desiderata310
VIP Member
I'm feeling rather fragile today. Trying to cover it up with bad jokes, brassness and vibrato is a far cry from what I would really like to do: give up, cry, crawl into bed, suicide. It isn't as bad as it could be but that underlying shakiness and desire to weep openly is there. Only thing is there is no real chance to do that today. Too many people are around and interrupting the quiet of my office with questions, concerns, anxiety over the show coming up. I can't close my door or run home and be weak. I have to spend time on the stage. I have to be seen, make decisions. I have to be there to catch the production should it start to fall (this, sadly, is not an exaggeration this week)
Because of this week's schedule I had to have my appointment at a different time: 7:30am. I arrived, as usual, before my therapist arrived and sat in the parking lot waiting for him to open the door. All the while, watching. Anxious. I was not in a good head space.
We talked about my flashbacks- two full out flashbacks in the past week-and he told me that if they continue that we would need to push through the EMDR sooner. His original intent was to wait till after the hearing for the restraining order so I could have that sense of security but since I've had more than one he's feels that we may have to push through regardless.
He talked about the fact that I have to start finding a way to control my thinking after I have a flashback to remind myself after that he isn't going to hurt me anymore. Old pathways being traveled again because of the trauma are causing the jump to "I'm in danger" and "I want to hang myself".
Weepy. Lots of weeping in my session at these points this morning. I apologized for texting him while he was on vacation, for going to those dark places, for thinking those thoughts. It's just so hard to stay away from that. I still don't know how and it ramps up.
How did I deal with it? I hid in bed. I cried. I didn't take anything because of the opera load in the next day.
What stopped me? I couldn't get in the theater because there way an event. The fear of failure stops me cold. But, he wanted to know, what else kept me from doing things. I talked about the kids but my hesitance to hang my hat on that since they are grown and I have done such a poor job. They are so f*cked up because of me. All three exhibit signs and have blamed me for their anxiety and with my oldest- has PTSD and suicidal because of me.
Weepy.
What was I getting out of therapy? I I admitted: I had thought things would change when I moved across the country for the better but I was shocked when a month in and I was self-destructing. The promise to Z was an excuse. It was something that I needed to do or self-destruct. Was it good that someone "gets me"? I suppose. I feel like such a liar though. No real connections to people because they will tell me about things from their childhood and I can't share similar experiences. I pull back. I can't connect and I feel isolated. Is it good to be able to tell someone about this? I suppose but painful.
We talked about me being a fighter that it drives me to do the things that I do: work and take the crazy number of hours of school, run long distances, work like a crazy person and fight when other people would quit or go insane. He said it again: it was impressive that I hadn't given up, that I was still here and fighting. He knows I'm tired. 41 years of fighting is such a long time. I just want peace. I want sanctuary. I want my brain to be a peaceful place.
I left feeling really much worse than I had when I had walked in that morning. Shakier. Less stable than before. I pushed on to work because that's what I do. Back to the fray to break up fights, to foresee issues and fix problems before they become catastrophes.
At lunch I read a blog that a dear friend of mine writes. Peter runs a hospitality house for the homeless in M-town and today what he wrote struck such a nerve that I had to close the browser ( I was out at lunch with others) because I had begun to tear up and I couldn't have that. I came back to it after lunch and everyone was otherwise engaged for a few minutes to reread it.
"Manna House is a place of refuge, of sanctuary. We seek in our work of hospitality to extend welcome, affirm the dignity of each of our guests, and treat each person with respect. We hope to be the kind of place where guests and volunteers alike find peace, a sense of their goodness and the goodness of life, even in the midst of hard times and grief. As wounded people carrying our own failures and grieving, we seek to share compassion rather than to exert control or mimic the larger society’s exclusion and domination."
More tears.
I DO feel the grief of my failures. The anxiety of the demons that follow me around day and night some because of my decisions some because of things which fate deems appropriate to heap upon me. Or maybe they are all things that I deserve because of bad decisions I have made.
I'm tired. I keep saying it but it's more than physical- it's weariness that accompanies a deep grief or misfortune. I just feel beaten down by the world and the exhaustion of getting up every morning and going to work seems like the most daunting task I could undertake.
I don't have a reason to keep moving forward other than force of will and because no longer swimming means certain death. I'm weary. And I know it sounds pitiful and weak but that's where I am.
I don't want to go back to therapy anymore.
But I probably will drag myself back on Friday anyway and keep trying for a little while longer.
Because of this week's schedule I had to have my appointment at a different time: 7:30am. I arrived, as usual, before my therapist arrived and sat in the parking lot waiting for him to open the door. All the while, watching. Anxious. I was not in a good head space.
We talked about my flashbacks- two full out flashbacks in the past week-and he told me that if they continue that we would need to push through the EMDR sooner. His original intent was to wait till after the hearing for the restraining order so I could have that sense of security but since I've had more than one he's feels that we may have to push through regardless.
He talked about the fact that I have to start finding a way to control my thinking after I have a flashback to remind myself after that he isn't going to hurt me anymore. Old pathways being traveled again because of the trauma are causing the jump to "I'm in danger" and "I want to hang myself".
Weepy. Lots of weeping in my session at these points this morning. I apologized for texting him while he was on vacation, for going to those dark places, for thinking those thoughts. It's just so hard to stay away from that. I still don't know how and it ramps up.
How did I deal with it? I hid in bed. I cried. I didn't take anything because of the opera load in the next day.
What stopped me? I couldn't get in the theater because there way an event. The fear of failure stops me cold. But, he wanted to know, what else kept me from doing things. I talked about the kids but my hesitance to hang my hat on that since they are grown and I have done such a poor job. They are so f*cked up because of me. All three exhibit signs and have blamed me for their anxiety and with my oldest- has PTSD and suicidal because of me.
Weepy.
What was I getting out of therapy? I I admitted: I had thought things would change when I moved across the country for the better but I was shocked when a month in and I was self-destructing. The promise to Z was an excuse. It was something that I needed to do or self-destruct. Was it good that someone "gets me"? I suppose. I feel like such a liar though. No real connections to people because they will tell me about things from their childhood and I can't share similar experiences. I pull back. I can't connect and I feel isolated. Is it good to be able to tell someone about this? I suppose but painful.
We talked about me being a fighter that it drives me to do the things that I do: work and take the crazy number of hours of school, run long distances, work like a crazy person and fight when other people would quit or go insane. He said it again: it was impressive that I hadn't given up, that I was still here and fighting. He knows I'm tired. 41 years of fighting is such a long time. I just want peace. I want sanctuary. I want my brain to be a peaceful place.
I left feeling really much worse than I had when I had walked in that morning. Shakier. Less stable than before. I pushed on to work because that's what I do. Back to the fray to break up fights, to foresee issues and fix problems before they become catastrophes.
At lunch I read a blog that a dear friend of mine writes. Peter runs a hospitality house for the homeless in M-town and today what he wrote struck such a nerve that I had to close the browser ( I was out at lunch with others) because I had begun to tear up and I couldn't have that. I came back to it after lunch and everyone was otherwise engaged for a few minutes to reread it.
"Manna House is a place of refuge, of sanctuary. We seek in our work of hospitality to extend welcome, affirm the dignity of each of our guests, and treat each person with respect. We hope to be the kind of place where guests and volunteers alike find peace, a sense of their goodness and the goodness of life, even in the midst of hard times and grief. As wounded people carrying our own failures and grieving, we seek to share compassion rather than to exert control or mimic the larger society’s exclusion and domination."
More tears.
I DO feel the grief of my failures. The anxiety of the demons that follow me around day and night some because of my decisions some because of things which fate deems appropriate to heap upon me. Or maybe they are all things that I deserve because of bad decisions I have made.
I'm tired. I keep saying it but it's more than physical- it's weariness that accompanies a deep grief or misfortune. I just feel beaten down by the world and the exhaustion of getting up every morning and going to work seems like the most daunting task I could undertake.
I don't have a reason to keep moving forward other than force of will and because no longer swimming means certain death. I'm weary. And I know it sounds pitiful and weak but that's where I am.
I don't want to go back to therapy anymore.
But I probably will drag myself back on Friday anyway and keep trying for a little while longer.
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