Archive for the 'Letters Home' Category

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On Being A Psych Patient

Published on June 27, 2011 in Anger, Emotions, Letters Home, Mental Health, PTSD, Relationships, Stupid People and Therapy. 0 Comments

I’m not ashamed of being a psych patient. I wasn’t in the least bit ashamed to stand outside and speak to the officer, yet again, and tell him that I’m a psych patient and that I spent 5 days in the hospital which is why the first report of criminal harassment was delayed. This is report number two.

See, here’s the thing, just because I’m in therapy it doesn’t mean my voice has any less weight than a person who isn’t in therapy. I can be heard and believed the same as a person who is not in therapy.

While talking to the police officer he didn’t have a funny look on his face when I told him this blog is for the purpose of tracking therapy sessions and therapy issues. He didn’t treat me any differently. Just because I’m a psych patient it doesn’t mean I have to hide and can’t say anything for fear of being labeled “crazy” or for fear that what I say won’t be taken seriously. Welcome to the new world where everybody and “they mama” is in therapy. It’s almost a fad to be in therapy. What, you’re not in therapy, you’re not on medication?

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It’s my hill

Published on May 26, 2011 in Abuse, Female Sadist and Letters Home. 2 Comments

I’m thrilled because I’m actually going to see that 40.  Despite how hard she tried to take life from me, I lived. I can’t believe it. Wow! I’m going to be 40. I’m just so thrilled by that. I still have a couple of months but I’m excited.

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Dear you with the sad heart

Published on May 10, 2011 in Abuse, Depression, Emotions, Fear, Letters Home, PTSD and Secrets and Confessions. 2 Comments Tags: .

Dear Mother,

I see your hands when I look down. I see your feet. I see your face when I look in the mirror and I’m okay with it. I hear your voice call me stupid, tell me to shut up, sit down, bow down. I hear your voice remind me that I’m here for one thing only. I feel a heavy sadness on my shoulders as if they can no longer bare your scrutiny. I’m not okay with this. I need your harsh words to break my spirit because I fear I may one day believe I’m worthy of anything then publicly get proven wrong. How could I ever allow myself to fall for the idea of self worth and set myself up for public humiliation? Ah, Faith thought she was equal. Faith thought she was human, she thought she was one of us. What a fool.

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This Decayed Sunflower

Published on January 3, 2011 in Art Therapy, Dehumanize, Emotions, Grief Sadness Loss, Letters Home, PTSD and Trust. 2 Comments Tags: .

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Of all the therapy dolls I’ve made for people, it never occurred to me to make one that is broken, chipped and decaying. I never imagined others could see their inner child the way I see mine so I didn’t make a damaged doll, not for myself and not for others. The truth is, I’d never make my own therapy doll/inner child doll. I don’t want one made by my own hands. After a bit of searching I found one that is a perfect reflection of my inner child. When I saw her I knew I had to bring her home. She’ll be here in a few short days.

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On Crossing the Street

Published on December 30, 2010 in Dissociative Identity Disorder, Letters Home, Morton's Pride and Therapy. 0 Comments

The session itself went just fine. Dr. D (finally) kicked in to helping me stay grounded enough to not go so far in my head I couldn’t get back. I left the session with Amy Smiles out, giggling of course cause that’s what she does. When I got out to the waiting room I began to search for my lighter to get a cigarette so that Morton would come back out and drive us home. Joan is MIA at the moment so Morton needed to take us home. She looked all through our bag but couldn’t find a lighter, she panicked. She thought she would have to stay out until finally Morton made his way back forward. She began to cry right there in the middle of the waiting room. Embarrassed!

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The Young Version of Me

Published on September 26, 2010 in Letters Home. 6 Comments Tags: , .

Ah yes, family photos!

In these you’ll see my Pretty in Pink years, the years I thought Corey Hart was the greatest person on earth and my sister’s “I’m so hot” poses. There’s a rather embarrassing one of me with a piece of wheat in my mouth while holding a guitar (which I don’t know how to play). There’s one where my sister and I have “dukey braids” and others of me, little duck, at various stages of duckling-hood.

Quack!

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Giddy-up!

Published on September 3, 2010 in Borderline Personality Disorder, Emotions, Fear, Letters Home and Secrets and Confessions. 2 Comments

Sometimes one thing that goes wrong seems to prove to me that I’m a worthless little something-something that should never try to be anything to anyone because I’ll just fail. It may seem crazy to some to feel so down about the fish dying but for me it feels/felt deeper than that. I FAILED at something I loved and took pride in. Hell, I bragged on here all the time about my beautiful fish and the crystal clear water they swam in.  I even had the nerve to give stats on equipment and the super low price I paid for said equipment. I was really gloating at times because I was so damn proud of them. Now look at me… argh! You get me talking about the fish and I start to glow…but then they died and that said to me that I shouldn’t allow myself to feel pride for an accomplishment.

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