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.

Me

Posted on January 6, 2013 by writingtowardshappy

(Note – Yes, I am safe.)
1-6-13 6:30pm

Just got home from RENT. I went with Taylor. Cried through most of it. Exhausted now.

I miss Brandon. I miss my theater family. I miss being me. All of the goodness that I am now isn’t ME. I miss Sarah and Mr. B, knowing I had a role, a purpose. All of that was taken from me.

It’s something we never talk about in therapy. We talk about sense of self. We don’t talk about me. Is it too late to get her back? Is she gone forever? Is the opportunity gone for me to be me? I so desperately need me.

Please.

–

I pulled a healing card today that says this, “It’s important not to get stuck in therapy. Therapy is a necessary boat that takes you across a rough river to a new shore. In time, though, you must step out of the boat and onto new earth and never look back.” There is a passage with it about not carrying the raft forever and being wary of letting supports be a substitute for life.

I don’t understand. Illness took me. Therapy took my life. Therapy forced illness to cough part of me up and became my life. I can’t get the real me back. If I let go of groups and therapy I have nothing.

I wish someone had warned me, told me, “Don’t let go! Not for anything.” But they didn’t. They were living. Now I am scared to breathe.

A little girl wants me to teach her to dance. I’m terrified. Please don’t touch me. You don’t understand.

Who am I?

I am a little girl.
I am a friend.
I am a dancer.
I am an artist.
I am a patient.
I am a child of God.
I am me.
I am not what I feel.

(“I’ll Cover You”)

I want to scream out, “PLEASE HELP ME! Someone’s taken my soul!” But no one’s there to listen, only hear.

If I can’t be who I was, I don’t want to live at all.

You couldn’t tolerate the stress of who you were.

I can’t tolerate the stress of now.

Touche.
Take your AZT.

I think if I got into a show it would bring me back. I would find me again. I NEED me.

Me is dead. She is gone.

No she’s not! I saw her last week.

Elvis has left the building.

My head hurts.
I want to die.

I know.
Do you honestly think in your state of mind you could do it?

I’ve done it before.

But not with the physical ailments.

True.
What am I supposed to do?
I can’t do this anymore.

Sing, take drugs & teach.
Work your way up.
Peanuts to packing peanuts.

Fuck that.
When do we start?

I want to die.

I know.
I’m tired.

Triggers

Theater
RENT memories
B- memories
USC memories
shame about my life
missing Sarah
believing I can never have me back

Vulnerability Factors

Janet’s death
pre-existing severe depression
exhaustion
allergies/infection
headaches
holidays

Thankful Taylor is texting me. Need to take – and -.
Make a plan, Michelle. You can do this.

Keep up the fight

Posted on October 20, 2012 by writingtowardshappy

10/20/12 10:50pm

So, I worked a DBSA table at the Out of the Darkness Walk today. It was fun. I went to bed early last night, which was good since my alarm went off at 4:30 this morning and I got up at five. I was dragging but awake until I had 4 pixie sticks and a mini candy bar from the table next to us. I was suddenly alive. ;) It was nice to have people there working with me, to not be alone. I’ve been relying more on other people lately while my mom’s in New York and it feels good. I’m spreading my wings, expanding my person-ness.

After the walk we went to Kansas City Barbecue and I stuffed my face and then to Seaport Village. I love food. It brings me comfort. I did something stupid though. I indulged in onion rings. I’ve been trying to stay away from onions as much as possible as they make me feel awful and interfere with my breathing. But I forgot how dreadful they make life and decided to get them anyway. Ten hours later I still feel awful. I slept for four and woke up to pee. I’m moving slowly, can’t think, head hurts, watery eyes. I thought I’d just go back to sleep but my mind started racing and I had to take a Xanax to calm down enough to read Facebook. I don’t know what’s happening. Total system shutdown. But it’s not like yesterday.

Yesterday I got in a fight with my therapist. I was already feeling overwhelmed and then a mere comment about a group he leads turned into a horribly triggering conversation. I went from feeling somewhat okay to total rage in an instant. He asked what was going on and I told him straight up I felt the need to burn down his office. We continued to argue. He checked in again and I told him I no longer cared to burn down his office, I just wanted to die. I probably would’ve tried it except that I had a two and a half hour bus ride home and by the time I got there I was exhausted and had been triggered by other things and just gave up and slept. I was thoroughly exhausted and went to bed at 9:45pm. Worked out okay since I had to get up early today. And today it was like it didn’t exist, until I was having an anxiety attack while unable to move a whole lot and started talking to him out loud in bed. It helped. I need to eventually type out my thoughts and send them to him. But for tonight, I just make notes here with my kitty asleep on my lap. I love my kitty.

Found out today that my mom will be back in a few days. I’m glad. I could use some predictability around here, even if it comes with extra house guests. If we ever go eat, don’t let me eat onion rings. I’d really like to ride a carousel. And I like my pink polka dotted shirt. It fits now.

Well, here’s to unicorns and snowy brows. I must try to sleep now. I’m counting tomorrow as a day of rest. A day just for me. I deserve it and so do you.

Keep up the fight.

Love, Michelle

Insincerity is NOT a benchmark of adulthood

Posted on September 3, 2011 by writingtowardshappy

9-2-11

Insincerity is NOT a benchmark of adulthood. It is a result of being brainwashed. And it is what lands us all in therapy.

What is the first thing our parents teach us when we’re little? Don’t lie. And what is the second thing they teach us? To lie. How are you feeling? No, you don’t feel that way. That doesn’t hurt. You shouldn’t say things like that (even though they’re true). Don’t lie. Didn’t I tell you not to lie? Are you listening to me? Don’t lie now. Gosh, wasn’t that movie amazing? (NO) We are taught to say only what others want to hear, that our feelings don’t matter and that we should not, by any means, ever share the ones that aren’t pretty. And definitely never tell the truth.

So when they ask us how we’re feeling, we’re “fine.” And everything inside us is a raging wildfire burning us alive but there’s no one to tell it to. And we’ve been told for so long that our feelings are not valid or real that we now don’t even know what we’re actually feeling. Or some people claim to have stopped feeling at all. And then one day we go crazy. We scream at the boss or blow up a car or run through the streets naked yelling something about George Bush and Al Gore making love at Burning Man in a pig-filled mud pit. And everyone says that we’re crazy. Oh, he was such a nice boy. But really, we’re not crazy at all. We’re just fucked up due to brainwashing that tells us we shouldn’t and therefore don’t feel the way we do and, IF we still do, that we should NEVER communicate it. (sigh) Seriously.

And it takes many years of therapy to learn to trust and to know what we’re feeling and to TELL THE TRUTH. Holy God, that’s a difficult task. Most people are truth-intolerant, you know that? They just don’t want to know. When they ask how I feel they don’t really want an answer. If I tell them, their response is certainly not helpful. Then I feel ashamed because I certainly must’ve done something wrong by HAVING that feeling AND by sharing it. Oh gosh. Now what do I do with this shame I now feel about having a feeling and the guilt I now feel ‘cuz I can’t tell anyone about my shame because that’s not something I can share either. Guess it’s another secret I have to keep.

And again, “How are you doing?” “Fine.”
Inner dialogue: DAMN, I hate my life. Nobody listens to me. Nobody cares. I’m all alone.
Inner therapist: They can’t know what you don’t tell them, Michelle.
Me: But they don’t want to know! AHHHHHHHH!

And again, “How are you?” “Fine.”
Inner dialogue: This is never going to end. I should kill myself now.
Inner therapist: Probably.

And again, “How are you doing?” “AAAAAHHHHH! I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!!!”
Other person: “What a bitch.”
Me: Damn straight. Get the fuck out of my way.

This is not a part of adulthood. This is some fucked up shit.

Fucked-upness

Posted on April 15, 2011 by writingtowardshappy

I used to want to be a therapist. But then I realized I’m too fucked up to be a therapist. But many of the fucked up people I know want to be therapists. Which makes me wonder just how many of our therapists are just well-dressed fucked up people with degrees. Which makes me wonder… I just want a therapist that is fucked up enough to know where I’m coming from but not enough to kill me.

Great Quotes from Therapy

Posted on November 6, 2010 by writingtowardshappy

11-6-10 4:04am

I am so thankful for my therapist. I had a great session with him this week. He is spot on sometimes and I just had to share these pearls of wisdom. He said:

“You’re a very good codependent.”
“He’s got muscles where his empathy should be.”
“That’s what happens when a poet meets a lumberjack.”
“These are the sticks between which you weave your safety net.”

-Michelle

Give Me Back My Fantasy

Posted on July 5, 2010 by writingtowardshappy

7-4-10 1:24am

Tonight I need to go back to fantasy. Reality is too much.

I hear “Impossible” sung by Sacha & Daniel in my head. “I would sell my very soul…” Did you?

They worked so hard, all my doctors & therapists, to bring me out of my fantasy world into reality. To teach me to see the world around me, to experience the now. But now I can’t seem to get back.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to feel this. I want someone to write to, someone to talk to in my head, something to look forward to when I’ll see one of my fantasy people and get a recharge of hope again. Is that too much to ask? What’s wrong with fantasy?

Guided imagery, hypnotic pain reduction, meditation. It’s all fantasy. Why not me? Give me back my fantasy.

—-

“Impossible” is intertwined now with “The Work Song” from Cinderella – the song the mice sing while sewing her dress.

Writing Towards Happy

The experience of making positive change in my life

Tag Archives: therapy