Stupid heat and self harm scars

Okay, so in itself it is trivial. Or should be. People come with all kinds of skin. Different colors. Freckled. Hairy. Smooth. Uneven. My arms are stripey. Self harm stripey. So what. It shouldn’t be a big deal. I mean it’s just skin. And who cares what people think anyway?

Now some people who have scars on their arms from self harming, they actually like being out in the public in short sleeves better than being around family because the people outside are just strangers who’ll be gone soon enough and whose judgment doesn’t matter. The family’s judgment you have to deal with every day. That makes sense to me. Obviously when family don’t understand, that’s real hard.

In my case I’m lucky it’s not an issue at home. Everyone knows about the scars. Nobody looks at me in disgust or disdain or some other ‘dis’-word because of it. Even when I sometimes accuse them of doing so, they aren’t. Not outside of my head. So that’s good. I wear pretty much anything I please at home.

But outside. I hate it. I hate the heat. I hate that long sleeves make me feel like an arctic explorer in a scorching desert. And I hate short sleeves as well. I feel like everyone notices and stares and I feel like I’m being observed by everyone all of the time. It’s unnerving and real stressful. I used to be cooler about it, but that was before I loved my folks. Back when noting mattered. Now it sucks.

I just wish the heat would go away. I like summer, but the heat . . . I’d happily do without it.

Rant over, I guess. Kinda angry at the moment, so I better not write any more but get busy excercising self control and shit. Whatever.

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On Being Adopted – Identity Issues

The other day I skyped with my sister. While we were talking, the topic of my being adopted came up and my sister asked if I ever felt weird about being adopted.

I have read a lot about issues adoptees usually struggle with, and in a way I can identify with those, but in another way their experience is different from mine. Not because of anything mental health related, just because of the fact that I was already (legally, not emotionally) an adult by the time I was adopted. So unlike people who were adopted when they were little, I had a choice about it. I wanted it, too.

What I can relate to, however, is the whole part that deals with loss, rejection, shame and identity. I only ever became an adoptee because I lost my family. Because my mother didn’t want me. Rejected me. As a person. As her daughter. Because she just didn’t care about me. That comes with an unspeakably overwhelming feeling of inadequacy and sense of being awfully undesirable.

Painful stuff, so I don’t want to go into much detail here and it’s not directly related to adoption for me either. Those feelings were there for a long time before I even met my family. But what has made an appearance after the adoption were identity issues.

Some are tricky.

I don’t share the same family history as everyone else. Everyone in my family knows each other for a long time already. They share memories and traditions and knowledge about a family history that goes at least three generations back and that they feel connected with, somehow. And it’s THEIR history, not mine, yet at the same time it is a little bit of mine, too, now. Feeling left out of something that ought to be mine, too, and having family memories that are different from theirs is difficult sometimes. It sometimes makes me feel like I’m not part of my own family. My first family didn’t want me and being with my real one, the one I have now, makes me feel left out.

Looks. I know it’s silly, but I find myself forever comparing how I look to how my family looks. I find myself being relieved that my oldest sister has blond hair, like I do, because it means that my mom and my dad can have blond children together. That’s important to me. My hair is blond. Everyone has blue eyes like I do, too. That’s another thing that’s reassuring. It means I don’t stand out as being obviously different. But they are all fairly tall and I’m short. I’m relieved that people mistakenly think it’s because I’m still a teenager and have yet to grow, but I figure they won’t keep on thinking that forever. I also have buck teeth (as you see in the picture I posted) and nobody else does. Those small things make me sad sometimes.

My name. I share my family’s last name. My mom gave me her middle name to be my middle name, too, because I didn’t have a middle name. My first name was chosen by my birth mother. I don’t miss the last name I grew up with, because it was the last name of my stepfather, who abused me. I wasn’t biologically related to him and I’m glad I don’t carry his name any longer. But even so I often feel like the same mix of things that my full name reflects. Complicated.

The contradiction that my adopted family feels like my real family and my birth family feels much less “real”, when the whole rest of the world thinks it might be the other way around. I’m always afraid that people will think that I am “only” adopted. That I’m not a REAL part of my family. When to me my family now feels like my real, true, actual family. I always feel like I need to make sure that everyone realized that I am REALLY my mom’s daughter. At the same time I’m afraid I might not be good enough to deserve to really be her daughter.

My social class identity. I’m from a working-class / underclass family. I grew up hearing that anyone who had a good job and money sucked, basically. That they were arrogant, self-righteous people, born with a silver spoon in their mouth, who have no idea of what life “really” is like and who look down on and don’t care about “people like us”. That’s what I believed for the longest time. And now my mom’s a shrink and my dad’s a lawyer, as white collar as it gets. They have a really neat house, can send all their kids to college, money is never an issue although my mom isn’t even working anymore, and I’m technically what my birth mother would have considered a “spoiled, arrogant rich kid”. Which adds so much guilt that I feel awful for even writing about it, much less identifying with it.

I suppose there are more issues, but those are the ones that came to my mind the easiest. So while I really, really like the fact that my family adopted me and that I belong with them properly and forever, it’s not always easy. It’s okay because my family knows and they help me and are understanding when I’m upset about stuff, but it can get complicated.

But even so, I’m very, very happy that I’ve been adopted and it is infinitely better than not belonging with anyone. I love my family more than I can say.  🙂

Please read: a message from my Mom regarding comments

Hello, everyone. I (Lola, lol) have gotten comments that I noticed where a bit distressing to me. Mom noticed and we had a discussion about it and only during our talk, which consumed a large part of the night, I noticed that I wasn’t coping so well with those. The most recent comment was that of you, Kyle, which was:

_____________________________

I’ve a question… a bit more on the frank and callous side of questioning this time around, but…

– How does your Dad and brothers react to your sexual advances? Not even your brothers have given in to them? However, you stated in another post that one of your brother’s friends gave in, what happened after that? Did you inform your brother about it, and did those two stop being friends after, or was it all swept under the rug? Also, you speak a lot about your mom, but never your dad and brothers, are you guys particularly close?

– You used to dress lewdly around the house, most likely to give out more sexual advances, right? I’m still confused as to how this would be fair for the others who give in to their hormones to accept you and then be hated later for it. What if someone devised a test like that towards you? I understand you have been through a lot, but I’m just saying the tests are rather unfair.

– What is the difference between an ‘appropriate’ sexual partner and an ‘inappropriate’ one?

_____________________________

I had promised to answer it today, but I’m not going to. Instead my mom wanted to write something to everyone who comes to my blog regarding comments. Please take a minute to read it. Thank you. 🙂 Here’s what my mom wants to say:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear readers and followers of Lola’s blog,

as you may or may not have picked up from my daughter’s past blog posts, I – Lola’s Mom – am involved with her blog in the background. My job is to make sure Lola does not cross healthy boundaries on her blog, but just the same I am here to make sure that my daughter’s blog is a safe place for her. Therefore I am monitoring both Lola’s post and the nature of the comments she gets.

I am very pleased that most comments are of a very kind, respectful and supportive nature. That speaks highly of you. I appreciate that greatly. Thank you very much. You contribute a lot to making this a good and beneficial experience for Lola.

On the opposite side of those comments would be the obviously rude or offensive comments. Those will get deleted right away, but I am equally pleased that none of the comments so far have fallen into this category. This, again, speaks highly of you, the readers and commenters, and I thank you very much.

I am less pleased, however, with comments such as the above, that are not wrong in and off themselves, yet border on inappropriate for my daughter’s mental health blog insofar as they touch on the grey areas in between, and are, indeed, frank and callous.

My daughter is very brave to use this blog to share her thoughts, her perceptions of the world and her feelings especially regarding the issues she is struggling with. She is making herself vulnerable by sharing those things. She is not doing so to satisfy anyone’s curiosity or because she wants or needs scrutiny, but because she is trying to overcome the embarrassment and shame and the unhealthy tendency towards secrecy, that comes with struggling with mental health issues and from having been sexually abused. She uses this blog as a tool to aid her in her recovery.

As such, it is vital that she feels safe and in control here, on her own blog.

I want to put an emphasis on the fact that I am not singling you, Kyle, out to imply you meant harm. I assume in your favor that your questions are fueled by genuine curiosity and a desire to enhance your understanding. Nothing is wrong with that at all. Sometimes an innocent intention, however, does not suffice. It is not a simple matter of black or white here, we are treading very much on the finer lines in between. Things that happen on this grey ground are infinitely more difficult for my daughter, because among those fine lines she has great difficulty telling what is healthy for her apart from what is unhealthy for her.

Questions such as the above are unhealthy for Lola. The underlying tone of the questions, what gets conveyed beneath the words, is subtly invasive and offensive. I readily assume that it is inadvertent, but that does not cushion the effect.

Also saying ‘I understand I am being bold / my question might be callous / that you have been through a lot, BUT . . . ’ does not make the ‘but’ part of the question any more friendly or more appropriate. It just makes it harder for my daughter to call the question bold, callous or inappropriate. This kind of masking, even when unintentional, is not appreciated. If you are already aware that your question might be bold or callous, then please have the courtesy to draw the appropriate conclusion yourself and don’t ask it in this way.

So instead of looking at the question of appropriate vs. inappropriate sexual partners, I would very much like to look at the question of appropriate vs. inappropriate comments for my daughter’s blog.

Appropriate comments need to be respectful. In this case respectful means that you need to consider how what you say will impact the person you address. You are addressing my daughter Lola. Appropriate comments are considerate of her emotional situation. I am aware that this is a very subtle rule and that not everyone finds it easy to look at things from someone else’s point of view, especially if that ‘someone else’ is struggling with mental health issues. It is, however, the most important rule and it will be enforced, because this blog needs to be a safe place for Lola.

Inappropriate comments are those which fail to be respectful. Again, we are all human and making mistakes is human. Neither Lola nor I assume that it happens on purpose. We are both aware that it can be very hard to tell when a comment starts to be disrespectful and why. I apply sensitive standards to protect my daughter’s mental health. It may be a case of trial and error for you to find out what is okay and what is not. Nonetheless, if comments that fall into the ‘not appropriate’ category appear, I am going to delete them along with a link to this post to help you understand what has gone wrong.

And lastly, the fairness of decisions regarding what’s appropriate is relative. Kyle, you asked how it would be fair for the people who live at our house to have involuntary hormonal sexual responses triggered and then later be hated for it. The simple answer is that it is not fair. Just the same as it is not fair that Lola was sexually abused. Many of the behaviors she employs as a result of that are not ‘fair’. There is absolutely no need to make her feel embarrassed or guilty over it by asking how she would feel if people behaved that way towards her, however. Life is very rarely fair, and if someone knows this, then it is Lola.

‘Fair’ itself is a very artificial standard. What’s fair and what is not depends on a multitude of factors. Therefore my decisions regarding which comments are appropriate and which are not can seem ‘unfair’ to some of you, because I make my decision based on what is ‘fair’ towards Lola and her emotional capabilities. That is the way we judge ‘fair’ at our house. When something surpasses Lola’s abilities, then it is not ‘fair’ to put her in the way of it. When we are the ones capable of a more mature response than she is, then it is ‘fair’ that we carry more responsibility for how we handle the situation than she does. And that does not mean that Lola is excused from having to try to the best of her ability to be fair towards others as well, but just that we need to be sure that we know what the actual best of her ability is at a given time.

And to go back to the question of what constitutes an appropriate sexual partner, much the same thing is true. Appropriate sexual partners are respectful of how what they do will impact the person they do it to, which makes their behavior safe. Appropriate sexual partners may misstep, but they will stop when asked and will want to learn from it to make a better judgment the next time around. And appropriate sexual partners can tell that fairness is relative to the ability of the people who are involved and that in order to be fair they might have to contribute more than the less capable partner. Those basic principles of appropriateness can be applied to a multitude of situations.

I am glad that this opportunity to clarify what makes comments appropriate came up. It gave Lola and me a reason to discuss how we deal with them.

To summarize in a nutshell:

Comments that fail to be sufficiently considerate of my daughter’s emotional vulnerability will be deleted and provided with a link to this post. If your comment got deleted, it does not mean that you meant harm or made some grave mistake, but just that what you wrote was inappropriate to Lola’s abilities to deal with it. What exactly IS inappropriate is subject to change as Lola’s abilities improve or experience temporary setbacks. Please know that even if your comment got deleted, you are still very welcome to enjoy reading the blog and to comment again – just try to adjust your level of considerateness to the level of Lola’s abilities.

I want to thank you very much for your understanding regarding the necessity of this boundary.

With kind regards,
Lola’s Mom

The Sexual Healing Journey, Chapter 5

SexualHJ_05

With the headache having gone away a bit after having had a walk outside, I feel like I want to continue with my sexual healing journey, because I need something to keep my mind occupied. Today is my goal making day. It’s the last chapter of part one, and it’s called “deciding to reclaim our sexuality”. That sounds good.

This chapter asks me:

  1. to identify the reasons why I want to reclaim my sexuality.
  2. to identify and tame my fears.
  3. to create realistic goals.
  4. and to recall that I am doing the journey for myself.

So here I go. I will share my thoughts on those areas in the above order.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. What reasons do I want to reclaim my sexuality for?

Quite frankly, because my own behavior sickens me. It sickens me that I behave so much like someone who did nothing but hurt and abuse me wanted me to, and that I don’t even have an idea if I have any own wishes or behaviors separate from that. I mean fine, my stepfather taught (or rather conditioned) the way my sexuality works, I can’t change that. And yeah, my mother was never shy to remind me that a cheap whore was exactly what I was going to grow up to be, I can’t change that either. But I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of actually BEING that way, by the way I behave. I want to develop healthy attitudes towards the whole issue. I want to stop feeling involuntarily aroused by sick shit. I want to be able to be more in control of my sexual behavior. And I want to stop the sexual acting out within my family, because that’s not really me! That’s really my stepfather’s fucked up behavior still alive within me. And I hate that! I hate that he still has got that control over what I do! I want to have that control back! That’s what I want to reclaim my sexuality for.

2. What are my fears and how can I tame them?

First off, I am afraid that this whole focusing on sexual things will make my issues worse. That my PTSD symptoms will flare up and drag me down. That I will get triggered into sexual acting out. That I will do stupid things and that I will feel worse than had I just left well enough alone.

Then I’m afraid that memories may come back. Like, memories I still suppress. Maybe there’s stuff I can’t cope with. Maybe I will learn awful things about myself. My memories have the tendency to resurface when I focus on the issue and I’m afraid of what might come back to me.

I am afraid that if my mom, who’s helping me on the journey, learns about stuff, she will think I am disgusting and despicable and won’t want me for her daughter any longer. I know this one is unreasonable, but it’s really hard to shake that fear off.

And lastly (or last I can think of at the moment) I’m afraid that I’m gonna fail. That I try hard, give it my best shot, get my hopes up high, and then fall flat on my face.

And how I am taming those fears? Hm… I try to remember that the only failure lies in not trying and that the rest are mistakes to learn from. I let mom remind me that she’s okay with the ugly stuff, too. I make sure I feel safe with my family and in a good enough place for journeying before I start. I let mom remind me that she’s here to help me if things overwhelm me. I test that a bit. That’s all the taming I can think of right now.

3. What do my realistic goals look like?

The book asks me for three general goals and suggests I split each one up into three target goals which the general goal consists of. Okay.

General goal 1: Behaving sexually appropriate within the family.
– keep from making sexually suggestive gestures etc. towards my dad and brother and other family members.
– don’t undress in front of others, and don’t dress lewdly at home (or elsewhere).
– know touch and affection within the family to be non-sexual.

General goal 2: Discontinuing my use of sex for self-harming reasons.
– I understand that sex and punishment are not the same thing.
– I manage to keep myself safe even when I have the opportunity to use sex in a bad way.
– I learn to tell appropriate sex partners from inappropriate ones.

General goal 3: Becoming more comfortable with my sexuality.
– I learn to tell that (and why) sexuality itself isn’t bad or dirty or harmful.
– I learn to be more okay with my own body.
– I learn to value whatever positive aspects about sexuality might be.

Mh… I think that wasn’t too bad for starters. So let’s see, what was last… ah, yes, I remember.

4. Who do I do this journey for?

Yeah, I recall it, for me. The book says this can be hard, because we have a tendency to want to do it to please others, for example, or because we feel pressured. And I must admit that I do feel guilty for making it so hard for my family sometimes. After all, they have to deal with all my inappropriate behavior. They don’t put pressure on me, but, well, they don’t exactly love my being this way either. But I will try to do as the book says and keep in mind that I am doing in most of all for my own sake. To get rid of my stepfather’s influence. And that is true, I wish to get rid of my issues for that reason with all my heart.

I guess that’s a good beginning. And I feel like I did okay with today’s tasks. The previous part of the journey was harder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next up will be part two of the journey, which is called “Moving Forward – Making Changes”. I’m a little nervous reading that and hope it doesn’t move too fast. But then, I suppose I can move as fast as I want, right? So I stay optimistic. After all, having a look won’t hurt and I’ll just see how I like the making changes part.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Missed the past episodes of the journey? Here they are:

A project for 2013
The Sexual Healing Journey Begins, Chapter 1
The Sexual Healing Journey, Chapter 2
The Sexual Healing Journey, Chapter 3, Part 1
The Sexual Healing Journey, Chapter 3, Part 2
The Sexual Healing Journey, Chapter 3, Part 3
The Sexual Healing Journey, Chapter 4

 

Book source:
MALTZ, Wendy (2012): The Sexual Healing Journey. A Guide for Survivors of Sexual Abuse; Third Edition; Harper Collins. New York.

 

The Sexual Healing Journey, Chapter 3, Part 2

SexualHJ_03_2

After yesterdays part of the journey about understanding sexual abuse, today’s part will cover overcoming blocks to recognize sexual abuse. And this part, too, is still part of chapter 3 of my journey, so I’m still busy “acknowledging the abuse” here.

Overcoming blocks to recognize sexual abuse.

The book mentions three common blocks that can make it difficult to acknowledge sexual abuse, and deals with each one more in depth. The three blocks are:

Block 1: Feeling unsure how to evaluate a particular experience
Block 2: Feeling confused by the special nature of the abuse
Block 3: Holding on to your own personal biases and discounts

According to the book, each of these three things can prevent people from acknowledging that sexual abuse took place. So I guess my challenge today will be to look at each of those blocks and see whether, and if yes how, they apply to me. Stop reading, obviously, if you are uncomfortable with the mention of sexual abuse and sexual abuse related stuff.

Block 1: Feeling unsure of how to evaluate a particular experience

Piecing together the memories of abuse that I have, I can conform that it’s not always easy to decide whether something was actually sexual abuse or not. I mean the really explicit stuff that I recall obviously was, but what about when my stepfather had me sit on his lap while he was watching TV and pulled me against him, stroking me? I have plenty of memories of watching TV like that, trying to focus on the TV instead of him, because I didn’t like it and was afraid he’d want to ‘play’. (That’s what he called the sexual abuse, he called it ‘play’ or ‘playing’)

So nothing really happened many times when I watched TV with him, but I was thinking of the abuse all the time and constantly stressed because I never knew whether we were going to end up ‘playing’ this time or not. Was that, in itself, already part of the abuse? Is that a memory of abuse? Or was this just my stepfather actually trying to be nice? I have a couple of memories of this nature, where I don’t know if it counts as sexual abuse at all or not, because nothing really happened, except within myself. But then, oftentimes sexual stuff, like thoughts or so, happen to me while I am with my family now, too, and I’m 100% certain that they are NOT being sexually abusive. So… confusing. Which leads to:

Block 2: Feeling confused by the special nature of the abuse

The book says that especially when sexual abuse got labeled as something else (like “medical checkups” or, I suppose, “play”, like my father called it), or when it happened gradually or was indirect, like by passive exposure, it can be confusing and hard to tell whether something was abuse or not. For example it took me a long time to realize that my stepfather making me watch child porn was sexual abuse already, even though he didn’t touch me and let me have candy, which was rare for me to get. But I think while those two blocks still exist for me, it is really the third one that I struggle most with.

Block 3: Holding on to your own personal biases and discounts.

See, in hindsight I can tell that I was brought up, basically, in a way that aimed at getting me to go along with sexual abuse. I never really resisted, and . . . gee, this is hard. As in really hard. It’s so embarrassing and makes me feel so guilty. I’m with mom and she assures me it’s fine, but even so it’s hard. But I guess I’ll bite the bullet and say it. I wanted it. Kind of. I mean not really. But then real enough. For one thing my mother accused me of “wanting it”, and hated me for “stealing” my stepfather from her. And for another he kind of made it in a way that had me end up asking for him to continue. He always made it seem like I had a choice. For example I have this memory of him touching me, like in the porn he had showed me, and then asking ‘do you want me to stop?’. But I didn’t say ‘yes, please stop’. Ever. I don’t think I ever really said it. I remember crying and feeling awful, but I don’t remember ever saying I didn’t want it. The only thing I remember is the question “do you want it, too?” and that my answer was always yes. So instead of feeling abused, I feel horrible and guilty and like I invited and deserved what happened and really have no right to feel abused.

And while I KNOW that’s not true, and it’s helpful to read in the book that of course it still was sexual abuse, and rationally know that playing along was probably my safest bet at survival, because my stepfather could get incredibly violent if he was cross, try telling my feelings that. Not in situations such as now, where I’m relatively calm and feel safe and contained and okay, but in situations when I’m emotionally upset. In those situations I feel like it’s me who is a dirty whore, bad and deserving of only the worst, and like I have no right to whine or blame anyone besides myself, like everything is my own fault.

Hm… I kind of feel like this was a pointless post today. I didn’t really learn anything new. I knew all those things before. I don’t feel particularly connected to my words either. I’m toying with the idea of pressing delete, because I was only rambling, because what I know and what I feel don’t really match, and while my feelings still have those blocks, my thoughts don’t anymore. I don’t know. Whatever. I’ll post it and hope tomorrow’s part of the journey will be better. Next up will be memories.

~~~~~

ADDENDUM: mom just read what I wrote and asked me whether I feel ‘all there’. I don’t. I think my emotions dissociated away while I wrote. Which might be why I have no connections to my own words anymore and I feel like the post is insignificant rambling. So I guess I’ll try to sort the dissociation out somehow now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Missed the past episodes of the journey? Here they are:

A project for 2013

The Sexual Healing Journey Begins, Chapter 1

The Sexual Healing Journey, Chapter 2

The Sexual Healing Journey, Chapter 3, Part 1

 

Book source:
MALTZ, Wendy (2012): The Sexual Healing Journey. A Guide for Survivors of Sexual Abuse; Third Edition; Harper Collins. New York.

 

The Big Christmas Fail, aka: “Did I hope I’d do better this year?!”

Hello from the abyss. Or not anymore the abyss, I suppose, but I spent enough time hanging around there that I still recall it quite well. And maybe the most terrible part is that nothing even happened. Everyone was good, the atmosphere was mostly relaxed, nobody except grandma gave me stupid looks or remarks, and mom let me get away with a little more attention-seeking than usual. Just what I had hoped for.

I am what happened. I, and the whole gift giving, niceness and appreciation thing.

Since I already knew that the one thing I had secretly hoped to be getting was not going to be there, the according disappointment of that was already dealt with and I really hoped this might make the whole gifts ordeal a bit easier this time around. So much for the plan. Unfortunately the one thing I hadn’t taken into account is that I am perfectly capable of creating calamity all on my own, even when nothing untoward whatsoever happens.

Because technically all went well. I managed to cope with the stuff I got. I managed to cope with the stuff everyone else got. I managed nicely. Not all on my own, okay, but with a little help by mom who kept assuring me with smiles and cuddles that everything was alright, I managed.

Until it was my mom’s turn to get her presents. I wanted to go first to give her my present, because she was the only person I had a present for. I had gotten her a little black bracelet with colored skulls and stars on it and had made her a card (if one true to my kind of Christmas spirit. See below.). So far so good. She opened her present and was pleased with it, thanked me with a hug and kiss and said she liked it and I could see that she meant it. So for a moment I was feeling really good there.

ChristmasCardWithSkull

Until it was everyone else’s turn to give mom their presents. Especially my siblings’. My brother gave her a gift certificate for a spa treatment. My one sister, who’s about as old as me, gave her a stunning glass globe for the tree and a photo book full of amazing black and white photographs she had taken herself. And my oldest sister gave her a gold necklace with the prettiest golden pendant. Yeah, like real gold.

And as bad as I know comparisons are, it really hit me bad that they had all given her those wonderful, thoughtful things that she really loved – whereas I had given her a bracelet with skulls worth about a fiver, and as a matter of fact, it’s a bracelet I would love to wear, but not so much she.

Mortification, humiliation, embarrassment, self-hatred, contempt for myself, inferiority, wretchedness . . . you name it, I felt it. In overwhelming intensity. And I was convinced everyone must feel the same about me.

You might or might not be able to imagine the emotional drama that arose from that. It lasted about three hours, during which I not only demonstrated my perfect inability to cope with my own emotions, but also my effectiveness in spoiling things not only for myself, but also for everyone around me by occupying mom with my screaming and crying and wailing, bringing everything celebratory to a standstill. And over what? Over nothing, really, except my deplorable frame of mind.

I suppose the good news is that everyone (save me and grandma, probably) took it in relative stride, and also that I did not swallow my feelings to later silently wander off, seeking to get myself fucked for punishment by the next best guy I found, like my sister’s husband. That is progress, of sorts. Kind of pathetic progress, but I guess I can’t afford to be picky when it comes to progress and need to take what I can get.

I just seriously hope that was all the drama this Christmas. I’m exhausted now. Everything is back in relative order, and I really, really want to stay it that way please. Bring on the fairy dust and magic sparkles.

No right to feel bad

I’m feeling increasingly crap these days. I’m having a much harder time eating. I don’t sleep through the nights anymore. I’m even more touchy than I usually am. I spend a large part of the day crying. Small things set me off. A constant feeling of trepidation closes in on me. It’s really unpleasant. It exhausts me. I feel bad.

And at the same time I am terribly reluctant to post about it, because I feel like I have no right to complain or even feel a little bit bad at all. I’ve been reading blogs of people who really struggle. So much they don’t want to live anymore. That’s serious. And while I have had flirts with the feeling, I’ve never been that bad. Depression isn’t so big a part of my lucky bag of mental health conditions.

I also have a mom who’s not working, but is only doing the household and helping me get better, a dad who earns enough that the family is nowhere near financial want and siblings who are quite understanding and don’t look at me funny (most of the time) when I am being difficult. I really lucked out with the life I have now. I feel awfully guilty for struggling. Guilty for not being better. Angry at myself for wanting to write that I’m not feeling good, because it’s illegitimate. Because it only shows how ungrateful I am. That I don’t deserve any of the good I have. I feel like a sham for saying I’m struggling, even when it’s true, because I’m just too thin-skinned and have no right to feel sorry for myself.

That’s how it feels. Like I ought to be ashamed of myself for even writing this post. Like I should give my life and the good things I have to someone who would use them. Not whine, or struggle or feel bad despite everything. It makes me want to hurt myself and punish myself by NOT doing it at the same time. Because not doing it is more torturous. Which I deserve.

Feeling awful and guilty about not feeling bad enough, yet considering it bad already. I kind of notice it’s a sick and twisted thought, but I can’t get rid of it.

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C PTSD - A Way Out

A place to check in daily

The Serenity Game

Marriage- The Final Frontier- Humor is the Key

Creative Liar

Because the truth makes me cry.

ladyswan1221

This WordPress.com site is the bee's knees

Simple Pleasures

Visual Poetry, Photography and Quotes

scienerf

So many MonSters so little time

silence of silence

i took a deep breath and listened to the old bray of my heart: i am, i am, i am.

We're All Mad Inhere

Life as it is: Surviving Insanity

Raison d'etre

There must be more than one...

Cupcakes and Anguish

Ramblings of a crazy creative ninja

firefliesandfairies

The greatest WordPress.com site in all the land!

Love—Life—OM

Support for survivors of domestic violence, rape and fraud

Beauty from ashes daughter

Words of hope from an abuse survivor

Tackling BPD

My story of recovery from Borderline Personality Disorder, depression and anxiety through self-help. How I learned to like myself and live a happier life.

The Bottom of a Bottle

Trust me, I've been there, I've looked, I've searched and I know now, that there are no answers to be found in the bottom of a bottle or on the edge of a blade! Fighting Hard, Recovering, Rebuilding, REBORN. Moving on from addiction to a new life.