Monthly Archive for July, 2006

Your Superstition Is My Protection

Published
by
Austin
on July 31, 2006
in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health and Pets
. 1 Comment

Your Superstition Is My Protection-Monday, July 31, 2006-4:31AM

During my daily talk to Blossom I came to the realization that the mother and her family will not come to my house because they’re afraid of cats. She knows I have a dog and she’s very “respectful” of Captain’s space. She’s met him several times and she gives him plenty of room to walk. I have to smile when I say that because it doesn’t seem to matter what I do, she wants to press forward and make sure I know she’s got me under her thumb. She’s got this need to control with fear but when it comes to a furry creature that would prefer to help than harm she is the one who would quiver and beg for me to call him off. That doesn’t give me joy Image copyright 2006 © Sundrip Journalsthough, the thought of her afraid that way. But it gives me solace in that I know she will never be standing at my bedroom door like I fear she will. I don’t have to keep watching the door. If for some strange unexplainable reason she actually got past Captain she would see the cats and bolt right out of here. Blossom says that we should post a picture of me and the three stooges on the door so that if (again for some strange and unexplainable reason) the mother got inside the fence and thought about coming in the house she’d see us all and turn around and leave. The PC art is of me with Bella. I hope to soon be able to actually draw a cat instead of the horrible plug in I did with this picture. I think I’m about 5 in this shot here. I don’t know. Anyway, I happen to believe that I should just rest with the knowledge that she isn’t going to come here when she is unsure if I have a cat and unsure if I still have Captain. Her superstition benefits me in this way. I did not use Bella (a black cat) in the picture below by coincidence. The fact that the cat is more in focus than the child isnt either. I’m clearly going to have to go back and fix her poor little head cause I’ve jacked it up pretty badly. I guess I’ll be busy for a few hours on that one before I put it in the art journal.

I benefit from Bella’s in other ways too. She is so funny. When I have the nerve to stop focusing on her 100% and take a restroom break she comes to the door whining and scratching. I’ve decided that when she has the nerve to take a restroom brake that I’ll be right there at the litter box faking a cat cry and scratching the side so she will know how odd it is to try and relieve oneself while someone cries and scratches at the door. This did not work. I just proved myself to be a stupid human trying to get away with cute cat behaviors. It just didn’t go over well. Captain looked at me like, Oh my God. She’s lost if for real this time.” He just fell over on his side and laid there like, “Well, my mind will be gone soon too I can see.”

Since I’ve successfully pissed Gracie off she’ll be called Princess Gracie and Your Highness for the remainder of the day in an attempt to gain her furry love again. I am still struggling with this flea thing so she again had to be washed. I doped her up with some chamomile spiked food and washed her. She was tore down. I mean to tell you she couldn’t even run. I not only washed her but I used the blow drier to make sure she was all dry and warm without having to wait. Now that she is sober she’s as pissed as she can be and I’ll spend the rest of the week groveling and making up for the doped food. I know she’ll think twice before I put another bowl of warm goodness in front of her. “This is a trick!” she’ll scream and prance away with her flea infested self. I’ve got other tricks up my sleeve in case it needs to be done again and she really has caught onto the soft food thing. I will not be outsmarted by a cat. Ha! Dream on human, dream on! I think she has more tricks than I could ever think of.

Austin

Kickin’ Ass And Takin’ Names

Published
by
Austin
on July 30, 2006
in General Chatter, Soapbox and Therapy
. 3 Comments

Kickin’ Ass And Takin’ Names-Sunday, July 30, 2006-12:07 noon

Well, after reminding me of several of my faults Blossom reminded me that I have in fact thrown a punch after junior high school. I told my therapist the same thing last week when we talked about violence. I’d forgotten but she’s right. I did get into a physical altercation back before 2000. I can’t remember the exact year but I do remember that it was January 1st, New Years Day at about 2am. I was home in bed when someone started beating at the front door. I thought it was my then partner Columbus so I jumped up kinda pissed that she’d be at the door at that hour. I didn’t open the door though. I peaked out the peep hole to make sure it was her and to give me some time to figure out the right words to raise cane with. I looked out but it wasn’t her it was some guy telling me to let him in and to quit playing with him. I told him he had the wrong house. He said, I’ll step back and let you take a look at me. He never stepped back. It was then that I knew I was in trouble. He started kicking the front door in so I ran into the bedroom and called 911. I was on the phone with them as he kicked in the door. I kept telling him that they were on the way but he kept kicking it in. It got quiet for a second and the operator asked me if he was still there. That’s when he started kicking in the back door. She said, where is he? I said he’s in the house. I thought to myself, “This man is going to hurt me.” That thought was followed by, “No he’s not.” He opened the bedroom door and we stood face to face. I screamed at him, “What do you want?” in this rather irritated tone. Then I said with equal irritation, “I don’t care what you want.” I happened to have had the fire extinguisher in the bedroom with me. I can’t even remember why it was in there but it was. I picked it up and conked him in the head with it twice. He went down like a sack of potatoes. I started kicking him while he was on my freshly vacuumed carpet. He was screaming, “Stop! Stop!” I was kicking and stomping, punching and swearing all while the dispatcher listened and recorded. Finally I let him up and he ran outside and passed out on the front lawn. The police took him away. Before they left the cop told me that I got lucky in that I hit him with the extinguisher. He said most people don’t ever land the first swing. He gave me a tip. He said, if this ever happens again spray him instead of trying to hit him with it. He said, but know this, the chances of him living are slim to none if you spray him just right. I was like, well, …um…okay. Fire extinguishers have come to be more than for putting out toaster oven fires, they’re a weapon for stupid intruders that cross my threshold. So I guess I can stop saying that I haven’t thrown a punch since junior high school because I have. I’d just forgotten. I still say I’m not a violent person. I have to really be pushed and I think it’s safe to say that he pushed. The bitch slapping wasn’t virtual though.

Joan of Arc

Wanted to Kick Ass and Take a Name

Published
by
Austin
on July 30, 2006
in General Chatter, Soapbox and Therapy
. 2 Comments

Wanted to Kick Ass and Take a Name - Sunday, July 30, 2006-12:49:49 noon/PM

Still on the “I haven’t thrown a punch” thing..

I guess I have thrown a punch but as far as I know it’s only been one time that I needed to do it. I was almost pushed to it back in 2004 when I got hit by my own Ford Bronco. Yeah, only Austin would get hit by her own truck! Okay, I should have just taken the truck down the street to the Jiffy Lube but no, I had to save money and change the oil myself. I guess I didn’t get it in gear very well before I started the whole thing. So, it started rolling forward. I tried to run around the side and jump in to stop the car but my short self didn’t quite make it inside. The truck whipped me around, dragged me about 10 to 15 feet then pinned me underneath it. I learned that when a car or truck drags you it tears off your clothing so there I was with only a shirt on pinned under the truck. See, when stuff happens to me it has to go from bad to humiliating within seconds. My fat ass is laying naked and trapped under the friggin truck! I tried to scream but I found out quickly that all my energy was dragged out of me and lay on East Street somewhere near my pants. I decided that there was no telling when someone was going to come along and see me so I’d just leave. I dissociated and I either passed out or fell asleep like I was planning to do..thus I left. I really don’t know if I passed out or went to sleep but the plan was to force dissociation and then fall asleep. When I woke up some guy was standing in front of me asking me if I was okay. No, I didn’t say, “Here’s your sign.” I asked him to drive the truck off of me. He said, I really don’t want to drive your car. I said, just drive it off of me. He never said why. Had he said, well, let me call the police and they’ll get you out. I don’t want to hurt you. He just said, No I really don’t want to drive your car. He never offered to call the police so I told him to do it. But it just angered me that he was arguing with me and looking at me. I couldn’t believe that he argued with a trapped woman. Finally I did enough cursing to get him to get in the truck and back it off of me. When I stood up and walked to get my pants he had the nerve to say, “You’re going to hell. You know that?” he said it because of all the cursing I was doing even after he drove the car off of me. See, in my life things go from bad to worse to humiliating to down right unbelievable within a very short period of time.

Somehow I managed to not break a darn thing. The truck rested on my leg for I don’t know how long but somehow I didn’t break one bone. I do have what I call East Street burn on my legs though. Darn drag marks! That day, had I found my strength next to my pants I may have taken to violence. But as it was, I didn’t find it. No swings on that day but plenty of bumps and bruises. I should have just gone to Jiffy Lube.

Joan of Arc

Knit Picking Little Weed

Published
by
Austin
on July 29, 2006
in Mental Health and Soapbox
. 1 Comment

Well Blossom (aka Weed when she’s pissing me off) has been on this overly emotional kick for a bit….she’s in good company ‘cause I’ve not been that stable myself. Well, I try not to knit pick but it seems to be her thing. At first the whole litter box thing was kind of funny. Now it’s just annoying. No, I will not run and clean the box every single time they do something in it. I’m not going to do it. She does that with Torti but I will not be over there running behind them to clean it up like that. I think once daily is more than a heck of a lot of people do. She doesn’t like the fact that I’ve changed litter from the scoopable to pine chips. I didn’t think I would like them but I’m sold on it now. I won’t go back to the clay or the clumping kind. For some reason its seen as horrible for them to have to go in there with pine and not litter. She thinks it a matter of money. They cost the exact same. I haven’t skimped at all. They cost the same!!! It’s about quality, about smell and about being more biodegradable than other litter. I guess too I get a bit irritated when she says to me, you can’t afford this or that why don’t you let me pay for it. Damn! If she says that one more time I’m going to spray Blossom with some weed killer to see if I can make it stop! This is clearly a matter of my pride. It’s just, okay, yeah, I know I’m dead broke but must she remind me of that at every turn? Oh, remember you’re a quarter away from flat broke, do you want me to come to the rescue? That’s it!!! That’s it right there. It feels like I’m being told that I have needs that aren’t getting met and that I need someone to step in and get those needs filled for me….that I can’t take care of myself. She says it all the time, “You need this. Let me buy it for you. I don’t mind.”

It makes me feel … normal..competent…not so different than others…to walk up the cash register and pay for something on my own. I don’t need someone standing behind me going, “You can’t afford this.” Well, I have been on disability since 1992 and I’ve somehow managed this tiny bit of money I’m getting. I had the worst urge to cut at this moment so I’m going to walk away from this right now. I need to eat something anyway. Since the whole vomit session this morning (a Lupus thing) I’ve not put anything on my stomach. I should try and eat something.

Me

Tossed Out Blessings - Section 8

Published
by
Austin
on July 29, 2006
in Mental Health and Soapbox
. 1 Comment

Tossed Out Blessings-Saturday, July 29, 2006-10:11 PM

My stomach is in knots. I am flabbergasted that Blossom is tossing away this blessing so she can stay right where she is. It doesn’t make any sense to me at all. The hard thing is that this is the second time she’s been given this opportunity and it is the second time she is going to toss it out. Who one earth is ever chosen twice for a Section 8 Certificate worth $600 guaranteed as long as you are disabled which for her degree of Bi Polar disorder is forever. My goodness it’s sickening to watch her toss this out the window so she can stay in the slum she’s in now. What is it that she doesn’t see? She doesn’t notice that the people around her are taking and selling crack in the hallway or that she keeps having to be rescued from the elevator because it stops all the time? My goodness, has she forgotten that it’s not even been a month that the fire department pulled her out of the elevator through the safety window in it because the elevator stopped and wouldn’t open for so long? Has she forgotten the crime, the hopelessness there? Living there was so damn stressful for me that I had to leave. I couldn’t stand it any longer. But she wants to stay. It seems like they are pulling out a dead body every friggin weak. Either someone dies of old age, of an over dose or by another man’s hands but they are forever pulling a dead body out of there. The last time I was at her house there were 2 funeral notifications up there. It’s not uncommon to see that. Her friend was just found dead in his apartment. It turns out it was a drug overdose. My goodness!

Yeah, she has a great view but damn 20 floors up isn’t worth all the other crap. You have to worry about her damn next door neighbor selling crack all night and fighting with his drunken girlfriend. She has to worry about the fires that are set, the water damage from the sprinkler system, the fact that they keep moving in people straight out of prison. What part of “home” falls in between all of that? And why can’t she see that every time she walks in that building she takes chances with her safety? I tell her this but she doesn’t seem to realize that where she lives puts her in danger every second she’s there. You can’t live next door to crack heads and drug dealers and sleep soundly. My goodness! And to be on the 20th floor and have to walk up the stairs all the time because the elevators are down is just insane. I had to do it when I lived one floor below her. But she wants to stay. She wants to pass this up AGAIN and somehow I have to not press and make her do what I know she should do. This is where I have to just let this go, take a deep breath and realize that sometimes people toss away blessings…they toss the same one twice evidently.

She tells me I think I know what’s best for her. WELL I DO! But I know that when it comes down to it this is her life (as misguided as it is) it’s her life. And I have to think, if there was something I didn’t want to do and someone else thought they knew better would I want to be pressured into it? No. So this is another thing I have to let drop. I may see the benefits clearly but hey, if she wants to stay in the crack infested slum she’s in then so be it. I’ve heard of people trying to buy these certificates. I’ve heard of them trading dignity for them because they knew for sure that it meant they would have a good amount of security with it. So when someone just simply discards it, twice, it makes everyone who would trade dignity and money for one sick, sick, sick. I happen to be number 20 thousand on the list. I’ll never see that certificate.

I wonder how much my jokes about my low standards of living have to do with the insulting toss away of Blossom’s blessing? It is an insult to everyone who would do so many “off” things to get one. It’s an insult. It doesnt make our stupid arguments any easier to take either.

Austin


Working Template- Low Standard of Living

Published
by
Austin
on July 29, 2006
in General Chatter and Soapbox
. 3 Comments

Why is it so hard to get a good working template? I like this blue one. I dont like the others. I’m use to this one but it’s horrible on IE. Lord, I need to stop obsessing. I can not keep worrying about this stupid template working on IE. I dont even know why I’m worried about it. I haven’t had anyone say that the blog is hard to read cause IE can’t get the template right. Nobody has complained about the template just the content. I depress people. Well get some meds for the depression but let me warn you about the side effects! I’m clearly obsessing over that too, depressing people I mean. I seem to have cooled off in other areas. I’ve asked Wordpress and they said that it’s IE not a picture or something that I’ve done wrong…so why can’t I just leave it alone. My blogs not perfect. Lord! I’m for sure on a blog black list now. Shit, i need some sleep. Here it is 9am and I’ve not been to bed yet. Sheshh! I stayed up playing Majh Jong. I seem to have made it a life time goal to master all the screens in a timely manner…meaning 20 min per screen. I better live a very long time cause i’m only on like the 5th board. This is on my short list of things to do before I die…master Majh Jong’s boards with time of no more than 20 min to clear each board. My standard of life is wayyyy tooo low! I require nothing more than coffee, cigs and Majh Jong. Ultra low standard of living. Actually, I’d like to talk to whomever made that game…the online version of it I mean. And i’d like to talk to them in a dark alley..talk to them about why they made the darn tiles so small! Its crazy being all up on the screen trying to match East tiles but clicking on the #5 tile instead. I can feel my retina burning as I try and beat my own time. Eye ball on fire trying to beat my own time. I have no clue what the score is cause I’m only worried about the time. Its the only thing I’m worried about at that moment because its hard to concentrate with that amount of eye pain and the game while worrying about the wide spread depression I’m causing. I can only stretch my brain cells so far. Anyway…I wanna talk to this guy. That little viewing window on the game…is that supposed to help? Cause it doesnt. It’s annoying…it keeps making me lose concentration cause something is flipping in and out on the side of the screen. what is that about. Yeah, I need to talk to that guy in a dark alley. Jacked up template and jacked up game. Arghh…okay, I have to try and get some sleep.

Must sleep…

Anger Issues: Last Week’s Therapy Discussion

Published
by
Austin
on July 29, 2006
in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health and Therapy
. 2 Comments

Anger Issues: Last Week’s Therapy Discussion-Saturday, July 29, 2006-1:38 AM

The T got to talk to Freeman with the mild English accent of hers. He didn’t miss a beat though. He shows shock on his face from time to time. I appreciate not having a stone faced therapist. He didn’t show shock at her mild English accent. I’m not certain why Freeman was there but she was. They talked about EMDR or EDMR or whatever it is. They talked about it for a few minutes at the end of the session but for the most part we talked about how anger makes us uncomfortable. I try to avoid getting angry because I know that anger that gets out of control can be very damaging. Unchecked anger has always lead to violence for me. I told him that. The only anger work I’ve done in therapy is throwing clay balls at a wall when I was in Grand Rapids, Michigan. In all my years of therapy I’ve never done more anger work than that. It was frightening but I have to say I felt better.

I have a boxing bag and gloves here at home. They hardly ever get used because I hate the thought of hitting. He asked if I ever thought of the mother when I hit the bag, if I saw her face and saw myself hitting her. I said, No, that’s when I switched the week before last. He asked if I hit the mother and that was all she wrote. I was gone and gone for several days in fact. I didn’t realize that but I did stay gone for several days.

School shootings, abused kids, domestic violence, violent crimes…it all gives me one huge affirmation that anger is an emotion that you just don’t ever let get out of hand. But I don’t want to handle it at all.

I can say, yes, I’m angry at the mother but as I say it I feel nothing. Actually I do feel something. I feel alarm, like I want to shrink back because for me anger is at the end of a fist and at the end of her tongue as she spits off my name like its some horrible disease that has no cure. I just don’t want to be like her and for me anger is my mother..that’s what anger is to me…its my mother. I do not know of any examples of anger carried out without some harm being done to the person OR someone leaving. It’s rejection, its abandonment and it’s physical and emotional pain. Hell no I don’t want to touch it, not with a ten foot pole. He gave me hand outs and they lay crumpled in the bottom of my book bag.

Austin

Flashbacks: Life Without Pain

Published
by
Austin
on July 29, 2006
in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD and Therapy
. 0 Comments

An old therapist asked me what life would be like without pain. I was stumped by the question. Life without pain? Hm, what is that? She was talking about giving up cutting. I knew that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon and I told her that. I told her that if I was going to work on issues I had to be able to at least have the option to do that. I told her that it is my decision if I will cut or not. The bottom line is, at this point I need that option. She didn’t like the answer but then again, it is my body.

In therapy last week we talked about this physical reaction I have before I walk into the restroom. I have the hiccups just before opening the door. I know why. I mean shehhh..i know exactly why. At first I didn’t. I had to try and think about what just happened before the hiccups started and then stopped. It’s just before I open the restroom door. From there we talked about flashbacks and EDMR or EMDR, whatever it’s called. He said that it could help alleviate some of the flashbacks and make daily life better for me. The reaction I had surprised me. It seems like I would jump at that chance but my reaction was that I needed the flashbacks. Strange, I need the flashbacks.

Sometimes the only thing I have to hold onto when I think I might be exaggerating about the abuse is my diagnosis and the flashbacks. The theme is the same, the “players’ are the same, the places familiar and the time frames are filled with viable proof. When I think I might be making shit up it is the flashbacks and the dx that let me know that there is no way on earth I could keep the same damn flashbacks for years upon years and keep them at the rate and at the intensity that they are and have it all based on fiction. So when he said that about getting rid of flashbacks I worried that I’d have no more real proof that she hurt me. Yes, they make life almost unbearable. They make life seem like a burden and a waste of time but they also serve as a symbol of undeniable truth that the woman hurt me. If anything at all is consistent it’s the flashbacks and the fact that I can’t get away from those three little letters (DID). Hell, as many doc’s as I’ve seen I think I can reasonably stop doubting that I’ve tricked them all. I mean damn, she said I was manipulative but give me a break here. I’d really have to do some serious lying to them and myself and keep up the details of the lie. Lies are hard to keep up with. You have to tell one to justify the other. They grow and get out of control. The story changes when it suits itself. My story hasn’t changed one bit. The flashbacks haven’t changed in theme and I don’t think I could get a reasonable doctor to tell me I don’t have DID. So if the flashbacks stop what do I have to tell myself when doubt does kick in?

Again, I’m a worry wart when it comes to this. I worry so much about being the liar my mother said I was. I worry that somehow, just maybe I really have taken it all out of context. So if the flashbacks are gone what do I have to counter that argument with? What can I say?

I just had another thought….why would I need to say anything? If this is a step to move past all this and not feel like a liar wouldn’t it be a good thing to have fewer flashbacks and progress to a healthier me so that I can be the person I want to be without hearing that bitch’s voice all the damn time? What if for one day, for 24 hours I didn’t hear her voice in my head telling me that people know it’s really me and not her that’s the problem? What if for one day I went to bed without this overwhelming fear that she will be standing in the door later in the night? What if?? My God!

I have this fear that I’ll get better or that I’ll challenge the things she says so much that I get better and then for sure the mother will think I’m a bad person because I’m no longer under her mental thumb. So letting go of her voice means letting go of any hope that I’ll be the good girl I tried so hard to be. It’s also frightening to think of because saying anything against her and believing it seems wrong. It’s like speaking out against a Charismatic Church and saying they are wrong about this or that. The fear is that strong that I’m doing some sort of “hell bound” wrong by saying anything at all against her. Like I will somehow upset God by going against her and saying that she hurt me and that she was wrong for doing various things.

There is a certain part of me that needs the emotional pain, a part of me that feels she needs to be kept in her place by the pain so that I don’t think too much of myself. So I don’t ever really reach happiness because it’s not really for me. I’m not worthy of it because I’m inherently bad. There is a part of me that needs the pain so that I never really reach happiness and have the audacity to accept it as if I actually deserve it.

The therapist gave me a hand out on EDMR. It’s waddled up the bottom of my back pack with the hand out on anger. I do not take it lightly that Captain has stayed by my side since the last therapy appointment. I know to watch how he responds to me so that I get a good sense of how I’m doing. It is without effort that I leave myself but it’s more than effort to get back and feel my body and realize that maybe, just maybe I need to not push so hard. He’s a good grounding helper and a good reality check…my K9 friend.

This entry is closed to comments. I’m not so certain that I could hear anything other than my mother’s voice anyway. I’d see some sort of wrong with the comments. I’d see some way that lets me know that the whole world wants me to deny her. Man she taught me so well to fear her in a religious sort of way. She never said she was a god or godlike. But man she sure has an angry godlike quality to her. And I sure as heck don’t want to hear someone misquote the Bible to me and tell me that all I need is Jesus Christ in my life and things will be okay. I just don’t want to hear it. It’s just so confusing right now.

Austin

Flashbacks: Life Without Pain-Saturday, July 29, 2006-2:24 AM

My Biggest Blog Pet Peeves

Published
by
Austin
on July 28, 2006
in General Chatter and Soapbox
. 5 Comments

Blog World Pet Peeves-Friday, July 28, 2006-5:37 AM

I got the idea to do my own list of Blog World Pet Peeves from the blogger at A Safe Place. I liked that list so I thought I’d go ahead and do one of my own.

My biggest blog pet peeves are all about comments (w/ a bit of humor mixed in)

  1. Anonymous comments. If you can say it you can own it. I wouldn’t care if you signed the name, “Pete” and you were really “Sally” or “Jack”. Heck, sign a handle, a screen name, a nickname…something. When someone leaves an anonymous comment they leave their true intensions to doubt. Is this person sincere? Who is this person and why would they not want me to know a name? Why do they want to be anonymous instead of just signing some kind of name? There are a ton of questions asked and the true sense of the comment may be missed. Just leave a name, any name for the love of Pete. Humor me here!!

  1. (my number thing is off and I can’t fix it w/out jacking stuff up) A blog that talks about very sensitive topics but doesn’t have a place to leave a comment or a guestbook to sign in order to leave a comment.
  2. Blogs that require a hell of a lot of information in order to leave a simple comment. So every single time you want to leave a comment you have to enter in all this info just to say, “This is funny.” or something equally as short and to the point. My blog doesn’t require all that info to be filled in each time so please don’t feel obligated to fill in every single time. And don’t get me started on those comment codes that would challenge the patients of Job or say…Gandhi. I think it might even drive Gandhi to violence..some of those codes!!!! Blogger.com is so good at making them as hard as possible. And if you take too long filling it out it’ll tell you that you didn’t do it right when you did and give you another code even harder than before. Like I said, don’t even get me started!!!

  3. ThinkComments that completely leave out the human factor. I hate comments that are unusually negative and accusatory when the commenter does not even know the blogger. I’ve been guilty of a few inflammatory comments myself. I’ve gone back to apologize up and down. I forgot the human factor. I forgot that behind the screen is a human being that may or may not be up to my personal lack of control. Think before you click because what you say matters. You can hurt a perfect stranger so think before you click. I originally thought I found the graphic at beautifuldreamer’s place but it was actually Cat With A Pen’s place. (good journals by the way)

I’m going to switch gears on this one. These are the top things I hate about my thought process while blogging.

  1. I worry so much about saying the wrong thing and making another survivor feel bad. I worry about every single solitary word I write being said the wrong way or taken the wrong way.
  2. I worry that if I put up a blogroll that names that are not intentionally left off will feel hurt. I fear that if I put one up there will be someone out there wondering why on earth their link isn’t there…she’s known me for this long how come my name isn’t up there? I worry…man do I worry.
  3. I worry about my inconsistencies being seen as lies. I worry that someone is so ready to tear apart the entries to find the slightest inconsistency and then call it a lie.
  4. I worry that I’ll show too much strength then when I fall people will be like, oh damn Aussie’s down I didn’t see that one coming…
  5. I worry about family members finding my blog.
  6. I worry about sounding stupid.
  7. I worry about my spelling. I can’t spell. I’ve gotten better but the truth is, I can’t spell worth crap. I use Word to correct things but I still worry, worry, worry. So I end up reading the entry several times before posting it because someone just might think Aussie is stupid. Arggh! Make it stop!! Just make the inner dialogue stop!!
  8. I worry about crossing other people’s boundaries when I comment. I worry about giving too personal of a reply to blogs that I’ve visited for the first time. I worry that I’m going to be on some blog blacklist getting circulated to all overly critical half wits.Then I’ve got another reason to believe that I’m a “bad girl.” Yeah, I worry…a lot. Pressing send or save is a hard thing for me to do because for me is means that I may just be reassured that yes, I’m a bad person.
  9. I worry that people will come to depend on me. I worry that they will need more than I can give. I worry that saying that will make people not reach out when I am up to helping….again, I worry… I don’t want to be anyone’s rock but I don’t want to be unavailable and unapproachable either.
  10. What name do I sign? And if I sign a name other than the generic name “Austin” will it even be believable?
  11. I worry about talking about physical stuff because I fear that people will think I’m a hypochondriac…. As if the only problems a mental health patient has are mental…like maybe I can only have mental health problems but physical problems added make me a hypochondriac. I worry.

Clearly the major theme of these pet peeves is, “I fear what people will think.” I care what people think. I long for acceptance but mock it at the same time. I’m a human being, I both need and hate people. I’m a survivor; I fear so much that I’ve somehow taken all this out of context and that in fact the mother was a good mother.As you can see, blogging is so very a complicated thing for me/us. Self doubt is the ugliest beast in the world. Somebody’s going to find out I’m a fake. Somebody is going to find out that the abuse wasn’t that bad. Somebody is going to find out that I’m not as strong as I appear and they’re going to be disappointed. I click send and this is what I think, every single solitary time, this is what I think. I beat myself up a lot. Like I said, somebody make it stop.

Austin

My Recovery

Published
by
Austin
on July 27, 2006
in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD and Soapbox
. 3 Comments

Worrying About How Other’s Feel About My Recovery-Thursday, July 27, 2006-6:51:24 AM EST

 

The Godfather in his entry called Get Over It gave me a push to do something I’ve been meaning to do for awhile now. First let me comment on what it was in his entry that kind of gave me the courage to write this post. In his entry about the two ways to take the phrase get over it he explains that one meaning is really negative and not meant to help or support but to show annoyance. He says, “Is the survivor supposed to feel guilty due to the fact of “annoying” another person? The answer is clearly No – If the person feels annoyed he should either leave or try to help instead of trying to suppress other people’s feelings due to laziness and/or a lack of respect. Why respecting someone who doesn’t respect you and cares for your well-being? This would be nothing else than an abusive relationship!”

What’s been on my mind is that I’ve been told on several occasions in the past 2 months or so that my journal is depressing. One person said they liked the journal but just couldn’t come anymore because of how depressing I am. But what I don’t get is that this is the same person that once told me that she doesn’t understand how others can be annoyed or tired of her personal pain. Okay so now that she’s not in crisis she doesn’t need Aussie anymore. Do I hear from her? Nope. But you let her have a down slope and I’ll hear from her. It just makes me angry that I’d at times taper my words for fear of depressing people. I can’t remember where I read it but someone said that no one is forced to read their journal and that they can click on “next” or move on at any time. And that’s how I feel about this now. The topic of this journal is clear…it’s a survivors journal. I’m not surviving the last comedy special or surviving some beauty pageant I’m surviving abuse so this journal will get depressing sometimes. And it will get ugly. I want to be able to say what I need to say without worrying that I’m depressing someone or that I’m going to get a comment from some asshole telling me how lazy I am and to get over it and get a job like I did awhile back. The asshole is still on my mind. Why? Why do I care so much that someone thinks I’m a lazy government moocher? The person doesn’t even know me. I know that it is because of mother issues and has nothing at all to do with that idiot who said that to me. I know for a fact that what they said has stayed with me because of my mother issues and her vocal protests about my disorder. But then again, she would be vocal in denying that she hurt me.

Anyway though, I just don’t want to have to feel like I have to write something encouraging every once in awhile just to keep the mood from pushing people over the edge. I can not be responsible for other people’s emotions. Heck, that was my job at home. I was on every single change of the tide (her moods) and I shifted at every moment to keep up so as not to get hurt. It felt like I was responsible for her life…what I did determined if she lived or died…those were her words. I don’t have that kind of power over anyone unless I’m holing a gun to their head.

At her house it mattered what I said and how I said it. I use to practice questions she might ask me so that I could come up with an answer that couldn’t be taken wrong and would satisfy her for the moment. I’d pick and choose which words best fit and take out words that could be taken wrong. I hate that I still do this…that I watch my every word that I’ve got this voice in the back of my head telling me to watch my step…warning me about being a “bad girl.” So I guess I know that while the words of others are empty and careless the main problem is that I haven’t yet worked through the whole mother issue shit. I want her to shut the fuck up!!! That way when idiots come along and take my compassion for granted or idiots come along and talk to me as if they know me I can simply pass them off as the assholes that they are. So I’ve got to learn to shut up the mother a hell of a lot more so that I don’t still feel I have to watch my every word and say things just so or I’ll just prove that she was right…Aussie is a bad girl. That is wrong, I’m a grown woman…the little girl has grown up and the word bad only applies if I’ve broken a law. I think freedom of speech is still legal in this country.

The truth is, Austin is sometimes all over the map. I’m high spirited, energized one day then feel kicked in the teeth by flashbacks the next. I struggle with cutting daily. I struggle with my “bad girl syndrome” daily. I’m sometimes confident, I’m sometimes so unsure of myself that I’d rather hide my head and not look anyone in the eye for fear of them knowing just how short I fall. I’m sometimes overly critical, opinionated and over bearing. Sometimes I talk too much or say nothing at all when clearly something should be said. Heck, I’m an emotional seesaw. I have a lot of drive some days and then I have days when I just don’t care anymore. And sometimes when things get overwhelming for me I end up posting something that is just really out of order, rambling, ranting, laughing and all that crap in one post. I don’t erase those entries because that is what I felt at the time. It’s what happens with this disorder and it happens with singletons that are trying to move past abusive shit.

I would like to have a quiet mind. I would like to simply say what I mean without worrying who is going to be offended and who is going to agree. Will I be seen as a “good girl” or will I be seen as an overbearing know-it-all, an idiot who thinks she knows everything or some person who thinks she’s making sense when in fact she’s not. I worry and I’m tired of worrying about how other people feel about my fucking recovery.

I have to get ready for therapy. I didnt go to sleep. The appointment is at 9am. Who on earth does anything this early? It’s almost ungodly…this hour. I dont do mornings. I told Blossom that the Bible should have started out, “In the beginning God .. hit the snooze button.” I know very well that if we are made in his image that it means he wasn’t a morning God at all….therefore mornings are now amongst the once one and only unforgivable sin of blasphemy.

Joan of Arc