Today has now become a sad day. I just read that a childhood friend has terminal cancer. This I have suspected for months, but to know the treatments didn’t work is heartbreaking. She and her husband have four kids five and under. Please pray for a miracle and for God to ease her pain.
This has already been an emotional week. I openened up with my therapist and shared the most about my middle school years than I have with anyone else. I shared how I felt as well as facts as to what happened in my family. Becoming vulnerable is very hard for me. The bolts and nuts are never the hard part, reaching in and grabbing those emotions is playing with fire.
DBT skills groups was no easier. My example was used for the class. Although there was only one other person, talking about my emotions and struggles for an hour made it so real.
I want someone I can cry out to. I want someone’s shoulder to rest my head on and maybe a hand to squeeze. Will that ever happen? Who’s to know. For now, my phone offers more solace than none.
When you have too many feelings what do you do? Do you sit and stew? Take a run? Call a friend? Well I don’t know. For the first time in 16 years I can feel, and I can feel a lot. It’s scary as hell and I’m lost. I miss the easy days of numbing my mind and sliding through life. “I don’t cry,” is my favorite saying. Is it an exceptable thing to do? Can I get overwhelmed, sad, excited, mad?
Someone tell me what do to, how to feel. I guess if you do that you’re telling me how to be me. How many more years do I have to figure all this out?
I still don’t know if I can believe what happened this evening. It’s going to make me reevaluate my core beliefs. It seems so silly to say, so basic to write. This is the hardest thing for me to even think into existence.
I matter to this world. I am worthy of loving myself and of being loved.
Last night I cut myself again. I hadn’t in months. I had blades and scissors all around me. After going through all the art boxes from my storage unit I found a bunch of straight edges. I let them sit in my room for over a week. Oh yeah, I’ll get rid of them I thought. No big deal. But it was a big deal and I knew it. I wasn’t fooling myself or anyone else. I said I’d throw them out or give them to a friend.
Two things happened last night before I did anything positive with the blades. I decided to self sabotage and my emotions got to a level I thought I couldn’t handle. I have a pattern of self sabotaging after about a month of recovery. I’m not worthy of getting better, I’ve always thought. Also, my little brother went back up to school, so the focus was back on me. Not in a good way either. I needed to do this, go do that. Why can’t you be like blank? I felt I couldn’t take it. So rather than talking to my parents on how I felt they were treating me, or reaching out to a friend, I cut. Cutting feels so good. It’s almost orgasmic. A wave of endorphins wash over me. Everything is alright.
Then, reality hits. Consequences fall. I had to tell my therapist today and be ready for what could happen. I could get kicked out of the program. Luckily I didn’t get kicked out. I haven’t heard what my doctor is going to say to me tomorrow, though.
This evening I went to my friend’s house and gave her all my scissors and blades. I’m not going to lie and say I now feel so free because that would be a lie. My heart does feel love though. I texted this friend this afternoon and didn’t get a response for several hours. I figured she didn’t want to get involved. In actuality, she had a really busy day at work and hadn’t had time to look at her phone. Even though her husband wanted to spend the evening with her, she opened up her home to me. I went over and gave her the blades to dispose of. We talked for an hour, catching up on last week and getting deep and talking about why I cut.
Before I left she looked me straight on and told me that I matter and that I am worthy of love. I’ve heard this from therapists before but never from someone with such raw emotions. I thank God for this friendship.
It’s been over a week since I’ve posted. I almost felt a sense of yearning to write today. Nothing bad has happened, I’ve just been busy, busy, busy! And that, to me, is good.
Today was my first day back to school. I guess I should techniqually say yesterday. I am back in school for my passion, photography. Just that word makes me smile. I can’t wait to go to class and do the assignments. The other class I’m taking is on Photoshop. So, no matter where I turn, the vast subject of photography, is around me.
My next post will hopefully be sooner and a bit more in depth. I can feel the melatonin kicking in.
I know why I have so much hate, so much anger and hurt towards him. He’s a bully. Plain and simple. If you mess up, or he views it as such, in any way, he finds joy in yelling and arguing with you. He does this until you’re sufficiently belittled, crying, angry, whatever negative emotion he can get out of you. Change needs to, must, happen, but it never will. For change is too uncomfortable and too much work for someone who is deep down hurting or sick as well.
Yet again, I don’t know how I feel. It’s so frustrating, so aggravating. Am I angry, anxious, depressed? My chest is exploding and sharp words are pushing out of my mouth. My brain is screaming at me to hole up in my room so it can turn off and not deal with the world. Crying will get me nowhere and screaming an argument I don’t need.
I want to run to the medicine cabinet and pop some Ativan and then wash it down with rum. I just have to keep reminding myself that will get me nowhere. What will get me somewhere? I just don’t know…
It’s peaceful out here. The baby birds are chirping, lizards slithering around, and sun peaking through the trees. Ironically, I’m listening to Brave by Sara Bareillas. In this beautiful world, I’m struggling to be brave. To have those healthy adult relationships seem all but impossible. What do I do to even begin?
This morning I had therapy and there seems to be no let up with the health professionals I see. Can’t they be more understanding, easy going, compassionate? I guess I’ve had that all through my life and it’s gotten me here. A woman in her early thirties who’s living in her parents house, rent free. A woman who takes more medication that people triple her age. A woman that is so emotionally unstable that her parents don’t feel comfortable to leave her alone for more than a couple of hours. A woman who is still a child. Am I scared to be an adult?
If I’m honest with myself all of this plays into my new diagnosis so well. I can carry the facade only for so long. The more you get to know me, the more you can see how I have such troubles regulating my emotions and how most of my relationships are sinking quicker than the Titanic. I’m so eager to have a friend that I become aggressive. I can’t leave a new friend alone, want them to be best friends right after meeting me.
I believe I can, will get better. The hard work will get done. It’s ok for me not to know how I always feel. There is no reason to believe I am going to get better instantaneously. It doesn’t happen that way. This is life, not a Disney movie. Sometimes I might only move forward an inch, or even go backwards. As long as I keep trying I will survive.
We’re Gonna Be Ok
Andie Case featuring Travis Graham