I’ve had dreams for years about houses that I knew had to do with the condition of my inner self. At first the house was small and something no one but I could see. In order to get to it for safety I had to get past wolves and lions. Once inside the house no one could see or hurt me. Over the years the house got bigger and had furniture. The house was always in the same spot for years which was in my grandmother’s back yard but that changed as well. This house went from invisible to only visible to those who needed it then right to being remodeled and rented out. I ran to it one day and saw a For Rent sign on it. The landlord inside said a family had been kicked out of the house because they gutted it. I looked around and saw they’d burned the kitchen and the living room something awful. He said he had another family that would move in as soon as he cleaned the place up. I’d have to wait if I wanted to rent it. Available only to me then no longer available to me even though I owned it.
Archive for the 'PTSD' CategoryPage 4 of 53
I just got finished telling a friend not to be so hard on herself during this rough time but you know what? I’m a hypocrite. I laid in bed last night tearing myself a new one for the difficulties I’ve had as of late. I usually go through a period where I think I can’t do anything right and everything I touch gets broken or messed up. I know to leave things alone and let that spell fizzle down. It always does but it’s terrible waiting and feeling like such a failure. During these times I think to myself, “Your house is a mess. Why can’t you keep it clean?” I think, “You’re such a pig. You’re worthless you know that?” I really say horrible things to myself. I find at times I’m grateful I live alone so no one can see how “sick I am” cause if they came here regularly they’d be able to look at my things and know this is one messed up woman. I figure it’s obvious, plane as day, written on the walls that the occupant is crazy. I’m just happy not a lot of people come here.
If people could see the way I fret at night. If they could see me pace back and forth through the apartment. If they could watch me hold my head or rock back and forth they’d feel pity and then I’d feel bad. I’d want to apologize for being crazy.
I want to apologize. I don’t have to I guess but I want to. I keep saying it but I don’t really mean to. I know it sounds stupid cause he asks why I’m sorry but I don’t have an answer. I’m just sorry.
When I left his office today he asked me a question and I responded as if he were a family member. “Yes sir.” It sounds really stupid.
I get quiet in his office and I want to put my head on my knees and hide my face and simply disappear into myself. I go away so quickly when the subject of the mother comes up. I can say she was wrong but when someone else says it I think to myself, okay this is a trick don’t fall for it. I’m afraid he knows her and he tells her things but I mean come on that’s not true…that’s the mother talking. She’s the one that said she has people watching me and that she knows everything I do. She’s the one that said she’s in my head and everything is open and nakedly exposed to her. But this isn’t true…I hope it’s not true….. I mean, I guess part of me knows it not true.
I have to go to sleep and then I have to go back to therapy tomorrow. Maybe I can sleep after that too. I should sleep. I should do that.
They made us a picture. The little boy is running through some water.
Renea
Wednesday, October 22, 2008-01:24AM EST
Therapy Topics
Puppies
More puppies, responsibility
Lupus
The jackass Fife Jr
Black mask
Hands above head
I’m too scared to write it
Short Shopping Trip
Lady Friend: You’re usually happy and smiling, what’s wrong with you? I said hi and you kept on going.”
Me: That’s because I was ignoring you.
Lady Friend: “What’s wrong with you.?”
Me: Nothing much, I’m okay.
Lady Friend: Well you don’t have to depress everyone around you with your sour puss.
Me: (no comment offered. I turn and wave to Chi)
Lady Friend: You think you had a bad day, I went to the doctor and instead of taking 2 viles of blood they took 11. Do you think…..
Me: Let me interrupt you for a second
Lady Friend stops talking
Me: I don’t care.
Lady Friend: My God you’re evil today. You need to take these cookies and go home.
Me: That’s exactly what I’m about to do if you just stop talking and ring me up.
Lady Friend: Damn woman!
Note: This is the same girl I wrote about while ago that told me I stink and asked me if I was going to support her financially.
In the cookie isle a complete stranger said to me, “I guess this is the Big Girl isle.” … deep sigh…. “I said, miss, please don’t make me talk about your teeth.” Why are people so damn stupid?
Arriving Home
Fife Jr is on the porch. I feel my blood pressure rising. I think to myself, the last time I felt this uncomfortable in my own home Blossom was here.
Yes, I am slightly annoyed about every little thing right now. All I want to do is eat spaghetti and watch a bit of TV, that’s all, nothing else, not a damn thing.
J of A
Monday my doctor asked me if you ever gave me anything out of love. Love? There was fire in my eyes when he used that word. I have not once felt loved by another human being, especially not by you. I remember feeling like I destroyed your life. I remember feeling like a burden to you. I remember asking you how it felt to have a handicapped child. I also remember the look in your eye and that you offered no answer at all. Perhaps you knew most of what I experienced you put in my head. I don’t know. I felt like such a burden. I apologized for it so many times, not out loud but in my heart. I’m so sorry. I am so sorry. My heart was heavy with guilt and I didn’t even know what I was doing to make things so difficult. I racked my brain, I swear I did but I never came up with one single answer all I knew was I destroyed your life. I also knew I was responsible for keeping what was left of you alive.
We talked about the dream and about how surviving only means I lived. I told him sometimes surviving is less gracious than dying. The people at the bottom of the sea would more than likely be given pity with words of condolence to their loved ones but words of encouragement for the one who lived. In my opinion it should have been the other way around. In that dream I was shot in the head, fell through the floor, had a pole in my head, sank to the bottom of the ocean, saw a host of dead bodies then swam back up to the surface only to be alone under a blaring hot sun with no help. Was I really better off than the people at the bottom of the ocean? But see one can’t help but feel a spark of hope when they see someone else come from the bottom of the ocean and gasp with breath. But think of how the survivor feels out there in the ocean alone. A spectator has the “luxury” of inspiration. I am far from inspired.
I told Dr. D that the word survivor only says I lived, it says nothing at all about what I lived through or how I managed to live through it. It says nothing at all about the “journey” only that I lived. I think too the word survivor is too final. It sounds like all the bad is over with and now I can get on with my life. Survivor seems like a word that’s in the past tense.
The dream started off with me at a house that I didn’t know. I went outside where a cat was having kittens. As she had them a line of people drew close to watch. The next thing you know the kittens are in a bowl instead of in the cat’s belly. Instead of all the kittens being newborns some were older, some were very tiny and some were black leaches. It then began to rain but only for a few minutes but it rained so hard it flooded the area. My sister tried to help clean up the area by taking everything (including the cats) and tossing it all in huge plastic tubs. She tossed the mother and her kittens in a tub with rocks and water. I was so angry I began screaming at her.
The next part of the dream that I remember is riding with the mother, sister and cousin to find a bar owned by a politician. My mother wanted to talk to the lady owner for some reason but I can’t remember why. We drove around all night looking for it.
I shake but I do not shake alone
I tremble and shutter
Scream and rip my shirt in grief
But not alone.
My necks falls over
It can barely hold the head that nearly explodes from the pressure of a tortured mind.
Blocking out these visions, tighter and tighter are my eyes pressed together
Until the pain of an imploded skull relieves the painful reminder of my keepers household.
At last my breaths are slow to come as tears fall like me to my knees
When I can no longer bare it alone and call upon Your Name.
Austin
I Bare It-Wednesday, October 08, 2008
She says to go in the room and wait. She’ll be there when she gets good and damn ready, there’s no telling how long it’ll take. She might go out with *R* for dinner then come back or she might come in right away. The room has a bunch of plants and a mix of African masks from various tribes. The blankets are mustard with a small flower on it. Above the bed is a horse whip. There’s a belt she puts around my neck. I don’t think of those, my eyes go around the room and look at things as if they’re new to me. The closets are filled with boxes containing old Reader’s Digest Magazines, old Life Magazines and religious literature. One box contains old McCall’s books, crafts and clothing she started and never finished. Ideas stored away is what they were. She was a big talker. “We’re going to do this. We’re going to do that.” Then she’d go out and buy all the stuff for it but we didn’t ever get to it. There was always an interruption. Those ideas got stored in a different closet. I remember thinking of how ugly the carpet was. A deep dark chocolate brown that
Two men, one white and one Latin stood in my grandmother’s house asking for directions to Texas. The house was dark and looked exactly as I remember when I was a child only in the dream I was an adult.
Me: You’re looking for your family?
Latin Man: Yes
Me: They’re in Texas, just follow the smell.
Latin Man: What do you mean by that?
Me: I mean they’ll smell like the clay ground in Tyler.
Latin Man: What kind of racist shit is that?
Me: No, no, just follow the smell of clay and you’ll find home.
The Latin man is confused by the statement and pissed but he and his friend turn to leave. After they leave my sister and a group of others turn to leave. It’s the middle of the night. I have bags but my sister carries nothing.
survivors
Multiple Personality Disorder
women
Sexual abuse
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