Moments of intimacy brought me courage to share honestly. I did, saying that physical pain is easier for me than emotional pain. But I know I need to stay with the emotions and not avoid or hide in physical pain. And I asked, or maybe said I needed/wanted him to help me stay with the emotions. The answer was not what I wanted to hear. He, after all theses years of being around me and my emotions, needs to distance himself when my emotions hit. He’s paid his dues, emotionally, and needs to act in this way in order to take care of himself. How can I blame him? I can’t. I wish I’d had my revelation years ago when we were younger and I hadn’t put him through so much, yet. Maybe then he would have been willing to be with me as I tried to stay with my feelings/ emotions rather than self harming to avoid the emotional pain. I don’t blame him in the least for feeling this way. He has tried for decades already. Physical pain is so much easier. But it, my truth, has now been out on the table. I need to fight this battle on my own. Perhaps this is best and will make me stronger than if I count on someone being there to help hold me up. I guess this has to be my battle and mine alone so that I learn to be ok with myself … Would that be self loving? I have to be ok with myself, even if no one else is. Gulp! Wish me luck!
Bringing some of my blog title into a post …
Finding myself scratching my leg, and then i keep on scratching. There is not itch.
Fighting to make my smile reach up and into my eyes.
Happily watching my dog, Chi, playful at last – after a month and a half recovery from ????
Fearful of words left unspoken.
Wanting to take anxiety pills and alcohol and sleep, sleep, sleep.
Grateful the weekend is here and I don’t have to go to work. I want to work, but it brings up SO much.
Cloudy thinking. Cloudy feeling. I don’t know what I want.
I know I’ll be alone some day. When, I don’t know. It takes me into disassociation.
It is what it is. My own doing? Inevitable.
Today, I did something I haven’t done in at least 20 years, if not 30 or so. I climbed a tree. I was an avid tree climber as a child. When I was a teen, I had a favorite tree I would climb to read books in. I loved being above the ground, possibly able to watch people and other happenings going on below me, whether of animals or people. I was having a period of detachment today.
Not really happy with how my day, or my son and husband’s responses to me, were going. In a spontaneous moment, I decided to walk the path down our hill and examine the trees and underbrush. I had wanted my husband to do this with me, but it didn’t seem to be happening. I’m frustrated about that, as we’ve lived here for over six months now and he has yet to walk beyond the back yard with me. So, I set off on my own. As I came to a cluster of trees, seen a bit off the path, growing haphazardly and leaning almost horizontal to the ground, I was drawn to them. Drawn back to my childhood and time spent alone on a branch with leaves all around me. I climbed up several before going back to one that suited my mood.
Once out on the limb, I laid down along it, hooking my feet back on the branch behind me. The sun was shining through the leaves so I stretched out and was able to pillow my hand under my head. Closing my eyes, I listened to all the sounds around me. Birds hopped around the undergrowth and leaves, creating a shuffling sound. Other animals; dogs, horses and other birds – as well as people, could be heard in the distance from different directions.
As I lay there, wanting to fall asleep connected to the tree, I wondered if my husband or son would come looking for me. I hadn’t said a word about going anywhere. I just went. I wondered, if they did come, if they would see me stretched along the tree limb or if they would walk right by. But they didn’t come looking. Was I missed at all? That thought leads to a myriad of other thoughts of which I won’t pursue during this post. I enjoyed the peace and mindfulness of my time in the tree. It was restful.
Perhaps it’s good that no one looked for me. If they had found me, the tree would no longer be a special place. As it is, I feel that I can return there and no one will be the wiser. It felt good, as if I were nurturing myself – or at least the child within. I always liked those secret places and actions of mine when a child. It made me feel a bit wild, like an animal; a connection I’ve always felt solace in. While in the tree, I wasn’t a middle aged, fat woman with “issues.” It was just me. Something in me that will always be different, a bit ferral.
Except for John the Aussie (as a regular) and an occasional other, no one seems to read my blogs any more. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been a regular reader of theirs- and commentar also, I’ve tried to write in different modes that might be more interesting. I’ve tried increasing the tags for my blogs, but still it seems that no one is really all that interested. Thank you, John, for continuing to check in on me. Some days I feel on top of the world and as normal as can be. But when I look at what isn’t happening, I again feel like the lost child that stays hidden in the background. I’m not complaining – it’s just an observation. I guess it’s an ok place to be for me. A good place to observe others, even if no one notices you. A lot can be learned from observing others. I see how lucky I am in the true picture of life. I may have my moments or even days of emotional dis-regulation, self harm, depression anxiety etc, but I know I am loved (even in the midst of arguing) and lovable. I know my depression will come and go and I will have days where I feel joy and thoroughly like almost every aspect of my life. So no one wants to read my blog. There’s not a Da#n thing I can do about that. I will write or not write, as the mood suites me. Is that posting or blogging suicide? Only time will tell.
I talked to my husband today about all of the back pain he is having. We both agreed that it will probably be a good idea to send our son back to WI to help with the packing. He and I are back to our arguing here, so time away from being with just me would be to his liking too. But my fear is being here … Alone. Not that I mind being alone, but I don’t take such good care of myself when I’m alone and my thoughts stay inward.
How did I function in a job? Leading meetings? Writing plans? How did I earn a masters degree while doing everything else? And a family? And having an intern? And seeming competent? Once the crack appeared in the facade, there was no turning back. No Dutch boy to plug the hole in the dike with his finger … All my years of attempting to cope have come crashing and crumbling upon me and I’ve got to empty it all off of and out of me to see who I am before I can proceed forward with life. No wonder I’ve transplanted my family into an area where roads make hairpin turns and rockslides can be expected to hamper your path unexpectedly. Control burns take place for safety .. Is that what I do to myself also?
I’m afraid of what today’s appointments, and the one with my psychologist on Monday, will bring. Tuesday afternoon, I was burning some brush and thinking about how Dave continues to not respond (even to acknowledge receiving and/or reading) my emails about my BPD. He’s just THAT shut down about it I guess. I know discussion is out of the question, but I keep hoping he’ll become more aware or understanding. It goes back to my unrelenting fear of abandonment. All this after 32 years of marriage. You’d think I’d realize he’s not leaving me, but I know some days push him closer to it, so it continues to haunt me. The whole thinking part put me in a funk of not caring about myself, risky behavior with the fire. I didn’t use a stick or tool to move wood around. I used my hands. Carefully, of course. But then I started picking up sticks that were burning embers on the end. That let to me thinking about my burn scars being flatter than my cutting scars. And that lead me to deciding to burn over the cutting scars on the back of my leg. I’ve been on an antibiotic for 5 days for strep throat, but the area of cutting/burning looks like an infection is developing. I told my psychiatrist about it last night when he asked how things had been going. I really should tell him his questions, or at least some of them pertaining to my safety, should be more specific. I’m afraid, today, because I will see my regular doctor. He’s the one who’s treated my cuts and burns. I feel like I’ve really let him down.I know I have strategies to help me, but they evaporate in the moment. I spend a lot of time alone, and that’s when the irregular thinking occurs. The move to CA is coming up in about 6 or 7 weeks, and I’m afraid someone here will get the brilliant (sarcasm) idea to have me treated inpatient. If I really want to seriously hurt myself, I could do it there too, so what’s the point? The move will be stressful too. I need to make friends, even though I’ve never really had close friends. I need medical support and that’s been difficult to set up. So there’s the alone time again.
EVERY bit of stress seems so much larger than it is or should be. I see the Sleep Disorder doctor in 3 hours. They want me to do another sleep study night (Horrible experience!) and it looks like I do have sleep apnea, which means some sort of device to be worn while sleeping. I want the help of the doctors, but on my terms. I guess it’s another symptom … manipulating, pushing, challenging, clinging. The monster inside me looks and waits, ready to pounce.
My body, my cage, my cell.