My head feels a little more stable than it was a few days ago.
I got a letter from my GP saying he will no longer work with me. This is the GP that made it very difficult to show up to appointments because he acted like he didn't want to be in the same room with me. I've talked about him a lot on this blog so I won't recount all the difficulties but I will say that it's a slap in the face.
I will also concede that I was wrong to leave the type of message I did. It was forceful. I asked her to explain why she can't get my meds right, the meds I've had for several years. I said, you first made a math error but now what's this error? I wasn't polite but again, I didn't yell or name call. I asked why they talked to my dentist when I didn't sign anything saying they could talk. I remember leaving that message and I remember thinking that I couldn't stop talking. I could see myself very animated but I couldn't stop. I won't say if it was a medical situation or mental health because I don't know. I don't normally leave confrontational voice messages. I don't normally call the nurse on her crap without tact. I feel like I got kicked out for doing that and it makes me angry that for two years I dealt with his attitude but he couldn't manage to recognize my issue. ...continue reading →
Sleep, sleep and more sleep with itching in between.
I have a pretty extensive reaction to the urushiol contact. Both hands, neck to the hair line and on top of one shoulder have all have a poison oak rash. I'm staying on top of it. I feel there's improvement. Of course this is a problem but I'm still not tripping out about it.
So, yesterday I took out the trash and passed "the tree", the tree where I found a tiny little snail. I had to pop over there and take a look. I now have 2 microscopic garden snails in the terrarium home. (insert happy dance)
Both snails are so, so tiny. I hope they'll live. They hurried away into the moss jungle when I put them in their new home. I do hope they get stronger. They've got names. They're Uru Oak and Shiol Oak. 🙂 I found the tiniest, itty bitty little acorns that I added before I found the snails. Their home is so cute and ready to hold them for a long time.
Oh yeah, my pill bug colony is doing wonderfully. The small cricket farm is doing well as is the worm compost pile.
Emery spoke up. She told Dr. D about what happened outside the restroom window then read him the piece of writing we did to release anxiety concerning recent violence and past violence. She read the entire story and cried while doing so. (Here I am again sitting up after hiding my face in my hands.) Reading that story to myself is one thing but reading it out loud felt even more intense. He agreed it was an intense and emotional piece of writing. He agreed that I made the right decision to stay secured in the apartment while yelling for the people to stop fighting. He understood the trigger.
As if there aren't enough therapy assignments, I am to paint the emotional response to my brother being beaten at age three as well as my present day emotion concerning his death. In all, there are 4 paintings whose design is to help desensitize trauma.
As I type this I am still very tired and struggling to keep my eyes open. I hope this entry makes some kind of sense.
Reading the story out loud was painful and helpful. I remember thinking, dang, this story is good, too bad it's based on real events. I liked some of the imagery.
He asked if I feel suicidal. I said no. He asked about self injury impulses and I said yes but I've been watchful, proactive in preventing triggers. One major thing I do is make sure my meds aren't close to my bed. They don't sit out in the open, either. I set up each dose in a small clay bowl then put the bottles in a basket with a doll made to cover the basket. The amount of PRN's allowable are in a different little clay bowl. By my bed I have a small container of colored pencils and various kinds of markers. In general I use an x-acto knife to sharpen my pencils but I only use that blade in the studio area. By the bed I use a pencil sharpener. Doing this removes a ready to use instrument for self harm. ...continue reading →
Content: Emotionally worn out. Feeling subhuman. The need to be held. PTSD and homelessness,
I feel the need for a lot of validation and reassurance. Am I okay? Am I going to be okay? Is it stupid to feel xyz?
I was sketching last night and had a thought that I wished my mother could see some of my art. The thing is, she'd hate it and I know that. One part of me says its to tell her, "Look, I can do this." Another part is that I need her to dislike it. She would tell me the quality is good but the subject matter is depressing as always. In my head I'd remind her that she fuels most of the depressing subjects, thank you very much. That leads me to letters I wrote to her as a kid. I wonder if she still has them. I wrote only in German when writing to her, never, ever English or Spanish. She would tell me how negative the letters were. I'd tell her they aren't negative, they're pleadings from your daughter who wants you to understand that she's struggling. She never heard it that way. She just said I focus only on the negative.
I am who I am.
Dr. D and I discussed my need to feel human. There are times when pain makes me feel like an alien, a freak. When I can't be touched I begin to lose the sense of being real, of being human. I'm just existing in mind bending pain and not even the cat can touch me. It's been a very, very long time and I need someone to lay on me and let me hang on. I need to feel the pressure of another human being on me. I need to feel that connection, feel them breathe.....just hang on like it means my life.
In session Dr. D and I discussed the lack of security I feel in my apartment. I'm going to be here at least another year but I wonder if I'll feel comfortable again, settled and able to continue a pattern of growth? We talked about how triggering it has been to think I may have to store my stuff in one of those cold, cement, prison dungeons cells they call paid storage. There have been quite a few triggers associated with the manager's antics. ...continue reading →
Dr. D wanted me to think about the dream from May 22, 2017 that we discussed in our session. I went back and highlighted words for us to discuss in our next session. This dream brought up quite a bit.
In the dream I got off an elevator and walked down the hallway to my apartment. As I did I saw a man leaving my apartment with a big box. He'd robbed me. He didn't try to hide his face. He left the door open. The thief took my cat Mary Jane. He took every piece of art I have including off the walls. He took all the stamps I handmade and my tea collection. When I saw that all my art was gone I laid on the bed and cried. He stole my blankets and pillows and left the bed with just a red sheet. He took everything, and got away with it.
Dr. D asked what I think the dream means. I told him it's exactly how I feel right now, robbed and at times powerless. The red sheets are interesting though. It's a power color, primarily positive for me. Even when a person is stripped and knocked down it doesn't mean they are without hope. However, in the dream, I was devastated and felt targeted. The man stole all my art. That hurt so badly. By stealing my art, he stole my voice. The theft felt personal. The brazen, unmasked robber took my comfort and security and he got away with it. (cue mother issues).
Writing about victimization makes me wonder if I feel like a victim in my day-to-day life or powerless? Do I feel exposed, without security? ...continue reading →
Content: Physical pain. Physical torture as a child. Mother and uncle standing in the doorway. Being watched as I shower. Reassuring myself that I'm safe. Robert's session.
When my pain level gets really high I get confused about why I'm in pain. When my eye lids hurt, when it hurts to talk, when I struggle to breathe I forget it Lupus or CRSD. I forget I have a medical condition and feel trapped in the past. Yesterday I lay in bed, just on the sheet, the fan was blowing over me. I had my face buried in the pillow when I became flushed with dread. I expected to look at the door and see my mother standing there. I fully expected her face to become clearer, for her to fill the doorway. I pulled the covers over me and felt more protected. I had to tell myself she can't ever again stand in my doorway. I slept with uneasiness and woke feeling bogged down.
Dr. D asked the question: Can your mother come to your house and get in? Me: No. Dr. D: Can she get in and stand in your doorway? Me. No. Dr. D. Can she ever hurt you again? Me: No.
It's what she left me with that haunts me. I feel her hand from the grave touch my skin and make it crawl. I see her in my head but I try to talk to myself and remind myself that I truly am safe. As far as living family members, as long as I have a cat, no one is coming here.
This spring I was to decide if I could manage a dog which would help me sleep better but I am not able, sadly, I am not able. ...continue reading →
I haven't been to too many blogs lately, not many at all. I'm not in a good spot, easily depressed, easily triggered. I feel like I'm tightening my grip, bringing in the walls around me a little closer so as not to get too overwhelmed. I feel like a fake for smiling and laughing. I'm not a fake, it's just that there are several of us. I feel like a total boob for switching personalities left and right and forgetting to answer the door for a friend. She knocked, I peeked out the hole, looked at her and walked away. It was as if it didn't click that I should let her in. She called me to tell me she was at the door...still.
I can get through this patch.
I'm not even sure if I'm making sense.
Dissociation and anxiety will get worse as the 18th draws near. That's when the apartment manager is coming to do a semi annual cleaning inspection. I don't want to see the woman. I wish I could have someone here with me but I don't have anyone available that day. I will maybe try to have someone on the phone with me when they first get here. I need Jordan to do deal with the manager, just Jordan. ...continue reading →
Heartbeat is in my sketchbook. She's 7 x 10 in ink and pencil. I'm going to have her enlarged before further work. Her heartbeat comes from her temples and stretches out to form the surface of the earth. Trees and flowers grow from her heartbeat.
She Realizes Her Totality
This is a half sheet pencil drawing with the same lines at the temples only the heartbeat lines go down and the face is divided. This piece is in my private sketchbook. I want a little bit of color on her but I don't want to do her in full color. I want it to be watercolor and to get it right I'm going to have to practice which means getting her printed so I can practice on something other than the original drawing.
The dream where I was found guilty of neglecting my child self as well as not protecting my siblings still haunts me. I go back and forth about my sister, one minute managing okay and the next minute standing still in a locked stare. I've sketched, painted, cleaned, eaten and slept feeling vulnerable and strong enough for that vulnerability. What was before the feeling of 'strong enough' can only be described at chaotic, second to second existence.
I have been in patient psych over 150 times since 1992. Two hospitals are designed to treat dissociative disorders, one was a state hospital in Kentucky and the others were short-term stays in across Indiana, Texas, Michigan and Kentucky. Early on I was in a group home and then bounced around from apartment to apartment in an unstable existence. I had zero control over my personality disorder, zero coping skills to help with self harm of cutting and abuse of food. For the first ten years or so of therapy I was clueless about caring for myself physically or emotionally.