't dead or unconscious or anything horrible like that. With the encouragement of friends on a support forum I sent her an email this morning. I don't think I want to repost the email I sent here. It's a bit embarrassing. I did admit that my mind had gone into catastrophizing mode and I was terrified she was dead. I told her I did know that was probably overreacting and that I was trying to calm down but was really scared and needed to know she wasn't dead. I was also trying to make clear that I really, really didn't want to intrude on her personal life and was trying hard not to completely lose it. That I felt really guilty emailing her.

So essentially I asked her to let me know if she wasn't dead. That I really needed to know that. And that if she wasn't dead would it be OK if I emailed her about something that was scaring me. Again, I tried to explain that while I really wanted to email her about the whole scratching thing I didn't want to bother her if something was going on in her life.

She responded very quickly that she wasn't dead or going away. I started crying when I read that. I was even more terrified then I had admitted to myself. And then she told me it was OK to email her about what was going on, that this was why the email system had been set up, and that she would respond when she was able to do so.

I emailed her the gist of what was going on. She hasn't responded yet and that is OK. Just knowing she isn't dead or going away is a huge relief. It's embarrassing to me that my mind went there but I think she understands why that happened. I'm much more secure with her then I've been with other therapists in the past, well with any therapist ever. The fear of her leaving still comes up sometimes but not like it used to. And honestly this time I wasn't really afraid of her going away. I didn't think she would choose to do that. I was more afraid that she was dead which obviously wouldn't allow her to make that choice.

Wow. This is pretty significant for me to realize. Especially because when I started seeing her almost two years ago (this coming May will be two years) in my first appointment I flat out told her I saw no point in coming to see her because she would only get sick of me too. She assured me she wouldn't. I didn't believe her. I guess, somewhere along the way, that changed. Even knowing she is moving her practice to a neighboring state which might make it impossible for me to keep seeing her (insurance crap, not because of distance) I think I believe she will try to find a way for that not to happen.

Freaking out

I'm rather nervous and unsettled tonight. There are two main reasons for this. The first is that therapy was canceled today. The fact that it was canceled is enough to shake me up a bit in and of itself. What is really freaking me out is that the office called to let me know. Not my therapist. This has never happened. Ever. She rarely cancels but when she has had to do so or has had to reschedule she always calls me herself. I'm terrified that something is drastically wrong with her or her family. And since I'm heading in the direction of sheer terror and catastrophizing I will admit in my head I'm worried she's dead. Or maybe something happened to her parents or children and she is going to be gone for a long time, maybe forever. I'm supposed to see her again on Tuesday but am terrified that appointment will be canceled too. If I knew that appointment was definitely going to happen I could relax a little bit. I'm trying to rationalize that it isn't likely she is dead or gone but I'm really scared that she didn't contact me herself. I was pretty out of it when I left my appointment Tuesday and so I'm petrified something is really wrong.

And the other reason is I woke up with scratches on my chest. Claw marks if you will, on both sides of my chest. This has happened before but they were always really mild and would go away in the shower. I wasn't ever sure what to think about it but wasn't overly concerned. I just found it odd. But then today they were a little bit deeper. And now at 11PM one is still visible on my left side. I'm worried that someone inside is doing this and I'm completely unaware of it. It makes sense but I usually have some degree of co-consciousness and have none with this. I'm not really worried about harming myself but this freaks me out a bit. I'm scared someone inside will take over and do something without anyone else being aware of it.

I have an email address for my therapist that I'm allowed to use. I'm considering emailing her tomorrow and apologizing for emailing her but saying in the email that something really weird and upsetting is going on, and that if its OK for me to email her in a bit more depth about it to let me know. I don't want to bother her if something major is going on in her life. But I'm so scared, both by her not calling and by this weird thing going on with me too.

My case manager is away so it's not even an option to call her. Ugh. My therapist is currently really the only one I can talk to about this.

Crawling to a stop

Things have been slow the last few days. It's driving me bonkers. The past few weeks I've just been constantly on the go and I've gotten used to it. I like it. I've been swimming, doing stuff at church, my flute lesson and practice, therapy, and just constantly going. I admitted in therapy last week that part of why I've been keeping so busy is so I don't have to think about things. I was doing that on a subconscious basis but when I said that it rang true. Last week was SO busy. I never stopped, except to sleep. I was stressed with everything I was doing but there wasn't anything I didn't want to be doing and so I kept doing it.

Friday night I met a friend in a nearby city. A bonus was we found a restaurant with vegan pizza and food! So yummy. We went to an energy healing clinic which was amazing. I felt so good afterward. I cried and sat by the fire for a bit but it was healing. And then we went back for the drum circle. Best drum circle ever. It's held monthly and I am absolutely going back next month. The energy clinic is the same night as well and so I plan to do both again. The drum circle was fabulous. The nicest people were there and I totally let loose and had a blast. I drummed, I tried a xylophone type instrument. I attempted a wooden flute but the fingering was too weird since I'm used to the classical Boehm flute. I tried a recorder. I even danced. I loved every minute of it.

Saturday dawned and I went swimming. I was resting when my mom asked if I wanted to go to lunch with her and my sister, as it was the sister's birthday. I decided to go without thinking it through. Lunch was at Olive Garden. I got extremely overwhelmed with all the lights, noise, and people. I made it through the soup and then went home, leaving them to bring my meal home. I dissociated horribly. I pretty much went to bed for the day but figured I'd be OK by Sunday.

Sunday rolled around and I felt irritable. My head hurt and I wanted to scream at the world. I tried to swim before church but the pool wasn't open yet. I reasoned I could go after church. I honestly wouldn't have gone to church if I hadn't had to go to a meeting after the service. I felt like crap and wanted to bite off everyone's heads. I made it through the service and then went upstairs to wait for the meeting. The meeting was endless. There was one person in particular who I was about ready to strangle as he was making it drag on and on and on. My minister finally ended it and I left. I came home to bed. Other then letting the dog out I didn't get out again until Tuesday. I spent the majority of Monday crying for no reason. My headache worsened throughout Sunday through yesterday.

Yesterday I dragged myself to the pool. I was missing the exercise and sometimes being in the water will calm me down. I was hoping it would take the edge off my headache or irritation. No. It worsened both. I was ready to scream and lash out at the world and my head was splitting. I had tried ibuprofen but didn't think it would do much good. This is all psychological and meds aren't going to make much of a difference. I went to therapy. She got the anger and pain and headaches and all of it was just radiating off me. I cried and said I didn't want to be like this. That I didn't trust myself to be around people because I couldn't control the anger and was afraid of lashing out at people for no reason. I was drawing during the appointment and she asked me to try drawing two things. The second thing was s funny face. I drew it and she asked if she could add to it. I said yes and then started laughing at what she added. As I was laughing I told her to stop making me laugh because I was mad and didn't want to laugh!

I think at some point I told her I feel like I'm not making progress. That I've stagnated and am possibly going backwards. She disagreed. She said I'm feeling things now. That two years ago, even a year ago I was denying that I was angry at all. And now I'm feeling it and even admitting it at times and to her that is progress. She said it doesn't feel good but it is progress. I'm blanking on the end of the appointment. I know I got triggered and there was some dissociation. I was hiding from her behind both my hair and my stuffed lion while I cried. I was pretty out of it when I left and actually had a hard time driving home.

When I got home I went to bed. I watched some TV. I practiced flute for 30 minutes and that was my day. My head was still killing me and so at the suggestion of my therapist I took out my acupressure book and spent over an hour doing that. It seemed to help a lot. I was terrified of going to sleep. I never sleep in total darkness but have had to have the big light on for at least a week now. Eventually I slept.

So today, today was going to be the day my head stopped aching and I could go back to my regularly scheduled life, right? Nope, wrong. I woke up early and my head wasn't hurting badly. A great sign until I got out of bed and I could tell the headache was just below the surface, begging to come back to life. I hoped maybe it would pass and I could go out and do something. Nope. I've spent the day in bed doing nothing but watching TV, coming online, and reading a bit. I am going out of my mind with boredom and annoyance over this. I took a nap and woke up exhausted. I have things I want to do. Things I need to do. I don't have time to be stuck in bed!

I badly need to clean my apartment. I need to swim. I need to practice flute. I need to go do stuff at church. I need to just get up and out and back to life and no, not possible today.

I guess the good part is that at least today I don't feel quite so furious at the entire world. I'm not ready to kill people just for looking in my direction or just for breathing. I'm calmer in that aspect.

I'm thinking the moral of all of this is not to push myself quite so hard. That possibly my mind, body, and spirit all just collapsed from everything I've been doing. There has been so much going on, both internally and externally. Given that I've accomplished nothing today I'd have to wager a guess that my whole being was at the collapsing point.

In more good news my pdoc found someone for me to see when she leaves. This is awesome news. I'm a bit nervous as this pdoc specializes in bipolar and schizophrenia. I'm technically diagnosed with Bipolar I but no longer believe it is accurate, which my therapist agrees with me about. My main issues are PTSD and DID. I hope the new pdoc can work with those and not focus on what looks like bipolar but probably isn't. Anyhow, I called new pdoc today to make an appointment with her and she sounded pretty nice on the phone so I'm hopeful this will work.

Tomorrow's agenda is flute lesson, therapy, and writing group. Additional hopes of being able to swim and go help at church are tossed in as well. The reality is I'm considering rescheduling my flute lesson for next week, possibly going to church, definitely going to therapy, and hopefully making it to writing group. As badly as I want to swim and go to my flute lesson I'm getting the feeling I still need more rest, which just might make me even crazier then I already am.

I'm tired of being stopped like this. I want to get back on the train and finish this journey!