PTSD

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

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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

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Strange Sisters - Young Children in the Sun Well, that was heavy. I felt relieved after writing that story. Reading over it I'm able to see how close I stuck to reality. I'll put this to bed after I process why I said there's a reflection of me in each character in the story Tea for Christopher.

Content: Physical abuse of a young child. Processing the previous entry. No sexual abuse mentioned or discussed.

Christopher
I'm primarily Christopher in the story who tries to manage the unmanageable. I had Christopher leave home just the way I did, an unplanned exit on a night of routine abuse. I couldn't do it another night, not another second. I left Feb 2, 1992 at 10:30 pm and I never went back home. I went to a hotel that evening then got up to go to work. I never went back home.
Just like with Christopher, I did watch my little brother beaten with a dowel rod. Just like in the story, he was held down with one hand by my mother and beaten with a dowel rod until he was no longer even screaming. I walked away and left him with that monster. A few days later he was removed from our home by Child Protective Services. I felt so broken by that loss.
It is safe to say, the story Tea for Christopher was triggered by what happened the other night outside my window.

Ruby, the mother
It's interesting that the mother wasn't given a name until about the middle of the story. I realized I kept calling her 'his mother'. I didn't think too hard about a name for her but I immediately rejected Diamond. Now, the name Ruby seems appropriate only because of the color.
Why am I the mother in the story? I see how much my life revolved around creating situations that would appease my abuser while ignoring myself and my needs. An abused child is always at the beck and call of the abuser, there is no time for anything else.
I never told her, but I apologized in my heart for being a bad daughter. Though my mother left us repeatedly (a few days tops) there was a constant threat of being sent to the orphanage where my grandfather grew up. She was neglectful in criminal ways. Abandonment issues are still a huge problem for me. ...continue reading

My style is to just write and only correct spelling once I've completed it. Even the names of characters are made up as I go. I write until I feel I've released enough.

Content: After reading through it, I realized I'm all the characters, all of them, without exception. The story includes domestic violence, child abuse, the death of a child, blood from an accidental cut on the hand, physical violence towards a male teenage child. No sexual abuse is discussed in this quick write. Spaces are added to distinguish one speaker from another. I used a phrase taken from congressional hearings but left out all other sarcasm or humor.

"Christopher, your father will be here any minute, please set the table. Get his tea cups, please." Christopher rolls his eyes and says, "He''ll be here just a minute?"
"Not now, just finish setting the table, please."

He sighed heavily but very carefully pulled down four small, black Japanese cups with a red flower he couldn't identify. He sat them beside four square black plates and utensils he just figured out how to use. He's frustrated.... no, offended. His father will be home soon so his parents can begin their ritual of pretending to be happy. In the blink of an eye the tide will change from a perfect brew to boiling lava spilling from his mouth burning his mother to the core. She lets him and she won't stick up for her son. Her whole world is a man who comes home angrier each night and stays only to start another war. He leaves the carnage on the floor and goes out for the night.

Christopher's mother begins to bring the meal out to the table but upon seeing the settings she gasps and drops the platter. "Why would you do that? Why are you so cruel to me?"
Christopher feels the weight of what he's done and turns his head away from her. "Do it right and quickly!" she demands, but he's firm in his resolve.
"No. The table is set. You wanted a family dinner and I've set the table for us all."

By the end of her teenage son's sentence she has become a quivering ball of tears. "Why? Why would you do this? I just wanted a nice night for once. Help me clean this mess. Help me get this off the floor before he gets here." Christopher's eyes begin to well with tears, his breath is heavier and his heart has moved to his throat, but he leans next to his mother whose tears now mix with the ruined dish. He cleans the broken glass from the floor. Mother is still crying, heartbroken that she won't get it right, again. She can't seem to do anything right. She's a failure, a disappointment, again. As she hears the same old argument of worthlessness, she notices that Christopher's hand is bleeding. He continued to pick up the pieces one by one, leaving drops behind as a witness to his loyalty, to his love and exasperation for the woman he calls mother.

His mother grabbed his hand and looked at him, "You're bleeding. Honey, you're bleeding. Don't you see?" He dropped his head and shook it in disbelief that she for once saw that he too bleeds. "Christopher, what are you doing, go wash your hands, you're hurt." Christopher pulls back and continues to pick up tiny shards of glass. He pauses and says, "You never make special tea for me."
"What? What are you talking about?" She's confused. I mean my goodness, her husband is going to walk in the house and they'll both be on the floor cleaning up her hundredth failure of the day. Her mind is cluttered, she tries to prioritize. Clean this up, get something else, get a reason for the delay and stay calm.

Christopher places the last of the glass on top of the pile of broken pieces. His hand drips a steady stream and shocks his mother back to the person standing right in front of her. She says nothing this time. Still crying she looks at him bewildered then holds his hand, wiping the blood away with her dress, the one she put on for her husband who will come through that door any minute. She wipes away the blood, but can't stop his steady stream of tears. "What's going on with you? What's all this about? Tell me." ...continue reading

Content: The comment option has been turned off. 11:06 pm EST a man on meth and drunk upset a child and mother. Threat of violence to the mother and child. I yelled at them as the child screamed, "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy."

If I don't get this out of my head right now I won't be in any shape to finish the remainder of my evening in peace...and I do plan on spending it peacefully.

I'm shaking inside. I was in the restroom and the window was open. I heard a child screaming and crying "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." The child was in a lot of distress. It was an emotional call not a tantrum. He was emotional and screaming over and over, "Mommy. Mommy. Mommy." I heard the mother tell the little one to be quiet because its late and people are sleeping. (not). He quieted down a little but then a man came up and started cursing and screaming at the woman. He called her all kinds of things while the child still cried. Things got even more heated and louder and louder to where it was going to explode into violence. I know that sound just before tipping point. I know that sound!

Both parents were yelling and screaming. I couldn't see them. It was too dark. As things got heated to the point where I feared someone would get hurt I just started yelling out my window, "Stop! Stop!" I just kept repeating it. When there was a moment of silence, and I mean a moment, I yelled to them, "For the baby, please stop!" There was only a fraction of a breath before they started again. It was like they realized someone else was in their world but then they started right back up so I started yelling again. Then it was just silent so I said (I didn't yell it) I said,  "For the baby, please, please stop." The man had to get in a few more words then they went their separate ways with him still running his mouth. The last insults included the stuff about him being drunk and on meth. ...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

Content - Anxiety, Suicidal Ideation, obsessing, food, hatred for mother

I know I'm not just my normal anxious self, I'm dissociative and hormonal.
Not so long ago I thought to myself, I don't want to be here anymore. I want to die.

I'm obsessing over stuff.

There's a place in my house where I can mess around with soil and mud and make the worst mess ever. It looks like the carnage I feel inside, like parts of me smeared here and there in a murderous craze. (saying stuff like this may be why she won't come and get her painting or respond to communications.) After I looked at the muddy mess I didn't feel satisfied, I felt suicidal.

Take me away.

In a few hours Snow will be here. We have to go to the grocery store. I don't want to but I need to. yesterday I had the best roast beef sandwich known to man. It was roast beef, sliced tomato, cucumber, green peppers and a bit of feta dill dressing on the side. That sandwich was awesome. I purchased stuff to make the tuna sandwich I used to get from Subway. I'll have that here tomorrow at a fraction of the cost. I'm using pita bread which can be difficult to use if the ingredients are wet or you over stuff it. I put the dipping sauce on the side. I've got White American Cheese, shredded lettuce, banana peppers, bell peppers, cucumber and black olives for the mock Subway sandwich. I'm looking forward to it. I can't eat a tuna sandwich if I'm dead, right?

I've drawn sunflowers again and again and again. I draw one then turn the page and draw another. Eventually I added a girl in a field of large sunflowers. I turned the page and drew another girl in a field with large sunflowers. It felt.... necessary......authentic. I didn't feel like I was hiding anything in the art. I drew what was in my head. I know large looming flowers is a negative image for me when dealing with art therapy, but sometimes a large sunflower is just that, nothing added to it. So I drew until I felt I'd put every sunflower in my inner field on paper. Beside two single bloom sunflowers is the word 'hope'. Even though I feel suicidal or I feel like I want to run away from everything (not medically possible) I know in my heart there is hope....I do know that....

...continue reading

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A bit nervous.
I slept most of today, exhausted from yesterday's outing, not looking forward to Friday's outing.

I woke screaming No bc my mother chased my sister and me with a knife. In a different dream my sister held me hostage, in the second dream my mother held me and my sister hostage. Just as I thought we were getting her calmed down, a roommate came home and demanded to know what was going on. Ugliness. I tried to use the phone to call for help but I wasn't able. I woke screaming no as she tried to stab me.

I cleaned up my FB page and pretty much set as much to private as possible. I've never been comfortable using that particular account to do anything other than have a place where my sister can write to me if she wants to. She's been blocked from that account since I had to close down the Sundrip Little Duck account bc I refuse to upload ID to FB. They have to be crazy to think I'd upload a photo ID to them. I have no update concerning my sister. I've not seen our mutual acquaintance again. I don't even know if she's alive bc I can't bring myself to type her name in the obituaries.

I have more dental work to do. ...continue reading

I said I go to bed when the sun comes up and I don't want to feel bad about it. I don't sleep on a schedule and I don't want to feel bad about it. Dinner sometimes isn't done cooking until as late as 9 pm but I'm eating better. I'm cooking and enjoying it. I went from lamb to pizza to white chili to Philly steak and cheese here at home at a fraction of what it would cost out. I'm needing some a strong curry in my life right now so that's on tonight's schedule. Tomorrow is Tabbouleh. I have to tell myself that what's normal for others isn't a standard I have to live up to. I may be up all night but I'm not idle.  ...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