Saturday, May 31, 2014

O is for One

One of my favorite things to do when I was little was lie on the floor, grab onto my dad's leg, and have him drag me around the house. It was so much fun. You move, stop, move, stop, with the steps. One of my few good memories of childhood.

I think I still do this with people. They start to leave me and I lie on the floor, grab onto their leg, and make them drag me with them. It's not fun anymore. It is actually quite dangerous. You can get hurt that way. People tend to kick when their legs are grabbed.
I did that to Ex. We were two months from getting married. My house was in the closing process. It had been perfect timing - I would move out of my house and into Ex's just as we were getting married. But then he said he was having doubts, and maybe wanted to wait. So I laid on the floor, grabbed his leg, and wouldn't let go. Metaphorically, anyway. In reality, I cried. Then I found an apartment. Then I called him before I signed the papers and cried some more.

You know the rest of the story. He married me. Then proceeded to kick. I let myself get metaphorically kicked in the face for eighteen months. That's a lot of bruises to the soul. I finally let go when he screamed across the entire neighborhood: "Get the fuck out of my house!" and so I was alone.
Now I'm afraid I'm going to do it again, but with my therapist. I want to lie on the floor, grab onto her leg, and cry and cry and cry. Don't leave me. Please, please don't leave me. I'll be good, I promise. I'll do anything you say. Just don't leave me. I don't want to be alone again.

Friday, May 30, 2014

N is for Nobody

They spoil you at the therapy group I've been going to. They have "Coaching Calls" so you can call your therapist if you are in crisis, or need clarification on a skill. Mine texts, mostly. It has been nice to have someone there just in case you need someone to hear you. Someone who cares. Someone who will listen. I got used to that. Got used to having a person I could call and talk to, who would give me advice on what skills to use and how to get through the bad moments.
Now I have nobody. My therapist told me she isn't helping and maybe I should find someone who can. Here's how you say that in a nice way: "I think we should find you some additional resources. I'll help you find someone who can help us." Here's how my therapist said it: "I'm not able to help you. Maybe it's time for you to find someone else."

Which would you rather hear? Nobody would pick the latter. Nobody. I was so close to going to the hospital last night. But it was too much work. I made a list of everything I would have to do, and it was so overwhelming that I just went to bed instead. Took the anti-depressants my psychiatrist prescribed a month ago and could barely get out of bed this morning. I didn't get to work until 11:00 and the little bitch downstairs called my boss, who is out of town on business, and told him I didn't look well. I'm not well. I just want my body to die along with my soul. Is that too much to ask?
I want to call my therapist and cry. But now I have nobody. I don't know if I can work up the energy to find someone new. I think I can't. I know I don't want to. I mean, no, I'm not well. No, my therapist has not magically healed me. But I thought we were doing all right. Apparently not. Oh, well. This is not the first therapist I've scared off. I hope it's the last. And not because I find one that won't leave me. Nobody wants this on their hands. Nobody.

Thursday, May 29, 2014

M is for Mental

Want to hear something ironic? Crazy me works for the largest in-home mental health therapy group in my state. In addition to all of the mentally ill clients our therapists work with, they have another up on the second floor. "Hi, I'm Marcy, and I'm mentally ill."

"Hi, Marcy."
I'm hitting the wall again. Feeling dead. Have felt dead for years. My therapist asked me to tell her how I felt - to help her understand. So I told her I felt dead, and she suggested that I felt disconnected instead. No, pretty sure I meant what I said. Dead is permanent. Dead does not change. There is no hope in dead. Disconnected means that you can reconnect. I have spent years of trying. Thousands of dollars and hours of time in therapy. Dead.

I talked to her about it this morning, because I felt completely invalidated and angry. Don't ask me to tell you how I feel and then tell me I should feel like B instead of A. It only makes me more alone. She suggested that, since she has been unable to help me, I find a new therapist.
Ouch. Being abandoned one more time. Trusted someone, just to be let down and left crying in the gutter again. She backtracked pretty fast, saying that she was not giving up on me, but only meant someone else could be more help. She specializes in Borderline Personality Disorder. She sees suicidal people every day. And she doesn't think she can help me.

It's pretty sad that truly, the only thing keeping me alive is my little dog and her obstinate ways. If she didn't bite people and attack other dogs and pee on the floor, she'd have a new home and I would be gone. She was sleeping in a pile of dirty laundry when I left this morning and my heart just melted. I really love that little dog. She needs me. She is the only being on the planet that needs me.
Hi, I'm Marcy, and I am not mentally well. I slept for 11 hours last night and I'm sitting here falling asleep. I may have to give in and start taking anti-depressants again. I'd rather die. But then who would take care of Little Woof?

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

L is for Learn

I never learn. I trust. Why? Everyone in my life has let me down and then someone else comes along and talks the good talk and acts like they care, and I want so badly to believe that someone cares that I just fall for it. Every time.

I should know by now that no one understands, for one thing. I don't blame people for not understanding. How many people really understand what it is to be married to a sociopath? Sure, you may have a tough marriage, but to a sociopath? Add that element and then tell me you get it. I want to be saved from my hell, so I work really hard at trusting someone, and then BOOM. Let down.
Will I ever learn that no one really cares? No one ever will? Some think they do, but when it comes right down to it, they don't. I'm just a challenge or experiment or something with whom to pass the time. People tell me I'm smart, but why do I keep proving them wrong? When will it sink in that I am truly destined to die alone? There will never be anyone on my side. Learn that. Learn it. Please, stop torturing yourself and learn this lesson so you stop trying and failing and getting hurt again.

I thought the therapist at dental school really cared. The second they kicked me out, BOOM, the emails stopped. She was just good at her job, which ended when my dental career ended, so I wasn't her problem anymore. I thought my therapist now cared. She might, but she doesn't get me at all. She doesn't understand, after all this time.
I feel so alone. I'm trying to find a home for my little dog. It's hard. She pees on the floor (she's potty trained, but sometimes my princess doesn't feel like going outside) and she doesn't like other dogs (She tolerates Robbie because she has to and he's bigger than she is and he's also a wuss and lets her be the boss.) She's getting pretty old. Losing her hearing. Pretty sad that I want my beloved little Woofie to die so I can move on. Robbie will be easy to find a home for. He'll be fine. It's only Woofie that I can't leave. Damn it all.

Monday, May 26, 2014

K is for Know

I had a particularly bad day today. Just a really hard time connecting to the world. I don't want to be here. I know tomorrow is going to be rough. I have to get up and be at the courthouse at 7:30 a.m. to renew my car tags, which expired today, and then get to work. I know that won't happen. It has to. It won't.

I feel groggy and dopey and tired and as if my head is in a pillow (literally in the pillow, not on it) and I can't breathe and I don't think I can sleep and I can't stay awake. I can't take a whole lot more of this.
Saying negative things to me today = not very nice. Not very therapeutic. Not cool AT ALL. Keep your negative thoughts to yourself. Thanks.

Now I can't even write anything that makes any sense because I'm so upset and it's so stupid and pointless, just like the rest of my life. This has got to be the worst post I've made thus far. I DO NOT NEED YOUR NEGATIVITY. I have spent my entire life being told, time after time after time, by people I respected and trusted, that I am not good enough. If I would just try a little harder, or try something different. You know what? Maybe you're right. Maybe I do suck on every level. Maybe I'm just a lazy, procrastinating fool who will never make anything of myself because I suck. You know what else? If I knew how to try harder, DON'T YOU THINK I WOULD?

Sunday, May 25, 2014

J is for Jin

My therapist told me she thinks I have parasympathetic shock. According to Dr. Stephanie Mines in her book, We Are All In Shock, shock is extremely severe trauma; "it shatters us into a million pieces and it takes some time to find them all (28, 34). <--(look at me, writing an academic paper. Sigh.)
Dr. Mines says parasympathetic shock is the mirror of ice. Some symptoms: sudden flattening of affect (me), very little blinking (me), coldness of limbs (me), amnesia of events (me), needing to stand far away from others to feel safe (is there a bigger personal bubble than mine?), unresponsiveness (me), paralyzed speech when stressed (this is so embarrassing when it happens), and whitening of skin (me)...I could go on forever (61).

She goes on to tell wonderful stories of healing, using her Jin Shin TARA method. I had such hope! I read the whole book in one sitting and tried to put her practices into use. You are supposed to touch certain areas of your body and focus on the pulses of energy until they are the same, calming and powerful.

Yeah...about that. I've had so much physical trauma that I have spent a lifetime honing the "skill" of disconnecting from my body. I couldn't feel a pulse if it smacked me in the face. Twice.
This is just another blow. I wonder why I keep trying. What sadistic/masochistic creature lives inside of me and laughs every time I try and fail? How many times can I hope, only to be let down? I did write an email to Dr. Mines, asking what to do when one has no connection to one's body.

I do not hope for a reply. I just needed to try.

Thursday, May 22, 2014

I is for Important

Things that trumped me on the list of things important to Ex:
  1. His computer
  2. His motorcycle
  3. His truck
  4. His house
  5. His cat
  6. His motorcycle tools
  7. His mom (who, even though he hated her, was still more important)
  8. Movies
  9. Watching motorcycle races online
  10. His mountain bike
I could go on. The point is, I wasn't in his Top Ten. I wasn't on his list, period. There were nights when he would throw a tantrum and I would get so scared that I would spend the night in my car in some random parking lot, because I was more scared of Ex than of, well, spending the night in my car in some random parking lot. In the morning, I would sneak home when I knew he had gone to work (but still double-checked before turning onto our street to make sure his truck was gone), and find an empty pizza box in the trash can.
That is how important I was to Ex. I was too scared to come home, he ate pizza. Incredible.

My mom told me about a month ago that she was going to come visit me. I don't remember the last time I saw her. I tried to go visit over spring break, but, two days before leaving, I totaled my face and my car, so I couldn't make it. How important am I to my mom? Her first words:

"Is your car okay?"
Not important. Anyway, so she told me she was coming to visit. I called her last night to see when she would be arriving on Friday, and she told me she isn't coming. She's moving an hour farther than where she currently lives. She moved away to live near my little sister and my sister's family, and now they are all packing up and moving farther away. It's not a new plan. She's known for months that she was moving, and for weeks that she wasn't coming to visit me. I am not important enough to be informed that she isn't coming. I had to call her. Hell, I talked to her about a week ago and she still said she was coming, but last night, she told me she has known for weeks that she's not.
It makes me think. The childish part of me thinks: well, since nobody loves me and I never see my family, I might as well die. The adult part of me thinks: well, since the reason for not committing suicide is to avoid hurting family, and I am not important to my family...

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

H is for Him

Last night, my therapist was making some point. I forget what. Way to utilize our time together... anyway, she said Ex must have had some redeeming qualities, otherwise I wouldn't have married him.

Um, no, he doesn't. He's a good liar. He put on a good act, was wonderful and kind and caring and loved animals and loved his mother and loved me and paid attention to the little things and he was sweet and not only went to church, but volunteered... the man was perfect.
I should have known it was too good to be true.

He was NONE of those things. Not one. He left his sick dog out in the rain because he didn't want to clean up her vomit. She was 18 and he had had her since he was a teenager. I walked her, I fed her, I gave her shots of insulin every 12 hours of every day, I took her to the vet, I petted her...who am I kidding? I really needed that sweet dog. She was the only one who loved me. I was at work when she got sick and he left her out in the storm and she died two days later. Ugh. Crying again. She was my everything.
He moved his mother to our town, vehemently declared she could NOT live with us (I suggested it. Oops. Lots of yelling about that one), never visited her (I visited about three times a week; took her to the store, went for walks with her, just hung out), let them move her from assisted living to a locked memory ward (All she really needed was someone to make sure she was eating and taking her medication. That's it. He wouldn't do it. Or even let me do it), where she needed to have her sheets changed three times a day because she was crying so much. . That was after our divorce. I hope, for her sake, that she is dead. She was a brilliant woman, and that kind of life would be a nightmare.
His volunteer work dried up as soon as we got married. He took to screaming at me on the way to church. There were a few times that it was so bad, I just got out of the truck and walked home, regardless of how far it was. I was terrified of what he would do when he got home. He, apparently, went to church alone, took himself out for lunch, and then came home and ignored me as usual. What a good, Christian man. What a laugh.

As for loving me, well, he didn't. I don't want to get into that right now. I started crying in therapy and my therapist asked what was going on. Um, my husband detested me. Can I not be sad?

Monday, May 19, 2014

G is for Groceries

 I worked in the deli at the neighborhood grocery store while I was in undergrad. When I moved out of Ex's house, I still worked there, but the stress was too much. Every time anyone walked in the door (and in a grocery store, that is all the time) I would do a double-take, so afraid it was him.
Like he cared enough to come find me. Shows how delusional I was. My world was over; his was business as usual. Before I came to that realization, however, I was about to go crazy, so I quit. I just didn't feel safe there anymore.

Then: Graduated with BA in chemistry, divorce was finalized (he didn't show up), dental school started, I slept on the floor in front of my couch and lost 25 pounds, didn't make the GPA cutoff for the first two semesters, went before the academic standards committee, was given a year to get myself together and return, broke the scaphoid bone in my left wrist, wore a cast for eight months, physical therapy for three, worked for my doctor as a receptionist, went back to school, missed the GPA cutoff by 0.01, had to find a job, went back to the doctor's office, but my brain was so messed up, I couldn't do it.
Whew! Went back to the grocery store and have been working there for about six months. Went back to school for undergraduate English classes to pursue a masters in publishing, found a really good, writing-related full-time job, LOVE it, quit tutoring (oh, yeah, I was tutoring algebra and ACT prep) and tried to quit the grocery store.

First, she got really mad and started yelling at me. Then somehow, she convinced me to agree to work every-other Sunday. Why? Just let me go, right? So why am I telling you all of this? Well, I didn't make it in yesterday. A manager called me 45 minutes after I was supposed to be there, and I told him, truthfully, that I dreamt I called and quit for good.
I feel like I need to call my deli boss and apologize for quitting like that. My good friend says it's her fault for bullying me into staying. I know she will yell. I hate being yelled at. I tried to give my two-weeks notice; she should have just taken it. Look at me, blaming her for my no-call-no-show. I don't know what to do about that. I do know I'm not going back. I hated that job, and I don't need it anymore. And I gave my notice! And worked the first Sunday I was scheduled.

My posts don't usually go on this long. I'm upset about it. Stupid Ex. I'll just blame him for the whole snowball. Now that is where the blame belongs.

Saturday, May 17, 2014

F is for Frustrated

I'm frustrated tonight. If I had managed to stay in my original dental school class, I would have graduated today. Graduated. I would be a dentist. Yep. If I had managed to stay in my second dental school class, I would have this week off and be seeing patients next Monday. Yep.


I have to accept that dental school was not my path. Is not my path. I do think that is was my path, before I met Ex, let him ruin me, and sank into this horrid depression. It would be really nice to not have to have a path. I would rather just be done with this whole "life" thing. It's not all it's cracked up to be.
I'm not suicidal, but I do have suicidal ideation. Don't know the difference? Let this be a learning experience for you - look it up. I don't care enough to explain it. I've been getting stuck lately. I can't get out of bed. I can't leave where I am. I can't go to bed. I don't want to be where I am, but I can't do anything about it. Life is frustrating.

I still wish I would have died in that car wreck. Which, by the way, my insurance only paid part of the hospital bills for, and I am now receiving bills which total over $1,100 and counting. Fucking airbag.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

E is for Elusive

I am actively seeking that ever-elusive non-substantial thing most people seem to either have or don't notice that they don't have - happiness. Energy. Drive. Sustainability. Motivation.

You guys know I don't normally swear on here. When people ask me why, in real life, I don't swear, I tell them that oh, I do swear. It's just that I save it for a special occasion, so you know I'm really, really mad/upset/whatever.

My fucking psychiatrist wants me to start taking fucking anti-depressants again.

It has been about six months. In my head, I was doing great. Getting up and getting to work at a decent time. Getting things done. Getting A's and B's in classes. Seeing friends. Not isolating. Not so good: have had a headache for twenty days now. In a horrible place in therapy (childhood abuse - not for the faint of heart!). Sad. Clinging to sanity with broken fingernails clutching at the cliff's edge.

Taking a step back and looking at things kind of clarified my need for some help. I don't want that help in the form of fucking anti-depressants. I don't. I made myself take one last night and wanted to kill myself. I then slept until noon, let my poor dogs out, went back to bed until 4:00. Typing this, then planning to take another nap. I have a lot to do around the house.  Just bought a new couch and need to arrange furniture. Not happening. Need to wash dishes. Not happening. Need to give the little dog a bath. Not happening. Need to sweep. Not happening. Need to do laundry. Not happening.

I have some amazing friends. If they knew where I was mentally, they would invite themselves over and help me. In a nice, non-intrusive way. I can't tell my friends. I don't want them to worry about me. I happened to mention in passing that I was on the way to the pharmacy, and my best friend got all prickly, because she is adamantly against me taking so many pills. They had me on a LOT of shit. I told her I was getting thyroid medication, which wasn't a lie, but neglected to include the fact that I also picked up fucking mirtazapine.

Like I told my therapist: if I'm going to take meds, I'm not going to try as hard as I have been trying. If I feel like sleeping all day, then fuck it. I'm going to sleep all day. Before, I would force myself to do at least one thing, and that would make me feel better, and I could probably do some more. Now, fuck it. Not happening. I'm so angry. So ashamed. So, so, so depressed. Nap time.

Saturday, May 3, 2014

D is for Death

My friend from therapy group just texted and told me she lost two friends this week. "Lost as in they died, or lost as in they aren't your friends anymore?" Lost as in they died. Damn it.

It is horrible when a friend dies, not that I have been unfortunate enough for a close friend to die. I have had some close acquaintances die, but no one I regularly hang out with. The worst funeral I ever went to was when two little girls died in a car accident. The funerals were held together, which was really fitting. The girls were inseparable in life and had gone to a huge, exciting event. On the ride home, a semi crossed the highway and hit them head-on in the middle of the night. It was awful. Everyone was so sad.  They were great little kids. I think they were twelve. I called them "The Amy's" because they even had the same name. (I did change their name here.) I still miss seeing them around and it has been over ten years. Why am I writing about this now? Why am I crying again?
I hate death. I always wonder if it is easier to lose a husband by death or by divorce. I think divorce is worse, because it means that person chose to leave. There is no choice in death, unless it is suicide, in which case I think that is the worst. I know my world would have been shaken if Ex had died, but would I have spiraled down into this pit of depression, or would I have just mourned and then been sad but okay?

The accountant at my new job had a funeral to go to last week. An ex of hers had committed suicide. She was numb the first day and then got violently ill the second and ended up not going to the funeral. She was too upset. I don't know how close they had been, but I know it shocked her.

I don't wish Ex was dead. I do hope he's being nice to his new wife. I hope she doesn't wish he was dead.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

C is for Cool

My new boss sent me an email at 7:42 PM:

"Let's chew the fat when you get"

Very dialectical situation. Could be good, could be bad. The owner of the company came in today and told me she wants me to head up her new YouTube project that goes along with editing her book, which is what I really want to do. Then she had a very long (four hours at least!) meeting with the boss. So I'm hoping she told him she wants me to be working on what I want to be working on, rather than the six million mundane-but-badly-needed tasks, like tracking therapist revenue loss weekly, validating client's insurance, etc.
I take on too much. I am a people pleaser. Is that why Ex picked me? The first divorce lawyer I talked to said that Ex saw me "coming a mile away." I want to make people happy; I put others' needs before my own.

I'm working on that in therapy. It is so hard! There are a few friends I have had to say no to, because what they were asking would be bad for me. With my therapist's encouragement, I managed. It's hard. I don't like it. I know it's the right thing for me, but I still feel guilty. I always used to put Ex first. I do wonder what would have happened if I had stood up to him. Oh, wait, that's what I finally did at the end. That's why it ended. I stopped putting up with his crap and he didn't want me anymore. Not that he wanted me ever.

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