. Spiraling Vicariously .

Let me preface this by saying I know I am far, far from perfect. I have triggers that cause irrational responses to negative stimuli, but only after repeated instances and lack of respect. I have learned, practiced, and instilled the art of reflection, processing, and establishing my boundaries around those triggers. This week I am finding myself trying to stay afloat in others mental chaos.

Scenario One: One housemate is unmedicated Bipolar II; I shall call her Princess. She actually seems proud of the fact that she’s not taking her medications and in a serious rapid spiraling with a heavy lean on angry, negative, violent mania. She uses it as a crutch to treat everyone around her like shit, and gloats about it. Everyone who is around her allows her to do this. She makes threats of stabbing, hurting, or attacking and people bend at her will. Her words, actions, behaviors are very  C-PTSD triggering. “Worst decision I made was helping you out.” . . . . She can’t even help herself.

Same housemate will drop an opinion on you, but when you try to discuss another view point, she freaks out. If you’re going to come at me with a harsh opinion on something, you have to be open to a rebuttal or opposing opinion. Conversation is not ALL in your hands. If you don’t want a response, think twice before stating something. Instead I’m met with, “You better watch what you say, remember last time you said something.” And, “blah blah blah. This conversation is over.” Who does that? You don’t rule my world, the world,
only yours.

Scenario Two: Homeowner/Landlord. She’s constantly in pain due to her Fibromyalgia. But again, it’s a crutch to detach and not give a rat’s ass about her home, her pets, or herself. I’ve tried, calming and rationally, to ask her to establish rules and boundaries in the house that regulate the crazy housemate 1 is causing. I’ve been met with a “Martyr / “Woe is me” Eeyore attitude. She refuses to put stipulations down to prevent the aggressive threats of bodily harm from housemate 1. I’m not too sure what it is, but she’d rather go off on me in a way warped manner than to nip the shit in the bud.

I’ve been pushed to my limit; over my limit. I’ve asked politely and have been met with a shitty response. Some of the basic quotes from tonight’s blowout:

Landlord: “I’m most likely going to die in a week.”
Me: “No. You’re just in pain.”
Landlord: “Oh that’s right, you’re so much smarter and know everything” (insert tears here).

Landlord: “You’re killing me. Right now, you’re killing me.”
Me: That’s a bit much.
Landlord: “I’m on the verge of suicide, and you’re killing me.”

Landlord: “That’s fine. Whatever. You’re not going to pay me anyways. “
Me: Excuse me? IF anything, I have always communicated funds, been open, and have paid you FIRST and foremost of anyone I owe.
Landlord: “Whatever. I don’t care about any of this. I just want your money.”
Me: Okay. You just want my money. Okay. I want a safe home to come home to.

I’m killing her because I’m asking her not to be passive aggressive in regards to house chores, and actually address the issue at hand. Princess brings days worth of dishes up from her room and dumps them into the sink. She doesn’t do her own dishes, expects everyone else to do everything for her. Landlord does dishes and sends me a nasty passive aggressive message about doing dishes. Um. I DO my dishes. I even CONTRIBUTE to the house with dish soap, sponges, etc.  But no, she won’t say anything to Princess, nope. There’s really an unhealthy disconnect with these two; which makes them great housemates for each other. It’s a weird symbiotic relationship. It’s the blind leading the deaf. It’s unhealthy.

I also have the right as an adult and human being to express my discomfort. I pay rent. This is supposed to be a safe place. It’s not ATTACKING another if you request a meeting to discuss calmly the concerns you have. You escalated way before I could even fathom doing so. 

So, what do all the triggery issues do to me? A lot, from mental to emotional to physical.

First, I start to panic inside. I immediately go to a doom spot. My actions to prevent that, speak out about my concerns. When those concerns are neither heard or rectified, I go very internal.

When I go internal, I literally feel like my physiological self is trapped in a box and it starts to lash out trying to break out. I get IBS, headaches, inability to sleep. I get super depressed. I begin to question everything; my movements, my thoughts, am I bothering anyone.

As I descend into the depression, I find myself pushing. Pushing people, pushing buttons, pushing away. I give things away. I delete friends from contacts or social media. I’d rather push you away than get into a place where anxiety and fear open the doors for hurt and disappointment.

Finally, I become the very person I’m trying set boundaries around. I get aggressive, argumentative, and angry. I get passive aggressive. I push everyone that I respect away. I find reasons to snip, growl and attack. I’m constantly on edge. I also start believing the voices in my head that tells me the world would be better off without me.

Essentially, I on a mental spiral that makes me feel out of control. It’s the weirdest sensation. I can rationally see myself spiraling, but can’t stop. It’s like, tripping on your shoelace on the stairs, seeing the tumbling ahead of you, but nothing to grasp to steady your gait. I need to be in a place that I feel safe and in control. I need to be in a place where I feel respected and heard.

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. Behind the Mask .

 

Walking into my office at work, you’d make quick observations of me:
1. “She’s really a fat woman.”
2. “Damn, she’s happy though.” or “Look at her chair dancing away!”
3. “She knows her shit.”

If you’re privy to become apart of my tribe, you’d meld your observations into formed opinions:
1. “She’s a strong woman.”
2. “She’s got a great personality.”
3. “She’s a loyal friend.”

All of these are various masks that I wear on the outside; which is exhausting to maintain during sun up to sun down. I literally have to put cognitive thought into making, “…happy” around me. It’s not a natural part of my being. This is what High Functioning Depression, or Dysthymia, looks likes on me.

As a fly on the all in my secure and safe abode, you would observe a radically different woman. I sit and stare, a lot, at nothing really. The television is usually on in the background, running some blathering show about something. I am surrounded by blank canvas, acrylics, and books; so many avenues of creativity, but lacking one major thing. Ooomph.

I don’t know how to properly describe what it is: Drive? I mean, I have inspiration. I have imagination. I sit here and think about all these interesting things to paint and create. I think about the process of thought to fruition. But it’s that initial start that I cannot muster. This is what high functioning depression does to me.

See that pile of laundry? I know I should do it. I know that my vacation ends today, and my work starts again tomorrow. I stare, endlessly, at that pile of laundry. But, putting my foot onto the floor and taking that first step towards finishing this goal is nil in void. This is what high functioning depression does to me.

I sit at the edge of my bed. I stare mindlessly at the room in front of me. I barely acknowledge my pugs snuggled warmly behind me. I rationally take in the aspects of my life I am very thankful for: Roof over my head, food in my belly, secure employment, insurance, etc. But I cannot find “joy” in the finer things in life. The best way to describe it is numb. I KNOW on a articulate, mental level that I shouldn’t be this dissonant. This, however, is exactly what high functioning depression does to me.

There are ample things I want to do with my day, weekend, or life. I have a bucket list  of things I desire to complete before death. I think about these things everyday. I pull out my computer to pick up and write in the novel I have started. I find myself an hour later having divided my time between facebook, games, and nothing… absolutely nothing. It is not laziness. It’s not lack of motivation. It’s just a weird lack of everything. THIS is what high functioning depression does to me.

So, I may be a happy gal when we meet. I may seem like I’m an embodiment of strength. I may seem to “have my shit together”. . . but I’m numb all the time. I lack a drive to write, eat, speak. It’s taken me four days to write this blog, from start to finish. I start, and give up within minutes of opening the WordPress app.

Please, if there is anyone in your life who “…seems normal” but is suffering depression, please just be there for them. Offer to do small steps with them. Encourage them, don’t chastise them. Listen to them, don’t just hear them. Because, High Functioning Depression is very debilitating. It is very real. Medications help, but don’t cure. They add to the numbing effects of life.

. Such a Funk .

I need to find my way back; stuck in a funk that has influenced so many aspects of my life. I take this negative, unhealthy, toxic vibe from work home with me. I feel unheard, dismissed, and devalued. After two conversations today, I realized that there is a faded path that can, and will, lead me back. Two conversations that delivered two weed whacking weapons that will help clear that overgrown path to mental clarity. 

First conversation was with my sister; my younger sister who has more life experience that I could ever fathom having. She made a very strong point when helping me digest and process the events at work today. One thing she noticed about me and this job, was that of my love and gratitude for my coworkers. The last time I posted my #6915495 reasons for loving my job and coworkers was in July 2017. I can actually start documenting from that point forward when my gratitude began to slip into dissatisfaction. 

 

Last Received

Example

First time

Second conversation was with a very trusted co-worker who is able to tell it to me how it is; no sugar coating. I have a ton of respect for this approach. She’s also a woman who is not afraid to stand behind and let you figure it out yourself. Women who help, guide, and stay supportive are truly a value. She brought to my attention today, that November is “National Gratitude Month.” 
OH Snap….Gratitude Month.. and I plum forgot on my Gratitude Blog. She has patiently listened to me as I worked through the best way to deal with this trial at work. She’s offered advice when needed. She’s also has said nothing at all when she knows that’s what I needed most. Mere words cannot describe the respect, gratitude, and admiration I have in her. She is a mentor; a guardian angel.

I firmly believe that the way back to a positive vibe and zen in the office, is through the recognition and application of gratitude in my daily life. As the overgrown path becomes visible before me,  I will use my heart, wit, and positive attitude to cut down the toxic weeds of negativity. I will no longer focus on each moment of trite, snippy, aggressive comments. I will not allow it to take up space in my head before, during, or after work. 

Again, this is no a reflection of me. I will no longer brow beat myself into a bloody, blubbery pulp wondering what I could have done different. Even if the stars were aligned perfectly, and mercury wasn’t in a pmsy retrograde, her attitude won’t be any different. This is on her. I will no longer allow her shitty outlook on everything umbrella our office, cutting off the sunlight. This is on her. Let HER live a negative existence. But, alas, I digress. This blog wasn’t to rehash or ruminate over the wrong doings. It’s meant to focus on the positive. 

Today, coming late into the game, I am thankful for the heart and ears of two strong women in my life. Thank you for the perspective you both gave, from two varying directions, that pushed my mind back onto my path. Pebbles found on this path are gratitude, forgiveness, positivity, mindfulness, and accountability.

. Be Impeccable .

A. “Find joy in everything you choose to do. Every job, relationship, home… it’s your responsibility to love it, or change it.” – chuck Palahniuk.
B. “Watch out for the joy stealers: Gossip, Criticism, Complaining, Faultfinding, and a Negative, Judgmental Attitude!” Joyce Mayer
C. “If  you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.” Maya Angelou
D. If it no longer works for you, then leave. It’s never worth staying at a job that makes you miserable and doesn’t help you become a better person. 

Be impeccable. This is the sage words of advice given to me by my significant other. This has been is chant since I started sharing with him the troubles I’m having at work. It started about 8 months ago. It really isn’t anything that should be major, but it definitely has become so. It’s learning to navigate in a shared office with someone who isn’t the most cheerful person. I have no clue how to steer this ship through the thick, murky air that’s been created.

I can respect the fact that people have bad days, or wake up on the wrong side of the bed. I can even respect the whole, “Hell, I don’t want to be here today.” WE ALL have those days; I have those days. But, when it has become a daily occurrence, combined with a negative personality, I just cave. I do not have the tools in my life box to work and manage this on my own. I have no clue how to do any of the suggestions I’ve found on numerous websites.

I have become very much triggered. My C-PTSD is off the charts right now. I have been sick. When I get overly stressed, it tends to affect me from the inside out. I am antsy, anxious, and super angry. I am shaky. My blood sugars have been off; in the high range.  I’ve developed massive heartburn. I’m not sleeping, and when I do, it’s very light non-REM sleep. I cry on my way home. I am so exhausted and spent when I do get home, I feed the dogs, potty the dogs, and tend to go to sleep.

I have to mantra on my way to work, “This is not a reflection of you. This does not dictate your work ethic. You be you, you do you. Stay true to you.” Literally, every day on my way to work. This truly isn’t a reflection of me. Remembering that in the heat of the issue has been really hard to grasp and hang on to. I start out my mornings strong. “You be you..” I am, daily.

I find joy every chance I get. I find joy in my coworkers. I find that my dry humor and quick wit is actually well received and returned with grins, giggles, and legitimate friendships. It has taken a LIFETIME, in a career sense, to find this. This IS my home. I don’t care if it’s just a simple Administrative position. I’m at that age where work ethic, a great atmosphere, and coworkers are more important that advancement, achievements, and a paycheck. (Granted, as long as wages match the cost of living here, lol, I’m totally content.) 

Joy and Gratitude (Hence the blog name) are really the major components that drive my life. I had a shitty childhood with a severe lack of joy. I had a shitty young adult life, with the only joy being my son. I’ve had a hard time finding, acknowledging, and reveling in the joy I have manifested in my own life. I MANIFESTED. I didn’t wait for it to find me, I fought tooth and nail to acquire exactly what I want and need to live successfully. I have changed every aspect of my life to love it fully.

 

I have learned the art of self awareness. I have the strength to set and hold boundaries. I am able to watch for the joy stealers; complaining, criticism, and negative judgmental attitudes. So much, in fact, I have cut my number one negative person out of my life – my mom.

How does one do it when it’s at work? I do not have the ability to control the whole environment. I can only control my little space around my desk, and unfortunately, I share an office. This person I share the office with is one of those that is described above: Joy Stealer. I’m not attacking this person. I’m stating a fact. This person is super

 unhappy with their life, thus makes everyone around suffer the negativity as well. I try, on a daily basis, to overcome the negativity.

Frankly,  2 o’clock hits, and so does the headache. This headache lingers until I get home around 6-630p. Headache brings heartburn, brings shakes. I’m exhausted. I start to shut down. I have no fight and my force shield starts to drop. I can only control my reaction, and I’m failing at keeping it up and strong. I know that if it’s something I cannot change, then I can control my attitude towards it. 

I approached this person a few months ago. I had an open, candid conversation. Things started to get better. It was observed by other co-workers. The office energy had began to grow positive, thrive even. Something shifted. Then, I let my guard down, came to work without my mantras. I was not even focusing on hope or prayer that it will be breathable, something shifted yet again. 

I am back to being completely at a loss. So lost in fact, I’ve become the very behavior I’m frustrated with: volatile, hostile, irritable, cranky, and brash. I’ve become a face with a scowl, standoffish demeanor, and unapproachable persona. All the things I strive NOT to become. It’s like the negative energy has been so thick and suffocating, it’s pulled me in. I have to become the energy to survive within the energy. THIS IS NOT ME. I hate this. I don’t know if I am more frustrated with the fact that this has been a concern of mine for about seven months now. Or, if I am more frustrated because I allowed it to control my outcomes. I am not a hostile person. I cringe at the thought that I can be.

I am trying to figure out how and where to go from here. I’ll be damned if I leave this position. This isn’t a job or a paycheck, this is a new found family for me. I’m invested in those around me, and care sincerely about the happenings in their lives: births, weddings, deaths, birthdays, everything. I will not be pushed out, even if that’s not the intent from this other person. I know me well enough that I don’t fight, I walk away. I refuse to walk away. 

The struggle in that is that I am back to only being able to control myself. I have read every freaking “Toxic work environment” self help website I can find. I have listened to various TED talks. I can only control so much around me, and can only control my own reactions. How does one person actually thrive while slowly being squished? I am worn out. I am so freaking tired. I’m at a loss and unsure how to process and proceed.

* I want to be there. This office mate has made it very clear that they do not; job searching, submitting resumes’, and taking interview calls.
* I want to try to make this work, which I have on a daily basis. I have extended the olive branch. I have reached out. * I have asked if there was a way to rectify it directly with this person.
* I have asked for guidance from supervisor(s). I have received great input, positive options, viable solutions. I have tried to initiate these options. It was received once by them, and only to be dismissed shortly after.
* I hate feeling like I am walking on egg shells, and this is where the PTSD kicks in. I feel exactly how I did when I came come to my abuser, I didn’t know what mood mask he would be wearing and how it will affect my night. I feel this way going into work. I don’t know what mood mask this office mate will be wearing, and how it will affect my day.
* I have tools in my emotional tool box to try to work through it: headphones, support from coworkers, support from my boyfriend.
* I am a 41 year old woman dealing with the office drama of a 20+ something. 

I have hope that this is salvageable. I know that I am an asset. I’ve been reassured that this is very much so. I know my work, work ethic, and my standing. I know that I contribute to the organization in a strong, sturdy, manner. I know that my coworkers can and do count on me. I am able to communicate my needs, concerns, and wants. I can get through this, as I am strong, intelligent, and experienced. I know that the only way through this is with patience and compassion. I needed to write this out, so formulate my thoughts, so that I can see the root cause. I needed to remind myself of patience and compassion. I need to get back to a place of mindfulness and zen.

. Gluttonous Self-Harm .

 

 

I had a very personal, painful realization as I was stuffing my face with mac’ n cheese last night. I didn’t stop eating until I felt my stomach protest from the expansion and fullness; even then, I didn’t want to stop. It’s the only thing I “felt” since last Friday. This is not good self-care practice. It is, however, a good awakening.

I work in Social Services. I’m aware of the “self-harm” phenomenon, I just could never get my mind around it. “How can someone willingly cut themselves to ‘release pain’ and ‘feel alive, to feel something'”? I have been really critical in my way of thinking towards this. Having come from an abusive past, I could never fathom openly harming myself until I bleed.

As I was sitting on my couch, “shoveling” food into my face, feeling the effects of it expanding my stomach to the point of pain, I strongly realized I am no different. You can’t see my self-harm scars in forms of angry red scars on my skin. Nope. You see it in my weight.

I am morbidly obese; those who read this know this.
I am a health risk; those who know me personally know this.

But, I realized, I don’t eat enough on a day to day basis. I’ve been told time and again by family and friends, “You eat like a bird.” I’ve heard from nutritionists who put me on a caloric intake diet, that I’m not meeting my daily needs by about 200-500 calories a day. This is true. I’ve tracked it with myfitnesspal. I have seen it, black and white, that I’m lacking caloric intake. But, I shrug my shoulders. In a sense, I don’t care. Food is just not a thing for me. When I do eat, or even think about eating, I tend to do a lot of nibbling/grazing. (Which I’ve been told is healthier, but eh..)

On the other hand, when something emotionally charged triggers my C-PTSD, the only thing I can control is my food. Hell, I can’t even control my thoughts until well after gorging. It’s become somewhat of a rebellious act, since my teen years. I heard, “You’re too fat to do that” or “Lose weight and conform” so much in my youth through puberty, I went the route of “Fuck you, I’m going to eat anything I want, and how much I want!”

My sister, whom I love dearly, took it the other route. She has an eating disorder binge / purge. We both are self-harming, but not in the obvious ways we hear about. Over eating should really be looked at as a self-harm, just as cutting is.

So, here I am. Fully aware of my obesity. My mortality. My mental illness. And now, fully aware that I cater to that demon that lives inside me that said, “You only have control of this in your life.” I thought I had exorcised my demons that last few  years of therapy. I thought they were shoved back down to the black murky hell they emerged from.

I’m now learning that there will always be one that shows itself when least expected.

Where do I go from here?  I’m really at a loss with this reality. I want to fight this like a warrior. I want to show that I can grow through this. Where do I start?

. Check Engine Light .

Turning 40 has been interesting and surreal. At 40, you’re in this strange place where your mind believes you’re still in your late 20 – early 30, but your body says, “Um… nope.” But it’s not a sudden denial of fantasy. No, no, it has more of a subtle creeping approach that slowly draws your attention towards it. Like a well loved car.

The key to successful aging is to pay as little attention to it as possible. ~ Judith Regan

Thirty-five is when you finally get your head together and your body starts falling apart. ~ Caryn Leschen

You’re driving along, sun is shining down on your pretty red car. You haven’t noticed your car in a long while, as it’s all become automated; get in, get to work, get in, get home. But the car, the paint, body and soul of this vessel hasn’t caught your eye in many moons; that is, until this sunny day.

The sun hits the paint just right, and you’ve noticed that the shine has really started to weather and fade. “That’s okay.” you say to yourself, “she’s been well loved.” You start taking inventory, as you sit in traffic for longer than desired. The fabric on the seats have thinned, thread and weave showing it’s still holding together. The dash and the doors, calloused in area where it’s provided the most support for hands. The windshield, and windows, a bit blurry from road f.o.d., but you can still see well enough to get you to and fro. Her engine sings wonderfully, even in moments of hiccups, burps, stutters. The frame, body and wheels may creak, stick, and resist movement, but she always finds a way to venture on. She may be aging, but she’s still a beaut. She’s got spunk and desire to continue escorting you and your kin, even if her age is showing. You don’t fully notice these changes, because you’ve grown old with her.

I was stuck in traffic this evening; bad, heavy traffic. It was raining in true Washington State fashion, which caused major back-ups and long periods of being at a stand still for no other reason than it’s wet out. In those moments where traffic paused, I realized that my body is my vessel.

I know that this should be obvious, and it probably is for most. However, I’ve been somewhat disconnected from my physical body my whole life. I’ve never paused long enough to practice mindfulness and truly connect with my skin, bone, and sinew. I only learned the art about a year ago. I used this dark, dreary day to connect within. I began to take inventory of “me”.  I never realized that when you hit 40, your warranty really does expire and parts start changing in rapid pace.

My eyes, as I have aged, have gotten much worse; much like the windshield on a well traveled car. I can still see, with assistance of glasses. But, age has changed them.

My hair has totally thinned out. It seems with the more silver strands that have staked claim to my temples, the thinner my hair is. It’s much like the well used fabric of the seats in the aging car. My threads are still there, just not as thick.

My hands are soft, but calloused in areas where I’ve used them well over the years; painting, typing, etc. Much like the interior of the doors and dash. They’re still viable and supportive, but well used and worn just right.

My body, I will admit I haven’t taken great care of it. It’s aging like the wheels on the car above. I creak. I groan. My knees and ankles resist movement. But, alas, I’m still able to move towards the desired destination.

I’ve taken stock in my physical, emotional, and mental changes. Age has affected me, all for the better. I may be at the point in life where my mind is young, but my body gently reminds me that it’s surpassed roller skating with ease, taking stairs two at a time, or dancing until early dawn. But we’re an old couple now, connected at the hip. I accept my aging process. I’ve tuned my dial, and turned up the vibration and will remain grateful that I’ve had the chance to connect with this body of mine; well before my check engine light turns on.

Like a bowl full of jelly…

It’s been a long, long while since I’ve blogged. I’ve had quite a few flowing in and through my conscious mind, but I have lacked the drive to make them come to fruition. But this morning, I felt that a healing, cathartic blog was due.

Running late today, I pulled into my coffee stand, placed my order, and waited. It’s Monday morning, and I’m not fully with it yet, physically anyways. Mentally, however, I’m steamrolling through thoughts.

The barista came back with my cup o’ heaven, she made a joke and I laughed; full belly, from the soul laugh. This laugh stopped my steamrolling thoughts instantly, like I ran into a brick wall. The realization hit me with a force that both warmed me and saddened me.

I am my mother’s daughter. 

I fought this thought for many years; fought it harder than Ali fought and knocked out Foreman in 1974. I never wanted to become my mom. There were so many ways she carried herself that I disagreed with, from her drinking to how she hated herself so much that drove her to drinking. It wasn’t until I went through domestic violence that I finally realized all of her wonderful qualities too.

I am my mother’s daughter.

I may not carry the same traits as her, but I do mirror a lot of who she is. This blog is about recognizing and accepting that I carry a lot of her within me.

My looks: I am similar in size. My hair is the same flyaway texture, with the same streaks of grey at the temples. I have the same eyes, mouth, and nose. I’ve always thought she was beautiful, even if she can’t stand how she looks. Fat or thin, she’s always been beautiful in a young daughter’s eyes.

My personality: We have the same laugh. The exact same laugh; except that I tend to snort lol. Our laugh has always been fully, deeply, authentic. It’s the kind of laugh where you cackle and your whole body gets into it. There’s no little laugh with us, it’s always been “Go big, or go home.” It’s something I’ve always loved about her. I never realized until today, when I heard my laugh at the drive thru window, that I harness that power as well.  

Humor, which rides alongside laughing, we have the same quick wit, dry deliverance sense of humor.

We also have similar intellect. Although hers is very mathematical minded, we both have the ability to communicate and debate with an intellectual side. She taught me from a young age to look up words, be friends with a dictionary, and hold myself to a higher standard. My love of reading and words extends from the hand she put out.

I can also say, with a full heart, thankful soul, and open mind, that I am grateful to be able to grow out of the stubbornness that could only focus on the negativity when I was a child. Those who know me know that I did not have it easy. My childhood was rough, and incredibly hard to laugh and maneuver through. I could have grown into something a lot worse than what I became. I’d like to thank my mother for that. Even through the negatives, a friendship and understanding was formed in my adulthood. It is possible, to put anger aside and be the daughter needed. It is possible to be the daughter who puts the disappointment aside and call out to her mom when she needed her the most.

I am my mother’s daughter. I am thankful for it everyday.

 

. Obsessed .

So… Ack!! Let’s just start with that. AAAAAAAAAAhhhhhhhhccckkkkkkkkk!! Shake it off, right?

I have spent the last couple years focusing on healing from my domestic violence situation. It has driven me to push forward and through the emotional traps that have sprung up over the course of my healing. I have assumed this whole time that my abuser was the wicked source of my lack of self esteem, self care, and insecurities. Boy, was I ever wrong.

Let me catch you up a bit, and then I’ll come full circle into my statement above. I have been in counseling hard core since March 2015. I have been averaging two group therapies a week, as well as a 1×1 session with my therapist bi-weekly. I have worked hard on myself, my mind, my emotions and my ability to communicate what my needs are before I break down into a suicidal depressive state. I have come to thoroughly enjoy each week and the topics the group settings introduce. I love it so much, I’m working towards Peer Counseling. My overall goal is to go back to college and finish my psych degree. I want to work with domestic violence victims and/or become a d.v. advocate. I am venturing into my 40s exactly how I wanted to two years ago when I left my abuser. “I will enter my 40s as a rock star.” As my counselor says, “You’ve always been a rock star, it’s just getting you to believe it as well.” So here I am, a freaking advocate for mental health . . . and I wouldn’t change the path it took me to get here for anything.

In these groups I have created a safe, supportive group of friends. It is amazing who your tribe begins to morph the more you grow and establish your own boundaries.  I learned to purge those from my life that were not healthy for me anymore. I learned to establish a set of boundaries by changing my vibe, especially in regards to myself. I changed my view of “me” and that allowed me to see who around me was supportive. I can honestly say I am thankful for the new troup I have built around me. I have some strong female friends to thank for that. (Karla, Julie, Mary, Suzanne, Kerry… to name a few). Changing my inner voice to question my negative self talk is the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. That’s not to say, however, that I am perfect. I still have moments of doubt, it’s just not crippling or damaging anymore. Those boundaries and self discoveries aided in my ability to see romantic relationships differently as well.

After a few messy dates, and my capacity to see what was happening and not what I wanted to happen, I finally met a fantastic man. The greatest thing about this is I am not blinded by “newness” of a relationship. I went in knowing who I am, my boundaries, my strengths and weaknesses. I met someone who is in a great place spiritually and mentally as well. We are taking our time, moving slow. It helps that we’re about an hour apart from one another; that forces us to be slow. One of the biggest compliments he gave me recently, “I like that I don’t feel like I need to save you. You’re doing such a great job saving yourself.” Hell Ya I am. It is about time as well. I’ve said it quite a few times, and I will say it again, I am thankful for the path my relationship history has put me through. It has helped forge and guide me to who I am today. However, I have come to quickly realize, not only in my counseling, but from my current relationship that my abuser is not my sole focus.
My ex-husband is.

How does that work out? My ex-husband is my biggest hurdle in the ghost of relationships past. Wow. I didn’t fully recognize this until my current beau enlightened me that in almost all of our conversations I have made mention of my ex-husband. Not only have I made mention, it’s usually negative. This is not healthy. When his words landed that blow on my emotional
psyche, I ruminated on it for about an hour. He’s right, you know. I do mention my ex quite often. It’s not a “hung up on him” scenario. It’s the fact I have never really mourned our friendship. The friendship was severed beyond my control. I wanted an amicable divorce. I didn’t contest, or fight, or push. I wanted it easy, in hopes to mend and keep our friendship. We’ve known each other for 26 years; almost longer than his new wife has been alive (I think she’s 27 now). I believe, deep inside, if she wasn’t a factor in preventing him and I from talking, we’d be able to at least have closure. It was all so brash when she became involved. So where does that leave me? Apparently, it leaves him at the forefront of my mind . . . . so much more than the abuser ever was. How do I “get over it”? Or, “Let it go”?

And please, for the love of all that’s sanity, don’t sing the damned song.

How to let it go. I don’t believe in irony anymore. I firmly believe in a path of learning placed before us. I believe that angels come down and take form of  people when you’re truly in need. I believe the universe slaps us upside the head when we’re “really not getting it.” A couple weeks back the discussion in one of my group therapies was around exactly that, “Letting it go.” There was a huge discussion surrounding the fact that you can’t really, “Let it go.” That the event(s) or trauma that lead you to hold onto the pain will always be in your memory. You cannot ever really let it go. What I took from that, what I processed over and over again in my mind, was the fact that you can’t let the event go.. . but you can let the pain go. But first, you have to define exactly what the pain is.

The pain. The truth of the matter. The emotions behind the transient being taking up space and dwelling over and over again in your mind. Pain is healing and growth. But why am I holding onto it with my ex husband? I will never get my credit back. I will never get my car that was repo’d back. I will never get the ten years invested into the actual romantic relationship back. I will never get back anything invested, really. On a cognitive, rational level, I fully understand this. What good is it to harbor those memories though? Fear…? Maybe a little. Fear that I’ll be wooed into a similar relationship scenario. Anger…? Ya, there’s a lot of that. I’m angry over the fact we were friends for as long as we were and it ended in the manner it did. But, it’s done and over, right?

I need to restructure my thoughts so that I do not continue to move forward in this relationship in a way that could potentially ruin it. We’ve been divorced since 2011. Friendship, and any resulting relationship, has been finalized and severed. Closure will not happen, at least not right now. I cannot continue to harbor these thoughts. I have to let the emotions and pain surrounding the relationship go.

From the movie, “Peace, Love and Misunderstanding”

Diane: You want me to just let go of 40 years of irresponsibility, embarrassment, and her total refusal to grow up?

Jude: Yes, exactly.

Diane: [incredulous] Like a balloon that’ll just float away.

Jude: It’s not a balloon, Diane. It’s a sandbag you’ve got to drop for the balloon to get off the ground.

. Prowess .

** warning – sexually graphic content. read at your own discretion **

I had a rough session with my therapist today. The end conclusion is that I really, truly have never experienced genuine love; but yet I desire a love of a lifetime deeply. I yearn for a hearth and home. I’ve blogged about it before, but today is a bit different. It took someone from my past to really resurface some buried memories and feelings.

The mental road trip I took with him has left me staggering; tripping over my own defense mechanisms that jut out of my past like broken pieces of glass in my path.

Here we are a week later, and I have had nothing but time to think about it. (By “think about it” I really mean, “Overthink, overanalyze and personally demean self worth.) I have never really identified with an addiction, this week however, I have the realization that I too have an addiction. My addiction isn’t so much “sex” per se.. It’s more the desperate longing desire to actually be wanted. I tend to sell my self worth for a brief moment of intimacy. In those moments of sexual gratification, I could convince myself that I was wanted and loved. I told myself this for so long, I actually believe the lie.  I have spent 20+ years selling off pieces of my soul like a bargain at a dollar store. I have been taught to believe that men promise a relationship for sex, and women promise sex for love.

How do you come back from that?

I have had a lot of sexual partners. There it is. It’s out, it’s open. Judge lest ye be judged. It’s the only thing I “knew”. It’s the only thing I identified that the male gender wanted from me; from age 14 when I was raped by a 26ish guy. Before I actually lost my virginity, willingly, all I ever heard were rumors from various groups of guys who would boast, “I could hit that.” There are a few key moments in my teenage years, that I really feel were pivotal in my sexual awareness and development.

I will start at 14, when I was in a foster home. I was always an early developed teen. I had hips, small waist, big ass and size C/D breasts. I was immediately placed into a sexual position because my genetic code made me a “woman” at a young age. This memory has been blocked from my conscious for years, until just recently. So, bare with me. I remember partying with a neighbor at the foster home. He had all the teens at his house, he always did. We’d drink beer, listen to Guns N’ Roses, and just talk like “adults”. But I wasn’t. I was only 14.  What I remember in my jagged memories is that the group left. I was left behind. I remember feeling kind of out of it, loopy… from the booze or maybe more. I remember we were in his room and he started kissing on me, grabbing my thighs, reaching up under my shirt. I remember kind of “checking out” mentally. He was far too big to fight. I remember him trying to penetrate me, but as a young… virgin.. he couldn’t. He got frustrated and pissed. He just kept pushing, forcing. I remember whimpering and he shoved me off his bed. I remember a friend had come back to find out where I was, because I hadn’t left when they did. I remember this friend kind of sort of sneaking me back in my house to sleep it off. From this point forward, I remember being a “mean” girl towards guys, this lasted until I actually willingly slept with one. And then, it became the norm. “Fuck it, sex is all they want, then fine.”

Second incident, I can recall that instilled and enabled the thought that all my worth was tied into being a “cum dumpster” (actual term a guy used “jokingly” when I was around 19.) I used to take the public transit everywhere. I was probably about 16 or so. It was summer. I was wearing this cute, typical 1990s figure fitting floral dress. It wasn’t too revealing, short, or trashy.  I was standing up on Pac Hwy waiting for the bus; Pac Hwy is known for a lot of street walkers. I was minding my own business, standing there reading my book. A car pulls up next to me, this guy rolls down his window and asks, “How much?” I was totally, completely taken aback. I started crying from shock. I sputtered, “I’m not a hooker!” The bus started to arrive at that moment. So, the impression this left me with subconsciously was that I really am only worth what my body can offer.

Third incident, was in Junior High. It’s not as pivotal as the first two in my mind which is why it’s out of linear timeline, but it still affected me. I never realized exactly how much it affected me until counseling today. There was this peer named Adam. Adam was apart of the “in” crowd. I had taken a photography class, so this had to be around 9th grade. I was in the dark room, prepping my film. Adam came in, got up really close behind me. He used his pelvis to push into mine, and rubbed himself on me. He turned me around, put his right hand on my left breast and forced me to kiss him. He laughed at my face when he was done. Later, at lunch, he told everyone I tried to kiss him. He told everyone I was just a slut. That labeled me for the rest of my school career. I think at this point, I gave in and just became what every man expected me to be.

This lasted up until last week. It’s weighing heavy on my heart. I have never been worth dating; from teenage years to current. I am sure lacking a father, knowing a “good” / “true” man has a lot to do with the shaping of my sexual identity. I am sure that having a chaotic childhood instilled the grasping and grabbing of any attention given to me; even if it’s a falsified promise of love. It’s still touch, emotion, feelings for a brief moment. I am also sure that the reason I carry so much weight on me is so that men don’t see me as a ‘sex symbol’ anymore, they just see me as me.. or don’t see me at all. I’m pretty fucked up in the head.

Now, with my counselor’s help, I am able to recognize it for what it is. I am going to learn to readjust my thinking. I do know that I dream of hearth and home. I dream of a love of a life time. I have to let my convoluted ideas go. I have to relearn what love is.

First assignment from her, “Define what love is to you”. Yay.

. I walk alone .

 

 

I had a chance to reconnect with someone from high school. Our paths crossed, but never connected. We were from different ends of the clique universe. She was a cheerleader and apart of the “in” crowd. I was from the group that got picked on by the in crowd. She, however, was never one to bully or cause problems. She was kind of quiet, from what I remember.

It’s now 21 years later and we’re adults. I posted on Craigslist for the need of strong female friends, purely platonic. I had a few answer, and one happened to be this woman from high school. At the time I did not know it. It wasn’t until we connected through facebook that it dawned on me.

We had a chance to meet up in person on Friday evening. We sat and talked for about an hour, just catching up. I asked her why our peers were relentless towards me. She could only answer for herself, “I thought you were just a loner.”

I’ve been thinking about this so much since Friday night. I wonder now how many perceived me as a loner? I was totally alone, and felt it. I was awkward and didn’t know how to connect to people. My mom says I was really unapproachable. I believe it’s heavily filtered over into my adult life. I still am a loner, and really dislike it. I’m an introvert but I believe it’s more for habit than actuality. I’d love to be able to go out and about without worrying about the crowds.

Is it possible to be one way because of habit, and not influenced by true self?