I'm out of it but only because I've had no sleep.
Oh, hey, I painted yesterday. I painted in watercolor. I did flowers of course.
I've fallen asleep standing up or sitting here in front of the computer.
The sleepiness feels more like exhaustion that finally takes over. There's a suction away from wake. I'm not sure if I'm explaining myself well. I'm tired, trying to keep my eyes open but there's this very uncomfortable feeling that sucks me away until I lean and jerk myself away trying to sit back up.
When I fell asleep sitting up I heard snapping sounds, like the sound of a snapping twig. I can hear the people in my head chattering. One female voice gets louder but it disappears as I snap awake. I have no idea what she's or they are saying. ...continue reading
I am no longer a season ticket holder to this Nut Bowl.
I need to go back to checking the news every other week so I can regain focus. I am all but glued to three different news stations. I don't need to know every crack in the world's foundation. I already know the fabric is torn and isn't going to get better. I certainly don't need to watch each and every seam pop.
My therapy discussion and the words that follow are exactly why personal regrouping needs to take place.
In therapy today we talked about how horrible it is to see a man get away with saying the most hurtful and inflammatory things. He is destructive and vile with no consequences. His only purpose seems to be to cause upset and harm to others. He doesn't have to worry about being stabbed or shot because of his words. He's not concerned by the level of chaos and stress he causes to others. Did he seriously take out of context the words of the mayor and put it on Twitter? Did he seriously taunt gun violence advocates in the heat of the attack? Seriously? You thought that was covfefe? I wish Twitter would close his account due to inflammatory speech! If you have any concern at all for the mental health of humanity, please close President Twitler's account. At least he can't, on a whim, incite hatred, violence, anxiety and drama. ...continue reading
I didn't know that grief would be accompanied by desperation to fill empty spaces. I used to require silence. It helped keep me calm so as not to be overwhelmed by stimuli. I now need to hear some type of program, film, theater, something. I need background noise to break the silence. Now, in silence, my head goes on and on. I go over all my mistakes and failings. I think and think some more.
It's not just that I need noise in the background to break the stream of thoughts, there's a specific noise I need. I need to hear a male voice more than a female voice. My anxiety remains sky-high and my attention span is short so I do well with 45 min TV shows and such. Two hour films feel like a commitment. Most of the time I don't sit and watch the show, I'm up tinkering with this and that, cleaning, pacing.
I didn't realize how much blame is added to his death. It's humorous that his grandmother (not my mother) feels no guilt for the cruelty she slapped him with before he died. She's smoothed it over in her head. Nope. You can't cover that up. It was profoundly immoral. ...continue reading
Content: suicide, anger, autopsy discussion, grief
The world moves forward but I feel stuck.
I can't call my aunts or my sister or cousins to share the grief, to encourage or be encouraged. I often feel alone with this. I feel broken. I've vomited out my heart. I no longer have one.
I tread waters of criticism when I say I can think of a hundred people who should take his place in a coffin. I have a hard time thinking that he's in a box decaying. My brother!!!! My boy is decaying!!! Really? Somewhere I read about a woman blogger whose mother died. She talked about how undignified death is. I can't remember which blogger it was, but she talked about how her mother's autopsy discussed her in ounces and pounds. To think there was an autopsy done on my boy is mentally terrifying. You cut up my boy? You weighed him like a pound of meat, sewed him up, put him on display, locked the lid then put dirt over it. You left him to the bugs. I'm mad that such barbarous acts were perpetrated against my loved one.
It's confusing and huge. It weighs down my shoulders and makes my eye lids heavy. I slightly drift to the left and rock just a little, back and forth. This death, this self murder, this selfish act haunts with a force powerful enough to freeze me in my tracks. ...continue reading
The rant comes from the last entry written and the helpful comment left.
A few sessions ago Dr. D said something to me that made me flinch. He said, it seems important that you be treated fairly. I flinched because the word fair was used. It sounded so childish. He went on to explain that for most of my life I was abused. Most of my life until I left home at age 19 was filled with back and forth of being in nice homes with her to living in garbage heaps with her to going to foster care to living in a car. And why did these things come about? According to my mother, I was the root of all her problems.
I was a scapegoat. An arrow pointed right at my face when it came to trying to explain why things in her life weren't going well. Her family would never accept her. She'd never marry again. She's never have any friends. According to her all that was my fault. The entire family took part in abusing each and every one of the children including cousins, everyone took part. Was that fair? No.
What I heard Dr D say was, "You seem obsessed with being treated fairly." That's not what he said at all. At no time did he make it sound childish that I expect people to act like they have some sense. But my history and social training makes the word fair sound rather childish. What's the answer to not feeling like something is fair? Life's not fair! How diminishing and dismissive!!!
Victim. Professional victim. ...continue reading
Content: Brother's suicide, anger, powerlessness, the complexities of death
The day didn't pass without painting. I tried to focus on something other than life issues and lay color on paper. It felt good to do so.
I'd been sipping Chamomile Bloom to keep myself calm which meant I wasn't in hysterics at the time of my appointment. We talked about my brother quite a bit and about how hard this has been to lose him. In the last 5 years this is the second suicide I've dealt with and the third of my lifetime. My brother's suicide, his death is unbelievably hard.
I said that I understand he was just human. I understand that he had a breaking point but I wonder if he thought for just a second about the students he left behind, about the suffering of anyone else? And yet I know when my pain levels rise too high I can no longer say I'm safe. I don't think about how others will respond. I don't think, I can't think. I only want to get out of my skin. So I can't say I'm without understanding of being on one's last bit of rope. I do understand. I also understand the complete betrayal one feels standing on the other end of death. It's complicated.
He asked if I think about my sister a lot. Yes, every day..but not every second of every day. I have given her all the space she needs from me. I have no updates on her though. I am still committed to an emotional divorce so I can heal from .....so I can heal. It's hard to walk away from a fantasy. I'm not going to get the sister I need and I have to walk away even when life is threatened. I can't swoop in and try to save her bc I'll be sucked back in to being her emotional punching bag and sucked back in to believing that somehow I can win her approval and we can be sisters and friends. That isn't true. It's a fantasy and I have to let it go, even when things get scary with her.
Concerning my brother's suicide
For a self imposed insomniac, the night is early at half past ten. It still has a chance to end well if I get this off my chest and get back to watching old movies while eating over buttered popcorn.
The thing is, I can't stop crying when I hear stringed instruments. I've always loved the cello, it's my favorite with the violin next. I just wonder, am I going to cry every time I hear the violin? I want right now to say that this is pure grief, but I'm angry. I'm angry that strings make me cry instead of proud that he played so well. I'm angry that my brother taking his life means not even music is the same.
I realized something, every suicide I hear about brings up my brother. Chris Cornell was a total and complete shock. I didn't even read an article about it until the other day. I couldn't look at it. For right now, I can't read blogs that touch on this subject. I am far too maxed. It doesn't mean I don't care or that bloggers should change their subject matter. It's just that I can't do it. It's the same as not being able to read blogs about mother / daughter sexual abuse. It doesn't mean I don't care, it means I don't have the strength to offer. I'm really sorry.
Snow took me to therapy. I chattered the entire time about why on earth Prez Trump would allow these men in the Oval Office itself. Is he losing it or acting? I asked the same question of my therapist who said he has the maturity of a 5 year old. He then said, "among other things." Understanding the level of ???? that Prez Trump shows has been disturbing.
I seem to need to know why people behave the way they do. Why are people so disrespectful. Why are people so hateful, willingly hateful? Why is it so difficult to live beside another person without seeing them as lesser than? Why? And yet I know why. I was raised a bigot. I understand the thinking process, the training it takes to have someone believe that another human being isn't equal to you. But then we have to consider my background of abuse and neglect at well. Wouldn't I understand, from experience, that there are some people who simply don't matter and they are there to be abused? All the things said against me, against my person have left a huge mark. I believed them and still struggle with seeing myself as equal to others. As a survivor of abuse I know from experience that some people aren't equal to others. They aren't believed for whatever reason. Its okay to overlook them, okay to blame them for everything, okay to laugh at them in their face, okay to step on them. Isn't that the perfect set up for teaching a person how to view others on a sliding scale of worth? ...continue reading
May is the one year mark of the death of my brother and mother. I found out in June of 2016 but they died in May. This is another reason I'll be playing it really close to the vest. I feel so .... thin.....fragile.
Through this whole issue of grief, I will be many things. I'll be a minute to minute survivor. I'll be angry, grieved, at peace, wordy, creative, exhausted and a million other things. I wish I could say that things will go back to settled but they won't. It's impossible for me to fathom normal with that baby gone. I can't imagine normal but I can hope for settled with less gut wrenching pain.
I'm battling my mind and body.
I've had sporadic periods where pain has knocked me off my feet. Funny thing is, at the time I remember thinking to myself, I understand suicide. That thought would be strange if it wasn't for my brother's death being fresh on my mind. The lack of information concerning my sister weights heavily. It is also true that there are times I think I can't take another second of pain and that I'd rather be dead. Dr. D has noticed some PTSD issues associated with my chronic illness. I feel validated by that. This is traumatic. It's like my private civil war where I die every single time. There are times, like yesterday when I thought to myself, I understand suicide. ...continue reading