Speak kindly to yourself. Don’t be your own abuser. If you wouldn’t allow others to speak to you this way, why do it to yourself?
Today I gathered a pad and paper along with my study materials. When I settled in to study I couldn’t find my pen and immediately I began to berate myself. “You’re kidding. You’ve lost the pen already? This is ridiculous. So stupid.” …Then I stopped. I stopped right there….
Using words that belittle myself don’t leave just a single wound. There are the emotions that come with it. I couldn’t do anything right. I was stupid for losing the pen and that made me unreliable and unable to do anything right. My stomach felt heavy, my head felt heavy. With just a few sentences I managed to inflict several wounds. This will be an interesting endeavor as I learn to speak kindly to myself.
Just behind my eyes there are tears that would fall, if they could.
Last night I played a game on my tablet. I love the gem mining game called Swipe Live. I call it a dissociative friendly game because I don’t have to race a clock. I can’t guarantee I’ll not fade off, so games without a time clock work best for me. Anyway, it was late and I was still playing this game. I felt like I was on auto pilot. I didn’t want to stop. I knew I was tired but I was running from myself…..again.
True to form I dissociated. I came back when the screen went black. It was starling because the rest of the room was pitch black, too. I was so tired though and really wanted to just let it all go black, stop fighting, go to sleep. But there’s a part of me that sees sleep as giving in, giving up. So I played the game again from the light of a Samsung Galaxy. Continue reading
This is hard to break, it’s hard to stop mistreating myself through words. At the slightest mistakes I kick into crushing words that leave a mark each time I use them against myself. Everyone knows an abused child feels the pain of words decades after being spoken. Those attacks stay with us and it molds how we speak to ourselves.
I have been unspeakably cruel to myself. My heart has a thousand cuts by my own hand, and my eyes have been taught to see my every flaw and report its findings. I am cruel to myself. This is the year where things change for me, where I start looking at specific issues such as self loathing and crippling negativity.
The short video about Scott Hamilton’s 3rd brain tumor is a very inspiring one . There’s one line in it that is so validating for me. First, I’m one who automatically thinks people aren’t going to believe that I could possibly have all this wrong with one body. Despite the open, raw blogging for years of progression and slowing of symptoms, I still worry about being disbelieved. From time to time I get a reader who challenges me but I dismiss them. Even so, it’s a very destructive experience. As an abuse survivor who was successfully conditioned to believe that no one will believe me, I still find it hard think anyone will. So I all but leap for joy and am validate when I hear quotes like the one from Mr. Hamilton who said, “I have a unique hobby of collecting life-threatening illness.” Yeah, it happens doesn’t it? He’s survived things others haven’t. What’s more, he’s active in life and he wants to live.
The theme of wanting to live and living may pop up quite a bit in various forms on Sundrip because I’ve dedicated this year to truly breaking out of the old. I truly desire to smash old records, to repair the way I feel about my torn skin, to speak to myself kindly and to live life well. My personal idea of living life well is to live it simply. The biggest obstacle to this goal is my attitude and the stress of PTSD. Continue reading
This is a nothing entry….something to toss up here so I can stamp time saying I was here.
So we’re here, hanging around and its time for a cup of hot chocolate. Snow goes to get the cups and says, “You don’t have any hot chocolate. Faith, it’s empty.”
Me – “What, no, there should be a little bit left.
Snow – “No” she said admittedly, “It’s empty.”
I was like, “No! Why? Whyyyy?”
Turns out I had no hot chocolate, twas true. It was empty. There was nothing but a spoon with trace particles of multisyllabic chemicals, synthetic fillers and artificial coloring. The world had dealt its last blow, a sucker punch!
After we got back from the vet I gave Jane her medication and we both went to bed. She’s beside me now purring like she always does only now it’s with one less fang.
Dream: I woke from a dream about antique dolls with two faces. Hundreds of antique dolls at various levels of decay burst from the rotted ceiling and created a pile right up to the broken ceiling beams. Most of the dolls were from other countries, some large, some small. An Arabic man pulled at them with a rake to get the rest to come down. As they passed me I looked for any doll that looked like me, a black doll. From the hundreds that fell through the hole in the ceiling, I was able to see, but not keep, a few dolls that looked like me. These divided dolls were filled with sawdust or covered with porcelain. Some appeared to have been quite fine in their day. I woke from there. Mary Jane needed medication.
Here’s how it started.
I went to the store Tuesday afternoon then came home to find Mary Jane bleeding from her mouth. Her chest had trails of blood and her paws were very bloody. She was frightened and crying. I was trying my best not to freak out. I called Snow to come help because I wasn’t sure what was wrong or what Janie would need. I told Snow, if you can’t stand the sight of blood on Jane and you can’t stand to hear her cry this way then you will be of no help to me. I need someone stable. Snow manned up and put her superwoman suit on.
I showed up at the vet’s office a total and complete wreck, a wreck! First off, all this happened as I walked in the door from grocery shopping. I needed to sleep that off but I found my baby bleeding. Then I was holding my head looking at her and I started to panic. I thought, I have to come back home with this cat. I can’t leave her there. I thought I was going to lose her. I wasn’t sure of the extent of her injuries. What I did know is that a tooth was crooked, she was bleeding pretty badly, she started to snort kind of. I thought maybe her tongue got caught on one of her saber-tooth fangs and was torn. I mean, there was a lot of blood…blood all over my heart which happens to be in the form of a 15 lb furry cat. I was losing it. Finally I got myself together and the rest is what I wrote in part one of this. One fang down and antibiotics with a little cleaning up and I brought my girl home.
One last thing, a blogger asked about a mother’s love. Today when I saw blood on my baby’s mouth and paws my heart screamed. When I had to pick her up and look at her it meant pushing aside my emotions and doing what needed to be done. I examined her, knowing she was afraid. I kept talking to her. I was willing to pay the vet whatever it took to make her pain stop, to see her feeling better and to know I could take her home. My heart went through so many emotions, so many extremes.
I’m having a quiet night here at home. It’s me, my sewing box and a few black and white movies. I’m still exhausted but my anxiety is better. Friday is a scheduled hospitalization. It’s not an ambulance type of situation.
I talked to Dr. D over the phone but I don’t remember what we talked about. I may not remember what we talked about but I remember it was good to hear his voice. Several sisters called but I don’t know what we talked about. They called at peak medication time. I was sauced.
I’m just going to relax as much as possible and try to get my head back in order.
1/16/17 – 8:13pmEST
A short hospital stay was needed. I’m home recovering but I’m not to go anywhere. I was grateful that 3 from my care team responded after hours, including over the week end. They got me all squared away …. not to mention super drugged.
I said I wouldn’t take narcotics unless its absolutely necessary. Well, it was absolutely necessary. Several days of going through that crap was enough! I’m still very tired, still not keeping anything down and still feel like crap but I don’t hurt nearly as badly as I did. I’m down to a 7, which I hardly ever see even with this much stuff in my system.
I’m sleeping a lot, at odd hours as usual, but its good sleep. The elders from the Hall have been very helpful, so have the sisters.
Here’s another My Face My Art piece created here in bed. She’s wearing Nesting Place 2 on the left side of the screen and Reed 1 on the right. Also to the right of the screen there’s a tiny bit of texture from the small drawing New Dimensions.
Back to sleep I go. I talk to Dr. D on the phone tomorrow afternoon. He was one on my care team that responded after hours.
I’ve been unable to level my pain so I went to the hospital. I’ve been sleeping a lot. I’m still tired.
I was able to talk to Dr D b4 I went. I’m still all but sleeping around the clock.