Ya can’t fix tile with a laser beam

Posted on July 18, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

7/17/14 3:17pm

Do you want to stop dissociating? (therapist)

I want to not feel trapped. I want to not need to escape reality. I want to get what I need and to know that I have it. And what I have it for. I want ME.

I’m so exhausted. I fight but I can’t get out of my mind. I want to cut the pain out like a tumor. Just GET it OUT. I rarely cry. I’m surrounded by fog. My life is a lie it seems but only to me. I’m the one who can’t quite reach it.

Put on a smile. Dress nicely. Run to catch up. What day is it? Who cares? Just follow the box. This meaning is big-picture stuff. Just keep trodding along.

(slow deep breath, confusion)

I don’t want to be sick. It has benefits but not worth dying for. Why stay propped up on toothpicks when you could run? Have you tried?

(shutting down)

Tuesday I had a strong response and shut down in group. B- was the trigger. I didn’t say anything. (falling asleep) I want to be able to read menus again. I don’t know how I’m doing right now. When Ashley states it objectively it sounds bleak. I can’t remember what I’ve done or am doing. I’m very reactive. I can’t make decisions. I zone out driving. I hear music or racing thoughts or nothing. I get hot or cold for no reason. I’m not interested in people or activities or life. I’m having a really hard time making my bed and handling finances. I’m not brushing my teeth. My hair is falling out. I’m gaining weight. I’m picking again. I’m thinking in pictures. I can’t tolerate reading email and I’m not responding in a timely manner to text or voicemail. I’m not interested in tv. I have nightmares and wake up sweaty. I’m tired. Head pain and stomach pain are literally mind-numbing. Dr. T says I’m falling apart. I am.

I’m working really hard. I don’t know why I’d do that if I didn’t want to change. Groups and therapy are stressful. Who would volunteer for that? I’m not a glutton, nor do I like punishment.

Oddly, I don’t feel angry or offended at the question. One would think I would be better by now, might think I’m not trying. I just feel sad. It’s a question I’ve asked others. Do you want to get better? Yes. I do. Life is better than treatment. But life is trying to eat me. Or so my brain tells me. I do what the voices tell me.

Honestly, I do not want to be present for this. But if I don’t experience it I won’t have a chance to remember. “I feel like a hamster,” I kept telling them. Trapped and people are watching me. They gave me Risperdal and Depakote. “I broke the stone statue” led to being under close observation. I don’t speak the language. Shawna tries but she rarely “speaks Michelle.” I don’t want my own language, don’t want to need translation. I just want to be, to understand, to experience just what’s real. I imagine it might be boring but I want the opportunity to try.

I don’t want to lose my superpowers, just to put them away for awhile. Ya can’t fix tile with a laser beam.

Love, Michelle

PS – I want out of my body. It hurts not to move or dance. When offered opportunities I freeze with fear. GET IT OUT.

I am not broken

Posted on July 9, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

7/8/14 11:55 am

Hear music:

It’s not over.
It’s not finished.
It’s not ending.
It’s only the beginning.
When God is in it, all things made new.

It played in my head before and resumed again.

I visited the dungeon. I sat with 15. She gave me a button. I’m not broken. And I’m not sure I believe it.

I’m not broken.
The button is real.
The sickness is real, but I am real too.

I talked about my kidneys and Ashley. My body held all of my sins and strife in a hollow ringing dark blue ball in my back. My body said to let go. Let go. I can’t follow the pattern of movement and change. Hands, feet, rocking, stretching. A whirl in my head like a blender. Then we were there. I went to the dungeon. I went to see 15.

Mom says not to go down there, that she’s bad and deserves to be punished and alone, a disgrace to the family. She eats spaghetti. But she’s not. She’s just a little girl looking to be loved. She’s not broken. I’m not broken. It was cold there. She sat on the floor instead of the bench. The door was open. I sat next to her. I didn’t say a word.

Her hair was stringy, eyes big. She was younger than me, scared but she didn’t run away. She just watched me. I wasn’t scared of being caught like before. I didn’t try to change or convince her. She’s not broken. I’m not broken. This isn’t our fault.

I feel nervous as I write this, like someone is watching and will find out and get me.

(someone screams in real life – look up)

She gave me a trinket, a small button with an anchor on it. It was dark blue and textured. She is the anchor and she is not broken. She is REAL and I have to save her. Or do I? Maybe I could just be her friend, hold her hand. Maybe she can teach me.

I decided that maybe I could take her a picnic. She had a very important message for me – “You have to dance.” The phrase comes to mind, “Don’t let me die in vain.” Is she really dying? I want the time to love her. She’s not broken. I’m not broken.

I set a goal to dance with some videos this week and to re-query Trisha about space. In order to be successful in teaching while sick, I need to drop my pride and be open. That is hardest for me. It’s why 15 is in the dungeon and why I don’t teach kids. I’m terrified.

It’s a made up fear.

No it’s not.

Kind of.

Okay, a little. But SOME of it is real.

Yes.

Plan for the ending.
Then LIVE.

Touche. Live.

Almost everything scares me. I stuff the fear inside the blue ball. Shame is placed in the dungeon. Sadness lives in my core. Anger stays in my head. Before the ball, fear burrows everywhere wreaking havoc on all of my cells. Uncertainty or loss take my breath. Overwhelm lives in my throat. I hold tight to the spiky pain. It makes me dizzy and confused. And exhausted.

I’m not broken. (deep breath)

I need to visit and learn from her. She survived. She’s real. The button is real.

All of the worries and fears of a few hours ago are gone. God gave me Soleil and 15. I prayed on a dandelion that God would set me free. I pondered the insight of a eucalyptus before it sheds. (My foot tingles) I remembered I grew like a tree last year and the tree on my wall to symbolize that.

I’m growing.
I’m real.
I’m not broken.
And I’m hungry.

It doesn’t matter what I lose.
God is holding me.
He has always provided, always will.
It’s not my plan.
It IS my life.

I’m not broken.
I’m real.
I have to dance.

I feel dizzy.

—

I just looked down at my anchor button and realized it’s a J for Jesus. (smile) Praise God. Yes, He is my anchor.

I am not broken

Pain is a hat

Posted on July 1, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

6-30-14 2:07pm

Pain is a hat.

Pain is more of a hat than a liver. It can’t hurt me. It’s not part of me. Letting go isn’t loss. Hanging on isn’t gain. Pain is a hat.

I just finished with Soleil. Amazing session. I started out very agitated, scared. I talked about being scared Dr. Nicolas will be mad and afraid to go back to being sick. A small dot in my stomach was me.

I laid on my back and she put her hand on the dot. We talked. I couldn’t trust, was still scared, so she held my hand. It was grounding. She was real. My hand felt real. She touched my forearm (real), my upper arm (real). She stretched out my arm, pulled. It was the reach of a line, a dance stretch. It opened up the inside of my upper arm, like when I twirl. I joined my other arm. I was calm. So calm. I felt pleasant joy. No anxiety. I listened to the tick of the clock, felt my heartbeat in my stomach. And I remembered what I told Ana – that maybe the pain/feeling doesn’t want to be there either. Am I fighting a friend, an ally?

Pain is just a hat. I can take it off and still be me. It and emotion and life are experiences. I choose pink glitter. I can change hats every day. Or leave one on for years. Or wear more than one at a time. Or I can wear no hat at all.

Some hats have magical powers. When I wear them I transform or change, but they don’t affect the real me, the foundation. Except the ones that are tattooed on, but those are more like skidmarks, scars, memories.

Pain is a hat.

(pause)

So, I guess it doesn’t matter what I go through, whether I’m sick or treated or not. Telling Dr. N doesn’t make the hat more real. Taking medication to remove it doesn’t remove me. Pain can’t hurt me. It’s a hat. Pain is a hat.

Thank you, God. Thank you.
For Soleil, and for hats.

—

Remember realizing Dr. N isn’t mad at me. I’m mad at me for not getting better. I want this fucking done. Get in the game, bitch. He just wants me okay.

My head hurts.

Getting better or healing and the process are no less painful, but I’m no longer afraid to do it. Me minus illness still equals me. I may be ragged but I’m still here, fighting, waiting for you.

I want a gluten-free brownie.

Me too.

—

I’m hungry but I don’t want to move or leave. I’m sitting in the sun in the parking lot. I hear the cars. They seem real. (run my hands over all of me) When I touch me I seem real. Then it fades quickly away.

A baby fell on its head in my car.

No it didn’t.

(sit under the trees)
(notice the breeze)

Train!

I don’t feel safe to drive.

(clasp my hands together)

I’m real.

Choose to hold on to the happy. Why not?

(13) I have to tell Dr. N.

It’s okay to be scared.

I agreed to tell Ashley when I need to use a skill to drive. I don’t want to . Where am I going? WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING ME?!

TICKLE FIGHT! :)

—

Dr. N called me back. I told him I’m okay. I was at the moment. But I’m not.

I remember with Soleil God was a big fuzzy purple shoe bag that scooped me up. It was dark inside and I was trapped, so scared. I couldn’t see. He pulled the drawstring tightly closed when life was dangerous and let me look out the top when it was safe. Life was land.

Sometimes there are reasons we cannot see.

(13) I don’t want to wait here. This is stupid.

Is my life a sheltered workshop?

I am happy :)

Posted on May 31, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

5/31/14 10:03am

My soul is filled with the joy of the Lord. JESUS!

(deep breath) I am happy.
I am happy.

Last night I sang a solo at my choir concert. I am so proud! I was so nervous. I started learning it around 3pm. 2 hours in the car with Whitney Houston, 20 minutes with a karaoke track from iTunes and a lot of prayer. The devil fought me telling me I couldn’t do it, that I was worthless and needed to die. Not today, sir. Get out of my house. JESUS!

My head hurts so bad.

There were only 16 people in the audience – all family of the choir and a few church members. None of my friends showed up. I was so thankful to have my mom.

I read from Proverbs and prayed that God would sing through me and to me, that He would give me the courage to open my mouth and use me as a vessel for His word, keeping my focus only on Him. This song is a vocal dance for Jesus. JESUS!

My whole body trembled. An hour or so before, I hit a wall – weak, dizzy, close to tears, barely able to eat. I sat down a few times during the concert but decided not to take my PRN for my heart that I sometimes do during concerts. I didn’t want to interfere with the Spirit. My head and mouth hurt all day. I had decompensated to confusion, yelling at cars, then not moving. But I did it. Just for God. No practice with the choir. A lick and a prayer. All for God. Only for God.

The look on Ken’s face as I sang was priceless. He exchanged looks with Janet. I smiled genuinely. He didn’t know I could do that. Neither did I. :) I got so many compliments after, the best in an email from another choir member. He said:

I listened to the recording of the concert tonight on the way home and I am almost speechless regarding your rendition of “I Love the Lord.” I couldn’t really hear it when we did it, or I would have said something afterwards. I am just floored by the range, the intensity, and the emotion that you put into that solo. Wow. Just magnificent. Thanks for making tonight one of the best nights I have ever spent performing music. Those 16 people in the audience were definitely in the right place at the right time.”

I watched the video when I got home. It is the first time I’ve been proud of my work, didn’t hate the sound of my voice. I felt free.

Today I am still proud. My head and mouth hurt a lot. I feel nauseous. I’m eating kettle corn on the couch. Not the best idea after serious mouth surgery but I’m afraid to make oatmeal. I feel overwhelmed. I’m trying to settle, breathe. My doctor and therapist are both out of town so it’s me and God. He’s got this. (wink)

Thanks for listening.
May you be blessed.

Buried Treasure

Posted on May 23, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

5/22/14 11:56pm

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My surgery went really well today. I had my wisdom teeth removed. It’s been on my list for 15+ years and I finally found an amazingly kind and talented surgeon and all the stars aligned to do it. He pulled the two top ones whose roots were in my sinus cavity and did coronectomies on the bottom two – some fancy procedure where they take the tooth part but leave the root. He did this because the root was wrapped around the nerve controlling feeling to my face. He’s the first surgeon I’ve met with who had a solution for this.

Mom took me this morning and has been caring for me all day – no small task. I woke up feeling excited (not sure why) and took a shower. I was mad we were late but calmed down. I remember before but not much after. She’s been there for me all day with meds on time and approved foods and attention. In fact, she’s in the kitchen now refusing to go to bed until I do. I just want to finish this.

The pain meds have been great, except for this afternoon. I’d been in bed all day and didn’t want my vitals to go too low so I skipped my 1pm flexeril. Shortly after, I began having trouble breathing, severe pains in my stomach and back, blood pressure 69/46 then 76/44. I was shaking all over, white as a sheet, freezing cold but my body was hot. I had to pee but couldn’t. The intensity grew quickly by the moment. My mom called the doctor. I tried to get from the bathroom to my bed but couldn’t. I opted for crawling on the floor, then lying on my back. Blood from one of the incisions ran down my throat. I could barely talk. I prayed she’d just call 911. The doctor wanted her to at least take me to urgent care for fluids, make sure I was alright. While they were on the phone and I was lying on the floor an image popped into my head. It told me to put my feet up over my head, upside-down like plow pose in yoga. I put my hands in the small of my back and my knees in the pressure points on the inside of my eyes. I could breathe. It was like magic. Mom propped some pillows under my butt so I could relax while still partially posed. Such relief. No ER. We didn’t go to urgent care. I didn’t know until tonight that my doc said he wanted me to have an IV. I would’ve gone. There was great concern that I might be allergic to the pain med he’d given me since I’d only taken it once. Turns out it was probably really bad cramps from a period I didn’t intend to welcome today. With blood pressuer that low I think it was safer for me not to take the flexeril, but I haven’t had pain like that in ages. Needless to say, I took my next dose of flexeril.

I am so grateful and fascinated that they let me take my teeth home. It’s like buried treasure. I want to see my incisions and stitches but Walmart didn’t have one of those little dental mirrors. I’ll look or have my mom look at Target tomorrow. I’m so tired now that it’s hard to keep my eyes open. Everyone is asleep but me. I think i’m doing well with the surgery because of my awesome mom and doctor and dentist but also because I’m already on an NSAID, muscle relaxer, and nerve pain pill. Without those I think I’d be melting. I got several crisis calls from people today. My face hurt after answering them but it was nice to be able to. Ellie, my dog, has been very receptive to my pain too. I am learning that people really are there for me if I pay attention.

I have to go. My meds are kicking in and the screen is becoming blurry. I didn’t forget you. Live long and prosper – toothless or not. ;)

At least I’m not scared…

Posted on February 14, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

2/14/14 6:45pm

I feel suddenly very dizzy & tired.

(lay on the floor, deep breath)

Today I saw Ashley and told her about total system shutdown yesterday. I told her I’ve had that in the hospital but that it’s not a reason to go in and she asked if I want to be in the hospital. No. I answered clearly, outright, without pause or thought. I just realized I was right. I don’t desire to be inpatient right now. That’s huge.

Last year on Valentine’s Day Dr. N wanted to discharge me. I wasn’t ready. I was scared and angry 1 day off Elavil in pain with no Seroquel in my system. We sparred and he admitted he was angry at him, not me. He gave back my Seroquel. We bonded. I was ready the next day. I don’t want to be in the hospital. That’s very new for me.

(awe…)

I think I’ve found meaning and purpose this year, though I’m not sure what they are. I feel grounded. I have a self. Self. Hm.

Getting better doesn’t have to mean letting go.

Really?

I saw Margie walking out of the parking lot. I didn’t even stop to say hi, nor did I feel the urge to, nor feel guilty for not stopping. Huge. I am making some serious progress… I am tempted to compare that progress or myself to someone normal, but I don’t know what that looks like.

(distracted by group)

I am doing better.
I’m scared to be doing well.
I’m scared to do better. I’m scared to do worse. At least I’m not scared to be scared anymore.

(OCD scuffle)
Breathe.

I Want to Be Well

Posted on January 16, 2014 by writingtowardshappy

My daily meds

1/16/14 10:54am

I want to be well.
I want to be well.

I just left physical therapy. I had tachycardia during some of the exercises. 10 step-downs shouldn’t send my heart rate to 140, making me shaky, dizzy & weak. I told the guy working with me. He asked if I have a heart condition. Yes, but it’s not properly worked up or treated.

I want to be well. I want to dance. Hell, I want to be able to walk up stairs to DBT without a problem. I’m tired of being sick. I take so many pills and am so limited. People look from the outside and say I’m so functional and assume I’m doing well. THIS IS NOT MY LIFE.

I take 27 pills a day, plus any of my needed 10 PRN options. I have 6 support groups, 4 therapy groups, 2 pdoc appts, 2 other doc appts, and 8 therapy sessions a month. Right now I also have 2 PT appts/week. I understand these things are keeping me going, but they’re not my life. I help people and go to church and sing in 2 choirs. I still want to die. I’m working the PERT Academy in 2 hours. No one will know. And since Angela’s not there there will be no refuge. It’s all a lie. Smile and move on. Somehow, I’m still here.

I wasn’t supposed to live. Don’t you understand?

Are you the pumpkin man?

Posted on November 30, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

11-29-13 11pm

Well, I feel tonight. Jumbled words in my mind let go with the music. A moment just to stop.

I watched the hall empty, mesmerized, listening to the sounds, taking it in. Streisand-man is annoying. Otherwise a wonderful night. Even the food was good.

The anxiety is trying to escape me but it’s stuck inside my body. Tweet tweet goes the bird dog. Scream. I said SCREAM. (scream)

(deep breath)

Parked in Old Town.
I miss my mom.
Want to run away.
Or just run.
I don’t know why.

Feed the toilet.
Arms not right.

Are you the pumpkin man?

Where am I?
Take me home.

I wish it was Tuesday

Posted on November 30, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

11/28/2013 10:29pm

Dear God,

I wish it was Tuesday. My voice is stuck inside me and nothing reaches the page.

I’m sitting in the car outside Mesa Vista. Light from Cog lights my page. I feel myself falling in slow motion, like a feather through Jello. Life moves quickly around me. I feel lifeless. Can’t move. Can’t stop. Another holiday out of touch. I need to catch this one early.

December is coming. Tomorrow’s Black Friday. I’m about to break. Double on Wednesday. I need so badly to be held. God? What are you training me for? What do you need me for now? I need you. I need a lot of things. I don’t want to end up back in the hospital and that’s the direction I’m headed.

Red flags

Self-harm
Dissociation (more frequent & intense)
Desperation/Agitation cycle
Nightly dreaming
No interest in food (ED + decreased appetite)
Increase in blood pressure
Episodes of tachycardia
Weak/Dizzy
Depersonalization
Derealization
Really out of it
Increase in switching
Intense need to be held
Confusion
Decrease in personal hygeine
Severe fatigue
Rocking
Racing thoughts or no thoughts
Feel my face hanging, heavy
Late frequently
Anhedonia
Can’t complete tasks
Catastrophize more often
Don’t care about my appearance
Not feeding animals
Sleeping in makes me feel worse
Soul-crushing depression
I just watch from behind the glass

Coping Skills I’m Using

Day list (when I remember)
Walking Ellie
Sticking to a schedule
Eating nut bars
Deep breathing
Singing
Watching NCIS
Decluttering
Sensory distraction – light, temperature, sound
Scented candles
Getting out of the house
Eating regularly
Rocking
Chewing gum
Projects

Triggers

Driving
Mom
Too busy – outreach, S, appts
No music nights
No free/down time
Money problems
Ankle injury
Gluten-free transition
-‘s episode, –
J/M/S drama – trust
Brother’s HD
DBSA business woes
Heartland scuffle on Monday
Clogging – Quarternote end, dying, teaching, etc.

What do I need?

Modified schedule w/emphasis on self-care
Talk to my providers
back to Day List
Go back to the bus half time
Meet with a dietician
Go back to Dizzy’s
Start writing again
Find/schedule more alone time
Go back to the gym
Schedule garage time
Pray

Let go.

Schedule – weekly
Menu

Making Friends with a Bush

Posted on November 2, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

11/2/13 12:18pm

(deep sigh)

I feel nervous. I know I haven’t blogged in forever. Sorry about that. I’ve been so busy and unaware of time or space. I’m barely writing at all. I blame this on driving. And partially on the fact that my brain is turned off.

Yesterday my brakes went out on the freeway. I know that God was there. A few moments before I switched into dissociative or crisis mode for no apparent reason. I was listening to my friend apply a DEESC Script to my current situation. It was afternoon traffic and all of the sudden my brake pedal no longer worked. I could press it all the way to the floor. No stoppage. The emergency brake also failed. Yet, I didn’t freak out. I swerved to miss one car and then again to steer clear of the car I’d just swerved in front of. I made it to an off-ramp and coasted into a parking lot. I chose a bush to stop the car with. We jumped the curb, I turned off the ignition. We were inside a bush. So I put the car in reverse and let it roll back off the curb and out of the bush, pulling the key out midway. We stopped.

My friend Sue who was with me had no idea what was going on, other than that I had swerved twice and that we were now friends with a bush. The car smelled like something was burning and I told her to get out. The drivers side panel was smashed so the door only slightly opened. The windshield wipers held decorative pieces of bush. I called State Farm and we walked over to the farmer’s market. I’ll tell ya, like a good neighbor State Farm is NOT there. I even tried singing the jingle. Didn’t work. It took 3 hours of call after call after call, being transferred and cut off. Didn’t help that midway through my phone started shutting itself off whenever they put me on hold. Eventually the tow truck got there and took the car away.

I did everything right. I did not freak out or fail to respond to the situation. I kept myself and my passenger safe. I did not hit another car. I stopped the car with relatively minor damage. I called the insurance company and had the car taken to my mechanic. I’m proud of myself. I also kept my friend calm who had 2 panic attacks and was freaking out. My mom, however, is not happy with me because I called the insurance and filed a claim. In that moment, and now, the only thing that seems to matter is that her car insurance rate might go up. I might as well have smashed into something dangerous and been injured to distract her from the money. I wish she could see that my coping was AMAZING. I even continued on with my plans for the night and attended a zumba party at my gym and had dinner with Sue. I didn’t freak out. Now I am exhausted.

Today I feel frustrated because our mechanic says there is nothing wrong with our brakes and he doesn’t know why the car would do that. IT WAS REAL. I WAS THERE. IT HAPPENED. I want the car fixed. I can’t have it do that again. I could’ve really been hurt. But for him the car is fine. My mom told me I should never call the insurance before calling her. I told her she’s the last person I call because she freaks out. I just really need somebody to say, “Damn, girl. You’re fucking awesome. You did a GREAT job. We’ll deal with the car later.” My mom wants to go to the gym now. I just want to write.

(eyes closed, head down, deep breath)

I haven’t been writing. My writing time is now taken by driving. All of my story is in me, mixing itself up. I joined an adherent DBT program and got a new therapist. We’re laying all my issues out there and it’s freaking me out. I need about an hour of down time after I see her before I can leave. I want a better life. I want to feel good, be independent, free. But I’m scared of dealing with my issues. All those scary things tucked away in neat yellow boxes tied with a ribbon on the back wall of my life. I don’t open them for a reason. Now they’re all in a pile on the floor and I’m freaking out. Do I want to change? Can I tolerate it? I don’t know. I think I trust her but I need to teach her about me. And communicate. I am in an almost constant state of fear lately. Except when faced with a crisis. Oddly enough I wrote the other day that I need the calm of a crisis. Well, I got it. Now I need to run away.

I gotta go. My mom wants to go to the gym and I’m trying to promote her exercising. I’m so tired, physically and spiritually. I’m singing a duet in church tomorrow that I haven’t practiced. I’m excited. It is “Pie Jesu.” Lord, grant them rest. Lord, grant me rest. I have the appropriate feeling state for the song. Now I need to sing it.

Thank you, God, for keeping me safe. And thank you to whomever is reading this. I really appreciate you.

CRV

Posted on September 23, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

9-13-13 1:57pm

I am thoroughly dismayed with the California Redemption Value system. I went out of my way today to go to RePlanet to get the actual amount due to me per item, but they don’t accept crushed/smashed cans or bottles. Really? They’d prefer to smash them personally. I paid the CRV. I want it back. Is it really that difficult? Do other states also steal your money for recycling?

Time to be me

Posted on September 16, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

9-16-13 9:32am

I’m tired. And I’m having money problems. Second month in a row. (sigh) No doubt due to the fact that I can’t think and I’m spending money without remembering. My house is dirty. Literally. There is cat poop in the tub, dirt on the floor, dishes piled up, papers and blankets everywhere. Not due to my mom at all. Usually when she goes out of town the house slowly looks wonderful. This time it’s looking more like my dorm room close to the end at USC. I don’t know what to do. My calendar is chock full. I need rest.

I have an assessment today to join an outpatient DBT group. I really just want a nap. And to wake up to a magically clean house. I am tempted to ask for help with my home from my FB or group friends. I just haven’t. I don’t want to be in this situation. I feel like a hypocrite – the one

(stupid fucking blender refuses to work)

– who helps others learn to clean and organize but has fallen to ruin herself. I need help. I need God.

I feel the need to cancel everything on my calendar this week. It doesn’t seem possible. I need the Comfort Drive stuff OUT of my living room. I love the drive, love the movement. I need it gone. It is a wall, a literal wall. I feel like my eyes are melting. My doctor thinks maybe I’m falling apart because I’m on birth control. I don’t care why I’m disintegrating. I just need it to stop. I need. Please. Please.

(quiet)

I bought new lamps yesterday. They make me feel grounded. A miracle is happening here. The lady in the mirror is different. She is catty and brilliant. I have not seen her in years. Just breathe. It’s time to meet 15, hold her hand, bring her closer.Teach her how to live healthfully. Bring her out of shame.

I am sleepy. I need food. I need to go shopping.

I need the boxes out of my living room.
Time to be me.

Since 2009

Posted on September 9, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

8/13/13 3:18pm

What’s different now than in ’09 with Marc? I’m embracing the fact that I’m alone. Dr. N taught me that not all people leave and that I can be safe. Jim taught me how to face my fears through ERP instead of cognitive reasoning. DBT gave me a set of skills to use when I’m freaking out that work. I became closer to God and reassessed my priorities and relationships when I thought I was going to die. I started developing a sense of self. Now I am not so desperate and needy. I started developing systems to get me through the day and track my progress. I faithfully attended DBSA both sharing and learning new tools. I surrendered the pain and defined acceptance. I started doing things for me, in particular attending jazz gigs and making friends with non-crazy (or at least non-diagnosed) people. I gave up and found life. My mom is nicer to me now. I rarely scream or freak out or run away. I use assertiveness daily. I don’t take bullshit anymore. My need for an intense attachment to one person has diminished greatly. I feel more safe, supported. I’ve learned and practiced more boundaries. I’ve moved away from the cognitive approach. I stopped going to school. I found a doctor and therapist who meet my needs. I need the hospital less. My HD phase has passed. I am free.

I forgot to tell Dr. N today that I’ve been thinking about school. I want my degree. I think I’m ready. I think I’d like to major in social work. I should try WRAP and PET first both as prerequisites and to see if I could handle it. I think I might. I don’t think I’m ready for full or part-time. Maybe one class at a time. I have scholarship money I need to use…

(walk around)

I stood up for myself when threatened at Scripps. I walked away stronger, determined. I took care of me.

I learned to say no and to say yes. I’m doing much better with change – if you can imagine. I’ve dealt with health issues bigger than me. I’ve been broken and risen up again, not through ashes but rules. I learned how to observe and listen, to practice empathy. I catch myself earlier in the process so I don’t blow. I’m learning to stand on my own.

I made it rain bacon

Posted on August 17, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

8/17/13 1:21am

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I’m really glad I went to my reunion tonight. There’s always a reason. 4 cookies, 2 brownies, 1 bottle of water and a cocktail glass of bacon were worth the $75. I got to reconnect with a few friends I’d forgotten about. I met some new ones. I danced the ChaCha slide.

I kept getting distracted from my need to pee and when I finally got to the bathroom there was an emergency in progress. I immediately jumped in. I didn’t know the girl. She was drunk and had thrown up in the sink and somehow ended up on the floor, unable to get up, crying, slurring her words and continuing to throw up. When her husband left the room she begged me and the staff not to send her home with him, that she had to get away. She said yes when I asked if she wanted us to take her to a shelter. When he came back he tried to convince her to just go home. They had been hitting each other earlier. His presence elicited a visceral response from her. She immediately resumed throwing up and crying, repeating over and over again, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m a bad mom,” and gave in to his ruthless and repeated requests to just take a cab home.

Thankfully, I communicated with the hotel staff and they called the paramedics. He was pissed. She really did need medical help. And I believe that she needs to get away from him. I just don’t know how.
(breathe…)

When that was over, I said goodbyes and left. Emotionally exhausted. Spent. That’s why I was there tonight. I hope she’s okay. I’d like to follow up but it might not be safe for her.

I’m tired. Tonight I made it rain bacon. Literally. It was awesome. I got it in my hair, a piece stuck on my cheek. I admired the moon. I prayed. I didn’t drink. I dressed up for me. I didn’t lie. I took the trolley home. I’m proud of myself.

A lot of people remembered me – a nice memory. Long live the queen.

Quote of the night:
“I can’t even think as fast as you can move your feet.” -Shawnna

The only change that matters

Posted on August 16, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

8/16/13 8:04am

I feel sad. Tonight is my 10 year reunion – prime time for comparisons. In typical me fashion, I wish there was an RSVP list so I could plan out my night. There is no agenda. I don’t know what to expect. I posted on FB last night in the reunion group asking what “casual cocktail attire” means – the official dress code. Several people I know replied they’re wearing quite fancy cocktail dresses and that their husbands are dressing up. I was just planning on wearing a dress I like, nothing fancy.

I have my doubts about even going. I anticipate it being a huge trigger. I wanted to be successful, to have degrees and a car and family. I am successful. Just not by my standard. I’m like that firework that shoots off in unexpected directions. Dazzling yet unpredictable. I only like it in the sky.

Who am I?

I am a girl looking to be loved.
I am a woman discovering herself.
I am creative.
I am talented.
I am hungry.
I am a cat mom.
I am a planner.
I am the voice of reason on a stormy sea and a mess of emotion in silence.
I am unstable and I am a rock.
I just am.
Michelle

I will be faced with many questions if I engage tonight. Where do I work? How many kids do I have? What degrees did I get? What am I doing with my life? I don’t know. And I don’t really care. I wish this was a barbeque picnic. Too much hype. Too much pressure.

I’m very tired. I woke up at 7:30, even though I went to bed late. In sharp contrast to the past several mornings, I do not feel bright, chipper or productive. I don’t want to be alive. My body is heavy. I don’t want to move. Yet, I’m awake. Is this from skipping 2 doses of my Flexeril yesterday or not sleeping? Why did I wake up?

I don’t know who I am.
I feel angry.
I want to sleep.

Whatever I decide to do tonight will be okay. I don’t have to share my secrets. I don’t have to be strong. God is my date. All powerful. He will lead me.

PS: Compare me to me if you must. That’s the only change that matters.

Drive Me

Posted on August 8, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

8/8/13 1:44pm

I’m on the trolley. Not sure how I got this far. I just saw a really cool house, or cluster of houses, perfectly visible from the Mission San Diego trolley stop. Slanted paradise high on a hill.

I’ve been feeling agitated all morning. I took a few moments to breathe with my eyes closed. I feel more settled, cold. Now there is pain & exhaustion. I can’t track this new pattern yet. I can barely stay awake and remember to eat. I want a nap. The trolley soothes me.

Benefits of Public Tranist

Predictable/Plannable
Consistent low temperature
Social interaction
Walking and Stairs
Time outside in the sun
Soothing motion
Very inexpensive
Familiar routes
Interesting scenery
Hear great stories
Gives me freedom/independence
Keeps my brain active
Fills up time – keeps me balanced
I can write or listen to music
It is safe no matter my mood
I am usually on time
No parking necessary
Get to talk to friends on rides home
Meet awesome people like architects and neuroscientists and Billy the Shark Slayer
College football fans
Children & pets
The ability to travel backwards through time
The trolley culture – we help our own, RESPECT
Hearing other languages
Getting to rest, relax
Time to think, be
Having all my stuff organized and with me
Meeting regulars
Announcements that tell me where I am
Seeing Costco’s sky lights
Watching construction
Riding on a caterpillar

Benefits of Driving

Faster than public transit (except in traffic)
Direct route
Available after buses stop
Don’t need to ask for rides
Can leave whenever I want

I started driving long ago. I’m getting used to but don’t really like it. Lifelong drivers tell me how great it is and expect me to be excited. They also expect me to drive everywhere and give others rides. I don’t see it this way. For me it’s somewhat of a loss. I feel exhausted and isolated, like I’ve done something wrong.

When I was younger I wanted a car. I needed to get away. I do still need one late nights and on weekends. Maybe spellbound 16 passed me. I like sitting. Public transit is a way of life.

(Amtrak passes by)

My daddy worked on a train. The longer Don lives with us, the more I find my thoughts changing, his image creeping in. He’s not bad. I rather like him. I’m just thrown off guard when I think of “my parents,” which I never have before and see him and Mom. When I think “Dad” I see him in my head. But he’s not my dad. My thoughts do deceive me. My mom is happy with his family. I’m happy with me.

I don’t think driving is good for me. It allows me to do 15 things in a day when I can maybe tolerate 3 or 4. I can’t self-regulate, though I’m learning. I can’t imagine the number of things I’d have

(conversation with Gary)

I have goosebumps. Long conversation with a man who just got kicked out of his program for drinking. He is quasi-suicidal, crying over the death of Junior Seau. Such a blessing. Another lady sat down and encouraged him. This is what drives me. This is what public transit is about. Changing lives, meeting humans, just being. A simple transit cop spreading encouragement and hope. (sigh) What a blessing. Being alone in a car doesn’t drive me.

I feel the need to write…

Posted on August 4, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

8/4/13 12:54pm

I feel the need to write but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m scared. Everything’s changing.

Today I stand tall, walk confidently. A bug sits on my pen. I feel grounded. Diane gave me jewelry. I got many compliments on my appearance, my dress. I feel calm. My head doesn’t hurt yet. I can write without pain. I am removed from me. Watching. It all goes away.

Yesterday I went to a party. I was severely depressed & moderately agitated to begin with. I lied on my floor barely moving, begged myself not to go. But I did. I’m not good at being social. Small talk annoys me. I wanted to leave but I came for S-. I forced myself to participate, to observe. I ate the food, though it scared me. I pet the cat. In my journal I wrote, “I will end up in the hospital soon if I don’t get this under control.”

Today I feel like I’m floating. I sit in a parking lot hugging the sun. A ball of desperation has been growing in my throat causing my voice to be crackly. My body has been weak & riddled with pain. I’ve wanted to kill people all the live long day. The pain has seeped down from my head through my body and into my soul. My thoughts are tainted. They are often not mine. I feel the tears burn my face from the inside. The screams, they live in my forehead. And somewhere deep inside is me trapped in a dungeon surrounded by fire on an island of hate surviving solely on ice chips. She’s going to die…

T- says I look worn down, that she can see the sadness and pain in me. Sometimes it is too great and she must look away. Sorrow runs deep.

I have so much to be thankful for. I am ashamed that people can sense or see my pain. I’m not doing it right. I’m supposed to be perfect and happy. Someone noticed last night and mentioned it. I was devastated.

I am an emotional trash compactor that rarely gets emptied. Sad, tired eyes often imply wisdom. I’d like to let it out. And take these shoes off. I want OUT. I want out.

I went to see about a debt consolidation loan on Friday and the guy talked at me for an hour. Yes, I’m not in the best situation. No, I don’t know how to fix it. I feel thoroughly TRAPPED. I think I could do it from scratch, learn, change my ways. If only I could get there. Someone please help me. (not really) I’m not wearing the right underwear.

My feet hurt.
I’m hungry.

There are so many tasks to do. They will never all be done. I just work as I can. Futile. And eat Chobani yogurt. I need a fan. (not really)

Five of my toes are numb.
I want to go home.

I’ve spent a lot of time lately mapping out how to map out my life. I’ve not had the energy to put the plan into play but it’s coming along. I need to play. And pee. I’m scared.

I need structure, achievable goals, and rewards. Music, dance, art, exercise. SLEEP. I’m a ball of need. And I just keep giving. I feel lonely, alone, even around people. I’m very bothered by things out of place. My other-energy boundaries have eroded. It all comes in. And then I seem pissy and want to kill people and they say I’m rude. Well, you try it, bitch. (deep breath)

I want to sleep and wake up feeling better. My head hurts. I’m hungry. It’s way too hot.

(sit. breathe.)

I breathe the evil out of me. Don’s off beer for 2 weeks for MOHS. We’ll see how that goes. I started NuvaRing today. I hope I don’t gain weight. If I tolerate it well I may be able to decrease or cut out a few other meds. (wave of nausea) I need meds now… Done.

I want to get a FitBit. My therapist is concerned about my sleep and I want to lose weight. I think a monitor and program will help me. Hopefully. Even as just a reminder. I want to be Me again. She is thin. She loses weight. She’s amazing.

My face, hands & feet tingle. My stomach protrudes, despite lack of food. My head hurts. I do not move, but for my hand. My eyes are weary above a faint smile. God is good. Amen.

(fall asleep)

PS – My thyroid biopsy came back normal. I’m waiting on the other one. I’m quite sick for being so healthy. I guess I’m ahead of my time.

Letting myself be

Posted on August 4, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

7/26/13 9:49pm

1 Awesome thing. Letting myself be.

I am a human being. I act like a human doing. This makes my head explode. It is awesome to let myself be, to be quiet, to do nothing on purpose. To let the hardship and hurt flow out of me and simply breathe, drift into daydreams or softly to sleep. Permission for myself to be still.

Letting myself be. For a moment not judging or changing, fixing or freaking out. Simply to exist. I occupy space on the earth. I feel myself in relation to others. I be safely.

Letting myself be is awesome. I get in the way of be too often. I am thankful for the ability to let myself be.

You have to get through this.
We make it.

I love fruit

Posted on July 16, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

7/16/13 9:18pm

This morning I found myself staring at a list of questions for my biography in some book at my upcoming 10 year reunion. They all made me think. No spouse, no children. I’ve not become the me I wanted to be. I was particularly puzzled by the last prompt/question: Summary of accomplishments, dreams, travels since High School. It’s all been a blur. I had the invitation to regret, to be angry, to hate myself for what I’ve done. For the bio I came up with this. It surprised me but it’s true.

It didn’t seem complete. It’s not what I’m most proud of. So I continued it in my journal.

Summary of accomplishments, dreams, travels since High School:

I survived. I’m alive. I’m thriving.
Fought through mental illness
Didn’t give up
Found myself
Set her free
Learned to love her
Worked
Continued to follow my dreams & ideas
Learned to stand up for myself and my beliefs and eventually others’
Learned assertiveness & put it into practice
I’ve begun to tolerate being alone
Developed systems of change for myself and others
I refused to give up
I didn’t hurt myself
Separated myself from Mom
Learned to see her as a person
Got my license
Weathered DBSA through thick & thin
Joined a church I’m active in
Stood up for my beliefs, even when it got me fired
Learned to trust
Stopped running away
Owned/Developed pride in me
Learned how to tolerate anxiety
Continued to grow my resourcefulness
Had a relationship
Made real friends
Learned how to manage money
Didn’t forget
Didn’t let go of the dream
Took care of my body & teeth

I am pretty fucking awesome. Today Dr. N told me he’s proud of me, that I’ve accomplished something 2 years ago he didn’t think was possible – in terms of my wellness. He said he knew I had potential but didn’t expect this. It feels good that he’s proud of me and that he sees and appreciates the positive change I work so hard on every day.

Today I went to the casino and practiced the word Patient. I tried Compassion but it was too hard. I want to learn to be Patient. Now I’m off to dye a llama purple with blackberries, if I don’t eat them all first. ;) I love fruit. I have two biopsies coming up. Wish me luck.

To New Beginnings

Posted on July 10, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

7-10-13 1:45pm

It’s official. I got my driver’s license. What a trip. Exhausting. I’m sitting now in the quiet of our mechanic’s waiting room, letting myself settle to the ticks of a clock. (Eyes closed…) In here it is cool. I can begin to relax.

I believe that I failed my driving test. God passed for me. Praise God I had a nice examiner. I almost hit a truck and had to try backing up 3 times. I was terrified, fighting to stay in the moment and ignore or combat the automatic negative thoughts and keep driving through the flashbacks.

When we pulled in I was shaking, fighting off tears. I didn’t believe her when she said I passed. All she said was, “Ok.” Odd. I held it together long enough to get through the line and to the bathroom to cry. These voices were screaming in my head, “You FAILED. AGAIN. You are NOTHING. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! You’re right back where you started. DIE!” I pulled myself together enough to go out to Mom and then lost it again. I was crying so hard. All the stress from this month all came out in tears and sobs. She held me, pouring out reassurance about driving, which had nothing to do with my crying. It was nice just me and her. I finally calmed down after some Jamba Juice. Now I’m exhausted.

I didn’t expect that reaction. I couldn’t forsee, nor would I want to. It helped a lot that I went to the gym this morning and wore my new outfit. I had a pep talk with God, felt empowered. I met my goal today – to take the drive test. I faced one of my demons. I didn’t back down. I did it. I just happen to have gotten a license in the process.

(deep quiet breaths…)

To new beginnings.
To spiral journals.
To taking back ME.
Life. Me.
To new beginnings.
To starting over.
To cleaning house.
To owning my behavior.
To God.
To love.
To faith.
To life transparency.
To me.

To new beginnings.
Cheerio. ~

Writing Towards Happy

The experience of making positive change in my life

Tag Archives: journal

Ya can’t fix tile with a laser beam

I am not broken

Pain is a hat

I am happy :)

At least I’m not scared…

I Want to Be Well

Are you the pumpkin man?

I wish it was Tuesday

CRV

Time to be me

Since 2009

I made it rain bacon

The only change that matters

Drive Me

I feel the need to write…

Letting myself be

I love fruit

To New Beginnings