Invisibility

I do my best to be invisible. Not Invisible Girl invisible, not clear, but chameleon invisible, blending in so well that no one realizes I am here. I am not always silent or always speaking. Either extreme gets noticed. I do not refuse to go out nor involve myself in every little thing. I do just enough to avoid suspicion. I wait and watch in unfamiliar situations and then I act like everyone is, but just enough to not stand out. I make being polite and considerate a high priority and do my very best to think well of everyone, give them the benefit of the doubt, and be respectful even on the rare occasions when I have to make a complaint.

I do not expect special treatment and I get extremely annoyed with people who do. I am quite conscious of boundaries and get embarrassed for those who are not. I also like to think that I hold realistic expectations. For example, when it comes to my doctors, I hold no illusions that I am anything to them simply because they are special and important to me. I only have one therapist and he means the world to me. I only have one psychiatrist and one GP and I enjoy noticing the little things about them. But they each have tons of patients and I do not expect them to hold me any higher than any of them.

And yet.....

I can't help but wish, sometimes, that I was important to them, that I was someone special, that I was the kind of person they want to give special treatment to. I want to be the patient that makes them smile when they see my name on the schedule. I want them to remember me from visit to visit. I want them to feel emotionally invested in me. I want to be the kind of patient that The Shrink thinks about at times other than in session. (I don't mean in an inappropriate way - that's creepy!)

I know several people who have given their shrinks the URL to their blogs. And way more often than not the shrinks are more than happy to discuss the blogs in session, but they don't actually go visit them. Or they give them things to read and the shrinks either read them in session or don't read them at all. But there are a few cases where the shrinks do go read the blogs, they do read things outside of sessions, they do think about them outside of their scheduled times.

And sometimes I wish I was that kind of person - someone who means enough to a shrink that they go a few extra steps farther than they have to because they want to. Most of the time, I am content being invisible. When I tell people I'm fine, I want them to believe me. When I don't want noticed, I want to blend in seamlessly. Whether I am present or not, I don't want it to make a difference. But sometimes...

The Shrink told me once that he showed a short story I wrote to another patient, a little girl who had been through something similar to me. He maintained privacy in every way, of course. When he told me that, the swirl of feelings in every flavor stunned me. I was embarrassed that he had shown it to her, flattered that he thought is was good enough to show, awed that he had thought of me and the story at all, proud that it had actually made a difference to the girl, frustrated that I had broken the invisibility barrier, pleased that I wasn't invisible to him...... You get the point.

There is a book about co-dependence called 'I Hate You; Don't Leave Me'. I love the juxtaposition of the sentiments. With most people I truly want to stay invisible. But with a few select people, it's more like 'I'm Hiding; Please Find Me'. I'm pretty sure this isn't an entirely bizarre feeling - little kids often run away in the hopes of being chased and teenagers push boundaries but really want them pushed back. So this isn't about feeling like a unique freak. It's about feeling silly both for wanting to be seen and for knowingly acting the opposite of what I sometimes want. I guess in part it is because I know what I want but I don't feel entitled to it so I feel guilty for wanting it even when I'm not pressuring for it.

Wow - that made no sense. But I know what I mean: it should be more about actions than feelings in this particular guilt war but it isn't. Story of my life... LOL

Well, I wanted to include a quote I remember from what I thought was a Douglas Adams book but I just spent half a bloody hour searching for it and can't find it. So I may have misremembered the entire thing or it may be by someone else or maybe I just couldn't find it. It had to do with invisibility being achieved by making something so insanely hideous that people would refuse to look at it. Anyone know if this is real and if so from whom/what?

Just Keep Swimming, Swimming, Swimming

I like Dori at the beginning of the movie. She always sees the good in things. She can be cheerful about anything. And she instantly forgets the past so it has no effect on her present or future. She literally lives purely in the 'now' and mostly this works for her.

When I get low enough to just not give a shit about most things (like I am now) I find that all I can do is just keep going one second, one minute, one hour at a time. Whoever said One day at a time has no idea just how long that can be. I put one foot in front of the other and follow my routines, getting people where they need to be and hoping the rest takes care of itself. I can't afford to just stop, which is all I really want to do. So I go on auto-pilot and I just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...

Right now, things are what they are. Mostly, I don't care. Hubby is angry? Bummer - stay away from him. Kid-3 threw up? Okay, call the school and clean it up. Kid-1 broke up with the girlfriend? Hmmm. Whatever. They're back together again after less than 2 days? Okay, one less thing to think about. Kid-2 is failing science when she's never failed a class in her life? Bummer. Cub Scout Round-Up went better than we could have dreamed? Okay, next.

And so forth...

It's all about maintaining and refusing to actually fall down flat or give up. I keep telling myself that This too shall pass. It will pass, right? I'm too tired to keep this up forever. Or maybe I'm just tired in general. I don't wanna be me anymore. I don't like this game. I'm no good at it. Where's the REWIND button? What do you mean there isn't one?! Damn! Guess I'll have to:

Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming...

Bodies (Drowning Pool)

Bodies by Drowning Pool (with clips from Supernatural)

"Bodies" by Drowning Pool

Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the floor Beaten why for
Can't take much more
One - Nothing wrong with me
Two - Nothing wrong with me
Three - Nothing wrong with me
Four - Nothing wrong with me
One - Something's got to give
Two - Something's got to give
Three - Something's got to give
NOW!!!
Let the bodies hit the floor
Push me again
This is the end
Skin against skin blood and bone
You're all by yourself but you're not alone
You wanted in now you're here
Driven by hate consumed by fear
Let the bodies hit the floor

When I post about music, it is usually to show songs and lyrics that are insight into my heart. Generally they reflect how I am feeling about things. But this song speaks to anger and frustration and frustration about anger. This seems to be expressing a sentiment that Hubby is currently struggling with. Let me explain...

It was the MIL's birthday Wednesday night and we went out to dinner (which we couldn't afford but did anyways) and then back to their place for dessert. I was having issues with time that day so the kids weren't ready to go when Hubby got home. He went ballistic, sending Kid-2 into hysterical tears and the others into a fearful panic. Then he told me that he had hoped I would at least make myself presentable. Ouch. And yet when we got there, he was way overdressed, the kids looked fine and I was wearing the same caliber of outfit his father was wearing. I jumped all over his ass for upsetting the kids but when he came down on me, I just took it. And I was the one who felt guilty and responsible for the timing fiasco. (We weren't even late, btw and beat several family members there.)

Later he apologized but the damage was done. I was a nervous wreck the whole evening, could hardly make conversation and couldn't make eye contact. I couldn't stop rocking and barely ate anything. But I managed to not cry in front of anyone, thanks to a prolonged detour to the restroom. When he apologized, I still took responsibility for upsetting him but did remind him to please not treat the kids that way.

I think Bodies fits Hubby because he gets so angry that he lashes out at people quite viciously. (Let the bodies hit the floor) He thinks he's in the right, even when he's over-reacting. (Nothing wrong with me) He can't understand why people keep making him mad. And then he can't understand why he even gets so mad. He hates it. (Something's got to give) He seems to be hanging by a thread, all of the time. The slightest thing sets him off (Push me again) And he ends up hurting people, usually by screaming cruel things. (The rest of the song) It's frustrating for everyone.

He says he doesn't understand why he behaves this way. He is going to discuss it with The Med-Shrink when he goes back in a couple weeks. The fact of the matter is, Hubby goes through this very slow cycle that looks an awful lot like bipolar. His cycles last about 3 or 4 years. Unfortunately, he doesn't get the happy-manic. He gets the angry-irritated manic. This usually precedes a major down cycle in which he doesn't want to do anything. He tends to change jobs during these periods. (Gee, like this time.) We end up so frustrated with him, and sometimes things get so bad that even I can't justify his behavior anymore, that someone goes off on him, informs him he's being an asshole and that he can't keep going the way he is or they are going to kick his ass out of this solar system. (I tried to be the person to do this one time. It was not successful and did not go well. I believe his sister did it this time, last night.) Then he goes back to the doctor and gets a new set of meds and within 3 months he's back to the Hubby that I know and love and married 13 years ago. I don't know why it happens, just that it does. And it gives me hope because it can be fixed. (Is that sick/wrong, to be happy that something is wrong with Hubby that needs medical attention?)

Something's got to give...

More Random Thoughts

So many things running through my head. Not sure where to start, or what to expand on and what to skim through. I'm afraid this is going to be very hit or miss. I'm having a bit of trouble organizing my thoughts today....

On suicide: A while ago, read a quote from the blog of a psychologist who said he would tell a client (why don't they just say patient??? I know I'm a patient. He knows I'm a patient. Everyone knows I'm a patient. Just call a spade a spade!) He would tell a suicidal client that once they are not depressed any more, not in pain any more, he won't stop them from trying to kill themselves. The couple of people I told about it seemed to find that amusing so perhaps it was said tongue-in-cheek. But I thought it had some profound wisdom in it. Most people who are suicidal don't necessarily want to die. They want to stop hurting, stop feeling helpless and hopeless. Putting it the way he did put the emphasis on making things better and not on telling the person what they want is wrong.

Side Note: I just went to look up the exact quote from ShrinkTalk.net and found I had it rather wrong. The gist is the same but the details are different. Read the post. I found it while reading everything on the site that I could find as I fell instantly in love with this guy's style.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell: I'm not speaking of military policy but rather a policy that seems to be part of the fabric of my being. When people ask me how I am doing, I come as close to lying as anything in my life. My standard response is, "So far, so good." It doesn't matter if I've been carrying my pill bottles in my pocket or am wearing a genuine smile. I do my best to make everyone think that everything is just fine.

And for most people I deal with, this is a good thing. I let loose here on my blog. I talk to some people online though even then I rarely let people all the way in. I'm not sure why. Even the people who sincerely want to know the truth, and even the ones who can truly handle the truth - I can't or won't talk to them. With most people, this isn't a problem. But there are a few with whom this is a problem.

Hubby wants in. He wants to know what is going on with me. He doesn't understand. He doesn't know. He knows about my SV but not the whole truth, not completely. He knows I had issues as a kid but I don't think he knows the whole truth, not completely. He's been here with me through thick and thin, for 16 years, since we were just kids ourselves. That has to say something for the strength of his love. And yet I cannot talk to him. Even when I try, I open my mouth and nothing comes out. I don't fully understand this.

The other time this is a big issue is with The Shrink. I mean, come on! This is what I pay him for. This is the whole point of therapy - to talk through issues and find some resolution to them. And yet I will dodge him when he approaches certain topics. Or I will get so embarrassed that I can't talk about the issue. Often I get so nervous, I never even bring the topic up. And it's not like I don't trust him. Maybe it has to do with approval-seeking but even that doesn't make complete sense - how often does he have to tell me that he likes me regardless and that nothing I could tell him would make him agree with me that I am a far cry from good? I swear he has to tell me that, or some variation thereof, almost every time. I'm getting better with him but but am nowhere near being open with him. And I don't get it.

On catastrophizing: The Shrink accused me today of catastrophizing about Hubby and Baby-Mommy. He said I am just paralyzing myself with hopelessness and pain when nothing has even happened yet. It is the 'yet' that got to me. He reminded me that knowledge is power and instead of feeling hopeless and devastated over a potential situation that isn't even a sure thing. 'You're sitting in the cat-bird seat,' he said to me - whatever that means. So on one hand he is telling me that I need to worry about this and take steps to prevent it - that having them mad at each other is actually a preferable to state to them getting along. On the other hand, he is telling me not to worry so much about it because I am just paralyzing myself. Jeez doc! Make up your mind!!

On medications: I think the side-effects from the Lexapro are easing off. I didn't feel nearly so shivering-shaky today, though I didn't get a nap which is when I felt the shakiest so who knows. Still felt just as tired but bleh...

On schedules: Kid-2 is already doing choir and gymnastics. She wants to add Poms (cross between cheerleading and dance). And now she is going out for the school play. Do I let her do it all so long as she can keep up her grades and not seem too tired and stuff? Kid-1 is doing football and boy scouts - his schedule is way reduced this year and it seems weird. But he is also planning on helping with the play so we will see. Kid-3 is doing cub scouts, choir, gymnastics and baseball. But I don't think he'll be overloaded because those are all single night activities. And Kid-4 is doing gymnastics and cub scouts as well. I don't think he'll be overloaded but I have no intention of involving him in anything else at this point - he isn't even 7 yet!

On roommates: Baby-Mommy has pushed back the move-in date to mid-September. She has to be out by the 20th so we are looking at the 13th-14th of September. She is still trying to sell the couch and chair so that she can afford the storage unit for the rest. I am trying to sell Kid-3's loft and Kid-4's car bed to be able to get them a set of real bunkbeds. The set I really want is totally out of the question because of price but it is so cool! That's okay, they'll do fine with traditional bunks. In addition, I have the constant buzz of worry about cleaning up their rooms enough to even make the move.

On blogging: It's amazing how things change. I've never blogged for an audience before. Honestly, I still don't. I blog to work through things in my head or to put them down on 'paper' and shove them away from me into cyberspace. It still seems strange to me that people take the time and effort to come read my words. I feel honored - I'm not used to this kind of support. And I take it as a sign that I am doing that I am willing and able to keep being honest even though I know some people will reading it. A year ago (is that when? *scratches head* I shut down my blog and moved it here because someone I knew found it and I was afraid he had or would read it.

Some things don't change though. I go in spurts. I will go a week without saying anything and then put up 3 or 4 posts in a single day. Sometimes it's because I don't have the energy to post. Other times it's all about time. It's also been known to be because nothing has changed and I have nothing further to add. And sometimes it's because I just didn't want to. Then I will suddenly get on a spurt and start churning them out. My mind kicks back up and wants to evaluate, analyze and sometimes expel. And I'm okay with that. What can I say - I've never been known for sticking to a predictable schedule...

Shot Twice in the Back of the Head

I love saying it like that. It sounds so dramatic...

I went back to the neurologist today. Got the standard two occipital blocks. That should hold me for a few months. He also gave me a trial sample of a new migraine med, Treximet. As per usual, the shots aggravated an already bad headache into a hideous headache that then became a migraine. So I tried the new med, a bit skeptical. I've tried Imitrex before and unless I caught the headache during the aura and before the pain began, it wasn't effective. On the other hand, I normally take naproxen as my first line. So I gave it a try and I'll be darned if about 45 minutes later, my migraine eased off and about 15 minutes after that it was gone. I still have the tension headache and the pain from the injections but at least the little troll with the ice-pick at my temple went home.

So I asked about a chiropractor and he said to give the blocks a few days and see if that helps. If not,then I can look at other options. Bleh...

How Low Can You Go?

The lyrics from Grease's Hand Jive rattle around in my mind. Or maybe it's the Casper Slide. Either way, I feel like I am sinking ever lower. I feel like crying all the time. My head hurts and my heart aches. My eyelids feel heavy and I'm oh so tired all the time. What I would give to be able to curl up in my bed and stay there. I don't wanna do anything, except cry.

Everything just feels like too much. Baby-Mommy will be moving in this coming weekend. Hubby will be leaving at the end of October. There's also the schedule for this year - we're crazy busy as usual - how do I know whether I'm pushing them too hard or not hard enough or not holding them back hard enough or too hard?

No matter what I do, I can't seem to get or stay caught up on the housework. The laundry situation is humiliating and hopeless. And it's only going to get worse.

Money is a joke and it's about to get worse real quick as we house two more bodies and I have no idea what we'll do come November when the bottom drops out for a few weeks.

Plus, Kid-1's attitude and mouth are really getting to me. Then there's Mom. I'm torn - I want to be there for her but I simply don't have the energy so much of the time.

And I'm so tired. I'm tired of hurting all the time - my head, my knees, my back. I'm tired of feeling the wrong way about everything. I frustrate and worry those around me when I express how I really feel but they get upset when I shut them out. I just don't know how to change how I feel. I'm tired of hurting other people. Everything I think, everything I do, it's never quite what it needs to be.

Above all is the oppressive feeling that there is no way out of this. Nothing ever changes. And when things do go up, they always come right back down. The Shrink asked me once, a very long time ago, to describe 'my vision for a peaceful future' - that is the only piece of homework he has ever given me that I didn't do. Because I have no idea at all what that would be.

And I'm wondering if I'm going to find out again just how low I can go...

"We're trapped. There is no way out. They are coming." (Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, book two, in the mines of Moria)

Maybe I'm Not Depressed

Maybe this is who I really am. When Kid-1 is stable on his medications he is a totally different person than without it. Without his medications, Hubby is miserable and shares it. I know so many people who are returned to who they used to be by taking the proper medications.

But I don't know who I used to be. For as long as I can remember, I've fought with demons that are depressive symptoms. Maybe that's just who I am. Pessimistic, scared, lazy, tired, antisocial...

I feel like I am getting the message from all sides that if I just tried hard enough, I would be fine. Medication isn't the answer - it's all about changing my thoughts. I actually feel like taking these meds makes people think ill of me, not because it's stigmatizing in a 'omg - you're crazy!' kinda of way. But in a 'omg - you still believe in that quackery? just try harder!' kind of way.

But in reality, without these medications, I don't function too well. The Seroquel not only keeps things much more tame inside my head, it also keeps me out of psychosis - not 'you're psycho' psychosis but 'no, there really aren't guys in black cars trying to kidnap your children' psychosis. The Welbutrin seems to have lifted my mood from a 1 to a 4, which is saying something. And yet since I'm not 'poof all better' I am criticized for holding out hope that somewhere there is a cocktail of medications that will lift the heavy wet blanket from my soul enough for me to work through the issues in my life.

But...

Maybe that wet, heavy blanket isn't depression at all. Maybe that's just who I am. I mean, no one tries to medicate Eeyore or put him in therapy. Then again, Eeyore is happy being pessimistic. I'm not happy being miserable. My grandmother was one of those people who was happier when she was miserable. She had a bad attitude and no desire change it. I do want to change, but maybe there's no illness to treat, just a pain in the ass person.

Why bother? (Eeyore)

Keep an Eye on Your Husband

The Situation:
Baby-Mommy and Baby are moving in here at the end of the month. She lost her job and has no prospects for another. She's been needing to get rid of her boyfriend for a while now but even keeping him around she wouldn't have enough to make September's rent. So the boyfriend is moving out this weekend (having been totally blindsided by the break-up, though he shouldn't have been) and Baby-Mommy moves in next weekend.

The Backstory:
The year 2001 was very bad for me. I was having issues with anxiety and depression. My world fell to shit both in my personal life and in looking at the world around me.

In April I got pregnant with our long awaited 4th child. We had been trying since Kid-3 was one year old and I had already miscarried once. I promptly had a minor nervous breakdown. I was off work for about 6 weeks from various complications.

In June, a girl at our church ended up pregnant at 18 years old. She told everyone that the conception was... not consensual as she is a lesbian. (I have no judgement on that one way or the other.) The news caused her grandparents, with whom she lived, to kick her out of the house. She was due within a week of my due date. We took her in, trying to help and thinking it would be good for me to have someone around that was going through similar things as I was physically.

In July, the Andrea Yates tragedy happened and had a disproportionately devastating impact on me and my mental state. This was complicated by increasing problems with Kid-1's bipolar disorder, stress at work, and my husband beginning to act strangely.

In August, the girl staying with us suddenly started spending most of her time away from home without explanation. I was worried about her. By the end of the month she had stopped coming home practically at all, though she had not moved any of her stuff. She was refusing to return my phone calls and neither I nor Hubby could figure out what was going on.

At the very beginning of September, I learned, from a communication to Hubby from her, that she had left because they had slept together a few times and she felt too guilty to stay under my roof knowing what had happened. This was the day before my birthday. My husband had been having sex with an 18 year old lesbian who was 8 months pregnant in the room directly below mine while I slept upstairs. I was a little upset......

(2001 got worse from there, including 9/11, the premature birth of Kid-4 and subsequent NICU time, and my first complete psychotic break and subsequent hospitalization. But those aren't really relevant to this story.)

Today:
When I told The Shrink about Baby-Mommy coming to live with us, his reaction was to tell me to "keep and eye on [my] husband". I thought he meant because Hubby and Baby-Mommy do not completely get along. They each have rather negative opinions of the other that they had expressed to me but do not harp on. I thought he was referring to potential conflicts that could get ugly.

He meant exactly the opposite. He said that sometimes the not getting along is a case of 'methinks thou dost protest too much'. He has met Hubby on several occasions and he knows about most of Hubby's... 'liberal' behaviors regarding sex (both intra- and extra- marital). He also has heard me talk about Baby-Mommy to a large extent. And he thinks there is a real danger of something happening, at least a 50/50 chance. He advised me not to leave them alone. He said he hopes he is wrong but reminded me that he has never yet been wrong about anything major in my situation and it is better safe than sorry.

Now:
I can't stop thinking about it. I really don't think that Hubby would do that again. He nearly lost me over that, first because I nearly kicked him out and then because I was nearly lost to the mental illness that was made worse by his actions. Plus, he really doesn't like Baby-Mommy and I have never seen anything in his behavior or words to indicate that he is trying too hard to dislike her. And on top of that, I was refusing sex during that awful summer due to the complications with the baby and I'm not doing that right now.

I also can't bring myself to believe that Baby-Mommy would ever do anything to intentionally hurt me and, as she knows about the summer of 2001 (being one of the people to help me through it) she literally knows better. Plus she is coming out of a relationship she wishes she'd never been in and has, for the precise moment, sworn off guys in any form, let alone sex.

So I really want to believe that The Shrink, for once, is way off base. He said himself that this isn't a concrete prediction, just that he sees way too strong of a possibility to risk leaving them alone together. I want to think that I know my husband better than The Shrink does and same with Baby-Mommy.

Still... I can't stop thinking about it. I will certainly be hyper-vigilant about it. I will never leave them alone together. Yet even knowing the hyper-vigilance is in place, I can't stop worrying obsessively about it. It's like a migraine that won't go away, pounding at my skull and making all my senses overly sensitive. And, like my migraines, I can't seem to push the pain away.

I swear to god, if anything happens between them, I will not live through it. Even now, when nothing has happened and probably won't, the self-harm urges have completely gone through the roof. And this topic hurts too much to explain to anybody that it would be safe to explain it to, so I don't think I can make myself call anyone for help. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day.

Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here.
Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here.
Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here.
Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here.
Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here.
Please, God, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away from here.

Is This As Good As It's Going to Get?

I had my appointment with my med-shrink this afternoon. I try to have some idea of what I'm going to tell him before I get there so I was thinking about this as I drove to the appointment. I realized how much better I am doing than I have for a long time in the past.

I am not actively suicidal. The self-harm BS is down to non-scarring, minor issues. I am not in bed all the time. I am getting the kids where they need to go when they need to be there and taking care of them emotionally and making sure they have everything physically. I am even managing to participate in their activities to some degree. Dissociation is under control. I'm not at either extreme end of the eating spectrum. My sense of self-worth has increased a little. My adamant adherence to paralyzing levels of guilt and shame has lessened a little.

This is good! These are significant improvements. I've been working very hard to get here too. I've been taking my medications as prescribed. I've been working in therapy. I've been trying to change my thoughts. I've been pushing myself to improve behaviors. It is completely exhausting. But it's paying off. Things are better than they have been in about 2 years.

But... things still aren't good. I was thinking about where I'm at on the spectrum of various symptoms. Things are so much better but taken without the comparison of how they were, they are still pretty ugly.

I am tired all of the time yet can't stay asleep. I cry at the drop of a hat. I just don't care if things get done and indeed, a great many things are not getting done. I'm not even writing fiction anymore! Since March the only fiction I've written is a blurb for a round robin we're doing in the writing group I moderate and the only reason I managed to squeeze it out is because of all the people I would have let down if I hadn't. I am having concentration and memory problems. I do not have enough energy/motivation to make some of the lifestyle changes necessary for better health. Almost nothing is fun any more - the best I seem to do is degrees of bearable and is only done to keep from letting people down.

In fact, the only reason I'm not looking for a way out of this "life" is because I read about the irreversible damage it does to the kids left behind. My kids are literally the only thing keeping me going.

But things are so much better than they were. So I kept thinking that maybe this is the best I can hope for. Maybe it won't get any better than this and I should accept it and adapt. It could be that I should just be grateful for the amount of improvement I've done so far.

This was my thinking as I went in to talk to the med-shrink. It had a hefty undercurrent of Has he given up on me? and guilt over whether or not I should just be thankful for the improvement I've gotten and not badger him to work impossible miracles.

I considered chickening out and not bringing it up but when he commented how good I look, that I look the best he's seen me in years, I launched into my prepared speech. I told him that I am doing better now than I have been in years. I told him a few of the specifics (not all as he gets jumpy at the mention of some of them) and I told him that I've maintained this improvement for the past two months since I saw him. Then I paused and we looked at each other for a second. And I blurted it out.

"Is this as good as I'm going to get? Is this it? I've made so much progress but I'm still having problems. So... I guess I just want to know if this is the best I can expect to get. If it isn't, I just need to know."

Doc squirmed. When he squirms like that it means he doesn't like the question. Not necessarily that I won't like the answer or that he doesn't like the answer, more like he doesn't know how to answer or what I'm really asking. He leaned back and crossed his arms.

"I don't know how to answer a question like that because the answer isn't inside me it's inside you."

Great. He can't do anything - work harder in therapy. Let me guess - I'll only keep getting better if I really want to, meaning of course, that I'm not trying hard enough.

"All I can do is turn the question back around and reflect it to you. If, on a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being life is perfect and 1 is it isn't worth living, you rate yourself at a 7, I'm happy with that. If you put it at a 3 we still have work to do."

Not long ago I was indeed at that level 1 rating. But things really have improved. I would put things at a 4 right now. I told him that. I don't remember exactly what he said, only that I'm pretty sure it was a poor substitute for "damn" based on his body language and the look on his face. "You answered your own question then." And he started digging through my chart, reviewing the millions of things we have already tried. "Let's see if we can get you up to a 9."

He tried to reassure me a bit that he hadn't given up and that we just had work to do. But he's not too good at the reassurance thing. He's a great psychiatrist but his bedside manner leaves a little to be desired. Still, he sent me home with some Lexapro to add to my other meds and a lot more hope.

Please, God - let this work!

A Quick Note to my Friends

To everyone whose blogs I normally read and comment on...

I am not ignoring you and it's not that I don't care. Life has been crazy this week and I am working on a computer that is not my own. I am hoping to be back and functioning soon. In the meantime, I haven't been able to read many of your blogs and even those I have been able to get to I haven't had the chance to leave comments. I am thinking of you all and sending you best wishes.

Human After All

Today was the memorial service for my uncle. I have been thinking about him and about my memories of him. He was always such a funny guy with a sailor's mouth and a wicked sense of humor. I decided earlier this week that I think the squirmy feeling I have had around him in the past several years is kind of a 'guilt by association' thing: he was nice to me when I was a kid, had patience with me, played with me - just like the one who hurt me. I was still feeling badly for not feeling badly though. I mean, I loved him, a lot. And he's gone. And it didn't really bother me too much.

So I drove the three and a half hours to the area he lived in, the area where most of my mother's family is. And I met up with my mother and several other relatives just before we went to the service. And I was fine - until I went to get out of the car. Then I got hit by a wave of panic. (This despite a double-dose of my anxiety stuff to prevent this very thing.) So I shifted mental gears, got out of the car and was fine. We chatted for maybe 10 minutes before heading over to the church.

By the time we got to the church, I was calm again and back in front. I followed my dad into a parking space, looked to my left, saw my cousin (my uncle's youngest son) and... freaked out. Took me several minutes to convince myself to get out of the car. I ended up shifting gears a little stronger and practically watching from the sidelines. Then I got out, and followed my parents into the crowd of people who seemed to know me but who I couldn't place for the world.

I was scared. I was scared of all those people. They kept looking at me. So many of them are related to me but I don't know them. And half of them would say things like, "Oh you must be [my mother]'s daughter! You look just like her!" And I would be left trying to pretend I had a clue in the world who they were. In addition, I didn't know what to say to people. "Gee it sucks he's dead." just doesn't come off right. "I'm sorry for your loss." doesn't cover it. To my close relatives who I knew were most affected, I mostly said "How are you holding up?" and to everyone else it was generally "It's been so long since I've seen you. I wish it were under better circumstances."

Even so, while I was now upset, it wasn't because I was sad. I was just plain scared of the people. (They kept looking at me!)

Then we walked into the church. And I saw my uncle's granddaughters who lived with him and my aunt. And my stomach clenched up. And my heart did a little skippity-thump. And I felt like the air suddenly didn't have enough oxygen in it. Tears welled up behind my eyes.

He's dead. Uncle 'Jack' is dead.

And it all came into focus and became real. I felt sad. I felt the loss of a great man and a good uncle. I felt the pain of all the memories that wouldn't be made. I wasn't devastated and broken up and torn apart and unable to breathe/cope/think/whatever. But it wasn't just a dry fact anymore. My uncle is dead and I will never see the shit-filled twinkle in his eye or watch him pull another practical joke or flip the bird to the camera or make some smart-assed insult that is actually a compliment (and everyone knows it). Never again. My uncle is dead.

And I hugged my aunt and his children and some of my other aunts and cousins and their various children and spouses. I listened to the service. And I cried a little. And I laughed a lot. The service wasn't a pity party. It was in memory of him. At one point the pastor read a poem by one of his granddaughters and she says if he could see us now, he'd be pissed as hell at us for making such a big deal out of it and if he could, he'd come back cussing us out. People stood up and shared memories. There was a picture collage his daughter put together. The church was packed with standing room only. Even my grandma made it, which is a tremendously difficult thing to do (and was always done by him in the past).

It wasn't real for me until I got there. I thought about that on my way home. I was the same way when Hubby's grandmother died. She and I had been very close at the end. I'm the one who took her to the hospital that last time with Hubby's dad. But when she died, I didn't cry. I didn't feel much of anything. And I was furious with myself for it. But when I got to the viewing, I lost it. I broke down crying and didn't stop for a long time. When my grandma died, I was drunk as a skunk at a bachelorette party. I made Hubby take me over to my parents' house, where she died, so I could see her for myself. And I lost it immediately. I tried to convince her to eat the chocolate bar I had brought to her earlier that day. But once I sobered up, I felt blank. It just was. Until it came time for the viewing. And I lost it. I started crying and didn't stop for days.

Apparently this is just how I am. It doesn't really sink in until then. I'm not a callous, evil bitch for not getting upset. It just takes a little more than being told about it to make the death real. Uncle "Jack's" death is real now.

Rest in peace, Uncle Dick. 64 years is too short a time for this world to have you but I'm sure you're having a blast raising Hell in Heaven. I LOVE YOU!

Things I Remember:
- being tickled until I literally peed my pants
- homemade ice cream on the front porch and him trying to explain to me why we needed salt to make it when ice cream wasn't salty
- thinking his middle name was Cranium because my aunt called him Richard Cranium around us kids when he was causing trouble (which was always)
- falling asleep in his lap after Thanksgiving dinner
- his patience
- the twinkle in his eye that made it obvious he was up to (a good-natured) no good
- that he was always there for everyone no matter what they needed or how far away they were
- him telling me that eating watermelon seeds would make a watermelon grow in your tummy - when he knew my one aunt was pregnant... then telling me she had eaten watermelon seeds the next time I saw her and she was VERY pregnant
- rides on his shoulders
- hanging upside down from his arms
- watching truly awful old black and white westerns while visiting his house
- him treating my kids just like he treated me
- him disappearing at 5:30 in the morning the last weekend I stayed at their house (a little over a year and a half ago) only to return with milk, orange juice, donuts and a newspaper - for me
- that I loved him very very much

You're Starting to Sound Like Daddy!

Kid-1 fired this missile at me this morning. It hit hard for two reasons. First of all, it really says something about how he sees his father. I love Hubby dearly and he loves us too. But he sure has a temper. And it's rather fragile. It doesn't normally take much to set him off. Once he's pissed, all hell is going to break loose. He has a naturally loud voice and when he's mad it gets much louder. Then comes the word vomit. He goes off on a rant that would rival my mother though without as many insults. Heaven help the person who tries to stand up to this. Then he gets so mad that things may get physical.

I work with him all the time to try to curb this. When he's "in a mood" as we say around here, I will try to prevent the things that bother him and intercept him before he goes off on the children. I take responsibility for it and I take the heat for it. If I can't get in between him and the kids, I try to slow him down. This often backfires and I catch twice the hell he was dishing out to them but at least it's not raining down on the kids. And I have been known to flat out stop him in his tracks. I have yelled at him (yes, in front of the kids. Sorry, but he needed an intervention immediately) and once I even squared off against him before he could touch them when he was getting violent. Again, that doesn't end well but it ends with the kids safe.

I know this affects them. We talk about it afterwards and I try to reassure them that they are okay and that he is overreacting. They know that they can come to me to help head off something before it starts or to soothe hurt feelings afterwards. I know they are aware that this is just how Hubby is but that we are working to improve it. And yes, I know that there are times when they are frightened of him. (I am too at times!)

I just didn't realize how strongly they felt. Kid-1 said that to me while listing out the myriad of reasons why I obviously don't care about him. He told me that I am starting to scream all the time and that I am starting to sound like Hubby.

The last thing I want to do is hurt my children. And yet this accusation is a double-edged sword both because it highlights that Hubby's behavior hurts them more than I thought and because I am hurting them like that as well.

Logic tells me that it was just the angry ranting of a 13 year old boy who didn't get what he wanted. So he lashed out in any and every way he could think of. Which strongly implies exaggeration at least. And yet... I think there must be an element of truth in there, something for it to have sprung from.

And I do yell from time to time. Not as much as Hubby or my mother, but it has been more frequent recently. I blame it on stress, on lack of good sleep, and on chronic headaches (which are most likely all related to each other).

I remember a bad patch I went through a while back - right around the spring of 2000 I think. I was angry all the time and would go off on these blind rages where I (literally) saw red and had some massive word vomit going on. Right around the same time, I started getting treatment for my migraines. And almost as soon as I had the headaches under control, the anger issues dissipated. I hadn't realized how much the chronic pain was affecting my temper......

For the past 6 weeks I have had a near constant headache. They are tension headaches so my migraine meds don't help until the headache gets so bad it triggers a migraine. I'm sure they are stress related but I don't have any idea how to adequately reduce the stress without sacrificing things in my life that I am not willing to take away from my family.

Are these headaches contributing to the escalation in my yelling? If so, what do I do now? If I try to tell the neurologist about these tension headaches, is he simply going to tell me to reduce my stress? If I talk to The Shrink about my stress levels is he simply going to tell me to stop doing some of the things I'm doing? I don't see how I can back away from any of the things that stress me out.

More on stress later. The point is that Kid-1 really nailed me where it hurts. He told me that I am becoming that which I most fear. He gave me some serious food for thought and it's not comfort food...

Validation and Redemption

Today was much better than last week. The Shrink was even later this week - poor dude! He thought I was his first appointment, got there a little early to get some paperwork done and... yeah - he did have one before me. Oops. LOL However, he didn't seem ruffled or anything. We had an interesting little side-conversation about being Gods of our own little worlds, free will, destiny and ordering things as we wish.

Then we talked about my uncle's death and my lack of reaction. After hearing me out and asking a few questions, he basically reassured me that it's okay to feel however I feel and that I am having nothing but a normal reaction to the situation. We weren't close any more so it makes sense that I wasn't broken up about it. Since I don't seem to be doing the denial thing about his death, or avoiding it through dissociation or shutting off all of my feelings, he said there is nothing abnormal about how I feel. That was reassuring. I didn't really bring up the uncomfortable feelings I had been feeling around my uncle for the past several years. Honestly, I don't know why I didn't. Mostly because I couldn't figure out how to explain it, let alone provide an explanation for the feelings.

Once the topic had wound down, after he assured me I wasn't a freak for not feeling much about the death, we moved on to the next thing. I had been wondering why exactly it is that I get so scared of the possibility of me having good traits, strengths. I know they are there, but I don't want to look at them, think about them, talk about them or openly admit them. I treat my strengths like most people treat their flaws. (This is the Shadow concept Jungwent on about.) I asked him why, wanted him to explain it to me. He opened his mouth like he was going to tell me, then closed it and gave me his probing, "I'm trying to figure you out" look. Then he asked me if I really had no idea. grrr I explained that the only thing I can really come up with is how, when I was growing up, I would think I was doing something right (like being funny or smart or nice or whatever) only to find out quite unexpectedly that I wasn't doing it right at all.

At that point we digressed slightly and talked about whether I am a mostly good person with some flaws or a mostly flawed person with some good. (I think the latter, he the former.) We talked about how I am actually doing a heck of a lot better in that I will now admit that I do have some good in me whereas before I refused to see that and put all the responsibility for it onto other people. He tried again to convince me that I am good by having me tell him why I think I'm not. But he always dismisses me when I try to explain and we both end up frustrated. He always ends that conversation with the same assertion: I will never be able to convince him that I am not a good person. Flattering, I guess, but frustrating. He doesn't see the darkness that stains my soul or the evil thoughts that fill my head.

We steered the talk back to why I feel this way when "normal" people don't, why I am so terrified to look at my strengths. He was flipping through my chart, looking for something unspecified. He came to a sketch I did of the layout of the house I lived in when I was really young. I had drawn it while I was explaining to him that my parents' room was at the far end of the hallway from mine with my Uncle (who he still insists on referring to as Frog-Man. ggggrrrrr) in between us. And he said, "I think it all comes back around to this."

My Uncle twisted the truth into something horrifying. He made sure I believed that I am evil and that nothing will change that. This was reinforced by my mother whose unpredictable temper often caught me off-guard when I thought I was doing something good. It was further reinforced in school as I was oblivious to social norms and constantly teased and ostracized for violating standards I didn't know about. Even now there is a degree of uncertainty in my interactions with others as to how it will be received. Will it be good enough? Done correctly? Should it have been done at all? Sooner? Later? I have convinced myself, because that's what I was led to believe from the start, that I am not now (never have been and never will be) good enough. We closed with him going back to reinforcing that I've come a long way in believing better of myself and that he truly believes I am good.

As I was leaving, he followed me (as usual) and just before I stepped out the door he stopped me, gave me his "I'm sincere and this is important to me" look and asked me if I would try, this week, to go back to keeping track of the things I do right. I agreed and left. That one question had quite an effect though. Last week I felt like he was humoring me when I told him about doing that. I was all excited and proud of myself and it felt to me like he listened to what I said and moved on and that it wasn't any big deal, let alone an accomplishment that was quite difficult and counter-intuitive for me. But the look he gave me and the tone in his voice and the timing of the question kind of redeemed the idea in my mind. It must have been a valid thing to do and, as I had suspected but not been comfortable believing, he was just having a bad day last week.

All in all, a good week. Left me with a lot of things to think about (and probably many to blog about as well. I already have several topics I want to think through on "paper".)

Self-Disclosure (aka Jumping on the Band Wagon)

So one of my favorite blogs on my blog roll, Vicarious Therapy, was talking about disclosure. She referenced Dr. Shock's post on the same topic. I read them both and found myself thinking about the topic in some depth.

It's ironic. For as much as I fear people and dealing with them under most circumstances, I want to know all about them. I want to know why they act the way they act, what they think about and why. I suppose I could be called a gossip in that I love to listen about anything and everything to do with other people's lives, especially the behind-the-scenes stuff. Though unlike most gossips, I don't like to spread what I hear and certainly have no malicious intent. I just want to know. Everything. I'm sure that colors my perspective on this subject...

When it comes to disclosure, more is better to my mind. I want to know it. But I recognize times when it is less than helpful. I also recognize when it is practically vital. But it can't be an easy call to make for the practitioner.

Aqua talked about the information her pdoc shared with her about his health. His health directly impacts her therapy process in both an objective (cancelled appointments and necessary contingency plans) and a subjective (obviously not feeling well, potential for feelings of abandonment and betrayal) way. So it would have been a poor judgment call to withhold that information.

I had a similar (on a MUCH smaller scale) situation with my psychiatrist. He cancelled an appointment on me at probably the single most inopportune time possible. I was in an extremely fragile state of mind, under tremendous stress and slightly psychotic. When I got the cancellation message, I could only assume it was for one of a couple of worst-case scenarios: he was golfing with his buddies, he hates me so much he didn't feel like dealing with me, or he was dying in a hospital somewhere. (Did I mention that I get a melodramatic when I'm psychotic - more so than usual?) I was fit to be tied. I was trying to figure out where I could get another psychiatrist that could monitor my VNS implant and that my insurance would accept. But when I called his office back, the receptionist told me that he had gone in for an emergency root canal. (OUCH!! Been there, done that - cancel everything! Those suck.) And that smoothed over my worries about why he had cancelled. If no explanation had been forthcoming, I likely would have continued to assume the worst to the point that I accepted it as fact. (I do that when I get psychotic - things I imagine become, in my mind, things that actually happened.) And I would have bailed. Score one for self-disclosure!

On the other hand...

The Shrink and I got into a discussion once about The Flying Spaghetti Monster and it came out in the discussion that he holds some very different religious beliefs than I do. Now he wasn't pushy or judgmental or preachy or disrespectful in any way. And it was practically an off-the-clock discussion - you know, the kind that occur as you are walking out the door at the end of the appointment and that contain no therapeutic value at all. But because of my past history of clashes with people from other religions condemning me for my beliefs, his views made an impression on me. The net result is that I have not brought up any of the confusion I have about my spirituality or the longing I have for the church I grew up in. I haven't deliberately withheld information or gone into my Artful Dodger routine to keep from talking about it, but I have purposely not steered the conversation that direction to address those concerns, because I know his religion is so very different from mine. And this is despite the fact that I am proof positive that he would not judge me or condemn me or lecture me or pressure me or anything other than support me in such a conversation. It is just that the issue of spirituality is a sore spot for me and, in keeping with my zero-conflict tendencies, I haven't been comfortable talking about it now. Self-disclosure takes a hit - ooo, that one packed a punch, Ladies and Gentlemen!

Flipping back to the other side, I often get bits of self-disclosure from our family pediatrician. We have a very close working relationship with her as we have been with her from the very start for both of us. My oldest son, who is about to turn 13, was the very first newborn in her practice. She has seen us through ups and downs and sideways and diagonally-s from bipolar hospitalizations to broken arms to well-baby visits and sports physicals. We adore her and have generally followed the major events of her life... changing practices, new partners, marriage, moving, and two kids. So last month I had Kid-3 into her office to discuss (read: beg for help about) his encopresis. Things had gone poorly at the specialist and for a variety of reasons, we would not be able to return to him but things were getting worse with Kid-3. The Pediatrician (who is officially my idol!) listened and examined and discussed and planned, including me all the way. I felt much more comfortable and more in control. Then she mentions that her son takes the same medicine she is recommending for Kid-3 (Miralax, btw - it's a wonder drug!) for the exact same problem Kid-3 has! Relief flooded my mind. If even our wonderful pediatrician has this problem with her son, this is highly unlikely to be my fault for being a bad mommy. AND... her son is doing wonderfully on it.Wow! TG... Ladies and GentleHobbits, self-disclosure us rallying with a vengeance.

Back to self-disclosure from The Shrink... I get little pieces of information from him frequently. Nothing huge, just tidbits. His son is into acting, singing and writing, much like my daughter is (and in a limited way I am) so we swapped stories about supporting vs pushing and helping vs crushing. His youngest two kids fight in much the same way as my youngest two do. He read that Stephen King book and liked this part for this reason (which miraculously tied into the point he was trying to make at the time! LOL) All those little things he tells me strengthens my feeling of trust with him. It makes me feel like even successful people have little issues. And when he relates something he's done to something I've done, sometimes it's easier to be objective about it. Of course, The Shrink, when he chooses to share like that, is short and to the point and with few details - it's not all about him. Ding! Ding! Ding! Another point to self-disclosure!

On the other hand, my infinite curiosity, especially regarding people I care about, tends to leave me wanting more. I hoard the bits of information he has shared, using them to fill in my mental picture of him. I don't deal too well with one or even two dimensional people. No one is like that - everyone is complex and layered. Sometimes it's just a matter of discovering the layers underneath. The Shrink puts forth his best foot in nearly all of his stories, leaving me wondering where his faults lie. The day I overheard him talking with a colleague in the hallway (DUDE! It echoes! Keep your voice down! LOL) expressing some pretty strong self-doubt over something unidentified, was a gold star day in my book. The Shrink is human after all. (And the crowd goes wild!) The point is, when he gives an inch, I want a mile. I completely respect boundaries so I don't push it or pry for details or look for ways to get him talking about himself, but I do crave the knowledge. I would have to put this on the "cons" side of the board for self-disclosure, though barely.

All in all, from my point of view, I favor selective self-disclosure. I love hearing anything and everything my doctors want to share. I like working with people, not with Robot MDs. I don't want to take up other people's time though. And I don't want them to share anything too personal or that makes them feel awkward. And they better be careful about sharing belief systems because, with my zero-conflict people-pleasing tendencies, I will worry if mine don't match theirs.

This, of course, is just from my point of view and I neither think nor expect that this holds true for other patients. I say again, I don't envy doctors who must decide such things on the fly.

Shameful Ambivalence

My uncle is dying. He lives almost 4 hours away. We aren't close anymore. When I was little, he was the best part of family gatherings. He was fun and playful. He'd chase me around and tickle me. He had a pet name for me, very similar to one I'd rather not think about. But he made me giggle. He thought my antics were funny. There is one family story that people love to tell...

(I'm going to call my uncle "Jack" for the purposes of this story. That's not his name but I need a name to tell the story properly.)

I was about three years old and Uncle "Jack" had taken me to McDonald's. Upon returning from the bathroom, I shouted, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear, "MONSTER JACK! I POOPED!! Apparently the restaurant found it amusing as most everyone laughed. Including my uncle who found the whole thing hysterical and has never let me live it down, but in a good way.

My memories of him are good. Tickling me, laughing at me, not hating me... None of my memories of him are bad. I know some stuff about him; he's not an angel, that's for sure. He's an alcoholic and a redneck. He's not the brightest bulb in the strand. He's a bit coarse and a bit crass. But all I remember is good.

So why am I not upset at the news of his impending death? A week, maybe a month... and he's in an unbearable amount of pain. I'm concerned and I feel bad for him and all his loved ones. But I feel no connection to his death. It's just a name, a fact.

In fact, whenever I try to attach an emotion to him, all I get is a vague uneasiness. Something feels uncomfortable and somehow wrong. It's like when you are playing an instrument and hit a flat note in a chord: not as harsh and painful as a sharp note but it just doesn't sound right. Whenever I think of Uncle "Jack" as he might be connected to me - I feel awkward.

It's been this way for years, this confusing agitation. So it isn't some kind of defense against feeling pain from his impending death. I just don't understand it. Where is this disquiet coming from? All my memories of him are good.

What's wrong with me??? Why am I not broken up or at least sad? Why do I feel so weird about him?

-------------------------------------------------------
***UPDATE***
Monday, August 11, 2008 9:26 AM
And he's gone. Just like that. Less than 12 hours after I found out he is dying from cancer, he is gone. Even now, there are no emotions attached. It just is.

The Me I'm Not

Inside of me is someone I'm not. She is very active, being especially fond of jogging, bicycle riding and rock climbing. She is cheerful and enthusiastic, curious and outgoing, energetic and optimistic. She is not depressed, nor is she manic. In fact, she doesn't really understand the whole depression thing. When she looks in the mirror, she can't figure out who the overweight, middle-aged, out of shape, depressed loser is that stares back at her.

How do I reconcile these vastly different desires? Is there a compromise? Even if I had the energy, how do I overcome the rest of the barriers, especially the physical ones?

I have a million and one excuses for not listening to that me that I'm not. And while I recognize that they are excuses, nonetheless I don't know how to overcome them.

My #1 excuse for not bike riding: I don't have a bike and I wouldn't be caught dead on Kid-2's bike. (Pretty good reason, there.)

My excuse for not rock climbing is pretty solid, too. No place, no money, no skill, no strength and bad knees.

Jogging is a bit more complicated. Yes, I have bad knees and jogging isn't exactly the best activity to do with bad knees. But that's not what fazes me. There are two main barriers (apart from the energy/motivation/depression stuff that applies to everything in my life *sigh*). The first is where? I don't want to jog in the neighborhood - not with this body! HUMILIATION!!

The other is time. Even if I found a place where I could jog without embarrassing myself beyond recovery, and I could afford to go there, when would I do it? Right now it's all kids all day every day. Once school starts, I'll have about six weeks of mornings free until Baby-Mommy gets rid of Baby-Mommy's-Boyfriend. At that point, I will have Baby from 7:30 in the morning until 8 at night Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday and sporadically on Saturdays. Come October 26, it's all me all the time for our household. So when, exactly, am I supposed to do this???

So, for the foreseeable future, the me that I'm not will have to keep looking out through the eyes of the me that I am and live her adventures in her imagination. She is none too pleased with it, but c'est la vie......

What Goes Up...

Must (and does) come down.

Last week after therapy, I felt so good, so empowered. I had a plan that I could stick to. Hopeful, optimistic, even excited - all these words described me. I held onto that feeling all day Wednesday, all day Thursday, all day Friday. I did okay Saturday and Sunday. Monday I slipped - a lot - and turned "the reins" over to someone else to handle it for me. That went well, no one the wiser, and I managed to come out of the evening feeling good still. Tuesday - yeah, well, I kept my chin up well enough for appearances sake but the buzz was gone.

Wednesday I went back to therapy. I brought The Shrink a present. Now, announcing to The Shrink that I have a present for him is a sure-fire way to make him instantly nervous. It's that whole "no gifts" dynamic - it sets most shrinks on edge because it's awkward and sensitive. They don't wanna hurt anyone's feelings but it's really a breech of ethics and all that. I know my Shrink. I know how to make him nervous and how to get him to relax again.

But his day hadn't started out too good. His first appointment came late AND ran over - then wouldn't leave. We were 25 minutes late getting started. As he walked in the room, he looked tired already and it wasn't even 9:30. Maybe I'm projecting or transference-ing or some other nice Freudian term, but my guess is that wasn't the first thing that went wrong that morning. But he took a couple breaths, came in and closed the door and seemed okay.

So I did my "I have a present for you." Sure enough, he tensed, looked slightly dodgy and pointedly didn't sit down. He froze. Instead of dangling him along, I explained. (The twitchy look in his eyes made me nervous.) I had burned a "Feel Better Mix" for Baby-Mommy and thought he'd like the songs too. If not the songs, at least the lyrics. These songs really hit the spot when things are so dark that there doesn't seem to be a way out. Again, predictably, he relaxed immediately. I bring him song lyrics all the time.

So we talked songs and genres for a little bit. (Did you know that "acid rock" is now called "death metal" and that it comes in Christian varieties? Weird...) Then I told him about my campaign to keep track of good things instead of bad things. I was excited. I was proud. And yes, I was approval-seeking. *sigh* But The Shrink was only mildly pleased. It was as if it wasn't any big deal. When I commented how well it worked, he said almost nothing. When I then commented that it was very difficult and rather exhausting, he told me that after 90 days of it, it wouldn't be. In under 5 minutes, he had changed the subject.

As if I didn't feel deflated enough, I made the mistake of being a little too honest in response to his standard probing. Self-harm? No. Urges? Intense. How intense? Used my list - but it worked. Lost time? Not too bad. How bad? Nothing unplanned.

And then it blew up in my face. And I should have known better. My Voices are my own. There are a grand total of 4 people in my life who know about them. Only one accepts them. And it isn't The Shrink. I guess I thought he would understand my co-ordinating with The SV to help me with situations I can't handle on my own. I was wrong. He wants all me all the time. He doesn't know what he's asking.

I left feeling defeated and beaten down. I know I shouldn't be seeking his approval. I don't need him to pat me on the head and give me a gold star in order to know I did good. I also know how he feels about The SV. Maybe he's right. Maybe he's not. Maybe he was just having a bad day and I took it wrong. I don't know.

Why did I tell him the truth?! No one understands how this works. Even I don't fully get it. But I know who I can trust and who I can't. I don't understand why I can't let those more capable handle situations that I can't. So long as it's controlled, why is that bad?

When I was much younger and I told people that I thought in Voices, they either thought I was crazy or blew me off. When I explained it that they are just how I think, in different Voices, they would back off. Instinctually I never told the psychiatrists. During my first major break, after Kid-4 was born, I did tell them. They couldn't decide if I was schizophrenic or psychotic. They opted for psychotic and drugged me into a blind stupor. For the first time in my memory, I didn't hear The SV.

It was AW-FUL!!

And it didn't stop them. I just didn't hear the warning signs. Time went on and things got worse. The bad guys started to win. I told a few people what was happening and by and large they didn't believe me. Hubby saw first hand. My Guardian Angel "saw" them. Baby-Mommy believes me based on what Hubby says, what I said and the circumstances of things that have happened. I don't think she's actually seen any of them, or realized what she saw at least. My mother I think already knew, though she never put a name to it.

Then The Shrink saw one too many things and Hubby told him a few others. And he confronted me and I admitted it and we talked briefly about The SV. He reacted very old school. (Though not so far back in old school as to accuse me of faking which was my biggest fear.) But he wants them gone.

I've been dodging him about it ever since, denying their existence, playing up the subtle points that make it sound like I don't like or want them, even as juvenile as changing the subject. Every so often I probe to see if he still wants to kill off The SV. Apparently, he does. Maybe he is right and I should have only one Voice in my head, should be present and conscious even of things that nearly destroy me, should exist in a much more 2-dimensional world than I currently live in. That is certainly popular opinion. No SV, just me - as if I am not one of them.

If even my own Shrink, whom I love and trust and rely on (probably more than I should) cannot accept me with them as an integral part of me, I certainly can't expect anyone else to. I am tempted to plead the adage that people fear that which they do not understand. But people fear evil too and with good reason. Maybe I am evil and just don't want to take responsibility for it.

Darkness falls over Camelot.

Prompt: A Picture Worth a Thousand Words

PROMPT: Find a favorite picture. Write about how it makes you feel and what you like about it. Describe the picture.



I took this picture myself in a stretch of countryside about 2 miles from my home. The tree looks dead, doesn't it? It's just this stark dead husk in a barren landscape of dirt and frost. In places it has been broken down by life - see the branch towards the top that has been torn right off? There is an old fence around it, also battered down by life. At one time it may have protected the tree but now it is just a relic itself. The sky is a dull, sullen grey with nothing to break its endless existence. All in all, it's a pretty bleak picture.

But...

In the summer this tree explodes with green leaves. The field behind it grows tall, strong corn. Birds frequent the tree. The sky is that brilliant blue that only the sky can be and the air is crisp and clean and fragrant. This little spot becomes the picture of summer life and beauty. It thrives!

The whole reason I chose this picture is that I feel it could be a symbol of me. The tree in this picture was obviously once strong and beautiful or it wouldn't be the height and breadth that is it. Right now it seems barren, dead, abandoned and depressing. But a lot of that is the light in which it is portrayed. The harsh black and white view of things makes for a stunning picture but it is neither accurate nor reassuring. And finally, I cling to the belief that my summer will come again. My fields will grow nourishment for my life and that of others, I will grow and reach up and out in new life and new growth and attain new heights. And life will be full of color and joy again.

Achmed the Dead Terrorist

A little levity in a dark world. This is a trip... It's Achmed the Dead Terrorist and it's this dude with a skeleton puppet. Guy's name is Jeff Dunham. Funny stuff...