The Fat Voices

(Written a few nights ago.)
I looked at the scale I stood on in R’s bathroom last night and realized that I was reading it wrong. I should never have gotten on it. I know better than to do that to myself. It said that I was somewhere around 230 lbs. I didn’t stand on it long enough to count those tiny lines all scales have if they aren’t digital. It bothered me seeing that. What I realize now is that what bothers me more is that it took a few minutes for me to come out of my fat-denial to read the damn thing. At first, I even read it wrong. It was like my eyes saw the number on the scale, but my brain couldn’t comprehend it. I thought it said 200 lbs when I first looked at it. Like I said, I should never have gotten on that stupid thing. The scale is, and always has been, my enemy.

All last night I struggled with my voices, all of which can be crueler than anyone else has ever been to me, telling me that I was a fat bitch(you would think they would be more creative by now, right?). It was disconcerting and uncomfortable. I haven’t had to deal with them for a few months. I guess the whole experience was a trigger. I actually felt heavier last night after I stepped off the scale even though I know it was only in my mind.

I spent most of last night, after I got home from R’s, on my computer. First of all, because it kept my mind busy enough that the voices couldn’t creep in and set up house. Secondly, it gave me the opportunity to look on the internet for some weight-loss strategies. I Googled “how to lose 100 pounds” and read through several different people’s opinions on the best ways to lost that much weight. I decided to go with the low-carb option. I’ve done it before and had some success with it. The major problem with low-carb is that, though it works well, I tend to gain weight really fast if I go off of it for any length of time (How do you think I got to be in the state I’m in now?). So, once I get to where I want to be, body-wise (not weight-wise), I’m going to have to be vigilant about watching my carb intake. I’m really not trying to be obsessive and I don’t think I’ve reached that point quite yet, but here’s what I finally realized last night: If I don’t get going now and really try to control my weight, eventually I’ll be one of those people who never get out of the house and can’t wipe their own asses because of all the fat. Good God that is a scary thought. Scary enough to motivate me, I guess.

I don’t intend to just diet. I intend to start walking in my neighborhood with my mp3 player to keep my company. I don’t have the money for a gym and I loathe them besides. So, it will have to be walking. I also recently purchased a used Dance, Dance Revolution game for my Xbox 360, which is like a video game but you play it with your feet. It gets me moving and it’s challenging sometimes. What I like is that I control the pace of it. I get to pick the songs that strike my fancy. I know that the walking, especially, is going to cause me some considerable pain for awhile. My right hip (mostly the right) gets to hurting when I walk too much, but this has to be done and there is no way around it. Some things just have to be borne, I suppose. I should probably just go ahead and stock up on Advil.

Maybe this time I’ll succeed where so many times before I failed. Food is not the enemy, although it seems that way most times. It is my attitude toward food that has to change and the way I think of myself must change. When you get down to the nitty gritty, I suppose the problem is not really with my body. The problem is with my head; more specifically, what’s in my head. My thoughts of myself are damaging 80% of the time and destructive thoughts are right behind that. They’ve always been that way.

One of the weight loss tips I read about was to tell people you are trying to lose weight. So, I'm telling people. Here's hoping.

Miss Perfect And Her Tea Party

I feel like I've been floating through my life for the past year or so and only lately has it occurred to me that I don't like floating. I guess it served it's purpose for the time. I'm so awesomely good at dissociation that I disconnected myself from my life. I've been feeling like I'm dissatisfied and that I should be doing something besides merely existing. What does that mean anyway? To exist? I feel like I've sloughed off something dead and in it's place is something angry, anxious and ready to move. I haven't been on any psych meds for at least 6 months so, I guess we'll see whether or not I can function outside the Nexus of dissociation I had created for myself.

Awhile back I had discussed with Beautiful Dreamer about the possiblity of me having mulitple personalities. I'm still not sure that I don't. I asked her if she had ever heard of someone being one personality for a long period of time (say six months or a year) and then transitioning to another for a long period since it seems like that's what happens to me. She suggested that I might be transitioning a lot more than I realized. That I may not notice it if I had been doing it since I was a small child. (I channeled Miss Perfect today and cleaned house like a fiend. I actually thought about putting on my fifties style dress and heels and then baking a huge cake. I actually felt like I was outside of time. It was a little weird to say the least.)

I've had a boyfriend (that term seems a bit sophmoric for me since I'm 38, but there you go) for the last 7 months or so, which is also weird. It's weird because we kinda-sorta dated before about 10 years ago. I've never re-dated anyone before. It was disastrous, at least for me, before and I'm not so sure it won't be the same now. I see some changes in him, but in some ways he's still exactly the same. I guess that's to be expected. After all, we never really change that much. We just become more clearly ourselves, in my opinion. Anyway, I'm having trust issues. I haven't told him, but he may have figured that out on his own. I am reluctant to go into specific details of what's been going on because whatever he is, he does deserve his privacy. And whatever he is, I love him. I learn a lot about relationship things from reading Adventures In Stepford's blog.

I guess that's all for today. I really just natter on, don't I?

The Truth Or Something Beautiful?

I filched this quote from Adventures In Stepford's blog. I think it fits my life right now pretty well.

“Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when every one has to throw off his mask? Do you believe that life will always let itself be mocked? Do you think you can slip away a little before midnight in order to avoid this? Or are you not terrified by it? I have seen men in real life who so long deceived others that at last their true nature could not reveal itself;... In every man there is something which to a certain degree prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself; and this may be the case in so high a degree, he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life which extend far beyond himself that he almost cannot reveal himself. But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.”
-Soren Kierkegaard

Ever Physically Feel Five Years Old?

I have therapy in an hour or so and I kind of want to go and kind of don't want to go. Last week, was my first time with a new therapist and I had to rehash all of that bad shit that happened to me in my life. I didn't even get to all of it and it took me up until yesterday to finally start feeling good again. I don't want that to happen again this week. So, I'm scared.

She asked me to define some goals for therapy so that we could have something to work towards. I can't come up with anything other than: I don't want to keep feeling like shit. I did tell her last week that I wanted to become better at conflict resolution. When I get angry, I respond like a hurt child most of the time instead of an adult. I don't think I'm the only one with that problem. I think it's pretty common. As a matter of fact, I lashed out at someone last week who totally didn't deserve it and was really only trying to be kind to me. That makes me feel bad.

I get in these places sometimes where I can't see for the shit right in front of me and I can't hear anything for the voices talking, whispering and screaming in my brain. I actually went several days last week really wanting to self injure and one night where I was seriously considering suicide, but I did none of those things. The voices can get pretty bad sometimes and they say the most horrible things.

One night last week, I was laying in bed watching a movie (Pan's Labyrinth) and I had the sensation of my body getting smaller and smaller until when I looked out at my hands and arms, they looked like a little girl's. I felt about 4 or 5 years old in my body, but in my head I was still the same and wondering why my body had just shrunk 35 years. I didn't have too much time to wonder about it though, because the meds I take at night kicked in right about then and I was off to dreamless sleep.

That's another thing: I really don't like to dream. They're always pretty weird and fucked up. I mean, some of them are weird-funny, but most of them aren't. Most of the time when I dream, I wake up either crying or pissed or both (or had been crying in my sleep). This is why I need very, very good coffee in the mornings. Not that it makes much sense in the rational world, but for me, good coffee chases away the boogie man/men/women (whatever). So, now I have an excuse for being a coffee snob/freak.

At least my new therapist doesn't refer to me in the plural and she can hear me without my having to repeat myself umpteen times and she can actually see me. I suppose I should be grateful for that at least.

The more I think about going to therapy, the more anxious I get and the more I don't want to go. It shouldn't be this way, should it?

Luvey Duvey But Please No Smoochie-Poo

Alicia Keys~ If I Ain't Got You


Cyndi Lauper~Fearless


Jewel (when she was really cool circa 1997)~Near You Always


Iona~I Will Give My Love An Apple

Remnants Of PTSD

I was reading Male Survivor's blog a minute ago and he had posted about Post Rape Syndrome and Post Traumatic Syndrome. It got me to thinking just what part of those I still have left from the last rape in '96 and the incest my grandfather inflicted on me. I've been feeling remarkably healthy mentally lately and was thinking I might have let go of some of that. Let's see:

Here's what he posted:


Rape Trauma Syndrome & PTSD from queendom.com

PTSD is one of the anxiety disorders. Symptoms of PTSD develop in people who have experienced an event that is outside the range of usual human suffering and that would be extremely stressful for nearly anybody. Such an event would impose "a serious harm or threat to one's life or physical integrity, a serious threat to one's children, spouse, or other close relatives or friends." PTSD may develop after seeing sudden destruction of the patient's home or the entire community, or witnessing someone's being killed or injured. (DSM-IV, 1994).

The traumatic events that can trigger PTSD may be classified into several categories. First, the person may experience naturally occurring disaster, such as earthquakes, floods or volcano eruptions. Second, the disorder may be precipitated by tragic accidents, such as air crash, very serious car accident. Third, the stressor can be one of category of manmade catastrophes which may be exemplified by wars, concentration camps and torture. The rape trauma syndrome is a special case of PTSD. in which the rape victim suffers from symptoms caused by the experience of sexual assault (DSM-IV, 1994).

The symptoms are similar for all types of PTSD. Obviously, not all patients who suffer from PTSD experience all the symptoms. Also, the symptoms vary slightly according to the precipitating trauma. The DSM-IV (1994) states these symptoms:


1. recurrent, persistent and distressing reexperiencing of the trauma through distressing recollections, dreams, sudden acting and feeling as if the event was reoccurring (reliving the trauma, illusions, hallucinations, flashbacks);
2. persistent avoidance of stimuli that remind of the trauma, for example, the patient avoids thoughts and feelings associated with the trauma, or he/she may avoid situations and activities that arouse the traumatic recollections;
3. psychogenic amnesia;
4. numbing of general responsiveness (that was not present before the trauma occurred), for example, the patients show markedly diminished interest in significant activities; they may feel detachment or estrangement from others; their range of affect may be restricted or they may have sense of a foreshortened future;
5. persistent symptoms of increased arousal, which involve irritability and outburst of anger, troubled concentrating, hypervigilance, exaggerated startle response; they show physiological reaction to events or situations that symbolize or resemble the trauma;
6. the disturbance causes significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important area of functioning;
7. patient has to experience symptoms for at least one month before PTSD may be diagnosed.


1. Okay, yesterday while I was doing my laundry, I had my Zune mp3 player going and I heard a song by Otep that was talking about incest. That caused me to go into a cold sweat and get super nauseous. My heart rate increased and I could feel my face muscles tighten imperceptibly. If I hadn't happened to hear that song, though, I would not have been thinking about my grandfather and what he did. I guess that happens to everyone if they have a strong reminder of their abuse no matter how long ago it happened. I don't really know how often that happens. I don't know if it happens enough anymore to be labeled "persistent".

2. I do actively avoid things that remind me of my grandfather and the rape in '96. I did drive to that house one day a couple of years ago and I took pictures of it. He probably doesn't live there anymore, but it was sort of a victory for me nonetheless. I also have driven by the two houses where my grandparents lived and where the abuse took place and have taken pictures of them. It makes me cry and relive those experiences (I don't remember much of what happened with my grandfather but I remember nearly everything about the last rape). So, I generally avoid those places. My aunt's house reminds me so much of my grandparent's place that it scares me. I don't go there anymore at all. So, I guess you could say that I am "persistent" in my avoidance of specific stimuli that would trigger those memories. I really didn't know that was considered a part of PTSD. I just thought it was a smart thing to do since I really wanted to get on with my life and not be stuck in those memories. This is one of my coping mechanisms.

3. Psychogenic Amnesia-this I have big time concerning the things that happened with my grandfather. Those memories are triggered by smells or being at my aunt's house. Sometimes I have nightmares about it and they are very specific, but they traumatize me so much that I don't remember them for very long. After one of those, the only thing on my mind is to comfort myself from that fright. So, I guess my brain just blanks it out or something. That's probably a learned coping mechanism from when Daddyboy was molesting me. I'm so very good at dissociating.

4. As for the numbing of general responsiveness and decreased interest in significant activities- I still have that somewhat although it's A LOT better. I finally got a job and I'm going every day and working hard at it (and succeeding!); I started showering more and just generally taking better care of myself (that could be better though); my house isn't a complete wreck anymore (it's still cluttered but at least it's clean and I clean the litter boxes). I went through a period of a couple of years where I just didn't want to go anywhere. That's getting better too. I feel like I'm more willing and able to socialize on a somewhat normal-for-me level. I still feel somewhat detatched from the herd, though. I think, though, that that is because I've always been sort of an individualist and wanted to buck the system. I pride myself on being different and so I think I've purposely created that distance between myself and some other people.

5. The increased arousal thing is something I still have trouble with: I don't like loud noises. I can't hear myself think if things get really loud and then I start to get anxious and feel like I'm being smothered. It makes me feel like I'm not in control and that, I think, is what scares me. I've been hypervigilant all my life. I don't ever remember not being that way. For example, I get scared if someone follows me in their car for what I consider to be too long. I'll start to take alternate routes to go home and even go out of my way several minutes if I think someone is following me. I have an exaggerated startle response. If someone comes up from behind me and gooses me in the ribs for fun I would probably right hook them. That all has to do with the fact that I don't like to be touched unless I give permission for another person to touch me: verbal or non-verbal. It's another control issue. I feel like I should have control over what is done to my body. Also, surprise loud noises startle me more than the average person. It takes me a long time to get over a loud bang, for instance. I have to consciously tell myself (in my head) that I'm ok and tell my heart to quit trying to beat its way out of my chest. So...yeah...exaggerated startle response. Check.

6. I'm just getting over having these things cause me a significant impairment in my work and social life. That's not to say that it won't happen again. It probably will, but for now at least, I'm functioning pretty well.

7. The last thing says that I have to experience these symptoms for a month before I could be diagnosed with PTSD. Well, I've been diagnosed with it already. I've had these symptoms since I was about 2 years old. My mom told me a couple of weeks ago that she could tell when I started acting differently as a toddler. She said one of the things that used to happen was that I would just stare out into space at nothing at all; as if I were in some sort of trance. She thought at first that I was staring at something specific, but then she would move me and my gaze would never change even though the vista had changed. This started happening when I was around 2 or 3. I'm guessing this is my baby brain's attempt to block out what Daddyboy was doing to me. I learned to live in my head a lot. Even by the time I was in Elementary School and Junior High, my teachers told my mother that I would just blank out like that for hours at a time. What's amazing to me is that she didn't suspect anything. What happened was that I was sent to the "special" class for children with learning difficulties. I didn't have a learning difficulty. I had a grandfather-fucking-me difficulty. How can you articulate something like that, though, when you are only a child? You just do what your parents tell you to no matter how much you hate it.

Sunday Secret

Hope

I haven't been inspired to write much lately. Tonight, though, I'm feeling kind of melancholy. I'm not really depressed, just a little down. I'm missing the Sold Out clan. I know they don't miss me, though. That's what hurts me a little. The pain is not as bad as it used to be, so I guess I'm still in the process of letting go of them. It's about time. It's been 13 years since we all separated. I'm finding that I have a habit of holding on really tightly to people that I love. I'm having to learn to let go of those people because nothing ever stays the same. Every one changes. Feelings change; circumstances change. Besides, even though every one wants to be loved sometime in their lives, they should be able to feel free enough in that love to be able to go and do their own thing and come back if they want to or to not come back. It's hard for me, though, because I never really felt loved so when I feel that someone loves me, I hold them in my heart forever. Sometimes, the type of love I have changes (again the changing), but I've found something out about myself: once I decide that I love someone, I will always love them in some way. There are some people that I love (like the Sold Out crew) that I've decided to keep out of my life because it's just better for me. I have to love them from a long distance away. I could easily put myself in sort of a martyr situation here (and I've done that before), but I'm trying really hard not to now.

I know I keep going on about the Sold Out people, but this is something that has been so hard for me: to accept the fact that they once loved me and now don't. Maybe they feel like I do about them. Maybe they feel like they are better off without me in their lives. Maybe they feel healthier. I don't recall being a drama queen with them or taking advantage of any of them, but that could be the case. Maybe it's just that we've all slipped away from each other and don't really care enough to keep in contact with each other. I'd like to think that I'm not so lazy as to not even keep in touch with people I say that I love. But, I did try to keep with them for a long time when they were not trying to keep in touch with me. It was a totally one-sided relationship. It was me calling, going to see them and trying to get them to love me and them just receiving my love. Come to think of it, I'm kind of angry about that. Not so much as a few years ago, but I still have it in my heart. I'm still holding some unforgiveness towards them.

I was going to go to church today and see them, but when I really thought about it, I came to realize that that is just another attempt by me to try to get them to love me. It's me trying to control what they do and feel. I'm not going to do that. They all have my phone number and address. If anyone of them want to find me, it would be exceedingly easy.

I feel, otherwise, that I've moved into a new place in my life. I feel ready to explore things about myself that I would never have done before. I feel mainly positive even though I'm not on anti-depressants. I'm taking an anti-anxiety medicine called Hydroxizine, but that's all. I feel like I'm doing well with just that and I'm so glad. I hated taking all those meds. It made me feel even more crazy that I already felt. I know that everything is not always going to feel this way. I know that sometime in the future, I could fall into an even deeper pit of depression than I ever have, but I also know that it doesn't last forever. David's death taught me that. I thought I was going to die myself after he died. He wasn't my blood relative or my boyfriend or my husband, but a part of me died inside just the same. I finally feel like I'm coming back to life. I feel like I'm blooming and different blooms than ever before. It might not be a big thing; not a big bloom, but it's a bloom nonetheless. Hopefully, this positiveness will continue. I need it to continue at least for a little while. I feel like I need some time of good before I can handle the bad again. I need some more hope. I have a smidgen, I just need some smidgens more.

My Name Is Mudd

I found out today that my student loans I had consolidated (a little over $41,000) have gone into default because I didn't know that they had been transferred from Sallie Mae to the Kentucky Higher Education Authority and even though I had already faxed in paperwork for an economic hardship deferrment. It turns out that the guy I talked to was just yanking my chain, because the Kentucky Higher Education Authority never got any such paperwork and when I read off the phone number to the lady I was talking to, she said that the area code for that fax number was in Pennsylvania.

I'm so upset, but I don't know whether to scream, cry, cut, eat, throw things or just get blind stinkin' drunk. I do have a new job making about 20K a year, but the $275 per month payments are going to really hurt me. I can barely afford to make it now. I'm going to have to get a second job or something. Christ...I don't know what to do.

I've also still got to deal with Sallie Mae for the rest of my loans (about $20,000) and they want $350 per month for those payments. At least that one isn't in default.

FUCK. ME. SIDEWAYS.

This has RUINED my whole day. I can do nothing but obsess about it. I was having such a good run at life there for awhile. I got this new job that I'm optimistic about and that I'm really good at; I know that I'm loved; my self-esteem has been up lately...Now, I feel like I've been slapped in the face. I feel like the universe yanked the rug out from under me.

I'm scared.

Bill of Rights for People Who Self Harm

Bill of Rights for People Who Self-Harm

Preamble

An estimated one percent of Americans use physical self-harm as a way of coping with stress; the rate of self-injury in other industrial nations is probably similar. Still, self-injury remains a taboo subject, a behavior that is considered freakish or outlandish and is highly stigmatized by medical professionals and the lay public alike. Self-harm, also called self-injury, self-inflicted violence, or self-mutilation, can be defined as self-inflicted physical harm severe enough to cause tissue damage or leave visible marks that do not fade within a few hours. Acts done for purposes of suicide or for ritual, sexual, or ornamentation purposes are not considered self-injury. This document refers to what is commonly known as moderate or superficial self-injury, particularly repetitive SI; these guidelines do not hold for cases of major self-mutilation (i.e., castration, eye enucleation, or amputation).
Because of the stigma and lack of readily available information about self-harm, people who resort to this method of coping often receive treatment from physicians (particularly in emergency rooms) and mental-health professionals that can actually make their lives worse instead of better. Based on hundreds of negative experiences reported by people who self-harm, the following Bill of Rights is an attempt to provide information to medical and mental-health personnel. The goal of this project is to enable them to more clearly understand the emotions that underlie self-injury and to respond to self-injurious behavior in a way that protects the patient as well as the practitioner.



The Bill of Rights for Those who Self-Harm
The right to caring, humane medical treatment.
Self-injurers should receive the same level and quality of care that a person presenting with an identical but accidental injury would receive. Procedures should be done as gently as they would be for others. If stitches are required, local anesthesia should be used. Treatment of accidental injury and self-inflicted injury should be identical.

The right to participate fully in decisions about emergency psychiatric treatment (so long as no one's life is in immediate danger).
When a person presents at the emergency room with a self-inflicted injury, his or her opinion about the need for a psychological assessment should be considered. If the person is not in obvious distress and is not suicidal, he or she should not be subjected to an arduous psych evaluation. Doctors should be trained to assess suicidality/homicidality and should realize that although referral for outpatient follow-up may be advisable, hospitalization for self-injurious behavior alone is rarely warranted.

The right to body privacy.
Visual examinations to determine the extent and frequency of self-inflicted injury should be performed only when absolutely necessary and done in a way that maintains the patient's dignity. Many who SI have been abused; the humiliation of a strip-search is likely to increase the amount and intensity of future self-injury while making the person subject to the searches look for better ways to hide the marks.

The right to have the feelings behind the SI validated.
Self-injury doesn't occur in a vacuum. The person who self-injures usually does so in response to distressing feelings, and those feelings should be recognized and validated. Although the care provider might not understand why a particular situation is extremely upsetting, she or he can at least understand that it *is* distressing and respect the self-injurer's right to be upset about it.

The right to disclose to whom they choose only what they choose.
No care provider should disclose to others that injuries are self-inflicted without obtaining the permission of the person involved. Exceptions can be made in the case of team-based hospital treatment or other medical care providers when the information that the injuries were self-inflicted is essential knowledge for proper medical care. Patients should be notified when others are told about their SI and as always, gossiping about any patient is unprofessional.

The right to choose what coping mechanisms they will use.
No person should be forced to choose between self-injury and treatment. Outpatient therapists should never demand that clients sign a no-harm contract; instead, client and provider should develop a plan for dealing with self-injurious impulses and acts during the treatment. No client should feel they must lie about SI or be kicked out of outpatient therapy. Exceptions to this may be made in hospital or ER treatment, when a contract may be required by hospital legal policies.

The right to have care providers who do not allow their feelings about SI to distort the therapy.
Those who work with clients who self-injure should keep their own fear, revulsion, anger, and anxiety out of the therapeutic setting. This is crucial for basic medical care of self-inflicted wounds but holds for therapists as well. A person who is struggling with self-injury has enough baggage without taking on the prejudices and biases of their care providers.

The right to have the role SI has played as a coping mechanism validated.
No one should be shamed, admonished, or chastised for having self-injured. Self-injury works as a coping mechanism, sometimes for people who have no other way to cope. They may use SI as a last-ditch effort to avoid suicide. The self-injurer should be taught to honor the positive things that self-injury has done for him/her as well as to recognize that the negatives of SI far outweigh those positives and that it is possible to learn methods of coping that aren't as destructive and life-interfering.

The right not to be automatically considered a dangerous person simply because of self-inflicted injury.
No one should be put in restraints or locked in a treatment room in an emergency room solely because his or her injuries are self-inflicted. No one should ever be involuntarily committed simply because of SI; physicians should make the decision to commit based on the presence of psychosis, suicidality, or homicidality.

The right to have self-injury regarded as an attempt to communicate, not manipulate.
Most people who hurt themselves are trying to express things they can say in no other way. Although sometimes these attempts to communicate seem manipulative, treating them as manipulation only makes the situation worse. Providers should respect the communicative function of SI and assume it is not manipulative behavior until there is clear evidence to the contrary.



© 1998-2001 Deb Martinson. Reprint permission granted with proper credit to author.


I found this at the Random Thoughts of Self blog via Beautiful Dreamer's blog. She always has great article links! I think I might make this into a little laminated credit-card sized thing and give it to my friends who self injure so that they can take it to the hospital with them and give it to their doc.

Tuesday Afternoon Tunes

It's around the anniversary of my friend/brother David's death 2 years ago. I still think about him and miss him every day. I don't know why I can't remember the exact date of his death. It was very painful for me since I had never had anyone I loved die before. I remember the pain I felt and I can say now that it has had it's positive effect on me. I'm a bit stronger now than I was before he died. Not much. Just a bit. A little bit is better than nothing. Yes?

These are for David.


Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here






from David's favorite movie - V for Vendetta





Life Is Beautiful - David would have liked this song.

Happy Birthday To Me

So, yesterday was my birthday. I'm 38 now. Funny how I don't feel any older. I just am. I've also begun lately to have these dreams again where I'm floating through people's houses I don't know. I know I'm not supposed to be there and the whole thing is exciting and terrible at the same time. I can remember having these same dreams as a child and wondered if I had slept-walked during the night and broken into other people's houses. Now, I think it's me taking a tour, so to speak, of the other parts of my personality (or personalities). When I was in therapy, all of my therapists discounted dreams as nothing more than the inane ramblings of the subconscious mind. I don't think so. I think some dreams can help you see into yourself and figure some things out. You just have to know which dreams to count as meaningful and which are not.

I've finally come out of my latest funk. The voices have calmed down quite a bit to where I can tell them to fuck off and they do. The biggest thing that helped me come out of it this time was that my best friend, Ashley, came over to help me clean my apartment. When I get really depressed, my apartment gets pretty bad. I don't wash the dishes, sweep, mop or anything. My apartment still isn't totally the way I want it, but at least the majority of it is clean and that makes me happy. I also got a Dyson Animal and Allergy vacuum for my birthday. That makes me happy too. Now, I can actually do something about all the cat hair that is all over my furniture and everything else in my apartment. I love my Dyson. It's heavy and hard to push and pull across the carpets I have, but it works like a dream. For me to be excited about anything regarding cleaning is a momentous occasion.

I've been turned on to a new kind of music that I love. It's called Fado. The only artists I've listened to so far are Mariza and Ana Moura. I'm totally in love with Fado. I'll be getting my hands on as much of it as possible.

It seems as though, for right now, fortune has chosen to smile on me. Although I don't yet have a job, I've been able to get new living room furniture thanks to my dad. My cats had ruined my other sofa due to their penchant for peeing on it. So, I couldn't sit on it and I wouldn't let anyone else sit on it. It was useless. I made the trip over to North Little Rock and found a store that had really nice furniture and a lot of it on sale. I got a mossy-green chaise lounge with a matching chair that you can put at the end of it or take off and move around; a neutral blue ottoman/coffee table and a blue/cream/tan/dark blue/white striped armless chair. I know it sounds like all that doesn't go together and that it would be atrocious to look at, but it's not. It looks great and I love it.

I'm also waiting, very impatiently, for an XBox 360 to arrive along with 3 or 4 games that I got for my birthday along with a little 13" Hello Kitty tv with dvd player. You could say that I pretty much got everything I wanted this birthday and more. It's hard not to sound materialistic here (I'm not really.). It's just that I've gone so long without having pretty things that don't smell like cat pee. I'm really excited to finally be able to sit in my living room and actually enjoy it.

I Looked Up "Painless Suicide"

I'm in a funk that I can't seem to shake. I don't want to leave my apartment, eat much, clean or anything else. I just sit here on the internet, watching tv or sleeping. It depresses me even more when I can get some perspective and move outside myself to see myself from outside (if that makes any sense).

I try so hard to support myself and to be independent, but when I get going it seems like I have these low points. It's hard to get motivated. I mean, I bought a sofa cover, chair cover and some decorative pillows for the living room the other day and that was good. It makes the living room look better. They already have to be washed, though, because of the cats sitting on them and shedding. It's things like that that make me feel so overwhelmed. I feel like no matter what I do it's not enough; it's not good enough.

I laid in bed this morning thinking about work and how good I felt the last time I went (the temporary job I have at FTD has been cutting hours because they've hired too many people). At the same time, though, it's like I don't even want to go. I think that my life is so empty and that it's going nowhere. I could go back to school, I want to, but I think that will also wind up bad; that I will start to fail my classes like I did before.

I know that mentally, emotionally and spiritually I've been pretty much stagnant since the rape in '96. I only fully realized that a couple of weeks ago. I don't know how to move forward. I don't know if it's a matter of letting go, forgiveness (mainly of myself) or what. Do I need to discipline myself and if I do how long will it last? Will I become so rigid like I was before? Is that even the right way to go? I am looking for a way out of this, but I don't see one. It's so frustrating. I can't stand the wanting to die every single day. I can't stand the way I feel-the despair. Even when I feel relatively good, it's still there waiting in the back of my mind. Like another person.

I don't know what to do. And it's not even like the wish to die is even wrought with tears anymore. It's more like I'm so calm about it and that's even scarier I think. I feel so empty and purposeless. I can only see a lifetime of this and I cannot live like this for the rest of my life. I can't bear it. I need a way to get out from under it and that fucking suicide voice is always there ready and willing to talk to me. I hate it.

I've been buying lots of little girl stuff lately. I think it's an effort to destress myself and to try to get the voices to be quiet. It doesn't really help, though. I feel ok for a few hours and then I'm right back to square one. I need something permanent.

Hello Kitty Loves Me

I've been in generally a good mood for the last week or so, except that sometimes I find myself losing my temper and wondering to myself when I became such a raging bitch. Everything irritates me lately and I seem to have no patience for anyone or anything. At the same time, though, when I'm quiet or trying to go to sleep (which is hard enough), I am overcome by negative emotions, negative self-talk, sadness, despair and a strong wish to die. It's almost like if I stop moving, my mind or my body, then that is just there waiting for me. I read on Beautiful Dreamer's Journal that she has this overwhelming wish to die sometimes too. She said that it is when she is grieving the loss of her original self before the abuse happened; before her original self died and the rest of her split into so many pieces like a shattered mirror. I never realized that a person could grieve for the loss of a part of themselves. I mean, it makes total sense now that I think about it. I'm surprised I never realized it before.

I think that when these feelings come on me suddenly that I'm grieving for the loss of my original little girl. I realize only now why I have so many little girl things; why when I go to a big store I find myself in the toy department wondering how I got there and why; why I buy little girl things and keep them all over my apartment. I still have all of my stuffed animals and dolls from when I was a little girl. I don't hide them. I keep them out in my room. They are part of what make my room a sanctuary from the rest of the world. I feel like when I'm there, I don't have to have my guard up. Now that I'm not living with Dad anymore, it's more like my whole apartment is my little girl sanctuary. It's not all that way, but parts of it are: like my Hello Kitty lunch box; oversized Hello Kitty pillow and my Hello Kitty area rug.

I remember being conflicted about wanting to be that little girl and at the same time wanting to be grown-up me. I wanted to reconcile them both. Now, I realize I don't have to reconcile them. I can be them both with no fear of repercussion. I have given myself permission to indulge my little girl; to give her the love and acceptance she never got but always craved; to treat her like the princess she always was and is.

It's a little freedom; a tiny insight, but it means a lot to me.

Secret Sally And What Is Friend-Duty

I used to have 3 best friends. Now, I have 2. I met Sally in '96 when I got a job cocktail waitressing at Juanita's. When I first met her all I could do was watch her because she was just so much larger than life: my life or any other life I'd seen. She was a beautiful, rock-n-roll, bubbly, friendly, laughing girl. I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be friends with her. (She told me years later that when she first met me she thought I was weird because all I did pretty much was watch her, which is true. I just couldn't believe she was so much...herself. Truthfully, I not only wanted to be her friend, I also wanted to be her.) We worked together at Juanita's for about a year and became really good friends.

Then, she left Juanita's to go work at another club, met a guy she really fell for and disappeared from our friendship like most girls do when they meet a guy and get serious. They dated for 5 years. We didn't really see each other very much during that time. I felt abandoned, but also I felt mostly that I was being selfish because everyone has relationships and when that relationship gets serious to the point of ring-giving, it becomes the main priority in a person's life and everything else just sort of falls away. On the other hand (3 hands?), I wondered why she couldn't be friends with me and have a fiance. After their 5 years of dating and after the ring had been given to her, the relationship ended and she came back to being my friend and I moved from being a stand-in/replacement for her boyfriend when he was off doing something else, being late, or standing her up. She apologized to me for disappearing for so long and I told her what I had felt while she was gone from my life. She was my only friend and when she was gone I had felt completely alone. She promised that she would never do that to me again. I promised that I would never resent her being in a relationship again.

We were best friends-sisters-until a 1 year 1/2 ago. She hasn't spoken to me since that Christmas. About 6-8 months before that, things started going super awry in my life. I stopped answering the phone every time she called; I made excuses not to hang out with her. I didn't mean to push her away. I was sliding into the most severe, the most crippling depression I've experienced in my life so far. I was actually in therapy at the time and on medication for depression and anxiety. My first therapist started me on rather a high dose of Klonopin (a medicine for anxiety) which, in my opinion, was the start of the problem. Klonopin is very addictive. I didn't know that. Klonopin also causes mood-swings. I didn't know that either. I should have looked it up, either in a book (which I have plenty of-psych major) or on the internet. That part was my fault. So, the longer I took Klonopin, the more my moods swung and the wider the swings were. Also, I started taking more and more of it because I didn't realize in the midst of my worsening depression and anxiety that it was the Klonopin that was, at least in part, responsible for the roller coaster emotions. Amidst all of this not only Sally, but also Tanya, thought that I was deliberately pushing her away. To their credit, they did try to get me out of the house. They did their friend-duty in that respect.

That July, my very good friend, David, died suddenly. I've never experienced anyone that close to me die. It's not like the more you experience death, the less shocking it becomes, but to experience it for the first time and especially in the midst of everything else going on in my life was the ultimate blow. I didn't know how to deal with his death, my depression, school...so...insert more Klonopin here. I started cutting on myself again and my eating disorders were way out of control. I started restricting and purging again. I couldn't control anything in my life. Then, came Christmas. Let me just say here that I hate the Holidays. I have yet to get over the last time I was raped in '96. Well, most of the time I don't think much about it, but at Christmas, which is when it happened, it's thrown in my face wherever I go. Add this to the pile of shit that my life had become that year and there's a cocktail that is strictly suicidal.

A little thing happened on Christmas Day. Sally didn't call me to tell me happy Christmas. Even though I hate Christmas, I still like to be called on that day. I know it's hypocrital and weird, but that's just the way it is and I can't help it. A few days later while I was in the big middle of a complete melt down, she called. All I could say was, "You could've called me on Christmas Day." Anything else I tried to say was unintelligible due to the amount of crying and hyperventillating. Sally and Tanya were together that night and said that they were coming over. I told them not to, but they did anyway: friend-duty again. They brought me presents and wanted me to go to Wal-Mart with them. (We used to have sort of a tradition on the weekends. We used to go "Walmartin'" on the weekends and have so much fun buying useless shit we didn't need. That's what they wanted to do that night.) I didn't feel like going because I had just spent the previous several hours crying my heart out. My eyes were swollen, I had vomited several times, I was exhausted and I told them so. They were disappointed, overly so, and left my house with concerned/disgusted looks on their faces. Neither one of them spoke to me after that. The only reason Tanya spoke to me again was that I went to her work place and confronted her.

Sally has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and is Bipolar. Tanya is a Rapid-Cycling Bipolar and has problems with anxiety. I am not the only one here who has major psychiatric issues. After her 5-year relationship, Sally had one year where she was so depressed that she could barely leave her house. Her parents had to take care of her. She wanted neither Tanya or I to come see her. She was completely agoraphobic. She nearly lost her job. I never stopped loving her and never stopped trying help her during all of that: friend-duty. Tanya totally disappeared on everyone for about a year after her father died and then went on the road for 6 months after that with Lainie to follow some guy in a band she thought she was "in love" with. I never stopped being her friend through all of that. I was there for her. I went to her father's funeral just so I could be there for her. (Are they the only ones in this friendship-relationship allowed to go through shit and disappear on people? Why am I the one who was totally deserted when I took longer than they thought I should to get through my shit? I don't understand that.)

Tanya and I are friends again although I don't trust her quite the way I did before. I think that's understandable. Forgiveness? Absolutely. Forgetting? Never. I do, however, expect something similar in the future from her. I've said forever that no one can have a relationship, friend or otherwise without hurting the other person in some way. I have a long memory. I suppose it should be shorter. I just don't want to be caught off-guard again by her.

Here's how I feel now about Sally: I don't know why she won't speak to me. I had to find out through Tanya that she had moved to Oklahoma for a job. I also haven't really even tried to forgive her. I've just been holding this hurt in my heart like a tumor for the last year-and-a-half. I want closure; I need closure, but Sally won't allow me that because she won't speak to me and it pisses me off that she would withhold it from me.

Am I being the victim again? Have I taken responsibility for my part in the loss of friendship with Sally? I believe I have admitted my part. Everything in life comes down to choices and although I made the wrong choice in pushing both Sally and Tanya away at one time in my life, I can say that I was in a huge amount of emotional pain and I think that can be forgiven me. I'll work on trying to forgive Sally.

Frustrated

Sad Boobs And Big-Girl Panties

Why is it that nearly every women's clothing retailer doesn't cater at all to so-called "plus-size" women? Why is it that nearly all "plus-size" clothing is so ugly and unflattering that vomit on plaid would look better?

Yeah. I went shopping yesterday. I felt like I needed a few things to add to my wardrobe for future interviews and hopefully a future job. I also thought I needed some retail therapy. I thought wrong. I went first to Target. Mistake. Nothing fit and if it did fit it was so unbelievably horrid...I don't have the words. Plus, there was some construction (I'm assuming that's what it was.) going on in the back of the store. Every few minutes there would be this super loud noise like a drill (I felt like it was drilling into my skull.) and a bunch of yee-haw sounding guys yelling at each other about what they were "fixin'" to do. Did that up my anxiety level? Yeppers. Did that make it easier to get out my uber-fine-toothed comb to plow through all of the hideousness that is the plus-size section? Nope. Did that make it any easier for this depression addled, eating disorder prone woman to look at herself half naked in the dressing room mirror which was flooded with that icky flourescent light? Nope. Nope. Nope. Did I leave Target swearing that not only would I never darken their door again but also never eat again? Yep.

My mantra for yesterday: Food is bad.
Then I went and got ice cream.

I continued to torture myself after Target and went to Penney's hoping to find a bra that would fit me. Now, let's be clear here. I wear a 38-40 DDD. At Penney's, I found all of two (count 'em TWO) bras in my size in the whole lingerie area. Plus, I found a strapless number I thought I would try on just for shits and giggles. Nowadays, most clothing and whatnot have those little exploding ink thingies attatched to them to prevent people from walking out with them. Well, the strapless bra I tried to try on had one of those too. I tried (I kid you not.) for 15 minutes to get that damn bra on. I worked myself into a lather trying to do it. Finally, I just sat down on the little shelf in the dressing room they try to pass off as a place to rest. So, I tried the other ones. They were so tight, I thought my boobs were going to choke me. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for NOT having the "do your boobs hang low" look, but I don't want them all up in my neck either. I guess the insensitivity to people larger than average size extends all the way down to bras and panties. I had to get one though, because the bras that I have are not only too small but they make my boobs look sad. I can't have sad boobs. I'd rather have the pointy dangerous boobs. So, I got the boobs-in-my-neck bra.

So, to borrow a phrase from Girl, Dislocated, it was a big girl panty day yesterday (she says "put on your big girl panties and deal with it"). Aside from the fiasco that was shopping, I had several crying jags while driving around in my car and I brought some ice cream to one of my best friends while she was at work, but it turned out she was in a meeting and the ice cream melted before I could give it to her.
Yay.

Sometimes I Can See So Clearly

And other times it's a crapshoot.

I had an astounding moment of clarity the other night right before I fell asleep. This is usually the time my mind is the clearest, although lately it hasn't been because of all the stress in my life. Anyway, I was able to make a mental list of things I'm thankful for despite the fact that my life sucks right now. Here are some of them:

I am thankful for my depression because it makes me relish even more the times when I'm not depressed.
I'm thankful for my anxiety because it makes me realize what life can be like without it.
I'm thankful for Lainie being here for three agonizing months, because when she finally leaves, I'll be more grateful for my time alone. I've also learned a little bit about emotional blackmail from her and I'm learning how to stand up for myself in the face of it.
I'm thankful for my parents and how awful they treated me because now I now what not to do with my kids if I ever have any.
I'm thankful for the times I cry because if I couldn't I really would go crazy.
I'm thankful for being jobless because it makes me more thankful for a job when I do have one and makes me act more sensibly with my money.
I'm thankful for being overweight because now I know what it feels like to be fat.
I'm thankful for my past drug and alcohol abuse because it helps me to live sober when I remember how pitiful I was.

I guess I missed making my "thankful list" in November. I think that's kind of corny anyway that people only take the time one day a year to be thankful for things they have (and don't have). That gets on my nerves, but maybe I'm being too judmental. That's part of the reason I hate the holidays. It's all the "let's all be thankful and remember God" just for that time of the year and at no other time. I think it's hypocritical.

I Hate Food.

I decided yesterday to start trying to get information on recovering from my eating disorders. I'm working on recovering from my depression and personality disorders, so why not the eating disorders, too? I'm just in the reading phase right now. I haven't decided what exactly to do yet. But this is a good step.

I bought a book called Runaway Eating by Cynthia M. Bulik, Ph.D. and Nadine Taylor M.S., R.D.

There was a checklist of things to look at in the book to help people see their disordered eating. Here's what I checked:

Your weight has dropped to an abnormally low point or risen to an anormally high point.

You divide foods or behaviors into clear-cut "good" or "bad" categories.

You eat a lot of noncalorie foods such as diet soft drinks, coffee, mustard, gum, or spices to satisfy your appetite.

You often use food to reward yourself.

Eating makes you feel guilty.

Yur weight seems to go up and down, with dramatic fluctuations of 10 pounds or more.

You always seem to be on a diet.

You worry about your body not being small enough, thin enough, or good enough.

You compare yourself physically with others and feel inferior.

You feel in control when you're at a weight that is abnormally low for you.

You often eat when you're not hungry.

You completely avoid certain foods like sugar or bread because they are "fattening."

You can't get through an entire day without worrying about what you can or can't eat.

You don't like your body.

You feel that happiness will elude you until you lose weight.

You are preoccupied with weight, food, diets, and calories.

You eat in secret.

You alternate between severly restricting your eating and eating large quantities of food.

You've dieted on and off for most of your life.

You're very afraid of gaining weight and becoming fat.

You often eat until you're uncomfortably full.

You've had an out-of-control eating binge at least one time in the past year.

You eat to make yourself feel better emotionally, but it ends up making you feel guilty and depressed.

You become anxious around food.


At the end of this list, depending on how many a person has checked, it gives basic conclusions about the warning signs of developing or mild eating disorders. Mine said, "In addition to using the self-help strategies in this book, see a physician or a mental health professional for help." Duh.

Shooter Kills 7 At Israeli Seminary And A Bomb In Times Square

Gunman Kills 7 At Israeli Seminary

Coincidentally (or not) there was a bomb that exploded in Times Square early this morning.

I find these two events too coincidental not to relate them. Also, since the bombing, the peace talks bewtween Israel and Palestine have ceased. I nearly cried when I saw the story. I don't know why, I just have a special place in my heart for Israel and Palestine. They both have done unspeakable things to the other's people. I don't have much hope for seeing peace there in my lifetime, but I still get sad for all the people who have died and all of the violence that has happened there.