A Kind of Catch-22

I started blogging because I believed that purging all the pain and telling the story that my family refuses to listen to would help me heal.

Well I’m not sure that is the case anymore. Meaning I don’t know if that is true for me.

I have adrenal fatigue. And that’s from all the years of living under stress as a child. My father was as unpredictable as an alcoholic despite not being one.  When he yelled it was loud. He’d been trained to enunciate as well as project his voice. He startled me a lot as a child and also as an adult.

When I got older I worried about disappointing my mother. I was let go from a job once. When she came to pick me up and I explained to her what I was told was the reason I could see the disappointment on her face, in her eyes.

I was young when that happened and I never forgot that. I tripped over myself to keep a job so as not to disappoint her. I was terrified to miss any work even if it meant driving for miles in the snow as to not piss of my boss. I didn’t want to take any chances at all.

The last quite a few posts have been posts I wrote a long time ago on another blog I’ve set to private. So I’ve been working on transferring them over here to ST.  But it’s been difficult. Not only emotionally, although that’s a part of it. But also because it’s taking a toll on me physically.

One of the last posts I transferred had me so angry and otherwise emotional, it brought on heart palpitations. I know they could’ve been from something else and I get them anyway. It’s weird. I can go months eating like shit and not have one heart palpitation. But the minute I start eating healthy, I get them every night.

But the ones I’m pointing out specifically, were a little different and I could feel them coming on while I was writing. And why would that not make sense? My heart was breaking. It’s painful to think back on those things.

I’ve written and talked about some of the same things. I have journals piled in a drawer in my night stand. My goal was to go through them and post here anything relevant after I’ve gotten whatever I want off of private here and transferred from the other blog.

But thinking about how this is effecting my heart, my adrenals and my thought process in general, I’m thinking it might be time for me to take a break. Maybe learn more about how to heal. Because I’m not sure writing about it is healing for me anymore.

I don’t know though. I have not made a definite decision yet as to whether I will stop blogging about all this. Or whether I’ll just burn the journal pages without rereading them or tapping them out here. I just needed to write my thoughts and what I’ve been experiencing related to blogging, out. As much as my OCD and the need to organize is pulling me to keep going, it seems as though my body is in need of another way. At least for now.

I’m tired all the time. And I’m angry and agitated much of the time too. I have felt some improvement with a change in diet but it’s difficult to stick to changes when the set-point is something else. My mid-back has given me pain when standing to long for years and I noticed tonight it felt worse than ever before.

I’m tired in another way too. I feel like my family, my abusive, callous, sick family is taking up way more residence in my mind and my life than they deserve, even though they are not physically present. 

I know that blogging is a great way to bond, validate and get validated for all the pain. It’s what’s kept me going. And I’ve definitely seen improvement in myself in many ways. I’ve gotten so much insight and love. It’s why I’m on the fence.

I also don’t think everyone is effected in this way. I’ve seen people keep going and then organically evolve into other topics. But I just seem to get more tired, more beaten and more weary.

For years, I had spent time feeling like I was waiting for something to happen before I went on with my life, now I feel like I’m waiting to finish something, before I can go on with my life.  Both scenarios are like a trap.

I’ve felt trapped all my life. My home environment was a trap. School from K-9 was a trap. Other kids made me feel trapped. In fact a couple kids I thought were my friends when I was 13, tricked me when they apologized for something they’d done, then trapped me between them to bully me.

All my life I have not been able to move forward. In many ways I have not been allowed to move forward. And now even though I’ve gotten away from the bullies, the assholes and abusers, I still live in a cage.

It’s like that line from the song,

Right after the line “Heaven knows it wasn’t you who set me free” there’s an instrumental sound that used to make me turn and look at the door to my bedroom because it was the sound it made when it opened. Just another startle response. But I always loved this song.

One thing though, I’m not feeling very strong.

Clearing Clutter

Oz on the dining room table at our old place. He loves to be around clutter. I call him “Clutter Kitty.”

 

After I had a somewhat decent cry after writing yesterday’s post, I decided I needed to DO something. Usually it would’ve been some exercise but I had something I wanted to get done. So that’s what I did.

I decluttered and straightened up my bedroom. And also dusted as I went.

I thought the house we lived in before was dusty. But I’ve never seen dust like it gets in this place. Vents I’m sure are the culprit along with being on a main drag. It’s only 2 lane (as opposed to 4) but still the traffic gets pretty heavy out front, especially during the afternoon/evening ‘rush’ time.

Anywho…I have been wanting to clean up and even pack some shit away for quite some time but depression (I’m guessing) and lack of energy, has stopped me from caring. Yesterday after thinking about how trapped I’ve been and felt throughout my entire life, I felt like the immediate answer was to do a few things.

One big thing was to pack stuff away in boxes like I would if I were moving. And since that’s what I want to be able to do so much, I did just that.

I didn’t pack everything. I kept things out that I will use and need. Some things I packed in boxes and then stored them in my bedroom on the shelves I have in here. I used boxes that tuck neatly into the cubbies that are part of the Ikea shelving B is letting me use.

I took one book case out and packed a bunch of books away. I left one small book case and put the books I kept out on the shelves neatly.

I downsized a big smiley face mug I had been using for pens and pencils. It was a mug that an old friend had given me. I like it but she and I don’t talk anymore and so I felt the need to dispose of it. It’s still in the living room along with my other (bigger) book case. I won’t just throw it away but it’s just that there’s some stuff I need to part with because I think it might be time to move on from certain things.

Some of the other things, things I packed away, I put in boxes for that same kind of reason. Things that symbolize my mother or father, gifts they gave, or in a couple of instance, two things…one I gave my father and one I gave my mother, both of which I now have. Things that came from other family as well. As I wrapped and packed things, I was aware of how a quick, emotional decision would make me just take everything to Goodwill.

With how I was feeling yesterday, it could’ve happened. But since I was aware that that would’ve been an all emotional decision with no reason involved at all, I knew what I was doing was the right thing.

So everything I packed is now in the dining room against a shelving unit we have in there. What’s on the shelves isn’t really accessed so it’s fine there. B asked if I wanted the boxes to go down to the basement, but I said no. I don’t want to put more work into it than is necessary. And he’s got enough stuff down there already.  I think I’m down to one box in the basement that’s mine, containing some Mason jars. I have stuff in the garage, but that stuff can stay there for now as well.

This also feels good in the aspect that I’ve begun packing for a move if and when that happens. I’ve gotten a big chunk of the packing out of the way and since it’s all in the dining room I still have access to it if I should need something or decide to read a book in one of the boxes or something.

As I packed things, I also dusted, filed and straightened up. So I feel like I accomplished something. But I also feel like I have room to think, room to do other things I’ve been putting off and room to breathe.

I think it was also important to do this to help me feel like I’m moving forward, like I’m being proactive in a possible move even if that is months or a year away. My body and psyche needed to feel like it had some semblance of control over something. We have been here for a year but I don’t and have not been able to feel settled or at home here.

But as far as my bedroom is concerned, besides needing more pictures on the walls (which I likely won’t bother with for the reasons above) it looks really nice in here.

Running Into My Mother and A Strange Elevator

Found on Google Images

I ran into my mother in a building, who was with my two nephews and they were smaller than I know they’d really be now.

They didn’t feel comfortable greeting me and I could see that. It hurt but I understood since I had not seen them in more than a year.

My mom tried to get them to give me a hug and they clearly continued to resist.
It was then that I walked past my mother and turned to say, “Can’t blame them mom, don’t force them to do things they don’t want to.”

I turned back and walked away.

Even in the dream, I knew I needed to get away from my mother quickly, because I knew if my nephews were with her, my sister may not be far behind and my brother may be around as well.

I had no interest in being stuck and put on the spot in explaining my absence and lack of communication.

After all it would’ve gone unheard, not understood and I would have most likely had to endure their berating words, finger pointing and no accountability blame.

When I walked away I rounded a corner and got on an elevator, only to go to the second floor.

I got on when it opened and I was followed by a couple (man and woman) with lots of large metal things. (Not clear what they actually were.)

These large metal things were many and they would block my exit if I were to get off first. So I hopped over them to be near the door.

When the door opened on the second floor, the walls surrounding the elevator dropped away.

The second floor wasn’t the same second floor I knew I had been on before.

I was looking at a large automotive shop…mechanics working on cars.

So I froze. And then got off with the woman, (part of the couple who had gotten on with all those metal things). We stood at a reception desk and I felt very confused.

The woman said, “You get back on the elevator and I’ll ask them what’s going on.”

I did what she said and I slid onto the floor of the elevator horizontally as it began to move upward again.

My lower legs and feet were still over the line of the floor though and I got scared and felt the urgency to get my legs safely across the line and completely inside the elevator.

The walls were still open but I was afraid they’d either close up again before I got on, or my feet/legs would be cut off by the next floor.

Feel free to interpret what you think this means…especially after I left my mother and nephews. Comment below any ideas you have.

A Family Scapegoat Wakes Up

The email she sent after a traumatic, devastating and seemingly unconnected event, was an exploding point of so many things boiling under the surface from decades of accumulation.

It was about the abuse endured and how she couldn’t make sense or a connection between  the words of love and caring spoken and the actions that showed otherwise.

After the damage was done though, she suspected the email and the words in it would be used against it somehow. But events turned in such a way that it was proven to her. She knew now it was the perfect ammo for them to blame and point fingers at her for all the problems that exist in the family dynamics. To tell her how mean she was. To tell her that it was full of stuff she should’ve gotten over by now. To let her know how difficult it is to be a parent.

In their minds it was all her fault. If she wasn’t depressed, if she’d just get out of the past. If she’d just keep her mouth shut. If she’d just go back to sleep…

If she went back to sleep they could all continue to use her as their scapegoat.

But maybe if she’d stayed quiet and went along and believed, thought and felt the way they all do and did, she wouldn’t be their scapegoat.

What would they have to blame her for?

Just the fact that the family has a scapegoat should give it away that they are all a mess, not just her.

Healthy families don’t have scapegoats. Healthy people don’t find it fun or useful to manipulate, triangulate, take advantage of and abuse one family member. (Or any for that matter.)

If they loved the scapegoat and she did indeed find the courage to express herself feeling like a scapegoat, they would not wave away and invalidate her feelings as ridiculous, then proceed to tear apart her character once again. At times, falsely, attacking her for characteristics of others, not hers.

If they cared about their scapegoat she wouldn’t be the scapegoat.

She’s aware of the egg shells surrounding her. But they’ve got plenty that she tip-toes around too. They all tip-toe around each other too. But they turn a blind eye to those.

She’s expected to own all the mistakes, arguments and all the egg shells too.

In their mind it is she that is always the selfish one. She is the one that should be sacrificing. She is the one who is expected to do whatever they want or need, exactly when they want or need it,  on their terms.

As much as she has tried to discuss the dysfunction and toxicity, none of them want to listen or take their share of the responsibility. No one else is accountable. If she is hurt she is expected to absorb it.

How dare she address it? “Suck it up!” they say, “Grow thicker skin…make the choice to be happy.

She made a choice all right, and walked away forever.

I Started DBT

Last night was the first night with the group. Lucky for me, only four of us showed up plus the two therapists that run it. Meaning, I was relieved there wasn’t the full house of ten people + the 2 therapists.

I just met one of the therapists for the first time last night as well. And he seems really nice, but also dedicated to what he’s doing. He clearly enjoys it. Both therapists are young, which is to be expected I suppose. It’s been a while since therapists and psychiatrists were actually older than me.

The other therapist, the one I’d already known, is my individual therapist.

I’m not going to say anything else about the therapists right now because I don’t want to jinx anything. Last time I got excited about a therapist, she turned out to piss me off and frustrate me more than help me. She talked a good game on the phone, about knowing how to help those with complex trauma and that ended up to be bullshit.

But then she’s also the one who FINALLY picked up on my impulsive behaviors when I talked to her about some things that had been bothering me and she found this DBT program for me. So I’m thankful for that.

However, I do think there were plenty of other indications before that when I was in therapy with her and she could’ve caught it earlier.

I was also sitting there thinking last night while I sat at that table in that tiny conference room. “This should’ve happened a long time ago.”

In all the therapy I’ve been through, both psychiatrists (when they still had office hours and were also therapists), psychologists, social workers and two hospitalizations, DBT should have been offered to me repeatedly.

I even had a therapist once who saw the BPD traits. He’d suggested a book for me to read that mentioned some of the traits of BPD, even mentioned borderline personality disorder.

When I saw him again after finishing the book, I told him that I saw me in those traits. He nodded and quietly said, “Yeah.”  But instead of informing me of DBT and helping find a way to get it, he continued to not help me. In fact he was abusive. This I realized later though, in hindsight.

It’s hard to think about all the time wasted, the years behind me I’ll never get back. For one, my parents had no idea what they were doing, never helped me figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up, didn’t help me deal with emotions, disappointments, heartbreak. Even my joy was dowsed.  It’s no secret they were causing what they should’ve been helping me cope with.

And two,  because the professionals that were supposed to be there to help, allowed me to slip through crack after crack after crack.

More on Roy and Confusion of a Young Woman

Image found on Google Images

I was thinking more about Roy and our affair, today in the car as I was driving. My usual thing is to look back on events like that and take blame and feel guilt and shame. And today when I was thinking about it, I was like, “Fuck that.”

He was older. he should have known better, he could’ve stopped himself, blah, blah, blah. This is completely out of character for me. But you know, my usual habits have not really served me all that well, so there.

I don’t really even think that stuff. I’m sure he was just as fucked up as I was. But it made me feel better to blame someone other than myself anyway. I need practice placing blame where it actually belongs and I transferred that feeling to my parents and it worked. Because when I drive my mind goes all over the place and I made that jump. The cool thing was, I didn’t feel like a horrible person for placing blame, in either scenario.

Anyway, back to Roy…and me. It’s weird the way I think about him. I don’t think about him much at all. I don’t sit around missing him and I don’t really regret what happened. I don’t even remember his last name. He was a gorgeous man I thought of as being out of my league and I had the chance to hang out with him. The sex was fun.

At the time, when all that crap I wrote about in the previous post went down, I did feel devastated. But he was never really available anyway. And you know, neither was I.

I was a year away from experiencing deep depression and being aware of it. I was already depressed but didn’t have the words to describe what I was feeling.  At the age of 20, I’m truly surprised, when I think about how dark things were for me, that I didn’t attempt suicide. But that didn’t have to do with Roy.

In fact when I was “dating” Roy, I was actually seeing two other guys. I was somewhat of a player myself, I guess you could say. But it was a matter of confusion than anything else. PLUS I wasn’t married.

I had asked Roy, while lying in bed together at his shore house that weekend, if he’d stop seeing me if I was seeing other people. I figured it wouldn’t really matter since he was married. He said, “Yeah, I probably would.” And so I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it. But that was only because he was married.

I don’t know he didn’t know though, when, he’d seen me drive away from the restaurant one day with, Tom, one of the guys I was seeing. I remember feeling sad when I got into his truck because I really wanted to be with Roy.

Roy waved as he stood next to Dianne on the loading dock and Tom and I drove away. Dianne had a huge grin on her face.

The relationship between Tom and me had become long distance. But we dated rather seriously when I was 18 until he moved away about a year later. I cheated on him early in our relationship with someone I’d known previously and I almost lost him.

Things were really good between us (well, my perception of good anyway) when Tom moved three hours away and I had no car. That was difficult. I still remember how sad I was the last night I saw him previous to his move.

We still talked a lot on the phone and he came up to visit a lot. Later when I did get a car, I started going down there on a regular basis. I used to love to drive down and spend weekends down there.  He and I had a lot of fun together. He still came up for visits too.  But there were certainly rough patches and I sabotaged things there myself.

I also dated another guy, Tim. I had actually dated him for a short time before dating and getting serious with Tom. At the time I was dating Tim, Tom and I were friends and hung out with some of the same people.  I also had fun with Tim but that relationship had more rough patches than the one between Tom and me. And Tim had many more issues than Tom did. Tim wasn’t as easy going although he had a great sense of humor. Tom was funny as hell and would have me belly laughing a lot.

Tim could be abusive. Tom was unavailable in other ways. (But he wasn’t married.)

I would push them both away and pull them both back in. And not usually simultaneously.  Different things took place internally for me at different times.  Tom would start to get on my nerves and I’d stop seeing him for a while and then I’d spend time with Tim. Then I’d either begin to feel engulfed or tired of Tim too and go back to seeing Tom for a bit.

I would sabotage in other ways as well, like, confessing things I felt guilty about to each of them. I would sit and write long tormented letters about each thought I felt awful for, or something I’d said that I felt might be deemed as disrespectful.  I had this obsession with being completely honest so that they knew every nook of my brain, no matter how hurtful what I told them was.

I’ve always had a difficult time explaining this. I’m not sure anyone else has ever dealt with this. I never wanted to deliberately hurt them. The reason was about being honest. I figured if they stayed with me after I was honest, at least I gave them all the details to make an informed decision then I’d done the right thing. And if they still loved me after I was honest then I wasn’t bad after all.  Problem was, those letters became never ending.

Each time I wrote one thought down, another one would pop into my head and I’d continue to spiral down with each thought or deed I felt the need to write down.  And it just kept going. I’d write endless letters and a lot of times, I found myself squeezing in sentences where I’d forgotten to write them previously, crowding words together so tight, it would make some of the letter unreadable.

Those letters caused a ton of anger within the receiver and a lot of tears from me.

I can feel a tinge of shame, but mostly I feel sad for the young woman who felt the need to confess every adverse thought she had about her boyfriends. I grieve for her and all that lost time sitting on her bed, chain smoking cigarettes, as I wrote endless pages of dark and hurtful thoughts.

I read recently about it, although I don’t remember where or what I’d been looking up. And the article wasn’t about the same scenario I went through. But the explanation was similar enough for me to make a connection. So I got to learn that wasn’t really my fault either. It turns out that there is a good chance there was a nutritional deficiency that caused me to behave like that.

Playing With Fire Again! REALLY???

If my adrenals don’t get a fucking break I’m never going to recover.  I can’t leave and right now I am so fucking angry it’s more than uncomfortable.

I get angry all the time actually, but a lot of it is about shit that doesn’t matter or is truly futile because it’s about something that will NEVER change. I hate being trapped here. I hate living with someone I don’t trust to learn from previous mistakes, someone who doesn’t pay attention to some of the important shit.  I don’t feel safe.

So just a little back story: In the past, B had burnt a pot after walking away from a tiny bit of water he put on to heat up for tea. And a couple other times he forgot about toast he was making in a toaster oven, one of those times resulting in the toast actually catching fire!

So now at this apartment we now live in, we have a gas stove. I love gas to cook with. I really do. But I also know you need to be fucking careful when you cook with anything.

There are these pieces of round steel that go on top of the part where the fire comes out and they are removable. And if not put back right, (a fairly new discovery for me) the burner does not work. So when I turned the knob today to cook some quinoa, all I got was gas.

As I began to turn it off, the fire suddenly came on and it came out toward me. Scared the shit out of me.  At this point I didn’t realize that piece was on wrong. I just noticed something that looked wet on it. Probably butter from me cooking eggs this morning.

Well, B tried to clean it off by taking it to the sink and cleaning it off with the dish rag. And then when he put it back, he didn’t put it back right. So when I went to use the stove again…well…I already told you what happened.

The reason I realized that piece wasn’t on right and was the reason the fire didn’t go on, is because the exact same issue had happened before. In fact B was right next to me when we had the problem before.

I lost it. I yelled about it and couldn’t stop. I am really sucking at the DBT skills. It was the perfect opportunity for me to walk the fuck away, go outside or into my room and calm down first and THEN go back and talk to him about it. Tell him in a calm way how scared that makes me, which would also be less berating. And I did berate him for not learning from mistakes.

So not only am I angry at him for being careless, not putting that piece of the burner back on right, but also pissed at myself for not catching myself and working some DBT skill.

How the fuck am I supposed to stop myself when I feel the flooding of the threat of danger and then in turn anger? I talked to my therapist about it and she gave me specific things to do, but I can’t even get to the part where I’m supposed to STOP!

Shit Days

I am not doing well right now. I have just come off another binge with Mary Jane and am wondering wtf draws me so much to that.

Well, I know the answer…Pain…lots of pain. I have struggled with quitting her for years. And I am making another effort now. I’ve just committed to myself yesterday that I will not be drinking any alcohol for a year again. I did this in 2015 and it worked well.

I have not been drinking lately but I have thought about it a time or too. This may not be a big deal for some people but I have a  history of binge drinking. And I do the same with Mary. If she’s here, I indulge till she’s gone.

I wish I could keep her around, tucked away to enjoy now and then or use as a tool to calm down when I’m way over the top in an emotional reaction. But I don’t. I indulge every single day to keep myself at a constant numb.

And that’s not a good way to recover.

I am in DBT and have been going to individual therapy for about a month now. I will start group in a couple of weeks.

The whole premise around the program is to feel your emotions. I can’t feel what’s really there if I’m numbing them all the time. So now that Mary is gone along with sending her accessories out into the trash last week, I am going into this full force.

I don’t have to deal with the physical symptoms that many drugs bring with them once you let them go. But there is a cleaning out period plus the matter of now having to feel my emotions.

This isn’t easy and things have been more than difficult to say the least.

The other thing that Mary does is keep me asleep so to speak. It takes away my motivation and drive so I waste a lot of time. I also don’t care about myself either. So what happens is, I sleep a lot. I eat a lot of junk because I don’t have the drive to prepare healthy food. I don’t move my body because all my body wants to do is lay around. I also can’t read so I spend a lot of time on YouTube watching shit that is yet another waste of time.

It also keeps me somewhat oblivious or at least calmer about the situation here with B and me. And that includes between the two of us as well as the landlady downstairs. From here on out landlady will be known as Nasty.

Nasty the landlady.

So when I quit Mary, my emotions become awakened. And most of my emotions are not pleasant. I’ve written recently about Nasty in another post so I won’t get into her bullshit right now. She’s not even really the problem. The fact that she’s in my life is merely a symptom of other shit and my entire history has led me to this point.

My ‘addiction’ to Mary has held me back seriously. And for a while my emotions will be even more sensitive than usual as I adjust and learn how to be with and find another way of coping with my emotions.

So there’s that. But I actually started this post for another reason.

I am miserable with Mr. B. I have a lot of anger and resentment toward him and want to leave. But since I have not been working, have no income and don’t feel like I could hold down a job right now, I am trapped.

I talked to my therapist yesterday about a specific blow up that happened for me (B doesn’t blow up, yell or have much of an emotional spectrum at all). In talking about that one incident, I was able to illustrate what the relationship is like between the two of us and she gave me some really good insight

The pattern is: I’m triggered by something B does, says, doesn’t do, doesn’t say or something he forgets even though we’ve had the conversation once or sometimes many times. I have felt disregarded and not listened to.

When I’m triggered my reaction is to…well…react. I yell and berate. And this leads to sadness, depression and shame for me. I hate myself every single time. I apologize but the next time I’m triggered, I react the very same way.

I know this is abuse. And I am responsible for stopping. Which is one reason I am in DBT. A big reason for seeking out therapy, period. Although I sought out therapeutic help long before B was in the picture.

However, wanting to stop reacting in that matter, wanting to do DBT, wanting to be a better person…it’s all for myself. I mean, I want to stop hurting others too with my reaction, but my priority is myself.

Even if I didn’t react the way I do, this relationship is unhealthy. B is shut off from his emotions, he says shit all the time that indicates he doesn’t listen when I talk to him. He doesn’t look at me when I’m trying to communicate that I’m upset. And this happens even when the conversation is calm and normal.

He is physically unhealthy and won’t do anything to help himself. He is in a job in a company that treats him like a doormat and he doesn’t have the back bone to say no or to ask for a raise. He has no ambition and he seems to be getting worse on the drive and motivation front. He doesn’t seem to learn from certain mistakes and is not careful at work, hitting his head, rushing around slipping or falling, etc.

This probably sounds like I have no empathy for him hurting himself and sometimes I guess you could say that’s true. But the injuries he incurs and the errors he makes at times, are things that most people learn from after doing it once or twice.

Think about it. If you bend down and then crawl under something, you know something is above your head. Would you raise your head up to bump it knowing that thing is there…unless you are deliberately want to deliver some pain to your noggen?

If you’ve slipped on a surface before or dropped something on your foot in the past, would you not keep that in mind, learn from it and do something completely different to keep the same fucking accident from happening?

Most likely, the answers to these questions are a big fat YES if you care at all about yourself. But not B, he makes the same fucking mistakes over and over and over again.

We have been pulling each down into the sewer for years.

And I’m past due ready to get the fuck out.

I wish I had some place to go but I can’t think of anyone who would take me in, in the state I’m in right now. And I definitely need to stay close so that I can get to DBT. Unless we lose health care or some other rug gets pulled out from under…which to be honest, I am programmed to expect, so I do.

But to keep my sanity and to get through DBT (and that’s as long as Trump doesn’t pull the rug out from under mental health care) I need to learn gray rock really fast.

I also need to keep in mind the good things. I have written before about some of the ways he is supportive. He’s got my basic need of having a roof over my head taken care of. He understands why and supports my choice of not being a part of my own family anymore. His expectations of me are quite low actually. And I feel like I’ve been taking advantage of the situation.

A healthy person would’ve had their own full time income and left a long time ago. For both of our sake. There’s good stuff, but the emotional support in the day to day and his ability to listen and regard what I say as of any importance seems to be zero.

We have…scratch that…I have conversations with him one day and the next he does something that indicates he either didn’t listen or forgot. But then when I say something again, he says the very same things he said in the conversation before, as if we never had the original conversation in the first place.  It’s crazy making. And I have no way out.

I’ve been wondering lately if he actually enjoys seeing me react on an unconscious level. And if that’s true, then he loves the idea that I’m trapped because it gives him all the power.

I’m closing comments right now because I don’t really want any advice or feedback. I just needed to get that poison out of my system.

 

Too Much Empathy?

Here’s one possible answer for my question from this post.

She starts talking about bullies and being bullied at about 8 minutes in.

You could argue that it’s denying, ignoring or being callous. And in certain situations it probably is. But I like the idea of ‘getting up and doing something about it’, at least as much as you can, as opposed to trying nothing, continuing to be angry without using the anger to propel forward in life.

But I can tell you what I’ve been doing isn’t working when it comes to having compassion and empathy for certain people.  I think that my compassion, sympathy and empathy got me further abused in life at times.

There are things I disagree with from what she’s saying though.  I do think that some therapists do have empathy. I’ve read about them from other bloggers right here on WP. She also states in the video that therapists offer solutions. And that’s also not always true. I’ve had therapists stare at me blankly. I’ve had therapists ask further questions, perhaps to help me with my own solutions.

Updating this on 7/23/17, it seems that I have finally been offered solutions from a DBT therapist. And since I’ll be starting the group portion of this therapy in a few days, I expect that being taught certain skills will empower me to do something about what I don’t like about my life. So in that aspect, I do think it’s more beneficial to attack the problem and be proactive in solving things, rather than continue to cry about it.

That being said however, I do think that there is benefit to holding space to listen, acknowledge the other person’s pain and give the validation that the person may have never received. Validation is quite healing.

Especially when it comes to children, I feel that a parent needs to take the time to physically get down to the level of the child, listen, acknowledge, validate, hug the child and THEN say, “Let’s go fix it.”

She also mentions distraction as a solution. In my opinion I think that can be helpful. But it’s not a permanent solution.

Emotional Paralysis and Feeling Lost

ImLostBack in 2011/2012 a toxic relationship I was involved in ended. And it ended with a text. It was one of the most shocking experiences of my life. The months to follow carried some of the most excruciating emotional pain I’d ever felt even though I’d done a lot of pushing away and pulling him back in myself during the relationship, or more appropriately ‘the entanglement.’ Without getting into all the complicated details, I will just say he was unavailable in every way imaginable.

I found that picture, posted above, when the break up was fairly new. I was in such excruciating emotional pain that all I wanted to do was write. And I did. I wrote a lot of letters to him that I never sent. I wrote things that I struggled with to try to work them out. I even started a blog. Then I took it down and started another one.

I continued to do that…start one blog after another, taking them down as I went. For one thing I kept feeling too vulnerable. I wanted to share but was afraid to.

I was afraid of what people would think or say when they read it. Anyone. Any person I didn’t know. And as much as I struggled I could not get past that.

Then as I read and researched more about narcissism and getting hurt by a narcissist, I got more confused. I read things by bloggers who said it was a good idea to write about the experience. I even at one point felt coerced by someone who also suffered from extreme trauma. I had felt uncomfortable and hurt by this. I’d been coerced by others before and it was a trigger for me when this woman did it.

She thought it would do me good. Famous words of those who like to coerce. But although it bothered me I said nothing, fearing she’d get defensive and angry herself. When I finally said something after feeling coerced again and I found out that my prediction was exactly right. And it became another unresolved issue for me, even though I apologized.

I also read things by others who said that writing about it all is not a good idea. It keeps the wounds open and it does more emotional damage.

So in listening to others, I don’t even know what it is I feel and think is right for me.

Just to give another example where I have trouble with this: When it comes to figuring out what I should be eating for my body and health issues, I’ve been listening to others. Questioning myself.

It’s resulted in a lot of paralysis, procrastination, overwhelm and chasing my tail. Most of my days since the break up back in 2011/2012 I have spent wasting. I haven’t made any plans for any sort of future.  Just kind of floating through life, feeling like I’ve reverted back to my early teens emotionally and depending on someone else to keep a roof over my head. A very dangerous place to be at my age.

A year after the break up, my father became terminally ill and I got entangled with my family. They manipulated, triangulated and scapegoated me. Another topic I’d been wanting to cover. But again, I’ve been confused as to whether I want to or not. Whether it’s a good idea. Not to mention my own fear of what will the people I’m writing about think, say or do? Including the ex.

I seem to always have been and still am so worried about other people’s reactions. If I write something my brother doesn’t like, will I pay the price with him coming over and raging in my face? It’s not likely he’d find it because I doubt he’s roaming around on WP dot com. I blocked him on FB long ago and besides,  I don’t and wouldn’t share this stuff on FB.  That I’m settled on.

It feels like there’s a need to share my story while at the same time I can see how it could possibly keep one down. That’s not to judge what helps anyone else. I’m merely working out my own feelings here.  See? Right there, I’m worried that someone will think I’m referring to everyone. Sheesh! I can’t seem to win with myself.

I’ve hidden myself for so long from others, that it’s resulted in being hidden from myself, in self defense of repercussions of being who I really am.

So, it’s a scary thing to reach 50 and realize that you’ve held yourself back from expressing your truth because of what someone else or a group of someone elses might do. In fact it’s been going on so long I don’t even know my own truth in the moment in some instances. Shame is certainly a factor too.

I’ve reached a point once again where I’m not happy with this blog. You know when you mess up on paper, you just tear the page out, throw it away and start over? That’s what I want to do here.

In fact I did it before with another blog before starting this one, other than the ones I referred to above. I had written a bunch of posts on another blog with another user name and for quite some time I hadn’t been feeling comfortable with the user name and started thinking about wanting to use Sleeping Tiger.  I continually felt apprehensive about posting at the old one and posts became sporadic.

I’m beginning to feel that way again here. I started another blog too under this user name, but doing that has made me feel even more disorganized.

I think I do want to tell my story…at least some of it. But I also want to write about other things. And that’s another area where I get overwhelmed and scattered.

Do I really want to talk about my pet sitting experience on the same blog where I write about how my father’s abuse has effected my life?  Well yeah I kinda do but they don’t really go together, so…

And what if I can spin off the pet stuff into a business later? Then how good of an idea would it have been to keep the topics together? UUuUUUGgggggHHHHHhhhhh!!!

This is what I’m dealing with. And then I do nothing.

I really need to sort this out for myself because I would really love to blog. However, like I mentioned I’m feeling unsettled with this name now.

Originally I liked it obviously. I have a little box for my dowsing pendulum with a mama and baby tiger on the lid. The mama tiger is sleeping and the baby tiger is wide awake. It looks to me that the baby wants to get into some mischief while big mama sleeps.

That image is also a metaphoric symbol, personally speaking, how my mother is asleep and that I (her daughter) am awake to how toxic the whole dynamic of the family is.

Before I started this blog, I would look at that box and think, “Sleeping Tiger. That would be a good name for a blog.”

So finally I started this blog.

But I can identify with both tigers, even though I’m not a mom. I have spent most of my life asleep in pretty much every capacity of life, especially having difficulty coming out of denial of how bad it actually was. Although I knew there was something amiss, when I spoke up it was minimized or there was a clear message, whether verbal or non, that it was me who needed to work it out within.

The baby tiger, signifies the painful awakening of being right all along.

Edit July 22, 2017: Since originally posting this, I have become much more settled. I have made a definite decision not to write about pet sitting stuff specifically, although I do share some things about my own cat. I expect to share other photos of nature as well. But this blog is mostly dedicated to my story.

I have finally stopped starting other blogs to write on the same topic and it is my intention to move those posts I wrote before for other blogs to this one. 

I am also no longer worried about any exes or my family finding this blog. It’s anonymous. No one I know irl knows me as Sleeping Tiger. But quite frankly, I’m not really concerned about it anyway.

I still struggle to get closure with my past. So that is what this blog is for, and I am in therapy as well to work through it and to learn new skills in relating and getting along in life. But I don’t feel the same level of torment I did when I wrote this post originally.