Growing into Me with Bipolar

Posts tagged ‘Psychotherapy’

I knew I Shoulda Kept My Mouth Shut


sad ponyi should never have said i was feeling the teensiest tinsiest bit better, a tad bit happy even.  because after i spent a great session i went home and found out that the agency that will be providing behavioural health services to the state Medicaid beneficiaries has been changed effective April 1.  OK, no so bad by itself.  but the then the letter says since MI is going to now be providing all Medicaid people with mental healthcare, they decided it would also be more efficient (and allow them to more closely monitor their conditions) that they will force any people who are ‘SMI”, or Seriously Mentally Ill (basically if you are unable to really work a real job full time due to mental illness—and that is me—)  all Medicaid mental health beneficiaries who are SMI will be forced to change their Medicaid insurance plan to the MI plan as well (the one that will be providing general mental health and SMI—if you are SMI, you will also be forced to use MI plan for all you PHYSICAL healthcare as well.  If i am forced to change to their Medicaid physical health plan, then i will automatically be dumped from my Medicare plan since, it is a dual plan, meaning my current plan gives me all my Medicare and Mediciad physical health coverage.  If i am forced to drop my physical Medicaid plan because I am SMI, then I will also be forced to drop my Medicare plan, and the only plan I will be able to get for my Medicare services would just happen to be, yes, you guessed it, the new MI plan.  So, because my mental health care is categorized as SMI, and MI is now going to provide all SMI and regular mental health Medicaid services, I will be forced to change my Medicaid physical health plan as well.  And, if I am forced to do that, then I will also be forced to drop my Medicare plan and again go to the MI plan.

I have seldom felt more raped, abused, beaten and whipped than I do right now.  I no longer have choice of Medicaid physical health plans, I no longer have choice of Medicare physical plans, and it is all because I am listed as SMI instead of ‘regular mental health’.  So, this insurance plan gets to force anyone listed as SMI to take all of their insurances, but those listed as general mental health get to choose their Medicaid plans and if they are on Medicare, they also get to choose that plan.  But not us SMI–apparently since we are such a ‘sick’ population, we dont’ get the right of choice in healthcare, on insurance, rx, or on doctors.  I will have to stop seeing all my doctors.  All.  And get all new ones covered by MI instead.  Why should I be persecuted just because I have a more Serious Mental Illness than some?  Why should my choice of insurance and doctors be taken from me?  What will I do without my therapist?  I have been working with her almost 3 yrs and I am just going to be forced to change within the next 6 mo.  And i will lose my psychiatrist, my case manager, my nurse, not too mention all of my non mental health related providers.

Well, I shouldnt have talked about starting to feel better.  I should have known something like this would come along.  It always does.  And now it has.  And now i wish i never started to heal, to feel better, i wont win anyway.  i wont accept what they say. and since i cant keep seeing my therapist, or any other providers, there is nothing for me to gain–only lose, i wont let them win by forcing me to take something i dont want instead, i wont roll over and play dead, i wont let them control me.  so maybe i die,but they lose to. anger_plus_sadness_flower_by_hikari_dragonslayer-d38bu5jthey wont make me say ‘thank you may i have some more’ either.  they’ll see what happens when they try to take away control from the people they are supposedly trying to help.  even one person refusing to be abused by them and dying will be enough to make the state take a look at what they are allowing MI to do underneath their very noses to the ‘vulnerable’ population they claim to be serving.

My Son Has a God Complex


Oh, god, what do I do now?!  My son thinks he knows everything about everybody else, thinks he is smarter than doctors, and thinks mental illness is a weakness in one’s constitution that they could stop having by only believing they don’t have it.  He thinks he is omniscient, omnibenevolent, and omnipotent.

Tonight he condescended to tell my daughter and myself that 1)not only does he know more about mental illness than she or I do, 2) but that he also knows how to help her (and me, as an afterthought) become un-depressed by just using magical thinking (I think I’m happy, I think I’m happy) and of course, 3) that he knows mental illness is just a creation of man (for what purpose, I’m stymied–but then humans are stupid little beings who need a god’s guidance).god doesnt exist

He deigned to hold court with us, telling my suicidal, cutting, daughter that she was making up her depression.  That all she needs to do is think positive, live well, and be outgoing and social instead of introverted and a loner.  PS–if you don’t already know this from other posts, my daughter, H, has and always will be, the most outgoing, friendly person you will ever meet.  She has always spent more time out than in–has always ran headlong into anything interesting or different or new.  She has always had dozens of friends, and has always spent lots of time with them.  She has never been a homebody or one to sit still.  So, for my ‘god’/son to tell her its in her head and all she has to do is be outgoing, well, duh.  She already is and it doesn’t change the fact she is depressed!  god_is_disappointed_in_you_cover_lg

He went on to say that psychiatrists and psychologists, and therapists are all quacks, and he will personally never see one, but then, he won’t have to, since he said he’ll never be depressed because he won’t let it happen.  He also said that psych meds are ridiculous, because all they do is addict people so they can’t function without them.  So, when I tried to counter by saying a few years ago, I was very ill with my bipolar illness, but then I got on my current meds, and I am so much better, a different person even.  He said, ya, that’s how they hook you.  But then you have to keep taking them because you’re addicted now.  So, you don’t really need them now, but you are hooked.  So I said, but if I stop, I’ll get sick again.  And he said, that because you’re addicted.  There is no countering with him.  There is no logical debate of facts, theories and outcomes.  There is only ‘A knows all, A is always right’.  He has an answer for everything, even if it makes no sense and cannot be supported.  He won’t budge, won’t see the error of his thinking.  He even denied that mental illness are a chemical disorder, sometimes combined with trauma, life events, and heredity.  He said that he is not predisposed to mental illnesses, even though I have bipolar and depression and PTSD.  I even compared mental illnesses to diabetes and heart diseases and other things like thyroid or COPD.  He told me they are the same!!  That once a person is out of the hospital following a heart attack, that they no longer need to take meds!!  He even went on to say that people with diabetes don’t need insulin!!!  He supported this by saying they didn’t have those issues when they were born, when they were five, or even teens.  So that means they don’t really have those illnesses…they, like mentally ill persons, are simply weak and only need meds during a crisis, but not afterward for longterm maintenance.  He is insane!!!                god like, yes

I don’t know what to do with him, or even if there is anything I can possibly do at all.  He is 17, and can’t wait to get out.  Until recently, he has never been like this.  I raised him to think logically, to gather information, to form a supported opinion.  I raised him to be respectful of others’ perspectives.  I raised him to be kind and caring and compassionate.  I raised him to think for himself.  But, ever since he has joined a certain church, he has become a person I do not recognize, and no longer want to know.  Where is the clever, brilliant, kind young man I raised all these years?  I feel as though I have lost him forever, as though he is gone from my life completely, even though he will be with me for one more year.

This saddens me so greatly, I cannot express in words.  I feel like I am mourning, but he is still here.  I don’t know this person he has become, and I don’t like him.  I want my son back.  I miss him.  And I feel like I must be a terrible mother, have done something awful somewhere along the line, to have lost him like this.religious differences 2

Some Things Done, Some Left to Do; About the Same as Usual


So, I finally have got a replacement car.  Spent several days going to dealerships for cars I saw the night before, but when I got there, they were already sold.  So I didn’t end up with a Toyota or a Honda, but I did manage to get a silver Ford Taurus (2003) that is almost immaculate inside and out.  Seems to run well-no weird sounds, or feels, or sights.  Hopefully its in as good shape under the hood as it seems.

And I have also finally squared away where we will be moving to later this month.  The lease hasn’t been signed yet, have to wait til the unit becomes actually available.  But I have put down the deposit and hold money, and my application was accepted.  The next big task will be carrying off the move and cleaning out the old apartment.  Right after that school will start again.  Whew!  Then, back to the strict routines, getting up early, going to bed early (for me)

But as good as it feels to have these two big jobs completed, there are already more on the horizon, starting with school resuming.  In therapy, every time I think I have finished something, and let it go, it seems it comes up in the context of something I am just starting on again.  So, I kinda thought I had moved past my friend, B, and past lots of things with my ‘mom’.  But in one way or another, they both keep popping up again when I start on something new.  And others do too.

My daughter, who sees the same therapist that I see, has been working on focus.  I’ve always known she is always flighty, always distracted, forever leaving bits of herself all around everywhere she goes.  And I’ve known she’s got a big, wonderful heart, infectious joie d’vivre, more compassion, more loyalty, more feelings in her little toe than anyone else has in their entire being.  And I’ve known she’s smart, and clever and funny and kind and loving.  But always slipping up and down in her grades, and struggling to get things done.  Well, it turns out that our therapist wanted to try EMDR with her, but her lack of focus and concentration has made it impossible to do any EMDR at all.  The therapist, A, has tried all the various methods of EMDR, and my daughter can’t focus on it long enough to make it work.  So, A has talked with both of us that my daughter should probably be tested for ADHD/ADD.  Which I am totally fine with.  I just can’t afford all the co-pays (R, her dad, is supposed to pay 85% of them, but I have to pay for it up front and he reimburses me sometime later).  I am going to see about having her school request the testing, which they will then pay for.  But the process takes longer and involves more paperwork.  Part of feels like I must be the one responsible for my daughter having problems, having PTSD, having ADHD, having depression.  I know I know it is not  my fault, and yet I can’t get past the fact that if she needs all this help, then I must have done something really wrong somewhere along the way.

Meanwhile, my Emotional Service Animal, aka my dog, Sunshine, is losing a little more ground every few weeks.  It started with her left front leg becoming weak and unable to support her fully when walking.  She subsequently adapted by developing a pronounced limp to accommodate that leg.  I took her to the vet, we tried several different meds, all of which worked somewhat, but whose side effects were simply intolerable.  So, I decided as long as she was still happy and healthy and excited to walk, that a limp was ok.  However recently, she has also become weak in her hind legs, moreso in the right.  This changes her gait to a kind of stagger+limp, and when something as simple as her back toenails hitting the ground a bit unevenly, she just kind of slowly crumples to the ground in a laying position, and then can’t quite figure what happened or how to get up.  Sometimes, all she needs is verbal prodding to get ‘up’, but others, I have to actually lift her hind end up and place it in a standing position and then she can start again.  Sometimes, she seems to be in another world and no matter what I do, I can’t make her move again.  Then, I have to carry her like a barrel.

And, just to top things off, apparently the ’78 T-Bird I bought my son for his first car, is about to bite the dust as well.  I knew it wasn’t any peach when I got it, but I did expect it to last at least year or so.  After dumping money into it repeatedly to fix this and then that, it turns out that now there is something wrong in the actual heart of the engine.  Diagnosing this would mean they would have to tear down and then rebuild the engine, or, pull the engine and drop in another.  Either way, the job is way too big for the car.  We’ll be better off buying a different junker than putting anymore into this one.  I really got screwed on this car.  And because of that, I’m gonna be letting my son down just as soon as the car stops running.

All in all, despite the tasks, the difficulties, some end up completed, some never are or will be, and I guess this is just life.  Right now, at this moment, with these challenges, things aren’t too bad.  I’m feeling ok, I’m managing to do what I need to and still be ok at the end of the day.  Despite my kids’ issues and problems, desires and needs, I think they are mostly ok.  And late at night, when the day is done, I think things are ok right now for all of us.

 

Ways To Mother Myself and More


Ok, so I’m still having difficulty trying to answer the questions my therapist asked me to think about.  So I thought maybe if I did it here, the reluctant answers may become more forthcoming.  So here goes…

How can you mother yourself?  Hmmm.  I have been pondering this one, and the only thing I can come up with so far (and it doesn’t seem like it fits really well) is treating myself to little luxuries.  For example, I’m thinking of buying some clothes every so often (even if I don’t really need them), or maybe purchasing a subscription to an online game I like (but don’t need!), or buying myself foods (yummy, unhealty chocolately type foods, that I also don’t need!).  There’s a few others in the back of my mind, but I don’t think they are viable (I don’t even think the ones above are viable, cause I am broke), for instance, I’d like to take short (and long) roadtrips, not to see anyone, just to see the scenery and different places here in the US and abroad (if I ever could afford it!).  But I probably can’t even do the simplest of these things since everything involves money.

So it seems like I need to find things that make me feel good, mothered, that are more intrinsic and less purchaseable.  I already play my favorite games on my computer while watching my favorite shows on tv.  I already pretty much stay in my pj’s (cuz they are comfy and cuz dressing is often overwhelming).

I think I finally figured it out.  I can remind myself, tell myself, that I am not worthless, stupid, for making mistakes, for not knowing things beforehand, for looking silly or for thinking I look silly.  I can remind myself, coax myself to believe that my feelings are valid and I am allowed to feel them and that also intense feelings will subside.  I can give myself support when I am down, by reminding me of perspective.  If I meet goals I have set, I can reward myself both verbally (in  my head) and also by giving myself a treat.

How well can you trust yourself and others?

I like think that I feel like I can trust myself, in the normal run of things in my life, like school/college-anything education-wise, handling my money (not hard, since I don’t have much), being there for my kids, etc.  But when it comes into things I haven’t had to do before, I am so afraid of failing and looking stupid, I usually do anything to avoid doing new things.  Like it took me years to be able to use the bus comfortably.  I used it, but I had to spend an hour planning my time to leave the house, time to get to the stop, time to wait, time bus arrived and so on.  For me, taking the bus straight down the street even a half mile was a terrifying excursion for almost 4 years.  Then suddenly, it became comfortable and I actually felt confident in making even complex trips, and without all that excruciating planning.  I guess that means for things I am familiar with, I can trust myself pretty much.  But for things I am not familiar with, I don’t trust myself much at all.

I certainly don’t trust myself when going up against authority figures, like police, or representatives at agencies, etc.  Actually, part of me thinks I am right and I often end up yelling or crying at the person because I feel they are not hearing me, don’t want to hear me, don’t understand me.  But another part of me thinks I must be wrong and they must be right because I am not knowledgeable in that area and they are.  That part just gives in, gives up, lets it go.

As for others, I really don’t know.  Most of my interactions with others are perfunctory, like the check out person at the grocery store, or the maintenance people where I live.  They are not intimate relationships.  My relationships with them are only in the capacity they play at that time.  And as far as that goes, I trust those people pretty much.  If a maintenance guy says he’ll fix the problem, I pretty much trust that.  But I really have no idea who these people really are, I only know them in the role they play in my life.  I really don’t know anyone, except for my  elderly cousins (surrogate grandparents), my kids, and my ex.  My ex I know way way way too well.  I wish I didn’t know him. I am seeing as I write, that I really don’t trust anybody in a personal, intimate sense, outside of my family.

The answer about trust then is 1) Half of me trusts me, half of me doesn’t.  And 2) I don’t trust any others, outside of my family, in more than a superficial role that they play in my life, such as service people, creditors, businesses, agencies, etc.

What needs to be ‘re’grown from your childhood?

Regrown?  I’m feeling suddenly like a tomato that didn’t quite make it, trying again.  Maybe I am.  Maybe I am a little green tomato on the vine, that never matured all the way to being a large juicy red ripe tomato.  I should have matured years ago, but I didn’t.  I just stayed small and green.  Scared, unsure, hoping and looking for someone to guide me, so I can grow finally.  How have I even made it this far, feeling so small, insignificant, afraid of everything?

Ok, I think I actually have an answer for this right off the bat.  I need to re-grow my self-esteem, my confidence,  my sense of extroversion or my desire to be in new situations with new people.  I need to re-learn how to play, be silly, have fun (with no thought to how I appear to others).

Thanks for listening!

Letter to my Mother


Mother,

Here I am going to say all the things I always wanted to tell you, but I either didn’t or you twisted what I said or you just didn’t care.

I spent my whole life trying to prove to you I was good.  smart.  responsible.  caring.  I tried sooo hard to earn your love, your affection.  Every day I lived in fear of you, of your words, of your tone of voice.  Of your hands.  You terrorized me, every single day.  All I wanted was for you to not despise me.  I don’t know what I ever did to you that you felt you had to make me a perfect automaton who never had their own thoughts or actions.  I don’t know what I could have done for you to feel the need to instill fear and terror in my mind when I was only 3 years old.  I remember so clearly trying to stand in the corner by the door without moving or taking my nose off the corner.  You made me stand there all day, because I would always squirm or wiggle inadvertantly, so you made me stay longer each time that happened.

I always knew you hated me.  And I knew it was a secret that only I shared with you.  It was so confusing that when others were present, you actually seemed nice, even interested in me.  When I was still little, I didn’t understand this;  I thought that somehow I had done the right things, acted the right way, finally made you see what a good, nice, smart, responsible girl we were.  And then, I would do the same things the next time to told me to do something, only this time, you would bend over and put your face in mine.  It was always so angry, so ugly and distorted, it scared me to see it so close.  I wanted to squeeze my eyes so tightly shut to make you stop.  But I was too afraid even to do that.  I knew if you saw my eyes close, you would just make it worse, scarier, more threatening.  So I held my eyes open in front of that face you made, and became perfectly still, because I knew if I showed any weakness you would only have more fuel for your white hot burning hate.  Then you started yelling, when you knew you had me paralyzed, unable to move or speak.  I was your captive and you tortured and toyed with me like a boy pulling wings off flies, or burning ants with magnifying glasses.  For so so long, I thought I was somehow incapable of doing anything properly.  I thought I was useless, clumsy, and basically I didn’t trust anything I thought or did, and was afraid to try anything I didn’t already know how to do.  You did this me, mother.  You made me doubt every single thing about myself.  Now in my 40’s I am finally beginning believe in myself, to trust myself, for the first time ever.  Why did you have to punish me-for just being your daughter?  Why did you have to give me pain instead of love?  And why did you have to enjoy my suffering so so much?

For years I thought you must love me, because you said it sometimes, without being mean.  And because when others were around you treated me like you loved me.  And so I thought that your hatefulness was really you being demanding, tough on me, but because you loved me and wanted me to do things right, and know how to act.  I thought for so many years that if I could figure out how to do things right, what answer to give you when, that I would finally get you to stop hating me.  This was probably the most cruel torture you could have done.  I believed I actually had a chance to make you not hate me (I gave up on getting you to love me by the time I was in high school) You had by then made me doubt every single thing about myself, and also made me loathe every part of me, because I couldn’t ever do anything right according to you.  By the time I was a teenager, I didn’t even care if I got your love or affection or attention.  I just wanted to stop hurting for once.  Just once, I wanted to live in a safe place where I didn’t need to walk on eggshells, and wonder with my every word and every action if you would attack me again.

By the time I was 14 I had been raped.  Then I loathed myself even more.  I started drinking, partying, and became too promiscuous.  You didn’t care.  You didn’t talk to me.  You didn’t validate me.  You didn’t show affection, except if you call screaming, shrieking, tirades of my worthlessness and uselessness love.  Oh, and the occasional punch, slam or smack.  All the things I did, were all because I knew I was nothing.  Because you made me believe that.  Because you made me break into parts.  Because you are so inhuman and hate yourself more than anything but can’t accept it, you brutalized your own daughter from birth.  Instead of building me up, supporting my dreams and goals, you took every chance to rip me to shreds.  You may have broke me, but you didn’t kill me, didn’t eradicate me.  I managed despite your efforts to have 2 wonderful kids, to finish college,  and to do a  job I loved for many years taking care of others.

You don’t own me anymore.  You don’t even know me any more.  The person I am now was born from your hate, and from the others that came to help me survive you.  We have gone through the crucible and come out stronger.  We are joined now to make us successful, working together to be strong and stable.  Kicking me out at 17,  punishing me and my kids when my husband left me and I had no income or home, and wrapping it all up with the things you said to me the day I had to send my kids away from me, out of state, to their father, are unforgivable.  And the irony is that I forgave it all, up until the very last thing.  The day I lost my kids and sent them away, you said the cruellest, hurtfullest, nastiest, unforgivable things.  You (and oh yes, your mother was there chiming in too) told me with glee in your eye how I deserved to lose my kids, how I was a failure as a mother, how if it was up to you you would tell the courts and judges and anyone else how unfit I was and should never see them again.   You said in that cutting, snarky, voice with a smirk on your lips, how I would never be welcome to even your spare bed.  How I should go and crawl into the gutter that suits me so well and never come back out, because that’s what I have always been–nothing more than gutter trash.

You stole from me every single chance to believe in myself, to have confidence and courage just to make yourself feel good by turning your self hatred onto me.  I am not your punching bag anymore.  You do not own me anymore. I have claimed ownership of myself.  And I choose not to surround myself with abusers any longer.  So after 5 years, you have written to me twice in the last 2 months.  You think you can get in touch after saying those things to me?  You think 5 years is gonna erase your pure and unadulterated glee at telling me I am nothing but trash?  You think now that I have been rid of you for 5 years and have finally found myself, have started to discover who I really am, and am actually starting to like the real me, you think that NOW I’m gonna let you back in my life?  When would that ever in any situation ever, ever happen?  For the first time in my life, I am finally safe.  My home is finally safe.  I do not live in constant fear of the next attack.  I will never let you in again.  You and other abusers have taken up enough of my life.  I will never allow myself to be hurt again.  I will never forgive you for denying me what every child should have, unconditional love and support.

In the end, all that self loathing and hatred and anger that you turned onto me for 36 years, has backfired.  You thought if you focused your pain on someone else, like me, that you wouldn’t feel so awful.  Well, now I’m done, and you have only you to live with, with all that anger and self hatred, until you die.  The only person you can hurt now is you.  And even if you fool someone into being your friend or husband (again), it will be short lived since  it will end just like all the other marriages and friendships–with them leaving you because you are so hurtful and vile.

And I am a good person.  And I am  responsible.  And I am a good mother–a very good mother.  I guess its just who I am.

 

How Do I Mother Myself, If I Was Never Mothered?


How can I mother myself?

How well can I trust myself and others?

What needs to be ‘grown’ that wasn’t grown in your childhood?

Ok, so those are the questions I am supposed to answer for my next therapy session.  But I don’t know where to start.  If I’ve never really been mothered, how do I know what to do for myself?  How do I know how to mother myself for that matter?  This is odd, because I never once doubted what to do to mother and love my children.  It was as if I had all the information intuitively at my fingertips just when I needed it, always.  So, why don’t I have any information at all available for ‘how to mother myself”?   I am drawing a complete blank.  This doesn’t make sense.  I know I should know the answer.  I know I have the the available information to solve this question.  So, where is this information, and why can’t I produce an answer?

I know immediately what I wanted, what mothering I never got, in my childhood. I wanted to be acknowledged and validated.  I wanted to be given physical affection–hugs, strokes on the hair, hand on the shoulder.  And I wanted to be supported, even if my ideas were not well developed, even if they were unrealistic or silly.  But how do I do this for myself?  I mean, I think it would look silly if I started hugging myself randomly.  And am I just supposed to mentally tell myself what a great idea that was, or how smart I am?  Because, I gotta say, I don’t think I would believe myself.  Then, I’d have to have an argument about it with myself, and my normal self (not the talking to myself one) would probably win.

So thinking about what else I could do to mother myself, I thought about the kids of things I like to do for a treat, things that make me feel good to do or have, that make me feel indulged.  I’m not sure if these things count as mothering or not tho.  Like, I enjoy being able to stop and get food treats like ice cream or frozen yogurt or a spontaneous cup of coffee or a meal out.  Sometimes I like to make a spontaneous purchase for something that isn’t absolutely necessary, or the absolute minimum of what I need.  I even enjoy seeing movies in the theatre every once in a while.  But I have never in my whole life been in a position where I could do these things more than extremely rarely.  For instance, in the last 5 years, I have seen 3 movies in the theatre.  I would like if I could do these kinds of things more often.  How do I do this, when I just can’t?  Would it even count as ‘mothering’ ?

I had hoped that in writing this, I might come up with the answers to those questions.  But, alas, I have all but finished writing now and I’m still not any closer than when I started.

Thoughts I Am Tired of Thinking


I’m having trouble finding the good in things, finding a reason to hope for yet another day.  It’s this crazy, faithful and persistent bad luck I have.

On a positive, the child support finally came thru, so I’m not in danger of losing power or anything else.  On a both positive and negative, I am viewing smaller 2bedroom apartments.  This is a negative because it obviously involves the entire process of moving, what with the packing, sorting, lifting, loading, driving, unpacking, unloading, lifting and of course the cleaning of the old place.  It is also a negative because we will, in order to save money so we never get trapped like the thing with the child support again, be downgrading from a 3 bedroom, so 1 for each of us, to a 2–where my daughter and I will be sharing.  At first she was ok with that (we had done it before a few years ago), but now she is upset about it because apparently that would mean I am taking away her safe place.  I don’t know what to do with that.  There really isn’t anything I can do to avoid it, short of giving up the entire room and sleeping on the couch for the next few years.  I feel kind of guilty now, like I don’t deserve to even have a bed or a semi private sleep space, like I shouldn’t want that.  Like I should be happy I have a couch, and not want more.    The positives of this upcoming move are that at least we’ll have more disposable income, so we can enjoy more things like eating out and going to movies.

And then there is my ever present bad luck.  Wish I didn’t have any luck at all, cuz its always bad luck.  So, yesterday I am picking my daughter up from a birthday party at a church, when the pick up in front of me, which had just turned to the left following the lot, suddenly reversed and smashed right into me as I was behind him and hadn’t started the turn to the left yet. Now there will be the whole investigation, determination of fault (and even tho I know it wasn’t my fault, I’m terrified they will say it is).   So, in my life, threre is NEVER anything positive that a) should never have happened at all or b) isn’t followed by an equally negative event.  So,  in my life, things are always heavier on the negative side of the scale than the positive.  All I want is for it to be balanced once in a while without automatically being followed by another negative.  Is that really too much to ask for?

So, for me, nothing good ever goes unpunished.  And I’m tired of it.  And I’m having a really hard time seeing a silver lining, or finding hope that the next day won’t be as bad, and I just really really want to fall asleep and not wake up to another day of bad luck.  Does everyone really have to work this hard just to survive, much less live life?  Or is this just a ‘gift’ given to those of us who have already suffered the most?  Cuz if it is, I want to give it back.  I never asked for this and I don’t want it anymore.

Safe: What It Means To Me


This post may be *Triggering*

This post may be *Triggering*

I think, most of the time, my ideas on Safety are not the same as most ‘normal’ people.

I finally realized, with a jolt, that to me safety means not being treated badly by the people in my life.  I realized that my late Dad was the only one in my life who never treated me badly.  Safety also means not being in fear of something that could happen.  When I am afraid of the power being shut off, I am not safe.  When I don’t feel safe, either of something or someone, I am under so much stress that I am triggered.  I am triggered in my Bipolar sense, and in my PTSD sense and sometimes in my DID sense.  When I am not safe, those are the results/actions/consequences.  I am working on learning to react appropriately, to not be triggered.

But I don’t know if I can keep going on like I have been.  I am always afraid.  I am never safe.  And with my special brand of bad luck, things never work out.  I really really believe that something has to change to make life tolerable.  Every day is such torture.  I want to just be safe.

For me, this means I really want be put in a mental health group home, or assisted living for mental health.  I just need to feel, to know, that I am safe.  Safe from people treating my abusively, safe from things that could happen (realistic fears, especially with my kind of bad luck).  I want to know my residence won’t be taken from me, or my food.  I want to know the people around me (staff, other residents) won’t hurt me.  I just want so badly to be safe for once in my life.  No matter how hard I have tried, I have never been safe.

And I feel such a relief thinking that I could be safe.  But I also feel like I am ‘a loser’ for wanting that, or ‘lazy’ for wanting that, or just worthless if I can’t manage to take care of myself  and meet my own needs.  I had a therapist 5 years ago (when I was going thru a major meltdown, divorce and custody battle, and job loss) who told me I would regret being placed in a group home, because I am too well.  I was really really not well when he said this.  And it just made me think I was being a baby, being lazy, wanting to be in a group home.  But I recently told  my current therapist that this is still what I think would be best.  And this time, I got agreement.  She agrees that it would be best for me and she said she will talk with my mental health clinic case manager (who is the one who would put in motion and follow it until the clinic made a decision) to see if she can recommend that I be placed.   I feel so relieved just after this conversation–even tho nothing has even been initiated yet.  And I also still feel that I must be lazy, a failure as a human being, to even think about wanting this.

So, kinda, safe means to me to be in a place where I know physically, financially, and emotionally, I will be safe.  Maybe, if I do this thing, move into a group home, I will finally be safe for the first time in my life.  Maybe, it will be the first time since I was 8, that I won’t have to consider dying every day, as the only way to be safe.  Maybe I’m wrong, and I really am a failure as a person, a parent.  But it still seems that this would be the right place even if that’s true.

Holding Pattern


I am in a holding pattern til Monday.  I am ‘holding off’ using my secret weapon.  I am ‘holding off’ feeling depressed and hopeless (although I am pretty sure its still there underneath, seeping through).  I am ‘holding off’ relaxing, enjoying, feeling safe.  I don’t know what will happen and I have no control over it either.  The whole situation with DCSE (child support agency) is still ongoing.  I had thought it would end when April ended.  When I found a way to get through it.  But it didn’t.  DCSE is STILL  refusing to pay me the support my ex has sent in.  5 payments and they won’t give me even 1 of them.  Their entire job mission is to procure the support monies and give them to the custodian of the children.  Yet they continue to accept the payments R (my ex) makes and still won’t send them to me.  They even admitted they made a mistake putting the payments on hold, and they don’t know why it happened.  Now, their excuse is, well, the work order to remove the hold is not a priority–as a matter of fact, it is at the bottom of the list of work orders, so that the ones turned in before it will all be processed first.  So they don’t even have an idea of when they will start paying me the payments R sends them.

My case manager from my mental health clinic is going to do a conference call with me and them Monday, to see if we can get the work order expedited.  If that doesn’t work, we are going straight downtown to the main DCSE office immediately, and R agreed to meet us there as well (so they cant use the excuse that it concerns his information and thus they can’t speak with me about it).  He wants this solved, because he pays his payments and wants them to get to us.  And he doesn’t want to have to pay them and then turn around and pay us also, since we don’t get the payments.  And he doesn’t want his kids to lose power, food, transportation, plus the little things like tv and phone and internet.

So, here I am all this week, waiting….’holding off’ on bad feelings,  ‘holding off’ on good feelings, ‘holding off’ on paying bills (because I only have a little money and have to choose carefully which ones get paid in case I don’t get any money from DCSE or any cash from R.).  So I’m waiting to exhale, so to speak….Waiting to see what Monday brings.  Will it bring a resolution where DCSE admits this is an urgent issue and should/will be handled right away, giving us a hard date as to when we should see a payment?  Or will it bring more of the same of what they have already done….more excuses, no information, no satisfactory resolution, leaving me and my kids in fear of not eating or of not having any power or transportation for an indeterminate amount of time….Again?

I am in a ‘holding pattern’ of not looking forward to it being resolved, so part of me doesn’t want to go there for fear my hopes will be dashed (yet again).  I am in a ‘holding pattern’ of wanting it over with because I can’t stand the not knowing, the wondering, the waiting….so I want to have it done already so I know how I should feel, so I know what I should do, what the situation is.  Finding out is terrifying; not finding out is terrifying;  the thought of even having my hopes dashed again is almost as terrifying as if that is what happens.  I can’t stand this anymore.  I can’t live like this anymore.  And since it is not in my power to change it, there is only one thing I can change.  But I have to wait until after the meeting Monday.  So, I continue in my ‘holding pattern’.

Sleep


Sleep is the only time when everything is ok.  I wish I could sleep always.

And yet, I am afraid to go to sleep, because I am afraid of waking to yet another new and  excruciating day.

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