Newly Born

Maybe it’s just me, but this baby doesn’t look broken at all in this photo. But considering the couple she was born to, she’d probably already experienced some unpleasant things.

This is a beautiful and innocent baby. I want to be there for this baby somehow.

I am saddened to know, as the adult who was this baby so long ago, about the abuse she would endure as she grew.

I am here to acknowledge her pain and the events that occurred to create the wounds that caused that pain.

She deserves better than what she got.

Not sure of my exact age. A couple months?

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The Effects of Accumulated Stress on Me

As usual I’ve been torn about whether I want to continue writing on this blog or to move elsewhere.

There are probably more reasons for this than I know, but one of them is that I don’t want to lament anymore.

I started this blog off saying that I “was gonna” do some things that I never did do. It’s the story of my life. I even know why I do that now. I procrastinate because I’m a perfectionist. I’m too afraid I won’t do it right or more so that I’ll get too frustrated while trying to get it right.

That fear of frustration is about doing hard things for the first time. One thing I wanted to do was write a Kindle book. I’d still like to, but I haven’t approached it because I’m pretty sure the learning curve will get me so frustrated that I’ll end up in tears.  And I mean that literally.

I still want to do that, but I am in crisis again…well, did I ever get out of crisis?

I don’t think so.

I’m not even doing any work toward it right now. I look over at all the books I have and I never touch them. And each time I try with therapy, I’m retraumatized. The last attempt, which was DBT, ended in a lot of trauma.

I’ve been struggling (still) recently because I made the mistake of reaching out to my mother, which ended in disaster. I’m not going to rehash that shit show because it’s too stressful.

And that brings me to the side of my self argument that wants to stop writing here.
Writing the past, keeps me in the story. I thought maybe it was the way to bring up the feelings and emotions I need to feel and I don’t know, maybe for you it’s what works. But for me, it triggers such anger that becomes rage and really just a wall for the sadness and grief. I don’t think that’s beneficial at all.

I have said and thought this before. I’ve said and thought a lot of things, thought about goals and things I want to do to move forward and look at the future instead of looking into the past.  But I feel so stuck in that past.

I feel like I put things off in the present because of this needful feeling of hashing through the past. Yet I put off hashing through the past too. I know there is likely some avoidance there. I mean, I put off things that could help me too, things that would take me out of the story and into the present.

I think it’s painful either way. I do feel like going back into the past is doing more damage than leaving it, at least for now.

I have had health problems for a long time. It started with the diagnosis of interstitial cystitis…a mild case. I went right into doing research on how to fix it. I was led to information on diet and although overwhelmed, I tried to improve not only my diet but other lifestyle habits.  I struggled. I was still pretty young and had the same friends that I indulged in all the bad habits with.

I’ve struggled since and even being pretty much a shut in now, I’m still struggling. I know it’s not any of those friends fault, although there is a lot to be said for support and influence.

Weed, alcohol and food were always my pacifier, my escape. They numbed me out so I didn’t have to feel all the pain. And that pain, at that time I didn’t understand. It has really only been relatively recently that I’ve realized the role my mother played in the damage I underwent.  I wonder how obvious it would seem to someone else who had a good mother. But for me, her role and her pathology was so overshadowed by my father’s that I didn’t really see it.

It’s devastating to think about how much time I spent not being aware of the damage she was causing, because it gave her time to do even more.  It’s no wonder I feel so fucking paralyzed and fearful.

And going back through that, thinking about it, writing about it…well I’ve already done that. And here I am. No more healed than when I started. In fact, with all the stressful and even abusive things I’ve been through only since I started this blog, I have actually gotten worse.  So in my case, writing about my abusive past has not helped much.

It’s not a total loss. I did write. For me that’s a plus because writing is something I long to do, only I wish I had some expertise to write about instead of this shit.

I’ve met some cool people through blogging.

And the best part was the insight from other bloggers/readers that I received in the comment section. I learned a lot from you.  A LOT!

I started to re-read through my posts to recategorize and get the categories up on the site instead of hidden on my dashboard.  This is a project I still want to do but don’t know if I will.

I like the idea of going back through and seeing what I wrote in the past in some ways. There is insight there sometimes. And it helps to remember why I am no contact when I am feeling weak and wanting to contact my mother.  I wish I’d have read through some posts befor I reached out this time. It would’ve saved me a lot of stress, a lot of damage.

I am now having some kind of flair of a digestive tract problem. I won’t go into too much detail here but I’m not doing well.  And I think the recent stress of the contact with my mother contributed.

I think over the years of trying to figure out what to eat, going on diets that exclude or minimize a food group has done damage to my body. In fact I think I’ve developed a sort of eating disorder.  I used to scoff at the idea of orthorexia. I mean what the fuck is wrong with eating healthy.  But the truth is when you start to fear certain food groups, there’s a problem.

That being said, I don’t speak for anyone else. There are people doing what I would call extreme diets, like veganism and carnivore.  And for some of those people it is helping them heal.

With all the glyphosate and GMOs in this country, it’s no surprise that people need to turn to extreme ways of eating. I have attempted both of the aforementioned diets myself and neither one has done me any favors.  I never stuck to eating vegan for long each time I tried, but I was always eating very little meat even when not being completely vegan.

I did a keto diet for a couple weeks back in 2014 and I started seeing and feeling success. But I self-sabotaged and went off of it.  I think if I’d stuck with that (and keto does include veggies) I would’ve been fine.

But when I tried it again last year sometime, I could not get satiated. I ended up in the kitchen five times a day and that just created more stress on my psyche which in turn created it in my body.

Then there’s carnivore. I think this could be beneficial if I ate more organ meats, but not being able to get them down, creates quite the barrier to that.  So when I was eating all meat because I wasn’t digesting anything else, I was just eating muscle meat.

I also ate eggs and would drink kefir and raw milk.  But then more digestive issues hit and then I was stuck. And I’d go back to just eating meat..

I was able to clear it up my last bout of digestive issues with a strong probiotic and then I got some help from a nutritionist.  She put me on keto/carnivore, which was okay since I still knew I couldn’t eat starchy carbs or fruits and certainly not junk food. Not only was I not digesting those carbs and junk but those things contribute to depression for me.

During the time of working with the nutritionist, I struggled a bit here and there with my liver not processing fats, but that was getting better. Recently however, I have gone further back than square one.

I’m suspecting diverticulitis (because I already know I have diverticulosis) and probably a fatty liver. It’s not processing fat right now.

It’s quite a trap to be in. My liver doesn’t break down fats, when I eat protein, my intestines hurt and when I eat fiber in any form my colon spits it out in the form of diarrhea. TMI perhaps. Sorry, not sorry.

The times I was eating all meat, caused constipation. And even when I HAD to go, I also had to push. THAT (I’m pretty sure) will cause diverticulosis.

I’ve really backed myself into a corner here. Feels more like a cage. I’m in and out of the bathroom so much I may not even be able to make a doctor’s appointment I have on Monday. I also need to get to the lab to have blood drawn for testing.

I am back to trial and error of supplements and figuring this out on my own, since I’m not working with the nutritionist anymore. And don’t have the money myself to pay her or anyone else anymore either.  B helped me out with this nutritionist and continuing to ask him for money just keeps me stuck, in fact it digs me into a bigger hole. And I feel like I’m taking advantage of him…because I probably am.

The thing that I know and I mean know without a doubt that has to be reeled in are my stress levels, because that causes inflammation.   Easier said than done obviously. Life is stressful. But with PTSD, as anyone with it will know,  I don’t handle stress well at all.

And so it becomes a cycle. Stressful event, trauma brain, trauma brain sees everything as an obstacle and takes them all personally.  I also take shit out on B and then I feel horrible. I feel shame. And I feel guilt.  And even though I’m sorry, I do it again.

Sure, he’s got his own issues too. He can be frustrating and difficult. But I put a lot of demand on him and take out shit on him that isn’t his to take out on.

All of these things are really hard to get past and through. There is so much accumulated and for so long, that it feels hopeless.  And as much as I want to spend time reading through my posts and organizing this blog, I think because of the stress it causes my entire being, I better not.

The first thing I have in my power to do is to eliminate some of the things that are causing the stress.  If I make the decision that I won’t be here, that it is not the time for me to be logging into Sleeping Tiger and posting or reading, then perhaps it will help my mind understand that other tasks and activities need to take priority to make it possible to heal.

I have one more post in mind I would like to put up. One thing I have not been in touch with and don’t know much about it myself in many ways. One of those ways is what I like.

I think it would be therapeutic to make a list for myself here on this blog of those things.  For two reasons.  One obviously for myself. But also to feel some fear and do it anyway.

Thinking about doing this makes me think of something one of the therapists I’d worked with would say to me repeatedly: “I’m trying to get you to come out from under the table.”

That was in reference to standing up for myself to my family while in the midst of dealing with them all while caring for my dying father.

Well, I’ve made myself small in every aspect of my life.   In jobs, in relationships, in friendships, in income level, in hobbies. I have given up my voice in many situations.

I hide myself, my opinions and my interests for fear of being judged, not liked, or walked away from as a friend.  I have a serious fear of being accepted by others, while that fear keeps me from accepting myself.  And it’s me that I have to live with. I will always be here. I don’t want to live my life hiding.

This seems like a good place to start with that work.

I Prayed to St. Jude

I’ve put this off for far too long. And that’s because of my usual fear of what others will think.

Back when I was worried about ovarian cancer, I prayed to St. Jude. Even before I knew whether I had it or not.  As soon as I heard the suggestion of it and the doctor telling me the symptoms I was having matched, I was a panic stricken mess.

I went to bed. I stayed there (for the most part) and didn’t eat for seven days. I still cared for myself minimally, meaning I brushed my teeth, drank some water, took a shower or two in that time.  But it wasn’t until the 7th day that I ate something because I was so damn hungry.

The other thing I did during that time was pray to St. Jude. What I did was a ritual. It just so happened that I already had his novena candle. I looked up various rituals that others had posted on YouTube and chose one.

I wrote out the prayer and gathered the things that I did have that were suggested and recommended to use for the ritual.  I recited (or rather read) the prayer for 9 days.

The timing was just so, that by the time I had gotten the results of all the testing the nine days was up.

I had quite a few things going on in there, but ovarian cancer wasn’t one of them.

Thank you St. Jude. And I apologize to you St. Jude, that I put off writing this for so long.