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Posts Tagged ‘Healing’

I’m feeling quite shaky, a little panicked and a whole lot anxious today.

I’m not sure if it is the copious amounts of coffee I have indulged in this chilly morning, or the fact that I bared my soul for over 2 hours yesterday.  I figure it’s the latter.

The new counselor seems very nice, exactly who I need in my life right now…  BUT… It is still a very difficult, painful thing to sit there and run a dry-eyed monologue about every terrible thing that has happened over the past 39 years.  A diatribe of “poor me’s” falling out of my mouth like rocks.  I found myself uncovering fragments… exposing just a few seconds of the pain just to quickly cover it back up.  Scuffing dirt over it with my foot, as if too long exposure to the air would somehow start to drag me back under my personal ocean of emotions.

She wanted to go back to the very beginning.

She wanted to know everything in just a few minutes.

Each crucial moment, each pivotal second of my life came out in a rush of non-emotion.

“Yes, I was abused and manipulated as a small child… next.”

“Yes, I was bullied by classmates, teachers, mother, sister, grandmother…Next”

“Yes a boy I was secretly friends with killed himself after I had refused to talk to him in the library when he asked for help…NEXT”

“Yes I married my husband to get away from my mother… NEXT”

“Yes, my dad blamed me for my daughters mental illness, stating I was “TOO SINGLE” to raise her properly… Next…

“Yes, I aborted a baby because my mother told me I had to, Yes my son is special needs and drains me dry every single day… Yes, my mother died and I miss her, Yes, My mother died and I hate her for leaving me….Next, Next, Next!!!!”

Every door, every single cupboard of my life left hanging open, exposed to my internal light and judgement.

She did try to close some of the doors before I left.  She also seems like she will help me to close all these doors after time… but as for now, they are still ajar.  Dinging and alarming like an obnoxious car door.  “Your Door is Ajar” is the constant mechanical voice in my head… reminding me that I am still wide open.  The cold air rushing in and making the cobwebs and spiders, that were once still and unmoving,  wave and sway in the breeze.

I went grocery shopping after I left her office.  Probably NOT the best idea.  Walking around I kept feeling like maybe I had a scarlet letter on my chest.  Maybe a “C” for Crazy… or just a “W” for Wounded…. I still felt like everyone around me could smell my sorrow, my damage.. maybe like smelling slightly rotted meat or even just garlic, obvious enough to smell it, but not quite sure if it’s pleasant or offensive.

I felt very anxious, very stressed, quickly finished my shopping and rushed home to my safe little haven.

Now I am shaking and nervous, weepy and exposed.  I am curious if I will feel this way every single Friday?  Will THIS be my new normal? I usually stamp these feelings down and cover them.. now they are growing and fighting their way around these doors, and I am supposed to let them.   The bind weeds of my emotions got a taste of the light yesterday, now to see which direction they choose to crawl, Back to the darkness… or towards the light.

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I’m on the edge, the cusp, the jumping off point of my start to recovery and healing…   It’s off to the counselor I go.

I think she will be really good for me.  She seems like a very nice lady, from her emails.  I am anxious to meet her and get started, but yet am extremely nervous.  I hope this helps me. I am not used to telling a total stranger all my dirty secrets face to face… so pray my typing skills carry over into my verbal skills 🙂

There are so many areas for us to work on. So many areas I need to have fixed, like, immediately…

I’m glad I am seeing her today, it’s already started out pretty bad:

The boy was angry, VERY angry…. temper tantrum angry, not sure why… maybe he was sleepy, maybe he was Aspie-ing out on me. (I know that’s not a word, but anyways)

The girl is needing a med change, desperately.  She is clingy and needy, weepy and violent.

The babysitting baby is here early, she is a good baby, but just adds to the mess.

I spent the whole day at work yesterday  with “Mary Sunshine and Christian Happiness”. (She is a whole other blog on her own. )

I am ready for some of this load to be lifted.  Some of this burden to be, at least, redistributed at best!

I still am on auto pilot, on life support, exhausted and drained.

So, Wish me luck… Cross your fingers and say a prayer for me and my new counselor.  I hope she is “The One”.

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I knew it was sitting there.

I could feel its weight pressing down on my brain. I could feel it as if it were fire.  I was not touching it, but I could still sense the weight of it in my purse.  There was a little over $4 thousand dollars, right there in my purse.  Blood money, free money, will money, payment for 39 years of being moms “perfect child”, her “sweet baby”.

The stress is getting worse.  The kids are compounding everything I feel.  Just like a crushed tomato tied back together with string, I still ooz and bleed with every touch, jab, word. Ready to fall apart, easier than before.

The weight of depression, hopelessness, growing faster than a storm cloud in my mind. “Why can’t we just have one day of peace? Why can’t I have just a moment to think? Why can’t we just spend a day together without the fighting, the anger, the competition for my affections and favoritism?”

I am exhausted. Just thinking of a simple task like cleaning house or making the bed seem to weigh 500 pounds on my bruised brain.  I want to hide. I want to run away and hide.

The money, it’s right there.  It’s ready to burn my hand the moment I touch it.  I’m supposed to use it for bills, Christmas.. the kids, not me… not for myself, the kids.  Don’t touch it.

I slowly pull myself up in the bed.  I glance at the alarm clock, 2:30p.m.  I had fallen here just moments ago.  My bed a rescue raft, floating in my room for me to grab onto and wail into my pillows until the hopelessness and suicidal thoughts pass on by.  My raft is still shaking, threatening to sink.  I’m screaming inside, “It’s not going to get better! It is NEVER going to get any better!”   The kids will never get “well”.  Neither one has any illness that can be cured.  I will just be stuck in this life for the remainder of mine.  The same violence, the same temper tantrums, the same emotional drainage of mom day after day.  It. Will. Never. Get. Better….

I slowly drag my aching heavy limbs out of the bed and start pulling on clothes.  The argument that had just occurred between my children and I still ravaging my brain like it’s on repeat. The same depressing mantra on repeat:  “Its happened before, it will happen again, again, again, it will happen again.”

I look around the house. It’s a disaster. You would think that my teenage daughter, seeing her mother is drowning, would at least help with the housework.  I start pulling together dirty clothes, I make separate piles of colors and observe how they look like piles of dead leaves.  I will do the laundry, I can at least do that.

I quickly start to come out of the fog, suddenly I’m on fast forward.  Laundry, sweeping, dishes, clutter… each task tackled in a mindless rush. I can at least get these things done. I can at least leave a clean house.

The kids are in the background, sighing, stomping, slamming, sniffling… each, in their own passive aggressive way, are driving the nails into my back.  “You deserted me!”  “You took her side”, “you took his side”, “It’s not my fault!” “It’s all his fault/Her fault/YOUR fault!!” Each silent accusation a dart going into my skin. I ignore each dart with a disinterest, a tear slipping out silently instead.  “Don’t treat me like that”, I cry inside.  “I’m the one that loves you more than life!” “I’m the only one that understands you, but I’m tired!! Don’t yell at me, don’t hurt me! It hurts to be used like an emotional punching bag” “it hurts, It hurts, I HURT!!!”

Instead, I just keep cleaning, tears running down my face.  I want to run and hide, back onto my raft, back into my cave, I want to cling to the safety of the bed and hide. I keep doing the dishes.  I look out the window into the backyard.  Birds, a dog, a squirrel… things that usually make me smile instead make me feel the exhaustion of my own inner darkness.  There is such an anger in being depressed, like, how dare the sun shine when I feel such pain? Does it not care that I can only feel, can only see darkness?

Dishes, concentrate on the dishes.  Concentrate on the work.  Feed the bird, feed the dog, mop the floor, change out the laundry, feel the weight of the money in my mind, count it.. weigh it… smell it.. finish the dishes.  Finish the Dishes.

Freedom is in the weight of that money.  Freedom from everything weighing me down in this house, in this life.  It will never get better, so why stick around?  Why should I stay here and watch it all fall apart?  Why should I be the one to always have to fix, mend, tape, glue, wipe, heal… Why should I be the abused one? I can’t think, I can’t heal, I am supposed to be “momma’s STRONG girl” but my strength was obviously buried along with my mother.  It’s holding her hand in the cold darkness, it is certainly not holding my hand as I struggle to stay afloat.

I finish the dishes, I continue to stand at the sink, the moment has come.  The moment that entered my thoughts as soon as the money hit my hands.  Turn around, walk out the door, fill up the car and just go… just GO…. Walk out the door… WALK OUT THE DOOR…

I can’t seem to move.  Whats the problem?!?! Why am I not doing what I should, what I want, What I know will keep my children safe.  I am the problem, I am the reason their life is so chaotic and horrible.. I should leave, let them move on, let someone more stable and healthy deal with their needs.. I Should Just Leave.

I slowly turn around, away from the sink, away from my old life, away from the accusations and the pain. I turn, I turn away and find myself looking at the alarm clock, the alarm clock beside my bed… 2:35 p.m.

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I awoke this morning with complete control and determination.  I laid in bed, unmoving and slowly, brick by brick, built a wall around myself so strong, so impervious, that no amount of “this time last year” or “what if she was still here” would ever break through.  After 2 hours of Macy Day parade watching and distracted Tumblr scanning I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with a sense of loss, pain and grief so great I could not contain the tears.

Today is Thanksgiving.  Today is a day for Thankfulness.  Today is a day of forgiveness and love, family and comfort. Well, it’s supposed to be.

So today I am not going to punish myself. Today I am not going to punish mom. Today I am going to allow myself a moment to miss her, grieve her, love her.  Today is a day to remember the good things about my mom. The loving, caring, nurturing side of mom.  The woman that made the best dressing on earth.  The mother that made the entire Thanksgiving dinner, from scratch, by herself. Worked tirelessly to clean, cook and clean again, so we could see how much she loved us.  The woman who would orchestrate the filling and giving of food baskets that the church group took out each Thanksgiving weekend.  The woman that would sit down and play a game of Wahoo even if she was exhausted from cooking all day.  The woman who loved me, loved me better than anyone else in the family.  My mom.  I miss my mom.

No, I am not in denial. I do remember the many, many, many Thanksgivings that ended with me in tears, mom yelling, kids melting down, guilt laden accusation, squabbles, silences, chilly looks… feeling guilty for leaving daddy behind to suffer alone with her….

But I also remember the love.  I have to remember the love.  I HAVE TO REMEMBER THE LOVE.  It’s hard to explain the two sides to my grief.  The two sides to  my memories.  I am a literal mask of one side happy, one side sad… a drama mask of pain…

imagesHow in the world am I going to sit with my family at the dinner table and act normal?  I have got to start stuffing these feelings back down or I am not going to make it till tonight!  I can’t drown right now.  I have things to do, people to take care of… I can’t drown… I Can’t Drown!!

Why can’t I write a decent post on how much I love MOM?? Why can’t I sit and think of just the good and not be flooded with hurt and pain? ANGER?!?!

This is not the way this was supposed to go.  This was not the words I was supposed to say.

This is not a reprieve.  This is torture.  This is just me…  This is just how life will be for a while, I suppose.

The walking wounded… The “Poor little Robyn” that precedes me and follows me everywhere I go…

I don’t want to become a repellant.  I don’t want people to see me coming and start running the other way, running in fear that I will jabber like the Mad Hatter… crazy maniacal laughter, crazy rambling thoughts of mom… both good and bad.. all mixed into the pot that is my damaged brain… like a bad, goopy mess.

So today, I will fix the chink in my armor.  Glue it back with crazy glue, and I will function… Cause that’s all I can do, right?  That’s all I can do.

Bless you, my friends.

 

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The days that have passed since my last blog have not been any easier, really.  However, I am not the sobbing, quaking, mess that I was last week.  What has changed? What has caused me to feel I could cope, rather than want to run, hide or die?

Well, for one, the Cable Guy finally told me he “loves me”.  Not in any huge flowery display of romance. Just a plain, simple statement that felt more real than anything I have ever felt before.  I laugh now, because it ONLY took him 35 months to say it, but he really has shown it in every way possible. Namely by not dumping my pathetic ass during these past few months of hell!

Another thing that happened, is I finally was fully vindicated.  My stepson now knows it was all his mother, that I never said those awful things about him, and I know he never said those things about me.  We are fine now. Still regard each other with caution and shyness, but better.  He knows I don’t wish to control him, I know he doesn’t want another “mother” but will always need a friend.

So… Am I better? Maybe.  Am I feeling better… somewhat.

I may be getting better at hiding, but I also may be healing.

I’m not allowing myself to talk to my mom. I’m not allowing myself to think of her, miss her, hate her… I am indifferent.  Seems to be the only way I can function normally.  Is it healthy? probably not, is it ok… for now I feel it is.

I can’t sit and dwell on my anger and expect to take care of an Autistic child and a mentally unstable teen! I have to keep some sort of wall up or I will be back to the mess I was in last week.

So, until I find a counselor, until I find a safe place to lay it all down, I am just going to keep shoveling the manure of “I’m Fine” and “Nevermind” over it…

Kinda stinks, but so does life.

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