PTSD

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.

Heartbeat .

Heartbeat - detail of crown.

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.

Realize

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There's a blog magazine I read called What's your grief?. It helps me process some of what I feel in a more tangible way. Recently I saw an entry called 64 Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me About Grief and immediately honed in on number thirty, “The last 24 hours of their lives will replay in your mind” and 36, “You lose yourself, your identity, meaning, purpose, values, your trust”.

I knew I'd go all over the emotional scale with grief. I knew I'd be in disbelief. I knew I'd sit shocked and trip over myself. I knew I'd bargain, that the world would look different, that I'd have memories so real it felt like I was standing there with him again. I knew these things, but I didn't know my ability to trust would be tested. I wasn't expecting that. I wasn't expecting to feel betrayed by the entire world for having the audacity to continue on without him. I was offended. How could you? How could you possibly keep spinning as if nothing happened? It's an insult.

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Today I begin the process of bottling up tinctures and oils used to help with Lupus and Chronic Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy. The tinctures help ease pain, decrease inflammation and strengthen my immune system.

Today I'll press out the lavender infusion and bottling that before I start on tinctures. The last thing I want is to cross contaminate lavender infusion with turmeric tincture. It's not a good mix. The Passion Flower tincture is the one that helps ease anxiety and aid in sleep.

The homeopathy care plan I have is a good one, but there are times when I don't take it even though I should and I can. I've always done this. Even though I am fully med compliant I hardly ever take extra meds, even when they're prescribed. I've been given a medication script to knock me out when my pain level reaches a nine. I've been told how to take this med but it's hardly ever done. I've been given medication to assist with anxiety attacks and assist with sleep but it is hardly ever taken. Why? Why do I continue to deny myself comfort or an easier course?

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The timing of this crisis with my sister is one that has been brought to my attention more than once, but I reject the idea that I should see this upset as anything other than coincidence. She hates me, she's not going to manipulate a person she hates by saying she's going to kill herself. She's not reacting to the entries I wrote about letting her go. I reject the idea that she feels anything at all for me so that she would act out because I said I no longer hope in ghosts. People can say what they want, the timing of this is coincidental, but my stand is firm and decisive.

I sent her a letter to go under her door. Her apartment is the last place anyone saw her or heard from her. I sent the letter because I had to. How could I not? When I realized I could possibly contact her I sent a letter through a friend of a friend.

My every waking thought is her but that's not how it was two weeks ago. Two weeks ago I felt ready to walk away emotionally. I felt ready to move forward and let the past stay the way they created it. But today, she's all I think about. She's all I think about.

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Holding Back the Light - unavailable
Holding Back the Light - unavailable

I hugged the lady very tight. She knows my sister. She gave me an update. My sister has locked herself in the apartment and there is still no movement, no contact, nothing has changed. They do know she was last seen in there. No phone activity, no FB activity.

I hand wrote a letter to her. I said nothing negative at all. I said she doesn't deserve to die and that I understand a lot of what she's going through. I asked her to rethink things, to let her support system do what she gathered them to do. She sought out good, solid supporters.  I know 2 of them personally.

Of her friends, I asked them to have patience with her. She's a 50-year-old woman who doesn't know what to do with herself. She has to be told what to do and when she's told, she will do exactly as she's instructed. She won't do more or less. The lady kept looking at me like it should be simple for her to function because she's a 50-year-old woman. I said, she's not a 50-year-old woman who has matured. Being on her own is culture shock. She has no clue what she's doing, none. I shared the story that tells exactly how she thinks. I told the story about the garbage bag that my mother told her to get. She got the bag and then waited to be told to put the trash in it. Her friend put her hand over her mouth then said, that's exactly what she does. She waits to be told what to do.

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The Last Laugh - available
The Last Laugh - available

Content: Spiritual abuse. Emotional and psychological abuse, homelessness, covert sexual abuse

Mother taught me that if I do the little things right I'll do the big things right. She taught me that a strong foundation must be laid but that all foundations start with a grain of sand. Their grains packed together to support materials much stronger than a grain of sand standing alone. To build up a solid foundation we must do the small things right.

My mother taught me that I have no foundation and that my presence was like a sledgehammer against her house.

My mother taught me a scripture that says, "By my God I can climb a wall" and a scripture that says, "If a tree gets cut down it will sprout again."

My mother placed walls around me I felt I could never escape. Inside those walls she did her best to root out willfulness, individualism and hope.

My mother taught me that I can only trust her and that I don't have the intelligence to live without her. She said I'd never survive out here in the world, that she alone could protect me.

She said to tell her if anyone ever touched me wrong. It was her hands around my mouth, my neck. She touched every aspect of me and left me ruptured.

My dear mother, my poor mother is food for worms. How undignified. I hate that.

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I keep going back and forth between anger and anguish, but I have not felt depressed over this. I realized something some time ago, when I'm angry I'm active, when I'm depressed I'm down for the count. We talk a lot in my therapy sessions about how I respond to my emotions. It appears that anger gets the most physical action. I stand up and gather my guns, my resources.

When I feel lonely I become desperate and irrational. Fortunately I haven't had the feeling of chronic loneliness in many years. Loneliness can break bones.

When I'm embarrassed I kick into humor but humiliation makes me rage against myself which leads to wanting to die. Feeling humiliated is a strong trauma trigger that I don't do well with at all. I stop hearing what's real and want only to bury or destroy that feeling. This is an ongoing issue.

When I'm depressed I stop taking care of myself. Everything seems to be a huge ordeal, including taking out a frozen dinner to put it in the microwave. When depressed I over think everything. The longer I feel depressed the more my environment and appearance deteriorates.

When I feel vulnerable or feel as though I have lost a certain amount of control over my life I begin to obsess. Obsessive thoughts are accompanied by obsessive cleaning and organizing. I start trying to control every little tiny aspect of my environment.

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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.

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Today's therapy discussion focused on family matters: mother's thorough brainwashing and effective divisive tactics, scapegoating, emotional boundaries between myself and all birth family and a recap of nightmares from a few days back. After writing this entry I was reminded of the paintings "Resilience Tree," so I included them in the entry.

Resilience Tree

I was awake all night and until around 10:30 this morning. I had my session to go over the graphically violent and blood dream about cannibals and going to a psychiatric prison for the mentally insane because I was guilty of murdering my child self, the inner child of my sister and the inner child of my brother. I'll pick up more on that topic later.

We talked about the complete lack of protection from my mother: physical, emotional and spiritual responsibilities were ignored or out right withheld.

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Content: Suicide, strong emotion. This entry may not be considered politically correct. Comments and likes are off.

I slept well and hoped to have a better day but my head is still spinning, this time with anger.

As much as I don't want to see things go in the direction, they're going, I can't do anything about it. I have zero ability to contact her now. Showing up to where she used to work or anything like that is a terrible idea. Seeing the face of someone she hates isn't going to make her change her mind. The more I think about it, the more upset I am. I think it's cruel to watch and count down and not be able to do a single, solitary thing. The truth is, if she wants to, she's going to. Can someone else talk to her, they have, repeatedly and she's made up her mind. She left and is no longer answering calls. No response to anyone, at all. SHE HAS A THERAPIST !!!!!!

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