Sick of Being in Crisis and Went Back to Kratom

I am not prepared to write about all the details of kratom, but wanted to put this out there because in the past kratom has helped me.

I’ll include some links at the end of this post so that if anyone reading is interested and doesn’t already know about it, they can educate themselves that way. I am open to discussion but I can only speak from my own experience.

First I will say that I stopped taking it before because I do tend to get some adverse effects from it.
I have dealt with heart palpitations and some effects to my lungs…I can tell this when I would laugh, I would sound like an old smoker or someone with asthma.  Anyone remember Mutley from the cartoons of the 70s. I sounded like that. But then I get the same effect from coffee, only not quite as bad.

It’s my understanding that kratom is from the same family or genus, or something like that…but don’t quote me on that.

When I stopped kratom, that effect to my laugh/lungs went away.

It also tends to make me feel a certain type of groggy in the morning, from the previous day. But then I feel groggy anyway. So I guess it’s a trade off in different types of fog (or grog.)

However there’s benefits, which I’ll get into. It’s what brought me back to it, particularly at this point in time when I’ve been feeling so rotten and like I want to be dead.

Being sensitive, I also need to be careful and test it out a little at a time. Since I stopped taking it for almost a year, I am really at square one again, although I know more about it and its effects on my brain and body more so now, than I did last time.

I also want to mention that I had no problem quitting when I decided to do that. I have more of an issue giving up coffee than I did kratom. Once I’ve been drinking coffee on the regular, when I go to quit, I get a migraine for days. When I stopped kratom a little less than a year ago, I had no such problem.

I purchased a few different types and am testing them one at a time. I had a particular mix before that worked well for me before, but I have bought from a different company this time because the other company is one I’d have to access to through Facebook and I am presently not on it.

I received the order yesterday morning and tried a small amount of one kind in some orange juice.(I will mention that most people don’t like the taste of it at all, but mixed in OJ I don’t mind it.)

I noticed a calming/relaxing effect after a short period of time. That being said though, it did not make me any less angry when the dickhead next door, played some music really loud in the parking lot in his car, with the doors open, vibrating our entire apartment. That is an entirely different story, so I won’t get into it here, but wanted to mention that kratom doesn’t make you oblivious and numb to shit around you. And that is not what I’m using it for.

Today I took another kind and mixed it up in my fatty coffee. My fatty coffee is: coffee, butter and coconut milk. After the coffee by itself is brewed in the coffee maker, I transfer it to a pot to heat on the stove and melt the fat into it, because when I add the milk, it cools the coffee down too much for my liking. Once it’s hot again, I add it to my blender and make it frothy.

This morning I just added some of the kratom to the blender with the rest of the mixture. It took a little while, but I am feeling the effects of it now.

OK so I want to be clear about this stuff. This is not something that I’m using to get some euphoric effect.  I am using it to lift the depression so that I can live my life and be somewhat productive. So that I have motivation and drive to prepare healthy food in my kitchen. So that I have drive to stay alive and be productive toward some semblance of independence. So I have motivation to move my body.

It also helps me to feel less like a sore thumb in public. I feel a bit more confident about myself and like I have the right to fill the space that I do.

It clears my mind so that I am able to communicate better with others and I don’t feel flustered when I’m asked something that I may have some difficulty with forming the answer to. Because I can think a little quicker on my feet or if not, I have the confidence to pause and think about it before I say anything.

It helps to organize my thoughts. And it tends to nullify the chronic anger I tend to feel at the world, while not diminishing my healthy emotions.

And then with all of this, there is less anxiety.

That is my experience. I also understand that I will need to be careful with it and it is not going to be in my best interest to take it every single day. The adverse effects though, also show that it is cumulative in my system, which means it’s cumulative in the positive as well. Meaning it is capable of holding the depression at bay for a few days without me taking it.

It’s just gotten too dark and quite frankly the urge to die had been getting too real. So back to feeling better is what I decided to do, despite the piper that needs to be paid as well.

Not without a long term plan though:

I know not everything that works in theory, works in real life, but I have to try anyway.

My thought process is that kratom is a spring board to help me get healthier physically and to help me face the traumatic shit that I feel the need to face, to heal emotionally and psychologically, but has been knocking the wind out of me. So I guess you could say it’s a crutch, but so be it.

Sometimes…in fact, usually, help is needed.

Anti-depressants have been known to help some people get over very big obstacles of debilitating depression, so although I wanted to do all this healing without a crutch, it just isn’t working out.But in my case, anti-depressants have done way more harm than good, so that is not an option as far as I’m concerned.

All I’ve been wanting to do is hide from the world, sit in my apartment, eat junk food and sleep.

That is not getting better. I’m getting worse. And even though I’m in DBT and it is helping me in a few different ways: insight, understanding behaviors, it is not doing much to lift any depression or get me out of crisis.

So this is what I’ve decided to do.

Here are some links if you are interested in knowing more.

Enso Botanicals This site is a good place to start for an overview. Lots of information.

I Love Kratom There’s a blog here and a forum. There is also a list of vendors. It’s a good idea to check out reddit first for reviews on vendors before ordering though. There are some shady people out there who will take your money and not send you the product. So always be careful.

The kratom section of reddit You’ll find a list of topics here from actual people who have written out their experiences with the plant and with vendors. They have asked questions and given reviews. There is a search bar to the right if you have a specific thing you want to know. I will also tell you that just like everything else, this is not something for everyone and so you will find negative things here as well as positive things.

You also don’t have to open an account on reddit to read it or search for info there.

I want to be clear that I am not recommending this to anyone. All I am doing is keeping a record for myself and stating my own experience on this blog and supplying links if you are curious about more information.

I don’t rave about it or swear by it because as I’ve described, I generally have to pay a piper on the other side, even when I derive benefits from some sort of supplement. It’s just the way it is.

But in weighing out my options, for me, this is what I’ve decided on.


In Crisis

Because I’d shared something with my therapist last week that I thought was pretty insignificant, she gave me insight to the fact that I’m in crisis.

I had not known that was what was and is going on for me. Why I’m feeling like I’ve been hit by a fucking train. Why I feel angry at everything. Why I can’t stand to be out in public. Why I can’t stop eating shitty food.

It made me cry when she said it. And when she said it, she said it with so much compassion and that added to the reason for the tears her words brought up.

It made me sad for me…that I’m in crisis.

But it also was a relief to understand what the fuck is going on.I really had not known. I just figured it was depression and I just need more sleep, I need to do more things, tasks, activities. I need to eat better.

Because of her sincere show of compassion, she touched my heart deeply. It always makes me cry when someone shows such deep understanding. Even more so when it’s something I hadn’t understood myself until they said something.

I’ve been in crisis for years. Fuck.

How to Teach Your Kids to Hate Each Other

Another one I’m re-homing from Safire Falcon. This one was written in November of 2014. It had another title, kind of clunky. This one’s not so great either but that’s what I’m calling it.

I misinterpreted my sister’s tone after the plug from the curling iron fell from the outlet into the sink. We’d both been standing at the bathroom mirror and I was attempting to curl my hair.  I was in my twenties at that point and my family had fairly recently moved into this particular house.

The darkness of depression had already been part of my world, those feelings of being trapped by and in life started a few years before the above scene, when we were living at the house I’d lived in since I was 10. And I was probably in the deepest darkest depths of it at the time of the move.

The move contributed to the added intensity but I was in it already and in deep. At that point I had no idea what I was most likely suffering from was symptoms of complex trauma, and it wasn’t crossing anyone else’s mind either.

The emotional abuse had always had an impact on my life but it was starting to take a bigger toll. And no wonder. I was in my early 20s. I should have been living on my own, or at least settled into a college major. But I was still lost. Not only that, I had begun to have (age-appropriate) intimate relationships a couple years prior. And within those relationships, is where the most intense turmoil shows up.

I was even less aware how the stage had already begun being set for my role as family scapegoat and continued to be .

My sister said, “Careful.”

My first thought was that her comment was condescending and that she was assuming I was a careless sort of person. I replied with a sneer of annoyance and resentment, “The water’s not even running.”

Translation: “No worries little sister, you’re not in danger and how dare you imply that I am so careless. It certainly isn’t my fault the outlet won’t hold the plug.”

That’s not what I said, but the tension between us was thick and the rift deep, by the time this incident happened, something we were both aware of. I was too angry to care though.  For whatever reason, after my nasty reply, her response was a matter of fact tone that carried with it a touch of hurt and confusion.

“I was just thinking about you.” She really did sound sincere.

Instantly I felt like shit…that I’d misinterpreted her intention. The relationship that had once been close was falling apart. But my anger blinded me, filtered out so much of my thoughts and feelings. It was safer to be angry. But it hurt. I hated being angry all the time. If I ever felt lost before this, it was nothing compared to what I was continuing to feel in this part of my adulthood.

I didn’t understand it really and didn’t know the first thing about how to go about fixing it.

My sister had already physically attacked me a few years before that. She had her own impulse control and anger issues.

My misinterpretation existed, it was harmful, but it didn’t exist in a vacuum. The toxicity of my family had grown into an ugly tumor that everyone seemed to prefer to ignore. I was certainly angry about the past, the way my father treated me and even about my mother’s neglect, but at that point in time my anger encompassed many things, even things I was unaware of.

Like being lost with no idea of what I wanted to do with my life. With not feeling settled with a significant other, which really equates to me not being settled within myself. With my father who treated anyone I dated like shit. With my sister for not understanding. With my parents for not helping me out of the darkness, for moving, for not listening to me, for making me feel wrong for every emotion I felt. For thinking that my wanting to resolve present and even past issues was ridiculous and that I should just let it go.

“How often do I need to discuss it? It doesn’t change anything.,” were my father’s words one day when I approached him to talk about something bothering me from my childhood.

My sister’s physical attack on me however, was provoked by some passive remark I had made. But unfortunately I don’t remember what I said. The memory of that crosses with another incident…

Shortly after I’d graduated from high school, my father had won a trip to Cancun for a week from his job, so my parents took that vacation.

My siblings were still in school though and I was informed that it was my responsibility to make sure the other two went to school. The message was that if they didn’t I would be punished.

What that meant now that I was an adult, I didn’t know. I suppose they could still enforce a grounding since I still lived under their roof. But disappointing them was punishment in and of itself, (Failure. Not good enough. Fucked up again) not to mention my father’s seething or booming threatening voice. My cortisol levels would rise just thinking about that.

One night while they were on that vacation,  after my sister had gone to bed…with her boyfriend, I was in the kitchen with my boyfriend and my brother, waiting for some oil to heat up in a pan. I had the ‘bright’ idea of deep frying some frozen pizza bites.

Sitting there yackin’ away, I didn’t realize how hot the oil was getting and the pan began to smoke.  I got up and quickly removed it from the burner.

But it suddenly went up in flames. And all three of us panicked.

My boyfriend, grabbed the pot as I lifted the screen in the kitchen window so he could throw it outside into the yard. When I let go of the screen, it slammed right back down causing the pan to be forced back, splashing hot oil onto his hands and all over the floor.

He kept that pan in his hands while we all panicked trying to figure out what to do with it. Walking it to the front door meant walking it over carpeting that could catch fire.

We went back to the kitchen window and I opened the screen again. This time he flung the pot and it flew successfully outside. I don’t remember how we got the fire out.

We were so lucky the house didn’t go up in flames. The curtains in the kitchen ignited during all the chaos, and I had been able to get them out the window too. And just as my memory is blank on how the fire in the pan was put out, such is the case for the curtains.

I remember during all the commotion, just after the the fire started, that my sister had made a sudden appearance in the kitchen to see what all the noise was about. Thinking about it now, I can imagine the shock and fear she probably felt. She would’ve been around 13.

After his heroic act, I saw my boyfriend’s hands were badly burnt and I got him to come to the kitchen sink, running water as cold as I could get it on his hands. I told him I wanted to take him to the ER but he refused. He couldn’t sleep that night. In pain, he tossed and turned all night.

He was unable to work after the injury while he healed. He was also angry because after telling my parents the story, he felt they should’ve compensated him in some way. And he wasn’t shy about letting me know it. I didn’t know what to think. I told him I’d talk to them about it, but he said not to.

After this horrendous incident, there was oil all over the kitchen floor, so to prevent anyone from slipping, before going to bed that night, I poured salt on top of all the oil.

The next morning I went to work before my siblings were up. I was so depressed about going to work. I worked in a pub/restaurant kitchen and I hated it. My mind always went into dark places while I worked and it would exacerbate my depression. And this day I had the added benefit of anticipating the clean up after I got home from work. I couldn’t even think where I’d begin with it.

When I got home I found my sister in the kitchen, just having finished cleaning up the greasy mess. My work day ended early enough, that if my sister had gone to school, she wouldn’t be home when I got there.

Most people would be thrilled at this whole scenario, little sister staying home to clean up a huge mess that I made, saving me the trouble after eight hours of already shitty work that entailed being on my feet the entire day.  Yeah…but not me. I was pissed AND annoyed that she hadn’t gone to school. I know I was thinking about the disappointment, anger and the possibility of my dad’s rage, toward ME for her not going to school. They would be angry at me for what she didn’t do. This was all I could think about in the moment I saw and knew she hadn’t gone to school.

Never mind the house almost catching fire. Never mind the huge thing sis had just done for me.

I look back on this and cringe and kick myself. I think about how different our relationship might be now if I  had not reacted, not just on this day but many other days in a similar manner.

That day, (although the memory is fuzzy) I’m more than sure that I let her have it, yelling about how mom and dad would be angry at ME for her not going to school.

I raged (from what I now know was fear) and she responded whining,  with something like, “I stayed home to clean up the mess.”

How ashamed I felt. How awful that I did not have room in my heart for gratitude in this situation because all I could think about was my parents reaction of me not being in control of the situation.

I don’t remember if I apologized but even if I had, it would not erase the original response and reaction. Damage done.

The physical attack though, that was a different thing around a different incident but it was also in the kitchen. Again the memory is fuzzy, but there was some exchange of words and likely something passive aggressive from me.

The next thing I knew I was up against the counter, next to the fridge trying to block the claws that were slashing at and toward my face looking at the twisted anger and hurt on my sister’s face.

I swung in an attempt at self-defense, in an arc and missed. I think that I subconsciously missed on purpose. I didn’t want to hurt my baby sister, despite the viciousness I was seeing and feeling from her.

I finally lifted my leg forward and pushed my foot into her gut and flung her away from me. Somehow I was able to get away then and ran up to my room. I was physically and emotionally hurt and scared, but the emotional hurt was much worse.

After having been so close in childhood, we were beginning to hate each other.


I know that my sister’s physical attack didn’t happen with the grease-on-the-floor incident because my mom had been home. She’d been at work or otherwise out and when she got home she’d come up to my room to see me, to see how I was, to talk to me, to see the wounds.

She looked at my face and assured me I wouldn’t be left with scars. The ‘scratch’ that ran down my cheek was only superficial. And in fact it was not an outer scratch. The red mark was under the skin and did indeed fade without a mark.

My mom also delivered my sister’s apology for her and let me know my sister felt really awful about the incident.

[This is very interesting to me now, in regards to the setting up of later triangulations.]

I don’t remember if my sister herself had apologized after I emerged from my room or not.

I feel sad thinking about how the relationship deteriorated between my sister and me. It was gradual but then it was all of a sudden too. We had some years in between when things seemed to get better and we used to sit on my futon and play Mario Brothers for hours. One of my most fond memories is staying home on a snow day and playing Mario Bros all day long.

Dear Family

And I use the word ‘FAMILY’ quite loosely. You are not my family. Once upon a time you were, but not anymore.

I just can’t bring myself to really think of you or feel about you like family. If you were truly family you would not have treated me like a doormat. You would not have dumped on me all the problems of the family.

How could the complete toxic family dynamic be all my fault?

I’ll tell you how.

It’s not! It never was!

Sure I have issues. I’ve done mean things and I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I have plenty of regrets.  But the difference lies in my ability to see my fuck ups and apologize for them. To be willing to hear what someone has to say and validate their feelings, even if it’s a result of something I did or said…AS LONG AS IT’S DONE WITHOUT FINGER POINTING.

But everything wrong with our family somehow became all my fault.

Somewhere along the line…well I see now that it happened gradually…that I became the family scapegoat.

Mom, the rest of this letter is for you:
If you were a true mom that loved me, you would not have excused your son’s (my brother’s) rage against me calling it “just an emotional reaction.” Emotional reaction or not, it is unacceptable at least and abusive at worst. And with no sincere apology from him, it is unforgivable.

He is quite a bit bigger than me. I felt threatened as he bellowed at me as I sat in a chair, while he hovered over me.  You would likely wave it away and say, “He’d never hit you.” But how the fuck do you know that in his blind rage that he is not capable of such a thing?

He didn’t hit me that time. But tell me, how do I trust that he wouldn’t lose control next time he had “an emotional reaction?”

He is emotionally unstable. In fact all of your kids have issues with controlling our emotions. But yeah, that’s my fuckin’ fault right?


When I tried to draw boundaries and say no, your other daughter would either whine to get me to do what she wanted. Or she’d pretend all was well to my face and then call you when I wasn’t around. Whine to you. Then you’d take her side and call me with guilt trips and shame me.

You never stood up to her for me though. Even after an agreement was made and the pressure was on for me to do something you wanted me to do. This after a nasty stressful couple of days. This after you agreed to go when I none of us kids could get there.

Read that again mom. When NONE of us kids could get there, you promised you’d go. But instead of just telling that to sis, you just let her spew her…what you called frustration, as to why I couldn’t just go.

No thought given to what I’d just been through the day before. Instead, sis kept texting me to go even after I said no. Even after I’d talked to her and told her the whole story of the awful day and to call you because YOU SAID YOU’D GO.

I stood my ground.

The text said it would be just for an hour, you know, for lunch. But that horrendous stressful day was only supposed to be for breakfast. But it turned into an infuriating situation, which included a grocery run on a fuckin’ Saturday afternoon, because the home health aid showed up with no car. And I was the only one who had a problem with this?

Of course, because guess who had to pick up her slack.

I caught up to you on Sunday, finally, on your cell, while you were en route to dad’s. I asked what was up and you said vaguely, “I’m driving.” I pushed further, “Where to?”

I felt the need to confirm that you were going since I’d heard nothing after my final text to sis the night before that I would not be going. I told you that it would likely not ONLY be an hour and you barked, “It will only be an hour.” Because apparently you forgot what I’d dealt with the day before. And you knew because I’d called and told you all about it.

I also asked if you’d reminded sis of the agreement…that I would have Sundays for myself. Your response? “I didn’t wanna go there?”

What. The. Actual Fuck. And I’m supposed to call you my mom?

Even more fucked up, is the note you left the next day for me in the kitchen at dad’s place. Not so much the note itself, but the last words before your signature. “I love you.”

Um…what? Scary that you expect me to believe that.

I am beyond hurt. You’ve asked me how you get me to forgive you for the damage you caused me as a child. Not only have you not apologized, but you are on the wrong track. I did not sever ties with you because of my shitty childhood. I cut ties with you because…well, I think the above paragraphs illustrating your blatant disregard of me and our agreement explains things quite well.

It is painfully obvious that you have no respect for what I feel, what I want or what I need.

You gave me no chance to grieve my dying father either, because the whole time we were caring for him I was in survival mode. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t part of this crap. He certainly was. He doesn’t get a pass because he was dying. That is no reason to be a shit to any of your kids. But I did deserve to not be on constant guard from you and my siblings.

Sister and her digs. I had to just ignore them because I was afraid that she might get violent. It’s happened in the past. I absorbed and internalized her digs. I feared for my safety.

Brother and the possibility of his rage if something didn’t go the way he wanted it to. If he felt he needed to control a situation…or more accurately, if he felt the need to control me.

Then there was the minimization of my experiences and feelings by all of you. And although the fingers pointed at me on the topic of walking on eggshells, I could practically see the eggshells around each one of you.

When dad died and we were clearing out his apartment, sis and her husband thought it was a good idea to bring the scooters for the kids to ride along the walk way we had to use to carry the furniture on to our cars. When one of them almost crashed into me, sis’s hub had been standing off to the side talking to the dude brother had recruited to help us, and said nothing to reprimand the kids to be careful or even say to stop riding the fucking scooters because they could cause injury to themselves and others. Your son-in-law is a douchebag.

It’s funny how clearly I see the disrespect had carried over to this brother-in-law. It makes me sick to think about how I was treated as if I was invisible, as if I didn’t count as a human being to you people. All of you…even you mom.

And you want me to come visit you. Can’t you see how ridiculous that is. And the fucked up thing is that if I told you someone else had treated me the way you all had in those last weeks, you’d tell me that I need to separate myself form that person. Or maybe you’d tell me I was being too sensitive and I should suck it up?

In my heart you are no longer family.

I am angry with myself that I have let what you think and what you have done, dictate my behavior and my life or lack thereof.

I am saddened by all the time I’ve wasted because I have believed what you drove into me by your actions and words. Although you never directly said that I’m worthless or a loser, your behavior and treatment of me, shouted it loud and clear. In addition it was all there, between the lines of much of what you said.

But you are wrong. I am not worthless. I deserve to be fought for, not against. I am worth overcoming this abuse you have imposed on me and do not deserve to be beaten into the ground and walked all over.

You might say, in fact it is likely you would say that I walked away, but that would not be accurate because what really happened, is you pushed me out.

And I have to accept that. Your behavior and treatment of me is unacceptable and unforgivable at this point. Certainly, if by some miracle you actually realized how you all treated me and wanted to truly work it out, then we’d have something to talk about. But I know that is not going to happen. Even if it did, I would not trust that your intentions were pure anyway, so it’s kind of a catch-22 isn’t it? Damage is done.

It’s especially sad, Mom, that you were part of the abuse and ganged up on me with the other two. A mom who loves all of her children does not participate in bullying with a couple of her kids against another one. That is truly sick. Even sicker and sadder, is that you don’t even see it.

I have been hanging on to this hurt, sadness and anger and it’s destroying me a little each day. I was already struggling with my life. I don’t have to tell you that I have never felt settled within myself. That depression has been a battle for 30+ years. That I had suffered a trauma a year before dad got sick and that my childhood was lived in survival mode.

But that shit I put up with for those last few months, well that just about finished me off. If I’m honest I’m still not recovered. I sunk into myself to  hide from the world. I’ve self-isolated because I believed that your abuse of me was a reflection of me.

I have become afraid to live and although that had already become a problem, the situation among us made that much worse.  I have felt scattered in my thinking and have not known where to start with my life or how. I hate to go out because I feel so small among the people and like I’m a target for assholes and the entitled douche bags. While at the same time I feel like a fat cow who sticks out like a sore thumb and have this target on me or a sign that says, “Doormat.”  Like you left your mark on me.

But I’m not going to let you win. I feel like I’ve been muddled in all this sludge you threw on me, like the family garbage dump.  Well how fuckin’ dare you!! How could you do that to one of your children?

Tell me please…how the fuck do you choose one to assault the way you did? No, I know it was not physical. There are other forms of assault and I was assaulted at every turn. I had it coming from all four directions.  I was the one who had to ‘own’ all the shit that hit the fan.

Well I’m not your scapegoat any longer. I put an end to that, years ago now. At least in physical form. But emotionally, I’ve continued owning the garbage you tossed my way even when it wasn’t mine to own.  I hate you for that. I have been loathing myself and now I’m just sick of owning all the muck that you were part of creating with your husband (my father) concerning the five of us.

I was your child! How could it have started with me?

When you told me that you didn’t think the eggshell walking was all me, I felt my heart begin to open. Your words were actually healing.  But then you added, “I think it started with you, but I don’t think it’s all you now.”

I froze. I had nothing to say at that moment. Until the next day. But by then you didn’t want to hear it. You rejected me and my desire to address it.  Well, fuck off then. Because to say that, just proves what you really think. And if you think I’m the sole problem, then why the fuck have you kept sending birthday and Xmas cards.

Oh, that’s right. You’re lost without your scapegoat. You have nothing or no one to dump your shit on, isn’t that correct?  The guilt trips in the cards you’ve sent pretty much prove that. I’m just lucky that you are not deceitful enough to actually apologize and pretend that you’re sorry. I’m lucky that you are actually oblivious to how you all behaved. Because if you did know and acted like you were sorry then I’d be sucked in again.

Thank you for sparing me that much.

This has dragged out long enough. As I was saying, I am sick of letting what you did dictate the outcome of my life.

I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m still effected deeply by your abuse but I am committing to myself now. I am committing to taking care of me, of my body, mind and soul. I am committing to healing and getting to know me.

I know it won’t be easy. But I have to try. Because if I don’t it won’t be long before I die.

Feeling Better…?

I really hate to ‘speak to soon’ here but I guess for no other reason I need to do this in order to keep track.

I’m feeling different…better.

I’m not getting as agitated. I don’t feel as angry. I have more patience. I don’t feel resentful or easily triggered and/or annoyed by something Mr. B says or does.

That being said though, I’m still making bigger deals out of things that could go without saying anything. And I still notice I’m hanging on to things as well…like I won’t drop something that really isn’t worth battling over.

But I’m not raging, despite feeling triggered, which is the reason for the behaviors mentioned in the paragraph above.

I’m not feeling scared to go out, out of fear of being triggered. I have been feeling more confident when in supermarkets and even driving.

The tailgaters have lessened, although there was one today.

But just as I was starting to get pissed off about that, a basketball rolled out into the middle of a slightly busy road. I got passed the ball just in time but the car (big ass SUV) had to stop, which put distance behind us. It also gave another car time to get behind me, of which the driver was not a tailgater.

Thing is, I get behind slow drivers and generally keep a car length between us. I’m forced to go slow, and I’m the one who ends up with the tailgater. Ugh.

But I had some divine intervention today.

I also lost it a little in the Whole Foods parking lot when I was pulling out of my parking spot to leave and a big SUV (yep another one) wouldn’t back the fuck up so I could get out far enough. Instead of putting in reverse he honked his horn. I was going ultra slow, and sitting there watching me, he had plenty of time to move but instead he just sat there.

So I stopped for a second and yelled, “BACK UP.” He didn’t hear me but that’s not the point. Even Mr. B got angry. “BACK UP IDIOT!” He yelled. This is quite out of character for Mr. B but that parking lot is horrendous. It was worse before they moved to a larger location, but it’s still the same customer base, therefore the same entitled mindset. Mainline assholes I call them. (That’s what the area is called where the Whole Foods is…”The Mainline.” It’s full of wealthy people and in addition it’s a densely populated area.

I have nothing against wealthy people. When I was pet sitting I met a lot and most of them were nice people. But collectively speaking, in a stressful situation, they are some of the most entitled feeling types of people.

After getting out of there, I yelled about it for a little bit after, saying what I wish I could’ve said to the jerk, so I’m not completely free. Hell, I will always have emotions, but it didn’t ruin the rest of the drive and it didn’t ruin my day.

So what’s different right? Because that doesn’t sound all that different.

I’m not getting annoyed when Mr. B needs me to repeat something for one example. In general he gets on my nerves (which I think has been spawn out of resentment) and I’m just not getting that anymore.

I did feel overwhelmed at my appointment with the therapist and had a tough time explaining myself.

Edit Monday 11/6/17:
I did not finish this post. It stopped at ‘explai’ and I filled that little bit in there, just above, just now. I’m trying to remember which therapist this would’ve been and I certainly don’t know what I was trying to explain to him or her. I’m thinking it was probably Amy, the one who realized I needed and then advocated for me to get DBT.

All that I wrote above seems ridiculous now. It wasn’t consistent, it didn’t remain or get better. In fact I got worse somewhere along the line.  It’s silly to think my behavior would be different so quickly.

I’ve been struggling really badly recently and the depression has gotten awful. I started taking kratom again in hopes it will help. I’m not going to write about that here, because reading this post now, I have to smh. Years of agitation, anger and resentment is not going to be fixed by a couple of healthy meals. So I’m not going to pretend or think that kratom is going to change me into someone different either.  It’s helping, that’s all I’ll say right now.

Salad, Squirrels and Stars

orionI’m feeling much better just in the short amount of time since I wrote my last post about a binge and how junk food turns me into a narcissist.

I had a salad for dinner to make up for it. I make my own mayo too and used that for the dressing with a bit of Herbamare and some onion powder.

The salad consisted of Romaine lettuce, some grape tomatoes, red pepper, green olives, some sunflower seeds and a little cheese. I was hungry. And no wonder with all the nutrients my body didn’t get earlier.  The salad was tasty and my brain is feeling the difference.

Mr. B was late though and I called him, feeling concerned, to see what was keeping him. But he didn’t answer. So I texted him.

He was in the basement so that was a relief.

He’s feeling sad tonight because he stopped at the house we used to live in. We still have some things (mostly his) over there in the garage. His sister owns the house and she hasn’t sold it yet. We have no room for the things in the garage and he doesn’t know what he wants to do with them.

I never did ask him what exactly he was doing there. If he retrieved something from there that is now here or if he just went to look around.

I found out he was there in the first place because I’d told him I was thinking about and missing the squirrels that used to come up onto our porch for peanuts. I’d seen a video on Facebook yesterday that reminded me of them. And today I’d been feeling sad and missing the house as well.

Mr. B is sad because he realized how much he misses the stars we used to be able to see there. He said he came out of the garage tonight (the one at the house) and looked up at the sky and thought, “There’s all those stars. There’s Orion. I miss seeing these stars.”

And so now I miss them too.

We are a couple of sad sacks tonight and both feeling nostalgic for the house we lived in for 13 years.

Sadness or Depression

I’m feeling an intensely deep sadness today that started yesterday. Thankfully I had therapy yesterday.

I had a good cry in therapy…after the initial break down that took place during an emotional flashback.

Click here to read about my break down before therapy.

It felt like a release of anger, letting loose to the pain that is there. The hurt I feel about my family’s abuse of me.

But the sadness continues today and I had a thought about depression.

I read something a long time ago about depression and that it is actually an absence of emotion. Sort of this numbness. Which given the word…de-press it made sense to me.

I’m sorry, I don’t remember exactly what was stated in the article I read and I don’t know where that article is.

But in either case, I feel a deep sadness and loneliness today, not a complete absence of emotion.

Catching Up With Myself: A Short Bio


I have been struggling, the last few days, whether to continue writing my story or not. I almost voted for “not” but have somewhat changed my mind.

I won’t go into the reasons here. There are too many other details. Just that I would also like to do something with two other blogs I started as well. So in doing that, some editing, rearranging and changing is needed.

Edit Friday 10/27/17: At this point I don’t remember the details I refer to. I guess it doesn’t really matter. What matters is now and what’s going on for me. This is marked private right now but I’m putting back on public so I feel the need to edit and add some stuff.

The other day in therapy, it came to light that I am in a crisis. I am still very much going through a lot of the shit that is trauma and PTSD. So this explains a lot of the struggle I have with organizing my thoughts and going back and forth to the fence. Wanting to start other blogs to reorganize and to blog about other topics. I know that I still want that. And it will come eventually. It’s overwhelming because I’ve started many others also on what I wanted to be spin off topics…which are in the realm of healing. The things I want to refer to in my healing are online and so I need to have a place to hold onto them other than book marks because that is not organized at all. And if I lose the lap top then the book marks are gone.  I procrastinate though. All part of trauma. Eventually these kinds of posts, the ones that refer to my ambiguity on writing on this topic and wanting to blog about other things on other blogs ends. The fact that I fight myself so much is also telling. Self-doubt.  

One change is that I’m posting my long hidden ABOUT page here…as a post.

Below you’ll find what I wrote for the ABOUT page:


I am a “middle-aged” (if I live to be 100), single woman, with what I now know to be Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Also diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, GAD and major depression. Those came from one therapist and another therapist dx’d me with dysthemia.

I am dependent on a man who is a slave to his job. If not for him I would be homeless.

Healthy relationships have always eluded me. (In reality I know it is I that has eluded them.) This is part of my emotional issues, which resulted from a toxic environment as I grew up.

I became aware of difficulties with my emotions when I was 18 while in a relationship with my first age appropriate boyfriend. I have been in and out of therapy since I was twenty and hospitalized twice for depression in my early and mid-twenties. I had taken a variety of anti-depressants at different times, none of which worked for very long, if at all.

I have never attempted suicide but have felt that death would be better than life in my deepest, darkest, depths of depression. I have used alcohol, pot, sex and the company of others, as coping and escape mechanisms. I also used to sit in my bedroom in times of intense distress, writing or watching TV and chain smoking cigarettes.

Back then…in my 20s and even through my 30s, I was led to believe what I had was depression and nothing more. Not to belittle depression as a diagnosis. Not at all. Because I know the darkness, depression involves. There’s nothing small about it and not only a dark place, but also a scary and lonely place to be.

But the reality was  that it was (and remains) depression plus…Plus post traumatic stress disorder.Plus borderline symptoms. Plus anxiety.

I was already showing many symptoms, but there was no one to inform me of this, let alone to help me heal from it. Now that I know what I know, I feel as though I slipped through the cracks when I was young.

When the symptoms began to really surface in my late teens and early 20s and I was realizing something was seriously wrong, I began to distance myself from my family in general, which included my sister in particular.

Little did I know the chasm that was already there, because I just did not have the deep awareness of what was going on. The toxic dynamic of my family was my normal, although I also knew it wasn’t normal…or more accurately, I knew it wasn’t healthy…despite not always having the words to express that knowledge or the ability to put my finger on it.

I knew because of the way I felt much of the time around my family and particularly my father, because of his immature behavior and unpredictable moods. My father is the main culprit in causing my emotional issues and was the one whom we all walked on egg shells around as we kids grew up. There is so much more to tell here but much of it deserves and even requires their own posts. Lest this one be so much longer than it already is.

So for now, let me get back to my sister. She and I were close when we were young children, although we were almost six years apart. (I am the oldest of three, with a brother in the middle.) Once the depression and anger hit me, my sister and I grew apart quickly.

Looking back now, I realize the depression and other symptoms had manifested themselves in other ways long before I was even aware of what depression really is and I certainly never even entertained the possible diagnosis of PTSD, since I had no idea that you could acquire that via abuse and being bullied at home, school and in your own neighborhood.

Lots of kids went through being teased, bullied and even beat up. It was just part of some children’s childhoods…it’s just the way it was. And you grew up, went on with your life, made a living and you just grew out of all that shit. Besides, I figured, so many kids had it worse than I did

That’s how I thought about it and when that didn’t happen for me, I blamed myself for not being able to be as tough as some other kids. Why couldn’t I just suck it up and stop feeling like I was trapped, like I didn’t belong (or fit in) anywhere and like I stuck out like a sore thumb?

When I started therapy back in those early days of my late teens and early 20s, and spent time in the hospital, I don’t even remember being told of a diagnosis. I remember hearing and using the word ‘depression’ and I remember getting and filling prescriptions for pharmaceuticals for it.

I do know and remember though, that when all the symptoms began and while I was in therapy and in the hospital, I never heard the words ‘post traumatic stress’ in context with my diagnosis or me at all. I didn’t hear those words until I started therapy after a particularly nasty break up in 2011/2012 with someone I would call an over-lapper.

An over-lapper though, is someone who needs to hook another person into a relationship with them before they can leave the one they are currently in. (I’ve been one myself too by the way.)

I admit it was an affair, since he was still married. But according to him things were bad and he was planning to divorce. That’s a story worth it’s own blog, (not post… blog) but I will perhaps go into it here, because having extra-marital affairs, (although something that is very much judged, tends to turn into a ‘burning at the stake’ and only blamed on the woman, which is utter bullshit) is a symptom of some real emotional issues and a toxic background.

Understand though, that I am not justifying it. I had a tough time with it. I fought with myself all the time. He may have been a narcissist. He was certainly narcissistic and I think, after reading about it in In Sheep’s Clothing I think he is also what Dr. George Simon refers to as a “Covert Aggressor.”

In addition, I was seriously addicted to him. It truly was a chemical addiction. If you’ve never heard of this, you can find out more in a book called, How to Break Your Addiction to a Person.

A probable cause for this and my very real arrested development, is that my direction in how to do life was non-existent when it was needed…in childhood, adolescence and my young adulthood.

I never finished college. I’ve gone to trade school at three different times for three different things and graduated, but then didn’t do much with those diplomas. I have had a series of jobs, none of which I’ve ever felt settled in.

Even as a pet-sitter I was miserable, especially during the busy times of year, like the Winter holidays and certain times during the summer. I would find myself so run-down from so much work, it would cause fatigue and a major depression.

So to call myself by a job title and actually identify with it, nothing has ever really resonated.

Unfortunately, I have always thought of and grew up believing that a person’s job/career is a major part of identity. So that’s been really difficult for me and moving around from job to job has made me feel as though I was always trying to find myself.

Speaking of identity, I don’t really know who I am. And since I grew up feeling like someone’s career is a big part of identity, I’ve been lost for all of my adult life.  So in addition, being so emotionally abused by my father as a child and emotionally neglected by both parents, I never had a chance to form much of an identity.

The dynamic in my family and the toxicity it bred, along with my temperament, set me up to be the scapegoat of the family. I’m not sure which one of my siblings is the golden child. My brother is pretty admired by my mother (last I knew) for his accomplishments, but as kids my brother and I used to actually joke that my sister was the favorite of my mother.

My father became ill about a year after the end of the aforementioned affair and I still wasn’t fully recovered from the break up. I was apprehensive about getting involved in helping out with my father’s care because of some fairly recent blow ups and blow outs as a result of an email I sent to each of my family members.  So I had fears of being around my siblings, figuring certain things would be brought up and used against me.  I also felt uncomfortable about being around my father in such an intimate manner as the email was about his past behavior and my feelings about that. (I also mention this in the ABOUT page in this blog. (To be posted)

I knew there would be a humongous elephant in my father’s apartment whenever I was around.

Having no car at the time, I tried to manipulate my way out of it with silence. But then their manipulations and guilt trips began along with the same ultimatum from three family members: mother, sister, brother.

I eventually did give in to their manipulations and the situation was a nightmare, becoming a secondary trauma. And I am still struggling with the trauma their behavior caused me. It’s frustrating.

I have already talked about this and I am sorry to repeat it. This is something I originally wrote on March 17, 2016.

It’s so sad to think that my parents, my family didn’t like me. Perhaps didn’t love me either despite my being told they do/did.

It’s difficult to accept. Since it keeps coming up and I still think about it, still get angry about it, I know I have not fully accepted it. I can actually physically feel the block sometimes to the acceptance of it. Actions do speak much louder than any words. People who love you don’t repeatedly abuse, hurt, manipulate, triangulate and gaslight you. They just don’t.

But when you grow up being slammed with messages that you’re less than, that you’re not worthy of being loved and you’re not all that intelligent, you grow up to think something is wrong with you, that you deserve all that adverse treatment. At least I believed it.

There’s no self love and I don’t think I’ve ever really even liked myself.

Here’s the link to my About page.

Damaged and Depressed

I feel like I’m still recovering from Thanksgiving today. (Saturday.)

I felt worse yesterday. (Friday.)

And I didn’t touch a single drop of alcohol on Thanksgiving. (Thursday.)

It goes much deeper than that.

Going from one toxic situation (affair) and the ugly break up of it with just a year in between, to another toxic, gang-bullying and abusive situation, has made me severely traumatized that I have not been able to crawl my way out.

And so it’s gotten to the point that I feel like this every. single. day.  I feel like I’ve already died. Essentially I have. Essentially I am dead…or might as well be.

In addition and in the midst of depression and the lack of recovering from so much trauma, we have moved recently, from a house we lived in for 13 years to a two bedroom apartment.

This, as you can imagine was a lot of work. Living with a man who has a difficult time parting with things made it no less stressful. His sister was our landlord and has still not sold the house, so the two car garage still has shit in it that Mr. B has to figure out what to do with.

Much of it has been taken by other family members and he has taken what we have room for here. Our storage area has reduced significantly though as you might imagine.

To add to the stress, about a month after moving in, we discovered an infestation of fleas in the new place. I am pretty sure they were here before we were from the information I’ve read about those evil fucks, but there’s no way to prove it.

Edit Monday 10/9/17: I think now that I may have been wrong in thinking the fleas were here already. Our cat was an indoor/outdoor cat who was, I found, already pretty itchy when we moved. Fleas are apparently not as noticeable when living in a house (although I do remember dealing with them a couple times at the house) as they are in an apartment. The fact that the effected animal was able to go outside also gave the house some respite and so the infestation didn’t have as much of a chance to grow like it did here. Kitty wasn’t going outside (and still isn’t) so there was no where else for the family of fleas to go and grow.

Fighting fleas is a good example of chaos control, which has felt like the story of my life. We sprayed, powdered, vacuumed and dusted. I also packed up some of our shit and boxed it back up to make the dusting easier. So that is still all boxed up and down in the basement and garage as well, taking away from our storage area.

I no longer have a desk in our new place. It was broken in the move but in addition there is no place to put it here. So I spend my time sitting on my bed or in it, depending on the temperature of the room. So I’m even isolating from my roommate.

Edit 10/9/17: I have moved the small drop down wood desk that we had in the living room into my bedroom. The drop down part gives sufficient room for a laptop. It would not hold a lot of weight but it does the job I need it to do and also gets me out of sitting in my bed all day using the computer. I listed this desk on Craigslist a couple times too. So glad it didn’t sell.

Even if I wanted to sit in either the living room or dining room, I wouldn’t be comfortable doing so now because of all the powder and spray we used on the only half way comfortable piece of furniture out there…the sofa.

10/9/17: A year later, the couch is sittable as far as the powder being faded and vacuumed. But it’s not comfortable and although B uses it, in my mind, it’s simply something that takes up space. I have never had a good and comfy couch of my own. So pathetic.

The self-isolating has also become worse now because the dog I had walked for someone, passed away a couple weeks ago, so I don’t even go out once a week for that anymore.

Under all this stress for the last seven, almost eight years, I have not taken care of myself at all, using junk food, alcohol, pot and cigarettes to numb the pain. All of that also certainly has added to the physical damage.

I have aged significantly in a short amount of time. As someone who has looked younger than her chronological age, this has also taken a toll on my self-confidence as well. I know 51 ain’t no spring chicken and in all honesty I do have a tough time accepting the aging process, but I look and feel much older than those 51 years.

Anyway, although the junk food doesn’t give me the same intensity of a hangover as alcohol does, I still feel something similar to one nonetheless.

Carbs, I am finding put me in a state of lethargy and depression. I couldn’t believe how knocked out I felt on Thursday night when I got home. And although I’m sure it had something to do with being surrounded by other humans…which I am no longer acclimated to…it was mostly all the carbs I ate that night, I’m sure of it, given my self-observation of late.

I find that when I eat close to a keto plan, I do much better. I start to lose weight, depression begins to lift and I have some energy.

But then I break down and eat something sweet and I’m not talking about just some fruit. Nope, I’m all about the cookies, brownies, cake, you know, shit like that.

This is not a problem perhaps for someone who can control themselves, be somewhat indifferent and not eat a whole fucking box of cookies in one sitting. But that’s not me.

I know what the problem is:

I don’t feel good enough. I don’t feel worthy of being healthy. And until I do, this self-sabotage won’t stop.

10/9/17: Sad, not much has changed in almost a year. I am truly stuck and today I’m feeling depressed and rather bored. It took a lot for me to just get to this task of editing here. I have been drinking coffee, which is not a good thing for me. I did follow a keto way of eating for a few weeks and the heart palpitations where un fucking real. And I was not drinking coffee during that time. 

I went back to eating carbs but kept it on the healthier side for a while, like eating salads and quinoa with veggies along with some beef or chicken. But I gradually went to eating junk again and got caught up in that cycle of wanting to be excited by my food. Used food as something to look forward to as I do not have anything I look forward to in life. And I got caught up in that cycle because once I start eating junk, that’s when I get lethargic and have no energy to prep good healthy food. Today I bought some stuff on the healthy side. Let’s see if I eat it. 

Dark NIGHT of the Soul?

More like Dark LIFE of the Soul.

When does it end? Nothing ever gets better and sometimes shit gets worse.

And most of the time life is just putting out one proverbial fire after another.

And let’s not forget my constant rage and chronic anger and taking it all out on those who don’t deserve it.

I’m in constant state of anxiety.

How can it ever get better when I can never undo the abusive behavior I’ve already done?
I am unforgivable and unlovable.

I don’t deserve better. That’s why it never gets better.